Angel for Shabbat

"...for I am dust and ashes." (Bereishith 18:27)

When God informed Abraham that He was intending to destroy the wicked city of Sodom, Abraham immediately challenged the Divine decision.  Perhaps, argued Abraham, there were righteous people in the city: should they perish along with the wicked people? "Will the Judge of all the world not act justly?"

As we prepare to observe Rosh Hashana, it is important that we re-focus on the framework of the covenant between God and Israel, that we recognize how important it is for each Jew to be treated as a fellow partner in our adventure with the Almighty. Our communities need to reflect a sincere inclusiveness, a feeling of mutual respect among ourselves.

When I was a boy, I and so many others of my generation were avid fans of Mickey Mantle of the New York Yankees. We admired him because he was so amazingly natural and graceful. All really great players are spontaneous and natural. Lesser players seem to try too hard. This is true not only of baseball but also in all areas of human endeavor...including religion.

The root of deepest human sadness is embodied in the word "separation." We feel this sadness especially at moments of transition: when we say goodbye to a child who is leaving for college or moving out of town; when we say goodbye to a loved one whom we won't be seeing for a long time. Parents cry at the weddings of their children. Their tears, to be sure, are tears of happiness; yet, they are also tears of pathos, of separation.

Rabbinic literature includes the names and teachings of many great and well-known sages. Yet, the rabbi who is mentioned most often in our liturgy is Rabbi Hananya ben Akashya—an obscure figure about whom we know almost nothing. We quote him at the end of our Musaf service, before the kaddish; and after every public Torah study session, to introduce the recitation of kaddish.

In this week’s Parasha, we read of the Israelites’ complaint of lack of water; of God’s instruction to Moses to speak to the rock; of Moses striking the rock to bring forth water; of God informing Moses that he would not be allowed to enter the Promised Land.  Moses had erred; he and Aaron were told by God: “Because you did not believe in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land which I have given them” (Bemidbar 20:12).

“And Moses called Hoshea the son of Nun Yehoshua” (Bemidbar 13:16).

Before Moses sends out the delegation of leaders to spy out the Promised Land, he changes Joshua’s name from Hoshea to Yehoshua. By adding the letter “yod,” the message is that the Almighty should bring salvation. Moses wanted to attach God’s name to his protégé.

(Actually, the Torah refers earlier to Joshua with the name Yehoshua [Shemoth 33:11], but the formal name change seems to have occurred in the episode of the spies.)

This week's Torah portion discusses the laws of the sabbatical year, when farmers must let their land lay fallow. This "rest" for the land is a demonstration that the land belongs to the Almighty, not to us, and that we depend on the Almighty for our sustenance. In relating the laws of the agricultural sabbatical, the Torah states: "And if you will say, what shall we eat the seventh year?

The Jerusalem Talmud (Hagigah 2:1) teaches that the way of Torah is a narrow path. On the right is fire and on the left is icy snow. If one veers from the path, one risks being destroyed by either the fire or the ice. The Torah way of life is balanced, harmonious and sensible. It imbues life with depth, meaning and true happiness. Yet, it is not easy to stay on the path.

It was said of Rabbi Yitzhak Luria, the great kabbalist of 16th century Safed, that he was able to see into people’s souls when he looked at their faces. By looking into one’s eyes, he could gain clear insight into that individual’s personality. For this reason, many people were ashamed to appear before Rabbi Luria, believing that he could detect their character flaws and inadequacies.