Netzavim
Rabbi Eliyahu Hoffmann
Where Torah and Life Meet
Parshas Nitzavim contains a section called Parshas ha-Teshuva, The
Chapter of Repentance; so called because in this chapter Moshe
encourages Bnei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) by telling them that
as far as they may have strayed from the Almighty, hope is never lost,
and there is always room for teshuva.
"It will be, when all these things come upon you, the
blessing and the curse... then you will take it to heart,
among all the nations where Hashem, your G-d, has
dispersed you. And you will return to Hashem, your G-d,
and listen to His voice... And Hashem, your G-d, will
circumcise your heart, and the heart of your offspring, to
love Hashem, your G-d, with all your heart and with all
your soul; that you may live." (30:1-6)
This promise - that Hashem will "circumcise," or remove the spiritual
impediments from our hearts, thereby stirring within us a great love
for Him - while 'heartening,' is problematic. It seems to fly in the face
of the famous dictum of Chazal (our Sages) that, Everything is in
the hands of G-d, except for the fear of G-d. (Berachos 33b) It is a
basic tenet of Jewish belief that while Hashem is in complete control
over all that occurs within the physical realm, He does not exercise
control over man's free-will, and will not coerce us to choose good
over evil. That choice is completely ours, and we will either be
rewarded for choosing good, or, G-d forbid, punished for doing bad.
So how is it that here the pasuk seems to promise that Hashem is
going to "step in" and compel us - and our children - to love Him by
"circumcising" our hearts?
A minyan of at least 10 Jewish males have the obligation to pray
together. The "call to prayer," as it were, is when the Chazzan calls
out: Let us Bless Hashem, Who is blessed. The congregation
responds: May Hashem, Who is blessed, be blessed forever and
ever. Similarly, when ten males have eaten together, they are lead in
a zimun, or "call to bentching," in which the leader recites: Let us
bless G-d, from Whom we have partaken. Those present respond:
Blessed is G-d, from Whom we have partaken, and in His goodness,
He has granted us life.
In a famous comment, the Mishnaic commentary Tosafos Yom Tov
(Berachos 7:3) notes a discrepancy between the two declarations:
When we call to pray, we do so by invoking the Four Letter Name,
Hashem, spelled Yud-Hei-Vav-Hei. But when we call to recite Birkas
HaMazon (Grace), we invoke G-d, or Elokeinu. What is the reason for
this distinction?
While we are infinitely thankful for Hashem's grace in having given us
to eat, we realize that in fact He must do so. After all, we didn't ask
to be born; He created us, and to some extent He is obligated to
sustain us. Making sure His creations have what to eat is not an act
of compassion, but rather a logical outcome of having put us here in
the first place. To allude to this, we invoke the name Elokeinu, which
signifies din, or obligation and justice.
Conversely, giving us the Torah and its mitzvos, one of which is the
mitzvah to pray, is an act of extreme benevolence and generosity,
which Hashem was certainly not "obligated" to do. He did so out of
great compassion and love. Thus, when we call to pray, we invoke
the name Hashem, which signifies compassion and mercy.
This raises the following question: How far does Hashem's
"obligation" to sustain us go? Are we talking about the barest of
necessities, or does it also include delicacies and the finer things in
life? Logic dictates that the answer to this question differs from
person to person. Hashem must give a person whatever he or she
absolutely needs to survive. For Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa, that was
a measure of carob each week. For others, it might include a hearty
diet of grains, fruits and vegetables. Whatever we absolutely need is
given to us with justice; the rest is compassion.
But what if a person's Yiddishkeit - his connection to Torah and
mitzvos - is so critical that it is no less a necessity to him than are his
daily bread and water? What if a day without Torah is just as
distressing to him than a day without food and drink - and perhaps
more so? What if to him the yiras Shamayim (fear of Heaven) of his
children is so dear, that were he to see them straying from a Torah
life, it would be tantamount to death itself? For such a person, his
spiritual sustenance of Torah and mitzvos is just as much a lifeline
as are the food he eats and the air he breathes. For him, loving
Hashem and the Torah cease to be elements of free-will and
compassion; they are every bit as necessary as is his physical well
being. And since we are entitled to at least the bare necessities of life,
he is entitled to an extra measure of Heavenly providence ensuring
that he, and his children, will love Hashem and go in His ways.
Anything less would be to deprive him of life itself! (How's that for
circumventing free will?!)
This, I once heard, is the meaning of the above pasuk: And Hashem
will circumcise your heart, and the heart of your children - He will
step in and force you to love Him, seemingly overriding the normal
conditions of free will and independent choice. Why? In order that
you may live - if Torah and mitzvos are so important to you that
without them, life itself has no meaning, then you indeed have the
"right" to additional Heavenly assistance and guidance.
We have just passed through what was for many of us the most
turbulent and terrifying week of our lives. Certainly, if nothing else, the
horrific events of the past few days have exposed the frailty and
vulnerability of human life, even as we sit in the steel structures in
which we once felt so safe and secure. Perhaps, for some, there has
been a rethinking of our priorities: What really matters, and what's
just peripheral. What do I really need - and what is life all about?
Hopefully, the answer has been in the form of a strengthening of our
commitment to Torah and mitzvos. It would certainly be a tragedy of
its own to allow such events to pass us by in a whirlwind of details,
trivia, and media-driven hype, without looking within for some deeper
meaning. While there is little we can do to control global events, we
are in control of the choices we make, and the priorities we set. As
the Shabbos before Rosh Hashana arrives, and we approach a new
year, let us focus our own "search lights" within our souls, for there,
ultimately, is where our war is to be won
Have a good Shabbos.
