The Hebron Connection

ESSAY: The Hebron Connection
Some come with a mind to “What’s in it for me?” Others seek to compensate for their own shortcomings. Then there are those who enter into a relationship in order to give, in order to offer themselves upon an altar of love.

THE WRITTEN WORD: The Other Charity
An excerpt from the first “public letter” issued by the Rebbe

A TELLING STORY: The Letter on the Floor
The Rebbe defines his job to a distraught chassid

The first seven chapters of the book of Leviticus are devoted to the laws of the korbanot (“offerings” [1] ). When the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) stood in Jerusalem, the primary mode of man’s worship of G-d was the korban: an animal and/or meal offering brought in fulfillment of a vow, to atone for a wrongdoing, to express gratitude, or simply as a gift to G-d. There were also daily offerings and special Shabbat and Festival offerings brought by the community as a whole. Every significant occasion on the communal calendar, every event and experience in the individual’s life—each had its expression in a korban, an offering to G-d.

The korbanot fall under three general categories: shelamim (“peace offering”), chattat (“sin offering”) and olah (“ascent offering”). [2]

The shelamim offering was brought as a donation to G-d or to celebrate a joyous occasion. [3] Parts of it were burned on the altar [4] and specified portions were given to the kohanim (priests), [5] but the bulk of the korban was eaten—under special conditions of ritual purity—by the person or persons making the offering. Indeed, one of the reasons for the name shelamim—“peace offering”—is that there is something in it for everyone: G-d receives His part, the kohanim theirs, and the owner gets to enjoy the very gift he consecrated to G-d.

The chattat offering (which also includes a related category, the asham or “guilt” offering [6] ) was brought in order to atone for a person’s transgression of a divine command [7] or to achieve the reparation of certain negative states. [8] These were eaten by the kohanim [9] after the prescribed parts were burned upon the altar.

The olah, however, was a pure offering, serving no function other than to express its offerer’s commitment to G-d. It was wholly consumed by the fire that burned upon the altar.

Abraham, the first Jew, lived one hundred and seventy-five years. [10] A full account of everything he said and did would fill many volumes. The Torah, however, chooses to relate to us the details of selected events, devoting a few thousand words to the story of his life. The same is true of Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, Rachel, Moses, David and the other “heroes” of the Torah’s narrative: what we are given is, at most, a sampling of their personal histories. Certain seemingly minor occurrences are described at length, while there are “blank” years and even decades in the accounts of their lives. [11]

For the Torah is not a book of biography, or even history; it is, as its name implies, [12] a lawbook, a book of instruction. Many of its chapters (particularly in the books of Leviticus and Numbers) are indeed straight recitations of the laws of life. But also the Torah’s “stories” are strictly instructive, their every detail an eternal lesson in how to live our lives. As Nachmanides writes in his commentary on Genesis 12:6: “Understand this rule regarding all following chapters [of the Torah]... Everything that happened to the Patriarchs is a signpost for their children. This is why the Torah elaborates on its account of their journeys, their well-digging and other events which one might think superfluous and insignificant: these all come to instruct the future. When something happens to one of the three Patriarchs, one understands from it what is decreed to occur to his descendants.”

One of the first things the Torah describes Abraham doing is building a series of altars to G-d at various locations in the Holy Land. The first altar erected by Abraham was in “the vicinity of Shechem,” where G-d had appeared to him and informed him that “To your descendants I will give this land.” [13] The altar, explains Rashi, [14] was to express Abraham’s gratitude to G-d for “the promise of children (Abraham was childless at the time) and the promise of the land.” [15] (Regarding each of the three altars, the Torah emphasizes that “he built there an altar,” implying that the reason for the altar’s construction relates to an event that took place at that locality.)

Abraham built a second altar between “Beth-El to the west and Ai to the east.” [16] This was the site where, centuries later, the people of Israel suffered defeat in battle as a result of Achan’s transgression of the divine command not to take anything from the booty of the conquered city of Jericho. [17] Abraham, says Rashi, “prophesied that his descendants were destined to stumble there as a result of Achan’s sin, and he prayed there for them.” [18]

The third of Abraham’s altars was built upon his arrival in “the Plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron,” [19] where Abraham was to live for many years. Regarding this altar, however, Rashi does not give any reason for its construction, although there is no shortage of events of great significance in Jewish history connected with the city of Hebron. The verse states, simply, that “he built there an altar to G-d,” and, unlike the first two altars, Rashi feels no need for any further explanation. [20]

With his three altars, Abraham was establishing the precedents for three basic elements in our relationship with G-d. His first altar expressed the truth that we turn to G-d because we need Him. Our requests and expectations from G-d are as varied as life itself, but whether we are seeking material support or spiritual fulfillment, the underlying premise is the same: we are involved with G-d because of what we get out of the relationship.

This is the element represented by the shelamim category of korbanot. The shelamim was an offering to G-d, yet its primary effect was the nourishment of the one making the offering. With the exception of the relatively small contributions made to the altar, the offering was “given back”—“from the Supernal Table,” as the Talmud puts it—to its original owners (and the kohanim). [21]

To the spiritually mature individual, this might seem a shallow and selfish conception of our relationship with G-d. But the recognition that everything we are and everything we have is a gift from Above is elementary to every level of spiritual sensibility, including the most sophisticated and altruistic. A person who devotes himself utterly to the service of G-d but does not regard his daily bread as something he requires from G-d, lacks a most basic understanding of his relationship with his Creator. [22]

After building the altar at Shechem in gratitude for G-d’s blessing to him, Abraham built the altar near Ai to serve as the “signpost” and prototype for the second aspect of our bond with G-d: our recognition of our own deficiency in the face of His perfection. Our recognition that we are all “guilty” in our relationship with Him, whether by overt transgression of His will or by the more subtle meaning of chattat, which is “lack” and “failing.” On this level—the level represented by the korban chattat—the purpose of our service to G-d is to atone for our deficiencies, to elevate ourselves to worthiness of connection with Him.

The common denominator between the shelamim and chattat offering is that both are the means of achieving something for man, whether it is the attainment of a material or spiritual gift from G-d, or the elimination of a deficiency. This is alluded to by the fact that both the shelamim and chattat were given for human consumption—the former by the lay Jew, connoting its relationship to the procurement of (even) material needs, and the latter by the consecrated kohen, indicating that its objective is a loftier and more subtle “gain.” The olah, however, was an offering in the ultimate sense of the word: something that man gives to G-d for no reason other than to give to G-d.

With his third altar, Abraham established the precedent for the third and ultimate level of relationship with G-d: man’s self-abnegation to the divine will. On this level, man does not serve G-d because G-d is the source of all of life’s blessings, nor, even, to atone for his own failings and shortcomings, but simply to serve his Creator, without any purpose or motive other than causing Him pleasure. [23]

Abraham built his third altar at Hebron, a place that embodies the ultimate connection between G-d and Israel. Here are buried Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who are the three cornerstones of our bond with G-d. [24] Our sages tell us that all prayers ascend to Heaven via Hebron, [25] and the city’s very name means “bond” and “connection.” Hebron is also the place where King David was first crowned sovereign of Israel—a sovereignty whose culmination is the kingship of Moshiach, who will effect the ultimate bond between man and G-d.

Based on an address by the Rebbe,  Cheshvan 7, 5746 (October 22, 1985) [26]

Editor’s note: Several times a year, usually in the weeks before Rosh Hashanah and Passover, the Rebbe would pen a public letter, addressed to “Our brothers and sisters, the sons and daughters of Israel, everywhere,” which would be printed in many copies and distributed in Jewish communities across the globe, published in newspapers, and the like. What follows is a freely-translated excerpt from the very first “public letter” written by the Rebbe, dated Elul 18, 5710 (August 31, 1950), several months after the passing of his father-in-law, the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn.

...Man, like all creatures (including the supernal angels [27] ), possesses both a body and a soul. And just as there are those who are poor in body and bodily needs, so, too, are there paupers in spirit and spiritual needs. Thus, the mitzvah of charity includes both physical charity and spiritual charity. In the words of our sages: “[It is written:] ‘If you see a naked person, you should cover him.’ [28] What is the meaning of this? If you see a person who is naked of the words of Torah, take him into your home, teach him to read the Shema and pray, teach him... and enjoin him regarding the mitzvot....” [29]

Regarding material charity, the law is that the material pauper is also obligated [to give], for even the most impoverished person can find a way to help his fellow pauper. [30] The same applies to spiritual charity. There is no man or woman in Israel who cannot, in some way, influence his or her fellow Jews and bring them closer to the fear of Heaven, the Torah and the mitzvot.

“According to the camel’s capacity, so is the load.” [31] It is the duty of those who are richer in material wealth, and those who are richer spiritually—learned Jews, Torah scholars and yeshivah students—to give generously of their greater wealth and knowledge to rescue, heal and fortify the bodies and souls of their brothers and sisters... [32]

Rabbi Yosef Weinberg enjoyed a close working relationship with the Lubavitcher Rebbe for more than forty years, from when the Rebbe assumed the leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch in 1951. The Rebbe devoted many hours each week to reviewing and commenting on the weekly Tanya lessons that Rabbi Weinberg broadcast over the radio, and advised Rabbi Weinberg on his multi-faceted activities on behalf of the Lubavitcher Yeshivah and his other communal work.

Rabbi Weinberg tells of one incident that, to him, expresses the Rebbe’s boundless commitment to the welfare of his people. “I once had an extremely urgent matter to convey to the Rebbe,” recalls Rabbi Weinberg, “but it was late at night, and the Rebbe’s secretariat was already closed. I noticed that the light in the Rebbe’s room was on, so I did something that I would never have dared to do had the matter not been so urgent: I slipped a letter under the Rebbe’s door.

“It was several minutes before I realized the implications of what I had done: the Rebbe would have to bend down to pick up my letter from the floor! How could I possibly have done such a thing! But the deed was done, and there was nothing I could now do to prevent its consequences.

“On the next occasion that I was received by the Rebbe in yechidut (private audience), I said to him that I had done something that I deeply regretted and I hoped that the Rebbe would forgive me. I then profusely apologized for having caused the Rebbe to bend down in order to pick up my letter.

“When I finished speaking, the Rebbe looked straight at me and said: ‘But that is my job—to bend down in order to help another Jew.’”