Are You An Angel?

by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine

One of the greatest moments in Jewish history is when the Jewish people were redeemed from Egypt. Yet, in this week’s parsha, just as the Torah is about to describe the dramatic redemption process, the Torah digresses to genealogy.  When the suspense is greatest, the story about to reach its climax, the Torah begins to tell us Moshe’s lineage. Why is it suddenly so important for us to know who Moshe’s father, mother, brother, and cousins were?

Moshe’s role in Jewish tradition is much more than that of a hero or mentor. Moshe’s very success is intended to be an inspiration for us. As the Rambam writes: “Every person can be a Tzaddik like Moshe.” Certainly, one cannot become a prophet like Moshe. That was a gift from Hashem to Moshe alone. But, we are all given challenges  by Hashem, uniquely suited for us, and the free will to respond to them so that, by living life correctly, we each can become as righteous as Moshe.

Rav Hirsch suggests that this is why the Torah finds it so necessary to digress from the dramatic story of Moshe and the redemption from Egypt. If we are to view Moshe as an inspiration in our lives, we need to establish that he started-off as a human being, just like you and me. He had two parents, and he had cousins. He was mortal. Although he would ascend to great heights, he wasn’t born that way. Like you and me, he had to find his way. He too had to grapple with the human challenges of life, both in thought and in action.

Rav Hirsch points out that there is a different religion that gave their mentor divine status, and as a result it is difficult for that religion to preach spiritual growth. Instead, the mentor is angelic, and that religion’s motto for the people is, “You are born in sin, you will die in sin, and you can only be saved by the grace of G-d.”

Not so in Judaism. Our hero is human. He is born of parents. He too had free choice. He too made mistakes. He too wondered plenty about G-d’s world and even asked the question, “Why does suffering happen to good people?” We know his origins, his mission and his challenges. We are able to see ourselves and our life’s journey in his.

Sometimes, when people write biographies about great Jews they try to finesse the challenging times. For example, I am told that when Rabbi Aaron Kotler was starting out in the field of Jewish education he would knock on people’s doors and plead with parents to send their children to yeshiva. But, when a biography was being written about this great Jew, some people objected to the inclusion of that tidbit. They felt it was not honorable for the founder of the yeshiva in Lakewood-today home to thousands of students- to be perceived as a person who had to go door-to-door soliciting students.

I can’t say if they are right or wrong. Perhaps they are entitled to their opinion. But, if we deprive the Jewish community of that great tidbit, we have robbed from them the humanness of this great person.

A similar situation exists regarding the Chofetz Chayim, who ascended to almost mystical, legend-like status by the time he was in his 80s and 90s. Most people think of the Chofetz Chayim as a Tzaddik and a great scholar. They know his life only from when he was a grown man. So they kind of think that he was born that way.

What they forget is that the Chofetz Chayim was orphaned when he was a young child. At the time of his father’s passing, young Yisroel Meir had only studied 40 pages of Talmud. And, when his father passed away he simply reviewed endlessly the same 40 pages that his father had taught him until, one day, he gathered the fortitude to turn the page and try to learn further on his own.

Most people don’t talk about that challenging moment is his life. But, it is at that moment, when he turned the page on his own, that he became the Chofetz Chayim, destined to lead his people during challenging times and to author so many works that are classics in every Torah home.

A number of years ago, I was mentoring a gentleman who had a very limited background in Hebrew studies. Our sessions were fairly predictable. I would recite the words with their translations, and he would dutifully repeat what I had said.

One day, after we had learned a few verses together using the style he was used to, I said, “Okay, Mark, now go ahead and do the next verse on your own.”

He looked at me with astonishment and said, “Oh, but I can’t do that, Rabbi.”

I said, “Hey, why not Mark? Are you an angel?”

He looked at me quizzically. “No, Rabbi, I’m not an angel…”

I proceeded to tell him the story of the Chofetz Chayim turning the page on his own. And, I told him the lesson of Moshe’s humanness and how we can learn from his challenges. And I said, “Well then, Mark, if you are not an angel, then you are just like them. Just give it your best shot and I’m sure you will succeed.”

And he did.

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