Parshat Bamidbar and Shavout

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Bamidbar: Stand Up And Be Counted

When you’re in the middle of a war-of-sorts, it’s somewhat striking when the parsha of the week begins with a military-style census.  This is not an incidental aspect of the sefer. There are actually two censuses in Bamidbar, one in the beginning and one in parshat Pinchas. Chazal even call Bamidbar “Chumash HaP’kudim” which literally means the Book of Countings (see, for example, Menachot 45b). In the Torah world, names express essence. So what’s the deeper meaning behind this census?

What does pikud mean? Not necessarily to count. Ramban explains pikud as placing attention and guidance over something.  We see the word in Bereisheit 21:1, when Hashem ‘remembered’ (root word, pakad) Sara. The result was that Yitzchak was born. We could also look at Esther 2:3, “And let the king appoint (same root, pakad) commissioners to all the provinces of his kingdom.” When Hashem commands Moshe to lift up Bnei Yisrael through this process and to count us, it is a not simply counting. It is a spiritual accounting.

Each person who was counted was lifted through the process of connection to his unique place. That place was defined in many ways. We were counted not just individually by our names, but also according to our families, our households, and later also according to our shevet, the degel we traveled under in the desert, and as part of the entirety of klal yisrael. Each person possesses not just a unique name, but also a unique place in our family, in all the different circles of our community and in the nation as a whole.

Avraham was told to leave his land, his birthplace, and his father’s home. As an individual, he created our nation. As that nation prepared to re-enter the land Avraham was promised, we were asked to stand up and be counted as an intrinsic part of that nation. We were asked to recognize that each individual has a unique tafkid, mission (also from the root pikud) within the nation as a whole. We were uplifted by recognizing our place as individuals within the community.

The Zohar adds to this idea by equating the number of Jews to the number of letters in the Torah. Every Jew is connected to a letter in the Torah. That letter has a unique kedusha on its own, but also a kedusha that comes from being part of a word, part of a pasuk, part of a parsha, and part of the Torah as a whole. Each letter is also a vessel filled with light. As we’ve mentioned before, the Torah that we have in this world is a vessel that holds the light of the completely spiritual Torah of the higher worlds. In this way, the Torah is similar to our souls. It has both a revealed section, and a very deep inner essence. Each of us can draw vitality from our connection to a letter in the Torah. The point of the census was to connect us back to our source in the Torah, and to appoint us guardians of the kedusha that belongs uniquely to us.

This was accomplished by standing individually before Moshe and Aharon. As Ramban points out (Bamidbar 1:45) standing before Moshe was no small thing. As the greatest of prophets, he was uniquely able to be “the seer” who could identify the individual spiritual mission of each person that stood before him. Moshe stood together with Aharon: the giver of the Torah, together with the Kohen Gadol. Together, they identified for each person their unique aspect of Torah to embody, and their unique avodah to perform in the world.   

There is a tremendous zechut to being willing to stand up and be counted as an individual within the whole. We each have our own mission, and part of that mission is our connection to the community around us.  Each year before Shavout, Hashem sends us a message through Parshat Bamidbar. The Torah was given to Klal Yisrael when we were united, and  the ideal way to be united is to be counted together, as individuals within something greater. 

At the moment, some of us are fighting on the front lines. Some of us are davening from far away. Wherever we are, we are all connected. We all have something to contribute. May Hashem bless us to be able to stay connected. Together may we welcome in times of peace and health.

Shavout: Listening. Just Listening.

So here we are, erev Shavout, and our avodah is to prepare to receive the Torah. Rav Schorr points out that this is easier to do if we understand exactly what it is we are receiving. After all, what we got is not what the angels wanted us to receive.

The Gemara (Shabbat 88b) describes how the angels protested when Hashem gave Moshe the Torah. They were okay with Hashem giving us the mitzvot. But the highest levels of the Torah? The Torah that is black fire written on white fire? How could something so holy, so sublime, be placed into the hands of man? Moshe is afraid to respond to the angels. But Hashem replies, “Grab onto my Throne of Glory, and give them an answer.” This is an intended pun. Rav Shorr points out that the word Hashem uses for answer is teshuva. The answer Moshe is meant to give the angels is teshuva, repentance.

Moshe’s ultimate response is that in a certain sense the angels are right. We can’t earn the Torah based on our ability to be perfect. The source of our spiritual strength is not our perfection. The source of our spiritual strength is our ability to return to our roots. Our souls are connected at their highest level to the kisei hakavod. Just as we are one, from the lowest parts of ourselves to the highest, the Torah is one as well. We are connected to it on all levels.

This is the essence of our celebration of Shavout. We did not exactly get the receiving of the Torah perfectly right the first time around. There were two spiritual ‘crowns’ which we had for a small period of time at Har Sinai. And then we lost them through the sin of the Chet HaEgel. The first crown was na’aseh, the level of action of the angels. We intrinsically knew the right thing to do, and automatically did it.  Clearly, we don’t have this ability anymore. But we do still have the ability to return to our source. Teshuva means there is always another path to where we need to go. The path is longer than it once was. It may take a while, but we can learn before we do. And we can still achieve the state of knowing what Hashem wants us to do in this world.

The second crown at Har Sinai was the crown of ‘nishma.’ This did not mean learning in order to do, because as we mentioned, we had no need for that at Har Sinai. This was a different kind of listening, a kind of listening that even the angels do. It is described in Tehillim 103:20, “to listen to the kol in His dibbur.” It is listening to the kol, the voice of Hashem.

A kol, a voice, is different than the dibbur, the words that are said. Words are what happen when the kol is divided up into different parts and movements. But the kol itself is the inner essence of speech, the source of the speech, that comes from a higher level. There is one level of spirituality which involves being able to hear what Hashem wants us to do and then following that command. There is also another level of spirituality which builds on the first. It is the ability to listen for Hashem’s presence within the words, and within the actions that we do.

Hashem is always communicating. His kol fills our world. We no longer hear this voice automatically. But Hashem is still communicating to us. This year it seems possible that Hashem is communicating a little louder than usual. I think this year, I’d like to try to focus on listening to Him. I’m not sure what I’m going to be learning or doing exactly this Shavout. But what I would like to do is remember that our superpower is teshuva. Spiritually, we can always find another way to get where we need to go. It would be great if we could get to a place where we can hear what Hashem is trying to tell us.

This year, I would like to suggest an experiment.  Choose a moment when you are involved in following the dibbur of Hashem, either through learning or doing a mitzvah. Use that moment to breathe in and experience the pleasure of the breath Hashem gives us. And then listen. Pause for a moment, and connect to Hashem’s Presence in whatever way feels meaningful. Perhaps for a moment we can regain a bit of the crown of ‘nishma.’

May we all be blessed with a meaningful, beautiful, and peaceful Shavout!

Behar Bechukotai

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The Fruit of the Tree is Wheat?

This week, I want to focus on a bracha; specifically the bracha that is spelled out in the first 11 pesukim of Parshat Bechukotai. It’s a beautiful bracha which starts by blessing us with rain that comes at the right time and produces bountiful crops. It includes peace and serenity, protection from wild animals and the ability to vanquish our enemies. It closes with the promise of Hashem dwelling among us. This section naturally comes out each year just before Shavout, and was also decreed by Ezra HaSofer to be read at this time. There is something meaningful here for Shavout.

This bracha describes a world which is so idyllic, so spiritual, that Ramban tells us that it has never been actualized fully. For example, when Hashem promises us, “I will quiet the wild animals from your land (Vayikra 26:6),” Ramban explains that this describes a complete change in nature. When the world was created all animals ate only plants (see Bereisheit 1:30). This was their original nature. It was only after Adam sinned that some animals began to prey on each other and become dangerous. In the future, when we are unified nationally, living together in Eretz Yisrael and following Hashem’s Will, the entire world, and the animals along with it, will return to its original state. Wild animals will no longer be dangerous.

Similarly, the Rama MiPano tells us that when the Torah promises (Vayikra 26:4) that the “tree of the field will give fruit,” the promise is not just that apple trees will produce apples. The promise is that all trees, even trees that today do not produce fruit, will become fruit bearing. The fruit they will bear will not be like the fruit of today. Today, we are only able to eat bread after we have put in a lot of effort to plow, plant, harvest, grind and form the grain into bread. This is a result of Adam’s sin, as Hashem told us, “by the sweat of your brow, you shall eat bread (Bereisheit 3:19).” But there was a time when things were different, and they will be different again. According to Rebbe Yehudah the fruit of the tree of knowledge was wheat (Sanhedrin 70b), because in Gan Eden wheat grew just like the fruit of a tree. Additionally, according to Rabban Gamliel, in the future the soil of Eretz Yisrael will produce fully formed bread (Shabbat 30b).  

Even though wheat clearly does not still grow on trees, we retain a connection to this ideal, even today. Shavout is the new year of the fruit of the tree (see Megilla 31b). The Korban we bring, for the purpose of bringing bracha to the fruit of the trees, consists not of fruit but of two loaves of bread. There is still a connection between wheat and the fruit of the tree, even if we don’t experience that connection in our fields today.

The bracha at the beginning of our parsha is an ideal. But it is an ideal that we retain a connection to. The Midrash points out that our bracha follows the order of the aleph-bet. It begins with the letter aleph and ends with the letter tav.  The aleph-bet is the order of creation. When the Midrash tells us that the bracha follows the order of the aleph-bet, it is making an important point about the nature of our world. This bracha is the original, intended, nature of the world. Bracha is not a chidush in the world; it is the essence of what this world is meant to be.

When we read through the parsha, what often strikes us is that the brachot are followed by a very long list of klalot, that seem to go on forever. But the Midrash points out that the klalot begin with the letter vav and end with the letter hey. They are exactly backward, the inverse of the purpose of creation. We have the ability to flip them around and turn them to good. Our world was created with the letter “bet,” the letter of expansion and bracha. Our natural state is to live in a world of bracha.

Why do we read this message just before Shavout? Because when we talk about Shavout being the new year for the trees, we mean this on two levels simultaneously. On the one hand, the yield of the trees is being determined for the next year. On the other hand, when we speak of a tree, we are also speaking of ourselves. As we read in Devarim 20:19 “for man is like the tree of the field.” Shavout is a new beginning for us as well. It is a beginning when we return to our roots, and to our true self.

We live physically by bread, but spiritually through the Torah: “man does not live by bread alone, but rather by whatever comes forth from the mouth of Hashem does man live (Devarim 8:3).” Once, both Torah and bread were easily available to us. Now, outside of Gan Eden, we have to work to attain these things. But we are meant to do this work in a specific way.

The nature of a tree is very different from the nature of a field. Each year, in the field, we begin again, plowing, sowing, planting. We have to tear down in order to grow. In contrast, the tree stands tall, year after year, and produces fruit from within itself. Yes, it needs to be tended to, and cultivated. But it never needs to be torn down in order to grow. The new year of Shavout is the new year of the tree. It is when we reconnect to our source of life, the Torah. It is the time when we reconnect to our original nature. We have no need to recreate ourselves in order to grow. We already have tremendous spiritual strength within. Our avodah is only to refine ourselves, for the purpose of allowing our inner strength to reveal inself naturally.

May we be blessed to succeed in finding the joy and tranquility of connecting to the Torah, and to our own inner strengths.

Parshat Emor / Lag Ba’omer

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Part I: Lag Ba'omer

This morning I am writing with a heavy heart after the tragedy in Meron last night. As usual I am finishing this post at the last minute. The idea I had decided to begin with last night is that Lag Ba’omer is not a typical celebration. It marks the cessation of a really horrible tragedy, the death of 24,000 of Rabbi Akiva’s students. It is also the yahrzeit of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. It seems a strange reason to celebrate. Rav Schorr’s beautiful comments on the complexity of this particular date seem all the more meaningful this morning.

Rav Schorr points out that Lag Ba’Omer means that we have reached the final third of the Omer. On the one hand, this means that we are getting closer in time to Shavout, which is a very joyous thing. We are finally close enough that the light of Shavout is able to radiate outward towards us, and we can feel its impact. We can begin in earnest to take on the avodah of preparing for Shavout and strengthening our connection to the Torah. This pattern was set up during our first year as a nation. One of the preconditions for receiving the Torah the first time was eating the manna. And Lag Ba’omer is the day when, after several days without food, the manna started to fall, and fed our entire nation. Lag Ba’omer is the time to began to prepare our bodies in earnest for the giving of the Torah.

On the other hand, Rav Schorr points out another feeling that might come with the realization that the omer is almost over. We may feel that we haven’t grown as we meant to in these first 33 days. We may feel more disconnected than connected. And there is the possibility that instead of excitement, we could feel disappointment or despair. The message of Rabbi Akiva on Lag Ba’omer is that we can always move forward. Rabbi Akiva lost 24,000 students. It was an unspeakable tragedy. Who wouldn’t have understood if he would have chosen to give up? Instead, he rebuilt with only five students. One of those five students, of course, was Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. We celebrate the hillula of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the anniversary of the day of his death,  because that was the day of the greatest light, the day he gave over the deepest secrets of the kabbalah.  The Torah of Rabbi Akiva’s remaining five students, and of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai in particular, has been enough to sustain us through the long galut.

Lag Ba’Omer is the day that marks the tragedies that can happen to us, but also the power Hashem gives us to rebuild from those tragedies. It is a day that recognizes that we are complex beings in a complex world. Most of all, it is the day that tells us, in preparation for Shavout, that we have the ability to  strengthen our connection to the Torah even if we don’t feel that connected yet. In this week’s parsha (Vayikra 23:16) we read: “until the day after the 7th Shabbat, you shall count 50 days.” On this, the Kotzker Rebbe taught that even if all 49 days of the sefira have passed, a person is still able, in the one moment he has left, to create light that is equivalent to the avodah of all 50 days.

Part II: Connecting to the Light

Lag Ba’omer is a great time to explore our inner light. Rav Schorr’s amazingly deep comments on this week’s parsha allow us to begin to get a sense of what this might mean in action. His Torah is a bit abstract in the beginning. Please stick with me for a moment, I think it’s worth it.

Rav Schorr begins by calling our attention to the Midrash Rabbah’s comments on the double language of the first pasuk in this week’s parsha, “Say to the Kohanim, B’nei Aharon, and say to them, do not become impure.” The Midrash tells us that, unlike the angels, when we receive a mitzvah we need two separate ma’amarot, two sayings. Apparently, the need for two ma’amarot is worked into our essence. But what are they, and what does this tell us about ourselves?

Rav Schorr explains that there are actually two parts of every mitzvah we receive. Each mitzvah has both a hidden, closed ma’amar, and a revealed ma’amar. The hidden ma’amar is the actual word of Hashem that expresses the command. When Hashem speaks, reality is created. Those words last through time.  Our spiritual reality continues to be created through these words, even if we are not aware of it. The revealed ma’amar, on the other hand,  is the instruction that we understand from the word of Hashem.

For example, when Hashem commanded the Kohanim “you shall not become tameh for a (deceased) person among your people,” something changed in the spiritual reality of the kohanim. Deep within their essential self, a separation from tumah was created. This is the effect of the hidden ma’amar. At the same time, the kohanim were given a command to not become tamei, impure. This open ma’amar is a warning to guard the spiritual reality expressed by the closed ma’amar.

This is the truth of every mitzvah. The command to eat certain sacred foods only in Jerusalem is expressed in the Torah as “lo tuchal l’echol b’sharecha (Devarim 12:17).” The literal meaning of these words is, “you are not able to eat it in your gates.” The commandments, positive and negative, create our internal spiritual reality. We have 248 internal spiritual limbs created by the 248 positive commandments, and 365 spiritual ligaments created by the negative commandments. In the world of truth, this is our reality. We cannot do that which is forbidden by the Torah. If we were angels, we would only need one ma’amar, and we would always act according to the reality created by that ma’amar. 

We are not, however, angels. We are people created in the world of bechira, free choice. Hashem gave us the astounding ability to go against the inner truth of who we are. Chazal tell us (Menachot 29b:) that anyone who wants to leave his inner world can leave. This is why there is a second aspect to every mitzvah. The spoken words of the mitzvah are the open ma’amar. They are the words that warn us to guard our own spiritual reality, even if we are disconnected to it, by following the actions of the mitzvah.

The Gra tells us that this is one of the deeper meanings of the bracha we make before every mitzvah: “asher kidishanu bmitzvotav v’tzivanu, Who made us kadosh with His mitzvot and commanded us.” The kedusha of the mitzvah is the essence of the mitzvah that comes down deep into the soul of the person from a very high place. This gives us our inner holiness. Along with this, Hashem also gave us a command. These are the actions that allow us to safeguard our spiritual reality.

We can understand this more deeply by looking at the mitzvah of loving our fellow Jew. How is it that we can be commanded to love? Because the closed ma’amar of this mitzvah creates within us a deep and real love for others. We have that spiritual treasure inside. The positive commandment to love every Jew is the command to bring that force of love out into reality, through our interactions with our neighbors.

Each mitzvah is another aspect of connecting to the light within ourselves. May we be blessed as individuals and as a nation to find that inner light. 

May all those inured physically and emotionally experience a complete and total healing. 

L’ilui nishamat all the beautiful souls who were tragically niftar in Meron. 

Parshat Achrei Mot Kedoshim

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Always Holy

This week I’m sending out these words from Teveria where the Tomb of Rabbi Akiva is located. Rav Schorr, in his comments on this week’s parsha, brings a teaching of the Radziner Rebbe about the death of Rebbe Akiva, so I thought that would be a good place to start. Many of us are familiar with the Gemara’s account (Brachot 61b) of Rebbe Akiva’s death at the hands of the Romans after the Bar Kochba revolution. As the Romans were torturing him, Rebbe Akiva famously said Shema, and in his last words to his students, he explained why. He said, “All my life, I didn’t know when I could fulfill the words of the Shema, ‘with all your soul.’ Now I can.” The Gemara testifies that he died with the word echad on his lips.  

The Radziner explains that Rebbe Akiva did not say Shema the way we say Shema. Rebbe Akiva accepted the Kingship of Hashem with intense, unparalleled connection to Hashem. His soul connected to its source, and he was completely willing to give up everything, including life itself. It was almost to the point where his soul was released from his body. Almost, but not quite. Rebbe Akiva could not allow his soul to rise freely and return to its source because of the pasuk in this week’s parsha (Vayikra 18:5): “v’chai bahem, you shall live in them.”  He was commanded by Hashem to be here, in his body.

However, at the moment of his torture, death was imminent. The command of “live in them” no longer applied. Rebbe Akiva could say Shema with no restrictions. Through his complete attachment to Hashem as he uttered the word echad, he gave his soul back to his maker The Romans could not rule over the powerful soul of Rebbe Akiva.

Rav Schorr explains that the death of Nadav and Avihu, which opens this week’s parsha, was a similar situation. Nadav and Avihu were offering ketoret, the incense offering. The ketoret is a korban which has the power to connect a person so closely to the source of life that it can stop a plague. This is in fact how Moshe used it to stop the plague after Korach’s rebellion. But for Nadav and Avihu it had the opposite effect. They died from coming too close to Hashem. The Zera Kodesh describes how Nadav and Avihu were such tremendous tzaddikim that they  regularly attained a level of connection to Hashem where they would come to the point of death with each mitzvah. The mitzvah itself would then become their source of life, and revive them.  In this case, however, the Torah tells us “they were not commanded.” They were following no command when they brought this korban, and so there was no mitzvah that could revive them. Their souls returned to complete connection with Hashem and they died.

Mitzvot connect us to the source. But the way we use the mitzvot, and the way we understand the potential of the mitzvot, impacts the way we experience them. Ramban illustrates this vividly in his commentary to “v’chai bahem.” Halachically, this mitzvah is an instruction to prioritize saving a life over other mitzvot. However, Ramban explains that this pasuk is also a description of spiritual reality.   

The mitzvot are our true source of life. We live through the mitzvot. And not just in a vague, general way, but in a way that is specific to each person. The way that we do a mitzvah determines the life force we are able to draw from the mitzvah. Mitzvot which are done for our own material needs nourish us with life in this world. Mitzvot we do for the sake of gaining the world to come save us from punishment in the world to come. But mitzvot done with love for Hashem open the doors to eternal life, even while they nourish us in this life as well. Mitzvot done with complete devotion and attachment, in the way of Eliyahu Hanavi and Chanoch, create the possibility of eternal life, body and soul together. 

Mitzvot are not only a source of life. Just as there is life-force without limit in every mitzvah, there is a force of unlimited kedusha in every mitzvah as well. Parshat Kedoshim opens with the instruction, “kedoshim tehiyu, you shall be holy.” Rav Schorr points out that Moshe was instructed to teach this mitzvah to the entire congregation together (Vayikra 19:2). It is a message to each and every Jew, and it contains within it both a warning and a promise. The warning is that we have the obligation to separate ourselves from that which can harm us spiritually, even those things that might technically be allowed. The promise is that we remain eternally connected to Hashem, and therefore eternally kadosh.

Our kedusha is eternal, everlasting, and without limits because it stems from Hashem, Who is of course without limits. We therefore retain the ability, regardless of where we find ourselves in life, to sanctify ourselves. In addition, Hashem promises us that He will place us in situations that push us toward kedusha. In the end, personally and nationally, we will remain kadosh. As a nation, we will return to the level we experienced at Har Sinai. We are traveling a long and winding path. But we are traveling a path that has a specific destination. We will ultimately come to a place of connection and kedusha. We had not yet reached our destination at the time of Rabbi Akiva. Nevertheless, he knew how to experience joy and connection, to draw eternal life force, from any situation. He knew how to do it in a way that continues to revitalize the nation today.

May we be zoche to learn from Rebbe Akiva, and to apply his example to all the simple and joyful experiences of our lives. May we be zoche to use those experiences to the fullest, and to allow them to bring us closer to Hashem, to our true selves and to our real destiny.  

Parshat Tazriah Metzorah

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Connecting the First to the Last

These are parshiot of tumah. Specifically, pasuk after pasuk about the laws of tzaraat, and the negaim, the afflicted marks, which appear on skin and clothes and houses. These laws are bookended at the beginning and the end by the laws of tumah and taharah, relating to the realities of the sexual nature of our bodies. We can almost feel the echo of the awkward days of a preteen, and the hours of dealing with blemished skin and awkward outfits, and the changes of puberty. A deeper look at the Midrash Rabbah reveals that this is not as far off as it may seem.

The Midrash opens up the parsha for us, as it usually does, with a pasuk that appears at first random and unconnected, but which proves to be the key that reveals the beauty and depth of the section. Vayikra Rabbah 14:1 begins with the words of Tehillim 139:5, “Last and first you encompassed me.” It reads these words as a description of our nature as humans. We are last because our bodies were created on the sixth day, after everything else in creation had already been formed, to give us humility. In the words of the Midrash, even the tiniest mosquito can lord over us that he was created before us. We are also first, because the soul that Hashem blew into our body was the spirit that was hovering over the waters on the first day. Our soul, our connection to Hashem, came before everything else.

What does this have to do with our parsha? The Midrash teaches that just as we humans were created last, after the creation of the animals, our Torah was given last as well. Parshat Shemini ends with the words “this is the Torah of the animals.” Only after that does our Torah begin, in Parshat Tazria, with the laws of purity of a woman after she gives birth, the brit milah, and then the laws of tzara’at. This is perplexing on many levels, not least of which is that it calls into question the Torah of the first two and a half books, until this point. Are Bereisheit and Shemot not the laws of humanity?

The Shem MiShmuel answers this question in a fascinating way. The Torah until now has been addressing itself to our soul. This Torah, the Torah of tumah and tahara, is the Torah of our body. It begins at the beginning, with the entrance of our body into the world, and it tells us that our entrance into the world is unique, different than that of any animal. Our entrance into the world brings with it tumah.

This is actually a direct result of our actions in Gan Eden. Hashem informs us that the result of Chava’s choice to eat from the eitz hada’at tov v’ra was “in sadness you will give birth.” All sadness comes into the world through the sitra achra, through the forces of impurity. Once we open ourselves up to the world of the eitz hada’at, our physical reality exists together with tumah.

All this can sound depressing, but only until we open ourselves up to a deeper level of understanding. Ramban’s explanation of tzara’at gives us insight. He explains (on Vayikra 13:47) that tzara’at is unlike any illness in the world. It creates negaim, marks on our bodies and our physical possessions, but they are not the marks of illness. When Bnei Yisrael is in a state of wholeness, a state of unity between soul and body, our divinity flows outward. This creates beauty not only in our bodies, but even in the parts of the material world that are connected to us. Beauty is our natural state, the way we were created. The nega is the result of a disruption of that flow from our soul to our body.

Rav Schorr explains that each of us has an inner form, the 248 limbs of our soul. The 248 limbs of our body cover our inner form. When our physical body is in tune with the spiritual needs of our soul, the light of our soul shines out through our skin. We saw this in action when Moshe came down from Har Sinai with rays of light shining brightly through the skin of his face. Our original state of being in Gan Eden was that we were covered with ohr, skin, spelled with an ayin, which was also ohr, light, spelled with an aleph.

After we ate from the eitz hada’at we changed the nature of our skin, so that it hides our inner light. This is the tumah that enters the world with us. Sin causes an inability of the light of our soul to shine through our bodies. When we live in a state of closeness to Hashem in Eretz Yisrael we see the results of our actions in real time. The nega of tazra’at is the ugliness that happens when our inner light is unable to shine through our physical selves. This is something which is unique to humans. We only have tumah because we have tahara, because we have the ability to connect our bodies to our soul. We only have negaim in the land of Israel, where we are living in connection to Hashem.

The sins that cause negaim to appear on our bodies are sins in which we separate ourselves from our inner self and from others. The Torah teaches us the proper response to this reality. A person with tzara’at goes into personal galut. Through this time alone, he can heal his relationship with Hashem and with himself. The end of the process of tumah is a korban, connected to the word kiruv. We come out of tumah with an expression of closeness to Hashem.

Sefer Yetzriah (Re’eh 2:4) teaches that there is nothing higher than oneg and nothing lower than nega. Nega and oneg are two opposites of the same coin. The nega is caused by separation from the Divine, and it brings with it the sadness of the sitra achra, the forces of impurity. Oneg is the pleasure, bliss and delight that comes through connecting the aspect of ourselves which is last, our bodies, to the aspect of ourselves which is first, our soul. This is why the midrash taught that the key to our parsha is “last and first You encompassed me.”

The Torah of our bodies, which is taught in these parshiot, is a Torah that recognizes the messy and difficult aspects of ourselves. Our bodies can hide the light of our souls, and our bodies can bring that light to expression in this world.  Like puberty, coming face to face with the reality of our bodies can be a messy process. However, the end of this process leads to joy.

We don’t have the bracha of a physical sign on our skin to immediately warn us when we are veering into a state of separation. But we do still have the spiritual influence of each parsha that we read. In this time of sefirah, a time of working on our personal details, the week of Tazria-Metzorah is a wonderful opportunity to take some time to sit in silence, to reconnect to our inner light, and to allow it to bring us oneg, pleasure and delight.