Two beggars stood outside of a church. One, wearing a yarmulke and tzitzis, stood on the steps. The other, with a big cross hanging from his neck, stood on the sidewalk. When the parishioners left their services, they first encountered the Jewish beggar. Each one looked away from him in disgust and quickly passed by. Within a few moments, however, each parishioner felt a little guilty for withholding charity. When they encountered the second beggar, their hearts opened to their brother, and they relieved their guilty feelings by stretching out their hands and giving him doubly.

After watching this scenario for some time, the priest walked over to the first beggar and said, “Listen, I don’t have anything against Jews, but don’t you think you should find a better place to panhandle? I’m sure you’ll make more money, and suffer less humiliation, elsewhere.” The Jew nodded humbly. As soon as the priest walked back into the building, the Jew called to the other beggar, “Eh, Moishe! Look who’s telling us how to run our business!”

* * *

Acharei-Mos Scapegoat

In the Holy Temple, on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, the priests performed a seemingly strange ritual: taking a he-goat into the wilderness and throwing it off a cliff. The Torah says this ritual–the origin of the term ‘scapegoat’–is an atonement for the Jewish People. Before the goat was taken into the wilderness, “Aaron the High Priest placed his hands upon its head and confessed all the sins of the Jewish People.”[1]

We find here, in the word for “his hands”, a kri-and-a-ksiv, a difference between the way it is written and the way it is recited.[2] The ksiv, the way this word is written, is yado, meaning ‘his hand’. The way we recite this word, however, is yadav, meaning ‘his hands’.

The Talmud derives a principle from this passage: in the Torah, whenever we find the singular word yado in the context of s’micha, the placing of hands, it always means ‘both hands’.[3]

1.) Why does the Torah use the singular term yado, when the meaning is plural?

2.) Why does the Talmud derive this principle from our passage in particular? There are many other places where the Torah uses this code word.[4]

TRANSMISSION AND TRANSFORMATION
Chassidus teaches us why a person must place both hands on his sacrifice. Everyone possesses both a G-dly soul and an animal soul. The G-dly soul wants to do G-dly activities, i.e., prayer, Torah study, acts of kindness. The animal soul wants to do animal activities, i.e., eating, sleeping, etc.[5] The ten fingers of ‘both hands’ allude to the ten sefiros or faculties of the soul. By placing his hands on the ‘animal’, he transmits the ten faculties of his G-dly soul into the ten faculties of his animal soul. Thus, he lifts the animal soul to a higher spiritual level, transforming its ‘eating and drinking’ into a G-dly sacrifice. In the ritual of the scapegoat, Aaron placed his hands on the animal so that the sins of the whole Jewish People would be transformed into mitzvos.

Furthermore the numerical value of the word yado is 20 (Yud=10, Dalet=4, Vav=6). We must transmit our ten G-dly faculties in such a way that we transform the ten faculties of the animal soul.

RIGHT HAND
Why then does the Torah use the singular term, yado? The right hand represents chesed, kindness, and the left hand represents gevurah, severity. The Torah is hinting that in giving, we should channel our ten faculties through the ‘right side’ alone–kindness and sensitivity. We shouldn’t involve the left side–restriction and criticism.

Therefore, this principle is derived from a passage about the service of Aaron the High Priest. Aaron was the living archetype of loving-kindness, as it states in Ethics of our Fathers: “Be of the students of Aaron, loving peace, pursuing peace, loving (G-d’s) creatures, and bringing them close to Torah.”[6] Aaron truly gave everything he had to help a person in need.

“UPON THE HEAD”
We learn from the ritual of the scapegoat, that every adam, every mensch, is obligated to use his hands to support (v’samach) and uplift those who are in need.[7] We might think it’s enough to give just a part of ourselves, part of our time or money. The Talmud therefore tells us that yado, ‘hand’, actually refers to both hands.’ Half-hearted giving is not enough. We must involve all of our ten ‘fingers’–all ten intellectual and emotional faculties–in our generous giving.

As the Baal Shem Tov says, ‘A soul may descend to this world and live seventy or eighty years, just in order to do a fellow Jew a material favor. Certainly this is true for a spiritual favor as well.’[8] Furthermore, the favor we do must be done in a way that is ‘upon’ or ‘over his head’–beyond what his fellow seems to deserve, or beyond what he is used to getting.[9]

THE SEFIRAH
This lesson in generosity is of particular importance during the days before Shavuos when we are counting the Omer. During this season, 24,000 students of the great sage Rabbi Akiva perished. The Talmud says they didn’t respect one another–like scapegoats, they perished to atone for this sin. They may have transmitted their ten faculties to one another, but they didn’t channel this transmission through yado, the ‘right hand’ of kindness.

The Holy Temple was destroyed because of unwarranted hatred. The healing of this cosmic trauma will therefore come through ahavas Yisrael, unconditional love of one’s fellow. When we give our whole selves lovingly to one another, then we will merit to see the Third Holy Temple that G-d will build with His own two hands, as it is written, “The Sanctuary, my L-rd, that You will establish by Your hands…”[10]

A STORY
Rabbi Yosef Wineberg, a fundraiser and the author of Lessons in Tanya, once got a call from a great philanthropist living in Brazil. The man urgently needed a blessing from the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It was late at night. Rabbi Wineberg wrote a note requesting the blessing and ran to 770 Eastern Parkway, the Rebbe’s synagogue. There the Rebbe was giving yechidus, private audience, to people from all over the world. At the end of many hours of private audiences, Rabbi Isaac Hodakov, the personal secretary of the Rebbe, would always enter the Rebbe’s room to wrap things up. Seeing that the audiences had just ended, Rabbi Wineberg looked for Rabbi Hodakov, hoping to give him the note as he entered the Rebbe’s room. It was too late. Rabbi Hodakov had already entered the room.

Rabbi Wineberg quickly slipped the note under the door, expecting that Rabbi Hodakov would see it on his way out and give it to the Rebbe. When Rabbi Hodakov emerged, he said he hadn’t seen the note. Rabbi Wineberg was horrified to realize that now the Rebbe would have to bend down and pick up the note. He wrote another note, asking for forgiveness for making him bend down, and waited apprehensively. When morning finally came, Rabbi Wineberg received a written blessing from the Rebbe. Along with the blessing were these words: “There’s no reason to apologize. The purpose of my entire being is to lift (people) up–in particular, when others have overlooked (them).”

ACTION: Lift up a poor person by giving them charity. Or give to a school or synagogue-give more than you think they deserve.

FOOTNOTES:
[1] Leviticus, 16:21
[2] A “kri-and-a-ksiv” is a word that, according to halacha, is pronounced (kri) one way, but written (ksiv) in the Torah scroll a different way. These two ways of reading the word also imply different shades of meaning. See also our essay on Parshas No’ach.
[3] Menachos, 93b
[4] Leviticus, 1:4, 3:2, 3:8, 3:13, 4:4, 4:24, 4:28, and 4:33
[5] Sefer Ha Likutim, by the Tzemach Tzedek, on the topic of s’micha.
[6] Pirkei Avos, Chapter 1:12
[7] See a similar concept in Sefer Ha Sichos 5748, p. 33, and Lekutei Sichos, Vol 31, p. 5
[8] Hayom Yom, Iyar 5
[9] Sefer Ha Sichos 5748, p. 39, and Lekutei Sichos, Vol. 31, p. 7
[10] Exodus, 15:17