Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

It was my last night in Eretz Yisroel, three years ago. The flight was leaving from Ben Gurion at midnight, and I wanted to catch Maariv at the Kosel before heading to the airport.

I pulled up a chair, a Sefer Tehillim, and began to Daven while waiting for a Maariv minyan to start. Moments late, a young man, a holy Yerushalmi Jew sat next to me, opened his own tehillim and began to daven with amazing intensity. I looked up from my own tefillah to take in the sights and sounds.

Just then, I remembered that Chazal (ב״ק צ״ב א׳) tell us that whoever davens for someone else, and they need that thing, they are answered first.

I had no idea what this Yid was davening for, but my chutzpah got the better of me and I wanted to join in with his tefillah. So I turned to him and asked: “What are you davening for? I want to daven with you.”

He turned to me and explained that he has been in Yeshivos for a number of years. He told that he had finished Shas Bavli and Yerushalmi multiple times. He's holding in Tur, Shulchan Aruch, Medrash and Zohar. But Hashem hasn't yet giving him a Shidduch, and it's getting hard to for him to stay hopeful.

I told him that I had no answers for him, no solutions, even as I wish I could take the pain away. But I could be there with him. I told him that it would be my honor to daven with him and so for the next fifteen minutes we davened together.

The first Maariv minyan was about to begin. I told him it was soon time for me to leave and catch my flight.

Just before I left, he turned to me and asked me a question that has haunted me since: “Thank you for davening with me, it means so much. I was feeling so down on myself, so upset, and you lifted me up. I want to return the favor. Tell me, what's one thing that you want from Hashem? Just one thing, and I'll daven for that for the rest of my life.”

I was taken aback. That's a great offer. A Talmid Chacham in Yerushalayim davening for me for the rest of his life? What should I ask for? What's the one thing that I will always need? Dozens of ideas floated through my head in second. Should I ask for Parnasah? Refuah? Success in Torah and Mitzvos? Truthfully, all of these are too limited. Who says I will outlive this holy Jew? What do I want him to daven for, forever?

In that moment I realized that ultimately what I was being asked was to think of the ideas, ideals, values, dreams and tefillos that transcend me and my own life. Which of my tefillos are bigger than me? Which of my tefillos are more important than me? It was an eye opening and humbling experience.

What would you have asked for?

Nowadays, I try to come back to these questions regularly. All too often, our perspectives are little more than tunnel vision. So we daven for small things. Of course, even the smallest of things warrants a Tefillah, but how high are we truly aiming? Are we dreaming of comfort and success or perhaps something greater.

Dovid HaMelech says in Tehillim (קט:יד):

תַּחַת־אַהֲבָתִי יִשְׂטְנוּנִי וַאֲנִי תְפִלָּה In return for my love they are my adversaries; But I am all prayer.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali (the Talmid of the Ramchal) explains that what Dovid HaMelech was saying וַאֲנִי תְפִלָּה is that even when Jews hate me, I'm davening for them. Because the world that I want to build and develop is bigger than me. וַאֲנִי תְפִלָּה means that my life is defined in service of something greater than myself.

The Gra teaches (אבן שלמה ט:ח) that the primary focus of all Tefilla is for Klal Yisrael. And Reb Chaim Volozhiner (נפש החיים שער ב פי״א) explains that even when davening for our own parnassa and refuah and hatzlacha we should ultimately be davening “Hashem, please help me to fill your world with Kedusha and Tahara. This is what I'll need to achieve it...”

The Baal Shem Tov (בעל שם טוב בראשית פרשת נח קכו) explains similarly that at its core, tefillah is not for the individual at all, but for the absence of Hashem in this world to be cured.

These two kinds of Tefillah – myopic vs universal – are two ways to live our lives. The Torah (ד:מז) tells us in our Parsha of that these two ideas are reflected in kinds of work that the Levi'im were appointed to do in the Mishkan:

...כׇּל־הַבָּ֗א לַעֲבֹ֨ד עֲבֹדַ֧ת עֲבֹדָ֛ה וַעֲבֹדַ֥ת מַשָּׂ֖א בְּאֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵֽד׃ Everyone who entered in to do the work of service, and the work of bearing burdens in the Tent of Meeting.

Rav Aharon of Karlin (בית אהרן פ׳ נשאofKarlin%2CNumbers%2CNasso.2?vhe=BeitAharon,Brody,_1875.&lang=bi)) notes:

There is work called עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה. Work for the sake of work. This is work that needs to be done. Earning a living so that we can support our families, eating so that we have the energy to serve Hashem. Learning Torah so that we can fulfill the mitzvos.

But there is another kind of work, עֲבֹדַת מַשָּׂא – the work of lifting up, of raising up. This work is externally indistinguishable from עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה. It's the same going to work, eating dinner, taking out the trash, paying taxes and packing the kids' bags for camp. But this raises us, it elevates us, gives meaning and substance and purpose to the experience.

It's possible for a person to be fulfilling every detail of the Shulchan Aruch and still live a life of עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה. And it's a possible for a person that doesn't know the difference between kiddish and kaddish to be being living a life of עֲבֹדַת מַשָּׂא – raising themselves up.

It is this theme that begins the count of the Jewish people throughout Sefer BaMidbar, שאו את ראש – raise up the heads of the Jewish people. And our Parsha begins with:

נָשֹא אֶת־רֹאשׁ בְּנֵי גֵרְשׁוֹן גַּם־הֵם... “Take a census of the sons of Gershon also, by their fathers’ houses, by their families;

The Abir Yaakov writes, that this pasuk invites all those that are the “Sons of Gershon” those who are “מגורשין – distant”, from Hashem to be raised up. To experience the aspirations of בני עליה, to become people who are growing. Quite literally, נָשֹא אֶת־רֹאשׁ is a directive to us to start looking upwards once again.

This raising up is not confined to the world of looking. The Torah this week teaches us about ברכת כהנים – which, in Halacha, is formally referred to as נשיאת כפים- the raising of the hands.

Rabbeinu Bachya explains that the Kohen lifting his hands to bless the nation harkens back to the war between Klal Yisrael and Amalek where Moshe sat atop the mountain and raised his hands to inspire the nation to place their trust in Hashem as they raised their own hands in battle. The job of the Kohen, thus, is to inspire us to lift out own hands, to climb to the next rung of the ladder to Shamayim.

Hashem should help us this week, this summer, to look up again. To discover Him in everything that we do, to find the tefillah that's greater than ourselves, and to daven that He raises us all up to become Bnei Aliyah.

There's a story about a sweet young couple, who met in high school. He’s a year older, so he graduates a year before her. He makes his way to Yeshiva in Eretz Yisrael, where she joins him a year later.

They're incredibly cute; trying hard not to be too close, knowing they're too young to get married. But both sets of parents already know that they're meant for each other, and begin working towards making a life for them together.

They go off to college, and in short order the announce their engagement.

She’s an amazing girl. Smart, articulate, a ba'alas middos, from a great family, with a promising career ahead. He’s everyone’s favorite guy. Serious about his learning, good looking, mature, funny, and real mench.

Now, coming from well-to-do families, as they both did, their wedding was the most magical event that anyone could imagine. The kind of wedding that people would talk about for years. Classy, elegant, beautiful. Everyone from everywhere was there; and the dancing continued long into the night.

And as they got into their limo, leaving the wedding hall, their families smiled with the knowledge that their children's lives will simply be as perfect as possible.

But there's a reason that Disney sequels are never so successful. Fairy-tale life never the reality after credits the roll...

A year after finishing college, he is offered a significant and lucrative opportunity. But it comes with costs and trade offs. He stands to make some serious money, and jump start a great career, but the time investment is immense, and for the next two years, he'll be traveling weekly, spending little time at home.

The young couple go back and forth, debating the merits of this offer, finally agreeing to accept it “just to get us started for a few years.”

It is hard to predict what lies beyond the horizon.

As he spends time away from his wife, they begin to drift apart. It was difficult to notice the changes from day to day, but for the first time in years, they don’t always know each other’s schedules, their interests don’t always align. He meets new people, different people, in different places. She finds a group of friends to spend time with when he's not around. Slowly, the closeness that they once had begins to unravel.

We won't belabor the point, but months later, the unthinkable happens. The ultimate betrayal. Their magical, fairy tale life had finally fizzled and died.

A Get is arranged in short order.

They retreat to the quiet dark corner of their lives; people know not to ask too many questions. But the sadness, the failure is always present.

It had been two years since that fateful moment, and they still have not spoken to each other, or really, to anyone else. Both of them running on auto-pilot, unsure how to continue.

Deep down, each of them they missed the other. They missed the lives that they used to have, the love that they used to share. But how does one come back from such darkness?

But Hashem has plans.

Unexpectedly, with traffic, weather and delays all timed to Godly perfection, they find themselves seated next to each other on a six hour flight from New York to Los Angeles.

It's awkward and uncomfortable. What do you say? What can you say? Slowly, the silence is breached. They talk in hushed voices. Neither can forgive or forget, but it feels oddly comforting to be together again.

When the flight lands, they agree to maybe meet up for coffee.

They take it slow. Cautiously rebuilding their relationship, until a few months later, they decide to try again.

Gone is the magic, the sound and light show, the expensive dresses, wines and music. The second Wedding is a quiet, backyard event, with close family and friends.

And as they set up their home once again, they’re faced with the question, which benchers to put on the table, which photos to put up on the wall? The memories from the first wedding, or the second?

What would you do? Perhaps we might suggest to pack away the memories of that first wedding. The one that failed, as a reminder of how easy it is to fail. Perhaps we should as they proudly display the pictures and memories of the second wedding. The one that’ll last forever.

This question is not hypothetical. It is the paradigmatic question of Shavuos: Essentially, we are all celebrating the first wedding between God and the Jewish People. The wedding that failed. The kesuba that was shattered when Moshe came down the mountain and saw the Egel HaZahav.

Just forty days after Shavuos, at the foot of Mount Sinai, we had an affair, with another god.

Which begs the question: Today is not the day the Torah was given. It is not זמן מתן תורתנו. (See מגן אברהם ס׳ תצ״ד). That Torah was taken away, destroyed, shattered. What remained was a broken relationship, one that was only repaired months later on Yom Kippur when we received the Torah again.

So what are we celebrating?

The Bnei Yissaschar (חודש סיון מאמר ד׳) explains: We are not celebrating the Torah as we know it. That Torah was indeed taken away, shattered and hidden in the Aron. On Shavuos we are celebrating the covenantal relationship that enabled the Hashem to give us His Torah. Shavuos is the moment before the wedding. The relationship before the details. It’s the deepest part of our connection to Hashem God.

This is what Rabbi Chaim Vital refered to as Nishmas HaTorah – the inner most soul of the Torah (עץ חיים הקדמת מוהרח”ו על שער ההקדמות (ד”ה והנה דבריהם)).

But how do we achieve this relationship practically?

By constantly asking and seeking the answer to a singular profound question: What is the purpose of my life as a Jew?

How should I create a life of purpose, meaning and transcendence? What should my life achieve? With this in mind, Torah is far more than a collection of rules. It's much greater than the “do's” and “don'ts”. Those are manifestations of a greater truth.

Yes, it's true, that at Sinai, we committed to that great philosophy, and then promptly went off to desecrate one of the most basic rules. But the philosophy, the relationship, remained. It was damaged, but not irreparably.

That's our celebration this Yom Tov. We remember that we and Hashem share a vision, a goal, a covenant and a purpose. One that exists beyond all failure, all setbacks. Hashem should help us to feel Him in the Nishmas HaTorah, and to find our own Neshamas there as well.