Even though we are currently unable to bring korbanos, the ideas are as relevant to our lives as ever, provided we ask the right questions and look for the right kinds of answers. Here's an example.
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Reproduced from "The Artscroll Series Stone Edition: The Chumash, Enhanced Edition with Color Illustrations and Charts" by Rabbi Nosson Scherman with permission of the copyright holders, Artscroll // Mesorah Publications, Ltd.
Tzav: Korban Todah – Thanking God with a Chametz and Matzah Party
Tzav introduces the laws of the korban todah (thanksgiving offering). Rashi (Vayikra 7:12-13) explains that unlike a nedavah (voluntary offering), which can be brought for any reason, a todah is brought specifically “on a miracle that was done for a person, such as one who made a sea-voyage, or traveled through the wilderness, or had been imprisoned, or who had been sick and was healed.” The Written Torah outlines the components of the todah:
This is the law of the peace-sacrifice that one may offer to Hashem. If he shall offer it for thanksgiving, he shall offer his thanksgiving-sacrifice with matzah-loaves mixed with oil, matzah-wafers smeared with oil, and loaves of fine flour fried with oil. This, together with loaves of chametz bread, he shall offer his peace-sacrifice of thanksgiving. (ibid. 7:11-13)
The Oral Torah (Rambam, Hilchos Maaseh ha’Korbanos 9:17-22) states that, le’chatchilah (ideally), one is obligated to bring a total of forty loaves of bread: ten matzah-loaves (challos) baked in an oven, ten matzah-wafers (rakikin), ten oil-fried matzah loaves (revuchos), and ten loaves of chametz-bread. These menachos (meal-offerings) – in addition to the sheep, goat, or calf which is the principal sacrifice – must be consumed in less than 24 hours: by the end of the night following the day that the korban was brought (and, Rabbinically, by midnight).
There are three anomalies in the korban todah which require explanation. First, why so much bread? Second, why is chametz brought along with the matzos? All other menachos must be in the form of matzah and are prohibited to be brought as chametz, as we learned in last week’s parashah (Vayikra 2:11). The only two exceptions to this rule are the korban todah of an individual, and the communal shtei ha’lechem (Two Loaves) offered on Shavuos. Third, why must the entire todah (the meat plus the forty loaves) be consumed by no later than that night, whereas other peace-offerings can be consumed over the longer span of two days with the intervening night?
Sforno’s commentary (Vayikra 7:11) addresses all three anomalies:
[If peace-offerings are brought] on account of thanksgiving, they should be accompanied by bread, which includes a type of chametz. For indeed, the cause of the danger [which the bringer experienced on which he is now] giving thanks is the "leaven in the dough" (i.e. the yetzer ha'ra; see Berachos 17a). Nevertheless, the matzah-varieties outnumber [the chametz varieties]. With so much bread, the miracle will be publicized to the many who partake. Everything must be eaten within the time limit of kodshim kalim (offerings of lesser sanctity) of a night and a day - as opposed to regular peace-offerings which are not brought for thanksgiving, which have a time limit of two days and one night.
Because Chazal likened the yetzer ha’ra to “leavening in the dough,” the chametz loaves will remind the one who brings the korban todah of an easy-to-overlook aspect of gratitude: “that his yetzer ha'ra overpowered him to the point where he would have been endangered were it not for the miracle,” as one of Sforno’s students wrote (Shiurei R’ Ovadyah Sforno on Vayikra 7:11-17). This sentiment is paralleled in the text of birkas ha’gomel, which is publicly recited by a person who was saved from one of the aforementioned life-threatening predicaments: “Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, Who bestows goodness to the liable, Who has bestowed every goodness upon me.” The requirement of bringing and eating forty loaves in a short timeframe compels the bringer of the korban todah to invite a large number of people to partake, thereby providing a larger audience for his public declaration of gratitude to Hashem for his miraculous salvation.
Although we are currently unable to bring a korban todah, we can still make a seudas hodaah (a meal of thanksgiving) to express our gratitude to Hashem. Based on the ideas elucidated here, it behooves us to make it a big meal with lots of people, and to publicly acknowledge (or at least allude to) the role that our own yetzer ha’ra played in bringing about the calamity from which we were delivered.
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67% of this article was written by Shadal. Yet, I wanted to highlight Shadal's radical theory, compare and contrast it with Rambam's view, and use it to answer a common question about tefilah.
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Artwork: DALL-E's response to the prompt, "photorealistic painting of three golden crowns on a table against a dark backdrop. one crown is lit up by a spotlight, causing it to shine. the other two crowns are in darkness," with the two other crowns modified using the outpainting feature
Vayikra: Shadal's View of Korbanos
What better way to begin Sefer Vayikra than with a new perspective on korbanos? Shadal summarizes his (what some might be consider to be a radical) view in his commentary on Vayikra 1:2, as translated by Daniel A. Klein:
Here I thought it appropriate to express my view in brief on the subject of sacrifices. Sacrifices did not originate from a Divine command, but rather from human will, for people voluntarily chose to give thanks to God for His kindnesses to them, or to bring a gift before Him to assuage His wrath, or to appease Him so that He might grant their requests. This was because it was unlikely for human beings to conduct themselves toward their God in any way other than that in which they would conduct themselves toward a flesh-and-blood king … The divine Torah, whose goal was not to teach the nation knowledge and wisdom, but rather to guide it on the paths of righteousness,did not abolish the custom of sacrifices, not that this would have been beyond its power, but because this custom is not evil in and of itself and does no harm to people or to the betterment of their ways; rather, it is beneficial to them.
If we pause here, Shadal’s approach is reminiscent of the Rambam’s (see Moreh 3:32). The Rambam similarly holds that korbanos originated in human will and are not endorsed by Hashem as a primary objective of the Torah. Hashem “tolerated” korbanos and incorporated them into Torah because the abolishment of these ubiquitous modes of worship “would have been contrary to the nature of man, who clings to what he is accustomed.”
But if we continue reading, we see that Shadal’s emphasis is entirely different than that of the Rambam:
If the Torah had announced to the people that God has no desire for burnt offerings or sacrifices, the next day they would have said, “What desire does God have that we be righteous, and what would it profit us to perfect our ways?” And because one of the basic principles of the Torah is the belief that God watches over the activities of humankind and that He loves doers of good and hates the wicked, it was necessary that God would not be described in the full exaltedness of His true position, but that His majesty would be slightly lowered, as it were …
If instead of sacrifices, God had commanded prayer, hymns, Torah reading, and preaching words of moral instruction, the greatness and fear of God would not have been impressed upon the hearts of the masses, for it would have seemed to them that the gods of the nations, whose worshippers presented them with various sacrifices, were greater and more glorious than our God, Whose worship consisted merely of intangible things. This is characteristic of the masses in all generations, and not just the common people, but most of humankind: who is honored among them? One who honors himself and increases his own rank. In contrast, one who is forbearing and does not seek greatness for himself is not important in their eyes. Thus, the true God, even though He has no need for the honor of humankind, was compelled for the sake of our benefit to convey His fear into our hearts so that we would not sin. And because in those days His fear could not have been conveyed into the hearts of the people by any means other than sacrifices, He commanded these.
The result of the sacrificial system that was maintained by the public in the Sanctuary was this: it was impressed on the hearts of the masses that a great God and King dwelled in their midst, that they were dear to Him, that He commanded them to perform services that would be favored by Him, and that by performing these services at His command, they would come into His favor every day and constantly draw His love upon themselves.
Whereas Rambam holds that Hashem retained korbanos because their abolition would have been too shocking to the masses, Shadal maintains that korbanos are necessary for Kevod Malchuso (the glory of God’s Kingship) which, in turn, was necessary for the Torah’s true goal of promoting righteousness through obeying God’s will.
This answers a common question about tefilah. If we can’t affect God in any way, then why does He require us to offer Him praise, request, and thanks? The essential answer is that these activities are for our own perfection. Based on Shadal, we can add that if we didn’t daven to Hashem as the other religions pray to their deities, this would diminish Hashem’s Kavod in our own eyes, which would detrimentally affect our relationship to His will.
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If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.
This is not my weekly Torah article. It's an article about why there is no weekly Torah article, and my thoughts and feelings about that stark fact. I can't even say if this article is worth reading.
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Artwork: DALL-E's response to the prompt "abstract painting of a male task-master forcing a male writer to write" (variation 2)
Musings on the Fact that There is No Article This Week
I began writing publicly in April 2007 with the launch of my blog, Kankan Chadash. For those last two-and-a-half (out of seven) years in yeshiva, I wrote on a fairly regular basis. I began teaching in 2009, at which point Kankan Chadash became Kankan Ne’lam (which would eventually be rebranded and relaunched as Kol ha’Seridim in 2014), and the bulk of my writing moved to the summer months. The school year was simply too busy for me to write on a consistent basis, and if I wrote anything, it was usually before or during a break. But as soon as the summer was underway, I’d switch from teacher mode to writer mode. Inspired by the then-popular YouTuber Grace Helbig on her channel Daily Grace, I decided that I’d publish a full-length article every weekday of the summer. And I did!
Fast-forward to COVID-19. Shalhevet closed, and I transitioned from being a high school teacher to a rebbi in yeshiva. I didn’t get much writing done during that stressful summer of 2020. The first year of my post high school role (2020-2021) was the busiest year of my life, and the year after that (2021-2022) was devoted to prioritizing my own mental health. During the summer of 2021, I scaled back my routine from producing a full-length article every weekday to writing a single-page article every weekday. This ended up being a brilliant decision, insofar as it allowed me to maintain a consistent writing schedule while practicing some much-needed self-care. It also helped me mature as a writer by forcing me to become more concise and to be more selective in what I chose to write about. I continued with the daily single-page article in the summer of 2022.
This year after Rosh ha’Shanah (5783) I made the decision to embark on a new experiment: writing during the school year. I figured that if I made a concerted effort, I’d be able to keep up a schedule of writing a single one-page article each week, ready in time to print out for Shabbos. Although I haven’t always met that deadline, I am pleased to say that I’ve maintained my writing schedule: out of the 21 weeks in 5783, I’ve written 22 articles, which puts me just ahead of my weekly goal.
But today, for the first time, I find myself on Erev Shabbos Parashas Vayikra with no article.
To be fair to myself, something had to give. My whirlwind trip from NYC to Honolulu and back within 48 hours for Popo’s funeral in the first half of last week (Sunday-Tuesday) was physically and emotionally taxing. I am proud of myself for keeping up my teaching, tutoring, podcasting, and writing schedule for the second half of the week (Wednesday-Friday), but I needed to take the entirety of this past weekend to recover. That, in turn, set me behind in my preparation for this week’s shiurim, which led to an extremely last-minute-cobbling-together of my Thursday night and Friday morning women’s shiurim. Thank God, both shiurim were well-received – but I really don’t like to leave my teaching up to chance like that, and I recognize that one or both shiurim might have crashed and burned.
My original plan for this week was to cast a large net when preparing sources on chametz, developing the major idea (symbolism in chametz) into a full shiur for my Friday morning women’s shiur and writing up the minor idea (the prohibition to offer chametz on the mizbeach) as my Friday article for Vayikra. Midweek I realized that I hadn’t made progress in the minor idea, so I decided to set that aside to focus on my Friday shiur. I remembered that I had started writing an article last year at around this time on why we don’t say tachanun during the month of Nisan. I found the draft, which was a little longer than a page, and I figured I could rework it into a full article in time for Shabbos. I remembered that I also gave shiur on that topic last year, which meant that I likely had a full article-worthy idea ready to go, if I could just refresh my memory. After giving my Friday morning women’s shiur, I listened to the tachanun shiur while making and eating lunch … only to discover that we didn’t come up with a full idea in the shiur, which meant that I couldn’t simply edit my draft in time to write an article.
I thought to myself, “Surely you can churn out something in a matter of hours! You could write up one of the ideas you taught this week: the idea from Morning Mishlei about how not to face adversity, the idea from Monday Night Mishlei about investing in kavod, an idea from tefilah shiur about what kind of tefilah is listened to by Hashem, one of the Pesach-related ideas from Rambam Bekius, or one of the many other ideas that’s come up in Q&A, discussion, or tutoring – you name it! C’mon! You can do it! Just write something up!”
But the reality is: I don’t have the energy to start writing something at 2pm on Friday afternoon. And even if I could muster up the energy, I don’t want to. I’m done. I’m ready for Shabbos.
Which brings me here: to this article. Why am I writing this article?
There are two reasons. The first has to do with habit cultivation. I set out to write an article every week, and even if I can’t find it in me to write a Torah article this week, I can still write an article. Why would I do such a thing if this clearly wasn’t my real goal? Because I am a firm believer in the rule set down by James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, who wrote: “Don’t break the chain. Try to keep your habit streak alive.” Even if you have to shrink your habit down to its most minimal form (e.g. exercising for 1 minute instead of 30), you’ll still keep the streak going, which will increase your chances of maintaining the habit. Sure, if you do break the chain, Clear has another rule: “Never miss twice. If you miss one day, try to get back on track as quickly as possible.” But Friday afternoon is long, and I knew I could write something.
The second reason has to do with my own psyche. Particularly, my perfectionism. Inevitably, this feels like a failure. It feels like a failure even though (a) I took this commitment on myself, and it’s not like I’m being paid to do this as part of my job or anything; (b) in the grand scheme of things, there are no major consequences to my not writing a Torah article this week: there are literally hundreds of other articles I’ve written out there for people to read, and if someone specifically wanted an article on Vayikra, they have the whole Internet at their fingertips; (c) it’s not like this is a sign that I’m going to slack off and stop writing or stop giving shiur or stop learning; (d) as I mentioned above, I have a valid excuse, given the crazy week I had last week, and the very real need to recover!
And yet, my perfectionist parts are still shaking their heads at me, writing not-good-things about me in their notepads. In red ink. Scowling.
As I write this, I realize: maybe it’s not the best thing to appease those perfectionist parts by writing this article. Maybe it’s better to deliberately not write an article to show them that the world won’t end from a missed week. Or maybe this realization is being prompted by those same perfectionist parts, who want me to fail perfectly.
Either way, I wrote this non-Torah article. I got these thoughts and feelings out onto the page, and I think there was some value in that for me. Is there value in sharing these self-recriminating thoughts and feelings with anyone else? You tell me.
----------------------------- If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.
If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.
I only had enough space in this article to convey a simple idea. For an elaboration on the ideas here, check out the 3/17/23 shiur I gave (on YouTube or my Machshavah Lab podcast) with the same title.
The Torah content for the rest of Adar has been sponsored by my friend and chavrusa Zack, with the following dedicatory message: When asked, "Who is a leader you greatly admire?" my grandfather z”l immediately comes to mind. Each person who entered his presence was brought closer to a better version of themselves. This was due to his staunch belief in people and his uncompromising values. Knowledge is similar — it is indiscriminate and uncompromising in its power to help us become our best selves. Thank you Rabbi Schneeweiss for spreading knowledge, and may the memory of my grandfather, Naftali ben Tzvi, be a blessing.
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Artwork: DALL-E’s response to the prompt “oil painting of a group of Israelite women in the Desert donating their copper mirrors to Moses”
Vayakhel: The Meaning of the Mirror Donation
Hidden among the numerous pesukim detailing the construction of the Mishkan is a cryptic pasuk about the origin of the materials used to fashion the kiyor (laver): “He made a bronze laver and its bronze base from the mirrors of the women who gathered at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting” (Shemos 38:8). Rashi (ibid.) explains the history and significance of this donation based on a midrash (Tanchuma Pikudei 9) which fills us in on the backstory:
The Jewish women possessed mirrors which they looked at when they adorned themselves. Even these did they not hesitate to donate to the Mishkan. Moshe was about to reject them since they were made for the yetzer ha’ra, but Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu said to him, “Accept them, for these are dearer to Me than all the other contributions, because through them the women reared those huge hosts in Egypt!” For when their husbands were exhausted from the crushing labor, they would bring them food and drink and induce them to eat. They would take the mirrors, and each gazed at herself in her mirror together with her husband, saying endearingly to him, “See? I am more beautiful than you!” thereby awakening [their husbands’] desire. They coupled with them, became pregnant, and gave birth there, at it is said, "I awakened your love under the apple-tree" (Shir ha’Shirim 8:5). This is the meaning of “the mirrors of the tzoveos (women who reared the hosts).”
Rabbeinu Avraham ben ha’Rambam (Shemos 38:8) provides two alternative explanations, which are related:
[According to one explanation, this is referring to] thewomen who engage in service of Hashem, who abandoned their homes and committed themselves to the service of Hashem - just as the soldiers abandon their residences and travel to the location of their battle. A second explanation: [the women who] wage a spiritual war with their instinctual desires, turning all the attention of their soul to focus on God and His service. This second explanation suffices for the first one since it is the objective of the first one. And once they reached the level of separation [from their desires], they broke their mirrors – for they no longer needed them – and they brought them as an offering. [In doing so,] they transformed implements which were designed for the attainment of lust and earthly enjoyment into religious implements which were designed for the service of God (exalted is He).
Unlike Rashi, who attributes the significance of the mirrors to the historical role they played in the formation of the Jewish nation, R’ Avraham focuses on the level of perfection reached by the women who donated them. Imagine a woman – or a man – today who no longer cared about their own appearance and had transcended the need to look at themselves in a mirror! The question is: What are the implications of these two explanations?
These two explanations reflect two different strategies for dealing with the yetzer ha’ra. Rashi references the basic level: channeling one’s instinctual drives towards nobler ends. We mention this idea in the Shema: “You shall love Hashem, your God, with all your heart (levavechah)” (Devarim 6:5) which Chazal interpret to mean “with both your inclinations [the yetzer ha’tov and the yetzer ha’ra]” (Berachos 54a). The Jewish women in Egypt were immersed in Egyptian culture, which elevated beauty and sexuality to the level of a primary value. Nevertheless, when they saw the plight of the Jewish people, they took their obsession with beauty and channeled it into Torah values: p’ru u’revu (procreation) and building up the Jewish nation. And when it came time to make contributions to the Mishkan, these women were willing to give up their precious mirrors for a higher purpose, even if they remained attached to their Egyptian values. R’ Avraham’s view references the higher level: “going to war” with the yetzer ha’ra and changing your values to the point where you no longer crave what the yetzer ha’ra demands.
Both strategies express the very essence of avodah: the subordination of one’s instinctual drives to Hashem’s value system. Avodah begins with a recognition that this higher value system exists, and that the life of instinctual desire runs contrary to that. At first, the most one can do is reroute those desires. Eventually, it becomes possible to sublimate them entirely. For this reason, it is appropriate that the kiyor – which is used to initiate the day of avodah – was made from materials that embodied the fundamental character of avodah.
--------------------- If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.
If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. -----
This is the eulogy I delivered at the funeral of my Popo (grandmother), Helen Chang (10/5/1924 - 2/2/2023) on 3/13/23 in Honolulu, HI.
Click here for the video of my eulogy, click here for a printer-friendly transcript, and click here for the podcast version. For the beautiful eulogy given by my brother, Jonny, click here.
My Eulogy for Popo
King Solomon concludes the Book of Proverbs with a portrait of the virtuous woman. The Hebrew phrase he uses to describe this woman is “eishes chayil.” The first verse reads: “Who can find an eishes chayil? Her value is far beyond pearls” (Proverbs 31:10). There is a debate among the medieval Jewish commentators as to how to translate the term “eishes chayil.” Some understand it to mean “a woman of valor” or “strength,” as in the strength displayed by a soldier. Others render it “a wealthy woman,” since the word “chayil” usually means “wealth.” I believe that Popo embodied both definitions, and I would like to show you how.
Kung Kung, Robbie, my mom, Matthew, and Popo
The Sages of the Talmud (Midrash Mishlei 31:10) illustrate the first definition of “eishes chayil” with an anecdote about a woman named Bruriah, the wife of Rabbi Meir, one of the greatest rabbis who ever lived.
There was an incident involving Rabbi Meir who was sitting and expounding in the study hall on the Sabbath afternoon [when, unbeknownst to him,] his two sons died. What did [their] mother [Bruriah] do? She placed them both on the bed [upstairs] and spread a sheet over them. [At nightfall] when the Sabbath ended, Rabbi Meir returned home from the study hall. He said [to his wife], “Where are my two sons?” She told him, “They went to the study hall.” He replied: “I looked around the study hall and I didn’t see them.” She gave him the cup [of wine to conduct the ritual ceremony at the end of the Sabbath]. Afterwards, he asked her again: “Where are my two sons?” She told him, “They went elsewhere, but they’re on their way back.” She brought him his food [for his post-Sabbath meal] and he ate and recited the [after]blessing.
After he recited the blessing, she said to him: “Rabbi, I have a question to ask you.” “Ask me your question,” he replied. She said: “Rabbi, the day before [yesterday] a man came to me and entrusted me with a deposit [for safekeeping]. Now he has come to take it back. Shall we return it to him or not?” [Rabbi Meir] said, “My dear, one who is entrusted with a deposit must return it to its owner!” She said to him: “Rabbi, I did not want to give it back without your consent.”
What did she do? She took him by the hand, led him up to the room, brought him near the bed, and lifted the sheet from upon [the bodies of their two sons]. Upon seeing them both dead, lying on the bed, [Rabbi Meir] began to cry, saying, “My sons, my sons! My teachers, my teachers! My sons in the way of the world, and my teachers who enlightened me with their teaching!”
At that moment, Rabbi Meir’s wife said to him: “Rabbi, didn’t you tell me that I needed to return the deposit to its Owner?” [whereupon Rabbi Meir] said: “The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. May the name of the Lord be blessed” (Job 1:21) … With this statement, she consoled him, and his [peace of] mind was restored.
This is the meaning of “Who can find an eishes chayil (a woman of valor)?”
This entire Talmudic passage was sent to me as consolation by a friend of mine (who knew and loved Popo) when he learned of Popo’s passing. My friend didn’t realize the poignancy of this teaching, for he was unaware of the great tragedy of Popo’s life: the untimely deaths of her two sons, Matthew and Robbie, ages 19 and 22, whose lives were taken in 1973 just a few months apart.
I have known about what happened to Matthew and Robbie for as long as I can remember. Indeed, I was named after Matthew, and my brother, “Jonathan Robert,” was named after Robbie. When I was younger, I was only dimly aware on an abstract level of how difficult it must have been for Popo (and Kung Kung) to survive the losses of both sons in rapid succession. It wasn’t until I was older that my mom relayed to me her memory of Popo crying hysterically over the loss of her two precious boys, in this very cemetery. She told me how Popo was so nearly overcome by despair that she said she wanted to ram her car into the side of the cliff to end her suffering. Why didn’t she make that fateful decision? Because of her deep conviction that she must go on – for the sake of her daughter, for her husband, and for herself. And so she did.
How did Popo cope with such a horrendous catastrophe? How did she make peace with God? How did she succeed in living such a full life after so much was taken from her? And what does all this say about who she was as a person? I have been thinking about such questions ever since Popo died – questions I didn’t ask her during her lifetime and can ask her no longer.
Part of me regrets not asking Popo these questions while I still had the chance, but another part of me knows that there was no need for me to ask. The answers to these questions were right there in front of me. They were manifest in how Popo lived, and in who she was to all of us. And if I had to take a guess at her unspoken answers, and sum them up in a single word, that word would be love.
Popo loved us so much. She loved us unconditionally. Her love was always there for us, and it was there in abundance. That is what Popo was and will forever be to me: a permanent loving presence in my life. Although there is no way for me to know for sure, I intuitively sense that Popo’s capacity for love was, at least in part, a response to her terrible misfortune. Only one who has suffered such a loss knows how important it is to show love to your loved ones while they are still alive. Only one who has experienced such a harsh confrontation with mortality knows how brief is the span of time we have been granted to spend with our loved ones. And if one has loved and lost and then taken the risk of choosing to love again, then that love will prove to be unstoppable.
Popo was an eishes chayil in the first sense of the term: a valiant, strong, courageous woman who persevered and chose life after being dealt a crushing blow by the hand of death. She may very well be one of the most courageous people I have ever known. Only recently have I come to realize that Popo’s strength and love have been the bedrock upon which my entire existence rests. She passed on that strength and love to my mom, who passed it on to me and to Jonny in how she raised us. I would not be here physically without Popo, but I would also not be who I am if not for Popo being the valiant woman she was.
Popo with Elvis Presley. Elvis was in Honolulu filming “Girls, Girls, Girls” (1962). Popo saw him eating at a restaurant, and went up to ask for a picture. She was 38.
The second definition of eishes chayil is “a wealthy woman.” Popo was wealthy in many ways. On the most basic level, she (and Kung Kung) had enough money to not want for anything, by their hard work and by the grace of God. She was wealthy in terms of her many talents, which she applied in her personal and professional life. She was wealthy in friendship. It would not be an exaggeration to say that EVERYBODY loved Popo. And I’m not just talking about the hundreds upon hundreds of people who actually knew her throughout her lifetime, but the thousands of people who merely encountered her. To meet Popo was to love Popo. I am fortunate that so many of my friends got to “meet” her through my many Popo-related Facebook posts over the years. I don’t think she realized that she had become a social media icon, and I am grateful for being able to “share” her with so many people in this way.
But none of this captures the true meaning of eishes chayil as a “wealthy woman” according to Judaism. The Sages of the Talmud teach: “Eizehu ashir? ha’Sameach b’chelko. Who is wealthy? One who is content with their portion” (Avos 4:1). To be wealthy means to be happy with what you have, and this was another one of Popo’s crowning virtues. Looking back, I cannot recall ever hearing Popo complain. I mean actually complain. Sure, when a driver cut her off in traffic, she would say “Lo LO!” under her breath, and when something annoyed her, she’d say “humBUG!” (or, when warranted, “ROBERT!”). But in her general way of life, Popo was always smiling, always laughing, and always positive.
This trait found expression in Popo’s musicality. The chorus of one of her favorite songs goes: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” These lyrics, which we heard her sing so many times, could very well have been written about Popo herself, and the sunshine she radiated to those around her. Popo loved to play the piano and was able to play almost anything by ear. But there was one severe limitation on her musical skill: she only knew how to play in major keys. She was incapable of playing any song in a minor key, and thus, incapable of playing sad songs. And on the rare occasion that she tried, the song would somehow end up major by the end. I can’t help but be amused by the symbolism.
Popo’s “contentedness with her portion” was evident in how she appreciated life’s pleasures. She loved dressing up in colorful matching outfits and was admired in her social circles for her fashion sense. She loved her jewelry and wore it whenever she could – not in order to project any sort of image, but simply because she liked how she felt while wearing it. She enjoyed good food, and always savored her favorites – including sushi (which she taught me how to make), corn (which she once smuggled into Honolulu from Yakima because IT WAS JUST SO CHEAP!), and especially ice cream (her guilty pleasure, and arguably, her only true vice). And Popo’s kindness meant that she enjoyed cooking and sharing food as much as she enjoyed eating it.
Popo’s jubilant demeanor was also expressed in her quirky sense of humor, which was an idiosyncratic blend of silliness, wit, comedic timing, and physical antics – all reminiscent of I Love Lucy, a show which I loved watching with her growing up. My memories of conversations with Popo involve constant laughter. It didn’t even matter what we were talking about. She infused all her interactions with a joy that was contagious.
In all these ways and more, Popo fit the second definition of eishes chayil. She was a truly wealthy woman – one who was happy with her portion. Popo always wanted to give us money whenever she could, and she did. But the real wealth she bequeathed to us, and the real inheritance she left for us, is the propensity to enjoy life – a disposition she fostered in us by her own example.
Me, Popo, and Jonny in July 2022 - the last time we were both together with Popo.
These two eishes chayil qualities that Popo possessed – her acceptance and enjoyment of her portion in life, and her strength and determination to live, even in the face of death – these qualities were her Yin and Yang: dual-elements of her soul which complemented each other and formed an integrated whole. Her resilience is what enabled her to accept the reality of her portion, both the good and the bad, and her contentedness with that portion further bolstered her resilience.
When I look back at Popo, knowing that this was the life she lived, I am inspired to make the most out of my own life. I don’t know whether God will grant me as long of a life as Popo, but I am determined to make the most of the life I am given, as Popo did with hers.
I am reminded of the words of Marcus Aurelius who wrote: “Even if you were destined to live three thousand years, or ten times that long, nevertheless remember that no one loses any life other than the one he lives or lives any life other than the one he loses.” Thank you, Popo, for teaching me “the way of the world” – for teaching me how to live.
Bruriah consoled her husband by saying, “Didn’t you tell me that I needed to return the deposit to its Owner?” Rabbi Meir responded by saying: “The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken. May the name of the Lord be blessed.”
God gave us the rare and precious gift of our Popo. We were blessed by her love, her strength, and her joy for our entire lives. After 98 years on this earth, the time came for God to take her back. We are all sad to lose Popo, but she will continue to live on in who we are and how we live.
“The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken. May the name of the Lord be blessed.”
If so, why isn't it presented this way in the Torah and in halacha? And if not, then why are there so many references to Shabbos joy in the songs we sing on Shabbos?
The Torah content for the rest of Adar has been sponsored by my friend and chavrusa Zack, with the following dedicatory message: When asked, "Who is a leader you greatly admire?" my grandfather z”l immediately comes to mind. Each person who entered his presence was brought closer to a better version of themselves. This was due to his staunch belief in people and his uncompromising values. Knowledge is similar — it is indiscriminate and uncompromising in its power to help us become our best selves. Thank you Rabbi Schneeweiss for spreading knowledge, and may the memory of my grandfather, Naftali ben Tzvi, be a blessing.
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impressionist painting of king david playing a lyre and gazing up at a starry sky.
Ki Tisa: Is Shabbos a Day of Simchah?
Shabbos is undoubtedly a day of oneg (enjoyment), as the navi states: “you shall proclaim Shabbos an oneg” (Yeshayahu 58:13). Oneg isn’t merely a theme of Shabbos, but a halachic institution. On Shabbos there is an obligation to have three lavish meals throughout the day, and for couples to have marital relations – all for oneg.
But is Shabbos also a day of simchah (joy)? According to the zemiros we sing on Shabbos, the answer is a resounding “Yes!” The opening stanza of Menuchah v’Simchah declares: “Rest and joy, light for the Jews, on this day of Shabbos, day of delights.” Kol Mekadeish states: “on Shabbos day be glad and rejoice” and “Hashem made this day; we will be glad and rejoice on it.” In Baruch El Elyon we sing: “Therefore let each man give himself enjoyment and also joy.” In Ki Eshmera Shabbos, we say that Shabbos “is a day of joy and will bring me joy.”
And yet, this theme of simchah is not mentioned in the Written Torah. There are pesukim which associate simchah with Yom Tov, such as: “you shall rejoice before Hashem for seven days” (Vayikra 23:40) and “you shall rejoice on your festival” (Devarim 16:14), but there are no pesukim which explicitly associate Shabbos with simchah.
Likewise, there are numerous halachic guidelines for simchah on Yom Tov. For example, the Rambam writes: “How [does one fulfill the mitzvah of simchah on Yom Tov]? He distributes roasted grains, nuts, and seeds to the children. He buys beautiful clothes and jewelry for the women, according to his financial means. The men eat meat and drink wine, for there is no simchah without meat and there is no simchah without wine, etc.” (Hilchos Shevisas Yom Tov 6:17). There are no parallel halachos of simchah on Shabbos – only oneg. True, there are a few allusions to Shabbos simchah in halachic literature, such as Chazal’s comment that “on your days of rejoicing” refers to Shabbosos (Sifre on Bamidbar 10:10), and the Talmud Yerushalmi’s statement (Megilah 1:4) that when Purim falls out on Shabbos, the seudah must be pushed off because of Shabbos’s unique simchah character. But at the end of the day, the simchah character of Shabbos does not express itself in any positive halachic obligations.
What are we to make of this? A clue can be found in the reference to simchah in the Song of the Day for Shabbos:
A psalm, a song for the Shabbos day. It is good to thank Hashem and to sing to Your Name, O Exalted One; to recount Your kindness in the morning, and Your faithfulness in the nights. Upon a ten-stringed instrument and upon lyre, with singing [accompanied] by harp. For You have caused me to rejoice (simachtani), Hashem, with Your deed; about Your handiwork I will sing joyously (aranein). How great are Your works, Hashem; [how] very deep are Your thoughts! A boorish man doesn’t know, and a fool doesn’t understand this. (Tehilim 92:1-7)
Radak (ibid. 92:5) provides a clear and beautiful explanation of what this Shabbos simchah is:
for you have caused me to rejoice: On the Shabbos day You have brought me simchah in my contemplation of Your deed and Your handiwork, which is the universe and everything in it. On the Shabbos day, when I have [time] to contemplate [the universe], I will rejoice – this is [a reference] to scientific knowledge (chochmas ha’teva) – and when I contemplate it and apprehend from it whatever I can apprehend, I will rejoice and I will sing with my heart/mind. This [refers to] the matter which each and every wise person contemplates in the work of God; therefore, he said “I will rejoice” and “I will sing” in the singular.
The oneg of Shabbos and the simchah of Yom Tov involve physical delights which can be experienced by everyone. The simchah of Shabbos, however, results from contemplating the wisdom of the Creator that is manifest in His universe. This type of simchah is not accessible to the average individual, but only to chachamim (the wise) in accordance with their knowledge. Perhaps this is why simchah is not uniformly mandated on Shabbos as it is on Yom Tov, but is relegated to the status of a philosophical theme to be tapped into by individuals on their level.
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Here's an article I cranked out over Taanis Esther and Purim day which offers insight into Esther's character via a set of bizarre midrashim about her observance of hilchos niddah with Achashveirosh.
The Torah content for this week has been sponsored by Sarah and Moshe Eisen, with the following message: "Dedicated in honor of Popo, who shined bright and brought joy to so many of us. And to Rabbi Matt Schneeweiss who shared her with us and continues to share thoughts, insights, and Torah."
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DALL-E’s response to the prompt “impressionist painting of the Biblical Queen Esther looking out onto the street from behind bars”
Megilas Esther: How Esther Stayed Religious
“Every day Mordechai would walk back and forth before the courtyard of the women’s house to know Esther’s wellbeing and what was to be done to her” (Esther 2:11). According to the pshat, Mordechai was checking on her general welfare and keeping tabs on her fate. Chazal, however, teach that Mordechai was “inquiring about her bloodstains and her niddah (menstrual status)” (Esther Rabbah 2:11 [6:8]). Similarly, when the Megilah tells us that “Esther followed Mordechai’s directive as she had when she was raised with him” (2:20), Chazal explain: “she would show her menstrual blood to the Sages [for halachic rulings]” (Megilah 13b). The question is: Why posit that Mordechai and Esther were preoccupied with the laws of niddah? What are Chazal trying to teach us?
The Gemara continues with an even more unbelievable statement – one which is predicated on Chazal’s assumption that Mordechai and Esther were husband and wife (13a) rather than adoptive father and daughter. The Gemara states: “[Esther] would get up from the lap of Achashveirosh (i.e. from having sexual relations with him), immerse herself in a mikveh, and sit in the lap of Mordechai (i.e. return to having sexual relations with him)” (13b). This is problematic on at least three levels. First and foremost, there is no halachic need – and, seemingly, no halachic purpose – to keeping the laws of niddah in a forbidden sexual relationship with a non-Jew. A second problem, raised by R’ Chalayo (13th century), has to do with the logistics: Mordechai didn’t have direct access to Esther while she was married to Achashveirosh, as evidenced by the fact that the two of them were forced to communicate by messenger during the Haman crisis (see Esther 4:5,7,9,10,12,13). If so, how was it even possible for them to continue sleeping together? R’ Chalayo identifies a third problem: Why would Mordechai and Esther risk their lives and the lives of the entire Jewish people for the sake of these trysts? Surely the king had eyes and ears everywhere in Shushan. Considering his earlier response to Vashti’s “betrayal” and his subsequent rage at Haman’s perceived attempt to rape the queen, we can guess how Achashveirosh would react if he learned that his wife were having an affair with Mordechai, the Jew. How, then, can we make sense of this midrash? [1]
R’ Chalayo offers an explanation which resolves these problems and showcases Esther’s stellar character:
It is possible for me to explain the words of the midrash [as follows:] because Esther was living among the uncircumcised [gentiles,] and eating the [non-kosher] royal food, she was unable to keep Torah and mitzvos properly. This is the meaning of the immersion [mentioned in the midrash,] that “she immersed [in a mikveh and returned to] the lap of Mordechai” – namely, this was Esther’s best immersion to fulfill the Torah and the mitzvos to the extent that was possible for her. The proof is: “and Esther obeyed the directive of Mordechai,” which they say [means:] “she would show her menstrual blood to the Sages.” How good and how pleasant is this explanation!
On a simple level, the midrash conveys the idea that Esther kept Torah and mitzvos as best as she could under the circumstances. Chazal’s statement that she immersed in a mikveh and went back to Mordechai after sleeping with Achashveirosh isn’t meant to be taken literally. Rather, it means that she didn’t abandon the halachos of niddah despite being married to a non-Jew. Instead, she maintained allegiance to the teachings of Mordechai and the Sages. The Manos Levi (2:11) and the Torah Temimah (ibid. footnote 27) explain what this means in practical terms: although she wasn’t able to avoid relations with Achashveirosh, she strove to only sleep with him while in a state of purity, which is why she continued to pose halachic questions to the Sages about her bloodstains.
Esther’s decision exemplifies the Torah value of kedushah (loosely translated as “sanctity,” “holiness,” or “separateness”). Kedushah means “transcendence of physicality.” For non-physical existences (God, angels, souls), to be kadosh is to be non-physical. For physical creatures, such as ourselves, being kadosh means resisting the temptation to let our physicality overpower our tzelem Elokim (non-physical, truth-seeking intellect). Instead, we must rise above our animalistic nature and strive for the opposite kind of life: a life of mind over matter.
Chazal teach us the principle of: “kadeish atzmecha b’mutar lach” or“sanctify yourself within what is permitted to you” (Yevamos 20a). This means that it is not enough to merely restrict ourselves within the parameters of halacha but “let loose” and indulge whenever we have the right to do so. Rather, we should strive to uphold the value of kedushahbeyond what halacha demands and aspire to fulfill the objectives inherent in the spirit of the law even when we are not restrained by the letter of the law.
Based on this concept, I coined the phrase: “kadeish atzmecha b’assur lach” (“sanctify yourself within what is prohibited to you”), which I explained in my article on this topic as follows:
[This means that] even when a person violates halacha, they should still practice kedushah to the extent possible. In other words, just because the transgressor knows they are going to violate halacha doesn't mean that they should just say, "To hell with it," and go on to act in a totally unrestrained manner. Instead, they should still exercise restraint and self-control within that violation of halacha - and, if feasible, should try to act in accordance with the objectives of the Torah, even though his or her actions are not in line with halacha itself.
We have examples in Tanach of tzadikim working out ingenious ways to keep halacha when the odds are against them, such as Daniel, who devised a strategy to avoid eating non-kosher food in the royal palace by surviving off legumes. We have examples of tzadikim risking their lives rather than violate the core principles of Torah, such as Chananya, Mishael, and Azaryah, who consigned themselves to the flames rather than submit to the idolatrous ideology of Nevuchadnetzar. We even have examples of tzadikim who were tempted to violate halacha but overcame their struggles, such as Yosef who had to force himself away from the wife of Potiphar.
Esther is in a category of her own. Here we have a tzadekes who was forced to marry a hedonistic, profligate, non-Jewish king who was the antithesis of kedushah. She was essentially cut off from her people and her heritage – a people who, themselves, were in the darkness of exile and had lost their way. She was made queen of the world and granted access to “up to half of the kingdom.” It would have been all too easy for her to succumb to the allure of her position and eagerly cast off her Jewish heritage. It would have been equally easy for her to become discouraged by the compromises she was forced to make, and to abandon Judaism as being impossible to uphold. Instead, she persevered in her observance of Torah and mitzvos, committing herself to the values and ideals of Judaism even if she wasn’t able to keep all its laws.
Despite the strange surface-level meaning of these midrashim, we see that they were written to convey an underappreciated aspect of Esther’s righteousness: that she didn’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good in her service of Hashem, even while she was in her personal exile within a national exile. And neither should we.
This is inferred from the statement that “he would walk back and forth before the courtyard of the women’s house,” for it would have been sufficient to say, “and each and every day Mordechai would inquire about Esther’s welfare.” Since it said, “the women’s house,” it seems he was speaking about “the way of women” (i.e. menstruation) and that the statement “before the courtyard of the women’s house” is a euphemism for matters of niddah and bloodstains.
Maharzu (ibid.) notes that Chazal described female anatomy in architectural terms, which is why it’s not farfetched to assume that “before the courtyard of the women’s house” would be read euphemistically by those familiar with Rabbinic jargon.
If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.
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