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.

Rosh Chodesh Iyar

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This learning is l'ilui nishmat our dear friend Albert Naggar, Avraham ben Latifa z”l, whose impact continues to echo through our lives.

Rosh Chodesh Iyar Part I: Echo of the Future

Like many people this year, I’ve been thinking a lot about time. Time is weird when you’re living through a pandemic. To me it seems to have lost a bit of its structure and become both fast and slow simultaneously. I feel as if I’m continuously looking for ways to anchor myself, and for this reason Rav Shorr’s insightful comments on the nature of time in general, and Rosh Chodesh Iyar in specific, seemed particularly fascinating to me.

Our normal experience of time is linear. We live each moment in succession, letting go of one moment in order to experience the next. But this is not the full picture of reality. Time was the first and most fundamental creation, but it only exists for us, created beings. At the highest level of spiritual reality, all moments are unified. And that unity has an effect on us. Because of that unity, there are aspects of time that echo both forwards and backwards.

One way that time echoes forwards is through the holidays. Rav Shorr explains that the shalosh regalim are connected spiritually to the avot. Through their covenant, brit, with Hashem they carved spiritual impressions into certain aspects of time that echo into the future, opening gates for us to walk through, year after year. Avraham opened the gate to Pesach, Yitzchak to Shavout and Yaacov to Sukkot. They created gates wide enough and strong enough to be eternal. The spiritual outpouring is strong, and if we open ourselves up to it, very available. We walk into Pesach, and we feel it.

There was a moment in time when the same was true about Rosh Chodesh, but it was a very short moment in time. The gates of Rosh Chodesh that allow us to access spirituality were opened originally by the shevatim, and by the brit they made with Hashem (see Rashi to Vayikra 26:45). Each month reflected the unique spiritual path of a different shevet. But with the sin of chet haegel, there was a veil placed between us and the opening for Rosh Chodesh. Although it was originally meant to be a holiday celebrated nationally in the Beit Hamikdash, that aspect of Rosh Chodesh was reserved for the future, and its spirituality was handed over to the women, who did not sin in chet haegel.

At the moment Rosh Chodesh is a national holiday of the future. However, that does not mean it is completely lost to us. While it is true that we live with a separation between past and future, Rav Schorr tells us that just as the past echoes into our lives, the future spiritual purpose of the world is engraved on our soul. It leaves an imprint on our lives.

As we mentioned in the essays on Pesach, time, zman, is a creation that is connected to the Hebrew word hazmanah. It is an invitation into a meaningful future. When we live in a state of preparing for a purpose, we consecrate our time for that purpose. This has an immediate effect. Halacha tells us that at the moment we designate something for a specific purpose, it takes on the spiritual reality of that purpose. When we are reaching towards a spiritual goal, the process of living in the world takes on a new flavor. The present time that we designate to reach future spiritual heights takes on the immediate impression of that future reality, even before we reach our goal. We get to experience some part of the end game, even in the midst of the process.

This is what Rosh Chodesh is all about. We say Hallel on Rosh Chodesh, but we say it “b’dilug, skipping.” Generally, we understand this to mean that because Rosh Chodesh is not currently a full-fledged holiday, we don’t say the full Hallel. We skip part of it. Rav Schorr adds another dimension. On Rosh Chodesh we skip forward in time, pulling part of the kedusha of the future holiday into our lives, and experiencing the impression it makes on us now.  

Rosh Chodesh Iyar Part II: Absorbing the Details

 

Rav Schorr describes the general landscape of this time of the year, spanning from Pesach to Shavout, as following the halachic principle of Klal, U’Prat, U’Klal. It begins with the general, continues with the specific, and then wraps up in the general again, but in a new place and with a new understanding.

The Chachamim tell us that Nissan is the month of chesed, spiritual outpouring, as well as the month of seeing. In Nissan the veil was lifted for a moment, and we got a glimpse of spiritual reality. Seeing is both extremely powerful and somewhat external. We can see so much at once, much more than we can absorb. Seeing is also something we can experience in a group. In Nissan we were born as a nation. We experienced an unprecedented level of spiritual influence together. We offered our first national korban. We walked together out of Egypt and became free. We had a national experience of prophecy at the splitting of the sea.

This was the vision. The Klal. But this level of spiritual revelation is not sustainable long term. Hashem guides us spiritually through chesed. He gives us visions of what we are able to become even though we haven’t quite grown into it yet. However, that chesed has to be defined by us, so that it can be realized and sustainable in reality. And so Nissan is followed by Iyar.

Iyar is the month of Din, which means not judgement but definition. In Iyar we deal with the specifics. It is the month of listening, not looking, and we can only really listen to one thing at a time (see Rosh Hashana 27a). The mission of Iyar is to respond to what we experienced in Nissan. We cannot allow the moment to leave us unchanged. The way we respond to something too big to absorb is to take the time to listen to all the details.

The work of the sefirah is the work of the details. The work of preparation. It is a personal time. The Torah tells us, “count for yourselves.” This is the time to notice, to detail, and to treasure all the different spiritual pieces that make up who we are. Each person counts themselves, for themselves, clarifying all the pieces of themselves, and then joining them back together to make a new whole.

The letter of the month of Iyar is the letter “vav,” the letter that means “and,” the letter of connection. In Iyar we connect the revelations of Nissan to the revelations of Matan Torah. This is something we have to do personally. In Iyar we have Pesach Sheni, when we revisit Pesach but from the perspective of personal needs. The Korban Pesach Sheni is an individual korban, a piece of Torah which was brought into existence through individuals who took their own spiritual needs and desires seriously.

In Iyar, we began to eat Manna, which prepared our bodies to receive the Torah. We arrived in Refidim, our place of weakness, and from there we were forced to fight against Amalek. In Iyar we came out victorious in that fight, and we traveled from Refidim towards Sinai and into the month of Sivan.

The month of Sivan is the month of the twins. It is when we bring these two aspects, of personal and universal, of klal and prat, back together into a unified whole. With full knowledge of self we can find our place in the whole. In Sivan we stood at the foot of Har Sinai, “as one man with one heart (Rashi Shemot 19:2),” external and internal unified. And when we heard the revelation at Har Sinai, we were able to see the voices. We were able to connect in a unified way, personally and nationally.

This is our month to lay the groundwork for spiritual success, and I want to wish everyone tremendous success in all their endeavors!

Parshat Vayikra

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The Paradox of Freedom

It was fascinating to me this year to realize that just as we are getting full swing into the Pesach preparations, and just at the moment in the calendar when Bnei Yisrael in Egypt were preparing their lamb for the first national korban ever, we begin Parshat Vayikra. I never really paid attention to how it all fit together before, but this year I found the confluence of events very meaningful and relevant to my Pesach preparations.

To understand the message of the korbanot, we can start with the first word in the parsha. We generally translate “vayikra” as “and he called.” However, Rav Schorr points out that on the first daf in Pesachim the word is given a more precise meaning. The word “vayikra” appears in the fifth pasuk in the Torah: “And G-d called to the light.” The Gemara explains that this means that Hashem called for the light to come to Him, for the purpose of giving it the task of creating the day. It was a calling to a task, and it is in this same manner that Hashem called Moshe to Him at the beginning of Vayikra. He was calling Moshe to come close to Him and to prepare to hear from Him the commandments of the korbanot.

The korbanot are an expression of kirvah, of giving ourselves over to Hashem. The hakdama, the introduction to the korbanot, uses this language of calling to a task. It is the recognition that we have been called upon to act. Just as we are preparing for Pesach, the holiday of freedom, we hear this message from Hashem that creating and nurturing a loving relationship with Hashem involves obligations and responsibilities.

It is this point exactly that forms the main paradox of Pesach. We are meant to ask what real freedom is. The matza, the main symbol of Pesach, is ambiguous. Does it symbolize our slavery or our freedom? How many of us ask ourselves, as we are scrubbing and cleaning, “Is this freedom? This is much more reminiscent of the slavery in Egypt!”

Rabbi Tatz points out something amazing about the nature of true freedom. It is often the exact opposite of what we think it should be. Because true freedom is the freedom from falsehood, it often involves constraint. He explains by way of a mashal. If we want to solve a simple mathematical question, generally there is only one correct solution. But how many wrong answers are there? Infinity. If we do not care whether the answer is right or wrong, then we are free to answer the question in many different ways. We can say 5 + 5 = 8, or we can say 5 + 5 = elephant. But not if we are concerned with answering correctly.

Truth is a tremendous constraint. The true way to behave in any situation may be very limited. At times there may only be one right thing to do. On the other hand, the wrong way to behave is unlimited. This was the cultural situation in Egypt. Although we were slaves, Chazal tell us it was a society in which all sorts of immorality was tolerated. Leaving Egypt meant going from slavery to freedom. It also meant that we went from the potential freedom of Egyptian society, to the constraints of the truth.

In many ways, Judaism is a religion of obligations. Every society has rules, and every rule can be looked at in two ways. Each right that one person claims is also another person’s obligation. For example, my right to property is your obligation not to steal. The question is, how does a society frame this? The constitutions of modern Western Democracies have a Bill of Rights. However, the Torah frames each of our rights as an obligation. We do not have a right to property, instead we are commanded not to steal.

On the surface we may find this to be restricting, but the Torah is deep. Its goal is to make us into givers instead of takers. For that, our concern has to be our obligations and not our rights. Although it may not be obvious, this is the real key to happiness in life. Rav Dessler used to express this point at every wedding he officiated, saying: “Filling your hearts at this moment is a wonderous desire to give pleasure and happiness to each other. Take care, my dear ones, that you strive to keep this desire to give pleasure and happiness to each other. Take care, my dear ones, that you strive to keep this desire always as fresh and strong as it is at the present time. You should know that the moment you find yourselves beginning, instead, to make demands upon each other, your happiness is at an end.” A marriage where each spouse is always trying to give to the other is a marriage filled with joy. Giving builds joy and love throughout the home.

Pesach is our time of freedom to be in a relationship with Hashem and to live in the truth. However, having everything comes through giving everything, and freedom comes through constraint. Judaism is the religion of obligations, but it also the religion of true joy. Hopefully, we can remember this as we clean and enjoy our preparations for chag.