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Absolution, Purification and Repentance – Precept Number Six Hundred and Thirteen

NITSAVIM - Deuteronomy XXIX, 9 - XXX VAYELECH - Deuteronomy XXI

The reading of our chapters coincides with the annual period of the Yamim Noraim, the spiritually solemn days, Rosh HaShana, and Yom Kippur. These days should be dedicated to teshuvah, which is the return to our roots (which includes repentance for mistakes made) and the search for kapara, which is Divine forgiveness. Our text refers to this issue by stating veshavta ad HaShem Eloheja veshamata bekolo, which means and you will return (to) Him and hear (obey) His voice.

Harav Soloveitchik differentiates between the two words kapara, which means expiation or absolution, and tahara, which means purification. Thus reads the text in the Sefer Vayikra: ki vayom haze yechaper alechem letaher etchem, mikol chatotechem, lifnei HaShem titeharu, which means because on that day (the Kohen Gadol) will make atonement for you, to purify you from all your sins before the Eternal . Citing our tradition, Soloveitchik points out that Yom Kippur itself grants us kapara, which is absolution. But, tahara that it is a kind of purification (of spiritual cleansing) has to be achieved by each one of us.

Judaism considers that every fault or sin produces a punishment as a consequence of it. In other words, sin and punishment constitute a pair, a binomial. Sin invariably leads us to certain dire results. According to a Mishnah, sechar avera, avera, means that the punishment for sins is having to live with the emotional guilt of having made the mistake. In another Mishnah, however, we read sechar mitsva behai alma leka, which means that in this world you do not receive reward (and punishment) for actions. But, at some point and somewhere the consequences of our actions manifest themselves.

The day of Yom Kippur is the moment of Divine absolution for the mistakes made. Just as earthly rulers have the prerogative to grant forgiveness, so the Creator annually forgives us for our mistakes. Our Chachamim, with the probable purpose of preventing Divine generosity from being abused, warn us that one should not lead a joyous, carefree life without control, thinking that the day of Yom Kippur totally absolves us. We can consider that Yom Kippur gives us a new chance in life. Conceptually we affirm, let’s start a clean slate. Once the punishment is completed (and on Yom Kippur forgiven by God) the sin is erased and nullified.

It is then worth asking ourselves, will this person ever sin again? Once Divine forgiveness has been obtained, what prevents the person from repeating the same mistakes again, from committing new mistakes? It is here where we introduce the concept of tahara, which as we said means purification. With kapara, forgiveness is obtained, but the notion of tahara suggests a radical change in the personality of the human being, so that he does not relapse into the mistakes of the past. The absolution can come from outside, but the transformation of the personality has to come from within, from the deepest of our being. There are those who criticize our prison systems because they punish, but do not transform the criminal. At times, they become more like postgraduate courses for petty criminals whom they harden and strengthen in their criminal path.

Adin Steinzaltz quotes a fable in which the jungle animals decided to do teshuva because they concluded that their sins were the cause of their evils. The tiger and the wolf admit that they stalk and kill other animals and are forgiven for their crime. After all, it is part of the nature of these animals to harass and devour other creatures that are weaker. Thus, each of the animals confesses aloud and is forgiven for their faults. Finally, the sheep says that on one occasion it ate the straw that served as lining for its master’s boots. All other animals immediately conclude that this was the cause of all their ills. They proceeded to sacrifice the sheep and considered that with that act of execution they had obtained, for all, the desired forgiveness. The obvious moral that the world is willing to forgive the strong but is unforgiving of the weak is possibly a superficial interpretation of the fable. For Steinzaltz the teaching of the fable lies in our personal disposition to face only the peccadilloes. In this way, we escape from the inescapable need for a deep examination of our spirit. We avoid the painful confrontation with our great faults, which is what allows us to start the process of tahara, purification, and which can only occur when a radical personality change occurs.

Teshuva is the return to the ideal prototype of the Jew. This return requires going back to the past and rewriting the events as if it were possible to relive what happened. Regret for what happened is not enough. It is necessary to move on a temporal axis towards the past, face the same situation that led to the error, and act, this time, (from the point of view of metaphysics) decisively, firmly, morally and responsibly. If our present and future depend to a great extent on our past actions, it is obvious that we must relive what happened in a different way, so that the influence of that past is also different in our future behavior.

To begin a sincere teshuva process requires reaching the conclusion, in the words of the prophet Hoshea, ki chashaltá baavonecha, “because you stumbled in your iniquity.” When we feel the emptiness of our lives, the lack of direction and meaning in our existence, we are affirming ki chashalta baavonecha and allowing the teshuva process to begin. Teshuva has no end. Teshuva is a process of approaching the roots, which never ends. Thus, says the aforementioned Hoshea, shuva Israel ad HaShem Elohecha, which means Israel return, ad, “until” (getting closer and closer, but obviously without being able to reach our own divinity) the Lord, your God. The verse of our weekly text that we initially cited also mentions the return, ad, the approaching, because it is impossible to reach the Being that is infinite, with human footprints which by definition are finite.

Teshuva requires that the behavior that led to the error be discarded, and new structures of behavior be assumed. From a certain point of view, it implies we channel in a new direction the impulses, that led us to sin in the past. This is what our chachamim say, if it weren’t for the yetser hara, which is the evil inclination, man would not marry, nor would he build a home. The yetser hara is just a predisposition that can be modified in order to divert it to a different direction. Teshuva means to impose a different and positive orientation both to our life and our way of being.

VAYELECH

Precept number six hundred and thirteen

Deuteronomy XXI

The subject of our text is the last days of Moshe. It is time for the transfer of the mantle of leadership to Yehoshua. Chazak veemats, “be strong and courageous,” Moshe tells Yehoshua, for the double task ahead of him: serving as a leader to a people that he had described as am keshe oref, “a stiff-necked people,” and facing the difficult undertaking that meant the next start of the campaign for the conquest of Erets Israel.

Moshe writes the text of the Torah and delivers it to the kohanim, the priests and the zekenim, the elders, who constitute the spiritual leadership of the people. The Torah is the document that bears witness to the berit, the covenant between the Creator and His people. Moshe orders this Torah to be read every seven years on the Sukkoth holiday, in a special convocation called Hakhel. According to the Chachamim, on this occasion the Melech Israel, the king, read the Torah aloud. At the same time, they instruct which chapters of Sefer Devarim had to be recited. The selection of the Melech for the public reading of the Torah in the presence of the masses is a very unique honor. But, perhaps, the intention was totally different. The most likely purpose was to establish the proper framework and impose a limit on the powers of the melech, who must abide by the mitsvot contained in the Torah. These mitsvot were known to all. Because Moshe also tells the people, veata kitevu lachem, which means “and now write it”, words that our Chachamim interpret as the individual obligation to write a copy of the Torah. The Torah scripture is the last mitsva and it is number six hundred and thirteen.

Even when one resides in a community where there is a synagogue with a Sefer Torah, it is apparently necessary to write a copy of this sacred text. In case of loss of that copy, one must rewrite a Torah. (Therefore, by donating my Torah to a synagogue, I remain under an obligation to write another copy.) According to Rabbenu Asher, the purpose of individual Torah writing is to be used as a study text. Since we are used to books (books were not abundant in earlier times because they were copied by hand) one identifies with the spirit of this mitzvah by acquiring copies of the Tanach, the Mishnah, the Talmud, and their commentaries. The Talmud states, however, that if one receives a Torah as part of parental inheritance, this fact does not exempt him from the mitzvah of writing the Torah. It can be deduced, therefore, that study is not the only reason for this mitzvah, if it were, in this case, it would not be necessary to write a new text. The inherited Torah could be used for the study.

There are those who maintain that the reason for writing the Torah individually, even when a copy has been received by inheritance, is for the purpose of increasing the number of Sifrei Torah in the community. This reasoning supports our previous argument where we consider that the purpose of writing is to motivate the study. Because having more copies of the Torah allows a greater number of people to have the opportunity to study its content. Therefore, by donating a Torah to a synagogue, I am helping to expand the scope of its use.

The importance of the Torah in Jewish life gives it a place of privilege and veneration (always remembering that the Torah is sacred only because it contains the revealed word of God). There are numerous accounts of people who had to abandon all their possessions in times of war, but who managed to rescue, carrying them with them at all times, the Torah scrolls belonging to their family. According to Rambam, a Torah can be sold only if the proceeds of that sale are used for the continuation of sacred studies or to give a young woman the possibility of marriage.

The Melech Israel had to write an additional copy of the Torah. The first of these copies, in fulfillment of its obligation like that of every Jew, was kept in the place where the kingdom’s treasure was. The second copy had to be with him at all times. When he went to war, during a trial, or in the event of a dispute. So, we read in previous chapters of Devarim, vehayta imo vekara vo kol yemei chayav, which means and (the Torah) will be with him (the King of Israel) and he will read it every day of his life. This pasuk continues pointing out the purpose of this second copy of the Torah, lemaan yilmad leyira et HaShem Elohav lishmor et kol divrei haTorah hazot veet hachukim haele laasotam, which means so that he (the king) learn to fear the Eternal his God and know how to fulfill all the words of this Law and its precepts.

Undoubtedly, the main spiritual contribution of the Jewish people to humanity is their monotheistic conception of the Divine. Judaism affirms that there is only one God, who is the Creator of the entire universe, and everything that exists comes from Him. Therefore, no one was born to be superior to another. We all come from the same source. However, I propose that the Torah (and especially the Talmud’s interpretation of this written text) is our special and extraordinary hallmark. In the absence of Torah, there is no Judaism.

The study of the texts of the Torah is the most important religious dedication. The Mishnah teaches us that Talmud Torah keneged kulam, that the study of Torah is paramount and that it takes precedence over other activities. Therefore, the talmid chacham, the scholar and connoisseur of these sacred texts, occupies a privileged place in Jewish society. By way of illustration, it can be said that an equation has been established between the Torah and the talmid chacham. Our tradition gives the Torah scroll its own personality. For example, when a copy of the Torah is rendered useless because the scrolls have suffered deterioration beyond repair, that Torah must be buried as in the case of a human being. The relationship established between the scholar and the sacred text is similar to that of two interlocutors who have individual lives and personalities.

Torah study is not limited to intellectual activity. The talmid chacham becomes emotionally and spiritually involved with the Torah. Just as Jewish tradition assigns personality to Shabbat, when referring to Shabbat Malketa, which means the Queen of Shabbat and her arrival is fervently anticipated through the religious service called Kabbalat Shabbat, the Torah is also given characteristics that are usually reserved for humans. The study of the Torah becomes a dialogue between the scholar and the sacred text. Perhaps this is an additional reason for the requirement that a sofer, who is a scribe, has to write the scrolls, letter by letter. In writing a copy of the Torah, the proper kavana is required which is the religious intention, and therefore a printed copy is ritually invalid. The sofer has to write the text in his own hand and thereby we learn that the Torah needs interaction with a human being. Lo bashamayim hi, “(the Torah) is not in heaven,” is the expression, in a previous chapter, to highlight its closeness and relevance. At the same time, it is evident that the study and fulfillment (beficha uvilevavecha laasoto) of the norms it contains constitute the essence of the Jewish condition.

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A Wandering Aramaic was my Father

KI TAVÓ - Deuteronomy XXVI - XXIX, 8

Once settled in Israel, Moshe instructs our ancestors regarding their obligations, even though he will not lead them to the conquest of the promised land. The first of these Mitzvot is related to Bikurim, which are the first fruits (the seven species that characterize the Land of Israel) that must be offered to the Kohen in the place chosen by God. The delivery of these fruits is accompanied by a “sipur”, the recitation of several verses from our text that highlight that Providence guided our destiny from the moment the Patriarch Yaacov descended to Egypt until the moment of the conquest.

After several centuries of slavery and nomadic journey through the desert, the people were eager to till the new lands so that they could feed on the fruit of their efforts. Like all peasants, they eagerly anticipated the opportunity to savor the fruits they had produced with their work. But the Torah requires that the first fruits be used for religious worship. The teaching is clear. Man has to recognize that God, through nature, is the one who makes the fruit grow. Man plows, sows and waters, but to be able to reap, the vigor and the possibility of reproducing that the earth grants to the seed, everything comes from God.

The Torah does not stipulate the quantity of fruits to be presented to the Kohen in a basket at the time of the mentioned Bikurim. The Kohén could retain the basket if it was made of wicker, but if it was made of some metal, he had to return it to the donor. The Talmud suggests a minimum quantity of fruits corresponding to one-sixtieth of the total product. Rambam, drawing on the Talmud, describes the process of selecting the first fruits. Upon entering the orchard, Rambam says, the trees are inspected and a ribbon is tied over the first fruits (even if they are not yet ripe), thus separating them, so that they become part of Bikurim. One should bring Bikurim to Yerushalayim oneself and not send them through a messenger. The Kohén who received the Bikurim could only consume them in Yerushalayim.

The tradition consists of placing the basket on the shoulder and according to the Mishnah, even King Agrippa did it, carrying the Bikurim himself once in the Har haBayit, the Temple Mount, until the azara, inside the Beit HaMikdash. At that time, the Leviyim sang the song of the words of the psalm, aromimecha HaShem ki dilitani …, “I will exalt you, Eternal, because you have sustained me and you did not tolerate that my enemies rejoice over me.” The basket was presented to the Kohen at the same time that some verses from our text were repeated, which Rambam calls “vidui”, which means confession. This “vidui” had to be recited in Hebrew and at its conclusion, the basket was placed next to the mizbeach, which is the altar.

Yet, Shema Israel, which is the basic affirmation of our faith, can be recited in any language. Because the most important thing is to understand the idea contained in Shema Israel. The essential idea is to understand the intellectual scope of the affirmation of the existence of only one God. But, in the case of Bikurim, there is a splendid ceremonial and the very delivery of the fruits to the Kohen contains already the essential message that our efforts are in vain without Divine Providence. At first, those who knew the text that accompanies Bikurim well recited it by heart, and those who did not know it listened to its reading. But since people who did not know the textual words well began to refrain from presenting Bikurim, the Chachamim instituted that the original text is read aloud to all, without distinction.

The Torah instructs that for the ceremony of Bikurim, veanita vermarta, the voice should be raised and recite: arami oved avi, remembering that our patriarch Yaacov had been a wandering Aramaic before going down to Egypt. During the Egyptian yoke, God heard our lament and echoed our suffering. God brought us out of slavery and brought us to the land where milk and honey flow. And here are the Bikurim, the first fruits obtained, thanks to Divine goodness, and that constitutes a reason for rejoicing and happiness.

As a consequence of the episode of the Meraglim, the spies, all those who had come of age in Egypt, perished in the desert and therefore did not participate in the conquest of the land. Those who are now in charge of presenting Bikurim are their descendants or those who had been minors at the time of their departure from Egypt. The exodus was then a recent event in the history of our people. However, our Chachamim insist that the instructions of the Torah are valid for all ages and the original text must be repeated. Centuries later, each one will appear in front of the Kohen reciting likewise, arami oved avi …, vayreu otanu hamitsrim vayanunu, “A wandering Aramaic was my father … but the Egyptians mistreated us.” This statement implies that the feeling of having been mistreated by the Egyptians still persists in each person, despite the centuries that separate us from that time. Similarly, Moshe Rabbenu states in a previous chapter, lo et avotenu karat HaShem et haBerit hazot …, which means, not (only) with our fathers did He make this covenant (on Mount Sinai) but (also) with us, those who are alive here and now.

On the night of the Seder, we recite in the Haggadah, chayav adam lirot et atsmo keilu hu yatsa mimitsrayim, which means that each one must consider as if he himself had participated in the exodus from Egypt. We locate ourselves in the place and in the time of our ancestors in Egypt. Indeed, we recite these same verses from our weekly text and abound in additional details, to point out that Yetsiat Mitsrayim is an event inseparable from our formation and nationality. Yetsiat Mitsrayim testifies to God’s intervention in History and His response to our supplications. Yes, there is He Who answers prayers, and there is He Who cares for the oppressed. Especially in moments when we feel the apparent absence of divinity, Yetsiat Mitsrayim affirms that Divine intervention occurs at the right moment.

The history (religious and ideological) of the Jewish people does not consist of an analysis of facts and thoughts that belong to the past and that have a probable influence on our present and future. Our past history is an integral part of our present. Verb tenses are not clearly defined in the grammar of the Hebrew language. Such as ein mukdam umeuchar baTorah, which means that the story of the Torah does not follow a chronological order, in this sense, the events that happened to our ancestors, at different times, are current and are part of our present.

We never allowed Israel to belong exclusively to the tale of exploits of other times. At all times, Erets Israel was an integral part of our discussions and studies, of our writings and prayers. We raised our prayers for rain in Shemini Atseret during the long exile of almost two thousand years, just as we would have done if we had then resided on the Promised Land. The exile was a real physical event. But ideally, we never left that land. Therefore, the current return to Israel did not require transcendental emotional adjustments for the Jew, nor was a period of social and political consolidation necessary, which for other peoples is usually a reality in the initial stage of their independent national consolidation.

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Un arameo errante fue mi padre

KI TAVÓ - Deuteronomio XXVI - XXIX,8

Una vez asentados en Israel, Moshé instruye a nuestros antepasados con respecto a sus obligaciones, a pesar de que él no los conducirá a la conquista de la tierra prometida. La primera de estas Mitsvot tiene relación con los Bikurim que son los primeros frutos (de las siete especies que caracterizan a la Tierra de Israel) que deben ser ofrecidos al Kohén en el lugar elegido por Dios. La entrega de estos frutos está acompañada por un sipur, la recitación de varios versículos de nuestro texto que destacan que la Providencia condujo nuestro destino desde el momento en que el patriarca Yaacov descendió a Egipto hasta el momento de la conquista.

Después de varios siglos de esclavitud y de una travesía nómada por el desierto, el pueblo estaba ansioso de labrar las nuevas tierras para poder alimentarse con el fruto de sus esfuerzos. Al igual que todo campesino, anticipaban intensamente la oportunidad de saborear los frutos que habían producido con su trabajo. Pero la Torá les exige que los primeros frutos destinen al culto religioso. La enseñanza es clara. El hombre tiene que reconocer que Dios, a través de la naturaleza, es quien hace crecer al fruto. El hombre ara, siembra y riega, pero para poder cosechar se requiere del vigor y de la posibilidad de reproducirse que la tierra le otorga a la semilla, todo lo que proviene de Dios.

La Torá no estipula la cantidad de frutos que deben ser presentadas al Kohén en una cesta en el momento de los mencionados Bikurim. El Kohén podía retener la cesta si estaba confeccionada de mimbre, pero si era de algún metal debía devolverla al donante. El Talmud sugiere una cantidad mínima de frutas correspondiente a una sesentava parte del producto total. Rambam, basándose en el Talmud, describe el proceso de la selección de los primeros frutos. Al entrar al huerto, dice Rambam, se inspeccionan los árboles y se amarra una cinta sobre los primeros frutos, (incluso si todavía no están maduros), separándolos de esta manera para que formen parte de los Bikurim. Uno mismo debe traer los Bikurim a Yerushaláyim y no enviarlos a través de un mensajero. El Kohén que recibía los Bikurim, podía consumirlos únicamente en Yerushaláyim.

La tradición consiste en colocar la cesta sobre el hombro y según la Mishná, hasta el mismo rey Agripas lo hizo, cargando él mismo los Bikurim una vez en el Har haBáyit, el Monte del Templo, hasta la azará, el interior del Beit HaMikdash. En aquel momento los leviyim entonaban el canto de las palabras del salmo, aromimejá HaShem ki dilitani…, “te ensalzaré, Eterno, porque Tú me has sostenido y no toleraste que mis enemigos se regocijaran de mi”. La cesta era presentada al Kohén al mismo tiempo que se repetían unos versículos de nuestro texto a los cuales Rambam denomina vidui, que quiere decir confesión. Este vidui debía recitarse en hebreo y a su conclusión se colocaba la cesta al lado del mizbéaj, que es el altar.

En cambio, Shemá Israel, que es la afirmación básica de nuestra fe, puede ser recitada en cualquier idioma. Porque lo más importante es entender la idea contenida en Shemá Israel. Lo esencial es comprender el alcance intelectual de la afirmación de la existencia de un solo Dios. Pero, en el caso de los Bikurim, hay un ceremonial esplendoroso y la misma entrega de los frutos al Kohén contiene el mensaje esencial de que nuestros esfuerzos son vanos sin la Divina Providencia. En un principio, quienes conocían bien el texto que acompaña a los Bikurim, lo recitaban de memoria, y los que no lo sabían, escuchaban su lectura. Pero dado que las personas que no conocían bien las palabras textuales empezaron a abstenerse de presentar los Bikurim, los Jajamim instituyeron que el texto original fuera leido en voz alta para todos, sin distinción alguna.

La Torá ordena que para la ceremonia de los Bikurim, veanita veamartá, deba alzarse la voz y recitar, aramí oved aví, recordando que nuestro patriarca Yaacov había sido un arameo errante antes de bajar a Egipto. Durante el yugo egipcio, Dios escucha nuestro lamento y se hace eco de nuestro sufrimiento. Dios nos saca de la esclavitud y nos trae a la tierra donde fluye la leche y la miel. Y he aquí los Bikurim, los primeros frutos obtenidos gracias a la bondad Divina que constituyen motivo de regocijo y de alegría.

Como consecuencia del episodio de los Meraglim, los espías, todos los que habían llegado a la mayoría de edad en Egipto, perecen en el desierto y, por lo tanto no participan en la conquista de la tierra. Los que ahora se encargan de presentar los Bikurim son sus descendientes o aquellos que habían sido menores de edad en el momento de la salida de Egipto. El éxodo era entonces un hecho reciente en la historia de nuestro pueblo. Sin embargo, nuestros Jajamim insisten en que las instrucciones de la Torá son válidas para todas las épocas y el texto original se debe repetir. Siglos después, cada uno se presentará delante del Kohén recitando igualmente, aramí oved aví…, vayareu otanu hamitsrim vayaanunu,  “Un arameo errante era mi padre…, pero los egipcios nos maltrataron”. Esta afirmación implica que aún persiste, en cada persona, el sentimiento de haber sido maltratado por los egipcios, a pesar de los siglos que nos separan de esa época. De manera similar, Moshé Rabenu afirma en un capítulo anterior lo et avotenu karat HaShem et haBerit hazot…, que quiere decir, no (sólo) con nuestros padres concertó este pacto (en el Monte Sinaí) sino (también) con nosotros, que estamos vivos aquí y ahora.

La noche del Séder, recitamos en la Hagadá, jayav adam lirot et atsmó keilu hu yatsá mimitsráyim, que quiere decir que cada uno  debe considerar como si él mismo hubiese participado en el éxodo de Egipto. Hacemos un salto y nos ubicamos en el lugar y en la época de nuestros antepasados en Egipto. En efecto, recitamos estos mismos versículos de nuestro texto semanal y abundamos en detalles adicionales, para señalar que Yetsiat Mitsráyim es un evento inseparable de nuestra formación y nacionalidad. Yetsiat Mitsráyim da testimonio de la intervención de Dios en la historia y de Su respuesta a nuestras súplicas. Sí existe Quien responde a las plegarias, y sí existe Quien se interesa por los oprimidos. Especialmente en los momentos cuando sentimos la aparente ausencia de la divinidad, Yetsiat Mitsráyim afirma que en el momento oportuno se da la intervención Divina.

La historia (religiosa e ideológica) del pueblo judío no consiste en un análisis de hechos y de pensamientos que pertenecen al pasado y que tienen posible influencia sobre nuestro presente y sobre nuestro futuro. Nuestra historia pasada es parte integral de nuestro presente. Los tiempos verbales no están claramente definidos en la gramática del idioma hebreo. Tal como ein mukdam umeujar baTorá, que quiere decir que el relato de la Torá no sigue un orden cronológico, en cierto sentido los sucesos que, en diferentes épocas, les acaecieron a nuestros antepasados son actuales y forman parte de nuestro presente.

Nunca permitimos que Israel perteneciera exclusivamente al relato de las hazañas de otros tiempos. En todo momento, Erets Israel era parte integral de nuestras discusiones y estudios, de nuestros escritos y oraciones. Elevamos nuestras plegarias por la lluvia en Sheminí Atséret durante el largo exilio de casi dos mil años en el momento que ésta era necesaria para Israel, al igual que lo hubiéramos hecho de haber residido entonces sobre la Tierra Prometida. El exilio fue un hecho físico real. Pero idealmente, nunca abandonamos esa tierra. Por lo tanto, el retorno actual a Israel, no exigió ajustes emocionales trascendentales para el judío y tampoco se hizo necesario un período de consolidación social y política lo que para otros pueblos suele ser una realidad en la etapa inicial de su formación nacional independiente.

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Falleció mi amigo Marcko Glijenschi z’l

Screen Shot 2020-09-01 at 10.12.05 AMUna de las primeras personas que conocí en Caracas fue don Natalio Glijansky debido a su interés en la educación judía y como uno de los promotores del Colegio Moral y Luces que dirigió durante muchos años su amigo el Dr. David Gross. Don Natalio me contó acerca de su joven primo que se había incorporado al profesorado del colegio. Se trataba de Marcko Glijenschi quien se había graduado de médico y psicólogo, casi simultáneamente.

Con el afán de interesar a gente joven, parejas con niños pequeños, organizamos la Asociación de Jóvenes de la Unión Israelita de Caracas y Marcko y Fira, nombre bajo el cual su esposa Esther es conocida por sus amigos, formaron parte del grupo fundador. Nos reuníamos semanalmente en diferentes hogares y para la gran satisfacción de todos, varios líderes futuros de la comunidad egresaron de este grupo. Cabe destacar que en esas reuniones la inteligencia y vasta cultura de Marcko sobresalieron desde un comienzo.

En el Perú y en Venezuela, algunas de cuyas universidades conocí directamente, un alumno tiene la opción, algunas veces después de aprobar un examen, de ingresar a una facultad profesional al terminar el bachillerato. En otros países en cambio, los Estados Unidos por ejemplo, se exige primero una licenciatura general. El futuro estudiante de medicina puede especializarse primero en Literatura, por ejemplo, y no necesariamente en alguna de las ciencias. Por ello, se tropieza a veces en nuestros países, con ingenieros que dominan su campo de experticia pero que carecen de un equipaje cultural significativo. Algunos son conocedores de la literatura médica pero resultan aprendices en el campo de las artes.

Marcko pertenecía a un grupo diferente. Nunca descansó de estudiar y aprender. Años después de terminar la carrera de medicina, se volcó por el estudio de la filosofía y obtuvo un grado en ese campo de la Universidad Simón Bolívar. Ávido lector y poseedor de una mente analítica, utilizó esas facultades en sus diversas actividades comunitarias, incluso la empresarial.

Marcko activó en todas las instituciones comunitarias. Nunca se ubicó en el campo de los espectadores. Era un activista con opinión propia. Marcko no era “parve”, no era ambigüo, tomaba posiciones definidas basadas generalmente en raciocinios lógicos y convincentes.

Fuera de las actividades comunitarias, mantuvimos larga amistad. Su conversación era un deleite intelectual. Uno de los personajes que respetaba especialmente, era Lacan, Jacques Marie Emile Lacan, representante prominente del estructuralismo francés. Lacan era médico psiquiatra y filósofo, simultáneamente. Y Marcko había cursado el mismo sendero profesional.

Pero el fundamento para la actividad comunitaria, profesional e intelectual era un hogar con cuatro mujeres. Su esposa de décadas Fira, cuya notable experticia culinaria y acumen comercial, estaba acompañado por equilibrio emocional. Era la columna vertebral del hogar. Sus hijas Anabella, de inigualable trayectoria en la gerencia de Hebraica, Rita y Pía, con yernos y nietos, conformaron un hogar con calor humano y amor por pueblo judío.

¿Quién es judío? Respuesta: quien nace de vientre judío u opta por conversión al judaísmo. Una definición alterna reza: judío es aquel que siente que su destino personal está íntimamente ligado, es idéntico, al destino del resto del pueblo judío. El amor por Éretz Israel y luego por el Estado de Israel fue un ideal que era simultáneamente una realidad para la familia Glijenschi.

Mi amigo Marcko tuvo el calor humano, la atención constante, y el dedicado cuidado de su esposa e hijas especialmente en el último período que estuvo acompañado de dolores aliviados solo por el afecto de sus seres queridos. Ahora descansa en paz. Su familia inmediata y todos quienes lo conocimos y apreciamos guardaremos su memoria con admiración y cariño.

Zijró baruj

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War and peace in the biblical perspective

KI TETSÉ - Deuteronomy XXI, 10 - XXV

The primary theme of our weekly reading is that of the wars that invariably occur periodically. In particular, our generation that has witnessed the extermination of a third of the Jewish people, the horrors of Bosnia, and Central Africa knows the suffering and despair, cruelty and inhumanity that are the result of war. Because ein bayit asher ein bo met, there is no Jewish home that has not suffered firsthand the Holocaust that the Nazis committed. Therefore, one of the essential characteristics of the messianic era, which is synonymous with harmony and coexistence, understanding and love between human beings, is the absence of warlike conflicts. These are the words of the prophet Yeshayahu: vehaya beacharit hayamim …, vechitetu charvotam leitim vachaninotehem lemazmerot, lo yisa goi el goi cherev velo yilmedu od milchama; which means, “and it will happen at the end of the days …, and they will turn their swords into plowshares, and their spears into sickles, no nation will raise a sword against another nation, nor will they learn war anymore. In our days, which predate this messianic era, we must study the biblical text that contains a series of ordinances whose objective is to mitigate the drama of all warfare.

The initial conquest of the land of Canaan was carried out by fighting and shedding blood. In the Jewish tradition these wars are placed under the heading of Milchemet Mitsva, a concept that can be translated as a war ordered by the Divinity in the first period of our collective history. Of course, the notion of a God-sanctioned or ordained war collides with one of our basic ideas about the Deity. The text of the blessing of the Kohanim, for example, concludes by imploring that God grant us peace. The word Shalom, which means peace, is used for the daily greeting, thus highlighting our constant desire for harmony and tranquility. Authentic faith in God must result in a kind of inner peace. In short, we cannot conceive of the Creator without at the same time think of the notion of peace. In the Kaddish, which has become a prayer for the deceased, we affirm, ose shalom bimeromav, Hu yaase shalom alenu, which means, “He Who makes makes peace in the heights, He will grant us peace (on earth)”.

In search of an answer to the difficulty raised, we can emphasize that the historical moment to which we refer is characterized by human sacrifices and the greatest aberrations in social behavior. Therefore, the effects of the conquest can be considered as a punishment for the conquered peoples. However, it can be noted that there were different options. Possibly, the way forward should have been a didactic one. Rather than exterminating the residents of the promised land of Canaan, there was the option for our ancestors to teach them the truth discovered by the patriarch Avraham. It is clear, for example, that the Aséret hadibrot, which are the Ten Commandments, could have been used to spread a new moral law in those lands. Another possibility could have been the insistence on observance of the sheva Mitsvot debenei Noach, which are the seven basic laws of Noah’s time. In this way, the residents of Canaan could have been incorporated into the great monotheistic family that was being created within humanity. But there was an enormous danger that the Jewish people could also succumb to idolatry.

Scientific investigations of history and archeology lead us to the conclusion that there were extraordinary people in the past who conceived the notion of one God. The famous Pharaoh Ikhnaton, for example, was essentially monotheistic. However, none of these religious discoveries survived. They were fleeting attempts, flashes of light that are consumed instantly. Their short duration is perhaps due to the fact that they appear in the midst of the prevailing polytheism and could not resist either its constant onslaught or the challenge of ease and pleasure characteristic of idolatry. It is curious to observe that polytheism is distinguished by its tolerance. The Greeks who concentrated their multiple gods on Mount Olympus could conceive of additional deities. Therefore, when they conquered new lands, they used to pay homage to the local deity, because they considered that they had helped them in their victory. Monotheism, however, is jealous. The only God does not allow or grant any living space to another god. There is only one God, and no one else.

It is very likely that Judaism would have also succumbed to the idolatry that reigned everywhere. History teaches us that during the period of the first Beit HaMikdash, the Temple of Jerusalem, idolatry and its concomitant priestly caste were sometimes involved in alien rites, which was an existential problem for the spiritual development of our people. Therefore, it was necessary to eradicate, as far as possible, any vestige of the attractive and contagious idolatry that encourages sexual license and blind religious drunkenness.

In addition to the aforementioned war to conquer the Promised Land, our tradition considers two additional types of warfare. In the case of external aggression, you must respond with Milchemet chova, which means a forced war. The Melech, who is the king of Israel, does not require the consent of any deliberative body to face a military aggression of this nature. In contrast, in the case of Milchemet reshut, which refers to an optional war whose purpose is to enlarge the boundaries of the country, the prior approval of the Sanhedrin, the body of seventy-one religious notables, is required. Later on, the armed forces must be informed about the purpose of the war. (In the period of the Vietnam War, we find the fact that the North American nation was unaware of the purpose and scope of the conflict. This was one of the reasons why the government did not obtain the majority support of its people). Our initial text that reads, ki teitsei lamilchama al oivecha, means that when you go to war against your enemies, our Chachamim demand that it be verified that it really is a case about oivecha, which means your enemy.

According to the instructions of our text, the officers had to speak to the people pointing out, mi haish asher bana bayit chadash velo chanacho yelech veyashov leveito …, “what man is there who has built a house and has not opened it, go and return to your house, lest you die in the war and someone else opens his house ”. Having planted a vineyard and having handcuffed a woman and not taking her, were equally sufficient reasons not to have to participate in the war. Included from going to war were hayare veharach levav, “the fearful and the weak-hearted.”

The adversary must first be offered the possibility of peace, according to the Talmud. The acceptance by the enemy of the basic laws of Noah is reason enough not to kill any living being. In such a case, certain taxes may be imposed. When establishing a siege to a city, the surveillance of one side of the perimeter must be neglected, to allow whoever wishes to save himself to escape. Trees that bear edible fruits should not be cut down and the necessary water must be allowed to enter.

In the Talmud we find the following observation: kol zeman sheIsrael mistaklin klapei maala hem mitgabrim, veim lav noflim, which means that while (the people of) Israel have their gaze fixed towards heaven they are victorious; if not, the fall is inevitable. This teaching alludes to the relative merit of the purpose of wars, which must have important goals and social benefits. Of course, there are those who argue that all war is diabolical, even when some of its objectives have a noble intention. Latin American countries, for example, prefer their own dictatorships to the alternative, for example, to a North American armed intervention.

However, the instructions contained in our text that were widely interpreted by our Chachaim to mitigate the disasters of war, underline our aspirations and desires that are based on understanding and harmony between peoples. Charvotam leitim, the conversion of swords into plowshares is the symbol and motto for a greater humanization of our troubled globe.

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La guerra y la paz en la perspectiva bíblica

KI TETSÉ - Deuteronomio XXI,10 - XXV

El tema primario de nuestra lectura semanal es el de las guerras que invariablemente ocurren periódicamente. En particular, nuestra generación a la que ha tocado ser testigo del exterminio de una tercera parte del pueblo judío, los horrores de Bosnia, y del África Central conoce el sufrimiento y la desesperación, la crueldad y la inhumanidad que son el resultado de la guerra. Porque ein báyit asher ein bo met, no existe hogar judío que no haya sufrido en carne propia el Holocausto que los nazis cometieron. Por lo tanto, una de las características esenciales de la era mesiánica, que es sinónimo de armonía y de convivencia, de entendimiento y de amor entre los seres humanos, es la ausencia de conflictos bélicos. Estas son las palabras del profeta Yeshayahu: vehayá beajarit hayamim…, vejitetú jarvotam leitim vajaninotehem lemazmerot, lo yisá goi el goi jérev veló yilmedú od miljamá; que quiere decir, “y ocurrirá al fin de los días…, y convertirán sus espadas en arados, y sus lanzas en hoces, ninguna nación levantará espada contra otra nación, ni aprenderán más la guerra”. En nuestros días, que son anteriores a esta era mesiánica, debemos estudiar el texto bíblico que contiene una serie de ordenanzas cuyo objetivo es el de mitigar el drama de toda guerra.

La conquista inicial de la tierra de Canaán se lleva a cabo luchando y derramando sangre. En la tradición judía estas guerras se ubican bajo el rubro de Miljémet Mitsvá, un concepto que se puede traducir como el de una guerra ordenada por la Divinidad en el primer período de nuestra historia colectiva. Desde luego que la noción de una guerra sancionada u ordenada por Dios colide con una de nuestras ideas básicas sobre la deidad. El texto de la bendición de los Kohanim, por ejemplo, concluye implorando que Dios nos otorgue la paz. La palabra shalom que significa paz, es utilizada para el saludo diario destacando de esta manera nuestro anhelo constante de armonía y tranquilidad. La fe auténtica en Dios debe resultar en una especie de paz interna. En fin, no podemos concebir al Creador sin que ello implique a la noción de paz. En el kadish, que se ha transformado en una oración por los fallecidos, afirmamos, osé shalom bimeromav, Hu yaasé shalom alenu, que quiere decir, “Quien hace la paz en las alturas, El nos otorgará la paz (en la tierra)”.

En busca de respuesta a la dificultad planteada, podemos subrayar que el momento histórico al cual hacemos referencia, se caracteriza por los sacrificios humanos y las más grandes aberraciones en el comportamiento social. Por lo tanto, los efectos de la conquista pueden considerarse como un castigo para los pueblos conquistados. Sin embargo, se puede señalar que había opciones diferentes. Posiblemente, el camino a seguir debía haber sido el didáctico. En lugar de exterminar a los residentes de la tierra prometida de Canaán, existía la opción de que nuestros antepasados les enseñaran la verdad descubierta por el patriarca Avraham. Está claro, por ejemplo, que los Aséret hadibrot, que son los Diez Mandamientos, podían haber sido utilizados para diseminar una nueva ley moral en esas tierras. Otra posibilidad podía haber sido la insistencia en el cumplimiento de las sheva Mitsvot debenei Nóaj, que son las siete leyes básicas de la época de Nóaj. De esta manera, los residentes de Canaán se hubieran podido incorporar a la gran familia monoteísta que se estaba creando en el seno de la humanidad. Pero existía el enorme peligro que el pueblo judío también pudiera sucumbir a la idolatría.

Las investigaciones científicas de la historia y de la arqueología nos llevan a la conclusión de que en el pasado hubo personajes extraordinarios que concibieron la noción de un solo Dios. El célebre Faraón Ikhnaton, por ejemplo, era esencialmente monoteísta. No obstante, ninguno de estos descubrimientos religiosos sobrevivió en la sociedad. Fueron intentos fugaces, destellos de luz que se consumen instantáneamente. Su corta duración se deba, tal vez, al hecho de que aparecen en medio del politeísmo reinante y no pueden resistir ni a su embate constante ni al reto del facilismo y del placer característico de la idolatría. Es curioso observar que el politeísmo se distingue por su tolerancia. Los griegos que concentraron a sus múltiples dioses en el Monte Olimpo podían concebir la existencia de deidades adicionales. Por tanto, cuando conquistaban tierras nuevas, acostumbraban a rendir homenaje a la deidad local, porque consideraban que éste los había ayudado en su victoria. En cambio, el monoteísmo, es muy celoso. No permite que el Dios único otorgue espacio vital alguno a otro dios. Existe un solo Dios y nadie más.

Es muy probable que el judaísmo también hubiera sucumbido ante la idolatría que reinaba por doquier. La historia nos enseña que durante el período del primer Beit HaMikdash, el Templo de Jerusalem, la idolatría y su concomitante casta sacerdotal a veces se involucraban en ritos ajenos, lo que constituía un problema fundamental para el desarrollo espiritual de nuestro pueblo. Por lo tanto, era necesario erradicar, en lo posible, todo vestigio de la atractiva y contagiosa idolatría que fomenta la licencia sexual y la ciega embriaguez religiosa.

Además de la mencionada guerra de conquista de la Tierra Prometida, nuestra tradición considera dos tipos adicionales de guerra. En el caso de agresión externa se debe responder con Miljémet jová, que quiere decir una guerra obligada. El Mélej, que es el rey de Israel, no requiere del consentimiento de ningún cuerpo deliberante para enfrentar una agresión bélica de esta naturaleza. En cambio, en el caso de Miljémet reshut, que hace referencia a una guerra optativa cuyo propósito sea el de agrandar los límites del país, se necesita la aprobación previa del Sanhedrín, el cuerpo de setenta y uno notables religiosos. Después las fuerzas armadas deben ser informadas sobre el propósito de la guerra. (En el período de la guerra de Vietnam, nos encontramos con el hecho que la nación norteamericana desconocía al propósito y el alcance del conflicto. Esta fue una de las razones por las que el gobierno no obtuvo el apoyo mayoritario de su pueblo). Nuestro texto inicial que reza, ki teitsei lamiljamá al oiveja, quiere decir que cuando salieres a la guerra contra tus enemigos, argumenta para que nuestros Jajamim exijan que se compruebe que realmente se trata de oiveja, que significa tus enemigos.

De acuerdo con las instrucciones de nuestro texto, los oficiales tenían que hablarle al pueblo señalando, mi haish asher baná báyit jadash veló janajó yelej veyashov leveitó…, “qué hombre hay que haya construido una casa y no la haya estrenado, que se vaya y vuelva a su casa, no sea que muera en la guerra y otro estrene su casa”. El haber plantado una viña y el haber esposado una mujer y no haberla tomado, eran igualmente razones suficientes para no tener que participar en la guerra. Igualmente podían abstenerse de ir a la guerra hayaré veharaj levav, “el temeroso y el de corazón débil”.

Primero se le debe ofrecer al adversario la posibilidad de la paz, según el Talmud. La aceptación por el enemigo de las leyes básicas de Nóaj, es una razón suficiente para no matar a ningún ser viviente. En tal caso, se puede imponer la servidumbre y exigir el pago de ciertos impuestos. Cuando se establece un sitio a una ciudad debe descuidarse la vigilancia de uno de los lados del perímetro, para permitir que escape quien desee salvarse. No se deben cortar los árboles que dan frutos comestibles y hay que permitir la entrada del agua necesaria.

En el Talmud nos encontramos con la siguiente observación: kol zemán sheIsrael mistaklín klapei maalá hem mitgabrim, veim lav noflim, que quiere decir que mientras (el pueblo de) Israel tiene su mirada fijada hacia el cielo es victorioso; si no, la caída es inevitable. Esta enseñanza hace alusión al mérito relativo del propósito de las guerras las que deben tener metas y beneficios sociales importantes. Desde luego que hay quienes argumentan que toda guerra es diabólica, aun sí se toma en cuenta la posibilidad de que algunos de sus objetivos tengan una intención noble. Los países latinoamericanos, por ejemplo, prefieren sus propias dictaduras frente a la alternativa, por ejemplo, de una intervención armada norteamericana.

No obstante, las instrucciones contenidas en nuestro texto que fueron interpretadas ampliamente por nuestros Jajamim para atenuar los desastres de los conflictos bélicos, nuestras aspiraciones y deseos tienen como norte el entendimiento y la armonía entre los pueblos. Jarvotam leitim, la conversión de las espadas en arados es el símbolo y el lema para una mayor humanización de nuestro conflictivo globo terráqueo.