Parsha Eikev: The Hedonic Treadmill According to Moses

Many Jews encounter this week's Torah portion every single day without even realizing it. The verse of Deuteronomy 8:10, "You shall eat, be satisfied, and bless the Lord your G-d for the good land that He has given you" should be familiar because it is in the Birkat HaMazon, the Grace After Meals. Not only is it part of Birkat HaMazon, but it is also the prooftext that we recite it after eating bread instead of before. 

At first glance, this verse teaches the lesson that we should pause to express gratitude after satisfying our physical needs. That is an important lesson, but reading the verse by itself risks missing Moses' larger argument. This is more than Moses establishing a liturgical obligation or table etiquette. This command gets at the relation between prosperity, memory, and gratitude.  

Several years ago, I wrote that a major sin of the Israelites was that they complained so much that they failed to recognize the blessings they had received, including being freed from slavery and being fed with manna and water in the wilderness. They dismissed them as if it were nothing. Yet here, what we see is Moses explain why gratitude is so difficult to sustain. 

Right after the directive to bless after eating comes the warning of "Beware lest you forget the Lord your G-d." Notice what Moses does not say. He does not say that wealth is inherently corruptive or that poverty is superior. Moses describes a progression that once one's homes, wealth, and possessions increase, they will slowly forget the One who made those blessings. It gets to the point where one says "My strength and the might of my hand have produced this wealth (Deuteronomy 8:17)." 

The issue is not ambition or success. It is normalizing one's blessings until they do not feel like blessings at all. Ironically enough, the greatest threat to gratitude is not hardship. It is success. 

We experience this phenomenon more often than we realize. The first home that we were once excited to buy eventually becomes just our mortgage payment. The car we couldn't wait to drive is reduced to our daily commute. The newest iPhone we wanted so badly becomes just another tool in our lives. Good health goes unnoticed until illness reminds us how precious it is. Even the people we love can become so familiar that we forget what a blessing they are before it's too late. 

This tendency is neither unique to the ancient Israelites nor is it a sin. It is part of being human. None of this is to diminish personal responsibility or achievement. If anything, it helps place them in their proper context. The challenge is making sure that good circumstances do not lead to entitlement, but to appreciation. 

This is why Judaism does not leave gratitude to chance. Jewish tradition recognizes the human tendency to forget, which is perhaps why Judaism so heavily emphasizes remembrance. Instead of hoping people will remember, Judaism builds it in the rhythm of our daily lives so we see things we might otherwise overlook. And it has to be built into daily rhythm because as Moses realized, humans forget quickly. It would explain why Jews say the Shema twice a day and Jewish men put on tefillin as often as they do. 

Jews traditionally begin the day by saying the blessing Modeh Ani in order to acknowledge the gift of another day. Throughout the day, blessings are said, so much so that the ancient rabbis said that we should aim for 100 blessing a day. It shows up when we eat food. It is a theme in Jewish holidays, such as Sukkot and Chanukah. It's even in our namesake. The word "יהודי" has the same root as "להודות", meaning to thank or to acknowledge. 

When we thank, we do not simply utter words. We realize how good reality can be. Yes, we work hard, we achieve, and we build. But we also have numerous blessings that did not come from us. Judaism reminds us that both of those truths must be held in order to understand reality. But at the same time, gratitude helps us making the same mistake that Moses warned against: believing that all our blessings come from us, and that they're to be expected rather than be gifts.   

Moses understood that prosperity not only changes what we possess, but what we notice. Yet perhaps the deeper lesson is that gratitude, when done right, should change how we experience what we possess. A person who believes that everything is owed to them will never feel satiated. There will always be another achievement to accomplish, another possession to acquire, or another reason to feel that we have fallen short in life. 

Gratitude does not mean we stop striving. It does not mean we do not acknowledge our own achievements. It means that we see the complete picture. And that is the challenge that Moses proposed: seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary. A meal with family. Going on a date. Walking and talking with a friend. Waking up out of bed for another day. The irony is that they are significant precisely because they do happen regularly. Perhaps the lesson here is not to find more reasons to be happy, but to transform in the kind of person who can find the blessings that already exist. 

Parsha Vayetze: Thanksgiving and Experiencing Gratitude in the Unexpected

Across the United States today, families are gathering to celebrate the holiday of Thanksgiving. While a huge feast is common, Thanksgiving is a rarity in U.S. culture when people collectively sit down and acknowledge the good in their lives. There is a tacit truth about Thanksgiving that few mention: it is significantly easier to feel gratitude when all is well, whether it is a table full of food for Thanksgiving or when you are living moments that are picture-perfect for Instagram. In reality, gratitude can be quite complicated. 

That complexity is illustrated in this week's Torah portion. Jacob does not experience gratitude from a place of plenty, but from a place of discomfort. Jacob stole the birthright from his brother, Esau (Genesis 27:18-29). Esau is so angry he wants to kill Jacob (27:34-41). As a result, Jacob is on the run (27:41-43) and ends up wandering the wilderness (28:10-12) with no support system whatsoever and uncertain of what his future will look like. Jacob not only hits rock bottom metaphorically. He literally uses a rock as a pillow to fall asleep (28:11). 

It was during this low point when Jacob had the famous dream of the ladder reaching heavenward. In the dream, Jacob was promised four things: that G-d is with Jacob; that G-d will protect Jacob; that Jacob will eventually return back to the Land promised to the Patriarchs; and G-d reconfirmed the covenantal blessings (28:13-15). What was Jacob's response?

And Jacob woke up and said, "'Surely the Lord was in this place, and I did not know.' And he was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of G-d, and this is the gate of heaven.'" - Genesis 28:16-17

One thing we see here is that gratitude is not about abundance. It is a recognition of goodness without certainty. To quote Pirke Avot (4:1), "Who is rich? The one who rejoices in their lot." Abundance is not a prerequisite for gratitude because if it were, the vast majority of humanity throughout history could not express it. Although abundance can enhance gratitude, gratitude is more about perspective and noticing the good in life. Jacob was not thankful because his problems disappeared or that he actually received anything. After all, Jacob still was homeless, penniless, and wandering around the wilderness without knowing what was in store for his future. At that moment, he was able to admit that the goodness and divine presence were there all along, and wished that he saw it sooner. There are blessings if we slow down enough to see and experience them. Jacob realized that all was not lost and that there was still hope, and that was enough to express gratitude. 

If anything, gratitude requires an acceptance that life includes an element of hardship. I recently spent the past three months traveling around Peru, Argentina, Uruguay, and Colombia. While there were some upscale neighborhoods, for the most part, I would not consider Latin America a place of material abundance like I do with the United States or the rest of the western world. I talked with a number of people on this voyage. While they had a myriad of challenges, they still said "todo está bien," that everything is okay. I do not think they say that because they believe that literally every aspect of their life is hunky-dory. Cultures with less material abundance often show more gratitude, joy, and connection because they realize that life has meaning, that good can still be found, and that in spite of uncertainty, we are held by something larger than ourselves. Simplicity, trust, and awareness matter much more than being a millionaire. 

What we see in this week's Torah portion is a Jewish moment of "todo bien." What is even more remarkable is what Jacob does after expressing gratitude. He took that stone, built a pillar, and poured oil on the stone to anoint it (Genesis 28:18). This is very remarkable for a few reasons: 

1. It was transformative because what felt uncomfortable and painful at the time was able to become a monument of meaning. Jacob took something both painful and seemingly mundane as a stone into a literal stepping-stone towards blessing. 
2. Jacob received this dream outside the land of Israel (Ramban's commentary on Genesis 28:18), thereby reminding us that G-d truly is everywhere. 
3. This altar embodies spiritual simplicity. It did not need silver, gold, or a bunch of religious laws. It was a real, grounded, and unpretentious expression of gratitude and spiritual connection. 
4. Jacob elevated the mundane into the holy. Jacob did not merely sit with his feelings. He took his feelings and had them transformed into action. Gratitude is actionable, tangible, and grounded, not merely feeling. It reminds us that actions speak much louder than words or mere emotions. 

The holiday of Thanksgiving encourages us to encounter blessings in the otherwise seemingly mundane, whether it is warmth, a home, or relationships. Judaism takes this concept a step further: we are called to lean into the blessing when life is unsettled, tumultuous, or downright rocky. True gratitude does not wait for perfect moments. Like Jacob wandering the wilderness, the most beautiful and holiest forms of thanksgiving entail a simple acknowledgment of the good that exists alongside unanswered questions, unsolved problems, and challenges. By seeing and acting on that goodness, we transform the ordinary into the sacred and recognize that hope, meaning, and spiritual connection are within reach. 

Parsha Chukat: What A Military Encounter Can Teach About Personal Development

The Israelites had been wandering in the desert for forty years. They were trying to get to the land of Israel, but they kept running into various obstacles on their way there. In this week's Torah Portion (Chukat; Numbers 19:1-22:1), G-d goes on what seems to be a tangent to describe one of these obstacles: Sichon, King of the Amorites. Within this historical account is a description of one of the cities that the Israelites ended up taking over, Chesbon (חשבון). Rabbinic scholar Rashi comments on Leviticus 21:27 that this description of Chesbon and this military account is to set the scene for next week's Torah portion, Balak. 

In the Talmud (Bava Batra 78b), Rabbi Yochanan has a different idea. As I pointed out about Genesis 5, the passage is more than a genealogical accounting. It ends up being a lesson about caring about human beings. Rabbi Yochanan takes a homiletical approach to the military account. For the people referred to in Leviticus 21:27 as "those who speak in parables" (המשלים), Rabbi Yochanan interprets those as "those who rule over their evil inclination." When the passage says "Come to Chesbon" (על כן יאמרו חשבון באו), that is taken to mean "let us take an account of the world," i.e., the financial loss incurred by the fulfillment of the mitzvah in comparison to its reward. 

I think this homiletical approach has a point because the word חשבון literally means "accounting." However, R. Yochanan linking it to reward and punishment is problematic for me, because Pirke Avot teaches that we should ultimately do mitzvahs out of love of G-d instead of fear of punishment. Being rewarded for good behavior, according to Pirke Avot, is seen as a lower motivation. R. Yochanan provides another explanation for the accounting, which is that those who do not calculate and examine their ways will be consumed like a fire, much like the one mentioned in Leviticus 21:27. 

Later in the Talmudic passage of Bava Batra 78b, R. Yochanan mentions that the fire of arrogance will consume one in Gehenna, which is the closest eschatological concept of a Hell in Judaism. Bringing it to arrogance makes sense because arrogance is over-believing in oneself and inflating one's value. The inflated sense of confidence leads one to only think of the self, even at the expense of others. 

I think this homiletic interpretation is compelling because there is another passage in Jewish text that analogizes personal development to a battle: Pirke Avot (4:1). In Pirke Avot, Ben Zoma asks who is strong (איזהו גבור?). The answer: one who overcomes their personal inclination (הכובש את יצרו). Ben Zoma then cites Proverbs 16:32, which states that "He who is slow to anger is better than a strong man, and a master of his passions is better than a conqueror of a city." Anger is a manifestation of a lack of self-control and self-discipline. It is consuming and means that you are susceptible to external forces. 

By not taking account of who we are, what our character traits are, and where we can improve, we are not free. As creatures of free will, we have the potential to learn and grow. Doing personal accounting is not only for the Omer period, but a year-round endeavor. By keeping account of who we are and where we need to improve, we are able to fight and win the greatest battle of all: mastery over ourselves. 

Parsha Beshalach: Bitter Waters and How Perspective Is Key

Water is essential to life.  It is an intrinsic part of life, as we see in this week's Torah portion. The Sea of Reeds opened and the Israelites crossed it. They sang and danced to celebrate (Exodus 15:20-21). But all things come to an end, including miracles and their celebration. They pressed onward into the wilderness of Shur. The Israelites wandered for three days without finding water. This is typically the amount of time a human being can last without water, so it is understandable that the Israelites would get nervous. The Torah then has this to say:

ויבאו מרתה. ולא יכלו לשתת מים ממרה, כי מרים הם. על כן קרא שמה מרה.

And when they came to Marah, they could not drink the waters of Marah because they were bitter. Therefore, the name of it was called Marah. -Exodus 15:23

The simple meaning refers to the waters being bitter. That is how many have translated the verse.  The Hebrew word for water (מים) is in the plural, which means the "They were bitter" can refer to the water. At the same time, there is a grammatical ambiguity because (הם) "they" can also refer to the Israelites. This is an interpretation provided in the Midrash (Exodus Rabbah 50:3). The Israelites were so busy complaining that they could not notice the drinkable water. 

This is not the first time that this has happened in the Torah. Abraham expelled Hagar and Ishmael. Once they consumed what water they had, she was beside herself because they were stranded in the desert and she did not believe they would survive (Genesis 21:-15-17). She did not want to see the death of her child. Ultimately, G-d opened her eyes and she perceived the well of water (Genesis 21:19). As Artscroll  brings up on its commentary on Genesis 21:19 (Chumash):

The Torah does not say that a well was created miraculously; the verse implies that her eyes were opened and she saw a well that had been there all along. This teaches that G-d always provides what we need, but we must be ready to open our eyes and see it (Midrash).

According to this Midrashic interpretation, the Israelites had drinkable water. They just chose not to see it. This is not the last time the Israelites incorrectly perceive a situation. Later when they were wandering in the desert, they were accusing G-d and Moses off bringing them in the wilderness to die because there was no food or water (Numbers 21:5). What is interesting is that immediately after saying there was no bread, they were disgusted by "the rotten bread (ibid.)." This is even more intriguing because the Talmud (Yoma 75a) states that manna taste whatever the eater wants it to taste like. Think about that for a moment. Manna can taste whatever the eater would like and yet the Israelites chose rottenness, a choice that resulted in G-d sending fiery snakes to poison many of the Israelites (Numbers 21:6).

The Israelites were guilty of kvetching, which is the Yiddish meaning "to complain excessively." When people make too much of a fuss, they are incapable of seeing the good. It was such an incapability that brought much personal suffering to the Israelites. It is a mentality that has not gone away since Biblical times and still brings suffering in our time. 

Negativity bias is a cognitive bias that events or things of a more negative nature have greater emotional weight than positive or neutral events. Perhaps it is a survival mechanism that was engrained into human DNA centuries ago, but it takes three positive events to neutralize a negative event. It makes sense that kvetching became a part of Yiddish because it is also a human tendency. The irony of kvetching becoming such a part of Yiddish culture is that it is anathema to Jewish ethics. How so?

One of the words for a Jew is יהודי. The word יהודי comes from the Hebrew verb "to thank" (להודות). It is a Jewish namesake not to kvetch, but to be grateful. In Judaism, the Hebrew term for gratitude is , which literally means "to recognize the good." This does not mean we ignore the bad or look at the world through rose-colored glasses. It means being able to see what the Israelites at Marah could not: goodness in the world. It would explain why Judaism has a practice of saying 100 blessings a day. Whether meant to be taken literally or not, it helps us examine just how much good this world has to offer. 

On the one hand, there is some space for negative thinking. We cannot be happy all the time. As I wrote for Tisha B'Av in 2020, there is a place in our lives to diminish happiness where it can paradoxically increase happiness. On the other hand, happiness has a major perspective component to it. Catastrophizing that the Israelites partook in leads to more suffering (Petrini and Arendt-Nielsen, 2020). Those who have a more hopeful view on life tend to be happier than those who are negative all the time much like the Israelites at Marah were. R. Jonathan Sacks, z"tl, taught that optimism is a viewpoint that the world was getting better, whereas hope is the belief that we can make the world better. Optimism is more passive; it does not require action, only belief. Hope is a more active concept. We work towards it. We have confidence that we can make things better, whether in our individual lives or for others. 

That was where the Israelites messed up. They saw bitterness when there was fresh water in front of them. They ignored the manna's existence, only to complain about it shortly thereafter. The excessively negative lens through which the Israelites viewed the world made it hard to appreciate life. It also made it difficult to find solutions because as we see in these texts, the bitterness makes it impossible to see what is in front of you. This would explain why the first blessing we say in the morning is to ask us to distinguish between night and day (אשר נתן לשכוי בינה להבחין בין יום ובין לילה), so that we can discern between such concepts as right and wrong, and good and bad, or helpful and harmful. 

Rather than take in the bitterness from the Israelites, I think we can learn to be optimistic realists. We cannot ignore the harsh realities of life, but we cannot ignore the beauty, wonder, and joy that life has to offer. Judaism teaches us to focus on the positive because we are prone to the negative. It is a work in progress, but we need to be in a mindset of abundance, gratitude, and overall optimism if we are to make life better. To quote filmmaker George Lucas, "Your focus determines your reality." What sort of reality would you like to have: one where bitterness is all around you or one where you can learn to appreciate what life has to offer?

Parsha Toldot: The Timeless Lesson of How Envy Causes Harm and How to Minimize It

I have studied multiple languages over the years, and I have been amazed at how much we rely on idioms in the English language. Idioms make English such a colorful language, but also difficult for non-natives to learn. One of the idioms that has fascinated me is "to cut off one's nose to spite one's face." Having its origin in the late 18th century, the phrase means that one should not do something that harms you simply because it harms someone else. There are some who would be blinded enough by revenge where they would endure anything to get payback. There is another more common reason, one that we see play out in this week's Torah portion, Toldot (Genesis 25:19-28:9). That reason is envy. 

There was a famine in the land of Canaan (Genesis 26:1). Isaac goes to settle in the land of Canaan because G-d promised that if Isaac stayed, he would be blessed (26:3-4). He stayed in the land and reaped a harvest 100 times what he was expecting. Isaac became wealthy as a result: flocks, herds, a large household (26:13-14). What happens as a result from Isaac's success? In spite of having stopped a famine, the Philistines envied Isaac (26:14). The townsfolk could not kill Isaac because he was under the king's protection (26:11; Sforno's commentary of Genesis 26:15). However, they did decide to stop up Isaac's wells and prevent him from producing more (26:15). Because of this envy, King Abimelech sent Isaac away (26:16). To recap, the townspeople drove away the guy that pulled them out of famine. They did not care that their actions meant less food production because they could not handle the fact that he produced greater material wealth. I feel like there is a modern-day lesson there about excessive taxation and regulation, but I will say that how the Philistines reacted to Isaac's success is a biblical example of "cutting off your nose in spite of your face" indeed! We see throughout the biblical texts how envy causes harm. 

• Look at the two matriarchs, Leah and Rachel. On the one hand, Rachel had Jacob's love. On the other hand, Leah was producing children. In any case, there was considerable tension between the two sisters (e.g., Genesis 30:15). 
• Miriam's envy caused her to speak ill of her brother (Numbers 12:1), thereby making her leprous (Numbers 12:10). 
• There was Joseph and his technicolor dream coat. Joseph buttered up to his father and became the favorite child. Joseph's siblings became so envious that they initially tried murdering him (Genesis 37:20), but eventually decided to sell Joseph into slavery (Genesis 37:27-28). 
• King David develops an attraction towards Bathsheba. David forces Bathsheba to sleep with him. To cover up the pregnancy, David sends Bathsheba's husband, Uriah, into battle to be killed (I Samuel 11). 
• And who could forget the story of Cain and Abel? Both Cain and Abel provided offerings to G-d. Abel gave his most precious animals. Cain tried to get away with offering less than his best. Call it a spiritual form of half-assing it. Cain did not want to put in the effort, and unsurprisingly, G-d noticed and favored Abel. How did Cain react? He was so envious that he murdered his brother (Genesis 4:3-9), an act that effectively killed a quarter of the planet's population. 

The perils of envy go beyond biblical texts. It is something we regrettably see throughout history. A good friend of mine sent me a video (see below) about how history played a deleterious role in history. For one, it helped explain anti-Semitism better. In the Middle Ages, there were very few options for someone who was not of noble blood to become wealthy. Being a merchant was one of those ways. While there were non-Jewish merchants in the Middle Ages, it was a profession disproportionately taken on by Jews. And guess what? They were good at it....so good that their neighbors were envious. It led to the Spanish Inquisition and other expulsions in which people cut off their nose to spite their face. The Jewish people were not the only ones to experience the negative effects of envy, but it does make for a good cautionary tale for us. 

Unfortunately, envy was not a relic we left in the Middle Ages. Going back to the video above, envy became a hit with the rise of socialism and communism. Not even the fall of the Berlin Wall could bring down envy. If we look at the philosophy of the social justice movement and how it is applied, the politics of envy continue to this very day. I do recognize that there are those on the political Left that are legitimately and primarily concerned with justice, even if it is quite redistributive. However, I would contend that much of what is taking place on the political Left is not primarily out of concern for justice, but motivated by envy. The way the "Eat the Rich" crowd reacts to the likes of Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, or Elon Musk is reminiscent of the Isaac story discussed earlier. Success, a good education, and a work ethic are derisively dismissed by the social justice movement as privilege. It leads to thinking we could screw over the rich while regulating and taxing our way out of poverty. In spite of the technological progress we have made and in spite of the fact that our lives are materially better by most metrics than they ever have in history, envy still rules the day. Why? Envy is not how much one has in absolute terms, but in relative terms. Some things truly never change. 

I begin to understand why the prohibition of coveting is in the Ten Commandments (see my 2014 analysis on the topic). According to twelfth-century rabbi Maimonides, what makes coveting problematic is that it leads to committing more egregious acts (Mishneh Torah, Gezelah v'Avedah 1:9-11). Go back to the list of biblical stories I cited above. In those biblical stories, envy brought about such disastrous results as slander, murder, criminal activity, and cruelty. Envy really is an ugly character trait. Aside from committing unethical acts, why is envy such a problem?

With envy, one is constantly comparing themself to others while deflecting any criticism or need to improve on themselves. Envy does not contribute to anything positive, whether on a personal or societal level, because it is about tearing people down instead of lifting people up. Envy destroys not only others, but ourselves. The Talmud points out that envy rots the bones (Shabbat 152b). Envy also makes it difficult to enjoy life. To quote R. Joseph Telushkin in his book A Code of Jewish Ethics: Book 1 (p. 302), "Envy destroys our ability to enjoy what we already have; instead, our joy is diminished or entirely eliminated by the fact that others have more--perhaps only one thing more--than us." That would explain why Rabbi Elazar HaKappar said that envy is one of the things that removes us from this world (Pirke Avot 4:28)...or to quote President Theodore Roosevelt, "Comparison is the thief of joy."

Rabbi Telushkin hits on a major point about envy. It does not matter that those of us in the 21st century have more material wealth that our ancestors could dream of, whether that comes in the form of smartphones, refrigerators, indoor plumbing, computers, the dishwasher, the vacuum, or heating and air conditioning. If we focus on what others have and what we do not, if we continue to compare ourselves to others, we will always be miserable. 

So how do we reduce envy? After reading this article from Chabad on the topic, I concluded that of the Jewish sages, Ben Zoma, gave some sound advice in Pirke Avot on how to deal with envy (4:1). He asked and gave answers to the following four questions:

1. Who is wise? The one who learns from everyone. On the one hand, this does not directly address envy. On the other hand, learning from everyone implies a lot. Because this wisdom means that you are willing to learn, it means you do not know everything. While the Jewish definition of humility (or rather, a definition based on Jewish texts) differs a bit from how we commonly understand humility, it is still necessary to have that open-mindedness and ability to give other people space if we want to reduce envy. Also, learning gives us the ability to grow. As we will see later, focusing on your own personal growth and development reduces envy. 
2. Who is rich? The one who enjoys their lot. Yes, abject poverty is awful. The Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 31:14) says that if all the troubles were placed on one scale on poverty on the other, poverty outweighs them all. At the same time, I like how Ben Zoma turns the definition of richness on its head. Richness is not about the accumulation of material wealth, but about our perspective on what we have in life. This definition sounds a lot like what philosopher Frederich Nietzsche called amor fati, which is Latin for "love of one's fate." I can see a "love life" approach to be pollyannish or looking through the world with rose-colored glasses. The phrase in Hebrew for gratitude is הכרת הטוב, or literally "recognizing the good." We do not ignore the bad or set it aside. We also do not give into complacency because Judaism teaches that we can always better ourselves. But we do acknowledge and put emphasis on what blessings we do have. It's no wonder that a traditional Jewish practice is to say 100 blessings a day. This emphasis on recognizing what we do have and how fortunate we are does help with curtailing envy. 
3. Who is strong? The one who conquers their evil inclination. For one, this quote implies that you should focus less on others' shortcomings and focus on your own. Two, you do not have a strong sense of self or self-control if you are envious. Envy is a weakness. It means that you would rather keep up with the Joneses and be yanked around by others' expectations of you. Having that envy drives you means that you are, in Marcus Aurelius' words (Meditations 12:19), are dancing like a puppet. It also means that you are not addressing what is causing the feeling of envy, nor are you focusing on what you can do to strengthen your own personality or improve your quality of life. Creating a sense of equanimity and emotional resilience means that you have greater control over your life, as opposed to being jerked around by external events over which you have little to no control. 
4. Who is honored? The one who honors others. Another undesirable outcome of envy is that you are self-absorbed. Look, I'm not here to insult self-care. I actually find self-care to be important because if you are of sound body and mind, you are strong enough (see previous point) to be there for others. R. Jonathan Sacks once said that humility is not holding yourself low, but holding others high, which is a positive-sum approach. Bringing it back to the topic at hand, Rabbi Telushkin advises us that "Helping others achieve success, and feeling a sense of personal involvement in it, is one way to diminish feelings of envy." Going back to the first point in this list, the one about learning from others, I think we can both learn from others and honor others when we see other people as human beings instead of an opponent, as "other," an oppressor, or through a zero-sum lens. 

I think there are moments in which we can feel at least a bit jealous of what others have. It is part of the human condition to want a better quality of life. However, just because there is some sort of inequality does not mean we have to tear the other person down. If someone has something we do not, we can always ask what we can do to emulate the other person so we can also have it. The commandment of "do not covet" (לא תחמד) is in the active voice. Coveting goes beyond a brief longing for something we lack. It is a brooding, festering, and active perpetuation of the negative emotions that eventually lead to something worse. Not only does envy harm others, but it makes people cut off their noses in spite of their faces, and that is not a good look for anybody.

Parsha Devarim: It's Not a Matter of Whether to Rebuke, but How

Moses did much for the Jewish people. Not only did he help free the Israelites from slavery, but he led them through the desert for forty years. By the beginning of Deuteronomy (in this week's Torah portion, Devarim), we have reached the point in the text where Moses is not long for this world. How does Moses decide to spend the end of his life? Dispensing some not-so-old-fashioned Jewish guilt:

דבר משה אל בני ישראל ככל אשר צוה הי אתו אלהם.

-Moses spoke to the children of Israel, according to all that G-d commanded to them. -Deuteronomy 1:3

According to Rashi, Moses' words at the beginning of Deuteronomy are words of rebuke. Moses starts his long speech after having defeated Sichon and Og in battle (Deuteronomy 1:4). Why after this battle? Because had it been before, he would have been accused of ulterior motives. Since it was done after, his rebuke is a sign of rededication (Sifrei, cited by Rashi). The first important lesson is that timing is everything. Had Moses rebuked before defeating Sichon and Og, his words would have not been taken seriously. Rashi's commentary implies that finding the opportune moment has the potential to affect the outcome of whether the rebuke is heeded (ibid.). 

Going back to Deuteronomy 1:1, we see a list of places. According to the Sifre, the landmarks listed are not places where Moses spoke his final words of rebuke. Rather, they are a list of sins in the form of allusion. "In the desert" refers to when the Israelites complained in Exodus 17:3. "In the Aravah (Plain)" refers to worshipping Ba'al (Numbers 25). "Opposite Suf" is in reference to when the Israelites made trouble by the Sea of Reeds (Exodus 14:11), and "Paran" is regarding the sin of the spies (Numbers 13). There are others, but you get the idea: Moses did not call out the sins by name. He used euphemisms to soften the blow. Why? Because Moses knew his audience, and the content of the rebuke mattered. If he would have said, "What's wrong with you people for committing all these sins? G-d is going to punish you for your stupidity and insolence," odds are that the Israelites would have ignored Moses. If this were Moses' approach, it would have been better to have not said anything because as the Talmud states (Yevamot 65b), "it is a mitzvah to refrain from saying something which will not be listened." Just as important, the content matters because it is important to preserve the honor of those being rebuked (R. Chaim Shmuelevitz).

In Deuteronomy 1:5, Moses began his words of rebuke in the land of Moab. According to Rashi's commentary (1:5), this is when Moses translated his words of rebuke in 70 languages. This is based on the assumption from the Haggadah that the world is made of 70 languages. What this implies is that Moses translated the Torah so everyone had linguistic access. Rashi's commentary teaches us that Moses went through this translation work to make sure that the rebuke is unambiguously understandable. 

Finally, if you are going to rebuke, do it out of love. It is no accident that the command to rebuke (Leviticus 19:17) is juxtaposed with the commandment to love one's neighbor as oneself in lieu of taking vengeance or holding a grudge (Leviticus 19:18). Since juxtaposition is a standard hermeneutical tool in Judaism, one could infer that either rebuke leads to love and/or that rebuke should be done with love. As the Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 54:3) states, "love unaccompanied by criticism is not love." 

This message about "criticism without love" is very important during the Nine Days. It is commonly taught that the Second Temple fell because of baseless hatred. R. Jonatan Eibeschitz expounded upon the Talmud by saying that the baseless hatred was manifested by a lack of people rebuking. For Eibeschitz, it was not an active hatred that caused the destruction of the Second Temple, but rather the apathy. 

We learn a few things here. Rebuke is not meant to be a sign of hate or disgust, but one of love. The second is that when we rebuke, what we say, how we say it, when and where we say it are all important. If Moses had not been more careful, it could have meant destabilizing the Jewish people to the point of non-existence, which could have had major ramifications for the development of humankind. Fortunately, he was aware of how to rebuke, which also explains why the end of Moses' speech a few Torah portions later ends on a high note, further illustrating the importance of content. Jewish tradition does not teach us to unconditionally accept people for who they are. To err is the human condition, and there are times where we need redirection. What's the moral of the story? When we do point out others' flaws, we do so lovingly and with considerable sensitivity. We might not have the political standing that Moses had, but our words nevertheless have power. By using our words to build up rather than tear down, we can reverse the damage caused centuries ago and bring about an era of peace in our times. 

Parsha Toldot: Why Was Isaac Blind, and What Does That Have to Do With Family or Authentic Living?

As someone who loves studying languages, it's always interesting to learn the meaning of words because the same word can have multiple meanings. That is how the phrase "double entendre" (French for the words "double" and "to understand") came to being. With a double entendre, a word can have an obvious meaning and a less obvious meaning. We have a double entendre of sorts in this week's Torah portion with the name of the Torah portion itself: Toldot (תולדות). In Hebrew, the word primarily means "progeny" (children), but it can also mean "history".

I want to get into the word play and how the word means both "progeny" and "history," but first, I need to answer a seemingly tangential question: why was Isaac blind (Genesis 27:1)? There are a few explanations. For the Rashbam, it was a result of Isaac getting older. One of Rashi's theories is that the smoke that Esau's wives were burning for their idolatrous incense got into Isaac's eyes.

There is a Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 65:10) that actually comes up with an explanation, one I find compelling for the purposes of this insight. When Isaac was on the altar for the Akeidah (binding of Isaac), Isaac took a glimpse at the light of Heaven when the angel appeared in order to save Isaac's life. This blinding light, according to the Midrash, caused Isaac to never be able to see clearly again. As a result, Isaac could not see or recognize that Jacob was clearly lying to him, nor could he see that Esau was unworthy of receiving Isaac's blessing.

Isaac was not the only one that experienced some form of blindness. His father, Abraham, dealt with his own form of blindness. As the story goes, Abraham is about ready to sacrifice his son, an angel comes down to stop him (Genesis 22:12). A verse later, Abraham sees a ram enmeshed in a thicket and subsequently sacrifices a ram (Genesis 22:13). This brings up a question of at what point the ram became enmeshed in the thicket. If it was before Abraham and Isaac went up to the mountain, then Abraham did not see the ram when he initially descended or up until that moment in Genesis 22:12. If it was when Abraham was preparing his son for the sacrifice, again, he did not notice a ram coming up the mountain to get enmeshed. Regardless of when the ram showed up on the scene, there was at least a moment in which Abraham did not notice the ram. Abraham was so focused on following G-d's word that he did not notice the ram. Perhaps the ram represents an alternative to sacrificing his son, an alternative that he saw at the last possible second.

While Abraham ultimately did the right thing by sacrificing the ram (Genesis 22:16-17), his metaphorical blindness nearly killed his own son. The moment of the Akeida was a nexus for both of their blindness. Abraham's blindness might have been temporary, but it was nevertheless able to impact Isaac for years to come, at least according to this Midrash.

This is the part where I bring it back to the word תולדות. The Midrash teaches us how much of an impact our parents have on us, hence the English meaning of "children." Children are primarily influenced by nature and nurture. Parents play a major role in both. Parents pass on their genes to their children. Parents are also the single largest influence on an individual. Perhaps this is why when Abraham was making his journey to Canaan, the verse said that he left "the home of his father, his community, his country (Genesis 12:1)." It's because family influences us even more than community or country.

Yes, it is true how much influence family can have over, but we are more than just our upbringing or our genetics. The Zohar attributed a different character trait to each of the Patriarchs: kindness (חסד) for Abraham, strength (גבורה) for Isaac, and beauty (תפארת) for Jacob. This implies that in spite of familial traits or impact, you can and should make our own destiny and have our own personality. Although we are greatly influenced by family, we are ultimately and inevitably not a continuation of our family. We have the power to be our own person.

The Chassidic tale of Rabbi Zusha of Hanipol, a 18th-century rabbi, emphasizes this point of "be your own person" greatly. Essentially, R. Zusha is on his death bed crying. His disciples are wondering why he is in tears since the Rabbi did so many mitzvahs. His reply was the following. When he gets to Heaven, G-d will ask why R. Zusha wasn't as kind as Abraham or as wise as Moses, to which his reply would be "Well, I'm not Abraham or Moses." However, when asked "Why weren't you more like R. Zusha?," R. Zusha had no answer. What ultimately scared him was a lack of authentic living, an inability to make his own history.

To tie it all together, this is the double meaning and lesson of the word "Toldot". On the one hand, we are to remember where we came from. After all, it is how we came into being and why we are the way we are. At the same time, we are meant to be our own individual and to do so authentically. Pirke Avot (4:1) teaches us that a wise person is one that learns from every one. Let us learn from R. Zusha, as well as the Patriarchs Abraham and Isaac, and create a life that is both Jewish and authentic to ourselves.

Parsha Nitzavim: G-d Is Not a Fan of Self-Delusion or Hypocrisy

"Above all else, do not lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he cannot distinguish the truth within him or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and others. And having no respect, he ceases to love." Fyodor Dostoyevsky uttered these wise words in the Brothers Karamazov. Not only that, they are directly related to this week's Torah portion. What we see in this week's Torah portion is a renewal of the covenant between G-d and the people Israel (Deuteronomy 29). The passage shows that those who commit idolatry while taking this covenant are punished (Deuteronomy 29:15-18). However, when looking at the passage, we see a specific type of idolatry come to surface:

והיה בשמעו את דברי האלה הזאת, והתברך בלבבו לאמר שלום יהיה לי כי בשררות לבי, אלך: למען ספות הרוה, את הצמאה

"And it comes to pass, when you hear the words of this curse, that he blesses himself in his heart, saying "I shall have peace, though I walk in the stubbornness of my heart--that the watered be swept away with the dry." -Deuteronomy 29:18

At first glance, this verse is enigmatic. Some context helps. This passage refers to those who lived in particularly idolatrous lands (e.g., Egypt, Canaan) and are still tempted to commit idolatry, even after seeing G-d's wonders. In the verse beforehand (29:17), this particular individual is described with the metaphor of a poisonous root (ראש) or wormwood (לענה). Looking at other biblical passages, this metaphor refers to an individual who does one thing and says another.

With this bitterness and confusion [from these plants], the next verse (29:18) has the blessing in which the individual blesses themselves. The Chofetz Chaim was one to say that this type of idolator was particularly problematic because the rules don't apply to him, and because he made a whole set of rules that directly oppose what the Torah has to say. Since it has become a way of life, this unadulterated selfishness will not be acted upon merely one time. Ramban elucidates by saying that each time this individual sins, he feels the need to up the ante in order to chase a greater thrill. The passage of "the watered be swept away with the dry" could also mean that either the individual will be swept away entirely, or that his actions will be so all-encompassing that they will wipe out the Jewish people (JPS).

As R. Neil Loevinger points out, these interpretations have a commonality: the one committing the sin is oblivious the consequences of their actions. The fact that the dissident/idolater here is blessing themselves (והתברך), i.e., in the reflexive, captures the mindset. R. Aryeh Kaplan goes as far as interpreting the word והתברך as "rationalizing." Not only will no harm come to them, but duplicitously and insincerely taking on the Covenant will actually benefit them since they can hide behind the veil of self-righteousness. How often do you come across someone who thinks they can get away with something because they won't get caught? Whether it is the deceit, disregard for societal norms, mistaken ideas, naïveté, and self-delusion that the rules do not apply because "I am special" that makes this individual dangerous. The good news here is that such behavior is not an inevitability. 

Reading this passage before Rosh Hashanah helps us put perspective on our own behavior. "Did we do all we could?" "Are my goals and priorities properly aligned?" "Did I convince myself was something was right, even though deep down I knew that it was wrong?" "Did we commit improper acts while finding all sorts of rationalization for our behavior?" This is some of the questions we can ask ourselves in preparation for the High Holy Days. Fortunately, we can recognize our mistakes, make our apologies, correct what we can, and lead a more G-dly life. As this week's Torah portion ends, we can choose life over death, and the ability to make that choice is well within our grasp (Deuteronomy 30:11). 

Parsha Re'eh: A Spiritual Life Lesson on Judaism's Prohibition of Mixing Meat and Dairy

Food plays such a major role in our lives. We eat three meals a day, not to mention food is a great way to bring people together. What we don't eat almost says as much as what we do eat. Some decide to cut out carbohydrates (Atkins). Others decide to cut out meat (vegetarian) or go as far as not eating animal products (vegan). Why people make these dietary decisions ranges from health to moral reasons. In this week's Torah portion, we come across a particular form of food to cut out of the Jewish diet:

לא תבשל גדי בחלב אמו.

Do not cook a kid (baby goat) in its mother's milk. -Deuteronomy 14:21

Although the verse itself only mentions a goat, the Rabbis interpreted this verse to prohibit cooking, eating, and benefiting from a mixture of meat and dairy (also see Exodus 23:19, 34:26). That means no chicken parmesan or no cheeseburgers. What lesson is G-d trying to teach us in this prohibition? Some believe that Jewish dietary laws fall under the category of חק (chok), that which does not have an explanation or reason to it. Much like Rambam (Maimonides), I don't believe that G-d created these laws without reason. I believe that Judaism provides us with the opportunity to elevate the mundane into the holy. I also believe that we are what we eat, a concept I detail while analyzing the Jewish prohibition on pork and the Jewish decree that fish need to have fins and scales in order to be consumed. This makes sense considering that earlier in Deuteronomy 14:21, G-d gives us these laws because "the Jews are a holy people."  Bringing it back to the initial question: what exactly about not mixing meat and dairy is holy? There are a few explanations in Jewish tradition:

1. A choice between life and death. Milk represents life, and meat represents death. Perhaps the purpose of tradition is teach us the importance of distinction and functionality in order that we a) are conscientious of what leads us towards life and towards death, and b) that we choose life so we may live (Deuteronomy 30:19). 
2. Against animal cruelty and human cruelty. R. Abraham ibn Izra said that mixing a kid with its mother's milk implies extreme barbarism. R. Abraham Joshua Heschel said that "How ungrateful and callous we would be to take the child of an animal to whom we are so indebted and cook it in the very milk which nourishes us and is given to us so freely by its mother." If we are supposed to consider animal cruelty as a part of our spiritual practice, we are a fortiori all the more obligated to make sure we are not cruel towards our fellow human beings.
3. The animalistic versus the spiritual side of life. R. Samson Hirsch takes the dichotomy between meat and dairy in a different direction. For R. Hirsch, meat represents the animal portion of life, i.e., reproduction and sexual activity. Milk is the nourishment that supports new life. While these are actions that are natural, we should learn to differentiate between our activities and makes sure they are channeled toward the service of G-d. R. Hirsch saw the prohibition on this mixture as an embodiment of Jewish holiness (R. Hirsch on Exodus 23:19).
4. Idolatry. In his text Guide for the Perplexed (III, xlviii), Rambam suggests that cooking a kid in its mother's milk was an idolatrous practice in the days of yore, hence the prohibition. The only flaw with this argument is that no such rite is known. 
5. Gluttony. The verses that refer to the prohibition of such a mixture use the goat as the example. I was thinking to myself, "What makes the goat special in this context?" I was reading in the Sonchino Chumash that goats are rich in milk. Taking that reality to the next level, the abundance of milk that the goat produced could be seen as a metaphor for gluttony (Rashbam). 

Although it might not seem probable, I can actually tie together these interpretations. I have brought up this point up before, but idolatry is when you take G-d out of the equation and worship something else. In the case of not mixing meat and dairy, the idolatry that this mixture is supposed to represent is gluttony. Gluttony is a form of worshiping the self, one's animalistic desires. This is not to say we should never take ourselves into consideration because there is room for self-care and worrying about oneself. At the same time, when it is only about the self and it is at the expense of other people (and as this passage teaches, at the expense of animals), we lose sight of our humanity, much like we saw with Sodom.

As human beings, we are so much more than unadulterated selfishness or a life of straight-up hedonism. What separates us from the animals is our ability to discern. We can choose between right and wrong. We can choose to be cruel or kind. We can choose to give into our most animalistic of urges or we can channel it towards something higher. The prohibition is more than some seemingly arbitrary dietary rule to make another facet of life more difficult. It is a reminder of a Jew's higher purpose. Judaism teaches us enjoy the pleasures of this world, but not overdoing it. This prohibition is a reminder to be kind instead of cruel. In short, a Jew's calling is to choose life. Amazing what spiritual lessons not eating a cheeseburger can teach!

Parsha Shelach: Challah--The Greatest Mitzvah Since Sliced Bread

For many cultures over time, bread has been a simple, cheap, and versatile food: pita, baguettes, naan, tortillas, sourdough, ciabatta. Bread also plays a role in Jewish culture and religion, most notably in the form of challah (חלה). Challah is a braided egg bread that is eaten on Shabbat and Jewish holidays. Challah plays such an important role that it is actually a mitzvah in this week's Torah portion:

ראשית ערסתכם חלה, תרימו כתרומת גרן כן תרימו אתה.

-Of the first of your dough, you shall separate a part as a gift, as that which is set apart from the threshing-floor, so you shall set it apart. -Leviticus 15:20

Yes, challah in today's vernacular refers to a loaf of bread. However, when you look at the entire passage about the challah (Leviticus 15:18-21) in the Torah, it refers to that set-aside portion of bread that is tithed at the Temple. We no longer have a Temple, so what significance does this challah have for us today?

One argument is that during the biblical era, the priests (Kohanim) did not receive a salary, and the rest of the Jewish people provided the Kohanim with food. We could certainly apply this sense of communal responsibility to the twenty-first century. However, I think there is more going on here.

Something I noticed about the text is that the mitzvah of challah is next to the admonishment for committing idolatry. Juxtaposition is, after all, a standard hermeneutical tool in Jewish interpretation. Rashi used it to explain the mitzvah of the nazarite. The Mishnaic rabbis used it to derive the 39 acts of work one does not perform on Shabbat. What is the connection between challah and idolatry?

The etymology of the word חלה is debated. One theory is that the word חלה is related to the word חל, which means "ordinary" or "mundane" (as opposed to "holy"). In his book "Meaning in Mitzvot," R. Asher Meir explains that when we first encounter the mitzvah of challah in the Torah, there is no mention of it being given away to the Kohanim. That comes later [in Leviticus 18:12]. R. Meir points out that "the first, primary part of our daily bread should be separated and elevated to G-d." R. Meir continues to say that the mitzvah is intended for us because we need to remind ourselves that "everything has a connection to holiness, some aspect which can transcend our mundane needs and be devoted to G-d." What does this have to do with idolatry?

Idolatry is more than mere prostration in front of a statue. As I have explained before, idolatry is when we take G-d out of the equation and worship something else, whether it is money, work, our desires, or our ego. By worshipping something else, it takes us away from our spiritual purpose: to elevate the mundane into something holy.

This can give use elucidation as to why is bread the highest blessing (bracha) on the Jewish food blessing hierarchy. Here are alternative explanations as to why G-d decided to make bread a mitzvah:

• We see a very similar lesson with the tithing of the first fruits (Deuteronomy 26) as we do with challah: the motif of gratitude. Jews are literally a people of blessing. One of the Hebrew words for "Jew" (יהודי) has the same root as the Hebrew verb "to thank" (להודות). Multiple steps within the supply chain symbolize the multiple opportunities we thank those who made the bread production possible. 
• Bread is also not an expensive product, which symbolizes the fact that G-d and spirituality are accessible to everyone, regardless of socio-economic status.
• Most importantly, it puts time into perspective. Looking in the past, Midrash (Breishit Rabbah 1) says that G-d created the world in merit of three things, and one of things was challah. As already established, challah can bring us to the present. Challah can also be linked to the future because some rabbis argue that the bracha over bread refers to the fact that G-d will bring forth those grains in the future. Plus, Jewish tradition connects Shabbat with the Messianic era. 

Based on these interpretations, we see that G-d gives us the power to be more than mere animals: He gave us the ability to elevate the mundane to the holy. G-d also gave us a way to experience a food that could connect us to the past, present, and future at same time. Let us use that power to experience challah the way the good Lord intended!

Parsha Bo - Note to Pharaoh: A Little Humility Goes a Long Way

"I was wrong" are some of the most difficult words one could utter. They shutter the disillusion that we, as humans, could be perfect. Making a mistake can leave us vulnerable and feeling insufficient. Realizing that "to err is human" can make us realize that we do not have as much control over our lives as we once thought. Very few exemplify this than the Pharaoh in this week's Torah portion of Parsha Bo (Exodus 10:1-13:16). In last week's Parsha, we finished up the first seven plagues. Moses and Aaron approach the Pharaoh to ask that iconic request of "Let my people go." During that interlude with the Pharaoh, Moses said the following to Pharaoh:

כה אמר הי אלהי העברים עד מתי מאנת לענות מפני שלח עמי ויעבדני.

"So said G-d, the G-d of the Hebrews, 'Until when will you refuse to be humbled before Me? Send out My people that they may serve Me!" -Exodus 10:3

When looking at the text, Rashi picks up on the Hebrew word לענות (to be humbled). He thought it meant "to be afflicted," (see Exodus 22:21), but concluded that it means "to be humbled." The Hebrew לענות has the same root as the word עני (poor person). Rashi concluded that it did not mean "to be afflicted." Rashi tells us to look at the previous plague of hail. G-d gives the Egyptians a way out of the plague without having to even free the Israelites: go inside (Exodus 9:19-20). Those who heeded G-d's word were spared, and those who were defiant were afflicted. For Rashi, the question asked in Exodus 10:3 is asked at this moment to remind us that G-d ultimately wanted to humble the Pharaoh and the Egyptians. 

I'm not sold on the idea that the question was asked at this time because G-d's sole intent was to humble the Pharaoh, but it does bring up an important point about humility. In order to accept G-d, it takes humility. Even in a completely secular or humanistic context, it is very difficult (if not downright impossible) to see the truth if you think you are always right and can never do any wrong. That is the crux of R. Bachya's commentary on this passage. Pharaoh was so haughty that he could not utter the words "I was wrong." By continuing to harden his own heart (see my commentary on what it meant to have Pharaoh's heart hardened), Pharaoh continued to stroke his own ego and assumed that he was right about everything. He dug his heels in so deeply that it ended up devastating his country, wiping out his army, and costing him his own life by the end of the Exodus story.

Because the Pharaoh could not humble himself, he paid a steep price. How we can learn from the Pharaoh's mistake is asking ourselves what it means to be humble. Yes, the verb "to humble" shares a root with עני (poor person). At the same time, we have to be reminded that Moses was considered to be ענב מאד, or "very humble" (Numbers 12:3). It brings us a lesson in what constructive humility looks like, and it's not meekness. After all, Moses led a group of Israelites through the desert and stood up to G-d at least twice in the Torah. Humility was about understanding one's place and where they fit. As R. Jonathan Sacks points out, humility is about honoring others: "it does not mean holding yourself low; it means holding others high." Moses understood the concept of humility well, but  Pharaoh was oblivious. There was so much evidence in front of him that there was someone more powerful, and he could not see past his ego. 

Truth was an elusive concept for Pharaoh, and that is what happens when we cannot admit or utter the words "I don't know," "I can't," or "I screwed up." If you cannot see your errors, you cannot see truth. By being incapable of seeing this truth, you cannot repent and work on yourself to grow as a person. Pharaoh was so oblivious that he could not recognize that G-d controlled the very air that Pharaoh needed to breathe (Sforno on Exodus 10:3). Pharaoh is the personification of arrogance, and his demise is a literary device as to what happens when cannot make any space to admit we were wrong or that we can grow. As Moses and Abraham teach us, we are not meant to be doormats. At the same time, we are not meant to get so caught up in ourselves that we think are immune from error. When can we become humble? As Pirkei Avot (1:14) asks, if not now, when? Our ability to be humble can start now by learning what not to do from the Pharaoh's example. We can ask ourselves how we can hold ourselves in high regard while still holding others in high regard. That way, we don't have to repeat the fate of Pharaoh by drowning in a sea of hubris. 

Parsha Vayetze: Two Wrongs Don't Make a Right, Especially in Business Transactions

When looking at the Torah, Jacob had a very interesting life story. He starts out as fighting with his brother, Esau, in the womb (Genesis 25:26). When he grows up, he tricks Esau into giving Jacob his birthright for lentil soup (25:34). Jacob then tricks his father, Isaac, the blessing of the first-born (27:34-40). Jacob eventually has to flee his homeland because he screwed over his brother twice. He then works for his future father-in-law, Laban. Laban promises Jacob to have Rachel's hand in marriage if Jacob works for Laban for seven years. Laban pulls off a bait-and-switch by having Jacob marry his other daughter, Leah. Laban then convinces Jacob to work for Laban for another seven years. Amazingly enough, Jacob works for Laban for an extra six years (31:41). During this twenty-year period, Jacob did not receive a raise. He had his wages lowered a hundred times (31:42)! As I pointed out in a blog entry seven years ago, Jacob had every right to be angry for Laban's mistreatment of Jacob. He could have harmed Laban because Laban exploited Jacob for two decades of his life. Jacob's response is interesting. He didn't kill Laban or steal from him. Jacob rebuked Laban. What is interesting about the rebuke is not simply the fact that Jacob did not become blind with rage, but also the content of the rebuke:

Jacob spoke and said to Laban, "What is my transgression? What is my sin that you have hotly pursued me?.... These twenty years I have been with you, your ewes and she-goats never miscarried, nor did I ear rams of your flock. That which was mangled I never brought you. I myself would bear the loss, from me you would exact it, whether it was stolen by day or stolen by night. This is how I was: By day scorching heat consumed me, and frost by night; my sleep drifted from my eyes. 

-Genesis 31:36, 38-40

Laban had accused Jacob of stealing a few verses earlier, but his accusation was ultimately unjustified (Haamek Davar). Jacob unsurprisingly felt a sense of moral indignation. He recalled his hardship under Laban's service while pointing out something important: Jacob never slighted Laban in his business dealings. For one, Laban would have figured out that Jacob was being dishonest because it would not have been possible to have done so over a twenty-year period (Or HaChaim). It was not simply a matter that Jacob did not slight Laban during this period. It is also that he performed at his best for Laban. Jacob made sure the sheep had enough water and pasture so that miscarriages did not happen (Rashbam on Genesis 31:38). Jacob was so exemplary that he made sure the flocks were never attacked (R' Bachya on Genesis 31:38) and Jacob provided restitution even when he was not at fault (Sforno on Genesis 31:39). 

In the Talmud (Shabbat 31a), it states that when people die and are brought before the Heavenly Court, the first question that G-d will ask of us is whether we were honest in our business dealings. This is how important business ethics are to G-d, and fortunately for us, Jacob provides us a good example of how we should behave on the job. If there are legitimate grievances, they need to be addressed. I think that Jacob addressed them a tad too late, but that's why I said Jacob is a good example and not a perfect one. On the other hand, we still make sure we do our best when we are responsible for others' belongings and business. Jacob's example is great because it is two-fold. One, he did not steal or defraud his employer. Two, he made sure that the business ran to the best of Jacob's ability, even when it was at Jacob's expense. And given that Near Easter law custom absolved Jacob from taking responsibility in the case of a force majeure (JPS Commentary), Jacob's behavior is all the more exemplary. May we strive to be as honest and upright as Jacob was in his business dealings!     

Parsha Vayera: Abraham's Argument About Sodom and Building a Relationship with G-d

Sometimes it seems difficult to have a relationship with G-d. One reason has to do with the very nature of G-d. After all, G-d is Infinite, Transcendent Oneness. In that respect, G-d is completely other. At least from a Jewish standpoint, mysticism is an attempt to bridge that gap and understand that which is incomprehensible. Fortunately, we don't have to go towards something as esoteric or abstract as mysticism. We can simply take a look at this week's Torah portion. In this week's Torah portion, we see an exchange between Abraham and G-d about the fate of Sodom (Genesis 18:17-33). This is the famous scene where G-d announces that He is going to destroy Sodom and Gomarrah. Abraham pleads with G-d to save the cities for the sake of the righteous. Abraham is able to successfully bargain with G-d and asks that G-d save the cities provided there are ten righteous men. G-d agrees, but as the story goes, the cities are ultimately destroyed since there are not even ten righteous men.

What I find interesting about this passage it that provides some guidance for how to have a relationship with G-d. Since G-d is this powerful, all-knowing being, He is clearly higher in the hierarchy. In that respect, G-d sets the tone for how to have a relationship with Him. G-d allows for us to have a relationship with Him, and we see that from this passage. How so? For one, G-d wonders if He should hide the announcement of destroying Sodom from Abraham (Genesis 18:17). G-d is not asking for Abraham's input or assumes that it would influence divine judgement. Nevertheless, G-d expresses concern about Abraham's opinion and whether He should let Abraham know. This concern implies that Abraham's potential reaction could have longer-term implications for their relationship.

The second point is that G-d "goes down to Sodom" (Genesis 18:20) before formally rendering a verdict. Rashi teaches that G-d did not literally ascend because G-d is not only omnipresent, but He is all-knowing. Rather, it is to teach us that a judge must not give a verdict in a court case without examining the evidence. If Abraham is expected to behave justly and righteously, Abraham needs to see that behavior exhibited by G-d. It is at this point in the story that G-d is setting the tone for a more profound relationship between Him and Abraham. Once we see G-d opening the door, we see Abraham walk through and give us a few pointers on how to interact with G-d:

1. Abraham was "but dust and ashes" (Genesis 18:27). Humility is a recurring theme throughout the Hebrew Scriptures (Tanach), and this verse illustrates Abraham's humility. The prophet Micah (6:8) teaches us what G-d requires from us, and it's not sacrifices. G-d teaches that we should act justly, love mercy, and finally, walk humbly with G-d. We see Abraham walk humbly with G-d when he refers to himself as "dust and ashes." 
2. Abraham remained standing before G-d (Genesis 18:22). How could Abraham be humble and remain standing before G-d?  In a religion such as Islam, practitioners are prostrated before G-d to act humbly. Not so in Judaism. R. Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, an 18th-century Hasidic rabbi, attempts to resolve the paradox. He taught that we should carry two notes in our pockets. The first should be the aforementioned verse from Genesis 18:27: "I am but dust and ashes." The second should say "For my sake was the universe created" (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5). Remember, Moses was "very humble," but his humility did not stop him from leading the Jewish people. It was a necessary component. It reminds us that humility is not about being weak or meek, but rather about having a balanced and accurate understanding of the self. It is with that humility that Abraham remains standing before G-d. 
3. G-d wants us to argue and be engaged (Genesis 18:23-32). The fact that Abraham has this argument with G-d says a lot. One is that Abraham should be engaged with the process. The fact that Abraham was able to negotiate with G-d, and get the number of required righteous people down from 50 to 10 says a lot about the process. It is not as if Abraham was going to let the people of Sodom and Gomorrah completely off the hook. He stopped at ten, which shows how we have give and take in any relationship, including that with G-d. 
4. Our definition of justice goes beyond what happens in the home (Genesis 18:24). The passage asks if there are 50 righteous in "the midst of the city" (בתוך העיר). This phrase teaches us that righteousness is not about what we do privately, but how we treat others publicly. Furthermore, righteousness is still a standard to abide by, regardless of the environment (Artscroll). 
5. We are to intercede for others, regardless of their shortcomings (Genesis 18:23-24). How those of Sodom behaved was the antithesis of Abraham. Sodom sinned because they were prideful and did not care for the poor or needy (Ezekiel 16:48-49). Abraham was the opposite of Sodom. Nevertheless, he negotiated with G-d on their behalf. This shows the vigor and tenacity that we should argue with G-d (R. Avigdor Miller).

In a sense, our relationship with G-d is to be one of balance. We take into account the idea of justice, as well as love, thereby creating mercy. We are to balance our inferiority to G-d while acknowledging that we are still created in His Image. We are to argue with G-d, but there is still a point that even after the arguing and negotiating, that one eventually accepts. If this exchange is to remind us of anything, it is that building a relationship with G-d is complicated. We might not completely accept or agree with what is to happen or does happen, but it does not mean we cannot develop a meaningful relationship with G-d. It just means it's not as straightforward as some would like to think.  

Parsha Noach: Was Noah Really All That Righteous?

It's all relative. The intuition behind that idiom is that something may or may not be what it seems depending on what that something is being compared to. I think that goes for people, as well. Someone like Thomas Jefferson was considered enlightened for his time. However, we would not consider his views on slavery enlightened for a 21st-century, democratic society. We actually see this notion play out in this week's Torah portion with Noah:

נח איש צדיק תמים היה, בדרתיו. את האלהים התהלך נח.

Noah was a righteous and whole-hearted man in his generation; Noah walked with G-d. - Genesis 6:9

This passage in Genesis calls Noah a righteous man (צדיק). The word צדיק is not thrown around lightly in Judaism. Think of it as analogous to the "one percenters" of Jewish spirituality. Noach was righteous enough where he and his family were the only ones on the planet spared from the Flood.  Noah is also referred to as תמים (whole-hearted). The word תמים can also mean unblemished or simple, which brings up some ambiguity. The word תמים, however, is generally viewed in a positive light in this verse (also see Psalms 15 and 101:6). You would think that Noah's status is unblemished and beyond reproach. However, there is a clarifier that casts doubt on Noah's righteousness: "in his generation" (בדרתיו). This caveat is so important that it caused a debate amongst the rabbis.

The phrase בדרתיו can be used to argue either in favor of or against Noah. One can argue that because Noah prevailed in such a corrupt society, Noah would have been, a fortiori, even greater had he lived in another generation (Rashi; Resh Lakish in Talmud, Sanhedrin 108a). On the other hand, one could argue that only by comparison to the rest of his generation was Noah righteous. Another way to say this: If Noah had lived in another generation, he would not have been considered righteous (Ramban). Which one is it? Was Noah adequately righteous or was his righteousness merely relative to his contemporaries?

One can argue that being average in absolute terms during such a time of such depravity is precisely why Noah is referred to as righteous. This is why R. Eliyahu Kitov argued that the righteous of each generation ought to be judged in the terms of their own time (Sefer HaParshiyos). Even so, this solidified why I am inclined to believe that Noah's righteousness was relative for three reasons. One is that Noah walked with G-d. As Rashi points out, walking with G-d meant that Noah needed G-d's support to spiritually advance. Conversely, Abraham walked in front of G-d (Genesis 17:1), meaning that Abraham's righteousness was good unto itself. The second reason for thinking his righteousness was relative was how Noah reacted after the Flood. My take on Noah post-Flood is that he was dealing with a combination of PTSD and coming off a spiritual high. Noah built the ark and survived the Flood. His mission was complete. He ended up building a vineyard (Genesis 9:20), getting drunk (Genesis 9:21), and according to the Talmud (Sanhedrin 70a), was either castrated or sodomized by his son. Noah fell low enough where his sons were ashamed to look at him (Genesis 9:23). Needless to say, Noah did not handle his emotions well post-Flood. If Noah were that righteous, he would not have faltered the way he did.

The third reason is even more intriguing: Noah did not protest G-d's verdict nor did he attempt to save his contemporaries, which is contrasting to Abraham's response to Sodom and Gomorra. This reason is implied in the Talmud (Shabbat 55a) and explicitly stated in the Zohar (Zohar Mashatot, Bereshit 254b). According to the Zohar, Noah did not attempt to save a single person or beg G-d to change His verdict. The Hebrew for Noah (נח) has the same root for the word "comfortable" (נוח). While it is true that Noah did not harm others and he was able to withstand corruptive influences of his generation, he did not do good towards others. This is why in the Zohar, G-d calls Noah a "foolish shepherd." He receded into his comfort zone. In terms of individual responsibility, Noah was fine. As for collective responsibility, Noah did nothing to contribute to the betterment of mankind. The Golden Rule is important and vital. It creates a basic respect for humankind. However, that is not all we are here to do. Certainly from a Jewish point of view, a spiritual vocation does not mean isolation or a monastic lifestyle. It means contributing to the world so that it is better than when you found it. This lack of responsibility towards others is why Noah's righteousness comes with a big caveat. If we want to avoid the downfall of Noah, the righteousness we express through our thoughts, words, and deeds cannot be in isolation and cannot be done strictly for our own benefit. We need to help others, and by doing so, can we truly live a life towards righteousness.

Parsha Shelach: The Spiritual Fringe Benefits of Wearing Tzitzit Are in the Details

"Clothes mean nothing until someone lives in them." Marc Jacobs might be a gay, non-observant Jewish fashion designer, but he has a point, and not just about clothing in general. When we wear clothing, we make a statement of ourselves. Clothing becomes an external manifestation of our personality. It also has the potential to express not just who we are, but what we stand for. It is a phenomenon that we see in this week's Torah portion:

"Speak to the children of Israel and you shall tell them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments, throughout their generations, and they shall make a thread of sky blue on the fringe of each corner. These shall be fringes for you, and when you look at them, you will remember all of G-d's commands to perform them. And you shall not wander after your hearts and after your eyes which you are going astray. You shall remember all my commandments and be holy to your G-d. I am the L-rd your G-d who took you out of the land of Egypt to be your G-d. I am the L-rd, your G-d." -Numbers 15:38-41

This lengthy passage, which also happens to be the third paragraph of the Shema, describes the mitzvah of wearing fringes, or tzitzit (ציצית), on one's garment. If clothes mean nothing until someone lives in them, then what does wearing tzitzit mean when a Jew wears them?

The biblical verse itself already gives an answer: to remember the commandments. I'm not here to diminish that response because a) it is straight from the Torah, and b) it is correct. However, rabbinic commentary provides further insight. Menachot 43b went as far as saying that performing the mitzvah of tzitzit is as if one performed all the mitzvahs. Why? Because seeing leads to remembering, and remembering is supposed to ultimately lead to doing. 

This leads into the Talmudic passage in the next folio in Menachot 44a. A Jewish man was going to consort with a well-known, non-Jewish harlot for a hefty price. Before they engaged in sexual congress, the tzitzit slapped him in the face. The tzitzit were such a strong reminder that the man did not go through with it. More to the point, the harlot was so impressed that she herself ended up converting to Judaism. Even if the slap in the face was a metaphorical one, it still illustrates the power of how seeing invokes memory and subsequent action. The idea of memory would also explain why this passage is in the Shema and why the passage has a reminder to remember the Exodus at the end. As R. Baruch Epstein points out, it is not enough to remember: we also have to act. If the tzitzit do not prompt us to act, then they have not had the full effect.

The saying goes that the devil is in the details. Personally, I prefer to say that G-d is in the details, but it's the same general idea: details provide deeper insight. The particulars of the mitzvah of tzitzit also bring up a few follow-up questions that lead to that deeper insight:

• Why are there 39 windings? To make the tzitzit, you have to wind the thread in order to create the tzitzit. In Ashkenazic tradition, the number of windings is 39 (see below). Why the breakdown of 7-8-11-13? Seven stands for the seven days of Creation. Eight stands for the number of transcendence that goes beyond nature. Eleven is for the Hebrew letters ו-ה under Jewish numerology (gematria), which also are the last two letters of G-d's name in the Tetragrammaton. Thirteen represents for the gematria of אחד, or the Hebrew word for "one," which represents G-d's Oneness (R. Aryeh Kaplan).

• Why are the threads loose? The loose threads are like the unwoven portion of the tallit (prayer shawl). They represent the incompleteness in G-d's metaphorical garment, an incompleteness that unwoven part that man is supposed to complete (R. Meir Simcha of Dvinsk). I actually have an alternative response. When looking at an individual mitzvah (which is represented by a loose tzitzit thread), it seems isolated or inexplicable. In reality, the mitzvot are tied together to the greater purpose of serving G-d, much like the loose threads are tied together as one entity. 
• Why are there 8 threads? During Passover, we sing a song called "Who Knows One?" (Echad Mi Yodea). When we sing the song and reach the part of "Who knows eight", what is the response? "Eight days for circumcision." Circumcision represents the covenant between the Jewish people and G-d. Much like circumcision is supposed to be a link with the Transcendental, so are the tzitzit (Maharal).   
• Why are the threads placed at the edge of the garment? As R. Dr. Asher Meir puts it, the outward-flowing fringes represents the openness we should have to the world, and how we should reach out to it. The tzitzit thusly represent how we are the interact with the world: openly, instead of closed off from it. Much like the tzitzit can only extend so far, the mitzvahs also put limitations on what Jews can do. This represents the paradox between being free and feeling a sense of obligation towards G-d and Judaism: we are to maximize our experiences while adhering to the mitzvahs. 
• Why is the garment with the tzitzit a square? The Sages taught that a four-sided figure is an archetype of something manmade. The square reminds us of our responsibility in the world (Jerusalem Talmud, Nedarim 3:2).
• Why is it supposed to be worn during the day only? The nighttime is supposed to be a time of inactivity and turning more inwards, which is why it is commanded during the daytime only (Shulchan Aruch, O.C. 18). I would surmise that it is during the daytime only because for the mitzvah of tzitzit to work, you have to see them, much like the biblical verse states. In premodern times, one could not see much at night, which included being unable to see tzitzit. In modern times, we can see them, which under that argument, would extend the mitzvah to the evening. 
• Why is there a blue thread? The Torah says that one of the threads has to be sea blue. The Talmud (Chullin 89a) provides an explanation. The blue thread is blue like the sea, which is similar to the blue of the sky, which is similar to the color of the Throne of Glory. There is further symbolism here. The sea represents immersing oneself in Torah. The sky represents doing mitzvot for the sake of Heaven. From there, one can reach the Throne of Glory, which represents the high end of our potential. 
• Why is the mitzvah not obligatory? If the purpose is to remind us of all the mitzvot, surely it should be obligatory. Yet under Jewish law, it is not. Why? Because the mitzvot form the life of a Jew. They are all-encompassing. Since it can be quite the undertaking, it is only when Jews obligate themselves to take on the mitzvah of wearing tzitzit that Jews truly express a love for G-d. 

Marc Jacobs was right: clothing means nothing until someone lives in them. These insights mean nothing until we live in them. The tzitzit do not mean anything until we put them on and say the blessing. They don't have much significance until we look at them, are reminded what it means to be a Jew, and act based on that realization. We can only "live in the tzitzit" when we realize its spiritual significance and how that affects our daily decisions. Only when the tzitzit positively affects our thoughts, words, and deeds have we truly fulfilled the mitzvahs.

Parsha Bechukotai: Our Homes as a Sanctuary for Holiness

Some think that to find holiness, you have to venture halfway across the world to a monastery to seek solitude or some other holy site to feel inspired. For others, going to a house of worship is what gets the spiritual juices flowing. This week's Torah portion suggests something different:

יאיש כי יקדש את ביתו קדש להי והעריכו הכהן בין טוב ובין רע.

-When a man consecrates his house to be holy unto G-d, the priest will valuate it, whether it be good or bad. - Leviticus 27:14

What we observe here is an ancient practice of valuation for someone who wants to donate their property to the sanctuary as a form of thanks. The priest (Kohen) would come by to inspect the house and conduct an assessment. If the owner of the property wants his property back, not only does the property owner have to pay the amount for which it was assessed, but they have to add an extra twenty percent to the price (Leviticus 27:15). With the sacrificial system no longer in place and a non-existent Third Temple, this verse seems to be irrelevant to anything in modern times.

The Kotzker Rebbe thought differently, and viewed the passage more homiletically. For the Kotzker Rebbe, the true sign of one's holiness is not found in the holiest of synagogues because it's easy for someone to pursue holiness in a sanctified setting. Based on this passage, the Kotzker Rebbe commented that "true holiness sanctifies the seemingly mundane activities of running a household. One who behaves in an elevate manner in one's own house is truly a holy person." There are a few takeaways from the Kotzker Rebbe's homily.

1. True spirituality is found in our daily lives in the most seemingly mundane of places.
2. The home is meant to be a true center of spirituality and holiness. It is the place we keep a kosher kitchen and take something as mundane as food and elevate it to holiness. The Jewish home is the place where we have guests over, have Shabbat and holiday meals, and fulfill the mitzvah of hospitality. As Pirkei Avot brings up (1:4-5), it is the place open for Torah scholars, i.e., the Jewish home is a center of Torah study and good deeds to help others in need. The home acts as a fulcrum for many mitzvahs and Jewish events. 
3. The home tends to be a more private place than the synagogue or the work office. It is easier for anger, impatience, sloth, or other shortcomings to be concealed in the home. By being able to improve upon one's shortcomings in a place where it is easy to hide one's flaws is all the more praiseworthy.
4. We've heard the phrase "My house, my rules." The house is meant to be one's dominion. It is easy to let the sense of ego and entitlement that comes with that territorial dominion come into play. There is a good parable from R. Salanter regarding this idea. R. Salanter was on tour, and went to someone's home for Shabbat. The host berated his wife for not covering the challah. The wife was embarrassed and ran to the kitchen. R. Salanter then asked the host, "Do you know why we cover the challah?" The host said that we cover the challah so they are spared the "embarrassment" of having the ritual attention be focused on the wine first. After that explanation, R. Salanter gave him grief because the host was more concerned with the metaphorical feelings of two loaves of bread (which are inanimate) instead of the actual feelings of his wife. If it weren't for the fact that the man went to the kitchen to beg his wife for forgiveness, R. Salanter would have left the house. The moral is that while the house can give us a sense of entitlement or ego, we should remind ourselves that our domain does not exempt us from good character. 
5. The Kotzker Rebbe brings up how it is seemingly mundane activities that are the holy ones. If that is true for getting ready for Shabbat dinner or cooking kosher food, all the more it is for something as mundane as vacuuming, doing the laundry, or making the bed. 

The house is a reflection of our holiness. It is a particular test because how we behave in our homes opens us up to certain vulnerabilities that do not exist when we are at work or at shul (synagogue). The Kotzker Rebbe not only reminds us that holiness is to be pursued in all facets of our life, but also that true holiness is to be found where we least expect it: in our homes.