Zimri ben Salu and The Problem With Tefillin Dates

 

Parashas Pinchas, Chumash BaMidbar

Thomas Hawk Photography

I was about to write an article about the plague of lewdness that took the Jewish People by storm, ending in Zimri ben Salu dragging a Midianite prostitute into the center of the Jewish encampment, smack in front of the eyes of Moshe (Moses), and finally being brought to justice by the heroic Pinchas.

But.

The problem is that I wonder whether a large segment of my readership even finds the word “lewd” problematic.

The times we are living in reflect a deep callousness to the meaning of intimacy. Physical touch between men and women is entirely taken for granted, but casual contact would be the best of it. I don’t have to become explicit about quite how casual physical relationships have become. Anyone exposed to the very least of American media can see within three seconds (the typical length of a single camera angle) how vulgar our relationship with the entire subject of intimacy has become.

Protesting this disgrace makes orthodox Jewry come off as prudish and repressed, but the truth is exactly the opposite. Shabbos, for example, gets bad press in the secular world for all of its restrictions, but you know what? Those restrictions don’t create a lack of pleasure. They create a space for pleasure, joy, and meaning in an over-busy world.

The same applies to the Torah’s restrictions of casual relationships between men and women. Judaism says that the concept of original sin is bunk. Instead, we believe in a precious, original, and indelible purity that is worth guarding and staying sensitive to. Touch is supposed to mean a very great deal.

Zimri ben Salu completely missed that.

 

Balaam’s Nefarious Plan

Believe it or not, the Midrash explains that Zimri thought he was doing the Jewish People a favor, or so he justified it to himself. In the immediately preceding parasha, Parashas Balak, Balaam the evil soothsayer tried to curse Israel. To his great chagrin, the words that God made flow from his mouth on the mountaintop were nothing but praise and blessings.

Not willing to let God’s love for the Jewish People get in the way of a good bout of anti-Semitism, Balaam came up with an ingenious plan. If the problem with cursing Israel was their divine merit, Balaam reasoned, than removing their divine merit should pave the way for his original nefarious intentions. Make ‘em sin! Get the Jewish People to behave so crassly, so despicably, that the intimate relationship between them and God would be severed.

As if this Machiavellian scheme weren’t enough, Balaam sat down and mapped out a fail-proof strategy for how to go about it. His strategy worked like this: Build an outdoor mall. Ever been to Jerusalem’s Ben Yehuda or Mamilla? Lots of fun, right? Balaam knew that the Jews would have no problem shopping in a clean, modest atmosphere, so he hired elderly Moabite grandmothers to stand at every storefront hawking their wares. Nothing to fear here, see? No licentiousness around.

Even more clever was Balaam’s prior sleuth work. He had gone to the trouble of finding out what the Jewish People needed most: linen. The Jewish People had been commanded to gather linen for a particular mitzvah (commandment), and now the Mall of Moab provided the perfect venue where they could find it. The price was right.

Jewish men would stop at storefronts to examine the products being sold. If they found the products appealing, they would ask the old grandmother saleswomen about the price. Just then, as the Jewish men were considering whether to purchase the appealing product for the proposed price, a higher-pitched voice would ring out from within the shady confines of the inside of the store. A second, much younger saleslady stood in the back of the store offering the same product at a much lower price.

Many Jewish men entered the stores intending to do nothing more than compare products and prices, but the situation tumbled downward from there. The devastating one-two blows of free Midianite prostitution and exciting Moabite idol worship (ritualized child sacrifice, mutilation, and rape included) became the new “in thing”. The other thing that quickly followed these trends “in” was a plague of some sort of illness that ended up killing some 24,000 of the Jewish People. Can you call a spiritually-induced plague an STD?

 

Zimri’s Crass “Solution”

Anyway, Zimri ben Salu thought he had a solution. Let them go on “tefillin dates”! Since he figured that it was impossible to stop the Jews from sinning with the Midianite women (and besides, from his perspective, who would want to?), at least the sins of idol worship could be avoided by bringing the Midianite women into the Jewish encampment. In simple terms, instead of going to Moabite territory to ruin their lives, Zimri proposed that the Jews ruin their lives right at home.

Pinchas saw right through Zimri’s twisted logic. Allowing Midianite prostitution to take place in the holy Jewish encampment would not stop the destructive behavior, it would encourage it. It would give the behavior a stamp of approval that could only lead to more and more permissive thinking until the holiness of the Jewish encampment was lost completely. An idol would be placed in the Holy of Holies. There would be no safe place.

Of course, the Pinchas plan meant that many of the Jewish People would still end up in Moab. There would be very few righteous individuals left. But those left would be unimpaired. When the broken and crippled of Israel crept back from the slums of Moab seeking succor, those few would be ready and able to provide it and a genuine healing process could begin.

When the Russian Ministry of Education threatened to close the Volozhiner Yeshiva unless they incorporated a few hours of secular studies into their curriculum, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, z”l, stood up at the board meeting and declared that although the Almighty had commanded to educate many students and ensure the transmission of living Torah wisdom from generation to generation, this commandment only applied when it was transmitted to the students the same way it had been transmitted at Sinai: pure, authentic Torah.

The Chofetz Chaim, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan z”l, told this story later with an added caveat. It’s true, he admitted, the yeshiva did close down, but Volozhin’s decision was what saved Torah in that generation. The problem wasn’t with the secular studies per say. Mathematics and medicine aren’t the enemy.

The problem was, explained the Chofetz Chaim, that the forces of evil are very wily. First they turn you away from Torah for only two hours a day. Slowly but surely those two hours grow and expand until the picture flips – and suddenly you find that the only time left for Torah study is two hours. Insidious but true.

And Torah is like water, added Rabbi Kagan. Close up one waterway and the stream finds another path to flow. Volozhin closed but soon other yeshivas opened in other countries. Torah made her way to Lithuania and Poland, staying pure and beautiful every step of the way. The integrity of the importance of Torah learning, and the sanctity of a yeshiva, was never compromised and found other ways to sprout. A yeshiva stayed a yeshiva. Torah stayed Torah. And we retained our “safe place” in a dizzying world.

 

Love is in the Little Things

 Judaism begins and ends with a sensitivity to the little things. Ever seen Hollywood depict that first touch? A current of electricity runs through our veins because we all know that Hollywood – and Torah – have got it right on that one. The little things are not really little things. Life is in the details. The details of Torah say, “Hey! It’s time to really start living!”

The converse is also true. Give up the little things, all those nifty, detailed little Jewish laws, and you’re left with cultural Judaism. Bagels and lox only get you so far – and not very far at all. They certainly won’t score you a profound relationship with God. With your spouse. With your friends. With your kids. With yourself.

What Zimri’s plan seemed to say was, “So what’s a little compromise? Big deal. It’s better than nothing.” But the truth is that a little compromise is a lot of apathy. Details matter. True love goes all the way.

Because it means something. It means everything.



 

Why Is Everyone Obsessed With Israel?

Parashas Shlach, Sefer BaMidbar

What is it about Israel that makes it so desirable? It’s like everyone is obsessed. The entire world can’t stop fighting over this little sliver of land in the Middle East. Americans recently asked how big they thought Israel is weighed in with responses as hefty as Russia, Australia, or at least the size of the United States. Otherwise, what is everyone so up in arms about?

In truth, Israel is 8,000 square miles large. To put that into perspective, the entire country could fit into the state of Florida eight times.  Nobody wants Israel for the size.

Plus, Israel has almost no oil. Not that has been found, anyway. 99% of the tiny country’s own consumption is purchased on the global market. (Unwilling neighbors like Saudi Arabia make that a tad more of a crunch, but that’s a different story.)

Israel is gorgeous, certainly, but not in a flashy, Grand-Canyon-esque sort of way. Let’s put it like this: Israel isn’t New Zealand. No local sheep farmers are protesting the number of high-budget movies shot here annually. It just isn’t like that. Don’t get me wrong! Gorgeous, yes. Flashy ecotourism and blockbusters? No.

What is it about Israel? What is it that we have been praying to return to across the wide, colorful bolt of fabric that has been our exile, tossed and still unrolling over the course of some 2,000 years?

 

Home

It’s easy to list off the reasons – 343 of the 613 mitzvos (commandments) directly involve Eretz Yisrael; everything means more here; this is a land that produces spiritual growth like Iowa produces corn and soybean – but the truth is that the best proof is in the pudding.

How can you describe that feeling at the Kosel (Western Wall) at sunset, as the pigeons and doves swirl in a rosy halo above all the people’s heads, snatches of tunes rising and mingling in the warm evening air as dozens of minyanim (prayer groups) lift their voices in song and praise to welcome Shabbos? Here’s the truth: you can’t. Something happens inside your heart that doesn’t have words. It’s more than a feeling. It’s more than a sense of inspiration. It’s like suddenly realizing that you have come home, but home in a sense truer than any material thing will ever express. You know that something vital in you is expressed here, is gloved here in the perfect setting for living in the fullest sense of the word.

You visit Ma’aras HaMachpelah and the tour guide tells your group that you have fifteen minutes to pray before heading back towards the buses. “By the way,” he mentions casually, “That room to your left is right above where Avraham and Sarah are buried.” Something like a cardiac shock shimmers through your body. These aren’t “your people” in some vague, disembodied sense; these are your mother and your father, the mother and father of all that has ever been meaningful to you. You walk over almost stumbling with emotion, lean your head against the cool, smooth stones, and cry. You aren’t usually a crier, you don’t go in for spirituality, but something speaks here.

“Hello,” you whisper, wet face cupped in the palms of your hands.

You visit the winding cobblestone roads of Tzfat (Safed), take a hike out into the surrounding Galilee, where country green meanders and mixes and merges with the lowing of wandering herds of cows who look so relaxed, where a soft breeze breathes the whispers of trees, where wildflowers seem to spring up underneath your steps, so profusely do they blossom in the spring.

And, wait, another thing – it’s not just beautiful, it’s dotted with strange, light-blue stone huts where the long-since resting bodies of the scholars whose debates make up the Mishna and Talmud are buried. They’re here among the flowers. They’re not just on a page, again disembodied, theoretical, a skinless and scentless scholarly work. They lived and walked among these same green hills. You continue along and come upon one, and then another, modest structures dappled with sunshine through gentle and vibrant foliage.

You hike down into Amuka and enter one of the little stone huts – here lie the remains of Rav Yonasan Ben Uziel, who spent his entire life absorbed so deeply in his Torah study that birds flying directly over his head were burnt. You pick up one of the soft, worn prayer books lining the walls of the small synagogue surrounding his grave. It’s so quiet here.

 

Not Just Physical, Not Just Spiritual

Jerusalem, the heart of the country, is a hot thicket, a flame, a burning bush. How aren’t we all consumed? The buses have exploded, the fear has risen thick and potent in our throats, the walls have all come tumbling down, but my neighbor took a bullet to the arm in a nearby gas station a few years ago when some lunatic from nearby Ramallah decided to show up with a gun and try to take out a few Jews. My neighbor stopped the terrorist. That’s Jerusalem. It’s not just heroism, it’s peace. Who wants to die of old age when you could die of real living? My neighbor grieves his lost arm but is a happy man.

That’s Israel. Israel is where our dreams lay buried like jewels beneath the rocky soil. Why?

Because G-d said so. Because the very first communication to the very first Jew took place when the Almighty commanded Avraham to “Go [for your benefit], from your land, from your relatives and from your father's house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation; I will bless you, and make your name great, and you shall be a blessing.” (Beraishis-Genesis 12:1-2)

Because when G-d wrote  the Torah, His very first move in the very first verse was to declare His proprietary rights as Creator and Owner of the universe just so that, as Rashi explains, “If the nations of the world should say to Israel, ‘You are robbers, because you have seized the lands of the seven nations [of Canaan], Israel should say to them: ‘The whole world belongs to God. He created it and He gave it to whomever He deigned to give it.’” (Rashi, ibid 1:1)

Because the Talmud in Baba Basra (158b) says that the air of Israel makes you wise. Because the Talmud in Kesuvos (111a) says that anyone who walks four amos (short arm-lengths) in Israel is promised to become a member of the World to Come. Because a few blocks away from where my husband goes to kollel (rabbinical college) every day are buried several members of the Sanhedrin – Judaism here is real, not theoretical. We aren’t an idea. We aren’t even a religion in the normative sense of the word. We’re something not just physical, not just spiritual, but alive.

Israel is like our clothing, skin, the place we can be most us, “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation”. And, without even realizing what they are hungering for, the whole world wish they could taste that.

Gratitude to Asim Bharwani for use of his great Kosel shot. Nice one, Asim.

What Is Prophecy?

Parashas B'Ha'aloscha, Chumash BaMidbar

 

Prophecy conjures up images of a bent old man with wild white hair flying at all angles, ranting and raving over predictions of doom and gloom. Citizens walk by little moved by the spectacle. But that’s not prophecy. That’s Central Park.

Telling the future was actually a relatively minor side-effect of prophecy. Far from being a social misfit, the prophet was the picture of physical and psychological health. A state of simcha was a pre-requisite for receiving prophecy. Simcha is usually translated as happiness, but what simcha really means is a state of profound, meaningful connectedness to oneself and to G-d, resulting in a very awake, joyful personality.

Prophets were those who had so much refined their own patterns of thought, speech, and behavior that a deeper attunement to reality was almost inevitable. Prophecy took place when an awareness of the presence of God filled them so entirely that knowledge of the future would be left imprinted upon their consciousness like the wet sand left after a wave recedes back into the ocean. That clarity, spiritual and practical, about what must be done to best serve God in the moment and in the future, was what we call prophecy today.

Prophecy also wasn’t a rare phenomenon. During the times of Shmuel (Samuel) texts describe that two hundred prophets covered every hill. “Many prophets stood for Israel, numerous as the number of people who left Egypt. Except only the prophecy needed for generations was written down, and what was not needed for generations was not written.” (Talmud Megilla 14a)

The Rambam (Maimonides) explained that, “Just as in wisdom there are some wise men greater than their peers, so in prophecy are there prophets greater than other prophets.” (Hilchos Yesodei HaTorah 4:2) What made some instances of prophecy greater than others?

Our sages describe the different qualities of prophecy obtained by various prophets as window glass. What makes good window glass? The fact that it looks like it’s not there. A clear pane of window glass displays nothing but the vision to be seen through it. Clear prophecy displayed nothing of the personality of the prophet, but only the Presence that filled him.

The Torah testifies that “Never again has there arisen in Israel a prophet like Moshe (Moses), whom Hashem had known face to face…” (Devarim-Deuteronomy 34:10) The sages added, “All the prophets saw with aspaclaria that did not illuminate, Moshe Rabeinu saw with illuminated aspaclaria.” (Talmud Yevamos 49b). What this means is that Moshe had a clarity of perspective that did not exist in anyone before or after him for all time. While for all other prophets the clarity of the window glass was marred by the assertion of their own personalities, Moshe’s vision was like a window pane so clear that you could not tell at all that it was there.  How did he obtain this clarity?

Humility Unplugged

Parashas Beha’aloscha explains, “Now the man Moshe was exceedingly humble, more than any person on the face of the earth!” (Bamidbar-Numbers 12:3) Humility in Jewish consciousness, anava, is not thinking poorly of oneself. To the contrary, anava is the bone-deep knowledge that all your strength, beauty, and worth comes from Above. It is the visceral knowledge that you are great because God made you great. Moshe  knew with greater clarity than anyone else in history that God alone was the source of all things, including him. There was nothing to defend, nothing to prove. There was zero sense of conflict between him and his own Source.

What would change in our lives if we lived with anava? If we cleaned away our biases and tried to take in what other people had to say as though through clear glass window panes, we wouldn’t judge as quickly, we wouldn’t take things as personally, and we might actually hear what they are really telling us. Our relationships would grow deeper and more fulfilling. Instead of looking out for me-me-me, the confidence of true anava would free us to take care of others, to connect with them, and to experience the joy of loving relationships.

Imagine that attitude applied to connecting with God through the Torah. If we were truly open to what He has to say, what would we hear? It’s tantalizing.

Prophecy was that kind of connectedness multiplied a thousand-fold. Torah promises that reclaiming such clarity of being is our ultimate spiritual trajectory as the Jewish People: “And it will happen after this, that I will pour out My spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and daughters will prophesy, your elders will dream [prophetic] dreams, and your young men will see visions…” (Yoel-Joel 3:1) Want to be a prophet? Start training now.

Thanks to Camdiluv for the beautiful image.