From dixieyid
Rav Moshe Weinberger
Parshas Beshalach 5777
A Sorry Substitute
Let us consider one reason Tu Beshvat always occurs around the week of parshas Beshalach, which is also called Shabbos Shira because that is when we read the song the Jewish people sung at the sea after it was split. Dovid HaMelech says in Tehillim(106:7), “And [the Jewish people] rebelled [וימרו] by the sea [and] in the Red Sea.” This translation of “וימרו” as “rebelled” follows Rashi, the Malbim, and the Metzudas Tziyon. Each one explains some way the Jewish people rebelled both “by the sea” and “in the Red Sea.”
The problem is that the word “וימרו” usually does not mean “rebelled,” but instead means “exchanged” or “substituted.” We see this from that which the passuk (Vayikra 27:10) says about a korban, “You shall neither exchange it nor substitute[ימיר] it.” We also see this in the verse from Yigdal, “G-d will neither exchange nor substitute [ימיר] His law.” What did the Jewish people substitute by the sea and in the sea?
The Midrash (Shmos Rabah 24:1) explains each of the Jewish people’s exchanges: “‘By the sea,’ in that they did not want to descend [into the water.] ‘In the [Red] Sea,’ how did they exchange? When they descended into the sea, it was full of mud... Reuven would say to Shimon, ‘In Egypt there was mud and in the sea there is mud. In Egypt there were mortar and bricks, and by the sea, there is mortar and mighty waters...’’
The complaints recounted by the Midrash are unfathomable. The Jewish people were, at that moment, experiencing the greatest miracle ever to occur in the history of the world. They had, moments earlier, been saved from imminent death at the hands of the Egyptian hordes behind them and wild animals on either side. How could they possibly have said, “Meh. We walked in mud in Egypt and we’re walking in mud now. How is this any better?” as they walked with the sea standing miraculously like walls on either side of them!?
The Midrash is clearly highlighting for us a remarkable, but dark, aspect of human nature. A person can live through the greatest moment of his life but never lift his eyes off the floor. He can remain immersed in the lowest smallness, in the mud at his feet, even as he stands at the most uplifting time in his life.
The Steipler Gaon, zt”l, related a story that took place when he was a bachurstudying in the Bialystoker branch of the Nevardok yeshivah. One time, in 1914, he was about to return to yeshivah. The father of another boy from his town asked the Steipler if he could deliver a letter to his son when he arrived in Bialystok. Of course he agreed. The letter appeared to be very important, as the father had sealed it on all four sides. So the young Steipler placed the letter carefully in his jacket pocket before leaving for Bialystok. Unfortunately, the outbreak of World War I prevented him from being able to travel, but he resolved to deliver the letter to his friend whenever he found him.
Approximately eight years after accepting the letter, the Steipler found his friend from yeshivah. At this point, the young man’s father had already passed away. The Steipler told him about the letter and the young man was visibly moved. He began crying as he accepted the letter. He could not believe that he had the opportunity to receive one last message from his father from beyond the grave. Emotionally, the son began to read what turned out to be his father’s last will and testament: “To my dear and precious son, when you return home from Bialystok, which has the best herring in the world, please do not forget to bring me some herring.” While obviously the father had no way of knowing that this would be his final message to his son. It is so sad when a person exchanges greatness with smallness. The Steipler commented that this father would go to face his judgment at the end of his life boasting that he had the privilege of being a man who spent his life in search of the perfect herring.
Some Jewish people, as they crossed through the sea, substituted the greatness of the moment with a focus on the mud at their feet. Yet there were others, like the maidservant at the sea (Mechilta, Beshalach 3), who went another way. Even though she otherwise spent her days cleaning floors, she recognized the power of the moment and opened herself up to a prophecy greater than that which was revealed to the Navi Yechezkel.
So many of us make these pathetic exchanges. I was once at a chassunah at which the two sets of in-laws began physically fighting with one another under thechuppah. And if I told you want they were fighting about, you would not know whether to laugh or cry. I was recently at a pidyon haben. How often does one attend a pidyon haben? Two or three times in his life? The zayde of the baby spent the whole time swiping endlessly on the screen of his phone. What more pathetic sight can there be than an old man trading the exalted moment of the pidyon haben for a news article or funny picture on the Internet.
There are some people who are blessed with children, a stroke of good fortune no one can take for granted. Yet instead of focusing on the greatness and potential of their children, they cannot take their eyes off of their shoes, off of the mud. They look at their children only as a means to gain status, prestige, or bragging rights.
When I go to some of the biggest moments in people’s lives, whether they weddings or funerals, I look across the people in attendance and their faces are lit up – not with joy or solemn emotion, but with the screens of their little smartphones. Those screens are the epitome of the world of substitution. As people swipe endlessly from one amusing or emotional posting to the next, they immerse themselves more and more deeply in the world of exchanges, where nothing is fixed and no one truly lives in the moment.
How does all of this connect with Tu Beshvat? Rabi Shimon bar Yochai teaches us regarding exchanges (Avos 3:9), “One who is walking on the path and studying and he interrupts his studies and says, ‘How beautiful is this tree, how beautiful is this field,’ the Torah considers it that he is worthy of being killed.” This is very difficult to understand. Appreciating Hashem’s creation is a good thing. We know inhalachah (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 226:1) that when one sees a fruit tree blossoming in the Spring, in the month of Nissan, he says the blessing, “Blessed are You Hashem who did not leave anything lacking in His world, who created in it good creations and good trees in order for people enjoy them.” How could Rabi Shimon say that admiring a tree is not only not commendable, but is so bad that one who does so is deserving of being killed?!
We grew up hearing people explain that this Mishnah teaches that Torah learning is the most important thing in the world, and that person is only guilty because he interrupted his learning to admire Hashem’s creation. But the Baal Shem Tov explains this Mishnah in a much deeper way. It does not say, “One who is walking on the path and studying and says, ‘How beautiful...’” Rather, the emphasis is on the fact that the person viewed his admiration of Hashem’s creation as an interruption. He is guilty for believing that there are two mutually exclusive worlds, one physical and the other spiritual. If such a person considers Hashem’s creation to be an interruption of his Torah learning, he forfeits his life by demonstrating that he does not recognize that Hashem is in the physical world just as much as He is in the Torah. He has exchanged an eternal world for what he mistakenly believes is a temporal world.
The truth is that everything in Hashem’s world has its own song. Each thing’s existence is a manifestation of Hashem’s influence. That is why in Perek Shirah, the Chapter of Song, we read about the unique song expressed by each element of creation: “The Heavens say... The earth says... The rivers say... The trees say... The stars say...” One must understand that each part of Hashem’s creation, the trees and everything else, are not an obstacle, separating a person from the recognition of G-dliness. Rather, they are an extension of Hashem’s Presence throughout the world.
Those who are immersed in smallness, who have their eyes focused on the mud on their sandals, rather than on the greatness of Hashem’s Presence in their lives, cannot understand those who are fully engaged with the present. Some of the Baal Shem Tov’s opponents once criticized him for his chassidim’s exuberance in davening. They claimed that this was a break from tradition. The Baal Shem Tov responded to them with an analogy: “A fiddler once began playing by the side of the road. His music was so uplifting and so enrapturing that passersby could not help themselves and began to dance with joy right there in the street. A deaf man also walked by, but because he could not hear the music, assumed that the people dancing in the street were insane. That is how it is with my followers. They hear the song that emanates from every tree, from every object in Hashem’s creation, and cannot help themselves. They feel compelled to sing and dance as they daven. Those who are deaf to this song cannot understand the joy my chassidim express when they daven.”
Those who have exchanged the greatness inherent in each moment, in each experience in life, for the mud on their feet or the constant exchange of postings and text messages whizzing past on their phones, cannot hear the song in the beauty of Hashem’s creations, in every tree. May Hashem bless us to be among those who do not exchange temporality for eternity, greatness for smallness, or a lasting legacy for a little herring.
Parshas Beshalach 5777
A Sorry Substitute
Let us consider one reason Tu Beshvat always occurs around the week of parshas Beshalach, which is also called Shabbos Shira because that is when we read the song the Jewish people sung at the sea after it was split. Dovid HaMelech says in Tehillim(106:7), “And [the Jewish people] rebelled [וימרו] by the sea [and] in the Red Sea.” This translation of “וימרו” as “rebelled” follows Rashi, the Malbim, and the Metzudas Tziyon. Each one explains some way the Jewish people rebelled both “by the sea” and “in the Red Sea.”
The problem is that the word “וימרו” usually does not mean “rebelled,” but instead means “exchanged” or “substituted.” We see this from that which the passuk (Vayikra 27:10) says about a korban, “You shall neither exchange it nor substitute[ימיר] it.” We also see this in the verse from Yigdal, “G-d will neither exchange nor substitute [ימיר] His law.” What did the Jewish people substitute by the sea and in the sea?
The Midrash (Shmos Rabah 24:1) explains each of the Jewish people’s exchanges: “‘By the sea,’ in that they did not want to descend [into the water.] ‘In the [Red] Sea,’ how did they exchange? When they descended into the sea, it was full of mud... Reuven would say to Shimon, ‘In Egypt there was mud and in the sea there is mud. In Egypt there were mortar and bricks, and by the sea, there is mortar and mighty waters...’’
The complaints recounted by the Midrash are unfathomable. The Jewish people were, at that moment, experiencing the greatest miracle ever to occur in the history of the world. They had, moments earlier, been saved from imminent death at the hands of the Egyptian hordes behind them and wild animals on either side. How could they possibly have said, “Meh. We walked in mud in Egypt and we’re walking in mud now. How is this any better?” as they walked with the sea standing miraculously like walls on either side of them!?
The Midrash is clearly highlighting for us a remarkable, but dark, aspect of human nature. A person can live through the greatest moment of his life but never lift his eyes off the floor. He can remain immersed in the lowest smallness, in the mud at his feet, even as he stands at the most uplifting time in his life.
The Steipler Gaon, zt”l, related a story that took place when he was a bachurstudying in the Bialystoker branch of the Nevardok yeshivah. One time, in 1914, he was about to return to yeshivah. The father of another boy from his town asked the Steipler if he could deliver a letter to his son when he arrived in Bialystok. Of course he agreed. The letter appeared to be very important, as the father had sealed it on all four sides. So the young Steipler placed the letter carefully in his jacket pocket before leaving for Bialystok. Unfortunately, the outbreak of World War I prevented him from being able to travel, but he resolved to deliver the letter to his friend whenever he found him.
Approximately eight years after accepting the letter, the Steipler found his friend from yeshivah. At this point, the young man’s father had already passed away. The Steipler told him about the letter and the young man was visibly moved. He began crying as he accepted the letter. He could not believe that he had the opportunity to receive one last message from his father from beyond the grave. Emotionally, the son began to read what turned out to be his father’s last will and testament: “To my dear and precious son, when you return home from Bialystok, which has the best herring in the world, please do not forget to bring me some herring.” While obviously the father had no way of knowing that this would be his final message to his son. It is so sad when a person exchanges greatness with smallness. The Steipler commented that this father would go to face his judgment at the end of his life boasting that he had the privilege of being a man who spent his life in search of the perfect herring.
Some Jewish people, as they crossed through the sea, substituted the greatness of the moment with a focus on the mud at their feet. Yet there were others, like the maidservant at the sea (Mechilta, Beshalach 3), who went another way. Even though she otherwise spent her days cleaning floors, she recognized the power of the moment and opened herself up to a prophecy greater than that which was revealed to the Navi Yechezkel.
So many of us make these pathetic exchanges. I was once at a chassunah at which the two sets of in-laws began physically fighting with one another under thechuppah. And if I told you want they were fighting about, you would not know whether to laugh or cry. I was recently at a pidyon haben. How often does one attend a pidyon haben? Two or three times in his life? The zayde of the baby spent the whole time swiping endlessly on the screen of his phone. What more pathetic sight can there be than an old man trading the exalted moment of the pidyon haben for a news article or funny picture on the Internet.
There are some people who are blessed with children, a stroke of good fortune no one can take for granted. Yet instead of focusing on the greatness and potential of their children, they cannot take their eyes off of their shoes, off of the mud. They look at their children only as a means to gain status, prestige, or bragging rights.
When I go to some of the biggest moments in people’s lives, whether they weddings or funerals, I look across the people in attendance and their faces are lit up – not with joy or solemn emotion, but with the screens of their little smartphones. Those screens are the epitome of the world of substitution. As people swipe endlessly from one amusing or emotional posting to the next, they immerse themselves more and more deeply in the world of exchanges, where nothing is fixed and no one truly lives in the moment.
How does all of this connect with Tu Beshvat? Rabi Shimon bar Yochai teaches us regarding exchanges (Avos 3:9), “One who is walking on the path and studying and he interrupts his studies and says, ‘How beautiful is this tree, how beautiful is this field,’ the Torah considers it that he is worthy of being killed.” This is very difficult to understand. Appreciating Hashem’s creation is a good thing. We know inhalachah (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 226:1) that when one sees a fruit tree blossoming in the Spring, in the month of Nissan, he says the blessing, “Blessed are You Hashem who did not leave anything lacking in His world, who created in it good creations and good trees in order for people enjoy them.” How could Rabi Shimon say that admiring a tree is not only not commendable, but is so bad that one who does so is deserving of being killed?!
We grew up hearing people explain that this Mishnah teaches that Torah learning is the most important thing in the world, and that person is only guilty because he interrupted his learning to admire Hashem’s creation. But the Baal Shem Tov explains this Mishnah in a much deeper way. It does not say, “One who is walking on the path and studying and says, ‘How beautiful...’” Rather, the emphasis is on the fact that the person viewed his admiration of Hashem’s creation as an interruption. He is guilty for believing that there are two mutually exclusive worlds, one physical and the other spiritual. If such a person considers Hashem’s creation to be an interruption of his Torah learning, he forfeits his life by demonstrating that he does not recognize that Hashem is in the physical world just as much as He is in the Torah. He has exchanged an eternal world for what he mistakenly believes is a temporal world.
The truth is that everything in Hashem’s world has its own song. Each thing’s existence is a manifestation of Hashem’s influence. That is why in Perek Shirah, the Chapter of Song, we read about the unique song expressed by each element of creation: “The Heavens say... The earth says... The rivers say... The trees say... The stars say...” One must understand that each part of Hashem’s creation, the trees and everything else, are not an obstacle, separating a person from the recognition of G-dliness. Rather, they are an extension of Hashem’s Presence throughout the world.
Those who are immersed in smallness, who have their eyes focused on the mud on their sandals, rather than on the greatness of Hashem’s Presence in their lives, cannot understand those who are fully engaged with the present. Some of the Baal Shem Tov’s opponents once criticized him for his chassidim’s exuberance in davening. They claimed that this was a break from tradition. The Baal Shem Tov responded to them with an analogy: “A fiddler once began playing by the side of the road. His music was so uplifting and so enrapturing that passersby could not help themselves and began to dance with joy right there in the street. A deaf man also walked by, but because he could not hear the music, assumed that the people dancing in the street were insane. That is how it is with my followers. They hear the song that emanates from every tree, from every object in Hashem’s creation, and cannot help themselves. They feel compelled to sing and dance as they daven. Those who are deaf to this song cannot understand the joy my chassidim express when they daven.”
Those who have exchanged the greatness inherent in each moment, in each experience in life, for the mud on their feet or the constant exchange of postings and text messages whizzing past on their phones, cannot hear the song in the beauty of Hashem’s creations, in every tree. May Hashem bless us to be among those who do not exchange temporality for eternity, greatness for smallness, or a lasting legacy for a little herring.
