Parashat Pinchas: Labor of Love

“‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself’ (Lev. 19:18) – Rabbi Akiva says, ‘This is a great principle of the Torah’” (Sifra Kedoshim 2:4). Less well known is the opinion of Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi, who states, in a midrash quoted in the introduction to Ein Yaakov, that the foundational principle of the Torah is a verse from Parashat Pinĥas that deals with the daily tamid sacrifice in the Temple: “The one lamb shalt thou offer in the morning, and the other lamb shalt thou offer at dusk” (Num. 28:4).

Rabbi Akiva’s choice to frame love as a foundational principle appears obvious, for all of us, it seems, ascribe importance to love and see it as one of life’s main values. In contrast, Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi’s choice seems odd.

It seems that Rabbi Shimon does not select that verse to highlight the importance of the burnt offerings, but rather due to a value that it teaches us: persistence and consistency. There is no shortage of talk about love: everyone seeks it out and suffers in its absence. We are not generally as conscious of persistence as a value. Many people’s lives are paved with difficulties due to a lack of perseverance, and could stand to benefit greatly from Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi’s words.

Fun and Change

Today, more and more people are realizing – thanks to New Age practices, among other causes – that they will not attain happiness and meaning merely by improving their material conditions, but rather that they must develop their inner worlds. Yet, it seems that only few attain the spiritual experiences for which they yearn. The flaw is not necessarily in their methods, but rather in their inability to commit to, and persist in, the work. Deep, significant change is not an easy thing to sustain. No single workshop has the power to effect a transformation in life, and those who think it can are deluding themselves. A workshop is good for learning a technique, but only a regular, long-term practice can actualize a technique’s potential benefits.

I have a friend who was deeply influenced by Vipassana meditation. Impressed by the change I witnessed in him, I looked into signing up for a basic Vipassana retreat, during which, over ten days and nights, participants devote themselves to breathing-based meditations. When I asked my friend what he thought of the retreat, he said that it would be an interesting experience, but that in order to effect real change I would have to establish a regular meditation practice. He once told me his secret for successful spiritual seeking: “If you want to reach water, you need to dig deep. Those who are constantly digging new holes will never make it!”

There once was a man who traveled to the famous Shaolin Monastery to study kung fu. Upon entering, he was placed before a barrel of water and instructed to slap the surface day and night. For months he complied, waiting for the day when the secrets of kung fu would be divulged to him. Finally he gave up and left. When the man arrived at his home, his family asked him what he had learned. He replied that he had not learned a thing and, venting his frustration, slapped the dinner table, which, to his utter astonishment, broke in two.

Rabbi Nahman often quotes the maxim “All beginnings are difficult.” Yet, as one of my students once pointed out, the opposite is often true – beginnings tend to be easy. It does not take much effort to be excited by something new, but to practice something over an extended period of time, even when it brings tedium – that is far less enticing.

Setting Times

The daily burnt offerings, sacrificed every morning and evening, are an expression not only of persistence, but also of consistency. Without constancy and habit, it is hard to persist, and a lot of energy is wasted on finding time. When we have to fit something into our schedule, we tend to put it off. Take, for example, someone who wishes to participate in a workshop and do spiritual work. In order to generate the right atmosphere, the workshop requires a twenty-four-hour period during which one must adhere to a set of stringent guidelines. How often should someone be expected to take time off from the rat race and participate in such a workshop? Once a year? Perhaps twice? How about once a week? Such a workshop already exists, and many – including working people and parents – participate in it. It is called Shabbat.

I am afraid that if we had to decide for ourselves, every time anew, when we would like to refrain from work, Shabbat would have been a thing of the distant past. This is true of many other mitzvot as well. The mitzva is a container that, with the passage of time, hardens into a self-evident cornerstone for life. Accepting the framework frees us to pursue things in depth, rather than occupy ourselves with external questions of what, when, and how. With Shabbat, too, the laws of the day provide a general foundation and framework for the spontaneity and natural flow that come later. That is how the spiritual experiences of Shabbat are facilitated.

Some are troubled by the thought of a routine driven by rote, mindless action, but that is precisely the source of its power.  A friend of mine used to run ten kilometers every Friday. Once, he told me, it was very hot outside, and he was forced to cut short his run. On the following week, he had a hard time finishing his route, because he knew that he had the option of stopping midway. The barrier had been broken. Free will is a uniquely human capacity, but we must distinguish between times when the capacity to decide serves us and when it holds us back.

They say that when a person dies and the soul rises, it is asked, “Did you set times for Torah study?” (Shabbat 31a). Why, rather than ask whether one studied Torah, is the emphasis placed on setting times? It seems that in heaven, too, it is known that without habits there can be no study.

Renewal

But what about renewal? The Greek philosopher Heraclitus famously said that one cannot step into the same river twice. It seems that there are two reasons for this. First, the river is truly not the same river, for as soon as someone persists at something, it changes. Indeed, the rate of change is slow and often not immediately apparent, but as time passes it deepens. Most of us lack the depth dimension. Second, the person is no longer the same: we change with time, so that the import of our encounter with the various elements of life is always in flux.

A good example is the weekly parasha. For thousands of years, Jews the world over have been reading the same Torah portions week in and week out, completing the cycle every year. Learning the parasha lends an element of immutability to Jewish identity and creates intergenerational continuity. Yet, the meaning of the parashot evolves and is renewed from one generation to the next and from one individual to another. Furthermore, those who delve deeply into the parasha discover that, even for the individual, it acquires fresh meaning from year to year.

Stability

In the Temple, the daily sacrifices created a sort of framework for the day. They were the first and the last offerings of every day; in between, priests would bring the rest of the mandatory and voluntary sacrifices. They were also brought on Shabbat, Rosh Ĥodesh, and the festivals, which is why the special sacrifices of those days were termed “musafim,” literally “added on.”

This is true, too, of life, whose constant elements lend it stability. Life has ups and downs, and stable and constant elements can be a firm foundation that keeps us from getting lost, enabling us to connect with our roots rather than, God forbid, become severed from them.

Love and Loyalty

So far we have been discussing the importance of perseverance as a means for growth, but it is also important as an end in itself. Earlier, we noted the significance of love. Dedication is not only a crucial element of a deepening relationship. Beyond that, the capacity to persevere even when things are not going smoothly and when we do not feel like it – even in the midst of crises – is a manifestation of true love and loyalty. This is also true of the relationship between the individual and God.

I had a student who volunteered for an elite military unit where the training is known to be especially grueling. He told me about his frustration when, at the end of each day, sapped by the training regimen, he would pray Maariv without intention. I reminded him that, according to the Talmud (Berakhot 26b), the prayers are substituted for the daily sacrificial offerings. His very capacity to battle through exhaustion and stick with his routine was an expression of the spiritual essence of the daily sacrifices.