Parshas Tetzaveh 5785
Alex Clare was an extraordinarily talented musician who just couldn’t get enough of a fan base. But that would surely change upon being signed by Island Records. Supported by a label with major industry muscle, his work would finally be promoted with the sort of gusto that would finally bring masses of ears to his extraordinary music. Which, in turn, would bring masses of dollars.
Or so he thought.
Alex was learning about Judaism and becoming religious. So much so that by the time he was signed, he needed to insist upon a critical proviso: He wouldn’t work on Shabbos or Yom Tov. Initially nonplussed—record labels are quite accustomed to working with eccentric artists—Alex was signed nonetheless, and with great enthusiasm. But as one opportunity after another to promote his new album was balked at in favor of Friday night dinner, Island Records became increasingly annoyed. When Sukkos rolled around, they gave him an ultimatum. He’d work or be dropped.
He was dropped.
A short while later, something incredible happened. Microsoft came calling, asking to license his song, “Too Close” for a new commercial they were producing. Alex readily agreed, and suddenly his fanbase exploded. By the end of the Microsoft campaign, his album had sold six million copies and his music video had 45 million views on YouTube. He had his masses of ears and masses of dollars.
Hashem had rewarded Alex for his sacrifice. Right here in this world. And the same can happen to you.
Maybe.
From the time of Moshe’s birth, recorded in Parshas Shemos, through the very end of Torah, Moshe’s name appears in every single parsha. Except one. Parshas Tetzaveh contains no mention of Moshe’s name, despite his being the recipient of Hashem’s instructions to furnish the various elements of the Mishkan and the priestly clothing that the parsha contains.
The Ba’al HaTurim famously explains that this is due to a statement Moshe himself makes. In next week’s parsha, Parshas Ki Sisa, Hashem muses over the idea of eradicating the Jewish People in response to the Chet HaEgel. Only Moshe would remain, and from him Hashem would reboot the nation. Moshe pleads with Hashem to reconsider, insisting should He do so, then, “מחני נא מספרך אשר כתבת—Erase me from Your book that You have written.” If the nation is to be lost, then Moshe intends to suffer the same fate.
Moshe prevails and Hashem spares the people. But, says the Baal HaTurim, one parsha remains effected by Moshe’s words. His name is indeed erased from the book. At least in Parshas Tetzaveh.
Moshe’s attempts at saving the people certainly appear gallant. He’s willing to fall on the sword for the Jewish People, and Hashem is swayed from killing them off? Why, then, is he punished? Why isn’t he rewarded for his nobility?
Perhaps he is. But there are battle scars just the same.
When Yaakov wrestles all night with the angel, he wins the battle. But he does not emerge whole and unharmed. He will forever walk with a limp. The battle is a smashing success. It is there that Yaakov receives the name “Yisrael” that will forever come to identify the nation he fathers and the land he calls home. But he limps nonetheless.
This is the reality of sacrifice. Sticking out one’s neck for a cause he believes is right and just on its own merits, not because of the reward that follows. Indeed, the reward may never follow. At least not in this world.
When one would see his animal placed upon the mizbeach in the Bais Hamikdash, a closeness was achieved between himself and His creator. Hence, “korban”, from the word “karov”, or “close.” The owner of the animal had indeed gained something. But he had also sacrificed.
And that is a reality that comes to pass far more often than the one experienced by Alex Clare. What happened to Alex Clare is a store of hashgacha pratis, of Hashem watching over a Jew and rewarding him for the sacrifice he’d made, right here in this world. But those stories occur far less frequently than the others, the stories of people sacrificing and receiving—ostensibly—nothing in return. Only a limp. Or a name erased.
But it is a mistake not to relate those stories. Both for our children and ourselves, we need to be reminded that the usual reward for doing the right thing, for sacrificing in what we believe, is the sheer honor of doing so. Yes, we give up untold earnings when we keep Shabbos. Yes, we part with a great deal of money to provide our children with a yeshiva education. Yes, we sacrifice for the great cause that is Judaism and may not have anything tangible to show for it. But there is honor and nobility in doing so. The reward gained for sacrificing in what we believe is often nothing more than the sacrifice itself.