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Yearning for Salvation, is the force that preserves Exilic Judaism, whereas the Judaism of the Land of Israel, is the very Salvation itself. — HaRav Avraham Itzhak Hakohen Kook

Archive: Shlach
Parshat Shelach: Tzitzit of Duality
Nathan Light

tzitzit

At the end of this week’s parshah, we learn about the commandment to wear Tzizit (fringes) at the edges of our (four-cornered) garments. The paragraph that describes the commandment is the very same paragraph that we recite twice daily (morning and night) in our prayers in the section of the “Shema”. Wearing Tzitzit is a crucial and fundamental commandment to the Jewish people, and through this commandment we are meant to “remember all the commandments of Hashem (God) and perform them” (Numbers: 15: 39). In order to understand the commandment on a deeper level it will be necessary to see the paragraph in its entirety; the Torah writes:

“And Hashem (God) spoke unto Moses, saying: ‘Speak unto the children of Israel, and say to them that they are to make themselves Tzitzit on the corners of their garments, throughout their generations, and that they put with the Tzitzit of each corner a thread of tcheiles (a type of turquoise color). And it shall constitue Tzitzit for you, that you may see it, and remember all the commandments of Hashem, and perform them; and that you not explore after your heart and your eyes, after which you stray; So that you may remember and perform all My commandments, and be holy to your God. I am Hashem your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God; I am Hashem your God.’ “[Numbers: 15: 37 – 41] (more…)

On my flight back to Toronto after my Year in Israel, I was writing furiously in my journal, trying to make sense of all that I’d seen, felt, learned and experienced, when a fellow passenger came up to me and struck up a conversation. We spoke about the power of Eretz Yisrael, and our mixed feelings about leaving. It was Parshat Shelach that week, and he explained to me Rebbe Nachman’s interpretation of the spies’ evil report of the land, specifically the phrase “the land…is a land that devours its inhabitants”(Bamidbar 13:32). Unfortunately I don’t remember his exact understanding, but it implied that this statement was both true and potentially positive, if read correctly. “Perhaps it’s true,” he suggested with a smile, “no one can deny that you become a part of this place. Whether you like it or not, your soul gets stuck here. Eretz Yisrael absolutely swallows you up.”

Those words echoed in my ears as my aliyah flight took off from Toronto just over a month ago. Exactly a year had passed, and as I learned Parshat Shelach on the plane, I thought about the deep, enigmatic connection between Am Yisrel and Eretz Yisrael. Over the past month as I’ve gone through the technical motions that will officially make this place my permanent home, I have been trying to better understand the meaning of this phrase. As I go from office to office, line to line, bus to bus, mountain to mountain, maayan to maayan, tiyul to tiyul, and Shabbat to Shabbat, this questions comes with me. What is it about Israel, about this physical mass of land in the Middle East, that completely consumes the Jewish people?

At first, I felt nothing. I felt like I was just here for the year. Perhaps it was all just so natural, so right - - the fulfillment of 3000 years of waiting. And then I began to panic. Am I in denial? Do I not understand the magnitude of my decisions? And then, suddenly, I felt everything. I felt everything, all the time. The most aggravating annoyance as I went through (and continue to go through!) the infamous Israeli bureaucracy. The most incredible frustration as I struggled (and continue to struggle!) in Ulpan, realizing my personal handicap in the language in which I will soon be studying. The most painful longing for friends and family members so far away, on so many levels. The most frantic helplessness as I heard the news of a terrorist on a mad rampage, bulldozing innocent people, smashing into the 13 bus I take to my Katamon apartment. The deepest sorrow upon feeling the effects of our captured soldiers tragic return to their home, to our home. And then the most all encompassing relief as I lit the candles and brought in my first Shabbat in the holiest city in the world. The most refreshing peace as I returned to Sfat for the first time. The indescribable feeling of touching the Kotel and realizing how close it will always be. The subtle comfort of being home. And the final clarity I have as I develop these thoughts at a maayan in the Judean Mountains at sunset (not to be too much of a cliché, or anything).

The greatest challenge, I have found, has been allowing myself to feel all that is constantly coming my way. Israel is a place so intense, so loaded, so powerful, that it is virtually impossible for my Western mind to categorize, analyze, and understand it, intellectually. My roommate gave me the wise advice of her mother, “Your emotions are a part of you. You need to embrace them, experience them, let them wash over you, and only then can you let them go.” But how could I feel something that didn’t make sense? How could I understand what I was going through, when it was so much larger than my limited perspective? Moreover, how could I be frustrated, annoyed and negative when I knew it was all part of something so Good? I tried so hard to remind myself at the peak of my frustrations, that each time I was being sent from office to office to office, I was spending more time exploring the streets of Yerushalayim, Ir Hakodesh. “It doesn’t matter how time consuming it is to get your medical insurance sorted out, or that every single person has given you completely contradictory directions,” I rationalized, “at the end of the day you are receiving free health care from an independent Jewish state in Eretz Yisrael that you have had the opportunity to make your home after thousands of years.” But it didn’t work. All of my efforts were futile, and this type of thinking only increased my frustration.

And then it hit me. I was at a friend’s going away party and met a woman who’d made aliyah close to two years ago. We spoke about the process, the challenges, the highs and lows, and she helped me to understand the inherent purpose of all that I had been going through. “This land will absolutely flatten you and rebuild you,” she warned, “any personal hang-ups? Ego-trips? Character flaws? Forget them!” And that is when I looked back over the past month, and realized that the entire experience has been picking at the very aspects of myself that need the most work. Whether it is learning how to ask for help, validating my own emotions, letting go of my ego, or relinquishing my desire to control my own fate (among many others!), my very environment is refusing to allow me to get away with my flaws. Every day, the things that frustrate me so completely, only do so because, in His abundant love and kindness, God has designed a reality where we are so intrinsically connected to this land that our experiences here reflect that which is happening internally. We are forced to address these issues head on, and the more we attempt to avoid them, the harder they will chase us. We need to become completely devoured by this land in order to realize our true potential and become the greatest versions of ourselves possible.

I know that I am currently living the dream of so many of Tzipiyah’s readers, and I feel a responsibility to be as honest as possible to those who look here for inspiration as I make my own personal report on the land. It is not necessarily easy. It is not necessarily fun. Perhaps this land really does devour its inhabitants. But it is real, it is worth it, and I truly believe that any time spent here, no matter in what capacity, has the power to bring us deeper and deeper into the reality of the world, into the heart of the people, and into the individual potential of ourselves. Please God, we should all get here soon.

The Tzitzit of Harmony
Nathan Light

At the end of this week’s parshah, we learn about the commandment to wear Tzizit (fringes) at the edges of our (four-cornered) garments. The paragraph that describes the commandment is the very same paragraph that we recite twice daily (morning and night) in our prayers in the section of the “Shema”. Wearing Tzitzit is a crucial and fundamental commandment to the Jewish people, and through this commandment we are meant to “remember all the commandments of Hashem (God) and perform them” (Numbers: 15: 39). In order to understand the commandment on a deeper level it will be necessary to see the paragraph in its entirety; the Torah writes:

“And Hashem (God) spoke unto Moses, saying: ‘Speak unto the children of Israel, and say to them that they are to make themselves Tzitzit on the corners of their garments, throughout their generations, and that they put with the Tzitzit of each corner a thread of tcheiles (a type of turquoise color). And it shall constitue Tzitzit for you, that you may see it, and remember all the commandments of Hashem, and perform them; and that you not explore after your heart and your eyes, after which you stray; So that you may remember and perform all My commandments, and be holy to your God. I am Hashem your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God; I am Hashem your God.’ “[Numbers: 15: 37 – 41]

There are a few core questions that come to mind when observing these verses: In the verse “And Hashem (God) spoke unto Moses, saying”, the last word “saying” seems, at first, superfluous. However, this kind of sentence occurs very often in the Torah and the Rabbis have explained that the extra “saying” implies that Moses is meant to repeat it (what God is about to tell him) to the Jewish people. If this is so, then the sentence that follows “Speak unto the children of Israel, and say to them” is definitely superfluous. If we have already established, from the first verse, that Moses is meant to convey this over to the Jewish people, why the need to repeat it!? The paragraph should have started out as something like “And Hashem (God) spoke unto Moses, saying: The children of Israel are to make themselves Tzitzit…’ “! From the way the Torah has presented it, it seems that Moses is meant to tell this commandment to the Jewish people twice! Why is that necessary!?

There are two more sentences that appear repetitive as well (as highlighted in bold). The paragraph mentions the idea of “remembering and performing the commandments of Hashem” twice. Why? And in the final sentence, God says “I am Hashem your God” twice as well. Again, why? From the fact that all our questions concern redundancy, there seems to be an underlying theme in the commandment of Tzitzit: duplicity. What is the nature of this duplicity?

Ideally, there is meant to be two types of Jew: The majority of Jews fall into the category that is engaged in pursuing a career and making a living; we can call this the “worldly” Jew. The other, less frequent, kind of Jew is the one that has dedicated his life entirely to studying Torah and clinging to God; we can call this the “Torah” Jew. Looking back on our first question, Moses indeed was meant to convey the commandment of Tzitzit twice! The commandment of Tzitzit was meant to be directed to the two different types of Jew!

To the “wordly” Jew, Hashem commanded that they ” remember all the commandments of Hashem, and perform them; and that you not explore after your heart and your eyes, after which you stray“. Because this type of Jew must go out of the confines of his Jewish home and environment into the work force, he is most likely to become exposed to the corruption and materialistic desires of the secular world. It is this Jew that requires the special warning of “that you not explore after your heart and your eyes, after which you stray” in order to follow God’s commandments. Furthermore, when God tells this Jew that “I am Hashem, your God”, he is also reminded that God “brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God“. Because the “worldly” Jew is in danger of becoming attached to immorality, God reminds him of the immorality of Egypt from which he was rescued. By remembering the spiritual bonds and wickedness of Egypt, the “worldly” Jew will avoid the danger of “exploring after his heart and eyes”.

The “Torah” Jew, however, is told to “remember and perform all My commandments, and be holy to your God“. Unlike the “worldly” Jew, the “Torah” Jew stays within the walls of his Jewish neighborhood and strives to spend his hours in the houses of Jewish study and prayer. To him, the caution of “not exploring after the heart and eyes” is less likely to apply. Because his lifestyle seeks to come closer to God, he is told that, through keeping the commandments, he will become “holy to your God”. (*please see footnote*)

This idea is not only expressed in the verses that pertain to the commandment of Tzitzit, but it is also expressed in the actual Tzitzit themselves! The Tzitzit are composed of two types of string; the more common white string (there are 7 of them), and the less common turquoise string (there is only one of them). Although there are two different types of string, the Torah nevertheless uses the “singular” terminology for Tzitzit (”Tzitzit” is really translated as “fringe” in the singular; “fringes” in the plural would be “Tzitziyot” in Hebrew)

Getting back to our idea; the more common white string represents the more common “worldly” Jew, while the less common turquoise string represents the less common “Torah” Jew. Throughout Jewish history, there has and will inevitably exist this branching of “worldly” and “Torah” Jew. But despite these differences, there is undoubtedly an obligation amongst us, as Jewish people, to fuse together and intertwine these two strings into one harmonious string of unity.

(Inspired by a teaching from Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin of Volozhin, 1817 - 1893)

Good Shabbos,

NZL

*It is a common teaching amongst the sages that the beginning and end of the Torah parshah are related to one another. Since the commandment of Tzitzit is at the end of our parshah, they must relate in some fashion to the opening topic of our parshah: the sin of the spies. I believe the sin of the spies demonstrates how each type of Jew (”worldly” and “Torah”) are in danger of falling into sin.

To the “worldly” Jew, the sin of the spies shows what can happen when one leaves the confines of his Jewish surroundings. The spies left the Jewish encampment in the desert to spy out the land of Israel, and because they were distanced from their Jewish homes and families they were more susceptible to the dangers of confusion and dullness of heart, which eventually led them to sin. To the “Torah” Jew, the sin of the spies shows how men of such immense righteousness and grandeur (as the Rabbis explain; the spies were the most righteous individuals from each tribe), who have completely dedicated their lives to serving God, can still fall prey to sin as well.

There is yet another connection; the only spies who didn’t sin were Yehoshua and Calev. I believe that Yehoshua and Calev represent the “worldly” and “Torah” Jew. If one is interested in this, please email me.

Question of the Week - Parashat Shlach
Dan Illouz

Tzipiyah.com will be starting a new “tradition”.

Every week, I will be posting a question which I will call “Question of the week”. Sometimes, it will be linked to the weekly parasha. Other times to holidays coming up. Other times just not connected to anything specific to that week.

STARTING NEXT WEEK: We will be offering real prizes to one lucky winner, every week ,through a raffle of all the names of the people who posted an answer! Click here for more information!

Some questions will have been answered already by some mefarshim. Others will be new questions. The goal is to re-discuss those issues from our own perspective, with the help of the mefarshim and with a completely orthodox understanding, but through our own contemporary eyes. Hopefully, this will lead to some dynamic learning. I encourage everyone to participate, give their answer, and discuss other people’s answers!

This week’s question of the week:

The Meraglim were some of the greatest leaders in Jewish History. Some people even like insulting fellow jews by saying they are “just like the meraglim” - however, its hardly an insult. These people were the top of the leadership of the Jewish People.

If this is the case, how is it possible that such great leaders make such a fundamental sin and refuse to enter the land of Israel (and speak lashon hara on it)? What happened to them?

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