ייִדישער מחשבֿה אויף רות 2:10

Since man is composed of two parts, the physical and the spiritual, he needs to operate with two kinds of perceptions, one which enables him to recognise the material, the worldly, and the other which helps him recognise and relate to spiritual phenomena or spiritual aspects of other human beings. When we talk about "knowing so and so," we define "so and so" in terms of height, width, colour etc. We perceive that he is human by a different cognitive process, a process reserved for recognising intangible abstract concepts. The former process is called hakkarah, recognition, the latter yediyah, knowledge. When the brothers brought Joseph's blood-drenched coat to their father Jacob, they said "do you recognise if this is the coat of your son?" This is a term applicable only to material things. When G'd talks about Abraham, prior to revealing to him the impending destruction of Sodom, He says "for I know him, in order that he will command etc." This clearly describes cognition of Abraham's personality, something intangible. Since it is not easy to acquire the latter facility, our sages have frequently illustrated abstract concepts by employing parables. The phenomena described in such parables are a sort of crutch to help us translate these concepts into the abstract. The master par excellence of such parables is king Solomon, whose parables acquired international and enduring fame. He employed the double entendre for instance, when he advised the lazy man to learn from the ant which lays in a food supply in advance of the oncoming winter. (Proverbs 6) The hidden message is that man who has been given a brain should use and condition it, so that when the difficult time (winter) arrives, he will be prepared to cope with it, since he is aware of the purpose of difficult periods. The Torah also employs such parables on occasion. When Moses says in Deut 32,46, "pay attention to all the matters which I testify against you this day...for it is not an empty matter... but it is your life," the reference is to the fact that words of admonition are not to be understood only at face value, but they address themselves also to our ability to comprehend spiritual concepts. (see our commentary about G'd talking to Adam in Eden, chapter seven) A similar double entendre is contained in the Torah's legislation about warfare. The Torah legislates about physical warfare, of course; but internal struggles in the soul are being described at the same time. By overcoming internal foes, the soldier readies himself to overcome external foes and to conquer foreign lands. (Internal struggles may also include the fight of the body to overcome a virus it has been invaded by, for instance) A person's face reflects inner struggles, just as warfare between nations is something visible that cannot be concealed. We see this from the comment of Yonadav to Amnon. (Samuel II 13,4.) In order to treat such internal struggles, a doctor needs to be thoroughly familiar with the chemistry of the body, and he needs to be able to compensate for any chemical imbalances in the system of the afflicted patient. The most difficult war however, is the struggle between conflicting emotions or characteristics that goes on within one's personality. When love and jealousy battle with one another, when greed and generosity find themselves in conflict within the same person, this is serious indeed. When Artaxerxes accuses Nechemyah of a face which expresses sadness and anger, pointing out that the latter was not physically unwell, he alludes to the inner struggle that leaves its mark on a person's facial expressions. (Nechemyah 2,3) (compare our commentary chapter sixty seven) In spite of visible symptoms of psychological illness, the doctor who undertakes to cure same requires even more expertise than the one who cures physical ills. Since G'd is the greatest of all doctors, David proclaims: "favour me O Lord, for I am bowed down. Heal me O G'd, for my bones are afflicted; and above all my soul which is very afflicted. (Psalms 6,3-4, et al) Discussion of the verses in our Parshah will be divided into those dealing with physical warfare, and those dealing with inner conflicts. The three main objectives of a general in charge of a military campaign are summed up by Sancheriv. (Kings II chapter 18) They are: 1) words of the lips. 2) counsel. 3) bravery. In other words, a list of objectives, (words) strategic and tactical planning, (counsel) and heroism and bravery in the execution of such plans. Sancheriv accuses Chiskiyahu of breach of trust, and asks "on whom do you rely that you have dared to rebel against me?" This provided the excuse for his attack. He then ridicules any hope Chiskiyahu may be entertaining of making a successful defence, by describing Egypt and any other potential allies as useless. Thirdly, since Chiskiyahu's plans would be doomed to failure anyways, he asks who would display the heroism needed when they knew they were fighting for a lost cause! Whenever the Jewish people mobilise for warfare, the above mentioned three basic rules are observed and are described in our Parshah.

After all these lessons, the Torah repeats that instead of extending help only in return for interest charges, a relationship of mutual brotherhood or partnership is expected from Jew towards fellow Jew. (25,35-37) Love is an emotion that loses in intensity the more all embracing and comprehensive it becomes. If the common denominator between people is only the fact that they belong to the same species, that cannot be too strong a bond, although it is still a stronger bond than that between man and other parts of nature. When Ruth, the Moabite, was amazed at the kindness Boaz showed her, this was because she felt she had absolutely no claim on him, seeing the was an alien. (Ruth 2, 10) Love between people who know each other is stronger; love between relatives is still stronger. Self love is strongest and least complicated. Therefore, the Torah asks that one loves one's fellow Jew in the same manner as one loves oneself. In this instance, even the resident stranger is included in the yardstick the Torah asks us to apply to our love relationship with fellow Jews. We had stated elsewhere that the verse "if you loan money to any of My people, the poor, you must not be to him like a creditor; neither shall you impose interest charges" (Exodus 22,24), is to be understood as follows. If you do not do your duty and give to your fellow Jew, but you merely loan him, then at least you must not charge interest. Else, you would be treating him like a gentile. The reason that making a charge for lending tools, animals etc. is in order, whereas taking interest on money loaned is not, is quite simple. Money is given to be spent. It is usually required to repay debts or to supply urgent necessities of life. If an interest charge is imposed, the borrower will wind up owing even more than before. Instead of having helped him, one may cause the borrower to wind up in a worse position than before he had accepted the loan. The lender, on the other hand, expects his reward to come from G'd, not from the borrower. (Proverbs 19,17) "He who is gracious to the poor, actually lends to G'd, who will recompense him." When the Torah warns "you shall fear the Lord your G'd," it addresses itself to those who refuse to lend free of interest, and thereby exhibit their lack of faith in G'ds promise that He will recompense the lender for the advance that he made on G'ds behalf.

The Talmud in Shabbat 12, cites an interesting detail about the manner in which Rabbi Eleazar prayed for other people. Sometimes he would say in Hebrew "may the Lord grant you peace," and other times he would say the same thing, but in Aramaic. The Talmud queries this practice quoting a saying that prayers should not be said in Aramaic since the angels do not understand Aramaic, and would therefore ignore such prayers. The answer given in the Talmud is that it is no problem, since in the case of a sick person, the shechinah is present at the patient's bedside. Scriptural proof for this is cited. When the Talmud Sotah 33, quotes Rabbi Yehudah in the name of Rav saying that a person should not pray in Aramaic, whereas we have the Mishnah saying that prayers may be recited in any language, the apparent contradiction is solved by making a distinction between a prayer offered in private and those offered publicly. The former, seeing they require an intermediary to reach their address, should not be said in Aramaic, the latter, since they do not require an intermediary, can be recited in any language. It is most unlikely that the Talmud means to tell us that of all the languages in the world, the angels understand all except Aramaic. From Daniel 5,25, and the discussion in the Talmud of the hand that wrote the message on the wall of Belshazzar's palace, it is clear that it was an angel who did the writing. (Sanhedrin 52) How then can we understand the saying that angels do not understand Aramaic? What Rabbi Yehudah in the name of Rav meant, was that we should not employ everyday language when praying. Such language is used thoughtlessly; it is used so mechanically that requests formulated in such terms are not accompanied by a meylitz yosher an advocate that advances our cause. The term "the angels of G'ds service," ( malachey hasharet) is merely a euphemism for "wings," giving our prayers "wings" so to speak. If we formulate our prayers in lashon hakodesh, the holy tongue, the concentration required will already be helpful in our attaining the proper spiritual level needed to accomplish what we set out to achieve when offering prayer. However, in the presence of a sick person whose bed is presided over by G'd Himself, no such preparation is necessary. G'ds kindness is prepared to forego the usual requirements. Similarly, when a congregation prays, the collective concentration enables us to achieve through assembly what may be achieved otherwise only through purposeful individual concentration. The Talmud reports on the same page that the High Priest enjoyed communication from the archangel Gabriel in Aramaic. If the angels did not "understand" Aramaic, such a statement would not make sense. If, however, as stated, the term Aramaic is used as describing everyday language, then the fact that when man wants something he should not employ such everyday terminology, but resort to the holy tongue, makes sense. The introduction of piyutim, liturgical poetry in our prayers served to enhance the concentration with which we would express these prayers. One of the more puzzling statements concerning kavanah, or lack thereof, is found in Yerushalmi Berachot 2,4. Rabbi Chiyah reports that he contemplated the relative rank of the "Resh Galuta," the highest ranking temporal representative of the Jewish community in Babylonia while engaged in prayer. The sage Samuel recalls having counted chicks during prayer. Rabbi Bun counted the bricks on the wall. Surely, if these statements are to be taken at face value, even if they describe accidental happenings, their being included in the Talmud would be counterproductive rather than constructive!? I believe these stories to be deliberate exaggerations. They are designed to illustrate thought associations in our mind. When one is deeply engrossed in something, it is extremely difficult to banish it from one's mind completely. The Rabbis' major occupation was Torah. Therefore, their major preoccupation was with matters connected with Torah. They found it difficult to exclude Torah thoughts from their minds even during prayer. Nevertheless, they wanted to conform to the halachic requirements to keep the times for prayer and the times for study completely separate. (Shabbat 6) It happened to Rabbi Chiyah once, that during prayer he compared the relative merit of the Exilarch and someone called Alkafta, just as one mentally compares the relative merits of Abraham Isaac and Jacob. Similarly, when the scholar Samuel recited the prayer attah chonen, which deals with three mental faculties, he found himself counting chicks since the mental faculties granted man enable him to raise himself from the ground, though like chicks, he must quickly return to earth. Rabbi Bunim, while contemplating the meaning of koneh hakol, "He who owns everything," thought of the innumerable layers of matter on which the universe is built, and the thought of a row of bricks intruded on his thinking. These thought associations are a natural product of the ideas generated by the wording in the prayers. These Rabbis were so unhappy about their lapse of concentration, that they castigated themselves for what were very minor digressions.