Parashat Lech Lecha: Learning from Avraham to Handle Disputes - How Can a Necessary Separation Help Preserve Our Relationships?

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Parashat Lech Lecha: Learning from Avraham to Handle Disputes 
How Can a Necessary Separation Help Preserve Our Relationships?

What Helps Us Learn to Accept Painful Separations?

I have experienced several necessary separations from loved ones, some more painful than others. The hardest was stepping back from a close family member with whom I had shared a beautiful relationship for decades. Over time, that person grew distant and began making unintentionally hurtful remarks about me, each one deepening my wound. Aware of my vulnerability, I realized that although temporarily ending contact would be painful, remaining in a distant and unfulfilling relationship with someone I had once been so close to was even more painful. So, we took a break. I have now worked for years toward reconciliation, and our relationship is gradually improving. I learned to release expectations that close relationships will always remain unchanged. As people move through different stages of life, their needs – and the relationships they seek – also change. I have come to accept that someone I once helped may no longer need my support or friendship in the same way.

The same applies to students: even some of our most enthusiastic students who grew so much in our program under my leadership and through my guidance may at a certain point have received what they need from the midrasha at this stage of their learning. Sometimes they recognize this themselves and decide to move on; at other times, we gently help them recognize that their next step may lie elsewhere. Both situations can be painful, but nevertheless necessary, for the benefit of all involved.   

For decades, a core of beloved staff members brought stability to Midreshet B’erot Bat Ayin. Yet, for some reason, since Corona, staff have come and gone, and I have found myself constantly burdened by the task of training new staff. Yet I do not regret having hired them. I know that Hashem guided me to each staff member, and even if the working relationship didn’t last long, I learned valuable lessons from each of them. I trust that there is a deeper reason why, after having trained a member of my team to finally work totally independently, she would leave for reasons that had nothing to do with the midrasha. If nothing else, at least I have become much more adept at staff training and, perhaps even more important, I have learned patience and gentleness. Who knows, this could be a rectification needed for my prior soul incarnations.  

 

Why Do People Who Love Each Other Sometimes Struggle to Live Together?

Some of our most painful relationship struggles arise with people we have loved and supported for years. We remember our shared journey and wonder what went wrong and how we grew apart. Avraham and his nephew Lot had traveled together from Charan to the Land of Israel, descended to Egypt, and returned. Yet, after their return, the Torah tells us twice in one verse that they could no longer dwell together:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ו וְלֹא נָשָׂא אֹתָם הָאָרֶץ לָשֶׁבֶת יַחְדָּו כִּי הָיָה רְכוּשָׁם רָב וְלֹא יָכְלוּ לָשֶׁבֶת יַחְדָּו:

“The land could not support them dwelling together, for their possessions were great, and they could not dwell together” (Bereishit 13:6).

 

Why does the verse repeat their inability to live together? The Netziv explains that the difficulty went beyond insufficient pasture. Their natures had grown apart. Lot could maintain a relationship with Avraham from a distance, but their constant proximity had become burdensome. Their extensive possessions brought their households into repeated contact, exposing the differences between them (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:6). Sometimes we cling to a particular arrangement because we believe that changing it would mean failing the relationship. Yet sharing a home, workplace, or daily routine may place more strain on a relationship than it can bear. Avraham’s experience invites us to consider whether a change in how we relate could help protect the love that remains.

We can glean another layer within their separation from the inner dimension of Torah. Rabbi Yekutiel Zalman Ze’ev Fish reveals in the name of the Arizal that holy souls were concealed within Lot, including Ruth and Na’amah the Ammonite, from whom King David and the continuation of his royal line would emerge. David descended from Ruth; Na’amah became an ancestress of the continuing Davidic dynasty through her marriage to King Solomon.

These souls contained within them further generations of souls and sparks, extending far into the future. Avraham and Lot had begun a process of extracting these sparks during their descent to Egypt. Their subsequent separation formed part of the continuing clarification: Lot’s journey toward Sodom would become the setting from which the souls of David and Mashiach would eventually emerge (Sha’ar HaPesukim, Parashat Lech Lecha, cited and elaborated upon in Sod HaChashmal, Part I, Parashat Miketz, Meraglim Atem – Birur HaNitzotzot B’Mitzrayim).

This hidden process does not make Lot’s choices righteous, but neither did Lot’s spiritual failings erase the holiness concealed within him. Hashem’s purpose can continue unfolding even through human failure and painful separation. Avraham could no longer share his daily life with Lot, yet the latent holiness within his nephew still had a future.

Perhaps this can help us approach our own difficult relationships with greater humility. We may recognize that we cannot continue living or working closely with someone, while acknowledging that we do not see the full purpose of their journey. Creating distance need not mean dismissing the good within them. Sometimes we must release the form a relationship once took and leave room for Hashem to bring forth blessings we cannot yet imagine.

 

How Can We Keep a Disagreement from Becoming a Family Rift?

The dispute began between Avraham’s shepherds and Lot’s shepherds, who allowed their animals to graze in other people’s fields. When Avram’s shepherds rebuked them for this act of robbery, they replied, “The land has been given to Avram, and since he has no son as heir, Lot will be his heir; consequently, this is not robbery.” Scripture, however, states: “The Canaanite and the Perizzite abode then in the land,” so that Avram was not yet entitled to possession (Rashi, Bereishit 13:7).  

Avraham could not preserve harmony by accepting such behavior. Still, he addressed Lot with gentleness:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ח

וַיֹּאמֶר אַבְרָם אֶל לוֹט אַל נָא תְהִי מְרִיבָה בֵּינִי וּבֵינֶךָ וּבֵין רֹעַי וּבֵין רֹעֶיךָ כִּי אֲנָשִׁים אַחִים אֲנָחְנוּ:

“Please let there be no strife between me and you, or between my shepherds and your shepherds, for we are brothers” (Bereishit 13:8).

Although it was only their shepherds who were quarreling, Avraham foresaw how their dispute could eventually spread to the two of them (Ohr HaChayim, Bereishit 13:8). “The beginning of strife is like letting out water” (Mishlei 17:14). Once water breaks through a barrier, the opening can widen as more water rushes through. Likewise, an unchecked quarrel can grow beyond its original cause and draw others into the conflict (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:8).

Rabbi Moshe Alshich discerns this danger of escalation in the Torah’s shift fromרִיב/riv – quarrel – to מְרִיבָה/merivah – strife. He interprets the feminine form, merivah, as a quarrel that “gives birth” to further quarrels. What began between a few shepherds could spread throughout both households and eventually divide Avraham and Lot themselves. Avraham therefore pleaded that the existing riv should not become a merivah, multiplying beyond its original bounds (Torat Moshe, Bereishit 13:7–8). His words teach us to address discord while it is still small, before one hurt gives birth to many more. Quarreling is like a poisonous growth: Nip it in the bud!

Rav Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov uncovers a deeper meaning within the word מְרִיבָה/merivah – “strife.” The names לוֹט/Lot and אָדָם/Adam both have the numerical value of 45. The name אָדָם/Adam also forms an acronym for אָדָם/Adam, וִדדָּ/David, and שִׁיחַמָ/Mashiach. Concealed within Lot was the spark of Mashiach ben David, still awaiting its emergence from spiritual concealment.

The word מְרִיבָה contains the letters רִיב/riv – quarrel – within the letters מ and ה, which together also equal 45. Avraham’s plea thus carries a hidden prayer: do not allow the quarrel to enter the inner holiness represented by Adam, the potential for David and Mashiach concealed within Lot (Agra D’Kala, p. 92b).

Avraham recognized the holy potential within Lot even amid their conflict. As he addressed the wrongdoing, he sought to protect that hidden holiness within his nephew. This offers us a deeper reason to keep disagreements from consuming our relationships. When hurt takes over, we may begin to see another person entirely through the conflict, forgetting the good we once recognized in them. We can address what is wrong while guarding our awareness of their deeper worth. Avraham acted while they could still speak to each other as brothers. We, too, can strive to resolve a disagreement before it obscures everything else we know about one another.

 

Can We Create Distance Without Giving Up on a Brother or Sister?

Avraham’s request to separate follows immediately after his affirmation of brotherhood. He wanted to prevent further conflict while preserving his care for Lot:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ט הֲלֹא כָל הָאָרֶץ לְפָנֶיךָ הִפָּרֶד נָא מֵעָלָי אִם הַשְּׂמֹאל וְאֵימִנָה וְאִם הַיָּמִין וְאַשְׂמְאִילָה:

“Is not the whole land before you? Please separate from me. If you go left, I will go right; if you go right, I will go left” (Bereishit 13:9).

The Netziv notices the kindness within this offer. Avraham did not place the entire burden of moving on Lot. He not only offered to share the inconvenience but also allowed Lot to choose first (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:9). Rashi reveals a further reassurance within his words: wherever Lot settled, Avraham would remain by his side, ready to protect and help him (Rashi, Bereishit 13:9). Even in separation, Avraham took care to preserve Lot’s dignity and reassure him of his continued support.

Distance was nevertheless necessary for Avraham’s spiritual life. After Lot’s departure, Hashem spoke to him, inviting him to lift his eyes and see the Land, since Lot’s presence had prevented this Divine communication (Rashi, Bereishit 13:14). Avraham needed the freedom to fulfill his calling, yet when Lot was taken captive, he made great efforts to rescue him.  Although Lot had withdrawn from their brotherhood, Avraham still treated him as a brother when he needed saving (Be’er Mayim Chayim, Bereishit 13:10–13).

Even after Lot chose the company of the wicked, Avraham risked his life to save him. Such love can awaken goodness in another person. Later, in Sodom, Lot risked his own safety to welcome and protect his guests. Avraham’s willingness to come to his aid inspired Lot to also extend himself for others. This teaches us never to give up on our brother or sister (Reb Shlomo Carlebach, teaching on Avraham and Lot).

We cannot force someone to remain close to us or choose the path we hope they will follow. We can, however, strive to preserve our faith in the holiness within them. Sometimes we need distance to serve Hashem with clarity, while leaving our hearts open to whatever kindness we can offer.

Avraham’s example gives us hope that love expressed at the right moment can inspire goodness where years of guidance could not. Despite the separation – and perhaps even because of it – we may find ourselves no less connected in spirit, able to help our brother or sister in ways that were not possible when we were closer. We may never see how far that kindness travels, but it can awaken another act of kindness, allowing the goodness we shared to continue growing beyond our time together.

Parashat Noach: Preserving the Divine Image - How Does Modesty Preserve the Dignity of Parents and Mentors?

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Parashat Noach: Preserving the Divine Image 

How Does Modesty Preserve the Dignity of Parents and Mentors?

Why Do I Make an Effort to Keep My Body Covered in Front of My Students?

I participate weekly in our Meditative Movement classes at Midreshet B’erot Bat Ayin. These classes offer a precious opportunity to step away from words and connect with Hashem through movement, breathing, and awareness of our bodies. Although we are only women exercising together in the yurt, and I leave the students free to wear shorts, tank tops, or whatever is comfortable for them, I make a conscious effort to keep my own body covered in their presence. On Tuesdays, I choose a long tunic, skirt, and leggings so that I can move freely while remaining modestly dressed. When we reach the balancing exercises and my skirt gets in the way, I quietly remove it, knowing that my tunic and leggings still provide substantial coverage.

Beyond general modesty and cultivating the awareness that we are always walking before the King of Kings, I am mindful of the special relationship between a Torah teacher and her students. Closeness and warmth are essential to teaching, yet so are the boundaries that preserve respect. Our Sages teach that a son should not bathe together with his father while unclothed, and that a student should not bathe with his Torah teacher unless the teacher needs his assistance (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 51a). Although our movement class is a different situation, these teachings deepen my sensitivity to how I present myself before my students. 

In many Jewish communities, men immerse in a mikvah every Friday as a minhag (custom) in honor of Shabbat. I remember my sons taking care to wait until their father returned from the mikvah before going themselves. This quiet consideration expressed their respect for him without diminishing the warmth of their relationship. 

The fifth commandment, “Honor your father and mother…” (Shemot 20:12), calls us to look beyond our parents’ physical presence and recognize the Divine image within them. A parent or teacher is human, with a body, vulnerabilities, and imperfections. Honor and respect involve focusing on a person’s Divine image, which shines through the face and expresses their inner kedusha. Seeing the naked body of a parent or teacher can shift our attention from that spiritual presence to their physical being, diminishing the reverence with which we regard them. Therefore, when I keep my body covered before my students, I seek to preserve their awareness of the Divine image within me and carry myself with the dignity appropriate to the Torah I hope to impart.

Why is it Important to Take the First Step to Protect Our Family’s Dignity?

The Torah gives us a model for how to respond when a parent or mentor becomes exposed. In Parashat Noach, Cham’s response to his father’s nakedness contrasts with Shem and Yefet’s careful covering of him. When a parent or someone we respect behaves in an embarrassing way, we may feel disappointed, uncomfortable, or unsure how to respond. We can draw further attention to the incident by discussing it with others, or we can quietly help the person regain their dignity. Shem and Yefet did more than refrain from mocking their father. They responded to his exposed state with practical care, covering him with a garment.

בראשית פרק ט פסוק כג וַיִּקַּח שֵׁם וָיֶפֶת אֶת־הַשִּׂמְלָה וַיָּשִׂימוּ עַל־שְׁכֶם שְׁנֵיהֶם וַיֵּלְכוּ אֲחֹרַנִּית וַיְכַסּוּ אֵת עֶרְוַת אֲבִיהֶם וּפְנֵיהֶם אֲחֹרַנִּית וְעֶרְוַת אֲבִיהֶם לֹא רָאוּ:

“Shem and Yefet took the garment, placed it on both their shoulders, and walked backward to cover their father’s nakedness. Their faces were turned backward, and they did not see their father’s nakedness” (Bereishit 9:23).

Why does the Torah mention Shem before Yefet, even though Yefet was older as the Torah emphasizes “the brother of Yefet the elder” (Bereishit 10:21)? Shem showed greater diligence in fulfilling the mitzvah and therefore received the greater blessing (Bechor Shor, Bereishit 9:23). Rashi notices a further indication of Shem’s initiative in the word וַיִּקַּח/vayikach – “he took.” The Torah uses the singular rather than וַיִּקְחוּ/vayikchu – ‘they took’ to teach that Shem exerted himself more in the mitzvah (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). Shem did not wait for his older brother to take responsibility. His father needed help, and he took the first step.

Although Shem took the initiative, both brothers shared equally in covering their father (Pesikta Zutarta, Bereishit 9:23). Each brother placed part of the garment on his own shoulder (Ibn Ezra, Bereishit 9:23). This teaches us that our first step can inspire others to help. Instead of drawing someone into a conversation about a family member’s embarrassing behavior, we can invite them to join us in offering practical support.

How Can We Help Without Focusing on Another Person’s Shame?

Shem and Yefet’s care in covering their father finds an echo in the halachic teachings about preserving respect for parents and Torah teachers. Following Rambam, Shulchan Aruch rules that a student should not enter a bathhouse with his Torah teacher unless the teacher needs his assistance (Rambam, Hilchot Issurei Biah 21:16; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De’ah 242:16). Rema clarifies that the restrictions concerning one’s teacher and father apply when nakedness is exposed; when the private parts are covered, entering together is permitted.

Why does the Torah repeat that Shem and Yefet’s faces were turned backward? Having already told us that they walked backward, would we not understand that they avoided seeing their father’s nakedness? Rashi explains that even when they came close and needed to turn their bodies to cover him, they kept their faces turned away (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). Their concern for his dignity continued through the act of helping. They did not use their good deed as permission to look. 

Rabbi Ovadia Sforno adds a tender insight: even while covering their father, when turning toward him might have seemed necessary, they avoided looking so that they would not add to their own sorrow (Sforno, Bereishit 9:23). Shem and Yefet attended to his need without unnecessarily taking in a distressing sight. This suggests a delicate balance in human relationships. We need enough understanding to offer appropriate help, but we do not always need to know every painful or embarrassing detail. When a parent, spouse, or friend is struggling, concern can easily become curiosity. Shem and Yefet teach us to ask: What do I need to know to help, and what can I leave respectfully unseen?

Rabbi Moshe Alshich deepens this teaching by asking why the brothers walked backward rather than simply approaching with their eyes closed. He explains that their faces bore the holiness of the Divine image. They did not want even their faces turned toward their father’s nakedness, despite having their eyes shut (Alshich, Bereishit 9:23). Their approach reflected an awareness of the holiness within themselves. We, too, can bring that awareness into moments when another person’s vulnerability is placed before us.

Their restraint protected both their father’s dignity and the holiness of their own encounter with him. Applied to our relationships, perhaps this means that respect involves more than withholding a hurtful comment. It also shapes the way we regard others. We can acknowledge a weakness without allowing it to become the defining image we carry of that person.

What Does Another Person’s Weakness Reveal About Our Own?

The words “they did not see their father’s nakedness” can also teach us about how we perceive another person’s shortcomings. Cham responded to his father’s vulnerability with disgrace rather than care. Shem and Yefet, by contrast, took steps to protect his dignity without dwelling on his shame.

They recognized what needed their attention without making his failing the focus of their gaze.
The Ba’al Shem Tov’s teaching that another person can serve as our mirror invites us to examine our response when we notice a fault. Although this does not necessarily mean that we have committed the same act, we may have a trace of that transgression, or something corresponding to it, within ourselves. For example, witnessing idolatry may call our attention to our own anger, which our Sages compare to idolatry (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 105b). We are shown the failing from Heaven so that we will examine ourselves and do teshuvah (Ba’al Shem Tov al HaTorah, Bereishit §129, citing Rav Yeivi, Tehillim 22).

Yet we must distinguish between seeing a flaw that calls for self-examination and recognizing a need that calls us to help the other person. If our attention centers on judging the person, the encounter calls us to look inward. If our attention centers on what we can do to help, the encounter becomes an opportunity to act. Shem and Yefet understood that their father needed covering; they did not dwell on his disgrace (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 10, pp. 24–29, as presented in “To See or Not To See”).

This gives us a practical question to carry into our relationships: Why am I continuing to think about this person’s weakness? Perhaps there is something within myself that needs attention. Perhaps there is something I can do for them. We need not pretend that the difficulty does not exist. Like Shem and Yefet, we can recognize what needs to be covered and repaired while refusing to make another person’s failing the focus of our gaze.

Can One Act of Respect Become a Legacy for Generations?

The garment that Shem and Yefet carried became more than a covering for one vulnerable father. An act performed quietly within a family can have consequences far beyond what we can imagine. Hashem does not withhold the reward of any creature, even across many generations (Pesikta Zutarta, Bereishit 9:23). Because Shem exerted himself in this mitzvah, his descendants merited the tallit of tzitzit. Yefet’s descendants merited burial, another form of dignified covering (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). The Kli Yakar asks why tzitzit is also a reward for Avraham’s refusal to accept even “a thread or a shoe strap” (Babylonian Talmud, Chullin 89a), when Shem had already earned this reward for his descendants. He explains that Shem’s act earned the garment, while Avraham’s act earned the thread. Before a person can attach tzitzit, Hashem must first provide the garment to which they can be attached (Kli Yakar, Bereishit 9:23).
There is something beautiful in this connection: the garment used to protect a father’s dignity becomes the dignified garment of tzitzit through which his descendants serve Hashem. Covering Noach’s nakedness is also related to the power of tzitzit to guard against forbidden sexual behavior. The covering and its reward both express restraint and the preservation of proper boundaries (Kli Yakar, Bereishit 9:23). We can also understand this as a lesson about the atmosphere we create in our homes. When children see us respond to another person’s embarrassing moment with discretion and practical kindness, they learn how to treat vulnerability. When we resist repeating a humiliating story, offer help discreetly, or preserve respect for a parent despite a painful failing, we pass on a way of relating. We may never know how far that example will travel, but we can choose to leave a legacy of kindness and respect. Whether in a movement class, a family affair, or a moment of another person’s vulnerability, the care we take to honor the Divine image can become a quiet lesson in dignity for generations to come.

Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life - What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

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Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life

What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

Can Close Relationships with Animals Replace Human Relationships? 

Proper relationships between people and animals have come up for me lately. That is, various potential students have wanted to not only enroll in the midrasha with their dog; moreover, they consider their dog an inseparable part of themselves, like a life partner. 

One woman described how her dog comforted her after the loss of both parents at a young age and years of longing for a husband and child. After many years of pain, Jackie entered her life. “This doggie healed my heart and soul in a way no human can imagine,” and she no longer feels the “unhealthy desire for a husband or child.” “When I say ‘we,’ I mean it.” She calls Jackie her ‘baby’ and believes the dog has ‘a certain spark of Jewishness in her soul. She moreover declares, “She is Israeli and Me too,” and she longs to build a Jewish life in Israel with her “baby” Jackie. Another woman described rescuing her dog from a house crowded with 120 dogs. She compared the rescue of “Zoey Bracha” to Moshe Rabbeinu searching for and carrying a lost sheep. She also pointed to a tattoo on the dog that “adds up to 18 – Chai” and described Zoey as her emotional support, complete with a badge and a psychiatrist’s letter. She calls her Zoey a “perfect mooksah dog” because no one can touch her. She explained that the dog could remain in a knapsack or stroller – “Viewing only! no touching” – and she can be left in a bedroom as long as she feels safe. This woman wrote me that she hoped I might have “a change of heart” about allowing her to bring the dog to the midrasha. 

Both women speak from real pain, and caring for a vulnerable animal can be a mitzvah. Yet it saddens me to see how disappointment in human relationships can lead someone to despair of finding human closeness and give an animal the place of a life partner. I also find it deeply troubling when care for animals becomes a substitute for human closeness, or when a dog is spoken of as a child, a spiritual companion, or the other half of “we.” 

Parashat Bereishit brings this question into focus: After Hashem brought the animals before Adam, why was none of them found to be an ezer kenegdo – a fitting companion for him? These are just examples of the many women I come across who make me wonder whether an animal is being given a place in their spiritual and emotional lives that the Torah asks us to reserve for human companionship.

Why Couldn’t an Animal Be Adam’s Companion?

ספר בראשית פרק ב פסוק כ 

וַיִּקְרָא הָאָדָם שֵׁמוֹת לְכָל הַבְּהֵמָה וּלְעוֹף הַשָּׁמַיִם וּלְכֹל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה וּלְאָדָם לֹא מָצָא עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ׃

“Adam gave names to all the cattle, to the birds of the heavens, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam, no ezer kenegdo – fitting companion – was found” (Bereishit 2:20).

Ramban explains that Hashem did not create Chava immediately. First, Adam needed to recognize for himself that among all the other creatures there was no appropriate partner for him. Only after encountering the animals and realizing that none could correspond to him did Adam yearn for a companion of his own kind. Thus, the encounter with the animals was actually part of preparing Adam to recognize his need for human companionship (Ramban, Bereishit 2:20).
This is striking because Adam’s conclusion did not arise from failing to appreciate the animals. On the contrary, he understood them so profoundly that he was able to discern the essential nature of each creature and give it an appropriate name. Yet the more clearly Adam understood the animals, the more clearly he recognized that none of them could be his other half.

Rav Hirsch adds that Adam could find no creature corresponding to him who could share in the great responsibility entrusted to the human being created in Hashem’s image. An animal may offer affection, comfort, loyalty, and even emotional healing, but it cannot stand alongside a person as a fellow bearer of human spiritual and moral responsibility (Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, Bereishit 2:20).

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin notices that through contemplating the various animals and their distinctive qualities, Adam came to recognize the many different middot contained within himself. Yet the companion he needed was not simply someone who would mirror him. A woman would possess complementary middot, and precisely through being different from him – kenegdo – she could become his true other half. Human relationship therefore includes the challenge of encountering another person who does not always think, feel, or respond as we do. According to Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, that very difference can become a source of help and growth (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 2:20). Perhaps this is part of what makes replacing human companionship with an animal so problematic. A relationship with an animal may sometimes feel safer precisely because the animal does not confront us with the same complexity, differences, demands, and reciprocal responsibility as another human being. Yet some of what makes human relationships difficult may be precisely what enables us to grow.

What was the Very First Mistake in the Garden that Caused Humanity’s Downfall?

The Torah’s account of the serpent follows immediately after the creation of Chava as Adam’s unique human companion. Yet the serpent was not content to remain within its proper place in creation: 

בראשית פרק ג  פסוק א וְהַנָּחָשׁ הָיָה עָרוּם מִכֹּל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהִים וַיֹּאמֶר אֶל הָאִשָּׁה אַף כִּי אָמַר אֱלֹהִים לֹא תֹאכְלוּ מִכֹּל עֵץ הַגָּן׃

“Now the serpent was cunning, more than all the beasts of the field that Hashem G-d had made, and it said to the woman, ‘Did G-d indeed say, “You shall not eat of any of the trees of the garden?’” (Bereishit 3:1).

Rashi, citing the Midrash, explains that when the serpent saw Adam and Chava together, it desired Chava (Rashi, Bereishit 3:1; Bereishit Rabbah 18:6). The Midrash goes even further. Hashem rebuked the serpent, “You sought to kill Adam and marry Chava” (Bereishit Rabbah 20:5). Thus, the very animal that could never become a human being’s fitting companion sought to come between the first husband and wife and usurp Adam’s place.

Chava’s first mistake was engaging the serpent in conversation. Rather than leaving the serpent “to bark,” Chava allowed herself to be enticed by it. The serpent then realized that it had an opening: “Now that she has begun speaking with me, I will tempt her.” Rather than remaining a creature under human dominion, the serpent became a voice Chava listened to and responded to. By entering into dialogue with the serpent, Chava opened herself to its influence (Sefer HaPeli’ah, Vayomer el ha’ishah af ki amar Elokim).

The Tikkunei Zohar describes the serpent’s method of communication as particularly deceptive: Its heart was filled with falsehood, while its mouth enticed Chava with words that sounded true (Tikkunei Zohar, Tikkun 59, 93a). This was not merely a conversation about eating a forbidden fruit. Through the serpent, distorted communication entered the most intimate human relationship. The serpent spoke deceptively to Chava; Chava ate and gave the fruit to Adam; and soon afterward Adam, who had just proclaimed Chava “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh,” blamed her before Hashem.

The serpent therefore succeeded, at least temporarily, in what it set out to accomplish: it created conflict between Adam and Chava. The first human relationship, created in perfect unity, became infected with deception, blame, and separation. The consequences of that rupture reach far beyond Gan Eden.

Do We Dare to Repair the Interpersonal Rift Initiated by the Serpent?

We are still living with the consequences of what happened in Gan Eden. The serpent introduced deception and distrust into the first human relationship, and Adam and Chava’s original unity gave way to blame and separation. Rabbi Yeshaya Horowitz teaches that the world has not yet reached the original intention of Creation “until the damage is repaired.” When that tikkun takes place, the darkness will return to light, and the resulting light will be even greater than before the sin (Shelah HaKadosh, Toldot Adam, Beit David). This gives us hope that the rifts originating in Gan Eden are not irreversible. We are challenged to repair our relationships by overcoming the yetzer hara that divides us and learning to communicate honestly, forgive, and reconnect.

What Is the Proper Place for Animals in Human Life?

The Torah assigns animals an important place in human life, but not the place of human beings. When Hashem created humanity, He commanded, “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, and every living creature that moves upon the earth” (Bereishit 1:28). Animals are to be cared for appropriately while serving the purposes for which Hashem created them. Dogs can guard our homes and communities against intruders and danger; cats can help keep snakes, scorpions, mice, and rats away; and countless animals contribute to human life and the balance of creation in their own ways. We can appreciate animals, protect them from suffering, and benefit from their special qualities without confusing their role with the uniquely human relationship.

This brings us full circle to the close relationships with animals with which we began. Animals can comfort us, bring us joy, and awaken our compassion, but they cannot replace the challenging work of human relationships. It may sometimes feel safer to give our heart to an animal than to risk disappointment, misunderstanding, and hurt from another person. Yet perhaps precisely there lies our tikkun (rectification). Rather than allowing painful human relationships to make us retreat from one another, we are called to heal the separation that began in Gan Eden – and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, take risks, and rediscover the human closeness for which we were created.

Parashat V’Zot Habracha: “From the Ships of Zevulun to the Tents of Yissachar” - What is Greater: Learning Torah or Supporting Torah Learning?

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Parashat V’Zot Habracha: “From the Ships of Zevulun to the Tents of Yissachar”

What is Greater: Learning Torah or Supporting Torah Learning?

What Dilemma May We Experience When Dedicating Ourselves Fully to Torah Study?

As a new Ba’alat Teshuva (returnee to Torah), I was told in the yeshiva that all Jews must learn Torah, and then the Arabs will do all our work. This concept never really resonated with me. I hail from a family of very hardworking people. Alongside academic accomplishments, my parents always took pride in working hard physically. My father would fix, paint, build, mow the lawn, and prune the trees. He also engaged in creative projects, such as weaving a beautiful, colorful rug that still adorns my childhood home. My mother kept everything in the house spotless, including every nook and cranny. We children were also put to work from an early age and carried responsibilities according to our abilities.

As I became Torah observant and began learning Torah, statements such as “Torah study is beautiful when combined with a worldly occupation, for the toil of them both keeps sin out of one’s mind” (Pirkei Avot 2:2) naturally resonated with me. Simultaneously, it became clear to me that there are special souls whose primary work is to toil in Torah. To truly excel and make significant Torah contributions to Israel and the world, particularly gifted Torah scholars may need to devote themselves full time to their studies. Throughout Jewish history, families and communities have therefore supported outstanding Torah scholars, enabling them to immerse themselves in Torah. In some families, the most erudite and studious son was sent to yeshiva, while his brothers worked and helped support his Torah learning. This arrangement echoes the ancient partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun, in which one brother devoted himself to Torah while the other provided the material means that made his learning possible.

My husband and I immersed ourselves in Torah learning for seven years to catch up on all the Torah we hadn’t learned during our childhood. Our rabbi told us that it was a mitzvah for us to ask our parents to support us, since by doing so they would receive a share in the merit of our Torah learning. Yet I never felt completely at ease relying on my parents for financial support, since they didn’t live in our Torah world and naturally lacked appreciation for the need to support their adult, able-bodied children. Although I didn’t want to deprive our parents of the opportunity to receive great merit by supporting Torah learning, I always felt torn about accepting their financial support. Is it really such a great mitzvah to support those who study Torah full time?

How Does Financial Support Nourish Torah Scholarship?

The partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun provides a powerful answer to my dilemma. In his final blessing to the tribes, Moshe juxtaposes Zevulun’s going out into the world with Yissachar’s remaining in the tents:

ספר דברים פרק לג פסוקים יח-יט 

וְלִזְבוּלֻן אָמַר שְׂמַח זְבוּלֻן בְּצֵאתֶךָ וְיִשָּׂשכָר בְּאֹהָלֶיךָ... כִּי שֶׁפַע יַמִּים יִינָקוּ וּשְׂפוּנֵי טְמוּנֵי חוֹל:

“And of Zevulun he said: Rejoice, Zevulun, in your going out, and Yissachar, in your tents... for they shall suck the abundance of the seas and the hidden treasures of the sand” (Devarim 33:18–19).

The Torah’s expression כִּי שֶׁפַע יַמִּים יִינָקוּ/ki shefa yamim yinaku – “for they shall suck the abundance of the seas” – is particularly evocative in the context of nourishment. The word יִינָקוּ/yinaku literally means “they shall suck” or “nurse.” Zevulun would draw sustenance from the abundance of the seas through his maritime commerce. Yet this material abundance would ultimately nourish the Torah learning taking place within Yissachar’s tents. In the partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun, Zevulun would dwell by the seacoast, sail forth to conduct business, earn a livelihood, and וְנוֹתֵן לְתוֹךְ פִּיו שֶׁל יִשָּׂשכָר/venoten letoch piv shel Yissachar – “place [his earnings] into Yissachar’s mouth.”  Thus, he enabled Yissachar to become so accomplished in Torah that his scholars served as heads of the Sanhedrin, calculating the calendar and determining the new months (Rashi, Devarim 33:18).

The Midrash further clarifies this interdependence. Zevulun engaged in commerce while Yissachar devoted himself to Torah. “It is a tree of life to those who support it” (Mishlei 3:18) applies to Zevulun, because “Had it not been for Zevulun, Yissachar would not have engaged in Torah.” Freed from the demands of making a living, Yissachar could dedicate himself entirely to Torah and consequently produce outstanding Torah scholars about whom it states יוֹדְעֵי בִינָה לָעִתִּים/yodei binah la’itim – “those who understand the times” (Midrash Tanchuma, Vayechi 11).

We often think of nourishment primarily as sustaining the body. However, the bread placed into Yissachar’s mouth nourished not only his body; it nourished the Torah that emerged from his learning. By providing Yissachar with the physical security and peace of mind necessary to immerse himself in Torah, Zevulun enabled his brother’s spiritual gifts to develop for the benefit of all Israel. In this way, physical sustenance became the vessel for spiritual nourishment.

How Can Material Abundance Become a Vehicle for Spiritual Nourishment?

The partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun goes even deeper than providing the physical conditions necessary for Torah study. The Zohar teaches that each brother shared his portion with the other. Zevulun went out into the world, while Yissachar remained immersed in Torah – “this one gave a portion to the other, and the other gave a portion to this one” (Zohar, Beha’alotcha 150a).

Thus, the flow of nourishment went in both directions. This reciprocal relationship transforms our understanding of material abundance. Money used only for our own benefit remains material wealth. Yet when we direct some of our resources toward enabling Torah learning, our material abundance becomes a vehicle for spiritual nourishment. The livelihood earned through Zevulun’s commerce entered Yissachar’s tent as food and financial support, but Yissachar’s learning transformed it into Torah shared equally with Zevulun – “and the blessing of Torah is the blessing of everything” (Zohar III:150a).

The Radzyner Rebbe reveals an even deeper dimension of Zevulun’s blessing. Drawing on the Zohar and the teachings of the Arizal, he connects Zevulun’s sea with the spiritual “sea” of Knesset Yisrael and with the mystery of techelet, which emerges from the sea. The Zohar teaches that the Sea of Kinneret below corresponds to a spiritual Sea of Kinneret above. Thus, “for they shall suck the abundance of the seas” may suggest more than drawing material prosperity from maritime commerce. The physical abundance flowing from the sea below reflects a higher spiritual current (Ma’amar Ein HaTechelet 3). Seen through this mystical lens, when Zevulun directs his earnings toward sustaining Yissachar’s Torah, they become a conduit for spiritual nourishment.

This sheds new light on the dilemma I struggled with when my husband and I were studying Torah full time. Material support given to a Torah scholar enters the world of Torah and becomes part of the Torah it enables. The supporter is therefore not standing outside the beit midrash merely paying its bills, but becomes a partner in the spiritual nourishment flowing from it. Just as Zevulun’s material shefa was transformed through Yissachar’s Torah, the resources we dedicate to Torah can become vessels through which Hashem’s spiritual abundance flows into the world. In this partnership, physical and spiritual nourishment join together, allowing Hashem’s blessing to flow equally through both.

Why Does the Torah Mention Zevulun Before Yissachar?

We may wonder why Moshe mentions Zevulun first: “Rejoice, Zevulun, in your going out, and Yissachar, in your tents” (Devarim 33:18). After all, Yissachar was born before Zevulun, and Torah learning would seem to deserve precedence over the material support that enables it. Yet both Ya’acov and Moshe bless Zevulun before Yissachar.

The Zohar answers that supporting Torah is portrayed not merely as giving from one’s surplus, but as sharing one’s own bread. Zevulun transformed the fruit of his labor into the nourishment that allowed Yissachar to remain within the tents of Torah. His precedence therefore reflects the extraordinary value Hashem places upon supporting Torah. Zevulun did not merely earn a livelihood alongside Yissachar’s learning; he deliberately directed his hard-earned income toward making that learning possible.

The Zohar goes even further. Because Zevulun sustained those who labored in Torah, he merited blessings both in this world and in the World-to-Come. While Yissachar devoted himself to the “table” of Torah, Zevulun was blessed with “two tables” – material blessing below as well as spiritual reward above. His physical work became elevated and bound to the Torah he sustained (Zohar I:242a). 

The Kedushat Yom Tov raises a profound question: can the one who enables Torah learning in some sense receive precedence over the one who actually learns? Yet he challenges this possibility with the Talmudic teaching, “Great is Torah study, for it leads to action” (Kiddushin 40b). Perhaps Zevulun’s precedence teaches us that spiritual nourishment does not appear in the world without vessels to sustain it. Before Yissachar can remain in his tent and immerse himself in Torah, someone must place bread into his mouth. The bread is not the ultimate purpose – the Torah is – yet the Torah cannot flourish if the physical needs of those who learn it are neglected. By mentioning Zevulun first, the Torah honors the person who willingly transforms his own physical nourishment into nourishment for another person’s Torah. 

Why Do Material Blessings at Times Precede Spiritual Blessings?

Does Zevulun’s primacy indicate that material pursuits are ultimately worthier than Torah? Imrei Shammai points out a fascinating distinction. In Moshe’s blessings, Zevulun precedes Yissachar, whereas in the arrangement of the tribal banners, Yissachar precedes Zevulun. He explains that a blessing concerns the flow of shefa. Since Zevulun receives material abundance and channels it toward sustaining Yissachar’s Torah, the material shefa must first flow to Zevulun before it can enable the spiritual flow emerging from Yissachar’s Torah. When it comes to the essential spiritual order, Yissachar takes precedence because Torah remains the ultimate purpose (Imrei Shammai, Devarim 488).

This relationship is encapsulated in the well-known teaching “If there is no flour, there is no Torah” (Pirkei Avot 3:17). Flour comes first not because it is more important than Torah, but because the body must be nourished before it can become a vessel for the soul. We need bread, shelter, clothing, livelihood, and sufficient peace of mind to devote ourselves to higher spiritual pursuits. This insight illuminates Moshe’s final blessings. As he prepares to leave this world, Moshe blesses the tribes not only with spiritual greatness, but with the tangible nourishment of this earth – the dew of heaven, the waters of the deep, produce ripened by the sun, the abundance of the seas, bread, oil, grain, and wine. The Torah does not ask us to escape the physical world in pursuit of the spiritual. Rather, it teaches us to receive Hashem’s physical blessings with gratitude and elevate them by directing them toward His service.

As we complete the yearly Torah reading cycle, we are taught that physical and spiritual nourishment were never meant to be separate worlds. The food we eat, the livelihood we earn, and the abundance with which Hashem blesses us can all become vessels for Torah. Zevulun’s ships and Yissachar’s tents ultimately serve one purpose: bringing more Torah and Hashem’s presence into the world. May we merit to receive Hashem’s abundance with gratitude and share it generously. In this way, the physical blessings of this world can become vessels for the greatest nourishment of all – the Torah that gives life to Israel and carries Hashem’s blessing into the entire world.