Our Parasha ends with the offering of the 12 princes of the tribes, which is famously read during Chanukah. The Parasha describes minutely what their offering was composed of. It happens that all the 12 offerings were identical, and nevertheless the Torah repeats each and every offering; “His offering: one silver bowl weighing 130 shekels and one silver basin of 70 shekels by the sanctuary weight, both filled with choice flour with oil mixed in, for a meal offering”. We know that the words of the Torah are never superfluous, and all come with a teaching. What could the Torah teach us by repeating 12 times the same verses? Why would it not serve the purpose to only mention that all they all brought the same offering? The Midrash teaches that the Torah wants to instruct the exceptional importance of any individual performing a Mitzvah. One may think that only when the many are performing a Mitzvah does it really matter, but an individual performing a Mitzvah does not carry much weight. The Torah calls out this erroneous philosophy by repeating 12 times the same Verses, as every Mitzvah is dear to Hashem. The Talmud [Kiddushin 40b] emphasizes the importance of every Mitzvah: “Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Shimon, says: Since the world is judged by its majority, i.e., depending on whether people have performed a majority of Mitzvos or a majority of sins, and an individual is likewise judged by his majority, each person must consider that if he performs one Mitzvah he is praiseworthy, as he tilts the balance of himself and the entire world to the scale of merit. Conversely, if he transgresses one prohibition, woe to him, as he tilts the balance for himself and the entire world to the scale of liability, as it is stated: “But one sin destroys much good,” i.e., due to one sin that this individual commit, he squanders much goodness from himself and from the entire world.” The Kli Yakar [Deut. 11:26] wonders, that when Moshe addressed the Bnei Yisrael [Parashas Reeh] and told them “See I placed before you today the Blessings and the curses,” there is a grammatical mistake in the Verse. It starts by stating in singular temp “See”, and in the next words it jumps to plural “before you” [it is more obvious in Hebrew], why was that “mistake” purposely done? The Kli Yakar explains: This is what our Sages teach us: A person must always view things as if the entire world is half righteous and half wicked. If he performs a single Mitzvah he tips himself and the entire world to the side of merit. Therefore, Moshe spoke to every individual, “See” that he should see in his thought that every single action affects all of them. Every individual carries the entire Nation on his shoulders. In other words, there is nor real individuality according to the Torah. At times, every individual facing a choice becomes a leader and his choice will affect the entire Nation. Therefore, the Torah repeated 12 times the same Verses to teach us that when an individual feels responsibility for others, his actions matter and can save life. The Mishna [Pirkei Avos 3:16] teaches; “He [Rabbi Akiva] used to say: everything is given against a pledge, and a net is spread out over all the living; the store is open and the storekeeper allows credit, but the ledger is open and the hand writes, and whoever wishes to borrow may come and borrow; but the collectors go round regularly every day and exact dues from man, either with his consent or without his consent, and they have that on which they [can] rely [in their claims], seeing that the judgment is a righteous judgment, and everything is prepared for the banquet.” Sometimes the entire Nation is trapped in the net and only one individual remains free. He only can elect to open the trap and free all the Jews. As the Mishna [Sanhedrin 4:5] points “Man was created alone to impart that whoever destroys one soul from Israel it is considered as if he destroyed a whole world. And whoever saves a soul from Israel, it considered it as if he saved the whole world.” When and individual takes responsibility and makes the right choice, he is saving an innumerable number of people. His merit is limitless and cannot be fathom by mortals. Each individual Jew is the son of the King of kings and should own his self-worth, and each of his actions will carry consequences. Here is an inspiring story illustrating the message of this week’s Parasha: Just days before Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev received a letter from his friend Rabbi Baruch of Mezhibuzh, penned in an urgent stroke: Heaven disclosed to me that the coming year looms grievously over the Jewish people. Their sins are many and are being put to use by the heavenly prosecutors. We must work together to mitigate them at the earliest opportunity. Immediately after Selichos the next morning, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak began strolling the streets and alleyways of Berditchev, in search of a virtuous deed, unique enough to be presented to the Heavenly Court to perhaps tip the scales in favor of the Jewish people. A faint veil of spiritual light shrouding the decrepit panels of a small wooden house stopped him in his tracks. Its exterior was dilapidated, but Rabbi Levi Yitzchak felt certain something holy rested there. He knocked. A young woman who seemed to carry an air of distressed melancholy opened the door. Not even the sight of the city’s beloved rabbi seemed to dispel it. “May I come inside?” he asked. She nodded and stepped aside. With Rosh Hashanah inching ever closer, it was not uncommon to receive a visit from Rabbi Levi Yitzchak as he did his annual rounds, attempting to rouse the townspeople’s spiritual sensitivity toward the imminent holy days. “Tell me what’s wrong, my child.” “I’ve already repented…” she stammered. Delicately, with reassuring words, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak asked her to share her troubles. Still visibly emotional, the young woman began her story: “My family and I used to live in a village not far from Berditchev. My father worked on a dairy farm, which he leased from a local duke. My father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, closely followed by my mother, who had become overwhelmed with misery. I was left alone to confront the world. “Once I managed to regain my bearings, I realized I could continue running the farm. After watching my father countless times, I was certain it would be no trouble for me to take over the business, and I decided to appeal to the duke for an extension of my father’s concession.” The young woman paused to take a deep breath, steadying herself for what came next. “He welcomed me into his office like an old friend and listened intently as I spoke. Everything I said was met with an encouraging smile or nod. When the duke responded with a showering of compliments, I hardly believed my good fortune. Though his compliments concluded with confessions of love, I naively ascribed them to his enthusiasm about my idea. “But it soon became clear that the duke was more interested in me than anything I had to say about employment or the dairy farm. He tried to pluck at my heartstrings with syrupy promises. I would know no more hardship, he declared, if I only agreed to live with him. “The more I expressed my stubborn disgust at the prospect, the more he intensified his advances, eventually replacing any pretense of subtlety with explicit persuasions of lust. Beside myself, I turned him down flatly. “The duke then did the unthinkable. Seizing my hair in his fist, he tugged at my beautiful tresses and kissed them. Mind reeling and heart pounding, I fled his office, running blindly through my tears.” Tears pooled in the young woman’s eyes as she spoke, and Rabbi Levi Yitzchak gently encouraged her to continue. “I knew I should not blame myself, but the exchange nauseated me. I found some scissors and snipped off the hair he had defiled. “I left the village the next day and never looked back. I worked as a maid for several years until I met my husband. He passed away a year ago, leaving me to wonder what I did to deserve such a bitter fate.” Rabbi Levi Yitzchak wiped his eyes and stood up. He blessed the young woman, showering her with good wishes before he left. The Rosh Hashanah that followed was quite different from the usual. Closely observed by his congregants, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak appeared to be deeply absorbed in prayer for some time. When it came time for shofar blowing, the rabbi waited in silence, sighing deeply. Then, pulling the tallit over his head, he faced heavenward and declared: “Master of the Universe! If we are no longer worthy, and our sins have outweighed our merits, place the young woman’s locks of hair on the other side of the scale and I’m certain they will tip in our favor!” His plea faded and the synagogue filled with hushed anticipation. For several long moments, silence reigned. Then, relief washing over his face, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak relaxed and moved on to the blowing of the shofar. What resulted was a year brimming with blessings and joy for all.

By Rabbi Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

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