A man who wants to lead the orchestra must turn his back on the crowd.—Max Lucado

When, Not If

The weekly Torah portion of Vayikra (and much of the book of Vayikra, Leviticus) is about sacrifices, and though these laws have been inoperative for almost 2000 years since the destruction of the Temple, the moral principles they embody and the messages they contain are meaningful and inspiring.

The Torah in this portion describes the various kinds of sin offering, brought in the case of inadvertent wrongdoing (shegagah). Four different cases are considered: the anointed priest (high priest), the community (represented by the Sanhedrin or supreme court), the Prince (Nasi, Leader, King), and an ordinary individual. Because their roles in the community were different, so too was the form of their atonement.

In each of the above situations the Torah raises the possibility of sin, with one glaring exception. In three cases, the law is introduced by the Hebrew word “im,” "if." It is possible that a high priest, the community, or an individual may err.

ויקרא ד, ג. יג: אִם הַכֹּהֵן הַמָּשִׁיחַ יֶחֱטָא. וְאִם כָּל עֲדַת יִשְׂרָאֵל יִשְׁגּוּ.

However, when the Torah describes the potential sin of a leader (a Nasi) the text reads:

ויקרא ד, כב: אֲשֶׁר נָשִׂיא יֶחֱטָא...

“When a leader sins…”

Not if, but when.

The connotation seems troubling. With individual Jews, there is possibility of sin. The same can be said for the High Priest and the Supreme Court. With leaders, however, there is not the possibility of sin, but the probability of sin. The question is not if, but when!

This is how the Zohar on Vayikra and the 15th-century Italian biblical commentator Rabbi Ovadya Seforno<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')" id="_edn1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> understood the wording of the verse:

אמנם דבר מצוי שיחטא...

After all, it is common that he will sin.

Why such pessimism? There are a few reasons for this. At the dawn of history, the Torah established a truth most famously verbalized centuries later by the nineteenth-century moralist Lord John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')" id="_edn2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>

Yet, there is more to this. Because of the great risks a leader must take, the assumption of a leadership position carries with it the inevitability of error. "A leader takes people where they want to go; a great leader takes people where they don't necessarily want to go, but ought to be," is the old saying. To be a leader, to deal with diverse people, to be creative, innovative and decisive, to make difficult and heart-wrenching decisions, guarantees mistakes.

The leader must, for example, decide whether to send his soldiers into battle or keep them home. Which decision is correct? Sending your soldiers to war will almost certainly result in deaths. Keeping them home, may allow your enemy to conquer the country. These are some of the painstaking decisions leaders must make.

Four Saints

If sin and leadership are synonymous, does the Torah’s moral system discourage the assumption of leadership?

For this we will introduce an enigmatic Talmudic passage. The Talmud states:<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')" id="_edn3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a>

תנו רבנן, ארבעה מתו בעטיו של נחש. ואלו הן בנימין בן יעקב ועמרם אבי משה וישי אבי דוד וכלאב בן דוד.

Four people died only because of the advice of the snake (meaning, they never committed any sins, they only died because of Adam and Eve eating from the Tree of Knowledge which introduced the reality of death into human life.<a href="#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>) Benjamin, the son of Jacob; Amram the father of Moses; Yishai the father of David, and Kileab the son of David.

There is something amiss here. Think of all the great people of our nation who are excluded from this list: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah; the other eleven sons of Jacob including Benjamin’s older and beloved brother Joseph, known as Yosef HaTzaddik, Joseph the righteous one. Moses, the greatest prophet, teacher and leader of Israel about whom the Torah states that “there never arose a prophet like Moses whom G-d knew face to face.” Aaron, the High Priest, Joshua, Samuel, and many more, are not on the list. Our greatest giants did not make it into the Who's Who list of sinless people. Instead, the list consists of four relatively anonymous persons: Benjamin, Amram, Yishai and Kileab. Why?<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')" id="_edn5" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a>

Also, the Talmudic identification of each of these four individuals is strange. Each of them is mentioned with his father’s name or his son’s name. Why doesn’t the Talmud simply list their names as it does with most biblical characters? Why identify each historical figure by his relationship to another: Benjamin, the son of Jacob; Amram, the father of Moses; Yishai, the father of David; Kileab, the son of David?

The Talmud intimates an extraordinary idea: Our greatest heroes are not the ones who never sinned, but rather the ones who actually committed mistakes (relative to their spiritual level). Because when you are a leader it is not a question of “if” but of “when.”

Benjamin, Amram, Yishai and Kileab all died sinless because they lived a life of isolation. They did not deal much with people; they did not take responsibility for the generation; they did not get enmeshed in the affairs of the community. In short, they did not get their hands dirty; hence they remained untarnished.

Jacob, Moses, and David are not said to have died only “due to the snake.” According to the Torah, Abraham, Jacob, and Moses committed mistakes—relative to their sublime state of spiritual greatness. Relative to their standing, there was some form of “cheit”—lack and void.<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')" id="_edn6" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a> Why? Not because they were not noble and holy men; but because they were leaders in a really crazy world, and by the very nature of their role, perfection is impossible.

This may be why the Talmud gives us the names of each of these four saints with another name. In a rather elegant way, the Talmud wants us to compare each of these four saintly spotless individuals to a more well-known relative: Jacob, Moses, and David. It wants us to recall that despite the greatness of these four men, our greatest honor is reserved to these other relatives, who made it their responsibility to illuminate a dark world.

The Hermit

If you are a hermit, if you don’t do anything, you will never be criticized, nor will you make mistakes. Inaction, by definition, does not lend itself to error. Action always lends itself to error. When you do things, you will be scrutinized and criticized; someone will always have what to say and you are prone to error. So although we have a place in our hearts for the four individuals who never sinned, because they remained aloof; although we pay tribute to spiritual saints who don’t hurt a fly and remain immaculate, and we ought to learn from them and be inspired by them, nonetheless we remind ourselves of those individuals who were even greater than the sinless saints—because they did “sin,” because they did commit errors. They went out and made a radical difference in people’s lives; they sought to change the world.

I recall standing one Shabbos afternoon in a synagogue in the Old City of Jerusalem. A man approached the great sage Rabbi Adin Even Yisroel (Shteinsaltz) and asked him if he had any regrets in life. Rabbi Adin responded: I made many mistakes, and I regret them. But I regret far more all those things I never tried out of fear of making a mistake…

Or as Les Brown put it: “Most people fail in life not because they aim too high and miss, but because they aim too low and hit.” 
 
Marriage &amp; Parenting

Consider marriage and parenting. If you choose to remain single, you will never have an argument in your home, never experience strife and discord, and nobody will ever accuse you of being “insensitive, selfish, careless, irresponsible, narcissistic, and ‘out for lunch.’ If you decide not to have children, no one will accuse you of being a horrible parent, a controlling mother, ruining the lives of your children, crippling them emotionally, and sending them into therapy for decades.

Yet we were created not to be perfect—angels and souls in heaven are perfect. We were created to jump into the circus of life, make mistakes and learn from them, to get entangled in the thicket of life and then come out stronger.

But there is one condition. We need not be perfect, but we must be accountable.&nbsp;

Mazal Tov

That is the reason for the strange Jewish custom that after the breaking of the glass at the end of the marriage ceremony, everyone screams, “Mazal Tov!” What’s the mazal tov? A nice glass was broken, after all.

There is a moving message here we are conveying to the new bride. “You see your groom? Now he’s perfect. He’s handsome, flawless, and impeccable. He is the dream of your life. But sooner or later, he will begin breaking things… You know what you do when he begins breaking things? Say Mazal Tov! Mazal tov that I am married to a real human being who is imperfect.

This is how Judaism understood the concept of sin—as an opportunity for rebirth. Much of Vayikra revolves around this theme of sin and atonement. It is as though G-d is telling us: I know you are human. Humans are not perfect. I made you that way. And I love you anyway. In fact, that's why I love you—because you are not perfect. I already had perfection before I created you. What I want from creation is an imperfect world that strives to improve, filled with human beings that fail, get up and move ahead. By being imperfect but persevering nevertheless, you have fulfilled the purpose of your creation. You have achieved the one thing that I can't do without you—you have brought the perfect G-d into an imperfect world.

Failing at our mission is itself a part of the mission, as long as we can rise up and continue moving, with the newly discovered wisdom from our failures.

The Price of Leadership

“The price of greatness is responsibility,” Winston Churchill said. We might add: The price of leadership is sin. As long as you are accountable, honest and ready to learn from past errors, fear not the fact that you will stumble.

This is the Torah’s message in Vayikra. Leaders make mistakes. That is inevitable. Now their job is not to run and hide; but to face the mistakes, acknowledge them, and bring atonement.

“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for,” William Shedo said. Each of us is called on to be a leader, a “Nasi,” in our own way, a beacon of influence, an ambassador of love, wisdom, light, and hope. Get out of the harbor into the sea. We know you will break a thing or two in the process. When you do, we will scream Mazal Tov and move on.

Don’t be afraid of making mistakes. Just make sure two things: 1) they are new mistakes; not the same old ones. 2) That you know how to say I am sorry and learn from your mistakes to create a brighter future.

A person who makes no mistakes, generally makes nothing. Yet a person who makes mistakes and then justifies them must resign from every form of leadership.

&nbsp;_______________

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')" id="_ednref1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Suferno Vayikra 4:22

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')" id="_ednref2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Expressed in a letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')" id="_ednref3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Shabbas 55b. Bava Basra 17a

<a href="#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> Genesis ch. 3

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')" id="_ednref5" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> This question is rasied in Chidushei Agados Maharal to Bava Basra ibid. He presents a different answer.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')" id="_ednref6" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> As in Kings 1, 1:21: “My son and I will be ‘chataim,” lacking. See Rashi and Metzudos to Kings 1, 1:21. CF. Maharal, Beer Hagoleh, section 4 about this meaning of the term “cheit.” Sefer Hamaamarim 5640 p. 908 and references noted there. See Likkutei Sichos vol. 5 Lech Lecha about Abraham’s “sin.”

Sometimes the Torah conveys its most profound ideas by a mere nuance, one that becomes apparent only by attentive listening.

Vayikra describes the various kinds of sin offering, brought in the case of inadvertent wrongdoing. Four different cases are considered: the anointed priest (=high priest), the assembly (=the Sanhedrin or supreme court), the Prince (=Nasei, Leader, King), and an ordinary individual. Because their roles in the community were different, so too was the form of their atonement.

In each of the above situations the Torah raises the possibility of sin, with one glaring exception. In three cases, the law is introduced by the word eim, &quot;if.&quot; It is possible that a high priest, the community, or an individual may err. However, when the Torah describes the potential sin of a nasi (leader), the text reads: &ldquo;When a leader sins&hellip;&rdquo;

The connotation seems troubling. With individual Jews, there is possibility of sin. Ditto with the High Priest and the Supreme Court. With leaders, however, there is not the possibility of sin, but the probability of sin. The question is not &ldquo;if,&rdquo; but &ldquo;when&hellip;&rdquo;

Saints don&rsquo;t sin. Leaders make errors. That is their greatness and challenge. Each of us must be a leader. A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for. Don&rsquo;t fear your mistakes as long as you know how to say I am sorry.

Don’t Be Afraid to Make Mistakes

Vayikra Essay

Leadership is Synonymous with Sin

This Women&#39;s class was presented on Tuesday Parshas Vayikra, 26 Adar, 5778, March 13, 2018, at Ohr Chaim shul, Monsey, NY

How To Fill Your Voids

Women's Vayikra Class

When Is Sacrifice Foolish? When Is It Noble?

This class was presented on Sunday Shlach, 16 Sivan 5777, June 11, 2017, at Ohr Chaim, Monsey, New York

In the Divine Space, We Are Indivisible, Even As We Are Distinct

Sunday Morning Shlach/Tzafnas Paanach

Are Jews a Spiritual Mixture Or a Chemical Compound?

The Mishna and Gemarah define the seventh day of Sukkos as the day designated to the mitzvah of Aravah; the Zohar sees it as the final day of judgement and atonement. But why this day? How did Hoshana Raba become a day of atonement?

It was the Rogatchover Gaon who in a letter suggested a dazzlingly novel idea. It was the day that the entire Jewish nation brought an offering of atonement for a major sin they all committed by mistake: eating and drinking on Yom Kippur.&nbsp;

At the peak of the celebration for the dedication of the First Beis Hamikdash, the Supreme Court of the Jewish people made a terrible miscalculation. They needed atonement. And that gave us the holiday of Hoshna Rabah. Not only did this major collective failure not destroy the joy; ultimately it transformed the people of Israel into Baalei Teshuvah, and allowed them to reach even greater spiritual and emotional heights. &nbsp;

The Rogatchover's Dazzling Spin on Hoshana Raba -- The One Time in History the Collective Guilt Offering was Brought

The Secret of Hoshana Raba: When All the Jews Ate On Yom Kippur

This textual class in Likkutei Sichos explores a strange Rashi about a Community Sin Sacrifice. We discover the infinite love of G-d even to the sinner and explores how G-d reacts to Jewish sins.

An Analysis of a Strange Rashi about a Community Sin Sacrifice Teaches Us About Our Profound Dignity

The Infinite Love of G-d Even to the Sinner: Likutei Sichos Vayikra

This class explores the third and fourth step of sacrifices in the Holy Temple. Step one, blood, represents passion. Step two, light, represents clarity. Step three, incense, represents elevating the physical. Step four, burning the fat, symbolizes the experience of pleasure in the Divine reality which encompasses all of existence. This G-dly delight is the sum total of all the first three steps.

Understanding Sacrifice: To Kvel In G-dliness

Torah Or Vayeishev Maamar B’chof Hay B’Kislev #3

This is the first of four classes on a Ma&#39;amar of Chanukkah, the ma&#39;amar will explore four ideas in the sequence of the Korbon brought daily in the beis HaMikdash: 1) sprinkling the blood, 2) lighting the Menorah (at least part of it), 3) Offering up the incense, 4) Sacrificing he aforementioned korban, This class explores the spiritual significance of the second and third part.

Understanding Sacrifices #1

Torah Or  Vayeishev Maamar B’chaf Hay B’Kislev #1 

The Tension between Selfhood and Selflessness- A Journey into the Biblical Prohibition Against Offering Yeast or Honey

A Journey into the Biblical Prohibition Against Offering Yeast or Honey

The Tension between Selfhood and Selflessness

A Tale of Two Pilots

One day at a busy airport, the passengers on a commercial airliner are seated, waiting for the cockpit crew to show up so they can get underway. The pilot and co-pilot finally appear in the rear of the plane and begin walking up to the cockpit through the center aisle. Both appear to be blind.

The pilot is using a white cane, bumping into passengers right and left as he stumbles down the aisle, and the co-pilot is using a guide dog. Both have their eyes covered with huge sunglasses. At first, the passengers don't react, thinking that it must be some sort of practical joke. However, after a few minutes, the engines start revving and the airplane starts moving.

The passengers look at each other with some uneasiness, whispering among themselves and looking desperately to the stewardesses for reassurance. Then the airplane starts accelerating rapidly down the runway and people begin panicking. Some passengers are praying, and as the plane gets closer and closer to the end of the runway, the voices are becoming more and more hysterical. Finally, when the airplane has less than 20 feet of runway left, and about to plunge into the water, there is a sudden change in the pitch of the shouts as everyone screams at once, and at the very last moment, the airplane lifts off and is airborne.

Up in the cockpit, the co-pilot breathes a sigh of relief and turns to the pilot: "You know, one of these days the passengers aren't going to scream, and we're gonna go straight into the water and die!"

The Orchard

The Midrash is intrigued by the statement in this week’s Torah portion, Vayikra: “When a soul (nefesh) sins.”<a id="_edn1" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>&nbsp;Not “when a person sins,” but “when a soul sins.” Is it the soul who sins?

Says the Midrash<a id="_edn2" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>: Rabbi Yishmael taught: this is comparable to a king who has an orchard of prime figs. He appoints two watchmen, one was lame, and the other was blind, entrusting them with his orchard. After a while, the lame turns to the blind and says, “I see such delicious fruit in this vineyard!” And the blind man replies, “So let us eat.”

“But can I walk?!”

“And can I see?!”

So the lame man rode on the back of the blind man, and together they reached and ate the fruit, and then returned to their positions.

After a while, the king enters his orchard. He asks them, “Where is my beautiful fruit?”

The blind man says, “O king, how can I have eaten them? I can't see!” And the lame man says, “O king, can I walk? How can I have reached them?”

The king was wise, what did he do? He hoisted the lame man on the back of the blind man and had them walk together, saying “This is how you ate my figs.”

Just so, in the future day of reckoning, G-d will ask the soul, “Why have you sinned before me?” And the soul will reply, “Master of the Universe! I did not sin, the body sinned! Behold! From the moment I departed him I am like a pure bird, soaring towards heaven. How have I sinned?” So G-d will say to the body, “Why have you sinned before me?” And the body will reply, “Master of the Universe! I have not sinned, the soul sinned! Behold! From the moment the soul departed, I am lifeless as a stone cast upon the earth! How can I have sinned before you?”

What does G-d do? He brings the soul, casts it into the body, and cleanses them together, as it is written, <a id="_edn3" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>He shall call to the heavens above --&nbsp;this is the soul --&nbsp;and to the earth&nbsp;-- this is the body --&nbsp;to judge His people.

Who Needs the Metaphor? 
 
The Midrash is explaining that sin is only possible through a full and working collaboration between the body and the soul. The body can get things done, but it is directionless; the soul gives direction but it is aloof and “lame”—spiritual and ethereal. Together, they can achieve their goals: they can transgress together, and they can perform good deeds together. Yet the questions should be asked: The objective of allegories in the Torah is to clarify an otherwise difficult concept. Yet the point in this Midrash seems to be straightforward and simple: The body on its own is a corpse; the soul on its own is heavenly.&nbsp;Together, they create the reality we call “the human being.” Why the need for the elaborate metaphor of the blind and the lame in an orchard to explain the concept?

The truth is, however, that this metaphor explains to us not only that the body and soul need each other, but also the very nature of the body and the soul and why they so desperately need each other.

The Capacity for Revolution 
 
The body is represented by the blind man. Blinded by material reality, on its own, it is oblivious to the existence of transcendent oneness, to G-d. It subscribes to a “what you see is what you get” interpretation of existence; it is unable to see beyond its temporal perspective; it is unable to ever perceive or identify truth. It can't even see electricity, never mind the Divine electricity of life. And the worst type of blindness is the blindness of the one who thinks he can see.

But the soul can see. She is intimately aware of the higher realities of life; she is not fooled by the illusion of materialism and consumerism.&nbsp;

On the other hand, the body can walk, while the soul is immobile. This is one of the great paradoxes of life: Because the soul can see, it is rendered “lame” and immobile. In the face of stark truth there is no room for mistakes, hence no room for decisions. If there is no decision-making, if there is no challenge or struggle, then there is no growth, no real movement. The soul, because it is so intensely aware of the truth, and because it is so perfect, is “stuck” in its orbit. Growth depends on the catalyst of failure, of imperfection. Only if you are capable of falling very low are you capable of climbing very high.

The body, because of its blindness, knows how to walk, and run. In the words of King Solomon: “I returned and saw under the sun, that the race does not belong to the swift, nor the war to the mighty; neither do the wise have bread, nor do the understanding have riches.”&nbsp;<a id="_edn4" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>&nbsp;In its ignorance, the body is susceptible to fall and rise, to struggle and persevere, to learn from its mistakes, and grow. And it teaches the soul the secret of growth. Before that, it was on autopilot, robotic and consistent as the angels, and therefore stagnant. &nbsp;

The Story of Sam Reshevsky

Samuel Herman (Sammy) Reshevsky (1911-1992) was a famous&nbsp;chess prodigy&nbsp;and later a leading American&nbsp;chess Grandmaster. He was a contender for the&nbsp;World Chess Championship&nbsp;from about the mid-1930s to the mid-1960s; coming equal third in the&nbsp;World Chess Championship 1948&nbsp;tournament, and equal second in the 1953&nbsp;Candidates Tournament. He was also an eight-time winner of the&nbsp;U.S. Chess Championship.

At the age of six, he would play against as many as 30 players at a time, moving quickly from board to board and could repeat all 30 games afterwards, move by move. He was known as "Shmulik der vunder kind”—Shmuel the wonder child. He was a descendant of Rabbi Yonasan Eibshitz, who descended from the great Kabalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria, the Arizal.

Sammy Reshevsky grew up in an observant home, and throughout his life and fame, remained faithful to his Judaism and Torah, refusing to ever play chess on the Sabbath or Holidays. Upon turning 70 and no longer on top of his game, he asked the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schnnersohn, if he should retire. The Rebbe advised him to continue playing because it was a “Kiddush Hashem”—a proud demonstration of a Jew succeeding without compromising his spiritual ideals and values. Reshevsky complied and shortly afterward, he traveled to Russia and upset the world champion, Vassily Smyslov.

An interesting tidbit: in 1984, the Lubavitcher Rebbe sent Sammy Reshevsky to California to try and help his colleague Bobby Fischer get out of his world-famous depression and isolation.

Living in Crown Heights in the 1940’s, Sammy prayed in the central Lubavitch synagogue at 770 Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, NY. Once, at a Sabbath gathering (farbrengen in Yiddish), in 1948, the Rebbe, in recognition of his presence, explained the spiritual meaning behind the chess game.

The Chess Game

There is one king. All of the other pieces revolve around him and their entire mission is to protect and serve him. G-d is the King, all else was created by Him, given the opportunity to connect to His truth and to serve Him.

The queen represents the feminine manifestation of the divine, known as the “shechinah,” intimately involved with every aspect of creation, granting vitality and substance to every existence. The queen is the most practically effective piece, often sent into the lines of fire, even placed in danger. Likewise, G-d risks His own dignity, as it were, by investing Himself in every creature and existence, subjecting Himself to the vicissitudes of the human condition.

Then there are bishops, rooks, and knights. They are swift, free, not limited by the squares immediately surrounding them; they can “fly” around freely, without constraints. These are symbolic of the angels—in their three mystical categories we discuss in the daily morning services, “seraphim,” “chayos” and “ofanim,” represented by the bishops, rooks, and knights.

In order for there to be free choice in the world, there are two teams, the white and the black. One team representing G-dliness and holiness; the other team representing everything antithetical to G-dliness and holiness. The teams are engaged in a fierce battle. And for the confrontation to be meaningful each team contains, at least on the surface, all the properties contained in the opposite team. Both teams pretend to have a king, queen, bishops, rooks, and knights.

Finally, there are the pawns. They are very limited in their travel, moving only one step at a time, only in a singular direction, and they constantly get “knocked off.” But when they fight through the “board,” arriving at their destination, they can be promoted even to the rank of the queen, something that the bishop, rook, or knight can never achieve.

The Pawn represents the human being living down here on earth. We, humans, take very small steps, and we are so limited in every aspect of our journey and our growth. We also constantly make mistakes and get “knocked down.” But when man perseveres and overcomes the angst and despair of his or her own failings and mortality; when we fight the fight to subdue darkness and to reveal the presence of the “king” within our own bodies, our own psyches and the world around us—the human being surpasses even angels; the pawn is transformed into a queen! The human life reunites with its source above, the queen, the Shechinah, experiencing the deepest intimacy with the King Himself.

The bishops, rooks, and knights, though spiritually powerful and angelic, are predictable, and limited by their role. There is no room for real promotion, no substantive growth, no radical progression. Yes, they fly around, but only within their own orbit. The angels on high, as well as the soul alone on high, before entering the body, are powerful yet confined by their own spiritual standing. It is the limitations of the human person that stimulate his or her deepest growth. The limits of our existence create friction, causing us to strain against the trials and disappointments of life.

Embracing the Difficult Marriage

So the body and soul can choose to accept their natural schizophrenia, as a victim, with each blaming the other for its faults, shirking responsibility and duty. Or they can choose to embrace the challenges and opportunities this existential conflict provides, taking the sight, clarity, and vision of the soul and harnessing it to the mobility and energy of the body.

This, then, is the message behind the midrashic metaphor of the lame and the blind watching the orchard of the king. When the lame soul leads the blind body, the blind body can raise to lame soul to unimaginable heights.<a id="_edn5" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>

(Please make even a small and secure contribution to help us continue the wisdom &amp; inspiration.&nbsp;<a href="https://secure.theyeshiva.net/Donate">Click here</a>.)&nbsp;

<a id="_ednref1" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Leviticus 4:2

<a id="_ednref2" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> Vayikra Rabba 4:5. The same idea is in Talmud Sanhedrin 91b

<a id="_ednref3" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Psalms 50:4&nbsp;

<a id="_ednref4" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> Ecclesiastes 9:11

<a id="_ednref5" href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> This essay is based on Torah Or Parshas Vayeishev. Sefas Emes Vayikra 5647. Toras Yemei Berieshis, 5708 (1948.)

My thanks to Rabbi Avi Shlomo for his help in writing and preparing this essay.

The Lame Leading the Blind - The Kabbalah of Chess

The Kabbalah of Chess

Essay Vayikra

The Lame Leading the Blind

Self-Centeredness 
A very successful businessman had a meeting with his new son-in-law. "I love my daughter dearly, and now I welcome you into the family," said the man. "To show you how much we care for you, I'm making you a 50-50 partner in my business. All you have to do is go to the factory every day and manage the operations."

The son-in-law interrupted, "I hate factories. I can't stand the noise."

"I see," replied the father-in-law. "Well, then you'll work in the office and take charge of those responsibilities."

"I hate office work," said the son-on-law. "I can't stand being stuck behind a desk all day."

"Wait a minute," said the father-in-law. "I just made you half-owner of a moneymaking organization, but you don't like factories and won't work in an office. What am I going to do with you?"

"Easy," said the young man. "Buy me out."

"From Among You" 
In the Jewish tradition, we read each week one section&nbsp;from the 53 sections of the Five Books of Moses, the Hebrew Bible.&nbsp;This week’s Torah portion titled Vayikra legislates the laws of sacrifices which constituted an essential part of the service in the Tabernacle and subsequently in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.&nbsp;It’s been almost 2000 years since the Temple was destroyed and the sacrificial system came to an end; yettheir message remains timeless and relevant. 
 
And as is often the case in biblical study, an apparent grammatical flaw captures the psychological and existential dimensions of the issue being discussed. 
 
“Speak to the children of Israel,” G-d tells Moses in the beginning of Vayikra, “And tell them: ‘A man who will sacrifice from among you a sacrifice to G-d; from a cow, from a bull, and from sheep shall you offer your offering (Leviticus 1:2).’” 
 
The construction of the sentence seems incorrect. It should have said, “A man from among you who will sacrifice a sacrifice to G-d.” Not: “A man who will sacrifice from among you a sacrifice to G-d.” 
 
Rabbi Schnuer Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), the first Rebbe of Chabad and one of the great giants of Jewish scholarship and spirituality, offered the following moving interpretation. What the Torah is attempting to teach us via this grammatically “flawed” sentence is that the primary sacrifice G-d cherished was not the one that came of animals or grain, but rather the one stemming from the person himself: “From among you.” We must sacrifice something of ourselves to truth. The verse, then, must be understood thus: “A man who will sacrifice,” when an individual seeks to make a sacrifice, “from among you a sacrifice to G-d,” he or she must remember that the primary sacrifice must be brought from their very selves. They must offer a piece of their heart, of their soul, to G-d.

A Forgotten Art 
Sacrifice — the courage for one to give up something truly valuable for an ideal or a person outside of oneself — has become in our day an “endangered species.” In the minds of many it is a dirty word, conjuring up images of repression, dogma and abuse. Sacrifice is often seen as the arch enemy of the virtues that have become emblematic of our times—self expression, self assertion and emotional independence. Sacrifice, we are often told, is a crutch for insecure and co-dependent victims who eclipse their emotional dysfunction by employing the heroic myth of sacrifice. 
 
It is obviously crucial to challenge forms of sacrifice that erode rather than affirm the quality of one’s life. Sacrifice that is feeding into abuse and tyranny is not a virtue. A beaten spouse or a crushed employee should not tolerate the immoral behavior of their spouse or employer in the name of sacrifice. Yet is it not possible that in our hypersensitivity toward the pursuit of individual liberty and the importance of self affirmation, we have deprived ourselves and our children of the vital awareness that to live means to sacrifice something of ourselves for truth, for G-d, for another human being, for your marriage, for your nation, for your values, for making the world a good place? 
 
Nothing in the contemporary secular conversation calls on us to sacrifice anything truly valuable for someone or anything else. We have been taught to be nice and cordial, tolerant and respectful, to give five dollars to a homeless man in the street and to be sensitive to other people's feelings; but not to make real sacrifices that challenge our pleasures, force us out of our comfort zones and require profound and unwavering commitments.&nbsp;Yet when you do not need to fight for something, for anything, how do you learn who you really are? When you do not need to give up anything of yourself, how you do acquire the depth, dignity and maturity that comes along&nbsp;with sacrifice? 
 
When you look around college campuses, educational institutions and even many yeshivos today, you wonder who is reaching out to the idealistic cords inherent in the souls of the youth? Who is giving them something they can fight for? Who is eliciting their inner depths, rather than their most superficial qualities? 
 
When we live a life that lacks any sacrifice, our humaneness is diminished. We become more superficial, more timid, and more external. The entire book of Leviticus, dealing with sacrifices, is Judaism's way of stating that to live means to live for something. 
&nbsp;

An Altar In Tears 
No area of society has been so profoundly affected by this void as the family unit. While in the not-so-distant past the family&nbsp;bond was considered something worthy to&nbsp;sacrifice for, today it is easily discarded&nbsp;when in conflict with one's personal comforts. Couples do not feel that the marital union is so great an ideal and so sacred an institution that they ought to make real sacrifices for it to work and blossom. If the love does not come easy, it is not worth the effort. 
 
1700 years ago,&nbsp;the ninety-page tractate of&nbsp;Talmud legislating the Jewish laws for divorce, was transcribed. The sages of antiquity&nbsp;chose to culminate the book with these words: 
&nbsp; 
“Whenever anyone divorces his first wife, even the Temple Altar sheds tears. As the Bible states, ‘You cause the altar of G-d to be covered with tears, with weeping and with sighing; so that G-d no longer turns to the offerings to retrieve it with good will from your hands. And you might ask: Why?—Because G-d has borne witness between you and the wife of your youth, that you have betrayed her, though she is your companion and the wife of your covenant.” 
 
Why does a divorce arouse tears in the Temple Altar? The Holy Temple in Jerusalem had many pieces of furniture and vessels, like the candelabra, the table of bread, and of course the Holy Ark on top of which were carved the faces of a boy and girl gazing at each other, symbolizing the&nbsp;relationship between G-d and man. Why would they not shed a tear upon witnessing a divorce? Why was this unique to the Altar? 
 
The explanation might be this: 
 
The Altar was the place in the Temple where all&nbsp;the daily sacrifices of grain, wine and animals were offered. The Altar represented the profound but often forgotten axiom that a relationship with G-d demanded sacrifice and the giving of oneself and ones wealth. For centuries, the Altar has stood as a silent witness observing&nbsp;the depth and&nbsp;dignity characterizing&nbsp;a life of commitment and sacrifice. Day after day, the Altar internalized the truth that the path to self-realization leads through self-sacrifice. 
 
When the Altar observes the consequences of a marriage in which the man and the woman did not muster the courage to make sacrifices for each other, it weeps for the greatest of opportunities forever lost. Who more than the Altar appreciates the truth that to find your own soul you must embrace another soul?

There are, of course, exceptions. Sometimes divorce is a tragic necessity. When abuse and dysfunction pervade a marriage, and no remedy can be found, the right answer might be divorce. But in today’s age, many divorces occur not because of an impossible situation, but rather because of our unwillingness to transcend our egos, challenge our fears and transcend our selfish natures. For this, the Altar weeps.&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 
This simple truth so well known to the Altar has been forgotten by many. We are scared of making sacrifices, lest&nbsp;they deprive us of our personal happiness. Our self-esteem is so fragile that we desperately feel the need to protect it against any outside or foreign intrusion, lest it fade away into oblivion. But happiness is&nbsp;an altar. The more you give, the more you receive. The soul is most at peace with itself when it shares itself with another soul. When we give up on all forms of sacrifice, we deprive ourselves from reaching our deepest potentials. 
 
This week’s portion invites us to ask this question: When was the last time I made a real sacrifice?

To Go Beyond the Self

The Dignity of Sacrifice

Please Pass the Salt - A Journey into the Five Layers of Torah Study, and the Five Layers of Human Identity

A Journey into the Five Layers of Torah Study, and the Five Layers of Human Identity

Please Pass the Salt

One set of sacrifices, set out in detail in the portion of Vayikra is the “chatas,” the “sin offering,” which was offered for an inadvertent transgression. But why should unintentional sins require atonement? What guilt is involved? The sinner did not mean to sin. Had the offender known the facts and the law at the time, he would not have done what he did. Why then does he have to undergo a process of atonement? The class explores four perspectives, which present the Torah’s approach to the moral life and the human soul. It culminates with a penetrating insight into the Torah’s appreciation of the subconscious personality and its impact on our behavior. The “Freudian Slip” originates in Vayikra.

The Subconscious Sin

Why Are We Guilty for Unintentional Sins? Four Perspectives

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