Living up to life’s challenges

Sometimes, heroes are the most ordinary people, who rise to the most extraordinary occasions. Like Noam Apter.

Friday night: White tablecloths and china, the sweet light of the Shabbat candles, and the singing of Shalom Aleichem, a song of peace that begins every Shabbat dinner in every Jewish home. No matter where Jews have been, and how unwelcoming and challenging the world around them has been, they are still singing of peace on Friday nights. And this particular Friday night in the Yeshiva at Otniel was no different. Except that while the students of this yeshiva and their families were singing of peace, no one heard the silent click of wire cutters slicing through the security fence.

Smiling faces, Kiddush over wine, and the blessing of the children; every Friday night for thousands of years Jewish parents have taken a moment to appreciate the gift of children sitting at the Shabbat table. It is a moment of dreams and joy, of potential and love. If we can bless the sweet delicious challot, and appreciate how blessed we are to have bread on our table when so many in the world can only imagine such a luxury, how can we not take a moment to appreciate what a blessing each child is, and how many dreams each of them represent? Except that this Friday night, while parents were blessing their children with light, and seeing in them the majesty of creation, two other ‘children,’ armed with M-16 automatic assault rifles and grenades, were making their way into the same dining hall bringing only darkness and destruction.

Otniel, a town in the Hebron foothills south of Jerusalem, is also home to a very special yeshiva, where boys add two years to their army service in order to combine army service with Jewish studies. While students and families sang and danced to traditional Shabbat tunes in the dining hall, Noam, along with Gavriel, aged 17, Tzvika, aged 19, and Yehuda aged 20, were in the kitchen getting the first course on to the serving plates.

In the blink of an eye, light became darkness and the sweet sound of Shabbat melodies was lost in the horrible sounds of gunfire. Two terrorists, members of the Islamic Jihad organization, entered the kitchen wearing IDF army uniforms and began shooting immediately.

Under fire, Noam Apter ran towards the door separating the kitchen from the dining room where over a hundred unsuspecting people, young boys and families, were welcoming Shabbat.

Wounded and bleeding profusely, with his last strength, he managed to lock both locks and throw the key away. He locked himself in with the terrorists, preventing them from entering the dining hall, and raining death and destruction on all those inside.

Noam Apter paid for this act of heroism with his life. The terrorists murdered him, and the other three boys with him. It is difficult to imagine what pure terror such a moment must contain. To be at such close quarters, with no way of defending yourself, facing evil in its purest form, the range of emotions that must inevitably sweep over a person is impossible to describe. Many experience pure fear, the fear of the unknown. Some experience intense sadness, the sadness that comes with the awareness of endings; dreams that will never be realized, loved ones that will be left behind, goals never to be achieved.

And some, those rare few, experience challenge, the challenge that comes with the realization that life always means opportunity, and that we are always here for a purpose. How does a human being rise to such a level? How does one overcome every natural instinct of self-preservation, and so see his fellow human beings before him, that he is able to run towards danger, instead of away from it? If I ever get the chance, I will ask Noam Apter that question. There are those who, in a moment, achieve what most people strive for an entire lifetime to become.

This week’s portion, VaYikra, introduces what is essentially an entire book of the Torah almost completely dedicated to the concept of sacrifices in the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and later the Temple. Nearly a quarter of the Torah is dedicated, apparently to the how, when, where and what of animal offerings. It is interesting to note, therefore, that this topic is introduced with a rather unique occurrence. We often find in the Torah, that G-d speaks to Moshe, telling him what to say and teach to the Jewish people. At the beginning of this week’s portion, however, before speaking to Moshe, G-d decides to call him:

“Vayikra el Moshe, va’yedaber elav me’Ohel Moed le’mor:

“Daber el B’nei Yisrael ve’amarta a’lehem: adam ki yakriv mekem Korban la’Hashem, min ha’be’hemah, min ha’bakar, u’min ha’tzon takrivu et korbanchem.”

“And He called to Moshe, and He spoke to him from the tent of meeting (the Ohel Moed) saying:

“Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: a man who offers up (brings close) from amongst you a sacrifice to G-d, from animals from the cattle or from the flock (sheep) offer up (bring close) your sacrifice (offering).” (Vayikra 1:1-2)

Why, here, does G-d suddenly decide to call Moshe before speaking to him? How often have we read in the Torah “G-d speaks to Moshe saying…”? So why does G-d suddenly feel the need to call Moshe before speaking to him? In fact, what exactly is the difference between speaking to Moshe and calling him? After all, if G-d is calling Moshe, isn’t He by definition already speaking to him? Indeed, what is the purpose of G-d calling, or even speaking to Moshe at all? Can’t G-d simply choose what to put into Moshe’s thoughts?

Further, why does G-d specifically choose to call Moshe (as opposed to just speaking to him) here, just as the Torah is introducing the concept of sacrifices? Is there some connection between the sacrifices and the call of G-d?

Perhaps one way of approaching this topic is to draw from an interesting peculiarity that occurs at the beginning of the portion (Vayikra) in an actual Torah scroll: the word Vayikra is written with a small aleph. Jewish tradition explains this detail as the result of a fascinating dialogue between Moshe and G-d. It seems that Moshe, described in the Torah as “the most humble man on the face of the earth” (Bamidbar (Numbers) 12:3), was uncomfortable with the fact that G-d the Omnipotent was calling him. After all, the nature of humility is that Moshe felt he was unworthy of the honor of being called by G-d, so he felt it more appropriate to write the word Vayaker, (without the aleph) meaning that G-d happened to appear to him, but G-d insisted on saying He called Moshe directly. So Moshe wrote the word, but with a small aleph, indicating his discomfort with this honor.

In other words, the book of Vayikra which introduces the concept of sacrifice and opens with the phenomenon of Moshe being called by G-d , flows from the idea of humility as represented by Moshe, the most humble man to ever live.

Most people think that humility is to believe that I am nothing, but in truth, humility is much more about recognizing that Hashem (G-d) is everything. As an example, one might think that if a great and yet humble artist was asked if he was great, he would answer that he was not because to be humble means to know you are nothing. But that is not true. To be humble is not to believe that you are not great; on the contrary, imagine that one night Leonard Bernstein falls ill and the New York Philharmonic is set for a performance in the White House. So Zubin Mehta is called to take his place because only a great conductor could fill such shoes. And imagine Zubin responds that he is not a great conductor at all, and declines. This is not humility; it is stupidity.

If you are a great conductor, then you should know you are great; the essence of humility is not believing that you are not great, or gifted, or talented, when you really are. Humility is recognizing that that greatness has nothing to do with you, it is a gift from G-d, and your challenge is what to do with it.

Imagine, at the end of last week’s portion (Shemot (Exodus) 40:35) we read that Moshe is not allowed to enter the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and now he is being called by G-d! In fact, this is not something which is new to Moshe; the first time Moshe is called by G-d is way back at the burning bush (Shemot (Exodus) 3:4), when G-d calls Moshe forth to become the redeemer of the Jewish people, and ultimately of the world.

Vayikra is not just being called; it’s a calling.

Moshe, all alone, shepherding his flock in the deserts of Midian, sees a burning bush, but ultimately it is what he hears that is of paramount significance; he hears the voice of G-d, coming from deep within himself, calling him to stand up to the challenge of who he was meant to be.

In truth, the difference between a calling (Keriah) and a coincidence (Mikreh) is only in our minds; Everything that comes into our lives is a calling of one type or another.

Indeed, Moshe might easily have viewed the burning bush as a fascinating occurrence; but he understood that it was a calling. Indeed a close look at the verses there reveals quite clearly that Hashem does not call Moshe until after he approaches the burning bush. Perhaps how often we feel we are ‘called upon’ by G-d is really a function of whether we are able to recognize everything around us as a calling emanating from Hashem’s voice.

So where does this ability to see the hidden calling in everything around us come from? Maybe it stems from the trait of Anavah, humility.

Ever notice how sometimes people lose faith with G-d because they prayed for something personal, and “it just didn’t happen; G-d wasn’t listening”? When was the last time you heard someone say: “I have been praying for world peace, and it just isn’t happening so I don’t believe in G-d”? This person is only praying for himself, and if the center of your universe is yourself, then obviously there is little room for G-d….

What was so incredible about Moshe was not that he was an Anav (humble person) but that, with all that he did, he stayed an Anav.

Perhaps this is the hidden essence of what the Korbanot, the sacrifices, were all about:

Animal sacrifices represent the physical world and all that I am given in it, and taking the animal, representing both the physical world around me, as well as the role I am given in that physical world, is about how I succeed in offering it back up to G-d.

There is nothing more powerful, and more meaningful than the gift of hearing that voice that calls us to who we are meant to be, and living up to its challenges; may we all be so blessed.

Shabbat Shalom, from Jerusalem

Binny Freedman

Rav Binny Freedman, Rosh Yeshivat Orayta in Jerusalem’s Old City is a Company Commander in the IDF reserves, and lives in Efrat with his wife Doreet and their four children. His  weekly Internet ‘Parsha Bytes’ can be found at www.orayta.org