GOOD MORNING! Last week I was studying with a young man who posed the following question: “Rabbi, we see all these terrible things going on in the world; how can we believe in a beneficent and loving God when we see so many things that seem to prove the absence of one?” He went on to say that because of this philosophical dissidence many of his friends, who had grown up in religious homes, had begun to abandon their belief in a theocentric universe.

Counseling young adults for several decades has shown me that most individuals choose what they want to believe, and then make their perception of facts fit their chosen path. There tends to be very little genuine or impartial effort expended in the exploration of life or beliefs. This applies to just about every aspect of life; religion, politics, the economy, etc. For the most part, people end up adjusting the facts to fit into what they want to believe.

Thus, individuals who prefer to live their lives unconstrained by what they perceive to be the rigors of religion will begin to question the very nature of a good and loving God. It is rare that a person truly wonders about the nature of God without trying to create a certain outcome for himself. When it comes to understanding the very nature of God we must begin with the understanding that God, by His very nature, is completely unknowable.”

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Morgensztern of Kotzk (1787–1859), better known as the Kotzker Rebbe (or “The Kotzker”) was a brilliant Hasidic master and renowned Torah scholar. His brand of Hasidism was different from that of the famous Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760).

While the Baal Shem Tov had a special focus on connecting to the unlearned and lifting their spirits, the Kotzker promoted withering self-analysis and demanded uncompromising truths; ones without conflation of self-interest. It is perhaps unsurprising that he was not nearly as successful in attracting adherents as the Baal Shem Tov.

The Kotzker had an innate brilliance for expressing piercing insights with concision. Concerning our discussion regarding the nature of the Almighty he said:

“What kind of God would He be if I could understand Him?”

Trying to make God and His guidance of the world fit into what we perceive to be “good,” is fraught with many issues, not the least of which being that a finite creature cannot begin to fathom the true nature of an infinite God. Limiting God by making Him fit into our value system represents a profound misunderstanding of the nature of God. Our perspective is terribly narrow.

The easiest way for me to explain this fallacy is by using the following illustration. At some point, every two-year-old can come to the conclusion that their parents must hate them. After all, their parents refuse to give them as much candy as they want, they “force” them to bathe and go to sleep, and then “torture” them by taking them to doctors to get probed and endure painful shots. In fact, if your child at some point hasn’t said to you, “You hate me!” then you’re probably doing something wrong.

We simply have to accept that there are some things that are unknowable to us and, just like a child innately perceives that a parent has his best self-interest at heart, we too trust that the Almighty “knows” what He’s doing. Regarding those who preoccupy themselves with an endless pursuit of understanding the whys of what God does, the Kotzker writes:

“People are accustomed to looking at the heavens and wondering what happens there. It would be better if they would look within themselves, to see what happens there.”

Perhaps another way to restate this would be: Instead of looking at the world and choosing what facts you want to focus on and then concluding that there must not be a beneficent God, start by looking within yourself and try to understand why you desire to live in a world without a God.

Of course, this is true when it comes to the Torah as well. For the vast majority of mitzvot, we can assign reasons and purposes that are easily understood. However, there are some mitzvot for which the true meaning is more inscrutable than others. The great Biblical commentator known as Rashi cites some of the laws of kosher as classic examples of this.

The laws of kosher are both complicated and varied, many of which are contained in this week’s Torah portion. In addition to the animals that are listed as being kosher and non-kosher, the Torah gives a lengthy list of twenty-four non-kosher birds.

The famous medieval Spanish scholar known as Nachmanides, suggests that the birds that the Torah lists, many of which are classic birds of prey, we are prohibited to consume because they exhibit cruelty and negative character traits. Therefore, the consumption of those birds could infuse these traits into the person’s character (see Ramban 11:13). This very well might be the first known example of the saying, “You are what you eat.”

But Nachmanides’ interpretation requires further elucidation.

The Talmud (Chullin 63a) goes into lengthy discussions as to the origins of the Hebrew names of the birds listed in this week’s Torah portion. Regarding one of the birds – the chassidah – the Talmud says it is the bird called daya (Rashi identifies this bird as the stork). Of course, the Talmud then asks if it is really known as daya then why is it called a chassidah?

The Talmud answers that the name chassidah is derived from the word chessed – “kindness” and that this daya bird does kindnesses with its friends so the Torah calls it the chassidah. But this begs the following question; according to Nachmanides the reason these birds are prohibited from consumption is because of their negative character traits. If so, then why is this bird that does kindnesses for its friends and seems to typify a very worthy character trait considered non-kosher?

Once again we turn to the illustrious Kotzker Rebbe who answers that the reason it’s considered a negative character trait is because this bird only does kindness with its friends – it ignores all other creatures. Thus, its kindness is limited and not a wholly worthy attribute.

But as my brilliant father points out, this answer needs some further explanation. After all, it may not be a complete chessed, but this bird still does kindness. Why would the Torah call this bird by the very attribute of chessed and yet according to Nachmanides the Talmud is referring to it as a negative character trait?

My father explains that the real problem is that this bird considers what it does for its friends to be a kindness. This is a capital mistake. What we do for our friends and loved ones can never be considered a chessed – kindness. We do this out of love and care for them and an innate desire to see them flourish. We cannot consider the acts of kindness that we do for our friends and loved ones to be charitable endeavors. Rather, we must look at those actions for them as an expression of our love.

That’s the reason it’s considered a negative character trait. The chassidah has a certain narcissism to it; everything is about itself and anything it does for others is considered chessed, even when it does those acts for its friends and loved ones. That’s not what the attribute of chessed is supposed to be. That’s why it’s a negative attribute and that’s what renders the chassidah unfit for consumption.

Shemini, Leviticus 9:1 – 11:47

Concluding the seven days of inauguration for the Mishkan (Portable Sanctuary), Aaron, the High Priest, brings sacrifices for himself and the entire nation. Nadav and Avihu, sons of Aaron, bring an incense offering of their own initiative, and are consumed by a heavenly fire (perhaps the only time when someone did something wrong and was immediately struck by “lightning”).