Field Dispatch
Torah Parsha - V’zot HaBerachah/Bereshit – Judaism & Jewish Teachings: Who Is Really In Control? The Flight To Israel From Dubai
Field Notes
A flight that left Dubai on its way to Israel came terrifyingly close to disaster.
But what happened in that cockpit raises a much bigger question. How much control do we really have, and what happens when human beings forget where their power ends?
This Torah wisdom is a question that takes us from Adam HaRishon in Gan Eden at the very beginning of the Torah, all the way to Moshe Rabbeinu standing on Har Nevo in its final verses.
In this Torah Study, as we finish the Torah and immediately begin again, we will uncover what Chazal and some of our greatest Mefarshim reveal about these two towering figures, and a powerful Jewish idea about Judaism, Jewish values, Jewish faith, ambition, disappointment and human greatness.
Two extraordinary moments. One profound connection. And a powerful message about the lives we each hope to lead.
Yesterday, a plane took off from Dubai carrying around 180 people to Tel Aviv. Somewhere during that flight, something almost unimaginable happened. According to the reports that we have so far, the co-pilot attacked and stabbed the captain. The aircraft suddenly plunged thousands of feet, and apparently the man sitting at the controls was trying to crash the aeroplane with everyone on board. Passengers and crew managed to get into the cockpit and overpower him. Other pilots on board helped bring the aircraft under control, and eventually it landed in Saudi Arabia.
There is something almost terrifyingly symbolic about what happened. A human being was sitting in a cockpit. In front of him was extraordinary power. With movements of his hands he could control an aircraft carrying nearly one hundred and eighty human beings. But there is an enormous difference between having the power to do something and having the right to do it. And perhaps one of the most dangerous moments for any human being is when we stop recognizing that difference. Because the Torah begins with exactly that problem.
It begins with a human being placed in the most extraordinary cockpit ever created, Gan Aiden. Adam can eat from almost everything. He has been given dominion over creation. He is created Bselem Elokim. There is just one thing Hashem tells him. You cannot have that. And remarkably, this week, as we finish the Torah and immediately begin it again, we discover that the Torah ends almost exactly where it began. Right at the beginning of the Torah there is a man standing in paradise, Adam Harishan in Ganadin, surrounded by everything he could possibly need, and Hashem tells him that there is one thing he cannot have.
Hashem says, From every tree of the garden you may freely eat, but from the tree of knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat from it. And the Torah ends in almost the same way. Moshe stands on Hanavo looking at Erit Shrael. After forty years of leading the Jewish people towards the land, he can see it with his own eyes. And Hashem tells him there is one thing he cannot have. Hashem says, This is the land that I swore to Avraham to Yitzhak and to Yaakov, saying to your descendants, I will give it.
I have let you see it with your own eyes, but you shall not cross over there. The Torah begins with Adam, confronted by something that is placed beyond his reach, and the Torah ends with Moshe, confronted by something that is placed beyond his reach. This synergy of the way that the Torah both starts and ends is of course no coincidence. The question is why is the Torah framed in this way? What is it coming to teach us? Let's start our journey with a question. Why did Hashem put the Eight Sadat, the tree of knowledge in Ganadin?
Why have the tree there at all? Hashem could have created Ganadin with without an eight Sadat. The Midrash Tadsha asks this very question. It answers that Hashem put the Eight Sadat there so that he, Adam, would see that tree and remember his creator, and recognise that the yoke of his creator was upon him, and so that he would not become arrogant. In other words, imagine Gan Aden without the Eight Sadat. How would Adam and Hava encounter Hashem? They would walk around Gan Aidan, eating whatever they like, it would be so easy to forget from where it all came.
The Eight Sadat therefore wasn't simply a temptation that Adam and Chavah were to avoid. It was there so Adam could walk around Gun Aidan, surrounded by abundance and continually encounter one thing he could not have. Why? Because that boundary was a mechanism for encountering Hashem. Adam and Hava could eat from any other tree, but by having one from which they could not eat, they could not forget that this was all from Hashem. Boundaries are the mechanism by which we encounter Hashem. There are boundaries in time where we encounter Hashem like Shabbat and Hagim.
There are boundaries in space, so it is easier to have an encounter with Hashem in a baking eset than in other places. There are also boundaries in our everyday. Kashrat is a mechanism by which an everyday activity like eating can become an encounter with Hashem, because we are mindful of the foods that we may and may not eat and are careful not to mix milk and meat. The eight Sadat was a constant reminder. You are Adam, you are not Hashem, you are but Selem Elokim, but you are not Elokim. This is the lesson that Adam and Hava forgot.
In fact the Nachash says to Hava that on the day you eat from the tree, your eyes will be opened and you will be like Hashem. The Nachash tempted Hava with the idea that this boundary was an artificial construct, that humanity could be the arbiter of boundaries, not Hashem. We are told in the Pasuk, and the woman Vatera saw that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes, and then we are told Vatikakh she took of its food and Vatohal and ate. Vatera, Vatik, Vatokal, she saw, she took, she ate, because it was desirable to the eyes.
Hava saw something that she desired and decided in that moment she could be Hashem. Every human being faces the temptation of confusing capability with authority. I can does not mean I may. I want does not mean I am entitled to have. I believe this is right does not mean I get to erase the boundary. That is precisely what makes a cockpit such a powerful image. The person sitting at the controls has enormous power, but being given control of the aircraft does not make the aircraft his. Power has been entrusted to him.
It has not become his authority to do whatever he wants. And perhaps that is what Butselem elokim means. Hashem gives human beings extraordinary power, but he remains Hashem. Torah begins by saying human freedom is not the ability to do everything. Human freedom includes the capacity not to do something. Adam and Hava fail. The world does not recover, and ten generations later, Hashem brings the flood, a giant mikvah, to cleanse the world and start again. Ten generations later we have the Tower of Bava.
It is after this that Hashem chooses Avraham to be his representative on earth. Hashem makes a covenant with Avraham. That covenant continues. So we have Avraham, Yitzhak, Yakov, Yitziatz Mitshraim, Hasini, the Mishkan, and forty years in the Midbah. Then we get to the end of the life of the greatest human being who ever lived, Moshe Rabinu. The Torah starts with Adam Harisham and ends with Moshe Rabainu, and there is a connection. The Midrash in Devarim Rabbah has a debate between Adam and Moshe.
Adam claims to be greater because he was made directly by Hashem, but Selim Elokim. Moshe says that he is more exalted because the honour given to Adam was taken away, whereas the radiance that came from Moshe's face after he receives the second Luchot, the second tablets, never left Moshe. Rav Sadak Hakoin, in his Sefer Pre Sadik, repeatedly describes Moshe as being like Adam Harishon before the sin. The Zoha explicitly links Moshe and Adam, that Asham the Adam stands at the beginning of the Torah, Moshe stands at the end of the Torah, and that one can read Adam and Moshe against one another precisely under this rubric.
The Zoha explicitly states that we look at the Acharit of Torah through its raisit, that we look at the end of the Torah through the prism of the beginning, that the Torah's beginning explains its ending. So how does this link work? Ravnatan Sapira, chief rabbi of Krakow in the early seventeenth century, in his work Magale Mukot, explains that Adam caused damage at the beginning of human history. The repair starts with Avraham, but Moshe continues that repair. Moshe's desire to enter Eritrael wasn't merely I've spent forty years getting here and I want to finish the job.
The Magale A Mukot says Moshe wanted to enter Eritrael because Moshe needed to rectify what Adam had damaged. Moshe believes that there is a further tikkun of Adam that he can accomplish in Eritrael. Hashem says in Parshe Vetchan, Ravlach, it's enough for you. You've achieved the tikkun that you can achieve. You do not need to enter the land. At the end of the Torah it says, Hashem showed him the entire land. And then Hashem says to Moshe, Heritha Va Enecha, I've shown it to you with your own eyes.
Why does the Torah tell us this? The Midrash Tadshed tells us that Adam was supposed to see the eight Sadat and not take. But Adam sees, desires, and takes. Moshe also sees and desperately desires, but he accepts Hashem's no. Moshe believes that he needs to enter the land, not for ego, not for pleasure, not for honour, for tikkun. In other words, sometimes the thing you want is not sinful. It might be noble, it might be spiritual, it might even be something you're convinced that Hashem would want you to do.
And Hashem sometimes still says no. Perhaps the entire Torah lies between these two moments. The Torah begins with Adam, humanity as it is, it ends with Moshe, showing us what humanity can become. If the Torah is showing us with Moshe what humanity can become, then we have even more to learn. The Ramban asks why Hashem is showing Moshe the land at all. Doesn't it make Moshe's suffering even worse, seeing what he cannot have? The Rumban answers that it's actually the opposite. The Ramban says that Moshe's love for Klal Yishrael was so great that he would find joy, Simch, in seeing the wonderful land in which Amy Shrael would live.
Whereas the desire of Adam was inwardly directed, he saw something he desired and took it. Moshe was able to turn his desire outward. Despite his own disappointment in not being able to enter the land, he was able to rejoice in the gift his people would receive. This is entirely another level, and a lesson way beyond restraint. The Sferno goes further still. The Sferno says that Hashem showed Moshe the land in order for Moshe to give it his blessing. Moshe sees something that he can never possess, and his response is to give it a bracha.
Adam sees and takes.
All of us have an Ait Sadat or an Erit Ishrael in our life. Something we can see but we don't have. The promotion somebody else received, the child whose life isn't following the path you imagined, the marriage you hoped would look different, the business opportunity that disappeared, the recognition you thought you deserved, the tefilla you've been saying for years, the life stage you thought you would have reached by now. And there are two very different questions we can ask. We can ask Adam's question.
Why can't I have it? Or we can ask Moshe's question. If Hashem has decided this isn't mine, what does Hashem want me to become from standing here and seeing this? Acceptance does not mean lack of ambition. Nobody wanted to Erit Ishrael more than Moshe Rabain. Acceptance doesn't mean don't doven. Hazal tell us that Moshe doven 515 to Philat. Acceptance doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It means that my relationship with Hashem is not conditional on Hashem giving me the ending I wrote for myself. The Torah begins and ends with the question What does it mean to be human?
At the beginning Adam is but Selem Elokim. He possesses extraordinary freedom, intelligence and dominion. But Hashem places one thing before his eyes that he may not possess. Why? The boundary means that Adam can know where everything comes from. The boundary enables Adam to have a relationship with Hashem. Adam sees, he desires, and he crosses the boundary. The Nachash tells Chava that when she eats from the tree she will be like Hashem. They fail to understand that being Bitselem Elokim does not mean being Elohim.
Then comes the whole Torah. Avraham, Yitzhak, Yakov Yitsiatz Mitchraim, Sinai, Mishkan, forty years in the desert, and standing at the other end is the greatest human being who ever lived, Moshe. Chazal deliberately associate Moshe with Adam. The Zohar links Adam and Moshe, saying that we look at the Acherit of Torah through its raiship. Rav Sadok says that Moshe resembles Adam before the Khait. The Magalah Amukot says Moshe repairs Adam. And then Hashem gives Moshe exactly the same existential test as Adam.
He shows him something. Moshe desperately wants it. And Hashem says you shall not cross over there. And Moshe doesn't cross. The first human being failed because he would not accept Hashem's boundary. The greatest human being who ever lived teaches us what it means to encounter Hashem's boundary and stop. Adam sees and takes. Moshe sees and blesses. Perhaps that is why the Torah can end where it began. It begins with Adam, created butselem Elohim, learning that he is not Elohim. It ends with Moshe, Isha Elohim, who came closer to Hashem than any human being ever would, and nevertheless accepts that he is still man.
And perhaps we can now understand why that flight yesterday is such a haunting image. A human being can sit in the cockpit. He can have extraordinary power in his hands, but he still has to understand that there are boundaries to what he may do with that power. And in a sense, that is the story of Torah. Hashem places Adam in the cockpit of creation. He gives him extraordinary intelligence, freedom, and dominion. He has made Butselem Elokim, but Adam mistakes being given power by Hashem for being Hashem.
Then we travel through the entire Torah until we reach Moshe Rabainu, Isha elokim, a man of God, the human being who came closer to Hashem than anybody else. And Hashem says, This far, no further. And Moshe stops. That is human greatness. Greatness is not living without boundaries. Greatness is not always getting the ending we wanted. Greatness is becoming everything Hashem created us to become, while knowing that Hashem is Hashem and I am not.
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