Creative Judaism

The first person who voluntarily connects with G-d is Cain, when he offers from the fruits of the earth, the pri-ha’adamah. It seems like a good and decent thing to do. But it falls short: Cain’s offering was famously not accepted by G-d, and Cain’s response is to commit the first murder.

Perhaps the rejection of Cain’s offering of the fruits of the earth was supposed to teach Cain something. But what could he have done better?

The Torah tells us, using its own words!

The phrase meaning “fruits of the earth” appears only five times in the entire Torah! (G.4:3, D. 7:13, 26:2, 26:10. 28:11). In every incidence of this phrase after the story of Cain, the Torah discusses these fruits as blessings from G-d in the land, a reward for following G-d and His Torah. Cain brought from these fruits. But he missed an element: he brought from the produce, while his brother brought the first from his flock.

There is a deep idea here: G-d does not want a percentage or a payoff. G-d is not hungry. And indeed, the first fruits are the very worst of any harvest (e.g. “late harvest” wines are the sweetest). No. G-d wants the credit. He wants to be appreciated, for us to be grateful. And that does not require giving up significant material value. It requires us to appreciate that even though grain is inedible at the point of threshing (and turning grain into bread is incredibly laborious work), we must never ever think that it is we who are responsible for the end result. We must always be mindful and appreciative of our divine partner.

To be in the Land of Israel, in the land where all blessings are contingent on our relationship with G-d, we must internalize that G-d is not like a taxing authority or a mafia protection racket, demanding a cut because He has the power and we do not.

No. G-d desires a personal relationship, one of love and devotion. A relationship wherein each party invests and credits the other, where we each have a crucial role to play. And in that relationship, G-d wants the offering of Abel (the “first”) and not the offering of Cain (a percentage). By rejecting Cain, G-d gives Cain the opportunity to grow, to become ever-better by overcoming his jealousy and rage. We should recognize that G-d does not want our food: He wants us to acknowledge His centrality in our lives, to seek connection and to grow love between us. We do that by showing and expressing gratitude and appreciation.

This is why the commandment in Deuteronomy to bring the first-fruits has two elements that are identical to those of Cain and Abel: the “fruits of the earth,” and the “firstlings.” Both are specifically named in the Cain and Abel story, and then echoed when we are commanded, near the end of the Torah, to bring the bikkurim, the first fruits.

When we are farming the land of Israel, the offeror is commanded to tell the story of Jewish history, personally connecting back through all of Jewish history, expressing all the main events that led from the forefathers (My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt …) through the Exodus and receiving the land on which the first fruits were grown. (D. 26) Cain did not do this, either!

The first fruits of the earth are all connected back to Cain, showing how Cain could have done it right: bringing the first fruits and understanding and verbalizing the Big Picture of how our daily lives all connect back to the beneficence of G-d across all of history and including the minutiae of the present day. We should still give him credit: Cain, though imperfect, nevertheless made a positive step in the right direction!

The Torah has different words for clothing, each having a distinct meaning. For example, in the Torah, beged always refers to aspirational garments, while simla consistently refers to functional clothing.

There is another word that refers to maintaining the dignity and reputation of a person, of always being sure to them as if they are endowed with a divinely-gifted soul. We know this purely by the context of the word itself, which only appears in six verses in the entire Torah!

The word is keSus. It is used to speak directly about treating others with respect:

If you take your neighbor’s garment in pledge, you must return it before the sun sets; it is the only available clothing (keSus)—it is what covers their skin. In what else shall they sleep? Therefore, if [your neighbor] cries out to Me, I will pay heed, for I am compassionate. (E. 22:26)

And it also refers to specific clothing for the priests:

Put these on your brother Aaron and on his sons as well; anoint them, and ordain them and consecrate them to serve Me as priests. You shall also make for them linen breeches to cover (keSus) their nakedness; they shall extend from the hips to the thighs. (E. 28:43)

These uses of keSus are about the basic idea of being dignified, which is true for both the poor man and for the priest.

But we learn the deeper meaning of this word by seeing how it is used in the other four verses in the text.

keSus is used to discuss how a man must treat a woman he has taken, even if she does not remain her husband’s favorite:

If he takes another to wife, he must not withhold from this one her food, her clothing (keSus), or her conjugal rights. (E. 21:10)

The text is not merely telling us that the husband must clothe his wife: he must do so to ensure she retains her dignity! He cannot, in any way, expose anything about her that lowers her in the eyes of others!

How can we make such a bold claim? Does the text really support such a strong meaning for this word?

It does! Because the very first time keSus is used deals with a very sensitive story indeed. Avimelech has taken Sarah, Avraham’s wife. And when Avimelech discovers his mistake, he pays a considerable sum to restore Sarah’s dignity.

Abimelech took sheep and oxen, and male and female slaves, and gave them to Abraham; and he restored his wife Sarah to him. And Abimelech said, “Here, my land is before you; settle wherever you please.” And to Sarah he said, “I herewith give your brother a thousand pieces of silver; this will serve you as keSus before all who are with you, and you are cleared before everyone.” (G. 20:16)

Isn’t it amazing? keSus does not in this verse refer to clothing at all – it refers to restoring the reputation of Sarah, of showing that she was regarded most highly, indeed. The real object of the payment is the way in which Sarah is regarded by other people. keSus is truly about respecting people! As such, the less-loved wife must be treated with keSus just as Avimelech paid an exorbitant price to restore Sarah’s reputation.

Which in turn explains that last two uses of the word in the Torah:

When Aaron and his sons have finished covering (keSus) the sacred objects and all the furnishings of the sacred objects at the breaking of camp, only then shall the Kohathites come and lift them, so that they do not come in contact with the sacred objects and die. (N. 4:16)

This word, used to describe the poor man’s sole garment when night falls, is used to describe the holiest objects in the world, objects that are so special that they cannot even be regarded by ordinary people. Indeed, these objects are so special that even their bearers can only lift them if they are first keSus, covered.

The last verse refers to the fringes that a man wears on the “wings” (corners) of his garment:

You shall make tassels on the four corners of the garment with which you cover (keSus) yourself. (D. 22:12)

Look at the linkage!

The Torah is telling us that each and every person must preserve their own dignity, just as a man respects his wife, and just as the priests respected the sacred tabernacle.

This word, keSus is used to make explicit connections between all of: a poor man; of Sarah’s reputation; of the way a man treats his wife; of the holy vessels of the tabernacle; and each man in himself. The Torah tells us that they are all of these things are linked to each other by the dignity they are owed!

Some time ago, I wrote that when Jacob spoke of Rachel dying “on the way to Efrat,” he was speaking of her being on the path to fruitfulness (since Efrat contains “fruit” within the word). Which is why Jacob promoted Ephraim and Menasseh (grandsons of Rachel) to the status of his own sons. Rachel thus was “given” more of the children she desired.

The Torah shares other symbolic geographical references with us as well. For example, we are told to give blessings and curses on two opposing mountains: Mount Gerizim and Mount Eval. It so happens that these mountains are the twin sentries for the primary road into Canaan from the East, from Mesopotamia. Anyone who came in that way would pass between these two mountains and the words plastered onto them. And they would, as the text tells us, “See, I set before you this day a blessing and a curse.” (D. 11:26)

What are they seeing? Something quite similar to the entrance conditions posted at every exclusive club in the world!

The Children of Israel, at G-d’s command, put up an entrance sign for all who come into the land, informing every traveler of The Rules, and the consequences for breaking them. Israel is not a land governed by nature or pagan deities. It is a land where each person has Free Will – and consequences (both positive and negative) for the choices that are made within.

The Torah actually goes well beyond this when it adds the following verse:

Are they [the mountains Gerizim and Eval] not on the other side of the Yarden, by the way where the sun goes down, in the land of the Canaanites, who dwell in the Arava over against Gilgal, beside the terebinths of More?

Isn’t this odd? Why does the Torah contain all this detail? Especially when we consider that the “details” contain nothing valuable by way of actual location! Nobody could use them to find the named mountains. So what is this verse doing here?

I think the answer is simple: Each of the phrases in this verse refers to events earlier in the Torah, telling us of the foundational events of the Jewish people and our relationship with G-d and even with each other! We’ll tackle these in order.

“The other side of the Yarden” is first found when Jacob returns to the land, and prays for deliverance from Esau. (G. 32:11) Lesson: This is the land of engagement with G-d, the transformation of mankind through growth and divine deliverance.

“The Sun Goes Down” is used in Genesis three places: the Covenant Between the Parts, and when Jacob dreams of the ladder connecting heaven and earth and makes a covenant. Lesson: This is the land where G-d can appear to you at any time. Israel is the land of covenants and commitments between man and G-d, of individual connections transforming into national destiny.

“The Land of the Canaanites” and “Terebinths of Moreh” are BOTH found in G. 12:6:

And Avram passed through the land to the place of Shekhem unto the terebinth of More. And the Canaanites were then in the land.

Lesson: When you enter this land, you are literally walking in Avraham’s footsteps, recreating and reliving that foundational experience, following G-d’s commandment to “Go!”

Note the the reference to Shechem, where Simeon and Levi took initiative (G. 34), where Joseph searched for his brothers (and was directed by an angel) (G. 37), the land that Joseph inherited and where he was buried. Joseph took more initiative with less instruction than anyone else in the Torah. Joseph was the quintessential Jewish opportunist – he played the cards he was dealt and then some. Joseph, Shechem, represent the ability of Jews to of the Land of Israel. Israel is the land of Jewish creativity – referenced here!

“בָּעֲרָבָ֑ה מ֚וּל” “in the Aravah against” is a phrase only found in the Torah in one other place: the very first verse of Deuteronomy. Lesson: This is the land that incorporates by reference all of Moshe’s grand speech, with all the commandments, blessings, curses, blandishments and condemnations. Including this book adds to the commandment to plaster the entire text of the Torah on the mountain. (D. 27) Lesson: Israel is the land where the Torah forms the foundational house rules for all within.

The Land of Israel thus forms its own geographical bubble, consistent with the Jewish people as a whole. We are given different rules and responsibilities, as set out in the Torah. Unlike the land given to other people, the Land of Israel is never truly ours. Instead, our presence is always conditional on our behavior, on how well we internalize and live by the Torah and all of its laws, precepts and lessons.

Which in turn explains why we are given this verse, a verse that reads like a riddle. Instead of a signpost, we should understand that at the entrance to the Land of Israel, G-d is telling us of the rules for being in the land: that He sets before us a blessing and a curse, an ever-present set of choices, with all the power, responsibility and consequences that come from Free Will.

P.S. There are a host of secondary symbolic connections as well. To take but one example, discussed here: https://creativejudaism.org/2023/12/12/why-this-specific-word/ the reference to “crossing the Jordan” is first found where Jacob speaks of bringing his rod, his makhel. This word does not refer to a staff, but is instead used to describe the rods that Jacob used when breeding the flocks. Makhel refers to the power of using our divinely-gifted powers to transform ourselves and nature, to achieve things that would ordinarily be impossible. This, too, is within the quality of Jewish People in the Land of Israel.

P.P.S. “When the sun goes down” is also used in the text for commandments when dealing with dependents who rely on us (E. 22:26, D. 24:15, etc.). The Land of Israel comes with requirements not only for how we interact with G-d, but also for how we treat others, especially those whom we hold power over. The national identity of the people requires kindness and interpersonal consideration.

Creativejudaism.org

Israel was founded by European Jewish Intellectuals who – with only some exceptions – deeply believed in the power of the intellect to properly order every element of society. In other words, they admired communism. Hence Israel’s national union, kibbutzim and moshavim, state-owned enterprises, and universal conscription to the armed forces.

Israel has retained much of this legacy. When I was a student there, I was forced to join the Student Union, despite my protestations. In the early 1990s I was asked how we can homeschool without access to television. In Israel at the time, television and radio were exclusive mouthpiece to the government. The Israeli questioner asked, without irony, “But without television, how will your children know what they are supposed to think?”

In many ways, Israel has liberalized since then – many fewer things are state owned or controlled. The Unions are weaker. Kibbutzim and Moshavim basically failed. TV and radio now are dominated by the private sector.  But the military… that is another story.

Israel has compulsory service for Jewish men and women, as well as Druze and Circassian men. Non-Druze Arab citizens of Israel (most Muslims, Christians, and Bedouins) are exempt from the draft but may volunteer – thousands choose to do so.

Why? Because the army is the gateway to recognized citizenship within the country. Having served comes with a sense of fellowship, belonging, and automatic acceptance by the society at large in a myriad of ways. Army service is what brings the country together, ensuring there is a sense of a shared mission.

Nevertheless, Israel is a huge exception: certain orthodox Jews (“Charedim”) usually reject assimilating with the rest of Israel. This most prominently is seen in their refusal to serve in the military. As Charedim are over 15% of the population (and growing), this is not a small exception to the rule.

Israel is currently riven by the issue of whether the Charedim (and other dissenters) should be compelled to serve in the military. Both the defenders of universal conscription and the Charedim see the military not solely for national defense, but as a tool to forge social cohesion, to make sure that everyone in that tiny country understands, at their core, the importance of unity under fire.

But social cohesion comes with a lot of baggage: do men and women serve together – even those from backgrounds where casual contact and immodest dress are not found? Should everyone be exposed to the same culture, even if they prefer to stay separated? The army even tells people how to think (like pre-1990s television). Should Charedim voluntarily acquiesce to hostile indoctrination?

These seemingly-unsolvable questions are bringing down the current government. To make things worse, the vast majority of Israelis across the political spectrum, in their hearts, retain the answer of communists, socialists and all totalitarians: use any means necessary to make the Other Guys submit to the way we see it. There is no ethos of freedom at play here. Everyone wants to win, and to do it by publicly humiliating the losers.

Enter the possibility of going in a new direction: a professional army, replacing universal conscription. Here is a great summary of that argument.  Such an army would be cheaper and more capable. It would also eliminate most of the tinder that is fueling this civil war.

Why has Israel not done this before? Because a professional army would end the founding dream within Israel of the army as the universal social glue, the great collective unification of The People coming together to defend Israel against those who seek to exterminate the 19 million remaining Jews in the world of 8.5 billion people.

The challenge to Israel moving to a professional army is not economic or practical or even about effectiveness in battle. There is no question that a paid army of professionals would be far more elite and successful than citizens who are routinely called up for reserve duty.

No, the challenge is about the foundational culture of the country, and whether Israel needs to see itself as having a shared national mission with shared sacrifice spread across the entire populace. I can see the virtue in it – but I also think that it is time to shake loose those remaining socialist shackles.

The icing on the cake, at least to the military planners who are paying attention, is the growing realization that infantry (briefly trained foot soldiers) are becoming much less important and valuable. The Ukraine War has shown that drones (airborne as well as naval and ground) can in fact conquer and hold terrain. The robots are here, and they have performed everything from minesweeping to beach landings and armored assault inland. It means that if Israel has the drones (and the AI/software to make the most of them), the Israeli military will require a lot less manpower than it did. There is no reason that future wars will require that thousands of young men and women will be cut down in their prime. Drones can be designed, built, programmed and operated far from the front lines, and from behind desks – and all by dedicated professionals.

In a drone war, unity in combat quickly becomes an historical artifact – just as the citizen army should.

Inertia is powerful. Perhaps nothing will change and the civil war will continue. But I very much hope otherwise.

 

Creativejudaism.org

Over a decade ago, a lovely old lady who lived down the block from us complimented my #1 son on his hat, explaining that, “a man isn’t fully dressed without a hat; it brings together his entire appearance.”

In this case, that briefest of comment landed on target, forever changing my son’s life. Because to this day, #1 son thinks of that lovely lady every time he leaves the house, and remembers to snag one of his cowboy hats. He remembers that Mrs. Brilliant (her real name) told him that this is how a man comports himself, and she was not the sort of lady one would ever want to disappoint.

Mrs. Brilliant passed away last week, at the full age of 98. She had experienced separation from her parents at 4, the kindertransport to Wales at 8, immigrating to America at 17, marriage at 40 (with two children who followed), and a lifetime of familial and communal dedication and service. When anyone needed someone to step in and help, she was there.

Indeed, her smile and words lifted everyone up, all the time. Mrs. Brilliant was the very embodiment of how seemingly little things become the glue and then the foundation for all the really important big things.

And, perhaps thanks to the combination of a German and British upbringing, she advocated for all things to be done in the right way, with a sense of ongoing duty and propriety. Even wearing a hat in public. She invariably would ask her children and grandchildren “whether that sort of thing would be acceptable in Buckingham Palace?”

I remember going to a funeral of another long-lived matriarch. Her granddaughters stood up and gave their impressions. They told of a woman who insisted that condiments should never be served at the table in the original packaging. The young ladies found this all vaguely preposterous. And it was a shame that they did not realize that their grandmother had been highly accomplished, serving on boards and as a trustee for many important charitable and communal organizations. All the children noticed was that ketchup bottles did not go on the dinner table.

So on the one hand, I despaired that the granddaughters missed the bigger story. But on the other hand, it could well be that making meals into formal rituals contains within it something very much like wearing a hat: the little things all add up. The distinctions we create and preserve in our lives are markers of civilization itself.

The forces of darkness work to blur all of that away. Formal dinners are on the wane. Dressing and comporting ourselves properly is something we think of when we think of our parents and grandparents. Because today we see people on airplanes or at meetings wearing pajamas. We have a world in which boys and girls are indistinguishable, where marriage no longer is holy, where love is explained away as being nothing more than a biochemical artifact.

Indeed, a key part of being “progressive” in the modern age is the desire – the need – to blur all the lines. To eliminate all senses of propriety. And to attack all formalized religions.

Because one of the things that old and stodgy religions – as well as wise matriarchs– understand, is that decorum and being in the right place at the right time are deeply important. In courtrooms you must dress and act in accordance with a code. The same is true in a house of worship or as a guest in someone else’s house. Like wearing a hat or not dispensing ketchup from the bottle.

Judaism and Christianity, underpinning the Western Civilization that is so loathed by the left, require different rules for different places and times. This is not imposed ritual by old white men. It is as old as the texts itself. To bring but one example:

These are the laws and rules that you must carefully observe in the land that the Lord, G-d of your ancestors, is giving you to possess, as long as you live on earth. You must destroy all the sites at which the nations you are to dispossess worshiped their gods, whether on lofty mountains and on hills or under any luxuriant tree. Tear down their altars, smash their pillars, put their sacred posts to the fire, and cut down the images of their gods, obliterating their name from that site. (D. 12)

But note that Jews are NOT commanded to tear down the “holy” sites of paganism anywhere except within the Land of Israel! This is quite deliberate. There is a place for those who think differently – and the Torah does not condemn those people or their practices. All it does is say that these practises do not belong in our holy land.

This approach allows for both toleration and principle. It creates the conditions for diversity of thought without abandoning one’s own principles. This is essentially America in its heyday – a place where all are free to worship as they see fit, with nobody possessing the right to attack or burn or condemn the religious choices of others. It is also clearly an ideal that is very much on the defensive in an age where religion is seen as the enemy of progress.

It all comes full circle. Dressing and speaking like a gentleman or lady is a choice we make when we create our own environments. It does not mean that we force our choices on others, but that we recognize that being good and holy – or happy – are not the result of a single Big Decision; they are the result of a lifetime of little choices, of always trying to consciously better ourselves, be nice to others, and never ignoring the little things.

Mrs. Brilliant would have it no other way.

Any person with an ounce of self-reflection takes stock from time to time. Am I a good person? Am I doing the right things?

And as we age and become increasingly aware of our mortality, we ask “bigger picture” questions: What have I achieved? Do I leave any kind of legacy? Have I made the world a better place for having lived in it?

For people who work with their hands, this is actually not a depressing exercise. Someone who has worked in construction or plumbing or electrics or carpentry has demonstrably built and maintained real things: building and homes, bridges and power stations. Looking at the things we have made, eating the fruit of the labor of our hands (psalm 128), is deeply satisfying.

And of course, there are lots of ways to build things: software code is building, and so is creating a body of academic work (especially if that work actually advances human knowledge and achievement). Perhaps most common (and critical) is to understand that we can build relationships: marriages, families, communities and even nations.

What is not satisfying is a life not spent in building anything. Such a life – one spent without investing in something larger than oneself – is really no life at all. And so we must not shortchange the work in front of us – even if it is work we are compelled to do.

Indeed, the command to not fall short is an instruction from Pharoah himself!

“You shall no longer provide the people with straw for making bricks as heretofore; let them go and gather straw for themselves. But impose upon them the same quota of bricks as they have been making heretofore; do not reduce it (לֹ֥א תִגְרְע֖וּ), for they are shirkers; that is why they cry, ‘Let us go and sacrifice to our God!’ (E. 5:7) … “You must not reduce (לֹא־תִגְרְע֥וּ) your daily quantity of bricks.” (5:19)

What is astonishing is that this phrase, “do not reduce” (לֹא־תִגְרְע֥וּ), is only found in 4 verses in the Torah. The first two are the commandment from Pharoah. Even though Pharoah was surely cruel, the work we did, even under duress, remains part of our legacy.

The last two uses of this word are found much later in the text, when G-d commands:

You shall not add anything to what I command you or reduce (לֹ֥א תִגְרְע֖וּ) from it, but keep the commandments of the Lord your G-d that I enjoin upon you. (D. 4:2) … Be careful to observe only that which I enjoin upon you: neither add to it nor take away (לֹ֥א תִגְרַ֖ע) from it. (D. 13:1)

Look at the contrast! Working for Pharoah, for Egypt, was physical labor. We were commanded not to shirk the labor.

And 40 years later, we are similarly told to not shirk fulfilling G-d’s commands. The use of the same words in both places (and nowhere else) gives us a comparison and contrast with Pharoah’s commandments!

What is the link? Doing commandments, the mitzvos, is a way to create, and is at least as important as the work of making bricks for Egypt’s storehouses. G-d’s commandments are another form of building, of creating something bigger than ourselves.

The link fits neatly into the Torah’s view of Egypt and Israel. The text contrasts the two civilizations from Genesis through to the end. Egypt is fertile in every way – but it fixates on death. Egypt harmonizes with nature and seeks predictable stability within a hierarchy. Egypt is represented by the corn in Pharoah’s dream – 7 physical ears of corn on one stalk – wealth from matter, physical creation.

Israel is the mirror image of Egypt. For us, fertility is always a challenge, and only comes through divine blessing. We live for life and never for death. We seek to improve on nature, and we recognize the value of each human soul, which means that our society and communities are inherently dynamic and unstable and only accepting hierarchy to the extent it is necessary. Lastly, Torah Judaism is represented by the Menorah – 7 arms of light on one stalk – wealth from energy, spiritual light.

The Jews in the Torah start with one kind of building block, and progress to another. In a sense, it is like 6 days of the week, and the 7^th day being Shabbos: physical work followed by a day of spiritual connection. We engage in both kinds of work, but we recognize that it is Shabbos, the day of very limited creation, that is actually the pinnacle of a week. We work so that we can create Shabbos – just as we build the Mikdash, the tabernacle, so we can use it to grow closer to G-d.

The progression itself is fascinating, because in Egypt, the bricks must be interchangeable, and as identical to each other as possible. This kind of building is really only interested in the final product: the resulting building. The bricks themselves are largely beneath notice. Building is always managed from the top down.

The spiritual building blocks of Israel are quite different. Each person has their own soul, and the choices we make are all unique. Just as our personal relationships are our own, so, too, is our relationship with G-d. In a way, this reflects the potential we each have: our bodies are each, like bricks, definably human and limited. But our souls have far more variety and potential: our creations through love, music, arts, engineering or science, are seemingly unlimited in terms of distinctiveness. Each soul creates, so society is inherently bottom-up.

This is the path the Torah gives us. Filtered through a prism of Torah, we are commanded to never shirk from the commandments. The commandments do not force us into a developmental wasteland; on the contrary, they offer us an endless palette of creative and holy options to strive for our potential and build the world.

There is nothing wrong with building using our hands, just as there is nothing wrong with working for six days. Indeed, the Torah commands us to work for six days! But there is a progression in our history, in our week and in our lives – from making bricks to building holiness.

As long as we never shirk from the work, we’ll be all right.

Creativejudaism.org

The text seems to not only tells us how to be Jewish, but also defines what Judaism is not.

We erect a key barrier between ourselves and certain behaviors, and we do it with circumcision, mul.  This word is used in the text to teach us the foundational exclusions for Jewish behavior: male circumcision (G. 17:11, L 12:3), as well as circumcising our hearts (D. 10:16). Circumcision, mul, reminds us to act in conscious self-awareness that what we do with our physical bodies also changes our spiritual souls.  So the word Mul is about establishing an enduring opposition to certain behaviors and actions.

We see this in the text because the entire Book of Deuteronomy, Moshe’s speech to the people, is set in a place called mul Peor (D. 3:29, 4:46). Why?

For starters, mul does not necessarily refer to a place one can find on a map. There are Hebrew words that tell us about proximity – kneged or al yad. These can mean “opposite” or “nearby” or “next to.” But these are not the words used in this case: the Torah uses mul instead.

Why? Because Peor is not necessarily a place at all! Peor is instead, a kind of behavior.

The people profaned themselves by whoring with the Moabite women, who invited the people to the sacrifices for their god. The people partook of them and worshiped that god. Thus Israel attached itself to Baal-Peor. (N. 25:1) … So Moses said to Israel’s officials, “Each of you slay those of your men who attached themselves to Baal-Peor.” (N. 25:5) … Because of the affair of Peor and because of the affair of their kinswoman Cozbi, daughter of the Midianite chieftain, who was killed at the time of the plague on account of Peor. (N. 25:18) … Yet they are the very ones who, at the bidding of Balaam, induced the Israelites to trespass against G-D in the matter of Peor (N. 31:16)

Peor is not necessarily defined in the Torah as a place, nor is it even necessarily an idol. Peor is the glorification of hedonism for momentary pleasure – and acting in this way profanes marriages and all holy relationships. The cost of Peor is the corruption of our very souls, and the consequential withering away of our potential to productively connect with a spouse or with G-d.

And thus Peor is the Achilles Heel of the Jewish people. This is why the word is first mentioned when Balaam first recognizes that the Jewish people excel because of our families (“How goodly are your tents, O Jacob!” (N. 24:5)). Balaam says these words, the Torah tells us, at the peak of Peor, which overlooks the wasteland. (N. 23:28) When seen from the “peak of Peor,” from the perspective of wanton hedonism, the superpower (and kryptonite) of the Jewish people is revealed to Balaam. Balaam uses that knowledge to corrupt the people with the daughters of Moab. The act of Cozbi and Zimri (N. 25:6-15) profanes all that could be holy. It is Peor: the negation and corruption of Jewish mul, circumcision, and the self-control that is supposed to come from it.

To this day, Jews have wrestled with Peor, with a “Dark Side.” As holy and pure as our families can be, the antithesis remains a temptation, which is why some prominent (albeit usually non-observant) Jews embarrass the rest of us by behaving very badly indeed, promoting and exploiting the desire for Peor in the world today. That Dark Side must be cut away, circumcised, mul.

In the place where Moshe makes his Devarim speech, he stands fundamentally opposed to everything skin-deep, to everything Peor and hedonistic in nature. Moshe is making a core statement: life is more important than the momentary pursuit of passing pleasure. Holy relationships with our spouses and with G-d require us to apply the lessons of circumcision to all of our behavior

And when Moshe dies? The Torah tells us that Moses is buried in the valley in the land of Moab, mul Beth-Peor. (D. 34:6). Moses’ principles extend both in his life and in perpetuity, for even when dead and buried, Moses embodies the opposition to profaning holy relationships.

We must not annihilate our infinite spiritual potential by indulging fleeting physical desires.  

P.S. The word Peor contains the word “skin” within it, suggesting that acting with Peor is making decisions using only superficial, skin-deep motivations and thought.

All translations are interpretations. There is no way to capture every contextual or metric or alliterative or musical connotation of a letter, word, phrase or section in a different language. If you doubt me, try to translate any ditty – say, “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” — into a foreign language and ask yourself: does that listener absorb precisely the same message that a native English speaker hears?

As a result, we have to be very careful about simplistic translations, especially those that merely swap one word for another. “Love” to an Italian is not the same thing as “Love” is to a Russian. The Greeks went so far as to classify different kinds of love, spilling copious amounts of ink seeking to explain the differences.

Similarly, we find ourselves challenged when people translate the Torah in a simplistic manner. For example, there is a verse that refers to putting signs as a symbol upon our heads, which observant Jewish men wear as sacred texts inside black boxes daily during morning prayers.

These are called tefillin in Hebrew, and “phylacteries” in English (from the Greek). In the text, they are called totafot or zikaron (“for remembering”). And variations of the commandment to wear tefilin appear four times in the Torah (E. 3:16, 19, D. 6:8, 11:18).

Here is the conventional “literal” translation of those phrases: “They shall be … as a symbol between (bein) your eyes (einechem).” This verse is conventionally understood as the written text telling us that the tefillin should be in the middle, between your eyes (this understanding is then adjusted by the Oral Law, resulting in the tefillin worn higher on the forehead, and not directly between the eyes).

This translation is, however, woefully deceptive. It is deceptive because it fails to take into account what the words actually mean, as defined by their use elsewhere in the Torah.

Getting the meaning right is very important – otherwise how can we understand the purpose of a commandment? So let’s briefly examine what the words mean elsewhere in the text.

Here goes…

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Bein – Not “Between”

First off, the word bein. It does not mean “between” in the sense of “in the middle” – we have other words in the Torah that do that: b’soch בְּת֣וֹךְ (Gen 2:9, 37:7, 23:10, 9:21, N 17:12) or tavech, תָּוֶךְ (G. 15:10, N. 35:5).

No, the word bein, found 119 times in the Torah, is a word that consistently governs the separation between two things. For example, the word is used four times when Jacob separates from Lavan. Bein defines the gap between them.

Earlier in the text, in Genesis 1: God saw that the light was good, and God separated bein the light and bein the darkness. … God said, “Let there be an expanse in the midst of the water, that it may separate water bein water.”… to separate light bein darkness.

We can see that bein is used to create a contrast, to divide things so they are not unified, to maintain that counterbalance. Bein defines the relationship between disparate elements (light/dark, water below/above, man/G-d) going forward.

The division of bein is not merely physical separation. The text frequently refers to covenants or agreements bein parties. For example: G-d further said, “This is the sign that I set for the covenant bein Me and you, and every living creature with you, for all ages to come. … I have set My bow in the clouds, and it shall serve as a sign of the covenant bein Me and the earth.

A covenant is clearly not “in the middle.” It is instead a glue that constrains and guides the parties going forward. Covenants form irrevocable bonds and mutual obligations and enduring connections. In the case of covenants, this word, bein, tells us that tefillin create an inextricable linkage of two different things.

And what two things do tefillin bind together? First is the Torah, which is contained within the tefillin.

And is the second our eyes? Not exactly!

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Einecha/Einechem – not “your eyes.”

This word for eyes appears 53 times in the Torah, and almost every single one of them does not refer to physical eyes. The vast majority are generally translated as “if it pleases you” or “your favor.” Instead of physical eyes, the Torah uses this word to mean “your perception” or “your understanding.”

A few examples will suffice. Avram tells his wife, “Deal with [Hagar] as you think right.” (G. 16:6). And Abimelech said, “Here, my land is before you; settle wherever you please.” (G. 20:15) But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so that they do not fade from your mind as long as you live. And make them known to your children and to your children’s children. (D. 4:9)

Even in the last example, the most literal phrase, the word “eyes” refers to comprehension and understanding, not physical eyeballs. It even refers to an enduring memory – harkening back to tefillin being called a zikaron – a remembrance.

Putting it Together: Guide your Understanding with Torah

The tefillin are thus readily explained and understood. The text does not tell us to “put these words between your eyes.” Instead, the text is telling us to synthesize the Torah with our comprehension of the world!

We are to use the Torah to guide what we perceive and understand. In other words, tefillin are there to remind us to try to always see things through the specific prism of Torah, to filter all that we see through G-d’s words and try to comprehend and make sense of the gap between Torah and our perceptions.

The Torah, by its own description, is there to guide mankind toward holy relationships between ourselves, and between mankind and G-d. The tefillin, commanded four separate times in the text, thus form a central plank in that guidebook.

This makes not only much more literal sense, but also helps explain the fundamental purpose of the commandment of tefillin in the first place!

What is the most important step a person can take?

The answer, of course, is – always – “the next step.”

Not everyone agrees. Most people don’t want to have to think that hard.  Being passive and complacent is very attractive, and it is often coupled with some kind of fatalism. “Don’t worry,” says the fatalist. “G-d has this.” Or, “If I do nothing, I will be rewarded in the World to Come for my suffering.” Or even, “I did whatever I was told by an authority figure.” In all cases, we shirk personal responsibility, claiming that obedience and submission are what G-d (or “the universe”) wants from us. This path is much easier, because it does not demand that we change what we already instinctively want to do, which is to reduce our personal responsibility.

People who try to prioritize “the next step” are, on the other hand, inherently dissatisfied with passivity. We believe that we cannot sit on our laurels, or define our future merely by our past, or our genetics, or the way other people have treated us. No: if the next step is the most important one, then we are always supposed to be dissatisfied with the way things are right now, especially about ourselves. We must always try to find ways to step up and effect positive change, even when it comes with the risk of making different choices than other people.

The challenge of always trying to do better is intrinsically connected with consciously thinking and challenging oneself. Active evaluation and consideration (usually preceded by education and training) are essential preparatory steps before taking any positive action.

This can be seen in, for example, the application of justice. We have laws and processes precisely because having knee-jerk reactions to someone else’s behavior inevitably leads to mindless mob rule, like the Reign of Terror in the French Revolution. In a lawful society, we rely on a legal system despite its obvious limitations and flaws, because even a slow and error-prone legal system remains far, far better than anarchy.

This is true for any interpersonal interaction. For example, posit that you want to bring someone a present, perhaps some flowers.

If you take the easy, thoughtless path, you might grab whatever is handy, and have someone deliver it.

If, on the other hand, you want the flowers to be received in the best possible way, you consider what would be best for that person and that occasion. And you would make sure that the flowers looked good– can you imagine bringing a bouquet of roses wherein one rose is obviously brown and dead? So the choosing of gifts requires thought and consideration and putting oneself in someone else’s shoes – all of which are hard to do well.

I think the same underlying principle applies to justice and to presents: the next step is the most important, and to do it right, you have to be conscious and thoughtful.

This is a subtext throughout the Torah. The Torah makes clear distinctions between things we do with conscious awareness, and the things we do mindlessly or accidentally. Indeed, the Torah (D. 17) specifically commands, “Justice, justice shall you pursue,” followed shortly after with “You shall not set up a sacred post—any kind of tree beside the altar of G-d,” with “You shall not sacrifice to [G-d] an ox or a sheep that has any bad defect.”

I think these are all related to the idea of the “next step.” Justice: We do not follow our urges and impulses when it comes to right and wrong; we instead have a legal system and processes. Tree worship: Nature is not the model for how society should be structured, and so we do not put nature on a pedestal. Offerings: We only bring presents that we have carefully considered and examined to ensure that they are not defective. We do not default to whatever is convenient or handy.  All are combined in the same section of the text, because they all share the same underlying requirement: think carefully about the next step before acting.

The Torah is telling us that we do not get to be complacent: we must not accept whatever we happen to feel in the moment, or a skin-deep level of understanding of the world, or even reckon that our offerings do not require careful consideration and preparation.  

Judaism is always meant to be thoughtful, not to be practiced with mere reflexes or convenience.  This applies to every aspect of our waking lives. Taking the next step demands no less.

Anyone who wants to sow their wild oats will tell you that “Monogamy isn’t natural.”

They are right.  Our natural selves animalistically live in the moment, and if we are “true to ourselves,” we really ought to pursue every passing opportunity for pleasure. Or, frankly, to indulge our anger, or desire for revenge, or any other momentary passion. Following our natural inclinations does not lead to long-term marital harmony.

Other healthy family relationships are also against our natural selves. Sibling rivalry, including outright fratricide, is as old as time. So are intergenerational betrayal (King Lear) and perfidy (Oedipus). And, as already mentioned, the idea of a man and a woman mating and loving each other for life not only beggars belief: it is counter to the way Mother Nature made mankind.

Which tells us that “good” homes – the kind where the parents stay true to each other, where siblings root for others to succeed, and where children honor their parents – are indeed unnatural.

Bilaam, the biblical prophet, understood this.  He says that the Jewish home (the goodly tents /spiritually-infused dwellings) (N. 24:6) is –

Like a fixed flow / like gardens on a river / like (portable) tents made permanent by G-d /like cedars on the waters.

But these are all paradoxes! Things that flow cannot be fixed. Gardens cannot be planted on a river bank because they will be swept away with the spring waters. Tents are, by definition, portable homes – not permanent!  Cedars do not grow on the water – they need drainage. Bilaam is comparing the Jewish Family to things that are inherently impossible!

Bilaam is saying that the Jewish Family cannot exist in a purely physical world. In no normal, physical world does monogamy triumph over promiscuity, do siblings help one another instead of competing, and do parents and children love and respect each other.

No, not in a natural world, a world governed by only physical inputs.

The only things that can be physically impossible – but still exist nevertheless – are those things that have a special, spiritual ingredient. And that ingredient is the presence of G-d within a marriage, the spiritual element that makes it possible for us to overcome our physical limits.

This is why Bilaam uses the word mishkan to describe our dwellings. Mishkan is also the name of the Tabernacle, where G-d’s presence dwells amidst the people. A mishkan is our physical world with infused spirituality.

The Jewish family are a walking impossibility. We are described by, and defined as, something that cannot be found in nature – that can only be found when G-d joins us in our tents. Bilaam understood this!

P.S. Bilaam “solved the problem” by advising our enemies to send loose women into the camp, to drive a wedge within the family, and between the people and G-d. Animalistic displays of pure physical lust cannot coexist with holy spirituality, with the presence of G-d amidst the people.