Rabbi's Blog

Recently I saw a cleaning van advertising cleaning of carpets, cleaning up water damage, and so forth. Many cars and vans advertise their companies as they drive around. This particular van had a special vacuum painted on the side, guaranteeing expert service. Their catch phrase was that after using their services you would feel "like it never happened" with the purpose of convincing the potential customer that if he had any flood damage, their company would quickly and efficiently clean the damage up and make the carpet look like new. The only catch is, they use the word 'like" it never happened because we can never truly erase something once it had happened.

Beth Jacob has begun to put a security fence around the Shul. The need for this fence has stuck a dagger further into me. A few years back we erected five barriers in the entrance area to the Shul and another two barriers on the College Avenue entrance in order to prevent a vehicle from barreling into the Shul building. It bothered me back then that our freedom was being encroached upon. Now we are installing yet another barrier for "our own security" - a fence around the perimeter of the property. There are some measures that we take in order to protect ourselves as well as all individuals who visit our facility. Some of these measures are not clearly evident, but some are outright obtrusive.

Despite the displeasure I have with regard to the security measures that are being taken, I am glad that we are taking them. Unfortunately, we live in a place and time which makes this kind of protection necessary and wise. Some say we would be negligent if we did not do these things. And so, I am glad we are doing them, but sad that we have to do them. I feel old by saying this, but I remember when things were different and so much simpler. Today's generation doesn't know what it means to fly without going through a security-screening system. So, too, the children of our community won't know what the Shul grounds were like before we had a security fence around the perimeter of the property. They will think this is the way it always was.

Gates, boundaries, and fences aren't only used in physical situations of security; they are also used to separate things that are good from those things which are bad. Halachically, we construct a fence around a cemetery in order to divide the tumah - spiritual impurity within the cemetery from taharah - the spiritual purity outside the boundaries of the cemetery. We put up separations - or mechitzas - to create holiness, as I've discussed previously. Whether it be a fence, a wall, stones, or an imaginary line, I believe that a fundamental component for having any type of barrier is understanding both sides of the fence.

At the end of this week's Parsha Vayeitzay, we find the significance of barriers - no matter what their construction. In Bereishis 31:44-47, a bris/covenant is described. Lavan, Yaakov's father in law, wanted to establish this bris/covenant with Yaakov in order to end their dispute peacefully. Lavan says, "Let this covenant be for a witness between me and you." Yaakov immediately took a stone and set it up for a pillar. Then Yaakov instructs his brothers (actually his sons) to gather stones. They gathered the stones and made a heap, and then they ate by the heap to confirm and ratify the treaty as was the custom in those days.

In passuk 31:48 the Torah states: "Vayomer Lavan, HaGal Hazeh Eid Beini Uvbeincha HaYom, Al Kein Karah Shmo GalAde". "And Lavan said: This heap is witness between me and thee this day, therefore he called the name of it GalAde". Rabbeinu Asher, known as the Rosh, explores these verses and adds the following insight into the narrative. The Rosh explains that they took a drawn sword and stuck it into the pile of stones next to the Matzeiva (the altar) that they erected and made the following declaration: "Whoever violates this covenant one against his fellow, will be speared by this sword and will stumble by this monument erected as the remembrance of the Bris"!

Chazal, the Sages of blessed memory, say that Bilaam (the non-Jewish prophet who tried to curse the Jewish people) was either a reincarnation of Lavan or just one of his descendants. This is why the passuk in Bamidbar 22:23 states that while Bilaam was riding on his donkey, the donkey saw the angel of Hashem standing in the way with a sword drawn in his hand. The donkey turned away and found itself in a narrow vineyard passageway with a fence on either side. The donkey again saw the angel of God and thrust herself into the wall, crushing Bilaam's leg. Bilaam was specifically pushed into the stones because he was in violation of the Bris as he was going against the offspring of Yaakov who was blessed by Hashem. Fittingly, it wasn't too much later that Bilaam was killed by a sword. This is represented by the Torah saying later that the stones and the sword are the witnesses which will put someone to death. In this case, it was Bilaam.

The sad part of Lavan and Yaakov being forced to establish this dividing line is the result of Lavan not appreciating everything his son-in-law Yaakov did for him. Their children would not remember that they once lived together as one big, happy family. Now they were forced to rely on a treaty which stated that neither side would breach the fence, and if they did so they would be subject to being killed. In our day and age as we live through these experiences of change, one must keep in mind that this is NOT the way it used to be. From time immemorial societies have placed barriers or fences to keep strangers or those not invited away or to block one group of people from the other. These barriers are artificial and, as such, are clear signs of separation. As American Jews, they are foreign and uncomfortable, particularly with regard to our most welcoming of all places: our Shuls. The challenge we face as human beings and as Jews in particular is not only to remember the way it was but to strive to make life the calm, safe, and welcoming place that it is supposed to be.

Ah Gut Shabbos