In describing the severity of the Plague of Locusts, the Torah tells us, “…Before it there was never a locust-swarm like it, and after it there will not be anything like it” (Ex. 10:14).  The Torah seems to be saying there never was and there never will be anything as severe.  The apparent difficulty is that the book of Yoel, one of the trei assar or twelve prophets, describes a plague of locusts “great and numerous, its like has not been from eternity, and after it there will never again be…” (2:2). How can this be? This seems to contradict the verse in our parsha that “after it there will not be anything  like it.”  The Torah explicitly states that the plague of locusts in Egypt will be unequalled throughout history.

So which plague was worse?

Rashi (ad loc) explains that there was a qualitative difference between the locusts of Egypt and the locusts of Yoel’s generation.  Yoel speaks of four species of locusts:  arbeh, yelek, chasil, and gazam.  It would seem that Egypt was only struck with arbeh.  According to Rashi, each plague is unique and therefore it can be said of each that the world never has “seen anything like it and never will again.”

Nachmanides, in his commentary, argues that the analysis of Rashi is flawed.  He shows how Psalms 78 and 105 refer to the chasil and yelek as having been part of the plague in Egypt.  Nachmanides then goes on to explain that both the Torah and the book of Yoel make their claims to emphasize that these plagues of locusts were not the normal infestation that was very common to that region.  In telling us that “there will never be another plague like it,” both the Torah and the book of Yoel are stressing that their respective plagues were “super-natural.”  Don Yitzchok Abravanel (15^th C. Spain) attempts to reconcile the Torah and Yoel  by stating that both the Torah and the Navi are referring to their respective locales.  He explains that for the Egyptians, no plagues will ever be as bad in Egypt.  And for Yoel’s generation, a plague will never be as severe  in the Land of Israel.

The Chatam Sofer says something profound.  He explains that for the Egyptians, the plague of locusts felt like the most devastating thing ever considering everything else they were experiencing.  Egypt had been struck with six devastating plagues prior to the locusts.  When they were punished with locusts it seemed like something so severe that “after it there will not be anything like it” because they had suffered so much already.  The Chatam Sofer teaches us a valuable lesson in interpersonal relationships.  One must be so sensitive when interacting with another person, because you never what else the other person is “going through.”

People are complex.  Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, compared the human personality to an iceberg.  We only see the tip.  There is so much more under the surface; hiding beneath the veneer.  We need to be sensitive, and follow the advice of our Chachamim: “Do not judge your fellow man until you stand in their place.” (Avot 2:4)

What follows is a fifth expression, “And I will bring you to the Land…”So why don’t we drink a fifth cup of wine at the Seder?

1) According to one version of a beraitta in Pesachim 118a, we should indeed have five cups (Rambam, Rif, Ba’al HaMaor, Ra’avad to Rif), the fifth accompanying Hallel haGadol (Psalm 136).

2) The Cup of Elijah is represents this “Fifth Expression,” the Ultimate Redemption.

3) Some explain that while the Four Expressions of Redemption were lasting, while the Fifth Expression was temporary as we were eventually exiled from our Land.

4) Da’at Zekeinim explains that the Fifth Expression, “And I will bring you to the Land…” is the fulfillment or basis for all the other expressions. It does not require its own cup of wine as all the other Expressions of Redemption are predicated upon it: G-d took us out of Egypt to give us a Torah and bring us to Eretz Yisrael.

5) Kli Yakar explains that in reality this Fith Expression is included in the Fourth Expression, where G-d promises, “I will take you to Me for a people…”

The gift of the Land of Israel represents the intimate relationship between G-d and His People. It is so basic, it doesn’t require it’s own expression through a cup of wine.

In our study of Torah, how are we we to view the Avot and other Biblical figures? Are they to be put on a pedestal? Are they infallible? Or, are they human beings like us, and subject to human frailty?

The month of Ellul is a time of sincere reflection. As the Days of Awe quickly approach, we focus on “teshuvah” – returning to God’s Holy Torah. Returning to our very essence.

Parshat Nitzavim contains the “Parsha of Teshuvah.” After describing the punishments that will befall the Jewish People should they stray from God, the Torah describes a process of Teshuvah, return:

“And it shall come to pass, when all these things come upon you, the blessing and the curse, which I have set before you, then you shall take it to heart among all the nations, where Hashem your God has dispersed you. And you shall return unto Hashem your God, and listen to His voice according to all that I command you this day, you and your children, with all your heart, and with all your soul. Then Hashem your God will return your captivity, and have compassion upon you, and He will gather you in from all the peoples to which Hashem, your God, has scattered you. If your dispersed will be at the ends of heaven, from there Hashem your God will gather you in, and from there he will take you. And Hashem your God will bring you into the land which your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it; He will do good to you and make you more numerous than your forefathers. And Hashem your God will circumcise your heart, and the heart of your offspring, to love Hashem your God with all you heart, and with all your soul, so that you may live.” (Deut. 30:1-6)

The commentaries struggle to understand the verse, “and you shall return unto Hashem your God,” for it can be interpreted as a reference to one’s personal teshuvah or, as a promise of the Nation’s ultimate return and redemption.

Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook saw no difference in the two interpertations. They are really one in the same. He so beautifully describes:

“An illumination of teshuvah is found in [the Land of] Israel. The arousal of the Nation’s desire to return to her land, her essence, her spirit, her unique quality and charachter- in truth it is the light of teshuvah that it is contained [in the Land]. Truthfully, this is most clearly expressed in the words of the Torah: ‘And you shall return to Hashem your God,’ ‘when you shall return to Hashem your God.’ ” (Orot HaTeshuvah 17:2)

For Rav Kook, there exists an intimate bond between the individual, the Nation and the Land. If teshuvah is indeed a profound return to one’s true essence, to one’s unique potential- then that can only be accomplished by a much larger and more fundamental return to the Land of Israel.

May this new year be a year of both personal and national redemption. Shanah tovah!

This is time for personal reflection.

The selichot prayers also wake us up- literally and figuratively. Selichot, the additional service that begins this Saturday Night for those who follow the Ashkenazic practice, are prayers asking for forgiveness said in the wee hours of the morning, an auspicious time for prayer; a time of Heavenly mercy. The selichot remind us that Rosh Hashanah is less than a week away.

Parshat Nitzavim, always read on the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hashanah, contains many fundamentals of Jewish belief. It also provides deep insight into teshuvah.

There is a famous passage in our parasha, but one that is difficult to understand given its context:

For this mitzvah which I command you this day, it is not too hard for you, nor is it too far for you. It is not in heaven, that you should say: ‘Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it to us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say: ‘Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it to us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it?’ But it is very close to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, that you may do it. (Devarim 30:11-14)

The words penetrate. But what mitzvah is the Torah referring to? Which mitzvah is not ‘too hard or “too far” from our reach?

Rashi understands these verses to refer to the Torah itself, and more specifically, to Torah study.

Nachmanides, however, explains that our passage is referring to the section that immediately precedes it. The “mitzvah” is Teshuvah, referred to in verse 2: “v’shavta ad Hashem Elokecha- You will return to Hashem your God.” In fact the section that immediately precedes our passage (30:1-10) is sometimes referred to as “parshat hateshuvah- the passage of repentance.” According to this explanation, the Torah is telling us, ‘Don’t worry. You can do Teshuvah, it’s not out of your reach. It’s not in the Heavens or far off at sea. It’s not beyond you.’

Verse 2 adjures us to return “ad Hashem Elokecha.” The language suggests we are to return “ad Hashem,” all the way to God Himself! The task can seem daunting. Nevertheless, the Torah portion this week assures us that we all have an opportunity to come very close to Hashem through teshuvah. It’s not out of anyone’s reach. Even us procrastinators still have a chance!

Every seven years, during the festival of Sukkot, the entire Jewish People are commanded to gather together for “hakhel,” a special mitzvah performed in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. The King would read selections from the book of Devarim as the people listen attentively and re-affirm their commitment to the Torah.

Before his death, Moshe instructs:

Gather together the people- men, women and small children, and the stranger that is in your gates- so that they will hear and so that they shall fear Hashem, your God, and be careful to perform all the words of this Torah. (Devarim 31:12)

The Torah emphasizes bringing the taf, the small children. One can imagine the scene: Strollers and car seats, bottles and diaper bags, crowded Egged busses. It is certainly a challenge to maneuver Jerusalem with kids- trust me!

Why schlep all the kids?

Our sages explain, that the small children are brought to give reward to those who bring them (See Rashi to v. 12, Cf. Bavli Chagigah 3a, Yerushalmi Chagigah Chap. 1, Tosefta Sotah 7:9, Yerushalmi Sotah Chap. 3).

What reward is given to those who bring the children? And is it worth it?

Hakhel was a huge ceremony. It took place once in seven years- the first night of Chol HaMoed Sukkot, during the year following shemmittah. The trumpets would be sounded and the people would gather. With much fanfare, the Torah scroll was passed from one leader to the next, till it would reach the King. While the small children in attendance do not fully understand the significance nor do they understand the words being spoken, hakhel leaves a lasting impression on them: the sights, the sounds, the wonder. The children were brought for hakhel because it was an experience. An experience they will never forget.

So central is this experience, Rambam compares the mitzvah of hakhel to the revelation at Mt. Sinai. It is, so to speak, a renewed giving of the Torah every seven years in order to “awaken them to the mitzvoth and strengthen their hand in the true faith.” (Rambam Hilchot Chagigah 3:1). He writes that one should feel as if they are hearing the words from God himself. (Ibid 3:6)

No one is exempt from this special mitzvah. Even great scholars who know the entire Torah are obligated to pay extra close attention. (Ibid 3:6) This is because hakhel is not an intellectual exercise- it is an experience.

At the beginning of Parshat Nitzavim the Jewish Nation was also gathered. Moshe gathers the entire Jewish Nation together for his final farewell:

You are standing today, all of you, before Hashem your God: heads of tribes, elders, officers, all the men of Israel; your small children, your women, the proselyte in the midst of your camp, from the hewer of wood to the drawer of water. (Devarim 29:9-10)

Here too, our Sages ask the question: Why bring the children? The answer, again, is that it is to provide a reward for those who bring them. In fact, this is the source for bringing children to the synagogue. (See Masechet Sofrim 18:8). In the synagogue, just as together with the nation, they can witness the richness that is the full Jewish experience.

The “reward” that parents receive for ensuring that their children “experience” a vibrant Judaism is Jewish continuity. Children who internalize these experiences will grow to become adults who are passionate and committed Jews. There is no greater reward for a parent. That is “true yiddishe nachas.”
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Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananyah was one of the greatest disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai. Why? The Talmud states that his mother would bring his crib into the beit midrash “so that his ears would become attached to words of Torah” (Yerushalmi Yevamot 1:6). In fact the Mishnah (Avot 2:8) praises the mother Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananyah, and says “fortunate is the one who gave birth to him.” This experience set him on the course that would be his life’s journey.

There is a beautiful (and true!) story about a man who would come home tired every day, but yet make it his business to attend the nightly Talmud class. Each night, like clockwork, he fell asleep on his gemara. The Rabbi asked him, “why do you bother coming? If you are so tired, stay home and get a good night sleep!” The man responded that yes it was hard but even if he falls asleep, at least his children will know he is studying in the Beit Midrash.

Children are impressionable. They are always learning; soaking up life experience like a sponge.

Our challenge as parents and educators is to instill in the children in our care a Judaism that is vibrant, soulful, passionate and full of life. Then we will merit in seeing generations of deeply committed Jews.

The farmer schleps his new fruit up to Jerusalem, and the Torah provides a formula for him to recite while offering his bikkurim. The words are familiar as they are found in the Haggdah shel Pesach.

The language is difficult to understand, however, for when he begins his declaration he states, “higadeti hayom – I have declared today….” He speaks in the past tense, but he hasn’t said anything yet! This is before he makes his formal declaration!

Kli Yakar, explains that his actions speak louder than his words. By designating his crop, harvesting his first fruits and ascending to Yerushalayim to offer them in the Holy Temple, his actions tell a story; his actions speak for themselves. Even before he opens his mouth, he has already done so much. His actions have already “declared today.”

In fact, one can see this concept expressed in the realm of halacha. Offering the fruits and making the verbal declaration are considered two separate mitzvot (Rambam Sefer HaMitzvot Mitzvot Aseh 125, 131; Hilchot Bikkurim 2:1, 3:10).

Our Sages teach us to “say a little and do a lot” (Avot 1:5). The greatest acts of kindness are those done quietly, without pomp and ceremony. For kindness is not about seeking honor nor aggrandizing ourselves. Kindness is recognizing our responsibilities to one another. The word tzedaka is often mistranslated as charity. The root tzedek means justice. Giving of ourselves is not a nice or charitable act, it is a requirement; it’s the just thing to do.

There is a famous Chassidic tale about the Rebbe who walked in late to the Selichot prayers each morning before Rosh HaShanah. When confronted by a mitnaged about the Rebbe’s recurrent lateness, one of his chassidim declared, ‘”Every morning, the Rebbe ascends to Heaven in preparation for the Days of Judgement.” The mitnaged had his doubts and decided to see what the Rebbe is really up to early in the morning. The mitnaged awoke before dawn and stationed himself outside of the Rebbe’s home. He watched as the Rebbe left his home, dressed as a lumberjack, carrying an axe and sack. Curious, he proceeded to follow the Rebbe deep into the forest towards a small flimsy shack. The Rebbe chopped wood for an hour, all the while mumbling to himself. He then entered the shack. Through the window, the mitnaged saw the Rebbe stoke the fire of an old widow who occupied the little house. He spoke to her gently and gave her freshly baked bread. The Rebbe left and ran off back towards the shtetl, all the while moving his lips in prayer. The next day, the mitnaged saw the chassid and said to him, “You told me your Rebbe goes up to heaven each morning. I want you to know, he goes even higher!”

Rather than quickly judging someone, remember, they may be chopping wood. We should all merit to chop wood. Our actions should speak for themselves- like the farmer whose bikkurim speak volumes.

Parshat Ki Teitzei contains the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird before one takes the young. The Torah even promises that one who performs this command will merit long life.

In instructing us to shoo the bird away, the Torah employs double language, “shaleach tishalach et ha’em- you shall surely send away the mother.” (Devarim 22:7)

Why the repetition?

The Talmud (Chullin 141a) teaches that one may think he need not send away the mother should he need her young for a mitzvah. The Torah employs the double language to remind us that even for a mitzvah we must “surely” shoo her away.

A Mitzvah gives you no right to trespass on others. In fact Nachmanides, in his comments to our parsha writes that the mitzvah to send away the mother bird, as well as the mitzvot that surround it, teach us the importance of being sensitive.

This world is full of oppression for the sake of religion. Is that really religion? Certainly not holiness. Our Tradition teaches us to be both sensitive to halakha and to be sensitive to our fellow man.

This message became clear for me several years ago when I was singing with a large group of students in the common room of a JTS building. We were having a kumzits: speaking words of Torah, playing guitars, banging djembes and singing loudly. We were sharing an intense spiritual experience, but the hour was getting late. Soon, students who wanted to sleep or to study began to show up and express their concern. As much as I wanted to continue, we had to stop. We were impinging on the rights of others.

There is a famous story about the holy Ba’al HaTanya, Rabbi Schnuer Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812). It was the middle of the night and he was immersed in Torah study in his son’s home. He was interrupted when he heard the crying of a child. The Ba’al HaTanya proceeded to enter the child’s room and pick her up. Upon his return to his studies, he noticed that his son too was awake studying Torah. He remarked, ‘if you can’t hear the crying of a child, there must be something wrong with your Torah study.’

The mitzvah of shiluach haken teaches that one’s spiritual experience, no matter how profound, can never come at the expense of others. If it does, it wasn’t so spiritual after all.