Parashat Naso tells us about the laws relevant to the nazir, a person who decides to take upon himself certain special measures of stringency. One who takes the nazirite vow is forbidden from drinking wine, cutting his hair, and becoming tameh (impure) through contact with a dead body.
The Torah says about the nazir, קדוש יהיה – that he is “holy.” Being a nazir is an expression of one’s desire for an especially high level of holiness, to strive beyond that which most people achieve.
But in the haftarah for Parashat Naso, we read about the origins of one of the most famous – but unusual – nezirim that ever lived: Shimshon. Shimshon’s parents were unable to have children for many years, until an angel appeared to his mother and informed her that she would conceive. The angel instructed the woman that her child must be a nazir for his entire life; he would not be permitted to drink wine or cut his hair throughout his life. This child was Shimshon, a man who did not seem to exactly embody the ideals of holiness that the nazirite vow represents. Shimshon was a very violent person, who killed Pelishtim – people who were the enemies of the Jewish People at that time – and damaged their property in the most unusual and gruesome ways. Moreover, he married several women – all of whom were Pelishtim. Not only were his wives not Jewish, but they were members of the enemy nation. How is it possible that such a man was a nazir, if the entire concept of nezirut is living on a higher spiritual standard?
An answer that is given explains that the Jews did not deserve to triumph over the Pelishtim at that time. If Beneh Yisrael would have had an ordinary leader who mobilized an ordinary army and waged an ordinary war against the enemy, they would have lost, because they were unworthy of Hashem’s assistance. So instead, Hashem arranged that a member of Beneh Yisrael would join the Pelishtim, and would become one of them. He would live among them and fight against them, such that they would fight back only against him. Rather than lead an army of Jews – who would not be deserving of Hashem’s assistance in battle – Shimshon acted on his own as a member of the nation of Pelishtim, and in this way, Hashem saved the Jewish people.
And for this reason, it was especially important for Shimshon to be a nazir. G-d sent an angel to Shimshon’s parents before he was born to inform them that their child would be living under exceptional circumstances – among an immoral society. Shimshon needed to be a nazir, to live differently, so he would know how to separate himself from the foreign society in which he would be living. He would not be allowed to drink with them, and he would look different because he would not be allowed to cut his hair. This prevented him from becoming too much a part of the Pelishtim’s society in which he would live.
We now understand how it is possible that somebody like Shimshon was a nazir. Although he does not fit our conception of “holiness,” he is the quintessential nazir – somebody who takes special measures to protect himself from spiritual challenge.
And it is in this sense that each and every one of us must be a nazir.
The Challenges of Summer
At certain points of our lives, all of us are like Shimshon. We all have periods of challenge, when our religious commitment is put to the test, when we are tempted and lured by foreign influences. And we have to prepare ourselves ahead of time, whenever possible, to meet those challenges.
Sometimes, these challenges meet us by surprise, before we could prepare ourselves. But other times, we know they are coming and so we have the opportunity to do what the nazir does – to take special precautions and special measures to help ensure our success in withstanding our tests.
For many people, summer is a time when we are like Shimshon among the Pelishtim – when they face special spiritual challenges which they do not face during the year. For many people, the summer threatens to make their Shabbat less holy than it is supposed to be. They don’t have proper Shabbat meals, they don’t attend all the prayer services, and they spend the long Shabbat afternoons in a way that is very not Shabbat-like. For some people, the summer is a time of parties that pose great spiritual challenges – presenting opportunities for inappropriate drinking and socializing. Many teens make it a habit to needlessly stay up late at night during the summer and hardly ever go to shul. Many people go to places in the summer where they know they will see things which Torah Jews should not be seeing. For many people, the temptation to eat non-kosher food presents itself in the summer, when they vacation outside the community. Many people who regularly attend Torah classes during the year stop during the summer. Many people spend hours during the summer lounging around the pool wasting time or indulging in forbidden gossip. Many women are challenged during the summer to lower their standards of modest attire. Many men find themselves several nights a week in Brooklyn alone, without their families, a situation which poses its own set of unique challenges.
In short, many people go into the summer knowing that it will present spiritual challenges of one sort or another, and put them in a vulnerable position. The institution of nezirut tells us that we can and must prepare. A person who knows he will soon need to take a test makes a point of preparing the material ahead of time. If we know we are going to be tested during the summer, then we need to reinforce our commitment ahead of time to put ourselves in a position to pass the tests.
Once, when Shavuot fell on Sunday and Monday, such that we observed three days of Shabbat and Yom Tov, my daughter showed me on Shabbat her broken fingernail. “This is my yetzer ha’ra,” she said. She faced the difficult test of leaving the hanging piece of nail in place for the next three days without ripping it off.
The next day, I noticed she placed a band-aid on the finger. She did that as a precaution, in order to prevent her from removing the piece of nail, in violation of Shabbat or Yom Tov.
This might sound like a silly example, but it clearly demonstrates what nezirut is all about. If we know we are going to be tested and challenged, that we are going to be lured and tempted, then we need to put a “band-aid” in place ahead of time. We need to prepare and strategize, to build barriers and make difficult decisions about what we are going to do to ensure we succeed in withstanding the challenges that lie ahead.
The “Normal” People and the “Crazy Story” People
The laws of the nazir are presented immediately following the section discussing the sotah – the infidel woman. The case of the sotah is one which we would describe in contemporary jargon as a “crazy story,” one of those very disturbing incidents which we unfortunately hear about from time to time, of a person whose life is ruined because of something “crazy” that he or she did. The story of the sotah involves a woman whose husband suspects that she has become too close with another man, and so he warns her not to seclude herself with that man. But she defies her husband’s warning, and is found going into seclusion with the man in question. The husband would then bring the woman to the Bet Ha’mikdash, where she would be given special water to drink. If she was guilty of adultery, she would die as a result of drinking the water.
Immediately after discussing the laws of the sotah, the Torah tells us about the nazir. The reason, the Gemara explains, is because כל הרואה סוטה בקלקולה יזיר עצמו מן היין – “Anyone who sees a sotah in her disgrace should vow to abstain from wine.” The nazirite vow comes in response to the sight of a sotah dying because of the “crazy” thing she did.
It is very significant that the Gemara says כל הרואה סוטה בקלקולה – “Anyone who sees a sotah in her disgrace.” This is something that’s relevant to all people, to each and every one of us.
Why is this significant?
We generally perceive our community as consisting of two different kinds of people: the “normal” people, and the “crazy story” people. When we hear of a “crazy story,” of somebody who ruined his or her life through things like substance abuse, an illicit relationship, criminal behavior, or some other outrageous scandal, we instinctively separate in our minds between that type of person and us “normal” people. We view that crazy story as a curiosity, as something outlandish that gives us something to gossip about, but not anything that is in any way relevant to us. We assume that we are lightyears away from anything remotely resembling that kind of scandalous conduct.
The Gemara wants us to know that this kind of thinking is very dangerous. It teaches us that כל הרואה סוטה בקלקולה, whoever we are, as “normal” as we like to think we are, even we are vulnerable. Even the “craziest” story we hear should serve as a warning to us, because the “crazy” people started off as “normal” people. That community member whose life is unraveling before our eyes because of his outrageous behavior started out just like us. He grew up in a nice, stable family in the community, attended very good schools, spent time in yeshiva, married into a nice family, worked hard to earn a living – and basically lived the same kind of life that we all do. But somewhere along the way, he veered off track. And so can we.
The Gemara teaches that the yetzer ha’ra is known by different names – מהלך (passerby), אורח (“guest”), and איש (“man,” or “master”). The yetzer ha’ra begins by taking the form of a מהלך – a temptation that happens to come along, such as a friend offering a young man a cigarette at a party on a Saturday night during the summer. The boy agrees to take one cigarette, and does not particularly like it. But fast forward a few parties later, he is already enjoying a rare, occasional cigarette when he is with friends; the cigarette is a “guest” in his life. But before long, perhaps within a year, the cigarette becomes an איש, a fixed feature in his life over which he no longer exerts any control.
This is true of virtually all addictions, vices, and self-destructive behavior. We need to realize that the “crazy” people who engage in such behavior did not start out “crazy.” They started out perfectly “normal,” just like any one of us. It was that first slip, succumbing to the first lure, that set them along the path to the “craziness” that eventually ruined their lives.
The Torah describes the situation of a sotah with the phrase איש כי תשטה אשתו – “A man whose wife strayed…” The Gemara interprets the word תשטה as a derivative of the word שטות – foolishness, and explains that a person sins only because a רוח שטות – “spirit of foolishness” – overcomes him. However, this רוח שטות overcomes a person gradually ,not instantaneously. Nobody wakes up in the morning and makes a conscious decision to start smoking a pack a day, or to engage in some other type of behavior that could ruin his life. The רוח שטות develops incrementally, when a person makes one small mistake which leads to another, and then to another, until he eventually finds himself on the road to self-destruction.
“Crazy” Measures of Prudence
The way we ensure to stay off this road is to be “crazy” in a different sense.
The Torah describes the nazir with the words איש או אשה כי יפליא לנדור נדר נזיר, which the Ibn Ezra explains to mean, “A man or woman who does something wondrous, taking the nazirite vow.” The word יפליא, the Ibn Ezra writes, is a form of the word פלא, which means “wonder” or “miracle.” The nazirite vow is something “crazy.” Most people find it difficult enough to adhere to the obligatory commands of the Torah,, yet the nazir decides to go even further and take upon himself additional restrictions in an effort to refine his character and help protect against temptation. This is “crazy,” but in a positive sense.
The word יפליא in this pasuk brings to mind the berachah of אשר יצר, which one recites after using the restroom. This berachah speaks of the wonders of the human body, and concludes by expressing praise to Hashem who is רופא כל בשר ומפליא לעשות – “the one who heals all flesh, and who acts wondrously.” It has been explained that the פלא spoken of here is the human soul, which miraculously coexists with our physical beings. Within a person, whose physical properties give him base drives and desires, there is also a pure, sacred soul. This is truly a פלא, something wondrous and miraculous.
The nazir takes this miracle even further, voluntarily committing himself to a higher standard. Recognizing his weaknesses, and knowing how he is prone to fail, he does something “crazy” – abstaining from things that everybody else enjoys, taking on strict measures in order to protect himself.
As the summer approaches, we should all be thinking of what “crazy” decisions need to be made in order to protect ourselves. We all need to ask ourselves, “What are my areas of weakness? Where did I go wrong in past summers? What can I do to make sure not to make the same mistakes? How can I avoid losing my connection to Hashem in the summer? What things that I enjoy should I stay away from because of what it might lead to?”
Yes, people might think we are crazy for refusing to go to certain places, for not wanting to attend parties where there will be improper conduct, or for continuing to pray with a minyan and attend Torah classes even during the summer weeks. But the nazir teaches us that sometimes we need to do “crazy” things in order to avoid temptations.
This kind of “craziness” has been proven to pay off. Some fifty years ago, a group of researchers conducted what has become known as the Stanford marshmallow experiment. The researchers offered children the choice of receiving one marshmallow immediately, or two marshmallows if they would wait fifteen minutes. These children were then followed for many years afterward, and it was found that the children who were prepared to delay their gratification, and wait fifteen minutes for a higher reward, were more likely to enjoy success in life. The ability to delay gratification, to exercise patience and restraint, is crucial not only for spirituality, but for success generally. If we do the “crazy” thing, deciding to deny ourselves certain forms of enjoyment in the summer, we will be duly rewarded.
Red-Faced
A fascinating story is told of the Ponevizher Rav, who once traveled to a certain community in the United States in order to raise money for his yeshiva. Oddly, there was no answer in any home he visited in the community. After some inquiring, he discovered that there was a major event taking place that evening – a public debate between the neighborhood’s Orthodox Rabbi and the local Reform rabbi. The Ponevizher Rav decided that he would attend the debate. He found out where the event was being held, and he walked inside.
When he walked in, he saw the Reform rabbi standing in front of a packed room and announcing, “I would like to pose a question to the president of the Orthodox congregation. May I ask that he please rise.”
A man in the audience humbly stood and identified himself as the president of the Orthodox synagogue.
“I would like to ask you: do you observe Shabbat?”
“Well, rabbi, you know that it’s hard today…” the president said in a stammer, looking visibly uncomfortable.
“I didn’t ask you if it was easy or hard!” the Reform rabbi bellowed. “I asked you a simple question. Do you observe Shabbat?”
“I have several children, and the economy is slow…”
Once again, the Reform rabbi interrupted him and did not let him finish his sentence. “Sir, I am not interested right now in your family situation or in the state of the U.S. economy. Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ – do you, or don’t you?”
“Listen,” the president replied meekly, “well, in all honesty, I have to say that the answer is ‘no’.”
“I rest my case,” the Reform rabbi proudly announced, and left the podium.
A tense silence filled the room. Nobody among the members of the Orthodox congregation had any response.
After several moments, the Ponevizher Rav stood up, and in his broken English, he said, “I am visiting from Israel, and I just heard what the president said. I would like to respond.”
The people in the room gladly gave the visiting sage the floor, eager and curious to find out what he had to say, how he could possibly have any response to the Reform rabbi.
The Rabbi stood up confidently and said, “I would like to pose a question to the president of the Reform congregation. Is he here?”
A man stood up and proudly identified himself as the president of the local Reform community.
The Rabbi looked at him and said, “Do you observe Shabbat?”
The president started laughing. “Do I observe Shabbat?! Of course not!? What a silly question! Why would you think that any Reform Jew would ever want to observe Shabbat?”
“Thank you, please sit down,” the Ponevizher Rav said to the man. Turning to the audience, he said, “I don’t there’s anybody here who does not see the difference between the president of the Orthodox congregation and the president of the Reform congregation. The first was ashamed and uncomfortable admitting that he did not observe Shabbat, while the other said so proudly, laughing about the question.”
The Rabbi went on to explain that if a person is aware of his weakness, understands what he should be doing and feels uneasy about his failure to do it, he has the ability to change and eventually come around. But if a person has no qualms about doing the wrong things, not even realizing that they are wrong, then there is no reason to think that he will ever change.
On this basis, the Ponevizher Rav explained the prophecy of Yeshayahu, אם יהיו חטאיכם כשנים כשלג ילבינו – “If your sins will be like red dye, they will become white as snow.” The prophet compares sin to the color red, not to black. The reason, the Rabbi explained, is because he refers to the experience of shame, of being “red-faced.” As long as a person is “red” because of his sins, and feels uncomfortable about himself because of them, like the president of that Orthodox congregation, then he can repent and earn atonement. But without this “redness,” without a feeling of shame and uneasiness, the sin is not likely to ever go away.
Our first job is to be “red” – to recognize our weaknesses and to feel concerned about them. And this is especially important as we head towards the summer, when many of us tend to have more weaknesses than we do during the rest of the year. We should be thinking in advance of the challenges we can expect to face during the summer, and how we can best prepare ourselves to meet them, so we emerge from the summer stronger and closer to Hashem than we are now, and not, Heaven forbid, the opposite.