To some, chumros, or stringencies beyond what halacha requires, are always laudable. But in the Vidui Rabbeinu Nissim, recited on Yom Kippur Katan, we confess, amid actual sins, that “What You declared pure I declared impure… what You permitted I forbade…” 

So what makes a chumra proper?

I suggest it’s the intent. If a chumra is motivated by love of Hashem, it is praiseworthy. If motivated by neurosis or by a “holier than thou” or other self-serving attitude, it is worthy only of repentance. 

The Gemara (Brachos 20b) recounts a conversation between Hashem and angels. The latter protest that, although Moshe declared that Hashem does not show nesias panim, special favor (Devarim 10:17), in Birchas Cohanim, in our parsha, it states Yisa Hashem panav eilecha – “May Hashem show you special favor…” (Bamidbar 6:26).

Hashem’s response: “How can I not show Klal Yisrael favor when, despite the requirement of satiation for reciting Birchas Hamazon, they do so even after eating a mere olive or egg’s volume?”

How does that address the complaint? And what right do we even have to say Birchas Hamazon if we’re not satiated? I think what is being conveyed is that Klal Yisrael, out of love for Hashem, considers itself satiated even with a meager portion of food – a “chumra,” so to speak, a venture beyond the norm – which in turn merits a parallel “beyond the norm” on Hashem’s part, in His showing us special favor. 

I wonder if that may be why, in the bracha the cohanim make before Birchas Cohanim, the word “bi’ahava,” “with love,” is appended. Could it be because love is what merits it and love is what it expresses?

And I wonder further if a hint to that word’s being added to the bracha lies in the unnecessary letter vav in the word emor (ibid 6:23), “Say,” that introduces Birchas Cohanim. For vav means something that bonds two things (Shemos 27:10) – and the letter itself, used throughout the Torah, meaning “and,” bonds the word before and the one after it. 

And Birchas Cohanim bespeaks a bond, a bond of love.

© 2024 Rabbi Avi Shafran

While there are various Midrashic comments on what “chukos” – the embrace of which leads to the overflowing blessings described at the start of the parsha – refers to, the simple meaning of the word is “ decrees”, i.e., laws that may not be consonant with, or may even defy, human reason.

The blessings describe a utopian world, and so there must be ultimate significance to their being dependent on our acceptance of such reason-defying laws.

And, indeed, the essence of dedication to the Divine lies in unquestioning obedience, in the recognition that Hashem’s directives must override our personal, philosophical or practical concerns. That was what Avraham was ready to accept at the akeida, and what his descendents accepted when they followed Moshe into a barren and unforgiving desert.

That unquestioning trust of Divine will is called temimus, “pure simplicity” – in the phrase’s most sublime sense.

As Rava told a heretic who ridiculed his self-harming alacrity: “We Jews act with simple purity, as it says [in Mishlei 11:3], ‘The simplicity [tumas] of the upright will guide them’. ”  (Shabbos 88b).

The Shem MiShmuel notes that the “seven weeks” that are counted from Pesach to Shavuos are pointedly called sheva Shabbasos temimos – “seven perfect weeks.” He sees in the word temimos a hint to the mindset they are meant to cultivate: one of temimus, the bending of our intellects and hearts to Divine will. And that is, in fact, central to what we celebrate at the denouement of sefiras ha’omer, Shavuos. 

Because, at Mattan Torah, which we celebrate on that holiday, our forebears’ unanimous declaration was: “Naaseh v’nishma” – “We will do and we will hear!” That is to say, we accept the Torah’s laws even amid a lack of “hearing,” of understanding.

Even the laws of the Torah that we feel we can understand, that seem entirely just and proper, are to be observed, in the end, because they are… laws of the Torah. So, even when we return a lost object or compensate someone for damage we have caused him, we do so, ultimately, not because it is “just” in our estimation but rather because Hashem has declared it so.

© 2024 Rabbi Avi Shafran

Any “blemish” on a list of congenital or acquired conditions prevents service in the Mishkan or Beis Hamikdash (Vayikra  21:17-24). And there are dozens of other non-listed disqualifying blemishes (see Rashi, ibid 21, and Baal HaTurim there).

That a physical malformation or injury should prevent a kohein from performing certain services is a chok, something not subject to human understanding.

Rav Mechel Twerski notes that a kohein who, due to a physical blemish, is disqualified from Bais Hamikdosh service is being signaled that his destiny, his assignment in life, is to bring the special qualities of a kohein to a non-Beis Hamikdosh role.

The idea that limitations are pointers to the roles we are meant to play is, as I noted three years ago, elsewhere in parshas Emor, in the account of the mekalel, the blasphemer.

Rashi, quoting Rabi Levi in a Midrash, elaborates on the words “And he went out” (Vayikra, 24:10) that “He went out of his world.” His world. Each of us, that might mean, has his or her own world, a unique assignment to be recognized and embraced. 

A second Midrash Rashi cites about the phrase “And he went out” is that the blasphemer had just left the court of Moshe, where he had lost his case. He had claimed that, as his mother was Jewish (although his father was an Egyptian), he was entitled to a portion of land in the area of his mother’s tribe, Dan. The ruling, however, was that, while he was a member of the Jewish people, he – uniquely, among the people – owned no portion of the land.

That left him with two options: Either to accept that fate, and recognize that it was “his world” – a personal situation that somehow positioned him for a particular, singular role to play in society.  Or to angrily reject the ruling.  He chose the second path, to put it mildly.  Thus he “left” not only the court but his world. He abandoned his life assignment.

All who see their life circumstances as “unfair” face a similar choice. The key to true success in life is to seize one’s individual, unique circumstance, no matter how limiting or painful or puzzling it may seem, recognizing that it is his or her “own world” – what makes them special.  And then, after ascertaining what that specialness might be demanding, getting down to work.

 © 2024 Rabbi Avi Shafran