Background - The Haftorah this week is from the Book of Isaiah, Chapters 6:1-13, 7:1-6 and 9:5-6. Sephardim read only Chapter 6:1-13, while Yemenite Jews read Chapters 6:1-13 and 9:5-6 (but not from Chapter 7).

The prophet Isaiah was the son of Amotz, who, according to the Talmud in Tractate Megillah 10b, was the brother of Amatziah, King of Judah. Hence, Isaiah was the king’s nephew. According to the Talmud in Tractate Pesachim 87a, Isaiah prophesied during the same period as the prophets Hosea, Amos and Micah. Tradition has it that Isaiah was born circumcised and he is likened in his greatness to Moses. The Midrash in Deuteronomy Rabbah (2:4) states, "There were no greater prophets than Moses and Isaiah¼ " Though he did not hesitate to reproach Israel when necessary, Isaiah’s prophecies are largely devoted to comforting the Jewish people and reassuring them about the future. The Midrash ("Tanna d’Bei Eliyahu Rabbah", 16) says that Isaiah prophesied more good things and more consolations to Israel than any other prophet. Indeed, in Hebrew, Isaiah’s name means "G-d will redeem."

Summary - The Haftorah begins with the prophet Isaiah describing his vision in which he saw G-d sitting upon His heavenly throne, surrounded by Seraphim angels. Each of the angels has six wings – two to cover their faces, two to cover their legs and two with which to fly. The angels turn to one another and recite G-d’s praises. Isaiah is awed by the sight before him. One of the Seraphim flies over to Isaiah and touches his lips with a glowing coal, telling the prophet that his sin will now be atoned. Isaiah then hears the voice of G-d asking, "Whom shall I send and who will go for us?" To which the prophet responds by saying, "Here I am, send me." G-d then tells Isaiah to go and rebuke the people, whose hearts have grown fat and who have ceased to heed His will. Isaiah asks G-d how long it will be until the people will learn to listen. To which G-d replies that they will not listen until the land is empty and the nation is driven into exile, after which they will again return to G-d. The Haftorah then proceeds to relate how Retzin, king of Aram, joined forces with Pekah son of Remaliah, who was King of Israel, and they marched on Jerusalem to capture it from Judah. G-d tells Isaiah to allay the fears of Ahaz, King of Judah, and to tell him that Retzin and Pekah will fail to capture Jerusalem. The Haftorah closes with G-d informing Isaiah that a king shall arise in Jerusalem named Hezekiah, who will bear the yoke of Torah and mitzvoth, and that G-d shall rename him "sar-shalom" or "prince of peace", because his reign will be one of peace and tranquility.

Connection Between the Haftorah and the Parsha - In the Parsha, the Jewish people experience the Revelation at Sinai, while in the Haftorah, Isaiah describes his Divine vision.

Watch What You Say - After witnessing the heavenly angels singing to G-d on His throne, Isaiah is overwhelmed and declares, "Woe is me for I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell amid a people of unclean lips¼ (Chap. 6, verse 5)." Immediately thereafter, one of the angels flies over to him and applies a burning coal to his lips, telling the prophet that he would now be forgiven for his sin.

Rashi says that Isaiah’s sin was that he spoke disparagingly of Israel when he said, "I dwell amid a people of unclean lips¼ " Hence, according to Rashi, the angel put the coal to Isaiah’s lips "to cause pain, to atone for your iniquity that you degraded Israel." Clearly, if Isaiah had wanted to express humility, it would have been sufficient for him to declare himself "a man of unclean lips", but by saying the same thing about the entire people of Israel, he had in fact committed a sin that warranted atonement.

The Lesson - As we saw above, the prophet Isaiah’s criticism of Israel necessitated atonement on his part, because to speak disparagingly of G-d’s chosen people is neither acceptable nor appropriate. If this was true for Isaiah, who loved Israel and devoted himself to helping them, then it is even more valid when it comes to other critics. They must beg G-d’s forgiveness, not only for the harm they have caused Israel in the past, but for the unwarranted censure and disapproval they continue to mete out to our people.

Family Comes First - The Haftorah describes the alliance formed by the King of Israel, Pekah son of Remaliah, with Retzin, king of Aram, against Judah. Pekah and Retzin hoped to ascend to Jerusalem and capture it, annexing it to their control and replacing Ahaz, King of Judah, with a lackey who would do their bidding. The verse states that they "marched on Jerusalem to wage war against it but they could not fight against her (Chap. 7, verse 1)."

The Abarbanel explains that as long as Israel and Aram attacked separately, each was serving as a Divine agent for punishing Judah for its sins, with the result being that they were successful. However, once Israel joined together with Aram, a foreign nation, to fight against Judah, their fellow Jews, G-d would not allow them to be victorious.

The Lesson - Turning against one’s own brethren is a deplorable act, one so wretched that it simply can not prevail. Just as G-d would not allow Pekah, King of Israel, to succeed in his battle against his fellow Jews, let us hope that He will bestow defeat on Pekah’s modern-day heirs as well, and that they will finally learn that most basic of all lessons: Family always comes first.

People are hard to change. It is much easier to invent great technological innovations than to change people’s minds, habits and attitudes. Since human behavior sets the tone of world society much more than does technological progress, very little has really changed in the story of human civilization over the past few thousand years. War, violence, unreasoning hatreds, moral failings - both great and small, are all the stuff of our daily newspapers and media reports. It seems that little has changed in the human condition since the world of our father, Avraham. All of the problems with which had to struggle are apparently still present with us in our modern era.

This truth is brought home to us in the Torah reading of Beshalach. One would think that after the blows and plagues that Pharaoh and the Egyptian people sustained in the campaign of Moshe and Aharon to free the Jewish people from Egyptian bondage, Pharaoh and the Egyptians would have learned their lesson. They should have been happy and relieved to be rid of the Jews. Then why do Pharaoh and the Egyptian army pursue them into the desert and attempt to return them to Egypt? What logic justifies such a suicidal policy? The answer is that it is habit, stubbornness, hubris and the refusal to allow facts and changing situations to affect one’s decisions and attitudes.

Pharaoh was determined to crush the Jewish people by slavery and pain. The Lord intervened in a clear and impressive fashion to block the plans of Pharaoh and the Egyptians. Pharaoh and the Egyptians knew that the Lord prevented the actualization of their plans. Nevertheless, in spite of this clear situation, neither Pharaoh nor his people changed their behavior, altered their goals or admitted their fatal error, because people are stubborn and are not easily moved from previously held opinions and plans. The facts of the matter rarely suffice to cause a change in behavior. Hence, Pharaoh’s pursuit of Israel into the desert and his otherwise inexplicable headlong rush towards his own destruction. This same rule of human nature applies to the Jewish people as well. The Jewish people were and are notorious for being "stiff-necked." Ideas adopted by Jews, even when disproved by the facts of history and society are still not easily discarded in the Jewish world. God can split the Red Sea, rain down ‘manna’ from heaven every day, preserve millions of people in a trackless desert and there will always still be Jews who say, "Let us turn our heads around and return to Egypt." Their minds are made up and they don’t want to be discomfited by the facts of the situation.

How else to explain that there are Jews in the world still committed to the Marxist dream or who believe that Jewish continuity can be achieved by lowering all standards and requirements for Jewish marriage or conversion? The ideas of the Enlightenment, most of which have bankrupted in this, the bloodiest of all human centuries, are still treasured by a large section of Jewry whose ancestors fell victim to its siren song over the last two centuries. It is as though much of the Jewish world has learned nothing from the events and crises that have befallen the Jewish world in this century. All of the prattle of Secular Humanism, of the new, better world of discarded ritual and unnecessary tradition, of easy faith and feel-good religions, of immediately obsolescent relevance, of hootenanny, guitar-playing services of prayer, all of this is still promoted as effective Judaism even though it has all contributed to the mighty destruction of the people of Israel, both quantitatively and qualitatively.

A large portion of the Jewish world yet insists, "Let us turn our heads around and return to Egypt." Stubbornness can be a positive trait. Being stiff-necked has preserved us through the long night of our exile and difficulties. Jews did not convert nor give up their faith. Their powers of tenacity and stubbornness stood them in good stead. However, stubbornness for the sake of stubbornness is wrong and usually purposeless. The lessons of past failures, of fallen gods and glittering but false ideologies, should serve to instruct us and allow us to leave the bondage of Egypt and its culture, and all of the other Egypts and their cultures, permanently. The miracles and hand of God in history should not be ignored because of misplaced stubbornness.

The son of a beloved friend of mine in the United States received a lung transplant this past month. I pray that the transplant will "take" and that the young man will live a long and fruitful life. This event brought home to me an issue that has been discussed in rabbinic circles for the past decades, but, somehow, for me it remained pretty much a theoretical question. Until now, when it took on very real dimensions. The issue in question concerns the halachic viewpoint regarding such organ transplants.

The problem does not concern the recipient of the organ transplant, who is certainly permitted to accept the organ to prolong one´s life, but rather the problem revolves around the method of "harvesting" the organs from people who are considered clinically dead yet are still alive enough for their organs to be usable in such transplants. Thus, the issue really concerns the issue of when is clinical death considered halachic death. On this vital question there is, unfortunately, no unanimity of opinion. The important issue is clouded by dispute and uncertainty.

There is established rabbinic opinion that "brain death" is considered death according to Jewish halacha. If this opinion is adopted and followed, then there is really no halachic problem regarding organ transplants. In fact, it would seem, in the light of this opinion, that donating one´s organs after death should be encouraged, for it obviously provides life for others. The prohibition in Jewish law of nivul hamet - desecrating the body of the deceased - is waived when such an act will serve to save the life of a living human being. This is also the basis in Jewish law for allowing certain individual autopsies to be carried out, while the general principle of forbidding indiscriminate autopsies is yet upheld. Thus, if "brain death" is accepted as death according to halachic standards as well, the "harvesting" of organs from those declared dead is permissible and their organs will live on after them, albeit in a different body, giving continued life and usefulness.

There is, however, another school of thought in rabbinic opinion that holds that the current medical standard of "brain death" is not sufficient according to halacha to consider the person as being actually dead. If this school of thought is followed, then it becomes virtually impossible to "harvest" organs from dead persons in accordance with halacha, for by the time of death according to these stricter standards, the organs are also medically dead and useless for transplantation in the bodies of others. This opinion would then inhibit Jews from being organ donors and create a difficult situation for being accepted as being likely organ recipients as well. If a certain group is viewed as being only "takers" and not "donors", then it naturally will receive very low priority in being assigned and granted organs for transplants. I do not know to what extent this practical implication of deciding this halachic matter has been factored into the debate as of yet.

This important issue is being debated regularly in rabbinic circles. Here in Israel, organ transplants have become much more common and, even amongst religious circles, there is a trend towards allowing one´s self to become an organ donor. This trend signifies the practical acceptance of clinical "brain death" as being the definition of halachic death as well. As medical science makes further strides in organ transplant technology and effectiveness, it seems that the view of clinical "brain death" as being the halachic definition of death will become more and more widely accepted.

In this article, I have not discussed the metaphysical issues of one´s organs (especially one´s heart) living on in a different person. Such a discussion would perhaps put a whole other light on the issue. However, mysticism is not my field, so I will leave the matter rest on the practical considerations that I have discussed above.

A MESSAGE FROM THE SONG OF SONGS

The Time of Zamir - "The time of zamir has come," we will read in the Song of Songs this coming holiday Sabbath. "The winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land." The word zamir has many different meanings. On the one hand, it means song and rejoicing, but it also has an opposite meaning - pruning, cutting off, an end. Our Sages, of blessed memory, attributed the different meanings to different types of people: Mitzrayim (Egypt) sounds like zamir aritzim, the cutting off of proud ones, while Israel/Yisrael is alluded to by shirah - song. "G-d is my strength and strong (zimrat)," the Israelites sang after they miraculously crossed the Red Sea out of Egypt and bondage.

These two opposing aspects can also be seen in the ‘inner circle’ of the People of Israel. On the one hand, a farmer acts with a measure of cruelty while he prunes his orchard. He cuts and destroys the vine, leaving it with barely any of its little shoots. After the pruning is completed, the vine appears empty and naked of its previous glory. Yet those who can see a bit deeper know the secret that is second nature to every farmer. Hidden within the vine´s few remaining shoots is the great potential for growth and fertile abundance. If the cut-off branches had remained on the vine, they would have weakened those powerful shoots to the point of sterile dormancy. It is precisely the sharp blows delivered to the vine that awakened the productivity hidden within it. The abundant crop of grapes that will produce wine to "gladden man´s heart" stems from the harsh whacks rained down upon the vine.

The Road to Light - If you want to reach the zimrah - the song and joy - you must pass through the zmirah - the cutting back. One who wants to reach the geulah - the redemption - must first undergo the tribulations of the redemption. If you desire to enjoy the beauty of spring, you must first experience the chill of winter. Freedom comes from having tasted the bitterness of subjugation and one who merits it will see the light of Redemption breaking through the darkness of the Exile. He will merit to eat from the Pesach offering, which the Torah commands us to eat "on matzot and marorim (bitter herbs)" - Pesach, matzah and bitterness all together. He will have reached the point where he will be able to thank G-d for all His works: "We will greet Him with thanks, and with song we will acclaim Him."

Kol Dodi Dofek - The Voice of My Beloved is Calling - "I am sleeping, but my heart is awake," King Solomon continues in the Song of Songs. For most of his life, man is asleep. He is very active and busy, but he does not pay heed to the inner voice of his soul. His true inner personality is asleep. His heart is awake to hearing the voice of his soul in which G-d´s voice is calling, but he has not reached a true level of understanding and certainly not the level that will cause him to take action.

Every once in a while, the Holy One, blessed be He, comes and calls to Man, "Awake! Why do you sleep?" Open the chambers of your heart, listen to the musings of your soul, "return to Me." Yet, it is Man´s nature for his lethargy to take over; he is comfortable in his current situation. He is afraid of the effort required of him, of the obligations he will have to undertake. He is terrified of a change. The Holy One, blessed be He, does not suffice with placing the ‘call’ to man, but also takes action to awaken him. "My beloved put his hand by the door latch," King Solomon sings, "and my heart was thrilled for Him." It is impossible to remain apathetic in the face of G-d´s actions on our behalf. Whoever has experienced great miracles in his life, or who has come face-to-face with G-d´s Providence, can simply not ignore it. "I rose up to open the door for my beloved," but I was too late. The laziness won out. By the time I gathered my strength and decided to return to G-d, the great imprint of the G-dly light had melted away. Man continues to look for G-d, but he no longer finds Him within.

Today, Too - As with the nation, so with the individual. This cycle occurs in people many times in their lives - and with the People of Israel many times during its history. G-d calls out to us and says: "Don´t wait for a more opportune moment! Return to Me truly, and then I will come too and return to you." We turn to G-d and ask, "Return us to You, G-d," and then "nashuvah" - we will return of our own accord.

· More coming to grips with the question: What does G-d want of me?

In order to understand the Parah Adumah we have to go back, at least, to the story of what happened to the scouts (meraglim). Their negative report so confused and demoralized the people that they refused to follow Moshe into Eretz Yisrael – sealing their fate (to die in the desert) and changing the course of history (settling the Land, without a struggle, bringing the messianic age). They failed to appreciate themselves and to believe in their relationship with God. It was catastrophic; the first Tisha B’Av.

The rebellion of Korach and his followers occurs next, rending the fabric of the Jewish people and attacking the leadership structure that had brought them out of slavery, and bound them in covenant to the Torah. The result was the death of thousands – and no doubt, many great leaders among them. Some of the finest minds, in their lust for power, betrayed the people, and undermined their mission. They engendered disputes and threatened the unity of the Jewish people for their own interests although laced with lofty ideals.

A devastating plague struck the people. Aaron stood "between the dead and the living," and the plague stopped, but not before many died. Then, our beloved leaders, Aaron and Miriam died. Swarms of poisonous snakes attacked the people and many more died.

Amidst such overwhelming tragedies, surrounded by death we learn the ritual of the Parah Adumah, innocent (unyoked) and special (blood-colored), sacrificed outside the camp, as if to confirm its unique strangeness. Its purpose is to teach us about purity and impurity. But a contradiction is imbedded inside the ritual: the one who performs the ceremony becomes ritually impure, even though the ashes that he produces enable someone else to become ritually pure. It is a profound paradox, perhaps the only response to death.

The same thing that is necessary for spiritual transcendence has the ability to create decadence and defilement. Purity and impurity are two sides of the same coin. We draw out of impurity (death) the essence of life. Life itself, balanced so delicately, is so vulnerable. Amidst such magnificence, such unique beauty, we are haunted by death. And perhaps, only through such losses and pain will we learn to appreciate what we have and to allow ourselves to become close to God, to allow God to embrace us.

What is pure can so easily become impure; but, as well, what is impure can become pure. In this world we struggle between that which is holy and that which is profane. The source of both is the same. It depends on us how it is used.

The Parah Adumah has in itself the possibility of purity and impurity, of life and death. We are redeemed – made worthwhile – by our ability to create a spiritual path, a place of Kedusha in our lives, but it depends of what we are willing to give up.

Moses records for us in the Torah reading of Ekev that he constructed an ark or box of wood in which to house the tablets of stone that he brought down to Israel from the mountain of Sinai. What is the import of the fact that this ark was made of wood and what lesson can we derive from knowing the material of this ark? Also, what use, if any, was made of this ark after the permanent golden ark for the tablets of the Law was constructed and actually used to house those stone tablets?

Rashi is of the opinion that this wooden ark was later used as the ark of war - the ark and tablets within them that went forth to war with the Jewish army during its battles to conquer the Land of Canaan. The holy golden ark of the Tabernacle/Temple was never to be taken out to war; only this wooden container was to accompany the Jews into battle. When, in the struggle against the Philistines at the time of the High Priest Eli, the golden ark was taken into battle with them, the Jewish people were severely punished for this violation.

Other commentators propose another interpretation of the matter. They state that this wooden ark of Moshe was incorporated and became part of the holy golden ark of Bezalel. The ark of Bezalel consisted of three boxes that fit one within the other. The first and third boxes weremade of gold, while the middle box was made of wood. This middle wooden box was the very box that Moshe had fashioned to house the tablets of stone that he brought down from Sinai and this box therefore was permanently ensconced, as part of the great holy golden ark, in the Tabernacle and later in the Temple.

Alternatively, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban) is of the opinion that the wooden ark of Moshe was buried and hidden after the construction of Bezalel´s golden ark, and that it served no special purpose after its original use for housing the tablets of stone until the Tabernacle was completed. And there is also an opinion expressed in midrash that the wooden ark was kept during the sojourn of the Jews in the desert of Sinai to house the broken first tablets of Sinai.

But what is the importance of telling us that Moshe´s ark was made of wood? Neither Rashi nor Ramban, nor any other sources of traditional biblical commentary, comment on this aspect of the verse. I think that the idea of a wooden box, made from a tree, is in itself the symbol of Torah, the true companion of the tablets of stone from Sinai. King Solomon in Proverbs characterizes Torah as being "the tree of life." Gold is beautiful and valuable, glittering and royal, but it is also unproductive and dead. Gold is for museums and palaces, jewelry and crowns, but, as the legend of old King Midas teaches us, gold rarely can succor life. Trees, on the other hand, are the basis of all life on this planet.

I remember once seeing a National Geographic movie about a certain species of trees that are found in the African plains that succor and sustain hundreds upon hundreds of different forms of animals, insects, birds and other forms of vegetation. Trees are life itself. They are renewable, productive, pleasant, of awesome variety, and inspiring in their beauty and practicality. Trees are the stuff of life itself.

Is it any wonder therefore that the first home of the tablets of stone, containing the basic values of human civilization and the eternal hope of mankind for a better world, should be housed in the bosom of trees, in a wooden ark? The Torah is greater than gold, it is life itself. The Torah encourages human variety and productivity, inventiveness and beauty. The Torah teaches us that our spirit is eternal and constantly renewable, vital and immortal. We are here to provide shade and life and fruit and benefit for others. The Torah teaches us that "mankind is as the trees of the fields." Moshe´s wooden box that became the Torah´s first ark remains as its symbol of holy life.

This [past] Sabbath is traditionally called the "Sabbath of Comfort." It invariably falls in the week after the Fast of the Ninth of Av and when the words of comfort of the prophet Isaiah are read as the maftir in the synagogue, and thus, in its simplest form the name "Sabbath of Comfort" derives. But there is a deeper look at the concept of comfort and consolation that this [past] Sabbath, in fact all Sabbaths, represents. Since grief, pain, disappointment and loss are all part of the story of every human being, it is remarkable how little attention most people pay to the necessity of dealing with misfortune - of how to achieve comfort and consolation. We are all actively engaged in attempting to avoid problems and pain - and correctly so - but deep down within our being we know that no human escapes tasting the bitter cup that life always brings with it. So it would be of aid to all of us to investigate how to deal with sadness and bring consolation and closure. Judaism considers the comforting of others to be an obligatory commandment - a mitzva.

The Talmud points out that God Himself, so to speak, came to comfort Yitzchak after the death of his father, Avraham. Thus our tradition of imitating our Creator, so to speak, naturally encompasses this process of comforting others. There are two components of "Jewish comfort." One is the empathy and sympathy expressed to the bereaved by fellow human beings. Sharing the burden is an essential part of comforting others, for it allows a sense of belonging and support to form in the psyche of the one stricken. In fact, that is the greatness of faith in the Creator in all such instances - the realization that one is never alone and abandoned. Even "in the shadow of the valley of death... - ...You are with me." Whether through silence or conversation, the sense of the caring concern of others, sustains and comforts.

Thus having the ultimate and eternal Other care and understand, at a level far beyond our abilities, our troubles and travails is in Jewish tradition the strong and basic foundation of comfort and consolation. And this idea is reflected repeatedly in the words of Isaiah, where the Lord is portrayed as the ultimate comforter and champion of Israel and even though He has visited troubles upon the Jewish people, His hand of comfort, so to speak, is never far removed from us. All seven haftarot of the weeks between Tisha B´Av to Rosh HaShana are taken from the book of Isaiah´s prophecies and the representation of God as being the comfort of Israel is Isaiah´s greatest gift to Israel´s posterity.

The other aspect of the Jewish concept of comfort is the ability to accept even the hardest of fates and to persevere and rise again. Tradition teaches us that upon hearing bad tidings one should recite an acknowledgment of God´s true judgments. Acknowledgment of God in the affairs of humans, in our life-cycle events, our careers, our triumphs and seeming defeats is a fundamental tenet of Jewish behavior. Jews always believed that life and death both came from the hand, so to speak, of the Creator.

Thus the unpleasant, the tragic, the inexplicable and seemingly unjust, all become more bearable because of the Jew´s ability to accept God´s will and therefore justify the otherwise unjustifiable and thereby attain a measure of solace and comfort. Bearing grudges, especially against God, is invariably aggravating and self-destructive. Giving insipid and feel-good answers to explain God´s behavior and explain or marginalize the Divine Presence in tragedy is demeaning to Jewish tradition and faith. Acceptance of God´s will and the appreciation that God need not "think" or "behave" according to our finite minds and standards opens the way for closure and consolation.

Firstborn rights - This week´s Torah portion states the following law: "If a man will have two wives, one beloved and one unloved, and both the loved and unloved wives have sons, and the firstborn son is that of the hated one; on the day that this man wills his property to his sons, he cannot give the son of the beloved wife birthright preference above the son of the hated wife, the firstborn. Rather, he must recognize the firstborn, the son of the hated one, to give him the double portion in all his property."

On their most literal level, these biblical verses mandate that a firstborn son shall inherit a double portion of his father´s estate, while each subsequent son shall inherit an equal portion of the property. A father does not have the power to bequeath the double portion reserved for the firstborn to one of the other sons he loves, and any attempt to do so is ignored by Torah law.

As the Talmud makes clear, a human being is certainly empowered to distribute his entire estate to one of the other sons (or to any other individual for that matter), as long as he conveys it as a gift. But if he chooses to bequeath the estate to one of the sons as an inheritance and so deny his firstborn son´s rights as a natural heir, then the father´s attempt has no legal validity in the Jewish court system.

What is disturbing, however, is the Torah´s need to state the point via a shameful example of a man who loves one of his wives and hates the other. Why was it necessary to use an offensive illustration in order to make the simple point that the firstborn son always is entitled to a double portion of the inheritance regardless of the father´s preferences?

A spiritual manual - One of the most essential factors to bear in mind during biblical study is the idea that each mitzvah, law and episode described in the Torah contains -- in addition to its physical and concrete interpretation - a psychological and spiritual dimension as well.

In his commentary on the Bible, Nachmanides wrote: "The Torah discusses the physical reality, but it alludes to the world of the spirit." Another great Kabbalist went even further. Rabbi Menachem Azaryah of Fanu states that "The Torah discusses the spiritual reality, and it alludes to the physical world." This means that stories and laws in the Torah ought to be understood first and foremost as events and laws in the spiritual realm, and this is the primary method of Torah interpretation.

What then is the spiritual meaning of the seemingly crude description in this week´s portion, of "a man who will have two wives, one beloved and one hated, and both the loved and unloved wives have sons, and the firstborn son is that of the hated one"? How are we to understand this verse from a metaphysical point of view?

The Romantic Jew vs. the Struggling Jew - Judaism teaches that the relationship between each husband and wife in this world reflects the cosmic relationship between G-d (the Groom) and the Jewish people (the Bride). The entire book of "Song of Songs" by King Solomon is based on this notion that our human and flawed marriages might become a reflection of the Divine marriage with Israel. There are two types of human beings who enter into a marriage with G-d: the "beloved spouse" and the "despised spouse."

The "beloved spouse" represents those unique individuals who enjoy a continuous romance with G-d. Their souls are overflowing with spiritual ecstasy, selfless idealism and fiery inspiration. They cannot stop loving G-d and G-d cannot stop loving them.

On the other end of the spectrum stand the "despised spouses," all those human beings possessing numerous qualities that ought to be despised and hated: immoral urges, vulgar passions and ugly temptations. These are the people whose hearts are not always ablaze with love toward G-d; rather, they struggle each and every day to remain married to their Divine soul and not fall prey to the lure of their animalistic tendencies. Throughout their life they must battle not to become a victim of many natural instincts and cravings .

The Torah teaches us that G-d´s "firstborn son" may very well come not from His union with the beloved spouse, but rather from His relationship with the despised spouse. This means that the spiritual harvest that a struggling human being produces as a result of his grueling and stormy relationship with G-d, may often be far deeper and more powerful than that of the spiritually serene person. For it is precisely in our daily struggle against the forces of darkness within ourselves that we generate an "atomic explosion" of G-dliness and holiness in the world, unparalleled in the tranquil life of G-d´s "beloved spouse". The morality and the integrity that emerges from the midst of a battle between good and evil contain a unique depth and splendor not possessed by the straightforward spirituality of the saint.

Thus, "On the day that He wills His property to His sons, He cannot give the son of the beloved wife birthright preference above the son of the hated wife, the firstborn. Rather, He must recognize the firstborn, the son of the hated one, to give him the double portion in all His property." On a spiritual level, this means that on the day that Moshiach will come, a "double portion" of G-dliness will be revealed in the arduous labor and sweat of the Jew who never stopped fighting for his soul.

Lamentations of a Teenager - The following story will illustrate the point more clearly:

A teenaged boy once visited the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, expressing anguish that his relationship with G-d was full of struggle and disappointment. "Why can´t it just be simple and easy?" the boy asked sorrowfully.

"Because human beings are not angels," the Rebbe replied. "Angels are impeccable and flawless, always on target. Human beings, on the other hand, are fragmented and dualistic, vacillating between extremes and shaken by conflicts. Because of man´s multi-dimensional and dichotomized composition, he must struggle throughout his entire life in order to come to terms with his soul."

The teenager continued to probe the heart of the saintly spiritual master. "But why did G-d create us in such a complicated fashion?" he asked. "Would G-d not have enjoyed us far more if we were like the angels?"

The Soul of Art - Apparently, this teenager had a bent for drawing. He loved art and made it his hobby. As a good educator, the Rebbe responded to the pain of the young adult by drawing on a reference from the student´s own world.

"Let me ask you a question about the difference between a photograph and a painting," the Rebbe began his response, "A photo captures any given scene far more accurately than a painting can ever hope to. Yet while a photo will cost you a few dollars, the inaccurate painting of the identical scene may sometimes sell for millions of dollars. Why?"

The boy explained to the Lubavitcher Rebbe that most photographs were inanimate and lifeless items, capturing the technical properties of a particular scene, yet lacking depth and a soul. A painting, on the other hand, in which a scene is relegated to canvas via the mind and soul of the artist, contains the depth of human emotion, the esthetics of human creativity and the splendor of human imagination. That is what gives a painting its tremendous value.

"Very well said," came the Rebbe´s reply. "Here you have the answer to your question as well. Angels are photos; human beings are pieces of art," the Rebbe said with a smile.

Angels are flawless and faultless creatures, perfect shots of the spiritual realities. Yet it is precisely the fluctuating drama of human existence, the perpetual conflict between our inner light and darkness, and the human void searching for meaning and truth, that turns our life into a piece of art. Only in the tormented chambers of the human heart can G-d discover genuine, awe-inspiring artwork. It is the goodness and spirituality that emerge from human doubt and struggle that bestow upon humanity a dignity and splendor that the highest of angels can never attain.

In that sense, the "beloved wife," a kind of superhuman saint, is more like a photo, while the "despised wife," the title reserved for the ordinary human life, is more like a piece of art. When Moshiach will come, speedily in our days, G-d´s celebration of His art collection might eclipse the celebration of His photo collection.

Three prophets - An intriguing Midrash states that three of the great Jewish personalities communicated their prophesies using an identical Hebrew term, eicha, which means "how" or "alas."

The first to do this was through Moses. In the beginning of this [last] week´s portion, Moses, speaking during the last weeks of his life, recalls how many years earlier he shared with his people his profound sense of frustration as the leader of Israel. "I said to you at that time, ´I cannot carry you alone...How (eicha) can I carry your contentiousness, your burdens and your quarrels if I am all by myself?"

The second was Isaiah. In the opening chapter of Isaiah, this extraordinary man of G-d laments the moral degeneration of Jerusalem and its Jewish inhabitants 700 years after Moses´ death. "How -- eicha -- has the faithful city become a prostitute?" Isaiah cries. "She was full of justice, righteousness lodged in her, but now murderers."

The third was Jeremiah. Jeremiah´s heart-wrenching book of Lamentations, written 200 years after Isaiah and depicting the bloody destruction of Jerusalem, opens with the word "Eicha," alas. "Alas -- she sits in solitude! The city that was great with people has become like a widow."

Three linked messages - Now, it is logical to assume that the Midrash is not making a random observation of three people using the same term. Rather, the Midrash is attempting to tell us that there exists a subtle link between the three messages of Moses, Isaiah and Jeremiah. It is this connection that compelled the three giants to choose the dramatic term "eicha" for their conversations with the people of Israel.

On the surface, no link is visible. Moses was discussing the enormous burden of leadership; Isaiah, the ugliness of promiscuity; and Jeremiah the tragedy of defeat and loss. Yet, the Midrash is hinting to us that these three messages are not only intertwined but actually evolve one from another.

The tragedy of silence - What was Moses´ complaint? This tremendous human being, "Whom G-d had known face to face," was not lamenting his stressful schedule or the lack of time for leisure. What perturbed Moses was that he was the only one taking ultimate responsibility for the fate of the nation. Others were willing to assist during their free time, but it was only Moses who felt that the needs and struggles of the people of Israel were his own.

"How (eicha) can I carry your contentiousness, your burdens and your quarrels if I am all by myself?" Moses cries. If only one person is ready to put himself on the line in the fight for a better world, while others just emit a sigh and go on with their personal affairs, we are bound to crumble.

The triumph of evil does not occur as a result of the perpetrators of evil per se; it happens because of the many ordinary men and women who don´t care enough to stand up for what is right. When ordinary people of good moral standing lose the courage or willingness to protest injustice, morality is dead.

This is what Moses protested: the dangerous notion that ordinary men and women need not share equal responsibility in mending the world, combating immorality and transforming human society into an abode for G-d.

The cry of Moses´ "How can I carry you alone" ultimately evolved into the second stage of degeneration, which reached its peak during the time of Isaiah. "How has the faithful city become a prostitute?" Isaiah asked. "She was full of justice, righteousness lodged in her, but now murderers."

How indeed? Because Moses was left alone on the front lines of the battlefield for goodness and morality. When multitudes of people of moral stature do not feel an urgent responsibility to combat the flames of hate and evil burning in their society, a city once full of justice becomes, instead, a haven for murderers; a city of light turns into darkness.

Isaiah´s call of "How has the faithful city become a prostitute," evolved into the third stage of degeneration, when Jerusalem destroyed itself, reaching the abyss during the days of Jeremiah. "Alas -- she sits in solitude! The city that was great with people has become like a widow," he lamented.

Contemporary Jewish silence - This painful truth is often demonstrated when so many decent and nice people in Israel and abroad succumb to the temptation of remaining silent and politically correct.

The same is true concerning every crisis -- physical or spiritual -- that faces our people today, from mass assimilation to inner conflict and disharmony. If we rely on "Moses" to do all the caring for us, our future is endangered. Every individual ought to lose a little bit of sleep because of his or her personal concern on how to bring redemption to a hurting world.

"Why did you not faint"? - Let me conclude with this moving tale. Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagen, the saintly Chafatz Chaim, once dispatched a delegation of Jewish representatives to the Polish prime minister in an attempt to nullify a new decree against Jewish ritual slaughtering (schechitah).

Upon their return, they reported to the great rabbi that their mission was a failure. "The minister did not understand our Yiddish, and the translator did not do a good job conveying our message," the delegation reported.

"Yes, yes," cried the Chafatz Chaim. "But why did none of you faint? Had one of you been genuinely affected by the decree against Judaism as to faint, the prime minister would have understood you very well," he concluded.

Parashat Ki Tavo continues along a common theme track with last week´s parasha, Ki Teitsei, namely, discussion of Mitzvot that teach kindness, compassion and attentiveness to others and to other living creatures.

Ki Teitsei teaches us Mitzvot ranging from choosing the correct marriage partner, who may or may not marry whom, divorce guidelines, laws concerning the Ben Sorer U´Moreh (the rebellious son), through returning lost property, sending a mother bird away before taking the young or the eggs, helping one´s fellow Jew load and unload a burden, fencing in a roof area and not harnessing together different species of animals on the same yoke.

The theme then seems to be abruptly interrupted by the Maftir section on remembering and not forgetting what Amalek did to us and to "blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under the heaven..."

Ki Tavo begins with the Halachot of Bekurim - the first fruits - which were brought to the Kohen as both thanksgiving and remembrance of Pharaoh´s cruelty and Hashem´s deliverance of B´nai Yisrael from Egypt to a land flowing with milk and honey. This section teaches us the importance of doing Mitzvot quickly, striking while the irons are hot, eagerly and b´simcha - with happiness.

Our parsha then returns to where Ki Teitsei left off with the enunciation of the laws concerning Ma´aser (tithing) and it´s declaration regarding the required tithes. It continues with Hashem´s command regarding the Mitzvot of writing the Torah on 12 huge stones, in all 70 languages, to be placed on the east side of the Jordan River, in what was Mo´av, and bringing another 12 huge stones to Mt. Eival, where they are to be built as an altar upon which B´nai Yisrael will offer sacrifices. This altar would later be disassembled and the second set of stones were subsequently used for a second inscription of Torah in the 70 languages. The parsha speaks about the assembly to take place on Mts. Gerizim and Eival, and in the valley in between, where the blessings and curses are to be pronounced, upon B’nai Yisrael´s entrance into Eretz Yisrael.

What I want to discuss here is the possible relationship between the remembrance of Amalek´s evil attack upon us, the Mitzvot bein adam l´chaveiro (between a man and his fellow) listed in both parshiyot and the writing of Torah in 70 languages.

Shem Mishmuel writes, on parshat Shoftim that when Klal Yisrael is fighting Holy Wars, "they must set aside their private concerns for their own well-being and survival in the war... They must feel that the battle is not for themselves, but for Hashem and his glory...This level of control is no easy matter; it involves nullifying one´s private concerns before the will of Hashem." (Shem Mishmuel, page 404)

It seems also that only when we are selfless and subvert our own personal agenda when doing Mitzvot, will we merit national unity and thus collectively merit to "blot out the rememberance of Amalek from under the heaven..."

The Midrash Says asks what the purpose was for placing huge rocks with the Torah inscribed in 70 languages on the east side of the Jordan River and in Gilgal, at the entrance to Eretz Yisrael. It offers an explanation; that they served as a warning to the Gentiles to accept upon themselves the Noachide Laws. Shem Mishmuel, however, explains the purpose differently. He indicates that the two sets of stones inscribed with Torah are "a tangible reminder of the correct way with which to begin their service of Hashem."

He speaks about the two distinct facets to the Jewish heart. The first, deepest and most fundamental part is the Divine soul which is "completely ‘undefilable’ and impervious to foreign forces. The second, more external part is much more impressionable; it is able to receive influence (good influences or defiling, bad influences) from the outside." It is the secondary aspect that one is enjoined to purify. This purification will enable it to accept and retain Torah knowledge and ideals.

He explains the difference between writing of a Torah on huge stones and the normal manner of writing a Torah on parchment, the skin of a Kosher animal in this way: "The hide of the animal must first be treated before the writing can commence. If untreated skin is used, the whole exercise is futile, as the writing is invalid. Just as the skin needs refining before the writing will be valid, so too, one needs to remove any traces of personal defilement before beginning one´s Torah development." And so comes the problem, Shem Mishmuel´s explanation of the ‘Catch-22’ – "It seems that to achieve purification, one needs Torah, but to learn Torah requires prior purification." Shem Mishmuel then explains that the inner aspect of the heart is always capable of Torah study and Mitzvah observance: "By stimulating this inner, Godly element, one will enable its influence to spread to the coarser, outer manifestation, which will have a cleansing and purifying effect. Once this stage is reached, even the secondary aspect of the heart will be ready to receive the Torah¼ . The animal world is subject to change. The passage of time affects the animal and the processes of nature ensure that after a certain period the animal´s cells are replenished."

This symbolizes the outer, impressionable part of the heart, which can be improved and sanctified. The inner, holy element remains unchanging and unchangeable - thereby represented by stone, the least changing entity in creation: "Thus, Hashem required them to erect stones and write the text of the Torah on them. This indicates that the first element of Divine Service comes from the innermost, unchanging part of the personality." The Torah written on the stones was "to try to arouse the holy attachment to Torah, which lay deep within them (klal Yisrael) and allow it to pervade and purify the rest of their personalities."

So it seems that the Torah written in stone served a dual purpose, to warn the Gentiles, but also to purify ourselves. By purifying ourselves and our deeds, by the learning and the application of Torah, we then merit to "blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under the heaven..."

Today, we don´t have revealed to us the two sets of 12 stones on which Torah was written in 70 languages, but we do have the outer skin, which is still coarse and not properly treated. That is why we don´t learn from our past mistakes. Yet again, we´ve failed to "remember and not forget" what Amalek did to us and to "blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under the heaven..."

Do you recall that great scene in Casablanca when Humphrey Bogart is asked, "What kind of man are you?" and he calmly replies, "Like any other man – only more so."

That more or less sums up the idea of being Jewish: We are like any other human being - only more so. We engage in all the usual practices of humanity: we eat, sleep, work, study, interact with neighbors, put gas in our car, etc. But, at the same time, we remember that we are created in G-d´s image and must always conduct ourselves in a spiritually-refined manner.

This is true even - maybe especially - in situations that most try our character. One such situation is in time of war. During war, all manner of excesses are common. Soldiers rape, steal, brutalize and humiliate others just because they have the power to do so, and because they let their baser nature take over their behavior.

However, Jewish soldiers must be different. They must sue for peace. They must refrain from destroying fruit-trees or harming the environment unnecessarily. They must not molest captive women. In short, the Jewish soldier must maintain high standards of purity because, as our Sedra succinctly says, "Hashem walks in the camp and it is He who will rescue you and grant you victory if you are holy." In other words, not only does G-d not sanction immoral behavior in war; He specifically dispenses victory or defeat based upon how we act in the heat of battle.

How proud we should be of our brave young men in uniform, who act so dignified and mentschlich even when facing their enemies: Like the soldiers who broke down the door of a house in Jenin while searching for terrorists, then collected 1,500 NIS among themselves to pay for the damage; or the IDF soldier who fed captured terrorists whose hands were tied behind their backs; or my son, who found $8,000 in a secret cache of weapons, and confiscated the illegal arms and left the money.

We have to be better. We have to guard against any chink in our spiritual armor, scrupulously guarding our souls so that they remain intact both during - and after - the battle.