Give It a Rest

In this week's parsha, Parshas Mishpatim, the Torah tells us that Shabbos was given "l'maan yonuach shoircha v'chamoirecha," for the purpose of your bulls and donkeys resting. The Sfas Emes asks why the Torah here seems to say that explicit reason for Shabbos is rest of resources, while in other places the Torah explains that Shabbos is to be a remembrance of the creation of the world.

When comparing these two passages, the Sfas Emes notes that the two share the theme of menucha, or "rest". The Sfas Emes, when explaining the original Shabbos in Bereishis (Genesis), writes that in truth, rest is not simply a pause from physical activity, but the Hebrew word menucha is meant to express a complete cessation from anything. He says that when we follow the Torah and halacha (Jewish law), we allow our real (spiritual) selves to rest from the false physical desires that distract us from G-dliness. Therefore, rest in the realest sense means to distance ourselves from something.

From this understanding of the word rest (menucha), we can see that whenever something subjugates itself to the Divine will, thus distancing itself from physicality, it is in the realm of "resting". In commenting on the first Shabbos, Rashi explains that this was the time when rest was actually created. At this point everything that was to be created was reated, and it sat perfectly in the Will of G-d, thus creation rested.


With this understanding of rest and creation in mind, the Sfas Emes explains the first verse metaphorically, speaking to the purpose of our lives. In this world (the pre-Shabbos workweek), our task is to bring ourselves into the reality of living a life that is within the complete Emes (truth) of the Creator. The mention of the donkey and bull, therefore, are references to our current physical nature. It is our job, through struggle and pressing ourselves into the reality of our spiritual selves, that we bring these physical desires into compliance with our true essence. When we succeed in this, we fulfill the verse, and our own bull and donkey (physical nature) is allowed to rest, or distance itself from the sheker (falsity) of the world in which the Divine is hidden.

Ain't It Just Like the Night...

In BeShalach, this week's parsha, we find the record of the Jews leaving Mitzrayim (Egypt). When they exited, the Torah tells us, "VaHashem hoileich lifneihem yoimam b'amud onon lanchoisom haderech, v'laylo b'amud aish l'ho'ir lohem," ("And G-d goes before them by day in a pillar of clouds to guide them along the way, and by night in a pillar of fire providing them with light"). The Medrash teaches that anytime the Torah says, "And G-d", it refers to G-d and the Heavenly court of judgement. If the pillar of cloud and pillar of fire were both meant for the good of the Jews, why do we see the reference to G-d and the court of judgement?


In his commentary on Shemos (Exodus) 21:1, Rashi explains that the Torah and the precepts within the Torah should be set out before each person in a way that is easy to understand and access based on each person's individual level. The same is meant in the verse in the opening paragraph, "G-d goes before them." This is to teach us that at all times, both when life is good and easy (day) and when we are suffering difficulties in our lives (night), G-d and the precepts in the Torah are meant to be there for our good, guiding our way in the daytime, and showing us light in our personal nights.


From the Gemara, we see that miracles from the Jews' time in the desert were used to answer specific Jewish legal questions. For instance, if there was a dispute over the ownership of a slave, the community would watch to see near whose tent the extra manna for the slave fell, and this would show who owned the slave. If this is so, a large Jewish legal discussion could have been answered by the pillars of fire and cloud. In Judaism, there is a great debate over when the day ends and night begins, as the time determines when holidays, Shabbos (the Sabbath), and other things begin and end. Even today, since the time is unclear, people are strict to start holidays before it is fully night, and end them a while after night has already fallen. If the pillars of cloud and fire changed based on whether it was day or night, it should be easy to determine the actual time of night, since one could have watched the pillars. The Aish Kodesh answers that this is not the case. As we showed based on Rashi's explanation of the verse in Shemos (Exodus), saying that something is "before them" means that it is according to the needs of the people. Therefore, it is possible that there were times when the Jewish people could not see so well, regardless of it still technically being day, and so the pillar of fire would appear. This reinforces the principle that G-d is with us, being present with us in the form that we need when we need it.

Shabbos in Mezhbuzh...Not Quite

Shabbos might be great in Mezhbuzh (the Ukrainian resting place of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism), but I must say that Shabbos in Yerushalayim is pretty great, too. I got tons of sleep, and had nice alone time at the kosel. To finish it off, havdallah at the kosel was very nice.

Friday night, I ate with two friends and a random odd man at the home of one of my rabbis in yeshiva. His kids are very cute and upbeat, and with Shimon, myself, and the rabbi singing, we had a very nice time with the meal, stories of real Torah tzadikim (righteous people), such as Reb Shlomo of Bobov and the Alter Klausenburger Rebbe. The random odd man was dressed in a way to make himself overtly out of place, and he was introduced to us by the rabbi as "someone who has taken a taanis dibur for Shabbos". Now, the point of a taanis dibur (a fast from speech) is to (1) make us concentrate on what we say, so that we can work on our speech, and (2) to take something that was used for gossip (our mouths) and use it only for prayer and to speak words of Torah, thereby making a reparation with the item that did sins in the first place. However, this man decided, for whatever reason, that he wouldn't even speak words of Torah. Basically he just listened through the meal and flapped his arms and hands when he wanted something...give me a break. This, as another rabbi said when the story was relayed to him, is just absurd. "Fundamentalism of any stripe is very suspect," he said.

The next day, I went with the same friends (minus odd "taanis dibur" guy) to another rabbi's apartment. After a rather short, but very nice, meal, I walked by myself to the kosel. Upon arriving, I davened mincha, and then watched people. On Shabbos, the kosel is so full of diverse people, that it is a perfect people to just find a spot and watch. As new groups of tourists arrive, it always makes me giggle to see the people (who completely ignore the 50-odd signs around making restrictions clear) get offended when people make them stop using phones, cameras, and other things forbidden on Shabbos. One thing that was especially laughable was when a large group of people from New York arrived. The group, by mere virtue of touring on Shabbos, was obviously not religious, and one of the women was sporting a bright pink yarmulke at the top of her head. As an American, I have seen this sort of thing many times, with non-religious Jews expressing their non-religiousness by misinterpreting religious ideas. However, Israelis are not at all used to such things. In Israel, if someone isn't religious, they tend to not associate themselves with religious symbols, and even on the rare even that they attend religious services, it is 999 times out of 1000, an Orthodox service. As this woman stood on the edge of the group, the religious Israelis were all drawn to her. Eventually, a well-meaning woman approached her to let her know that only men had to wear yarmulkes at the kosel. This apparently offended the wearer, and she soon launched into mocking the religious people at the kosel, and saying that our control of Israel is insane.


I find that this happens often in Judaism. For those of us who are religious, it seems odd that someone would embrace religious ideas and symbols as sumply cultural, use these ideas and symbols at will in any way they choose, and then deny the legitimacy of the people who instituted these ideas and symbols. Interestingly enough, this is what Chanukkah is essentially about: the Greeks wanted to do away with any "religious undertones" in Judaism, expell strange faith-based behavior, and leave the Jewish people with a "Judaism" based only on cultural connections and various historical practices. The branches of non-Orthodox Judaism seem to really be into this, too, so why do they light the menorah? To (only culturally and historically) remember that with the help of "G-d", the Jewish people triumphed over those who wished to make Judaism only culturally and historically relevant? Interesting....

I stayed at the kosel the rest of the day, eating seuda shlishis (the third meal of Shabbos) there, and making havdallah with a huge crowd gathered around the entrance to the men's side of the wall. All in all, it was a very nice Shabbos.

Shabbos: Mekor HaBracha (The Source of Blessing)

This Shabbos was an "in yeshiva" Shabbos, which meant that we all had to stay in our diras (apartments), eat meals with each other in the cheder ochel (dining room), and daven (pray) at the yeshiva. At first I was a little disappointed that I would have to do all of this. I really wanted to go somewhere else, anywhere else, and have a Shabbos that was different from "everyday yeshiva". However, this Shabbos was far from "everyday".

The rosh yeshiva is famous for giving controversial speeches to the yeshiva. Often, he says that he makes a point to say what isn't allowed to be said anymore. Each speech that he gives challenges some accepted part of society, religion, or religious Jewish life. His talks this Shabbos were no different. As we were huddled together in a crowded little shul (synagogue) in the neighborhood, the rosh yeshiva spoke against mussar. Mussar is a style of giving detailed, often times harsh, speeches and lessons on how to curb morals. The mussar movement grew out of the Litvish (Lithuanian) Jewish world, and is often seen as the opposite of Chasidus (mystical, more positive school of thought).



Seeing as how the rosh yeshiva is himself Litvish, and attended some of the most prominent Litvish yeshivas, it might be assumed that he is very much in favor of the mussar movement. However, he has often stated that mussar is a replacement for real Torah, and this Shabbos was no different. He spoke from a sefer (book) written by R' Chaim Volozhiner, what many would think of as a true 19th century mussar authority. His words were very interesting. The Volozhiner's sefer says that the ikar (point) of Jewish life is not yira (the fear of G-d), but simply Torah, and anyone who tries to use mussar as the means to to establish real yira and accumulate Torah is wasting their time. According to the rosh yeshiva, yira is simply a container in which to carry the lessons of Torah, and without ever learning real Torah, all you have is a container, but how can something serve as a container with nothing inside? "Ein contents, ein container (no contents, no container)," he said. Really, if you focus your attention on only yiras Hashem, all you have at the end of your life is an empty jar.

The rosh yeshiva also held a post-meal "tish" of sorts. The rosh yeshiva sat at the head of a large table, while everyone else sat along the sides, with other people standing on benches on either side of the room. As I had walked to the kosel (Western Wall) with a friend immediately after the meal, I didn't get back to the rosh yeshiva's shmooze until it was almost over. When I walked in, the scene was a mini version of what one sees when they go to a Shabbos tish of a Chasidic rebbe. The room was full of people, those on the edges standing high on benches and chairs so they could get a good view, and those around the table leaned in so they could see and hear the rosh yeshiva clearly. My friend who went with me to the kosel commented that the yeshiva gets more and more Chasidish with regard to the rosh yeshiva as time goes on, and coming from a strong Chasidish background, his words clearly have truth to them; I felt the same way. After his shmooze, the rosh yeshiva took questions from any bochur (young guy) who had a question. His answers reflected his hashkafa (philosophic) strongholds of the essential reality of "Ein Od Milvado" (there is nothing at all except for G-d), that physicality is sheker (false), and people being trapped as "five-sense prisoners", as they fail to connect to real spirituality because they never move beyond their five physical senses.

One thing he said really touched me. When asked about the status of rabbis and rebbes, as well as people, who follow what seems to be a true derech (path), he said, "You must always assume that everyone you see is fake until proven otherwise. It doesn't matter the size of their beard or peyos, how intense their kavanadik (concentration-bringing) movements are during davening, or how much mussar or Chasidus they learn. You must operate with the assumption that they are fake, until you see them rubbing shoulders with the poor at least as often as with the rich."

The rosh yeshivas words over Shabbos were very inspiring, as everything that he says, he truly means and lives. The yeshiva that he runs is not a yeshiva for those who buy into the trappings of what is conventionally seen as what it means to be an ultra-Orthodox (or even Orthodox) Jew. The rosh yeshiva stresses the importance of learning Torah itself, for the sake of learning Torah. He also sees value in learning mussar and Chasidus, but only as an accompaniment of Torah, only at a pace that helps these ideas contain the Torah they were meant to contain, and only with the understanding that end result should be good middos (traits), not a nice levush (exterior).

And So It Goes...

This Shabbos I went to visit a friend in college in Ariel. Ariel is, for those who do not know, in the Shomron (Samaria), and fairly close to Nablus and Ramallah. Going there from Jerusalem, we had to exit the officially "Jewish" territory, and go through the controversial wall built to keep out terrorists looking to sneak across the border. From the time I stepped into the taxi leaving my apartment, I entered back into what is truly "Israel". I had to once again rely upon Hebrew, and not speak English. I also had to drive through scores of crowds campaigning for Likud and Meretz, two Israeli political parties. Modern Hebrew (as opposed to Loshon Kodesh, or Biblical Hebrew) and current events tend to be played down in yeshiva, so it was a refreshing introduction into Israeli society before traveling to Ariel.

On the way to Ariel, our bus passed countless Arab villages, obvious with the prominent towers on the village mosques. The way to the Shomron is hilly, and the bus had to venture through many winding roads, which overlook valleys scattered with shrubs and boulders. During many parts of the trip, the billboards and signs were written only in Arabic. When we would drop people off in their settlements, we would have to pass through check points with armored patrols waiting for us, showing clearly that places like Maalei Levonah and Shiloh are not in the most safe of areas. Even Ariel had a check point at the entrance.

Overall, Shabbos was very relaxing. The local university is situated on the top of a mountain overlooking a huge valley. Across the valley are Arab villages, which look like stars at night. It was a very nice and easy way to spend Shabbos. I enjoyed seeing my friend, as we hadn't seen each other in quite a while. The only distraction was that everyone was dati leumi, or "national religious" (most like American Modern Orthodox). Being chareidi, I stuck out plainly, and when I used clear Ashkenazi (eastern European) pronunciation when I was called to the Torah, a few people snickered at this overt non-Israeliness. When I asked about the location, and whether or not students feel worried there, my response was, "Oh, actually I've never wanted to look at Ariel's location on a map. The less I know, the better I feel." And so it goes...



On the way back, a large group of "settlers" got on the bus in Shiloh. These settlers stand out because of their unique look: men with long, unkempt pey'ot (sidelocks near their ears), large knitted yarmulkes, and women wearing flowy dresses with large turban-like tichels (scarves used to cover the hair of married women). For both men and women, two things are the same: sandals and rifles. One of the settlers sat next to me, dressed in his army uniform, rifle on his shoulder, and holding a baby in each arm. The difference was interesting: me, black suit and hat, on my way back to a yeshiva that goes out of its way to speak of "eretz Yisroel" (the land of Israel) instead of "medinat Yisrael" (the state of Israel), and a chardal (chareidi dati leumi, or ultra-orthodox national religious) soldier traveling with his wife, two babies, and gun to report back to defending the medina (state). All the while the two of us are sitting next to one another, our bus wove through the hills dotted with Arab villages sporting Palestinian and Jordanian flags at the entrances.

I've heard people say that the relationship between the "Torah world" (world of ultra-Orthodox Jewry) living in Israel and the assortment of Zionist groups is the same as the relationship between the shevet (tribe) of Zevulun and that of Yissachar. In that relationship, one group sustained the world by devoting their lives to learning Torah, with the other shevet supporting them by earning money to support them. In the modern case, though, it is interesting to see how the ones supposed receiving the help are so withdrawn, and in most cases opposed, to those offering protection. As we see it, if all Jews would simply live a life according to Torah and true Judaism, the world opinion could not help but be in favor of Israel, and security would come simpy through the light of true Torah. However, the Zionists and soldiers say that since this cannot be at the current time, hey must do the job until then....and so goes the circle. The unreligious and misguidedly religious army exists to offer safety needed because so many Jews are unreligious and misguided.

Finally, after 90 minutes on the road, we arrived back into Jerusalem. As we approached the central bus station, I once again felt at home, seeing men frocked in black scurry behind strollers (dodging HAIL!! A rare sight in Israel.) on streets and sidewalks packed with those who have found a way to live in the medina without being part of it. Ha'lavai.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie, Shalom Tel Aviv

I arrived in Israel with only an hour of sleep during my 10 hour flight. Instead of heading to Jerusalem, I had previously decided to stay in Tel Aviv for a few days, both seeing friends and sleeping off my jet lag before I had to start working on the schedule of the yeshiva. For my first Shabbos in Israel, it was very relaxing…save for one minor detail: unable to use the elevators in the hotel, I had to walk up and down eleven flights of stairs.

While not as obvious as in Yerushalayim, Tel Aviv does slow down on Shabbos. As the population is largely unreligious, most shops and cafes are open, but the streets are not as packed as during the week. During Shabbos, I took walks around the neighborhoods of Bauhaus apartments and buildings, down the narrow winding streets lined with small trees. Even with the moderate flow of traffic, the Shabbos was still very relaxing. It came to an end with a very impromptu havdala made with whatever I could find at the AM:PM around the corner (beer, birthday candles, and cinnamon sticks).

Today, I woke up early and found a nice spot to sit near the corner of Dizengoff and Ben Gurion, a major intersection. There, I sat nestled among the trees and cafes, reading “Cat’s Cradle” by Kurt Vonnegut. As I watched the people, not hearing the noise around me because of my playing ipod, it was easy to imagine myself in any Mediterranean city, the breeze just enough to chill the pace of the city. I started thinking about how much more there is to Israel than what people see. For those outside, Israel is either the Land of the Bible, or a war zone. Truly, neither is felt in Tel Aviv. It has a feel unique unto itself.

Tel Aviv is famously known as HaBua, The Bubble. “There’s Israel, and then there’s Tel Aviv”, they say. That can certainly be felt when going around the city. In Tel Aviv, religion and war take a backseat to cafes and fashion. The only way to know that Israel recently fought in Gaza is by seeing people welcome back reservists, recently returned after a month away. Even the reservists in Tel Aviv try to get back to the Bubble mentality as soon as possible. When I asked one reservist what he did in Gaza, he responded, “Watch the T.V. if you want to know.” People in Tel Aviv cannot be bothered by current events, whether globally or in Israel. This lifestyle was summed up best by a friend in response to Hamas rockets getting progressively closer to Tel Aviv during the recent conflict: “They keep shooting at us and the rockets get closer, but all I want to do is sit on the street and sip my coffee.”


In “Cat’s Cradle”, Kurt Vonnegut uses the (fake) religion Bokononism to express his own philosophical outlook. Today, while reading, I happened upon a quote that fit my wanderings around Tel Aviv: “Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from G-d”. Every corner in Tel Aviv offers something new to see. From the signs claiming that the Zionist dream of Hertzel has become an unneeded reality, to innovative boutiques offering styles that will not be seen in America for years, to a restaurant icon that reminds one of Barak Obama, Tel Aviv is an ever eye-opening city. If these wanderings really are lessons, Tel Aviv has a great beat for dancing.