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1) From the Sotah to the Screen
The Torah places the parshas sotah immediately before parshas nazir. Chazal tell us the juxtaposition is instructive: one who witnesses a sotah's degradation should be moved to become a nazir. But the Mashgiach, Rav Moshe Wolfson z”l, asks a sharp question — why does this advice pertain only to one who actually sees the sotah process firsthand? Shouldn’t news of a sotah – or even study of Maseches Sotah – provide a similar motivation to create safeguards?
After witnessing a Jew be mechalel Shabbos, the Baal Shem Tov concluded that what his eyes beheld must have also contained a message for him. Anything a person witnesses was meant for them to see. And, in particular, if a person sees an aveirah, they should view it as an opportunity to improve in that particular area in their own life. Perhaps, r”l, chilul Shabbos is too rampant today to serve as a message to its onlookers. But the concept holds.
This is what Chazal instruct those who find themselves in the Mikdash as a Sotah comes through: “But the fact that you were shown from Heaven the degradation of the Sotah — that is a sign to you that your soul is not whole, and you – specifically you - are compelled to abstain from wine on account of the deficiency of your (body or) soul.” Wine itself is kadosh and obligatory. The nazir's abstinence is thus not virtuous, per se. It's corrective, forced on him by a diagnosed deficiency in his (body or) soul.
I think we can draw the line to our moment with some precision. The “algorithm” – our screens – does not create desire but mirrors it. What surfaces on our screens is a siman of what our eyes have already sought, what our nefesh has already bent toward. We imagine we are passive consumers of whatever appears. But the screen is a sotah text written in real time: "מאשר חטא על הנפש" — the sin is of the soul, and the soul leaves tracks.
2) Which Way Are You Pointing?
Our parsha introduces the case of the sotah — a marriage undone by suspicion, jealousy metastasized into destruction. But before we condemn kina outright, Chazal force a harder question.
The Midrash Shocher Tov (mizmor 37) quotes Hashem Himself: "קנא לי — שאילולי הקנאה אין העולם מתקיים, לפי שאין אדם נושא אשה ובונה בית." Be jealous for My sake — for without jealousy the world cannot endure, since no one would marry or build a home. And Koheles (4:4) goes further: all human striving, every act of accomplishment, traces back to "קנאת איש מרעהו" — a man's envy of his neighbor.
So, which is it? Is kinah the force that builds civilization, or the rot that destroys a marriage?
Rav Simcha Zissel of Kelm (Chochmah uMussar II:201) parses it beautifully. There are two entirely different kinas, both with the same name. One says, I want to rise to where that person is. The other says, I want him or her to be brought down to where I am. The first is the engine of the world, it’s felt by and drives nearly everyone - save for the best of us. The second is more niche; it’s what destroyed Kayin. When Hashem confronts Kayin — "למה חרה לך" — He is not condemning this feeling but rather diagnosing its direction: "תפסת הקנאה ברע, ולא כן — אלא תתפוס הקנאה בטוב." You grabbed “jealousy” by its wrong end! Grab it by its right end. "אם תיטיב — שאת." Redirect it upward, and you will be lifted.
Furthermore, the Zohar (Vayechi, תשלג) adds what I think is the most counterintuitive piece: love without kina is not fully love. "כיון שקנא — נשלמה האהבה." It is the jealousy that completes it, because you only feel protective of what you genuinely treasure.
The parshah of Sotah is not a warning against feeling kina. It is a warning against aiming it in the wrong direction!
3) Even Them
Parshas Naso begins with Bnei Gershon, even though the broader census of the Levi'im opened in the previous parshah with Bnei Kehas. The sequencing is deliberate, and the message is aimed directly at the people sitting in our shuls (or schools or kehillos) who feel perpetually caught in the middle.
Bnei Kehas carried the holiest vessels: the Aron, Shulchan, Menorah, Mizbe'ach HaKetores. Their avodah represents the spiritually great. Bnei Merari carried the boards and beams, the honest, structural, unglamorous work. They represent the person who knows his place, does his job, and lives with religious simplicity. Both have clarity, both have dignity…
… And Bnei Gershon have neither. They carry the curtains, coverings, and ropes; these are the things that are necessary but undefined, neither glorious nor simple. They represent the person too spiritually sensitive to be satisfied with a plain religious life, yet not elevated enough to feel like a carrier of the Aron. They want more, yet they cannot fully become what they long for. They are caught in the middle, in a grey zone.
That is precisely why the Torah singles them out: "נשא את ראש בני גרשון גם הם" — lift up the head of Bnei Gershon: also them. The “gam hem” here is everything! Their torn, incomplete, yearning avodah is not a consolation prize. It is its own kedushah.
The Ofanim in Kedushah illuminate this. The Serafim are pure fire above. The Ofanim act as wheels, bound below, straining upward. Yet precisely because they live that tension, their shirah reaches somewhere the Serafim cannot. A Jew who says "Ribbono shel Olam, I wanted to do something for You" gives Hakadosh Baruch Hu something the angels cannot offer.
The chiddush of the parshah: the feeling of being torn is not an obstacle to avodas Hashem. It may be exactly where avodas Hashem lies. (Rav Steinsaltz z”l on the parasha – and see this short piece from R. Moshe as well.)
4) For Those in Israel - Behaaloscha
The Purpose Behind the Wandering: Lessons from the Midbar
Galus mirrors the way we lived in the Midbar. Specifically, R’ Yehonason Alpren reveals a parallel between our current galus and the 42 encampments in the midbar. Just as Am Yisrael would settle in one location for an uncertain period — sometimes days, sometimes years — only to receive sudden instructions to pack up and move to the next place, so too our communities throughout history found themselves unexpectedly on the move from places they'd called home for generations. But there's deeper spiritual logic at work here.
Each encampment served a specific purpose: we were stationed there to accomplish a particular spiritual task, and only when that mission was complete would come the signal that it was time to move forward. We are never randomly placed in our current circumstances; we are here for a reason. We are positioned precisely where we need to be to fulfill our unique mission in that time and place. When that task is finished, the Hashgacha that guides Jewish history signals it's time for the next chapter. R’ Alpren draws on the wisdom of Rav Chaim Volozhin to explain how the siddur functions as more than just a collection of prayers — it serves as a bridge between exile and redemption, giving us direct access to Hashem regardless of our physical displacement.
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