When Righteousness Just isn’t Enough

As we again start reading from the beginning of the Torah, the first question that greets us is one that Rashi quotes from the midrash in the name of Rebbi Yitzhak: Why didn’t the Torah begin with the sanctification of the new moon, which is the giving of the first mitzvah?

In other words, Rebbi Yitzhak wants to steer us away from an improper assumption: Don’t think that the Torah is only a book of laws. To put it in terms we can understand today, Hashem did not give us a Shulcan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law) on Mt Sinai. The stories—even those void of halachic content-- in the Book of Genesis are an essential aspect of the Torah. The question is why?

Rebbi Yitzhak gives an important answer, but I’d like to present a different approach, that of Rav Naftali Tvzi Yehuda Berlin, known as the Netziv, the great and last head of the Volozhin Yeshiva.

In his introduction to Genesis, he explains why this first book of the Torah is known as Sefer HaYashar, or the Book of the Upright. Its name comes from the forefathers Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov, who not only were pious and rigorous in their service of God, but were also men of tremendous character.

They lived amongst immoral people and idol worshipers; still they interacted with their neighbors and cared for their well-being. Avraham, known for his trait of loving-kindness, despised the lifestyle in Sodom, yet he repeatedly argued on behalf of the Sodomites before God.

This is a valuable lesson that we learn from the stories of our forefathers. Beyond piety and awe of God, one’s compassionate relationship with the world around him, especially the non-Jewish world, is the type of righteousness that God desires. It is this behavior that maintains the world, consistent with the theme in the creation story that all humanity is made in God’s image.

Sukkot and Simchat Torah-Feel the Love

Since the beginning of Elul our spiritual energies have been focused on teshuva; we have been working to paint a vision of the people who we want to be, and pinpoint the blocks that are keeping us from reaching that goal.

But the moment after Yom Kippur everything changes. Our slate is wiped clean with Hashem. Now is the time to feel the love.

One of our great Chasidic Torah giants, Rav Yehuda Aryeh Lev, known as the Sfat Emet, explains that the sukkah symbolizes the chupah, or wedding canopy. The Torah writes (Vayikra 22:33), “I am Hashem, the one who sanctifies you, the one who brought you out of Egypt…” The Hebrew word for sanctify, m’kadesh, is the same word for the union between a bride and a groom. The imagery teaches about the unique relationship that the Jewish people share with Hashem.

This process reaches its pinnacle on Simchat Torah. Throughout the seven days of Sukkot, a total of 70 cattle offerings are prescribed by the Torah. These 70 sacrifices symbolize Sukkot’s relations with the 70 primordial nations; it is a time when the entire world comes to Hashem’s house of prayer to give praise.

But on the eighth day, the Sfat Emet teaches, using the imagery of the midrash, we come out from the House of Prayer into the House of Study. We leave the sukkkah, the holiday for all the nations, and enter the House of Study, the private celebration between Israel and God, another aspect of the distinctive relationship that we have with Hashem, this time through His Torah.

Confronting mistakes and inadequacies during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur can leave one feeling far from Hashem; but Sukkot and Simchat Torah are the times to reconnect to Hashem’s love. It is a time to feel a deep sense of closeness with our Creator unlike any other time in the year, a true “time of our joy,” as we call it in our prayers.

Exploring the Essence of Yom Kippur

A friend recently reminded me of an important distinction: Yom Kippur is not Tisha B’Av.

The focus on fasting and long hours spent in shul make for an easy comparison; the physically taxing nature of both days makes it difficult to connect to their unique messages.

But this year I want to relate to Yom Kippur as a separate day, so I revisited an article written by Rav Shlomo Aviner, the head of Yeshivat Ateret Cohanim, and the Chief Rabbi of the community Beit El.

He writes in that Yom Kippur is the pinnacle of passivity. It is a day whose essence is defined in the negative; we don’t eat, drink, engage in marital relations, wear leather shoes, or apply oils.  The message of the day is to stop.

Of all the six prohibitions of the day, removing shoes seems the least self-explanatory. Rav Aviner teaches that taking off one’s shoes is a negation of one’s humanity; shoes are the most basic item that literally gives a person standing in the world. Taking off one’s leather shoes is symbolic of stepping out of the world.

The negation is not for its own sake; there is a positive outcome from this stopping. Our constant creating and building, though essential, can drown out our inner voice. On one day a year we stop in order to reconnect to the voice of our soul.

Yom Kippur is far from a day of sadness; true, it can be difficult to face our missteps over the past year. But Yom Kippur is a mikvah (ritual bath) that gives us a fresh start; we can again hear our true aspirations and longings that can guide us in the coming year. I hope for myself and for all of us that we can experience the joy of hearing our true inner callings.