Table Talk - Terumah 5768 - Money for the Mishkan

I'd like to share with you a textual challenge that we find in the beginning of the parshah that I studied with the ladies' parshah shiurim (Tuesday at 1:30pm at YIOP and Wednesdays at 8:30am at Akiva) this week.

Any community leader will tell you that they find funraising to be one of the greatest challenges in communal leadership. There are simply too many needs, and not enough money to go around. In reality, it's only fair that each person pay his or her fair share. If every member of the community benefits from an institution, shouldn't he be forced to contribute for that benefit? In reality, halachah wholeheartedly agrees, and does compel community members to pay for the needs of the entire kehillah. In America, where we have completely disassociated our secular and religoius needs, no one questions the requirement to pay communal taxes to fund the roads, police and other non-religious functions. But were the community to impose a religious tax on its members (to cover the mikveh, eruv, shuls and the like), what likelihood is there that most community members would actually pay it?

This same question arises when God tells Moshe to instruct the Jewish people to bring donations for the construction of the mishkan. Does the Torah require every Jew to pay for the mishkan by imposing a mishkan tax, or does He make the contributions for the mishkan completely voluntary? The Torah sends us decidedly mixed signals. God tells Moshe (25:2):

דַּבֵּר אֶל-בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְיִקְחוּ-לִי תְּרוּמָה: מֵאֵת כָּל-אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר יִדְּבֶנּוּ לִבּוֹ, תִּקְחוּ אֶת-תְּרוּמָתִי.

'Speak unto the children of Israel, that they take for Me an offering; of every man whose heart maketh him willing ye shall take My offering.'

While the verse at first glance seems straighforward, the language is anything but. First and foremost, while the translation I provided translates the word "terumah" as offering (implying a voluntary gift), in another context in the Torah, Terumah refers to the mandatory gift that each person must give to the Kohen from his produce. That gift is anything but volutary: God considers consumption of produce before the separation of Terumah to be a grave, terrible sin.

In addition, the verb used by the Torah seems contradictory. If a person makes a voluntary donation, we would usually say that he "gave" the gift. It would seem strange to say that he "takes" the gift. But that's precisely what the Torah says: "You shall take for me Terumah." If it's a gift, why doesn't the Torah tell us that we should "give Terumah." Taking implies coersion and obligation -- a tax, and not a gift.

Thus, we're left with an internal contradiction: what does God want from the people? Does He want them to contribute voluntarily, of their own free will, or does He require them to pay a tax to fund the needed construction that would benefit the entire community?

That's a great question to discuss around the Shabbos table.

Gedolim, Privacy and the Truth of History

In the second-to-last session of "The Search for Truth," a conference sponsored in Detroit by the Jewish Forum, Dr. Marc Shapiro spoke about "The Lives of Gedolim and the Truths of History." He gave a fascinating presentation, describing his discovery and procurement of the famous letters exchanged between Rabbi Yechiel Ya'akov Weinberg, author of the Seridei Eish, and Dr. Samuel Atlas of the Hebrew Union College. During his talk, I found myself bothered by his basic thesis. He felt that while he understood that some communities might feel that gedolim are elevated only through hagiography, he felt quite the opposite: that when we expose the fact that these great people were normal; that they had faults and yet achieved greatness, this only increases their stature in our eyes.

Yet, none of this really relates to the letters of Rabbi Weinberg. The basic goal of publishing the letters, as I understand them, was to reveal the fact that the Seridei Eish wasn't a one-dimnesional posek in the classic chareidi format, but rather that he was a muti-dimensional, complex individual who valued many different things. In essence, Dr. Shapiro seems have a clear agenda to illustrate that the Seridei Eish was, for lack of a better word, Modern Orthodox.

I don't really know enough to dispute that claim (or agenda), but the whole nature of the discussion bothered me. While Dr. Shapiro's thesis about the Seridei Eish might certainly be true, the letters that he published were truly private. Rabbi Weinberg never published them, but instead sent them to a friend in confidence. After all, aren't private letters supposed to be confidential. In fact, Dr. Atlas saved his letters but never disseminated them publicly, and it was only his widow - who really had no appreciation for the implications of the publication of those letters -- who gave final permission for him to use them.

To me, this raises the complicated issue of rabbinic privacy. Of course the Seridei Eish was a gadol, and his halachic works and other public writings have defined him for posterity. But does that public persona then make his entire life "public property"? Doesn't he also deserve to have a private life?

It seems to me that Dr. Shapiro, working in the hallowed halls of the University, has taken the scholarly stance that history must be studied and revealed for history's sake. Every event belongs to the public record, and may be revealed if it carries enough importance.

During his talk, I challenged Dr. Shapiro on this point of privacy, and he responded by making the following distinction. If a he discovered that "great gadol" had a child out of wedlock, but then took care of the child's needs financially, religously and emotionally, and lived up to his responsibility, then he would not publicize that fact about the gadol's life. If, on the other hand, the gadol ignored that child and swept his existence under the rug, then he would reveal that fact because it demonstrated that he wasn't a gadol after all." In essence, he agreed that not every fact or personal foible needs to be revealed -- and that he would only reveal information that he regarded as historically relevant.

Which to me -- only seems to prove my point. Even Shapiro agrees that historical figures deserve some level of privacy. He himelf would not reveal private, defamatory information that he felt had no "larger" relevance. If so, then we both agree that rabbis -- even great ones -- deserve privacy. The difference between our opinions, it would seem, is that I feel that halachah guarantees an individual -- even a dead figure -- the inherent right to privacy, whereas Dr. Shapiro feels that he has the right to make a subjective decision about what rights each figure deserves and receives.

All of this makes me wonder: if someone knew that living a prominent and important life would open his entire life up to intense scrutiny and examination, and make his most private feelings and behaviors fodder for history to publicize, who would want to become a leader? Who would want to be a gadol? Why would anyone want to be a rabbi?

And yet, in spite of all this, my thoughts turn to a well-known gemara in Brachos (62a)

תניא, אמר רבי עקיבא: פעם אחת נכנסתי אחר רבי יהושע לבית הכסא, ולמדתי ממנו שלשה דברים: למדתי שאין נפנין מזרח ומערב אלא צפון ודרום, ולמדתי שאין נפרעין מעומד אלא מיושב ולמדתי שאין מקנחין בימין אלא בשמאל. אמר ליה בן עזאי: עד כאן העזת פנים ברבך! - אמר ליה: וללמוד אני צריך. תניא, בן עזאי אומר: פעם אחת נכנסתי אחר רבי עקיבא לבית הכסא, ולמדתי ממנו שלשה דברים: למדתי שאין נפנין מזרח ומערב אלא צפון ודרום, ולמדתי שאין נפרעין מעומד אלא מיושב, ולמדתי שאין מקנחין בימין אלא בשמאל. אמר לו רבי יהודה: עד כאן העזת פניך ברבך! - אמר לו: וללמוד אני צריך. רב כהנא על, גנא תותיה פורייה דרב. שמעיה דשח ושחק ועשה צרכיו, אמר ליה: דמי פומיה דאבא כדלא שריף תבשילא! אמר לו: כהנא, הכא את? פוק, דלאו ארח ארעא. אמר לו: תורה היא וללמוד אני צריך

At the end of the day, perhaps Gedolim don't get any privacy -- not even in the bathroom, nor in the bedroom, and maybe not even in their private letters. The price of gadlut might just be that their every action is תורה היא וללמוד אנו צריכין.

Rabbinic Authority - A Symposium and Challenges

This past Motzei Shabbat, I attended the initial session of the Jewish Forum symposium called "The Search for Truth", which featured a symposium staffed by Professor Menachem Kellner of the University of Haifa, Rabbi Dr. Daniel Sperber of Bar Ilan University, Rabbi Natan Slifkin (the Zoo Rabbi), and Dr. Marc Shapiro of the University of Scranton. During their Saturday night symposium, titled "Rabbinic Authority vs. Worldly Wisdom", the panel discussed the difficult issue of great rabbis - acknowledged gedolim -- who make statements that seem counter to common sense. In addition, many of the panelists felt that great Torah scholars live in a protected "bubble", isolated from the outside world. They count on their advisers to inform them of important issues and make pronouncements often based on what they're told - and not what they themselves have seen.
The discussion turned to the fact that in reality, many of the statements made by great Torah sages reflect the values of their closed communities, and are not necessarily intended for outside consumption. Thus, when a statement made for "local" consumption reaches the press and the larger Jewish world, while that statement seems incredulous to us, it makes perfect sense to the community for which it was intended.
This discussion got me thinking about a growing problem that rabbis (such as myself) face in the modern world.
It used to be true that rabbis at least enjoyed some level of local autonomy. For lack of a better reason, communication was such that community members counted on their rabbi to resolve local issues without feeling the need to turn to greater poskim out of town to answer their questions. Moreover, when a shailah arose requiring greater expertise, the rabbi himself turned to his mentors and teachers and the greater rabbanim in the larger cities for help, and not the ba'alei batim. Dr. Kellner echoed my sentiments by pointing out that we often refer to the rabbi as the mara d'atra -- the teacher of the place.
To my mind, we have entirely lost any notion of mara d'atra. With international communication, telephones, emails, fax machines and the like, nowadays, the community members themselves turn not to their own rabbi, but immediately to the gedolim. Every important question must be posed to a rabbi in New York -- or if it's really important, in Israel. But even more troubling, every local decision is questioned, analyzed and challenged by community members who take their local issues and pose them to rabbis uninvolved in the local community and often unaware of the delicate balance that exists in that community. It's quite easy to criticize events that seem untoward - either halachically or otherwise -- when you don't have all the facts or don't have to personally juggle the issues, which the local rabbi often must do.
The best example that I can think of to illustrate this point is the complete emasculation of local rabbis and rabbinates with regard to the issue of geirus. One day not long ago, a local rabbi could convene a Beit Din, convert a prospect as he saw fit, and if that rabbi was considered to be operating within the guidelines of halachah, his conversion was accepted without question. After all, that does seem to fit with the normative halachah on the issue.
This no longer holds true. Now, in order to perform a conversion, a rabbi must be approved on a list -- in Israel -- by people who have no knowledge of any of the rabbis on the list, and have no understanding of the local factors which rabbis on the ground deal with day in and day out. Instead, they point to isolated cases of difficult conversions as proof for the need for international oversight from afar.
In today's atmosphere of international communication, websites, blogs and the like, it seems now that if the whole world is one international community, then there can only be one possible mara d'atra - the gadol hador.
And that would ultimately be a tragedy for the Jews who need their own rabbi to deal with their own issues, but cannot because the rest of the world peers over his shoulder.

Review Questions for Gemara 7th Grade

1. Why did Rabbi Yehushua say that Yehuda ger Amoni was permitted to marry a Jew?
2. What are the three cases when Rabban Gamliel afflicted Rabbi Yehushua?
3. What was the parable of the laundry man?
4. What was the argument about the number of benches?
5. What qualities were important to become a Nasi?
6. What does the gemara think that "tefillat ha'erev ein la keva" means at first?
7. Why couldn't this be the correct meaning?
8. According to the end of the gemara, what does "ein la keva" teach us?
9. Why didn't Rabbi Eliezer's wife want him to take the job?
10. What did he answer her?

Table Talk - Mishpatim 5768 - To Tell The Truth

When a person takes an oath before giving testimony in a court of law, he promises “To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” While the phrase sounds nice, in reality it seems rather confusing. If he promises to tell the truth, why then should he need to tell “the whole truth”? Are they not both the same? What’s the difference between telling the truth, and the whole truth? Perhaps our parshah can shed some light on the issue.
Among the many, many different mitzvot that appear in our Parshah, the Torah commands us, מדבר שקר תרחק -- "distance yourself from words of falsehood." (23:7) While we know that God prohibits us from lying outright, what does the Torah mean by commanding us to "distance" ourselves from falsehood?
The gemara in Shavuos (30b) explains, that this verse makes greater demands than simply telling the truth. Rather, the verse teaches us, "that if a inherently judge knows that the case is corrupt, he may not say, 'Since the witnesses are testifying, I'll just adjudicate the case and the responsibility [for the miscarriage of justice] will lie with them!' It's not enough to simply tell the truth. The Torah demands that each of us uphold the truth, whether we actually speak the words or not.
Perhaps that's the intention of the oath to tell not only the truth, but "the whole truth." A witness might himself be telling the truth, but withhold further information that would complete the picture and change the nature of the case. That, the Torah tells us, isn't telling the truth. And no amount of self-justification can absolve us from that responsibility.
If only our elected officials followed suit.

The Coney Island Sheitel Controversy

Gil Student posted on his blog about the recent Coney Island wig controversy. To sum the story up, the Rosh Yeshiva of Chaim Berlin has asked his followers not to patronize a certain sheitel store that's across the street from his yeshiva, because the store refuses to cover up the pictures of the women wearing sheitels. What does the store look like? Like this:


Personally, looking at the pictures, it's not as if the women aren't wearing tznius clothing. In fact, one could argue that since they're wearing sheitels, they're totally tznius. If you ask me, if one were to take issue with the women in these pictures, I can't really see a difference between these women and the frum ladies who actually buy the sheitels. Is a head-tilt that provocative? Does Chaim Berlin ban women wearing sheitels from walking in front of the yeshiva? Or tilting their heads?
I really don't understand the commotion.

YIOP Bulletin for February 2008 - Mussaf Mishpachah: You Asked – And we’re Answering

YIOP has always prided itself as a shul that focuses on our families, especially on Shabbos. We invest our time, energy and space to create childcare for children every Shabbos and Yom Tov. Our youth groups meet every Shabbos to provide programming for elementary school children. But, despite these efforts, we still struggle as a congregation to find a good way to include our older children in Shabbos morning davening. While Steve Katz’s incredible efforts with the Teen Minyan brought great results, ultimately an entire minyan each week became to difficult to maintain.

Aliza Sosne, our new family education coordinator, has been working hard speaking to parents throughout our community to try and address this and other problems. She’s working on programming and events to make our shul an even more inviting place for families to grow. To that end, it’s a great pleasure to introduce our first exciting new program: Mussaf Mishpachah.

Mussaf Mishpachah will be a parent-child Mussaf service that will meet once a month in the small shul, beginning on Parshat Tetzaveh, February 16^th. It will be a separate Mussaf service that will begin after the rabbi’s speech on Shabbos morning, and will be open to any parents with their children who wish to attend – but no parent will be admitted without a child. We will encourage Bar Mitzvah boys to lead the Mussaf, and any younger children can lead Anim Zemirot and Adon Olam. The davening will include a short D’var Torah either by an adult, or preferably a child, and will conclude with a fun cholent Kiddush. This davening will include a little more singing and ruach, and hopefully create a meaningful davening experience.

But this program will only succeed with your help: we need parents to make the effort to come with your pre-teen children, and expend the energy to make the minyan an enjoyable and spiritual experience.

Table Talk - Yitro 5768

In a person's service of God, what's more important: thoughts, words, or actions? Most people would probably debate between words and actions. Words, after all, carry great meaning, and can affect others around us profoundly. Our actions directly affect ourselves and our neighbors, both for better and for worse. But thoughts remain private, intimate and personal. While our thoughts carry great importance for us, how do they relate to our worship of God?
Ibn Ezra (on 20:1) suggests that of the three categories, our thoughts are by far the most important, and that the Torah gives numerous commandments to direct our thoughts in a religious manner, including, "and you shall love Hashem your God", (in the Shema), "you shall fear God", "you shall love your fellow man as yourself," and many others. In addition, the Torah conveys negative thought commandments as well, prohibiting us from hating our fellow man, taking vengeance, or even entertaining thoughts of idolatry.
According to Ibn Ezra, our thoughts lead the way for us to follow. We control them -- and not the other way around. For this reason, the Torah commands us to direct our thoughts in positive, constructive ways demanded by the Torah, and in that way our words and actions will follow suit.
For this reason, the very first commandment deals with thoughts and belief: "I am the Lord Your God." If we believe and accept this fact in our hearts, then all the other commandments become that much easier to accept and fulfill. But without it, the other nine commandments don't mean very much at all.
One other thing crossed my mind. Following Ibn Ezra's rule about the critical nature of our thoughts, it's important for us to not only entertain and maintain a belief in God and faithful thoughts, but that we also keep our thoughts positive and energetic. When a person fills his thoughts with positive energy, those positive thoughts have the power to carry him or her a long, long way.

Table Talk -- Bo 5768

When does a taker help a giver? When he’s taking tzedakah.

The Torah tells us that after the plague of the firstborn, the Egyptians try to hurry the Jews out of their country. Yet, Moshe had them ready. Before they agree to leave the Jews, following Moshe orders, request the gold and the silver of their Egyptian (former) masters. The Torah tells us that Egyptians happily comply: וַה' נָתַן אֶת-חֵן הָעָם, בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרַיִם—וַיַּשְׁאִלוּם – “and God gave the people favor in the eyes of the Egyptians so that they let them have what they asked,” וַיְנַצְּלוּ, אֶת-מִצְרָיִם – “and they despoiled Egypt.”

Clearly, the Jewish people ask for property and the Egyptians comply. Yet, the language at the end of the verse is striking. What does the Torah mean by the word וינצלו – “and they despoiled.” (By the way, “despoil” means “to sack or plunder”.) Rashi follows the translation of Onkelos, who translates the word to mean ורוקינו – “and they emptied out”. But this translation, while appropriate contextually, ignores the true meaning of the word. וינצלו seems to be some derivation of להציל – to save. If so, what do the Jewish people save? Why does the Torah use this strange word to describe the plunder of the wealth of Egypt?

We can answer this question by understanding the meaning of the word tzedakah – a word we translate as charity. In reality, tzedakah has nothing to do with charity. Rather, the word emanates from the word צדק – or truth and righteousness. When we give tzedakah, we acknowledge our understanding that God gives us plenty in order to share that bounty with others. Our giving isn’t just an act of kindness, but an act of righteousness, distributing the wealth of God the way He wishes us to.

The Midrash tells us that during the great famine in Egypt, Yosef gathered the entire wealth of the world into Egypt. When the Jews leave Egypt with all of her wealth, they return that wealth to the world – its rightful owner. So, while they plunder and empty Egypt, in a very real way, they “save” the Egyptians from the money that never really belonged to them in the first place.

Table Talk - Vaera 5768

Jewish leaders always seem to have a skeleton in their closet. Many doubted the very Jewishness of King David, the progenitor of the Moshiach, as he descends from Rut the Moavite convert. Moreover, David's entire family emanates from our forefather Yehuda's curious relationship with Tamar, his former-daughter-in-law. Ya'akov Avinu finds himself married to two sisters - a clear violation of a future Torah law. At least Moshe -- our greatest teacher -- has nothing to hide. He has impeccable family credentials - doesn't he? Actually, he doesn't.
The Torah explicitly states: "And Amram took Yocheved his aunt for a wife, and she bore him Aharon and Moshe..." (6:20) Yes, Moshe's father marries his aunt, a relationship soon to be forbidden not only to Jews, but to Noachides as well. Moshe's entire family emanates from a completely forbidden familial relationship. How can it be that our greatest teacher, and so many of our progenitors are the product of questionable family relationships?
Chizkuni comments: "The fact that God allows that a man as great as Moshe should emanate from a relationship that He would ultimately prohibit, is because we never appoint a leader over the community unless he has a 'box of vermin' hanging from his neck, lest he become haughty over his community."
Throughout his life and despite the greatness he achieves, Moshe remains the most humble man in history. Perhaps he never allows himself to forget that box hanging from his neck.