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ב"ה

Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts

Two Paths to G-d

There are times to act independently, and there are times to work alongside others. Both have their place, and each offers something the other cannot. Appreciating what each approach has to offer is essential—not only in life, but in our relationship with G-d as well.

This week's Torah portion, Eikev, illustrates this balance.

In Eikev we read the second paragraph of the Shema. At first glance, it appears to repeat the first paragraph, which we read last week in Va'etchanan. Yet there are a few striking differences. The first paragraph is written in the singular, addressing each individual Jew, while the second is written in the plural, speaking to the Jewish people as a whole. Even more surprising, the order is reversed in a few places. For example, in the first paragraph, Torah study precedes the observance of mitzvot. In the second, mitzvot observance comes first, followed by Torah study.

These are not merely stylistic differences. They describe two distinct paths of building a relationship with G-d.

The theme of each of the two Torah portions provides the key. Va'etchanan emphasizes G-d's initiative. Before we even ask, G-d reveals Himself and gives us the Torah. Eikev, whose name means "heel," the lowest part of the body, represents the physical world, the place where we take the initiative to elevate ourselves. Instead of waiting for G-d to reach toward us, we begin the journey by reaching toward Him.

This explains why the word order changes. When G-d reveals Himself, our natural response is to study His Torah and absorb His wisdom and do His will. From that understanding, the observance of mitzvot then naturally follows.

But when we are the ones taking the first step, we cannot wait until we understand everything. We begin with action. We perform mitzvot. It is through those actions that we create a relationship with G-d that gradually deepens through the study of Torah.

This also explains why the first paragraph speaks to the individual, while the second speaks to the community.

When G-d reveals Himself, every individual is capable of internalizing that revelation personally. The goal is complete transformation of the individual. Therefore, the Torah commands us to love G-d "with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." Nothing less than our entire being is asked of us.

But when the initiative comes from below, the Torah no longer addresses the individual. It addresses the community. The goal is no longer for each person to attain perfection on his or her own. Rather, every individual contributes their unique strengths to something greater than themselves. In this context, the Torah omits the words "with all your might." The Torah is not demanding that every individual does everything. It asks each of us to do our part. Together, the Jewish people can accomplish what no individual ever could alone.

Perhaps that is one of the Shema's most profound lessons: There are moments when G-d calls upon us to grow as individuals, striving to become the very best version of ourselves. And there are moments when He calls upon us to become part of something larger than ourselves. Judaism emphasizes both paths. Sometimes the greatest spiritual achievement is found in personal growth. At other times, it is found in joining with others to create a holiness that none of us could achieve alone.

Shabbat Shalom

The Bridge, Not the Destination

When people go to extremes, their friends and family often frown upon them, wondering, Why can't you just be like everyone else? It is worth asking, however, whether being extreme is always a bad thing. Perhaps there are times when it is appropriate, or even beneficial, to be a little fanatical about something.

In this week's Torah portion, Matot, we learn about the laws of vows and oaths and how they may be annulled. If a person makes a vow, under certain circumstances the vow may be annulled.

For example, if a woman wants to make sure that she doesn’t light the Shabbat candles on Friday to late, she can take a vow to kindle her candles much earlier than necessary. If she changes her mind, there are ways for her to annul her vow.

At first glance, this seems to send a mixed message.

If taking a vow, even it if is for a short period of time, is a good thing, why does the Torah provide a way to annul it before the designated time is up? And if it is not a good thing, why does the Torah permit making vows in the first place?

The Torah is teaching us something profound about human nature: While there are times when we feel strong and determined, convinced that we can overcome any obstacle, there are also times when we feel weak and vulnerable, when doing the right thing becomes much more difficult. At those moments, a vow can serve as a powerful tool. By placing an additional layer of commitment upon ourselves, we strengthen our resolve to live up to the standards we know we should keep.

But the goal is not to remain dependent on vows. The point is to develop the inner strength to do what is right without needing extraordinary measures. Once a person reaches that point, the vow has fulfilled its purpose. That is why the Torah also provides a path to annul it.

In other words, the vow is not the destination; it is a bridge.

The same is true in our own lives. There are times when we need external support, whether it is accountability, structure, or extra motivation, to help us reach our goals. Those supports are valuable, but they are not meant to become permanent. Their purpose is to help us build the inner discipline to stand on our own.

Ultimately, living at the extremes is not the Torah's ideal. Yet there are times when temporarily embracing an "extreme" measure can help us find the balance we seek.

Shabbat Shalom

Two Paths to G-d

 

There are times to act independently, and there are times to work alongside others. Both have their place, and each offers something the other cannot. Appreciating what each approach has to offer is essential—not only in life, but in our relationship with G-d as well.

This week's Torah portion, Eikev, illustrates this balance.

In Eikev we read the second paragraph of the Shema. At first glance, it appears to repeat the first paragraph, which we read last week in Va'etchanan. Yet there are a few striking differences. The first paragraph is written in the singular, addressing each individual Jew, while the second is written in the plural, speaking to the Jewish people as a whole. Even more surprising, the order is reversed in a few places. For example, in the first paragraph, Torah study precedes the observance of mitzvot. In the second, mitzvot observance comes first, followed by Torah study.

These are not merely stylistic differences. They describe two distinct paths of building a relationship with G-d.

The theme of each of the two Torah portions provides the key. Va'etchanan emphasizes G-d's initiative. Before we even ask, G-d reveals Himself and gives us the Torah. Eikev, whose name means "heel," the lowest part of the body, represents the physical world, the place where we take the initiative to elevate ourselves. Instead of waiting for G-d to reach toward us, we begin the journey by reaching toward Him.

This explains why the word order changes. When G-d reveals Himself, our natural response is to study His Torah and absorb His wisdom and do His will. From that understanding, the observance of mitzvot then naturally follows.

But when we are the ones taking the first step, we cannot wait until we understand everything. We begin with action. We perform mitzvot. It is through those actions that we create a relationship with G-d that gradually deepens through the study of Torah.

This also explains why the first paragraph speaks to the individual, while the second speaks to the community.

When G-d reveals Himself, every individual is capable of internalizing that revelation personally. The goal is complete transformation of the individual. Therefore, the Torah commands us to love G-d "with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." Nothing less than our entire being is asked of us.

But when the initiative comes from below, the Torah no longer addresses the individual. It addresses the community. The goal is no longer for each person to attain perfection on his or her own. Rather, every individual contributes their unique strengths to something greater than themselves. In this context, the Torah omits the words "with all your might." The Torah is not demanding that every individual does everything. It asks each of us to do our part. Together, the Jewish people can accomplish what no individual ever could alone.

Perhaps that is one of the Shema's most profound lessons: There are moments when G-d calls upon us to grow as individuals, striving to become the very best version of ourselves. And there are moments when He calls upon us to become part of something larger than ourselves. Judaism emphasizes both paths. Sometimes the greatest spiritual achievement is found in personal growth. At other times, it is found in joining with others to create a holiness that none of us could achieve alone.

Shabbat Shalom

Routine or Renewal?

 

Things we do regularly can easily become routine and monotonous. That is why events that occur only once a year are often celebrated with greater enthusiasm. Yet if something is truly important, shouldn't we do it more often? And if an event only comes once a year, what happens if we miss it? Is the opportunity lost for that year, or can it be made up?

In this week's Torah portion, Pinchas, we read about the daily offerings and the offerings brought on the four festivals. There is a striking difference between them: If a daily offering was missed, the opportunity was gone. Each day's offering belonged to that day alone. However, if a festival offering was not brought on time, it could still be brought during the days that followed the holiday.

Why the difference?

Every mitzvah contains two dimensions. One is the person performing it; the other is the fact that the mitzvah itself is accomplished, regardless of who performs it. With festival offerings, the primary objective is that the offering be brought. Therefore, if it is delayed, it can still fulfill its purpose on another day. The daily offerings, however, are different. Their purpose is to inspire people to dedicate each new day to G-d. If that day's opportunity is missed, it cannot simply be recreated later.

But why would the Torah make that distinction?

The Torah recognizes that annual events naturally generate excitement. Because they are infrequent, we look forward to them and approach them with anticipation. Missing the appointed time is unfortunate, but the enthusiasm remains, so the Torah allows the opportunity for it to be completed afterward.

The greater challenge lies with the things we do every day. Familiarity can easily dull our enthusiasm. Therefore, the Torah insists that each day's offering be unique. Yesterday's devotion cannot substitute for today's. Every day deserves its own commitment.

The same is true in our own lives. The problem is not that we do something every day; the problem is when we do it on autopilot. We stop investing our minds and hearts. But when we bring fresh intention to even the smallest actions, they are no longer routine. They become meaningful.

That is why every day is a gift that cannot be replaced. Yesterday's inspiration cannot serve today, and tomorrow's enthusiasm cannot make up for what was missed. Each day presents a unique opportunity to serve G-d, to grow, and to make a difference. If we approach each day with fresh purpose, then even the most familiar mitzvot never become routine—they become new again.

Shabbat Shalom

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