I am indebted to Havolim for raising this point for discussion (link). Yitzchak and Rivka were barren, and our parsha opens with their praying for children. The language the Torah uses to describe Hashem’s response is, “Va’yeiaser lo Hashem,” which, as Rashi explains, implies that Hashem was so-to-speak coerced into giving in. The word “va’yeaser” is related to the word “atar,” a pitchfork – Chazal use the imagery of a pitchfork overturning a haystack of grain as a metaphor for the prayers of tzadikim overturning things. But why, asks Havolim, was Hashem’s response forthcoming only after this intense pleading of “va’yeaser”? As Havolim notes, "The expressions in Rashi clearly indicate that the success of these tefillos was contrary to some countervailing consideration." Why should that have been the case?
Before explaining what stood in the way of Yitzchak's tefilah being answered, first a little digression to explain what tefilah is or should be. We are used to thinking of tefilah as a means to get what we want from G-d, but the truth is that such an approach is almost an affront to the idea of prayer. Do we dare stand before G-d like little children who whine and plead and coax their parents to give in to their demands? The Zohar goes so far as to compare such tefilah to a dog barking, “Give! Give!” It is an act of selfishness, of self-centeredness.
So what then should we pray for if not for the fulfillment of our needs? The ideal prayer is selfless – we are not concerned with our own needs, but rather with G-d’s, kavyachol. The purpose of our world is to reveal G-d’s glory. So long as there is a chasm between G-d and the world as we see it, there is a need for prayer, because through prayer that divide is crossed. "Hashem, heal the sick, give us sustenance, bring us to Eretz Yisrael" – not because of our wants and needs, but because in doing so your presence will be felt more fully. Need is not a sibah for tefilah, but is merely a siman, a symptom of disconnect between G-d and the world. Tefilah seeks to remove that disconnect.
The Tiferes Shlomo has this idea in many places and briefly alludes to it in our parsha as well. Rivka feels pain in her womb. She responds, “Lamah zeh anochi – vateilech lidrosh es Hashem.” Strange – why go to a prophet instead of an OB/GYN? And why does the pasuk not even mention the word pain if that was Rivka’s concern? The Tif Shlomo therefore reads Rivka’s question not as, “Why am I feeling pain?” but rather, more literally, “Why is there an 'I'," i.e. why am I concerned only with myself, my own needs, my own ego?” As the Mishna in Sanhedrin tells us, G-d suffers with man. Rivka went to seek G-d, i.e. she directed her attention to the suffering of G-d, not her own. This is tefilah.
We’ve scaled the mountain, we’ve transcended human suffering and pain and need and want and see only the pain of the Shechina, the suffering of G-d’s presence longing to unite with the world. Despite climbing to the greatest heights, we're still not done, as there is still one more obstacle to our tefilah being accepted. Now that we’re on top of the mountain, comes the Noam Elimelech and tells us, “Come down to earth” – don’t forget that there are real people with real needs who experience real suffering.
Yitzchak Avinu was up there in the celestial spheres. His tefilos were “l’nochach ishto,” they were the opposite of those of Rivka, who was davening simply, “ki akarah hi,” because she felt that human pain of being childless. Yitchak was divorced from such “petty” personal suffering, personal pain, personal want. But davka because of his lofty vision, his tefilah in this case was lacking.
I’m not sure my analogy does justice to the point, but I’ll try it anyway – imagine someone who says “refa’einu” having in mind deep, mystical kavanos for that tefilah, but who forgets about the actual sick person who needs the refu’ah. We might admire such a person's spirituality, but their humanity seems wanting.
Havolim writes, “Rashi says that the tefilla turned the world upside down; it wasn't just a krias yam suf, a revolutionary upheaval; it was a metamorphosis of Hashem's will, kaviyachol.” I agree – “vaye’aser,” the pitchfork of tefilah turned the world upside down – but it wasn’t Hashem’s will that was turned upside down, but rather, "lo," it was Yitzchak Avinu’s. It was Yitzchak Avinu who had to experience the metamorphosis. Yitzchak had to reconnect with his own humanity, to forget G-d’s needs for a moment and concentrate on his own –- he had to feel that personal, human longing for offspring and express that in his tefilah. “Retzon yer’ei’av ya’aseh” -- Hashem recreates the tzadik’s “ratzon,” that simple desire to have something, because a prayer that emanates from spiritual heights but loses sight of the ground below is incomplete. More than that – without the recognition of human need, human suffering, there can be no prayer at all.
At the risk of dilluting the N.A.’s point I just want to add two additional cents. I think this lesson is that much more appropriate given the context of Yitzchak's praying to have children. Yitzchak must have realized the tikunim and achievements a son like Ya’akov Avinu would bring to the world, and I would guess that these kavanos were part of what he had in mind in his tefilah – the completion of the triumvirate of chessed, gevurah, and tiferes, etc. However, all those lofty and deep kavanos do not help change a dirty diaper; thinking about the pain of the Shechina doesn’t help at 4:00 AM when a child is crying. Raising children requires hands-on roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-dirty type work. Hashem had to use his pitchfork to overturn Yitzchak, to change him from a spiritual giant into a man who just wanted the opportunity to change diapers.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
why did Avraham make Eliezer take an oath?
Last week I mentioned (link) the Brisker Rav’s question of why Avraham had to administer an oath to Eliezer to ensure that he look for a bride for Yitzchak only from Avraham’s own family – he could have accomplished the same by simply making Eliezer’s appointment as a shliach contingent on his going only to Avraham's own family. R’ Simcha Zisel (Kelm) asks this same question and offers a mussar-oriented answer. The oath was not needed from a legal standpoint, but was necessary from a psychological one. Avraham was so careful to make sure his wishes were accomplished reliably that he went the extra mile and added an extra safeguard to ensure their fulfillment.
There is an additional take away lesson from this episode. Eliezer, as we explained, was “moshel b’yitzro,” “doleh u’mashkeh m’toras rabo,” he was a righteous person in complete control over his desires, wholeheartedly dedicated to Avraham’s teachings. Is this is the type person who needs an oath to ensure that he fulfills his mission? The Beis Yisrael of Ger explains that Avraham knew that Eliezer was steadfast in his righteousness. However, Avraham was concerned that when distanced from his home, Eliezer would be tempted and tested by the spiritually hostile environment created by Besuel and Lavan. Therefore, he took the extra precaution of administering an oath.
The power of environment is emphasized as well in Avraham’s command not to take wife for Yitzchak, “M’bnos ha’Kena’ani asher anochi yosheiv b’kirbo.” Why does Avraham stress that he dwells among the Kena’ani – we already know this? The answer is that Avraham was acknowledging that his teachings would have little influence on a Kena’ani girl who, even if she enters Avraham’s home, would remain surrounded by the comforts of her original cultural milieu. No matter how great the message or the messenger, it cannot complete against an opposing message constantly reinforced by a culturally dominant majority.
A long while back we discussed the question of kids going to study at secular colleges far from home. I don't want to revisit it -- draw your own conclusions from these ideas.
There is an additional take away lesson from this episode. Eliezer, as we explained, was “moshel b’yitzro,” “doleh u’mashkeh m’toras rabo,” he was a righteous person in complete control over his desires, wholeheartedly dedicated to Avraham’s teachings. Is this is the type person who needs an oath to ensure that he fulfills his mission? The Beis Yisrael of Ger explains that Avraham knew that Eliezer was steadfast in his righteousness. However, Avraham was concerned that when distanced from his home, Eliezer would be tempted and tested by the spiritually hostile environment created by Besuel and Lavan. Therefore, he took the extra precaution of administering an oath.
The power of environment is emphasized as well in Avraham’s command not to take wife for Yitzchak, “M’bnos ha’Kena’ani asher anochi yosheiv b’kirbo.” Why does Avraham stress that he dwells among the Kena’ani – we already know this? The answer is that Avraham was acknowledging that his teachings would have little influence on a Kena’ani girl who, even if she enters Avraham’s home, would remain surrounded by the comforts of her original cultural milieu. No matter how great the message or the messenger, it cannot complete against an opposing message constantly reinforced by a culturally dominant majority.
A long while back we discussed the question of kids going to study at secular colleges far from home. I don't want to revisit it -- draw your own conclusions from these ideas.
v'yiten lecha Elokim...
V’yiten lecha Elokim m’tal ha’shamayim u’mishmanei ha’aretz… Was Yitzchak’s bracha all about giving his children the best of olam ha’zeh? The Shem m’Shmuel quotes his father as explaining that Yitzchak was giving his children ruchniyus – "V’yiten lecha Elokim." Where will they get these sparks of ruchniyus from? From within everything and every experience in the world, "M’tal hashamayim u’mishmanei ha’aretz…"
differing philosophies
John Gribbin begins his book "The Scientists" with the following:
The most important thing that science has taught us about our place in the Universe is that we are not special. The process began with the work of Nicholas Copernicus in the sixteenth century, which suggested that the Earth is not the center of the Universe, and gained momentum after Galileo, early in the seventeenth century, used a telescope to obtain the crucial evidence that the Earth is indeed a planet orbiting the sun. In successive waves of astronomical discovery in the centuries that followed, astronomers found that just as the Earth is an ordinary planet, the Sun is an ordinary star (one of several hundred billion stars in our Milky Way galaxy) and the Milky Way itself is just an ordinary galaxy (one of several hundred billion in the visible Universe). They even suggested, at the end of the twentieth century, that the Universe itself may not be unique.Even if you can get the facts of parshas Braishis to fit together with scientific data, how do you get the philosophy of parshas Braishis to fit together with this philosophy of science? Just asking…
While all this was going on, biologists tried and failed to find any evidence for a special ‘life force’ that distinguishes living matter from non-living matter, concluding that life is just a rather complicated form of chemistry…
Eliezer appears to Rivka
The Chidushei haRI”M teaches that a Jew may be very far from where he should be, but so long as his heart is stirred when he sees a true tzadik, there is hope.
Rivka had never before seen a tzadik. Her father Besuel was not a role model, her brother Lavan was a rasha. Can we imagine the impression that Eliezer would have made on her? Chazal describe Eliezer, “Hamoshel b’chol asher lo – she’haya moshel b’yitzro,” as someone in complete control over his yetzer hara, as someone who was, “doleh u’mashkeh,” who drew forth his rebbe Avraham’s torah and taught it to others. Rav Wolfson in his sefer Emunas I'techa writes that when Rivka reported back to her family what transpired at the well it was not simply tidings of her potential engagement, but rather it was news of how Eliezer spoke, how Eliezer behaved, as this is what captivated her. We see this clearly from the reaction of Lavan to her words –
“Ki’r'os es ha’nezem v’es hatzmidim al y’dei achoso” – When he saw the rings and jewelry on her hands… According to the letter of the law (not halacha l’ma’aseh) women are not permitted to wear jewelry on Shabbos because the halacha assumes that they will show their rings off to neighbors and end up carrying the jewelry in hand. Lavan saw that the new jewelry Eliezer had given his sister was still on her hands – Rivka had not removed the rings to show them to her family, as these trinkets made no impression on her.
“Uk’sham’o… ‘Ko dibeir eilei ha’ish’” – When he heard his sister relating not only what Eliezer had said, but how he spoke, his mannerisms, his refinement, as these were the things which had made an impression on her, Lavan seized the opportunity and ran out to greet Eliezer, thinking that if his sister was naïve and blind to the opportunity to fleece this stranger for all he was worth, he would certainly take advantage of the situation.
Rashi writes that the gift of the “shtei tzimidim” that Eliezer gave Rivka represents the two luchos of the aseres hadibros. In the context of Rivka’s receiving the tzimidim, the word is spelled with an extra letter yud, alluding to the dibros. However, when describing the jewelry seen by Lavan, the same word “tzimidim” is spelled without the extra letter yud. Same jewelry, same gift, completely different perception.
There are so many opportunities to see greatness around us, but too often we are so busy looking at the tzimidim without the extra yud that we lost sight of what is really important.
Rivka had never before seen a tzadik. Her father Besuel was not a role model, her brother Lavan was a rasha. Can we imagine the impression that Eliezer would have made on her? Chazal describe Eliezer, “Hamoshel b’chol asher lo – she’haya moshel b’yitzro,” as someone in complete control over his yetzer hara, as someone who was, “doleh u’mashkeh,” who drew forth his rebbe Avraham’s torah and taught it to others. Rav Wolfson in his sefer Emunas I'techa writes that when Rivka reported back to her family what transpired at the well it was not simply tidings of her potential engagement, but rather it was news of how Eliezer spoke, how Eliezer behaved, as this is what captivated her. We see this clearly from the reaction of Lavan to her words –
“Ki’r'os es ha’nezem v’es hatzmidim al y’dei achoso” – When he saw the rings and jewelry on her hands… According to the letter of the law (not halacha l’ma’aseh) women are not permitted to wear jewelry on Shabbos because the halacha assumes that they will show their rings off to neighbors and end up carrying the jewelry in hand. Lavan saw that the new jewelry Eliezer had given his sister was still on her hands – Rivka had not removed the rings to show them to her family, as these trinkets made no impression on her.
“Uk’sham’o… ‘Ko dibeir eilei ha’ish’” – When he heard his sister relating not only what Eliezer had said, but how he spoke, his mannerisms, his refinement, as these were the things which had made an impression on her, Lavan seized the opportunity and ran out to greet Eliezer, thinking that if his sister was naïve and blind to the opportunity to fleece this stranger for all he was worth, he would certainly take advantage of the situation.
Rashi writes that the gift of the “shtei tzimidim” that Eliezer gave Rivka represents the two luchos of the aseres hadibros. In the context of Rivka’s receiving the tzimidim, the word is spelled with an extra letter yud, alluding to the dibros. However, when describing the jewelry seen by Lavan, the same word “tzimidim” is spelled without the extra letter yud. Same jewelry, same gift, completely different perception.
There are so many opportunities to see greatness around us, but too often we are so busy looking at the tzimidim without the extra yud that we lost sight of what is really important.
Friday, October 29, 2010
accepting the paradoxical
A small point that I wrote in a comment to an earlier post, but I want to highlight it because I think it's important: the challenge that faced Avraham in dealing with the akeidah, at least according to some Rishonim and meforshim, was not dealing with contradictory messages from G-d, i.e. the seeming contradiction between G-d's promise to continue Avraham's legacy through Yitzchak and G-d's command to sacrifice Yitzchak. Avraham could have resolved that issue in a number of ways, the most obvious being that Hashem never commanded that Yitzchak be killed -- "kach na..." is a request, not a command. Others write (based on the Zohar) that the command to do akeidah was seen by Avraham through ispaklarya she'eina m'eira -- it was an unclear prophecy -- and therefore might have been dismissed as erroneous when weighed against the clear prohibition of murder. If I wanted to sum up the main idea of half the Tosfos in shas it would be "Im tomar...Sugya A contradicts Sugya B..., v'yesh lomar we can resolve the apparent contradiction." Avraham Avinu was probably at least as good a lamdan as Tosfos and could think of teirutzim. The greatness of Avraham is that he chose to accept the paradox rather than resolve it.
It takes a certain degree of heroism to face up to a tzarich iyun gadol, an unresolvable problem, and move on, but it takes even greater heroism to face a problem where there are pat, easy answers that suggest themselves and to choose to remain with the question rather than take those easy outs. I don't mean, of course, that one must deliberately remain in a state of stupidity and not accept any answers to questions. I mean that deep, demanding questions require deep, thoughtful answers, and to dismiss them lightly and latch onto any solution to avoid problems and contradictions is not a good strategy. If you need a concrete example, contradictions between science and Torah are resolved very easily in one of two ways: 1)dismissing scientific data as erroneous; 2) dismissing Torah as allegorical, figurative, historically conditioned, but not literally (or scientifically) accurate or eternal truth. I am not happy with either solution; I prefer the paradox to the answers.
There are shiurim and books out there that purport to provide answers to every problem, from the mysteries of creation to why good people suffer and bad people prosper. We've lost the art of living with paradoxes, and instead prefer instant solutions, nicely packaged into a 45 minute lecture with a take home handout sheet and a DVD you can buy afterwards for review. The akeidah teaches us that accepting paradox and its consequences is sometimes better than easy solutions.
It takes a certain degree of heroism to face up to a tzarich iyun gadol, an unresolvable problem, and move on, but it takes even greater heroism to face a problem where there are pat, easy answers that suggest themselves and to choose to remain with the question rather than take those easy outs. I don't mean, of course, that one must deliberately remain in a state of stupidity and not accept any answers to questions. I mean that deep, demanding questions require deep, thoughtful answers, and to dismiss them lightly and latch onto any solution to avoid problems and contradictions is not a good strategy. If you need a concrete example, contradictions between science and Torah are resolved very easily in one of two ways: 1)dismissing scientific data as erroneous; 2) dismissing Torah as allegorical, figurative, historically conditioned, but not literally (or scientifically) accurate or eternal truth. I am not happy with either solution; I prefer the paradox to the answers.
There are shiurim and books out there that purport to provide answers to every problem, from the mysteries of creation to why good people suffer and bad people prosper. We've lost the art of living with paradoxes, and instead prefer instant solutions, nicely packaged into a 45 minute lecture with a take home handout sheet and a DVD you can buy afterwards for review. The akeidah teaches us that accepting paradox and its consequences is sometimes better than easy solutions.
Eliezer - shliach for kiddushin, birchas eirusin
Avraham administered an oath to Eliezer to ensure that he look for a bride for Yitzchak only from Avraham’s own family and not from the neighboring tribes. The Brisker Rav asks why an oath was necessary in this case. Tosfos (Kesubos 7b d”h she’ne’emar) writes that Eliezer served as a shliach, an agent, to effect the kiddushin of Yitzchak (see Maharil Diskin who discusses exactly how this shlichus worked, as under normal circumstances an eved may not serve as a shliach). If Reuvain appoints Shimon to serve as his agent to buy a red Toyota, but instead Shimon buys a green Ford, Reuvain doesn’t have to accept that green Ford – since Shimon violated the terms of his appointment, Shimon’s actions on Reuvain’s behalf are worthless. Since Eliezer was appointed only to take a bride from Avraham’s own family, kiddushin made with any other family should be automatically null and void even without an oath.
The Brisker Rav leaves this one unanswered, but I am wondering if there is a solution. The pesukim seem to suggest that Avraham was open to the possibility of marrying Yitzchak to someone else should Eliezer not find a willing bride from his own family. Perhaps Eliezer was appointed as an agent with a blank check – find a bride, ideally from family, but if not, another suitable candidate. If Reuvain appoints Shimon to buy a car and expresses a preference for a red Toyota, but is willing to accept a green Ford if there are no good deals on that red Toyota, Shimon has a lot more leeway. Perhaps an oath was necessary to cut down on Eliezer's leeway and guarantee he will make every effort to find a bride from Avraham's own family.
[Update: I should have thought about this more. The Brisker Rav probably also had in mind that Eliezer had a blank check shlichus. The question the Brisker Rav is driving at I think is why do things in that way -- why not appoint Eliezer a shliach to find a bride only from Avraham's family, which would eliminate the need for an oath.]
Tosfos writes that we learn from this incident that birchas eirusin may be recited when kiddushin are done by a shliach. Why would one think not? My first reaction is that Tosfos is getting involved in the classical question of who and whether a birchas hamitzvah can be recited where the ma’aseh mitzvah is done by one party but the kiyum mitzvah belongs to a different party. If birchas eirusin is a birchas ha’shevach and not a birchas hamitzvah, as some Rishonim indicate, then perhaps one might have thought there is no place for a birchas hashevach when the groom is not present to appreciate the new status of eirusin being created – again, this is basically the same idea of this case being special because the action is performed by one party but the kiyum, chalos, enjoyment, etc. coming to another.
My son did not like any of these type approaches. He reads Tosfos as telling us a chiddush in birchas eirusin in particular, not as a general rule that applies to all brachos or all other mitzvos. If that is the case, the question remains (which he does not yet have an answer for) as to why one might have thought birchas eirusin is unique.
The Brisker Rav leaves this one unanswered, but I am wondering if there is a solution. The pesukim seem to suggest that Avraham was open to the possibility of marrying Yitzchak to someone else should Eliezer not find a willing bride from his own family. Perhaps Eliezer was appointed as an agent with a blank check – find a bride, ideally from family, but if not, another suitable candidate. If Reuvain appoints Shimon to buy a car and expresses a preference for a red Toyota, but is willing to accept a green Ford if there are no good deals on that red Toyota, Shimon has a lot more leeway. Perhaps an oath was necessary to cut down on Eliezer's leeway and guarantee he will make every effort to find a bride from Avraham's own family.
[Update: I should have thought about this more. The Brisker Rav probably also had in mind that Eliezer had a blank check shlichus. The question the Brisker Rav is driving at I think is why do things in that way -- why not appoint Eliezer a shliach to find a bride only from Avraham's family, which would eliminate the need for an oath.]
Tosfos writes that we learn from this incident that birchas eirusin may be recited when kiddushin are done by a shliach. Why would one think not? My first reaction is that Tosfos is getting involved in the classical question of who and whether a birchas hamitzvah can be recited where the ma’aseh mitzvah is done by one party but the kiyum mitzvah belongs to a different party. If birchas eirusin is a birchas ha’shevach and not a birchas hamitzvah, as some Rishonim indicate, then perhaps one might have thought there is no place for a birchas hashevach when the groom is not present to appreciate the new status of eirusin being created – again, this is basically the same idea of this case being special because the action is performed by one party but the kiyum, chalos, enjoyment, etc. coming to another.
My son did not like any of these type approaches. He reads Tosfos as telling us a chiddush in birchas eirusin in particular, not as a general rule that applies to all brachos or all other mitzvos. If that is the case, the question remains (which he does not yet have an answer for) as to why one might have thought birchas eirusin is unique.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
get some rest
“Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part” – unless the “your” happens to be a boss who promised his boss a deliverable on a certain date in complete ignorance of what might be entailed in bringing that about. (“Time machine that can take us into the future and bring back a cure for cancer? - No problem! My team will have it ready by next week…”) When he discovers that the seven dwarves have not shown up, the magic wand he thinks causes things to happen is broken, reality sets in. At that point the management reflexes kick in – all problems can be solved by screaming and stomping on the peons to work harder and deliver. And so you understand why posting has been light…
Because a problem had to be solved by a development team in Europe, I was told to keep my phone handy in case they want to do a call at 4:00AM our time. I discovered something interesting. I don’t think I would be so tired if I went to sleep and set the alarm for 4:00AM -- that would at least give me a few hours of decent rest. What is worse is trying to sleep with the uncertainty of whether to wake up at 4:00 or later and whether someone will call or not. That gives no hours of decent rest.
And so we finally get to some Torah content in this post. “Vayashkem Avraham baboker…," Avraham woke up early to saddle his donkey and get underway to do the akeidah. The Brisker Rav explained that the greatness of Avraham was not that he jumped up out bed, eager to get under way to do Hashem’s command. If you would jump out of bed to go on an anticipated vacation, kal v’chomer (at least if you are the Brisker Rav) you jump out of bed for a mitzvah, no matter how difficult that mitzvah might be. The greatness of Avraham wasn't what time he woke up -- the greatness was that he went to sleep! Avraham’s mind wasn’t filled with turmoil and uncertainty; he wasn’t on pins and needles, tossing and turning through the night without any rest, thinking about the challenge of the akeidah. He got his usual eight hours, just like any other day, akeidah or no akeidah.
I need another cup of coffee.
Because a problem had to be solved by a development team in Europe, I was told to keep my phone handy in case they want to do a call at 4:00AM our time. I discovered something interesting. I don’t think I would be so tired if I went to sleep and set the alarm for 4:00AM -- that would at least give me a few hours of decent rest. What is worse is trying to sleep with the uncertainty of whether to wake up at 4:00 or later and whether someone will call or not. That gives no hours of decent rest.
And so we finally get to some Torah content in this post. “Vayashkem Avraham baboker…," Avraham woke up early to saddle his donkey and get underway to do the akeidah. The Brisker Rav explained that the greatness of Avraham was not that he jumped up out bed, eager to get under way to do Hashem’s command. If you would jump out of bed to go on an anticipated vacation, kal v’chomer (at least if you are the Brisker Rav) you jump out of bed for a mitzvah, no matter how difficult that mitzvah might be. The greatness of Avraham wasn't what time he woke up -- the greatness was that he went to sleep! Avraham’s mind wasn’t filled with turmoil and uncertainty; he wasn’t on pins and needles, tossing and turning through the night without any rest, thinking about the challenge of the akeidah. He got his usual eight hours, just like any other day, akeidah or no akeidah.
I need another cup of coffee.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
true sacrifice
Avraham might have psychologically softened the blow of dealing with the akeidah by telling himself that even if he sacrifices Yitzchak, all is not lost. If he could miraculously have a son at 99, why not at 136, or even older? However, the Sefas Emes explains that Hashem told Avraham up front that that’s not how it’s going to work. Kach na es bincha es yechidcha… Yitzchak is the only one – there is never going to be a replacement.
An increasing number of Judaica books are devoted to “hashgacha pratis” stories, stories of people who sacrifice for the sake of Torah and mitzvos and are rewarded with things working out better than they could ever have expected. I have no problem with these books so long as they are shelved properly in the fiction section. I say that not because the stories are false, but because the idea that Hashem will necessarily reward sacrifice and commitment and make things work out is false. The akeidah is the paradigm of sacrifice. It was done with the understanding that there will be no happy ending if Yitzchak is sacrificed, no way to reconcile his loss with the promise of lineage that will carry on Avraham’s tradition.
An increasing number of Judaica books are devoted to “hashgacha pratis” stories, stories of people who sacrifice for the sake of Torah and mitzvos and are rewarded with things working out better than they could ever have expected. I have no problem with these books so long as they are shelved properly in the fiction section. I say that not because the stories are false, but because the idea that Hashem will necessarily reward sacrifice and commitment and make things work out is false. The akeidah is the paradigm of sacrifice. It was done with the understanding that there will be no happy ending if Yitzchak is sacrificed, no way to reconcile his loss with the promise of lineage that will carry on Avraham’s tradition.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
two journeys
Too much work, not enough time for this. Enough said – so I’m behind.
Commenting on the spelling of “ohalo” with an added hey, as if it should be read “ohala,” her tent, Rashi writes at the beginning of Lech Lecha (12:8) that Avraham pitched Sarah’s tent before his own. It is certainly possible that Rashi simply means that Avraham was a gentleman – we can imagine that he held the door open and let Sarah enter first, he pushed her chair close to the table, he pitched her tent first. However, it just seems odd to me that the Torah should go out of its way to tell us this detail. Even if the point is that Avraham was a gentleman, why illustrate the fact by focusing on the act of pitching a tent?
Let’s take a step back. At the beginning of Lech Lecha Avraham is commanded to take a journey. What exactly is this charge supposed to motivate Avraham to do? If we look at the end of Parshas Noach, we find that Avraham and his family (including Terach, at least in the initial stage) have already left home on a journey and are en route to Eretz Yisrael. Isn’t it redundant to tell someone who has already embarked upon a journey to go and embark upon a journey?
I think a clue to the answer can be found in the well-known Midrash at the beginning of Parshas Lech Lecha which speaks of Avraham’s discovery of G-d:
Listen my daughter and see, bend your ear, forget your nation and father’s house (Tehilim 45). Rav Yitzchak said: This may be compared to the story of a wanderer who was traveling from place to place and saw a burning tower. He exclaimed, “Can it be that this tower has no owner?!” The owner of the tower appeared and declared, “I am the owner of this tower.” Avraham Avinu could not believe that the world had no master. Hashem appeared and declared, “I am the master of the world.”
What does this explanation of Avraham’s search for and discovery of G-d have to do with “lech lecha,” Avraham’s journey? The answer is that the Midrash is not teaching us about Avraham’s search for G-d – it is teaching us about G-d’s answer to Avraham’s search. That answer is the command to take a journey -- not a journey to a place, but a journey to a different way of thinking.
It is clear from the Midrash that the wanderer cannot find the owner of the tower. The wanderer searches, but he is left perplexed and mystified. It is only the revelation of his presence by the owner of the tower that brings clarity. Avraham had begun a journey to discover G-d, spirituality, but that journey was by definition limited by Avraham’s power of intuition. Avraham was on a philosophical search for truth, but a philosophical search can travel no further than the limits of human reason. What Avraham needed, what Parshas Lech Lecha provided, was a Revelation.
The Sefas Emes and others explain that the pasuk in Tehillim referenced by the Midrash was chosen not only because of its concluding allusion to Avraham leaving home, but also because of the double exhortation to “Listen… bend your ear.” The double language indicates a double mission. Man may start the journey to G-d with his reason, his intellect, his mind, but that must be followed by a willingness to take the next step and abandon those comforting and secure limitations.
When Avraham enters Eretz Yisrael he builds two altars. The first (12:7) is dedicated, “L’hashem ha’nireh eilav,” to G-d who appeared to him. The second (12:8) is described simply as an altar to G-d, followed by Avraham's, “VaYikra b’shem Hashem,” his davening alongside that altar. The Zohar (see also R’ Tzadok haKohen in Pri Tzadik at length) takes note of these discrepancies and explains that the two altars represent two different faces of G-d. One altar represents G-d as we apprehend him, G-d channeled through our perception and understanding, “G-d who appeared.” The other altar represents Avraham’s commitment to the transcendent, what cannot be understood, which is why it is followed by prayer, the heart’s effort to reach out and grasp what the mind cannot. These in turn, I think, correspond to the two stages of Avraham's journeys.
It is just before the construction of this second altar that the Torah uses the term ohel spelled in the feminine form. The Maharal and other seforim that lean towards the mystical distinguish between masculine and feminine attributes or behaviors. The masculine is associated with giving, with outward expression, with impacting others. The feminine is associated with receiving, inwardness, restraint. Perhaps I am reading too much into things, but I would suggest that by spelling the tent in the feminine form the Torah is alluding to Avraham beginning to build that feminine aspect of his soul. Avraham departed from the search for Hashem “hanir’eh eilav,” using his own powers of discovery, thinking that he could discover the “ba’al ha’birah” on his own, and instead began a different journey, one that involved preparation to receive the revelation of the “ba’al ha’birah” rather than to discover it.
Rav Tzadok ties this duality – the process of discovering wisdom vs. the process of receiving wisdom – to our activities of Torah and tefilah. We too are charged with the command to journey down both roads of discovery in emulation of our forefather Avraham.
Commenting on the spelling of “ohalo” with an added hey, as if it should be read “ohala,” her tent, Rashi writes at the beginning of Lech Lecha (12:8) that Avraham pitched Sarah’s tent before his own. It is certainly possible that Rashi simply means that Avraham was a gentleman – we can imagine that he held the door open and let Sarah enter first, he pushed her chair close to the table, he pitched her tent first. However, it just seems odd to me that the Torah should go out of its way to tell us this detail. Even if the point is that Avraham was a gentleman, why illustrate the fact by focusing on the act of pitching a tent?
Let’s take a step back. At the beginning of Lech Lecha Avraham is commanded to take a journey. What exactly is this charge supposed to motivate Avraham to do? If we look at the end of Parshas Noach, we find that Avraham and his family (including Terach, at least in the initial stage) have already left home on a journey and are en route to Eretz Yisrael. Isn’t it redundant to tell someone who has already embarked upon a journey to go and embark upon a journey?
I think a clue to the answer can be found in the well-known Midrash at the beginning of Parshas Lech Lecha which speaks of Avraham’s discovery of G-d:
Listen my daughter and see, bend your ear, forget your nation and father’s house (Tehilim 45). Rav Yitzchak said: This may be compared to the story of a wanderer who was traveling from place to place and saw a burning tower. He exclaimed, “Can it be that this tower has no owner?!” The owner of the tower appeared and declared, “I am the owner of this tower.” Avraham Avinu could not believe that the world had no master. Hashem appeared and declared, “I am the master of the world.”
What does this explanation of Avraham’s search for and discovery of G-d have to do with “lech lecha,” Avraham’s journey? The answer is that the Midrash is not teaching us about Avraham’s search for G-d – it is teaching us about G-d’s answer to Avraham’s search. That answer is the command to take a journey -- not a journey to a place, but a journey to a different way of thinking.
It is clear from the Midrash that the wanderer cannot find the owner of the tower. The wanderer searches, but he is left perplexed and mystified. It is only the revelation of his presence by the owner of the tower that brings clarity. Avraham had begun a journey to discover G-d, spirituality, but that journey was by definition limited by Avraham’s power of intuition. Avraham was on a philosophical search for truth, but a philosophical search can travel no further than the limits of human reason. What Avraham needed, what Parshas Lech Lecha provided, was a Revelation.
The Sefas Emes and others explain that the pasuk in Tehillim referenced by the Midrash was chosen not only because of its concluding allusion to Avraham leaving home, but also because of the double exhortation to “Listen… bend your ear.” The double language indicates a double mission. Man may start the journey to G-d with his reason, his intellect, his mind, but that must be followed by a willingness to take the next step and abandon those comforting and secure limitations.
When Avraham enters Eretz Yisrael he builds two altars. The first (12:7) is dedicated, “L’hashem ha’nireh eilav,” to G-d who appeared to him. The second (12:8) is described simply as an altar to G-d, followed by Avraham's, “VaYikra b’shem Hashem,” his davening alongside that altar. The Zohar (see also R’ Tzadok haKohen in Pri Tzadik at length) takes note of these discrepancies and explains that the two altars represent two different faces of G-d. One altar represents G-d as we apprehend him, G-d channeled through our perception and understanding, “G-d who appeared.” The other altar represents Avraham’s commitment to the transcendent, what cannot be understood, which is why it is followed by prayer, the heart’s effort to reach out and grasp what the mind cannot. These in turn, I think, correspond to the two stages of Avraham's journeys.
It is just before the construction of this second altar that the Torah uses the term ohel spelled in the feminine form. The Maharal and other seforim that lean towards the mystical distinguish between masculine and feminine attributes or behaviors. The masculine is associated with giving, with outward expression, with impacting others. The feminine is associated with receiving, inwardness, restraint. Perhaps I am reading too much into things, but I would suggest that by spelling the tent in the feminine form the Torah is alluding to Avraham beginning to build that feminine aspect of his soul. Avraham departed from the search for Hashem “hanir’eh eilav,” using his own powers of discovery, thinking that he could discover the “ba’al ha’birah” on his own, and instead began a different journey, one that involved preparation to receive the revelation of the “ba’al ha’birah” rather than to discover it.
Rav Tzadok ties this duality – the process of discovering wisdom vs. the process of receiving wisdom – to our activities of Torah and tefilah. We too are charged with the command to journey down both roads of discovery in emulation of our forefather Avraham.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
win a cookbook!
Unfortunately I haven't had much time to write, but I do want to mention that for less than 5 minutes of your time you can enter a contest to win a free copy of the new Kosher by Design cookbook. See my wife's blog, facebook page, or click here: Win a Kosher by Design Cookbook!
Friday, October 15, 2010
the rewards of the journey
Too pressed for time this week to post, but I want to get something in about the parsha. Avraham is told to leave his land, his place of birth, his father’s home, and to travel to some unspecified location. Hashem sweetens the pot – Avraham is promised that this journey will bring him wealth, progeny, and bracha galore. Did Avraham need this promise of reward to motivate him to leave home? I would hope such a reading is at best a hava amina. A spiritually immature Avraham being coaxed by G-d to get moving is a makes for a tempting reading of the parsha from a literary perspective, but is hard to square with our traditional conception of the Avos as spiritual giants. Midrashim portray Avraham as having discovered G-d already at age three and as willing from an early age to sacrifice his life for his faith when tested by Nimrod. Is this the type person who needs the motivation of material reward? Looking at the text, the words, “Vayelech Avram ka’asher dibeir eilav Hashem…” imply that Avraham left his homeland solely because Hashem had spoken, without ulterior motive.
So why then the promise of reward? Taking a mussar oriented approach, one might suggest that the reward was part of the test being given to Avraham. Not only must Avraham abandon his home, but he must do so without regard to the promise of reward that is part of the deal. The fringe benefits make the test harder, not easier.
But there is another possible approach as well. Books have been written about the phenomenon of boys and girls who mere weeks before seemed not so different from their non-yeshiva teen counterparts, but after entering the Beis Medrash in Eretz Yisrael, entering Seminary, a short while later become changed people. Gone are the plans for medical school or law school, white shirts and dress pants replace the torn jeans and sneakers, Saturday becomes Motzei Shabbos – va’ya’hapoch Hashem es Sdom, to preview next week’s parsha. Along with a new found dedication to learning comes a new found sense of prishus. If the transformation of these young men and women is so jarring, can we even imagine the transformation an Avraham Avinu underwent when he experienced Hashem’s calling?
The promise of children, wealth, bracha, given to Avraham was not a temptation to be avoided – it was a mechayeiv. Hashem was telling Avraham that his calling to avodas Hashem need not and should not come at the price of prishus from the world, of leaving behind everything, but to the contrary, his life should demonstrate how to have wealth, children, bracha, and utilize them properly for the same of avodas Hashem and kiddush Hashem. There are some things that one must abandon -- lech lecha -- but there are things one must take along for the journey and elevate to a higher purpose.
Knowing when materialism is to be eschewed and rightfully recognized as a distracting test and temptation and when it can be used and enjoyed in the service of Hashem can be a challenge. I recently received a postcard of programs from an institution I am an alumnus of. The top line mentioned shiurim being offered on Sunday; two lines below that was advertised, “A Night of Fashion and Glamour featuring Teri Jon Fashion and Ivanka Trump Fine Jewelry.” I really don’t think Sarah Imeinu attended a Sunday shiur and then went to check out the Ivanka Trump jewelry of her day – that’s not the lesson to draw from our parsha. There has to be a l’shem shamayim in how we use the world, and only on those terms do we have a right and a chiyuv to do so.
So why then the promise of reward? Taking a mussar oriented approach, one might suggest that the reward was part of the test being given to Avraham. Not only must Avraham abandon his home, but he must do so without regard to the promise of reward that is part of the deal. The fringe benefits make the test harder, not easier.
But there is another possible approach as well. Books have been written about the phenomenon of boys and girls who mere weeks before seemed not so different from their non-yeshiva teen counterparts, but after entering the Beis Medrash in Eretz Yisrael, entering Seminary, a short while later become changed people. Gone are the plans for medical school or law school, white shirts and dress pants replace the torn jeans and sneakers, Saturday becomes Motzei Shabbos – va’ya’hapoch Hashem es Sdom, to preview next week’s parsha. Along with a new found dedication to learning comes a new found sense of prishus. If the transformation of these young men and women is so jarring, can we even imagine the transformation an Avraham Avinu underwent when he experienced Hashem’s calling?
The promise of children, wealth, bracha, given to Avraham was not a temptation to be avoided – it was a mechayeiv. Hashem was telling Avraham that his calling to avodas Hashem need not and should not come at the price of prishus from the world, of leaving behind everything, but to the contrary, his life should demonstrate how to have wealth, children, bracha, and utilize them properly for the same of avodas Hashem and kiddush Hashem. There are some things that one must abandon -- lech lecha -- but there are things one must take along for the journey and elevate to a higher purpose.
Knowing when materialism is to be eschewed and rightfully recognized as a distracting test and temptation and when it can be used and enjoyed in the service of Hashem can be a challenge. I recently received a postcard of programs from an institution I am an alumnus of. The top line mentioned shiurim being offered on Sunday; two lines below that was advertised, “A Night of Fashion and Glamour featuring Teri Jon Fashion and Ivanka Trump Fine Jewelry.” I really don’t think Sarah Imeinu attended a Sunday shiur and then went to check out the Ivanka Trump jewelry of her day – that’s not the lesson to draw from our parsha. There has to be a l’shem shamayim in how we use the world, and only on those terms do we have a right and a chiyuv to do so.
Friday, October 08, 2010
wild animals vs. wild people: what did Noach have to fear more?
Rashi (6:18) writes that Hashem made a special covenant with Noach to ensure that the animal fodder on the ark did not spoil and to ensure that Noach came to no harm from the wicked people around him. The Brisker Rav notes that no special protection from the wild animals aboard the ark was afforded to Noach – indeed, the Midrash tells us that a lion took a nip at Noach when he delayed his food. The implication is that Noach had more to fear from the wild people around him than from the wild animals he faced in the ark.
I would like to suggest a different way to make sense of the diyuk that avoids the Brisker Rav’s conclusion. In Parshas VaYeishev we read that instead of killing Yosef outright, the brothers decided to drop him into a pit. The Torah writes that the pit was empty of water, from which Chazal deduce that it was filled with other things – snakes and scorpions. Why was lowering Yosef into a snake filled pit better than killing him directly? The Ohr haChaim (which we discussed here) famously explains that snakes and scorpions have no free will – their behavior is mechanistic, controlled by Hashem alone. If Yosef was truly innocent and deserved Hashem’s grace, the snakes and scorpions would not harm him. If he was guilty, he would die. There could be no surer test of Yosef’s standing in G-d’s eyes. Ahuman being, however, has free choice that Hashem does not interfere with. The fact that the brothers or anyone else might be able to harm Yosef would not establish his guilt or innocence.
Based on this I think it makes perfect sense for Noach to need special protection from the people who surrounded him but not from the wild animals. The lions, tigers, and bears would only harm Noach if Hashem allowed; wild people have no such constraints on what they could do and the damage they could cause.
My son argued that if anything, Rashi proves the exact opposite of the case I am trying to make. If humans have free choice, how could Hashem promise to protect Noach? My counter-argument is that the pasuk is speaking of a bris, a special covenant that goes above and beyond the normal bounds of hashgacha. Even the Ohr haChaim would admit that Hashem has the power to interfere with free will. Hashem normally does not do so because the relative cost of abrogating such a fundamental principle overrides any benefit gained by doing so. However, in exceptional circumstances, all bets are off.
Two final notes: 1) I have heard that the Brisker Rav did not hold like this Ohr haChaim; 2) If someone has time it would pay to dig around and see if there are other Rashi’s that either agree or disagree with the Ohr haChaim.
I would like to suggest a different way to make sense of the diyuk that avoids the Brisker Rav’s conclusion. In Parshas VaYeishev we read that instead of killing Yosef outright, the brothers decided to drop him into a pit. The Torah writes that the pit was empty of water, from which Chazal deduce that it was filled with other things – snakes and scorpions. Why was lowering Yosef into a snake filled pit better than killing him directly? The Ohr haChaim (which we discussed here) famously explains that snakes and scorpions have no free will – their behavior is mechanistic, controlled by Hashem alone. If Yosef was truly innocent and deserved Hashem’s grace, the snakes and scorpions would not harm him. If he was guilty, he would die. There could be no surer test of Yosef’s standing in G-d’s eyes. Ahuman being, however, has free choice that Hashem does not interfere with. The fact that the brothers or anyone else might be able to harm Yosef would not establish his guilt or innocence.
Based on this I think it makes perfect sense for Noach to need special protection from the people who surrounded him but not from the wild animals. The lions, tigers, and bears would only harm Noach if Hashem allowed; wild people have no such constraints on what they could do and the damage they could cause.
My son argued that if anything, Rashi proves the exact opposite of the case I am trying to make. If humans have free choice, how could Hashem promise to protect Noach? My counter-argument is that the pasuk is speaking of a bris, a special covenant that goes above and beyond the normal bounds of hashgacha. Even the Ohr haChaim would admit that Hashem has the power to interfere with free will. Hashem normally does not do so because the relative cost of abrogating such a fundamental principle overrides any benefit gained by doing so. However, in exceptional circumstances, all bets are off.
Two final notes: 1) I have heard that the Brisker Rav did not hold like this Ohr haChaim; 2) If someone has time it would pay to dig around and see if there are other Rashi’s that either agree or disagree with the Ohr haChaim.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
eiver min hachai -- we are all limbs of one body
Rashi cites Chazal as teaching that the conflict between Yosef and his brothers was exacerbated by his accusing them of eating eiver min hachai, limbs torn from a live animal Maharal explains beautifully that this was not some random sin the brothers were being accused of, but was symbolic of the differences between them. Yosef was telling his brothers that they were all limbs of the same body. No sheivet can sever itself from others; no one sheivet can exist as a limb apart from the body of Klal Yisrael. Yosef wanted his brothers to accept that Hashem chose to channel bracha to the klal through him; getting that bracha independently was just not possible.
The parsha of Braishis, “Eileh toldos ha’shamayim v’ha’aretz…,” came to a close with the flood. The parsha of Noach begins a new story of creation, “Eileh toldos Noach…” This second story of (re)creation differs from the first in that this second time around shamayim and aretz are not independent limbs – they are attached to the personality of Noach. The story of the world is the story of man, in particular man the story of the tzadik in whose power lies the potential to redeem the world when all other reasons for its existence have been lost (see Sefas Emes).
The Shem m’Shmuel writes that in light of the Maharal we understand why Noach in particular was given the command to avoid eating eiver min hachai. Noach was being told that all the world now exists as limbs connected to his fate.
The parsha of Braishis, “Eileh toldos ha’shamayim v’ha’aretz…,” came to a close with the flood. The parsha of Noach begins a new story of creation, “Eileh toldos Noach…” This second story of (re)creation differs from the first in that this second time around shamayim and aretz are not independent limbs – they are attached to the personality of Noach. The story of the world is the story of man, in particular man the story of the tzadik in whose power lies the potential to redeem the world when all other reasons for its existence have been lost (see Sefas Emes).
The Shem m’Shmuel writes that in light of the Maharal we understand why Noach in particular was given the command to avoid eating eiver min hachai. Noach was being told that all the world now exists as limbs connected to his fate.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
interesting mashiv ha'ruach question (III)
We’ve been dealing with the following question: my daughter entered shul just before the gabai announced before musaf to start saying mashiv ha’ruach u’mordi hageshem. She was still up to tefilas shacharis. Does she have to say mashiv ha’ruach in her tefilas shacharis?
Yesterday I went over possibly solutions, (and if you did not see the comment, Tamir points out that the Sefer Minhagei Chabad cites a psak of the Rebbe that one should say mashiv ha’ruach in the scenario given); today I want to just frame the issue in two different ways:
A) First Approach -- The Yerushalmi writes that in truth we should start saying mashiv ha’ruach by ma’ariv on Shmini Atzeres. We don’t, because many people don’t come to shul at ma’ariv (those Amoraim were such realists, weren’t they?) and making a change that only some of the people know about would lead to confusion. Why not then make the change in shacharis? The Yerushalmi offers two answers: 1) people would think the change was made the night before, leading us back to the same confusion; 2) it is impossible to interrupt and announce a change before the amidah in shacharis. (These two answers may reflect a difference of opinion as to whether smichas geulah l’tefilah is required on Yom Tov or not, but that’s a discussion for another time.) What we are left with is making the announcement to start saying mashiv ha’ruach before musaf.
Is that conclusion a din or simply a metziyus? Meaning, at the end of the day, is pushing off mashiv ha’ruach until musaf just a practical consideration, but from a legal perspective it belongs in shacharis or even ma’ariv, or does halacha dictate that reciting mashiv ha’ruach belongs only to musaf for the reasons outlined?
If mashiv ha’ruach really belongs to shacharis or ma’ariv if only the practical hurdles could be overcome, then in a case where those hurdles don’t exist, e.g. you are davening shacharis but hear an announcement to say mashiv ha’ruach, then it makes sense to say it. But if the Yerushalmi is telling us a din, i.e. the recitation of mashiv ha’ruach starts only from musaf, then all bets are off.
B) Second Approach -- It seems that two ingredients are necessary to initiate the obligation to say mashiv ha’ruach: 1) an announcement of the switch; 2) before or during tefilas musaf. What is the interplay between these ingredients? Is it the tefilah of musaf which generates the chiyuv to start saying mashiv ha’ruach, but only on the condition that some announcement is made? Or is it the announcement which triggers the obligation, but the announcement cannot be made before musaf? Which is the mechayeiv and which is the tnai? Or (for you R’ Shimon Shkop fans), maybe it is the hitztarfus of the announcement and the tefilah together which are necessary?
If the announcement is its own mechayeiv, then even if you are in the middle of shacharis, once you hear mashiv ha’ruach, you should start saying it. However, if the chiyuv begins only at musaf, provided an announcement is made, all bets are off if you are davening shacharis.
Two mareh mekomos that are interesting and/or important to the discussion:
1) The Pri Megadim we discussed yesterday writes that even if someone calls out mashiv ha’ruach before shacharis, one should not start the recitation until tefilas musaf. Sounds to me like the tefila, not the announcement, is the key ingredient. But again, perhaps it is the announcement which is the crucial factor, but an announcement that is not made at the appropriate time carries no weight.
2) The Chochmas Shlomo draws an interesting conclusion from a diyuk. The Shulchan Aruch says someone who is sick at home must until the time that the tzibur davens musaf to daven their own tefilah. In this way, the announcement to say mashiv ha’ruach done in the tzibur allows them to add those words as well. R’ Shlomo Kluger asks: why wait? If you are at home and haven’t heard any announcement to change, just daven without saying mashiv ha’ruach!? Apparently mashiv ha’ruach must be said in tefilas musaf, and as part of the fulfilling that chiyuv a person must ensure that his/her tefilah is one that is preceded by an announcement which allows the appropriate change to be made.
Yesterday I went over possibly solutions, (and if you did not see the comment, Tamir points out that the Sefer Minhagei Chabad cites a psak of the Rebbe that one should say mashiv ha’ruach in the scenario given); today I want to just frame the issue in two different ways:
A) First Approach -- The Yerushalmi writes that in truth we should start saying mashiv ha’ruach by ma’ariv on Shmini Atzeres. We don’t, because many people don’t come to shul at ma’ariv (those Amoraim were such realists, weren’t they?) and making a change that only some of the people know about would lead to confusion. Why not then make the change in shacharis? The Yerushalmi offers two answers: 1) people would think the change was made the night before, leading us back to the same confusion; 2) it is impossible to interrupt and announce a change before the amidah in shacharis. (These two answers may reflect a difference of opinion as to whether smichas geulah l’tefilah is required on Yom Tov or not, but that’s a discussion for another time.) What we are left with is making the announcement to start saying mashiv ha’ruach before musaf.
Is that conclusion a din or simply a metziyus? Meaning, at the end of the day, is pushing off mashiv ha’ruach until musaf just a practical consideration, but from a legal perspective it belongs in shacharis or even ma’ariv, or does halacha dictate that reciting mashiv ha’ruach belongs only to musaf for the reasons outlined?
If mashiv ha’ruach really belongs to shacharis or ma’ariv if only the practical hurdles could be overcome, then in a case where those hurdles don’t exist, e.g. you are davening shacharis but hear an announcement to say mashiv ha’ruach, then it makes sense to say it. But if the Yerushalmi is telling us a din, i.e. the recitation of mashiv ha’ruach starts only from musaf, then all bets are off.
B) Second Approach -- It seems that two ingredients are necessary to initiate the obligation to say mashiv ha’ruach: 1) an announcement of the switch; 2) before or during tefilas musaf. What is the interplay between these ingredients? Is it the tefilah of musaf which generates the chiyuv to start saying mashiv ha’ruach, but only on the condition that some announcement is made? Or is it the announcement which triggers the obligation, but the announcement cannot be made before musaf? Which is the mechayeiv and which is the tnai? Or (for you R’ Shimon Shkop fans), maybe it is the hitztarfus of the announcement and the tefilah together which are necessary?
If the announcement is its own mechayeiv, then even if you are in the middle of shacharis, once you hear mashiv ha’ruach, you should start saying it. However, if the chiyuv begins only at musaf, provided an announcement is made, all bets are off if you are davening shacharis.
Two mareh mekomos that are interesting and/or important to the discussion:
1) The Pri Megadim we discussed yesterday writes that even if someone calls out mashiv ha’ruach before shacharis, one should not start the recitation until tefilas musaf. Sounds to me like the tefila, not the announcement, is the key ingredient. But again, perhaps it is the announcement which is the crucial factor, but an announcement that is not made at the appropriate time carries no weight.
2) The Chochmas Shlomo draws an interesting conclusion from a diyuk. The Shulchan Aruch says someone who is sick at home must until the time that the tzibur davens musaf to daven their own tefilah. In this way, the announcement to say mashiv ha’ruach done in the tzibur allows them to add those words as well. R’ Shlomo Kluger asks: why wait? If you are at home and haven’t heard any announcement to change, just daven without saying mashiv ha’ruach!? Apparently mashiv ha’ruach must be said in tefilas musaf, and as part of the fulfilling that chiyuv a person must ensure that his/her tefilah is one that is preceded by an announcement which allows the appropriate change to be made.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
interesting mashiv ha'ruach question (II)
Yesterday I posed the following question: my daughter entered shul just before the gabai announced to start saying mashiv ha’ruach u’mordi hageshem in musaf. She was still up to tefilas shacharis. Does she have to say mashiv ha’ruach in her tefilas shacharis?
I'll try to formulate the issue and do some analysis next post bl"n, but first here's my off-the cuff answer in the few moments I had to think of something: I advised her to say morid ha’tal (and hats off to those in the comments who agree). Nothing is lost by adding morid ha’tal in the summer months, but at the same time, saying morid ha’tal in the rainy season is sufficient without mashiv ha’ruach. No matter what, her tefilah would be OK. One nitpick that occurred to me later: the halacha is that b’dieved on Shmini Atzeres if you said mashiv ha’ruach even in shacharis or ma’ariv you are yotzei. Is it still better to say morid ha’tal, or would it have been better to say mashiv ha'ruach given that b'dieved it would have been OK anyway?
A talmid chacham I asked suggested, as some others have commented, that my daughter should have stood outside the shul and not listened to the announcement. I don’t think that works. If someone is at home davening alone, even though he/she hears no announcement, he/she is still obligated to add mashiv ha’ruach in musaf. Apparently actually hearing the announcement is not necessary to create the obligation to start saying mashiv ha’ruach – all that matters is that you are part of a tzibur where such an announcement has been made. If someone at home counts as part of the tzibur, certainly someone standing in the lobby counts as well (though you could counterargue that standing outside with explicit intent to divorce oneself from the tzibur carries more weight than stam being at home...)
Ad kan my hava amina. After the fact I found a Pri Megadim that I thought may answer the question. The Pri Megadim writes that if for some reason someone announced at shacharis to start saying mashiv ha’ruach, the tzibur should still not add it to their tefilah at that point. An announcement heard during shacharis does not matter one iota. Doesn’t this prove that in my daughter’s situation, where she heard the announcement before her tefilas shacharis, that she should just ignore it?
Not so fast. Perhaps the Pri Megadim does not mean that an announcement should be discounted simply because you are still davening shacharis. What he means is that an announcement made too early, during shacharis, is not considered an announcement! In my daughter's situation where the announcement was made in its proper time, to the tzibur davening musaf, perhaps it would be considered a valid cause for her to say mashiv ha’ruach even though she personally was only up to tefilas shacharis.
I'll try to formulate the issue and do some analysis next post bl"n, but first here's my off-the cuff answer in the few moments I had to think of something: I advised her to say morid ha’tal (and hats off to those in the comments who agree). Nothing is lost by adding morid ha’tal in the summer months, but at the same time, saying morid ha’tal in the rainy season is sufficient without mashiv ha’ruach. No matter what, her tefilah would be OK. One nitpick that occurred to me later: the halacha is that b’dieved on Shmini Atzeres if you said mashiv ha’ruach even in shacharis or ma’ariv you are yotzei. Is it still better to say morid ha’tal, or would it have been better to say mashiv ha'ruach given that b'dieved it would have been OK anyway?
A talmid chacham I asked suggested, as some others have commented, that my daughter should have stood outside the shul and not listened to the announcement. I don’t think that works. If someone is at home davening alone, even though he/she hears no announcement, he/she is still obligated to add mashiv ha’ruach in musaf. Apparently actually hearing the announcement is not necessary to create the obligation to start saying mashiv ha’ruach – all that matters is that you are part of a tzibur where such an announcement has been made. If someone at home counts as part of the tzibur, certainly someone standing in the lobby counts as well (though you could counterargue that standing outside with explicit intent to divorce oneself from the tzibur carries more weight than stam being at home...)
Ad kan my hava amina. After the fact I found a Pri Megadim that I thought may answer the question. The Pri Megadim writes that if for some reason someone announced at shacharis to start saying mashiv ha’ruach, the tzibur should still not add it to their tefilah at that point. An announcement heard during shacharis does not matter one iota. Doesn’t this prove that in my daughter’s situation, where she heard the announcement before her tefilas shacharis, that she should just ignore it?
Not so fast. Perhaps the Pri Megadim does not mean that an announcement should be discounted simply because you are still davening shacharis. What he means is that an announcement made too early, during shacharis, is not considered an announcement! In my daughter's situation where the announcement was made in its proper time, to the tzibur davening musaf, perhaps it would be considered a valid cause for her to say mashiv ha’ruach even though she personally was only up to tefilas shacharis.
Monday, October 04, 2010
interesting mashiv ha'ruach question
On Shmini Atzeres I went out to the lobby when yizkor was being said and I noticed that one of my daughters was still saying pesukei d’zimra because she came late (my daughters unfortunately think Shabbos and Sunday are sleep-in days). I realized that when we re-enter shul the gabai will announce that we should start saying mashiv ha’ruach u’morid hageshem in our tefilas musaf, but my daughter would hear that announcement before her tefilas shacharis. Question: having heard mashiv ha'ruach announced, must she now add mashiv ha’ruach in her tefilas shacharis?
I had somewhere in the neighborhood of five minutes at best to figure out what to tell her to do, and the Mishna Berura does not discuss this case. So all you Rabbi-wanna-be’s – what would you say? I’ll give you a chance to comment before I give away what I told her on the spot, how I would formulate the issue or question, and what I think in hindsight the right answer is. The best solution is, of course, to get to davening on time and not have such problems, but such would make life too easy.
I had somewhere in the neighborhood of five minutes at best to figure out what to tell her to do, and the Mishna Berura does not discuss this case. So all you Rabbi-wanna-be’s – what would you say? I’ll give you a chance to comment before I give away what I told her on the spot, how I would formulate the issue or question, and what I think in hindsight the right answer is. The best solution is, of course, to get to davening on time and not have such problems, but such would make life too easy.
Ehr Kumt -- must read sermon
Hopefully you will excuse the somewhat political message -- I have seen this sermon by (Conservative) Rabbi Shalom Lewis of Georgia linked to in a few places and it is well worth 5 minutes of your time if you have not seen it yet. Rabbi Lewis gets it. Sadly, many in our community still do not and probably will not until it's too late. LINK
(Thank you to Joel for a URL that works.)
(Thank you to Joel for a URL that works.)
Torah as a blueprint
A human king, according to the normal manner of the world, does not build a palace based on his own ideas. Instead, he consults an architect. The architect does not build based on his own ideas, but instead draws blueprints and drafts to calculate where to place rooms and doors. So too, when G-d made the world he looked into the Torah [the blueprint] and only then created the world. (Midrash Rabbah 1:1)
The expression, “The Torah is the blueprint for the world,” based on this Midrash, has become somewhat of a trite aphorism whose meaning is taken to be so obvious as to require little explanation. Yet, if we pause to reflect on the analogy drawn by the Midrash, it seems to make little sense. A human king does not have the specialized skills or knowledge necessary to design a palace, and therefore is forced to call upon an engineer or architect. The professional in turn does not simply provide advice off the cuff, but must take time to plan, to draft, to analyze. G-d is not bound by any of these restrictions – he is all knowing, he does not need time to plan, he does not need drafts, he does not need blueprints. He can simply create! Why then does the Midrash speak of a blueprint?
Sefas Emes explains that the Midrash is not trying to teach us about the Creator or about the creation process -- it is trying to teach us something about the world. The world is not an environment of chaos, a moral wilderness which we must forcibly tame and bend to the yoke of Torah. Quite the contrary. The world was created with an intrinsic sense of order; it is completely in harmony with Torah. There is a plan which governs reality. Our inability to see that plan is due to our own corruption of the environment and our own nature, but rest assured, the plan remains in place.
There are those who ascribe truth only to empirical findings, but dismiss Torah law as a “legal fiction” that has no correlation with reality. And there are those who think truth can be found only in theoretical constructs of lomdus, completely divorced from the messy data of the senses. Neither of these approaches is satisfactory. Blueprint and reality correspond. The world has as much to teach us about G-d as the Torah blueprint used in its design. Empirical reality can only be interpreted and understood in light of the equally valid truth of its Torah plan.
The world may be likened to a pool which was filled with water underneath which was submerged beautiful images. So long as the pool was filled with water, the images could not be seen. One the water was stopped and drained, the artistry of the images was apparent. So too, so long as the world was filled with chaos and void, tohu va’vohu, sky and earth were not apparent. Once the chaos and void were removed, they were seen. (Midrash Rabbah 9:2)
Our task as partners in creation is to remove the void and chaos from the world to reveal its inherent order and beauty.
The expression, “The Torah is the blueprint for the world,” based on this Midrash, has become somewhat of a trite aphorism whose meaning is taken to be so obvious as to require little explanation. Yet, if we pause to reflect on the analogy drawn by the Midrash, it seems to make little sense. A human king does not have the specialized skills or knowledge necessary to design a palace, and therefore is forced to call upon an engineer or architect. The professional in turn does not simply provide advice off the cuff, but must take time to plan, to draft, to analyze. G-d is not bound by any of these restrictions – he is all knowing, he does not need time to plan, he does not need drafts, he does not need blueprints. He can simply create! Why then does the Midrash speak of a blueprint?
Sefas Emes explains that the Midrash is not trying to teach us about the Creator or about the creation process -- it is trying to teach us something about the world. The world is not an environment of chaos, a moral wilderness which we must forcibly tame and bend to the yoke of Torah. Quite the contrary. The world was created with an intrinsic sense of order; it is completely in harmony with Torah. There is a plan which governs reality. Our inability to see that plan is due to our own corruption of the environment and our own nature, but rest assured, the plan remains in place.
There are those who ascribe truth only to empirical findings, but dismiss Torah law as a “legal fiction” that has no correlation with reality. And there are those who think truth can be found only in theoretical constructs of lomdus, completely divorced from the messy data of the senses. Neither of these approaches is satisfactory. Blueprint and reality correspond. The world has as much to teach us about G-d as the Torah blueprint used in its design. Empirical reality can only be interpreted and understood in light of the equally valid truth of its Torah plan.
The world may be likened to a pool which was filled with water underneath which was submerged beautiful images. So long as the pool was filled with water, the images could not be seen. One the water was stopped and drained, the artistry of the images was apparent. So too, so long as the world was filled with chaos and void, tohu va’vohu, sky and earth were not apparent. Once the chaos and void were removed, they were seen. (Midrash Rabbah 9:2)
Our task as partners in creation is to remove the void and chaos from the world to reveal its inherent order and beauty.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Shmini Atzeres -- kashe alay pereidaschem
Over Sukkos we offer a total of seventy cows as korbanos musaf, corresponding to the seventy nations of the world. On Shmini Atzeres, however, we focus exclusively on our unique connection with Hashem. Rashi (Bamidbar 29:35) cites a Midrash which explains that Hashem so to speak tells us, “Kashe alay preidaschem,” your departure is painful – therefore let us share on final intimate meal together. The Shem m’Shemuel is troubled by this idea; he wonders whether the lingering goodbye suggested by Rashi’s interpretation does not make separation more difficult instead of easier. I am not so sure I sympathize emotionally with the question of the Shem m’Shmuel, but I do think that perhaps there is more to this idea of “kashe alay preidaschem” than meets the eye.
As we discussed during Sukkos, the four species of lulav, esrog, hadas, and aravah represent four different personality types. The fragrant and tasty esrog represents those who posses both good deeds and Torah scholarship; the lulav, with tasty fruit but no smell, represents those with scholarship but lacking in good deeds; the hadas, with its fragrance but no taste, represents those who posses good deeds but no scholarly ability; finally, the aravah represents those who have neither good deeds nor scholarly ability.
These four personality types do not only exist as four different types of Jews, but rather they co-exist inside each and every one of us. Sometimes we climb to great spiritual heights and become beautiful esrogim; sometimes we find ourselves unable to learn, unable to do mitzvos properly, and we become downtrodden aravos; other times we are somewhere in the middle. So who are we really? The answer is all of the above. The binding together of the four species on sukkos teaches that we must integrate all these different moods, all these different highs and lows, into one path of avodas Hashem.
The Midrash interprets the description of Eisav as “kulo k’aderes sei’ar,” as meaning that Eisav was like grain in a threshing house (known as an idra, a play on the word aderes), blown too and fro' by the sa’ar, the wind (a play on the word sei’ar). Eisav could not integrate his personality. He had great potential, and perhaps had moments where he rose to true spiritual heights -- but he also fell to true spiritual depths. He rode a psychological roller coaster up and down, never in touch with any core values that would serve as an anchor and help define himself.
When Haman spoke of our being, “Am m’fozar u’meforad,” he was not merely referring to the fact that we were scattered all over the globe. He was referring to the fact that in exile we had lost our core identity – our personality was scattered; that sense of wholeness and integration had been lost.
We have risen to such heights over the Yom Tov season, but now stand just days before our return to the mundane. Is the real you or me the person who stood at ne’ila davening, or the person who needs to rush out of shule next Monday to catch a train? The answer is both – we cannot live a split-personality existence. We need to somehow integrate that ne’ila and that Monday rush together in such a way that the sum is greater than either part.
“Kashe alay pereidaschem” – Hashem doesn’t want us to become “mefuzar u’meforad,” to be pulled apart by the spirituality of Yom Tov in contrast to the daily grind, but rather to achieve a more elevated sense of sheleimus. Shmini Atzeres is not a lingering goodbye, but rather is a meal that lasts all year, as the inspiration of these days of the Yamim Noraim and Sukkos becomes part of who we are and helps shape our identity throughout the year to come.
As we discussed during Sukkos, the four species of lulav, esrog, hadas, and aravah represent four different personality types. The fragrant and tasty esrog represents those who posses both good deeds and Torah scholarship; the lulav, with tasty fruit but no smell, represents those with scholarship but lacking in good deeds; the hadas, with its fragrance but no taste, represents those who posses good deeds but no scholarly ability; finally, the aravah represents those who have neither good deeds nor scholarly ability.
These four personality types do not only exist as four different types of Jews, but rather they co-exist inside each and every one of us. Sometimes we climb to great spiritual heights and become beautiful esrogim; sometimes we find ourselves unable to learn, unable to do mitzvos properly, and we become downtrodden aravos; other times we are somewhere in the middle. So who are we really? The answer is all of the above. The binding together of the four species on sukkos teaches that we must integrate all these different moods, all these different highs and lows, into one path of avodas Hashem.
The Midrash interprets the description of Eisav as “kulo k’aderes sei’ar,” as meaning that Eisav was like grain in a threshing house (known as an idra, a play on the word aderes), blown too and fro' by the sa’ar, the wind (a play on the word sei’ar). Eisav could not integrate his personality. He had great potential, and perhaps had moments where he rose to true spiritual heights -- but he also fell to true spiritual depths. He rode a psychological roller coaster up and down, never in touch with any core values that would serve as an anchor and help define himself.
When Haman spoke of our being, “Am m’fozar u’meforad,” he was not merely referring to the fact that we were scattered all over the globe. He was referring to the fact that in exile we had lost our core identity – our personality was scattered; that sense of wholeness and integration had been lost.
We have risen to such heights over the Yom Tov season, but now stand just days before our return to the mundane. Is the real you or me the person who stood at ne’ila davening, or the person who needs to rush out of shule next Monday to catch a train? The answer is both – we cannot live a split-personality existence. We need to somehow integrate that ne’ila and that Monday rush together in such a way that the sum is greater than either part.
“Kashe alay pereidaschem” – Hashem doesn’t want us to become “mefuzar u’meforad,” to be pulled apart by the spirituality of Yom Tov in contrast to the daily grind, but rather to achieve a more elevated sense of sheleimus. Shmini Atzeres is not a lingering goodbye, but rather is a meal that lasts all year, as the inspiration of these days of the Yamim Noraim and Sukkos becomes part of who we are and helps shape our identity throughout the year to come.
Nisuch Ha'mayim -- elevating the "lower waters"
A covenant exists from the time of the six days of creation promising that the “lower waters” would be brought to the mizbeiach [altar] through their salt and through the nisuch hamayim on Sukkos. (Rashi Vayikra 2:13)
The Torah tells us that during the six days of creation G-d separated between the upper and lower waters to make space for land. But the lower waters were dissatisfied. Why should they be separated from Heaven? Why should they suffer the fate of being the “lower waters”?
G-d responded to the water by promising that the salt taken from the sea would be offered with each korban, and during the Sukkos holiday there would be a nisuch ha’mayim -- water would be poured on the mizbeiach.
But what small consolation is this? Is one week of nisuch hamayim enough to make up for lifetimes of being “lower”? Is a small percentage of salt enough?
The answer must be, explains the Sefas Emes, that the week of nisuch hamayim, the offering of salt, is itself not compensation for being lower, but rather is a siman, an indication, that the lower waters are indeed not lower at all. To make a place for our world the “lower waters” had to appear to move further from Heaven, G-dliness had to be concealed to make way for man, but the illusion of concealment did not change reality. The fact that the lower waters still have a place on the mizbeiach proves that G-dliness remains inherent and immanent even in the lower waters as well. Our task is to reveal it.
The Torah tells us that during the six days of creation G-d separated between the upper and lower waters to make space for land. But the lower waters were dissatisfied. Why should they be separated from Heaven? Why should they suffer the fate of being the “lower waters”?
G-d responded to the water by promising that the salt taken from the sea would be offered with each korban, and during the Sukkos holiday there would be a nisuch ha’mayim -- water would be poured on the mizbeiach.
But what small consolation is this? Is one week of nisuch hamayim enough to make up for lifetimes of being “lower”? Is a small percentage of salt enough?
The answer must be, explains the Sefas Emes, that the week of nisuch hamayim, the offering of salt, is itself not compensation for being lower, but rather is a siman, an indication, that the lower waters are indeed not lower at all. To make a place for our world the “lower waters” had to appear to move further from Heaven, G-dliness had to be concealed to make way for man, but the illusion of concealment did not change reality. The fact that the lower waters still have a place on the mizbeiach proves that G-dliness remains inherent and immanent even in the lower waters as well. Our task is to reveal it.
Hoshana Rabbah -- the power of the aravah
One it happened that the seventh day of Sukkos fell on Shabbos. Bundles of aravos were brought before Shabbos and left in the Azarah [of the Mikdash]. The Baysusim [who opposed the Chachamim] found those aravos, took them, and buried them under rocks. The next day the theft was discovered by amei ha’aretz, a group of ignorant Jews. They seized the aravos and brought them to the Kohanim, who stood them next to the Altar. (Sukkah 43b)
Unlike the esrog, lulav, and hadasim, that all have taste or fragrance, the aravah has no distinguishing features -- it is like the am ha’aretz who is bereft of good deeds or Torah knowledge. Our enemies think that the aravah can be tossed under a rock, ripped from the community and not missed. Yet, on this day of Hoshana Rabbah the rock is overturned and the aravah is taken and placed in a position of honor alongside the mizbeiach.
Why do we focus on the aravah on this final day of the days of judgment? Beseeching G-d to grant us favor in the merit of good deeds or Torah learning, symbolized by the lulav, hadasim, and aravos, risks begging the question of whether our deeds or Torah study truly measure up and are worthy of blessing. The aravah runs no such risk – the aravah knows that he/she is unworthy. But the aravah asks for G-d’s favor anyway. Even sans all other virtue, the very act of turning to G-d, of asking, is sometimes all that it takes.
Hoshana Rabbah reminds us that Hashem’s love for Klal Yisrael is not dependent on what we do, but who we are. When those dusty aravos are plucked out from the rock they were buried under, they may not smell pretty, they may not look pretty, but they still can be placed alongside the mizbeiach and be deserving of Hashem’s love – and ours.
Unlike the esrog, lulav, and hadasim, that all have taste or fragrance, the aravah has no distinguishing features -- it is like the am ha’aretz who is bereft of good deeds or Torah knowledge. Our enemies think that the aravah can be tossed under a rock, ripped from the community and not missed. Yet, on this day of Hoshana Rabbah the rock is overturned and the aravah is taken and placed in a position of honor alongside the mizbeiach.
Why do we focus on the aravah on this final day of the days of judgment? Beseeching G-d to grant us favor in the merit of good deeds or Torah learning, symbolized by the lulav, hadasim, and aravos, risks begging the question of whether our deeds or Torah study truly measure up and are worthy of blessing. The aravah runs no such risk – the aravah knows that he/she is unworthy. But the aravah asks for G-d’s favor anyway. Even sans all other virtue, the very act of turning to G-d, of asking, is sometimes all that it takes.
Hoshana Rabbah reminds us that Hashem’s love for Klal Yisrael is not dependent on what we do, but who we are. When those dusty aravos are plucked out from the rock they were buried under, they may not smell pretty, they may not look pretty, but they still can be placed alongside the mizbeiach and be deserving of Hashem’s love – and ours.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sarah and Sukkos
Many associate Sukkos with Ya’akov Avinu, as the first mention of sukkos in the Torah is Ya’akov’s construction of sukkos for his flocks after escaping Eisav and doing battle with the mysterious angel. Yet, Sukkos could perhaps also be associated with another great personality in Sefer Braishis who preceded Ya’akov by many years. Our matriarch Sarah was also named Yiskah (Rashi Braishis 11:29), which shares the same root s-k-h as the word sukkah. The name Yiskah because refers to sight, highlighting Sarah’s prophetic ability to see what others could not, as well as Sarah’s beauty, which was apparent to all.
A sukkah is a tent-like structure; we also find that Sarah is connected multiple times with tents. The Torah highlights the fact that in his journeys Avraham pitched Sarah’s tent before his own (Rashi Braishis 12:8). When the Angels visit Avraham after his bris they ask where Sarah is; Avraham replies (Braishis 18:9 ) that she is within the tent. Yitzchak brings his new wife Rivka into the tent of his mother Sarah (Braishis 24:67), where once again, as it had in Sarah’s lifetime, a cloud enveloped the tent, much like the clouds of glory enveloped the Jewish people in their desert journey, a fact commemorated through our sukkos.
Perhaps even the secondary meaning of Yiskah, the beauty of Sarah that all could see, is reflected in our sukkos as well. Most of us have the minhag of decorating our sukkos with noi sukkah to beautify and adorn the mitzvah.
The number of korbanos musaf cows offered during sukkos add up to a total of seventy, corresponding to the seventy nations. Sukkos has a universal message – we are the conduit of bracha to the world at large, not merely to ourselves, for our own benefit. However, it would be wrong to thing that as bearers of a message with universal importance we must intermingle with the world, mimicking or adopting their ways to win acceptability. Quite the contrary. Sarah’s unique prophetic vision, which surpassed that even of Avraham, is directly related to her being surrounded by the protective walls of her tent. One who is exposed less to the world, not more, accrues greater Torah vision and insight. Far from making our message less appealing, the truth of our commitment, enhanced and enriched by our immersion in tents and sukkos, will be perceived as all the more beautiful, just as the beauty of Yiskah was apparent to all as well.
A sukkah is a tent-like structure; we also find that Sarah is connected multiple times with tents. The Torah highlights the fact that in his journeys Avraham pitched Sarah’s tent before his own (Rashi Braishis 12:8). When the Angels visit Avraham after his bris they ask where Sarah is; Avraham replies (Braishis 18:9 ) that she is within the tent. Yitzchak brings his new wife Rivka into the tent of his mother Sarah (Braishis 24:67), where once again, as it had in Sarah’s lifetime, a cloud enveloped the tent, much like the clouds of glory enveloped the Jewish people in their desert journey, a fact commemorated through our sukkos.
Perhaps even the secondary meaning of Yiskah, the beauty of Sarah that all could see, is reflected in our sukkos as well. Most of us have the minhag of decorating our sukkos with noi sukkah to beautify and adorn the mitzvah.
The number of korbanos musaf cows offered during sukkos add up to a total of seventy, corresponding to the seventy nations. Sukkos has a universal message – we are the conduit of bracha to the world at large, not merely to ourselves, for our own benefit. However, it would be wrong to thing that as bearers of a message with universal importance we must intermingle with the world, mimicking or adopting their ways to win acceptability. Quite the contrary. Sarah’s unique prophetic vision, which surpassed that even of Avraham, is directly related to her being surrounded by the protective walls of her tent. One who is exposed less to the world, not more, accrues greater Torah vision and insight. Far from making our message less appealing, the truth of our commitment, enhanced and enriched by our immersion in tents and sukkos, will be perceived as all the more beautiful, just as the beauty of Yiskah was apparent to all as well.
Monday, September 27, 2010
kavanah -- part of the ma'aseh or the kiyum mitzvah?
Last week we left off with R’ Soloveitchik’s suggestion that although eating in sukkah is a kiyum mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, it is the ma’aseh mitzvah of achila which determines the level of kavanah required. Since the Rambam holds that one fulfills a mitzvah of achilah even without kavanah (hil. chameitz u’matzah ch 6), the same holds true of eating in sukkah on the first night.
Whether kavanah depends on the kiyum or the ma’aseh mitzvah seems to hinge on the question of how one generally understands the requirement of kavanah. A question raised by R’ Scheinberg in his Mishmeres Chaim illustrates the different potential approaches. R’ Scheinberg asks as follows: the Mishna Berurah holds that the lulav given to a minor to fulfill the mitzvah of chinuch for netilas lulav must be a kosher lulav and esrog because chinuch requires that the minor perform the mitzvah exactly as he would were he an adult. But how is this possible? A minor can never perform a mitzvah in the same way as an adult! An adult is a bar da’as, he has intelligence, which a minor is by definition lacking. What difference does it make if the minor takes a lulav without a kosher esrog or he takes a lulav without the proper kavanah, kavanah which can only come once he attains the da’as of an adult?
R’ Scheinberg answers by distinguishing kavanah from the act of taking a lulav. A katan who picks up a lulav without an esrog (or with a pasul esrog, which is the same as leaving it out), is missing a crucial element in his ma’aseh mitzvah, in his performance of the mitzvah act. However, a katan who does the mitzvah act properly but lacks kavanah is missing an element only of his kiyum mitzvah.
The hinge this question and answer turn on is how we view kavanah: is it an ingredient necessary to define a ma’aseh as a mitzvah action, or do actions stand on their own legs, and kavanah is an additional factor above and beyond ma’aseh needed to fulfill the goal of a kiyum mitzvah.
Interestingly, the Biur Halacha (O.C. 60) writes that if you are called to an aliya and grab a talis and put it on without kavanah, you are mevateil the mitzvah of tzitzis. I would have thought (see Mikrei Kodesh on the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah) that the lack of kavanah detracts from the kiyum mitzvah of tzitzis, but that’s not the same as being mevateil the mitzvah. Apparently the M.B. understood that kavanah is part and parcel of the ma’aseh mitzvah as well as the kiyum -- wearing tzitzis without kavanah is like wearing a four cornered garment without tzitzis.
Whether kavanah depends on the kiyum or the ma’aseh mitzvah seems to hinge on the question of how one generally understands the requirement of kavanah. A question raised by R’ Scheinberg in his Mishmeres Chaim illustrates the different potential approaches. R’ Scheinberg asks as follows: the Mishna Berurah holds that the lulav given to a minor to fulfill the mitzvah of chinuch for netilas lulav must be a kosher lulav and esrog because chinuch requires that the minor perform the mitzvah exactly as he would were he an adult. But how is this possible? A minor can never perform a mitzvah in the same way as an adult! An adult is a bar da’as, he has intelligence, which a minor is by definition lacking. What difference does it make if the minor takes a lulav without a kosher esrog or he takes a lulav without the proper kavanah, kavanah which can only come once he attains the da’as of an adult?
R’ Scheinberg answers by distinguishing kavanah from the act of taking a lulav. A katan who picks up a lulav without an esrog (or with a pasul esrog, which is the same as leaving it out), is missing a crucial element in his ma’aseh mitzvah, in his performance of the mitzvah act. However, a katan who does the mitzvah act properly but lacks kavanah is missing an element only of his kiyum mitzvah.
The hinge this question and answer turn on is how we view kavanah: is it an ingredient necessary to define a ma’aseh as a mitzvah action, or do actions stand on their own legs, and kavanah is an additional factor above and beyond ma’aseh needed to fulfill the goal of a kiyum mitzvah.
Interestingly, the Biur Halacha (O.C. 60) writes that if you are called to an aliya and grab a talis and put it on without kavanah, you are mevateil the mitzvah of tzitzis. I would have thought (see Mikrei Kodesh on the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah) that the lack of kavanah detracts from the kiyum mitzvah of tzitzis, but that’s not the same as being mevateil the mitzvah. Apparently the M.B. understood that kavanah is part and parcel of the ma’aseh mitzvah as well as the kiyum -- wearing tzitzis without kavanah is like wearing a four cornered garment without tzitzis.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
aravah: no scent, no taste, but so very significant
According to Midrash, the four minim used on Sukkos symbolize four different types of Jews. The delicious tasting and fragrant esrog represents those with Torah and good deeds; the hadas, with its fragrant scent but no taste, represents those who have good deeds but no Torah study; the lulav, with its tasty fruit but no scent, represents those who study Torah but do not engage in good deeds; finally, the aravah, with no taste or scent, represents those who lack both good deeds and Torah study.
If there was a multiple choice question asking which of the four species doesn’t belong, aravah would be the obvious answer. It’s hard to see, as the Sefas Emes (5640) notes, why the aravah, being that it lacks any distinction, counts as a min at all.
The means of our observance of Sukkos reflects the dialectic nature of our avodas Hashem, as we discussed last year based on the Ishbitza (here). On the one hand, we have the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, which can be observed passively, with no effort, even by just falling asleep within its walls. On the other hand, the mitzvah of lulav is accomplished through na’anuim, actively waving its branches around. Sukkah represents the ananei hakavod, Hashem’s clouds glory which surrounded the Jewish people, protecting them in a way which they could never accomplish through their own efforts. Lulav is likened in the Midrash to a sword, waved by armies in celebration of their victory. Lulav represents where we are, what we have accomplished. Sukkah represents where are going, the levels we have not yet achieved, Hashem’s helping hand.
Even within the particulars of these mitzvos the same dialectic can be found. The dispute whether sukkah represents the ananei hakavod or actual huts is not a machlokes about metziyus – both must actually have existed – but rather a dispute about where to place the focal point of our celebration. Is sukkos about our willingness to follow Hashem’s command and enter the desert to live in humble huts, or is about the shield of protection that Hashem afforded our ancestors?
Esrog, lulav, and hadasim, representative of those with good deeds and/or Torah, are about what we have achieved. The Sefas Emes writes that these minim represent Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov. The aravah represents David HaMelech, who said of himself, “Ani tefilah,” I am prayer. The aravah’s shape resembles the lips, the conduit for our words of tefilah. Prayer is not about what we have done or can do, but about what we need Hashem to help us achieve.
When one cannot call upon the merit of good deeds, when one lacks the ability to study Torah and cannot call on the merit of scholarship, there still remains, “tefilah l’ani ki ya’atof,” the simple prayer which the poor man can wrap himself in to appear before G-d. Says the Sefas Emes, the name aravah is the same as the world arov, pleasant, because there is nothing more pleasant to G-d than listening to the prayers of those who have nothing else to offer. For this reason on the climax of the days of judgment, Hoshana Rabbah, we focus our attention not on the lulav, the esrog, or the hadasim, but rather on the aravah.
This is why the aravah belongs. No matter how many milestones we hit, the aravah reminds us that there is always more to strive for, more that we need Hashem to help us to achieve. No matter how strong our sukkos mamash, we should never forget the ananei hakavod without which our little huts would be blown away to nothing.
If there was a multiple choice question asking which of the four species doesn’t belong, aravah would be the obvious answer. It’s hard to see, as the Sefas Emes (5640) notes, why the aravah, being that it lacks any distinction, counts as a min at all.
The means of our observance of Sukkos reflects the dialectic nature of our avodas Hashem, as we discussed last year based on the Ishbitza (here). On the one hand, we have the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, which can be observed passively, with no effort, even by just falling asleep within its walls. On the other hand, the mitzvah of lulav is accomplished through na’anuim, actively waving its branches around. Sukkah represents the ananei hakavod, Hashem’s clouds glory which surrounded the Jewish people, protecting them in a way which they could never accomplish through their own efforts. Lulav is likened in the Midrash to a sword, waved by armies in celebration of their victory. Lulav represents where we are, what we have accomplished. Sukkah represents where are going, the levels we have not yet achieved, Hashem’s helping hand.
Even within the particulars of these mitzvos the same dialectic can be found. The dispute whether sukkah represents the ananei hakavod or actual huts is not a machlokes about metziyus – both must actually have existed – but rather a dispute about where to place the focal point of our celebration. Is sukkos about our willingness to follow Hashem’s command and enter the desert to live in humble huts, or is about the shield of protection that Hashem afforded our ancestors?
Esrog, lulav, and hadasim, representative of those with good deeds and/or Torah, are about what we have achieved. The Sefas Emes writes that these minim represent Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov. The aravah represents David HaMelech, who said of himself, “Ani tefilah,” I am prayer. The aravah’s shape resembles the lips, the conduit for our words of tefilah. Prayer is not about what we have done or can do, but about what we need Hashem to help us achieve.
When one cannot call upon the merit of good deeds, when one lacks the ability to study Torah and cannot call on the merit of scholarship, there still remains, “tefilah l’ani ki ya’atof,” the simple prayer which the poor man can wrap himself in to appear before G-d. Says the Sefas Emes, the name aravah is the same as the world arov, pleasant, because there is nothing more pleasant to G-d than listening to the prayers of those who have nothing else to offer. For this reason on the climax of the days of judgment, Hoshana Rabbah, we focus our attention not on the lulav, the esrog, or the hadasim, but rather on the aravah.
This is why the aravah belongs. No matter how many milestones we hit, the aravah reminds us that there is always more to strive for, more that we need Hashem to help us to achieve. No matter how strong our sukkos mamash, we should never forget the ananei hakavod without which our little huts would be blown away to nothing.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
the nature of the mitzvah to eat in sukkah on the first night of the chag
Yesterday we raised the question of whether the mitzvah of sukkah on the first night derived from the hekesh of 15-15 to Pesach is a new chiyuv achila or whether it is simply a giluy milsa that yeshivas sukkah is obligatory and not optional.
Very briefly, as we discussed it in the past (here), this issue may underlie the machlokes Rishonim whether one must eat in the sukkah even if it rains on the first night. If the mitzvah on the first night is one of yeshivas sukkah, than the regular rules of yeshivas sukkah apply and mitzta’er patur min hasukkah. However, if the hekesh of 15-15 tells us that there is a chiyuv achila (which happens to have to take place in the sukkah), then the rules of achila apply, not the rules of yeshivas sukkah, and there is no ptur of mitzta’er.
Another interesting potential nafka minah to this question is the issue of kavanah. The Rambam (as understood by the Ran) distinguishes between two different categories of mitzvos. When it comes to eating matzah, the Rambam holds that one fulfills the mitzvah even without explicit kavanah, as the act of eating is a physical experience that occurs willy-nilly of one’s mental state. However, when it comes to the mitzvah of shofar, the Rambam holds that kavanah is required, as the purpose of the mitzvah is not the physical act of blowing, but rather the mental state of arousal to tshuvah that tekiyas shofar elicits.
Does the mitzvah of sukkah on the first night necessitate kavanah? If the hekesh of 15-15 is a chiyuv achila, then it should be no different than the mitzvah of matzah. However, if it is a mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, not achila, perhaps different parameters apply. (As an aside, the Bach writes that the Tur/Shulchan Aruch tells us the reason for the mitzvos of sukkah, tefilin, and tzitzis because kavanah is inherently part of these mitzvos, not an optional additional kiyum. The pasuk of “l’ma’an yed’u doroseichem…,” suggests that knowledge of why we sit in sukkah is required, above and beyond what may be the case based only on the sugya of mitzvos tzerichos kavanah.)
In the sefer Reshimos Shiurim, Rav Soloveitchik is quoted as suggesting that this nafka minah may not work. Even if the kiyum mitzvah accomplished on the first night is one of yeshivas sukkah, practically speaking that mitzvah must be accomplished through a physical act of eating. Instead of basing the level of kavanah required on the kiyum mitzvah, perhaps we should base it on the ma’aseh mitzvah, and equate sukkah with matzah.
Very briefly, as we discussed it in the past (here), this issue may underlie the machlokes Rishonim whether one must eat in the sukkah even if it rains on the first night. If the mitzvah on the first night is one of yeshivas sukkah, than the regular rules of yeshivas sukkah apply and mitzta’er patur min hasukkah. However, if the hekesh of 15-15 tells us that there is a chiyuv achila (which happens to have to take place in the sukkah), then the rules of achila apply, not the rules of yeshivas sukkah, and there is no ptur of mitzta’er.
Another interesting potential nafka minah to this question is the issue of kavanah. The Rambam (as understood by the Ran) distinguishes between two different categories of mitzvos. When it comes to eating matzah, the Rambam holds that one fulfills the mitzvah even without explicit kavanah, as the act of eating is a physical experience that occurs willy-nilly of one’s mental state. However, when it comes to the mitzvah of shofar, the Rambam holds that kavanah is required, as the purpose of the mitzvah is not the physical act of blowing, but rather the mental state of arousal to tshuvah that tekiyas shofar elicits.
Does the mitzvah of sukkah on the first night necessitate kavanah? If the hekesh of 15-15 is a chiyuv achila, then it should be no different than the mitzvah of matzah. However, if it is a mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, not achila, perhaps different parameters apply. (As an aside, the Bach writes that the Tur/Shulchan Aruch tells us the reason for the mitzvos of sukkah, tefilin, and tzitzis because kavanah is inherently part of these mitzvos, not an optional additional kiyum. The pasuk of “l’ma’an yed’u doroseichem…,” suggests that knowledge of why we sit in sukkah is required, above and beyond what may be the case based only on the sugya of mitzvos tzerichos kavanah.)
In the sefer Reshimos Shiurim, Rav Soloveitchik is quoted as suggesting that this nafka minah may not work. Even if the kiyum mitzvah accomplished on the first night is one of yeshivas sukkah, practically speaking that mitzvah must be accomplished through a physical act of eating. Instead of basing the level of kavanah required on the kiyum mitzvah, perhaps we should base it on the ma’aseh mitzvah, and equate sukkah with matzah.
Monday, September 20, 2010
a stolen meal on the first night of sukkos -- mitzvah haba'ah b'aveira?
My son mentioned the following chakira posed by R’ Baruch Ber: if one steals bread for one’s meal on the first night of sukkos, is the kiyum mitzvah of eating that meal in the sukkah invalidated because of mitzvah ha’ba’ah b’aveira?
As we shall hopefully see, it seems that this chakira gets to the heart of how we define the mitzvah of eating in sukkah on the first night.
In contrast to R’ Eliezer’s view that one is obligated to eat meals in the sukkah every day of the chag, the Chachamim (Sukkah 27) hold that it is only on the first night that one must eat in the sukkah. Why is the first night different? The gemara explains that the Torah connects Pesach and Sukkos by using the same term of “15th of the month” to describe both; just as there is an obligation to eat a k’zayis of matzah on the first night of Pesach, so too, there is an obligation to eat in the sukkah on the first night of Sukkos.
The Rishonim are puzzled by the gemara’s need for a special din to teach us this obligation to eat in sukkah on the first night. The gemara elsewhere (Brachos 49) writes that if one omits ya’aleh v’yavo from bentching on Yom Tov, one must repeat birchas hamazon because eating a bread-based meal is obligatory on Yom Tov. If one must eat bread, then obviously one must eat in the sukkah!
Tosfos resolves the question by denying its premise. According to Tos there is no obligation to eat bread on Yom Tov. The requirement to repeat bentching applies only on the first night of Pesach and Sukkos where there is an obligation to eat because of the mitzvah of matzah or sukkah.
However, most Rishonim accept that there is an obligation to eat a bread-based meal on Yom Tov and offer other solutions. The Ran suggests two other answers:
1) Normally only an amount of bread equal to more than a k’beitza is required to be eaten in the sukkah. The special derivation from Pesach teaches that just as the shiur of matzah is a k’zayis, on the first night of Sukkos even a k’zayis must be eaten in the sukkah.
2) One can fulfill the obligation of eating a Yom Tov meal by consuming exactly a k’beitza of bread. However, on the first night of Sukkos we are required to consume slightly more than a k’beitza to obligate ourselves in the mitzvah of sukkah.
The question of whether one must eat a k'zayis or more than a k'beitza perhaps hinges on how one understands this special chiyuv on the first night. Is the chiyuv one of eating, just like the chiyuv of eating matzah, or is the chiyuv one of sitting in sukkah, and the meal is just a means of establishing residence, so to speak?
If the chiyuv is one of eating, then it can be fulfilled by consuming a k’zayis, the usual shiur used to define an act as eating. But if the chiyuv is one of dwelling in the sukkah, one must eat a shiur that normally calls for sitting in sukkah, namely more than a k’beitza.
It is interesting that the Rambam requires eating a k’zayis in the sukkah on the first night, but makes no mention of a prohibition of eating less than a k’beitza outside the sukkah even on the first night. The Tur, however, does. The Rambam apparently learned that this chiyuv of eating a k’zayis has nothing to do with the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, but is simply a separate chiyuv achila that takes place in the context of sukkah. The Tur, however, seems to have understood that the Torah redefines the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah on the first night so that it is inclusive of meals even less than a k’zayis in size.
Returning to the chakira of R’ Baruch Ber, if the special chiyuv of the first night is one of eating a k’zayis, then it stands to reason that the food itself is a cheftza shel mitzvah and becomes disqualified because of mitzvah ha’ba’ah b’aveira. However, if the chiyuv is one of yeshivas sukkah, and the food is just a means to that end, then one could argue that it is the sukkah, not the food, which is the cheftza shel mitzvah, and therefore a stolen meal is not disqualified because of mitzvah haba’ah b’aveira.
There are other nafka minos to this issue...
As we shall hopefully see, it seems that this chakira gets to the heart of how we define the mitzvah of eating in sukkah on the first night.
In contrast to R’ Eliezer’s view that one is obligated to eat meals in the sukkah every day of the chag, the Chachamim (Sukkah 27) hold that it is only on the first night that one must eat in the sukkah. Why is the first night different? The gemara explains that the Torah connects Pesach and Sukkos by using the same term of “15th of the month” to describe both; just as there is an obligation to eat a k’zayis of matzah on the first night of Pesach, so too, there is an obligation to eat in the sukkah on the first night of Sukkos.
The Rishonim are puzzled by the gemara’s need for a special din to teach us this obligation to eat in sukkah on the first night. The gemara elsewhere (Brachos 49) writes that if one omits ya’aleh v’yavo from bentching on Yom Tov, one must repeat birchas hamazon because eating a bread-based meal is obligatory on Yom Tov. If one must eat bread, then obviously one must eat in the sukkah!
Tosfos resolves the question by denying its premise. According to Tos there is no obligation to eat bread on Yom Tov. The requirement to repeat bentching applies only on the first night of Pesach and Sukkos where there is an obligation to eat because of the mitzvah of matzah or sukkah.
However, most Rishonim accept that there is an obligation to eat a bread-based meal on Yom Tov and offer other solutions. The Ran suggests two other answers:
1) Normally only an amount of bread equal to more than a k’beitza is required to be eaten in the sukkah. The special derivation from Pesach teaches that just as the shiur of matzah is a k’zayis, on the first night of Sukkos even a k’zayis must be eaten in the sukkah.
2) One can fulfill the obligation of eating a Yom Tov meal by consuming exactly a k’beitza of bread. However, on the first night of Sukkos we are required to consume slightly more than a k’beitza to obligate ourselves in the mitzvah of sukkah.
The question of whether one must eat a k'zayis or more than a k'beitza perhaps hinges on how one understands this special chiyuv on the first night. Is the chiyuv one of eating, just like the chiyuv of eating matzah, or is the chiyuv one of sitting in sukkah, and the meal is just a means of establishing residence, so to speak?
If the chiyuv is one of eating, then it can be fulfilled by consuming a k’zayis, the usual shiur used to define an act as eating. But if the chiyuv is one of dwelling in the sukkah, one must eat a shiur that normally calls for sitting in sukkah, namely more than a k’beitza.
It is interesting that the Rambam requires eating a k’zayis in the sukkah on the first night, but makes no mention of a prohibition of eating less than a k’beitza outside the sukkah even on the first night. The Tur, however, does. The Rambam apparently learned that this chiyuv of eating a k’zayis has nothing to do with the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah, but is simply a separate chiyuv achila that takes place in the context of sukkah. The Tur, however, seems to have understood that the Torah redefines the mitzvah of yeshivas sukkah on the first night so that it is inclusive of meals even less than a k’zayis in size.
Returning to the chakira of R’ Baruch Ber, if the special chiyuv of the first night is one of eating a k’zayis, then it stands to reason that the food itself is a cheftza shel mitzvah and becomes disqualified because of mitzvah ha’ba’ah b’aveira. However, if the chiyuv is one of yeshivas sukkah, and the food is just a means to that end, then one could argue that it is the sukkah, not the food, which is the cheftza shel mitzvah, and therefore a stolen meal is not disqualified because of mitzvah haba’ah b’aveira.
There are other nafka minos to this issue...
Sunday, September 19, 2010
l'ta'her chosav ba'din
The Yerushalmi (Makos 2:6) relates that Wisdom was asked what what the punishment of a sinner should be, and Wisdom replied that a sinner should be pursued by evil. Prophecy was asked what the punishment of a sinner should be, and Prophecy replied that the soul which sinned must die. Finally, G-d himself was asked the fate of a sinner, and G-d replied that the sinner need only repent to be absolved.
Is the idea of tshuvah a chiddush, a new insight, that is left to G-d alone to reveal? Are not our books of prophecy, Torah and Navi, filled with pesukim that implore us to do tshuvah, that tell us the power of tshuvah, that promise forgiveness for tshuvah? Do not our books of wisdom, countless gemaras, speak of the greatness of tshuvah?
I think the answer is that of course the power of tshuvah is no secret and is already revealed in all our seforim. But that power of tshuvah appears to be some sort of extra-judicial act of benevolance, a lifnim m'shuras ha'din that overrides true justice and causes the sinner to be spared. If you ask Prophecy, Wisdom, "common sense", what a sinner really deserves, undoubtedly the answer is, barring G-d's fantastic mercy, the sinner deserves to suffer for his wrongdoings.
However, G-d sees things from a different perspective, a perspective that we cannot understand no matter how prophetic or wise our insight may be. In our Yom Kippur tefilah we describe G-d as coming, "l'ta'her chosav ba'din," to purify in his judgment those who trust in him. The Sefas Emes explains: it is "ba'din," according to the letter of the law, that G-d purifies and forgives. It is not merely through G-d's extraordinary mercy that the sinner is forgiven, but to the contrary, it is G-d's attribute of justice that commands that the sinner who repents be granted a repreive.
It is this perspective on Divine justice that the Yerushalmi wished to share with us. The day after Yom Kippur is a Yom Tov, and seforim tell us that the simcha one feels on this day is evidence of the mechila granted on Yom Kippur. Only a deserved and just kapparah I think can give rise to a true sense of joy and happiness.
Is the idea of tshuvah a chiddush, a new insight, that is left to G-d alone to reveal? Are not our books of prophecy, Torah and Navi, filled with pesukim that implore us to do tshuvah, that tell us the power of tshuvah, that promise forgiveness for tshuvah? Do not our books of wisdom, countless gemaras, speak of the greatness of tshuvah?
I think the answer is that of course the power of tshuvah is no secret and is already revealed in all our seforim. But that power of tshuvah appears to be some sort of extra-judicial act of benevolance, a lifnim m'shuras ha'din that overrides true justice and causes the sinner to be spared. If you ask Prophecy, Wisdom, "common sense", what a sinner really deserves, undoubtedly the answer is, barring G-d's fantastic mercy, the sinner deserves to suffer for his wrongdoings.
However, G-d sees things from a different perspective, a perspective that we cannot understand no matter how prophetic or wise our insight may be. In our Yom Kippur tefilah we describe G-d as coming, "l'ta'her chosav ba'din," to purify in his judgment those who trust in him. The Sefas Emes explains: it is "ba'din," according to the letter of the law, that G-d purifies and forgives. It is not merely through G-d's extraordinary mercy that the sinner is forgiven, but to the contrary, it is G-d's attribute of justice that commands that the sinner who repents be granted a repreive.
It is this perspective on Divine justice that the Yerushalmi wished to share with us. The day after Yom Kippur is a Yom Tov, and seforim tell us that the simcha one feels on this day is evidence of the mechila granted on Yom Kippur. Only a deserved and just kapparah I think can give rise to a true sense of joy and happiness.
Friday, September 17, 2010
piyus
I would say the most important tefilah of Yom Kippur is not said on the day itself, but rather is said immediately beforehand. I am talking about tefilah zakah, and in particular about the lines where we grant mechila to others. The halacha of piyus, of asking for forgiveness, is probably one of the most difficult halachos in shulchan aruch. No, I don’t think posting “Please be mochel me” on your facebook wall, or sending a bulk chain e-mail that says, “Please be mochel and pass to three others,” quite does the trick. Superficial and shallow acts like these stand worlds apart from true and meaningful empathy with others. I seriously dread facing a din v’cheshbon in this area, which is probably why I have it on my mind today.
We read in the newspapers about the financial crises being caused by the unwinding of all kinds of complex financial trades involving credit default swaps and derivatives and all kinds of other exotic instruments, and we marvel at the time and difficulty involved in first understanding and then restructuring the balance sheets effected by these tangled transactions. A human being in exponentially many times more complex than a balance sheet. Kal v’chomer to unwind a bein adam l’chaveiro issue may take months and years of reflection and effort and is not to be taken lightly.
So what is one to do with such a daunting task in these hours before Yom Tov? How can one translate such a gargantuan obligation into something meaningful? I certainly am not qualified to give advice in this area and don't pretend to have answers, but a few thoughts that occurred to me:
1) Accept the fact that a “Do you be mochel me?” e-mail doesn’t cut it. Human relations are not so shallow and simple and pretending they are is silly. Piyus should be about getting to the heart of what divides us, not about putting a thin coat of plaster over differences to be “yotzei.” Pretending it does good only circumvents ever achieving real forgiveness.
2) Don’t pour good money after bad. If a relationship has soured, odds are it can’t be repaired in a few moments on Erev Yom Kippur. A person can, however, at least commit to not doing more to make things worse. At times, this itself is a major step forward.
3) Look beyond where things are now. One may not be able to make amends on Erev Yom Kippur for various reasons. There are faults that a person really does not feel ready to overlook and faults that others may not want to forgive. Yet, keeping in mind the hope of eventual reconciliation under even theoretical terms that right now seem out of reach is itself I think a meaningful step. You never know what may happen.
4) Aspire to do better. We all step on others toes more often than we would like. One may not be able to fix all the errors of the past, but one can certainly commit to try to do better in the future.
I know I have much to improve on myself in these areas. Hopefully our tefilah zakah mechilos will be real and accomplish at least a little something to draw us all closer together on this Yom Kippur.
We read in the newspapers about the financial crises being caused by the unwinding of all kinds of complex financial trades involving credit default swaps and derivatives and all kinds of other exotic instruments, and we marvel at the time and difficulty involved in first understanding and then restructuring the balance sheets effected by these tangled transactions. A human being in exponentially many times more complex than a balance sheet. Kal v’chomer to unwind a bein adam l’chaveiro issue may take months and years of reflection and effort and is not to be taken lightly.
So what is one to do with such a daunting task in these hours before Yom Tov? How can one translate such a gargantuan obligation into something meaningful? I certainly am not qualified to give advice in this area and don't pretend to have answers, but a few thoughts that occurred to me:
1) Accept the fact that a “Do you be mochel me?” e-mail doesn’t cut it. Human relations are not so shallow and simple and pretending they are is silly. Piyus should be about getting to the heart of what divides us, not about putting a thin coat of plaster over differences to be “yotzei.” Pretending it does good only circumvents ever achieving real forgiveness.
2) Don’t pour good money after bad. If a relationship has soured, odds are it can’t be repaired in a few moments on Erev Yom Kippur. A person can, however, at least commit to not doing more to make things worse. At times, this itself is a major step forward.
3) Look beyond where things are now. One may not be able to make amends on Erev Yom Kippur for various reasons. There are faults that a person really does not feel ready to overlook and faults that others may not want to forgive. Yet, keeping in mind the hope of eventual reconciliation under even theoretical terms that right now seem out of reach is itself I think a meaningful step. You never know what may happen.
4) Aspire to do better. We all step on others toes more often than we would like. One may not be able to fix all the errors of the past, but one can certainly commit to try to do better in the future.
I know I have much to improve on myself in these areas. Hopefully our tefilah zakah mechilos will be real and accomplish at least a little something to draw us all closer together on this Yom Kippur.
Erev Yom Kippur
The Rishonim view the obligation to eat a seudah on Erev Yom Kippur as a means of preparing properly for the fast or as a pre-emptive celebration of the simchas Yom Tov of Yom Kippur, when we cannot eat, by having a meal beforehand. Both of these explanations see the celebration of Erev Yom Kippur as an extension of Yom Kippur itself, but not a day with intrinsic significance.
The Sefas Emes (5662), however, offers another perspective. During the failed attempt to receive the first luchos, Bnei Yisrael eagerly anticipated Moshe’s return for 39 days. With each day’s increased anticipation came an increase in the effort of the yetzer hara to somehow undermine events. It was at the last minute, on the last day, the yetzer hara unleashed its final most powerful push, its "full court press", and caused the confusion that led to the tragedy of the eigel. This is often how the yetzer hara operates – it allows events to unfold, it lulls us into complacency, and then just as we reach the finish line, all sorts of obstacles and challenges appear and cause us to question and even to abandon all the effort and good work put in until that point.
We are now at the finish line before Yom Kippur, the commemoration of the giving of the second luchos. The yetzer hara tried again at that time and tries again every year to undermine all that we have accomplished from Rosh Chodesh Elul until this moment, because he knows that all it takes is a slip on this final day, another eigel on that final day, and all the effort put in until that point will prove for naught.
Erev Yom Kippur is a day of celebration in its own right because on this day the second time around there was no eigel – we beat the yetzer then; we can do it again now.
Gmar chasima tovah to all.
The Sefas Emes (5662), however, offers another perspective. During the failed attempt to receive the first luchos, Bnei Yisrael eagerly anticipated Moshe’s return for 39 days. With each day’s increased anticipation came an increase in the effort of the yetzer hara to somehow undermine events. It was at the last minute, on the last day, the yetzer hara unleashed its final most powerful push, its "full court press", and caused the confusion that led to the tragedy of the eigel. This is often how the yetzer hara operates – it allows events to unfold, it lulls us into complacency, and then just as we reach the finish line, all sorts of obstacles and challenges appear and cause us to question and even to abandon all the effort and good work put in until that point.
We are now at the finish line before Yom Kippur, the commemoration of the giving of the second luchos. The yetzer hara tried again at that time and tries again every year to undermine all that we have accomplished from Rosh Chodesh Elul until this moment, because he knows that all it takes is a slip on this final day, another eigel on that final day, and all the effort put in until that point will prove for naught.
Erev Yom Kippur is a day of celebration in its own right because on this day the second time around there was no eigel – we beat the yetzer then; we can do it again now.
Gmar chasima tovah to all.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
zochreinu l'chaim -- bakashos in the beginning of tefilah?
Our amidah/shmoneh esrei follows a precise structure: it opens with praise of Hashem, in the middle are requests and supplications, and it closes with thanksgiving. We normally do not voice requests in the opening brachos -- one must first acknowledge Hashem's dominion and majesty; only then is one in a position to ask Hashem for personal needs. Yet, the tefilos between Rosh haShana and Yom Kippur prove an exception to the rule. The Rishonim are already troubled by the fact that zachreinu, mi kamocha, kasveinu l'chaim, and b'sefer chaim, the special insertions made in tefilah to ask Hashem to inscribe us for a good year in the book of life, all appear in the first and last brachos of tefilah, not in the middle where personal petitions normally are made. Why do we depart from the normal pattern?
R' Avraham Bloch (Shiurei Da'as, "Ori v"Yishi") explains that the special insertions made this time of year are not like other personal requests. The recognition of Hashem as king of the universe, as master of all that occurs in the universe, ideally also entails the recognition that we exist solely to help proclaim those truths. We ask zachreinu l'chaim not because we selfishly want a few more years in the world, but rather because in this holy time of year we hopefully are contributing or hope to contribute to Hashem's presence being felt in the world. We say to Hashem that not only is his presence felt in the world because he is rofeh cholim, he is matir asurim, he is someich noflim, but also because he will be zochreinu l'chaim and through our existence will his presence be felt to a greater degree in this world.
R' Avraham Bloch (Shiurei Da'as, "Ori v"Yishi") explains that the special insertions made this time of year are not like other personal requests. The recognition of Hashem as king of the universe, as master of all that occurs in the universe, ideally also entails the recognition that we exist solely to help proclaim those truths. We ask zachreinu l'chaim not because we selfishly want a few more years in the world, but rather because in this holy time of year we hopefully are contributing or hope to contribute to Hashem's presence being felt in the world. We say to Hashem that not only is his presence felt in the world because he is rofeh cholim, he is matir asurim, he is someich noflim, but also because he will be zochreinu l'chaim and through our existence will his presence be felt to a greater degree in this world.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sarah's laughter and tshuvah
We are all familiar with the story in Parshas vaYeira of Sarah’s laughter in response to the promise given to her by an angel visiting her home that she will have a son. When confronted by G-d, Sarah denied wrongdoing. “Lo tzachakti ki ya’re’ah.” “I did not laugh” – [said Sarah] – because she was afraid.
We all try to cover over our shortcomings and mistakes; we deny wrongdoing even when we are at fault. Yet, surely each one of us recognizes that while we may be able to delude others, we may be able to delude ourselves, but surely we cannot delude G-d. How could our matriarch Sarah have possibly told G-d that she did not laugh when, just moments before, she did in fact laugh? Surely she realized that G-d knew the truth!
The Sefas Emes suggests a remarkable answer that we should carry with us through these 10 days of teshuvah and Yom Kippur. Sarah knew that she had laughed and Sarah knew that she was mistaken in doing so. But Sarah was immediately overcome with fear and did tshuvah to rectify her sin. When Hashem appeared and asked Sarah whether she had laughed, she responded truthfully that she had not – tshuvah had obliterated he sin, her laughter, and there was nothing left of it.
The story concludes with Hashem telling Sarah that indeed she had laughed. I am going to here depart from the Sefas Emes and follow my wife’s reading of the conclusion, which I think is a bit simpler. Sarah had indeed done tshuvah, but her tshuvah was motivated by fear. Hashem may grant a pardon for such tshuvah, but it’s power to completely obliterate and undo the past is limited to the higher tshuvah that stems from love.
We don’t realize the tremendous power of tshuvah to not only bring about kaparah, but to literally undo the past. Hashem is not like a parent, a teacher, a friend, who forgives, but who (or so you may think) forever after looks at you differently because of some fault or error. Hashem grants a completely clean slate, with no reminder of past iniquities.
We all try to cover over our shortcomings and mistakes; we deny wrongdoing even when we are at fault. Yet, surely each one of us recognizes that while we may be able to delude others, we may be able to delude ourselves, but surely we cannot delude G-d. How could our matriarch Sarah have possibly told G-d that she did not laugh when, just moments before, she did in fact laugh? Surely she realized that G-d knew the truth!
The Sefas Emes suggests a remarkable answer that we should carry with us through these 10 days of teshuvah and Yom Kippur. Sarah knew that she had laughed and Sarah knew that she was mistaken in doing so. But Sarah was immediately overcome with fear and did tshuvah to rectify her sin. When Hashem appeared and asked Sarah whether she had laughed, she responded truthfully that she had not – tshuvah had obliterated he sin, her laughter, and there was nothing left of it.
The story concludes with Hashem telling Sarah that indeed she had laughed. I am going to here depart from the Sefas Emes and follow my wife’s reading of the conclusion, which I think is a bit simpler. Sarah had indeed done tshuvah, but her tshuvah was motivated by fear. Hashem may grant a pardon for such tshuvah, but it’s power to completely obliterate and undo the past is limited to the higher tshuvah that stems from love.
We don’t realize the tremendous power of tshuvah to not only bring about kaparah, but to literally undo the past. Hashem is not like a parent, a teacher, a friend, who forgives, but who (or so you may think) forever after looks at you differently because of some fault or error. Hashem grants a completely clean slate, with no reminder of past iniquities.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
the tshuvah of Acheir
The gemara (Chagiga 15) relates the tragic story of Acheir, the teacher of Rabbi Meir, who went "off the derech." Rabbi Meir asked his teacher why he did not repent, to which Acheir replied that there was no hope for him, as he had heard the Heavenly voice of a bas kol declare that Hashem's words, "Shuvu banim shovavim," Hashem's encouragement to repent, applies to all except Acheir. It was prophetically decreed that he could not do tshuvah! Nonetheless, the gemara continues that Rabbi Meir on other occasions tried to get his teacher to return, all to no avail. Tos. cites the conclusion of the story from the Yerushalmi -- R' Meir visited his teacher on his deathbed and once again asked him to repent. Acheir cried, and at that moment his soul departed. Rabbi Meir interpreted that cry as an act of tshuvah by his teacher in his final moments.
Whether or not one accepts the conclusion that Acheir indeed did do tshuvah, the story begs the question of what Rabbi Meir thought he would accomplish by his repeated entreaties to Acheir to repent. If the bas kol declared repentance impossible, why did Rabbi Meir still hold out hope for his teacher?
To relinquish one's past attitudes, direction, deeds, is exceedingly difficult. How is tshuvah ever possible? The answer is that we have the greatest possible help in our efforts. Hashem doesn't just command us to do tshuvah -- he takes the first step himself towards restoring a relationship with us and guiding us back to the right path. Without that assistance tshuvah is still possible, but it requires so much greater an effort.
R' Itzele Peterberger (Kochvei Ohr #6) writes that it was this encouraging voice of, "Shuvu banim," Hashem's extended helping hand, which the bas kol declared no longer accessible to Acheir. Yet, as Rabbi Meir realized, the door to return was still open. It would require commitment and effort and be a difficult road back, but it was a road that Rabbi Meir was willing to stand by his teacher in support should he choose to follow it.
We are not in Acheir's position. "Dirshu Hashem b'himatzo," this week Hashem inspires and encourages our teshuvah, extending his hand to help us. All it takes is a little effort on our part.
Whether or not one accepts the conclusion that Acheir indeed did do tshuvah, the story begs the question of what Rabbi Meir thought he would accomplish by his repeated entreaties to Acheir to repent. If the bas kol declared repentance impossible, why did Rabbi Meir still hold out hope for his teacher?
To relinquish one's past attitudes, direction, deeds, is exceedingly difficult. How is tshuvah ever possible? The answer is that we have the greatest possible help in our efforts. Hashem doesn't just command us to do tshuvah -- he takes the first step himself towards restoring a relationship with us and guiding us back to the right path. Without that assistance tshuvah is still possible, but it requires so much greater an effort.
R' Itzele Peterberger (Kochvei Ohr #6) writes that it was this encouraging voice of, "Shuvu banim," Hashem's extended helping hand, which the bas kol declared no longer accessible to Acheir. Yet, as Rabbi Meir realized, the door to return was still open. It would require commitment and effort and be a difficult road back, but it was a road that Rabbi Meir was willing to stand by his teacher in support should he choose to follow it.
We are not in Acheir's position. "Dirshu Hashem b'himatzo," this week Hashem inspires and encourages our teshuvah, extending his hand to help us. All it takes is a little effort on our part.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
don't ask!
I have been swamped with work and sadly have had no time to think, much less to write, and here Rosh Hashana is upon us already! I just want to highlight a beautiful Midrash (in Parshas Emor) that I heard pointed out by R’ Meir Goldvicht and just saw discussed in the Shem m’Shmuel:
בחדש השביעי ר' ברכיה היה קרי ליה ירחא דשבועתא שבו נשבע הקב"ה לאברהם אבינו ע"ה, הדא הוא דכתיב (בראשית כב): ויאמר בי נשבעתי נאם ה'. מה צורך היה לשבועה? ר' ביבי בר אבא, בשם ר' יוחנן אמר: עמד אברהם אבינו בתפלה ותחנונים לפני הקדוש ברוך הוא ואמר לפניו: רבש"ע! גלוי וידוע לפניך בשעה שאמרת לי (שם כב): קח נא את בנך את יחידך, היה בלבי מה להשיבך והיה בלבי מה לאמר אתמול אמרת לי: כי ביצחק יקרא לך זרע ועכשיו אתה אומר לי: והעלהו שם לעולה?! אלא כשם שהיה לי מה להשיבך וכבשתי את יצרי ולא השבותיך, (תהלים לח): כחרש לא אשמע וכאלם לא יפתח פיו, כך כשיהיו בניו של יצחק באים לידי עבירות ומעשים רעים תהא מזכיר להם עקידת יצחק אביהם, ועמוד מכסא הדין לכסא רחמים ומתמלא עליהם רחמים, ותרחם עליהם ותהפוך להם מדת הדין למדת רחמים. אימתי? בחדש השביעי:
The Midrash explains that when commanded to perform the akeidah, Avraham had every right to turn around and question G-d. Hashem had promised Avraham that his family line would continue through the lineage of Yitzchak. Yet, here Avraham was, called upon to sacrifice this son in whom all his hope for the future was invested. This question had to power to force Hashem’s hand and release Avraham from his mental anguish and the trial of the akeidah. Yet, Avraham was silent – he did not ask, and instead simply obeyed the plain meaning of Hashem's instructions.
After the akeidah, Avraham asked for one more gift in addition to Hashem’s blessing. “Just as I could have challenged you and questioned your words, but was silent,” said Avraham, “So too, when my descendents come before you with all their sins and faults and evil deeds, don’t question them – remember the akeidah instead.”
“Chodesh hashevi’i,” the seventh month, alludes to this oath, the “shevu’a,” taken by Hashem to not question us, to overlook our defects. When the once-a-year guy saunters into shul on Rosh HaShana or Yom Kippur with the satin colorful yalmukah perched on his head like a tepee, with his bar mitzvah talis wrapped his shoulders, Hashem doesn’t ask, “Yankel, where have you been? Where were you on Shabbos, where were you on Yom Tov? Where are your children, your grandchildren?” Hashem doesn’t ask questions -- instead, He silently remembers the akeidah and grants us another year.
I don’t think there is some magical formula that grants us dispensation from din because our great-great ancestor Avraham had an unquestioning commitment to G-d. What the Midrash perhaps means is that the unquestioning commitment of Avraham is inside each one of us as part of our spiritual genes. Davka the once-a-year guy who doesn’t understand what we believe, why we believe, how to believe, yet puts all those questions aside and shows up anyway proves the point. Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, it’s just the thing Jews do this time of year no matter what you do the rest of the year, but maybe it’s also that little piece of Avraham left inside that pushes aside all the questions and objections and better things to do and brings a person to where he should be.
Kesiva v’chasima tova to all!
בחדש השביעי ר' ברכיה היה קרי ליה ירחא דשבועתא שבו נשבע הקב"ה לאברהם אבינו ע"ה, הדא הוא דכתיב (בראשית כב): ויאמר בי נשבעתי נאם ה'. מה צורך היה לשבועה? ר' ביבי בר אבא, בשם ר' יוחנן אמר: עמד אברהם אבינו בתפלה ותחנונים לפני הקדוש ברוך הוא ואמר לפניו: רבש"ע! גלוי וידוע לפניך בשעה שאמרת לי (שם כב): קח נא את בנך את יחידך, היה בלבי מה להשיבך והיה בלבי מה לאמר אתמול אמרת לי: כי ביצחק יקרא לך זרע ועכשיו אתה אומר לי: והעלהו שם לעולה?! אלא כשם שהיה לי מה להשיבך וכבשתי את יצרי ולא השבותיך, (תהלים לח): כחרש לא אשמע וכאלם לא יפתח פיו, כך כשיהיו בניו של יצחק באים לידי עבירות ומעשים רעים תהא מזכיר להם עקידת יצחק אביהם, ועמוד מכסא הדין לכסא רחמים ומתמלא עליהם רחמים, ותרחם עליהם ותהפוך להם מדת הדין למדת רחמים. אימתי? בחדש השביעי:
The Midrash explains that when commanded to perform the akeidah, Avraham had every right to turn around and question G-d. Hashem had promised Avraham that his family line would continue through the lineage of Yitzchak. Yet, here Avraham was, called upon to sacrifice this son in whom all his hope for the future was invested. This question had to power to force Hashem’s hand and release Avraham from his mental anguish and the trial of the akeidah. Yet, Avraham was silent – he did not ask, and instead simply obeyed the plain meaning of Hashem's instructions.
After the akeidah, Avraham asked for one more gift in addition to Hashem’s blessing. “Just as I could have challenged you and questioned your words, but was silent,” said Avraham, “So too, when my descendents come before you with all their sins and faults and evil deeds, don’t question them – remember the akeidah instead.”
“Chodesh hashevi’i,” the seventh month, alludes to this oath, the “shevu’a,” taken by Hashem to not question us, to overlook our defects. When the once-a-year guy saunters into shul on Rosh HaShana or Yom Kippur with the satin colorful yalmukah perched on his head like a tepee, with his bar mitzvah talis wrapped his shoulders, Hashem doesn’t ask, “Yankel, where have you been? Where were you on Shabbos, where were you on Yom Tov? Where are your children, your grandchildren?” Hashem doesn’t ask questions -- instead, He silently remembers the akeidah and grants us another year.
I don’t think there is some magical formula that grants us dispensation from din because our great-great ancestor Avraham had an unquestioning commitment to G-d. What the Midrash perhaps means is that the unquestioning commitment of Avraham is inside each one of us as part of our spiritual genes. Davka the once-a-year guy who doesn’t understand what we believe, why we believe, how to believe, yet puts all those questions aside and shows up anyway proves the point. Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, it’s just the thing Jews do this time of year no matter what you do the rest of the year, but maybe it’s also that little piece of Avraham left inside that pushes aside all the questions and objections and better things to do and brings a person to where he should be.
Kesiva v’chasima tova to all!
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Rosh HaShana issue of Kallah Magazine
Latest issue of Kallah Magazine -- with an article by me for Rosh haShana. (If you can't see the embedded image below, please use the link: http://issuu.com/AriellaBrown/docs/fall10)
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