“Moses heard and fell on his face.” (16:4)

I wonder how I would have reacted upon seeing Moshe bow and fall on his face.

I suspect that I would have immediately fallen on my face and waited for Moshe to signal that it was all right to rise. But the people did not fall on their faces; they watched, unmoved by the reaction of their great leader. Perhaps they shrugged off this terrifying scene because this was not the first time: “Moses and Aaron fell on their faces before the entire congregation of the assembly of the Children of Israel.” (Numbers 14:5)

Is it possible that Moshe and Aaron were not bowing in weakness, or sadness, or fear, but as a lesson? How was it received, if it was a lesson?

“Then Israel prostrated himself towards the head of the bed.” (Genesis 47:31) “As the proverb says; “When the fox has his hour, bow down to him.” (Rashi) Jacob bowed to his son, Joseph, who was at his hour as the viceroy of Egypt.

I was extremely uncomfortable when my father zt”l would visit a synagogue where I was rabbi and insist that the congregation wait for me and not for him. I cannot even imagine watching my father bow to me! How could Joseph even bear to watch his father, Israel, bow to him? How could the Children of Israel stand and nonchalantly watch their teacher Moshe bow before or to them?

The Message:

The Brothers Karamazov begins with a confrontation among members of a scattered family. Three sons, all strangers to one another, and a dissolute, cynical father gather for the first time to discuss a quarrel about money, meeting, of all places, at a monastery: specifically, in the hermitage of Father Zosima, a man with a reputation, depending on your view, of either holiness or foolishness. The argument centers upon the eldest son, Dmitri, and his negligent father, Fyodor, and quickly takes on the appearance of a trial, with each man appealing to the elder Zosima for “justice”. But then, the narrator informs us, “the whole scene was stopped in a most unexpected manner”: “The elder suddenly rose from his place and stepped toward Dmitri Fyodrovich and, having come close to him, knelt before him. Kneeling in front of Dmitri, the elder bowed down at his feet with a full, distinct, conscious bow, and even touched the floor with his forehead. “Forgive me! Forgive me, all of you!’ he said, bowing on all sides to his guests.”

The elder Zosima bows to the ground before Dmitri who is suffering. He does not judge, for he knows from within himself this pettiness and arrogance. He sees himself darkly in Dmitri, and knows that this seeing is a gift. His bow and words simply return the gift purified.

Is it possible that Moshe’s bow was a message that he understood the nation’s response to the spies’ report? Was Moshe sending a message to Korach that he understood Korach’s issues: both the ones on Korach’s consciousness and those issues underlying his rebellion?

Did Moshe observe Korach and gain insight into himself? The Ba’al Shem Tov often taught that we observe in others what we do not want to see in ourselves. (Rav Isser Zalman Meltzer used this idea to explain Proverbs 4:25)

Perhaps Moshe’s fall to the ground was an acknowledgement of what he perceived as his own shortcomings; a message to all of Israel that he was aware of his limitations.

I wonder whether anyone watching had enough insight to reflect on the powerful image of Moshe falling on his face. I imagine chills running up and down my spine at the tangible expression of Moshe’s humility. I picture myself forever changed by the scene. The participants were unmoved. Their hearts were sealed by their anger and resentment.

Imagine anger so intense that it is impenetrable even by such an awesome expression of Moshe’s humility.

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Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies. The Foundation stone is the ultimate resource for Jews, Judaism, Jewish Education, Jewish Spirituality & the holy Torah.

A couple of months ago, I asked a Rabbi a question and he gave me an answer. When I saw him later that week, he said to me, “I was wrong. The answer is something else.” Why did I love that moment?

By telling me he was wrong and giving me the correct answer, he made several statements. He did not care what I thought about his being wrong. He respected my right to have the correct answer. He also showed his integrity by correcting himself and learning from his mistake.

Talmudic learning is done in pairs. Each person discusses his view on what the Talmud said, and many times there is a difference of opinion as to what the Talmud meant. Sometimes one person realizes his explanation is not valid. This happens several times during a study session. The most valuable aspect of this interaction is the ability to acknowledge you were wrong and to accept the correct interpretation. The search for truth involves a bumpy road.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting with my primary care physician and we were having a discussion about doctors. He told me his patients deserve to have a second opinion, because that will provide peace of mind if the first diagnosis is correct. It may also provide a better answer. He then said “A doctor that does not approve of getting a second opinion is a doctor worth leaving. He or she needs to know if the advice was incorrect.”

This week’s Torah reading talks about confessing a sin, saying “I was wrong.” Then you need to do something about it. Correct your mistake.

To quote Rabbi Joseph Telushkin ,“We all need to be more humble.” Saying, “I was wrong,” is humbling, constructive, and endearing. It is a beautiful phrase.

As long as they were slaves, the Children of Israel could complain, “I, a stranger and afraid in a world I never made,” to quote Housman, a common complaint of children, and a frequent lament of many who feel displaced in the community. Perhaps as they approached Sinai, no matter how protected and supported by God, they continued to feel powerless in building their own world. When they would eventually enter the Land of Israel they would have to first conquer a world not their own, and then plant fields and build a land in which many of the factors were imposed, not their own. It is almost impossible to imagine being able to feel that all of my reality is my own. Except…

for the Children of Israel in the desert; Bamidbar. God provided a perfect physical environment and challenged them with the opportunity to create their own community free of any determining factors save their own desires and goals.

Each person stood before Moses and Aaron who would point out to him the purpose of his existence, his strengths, challenges, and potential. Each was empowered with a powerful sense of self as he became part of a community.

Lest we wonder whether such strong individuals could form a cohesive community, as we learn of Rabbi Akiva’s students who died because of their inability to connect to each other as the great people they were, each was assigned his place and specific role in the community; the famous flags in this week’s portion. This was a perfect opportunity for them to develop a reality all their own. They were free of the Egyptians, danger, and economic fluctuations. They were strong and independent. They were focused on a common goal. Their world would be just that, their world.

Imagine being able to educate our children with such a powerful sense of purpose and individuality! Imagine nurturing our children, not as “part of a community,” but as having an essential and unique role in the community! Society would not impose itself on the child, but rather, allow the child to use the world to help him find his own special place.

“Well and good,” you say, “but we don’t live in a desert or in a perfect environment free of the world around us!” How much independence can we nurture when we expend the majority of our effort on protecting what we already have from the world in which our community is, “a world I never made?” Can we really afford to focus on independence and self-expression when our community is under constant assault by a world whose values are so antithetical to our own?

The Jewish community was devastated by the Holocaust, and our great leaders decided that we had to focus our efforts on rebuilding communities. We witness the wisdom and success of their approach. We have thousands of schools, Yeshivot, communities, and institutions that protect and guide us. Is there really any place for the lesson of the desert encampment and its flags in our world and times?

The process in the desert did not begin with the community, but with Moses, Aaron, and the Princes of the Tribes. The Desert Flags are an instruction to our leaders, not the community or the people at large. The Flags demand that the communal leaders “Pakod,” or “appoint/assign” each individual: Each student, each child, must be taught how to become himself with a sense of unique purpose in order to become part of the community. The leaders may not count the numbers, as in, “We have more people studying in Yeshiva than ever before,” if they did not begin each child’s instruction with a sense of Pekida.

We will still have to battle to protect our community. We will remain “strangers in the world,” but we will not remain strangers to ourselves, “afraid in a world I never made.”

(See Chesed in Malchut)

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Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies. The Foundation Stone™ is the ultimate resource for Jews, Judaism, Jewish Education, Jewish Spirituality & the holy Torah.

In 1985, I attended the annual convention of the National Speakers Association. I had recently joined the organization, and was trying to learn how to become a professional speaker. One of the general session speakers was a man named Gene, who had won three Emmys writing for a famous television comedian.

After he finished speaking, there was a break before the smaller group sessions began. I was thinking of becoming a humorous speaker, so I approached him and was having a conversation about how to pursue that goal. At one point, a friend of Gene’s came up and started talking to him.

I figured my time with Gene had ended. I was grateful for the three-minutes, and began to turn to walk away. But out of the corner of his eye he saw me turning, and he waved with his hand that I should stay. After talking to his friend, Gene turned back and continued our conversation for another few minutes. I do not remember our conversation. But 26 years later, I still see the wave.

In 1966, I was in the yeshiva of Ner Yisrael in Baltimore. One day, Rabbi Shneur Kotler, the head of the world-renowned Lakewood yeshiva, visited our yeshiva. To understand the full impact of what happened next, you need context. The head of a yeshiva is treated with extreme respect. When he walks into a room, everyone rises. You talk to him in third person. For example,” Would the head of the yeshiva like a cup of coffee?” So, when I was introduced to him, I was startled when he slightly bowed to me. I later learned that his respect for people was on a very high level, and this behavior was not unusual. Forty five years later, I still see the bow.

In 1962, I was a freshman at Yeshiva University. My parents, my uncle and I drove to New York from my hometown. While my father was finding a parking space, my uncle and I walked into the dormitory to find my room assignment. Gary, an upperclassman who was in the lobby, opened his arms wide, smiled a big smile, and in a greeting that came from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, said, “Shalom aleichem”. That was the most genuine, welcoming shalom aleichem I have ever heard.

Whenever I went back home during the year, I would visit my uncle. His first words were not, “How are you, Gerald?” His first words were, “How is that shalom aleichem guy?” Forty nine years later, that shalom aleichem greeting still brings a smile to my face.

There is also the negative five second impact. Twenty two years ago, I was at a fundraiser for a politician in New York. A senator from another state had come to attend the event. I walked up to the man and said, “It is nice to meet you, Senator.” He replied, “Who are you?” I answered, “My name is Gerald August”. He turned and walked away. I still feel the insult.

In five seconds, we can create a lifetime memory. It can be a positive or a negative one. But even in such a short time, we can do or say something that will forever define us in someone’s mind. It doesn’t take a long time to make a lifetime impression.

“Accursed is the ground because of you; through suffering shall you eat of it all the days of your life. Thorns and thistles shall it sprout for you, and you shall eat the herb of the field.” (Genesis 3:17-18)

The only part of the curse that seems to apply to we, who can purchase our food at a supermarket, without ever planting a seed, is the part of having to eat vegetables. I’ve worked on a farm and have seen the “suffering,” the endless hours of work it takes to grow a crop. The farmers I met did not considered themselves to be cursed. In fact, they felt fortunate to work the land. Where is Adam’s curse? Does it still apply to us?

When the Children of Israel began to settle their land, only a generation after the slavery in Egypt, did they consider the all the work in their fields to be a curse? I imagine them celebrating the normalcy of working the land as compared to working as a slave, and even to the unnatural existence they lived in the desert, fed by the Manna, and drinking the water of Miriam’s Well. Where was the curse?

“1 And the LORD spoke unto Moses in Mount Sinai, saying: 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them: When you come into the land which I give you, then shall the land keep a sabbath unto the LORD. 3 Six years thou shalt sow your field, and six years you shalt prune your vineyard, and gather in the produce thereof. 4 But in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of solemn rest for the land, a sabbath unto the LORD; you shalt neither sow your field, nor prune your vineyard.” (Leviticus, Chapter 25)

God is telling us, “You can work your field for six years, and you can prune your vineyard, but in the seventh year you will have to acknowledge that the land you work is not yours, but Mine.”

Adam was unwilling to accept that a single tree in the Garden was not his. He was encouraged to eat of every tree in the Garden, save one, at it was from that single forbidden tree that he chose to eat. Adam had to learn the lesson of God’s ownership. That was his curse, and that was the challenge of Shemittah, the Sabbatical Year.

I was studying the laws of ownership in the Talmud with a famous violinist, when he took out his violin and told me that he learned the true definition of ownership from his Stradivarius. It had been Jascha Heifetz’s and my friend spent a fortune to buy it. He told me that the minute he held it in his arms, he realized that he did not own the violin; he had paid for the right to be its temporary caretaker. The violin could not be owned by anyone. “It changed the definition of ‘mine’ for me. I looked around at many of the things I own, my home, my paintings, my furniture, and asked myself how much is truly mine. There are some things that cannot be owned by a human being. I was astounded to realize that I took better care of the things that are impossible to own than I did of my ‘own’ things.”

He made me wonder whether the lesson of the Shemittah year, that we do not “own” the land, will actually change us into better caretakers of the land. If he was right, it was not so much a curse, as a blessing.

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Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies. The Foundation Stone™ is the ultimate resource for Jews, Judaism, Jewish Education, Jewish Spirituality & the holy Torah.

I guess only someone who has a dog can understand the heartbreak of losing, not just a pet, but a member of the family. My sister-in-law had a dog, Patan, who was extraordinary in every way. He was smart, loving, instinctively protective and nurturing, and, Pip’s favorite cousin. He was as stubborn as certain Argentine women, but equally fierce when fighting for his family. He was ancient and could barely stand anymore, so his family had him put to sleep.

Debbie and I had different reactions: Debbie wonders whether people had such a connection with the animals they offered in the Beit Hamikdash. Was it as heartrending to offer an animal? Yes, sheep are not dogs, and certainly not Patan, but, we form a connection with an animal for whom we care. Debbie pictures the animal offerings as personal as a relationship with a beloved dog.

I have a different response: “But against all the Children of Israel, no dog shall whet its tongue, against neither man nor beast, so that you shall know that God will have differentiated between Egypt and Israel (Exodus 11:7).” Even the dogs in Egypt sensed God’s Presence, and His love of the Israelites. Why did God choose the dogs for this message? I think it’s because of dogs like Patan, who have a special sense of what is happening around them. He was Kelev, or Kol Lev, all heart, sensitive to his surroundings, even Shabbat!

RIP Patan. We miss you!

Don’t drain the life force.

This week the Torah teaches us not to eat blood because blood is the life force, and we are not to drain the life force out of a living being. There is another way we use our mouth to drain the life force out of people. The way we talk to them.

“Claudia” is in my Toastmasters club. She is a kind woman who is a successful model, and in many ways she is on top of the world. But one day she told a story that has the power to still embitter her.

When she was in second grade, her teacher continually told her in a loud voice in the front of the class, “You’re stupid.” She was humiliated, resentful and angry. As she told the story, her face contorted into pain and you could hear the bile coming up from her stomach as she relived second grade. Twenty five years later, that teacher still drained some of the life force from Claudia.

I was at a panel discussion, and one man had the courage to tell the following story. On one of his birthdays, his two children gave him presents. His eight-year-old boy proudly presented him with an envelope. When the man opened it, he found a five dollar bill. He started raising his voice to his son and said, “You don’t give your father money on his birthday! You give a card or a little present.” His son was embarrassed, and ran out of the room.

Then his seven year daughter give him a picture she had drawn in art class. Her father told her what a wonderful job she had done and pointed out the different colors she had used. He then looked up and saw his son standing in the doorway with tears streaming down his face. The man looked at the audience, and admitted he had been wrong to react the way he did. That day, he had drained the life force out of his son.

My final example is a horror story. I was walking down the street with a friend and his family.

Suddenly his father turned to his son and said, “I wish you had never been born.” The boy’s face fell and his body trembled. That father drained the life force from his son.

We need to be careful when we speak. Let us make sure our words are words of life.

When we interact with people do we see them as they actually are?

This week we learn about a particular offering in the temple. It consists of a specified amount of food. But if someone cannot afford (is not capable of) this, a lesser amount is acceptable. In this case, material difference is not a barrier to ending up on an equal level.  What about two people who are on different levels of ability?  Is one greater than the other?

Rabbi Josh Flug gave me the answer. He asked why the Torah sometimes says, “Moses and Aaron,” and at other times, “Aaron and Moses”? Shouldn’t Moses always be first? After all, he was the great leader.

Rabbi Flug then took out two bottles of Coke and placed them on his desk. One bottle was 64 ounces, and the other was 20 ounces. He pointed to the top of each bottle to show me each was filled to the brim. Both Moses and Aaron reached their potential. That is why both men deserved to be placed first, because reaching our potential, our personal best, is the highest achievement. One man is no less than the other.

When I write about my family, my friends and even my casual acquaintances it is because I appreciate what these people have taught me. They have shown me how to get closer to reaching my full potential. Sometimes there are new insights, other times they remind me of what I already know but have ignored or forgotten. I notice what they do for me, and also what they do for other people. I marvel at the way they handle the daily challenges we all face. They instruct and inspire my growth. I learn what to do and how to do it.

Few people are noble by birth. Many people are noble by deeds. Inspiration is all around us. All we have to do is simply look and listen.

This post is a thank you to the noble people who inspire me to come closer to reaching my potential.

“There is no such thing in man’s nature as a settled a full resolve, either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.” (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

I wonder if the Ba’al Haggadah (Author) would agree: The way most of us understand the Four Sons is as each having a fully resolved nature. “What does the Wise Son say,” implies an established nature; he is a wise child. So too, with the wicked, the “simple,” and the one who doesn’t care enough to ask. Our responses certainly seem to be to defined characters: if the Wicked child doesn’t have a fixed nature; why would we take such a firm, almost aggressive approach?

We are all too familiar with people who become the way they are treated. Why would we respond in such a manner, rather than offer an opening to a new way of thinking. Yes, I can explain the answer in a different way, but the words are the words, and they convey a hostile response.

“Blessed is the Omnipresent. Blessed is He. Blessed is He Who gave the Torah to His nation Israel. Blessed is He. The Torah spoke “Kineged,” corresponding to four children.”

Actually the Torah describes four questions, and offers answers different from some of the ones we offer in the Haggadah. Many are under the impression that the four questions listed in the Torah are about Pesach. Some are, and some are not! The Wicked and the one who doesn’t care to ask are about Pesach. The Simple question is about the complexities of the redemption of the First Born people and animals. The Wise question is about becoming someone who naturally knows how God wants him to act. The different issues instigate different sorts of questions.

The Wicked son is only child’s question presented in the present to the people about to offer the first Pesach; the rest are in the future, after we enter the land of Israel. The Wise question is presented in the context of an unusually elevated level; no wonder it’s the Wise child who appears! The different contexts stimulate different questions.

Perhaps Hawthorne was correct: their natures are not fully resolved. The “moment of execution” shapes the question and the questioner. Our challenge at this point of the Haggadah is to create an environment that will nurture a certain type of question, and not another. We create the “Kineged,” the environment to which the child responds.

There is the home that focuses on, “Blessed is the Omnipresent,” God is everywhere. His Presence permeates the family.

There is the home that lives, “Blessed is He,” in which God is an ill-defined pronoun, a weak force, of which the parents speak in vague terms. The family observes without any clarity.

There is the home of, “Blessed is He Who gave the Torah to His nation Israel,” that focuses on our unique relationship to God, and that He speaks to us through His Torah. And, there is the other type of “Blessed is He,” home, in which God is an empty noun, without any real feelings or awareness.

Each home becomes a “Kineged,” as a wife is an, “Eizer Kinegdo,” a force that pushes against the most important issues, and motivates growth.

The Torah offers answers to four types of questions. The Haggadah evaluates four types of environments.

The Seder night is our moment of execution. We can look at our Seder, see which nature or environment we have expressed, and better understand our children’s questions.

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Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies. The Foundation Stone™ is the ultimate resource for Jews, Judaism, Jewish Education, Jewish Spirituality & the holy Torah.

“Certainly one cannot read this poem without effort. The page is often corrupt and mud-stained, and torn and stuck together with faded leaves, with scraps of verbena or geranium. One must put aside antipathies and jealousies and not interrupt. One must have patience and infinite care and let the light sound, whether of spiders’ delicate feet on a leaf or the chuckle of water in some irrelevant drainpipe, unfold too.”

“The Waves,” Virginia Woolf, 1931



Reminds me of the Seder!

When we set the table for the Seder, we would place a huge comfortable chair for my grandfather zt”l in front of his own table as the top of a T, placed against the table around which the rest of us would sit.  Why did he need his own table? He wanted us to gather his hundreds of commentaries on the Haggadah and pile them on his table for him NOT to use!

“Why does Zaidy not look at his Haggadahs if they’re in front of him?”

“I want you to see that I’m more interested in what my grandchildren will say than I am in what is in all these Haggadahs!”

You may not know, but Weinbergs are opinionated! (Shocking, I know!) Each of us had our own ideas, and had to practice patience in front of our grandfather, not interrupt, and listen carefully to what everyone had to say (yes, even That sister!) because our Zaidy would often ask us to repeat what someone else said.

The Seder became an exercise in self-control, patience, and listening with respect.

I decided that I would emulate my grandfather and use the same simple Maxwell House Haggadah every year. No commentaries. Its pages are stained with wine and filled with bits and pieces of Marror and Matzah crumbs. I look at my simple Haggadah and remember my grandfather’s lesson of listening to what everyone else has to say.

The Seder becomes an exercise in listening; or, as my grandfather would say: “How does the parent know which of the Four Sons is asking? By listening.

Author Info:
Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies. The Foundation Stone™ is the ultimate resource for Jews, Judaism, Jewish Education, Jewish Spirituality & the holy Torah.