Scientists Discover Whats Jews Knew Forever- The Parshah On Fire- Haazinu

This Torah class is brought to you by tora anytime.com. [Music] One of the greatest of the last thousand years was the vil. And he once requested that all of his gather around him for a special meeting. And in this dimly lit room, the vil naggy, he looked at his tummy and he said, "Rabbi, I've called you all in today in honor of a very special occasion. Today marks the day that I have completed learning all the wisdom in the entire world. I would like to therefore make a celebration." And he explained that after studying for decades the entirety of the Tyra and gaining mastery over it, he decided to learn the wisdom of the world, astronomy, geometry, chemistry, zoology, physiology, psychology, biology, geology, just to name a few. And he learned it all. And in one of the greatest intellectual feats in all of human history, he quite literally mastered basically everything there is to know. And after absorbing all the knowledge his brain could consume, essentially the last subject that remained was the wisdom of music. And although its world is immense and it has secrets that are inaccessible to all but a few, he managed to plum its incredibly vast depth. So much so that there's a legend that the villagy upon his mastery of the wisdom of magic of music he approached Mozart one of the greatest composers of all time and he played him the eighth note on a musical scale a scale that Mozart thought previously contained only seven and this gave Mozart such a stir that he reeled back and he fainted on the spot anyway so upon completing his learning of all the wisdom in the world he called his talidim into room and he made a sem. Now, let's ask an obvious question. Did the Jewish people's greatest not have anything better to do with his time than explore the world of music and then show his findings to one of the greatest composers of all time? Why would the Vil Nagen take out precious time from his life to explore such seemingly irrelevant and trivial things? The answer, I believe, is found in Paras Hazenu. The para is a song. It's a song about our past. It's a song about our future. It's a beautiful musical moment right before Mosha's death. But here's the question. If all it is is a song, then why does the Tyra tell us to sing it constantly? What is it about this song that propels the Tyra to write in Dvar 31:21 that wherever evil befalls us, we should sing this song and it'll confront our enemies. Isn't it just a song? The answer is no. It's not just a song. It's a declaration of our musical DNA. It's a declaration that there are two ways to live life. There are those who live life and there are those who sing life. There are those that need life to be perfect for them to be happy. And there are those who, despite the hardships and the pain, despite the distraction and the noise, hear the sweet sound of Hashem's music floating in the air. People who live life engulfed in song. People who allow their souls to burst forth and sing the song of Hashem. The Tyra is referred to as a song because song is the most transcendent way of living. The Tyra is not some intellectual subject that we learn and teach. The Torah is a song that we hum and we sing. This para lets us in on the secret of music. Music is a force on this earth that contains tremendous power. But spiritual music is a force on earth that its power is incalculable. Asma alabz the great cabalist and the author and composer of he would say music allows the soul to transcend this world and connect itself to the singing angels in heaven. The vil nag did not delve into music to discover the latest trends. He was searching for the secrets of music to help his soul soar to enable his heart to beat with the rhythm of the Tyra's song. The Jewish religion places great emphasis on music. We have special tunes we use on Shabas and special tunes we use on Yam. We have songs we sing during Birkhanim. And we have songs we sing on Rashashana and Yamipper. We have special nagunim to play when a holy sadic walks into a room. We have melodies that we use when we recite kal raim at the foot of a grave. We don't learn gimmar. We sing gimra. We don't read the tyra. We chant the tyra. Each and every word has its unique trap. We don't walk down the road of life. We dance down the road of life. The music that permeates our religion isn't there merely to just ensure that our religious duties don't become monotonous and stale. The music we inject into our religion is the song of the Tyra itself. The Tyra is the Tyra is life's song and it saturates everything we do. Sort of like the animals who sing Hashem's praises in Parakira. We also sing to Hashem using the Tyra as our musical notes. It's not a coincidence that para Sazino contains 613 words for it reminds us that the Tyra is our song. It's our anthem. It's what we've been singing to the rest of the world on our journey throughout time. Precisely as we were about to enter the land to begin our lives a new. Did Mosher Rabinu give us the message that the Tyra is a song? For that's when we needed that message the most. Precisely when it begins to get difficult does the Tyra's musical essence become most pronounced. Precisely when the world lose its sight of its sanctity. Does our job as the singers of the Tyra song become all the more important? Precisely when we leave the desert's cocoon of holiness and our training wheels come off and we enter the land do we need to clutch close to the song that keeps us going. Every creature in this world, every bug, every fish, every blade of grass sings the song of Hashem. None of them forget to. The only creature that sometimes forgets to show up to the choir of life is man. In the choir of the universe, only man can be found not singing. Jews are the human representation in the world's chorus. The Torah is infinitely more than a mere book containing wisdom. It is the very song of humanity. It is the heartbeat of the world and the composition of life itself. And we are trusted as its singers. We will forever keep on singing. Now listen to this. Ever wonder how owls see perfectly in the dark? How do owls see in absolute pitch darkness in a forest or a desert where the closest light is 400 miles away? What does it mean that they have eyes with night vision? If there's no light, then there's no light. What do their superior eyes do? How do nocturnal animals see at night? If there's no light, what are their eyes seeing? The answer is that even in the most intense darkness, there is in fact light. And if you have the correct eyes, you can see it. The Jews for the duration of our history have been living in a world that's gone dark. But with the Tyra as our night vision goggles, we see the light in the darkness. We hear the harmony amongst the cacophony. We connect ourselves to the purity amidst the barrage of desecration. This para from the moment we marched out of the clouds of glory has been our reminder to keep on singing no matter how many times we get expelled and are forced to move our precious little nation somewhere else. When we were expelled from Carthage in the year 250, we remain singing this song. When we were expelled from Alexandria in 415, we had this song on our lips. When we were expelled from Clement in 554 and from Visigoth in 612, we had the song of the Tyra beating in our hearts. or whether it was Toledo or from Italy or from Sen in 876 or to mines in 1012 or France to England in 1290 to Switzerland to Germany in 1349 or Strawburg in 1388 or Austria in 1422 or Zurich in 1424 or Cologne or Savvery or Wartzburg or from Spain in 1492 or Genoa or Kiev or Hamburg or Lithuania or Russia or Warsa or Romania or Bavaria. It made no difference where we went. It made no difference when the Jew limped along singing his song. For the Jew knows that his song is the song of a life itself and the world would cease to exist without the Jew singing it. The yum run is a time when we relearn our song. It's a time when we realign ourselves and focus on yet again singing the melodies of Hashem. Once a year, we take time out of our lives to reaffirm that the tune of Hashem's Tyra is the most powerful force in the universe. And we are the lucky members of his choir. Listen to this story. In the year 1960, Bell Labs, a large telecommunications company, built the largest radio transmitter in the world and installed it in the city of Homeell, New Jersey. And it was a satellite transmission system that they called Echo. and Arno Pensas and Robert Wilson, the two directors of the project, realized the massive newfound power the invention had in its potential use as a radio telescope, hearing sounds from distances that no other machine could hear in the history of the world. And with worldwide excitement and anticipation, they turned on the machine for the very first time. But what they heard confused them. For some reason, there was this background hum that they couldn't seem to get rid of. There was this sound the machine kept playing, but they had no idea why. And first, they thought, okay, the machine was probably broken. So, they re-examined every inch of it, but they turned it back on, and the hum was still there. So, then they thought that perhaps birds that lived in the general vicinity of the machine were somehow interfering with the machine's transmitters. So they cleared the entire area of birds, but the hum remained. So completely confused at a loss, they began listening a little more carefully to the sound. And what they realized shocked the world. There was nothing wrong with the machine. There were no birds interfering. The sound that they heard was the very sound of the creation of the world thousands of years ago. It was the penetrating blast of the world coming into existence. And that sound still reverberated and echoed deep into the galaxy. And this machine was the first that could pick it up for man to hear. And the world went crazy. Newspapers were writing articles about the discovery. Radio interviews took place on a nightly basis. They even gave them a Nobel Prize for their findings. Because to the rest of the world, this was a discovery. But to us, we didn't need Bellabs to tell us. Jews have been hearing that hum since the day we were born. It's the sound of our tilis. It's the melody of our Tyra. It's the heartbeat of our nation. The sound of creation is not a noise to us. It's a song. The song that propels us to do what we do, to live how we live. Some people need a billion dollar radio telescope to pick it up. We feel it in every breath we take. When we open a kish, when we light shabas candles, when we whisper shama, we are tuning into that same frequency, the echo of creation itself. Nahmed of breast would often say that there are three levels of song. There are songs that have both words and a tune. A higher level of song is one that has just a tune without words. But the highest level of song, the level where song is most acutely pronounced and the level at which our soul or nishama can best join along and sing with its angelic brothers in heaven is the song of sheer unadulterated silence. For then and only then can one hear the song of the universe itself, the song of Tyra, the song of life, the song of us. Every challenge we overcome, every blessing we make, every ounce of repentance we do is another note making up this holy song. A song that is the undercurrent of humanity. The world might hear only static. We hear a symphony. Our only job is to keep on tuning in. Ever wonder why at the great party aash veros threw there is no mention at all of any music whatsoever. The migilla mentions virtually every other form of luxury and yet it omits any mention of music. Why is that? Did the great Aashro one of the greatest party throwers and planners in the history of partyth throwers did he really throw a party without music? So alabas he explains that music was banned at this historic party because Akashir was scared of it. In fact he was petrified of it because being that this party was largely a celebration of the Jews low state of spirituality feared that allowing music at the party would strike a chord in the souls and the namas of Jews present and inspire them to grow spiritually. He was afraid that music would remind their nishamus of the song of the Tyra that their souls should have been singing. He was petrified of the Jews being reminded of the song of creation that were all tasked with humming. It's not coincidental that Hazenu is often Niriam Kipper for it's the perfect reminder of who we are and the musical responsibilities we have in singing Hashem's song in the world in our busy lives. It's easy to forget Hzenu is there as a reminder we are the musical notes of the world's song. Listen to this story. There was once a Jewish man. He was living in Europe before the war. a simple man, a family man, a man with a wife and one son. And then like it did for millions of others, the war came. His whole world shattered in a single breath. His wife was murdered in the early days of the war. And he and his son barely escaped and they were saved by the kindness of a righteous non-Jewish woman who risked her life to hide them. And eventually after the smoke and the blood settled down, she married the woman who saved him. She wasn't Jewish, but she gave him a second chance at life. And together they moved to America and they had another son there. And years later, he opened a small business. And the business grew and it grew and it boomed. And the man became a wildly mel wealthy man. He built a fortune worth $50 million. And as time moved on, the man got sick and he eventually he died. and he left his two sons, one Jewish and one not Jewish, $50 million in inheritance. And now the question wasn't how to split the money. It was where to bury their father. The non-Jewish son said, "We're burying him in St. Mary's Cemetery. That's where my mother will be buried. That's where he belongs." But the Jewish son wouldn't have it. He said he was a Jew. I don't care that he married your mother. He's going into a Jewish grave. And the argument got heated and emotions flared and neither side was budging. So they went to court and the judge trying to be diplomatic, he said, "Okay, here's an idea. Why don't you cremate the body, split the ashes, half will go into the Jewish cemetery and half will go into the Christian cemetery and both of you will be happy." The Jewish son almost fall fell off his chair. "Absolutely not." So the Christian son saw an opening and he a pressure point. If it matters to you so much, he said, I'll let you bury him in the Jewish cemetery, but only if you give me your entire half of the inheritance, $25 million. That's the deal. And the Jewish son said, "Let me think about it." The next day, he went to Rebel Yash and he asked what he should do. And Rabash answered in just a few words, "Give him the money and bury your father like a Jew." And he did. He handed over $25 million for the right to dig six feet into Jewish soil and bury his father with dignity, with identity, with eternity. Let that hit you for a minute. This wasn't a rashiva. This wasn't a tadic who grew up in Mearim. This wasn't some Makob. This was a man who barely kept Shabas. This was a man whose father married a Christian woman. This was a man who grew up in a home without Tyra and Filor. And yet somewhere in his soul, something couldn't be bought even for $25 million. Somewhere in his DNA, there was a voice screaming, "He's a Jew. He's my father and he's going home." And I ask you, what other nation produces souls like that? What other religion creates such loyalty, such irrational, inexplicable, unshakable connection? You can't beat the Jewish people. You can scatter us. You can burn our books and break our bones. But you will never break the bond. Why? Because while the world might practice religion, we sing it. While others walk in the path of life, we dance through it. The Tyra isn't just our guide, it's our song. And we're not just its readers. We're its singers. And we will cross oceans and climb mountains to keep on singing like the world depends on it. because it does. Here's another story. London, England, is home to some of the most famous poetry theaters in the world. Now, a poetry theater is where poets compete to read aloud classical poetry in the most authentic and dramatic way, and the crowd judges them. And one such event took place, one called Winter London Night. With the theater filled to capacity, the contestants were handed the poem that would be in that evening's competition. It was, believe it or not, chapter 98 into hillin. There was a psalm that spoke about singing a new song to Hashem. Each contestant had a turn and they were all so so until one young man, he walked on the stage and he left the crowd in just a thunderous applause. He was energetic. He had a great voice. He was handsome. He had the perfect facial expressions when he sang each verse. He was awesome and he was selected unanimously as the winner of the competition. But right as the curtains were about to close and the stage was about to clear, an old man from the back of the theater stood up and called out, "Wait!" And he walked slowly with his cane to the front of the stage and the crowd fell into a curious silence. They all wanted to see what exactly this man had to say. And the old man took the microphone, he cleared his throat, and he said, "If I may, just for a moment, sing a rendition of that poem in its original language." He brought the mic close to his mouth and he began the slow singing of [Music] he closed his eyes and he looked up and he kept on singing and the audience just frozen in shock. They stared at him. that never saw something like this before. The man almost in a trance, he kept on singing. He sang and he softly tapped his right foot and people were just frozen. There wasn't a dry eye in the theater. [Music] Um um the man continued until at the very end he stopped and people were literally crying and the crowd erupted into a thunderous standing ovation and the man opened his eyes and he smiled a small smile and with a twinkle in his eye he walked off the stage and the crowd filed out of their seats and the old man took his cane and he walked outside into the cold London street and the young winner of the competition he ran outside he looked for the old man he spotted him walking slowly fully alone and he caught up to him. Sir, sir, he called out. I feel as though you should be the one who gets this award, not me. You were fantastic up there. And the old man stopped and looked at the man and said, "Oh, no, young man. You were great. You did a great job. Please keep the trophy." But the young man, he insisted. He said, "No, no, no. You were better than me. I don't deserve it." The old man said, "Look, I'm an old man. No need. I refuse. You did a great job. Okay, said the boy. But I just have one question for you. Why was it that when I was on the stage, the crowd smiled and clapped? But when you were up there, they cried. The old man stopped walking. He looked the young man in the eye. After a moment of silence, he removed his arm from his coat and rolled up his sleeve. "See these numbers?" the man asked, pointing to the numbers tattooed on his arm. You learned poetry in college. I learned poetry in Awitz. King David to you is a composer. King David is my grandfather. He rolled down his sleeve and he put his coat back on and he looked one more time into the eyes of the young man and said, "You may have gotten up on that stage and sang that song. I am that song." And with that, the old man took his cane and he walked off into the night. The Jewish people don't just sing the songs of the universe. We are the song of the universe. And the world keeps spinning because we refuse to stop singing. [Music] You've just experienced another Torah class brought to you by tora anytime.com.