Specialization in Life and in Education

by Rav Reuven Spolter

Somehow, with all the conveniences of modern technology, life doesn't seem more convenient. We feel pulled in ever-more directions, with ever-more responsibilities, obligations, concerns and interests. While these pulls can often be destructive, they offer an almost unlimited array of opportunities as well. Do you like guitar? Today you can teach yourself to play any instrument using YouTube or a number of apps on your phone. Interested in botany, or knitting, or Israel advocacy, or basically anything else you can possibly imagine? There's a website, email list, podcast and Facebook group dedicated to exactly your interest. An almost unlimited number of Torah shiurim and resources span every possible skill level on topics from Tanach to Talmud to Tefillah and every sub-topic in-between. It's all really interesting.

In the worst-case scenario, we ignore this potpourri of possibilities, perhaps perplexed by their scale and breadth. Rather than diving head-first into something, we escape from it all to the safety of the also unlimited spectrum of time-wasting options at our fingertips. Surely that is an trap into which we all fall from time to time. But we also engage in the positives as well, learning a new subject, studying this or that; trying a new class or a hobby. We find ourselves dabbling – a bit of this, something of that, without really specializing in any one area or interest. Today, the world presents with an infinite array of options ready for the taking, making each of us dabblers in everything, but masters of none.

In his commentary on Gemara Berachot, Rav Kook writes that while a little knowledge in many areas represents one possible path, it is certainly not ideal. The Gemara in Berachot (39b) in the context of making Berachot on bread, mentions an interesting fact about how Rav Ami and Rav Asi chose which bread to use for their Seudat Shabbat.

רב אמי ורב אסי כי הוה מתרמי להו ריפתא דערובא מברכין עליה המוציא לחם מן הארץ אמרי הואיל ואתעביד ביה מצוה חדא נעביד ביה מצוה אחריתי (ברכות לט ע"ב)

"Rav Ami and Rav Asi, when the opportunity to use the bread of the eiruv in the Shabbat meal would present itself, they would recite: "Who brings forth bread from the earth" over it. They said in explanation: Since one mitzvah was performed with it, we will perform another mitzvah with it."

Rav Kook (Ein Ayah Berachot vol. 2 p. 12) sees in this passage an important message about specialization. He writes that in our pursuits throughout life we can choose one of two general paths: Completion through Quantity (sheleimut b’kamut) and Completion through Quality (sheleimut b’eichut).

השלימות בכמות היא שירבה נמצאים מושלמים אע"פ שבכ"א לא יהי' כ"א השלמה מועטת...והאיכות היא שישתדל שמי שראוי מהנמצאים לקבל השלימות ישלימהו כפי האפשרי ברב יתרון, ומהשלמה של אחד בתכלית המעלה ימשך טוב לרבים.

“Completion through quantity Is that a person will increase his areas of completeness even though in each area he will only realize a small measure of completion…[Completion through] quality refers to the effort to focus on the most worthy of attributes to strive for completion – in that area he will achieve fulfillment to the greatest possible degree…”

In other words, we can strive to improve a small amount in many different areas or we can ignore most areas of study and choose to focus our efforts and energies on one specific area or endeavor, striving to be the very best we can be in that one discipline. Which then is better: quantity or quality? Should I strive to be a “jack of all trades” or a “master of one”? To Rav Kook, the answer is clear: Quality over quantity.

והוא כלל גדול ג"כ בכל חכמה ומלאכה, כי שלימות העולם בכללו תבא מריבוי בקיאים כ"א במקצע מיוחד בתכלית המעלה, ולא ממי שסופג הכל רק בדרך שיטחי, כי ההשלמה האיכותית גדולה היא בערכה על ההשלמה הכמותית.

"This is also a great rule in all areas of wisdom and work; the completion of the entire world will come from a growing number of experts who have achieved the greatest possible excellence in their specific fields, and not from one who absorbs everything in a superficial manner. For completeness in quality is greater in value than completeness in quantity."

Rav Kook views this matter from an educational perspective as well, noting that educators should focus their efforts specifically on students capable of reaching great heights.

וזוהי הדרך המשובחת שכוננו חכמינו ז"ל להעמיד תלמידים הרבה ולהגדיל תורה בחוג המוסגלים לקבלה ולא לפזר כוחינו בין בתי כנסיות של עמי הארץ. וכן בכללו ישראל, להרבות עצמה בתורה ויראת ד', ולא לנוד להאיר עמי הארץ וגוים רבים באור ד' בדרך מועט שיכולין לקבל. כי מריבוי האור שיזרח בשלמים הגמורים יאיר אור גדול ג"כ על שאינם שלמים, אבל בהשתדלות לפזר הכוחות על הרבה נושאים, וכ"א לא יהי' שלם בתכלית, לא יבא לעולם אל מטרה נכונה.

"[Completeness of Quality] is the praised path established by the Sages who said to 'Establish many students' (Avot 1:1) and exalt the Torah among those who are capable of receiving it, and not to disperse our energies among the synagogues and simple people…for the greatness of the light that spreads from individuals that are whole and complete will shine on those that are less complete. On the other hand, the effort to disperse our energies in many areas so that we achieve wholeness in any one area will not bring us to the correct goal. "

Rav Kook's comments must carry great weight as we evaluate our own choices and priorities in life. Are we specialists in a single area, focusing our light and energy to become experts who can shine the greatest possible focused light? Or do we dabble, dispersing ourselves in different directions, but failing to create much light at all?

In education, society has clearly chosen to reject Rav Kook's priorities. In our community, we don't focus only on the diamonds who can achieve greatness. Instead we strive to reach each and every child. The Chareidi community makes a different choice, gearing its educational system specifically towards those who can thrive and achieve greatness. Each system has benefits, but also brings great costs as well. It is incumbent upon our community to at least wonder what costs we pay for rejecting Rav Kook's position by choosing a different educational path.

Early-Childhood Education in the Sukkah

From a parental perspective, Sukkot represents one of the "easier" holidays. It's not that difficult to excite our children about Sukkot. After all, Sukkot in and of itself is exciting. Our children participate in the building of the Sukkah. We hang the decorations that they painstakingly create. Some families even laminate their children's artwork and save it from year to year. And of course we cannot forget the many meters of chains that our children build and hang as Sukkah adornments.

Yet, from a halachic perspective, we must wonder: Is there an obligation to ensure that our children sit in the Sukkah? Is Sukkot similar to Pesach, where education plays a primary role in the Seder? Or, is it like other holidays, where we want our children to grow into devoted Jewish adults, but their presence is not a fundamental aspect of the chag, and they sit in the Sukkah for educational purposes only?

The answer to this question lies in the curious language we find in a fascinating Mishnah in Sukkah. In the Mishnah (Sukkah 2:8) we find a seemingly curious contradiction and an interesting story.

 נשים ועבדים וקטנים, פטורים מן הסוכה. קטן שאינו צריך לאמו, חייב בסוכה. מעשה וילדה כלתו של שמאי הזקן ופיחת את המעזיבה וסכך על גבי המטה בשביל הקטן. 

Women, slaves and minors are free from the obligation of sukkah, but a minor who is not dependent on his mother is bound by the law of sukkah. It once happened that the daughter-in-law of Shammai the Elder gave birth to a child and he broke away the plaster of the roof and put sukkah-covering over the bed for the sake of the child. 

The first section of the Mishnah seems self-contradictory: At first glance the Mishnah seems to exempt minors (children) from sitting in the Sukkah – as we would expect. Women and slaves are exempt because sitting in the Sukkah is a מצות עשה שהזמן גרמא – a positive time-bound commandment – from which women are exempted. Minors are exempted from all mitzvot, including the commandment to sit in the Sukkah. But then the Mishnah teaches us that, "a minor who is not dependent on his mother is bound by the law of Sukkah."

 The Gemara (Sukkah 28a) offers a proof from a verse to prove that children are obligated to sit in the Sukkah, based on the verse,

בסכת תשבו שבעת ימים כל האזרח בישראל ישבו בסכת -ויקרא כג:מב 

You shall dwell in Sukkot for seven days; all of the citizens in Israel shall dwell in Sukkot (Vayikra 23:42) 

The Gemara quotes a Baraita that teaches us that the word כל – "all" – specifically teaches that children are included in the obligation to sit in the Sukkah. Later, the Gemara (28b) wonders how this is possible. After all, aren't children exempt from all Torah commandments? Why do the Mishnah and the Beraita seem to suggest that the Torah actually obligated children to sit in the Sukkah?

The Gemara concludes that indeed, the obligation to sit in the Sukkah is in fact, only a derabannan – a rabbinic obligation – placed upon a קטן השגיע לחינוך – a child who has reached the age of education. The Mishnah does not introduce a fundamental obligation. Rather, it is only teaching us that we must bring out children out into the Sukkah in order to educate them so that they properly fulfill the mitzvah when they reach maturity.

Yet, the language of both the Mishnah and the Beraita don't seem to be addressing only an "educational" obligation. Rather, they seem to suggest that a child has a fundamental obligation from the Torah to dwell in a Sukkah. Moreover, the story about Shammai seems strange: why would Shammai break the roof over an infant to ensure that the child slept in a kosher Sukkah? What possible educational benefit can there be for a tiny baby?

Based on these questions as well as other evidence, Professor Yitzchak Gilat (see Perakim B'hishtalshelut Hahalachah p. 23) suggests that in the times of the Mishnah it was widely accepted that a child who had reached the age of education was considered fully obligated in a number of time-bound commandments, including fasting on Yom Kippur, the donning of Tefillin, and the obligation to sit in the Sukkah. He also suggests that during that era, there was no set age of adulthood. Rather, every child became an adult at a different age, based on that child's unique biological development. Centuries later, during the Talmudic era, Chazal sought to standardize the age of adulthood at the now familiar twelve for girls and thirteen for boys.

Professor Gilat's theory raises interesting questions: How could the Tanaim feel that children – even young children – are obligated to perform mitzvot they did not fully understand? When Shammai ensured that his infant grandson slept in a Sukkah, who actually fulfilled the mitzvah? Can an infant even be "commanded"?

Halachically, we follow the conclusion of the Gemara: Children are not obligated to sit in the Sukkah or perform any other mitzvah on a Torah level (see Peninei Halachah Sukkot 3:12). We teach them due to the obligation of chinuch – the need to educate them now for when they grow older. Yet, when we think about it, our behavior, outlook and actions follow the teaching of the Tanaim. We don’t think about our children's mitzvot as educational; we treat them as if they themselves are obligated to perform the mitzvah. We don’t just "teach" our children to sit in the Sukkah; we expect them to do so, just as we do.

When we look a bit deeper, it seems that we educate our children to much more than just making decorations and Sukkah chains. As we train our children to fulfill mitzvot from a very early age, we continue the tradition that the Tanaim established so many years ago.

An Exhibit of Haggadot in Jerusalem: Our National Past and Future

By Rabbi Reuven Spolter
Judaic Studies Lecturer

If you suddenly found yourself stuck on in a foreign country and a business trip with Pesach approaching, what would you do? You'd probably seek out the local Chabad, and that would be that. But what if you lived hundreds of years ago, before Chabad? Aside from the basic needs of matzah, wine and maror, where would you find a Haggadah to celebrate the night of the Seder? This isn't a new problem at all. In fact, Jews throughout history found themselves in need of a copy of the Hagadah text for family use. While most communities could rely on the communal Siddur for prayer in shul, we conduct the Seder home, necessitating a copy of the text available to every household. This resulted in an unusual plethora of texts of the Haggadah, offering a fascinating view of Jewish history though these amazing book.

A Facebook post from my friend Dr. Yoel Finkelman (whose ridiculously cool job involves buying historical Jewish artifacts for the Library) shared information about a new exhibit at the National Library of Israel (neatly tucked into the Hebrew University Campus in Jerusalem) displaying a series of handwritten Haggadot that span some eight-hundred years of history. Rena and I decided last Friday to visit, and we were quite glad that we went. When we first got there, the room was locked (I guess no one had asked to get in. But, to our pleasant surprise, the librarian on duty was great; she found the person who had the authority to tell the security guard to open the exhibit space, and we were in. She also gave us a nifty full color guide of the exhibit, bookmarks, a brochure about the library and its 1960s exhibit upstairs (which we went to see), and even emailed me a virtual tour of the Hebrew U. campus! The space of the exhibit is actually a small room which you can peruse slowly in half an hour. And, in truth, you can see pictures of the Haggadot on the exhibition website, which is well done. Nonetheless, in person you can better see the little hand-written drawings that were drawn usually by artists, but sometimes by an amateur, which add much color and character to each Haggadah. Even more importantly, there is something incredibly powerful about being in a room with Haggadot that were hand-written literally around the world over the course of centuries, from the Cairo Geniza all the way to a 1942 hand-written personal Haggadah written in Mozambique by a family fleeing from Belgium during the Holocaust. While we couldn't actually touch them, their physical presence conveyed a tangible sense of living history.

The Really Nifty Exhibit Brochure - for Absolutely Free!

If the Hagaddah is the story of Jewish redemption, the story of these books is the tale of our national travails around the world, as the People of Israel fled from way station to way station, searching for peace and stability, while yearning truly to reach the final destination of our exile in the Land of Israel.  At every stop we celebrated our past and future redemption. And if we lacked a text, we either hired a professional or wrote one ourselves by hand. Looking at this small collection of books, I couldn't help but think of them as clues in a centuries-long search for Home. Standing over the display cases in that tiny room in Jerusalem, I found myself feeling a sense of closure: these books, that had for so long guided our people on a path towards Redemption, had finally made their way to the rebuilt State of Israel. As they rest in the National Library of the Jewish State, they remind us not only of the many places and eras that came before us. They also remind us of the many centuries of yearning and prayer - of reciting the blessing at the conclusion of Maggid of which begins with the words, אשר גאלנו וגאל את אבותנו - "that God has redeemed us and our forefathers"...but then adds, "כֵּן ה' אֱלהֵינוּ וֵאלהֵי אֲבותֵינוּ יַגִּיעֵנוּ לְמועֲדִים וְלִרְגָלִים אֲחֵרִים הַבָּאִים לִקְרָאתֵנוּ לְשָׁלום, שְׂמֵחִים בְּבִנְיַן עִירֶךָ וְשָׂשִׂים בַּעֲבודָתֶךָ" - "So too Lord our God and the God of our fathers shall bring us to additional holidays and festivals that will come upon us in peace, joyous about the building of Your city and rejoicing in Your worship..." This blessing was recited over the Haggadot in the exhibit and many thousands like them around a table of Jews - sometimes small, sometimes large - who actually can ever know - but those families throughout the ages always expressed a yearning and a hope for a future of Redemption, rebuilding and renewal. While the individuals around those tables may not be here, their Haggadot remind us that their dreams and prayers and yearning propelled our people to rebuild, reconnect and renew. We have yet to arrive at the realization of the final stage of the blessing: וְנאכַל שָׁם מִן הַזְּבָחִים וּמִן הַפְּסָחִים אֲשֶׁר יַגִּיעַ דָּמָם עַל קִיר מִזְבַּחֲךָ לְרָצון - "and we will eat there from the offerings and the Paschal lambs whose blood reached the walls of your altar according to your desire..." Not yet at least. Still, hidden in those Haggadot is the reassurance and the knowledge that the Jewish Nation will fully realize the truth of the Haggadah, if not this year, then Next Year in Jerusalem.

Raising Religious Zionist Children: A Question of Education

Rabbi Reuven Spolter
Judaic Studies Instructor

So much of what takes place in the Jewish world revolves around education – or the lack thereof. The recent controversy surrounding the "Hilltop Youth" is to me, first and foremost, an education issue. Somehow, teachers, rabbis and educators failed to reach these young people before they abandoned home and school for the "freedom" of the hilltop. At the same time, the growing alienation between Israel and America also relates to education and a failure to properly communicate critical values through both parenting, but also our educational system.

Nowhere does education play a more significant role in the Torah than in the story of the exile and subsequent redemption from Egypt. God tells Moshe explicitly that education must play an essential role in the process of the Redemption and the formation of the Jewish Nation. God tells Moshe that He has hardened Par'oh's heart,

וּלְמַעַן תְּסַפֵּר בְּאָזְנֵי בִנְךָ וּבֶן-בִּנְךָ, אֵת אֲשֶׁר הִתְעַלַּלְתִּי בְּמִצְרַיִם, וְאֶת-אֹתֹתַי, אֲשֶׁר-שַׂמְתִּי בָם; וִידַעְתֶּם, כִּי-אֲנִי ה'. (שמות י', ב')

So that you will tell in the ears of your son and your grandson what I have wrought upon Egypt, and My signs which I have placed upon them; so that you may know that I am the LORD.' (Shemot 10:2)

We are also commanded to teach our children about the story of the Exodus on the night of Pesach – the ultimate educational experience.

But what happens when education is missing? What happens when parents and teachers don't provide the education that our children need and deserve? To answer this question, I share a novel answer to a classic question from the beginning of Sefer Shemot.

At the outset of Shemot, we learn that a new ruler arose to lead Egypt, אשר לא ידע את יוסף – "who did not know Yosef." (Shemot 1:8) This raises the obvious question: How could it be possible for a ruler to arise over Egypt who had never heard of the man who single-handedly saved not only their country, but the entire region from starvation? Rashi suggests that, "he made himself as if he did not know Yosef" – meaning that, like so many world leaders that followed throughout history, Par'oh chose to ignore the past in his desire to persecute the Jews. Yet, that's not the simple meaning of the words. Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor explains simply that he neither "recognized him, nor knew of him." This of course only begs the question: How is this possible?

I found a very simple, compelling answer in a commentary on Chumash called “Meir Einei Yesharim” written by Rabbi Meir Schwartzman, who served for many years as a rabbi and dayyan in Winnipeg, Canada. (You can download the full Sefer on Hebrewbooks.org here.) He explains that it is indeed possible that the new king never heard of Joseph. How is this possible? He suggests that a new Pharaoh would never have heard of Joseph because a previous government erased any memory of Joseph’s existence. Rabbi Schwartzman writes,

When a new party succeeds in wrestling the bridle of government from a rival faction...then it removes from their positions all of those officials that were appointed from the previous government and it appoints only those officials who it trusts to fulfill its demands, and all the laws that were enacted by the previous ministers and legislators are annulled...and even the textbooks in the schools are switched...so that the students do not learn the story of the greatness of this hero or that warrior…
When Marshall [Jozef] Pidulski was exiled from the Polish government (1923-1926), his adversaries removed his picture from the official schoolbooks... and when Hitler arose at the helm of Germany, they revised and printed new school books and encyclopedias... so that in an instant someone who had been a hero and redeemer was transformed into a rebel against his people and country - a liar and a traitor... those who could not be tainted were totally erased from the historical record, as if they had never been born...
This, I believe, is what happened in Egypt. Even though a new king arose over Egypt, nonetheless he did not know of Joseph and had never even heard of him, for the enemies of Pharaoh who ruled when Joseph was young later took control of the government into their hands...and the entire story of Joseph’s greatness and how he saved the nation from famine, all of which was undoubtedly found in the national record... all of this was hidden or intentionally destroyed.

According to Rav Schwartzman, Par'oh never heard of Yosef because a previous government erased him from Egyptian history. How could Egyptian children know about a man if they were never taught? By that very same token, is it really that surprising to see Arabs refuse to acknowledge Israel's right to exist when Jewish history has been erased from their school curriculum?

Here in Israel, Religious Zionist parents assume that our children will not only assimilate our passion for the Land, but that they will also acquire our love for the State – the government and the rule of law – with all of its warts. Yet, the "Hilltop Youth" are teaching us that while we might be channeling our religious fervor to our kids, for some of them, we are failing to communicate the values of democracy, equality and freedom for all crucial to civil society.

By that very same token, while we might believe strongly in the importance of Eretz Yisrael, I am beginning to think that we don’t teach that passion properly, in a source-based manner, especially in the Diaspora where Zionism and Religious Zionism are often not properly emphasized or valued. I remember a number of conversations with parents who sent their children to non-Zionist yeshivot, and then expressed surprise and disappointment when those children returned home with values that did not include a love for the Jewish State. I would often caution parents: "Don’t send your children to a school and expect them not to absorb the school's ideology." It seems so simple and obvious. And yet, so many parents make this very mistake.

In the end, it boils down to education. If it's important enough, we teach it to our children, with love, patience and clarity. If not, we should not be surprised when we recognize that they lack the passion and love for Israel that we hold so dear.

Perfection: Thoughts on the Yamim Noraim

Way back when I was in the rabbinate, someone emailed me the description of the perfect rabbi:

The results of a computerized survey indicate the perfect Rabbi preaches exactly fifteen minutes. He condemns sins but never upsets anyone. He works from 8:00 AM until midnight and is also a janitor. He makes $50 a week, wears good clothes, buys good books, drives a good car, and gives about $50 weekly to the poor. He is 28 years old and has preached 30 years. He has a burning desire to work with teenagers and spends all of his time with senior citizens. The perfect Rabbi smiles all the time with a straight face because he has a sense of humor that keeps him seriously dedicated to his work. He makes 15 calls daily on congregation families, shut-ins and the hospitalized, and is always in his office when needed.

You get the point: there's no such thing as a perfect rabbi, as much as there is a perfect teacher, lawyer, doctor or mother. Yet, ever since the first blast of the Shofar in shul last week, I've been thinking about perfectionism and the delicate balance between the dangers of perfectionism on one hand, and our concurrent need to strive for perfection.

Being a perfectionist can be extremely destructive. A perfectionist by definition is never happy. Because achieving perfection is literally impossible, one's work is never really good enough. Actually, it's never really good at all. And since it's not going to be "good" (i.e. perfect), often the perfectionist won't even bother starting a project or endeavor at all. After all, what's the point of working on something that you know will fail?

And yet, for all the dangers of perfectionism, that seems to be precisely the demand that Judaism places upon us during the Yamim Noraim. Rambam writes,

ומה היא התשובה--הוא שיעזוב החוטא חטאו, ויסירנו ממחשבתו ויגמור בליבו שלא יעשהו עוד, שנאמר "יעזוב רשע דרכו, ואיש אוון מחשבותיו" (ישעיהו נה,ז).  וכן יתנחם על שעבר, שנאמר "כי אחרי שובי, ניחמתי, ואחרי היוודעי, ספקתי על ירך" (ירמיהו לא,יח); ויעיד עליו יודע תעלומות שלא ישוב לזה החטא לעולם, שנאמר "ולא נאמר עוד אלוהינו, למעשה ידינו--אשר בך, ירוחם יתום" (הושע יד,ד).  וצריך להתוודות בשפתיו, ולומר עניינות אלו שגמר בליבו.  - הלכות תשובה ב', ג

What constitutes Teshuvah? That a sinner should abandon his sins and remove them from his thoughts, resolving in his heart, never to commit them again as [Isaiah 55:7] states "May the wicked abandon his ways...." Similarly, he must regret the past as [Jeremiah 31:18] states: "After I returned, I regretted." He must reach the level where] He who knows the hidden will testify concerning him that he will never return to this sin again as [Hoshea 14:4] states: "We will no longer say to the work of our hands: `You are our gods.'" He must verbally confess and state these matters which he resolved in his heart.

Each year, as I review these important halachot, I stop on that line from Rambam: He must reach the level where] He who knows the hidden will testify concerning him that he will never return to this sin again. Really? Never again? Can I really testify before God that I'll never revert to my past sins; that I'll never slip up? That I won't fall prey to my evil inclination, and commit a sin from my past?
Is not the obligation to "never return to this sin again" a demand for perfection? Never doesn't mean "try not to" or "promises not to" – it means never. Ever. Perfection.

Like many questions, I'm not sure that there's one good answer to this question. This year, I have come to understand that Rambam's formulation demanding a commitment to perfection represents a core aspect of Yamim Noraim that we, as imperfect beings, must confront at least once a year.

On Yom Kippur, the spiritual high point of the year, we emulate the angels. For one day, we eschew our physical selves; our hunger, sexuality, work and leisure, and spend this one day basking in the glory of God. We are, as much as we can possibly be, spiritual. At the same time, we recognize that this yearning is impossible.
That, in a nutshell, is the human condition: the desire for perfection, combined with the knowledge that it is something we will never achieve. During the rest of the year, we take refuge in our humanity, excusing our mistakes and shortcomings. But for one day, we expect perfection of ourselves, and that expectation propels us to improve, repent, return and transform ourselves into better, more perfect people.

There's a famous custom mentioned by the Rema (Orech Chayyim 583:2):

יש המדקדקים שלא לאכול אגוזים שאגוז בגימטריא חטא

There are those who are meticulous not to eat nuts [on Rosh Hashanah] for the gematria (numerical equivalent) of (the Hebrew word) "egoz" (nut) equals "cheit" (sin).

There's only one problem with this custom – or at least the explanation for it: the math is off. The words are not equal. Egoz (אגוז) is 1+3+6+7=17. Cheit (חטא) is 8+9+1=18. They're not even equal to each other!

Maybe that's precisely the point. Sin represents the definition of imperfection. Through our shortcomings, we demonstrate just how incomplete we truly are. In this simple custom, we refrain from eating nuts, to remind us of this exact point – that we are not perfect, and have much to strive for during the Ten Days leading up to Yom Kippur.

Sukkot 5775: Modern Day Clouds of Glory

by Rabbi Reuven Spolter, Judaic Studies Lecturer

For those of us living in the South (I live in Yad Binyamin, almost 40km from Gaza. Ashdod, Ashkelon and Be'er Sheva had it much worse, to say nothing of Otef Aza), this summer was the summer without a vacation. Everyone I know entered into the school year feeling that now that the summer had ended they need a vacation – and rightfully so. In fact, many schools in the south have given the students off during the "gesher" – the bridge days between Yom Kippur and Sukkot, in order to give them a little time to breathe after such a trying summer.
Yet, the past summer's experience enriches and deepens our understanding for and appreciation of the mitzvah of ישיבה בסוכה – dwelling in a Sukkah.
The Gemara (Sukkah 11b) famously offers two explanations for the commandment to dwell in the Sukkah.

תניא כי בסכות הושבתי את בני ישראל: ענני כבוד היו דברי רבי אליעזר, רבי עקיבא אומר סוכות ממש עשו להם

It was taught, “That I settled the Jews in booths.” Rabbi Eliezer said that this refers to the Clouds of Glory. Rabbi Akiva said the Jews made actual booths for themselves.

While we can readily understand Rabbi Eliezer's position, and the need to commemorate and celebrate the miraculous Clouds of Glory that protected the nation in the desert, Rabbi Akiva's position seems curious. Why would we commemorate the fact that the people lived in booths that they themselves had built?
Rabbeinu Bachya explains that according to Rabbi Akiva we commemorate the fact that the Children of Israel dwelled in man-made booths to remind us that despite their efforts, their survival nonetheless required supernatural protection.

דעת האומר סכות ממש עשו להם, מפני זה נצטוינו לעשות סכות דוגמתן כדי שיתגלה ויתפרסם מתוך מצות הסכות גודל מעלתן של ישראל במדבר שהיו הולכים עם כובד האנשים והנשים והטף במקום ההוא אשר אין בטבע האדם לחיות בו...כי שם באותו מקום הכנתי להם כל צרכם ולא חסרו דבר

According to the opinion that says that the Jews made actual booths for themselves, we are commanded to make booths like those, to publicize the greatly elevated state of existence which the Jews enjoyed in the desert. They traveled in the desert with masses of men, women, and children in a place where it is not the nature of man to live … Even in that place, God prepared for them all of their needs and they lacked nothing.

The houses they built for themselves were not enough. They still needed God's help and protection to survive and thrive in the dangerous desert habitat. This lesson is especially relevant for the residents of the Jewish State, following the challenging, but miraculous summer we recently endured.
This summer, we discovered yet again that the homes we normally associate with safety and protection do not suffice. We required – and continue to require – an added level of protection, and I refer even to those of us who have a Safe Room that we ran to at the sound of the siren. This year, when we sit in the Sukkah under the open sky, we will not only immediately recognize our frailty and fragility. Rather, we'll also think back to the summer and remember how, even when sitting in our regular homes, we recognized that we were not in fact safe. We needed more protection – and thankfully, received it as well, as the Jewish people benefited from miraculous (from the root word "miracle") divine protection over the course of the summer. Nothing less than miraculous.
The same can be said of our own "Clouds of Glory".
Over the course of the summer, I tried to maintain my regular routine, including my regular runs around Yad Binyamin. Sometimes I run on the path that circles the yishuv, while usually I enjoy running along roads and paths through the local community and the local fields. Looking back, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.
On one particularly clear Sunday evening, I found myself running along the road near Chafetz Chaim when a siren sounded. I watched as the Iron Dome rockets fired to intercept the unseen rockets rushing towards us suddenly took a turn – directly towards me. That's when I figured it might be a good idea to quickly seek additional shelter, and I spent the next few moments in a concrete drainage pipe.
Watching those rockets rise into the air, it was impossible not to marvel not only at the technological prowess that built the system, but also again at the Divine Hand guiding those rockets to their targets, and also directing the Hamas rockets the Iron Dome missed away from civilian areas. While Hamas fired literally thousands of rockets towards us, the vast, vast majority missed Israeli civilian areas, landing either in Gaza, in the sea, or in open areas, away from the populace.
Those misses represented nothing less than our own, national ענני הכבוד.
This coming week, as we sit in the Sukkah, we can and must celebrate, and give thanks for the additional protection we received, even while sitting in the booths that we have built, and also for the Clouds of Glory that protected the People of Israel who continue to thrive in the most dangerous neighborhood in the world.

The Wise Son: The Missing Answer

Among the Four Sons listed during the Seder, we identify most with the Wise Son. We don't really accept the premise of the Wicked Son (we might criticize children today for acting badly, but we don't identify them as "bad" or wicked children), and we like to hope that our children grow out of being either Simple or that they Don't Know to Ask.
Which leaves us with the Wise Son. Who among us don't really, deep down in our heart, consider our children "Wise"? Moreover, looking at his question, we recognize that his question is excellent:

חָכָם מָה הוּא אוֹמֵר? מַה הָעֵדוֹת וְהַחֻקִּים וְהַמִשְׁפָּטִים אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה' אֱלֹקינוּ אֶתְכֶם?

What does the Wise Son say? "What are the testimonies, statutes and dictates that the Lord our God commanded you?"

In fact, we find this exact question in the Torah, as Moshe instructs the Jewish people,

כִּי-יִשְׁאָלְךָ בִנְךָ מָחָר, לֵאמֹר:  מָה הָעֵדֹת, וְהַחֻקִּים וְהַמִּשְׁפָּטִים, אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה' אֱלֹקינוּ, אֶתְכֶם.

When your son asks you in time to come, saying: 'What is the meaning of the testimonies, and the statutes, and the ordinances, which the Lord our God has commanded you? (Devarim 6:20)

Ibn Ezra explains that the word מה – does not mean "what", but instead means למה – "what is the reason". In essence, the Wise Son asks, "Why do we do keep of these commandments?" It's not just an ancient question found in the Chumash. Rather, it's an eternal question, asked by children – good, wise children – throughout Jewish history.
Every Jewish parent should not only expect this question, but should hope for it. We want our children to ask. We want them to inquire about why we do what we do. But, if we want them to ask good questions, we better be ready with good answers. What indeed do we tell them when they ask us, "Why should I keep the Torah? Why do you keep the Torah?" (Because I said so only works for the first few years. After that, you'll need to provide a better answer.)
The Hagaddah provides an answer – and that's where we begin to run into problems.

וְאַף אַתָּה אֱמָר לוֹ כְּהִלְכוֹת הַפֶּסַח: אֵין מַפְטִירִין אַחַר הַפֶּסַח אֲפִיקוֹמָן.

You, in turn, shall instruct him in the laws of Passover, [up to] `one is not to eat any dessert after the Passover-lamb.

What is the relevance of the answer we give him to his question? He's asking why we keep the commandments, and we're talking about dessert and the Korban Pesach? This isn't my own question, either. Ritva, is his commentary to the Hagadah writes,

וקשה, מה ענין תשובה זו לשאלה זו?

This is difficult, as what is the relevance of the answer to the question?

Moreover, we ourselves need not search for an answer to this great question, as Moshe Rabbeinu has already provided us a wonderful, powerful answer. Right after telling us what our children will ask us in the future, Moshe teaches us how to answer them.

וְאָמַרְתָּ לְבִנְךָ, עֲבָדִים הָיִינוּ לְפַרְעֹה בְּמִצְרָיִם; וַיֹּצִיאֵנוּ ה' מִמִּצְרַיִם, בְּיָד חֲזָקָה.  וַיִּתֵּן ה' אוֹתֹת וּמֹפְתִים גְּדֹלִים וְרָעִים בְּמִצְרַיִם, בְּפַרְעֹה וּבְכָל-בֵּיתוֹ--לְעֵינֵינוּ.  וְאוֹתָנוּ, הוֹצִיא מִשָּׁם--לְמַעַן, הָבִיא אֹתָנוּ, לָתֶת לָנוּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע לַאֲבֹתֵינוּ.  וַיְצַוֵּנוּ ה', לַעֲשׂוֹת אֶת-כָּל-הַחֻקִּים הָאֵלֶּה, לְיִרְאָה, אֶת-ה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ--לְטוֹב לָנוּ כָּל-הַיָּמִים, לְחַיֹּתֵנוּ כְּהַיּוֹם הַזֶּה.  וּצְדָקָה, תִּהְיֶה-לָּנוּ:  כִּי-נִשְׁמֹר לַעֲשׂוֹת אֶת-כָּל-הַמִּצְוָה הַזֹּאת, לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֵינוּ--כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּנוּ. (דברים ו:כ-כה)

Then you shall say to your son: 'We were Pharaoh's slaves in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand. And the Lord showed signs and wonders, great and sore, upon Egypt, upon Pharaoh, and upon all his house, before our eyes. And He brought us out from there that He might bring us in, to give us the Land which He swore to our fathers.  And the Lord commanded us to do all these statutes, to fear the Lord our God, for our good always, that He might preserve us alive, as it is at this day. And it shall be righteousness to us, if we observe to do all this commandment before the Lord our God, as He has commanded us.' (Devarim 6:20-25)

This is a wonderful answer, especially when we read the text with care. In his answer, Moshe emphasizes our collective history, and our connection to our Forefathers and the Promised Land. More importantly, he describes the Torah and a life of adherence to the Mitzvot as "good", and the giving of the Torah as an eternal act of kindness that God did for us.
That's the true answer to this all-important question. We follow the Torah because we know that God wants goodness for us, and transmitted to us the ideal way to achieve that ultimate Good. While we don't always understand every detail, and cannot always perfectly answer each question, when we do answer the Wise Son, we must convey that sense of Goodness inherent in a Torah-true life.
This only makes the answer in the Hagadah all the more perplexing. Where's the connection to our history? What about the mitzvot? There isn't any mention of God! All we hear about is the Afikomen. Is that really a good answer for the Wise Son? Couldn’t the Hagadah have given us a better answer?
Ritva explains that the key word in the answer to the Wise Son is the word אף – "even". The answer provided here isn't the whole answer. Rather, it's the very end of the answer.
Of course we must provide the complete answer. and any Seder that doesn't address these critical questions, and focuses only on the minutia of the practical aspects of the Seder (How much Matzah to eat; how quickly to eat it, etc.) misses the most important element of the Seder. The very essence of the Seder is answering the underlying question of the Wise Son: "Why are we sitting here tonight?"
Only when we have finished answering his questions – all of them! – can we then proceed to the more intricate aspects of the Seder. Only then, וְאַף אַתָּה אֱמָר לוֹ כְּהִלְכוֹת הַפֶּסַח – "even teach him about the halachot of Pesach".
As parents, we sometimes fail in this critical mission. Sadly, we're good at details and minutia and "do it because I told you to," but fail miserably to convey the sense of goodness, fulfillment and love that the Torah brings into our lives. We fail to address the deeper questions, somehow afraid that we might say something wrong, give an incorrect answer, and mislead our children away from the truth.
Yet, the opposite is true. We must simply do our best and answer these challenging questions as best we can. We can start by studying the answers that appear in the Torah. But then we can and should answer the question our children really want to know: Not "why should they be Jewish?", but "Why are we Jewish, and why do we keep the Torah?"

Unraveling the Puzzle of Megillat Esther

by Rabbi Reuven Spolter, Jewish Studies Lecturer

Megillat Esther is a brilliant work.
On the one hand, it masterfully and suspensefully relates the Purim story - a story we all know. Yet, like all great books, each re-reading offers a new and unexpected pleasure. I still get a kick out of how the Megillah refers to "all the people who loved [Haman], and Zeresh, his wife." (5,10)
But, as we know, the Megillah is much more than that. Woven into the fabric of the work - hidden beneath the surface - like Esther's Jewish identity, is a core of religious identity and belief essential to our identity as Jews.
Therein lay the brilliance of Mordechai and Esther: On one hand, they wrote an entirely secular story which they spread across the known world. But, read with the proper perspective, that very same work represents a core religious Jewish text.

I'd like to give one, very simple example of how Chazal read the book of Esther.
A very famous gemara in Shabbat (88a) relates that the Revelation on Har Sinai was a bit more dangerous than we might have considered:

ויתיצבו בתחתית ההר (שמות, י"ט, יז). אמר רב אבדימי בר חמא בר חסא: מלמד שכפה הקדוש ברוך הוא עליהם את ההר כגיגית, ואמר להם: אם אתם מקבלים התורה - מוטב, ואם לאו - שם תהא קבורתכם

אמר רב אחא בר יעקב: מכאן מודעא רבה לאורייתא

אמר רבא: אף על פי כן, הדור קבלוה בימי אחשורוש; דכתיב (אסתר, ט', כז) "קיימו וקבלו היהודים" - קיימו מה שקיבלו כבר

"And they stood at the foot of the mountain" (Shemot 19,17) Said Rav Avdimi bar Chama bar Chasa: This [verse] teaches us that God held the mountain over them like a barrel and said to them, 'If you accept the Torah - very well; But if not - here is where you will be buried!"
Said Rav Acha bar Yaakov: From this [statement] there is a great criticism against the Torah (Rashi - because the Jewish people were forced to accept the Torah).
Said Rava: Nonetheless, they later accepted [the Torah] during the times of Achashveirosh, as it is written, "The Jews fullfilled and accepted" - [this means that] they fulfilled what they had already accepted.

This short piece of Aggadah is rich with meaning, and raises many important questions. Yet, I'd like to focus on the final statement of Rava who derives the fact that the Jews willingly accepted the Torah during the times of Mordechai and Esther from the words קימו וקבלו היהודים - "the Jews fulfilled and accepted."
How does Rava arrive at his conclusion? Where does he see this deeper meaning hidden in the text? The answer is, in fact, right before our eyes, if we know how to properly piece the puzzle together.

In the text of the Megillah, the verse cited seems to have nothing to do with the Torah at all, but instead seems to be about the acceptance of Purim.

 קִיְּמוּ וקבל (וְקִבְּלוּ) הַיְּהוּדִים עֲלֵיהֶם וְעַל-זַרְעָם וְעַל כָּל-הַנִּלְוִים עֲלֵיהֶם, וְלֹא יַעֲבוֹר--לִהְיוֹת עֹשִׂים אֵת שְׁנֵי הַיָּמִים הָאֵלֶּה, כִּכְתָבָם וְכִזְמַנָּם:  בְּכָל-שָׁנָה, וְשָׁנָה.

The Jews fulfilled, and took upon them, and upon their descendants, and upon all such as joined themselves unto them, so as it should not fail, that they would keep these two days according to the writing thereof, and according to the appointed time thereof, every year; 

Yet, when we consider the verse (and the phrase at hand) one of the words seems unnecessary and unusual. Why does the verse say that קימו וקבלו - "they fulfilled and took upon themselves" when it could have simply said, קבלו היהודים עליהם ועל זרעם - "the Jews accepted upon themselves and upon their descendants". What is the extra word telling us? How can one fulfill something before he even accepts it?
Yet, this very paradox reminds us of another, similar phrase found in the Torah:

 וַיִּקַּח סֵפֶר הַבְּרִית וַיִּקְרָא בְּאָזְנֵי הָעָם וַיֹּאמְרוּ כֹּל אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר ד' נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע

And [Moshe] took the Book of the Covenant and read it in the ears of the nation, and they said, 'Everything that God said we will do and we will hear."

It's precisely the same progression:

קיימו -- קבלו

נעשה  -- נשמע

This, I believe, is exactly what the authors of the Megillah were hinting to at the conclusion of the Purim story.
The Jews living at that time didn't just commit themselves to keeping the holiday of Purim in the future. Rather, what precipitated the tragedy of Purim was the wholesale abandonment of the Torah after the exile from Jerusalem. The tragedy of Purim forced the Jews to make a choice: do we want to just die like Jews, or do we want to live like Jews as well.

קיימו וקבלו היהודים.
They rechose, yet again, after the events of Achashveirosh. If we're going to suffer the hatred against the Jews, ought we not live by the values that God gave us as well?

Yet another piece to the Purim puzzle.

Seeing the Good

By Rabbi Reuven Spolter, Director of Student Recruitment and Jewish Studies Lecturer 

It was almost inevitable.
Even before the streets were plowed, media figures and government officials began calling for an investigation into the "failures" surrounding the recent blizzard that blanketed a good chunk of Israel. True, many people lost power, and thousands were stranded. But, from my point of view, we did pretty well: the roads were shut down appropriately, saving many, many lives; the power company crews worked around the clock to restore and repair power lines that buckled under the heavy weather.
And yet, we complain. Somehow, too often, our intuition is to see the negative, rather than appreciating the positive that exists in every situation. Our task – and responsibility, is to overcome this inclination to kvetch, and to try to appreciate and grow from our struggles. According to Rashi, this is precisely the message that God conveys to Moshe Rabbeinu.
By all accounts, things aren't going well.
Rather than rescuing the Nation of Israel from bondage, Moshe has only made things worse, as the people must now gather the straw necessary to construct the bricks themselves while still fulfilling their old quotas. Recognizing his failure, Moshe complains to God.

God, why did you deal negatively with this people? Why did you send me? Since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has made things worse for this people; and You have not saved Your people.' (Shemot 5:22-23)

God responds by telling Moshe that He would, in fact, redeem the nation as promised. But then God adds:

'I am the LORD; and I appeared to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov, as God Almighty, but by My name Yud-Hay-Vav-Hay I did not make known to them.

What is the nature of this minor lesson about the Avot? What is the difference between the two different names of God, and what is God trying to communicate to Moshe?
Rashi, in his second answer to these questions (on verse 9), quotes the Midrash explaining that God's message was a direct response to Moshe's complaints.

Said God [to Moshe]: I yearn for those who are lost but not forgotten!…Many times I revealed Myself to them, and they never asked me, "What is Your name?" And you said, "[When they ask] what is His name, what should I tell them?"
When Avraham wished to bury Sarah and could not find a grave until he was compelled to purchase one at great expense; When they complained to Yitzchak about the wells that he dug; When Ya'akov was compelled to purchase the plot of the field in order to pitch his tent –they did not wonder about My attributes! And yet you said, "Why have You made things worse?"

It's a chilling message.
How often do we "wonder" about the struggles we endure and immediately lapse into "complaint" mode – whether we're talking about the snow, our jobs, our kids' education?
I believe that these verses also carry the key to unlocking a successful Aliyah. After all, the subject under discussion here is the redemption of the Jewish Nation and their ultimate arrival in the Holy Land.) 
Aliyah, especially for people making Aliyah by choice, represents a degree of hardship.  Moving to the Holy Land requires sacrifice. Sometimes you really do feel like you've taken two steps backwards. And yet, God powerfully relays to Moshe the message that our attitude is critical. We cannot immediately complain when things don't go our way. Rather, we must permit ourselves to see the good, the blessing, and the potential that lies ahead.

Why Must I Say "I'm Sorry"?

by Rabbi Reuven Spolter

Jewish Studies Lecturer

Judaism is anything but easy. While most nations celebrate their New Year with drinking, partying and staying up late, we spend our New Year coronating God as king of the world, while we also engage in an extended process of self-evaluation and introspection. The entire period culminates with…that's right, a day of fasting spent entirely in shul.
Moreover, Teshuvah can be quite complicated. While repentance suffices for the sins I committed against God, the same cannot be said for the sins I committed against someone else. The Mishnah in Yoma (8:7) tells us that, עבירות שבין אדם למקום, יום הכיפורים מכפר – "Yom Kippur atones for sins between man and God". (Of course, you have to repent for Yom Kippur to work its magic.) But what about עבירות בין אדם לחבירו – "sins between man and his fellow man? Teshuvah is not enough. For these sins, we must do more.

שבינו לבין חברו אין יום הכיפורים מכפר, עד שירצה את חברו.  את זו דרש רבי אלעזר בן עזריה, "מכול, חטאותיכם, לפני ה', תטהרו" (ויקרא טז,ל)--עבירות שבין אדם למקום, יום הכיפורים מכפר; שבינו לבין חברו--אין יום הכיפורים מכפר, עד שירצה את חברו. 

Yom Kippur does not atone for [sins] between man and his fellow man until he appeases his friend. Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria extrapolated this idea from the following verse: 'From all your sins, before God, you shall be purified." (Vayikra 16:30) Yom Kippur atones for sins between man and God. [But] Yom Kippur does not atone for [sins] between man and his fellow man until he appeases his friend.

Indeed, Rambam (Hilchot Teshuvah 2:9) adopts this approach in Mishneh Torah, stating that you must first appease the victim of your sin before Yom Kippur can offer atonement.
We've always taken this fact for granted. After all, it makes intuitive sense, at least at first. How can God forgive you if you haven't even apologized to the person you hurt? And yet, the more I think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Why indeed should I have to apologize to the person I hurt? Let's assume that I stole money from a neighbor. I feel terrible about it, and vow never to repeat my sin. Moreover, I return the money, leaving an anonymous envelope full of cash on his doorstep. I've made him whole. I confessed my sin to God, and will truly never commit that sin again. Why should I have to then go to the neighbor and confess? Why should my atonement hinge on his goodwill (or lack thereof), state of mind, and sensitivity?
Moreover, it's not so clear that the verse that Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria quotes says what we think it says. The verse he quotes says,

כִּי-בַיּוֹם הַזֶּה יְכַפֵּר עֲלֵיכֶם, לְטַהֵר אֶתְכֶם:  מִכֹּל חַטֹּאתֵיכֶם, לִפְנֵי ה', תִּטְהָרוּ.

For on this day shall atonement be made for you, to cleanse you; from all your sins shall you be clean before the Lord.

Read the last phrase again: "From all your sins shall you be clean before the Lord." It doesn't say "some". It says "all." This would seem to go against both the Mishnah and the Rambam. Yet, the translation really hinges on how you read the verse, and where you pause during the reading. I'll explain:
Option 1: If you read the phrase: מִכֹּל חַטֹּאתֵיכֶם, לִפְנֵי ה', תִּטְהָרוּ (with a pause after the word חטאתיכם), then the phrase means "from all your sins shall you be clean before the Lord."
Option 2: If you read it without a pause after the first two words the meaning changes dramatically: מִכֹּל חַטֹּאתֵיכֶם לִפְנֵי ה', תִּטְהָרוּ – "from all your sins [committed] before the Lord, you shall be clean."
Which reading is grammatically correct? When we check the trop (טעמי המקרא), 

מִכֹּל֙ חַטֹּ֣אתֵיכֶ֔ם לִפְנֵ֥י ה֖' תִּטְהָֽרוּ

we see that there's a zakef katan – a small pause – after the words מכל חטאתיכם. Option 1 is correct. The Torah seems not to distinguish between different types of sins. At least according to the simple text, Yom Kippur offers atonement whether we apologize or not.
This, I believe, is why the Mishnah notes that Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria extrapolated this idea from the verse. It's not the simple meaning. It's a drush, and the Mishnah says so explicitly. The Mishnah continues:

אמר רבי עקיבא, אשריכם ישראל, לפני מי אתם מיטהרין ומי מטהר אתכם--אביכם שבשמיים:  שנאמר "וזרקתי עליכם מים טהורים, וטהרתם . . ." (יחזקאל לו,כה), ואומר "מקוה ישראל ה'" (ירמיהו יז,יג)--מה המקוה מטהר את הטמאים, אף הקדוש ברוך הוא מטהר את ישראל.

Rabbi Akiva says: Fortunate are you O Israel! Before whom do you purify yourselves? [And] who purifies you? Your Father in Heaven! As it is said: “I will sprinkle upon you pure water and you shall become purified” (Ezekiel 36:25), and it is further said: “The hope of Israel is the Lord” (Jeremiah 17:13), just as a mikvah purifies the defiled, so too, does the Holy one Blessed is He, purify Israel.

It's a famous quote, and a beautiful idea. But is it just a nice ending to the Masechet (it is the last Mishnah of Yoma), or is Rabbi Akiva chiming in on the previous issue? One could suggest that Rabbi Akiva is in fact arguing with Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria, and suggesting that Yom Kippur purifies everyone, for every sin – regardless of what category the sin falls in. In fact, this is exactly what the Sefer Meor Einayim (quoted by the Tosfot Yom Hakippurim) suggests:

וראיתי בספר מאור עיניים (דף קכד ע"ב) דפירש דראב"ע סבירא ליה דמי שיש לו עבירות שבין אדם לחבירו אין הקב"ה מכפר לו אפי' על עבירות שבין אדם למקום. ור"ע חולק עליו וס"ל דאפילו על עבירות שבין אדם לחבירו הקב"ה מכפר אף על גב שלא ריצה את חבירו ואין דבריו מחוורין אצלי.

I saw in the book Meor Einayim who explained that Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria held that God does not offer atonement to someone with sins between himself and his fellow man – even for the sins he committed against God. Rabbi Akiva argues with him and it is his opinion that God atones even for sins committed against one's fellow man, even though he did not appease his friend. And [Meor Einayim's] words are not clear to me.

While the Tosfot Yom Hakippurim (and Rambam and pretty much everyone else) disagrees with Meor Einayim, the opinion is fascinating. Why indeed should my atonement hinge not only my asking for, but my receiving my friend's forgiveness? It's not enough just to ask; I have to actually make strenuous efforts to secure his forgiveness. Why is it so important that the person I hurt forgive me?
This is a great question to ask ourselves as we struggle to pick up the phone, call and offer a sincere apology before Yom Kippur.

Elul During Summer Vacation?

by Rabbi Reuven Spolter

Judaic Studies Lecturer

Every few years, before the Jewish calendar can adjust itself with an additional month during the spring, the summer and winter chagim arrive unusually early. This year, for example, Rosh Hashanah, which "normally" falls towards the end of September, begins this year during the first week of September. Simchat Torah ends before the end of the month! It's an "early" year in every sense.
What difference does that make? Why should the secular date that Rosh Hashanah falls on matter? It shouldn't – but it does, because much of our lives revolve not around the Jewish calendar, but the secular one.
We take our vacations not based on the Jewish calendar, but on the secular one. Our lives are often governed by work and school schedules almost always set not according to the Jewish calendar, but the secular one. For this reason, you may well be on vacation right now because your children are still on vacation, which will continue until the end of the month. This is true not only around the world, but especially in Israel. It's a yearly tradition in August for parents of young children to complain that that they don't know how to go to work while their kids are off from school.
The Jewish calendar cares not for summer vacation or secular school schedules. While we were on vacation, the month of Elul began, ushering in the first pangs of the High Holiday season.  For men who attend shul in the morning (and especially for Sephardim who recite Selichot each night), the Shofar reminds us: Rosh Hashanah is coming. But for many women, and especially for our children who are enjoying their vacation, Elul has yet to enter their consciousness.
Recently, Rav Yona Goodman, head of Chinuch Emuni at Orot, shared a short audio (link here) which got me thinking about this issue. While during a normal year, it might make sense to leave the lion's share of Rosh Hashanah preparation to our kids' schools, this year, when they begin school only a short time before Rosh Hashanah, we must take it upon ourselves to educate our children both about Elul, and about the process of Teshuvah.
When do we do it? Actually, opportunities abound. You can:

• Talk about Elul around the Shabbat table
• Do your yearly Tzedakah accounting, sharing with your children how much you "owe"
• Instead of the beach, use a vacation day for a family chessed project
• Take a family Tiyyul to a spiritual location (shofar factory?), to put us in the mood for Rosh Hashanah

Rav Yona's words were ringing in my ears as we sat down to dinner last week, and two of my children briefly entered into minor spat over some insignificant slight. While I would normally try and ignore the argument during dinner, I instead noted that it was Rosh Chodesh Elul, and entered into a short discussion around the table about controlling our anger – and that perhaps this could be a goal that we could share as a family during Elul.
In truth, Elul during the summer presents a unique educational opportunity. Because our children learn about the High Holidays in school, a danger exists that they might come to see Teshuvah not as a personal, intimate process, but instead as yet another subject that they cover in school (which is entirely unrelated to their home lives). Nothing could be farther from the truth. The very best way to counter this mistaken perception is to bring Teshuvah into our homes, and make the process of introspection and self-improvement a household affair -- even when you're on vacation.

Forcing Our Children to Accept the Torah?

As parents, we ofter struggle whether and when to coerce our children to behave appropriately. And, when we address this issue in the context of religiosity, the question becomes all the more pressing. Sure, we can force our children to live as religious Jews during their formative years. But is that really what we want? Don't we want them to want to follow the mitzvot on their own?

On Shavuot we specifically celebrate Ma'amad Har Sinai, and the beautiful, awesome power that the Torah describes as the Jewish people received the Torah. Chazal describe the Revelation as a kind of wedding between God and the Jewish people, establishing an eternal bond between us that can never be severed.
Yet, a famous Gemara (Shabbat 88a) relates that, at least according to one opinion, getting us to the Chuppah required some serious arm-twisting.

 ויתיצבו בתחתית ההר: א"ר אבדימי בר חמא בר חסא מלמד שכפה הקב"ה עליהם את ההר כגיגית ואמר להם אם אתם מקבלים התורה מוטב ואם לאו שם תהא קבורתכם

"And they sat at the bottom of the mountain" (Shemot 19) Said Rav Avdimi bar Chama bar Chasa: This teaches us that the Holy One held the mountain over them like a barrel and said to them, 'If you accept the Torah, good! And if not, there will be your grave.'

According to the Gemara, despite the wonderful declaration of נעשה ונשמע, the Jewish people weren't altogether ready to fully accept the requirements of the Torah. So God made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Literally. "Take My Torah," He told us, "Or that will be the last decision you ever make."
According to Rashi's interpretation of the Gemara, this troubling statement leads the Gemara to raise a critical question.

א"ר אחא בר יעקב מכאן מודעא רבה לאורייתא

Said Rav Ada bar Yaakov: from this verse we see a great criticism against the Torah.

What is the criticism against the Torah? Rashi explains that should God bring a claim against the Jewish for failing to follow the Torah [and ask them], "Why did you not fulfill the Torah that you accepted upon yourselves?" they could reply that they only accepted the Torah out of coercion. It's a powerful question. How can we be held responsible for not keeping a Torah that we never willingly accepted? And, because God coerced us with the threat of death to accept the Torah, why should we endure terrible punishment for failure to keep an agreement that we never really wanted?
The Gemara never offers a satisfying answer to this question. Yet, Rava seems to respond to the question by implying that in the end we did accept the Torah willingly.

אמר רבא אעפ"כ הדור קבלוה בימי אחשורוש דכתיב (אסתר ט) קימו וקבלו היהודים קיימו מה שקיבלו כבר

Said Rava: Nonetheless, they still [willingly] accepted [the Torah] in the times of Achashverosh, as it is written, "They fulfilled and accepted" – [meaning that] they fulfilled that which they had already accepted.

Yet, this enigmatic, troubling section raises more questions than it answers. If we never really willingly accepted the Torah until the era of the Purim story, why were the Jewish people punished and expelled from the Land of Israel during the First Temple Period? After all, they had not yet willingly accepted upon themselves the covenant with God. How then could God fairly hold them accountable for failing to adhere to an agreement they never really wanted?

Rav A.Y. HaKohen Kook zt"l, in his Ein Ayah commentary, offers a different interpretation of this passage in the Gemara, based upon his understanding of the crucial nature of coercion in Torah education. He writes,

Free will is a specific form of content through which a person improves his ethical stamina. For this reason, he has specific control over its parameters and scope. But free will itself is part of the essential character of a human being – about which it is not relevant to describe as a freedom. We are not free to want or not to want. Free will is the essence of life itself, and life is given to us without our choice. We control the bending of our will to one of two directions, to the right or left. There we find the hand of choice.
If the Torah was simply the expression of the ethical content of humanity, it would have been worthwhile to have been given with complete free choice. But in truth, the Torah is the expression of the unique individuality of man, as he is. Violation of the Torah is an estrangement of a person – an estrangement from himself…for this reason, it was appropriate that the Torah should be revealed in this matter an essential, fundamental revelation…

Rav Kook's language can sometimes be confusing, so I'll explain.
God gives us freedom to make choices in order to allow us to improve upon ourselves. Yet, some aspects of our existence were never given to free will. God never asked us whether we want to breathe or not. We do – without choosing to, without free will. God never asked us whether we want free choice. It's essential to being a human being. Once we have free choice, then we must use that freedom to choose wisely and appropriately.
The same rule applies to the acceptance of the Torah.
According to Rav Kook's philosophy, the Torah isn't a force or power external to us that we must internalize, study and accept. Rather, the Torah represents the essential, inner spiritual nature of the Jewish people. We are the Torah, and it is us. For this reason, it wouldn't make any sense for us to have the freedom to choose whether to accept the Torah or not, because that would be akin to choosing whether or not we wished to exist or not.
That, explains Rav Kook, is exactly what the Gemara teaches us.
According to his understanding, Rav Acha bar Yaakov isn't asking a question, but making a critical assertion:

א"ר אחא בר יעקב מכאן מודעא רבה לאורייתא!

Said Rav Acha bar Yaakov, from here we see a great proof to the Torah!

At Sinai, when God figuratively held the mountain over our heads and forced us to accept the Torah, He was telling us that the Torah was essential to our very being. Without the Torah we would cease to exist! The greatest proof of this fact is that God didn't ask us whether we want it. Rather, He forced us to accept it without free will, because you cannot accept something that's already essential to your very existence.

To me, Rav Kook's powerful passage carries another important message as well. Coercion isn't wrong or inappropriate. Rather, it's an essential element of the transmission of Torah.
Look at it this way: Do we ask our children whether they want to go to school, or recite Shema at night or go to shul? We don't, nor should we. We coerce our children in order to internalize certain critical behaviors in their lives. We want the Torah to be an essential part of them.
Hopefully, at some point in their lives, these behaviors will become so essential to their identities that they'll continue to adhere to them after we no longer force to do so. But it starts with coercion –as well it should.
Should I force my children to follow the truth of God's Torah, and make it an essential part of them? To this question, my answer is an unequivocal "Yes."
After all, that's how we got the Torah in the first place.

A New Look at the Wicked Son

Last spring, at Orot's staff Shabbat in Naharia, I heard a wonderful thought about the Rasha - the wicked son - from Rav Ze'ev Hass, an instructor at Orot. For parents and educators, we find the Wicked Son the most challenging of children. First of all, what parent would even label her child as "wicked"?

רשע מה הוא אומר? 'מה העבודה הזאת לכם?' - ולא לו. ולפי שהוציא עצמו מן הכלל וכפר בעיקר, אף אתה הקהה את שיניו, ואמור לו: 'בעבור זה עשה ה' לי בצאתי ממצרים' - לי ולא לך, אילו היית שם לא היית נגאל! 

What does the Wicked Son say? "What is this worship for you?" - and not for him. And because he excluded himself, he has rejected a founding principle. You too must blunt his teeth and say to him, "For this God did for me when I left Egypt." For me and not for him. Had you been there, you would not have been redeemed.

The Questions 
We all well know the questions regarding the Rasha. At face value, his question really isn't that difficult: מה העבודה הזאת לכם - "what is this worship of yours?" His question is so similar to the question of the Wise Son that we are left to wonder why we react to him in such a seemingly harsh manner, and to the Wise Son with such love and care. Secondly, as soon as he stops speaking, we stop talking to him, and start talking about him - in third person. Only then do we return to speaking to him to deliver our harsh response. Finally, the answer that the Hagadah provides to the Rasha should trouble us. Blunt his teeth? Tell him that he would still be in Egypt? When has that worked on a child?
 

Not an Only Child Rav Hass suggested an answer by considering the "Wicked Son" not in a vacuum, but in contrast to his brother - the Wise Son. Imagine this son growing up, constantly trying to compete with his older, "perfect" brother. (This phenomenon isn't that unusual.) The oldest is often the most accomplished - intellectually, physically, educationally. Imagine how his brother feels when he's the one in school whose teachers always say, "Are you the Chacham's brother?" (As much as we ask teachers not to say things like that, somehow they still do...) How about at report card time, when he invetiably compares his grades to his "perfect" brother's? It's not hard to imagine him thinking that he can never really live up to the standard his brother set for him, so why bother?

The "Wicked Son" in our Schools

If you've ever taught in a school that tracks students by ability, you can see this phenomenon outright. It doesn't matter how you label the classes: "A1, A2, A3"; "Masmidim, Lomdim" - whatever you call them, the students in the bottom class know that they're the "dummy" class, and they'll say so outright. Oh - they'll do something else as well. They'll stop trying. After all, if their very own school calls them idiots, then why should they even bother trying to disprove them? (It's a good question that schools constantly struggle with: how do you establish an environment that allows excellent students to grow without labeling the others as inferior?) That's our "Rasha". If he can't compete with his brother - and he can't - then why bother. So he begins to act out. We don't believe that children are inherently wicked. But he acts wickedly. His behavior certainly is bad, manifesting an attitude of apathy and indifference. And so he asks his question: "What is this worship of yours?" Why should I bother if I'll never measure up?

The Unique Nature of the Jewish Nation

Chazal teach us that at the time of the Exodux, the Jewish people found themselves in the depths of spiritual depravity and degradation. In the words of the Midrash, they had reached the 49th level of impurity, as far down as one can possibly descend and yet repent and return. What if they had adopted the attitude of the wicked son. Had the Jewish nation given up, the Exodus would never have taken place. This, explains Rav Hass, is the concept of the "Chosen Nation"; the unique quality of the Jewish people that we contain within us a spiritual spark which can, and ultimately must propel us to improve, grow and acheive spiritual greatness. This is an eternal "rule" of the Jewish people. Even if we ourselves cannot see the great potential within us, God can. He will redeem us and nurture us in order to draw out the spark of holiness that we all contain. This inherent Jewish inherent quality will never change. And yet, it's the very notion that the Wicked Son rejects. So we say not to the Rasha - but about him, that if his apathetic attitude had been in Egypt, then he and the rest of us would never have been redeemed. Change can only come about when you believe in yourself and see not only your shortcomings, but the great potential within you to grow.

The Solution: Show Him the Truth For this reason, we are instructed specifically to "blunt" his teeth (and not knock them out). Rav Hass noted a fascinating truth about God's creations: the more sophisticated and advanced a being is, the more primitive it is at birth. Think about it: animals are expected to get up and walk on their own moments after being born. Human beings, on the other hand, enter the world helpless, unable to care for themselves in even the most simple manner. We require nurturing, care and attention for years before we can take the necessary steps to care for ourselves, and then hopefully, our children. Nothing symbolizes this idea better than our teeth. We're born without them, and as we grow, our teeth grow, symbolizing our development and maturity. (Baby teeth --> adult teeth --> wisdom teeth). So, when addressing the Rasha's attitude of indifference, we tell him to look at his teeth. Does he really think that he was supposed to be born with a mouth full of teeth? Why then should he necessarily have to live up to the Chacham from the very beginning? Just as his teeth will grow and sharpen, so too will he develop, grow and become the person that he was meant to be.

"Our" Rasha

No parent today would label her child a "Rasha." (God forbid!) And yet, every parent and teacher knows which child feels inferior; that he cannot keep up with the stronger kids, and would rather not bother. Our task must be to instill in our children a sense of potential. We must help them sharper their teeth (ושננתם לבניך - from the word שן - see Rashi) to the point that they too have a sense of confidence in their unique abilities. Like the Jewish nation, every child has that spark. It's up to us to help it emerge - to bring each and every child the personal redemption he or she can and must achieve.

The Greatest Jewish Generation

I'm not bashful at shiva houses. After years paying shiva calls as a shul rabbi, I no longer beat around the bush. I'm not there to talk about politics or neighborhood issues. So I sit myself down as close as I can to the aveil and simply say, "Tell me about your mother."
And they always want to do exactly that. And sometimes I find myself in awe of what I learn. Take yesterday.
Last week, I received an email from Orot about the passing of Mrs. Sarah Lev, the mother of Mrs. Shoshana Feuer, who works in the office of the President of the College, and I paid a Shiva call yesterday afternoon. Nowadays, when an older Israeli passes away my first question is always, "Was she born in Israel?" (After all, so many were not, which leads to fascinating aliyah stories). So, when Shoshana told me that her mother was born in Europe, I wasn't surprised. But what Shoshana told me next moved me greatly. (I didn't write everything down, so I'm sharing from memory.)
Mrs. Lev grew up in Lodz, Poland. As a child, she studied in a Mizrachi school where she learned Hebrew, and even traveled to the United States as a Mizrachi representative to promote the values of Zionism. (I didn't even know that they sent such missions before the War!) When the Holocaust broke out, her entire family moved east – and continued to move east, until they found themselves in a Russian work camp in Siberia, where they remained until the war ended. After the war, she returned with her family westward, and eventually ended up in a camp in Germany, where she met her future husband.
In Germany, she and her husband began to care for a group of some sixty children who were orphaned during the war, many of whom knew nothing about their families. (Later in life, one refused to marry an Ashkenazi girl, for fear that she might somehow be related to him.) She taught the children Hebrew, and together with her husband became their de-facto parents, accompanying them to Israel when they made Aliyah in 1948. While they didn't remain close to all of them, they did remain quite close with a group of them, and many would bring their future husbands and brides to the Levs before getting engaged. During the shiva Shoshana pointed out an elderly-looking gentleman, about seventy years old now and said, "He made aliyah with my mother." Even now, so many years later, he came to honor and remember the only real mother he had ever had.
Thinking about the stories Shoshana told about her mother, I cannot help but find myself in awe of the tremendous suffering that Mrs. Lev and her generation endured on the one hand, and their amazing fortitude and strength on the other. By and large, they didn't talk about how hard things were (and I'm sure things were no picnic when they got to Israel either). They didn't complain. They did what had to be done. And they – their entire generation, built the country that I am blessed to live in today.
In America, we refer to the generation of Americans who fought in World War II as the "greatest generation" for similar reasons. They fought and suffered and endured, and built the country that the United States is today. The same is true of the heroes that fought Israel's wars and defeated the enemies bent on our destruction.
But we don't talk often enough about a different type of greatness; that of the thousands of Sarah Levs, who gave their strength and dedication to helping others because that's what needed to be done; who accepted their lot in life – the tremendous loss and terrible pain – often with tremendous fortitude, and literally built the country and rebuilt the Jewish people on their backs.
That generation is, inevitably, moving from this world to the World to Come. We must remember them, honor them, and cherish them – and commit ourselves to pass on their shlichut and mesirut nefesh for Klal Yisrael to the next generation who did not have the zechut to know them.

Seeing Miracles in Daily Life

With the elections here in Israel now behind us and the political wrangling just beginning, it's a good time to take a step back and look at the larger picture. Yesterday, Election Day, was for me (and so many others that I know) just glorious. Aside from the day off and the great honor many olim feel at the opportunity to vote in a Jewish homeland, the incredible weather presented a perfect opportunity for the family to take a long hike in a local forest, to marvel at the beauty of our Homeland.

Just the drive itself to the hike took my breath away, as we were surrounded on all sides by the lush green wheat fields. (I also love running in the daylight during this time of year, especially in the fields around Yad Binyamin.) Even after almost five years in Israel, I continue to marvel at the amazing beauty of our country and its amazing accomplishments in its relatively short history. In his work Tosefet Brachah (which you can actually download here  -  highly recommended!), Rabbi Baruch Halevi Epstein (author of the Torah Temima), asks a very simple question about the opening line of Az Yashir:

אשירה לה' כי גאה גאה, סוס ורכבו רמה וים

I will sing to the Lord, for He is highly exalted; the horse and his rider has He thrown into the sea

Wonders Rav Epstein: Is that really such a big deal? After all, if you throw a horse and chariot into the sea, you'd expect them to sink to the bottom. How is that miraculous? Moreover, Moshe fails to mention the true miracle of Kriat Yam Suf until the very end of the song.

כי בא סוס פרעה ופרשיו בים, וישב ה' עליהם את מי הים, ובני ישראל הלכו ביבשה בתוך הים

For the horses of Pharaoh went in with his chariots and with his horsemen into the sea, and the Lord brought back the waters of the sea upon them; but the children of Israel walked on dry land in the midst of the sea.

The Jews walked on dry land while the Egyptians drowned? That's an impressive miracle! Why then did Moshe not mention it at the beginning of the song, and instead leave it for the very end? Rav Epstein suggests an answer that contains a critical message for each of us, especially today. The Midrash notes that the song begins in the future tense - אז ישיר - literally meaning that, "Then he will sing." Writes Rav Epstein,

This hints to future generations, that they will sign songs of praise to God for the miracles that He performs for Israel. For this reason it is written, אז ישיר (in the future tense). Behold, it is known that in future generations during the exile of Israel, explicit overt miracles ceased, and we only [see] miracles like those that emanate from natural events, as if they are clothed in natural clothes. Miracles such as these never ceased and will never cease from Israel, and the person with a discerning eye and understanding heart - he will see and feel through the natural pathways of the lives of Israel among the nations, individually and communally, the shining beams of heavenly guidance.

This is what Moshe wished to convey to us when he began the great Song of Praise on the Yam Suf. While true that the Jewish people saw great miracles at the Reed Sea, the events that they would witness in the future would be no less miraculous. Even the seemingly natural drowning of a horse and its rider in deep waters also depends on the watchful providence of God. The Jewish people would, in the future, witness miracles dressed in the cloak of nature, but with the proper perspective we would be able to see God's guiding hand in those natural events as well. Who cannot marvel at the hidden miracles that have guided the building of the Jewish State today? It's easier to see when literally hundreds of rockets and missiles fall on our cities and we suffer (relatively) few casualties. But even the green fields, the incredible growth, Israel's thriving economy in difficult times - all of those are miracles as well. These are the miracles Moshe alluded to so many centuries ago; the miracles that I think about when I run in the fields around my home. These are the miracles that I saw from the hilltop overlooking the Lachish region yesterday. They might be cloaked in the garments of nature. Wheat does grow in many places around the world. But here, in the Land of Israel, we must use our discerning eyes and knowing hearts to see the guiding hand of the Holy One, making the fields blossom once again.

Why Women Light

A New Perspective on an old Halachah
By Rabbi Reuven Spolter

Recently, my wife and I were discussing the different reactions of local residents during the recent Operation Pillar of Defense "altercation". She noted that Anglo Olim, wanting to do their part, collected cakes, donations, and other supplies that they brought to the soldiers massing on the Gaza border not far away from our home. While Israelis were also involved in chesed during the harrowing days of the non-war, instead of preparing packages for soldiers, they were making meals and arranging babysitters for the harried wives who found themselves without their husbands, who were called up for Miluim and were themselves stationed outside of Gaza. When Israel finds itself forced to confront an aggressor, we immediately think of the soldiers and the different ways we can help them, either by sending pizzas, or socks, or moral support. But we sometimes forget that especially in Israel, during wartime a large percentage of the army consists of "older" reservists, who left wives and children behind to go protect their country.
While Jewish law exempts women from the obligation to fulfill most time-bound commandments (like shaking a Lulav, sitting in a Sukkah or wearing Tefillin), the Sages did not extend this exemption to the mitzvah of lighting candles on Chanukah.  In fact, the Gemara (Shabbat 23a) is unusually emphatic about this point stating that, האשה ודאי מדליקה – "a woman must certainly light," explaining that the Sages obligated women to light candles of Chanukah, שאף הן היו באותו הנס – "for they too were involved in that miracle."
What miracle were the women specifically involved in that makes it clear that women should be obligated to light the Chanukah menorah? Clearly, the Gemara does not refer to the miracle of the Menorah, as women had no role in the lighting of the Menorah in the Beit Hamikdash – or any other service in the Temple. So, the Gemara must refer to the role of women in the revolt that expelled the Greeks and returned the Jews to power. What role did they play, and why did that role make it obvious that women should also be obligated to light the Chanukah candles? Moreover, the obligation is especially ironic in light of the fact that most women never actually light despite their obligation to do so. Sephardic households uphold the custom that the head of the household – usually the male – lights the menorah for everyone. Even in Ashkenazic families, where each member of the family lights, in many if not most families, the wife/mother fulfills her obligation through the lighting of her husband. If we truly wished to highlight the role that women played in the Chanukah miracle, in addition to including them in the obligation to light, wouldn't the Sages have specified that they themselves actually, physically light the candles on Chanukah?
The Rishonim offer two general explanations for the role that women played in the Chanukah victory. But, during a shiur with my students in Orot on this subject, I discovered a third, compelling explanation for the Gemara that resonates with us, especially today.

Explanation 1: The Actions of Chanah the Daughter of Matityahu – The Actions of A Woman Prompted the Men to Rebel
Commenting on the Gemara in Shabbat, Rashi writes,

שגזרו יוונים על כל בתולות הנשואות להיבעל לטפסר תחילה, ועל יד אשה נעשה הנס

For the Greeks had decreed that every married virgin must first cohabitate with the [Greek] general. And, the miracle took place through the actions of a woman.

Rashi's comment alludes to a critical story that appears in full in the Otzar Hamidrashim (Chanukah pp. 189-190) The Midrash relates:

כיון שראו יונים שאין ישראל מרגישין בגזירותיהם, עמדו וגזרו עליהם גזירה מרה ועכורה, שלא תכנס כלה בלילה הראשון מחופתה אלא אצל ההגמון שבמקום ההוא. כיון ששמעו ישראל כך רפו ידיהם ותשש כחם ונמנעו מלארס, והיו בנות ישראל בוגרות ומזקינות כשהן בתולות...והיו יונים מתעללות בבתולות ישראל, ונהגו בדבר הזה שלש שנים ושמונה חדשים, עד שבא מעשה של בת מתתיהו כהן גדול שנשאת לבן חשמונאי ואלעזר היה שמו, כיון שהגיע יום שמחתה הושיבוה באפריון, וכשהגיע זמן הסעודה נתקבצו כל גדולי ישראל לכבוד מתתיהו ובן חשמונאי שלא היו באותו הדור גדולים מהם, וכשישבו לסעוד עמדה חנה בת מתתיהו מעל אפריון וספקה כפיה זו על זו וקרעה פורפירון שלה ועמדה לפני כל ישראל כשהיא מגולה ולפני אביה ואמה וחותנה. כיון שראו אחיה כך נתביישו ונתנו פניהם בקרקע וקרעו בגדיהם, ועמדו עליה להרגה, אמרה להם שמעוני אחיי ודודיי, ומה אם בשביל שעמדתי לפני צדיקים ערומה בלי שום עבירה הרי אתם מתקנאים בי, ואין אתם מתקנאים למסרני ביד ערל להתעולל בי! הלא יש לכם ללמוד משמעון ולוי אחי דינה שלא היו אלא שנים וקנאו לאחותם והרגו כרך כשכם ומסרו נפשם על ייחוד של מקום ועזרם ה' ולא הכלימם, ואתם חמשה אחים יהודה יוחנן יונתן שמעון ואלעזר, ופרחי כהונה יותר ממאתים בחור, שימו בטחונכם על המקום והוא יעזור אתכם שנאמר כי אין מעצור לה' להושיע וגו' (ש"א =שמואל א'= י"ד). ופתחה פיה בבכיה ואמרה רבש"ע אם לא תחוס עלינו חוס על קדושת שמך הגדול שנקרא עלינו ונקום היום נקמתנו. באותה שעה נתקנאו אחיה ואמרו בואו ונטול עצה מה נעשה...

When the Greeks realized that Israel was not affected by their decrees they rose and issued a bitter, ugly decree, that a bride on the first night [after her wedding] must leave her wedding canopy for [the bed of] the local hegemony. When Israel heard this their hands weakened and their strength abated, and they refrained from betrothing…and the Greeks would mistreat the daughters of Israel. They maintained this practice for three years and eight months, until the daughter of Matityahu the High Priest because engaged to a Hasmonean by the name of Elazar.
When the day of her joy[ous wedding] arrived, they seated her in a throne. At the time of the meal, all the elders of Israel gathered in honor of Matiyahu and this son of the Hasmoneans, for there were no greater in that generation than them. When they sat down to the meal, Chanah the daughter of Matityahu rose from upon her throne, clapped her hands together, and ripped her garment and stood revealed before all of Israel, her father, mother and her in-laws.
When her brothers witnessed this act they were embarrassed and looked towards the ground and tore their garments, and then began to approach her to kill her [for her terrible act]. She said to them, "Hear me my brothers and cousins! If you are zealous towards me for the fact that I stood naked before righteous people without committing any sin, yet, you are not zealous to hand me over to an uncircumcised heather to mistreat me!? We must learn from Shimon and Levi the brothers of Dinah, who were only two, but still zealously endangered their lives to destroy Shechem for the sake of God's name – and God helped them and did not shame them! And you are five brothers, Yehudah, Yochanan, Yonatan, Shimon and Elazar – and the young priests number over two hundred – place your trust in God and He will help you, as it is written, 'for there is no restraint to the LORD to save by many or by few.'" (Shmuel 1 14:6) Then, she burst into tears and said, "Lord of the Universe – if You do not have compassion upon us, have compassion upon the holiness of your great Name by which we are called, and avenge our vengeance on this day!"
At that moment, her brother were zealous and said, let us gather and consider what course of action we should take…

This incredibly powerful story speaks for itself. The brazen, almost unthinkable act of a single pious girl shook the Jews to their very core, forcing them once and for all to overcome their fear and rise up against the Greek oppression.

Explanation 2:  The Actions of Yehudit – Jewish Women Took Up Arms Themselves
The Gemara (Megillah 4) notes that women are obligated in the reading of the Megillah, for, just as we find regarding Chanukah, on Purim as well, אף הן היו באותו הנס – "they were also in that miracle." Women's involvement in the Purim miracle is relatively obvious: Esther played the primary role in saving the Jewish people from extinction. Yet, Tosfot on that Gemara add that, בחנוכה על ידי יהודית – "on Chanukah [women were involved in the miracle] through the actions of Yehudit." This, of course, refers to the story related in the Book of Yehudit (which, like the Book of the Macabees, never made it into Tanach), which relates the story of a widow named Yehudit, who ingratiates herself with the Greeks to gain their trust, only to lure the Greek General Holofernes into her tent, where she chops off his head, throwing the Greek army into turmoil.
In reality, it's difficult to know whether the story actually took place at all – as different versions of it appear in the Midrash. (In fact, the continuation of the Midrash quoted above suggests that the brothers used Chanah herself as bait for the Greek general), but the gist of this interpretation is clear: in the story of Chanukah of Chanukah, the women couldn't allow themselves to sit on the sidelines. Rather, when needed, they themselves fought to rid the nation of the invading Greek armies.

Explanation 3: Women as Supporters, Sending their Husbands to Fight
When I taught these sources during a class on Midrash at Orot, I began by asking the class whether women may light Chanukah candles at all. One married student answered that she knew that she in fact could. How did she know? She knew because the issue had already come up at home, and she would be lighting in her home that year, on behalf of her husband.
"Where is your husband?" I asked her. "Why won't he be lighting for you?"
"He's an officer in the army, currently in a training course, and he won't be home for Chanukah," she explained. "So we already planned for the fact that I would light at home, and he would fulfill his obligation through my lighting."
Hearing her words, I found myself truly moved by her nonchalance. She didn't think much of it, but how often do we consider the wives of our soldiers, who send their husbands to defend the Jewish nation, maintaining homes, raising families – or even just suffering many, many nights of loneliness – on our behalf.
I believe that this might very well be another meaning of the Gemara's statement that women too were involved in the miraculous victory of Chanukah. Even if the women never physically fought in any of the battles, Jewish women paid a very heavy price for the victory over the Greeks. They encouraged their husbands and sons to go out to war; they maintained their homes during the months of battle; and too many of them made the ultimate sacrifice when their loved ones never returned home. Even victory carries a heavy price.
If the victory of Chanukah represented the last Jewish military victory before the destruction of the Second Beit Hamikdash, today, we truly merit to live in a time when we can enjoy the great gift of our return to that very same Land. Yet, that gift is not free. We continue to pay a heavy price to ensure Jewish sovereignty over the Promised Land.

This Chanukah, as we light our Chanukah candles, let us resolve to focus on the great sacrifices that Jewish women have made to ensure Jewish freedom, whether those sacrifices were בימים ההם – "in those days", or whether they are בזמן הזה – "in our days as well."
Chanukah Semeach!