This week in Matot-Masei, our portion begins with a very interesting sentence.
וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־רָאשֵׁ֣י הַמַּטּ֔וֹת לִבְנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר זֶ֣ה הַדָּבָ֔ר אֲשֶׁ֖ר צִוָּ֥ה יְהֹוָֽה׃
Now Moshe spoke to the heads of the tribes of the Children of Israel, saying…
The key word here is “leimor.” Saying.
Our rabbis considered it a gentler and softer word than “vayedabeir” which is commonly used to address the leaders of the people. The lesson is that when speaking to leaders, “vayedabeir” is a clear expression, yes, but “leimor” is an approach with rachmones and kindness, deeply held values of Judaism.
Rabbi Shlomo Freifeld was a beloved teacher and founder of the Sh’or Yashuv yeshiva in Far Rockaway. He was known for his gentleness, he would lead his students, these small children, by the hand through snow and rain, and he always had a kind word when they entered the school.
One day, a bachur (male student) entered the yeshiva and…didn’t speak so kindly to Rav Freifeld. He was rough and brusque.
Three years later, Rav Freifeld confronted the young man and said, “You know, three years ago, you weren’t so kavodike about greeting me.”
The young man was taken aback and instantly remorseful, “Rabbi, I’m so sorry! But why did you wait for three whole years to tell me this!”
“First, I needed you to know that I loved you. Then I could reprimand you.”
With patience and kindness came wisdom, understanding, respect, and care.
In another example of patience, we have the holy brothers Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk and Rabbi Zushe of Anipoli. It is said that when they became aware of someone who needed to learn such a lesson, they would not confront them but would instead have a conversation within earshot of that person.
One of the brothers would “confess” to the other that he had committed the particular sin that they knew the listener had committed. The other would then direct him to do teshuvah (repent) for that sin. The person who “overheard” the conversation would then be able to apply this advice to himself without the embarrassment and pressure of confrontation.
Maybe this worked, maybe it didn’t, but it was worth a shot.
Another example. When chastising Miriam and Aaron for gossiping against their brother Moses, even God modulated, saying, “וַיֹּ֖אמֶר שִׁמְעוּ־נָ֣א דְבָרָ֑י” “Please, hear my words…”
Rashi notes that, “na” is always a word of entreaty. The Siftei Chachamim, a commentary on Rashi’s commentary, explains that even though God was angry at Miriam and Aaron, God still spoke to them in a soft tone — if it had been a harsh and angry tone, they might not have heeded these words.
Finally, a midrash on Psalm 72 from the Yalkut Shimoni, a collection of midrashim from the 11th to the 14th centuries:
A man left a will that specified “My son will not be able to inherit my estate until he becomes a shoteh.” In other words, a fool. The son went to Rabbi Yosi and asked him what this meant. “I am not a shoteh and I am not going to become a shoteh. What nonsense is this? What does my father want from me?”
Rabbi Yosi couldn’t say exactly. “Give me some time to consider this.” And consider he did. And consider some more. What could the father have meant by this?
Stumped, Rabbi Yosi decided to seek counsel from Rabbi Yehoshua. Surely such a wise man would be able to parse this demand, right?
He went to Rabbi Yehoshua’s house, and as he passed the front window, he saw the great Rabbi crawling on his hands and knees with a pacifier in his mouth. What on earth was going on?
I bet some of you parents remember doing things like this. He was crawling after his young son, laughing and playing on his son’s level. Rabbi Yosi stood in shock, embarrassed to see the wise man in such a state. He didn’t know what to do.
But Rabbi Yehoshua noticed him outside and called him into the house. Chagrined, Rabbi Yosi entered and cut right to the chase. “I have a will that I don’t understand.”
Rabbi Yehoshua read it over and said, “First, a question. Is this son married?”
“No, he is not.”
“Does he plan to get married?”
“I do not believe so, no.”
Rabbi Yehoshua smiled. “Now I can explain the will to you.”
As he reasoned it, this son did not want to get married because he did not want the burden of raising children. Rabbi Yehoshua asked, “Do you know what it takes to raise children? Sometimes, one must have the patience to act like a shoteh. Foolish. Getting on our hands and knees. Playing dress-up and pretend….and not worrying about what anyone else thinks when they’re looking in a window.”
Rabbi Yosi had the good grace to look sheepish. And Rabbi Yehoshua laughed kindly. “Sometimes, sometimes, one must have the wisdom to look foolish. Or at least the wisdom to recognize our foolishness.”
How often do we resort to scolding when we might all be better served by a pause, reflection, and patience in trying to understand what someone has done? How often could we let go of our own ego, our own anger and confusion, our own assumptions, and simply ask, “Why? Why did you do this? I want to understand.”
Tonight, we enter the month of Av — called “Menachem Av” — which literally means “Father Consoler” during these weeks of mourning approaching the 9th of Av.
As we do so, let us resolve to lower our voices, reach out with kindness and patience, and try to understand.
Click here to watch this sermon.