Kol ha'Seridim: June 2022

Monday, June 27, 2022

State of the Blog: Summer 2022

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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Artwork: Mishra's Factory (Summer), by Kaja and Phil Foglio

State of the Blog: Summer 2022

Last year at around this time I launched The One-Page Article: a Summer 2021 Experiment with four objectives in mind. Foremost among these objectives was my own mental health, which was at a low point due to the burnout I experienced from teaching 850+ shiurim during that stressful 2020-2021 school year of covid. The experiment was a success: I wrote 31 one-page articles over the course of that summer, and was proud of each one. This allowed me to keep up my usual daily summer writing without the added pressure I sometimes felt in past years to write a full-length article each day. Better yet, the self-imposed word limit helped me to grow as a writer, enabling me to write about ideas that I never would have written about in the past, as I detailed in Hunting for Treasure vs. Panning for Gold on the Beaches of Nome.

You may have noticed that I’ve continued in one-page mode this summer. It’s been great! I love finding the “right-sized ideas” to write about, I love the challenge of presenting these ideas as concisely as possible, and I love the feeling of accomplishment that caps off each weekday of the summer. I’m sure I’ll return to feature-length articles at some point, but for now, I’m really enjoying this.

I am scheduled to fly out to Hawaii to visit Popo (my 97-year-old grandma) tomorrow. I’ll be there from June 28th through July 7th. As such, I find myself confronted with the question: Should I stick to my article-a-day schedule while I’m in Hawaii or should I take a break? To many people, this might be a no-brainer: “Of course not! Take a break! Enjoy your time in Hawaii!” But to a recovering perfectionist, workaholic, self-appointed self-taskmaster, this is a tough decision. Whether it stems from rational or irrational considerations, I don’t want to interrupt the flow of Torah content. Also, I thoroughly enjoy the process of writing, even while on vacation. Writing Torah articles in Hawaii has been a part of my summer since 2007. At the same time, it would be wonderful to take a break from being on a content-production schedule – especially at the outset of my summer vacation, when I’m feeling the burnout from the year.

After giving this some thought, I’ve settled on something of a compromise: I will continue writing my articles while in Hawaii, but I will not post anything until my return. This will relieve me of the pressure to meet my self-imposed deadlines every day while simultaneously granting me the freedom to write, to be, and – more importantly to my psyche – to feel productive. There’s a non-zero chance that I’ll make an exception for this Friday, since parashas ha’shavua articles are “time-sensitive,” but other than that, I’ll do my best to hold back until the second week of July.

And while we’re taking care of “book-keeping” (as Rabbi Moskowitz would call it), I figure I should mention another summer project I plan to undertake. I would love to design a website which will serve as a hub for ALL my Torah content: YouTube videos, podcast episodes, articles, shiur announcements, Zoom info, links to Torah resources, etc. Had I known in September 2020 that I would be publicizing all my Torah content, I would have set something like this up then, but all my energy was devoted to the actual preparation of said content that I simply didn’t have time. I’d like to rectify that going into 2022-2023.

If anyone has any suggestions for which service or platform to use, let me know! As of now, before doing any research, I’m leaning towards using something tried-and-true, like WordPress. I plan to fund this site with donations from Patreon and sponsorships, so if you plan on making a donation in the near future and would like to contribute specifically to the website, I’d love to give you public thanks on the page.

See you back here on July 11th! In the meantime, feel free to read or reread the hundreds of past articles!

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Friday, June 24, 2022

Shelach: Challah as a Consequence of the Cheit ha'Meraglim

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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Shelach: Challah as a Consequence of the Cheit ha'Meraglim

The Cheit ha’Meraglim (Sin of the Spies) is recounted in Bamidbar Chapters 13 and 14. Chapter 15 interrupts the narrative to present a series of seemingly random and unrelated mitzvos. One of these is the mitzvah of hafrashas challah (separation of dough). We are obligated by Torah law in the Land of Israel to separate a portion of our dough “for Hashem” (Bamidbar 15:9) – that is, to give to the kohanim.

Sforno explains this sequencing of the chapters by positing that challah – indeed, all the mitzvos mentioned in Chapter 15 – only became necessary as a result of the Cheit ha’Meraglim. He writes:

After the Cheit ha’Meraglim, challah also became necessary in order for [the Israelites] to be worthy to receive blessing in their homes, as it is stated: “you shall give the first portion of your dough to the Kohen, to bring a blessing to rest upon your home” (Yechezkel 44:30).

Sforno’s comments raise two questions: (1) How does challah make us worthy to receive blessing in our homes? (2) Why did this necessity for challah only arise after the Cheit ha’Meraglim?

An answer to the first question is provided by the Sefer ha’Chinuch (Mitzvah #385):

At the root of this mitzvah lies the reason that since man’s sustenance is by food, and most of the world lives on bread, the Foundational Being wanted to make us meritorious through a constant mitzvah with our bread in order that blessing will dwell it in through the mitzvah and we will earn merit for our souls. As a result, the dough is nourishment for the body and nourishment for the soul. Additionally, [the purpose of the mitzvah] is so that the ministering servants of Hashem can live (i.e. be sustained) by it – those who are constantly engaged in His service, namely, the kohanim – without any toil at all. For with the terumah (i.e. the kohen’s portion) from the granary there is toil for them, to pass the grain through a sieve and to grind it, but here [in the case of challah] their allotted portion comes to them without difficulty at all.

The Ralbag (toeles #8) provides two similar explanations which differ slightly from the Sefer ha’Chinuch:

The first benefit that comes from [the mitzvah of challah] is to call attention to the fact that all good things come to us from Hashem; this is why He commanded that we give a portion to Hashem from the first of our dough in the Land of Israel, to teach us that Hashem gave us the Land which yields produce in abundance. The second benefit that comes from [this mitzvah] is common to all the priestly gifts, namely, that Hashem desires that the kohanim be free to be involved in Torah and to grasp its deepest ideas, so that they can teach His judgments to Jacob and His Torah to Israel; for this reason, He desired that their bread and water be provided in a dependable manner.

Although the major fault of the Israelites was their lack of trust in Hashem, they were also guilty of undervaluing the Land He intended to give them. This is clear from their outcry: “Why is Hashem bringing us into this Land … would it not be better for us to return to Egypt?” (Bamidbar 14:3), to which Yehoshua and Kalev responded: “the Land that we traversed to spy out is very, very good … it is a land flowing with milk and honey!” (ibid. 14:7-8). In other words, if the Israelites’ only problem was their fear that the inhabitants of the land would kill them, then Yehoshua’s and Kalev’s repeated assertions about the Land’s goodness would be irrelevant. Evidently, they did not adequately appreciate Hashem’s gift of the Land.

The mitzvah of challah is a reminder of the true value of the Land Hashem gave us. It reminds us that we depend upon Him for our physical sustenance, and it also reminds us of the purpose of our physical existence – to live a life devoted to His service. This necessary reminder makes us worthy of His blessings.

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Thursday, June 23, 2022

Leo Tolstoy, Eishes Chayil, and Caring What Others Think

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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Leo and Sophia Tolstoy

Leo Tolstoy, Eishes Chayil, and Caring What Others Think

The following quotation is attributed to Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy: "If you care too much about being praised, in the end you will not accomplish anything serious ... Let the judgments of others be the consequence of your deeds, not their purpose.” This advice bears a striking resemblance to the final pasuk of Eishes Chayil at the conclusion of Sefer Mishlei. Here is that pasuk in context:

Her children arise and laud her; her husband, and he praises her, [saying]: “Many daughters have been successful, but you surpass them all.” Popularity is false and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears Hashem, she should be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her actions praise her in the gates. (Mishlei 31:28-31)

Shlomo ha’Melech’s “give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her actions praise her in the gates” corresponds precisely to Tolstoy’s “Let the judgments of others be the consequence of your deeds.”

There are people who are obsessed with what others think. These are the people who, in Tolstoy’s words, “Let the judgments of others be … their purpose.” These are the same people whom Shlomo ha’Melech warns about the falsehood of popularity and the temporary nature of beauty. There are other people who have reached such a high level that they don’t care at all what people think. They are the ones whom the Rambam characterizes as “serving Hashem out of love,” who “act in line with truth because it is true” (Rambam, Laws of Teshuvah 10:2). They are neither elated by praise nor are they distraught by disapproval.

Tolstoy and Shlomo are both allowing their audience to care about what people think, provided they do so in a healthier way. This is why Tolstoy warns against “[caring] too much about being praised,” and permits his audience to attend to the judgments of others, as long as those judgments aren’t the purpose of their actions. Likewise, Shlomo is talking to a woman who values praise, and whose children and husband regularly praise her. He merely warns her not to fall for the criteria of praise held by most women, but instead, to value being praised as God-fearing (i.e. one who acts based on wisdom), allowing the long-term benefits of her actions to speak for themselves rather than clamoring for approbation in the present.

This is a realistic approach. Caring too much about praise is guaranteed to end in disaster but attempting to quit one’s addiction to praise “cold turkey” is equally foolhardy. As social animals, we are hardwired to care what others think. Any attempt to override this by sheer force of will is bound to backfire. The transition to lishmah (doing what is good for its own sake) must come about gradually and organically. The trick is to find middle-ground strategies to facilitate that transition. Another excellent example of this can be seen in the words of Socrates to his student, Crito, who was concerned with his own reputation:

But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the many? … We must not regard what the many say of us: but what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, honorable and dishonorable.

Socrates doesn’t tell Crito, “You shouldn’t care what anyone thinks!” nor does he say, “Just do what’s right and ignore everything else!” Instead, he invites Crito to imagine truth, goodness, and justice in the form of an actual person’s opinion – a “man who has understanding of just and unjust” – and urges him to care about what that person would say. The Torah accomplishes the same thing by personifying Hashem and urging us to care about how we appear in His eyes rather than in the eyes of man. Such is the way of Torah: not to quash the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination), but to channel it and direct it towards a higher end.

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Wednesday, June 22, 2022

When Hashem Prefers Telling Lies Over Doing Miracles

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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Artwork: Teyo Verada (artist unknown)
When Hashem Prefers Telling Lies Over Doing Miracles

After taking the monarchy away from Shaul, Hashem charges Shmuel ha’Navi with the mission of anointing a new king, saying: “Fill your horn with oil and go; I will send you to Yishai of Bethlehem, for I have seen a king for Myself among his sons” (I Shmuel 16:1). Shmuel asks: “How can I go? Shaul will hear and will kill me!” Hashem responds: “Take a heifer and say, ‘I have come to bring an offering to Hashem.’ Invite Yishai to the feast and I will tell you what to do, and you will anoint for Me whom I shall tell you.”

In other words, Hashem instructed Shmuel to lie. Shmuel did not come to Bethlehem to bring an offering to Hashem, but for the express purpose of anointing a new king. Why did Hashem advise him to do this? How could He advise a tzadik to lie? Why didn’t He miraculously protect His navi from all harm? Ralbag answers these questions in his “lessons” section:

The 14th lesson pertains to ethics, namely, that it is not considered to be a deficiency [of character] for a navi to lie in order to save his life. You see that Hashem advised Shmuel to say, “I have come to bring an offering to Hashem,” even though he really only came to anoint a king from the sons of Yishai.

The 15th lesson is to teach us that a person should not rely on a miracle, even though he is exceedingly perfected and clings to Hashem [in his righteousness]. You see that Shmuel, despite his high level [of perfection], was afraid that Shaul would kill him, and sought strategies to avoid this, saying: “How can I go? Shaul will hear me and kill me!” He did not rely on a miracle, even though he was going by the command of Hashem, for Hashem’s will is that a person should strive to save himself based on the most probable course of action, since Hashem will not do a miracle unless it is absolutely necessary.

Radak extrapolates the same lessons as the Ralbag, but ties the two points together. He writes: “We find that even when Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu makes a promise to a navi or a tzadik, nevertheless, [these individuals] will be careful when going to a place of danger.” Radak cites the well-known example of how Yaakov Avinu feared Eisav and took precautions, even though he was on a mission from Hashem to return to Aram Naharayim and was promised that Hashem would be with him. Likewise, David fled for his life from before Shaul even after being anointed as king. Gideon, Yehoshua, and others acted strategically in waging wars, even though they were doing so at the behest of Hashem. Radak explains:

The reason [for all this] is that even though Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu does miracles and wonders for those who fear Him, [these miracles] mostly proceed in accordance with the laws of nature. Thus, Yaakov feared Eisav and Shmuel feared Shaul in accordance with the laws of nature, [reasoning that] if he anointed a king during [Shaul’s] lifetime, he would need a strategy for how to go, and this was his question: “How can I go?” Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu answered him: “Take a heifer with you” …

Our Sages learned from this pasuk that it is a mitzvah to distort [the truth] for the sake of peace, for Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu told Shmuel, “Take a heifer with you,” thereby showing him that it is not proper for a person to go to a place of danger and rely on a miracle, as it is stated: “do not test Hashem, your God” (Devarim 6:16).

To put it bluntly: Hashem would rather advise Shmuel to tell a lie than to do an unnecessary miracle for him.

I used to wonder why more frum Jews – especially boys and men – don’t learn Tanach with the classical commentators. The more I learn, the more I begin to suspect I know the answer: they can’t learn Tanach with the classical commentators without undermining their own beliefs about how Hashem does and doesn’t work. How many Jews go about life thinking that Hashem will protect them because they consider themselves to be righteous, or because they’re on a mitzvah mission? How many Jews give lip service to notions of “hishtadlus” but privately believe that Hashem would never allow them to fall into harm? But the ways of the tzadikim and neviim in Tanach are different. They harbor no illusions about guarantees of divine protection. Instead, they rely on their God-given wisdom to strategically implement God’s will.

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Tuesday, June 21, 2022

On Reading the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah Like a Love Letter

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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close-up of the Oxford 577 Huntington 80 manuscript
"checked against my book - I, Moshe, son of Maimon zt"l"

On Reading the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah Like a Love Letter

This article is part PSA and part rant. For the past two years I’ve given a Rambam shiur in yeshiva four days a week. Time and again I’ve stressed the importance of using a critical edition of the Mishneh Torah based on accurate manuscripts, rather than relying on the standard Warsaw-Vilna printed editions owned by most Jews. Here’s an excerpt from R’ Yosef Qafih’s [1] introduction to his edition of the Mishneh Torah in which he explains why the standard editions are so unreliable:

The errors and deficiencies of the printed texts were well known, so much so that the printed books were used to characterize a mistaken person: when someone said something incorrect on some subject, they would respond "you are like a defoos (printed text)," and point out the correction. These matters were inscribed on my heart, and I grew up with the assumption that there were two types of Maimonides texts in the world: that of the Yemenite manuscripts and that of the printed book.

Qafih goes on to write about how the Rambam updated the Mishneh Torah throughout his lifetime and how the Yemenite scholars made every effort to incorporate these emendations into their copies. With the printed texts, this did not happen.

… in the printed texts, only a few of the changes which Maimonides himself inserted in his book appear, since only a few reached the early printers. Some of the emendations which Maimonides added he wrote in the margins on the side, and the copyists did not pay attention to the correct placement and inserted them in the wrong place, causing much trouble and difficult questions in the understanding of Maimonides’ words … The "editors" tried to deduce changes. The Mishneh Torah was subjected to severe editing by the printers, and various editors who made emendations of style, language, the structure of sentences and the division of halachot … to the extent that there is hardly any halacha that has not been emended. I know of no other book that was so severely emended … every third or fourth rate scholar who thought himself capable of doing so would presume to try his hand at making emendations and corrections according to his own understanding.

Mark Twain once quipped: “Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.” Kal va’chomer for a book which contains not only transcription errors, but willful emendations made recklessly by unqualified individuals. And the Twain quotation doesn’t do it for you, consider this analogy given by Mortimer J. Adler in How to Read a Book (1940):

If we consider men and women generally, and apart from their professions or occupations, there is only one situation I can think of in which they almost pull themselves up by their bootstraps, making an effort to read better than they usually do. When they are in love and are reading a love letter, they read for all they are worth. They read every word three ways; they read between the lines and in the margins; they read the whole in terms of the parts, and each part in terms of the whole; they grow sensitive to context and ambiguity, to insinuation and implication; they perceive the color of words, the odor of phrases, and the weight of sentences. They may even take the punctuation into account. Then, if never before or after, they read.

The Rambam most certainly wrote the Mishneh Torah with love: love for Hashem, love for His Torah, and love for all Jews, “small and great,” for whom it was written. His book should be read like a love letter. And if you wouldn’t trust a transcription of a love letter knowing that its text was mangled, manipulated, and revised by scores of strangers, then don’t even touch the standard editions of the Rambam. I cannot, for the life of me, understand those talmidei chachamim who continue to use the bad versions of the Mishneh Torah. I’m tempted to chalk this up to ignorance or laziness, but I can’t tell whether doing so counts as being dan l’chaf zechus (giving them the benefit of the doubt) or its the opposite.

Do you know what is not an excuse? Accessibility. The most accurate version of the Mishneh Torah is the new edition published by R’ Yitzchak Sheilat, available in its entirety for free on AlHaTorah.org. A close runner-up is R’ Yohai Makbili’s edition, which has a free app for iPhone and Android. Use these. Use them in good health. And don’t die of a misprint.

[1] Rabbi Yosef Qafih (1917 – 2000) was a Yemenite scholar who translated and published critical editions of the Rambam’s works. The 20-page introduction to his critical edition of the Mishneh Torah can be found here, translated into English by Michael J. Bohnen.

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Monday, June 20, 2022

An Example of My Idiosyncratic Brand of Spirituality

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Naomi Mann in honor of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l, whose shloshim is this week.

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Artwork: Golden Hind, by Cyril Van Der Haegen

An Example of My Idiosyncratic Brand of Spirituality

This past Friday I made my annual summer pilgrimage back to the Pacific Northwest. After waking up super early on Shabbos morning, I decided to daven at home. I was in the middle of saying my post-shacharis Ashrei when something stirred in my peripheral vision. I turned and – behold! – outside the picture window, not 15 feet away, stood a baby deer, munching on leaves from a tree in the front yard. When I moved closer, the deer froze and looked sharply in my direction, whereupon we made prolonged motionless eye contact for what felt like a full minute. Once the deer perceived that I wasn’t a threat, it continued eating and I resumed my recitation of Ashrei while watching it eat.

It then dawned on me that the contents of the pesukim I was reciting were unfolding before me in real time: “All eyes [look] towards You with hope, and You give them their food in its time. You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing” (Tehilim 145:15-16). My mind went to the Radak’s explanation, which I had taught earlier this year:

"All eyes [look] towards You with hope": Likewise, he said: "all [the animals] hope towards You" (ibid. 104:27), for You created all the earthly creatures and You created their food - some eat grass, some eat seeds, and some eat other animals - and their eyes all depend on You and hope towards You, "and You give them their food in its time" through the chain of causality [in nature]. He said "in its time" in the singular because each and every species has its own time when its food comes about. He said "they hope towards You" [because] even though [these animals] lack knowledge, they instinctively yearn for their fixed portion that is given to them, and we [humans] are the ones who know that their hope is towards You, for You are the One Who prepares and provides.

I’ve recited these pesukim three times a day for as long as I’ve been Jewish, but it wasn’t until that moment that I felt like I was actually praising Hashem. I felt close to Hashem, as described towards the end of Ashrei: “Hashem is close to all who call Him, to all who call Him in truth,” which the Radak explains to mean, “with mouth and heart-mind [1] in harmony.”

This experience was amplified by the fact that it was Shabbos, a day about which the psalmist writes: “For You have gladdened me, Hashem, with Your deed; about Your handiwork I will sing joyously. How great are Your works, Hashem; [how] very deep are Your thoughts!” (Tehilim 92:5-6). Radak explains:

“For You have gladdened me” – On the Shabbos day You have gladdened me in my contemplation of “Your deed” and “Your handiwork,” which is the world and everything in it. On the Shabbos day, when I am able to contemplate, then I will rejoice. This is a reference to the natural sciences. When I contemplate [science] and apprehend through it whatever I apprehend, I will rejoice and sing joyously with my heart-mind. And since each thinker contemplates the work of God [with his own heart-mind], therefore he said, “You have gladdened me … I will sing joyously,” in the singular.

There are many models of spirituality [2] within Judaism: the ecstatic religiosity of Hasidism, the mystical practices of Kabbalah, the existentialist yearnings of Rav Soloveitchik, and much, much more. To each their own. As for me, in these recent years I have found great fulfillment in my ongoing (re)discovery and (re)cultivation of an intellectual-emotional spirituality grounded in Sefer Tehillim, as elucidated by the philosophical Rishonim (i.e. Radak, Meiri, Sforno) within the framework of the Rambam’s approach to Torah. An explanation of what this entails is beyond the scope of this article. But if the experience I described above resonates with you, then I encourage you to learn Tehilim towards this end.

[1] The Hebrew word “lev” can mean “heart,” “mind,” or both, depending on the context. I recently heard Tara Brach use the term “heartmind,” and although it’s awkward to use a made up term, it really does capture the sense of the Hebrew.

[2] In my fiery youth, I used to privately refer to the term “spirituality” as “the s-word.” It’s not that I objected to the concept itself. Rather, I objected to its typically vague usage across the entire spectrum of religiosity. That's why I avoid it ... except in this article.

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