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This week we are including a note written by our talmid Akiva Weisinger. Akiva will be returning for shana bet after serving as a kollel member and educator in Camp Stone.

Chilul Hashem and the Insult to Israel
By Rabbi Scott Kahn

Psalm 79 begins with a graphic description of the horrors of the first Tisha B'Av:

"A song ("mizmor") of Asaf: O G-d, nations have entered Your inheritance, they have defiled your holy sanctuary, they have made Jerusalem desolate. They have given the corpses of Your servants as food for the birds of the sky, the flesh of Your pious ones to the beasts of the earth. They have spilled their blood like water around Jerusalem, with none to bury them. We have become disgusting to our neighbors, scorn and mockery to those around us."

Tosafot (Kiddushin 31b) are puzzled by the use of the word "mizmor" - song - to describe this Psalm. Surely the phrase "kinah" - lamentation - is a more appropriate term for its horrifying description of degradation and destruction! Yet Tosafot answer that there is a secret, joyful theme deserving of the word "mizmor" that underlies the terrifying surface. For in truth, although the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple was heartbreaking, it was G-d's willingness to pour out His wrath on buildings - "on the wood and stones in His house" - that obviated the necessity to utterly destroy the People of Israel; "for if not for this, there would not have remained the slightest remnant from Israel."

In the fine work edited by Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter, The Lord is Righteous in All His Ways: Reflections on the Tish'ah be-Av Kinot, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik explains that this idea is reflected in some of the kinot by R. El'azar ha-Kalir, as well. For example, the kinah which begins, "Lecha Hashem Hatzedakah," includes the following line: "To You, Hashem, is the righteousness, because of the two Temples destroyed because of our sins, and yet we still live." In other words, we deserved to be destroyed, yet G-d's anger was directed toward the Temples. As the Rav explains, "The humiliation was terrible, because if the Beit ha-Mikdash had not been humiliated in this manner, the people would have died. The more severe the sin, and the more deserving Yisrael is of ruthless punishment, the greater the hurban, the more the Beit ha-Mikdash will be not only destroyed but humiliated, profaned, and contaminated."

The question nevertheless remains as to why the degradation of the Temple is a valid substitute for the suffering the people themselves deserve. Why should the destruction of G-d's house be a viable replacement for the full consequences that the Jewish people have incurred upon themselves? Should they not reap the consequences, as well?

An answer can be seen in this week's parashah, Ve'etchanan. In Moshe's review of the Ten Commandments, the phrase "As Hashem, your G-d, commanded you," is included in two commandments: that of the Sabbath, and that of honoring parents. The Aruch HaShulchan explains that these two commandments include this phrase, for these are two concepts which are accepted universally. Every nation recognizes the importance of giving a weekly day off to its workers; every civilization understands the indispensability of the family unit, and the importance of respecting family elders. Nonetheless, despite the reality that these two commandments are acknowledged by every civilization, the People of Israel must keep them not because of logical deduction, but because "Hashem, your G-d, commanded you." Our uniqueness lies in our unique relationship with G-d; our position as a "Nation which dwells alone" is dependent on our following G-d's laws. In a very real sense, we are not merely a nation which is close to G-d, but a nation which represents G-d's will on earth. Our laws are not the product of logical thinking, but the revealed will of the Ribbono Shel Olam. And because we are associated with G-d, an insult to G-d is an insult to us.

Accordingly, the destruction of the Temple is an insult to G-d, but it also becomes a personal slight to His people. Indeed, the masters of Kabbalah tell us that Kenesset Yisrael, the Assembly of Israel, is identical with the concept of G-d's name. When the name of G-d is profaned, the People of Israel are profaned. When the degradation is greater, the People of Israel are lessened accordingly. And the destruction of G-d's house, along with the apparent implication of Divine powerlessness (chas v'shalom), in turn results in the lessening of Israel's glory. Yes, we survived as a people, and for that we are eternally thankful; but our essence, our standing as the obvious people of G-d, our very reason for existence, became hidden. Hashem poured out His wrath on wood and stones, but this resulted in the obfuscation of our mission and purpose.

Just as an insult to G-d is an insult to the Jewish people, the disgracing of Israel involves the degradation of G-d's name. Every time an enemy tries to hurt Am Yisrael, he is, in fact, questioning our relationship to G-d. As we enter Shabbat Nachamu, the first of the Shabbatot of Consolation, we begin to recognize that despite the Destruction and Exile, we remain His people, we remain His representatives, we remain identical with His holy name. We pray and look forward to the final redemption, when the entire world will recognize this reality; as Zechariah states, "On that day, Hashem will be one and His name one" - that we, who are identical with the name of G-d, will be united with Him in the most direct way, thereby bringing redemption to His people, and, along with us, the entire world.

Shabbat Shalom!

My Thoughts On The Lebron James Excitement
By: Akiva Weisinger

At 9:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time, Western Civilization came to a standstill. Millions and millions of people stopped what they were doing, turned on their TV's to ESPN, and waited, glued to their televisions to watch a publicity stunt revolving around one man who happens to be particularly talented at putting a spherical object into a net. Millions of people were essentially held hostage by one man's decision to ditch his hometown fans. People cried, people cheered, and then people probably went on with the drudgery of their daily life.

Me? My thoughts? I work in a sleepaway camp. And as me, assorted staff, and a medley of kids who were ditching dinner to go to where the staff had internet access watched Stuart Scott and a roundtable of ESPN experts rehash the same points that have been made for the past 2 years, we came to the realization that Maariv was at 9:05, Eastern Standard Time.

We all silently weighed the possibilities. On one hand, the most important moment in basketball history. On the other, Maariv. We already knew what the kids wanted to do.

We got up. We turned around. And we told the kids we were going to Maariv.

And we did.

Not that it wasnt without protest. Kids yelled that they had to know, thatthey couldn't go a minute knowing that other people knew what they didn't. More creative types said they couldnt have kavanah if they didn't know. One kid cried out "Lebron is my life!"

And that got me thinking, that last comment. We call ourselves Modern Orthodox Jews. We believe in being part of the outside world. Which manifests itself in our ability to, among other things, watch people like Lebron James attempt to put a leather ball into a hoop. What is the purpose of watching that? I don't really know. Does watching Lebron James make a layup, or Albert Pujols take a swing, or Barry Sanders shake off multiple defenders bring me any closer to understanding the creator? I'd like to say "yes", but probably not. I follow sports because I like following sports. I'm not apologizing for it, thats what I am. And maybe that's a bad thing.

But I know this: Sports is not my life. I had a choice between watching one of the most hyped sports events of the past decade, and a prayer that I do every day, that I could rationalize by saying its not even obligatory, a boring routine ritual, one I could've done later, I took Maariv. And I'd really like to think I'd do it every time. And you know what that makes me? Does that me a robot? Does that make me a religious fanatic, a "frummie"? None of those. It makes me a free man. I live in the world, and I participate in it, but I am not part of it. All of America may be held hostage by Lebron James and his handlers, and their publicity stunts, and the crazy consumeristic money-grabbing world we live in. While America was glued to their TV's I davened maariv.

Now granted, it was not a unanimous decision. The kids, as I've mentioned were certainly opposed. Even some of the staff seemed a little reluctant to leave. But in my mind, if you did not go to Maariv, you had no business working in an Orthodox Jewish camp. You have a chance to show where your real priorities lie, to show kids what's really important, and you're gonna pass that up? And furthermore, if you don't go to maariv, what does that say about every other maariv you do attend? Its easy to attend maariv when you have nothing else to do. But if you really value maariv, and by extension, Judaism? You'll attend no matter what. To use a topical analogy, Lebron James shooting hoops by himself is not impressive. Anyone can shoot layups when not being defended and alone on a basketball court. (Except me, of course, I'm hopeless at shooting). What makes Lebron so impressive? His ability to score even when defended by freakishly tall individuals. If all you can do is score when not being defended, daven maariv when there's nothing else to do, then you aint worth much.

I'm not saying I'm perfect. I have, on many occasions passed up on opprotunity to learn to watch a sports game. If I had a choice between the Siyum Hashas and a Detroit Lions Super Bowl, order me some wings and turn to the game, man. (This may be due to the fact that a Detroit Lions Super Bowl would be an incredibly rare event). But its important to remember where our priorities are. Lebron is not our life. Sports is not our life. They're nice things to have on the side. But at no point should we let ourselves become slaves to it.