Woman Warrior

ESSAY:
Woman Warrior
We each possess a male and female self, a conqueror of hostile lands and a cultivator of the inner spirit; at times, however, these roles overlap
Life in the Regular
Monotony as an illusion of human nature

INSIGHTS
Food
G-d's "bread"
Lead or Leash?
The difference between a leader and a front-runner

Not much is known about the lives of Machlah, Noah, Chaglah, Milkah and Tirtzah. But at a defining moment in the history of Israel, these five sisters, daughters of Tzelafchad the son of Chefer, profoundly influenced the Jew's approach to the world in which he lives.

Tzelafchad was of the generation born in Egyptian slavery, liberated by the Exodus, and granted the Land of Canaan as Israel's eternal heritage. Although that generation did not merit to take possession of the land themselves, when their children crossed the Jordan River to conquer it they did so as their fathers' heirs. Each family received its share in the land in accordance with its apportionment among the 600,000 members of the generation of the Exodus.

Tzelafchad had five daughters but no sons. The laws of inheritance as they were initially given in the Torah, which recognized only male heirs, made no provision for his share to be claimed by his descendants. Machlah, Noah, Chaglah, Milkah and Tirtzah refused to reconcile themselves to this, and approached Moses with the petition: "Why should our father's name be eliminated from his family, because he has no son? Grant us an estate amongst [the heirs of] our father's brothers."[1]

Moses presented their argument to G-d, who responded: "The daughters of Tzelafchad speak rightly. Give ... their father's estate to them."[2] G-d then instructed Moses to include the following clause in the Torah's laws of inheritance: If a man dies and he has no son, you shall pass his estate on to his daughter.[3]

The Exodus and the conquest of the Land-the two events which framed the 40 years in which we were forged as a people-represent the two primary endeavors of life. "Going out of Egypt" represents the liberation of the soul from all that confines and inhibits[4] its true self and will; "conquering and settling the Land of Canaan" represents the conquest of the material world and its development as a "home for G-d"-as an environment receptive to and expressive of the goodness and perfection of its Creator.

The generation of the Exodus succeeded in the first endeavor but failed in the second. They extricated themselves from the pagan culture and slave mentality in which they were immersed, refining their souls to the point of worthiness to receive the Truth of Truths directly from G-d at Sinai. But they spurned the task of "conquering and settling the land," loath to abandon their spiritual hermitage in the desert in order to grapple with the materiality of the world and labor to transform "The Land of Canaan" into "The Holy Land." So it was decreed that they would live out their lives in the desert, leaving it to their children to settle the land in their stead.[5]

On the individual level, each of us faces these two tasks throughout our lives: the endeavor to liberate and actualize our soul's spiritual potential, and the challenge to make our material life and environment a holy and G-dly place. We each must struggle to make the transition from a childhood and youth devoted to self-development and self perfection to a life of productive involvement with the outside world.

But people are different from one another. In the words of the Talmud, "Just as their faces are different, so are their characters different."[6] There are bold characters and meek characters, aggressive natures and passive dispositions. There are those of us who revel in a challenge, and those who are all but devoid of the warrior instinct and the zeal for confrontation.

Therein lies the deeper significance of the laws of inheritance as commanded by G-d in response to the petition by the daughters of Tzelafchad. "If a man ... has no son" - if a person ascertains in his or her self a lack of "male" aggressiveness and combativeness  -he might deduce from this that he has no role to play in the "conquest of the land." Such a person might be inclined to devote all his energies to the refinement of his inner self, and leave the task of sanctifying an unholy world to those with "sons."

Says the Torah: conquering and settling the land is not an exclusively male endeavor. Each of Israel's souls has a "portion in the land" - a corner of the material world it is empowered to possess, civilize and sanctify. Indeed, this is a task which often calls for aggressiveness and confrontation; but there is also a "feminine" way to transform the materiality of our lives into a "Holy Land."

"If a man ... has no son, you shall pass his estate on to his daughter." The very fact that a person is by nature disinclined toward the aggressiveness of the "male warrior" indicates that he has been granted the capacity to transform his surroundings via his "daughter" - by employing the passive, compassionate, non-confrontational side of his soul.

This is the law of life revealed by the daughters of Tzelafchad: Not all conquests are achieved by overpowering one's adversary. At times, receptiveness and empathy are far more effective in overcoming the hostility of the "enemy" and transforming its very nature. The absence of a "male heir" in the soul may in fact indicate the presence of a "feminine" self no less capable of claiming the soul's portion in the world and transforming it into a "home for G-d."

Based on the Rebbe's talks on Tammuz 13, 5715 (July 3, 1955) and on other occasions

My korban, My bread for My fire, My sweet savor, you shall observe to offer Me in its appointed time... two [offerings] each day, a regular offering...

Numbers 28:2-3

The human being is attracted to the unusual. One might argue that it is the routine things in life - the regular intake and expulsion of breath, our daily meals, our home life, our jobs - that are most crucial to our existence, while the "special" things are of lesser import. One might so argue - but to little avail. Our nature dictates that the occassonality of an event makes it "an occasion," while an event's regular occurrence drains it of interest and significance.

Hence the Torah delegates various aspects of our relationship with G-d to moadim, or "appointed times." We are enjoined to sustain a perpetual awareness of the Creator,[7] yet one day a week is designated as the particular time in which "to remember ... that the world has a Creator"[8] and to "establish in our hearts the belief in the creation of the world by G-d in six days."[9] We are commanded to "Remember the day that you went out of Egypt, all the days of your life,"[10] yet the once-a-year festival of Passover is appointed as the occasion to dwell upon and internalize the gift of freedom. And so it is with the other moadim of the Jewish calendar: if these are to be "special" days whose message and import makes a lasting impression upon our souls, they must be occasional days, departures from the routine of our lives.

Our sages go so far as to say: "One who recites Hallel every day, commits blasphemy."[11] Hallel is a prayer of praise and thanks to G-d for the miracles He performs for us, which is recited on festivals and other designated days. But are we not enjoined to thank G-d "for the miracles You perform for us every day"[12]? Why reserve Hallel for the days which commemorate the Exodus from Egypt or the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days? Is not every heartbeat no less a miracle, and no less evocative of recognition and gratitude?

But to recite Hallel every day is akin to not reciting it at all. Certainly, our "routine" lives must be imbued with an awareness of our indebtedness to our Creator-to this end the Jew prays three times a day, morning, afternoon and evening. The entire point of Hallel is that, in addition to our daily prayers, we devote certain occasions to a "special" appreciation of G-d's miracles - a specialty which would inevitably be diluted if the recitation of Hallel were to be made a daily routine.

In this and numerous other ways, the Torah tells us to employ our inborn characteristics and inclinations in the quest for a holier and more G-dly life. But the Torah also calls for more. G-d desires more from us than the optimal exploitation of human nature - He desires that we also transcend our natural selves in our relationship with Him.

The Torah provides us with "routines" (such as the daily prayers) designed to make our relationship with G-d an integral part of our daily lives, as well as "appointed times" to lend it prominence and distinction. At the same time, however, it also urges us to transcend these categorizations, to impart a sense of specialty and occasion also to the "regular" rhythms of life.

This is reflected in the manner in which the Torah introduces the laws of the daily korbanot (animal and meal offerings) brought in the Holy Temple. The communal korbanot fall into two general categories: the "regular" offerings (temidim) brought each day; and the "additional" offerings (mussafim) brought on special occasions - Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, the festivals, etc. The same "regular offerings" were brought each day; the "additional offerings" varied in accordance with the occasion, reflecting the nature and characteristics of their appointed times.

As a rule, the Torah uses the term moed ("appointed time") to refer to those special days of the calendar imbued by the Creator of time with unique spiritual resources and potentials (the tranquility of Shabbat, the freedom of Passover, the joy of Sukkot, etc.).[13] However, in introducing the laws of the daily offerings, the Torah states: "My korban, My fire-offering, My sweet savor, you shall observe to offer Me in its appointed time."[14] Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, notes this unusual application of the term moed, and remarks: "The 'appointed time' of the perpetual offerings is every day."

The korbanot, representing man's endeavor to refine and elevate his natural self and bring himself close to G-d, constitute one of the "three pillars" of creation[15] (today, lacking a Holy Temple, prayer fills the role of the korbanot). In this context, the Torah is alluding to the need to go beyond the habits and instincts of the natural self in our relationship with G-d. Our nature dictates that the "occasions" in our lives are touched with a special vitality and enthusiasm, and we exploit this trait in our seasonal celebrations of the various aspects of our relationship with G-d; but we should also endeavor to make "every day an appointed time" - to evoke in ourselves a sense of wonder and specialty in the most routine aspects of our daily existence.

Indeed, the very concept of "monotony" and "ordinariness" is an illusion resulting from our inability to see beyond the limitations of human nature. In truth, distinction is not a factor of a thing's difference from other things, but an inherent quality of the thing itself. In truth, every moment of life is a distinct creation of G-d, embodying a unique, special and indispensable potential which cannot be duplicated by any other moment.

Based on the Rebbe's talks on Shabbat Pinchas 5744 (1984) and on other occasions[16]

My korban, My bread

Numbers 28:2-3

The people of Israel provide nourishment for their Father in Heaven

Zohar, part III, 26b

The Talmud points to the relationship between the soul and the body as a model for the nature of G-d's relationship with the world. The soul cannot be perceived by the senses, yet its presence and effect is keenly felt in every part of the body; so too, G-d, though He transcends our reality and is utterly beyond its perception, vitalizes the entirety of creation and is fully present in its every nook and cranny.

Chassidic teaching employs this analogy to explain the amazing statement by our sages that "The people of Israel provide nourishment for their Father in Heaven."[17] Food is the glue that keeps soul and body together, sustaining the embodiment of the spirit within its material shell. By the same token, our service of G-d is what sustains G-d's involvement with His creation, feeding His desire to continue to infuse it with existence and life.

Thus G-d refers to the korbanot - the animal and meal offerings brought in the Holy Temple - as "My bread." The korbanot (and their present-day substitute, prayer) are the highest expression of our striving to serve G-d and come close to Him; as such, they are the "food" which sustains the life of the universe, the fuel that keeps the divine soul alight within the body of creation.[18]

And Moses spoke to G-d, saying: "G-d of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation who will go before them and come before them, who will take them out and bring them in..."

Numbers 27:15-16

Rabbi Israel Salanter was once asked to explain the Talmudic prediction that in the days before the coming of Moshiach, "The face (i.e., the leadership) of the generation will have the face of a dog."[19]

Said Rabbi Israel: "Have you ever seen a man and a dog walking? The dog always runs ahead; to the casual observer it seems that it is the leader. But every now and then the dog turns around to see where his master wants to go, and changes direction accordingly.

"Today, our world abounds with such 'leaders.' But a true leader is not one who merely 'goes and comes before the people,' while looking over his shoulder to see if they are still following him. He is also the one who 'takes them out and brings them in' - who leads them where he knows they must go."

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber