If Seeing is Believing, What is Knowing?
He was a battalion commander with the rank of Major in an elite Golani (infantry) unit; in most armies, that would have meant he was commanding battles from a rear position; but in the IDF, commanders lead the way.
That summer day in July of 2006 Major Roi Klein was the ranking officer in the field, in the Lebanese town of Bint Jbeil.
While leading his troops in heavy fighting he saw a Hezbollah terrorist lobbing a grenade towards his men. Urban warfare is often fought in extremely close contact, which usually means there is a very limited response time; life and death decisions are almost instantaneous.
With no time to think, Klein instinctively threw himself on the grenade, absorbing the blast with his own body and saving the lives of at least five of his men. His soldiers would later share that the last words they heard him cry were not about the grenade, nor a command to his men, but rather the ancient words of the Shema:
“Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu…”
“Hear Israel, that G-d (Hashem) is our G-d; Hashem is One.
Major Roi Klein was a gifted saxophone player and a brilliant academic, completing his engineering studies with high honors. His friends would later describe him as a gentle soul, and remember his rolling laughter. He left behind a widow and two small children.
And he died absolutely knowing that G-d (Hashem) not only exists, but runs the world and fills every moment.
Can a person really know Hashem (G-d) exists in this world?
In order for a person to automatically instinctively express such a pure faith in such a challenging moment as Roi Klein dying with the words of the Shema on his lips, one might presume he did not just believe G-d exists and that G-d runs the world; he would have to know. Is this possible in our limited, physical, distracting world?
Maimonides in his Hilchot Yesodei haTorah (1:1) as well as in his Sefer HaMitzvoth (Positive commandment 1) says clearly that there is a mitzvah to know G-d exists: “Leidah she’yesh sham Eloka”.
But how can we be commanded to know Hashem exists? As Rav Elchonon Wasserman in his Kovetz Ma’amarim points out: Belief is a psychological state; if you do not believe, a commandment to do so is meaningless, and if you do believe, you do not need the commandment, so what is the point of such a mitzvah?
Interestingly, Moshe, who according to our Jewish tradition reached the highest level of faith in G-d a human being ever reached, began his journey in the midst of Egyptian servitude, when the Jewish experience was at its nadir, and things had never seemed darker. Could this have been the reason Hashem ensured that the future leader of the Jewish people would grow up as an Egyptian Prince? Ever wonder why Moshe had to leave Egypt? Why would Hashem have orchestrated a death sentence against Moshe causing him to flee Egypt for 40 years, only then to return? Why not set it up so that Moshe is enslaved, discovers he is after all a Jew, and then orchestrate his rebellion from amongst the people?
Could it be that in order for Moshe to develop the relationship with G-d necessary to fulfill his mission, he first needed to step away from the pain and suffering of Egypt and meditate in the tranquil solitude of the life of a Midianite shepherd?
Fascinatingly, Moshe does not (at least in the text) begin his true mission, until he is 79 years old. Only then does Moshe have a direct communication with Hashem at the burning bush. (The Torah tells us Moshe dies at age 120, after 40 years in the desert and one year allowing for the process of the ten plagues and the Exodus…)
And yet, Moshe reaches a knowledge of Hashem that is so deep and so clear he will communicate directly with G-d in a fashion most of us can only imagine.
In order to understand this though, we must first take a moment to define what it means to know G-d. Rav Dessler in his Michtav Me’eliahu points out that there are different types of knowledge. Some things we know and can easily explain or put down on paper, such as how to use e-mail or physically get from one place another. But there are some things which cannot be described; they need to be experienced. Like riding a bicycle; you can write all the instructions down, but that does not mean a person will know how to ride a bike; he still needs to get on a bicycle and learn by trial and error. Because riding a bicycle is an experience. And once we experience such things, and thus know them, they can never be wrong, and we can never fully explain them either, kind of like trying to explain to a person what a jelly donut really is; you have to experience what it is.
This idea in the Torah is represented by the word da’at.
The Torah tells us (Bereishit (Genesis) 4) that Adam knew Eve (“Va’yeda’ Ha”Adam et Chava Ishto…”) which subsequently led Eve to become pregnant and give birth to Cain and Abel. Clearly, Adam did not read a manual on Eve; he had relations with her; knowledge (da’at) then, is all about relationships. And the mitzvah to know G-d is really the imperative, in order for life to acquire meaning, to develop a relationship with Hashem. And the goal is for this relationship to reach such a high level, it is no longer a question; it is the undeniable essence and even source of my reality.
All of which brings us back to Moshe.
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Developing our relationship with Hashem begins with knowing who we are, and to know who we are, we first need to know where we are from. (Hence the first blessing of the Shemoneh Esrei (the silent Amidah) blesses Hashem our G-d and G-d of our fathers, because if we do not know where we are from, we will never understand who we are.)
When Moshe ventures forth into the world of ancient Egypt (Shemot (Exodus) 2; 11-12) and sees the slaves as his brethren, he knows his history. He comes across a Jew being beaten by an Egyptian, and he turns back and forth, realizing there is no one else, subsequently slaying the Egyptian and saving the Jew.
(“Vayifen koh vakoh’ vayarki ein Ish…”) Moshe, the prince of Egypt sees his Jewish brother being attacked by his fellow Egyptian and is thus forced to confront the existential question: who am I? Am I an Egyptian, or a Jew? It would seem that Moshe decides he is a Jew; but the next day he confronts two Jews fighting and although he confronts them, this time he does not resolve the situation. In fact they clearly do not view him as their brother, so who is he: a Hebrew or an Egyptian?
Indeed, the end of this second encounter is the realization that his killing of an Egyptian has been discovered and “Achen nodah ha’davar…” It has become known. In other words, although Moshe has not come to terms with his identity as a Jew, people are relating to him that way. But he is not there yet; so he runs from Egypt, and (Shemot 2: 19) becomes known in Midian as an Egyptian.
Moshe knows where he come from, but now he has to struggle with who he is. Because if I don’t know who I am, how can I ever relate to Hashem as the source of who I am?
Perhaps this is why Moshe now drops completely off our radar; for the next forty years Moshe will herd sheep for Yitro in Midian but we will not hear of him in the Torah; this is the stage of Moshe’s journey of self-discovery. And it is interesting to note that he immerses himself at this point in the world of nature; one of the challenges in discovering who I am and understanding where I come from is to decide whether I was indeed created or am just a random being. This stage is described by Rabbeinu Bachya Ibn Pekudei in his Chovot Ha’Levavot as Hitbonenut: to look closely for Hashem’s imprint in the world; to see the majesty of the world Hashem created by examining the world we live in, the beauty of nature and the majesty of all of creation.
Indeed, our struggle with ourselves and who we are must inevitably lead to an attempt to know whether we are random or created, and whether we see the entire world and all of creation as random or invested with purpose.
Eventually, Moshe will see a burning bush and feel he must turn to get a closer look at which point no less than Hashem will call to him: “Moshe, Moshe” (Shemot 3:4) and Moshe will respond: “Hineni” ; “Here I am” .
There were two ‘Moshes’ that went to Midian; the Jew and the Egyptian; now Moshe knows he is part of the Jewish people no matter where he may physically find himself.
At this point, for seven days Moshe will struggle with G-d.
Once we know where we come from, and who we are, and that we are not random, we must struggle with the ultimate question: why are we here? What is our purpose?
Moshe now, finally, comes face to face with the fact that he, like all of us, was created for a purpose, and his greatest challenge will be to embrace and to live up to that purpose.
Think about it; if G-d created us obviously at some point He has to reveal to us what we are doing here, otherwise what’s the point? Which is why a religion that believes in a Creator has to have a revelation; where Hashem reveals the purpose for which we are created, and the recipe whereby we can achieve that purpose. Our revelation is Torah, which is really the recipe for all of us to discover who we are really are and what we are doing here. Hence Moshe’s ultimate struggle at the burning bush takes place at Horeb which is Mount Sinai, the place where the Torah will ultimately be received.
And of course if the mitzvah is to know Hashem, it is precisely when we tap into our true purpose that we begin to relate to and experience Hashem.
Moshe at the burning bush finally begins his direct relationship with Hashem because he finally is forced to confront his purpose and live up to the destiny for which he has been created. He can no longer ignore the reality of what he must be hearing from time to time is happening to the Jews in Egypt; Moshe must live up to the Moshe he needs to be.
Major Roi Klein, in the midst of battle in Lebanon had long since understood where we come from, who we are and that we are all created for a purpose. And in his final moment in this world, fully embracing why he was in that place at that given time he knew G-d had given him that moment every bit as much as he had been given his entire life. And in so realizing, he lived up to all that he could be.
May Hashem bless us all to find such meaning and such purpose in every given moment….
Wishing all a wonderful and meaningful Pesach!
From Jerusalem,
Binny Freedman