aveilus -- kiyum b'lev?

I did not want to interrupt the flow of the previous post with this point, so I decided to add it here.  Those of you who (like myself) are from the YU world are probably perplexed by that Rashi in Sukkah 25a that says there is no chiyuv for a mourner to be sad. The Rav (see Shiurim l'Zecher Aba Mari vol 2 - B'Inyanei Aveilus) saw aveilus as consisting of two parts: 1) the ma'aseh mitzvah, the to-do behavioral component of not washing, not wearing shoes, etc., and 2) the kiyum mitzvah, which is a chovas he'lev to feel that sense of loss and mourning. If anything, the Rav placed more stress on the kiyum mitzvah as the driver of aveilus. The reason simchas haregel pushes off aveilus is not because not wearing shoes or taking a shower is inherently antithetical to the observance of the regel, but because the feeling of simchas yom tov is antithetical to the kiyum mitzvah of grieving.  (The Rav had many proofs to this idea of a kiyum she-b'lev.)   So what do you do with the Rashi that says "aino chayav l'hitzta'er"? Doesn't that imply (as R' Shlomo Fischer suggests) that there is no mitzvah per se to be sad -- that there is no kiyum she-b'lev component to aveilus?

I think the answer is that Rashi needs to be taken in the specific context of explaining oseik b'mitzvah patur min hamitzvah. Of course there is a *kiyum* mitzvah in a mourner grieving, but there is no *chiyuv* to be sad in the same way that there is a chiyuv to take action and do some other mitzvah.  By definition, a kiyum is a result, an effect -- not a cause.  Oseik b'miztvah deals with causes, i.e. can a new mitzvah serve as a cause to change behavior when there already exists a cause that forces one to engage in some other action.  

Of course, if I am correct that undermines R' Shlomo Fischer's point to some degree, but I'm just trying to defend the Rav's torah. (After writing this I see R' Reichman asks the same question in his Reshimos Shiurim on Sukkah, but b'mechilas kvodo I like my answer better than his, ayen sham : )

sham yashavnu v'gam bachinu -- aveilus of the heart

Rav Shlomo Fischer (Derashos Beis Yishai 13) contrasts aveilus for the loss of a relative with the aveilus of 9 Av and churban habayis. Rashi (Sukkah 25a d"h tirda d'reshus) writes that the practice of aveilus for a relative expresses itself in certain behaviors: an aveil cannot wear shoes, cannot wash, etc.  However, writes Rashi, an aveil is not obligated to be sad.  R' Shlomo Fischer explains that aveilus is about exhibiting respect for the dead (kavod hameis), not about coming to grips with personal feelings of sadness or loss. 

Another proof to this idea: The halacha is that if there are no mourners, the community should have a minyan of people sit shiva (Shabbos 152). Even though these designated mourners have no relationship with the departed and feel no sense of loss or sorrow, the halachos of aveilus are still practiced.

Aveilus for the churban, however, is primarily about our feelings of loss and sorrow; it is about what goes on in the heart more than about external behavior. In contrast to the laws of mourning for a relative which lessen in intensity as time passes (aninus is most severe, follows by shiva, followed by shloshim, followed by shana rishona for a parent), the mourning for churban habayis increases in intensity as we progress through the period of beis hametzarim, the three weeks to shevu'a she'chal bo and finally the day of 9 Av itself. When it comes to mourning the churban we need to allow time for our feelings of loss to build, as those feelings are the primary driver of our aveilus.

The halacha is that a mourner counts Shabbos as one of his days of shiva, but according to most Rishonim there is no halacha of shav'ua she'chal bo when 9 Av falls on Shabbos, even though in both cases (according to the Rama) mourning halachos done privately, b'tzina, apply even on Shabbos. If Shabbos is to some degree treated like a day of mourning, why does the week before and afterwards not have the status of shavu'a she'chal bo, while the week of shiva continues despite the break of Shabbos? R' Shlomo Fischer answers that Shabbos is a day of simcha; the joy of Shabbos stands in direct contradiction to the sadness of mourning. When it comes to the aveilus of 9 Av, since that mourning is rooted in the emotional experience of feeling loss, the aveilus is negated by the spirit of Shabbos that sweeps away depression and sorrow, even if behaviorally there is still some vestige of mourning practices. However, when it comes to aveilus for a relative, since that mourning centers around the behavior of aveilus, not the emotional experience of loss, the change in emotional state that comes with Shabbos does not disrupt the aveilus. 

Why is there such a distinction? Why is it that when morning for a close relative, "aino chayav l'hitzta'er," one is not obligated to be sad and it is enough to exhibit mourning behavior, while when it comes to mourning the churban, the behavioral aspects of morning are treated more lightly by halacha ("shani ... d'kal hu) while we do our utmost to focus on and feel the sadness and sorrow of the loss of Beis haMikdash?

I am going to depart from Rav Fischer's approach here and encourage you to read this post by Rabbi Joshua Maroof because I think he hits the nail right on the head. The generation that experienced the churban (certainly during the Second Temple period) were not lax in observance -- they were punctilious in their study of Torah and observance of mitzvos. The problem was that they were halachic "technocrats" who kept to the letter of the law but skirted it's spirit. Loopholes and legal subterfuge can be used to justify almost any behavior. Therefore, I think that when it came to enacting halachos that define how to mourn the loss of the Beis haMikdash, Chazal departed from the behavioral framework that runs through the usual laws of aveilus and instead placed special emphasis on capturing the feeling of loss, on the spirit of mourning, because it was precisely the mistaken emphasis on behavior to the exclusion of the law's spirit and emotional content that led to the churban itself. 

Make no mistake about it -- mourning the churban is hard. We, thank G-d, live in a land where we enjoy freedom of religion and where we have managed to build Torah centers and flourishing communities. In a few days tens of thousands of people will gather in a sports stadium to celebrate limud haTorah and kavod haTorah in a land that was was once known as a "treife medina" where many thought Torah would never flourish. We even have kosher sushi! It's hard to feel a sense of loss when we have it so good.

"Al naharos Bavel, sham yashavnu, gam bachinu b'zacreinu es Tzion." The Chasam Sofer explains: "Sham yashavnu" -- the term "yeshiva" means settling down, enjoying peace and prosperity (Vayeishev Ya'akov = bikesh Ya'akov lasheves b'shalvah). Yirmiyahu haNavi even encouraged those who went into exile to build homes and communities there, and they did -- they became successful and comfortable, so much so that Ezra could not get most of the people to budge when it was time to return. Maybe the kosher sushi of Bavel was made right there on the banks of the river (can't get fresher than that) where this mizmor was composed. And yet, despite all they had in Bavel, despite "sham yashavnu," the mizmor tells us that "gam bachinu," those who were in exile there still cried, they remembered Tzion and mourned its loss.


Davka where our right to externally behave as Jews is not challenged, we have a greater onus to mourn the churban and show that looking like a Jew and acting like a Jew are not enough -- we mourn because we remain spiritually incomplete on the inside, where it counts the most, so long as we remain separated from our true home in Tzion.   

emphasizing the miraculous

The Rambam (and Ralbag and a few other Rishonim that we generally lump together in the "rationalist" camp) generally try to minimize the extent of the miraculous in the Torah.  It is surprising therefore that the Rambam of all people explains that the reason the Torah lists the places Bnei Yisrael traveled in the midbar at the beginning of Parshas Masei is in order to demonstrate that Bnei Yisrael did not stick close to centers of civilization and oases, but rather wandered deep into the desert (as we see from the names of their rest stops) where they had no access to provisions other than the mon and water from the well of Miriam. This explanation (as opposed to some of the others) heightens the nature of our miraculous survival in the midbar.

even if we disagree

Must we first define (or re-define) a gadol as being as part of "our" camp (whichever camp that may be) before we can acknowledge and appreciate his greatness?  Last week I saw articles portraying R' Elyashiv as close to Rav Kook (and hence, by association, Mizrachi), as not being critical of Lubavitch (in our current climate of anti-chabad sentiment that itself is a mouthful), and as a leader of all of world Jewry, including modern orthodoxy.  
Without question, if you admire Rav Kook or Lubavitch or identify as modern orthodox, it's nice to know that one of the gedolei hador was sympathetic to (or tolerant of) your ideology.  However, even were that not the case, why should a difference of opinion in halacha or hashkafa preclude acknowledging the gadlus of someone like Rav Elyashiv?  Even if he were not one of "us," can we not show admiration?  

speech! speech!

The leaders of sheivet Menashe were concerned lest Bnos Tzelafchad marry men from other shevatim and their property pass through inheritance by their husbands or children to other tribes.  The Torah's solution (al pi peshuto shel mikra -- see below) was that Bnos Tzelafchad must marry only within their own sheivet.   The Torah prefaces this ruling by saying, "Latov b'eineihen t'hiyena l'nashim," that the Bnos Tzelafchad may marry whomever they desire -- and then adds the stipulation so long as whomever they desire is from their own sheivet. Wouldn't it have been more to the point to just tell the Bnos Tzefchad who they **can't** marry -- which is the whole point here -- without these introductory words?

According to one opinion in Chazal (B"B 120), the prohibition against marrying members of other shevatim applied to everyone **except** the Bnos Tzelafchad. The order of the pasuk according to this view makes perfect sense. The Torah first sets out the law: Bnos Tzelafchad were legally entitled to marry whomever they desired. The Torah then follows up with a bit of advice: Even the Bnos Tzelafchad should stick to their own sheivet. (The Netziv writes that the reasoning behind this advice is not just a matter of keeping property within the sheivet, but is a far broader directive -- don't flaunt being different. Just because you can take advantage of a special privilege that sets you apart doesn't mean doing so is a good idea.)

The Ksav Sofer offers a different answer (in keeping with the pshuto shel mikra that Bnos Tzelafchad could not marry outsiders) based on a a chiddush he quotes from the Panim Yafos. Although both husbands and children could inherit, the real issue sheivet Menashe had was specifically with husbands inheriting.  Although children of the Bnos Tzelafchad would count as members of their father's sheivet, the Panim Yafos writes that ultimately, since children have only a kinyan peiros(see Gittin 48a-b), the property of the children remained owned by their tribe of Menashe. Given this premis, Bnos Tzelafchad had a way to avoid the problem raised by the leaders of their sheivet. All they had to do was find husbands who would forgo their right to inherit, i.e. husbands who would agree to marry with a tnai that they are mochel on any potential yerusha.

What kind of husband, says the Ksav Sofer, would agree to such a deal? Obviously, one who is desperate to get married, even at the cost of sacrificing any chance to reap potential inheritance. (I guess the Ksav Sofer did not go for Hollywood-like romantic notions of a group of prince charmings gladly sacrificing their right of yerusha for the sake of their beloved Bnos Tzelafchad.  All I can say is that the value of land meant much more back then...). If this was the only way out for the Bnos Tzelafchad, they would be forced to shoot very low in their shidduch expecations! Therefore, the Torah here prefaces it's solution, namely that Bnos Tzelafchad marry only within their sheivet and therefore not have to force their husbands to forgo the right to inherit, with the positive message that the Bnos Tzefchad would now be free to marry whomever they desire, even from the cream of the crop of Menashe.

Before seeing the Ksav Sofer I understood the pasuk almost the reverse of the way he did. Rather than take it as good news, I understood the message that Bnos Tzefchad may only marry other members of their same sheivet to be pretty bad news. Their shidduch pool just shrank to 1/12 of what it was beforehand! (Imagine the shidduch crisis editorials of that time.) Rather than overwhelm the Bnos Tzefchad with this announcement, the Torah first puts a positive spin on things -- don't worry, you still can marry whomever you desire. Only after first stressing the silver lining does the Torah reveal that they"whomever you desire" has a caveat thrown in: provided the person is a member of your own sheivet.

The mussar haskel of either reading of the pasuk is to be sensitive about how bad news is delivered. Don't just deliver the facts without also addressing the emotional content (speaking personally I know this is easy to write but hard to practice.)  The Torah goes out of its way to stress the positive side of the solution being offered to Bnos Tzelafchad not just as a matter of spin, but out of sincere concern that they realize the good that can come out of the situation.

The Ksav Sofer earlier in Matos demonstrates again how by placing a secondary detail first the Torah subtly communicates an important message. Moshe tells the Bnei Reuvain and Gad, "Bnu lachem arim l'tapchem... v'hayotzei m'pichem ta'asu." (32:24) The building of cities in Eiver haYarden was not a point under debate -- the only issue was whether Bnei Reuvain and Gad would keep their and assist the rest of Bnei Yisrael to fight. Why did Moshe even bother to mention cities and homes for the children who would remain behind?

Recall that when Reuvain and Gad spoke to Moshe they first emphasized their desire for pasture land and only secondarily mentioned their children and families. In speaking to them Moshe reversed the order. Rashi explains that Moshe wanted to set their priorities straight: First comes children, and everything else is secondary.

The promises of a person with misplaced priorities -- someone who puts his $ even before his own children -- are not worth much. If one's own children take a backseat to money, surely a promise would take a backseat as well. Therefore, Moshe tells Bnei Reuvain and Gad to build cities and homes for their children. First get straight what is important in life. Once you have that down, "Hayotzei m'pichem ta'asu," you can be trusted to fulfill your promise, because you will then realize that ethics and responsibility, like children, are far more important than dollars and cents.

So in this post we've spoken a lot about speech -- how Moshe spoke to the Bnos Tzelafchad, how Moshe spoke to the Bnei Reuvain and Gad.  I think this is the theme of the closing of BaMidbar.  I haven't had a chance to fully formulate my thoughts on this yet, so I'm just going to throw our my jumbled stream of consciousness since I'm out of time.  Hope something here makes sense.  Sefer Devarim is Misheh Torah, it's the review session, so in a certain sense Matos-Masei is the conclusion of the Torah as a whole.  We started this four book journey with the creation of man, a "ruach m'malela," a speaking creature, as the Targum translates, and we end by coming back to the theme of speech, particularly as highlighted in the subject of nedarim.  The chassidishe seforim explain:  "Lo yachel devaro," do not make one's speech chulin, mundane and profane; "K'chol ha'yotzei m'piv ya'aseh," and if so, G-d will carry out what you ask and speak of before Him. 

"Vayavei Yosef es dibasam ra'ah el avihem," Yosef's evil speech about his brothers brought us through Braishis into the galus of Sefer Shmos.  The Bnos Tzelofchad describe their father as "meis bamidbar," which the midrash explains as a reference to dibur, speech -- he may have been one of the misonenim or mislonenim (see Ksav v'Kabbalah).  And to some degree it was speech, the words of the Mergalim, that did in the entire dor hamidbar, the generation of (corrupt) speech.  Now we have his descendents, the generation who was redeemed and now stands to inherit Eretz Yisrael, being described as, "Kein Bnos Tzelofchad dovros...," Kein mateh Bnei Yosef dovrim..." (36:5 - see Tiferes Shlomo).  The speech of Yosef that led Klal Yisrael into galus is now validated by Moshe and G-d.

cantonists?! -- reality check needed

The headline on Arutz-7 yesterday had a slogan taken from the chareidi protest against the implementation of a draft on yeshiva students: "We will not be cantonists of the 'shilton ha'rasha'."

This is beyond absurd. Cantonists were Jewish boys conscripted by the Czar against their will in their early teens and forced to serve in the army for as long as 25 years. They were not afforded an opportunity to have a Jewish education and army life broke their will and robbed them of the ability to properly observe Torah and mitzvos.  This is what the chareidim are comparing Tzahal to?  The country that provides them with the freedom and protection (and financial subsidy) to open yeshivos and learn Torah is a 'shilton ha'rasah'?

Some folks need a reality check. 

a rising tide lifts all boats

1. Ralbag and Abarbanel offer an alternate explanation to that of Rashi (that we discussed Friday) as to why the parshiyos of korbanos musafim are juxtaposed with Moshe's impending death and his request to appoint a new leader. Moshe made nevuah look easy, so to speak. Not only was he personally always prepared to receive nevuah, but like a great sports player, he elevated the game of those around him. Once Moshe passed on, Klal Yisrael needed a replacement for his presence to aid them in attaining prophecy. Korbanos served as that aid.  

On Friday I wrote that the single word that sums up the the lesson of korbanos is sacrifice. My wife said the single word should be kurvah - closeness to Hashem. Her suggestion fits nicely with this approach of Ralbag/Abarbanel.

I would like to borrow this idea of korbanos serving as a substitute for Moshe and formulate it a little differently. Sometimes when a great leader passes on there is a transference of veneration from the leader's personality to an object associated with him or a place associated with him. For example, the followers of R' Nachman have attached themselves to a place, Uman, since their Rebbe is no more.    The Torah in Parshas Pinchas is setting up a transference of this sort. Klal Yisrael's 's attention is being shifted from Moshe. the person. to Mikdash. the place. While Moshe was alive the address to turn to for all spiritual needs was Moshe Rabeinu's door. The Torah is giving Klal Yisrael a new address to turn to -- the Mikdash.

2. On Friday I mentioned that the Shem m'Shmuel understood the parsha of korbanos as a means of fostering unity among Klal Yisrael -- before you can have one leader you first need to have one people.  Perhaps this message was especially necessary given the surrounding context.  Parshas Pinchas opens with a recounting of all the families in Klal Yisrael. We then read about the distribution of nachalah in Eretz Yisrael, also done by family and sheiveit (see Rashi, Ramban).  Given the stress on allegiance to family and sheivet, the Torah had to reiterate that there is a higher level of allegiance to the nation as a whole.

korbanos - prelude to leadership

Once again I am short of time, but I hate to leave a parsha with nothing said beforehand, so here's something quick and maybe more next week.  Why does the Torah juxtapose Moshe's request of Hashem to appoint a new leader with the parshiyos of the korbanos?  Rashi quotes from Chazal that the parshiyos of korbanos were part of Hashem's response.  "Before commanding me about my children," said Hashem to Moshe, "Command my children to obey me."

Why korbanos?  If the idea was simply to remind Bnei Yisrael of their obligation to Hashem, wouldn't any parsha or mitzvah do?

When Hashem answered Moshe, He was not trying to change the subject -- i.e. let's talk about korbanos, what you owe Me, before we talk about leadership and what I can do for you -- but rather Hashem was in fact directly responding to Moshe's request to appoint a leader.  Hashem was telling Moshe that before He can fulfill Moshe's request to appoint a new leader who is palatable to *all* the people, Moshe must first reinforce the idea of the parshas hakorbanos.  The theme of all korbanos in a single word is (k'shemo kein hu) "sacrifice." 600,000 people will by definition have 600,000 different ideas of what the perfect leader should be like.  If every single person felt that "it's my way or no way," there is no one person who could possibly take charge. There had to be sacrifice.  Everyone had to give a little bit.

The weakness with this idea of mine is that from reading Rashi you get the impression that Yehoshua was somehow able to meet everyone's expectations in the fullest sense, without anyone having to budge from their conception of the ideal.  The Shem m'Shmuel takes a slightly different approach that avoids this problem.  He focuses on the daily korban tamid which consisted of sheep.  Why are sheep the staple, the bedrock korban upon which all others are added?  Chazal say that just as sheep have one voice, so too Klal Yisrael act as one unit.  In other words, when sheep are out in the pasture, you never find that one sheep heads in one direction and another sheep wanders off in the other direction.  There is no concept of "Im ha'smol v'aymina, v'im ha'ymin v'asmi'ila," among sheep.  One sheep never says to his fellow sheep, "You head right and I'll head left so we don't cross paths."  No -- the whole chevrah moves together.  All the sheep head to the right, and then all the sheep in the flock head to the left.  That's how Klal Yisrael is supposed to act -- we are one unit.  And we get a reminder twice a day, once in the morning, once in the afternoon, when those sheep are offered in the Mikdash. Hashem was telling Moshe Rabeinu that the only way you can have one leader is if you first have one people.  Reinforce the idea of korbanos, reinforce the idea of unity among Klal Yisrael, create a shared purpose and shared mission, and then I, Hashem, can provide someone who will help bring that purpose and mission to fruition through his leadership.

We can now understand, writes the Shem m'Shmuel in the name of his father, the Sochotchover, what we read a few weeks ago in Parshas Korach, when Moshe Rabeinu, in response to Korach's rebellion, asked that Hashem disregard and reject the rebel's portion in the daily korban tamid (see the post on that topic here).  Machlokes is by definition antithetical to the spirit of unity which the korban tamid represented --there can be no notion of a korban tzibur, no communal korban, if there exists no shared sense of community.

R' Tzadok and others note that the reading of the parsha of korbanos always coincides with this period when we mourn the loss of the Beis haMikdash.  Perhaps the reading of korbanos is not simply a reminder of the service that took place in the Mikdash, but is a reminder of the spirit of achdus that is necessary if we are to be zoche to once again see a Mikdash rebuilt.

the gate of tears is never closed

1. The Torah tells us that the end of Parshas Balak that those leaders who had been involved in the znus at Shitim were killed and hung, "V'hoka osam l'Hashem neged hashemesh." (25:4) The Targum Yonasan explains the words "neged hashemesh," opposite the sun, mean that the bodies were left up only until the end of the day and then buried. The Torah alludes here to the prohibition of halanas ha'meis, delaying burial, given in detail later in Sefer Devarim (Devaim 21:23): "Lo talin nivlaso al ha'eitz ki kavor tikbirenu ba'yom ha'hu," those who are hung after death by skilah must be taken down at nightfall and buried.

I think the plainer sense of "neged ha'shemesh" is that the hanging should be done in public -- it is a spectacle. The Seforno sees a moral lesson here.

שֶׁיִּרְאוּ הָעָם אֶת הֲרִיגַת עובְדֵי עֲבודָה זָרָה וְלא יִמְחוּ, וּבָזֶה יְכֻפַּר לָהֶם עַל שֶׁלּא מִיחוּ בַּפּושְׁעִים.

Bnei Yisrael were guilty of failing to protest the public desecration of G-d's name by their leaders, who took Midyanaite women in full view of everyone. By Bnei Yisrael stifling any public outcry against the hanging of those same leaders, done in full view of everyone, they corrected their prior misdeed.

The Seforno is interesting because we usually think of the tikun of a cheit as coming about through the *opposite* behavior as the original wrong. For example, a thief who takes that which is not his can correct the cheit by returning the object to its rightful owner. I would have thought that the tikun of the cheit of failing to speak out when circumstances demanded it could come about only by *speaking out* when similar circumstances arose. We see from the Seforno a different type of tikun: The same midah of silence that had contributed to the crime now was being used in a positive way, as the people suffered silently as punishment was meted out.

2. When Zimri ben Salu, the leader of the tribe of Shimon, took Kozbi, the princess of Midyan, in public, right in front of Moshe, the people, including Moshe, were paralyzed. "Heima bochim pesach Ohel Moed," (25:6); the Torah tells us that the people stood weeping at the entrance to the Ohel Moed. The focus of the story then shifts, as we read of Pinchas' dramatic act of vigilante justice. It seems that Moshe and Bnei Yisrael were written out of the story, and if not for Pinchas, all was lost.

That's not what happened at all, says the Beis Yisrael of Ger. Chazal tell us that even when all the gates of prayer are closed, the sha'arei dema'os, the gate of tears, remains open. "Heima bochim," the tears of Bnei Yisrael, is the prelude and in fact the catalyst for what happens next. It was those tears that caused Pinchas to remember the halacha that everyone else forgot and to take action. "Vayakam m'toch ha'eidah," Pinchas sprang into action not *from* the eidah, but *because* of the eidah -- because of their tears of tefilah.

the conclusion of the bracha of aneinu on fast days

The Shulchan Aruch (O.C. 566) writes that the bracha of aneinu added on fast days concludes with the words, "Ki atah Hashem ha'oneh b'eis tzarah l'amo Yisrael." The Vilna Gaon on the spot comments that in our gemara and in the Rambam the text of the bracha is missing the final two words and concludes, "...Ha'oneh b'eis tzarah." This is the nusach found in our siddurim as well. (It would be interesting to research early siddurim and gemaras and see if historically the two nuscha'os are both represented.)

The Aruch haShulchan is convinced that the nusach found in the SA is correct and goes so far as to say that the siddurim should be amended to match. His reasoning is as follows: If you look at the conclusion of other brachos that surround aneinu, they all mention Yisrael in their conclusion -- "Rofei cholei amo yisrael," "Go'el yisrael." Why should aneinu be any different?
I'm a little confused. While it's true that the two brachos he uses as examples end with references toYisrael, many of the other brachos nearby don't, e.g. "Chonein hada'as," "Harotzeh b'teshuvah," Chanun hamarbeh lisloa'ach." We don't say, "Harotzeh b'teshuvas Amo Yisrael," or "Chanun ha'marbeh lisloach l'Am Yisrael." Perhaps aneinu was written to match the pattern of these brachos.

This of course begs the question of why some brachos like refa'einu end with a reference to Klal Yisrael and other brachos do not. I don't have a good answer -- maybe one of you has an idea?

you can't put the genie back in the bottle or the talking donkey back in the barn

Yesh lachkor: Is a talking donkey like Bilam had still a donkey, just one with special talents, or is it a different animal entirely -- maybe we shouldn't even call it an animal at all?


The Midrash tells us that after letting it have its say Hashem killed Bilam's donkey.  There are two reasons given: 1) So that people would not start worshiping this "magical" donkey; 2) For kavod habriyos of Bilam, so that people should not say this is the donkey that bested him.  The Midrash compares this to the din that requires killing an animal used for znus, because so long as the animal is alive people will continue to speak of the perverted act done by Ploni with it.


The Be'er Yosef questions the comparison drawn by the Medrash.  In the case of the animal used for znus, there was an aveira the animal and its master are associated with.  What aveira did the donkey of Bilam do? It was doing the mitzvah of acting as Hashem's agent to speak to Bilam!


He suggests that the lesson taken from the case of znus is that the criminal suffers enough by being killed; additional embarrassment suffered after death by having the stain of the crime perpetuated by the animal remaining alive is excessive punishment.  So too, as wicked as Bilam was, he suffered enough by being publicly humiliated that one time by his donkey.  or the donkey to remain alive and serve as a reminder to all of what occurred is beyond the degree of punishment he deserved.  Hashem metes out punishment precisely -- not one jot beyond what is deserved is given.


(According to Chazal, Bilam was actually guilty of bestiality.  According to that view, the comparison to the case of znus perhaps fits in a literal sense.)


The Be'er Yosef goes on to suggest his own answer as to why the donkey had to die.  Once the donkey was given the ability to speak, it simply could not go back to being a donkey.  A creature that can communicate with words and express ideas doesn't belong in a barn or pulling a wagon.  Better a quick death than a life like that.


Does this mean that a donkey that can speak is no longer a donkey?  It is transformed into a different being and can therefore not revert to its old self?


Perhaps the Be'er Yosef does not mean the metziyus of what the donkey was changed, but rather the point is psychological.  Even if the reality is that the donkey remains a donkey, psychologically such an animal will no longer be capable of simply following orders and carrying burdens like before.  Once a higher dimension of reality is experienced, it becomes impossible to simply sink back to the same drudgery as before.

Perhaps this is the meaning behind the famous gemara (Nida 31) that a baby is taught the entire Torah in the womb and is then made to forget it before birth.  What's the point of learning Torah only to be forced to forget it?  The answer is that even if the Torah is removed, the impression of being capable of mastering Torah, the roshem of being a ben Torah, remains.  Just like a donkey that experienced speech cannot simply go back to being an ordinary donkey, a neshoma that has tasted such lofty heights of Torah must inevitably be a different person out of the womb that a neshoma that has never tasted such delights. 

For centuries and centuries during the upcoming weeks we have mourned the destruction of the Beis haMikdash.  How and why do we keep it up?  Why can't we just forget the past and move on?  The answer is that once tasted, the memory of the Mikdash lingers.  Just as Bilam's donkey could not simply go back to being a donkey after, once we as a a nation experienced life with a Beis haMikdash we can never forget and never go back to life without one. 

nothing to fear -- not even Og

Before the battle against Og, Moshe Rabeinu was given an unprecedented pep talk by Hashem and was told not to fear Og. While the size and strength of Og certainly (as described later in Devarim) might have given Moshe cause for concern, the success of the campaign waged against the equally mighty Sichon begs the question of why Moshe thought he had more to fear this time around.  

Abarbanel suggests that given the defeat of Sichon, Og's perception of the threat Bnei Yisrael posed was that much more real, hence he was apt to fight that much harder. In the battle with Sichon, the Torah writes, "vaye'esof.. ya'yezitzi," that Sichon first had to rally the people together and prime them for battle before heading out to war. However, when it was Og's turn, the Torah just says "vayeizei" -- the people were already primed for war (Netziv).  

Rashi citing Midrash takes a different approach. It was not Og's physical might which Moshe feared, but rather it was his spiritual merit. Rashi identifies Og as the "palit," the refugee from the battle of the five kings against four who came to report to Avraham that Lot had been captured (Braishis 14:13). Since Og went out of his way for Avraham, he was deserving of reward for his effort. Many meforshim point out that Rashi in Braishis writes that Og had ulterior motives for his actions. Og hoped that Avraham would be killed in battle and he would then be able to marry Sarah. Isn't that a contradiction -- what kind of reward does pushing someone into war to die deserve?!  



One could argue that indeed, Og did not deserve any reward.  Moshe did not have a window into Og's inner thought and motivation and therefore mistakingly thought that Og had been sincere in his actions.  G-d, who knew Og's true motivation in coming to Avraham, revealed to Moshe that in truth Og had no merit to rely on and there was nothing to fear.  The Tzeidah laDerech acknowledges that this reading of Rashi is a "chochma gedolah," it's pretty sharp, but it ultimately it's not fulfilling.  We see that Og must have had some special merit given that he lived for centuries, from the time of Avraham until Moshe (according to other views he actually survived the Mabul - see Nidah 61). Og's long life was the schar pesiyos, the reward for his footsteps in running to Avraham when Lot was taken.  Even if his intentions were impure, Hashem still rewarded Og for the positive that came out of his deeds.  With this background we can understand what the gemara (Brachos) means when it tells us that Moshe chopped at Og's ankle with an ax.  Why the ankle?  Because the foot represents these schar pesiyos Og had earned.


What is amazing is that the reward for those footsteps, no matter how evil the intent behind them, was enough to worry Moshe even given the tremendous zechuyos of his own and of Klal Yisrael which stood on the other side of the scale.  How to understand that is beyond me.  My only thought is that perhaps the lesson Moshe took away from Og's life is that G-d uses even the sinister intentions of evildoers to accomplish his plans.  Whatever the selfish reason Og had for arousing Avraham to go to war, ultimately the result was the rescue of Lot and a kiddush Hashem.   Perhaps Moshe began to question the need to wage war against Og, or even against any nation.  True, these evildoers may intend harm against Klal Yisrael, but just as he did before to Og, can G-d not somehow turn around even the most evil plots and intentions so that good emerges from them?  If bnei banav of the wicked can end of learning Torah in yeshiva somewhere, how can we justufy destroying them?  G-d's message to Moshe was that these cheshbonos are his alone, but our mission is to eradicate evil when we see it.

The Zohar interestingly gives Og a bit more credit and writes that Og accepted the mitzvah of bris milah along with Avraham.  Based on this, pshat in the following pasuk is a little different than we are used to:
 וַיָּבֹא, הַפָּלִיט, וַיַּגֵּד, לְאַבְרָם הָעִבְרִי; וְהוּא שֹׁכֵן בְּאֵלֹנֵי מַמְרֵא הָאֱמֹרִי, אֲחִי אֶשְׁכֹּל וַאֲחִי עָנֵר, וְהֵם, בַּעֲלֵי בְרִית-אַבְרָם
It was not Avraham, but it was Og who was "shochein b'Alonei Mamrei," and it as Og as well who was one of the "ba'alei bris Avraham."  


The upshot of this whole discussion is that there are strengths and weaknesses to both the pshat approach of the Abarbanel and the Midrashic approach of Rashi.  According to Abarbanel we need not resort to extra-textual explanations of Moshe's fear, but it is harder to explain what made Og different than Sichon.  According to Rashi, Og had merits that Sichon lacked, but it's hard to understand why those merits would cause Moshe such fear.

Ralbag on what Miriam's death meant

The episode of Mei Meriva appears in the Torah immediately after the death of Miriam.   Rashi quotes from Chazal that these two episodes are related.  There was a well which traveled through the desert with Bnei Yisrael and provided them with water in Miriam's merit.  When she died, the well vanished. This led to Bnei Yisrael's demanding water, which Moshe made some error in fulfilling Hashem's plan to deliver, and hence he lost the right to enter Eretz Yisrael.  Ralbag writes that even if we put aside the Midrashic explanation that Miriam was responsible for the well, there is still a relationship between the parshiyos, one that I think runs even deeper than the one Rashi suggests.  Ralbag explains that had Miriam been alive, her leadership would have helped temper the riotous uprising of the people -- the demand for water would have never reached the feverish pitch that it did.  Miriam's death meant not simply the loss of a well, but it meant the loss of someone who could provide direction to Klal Yisrael.  (I don't think there is anything wrong with suggesting that there may have been some special quality that her specifically feminine leadership provided which was now lacking.)  He then goes on to suggest an even bigger chiddush, that had Miriam been alive, as a prophetess and older sister of both Moshe and Aharon, she would have undoubtedly been consulted by them before they took action to fulfill Hashem's command to speak to (or hit, as they misunderstood) the rock and provide water.  Had Moshe and Ahaon had had the advantage of her counsel, they would not have erred and been punished had we would have been led into Eretz Yisrael by these three giants.  Quite a mouthful -- Moshe Rabeinu, the greatest of prophets, still benefited from the advice of Miriam!  Looking back a few parshiyos, I think we can now even better appreciate the spirit in which Miriam spoke out against Moshe's separation from Tziporah.  She was fulfilling the all important role of providing counsel to her brother Moshe, counsel which he could benefit from even if he was a greater prophet than her.  

any rock will do

I'm very short of time and want to get this in before Shabbos, so apologies in advance for not doing justice to the topic.  In the second hakdamah to Gevuros Hashem the Maharal attacks the wrong ideology of certain philosophers (I assume it's Aristotle that he has in mind) who dismiss the whole notion of miracles as impossible. These philosophers reasoned that the laws of nature are a necessary condition of the existance of the universe, e.g. the universe as we know it would not exist if certain laws of chemistry or certain physical constants were not in place.  G-d cannot break these laws without the entire universe coming to a halt.

Maharal responds by arguing that, "Just as there is an order to nature, so too there is an order to the miraculous." (The Sefas Emes on Pesach quotes this line a number of times.) Miracles do not twist or break the laws of the universe because miracles themselves are built into the fabric of nature. In addition to the law of gravity, Planck's constant, etc, there are other laws like the fact that a Yam can split when the existance of the Jewish people is in jeapordy.  Maharal goes on to say that miracles are few and far between because the "law," or seder, of miracles demands that certain very specific conditions be in place for them to occur.  The time and place must be exactly right to be ripe for a miracle.
 
I could not help but think of this Maharal when looking at the episode of Mei Meriva in our parsha.  Hashem told Moshe to take his staff and bring water from a rock.  Rashi writes that Moshe began looking around for the specific rock which he identified as the one Hashem intended him to use, but that rock had become mixed in with other boulders.  Bnei Yisrael did not know what was going on -- if Hashem is going to do a miracle, they asked, what difference does it make which rock the water comes from.  Moshe responded, "Hamin ha'selah ha'zeh..." -- "Can this rock produce water?" (20:10)  Even when it comes to miracles, not all rocks are the same!
 
In other words, Moshe's response was that there is a seder and order to miracles as well.  It's not that Hashem haphazardly breaks the laws of nature, but rather that built into certain times, places, objects, is the ability to do wonderous things under the right conditions.  Therefore, you need exactly the right rock.
 
But it's apparently not so simple, because there is a beautiful torah of the Ishbitzer that teaches us the maskana.  He writes that Hashem's denying Moshe the right to enter Eretz Yisrael was not really a punishment, but was a midah k'neged midah that fit the crime.  Based on how history should unfold, based on the the "seder" of how events should happen, it could only be Yehoshua who could lead Klal Yisrael into Eretz Yisrael.  So how could Moshe even have a hava amina to ask Hashem that he should take the people into the land?  Because, says the Ishbitzer, Moshe Rabeinu said to Hashem once you are making miracles, once you are doing wonderous things beyond the seder of nature so that Klal Yisrael can conquer the land, does it really have to only be Yehoshua?  Once you throw seder out the window and are doing miracles, can't you let me, Moshe, lead the people even if that too is beyond the normal seder of what should be?
 
"Dear Moshe Rabeinu," says Hashem, "Hamin ha'sela ha'zeh?"  Remember how you responded to my people when they said asked you why you needed a specific rock -- once you throw seder out the window and rely on miracles, can't Hashem just do anything with any rock?  How those words come back to haunt!
 
Sure, there are laws that govern nature.  There are even laws and a seder to miracles.  But it's not these laws themselves which are obstacles -- it's the belief that there is nothing higher than those laws that boxes a person in.  You can spend a lifetime searching for just the right rock, the right yeshiva, the right neighborhood, the right shul, thinking only that rock and that rock only will bring mayim chaim into your life.  If that's really what you think, than Hashem will respond accordingly and you won't find bracha till you somehow find that rock.  But once you believe water can come from a rock, once you believe that the life of a Jew is a wonderous miracle anyway, why not believe that it's not the rock that matters, but it's the belief in the One who provides the water?  Then, anything is possible.

al teifen el minchasam -- throwing the baby out with the bathwater

Why would Moshe ask Hashem, "Al teifen el minchasam" -- were Dasan and Aviram or Korach going to offer a korban mincha?


Rashi writes that Moshe was asking Hashem to not count Dasan and Aviram's portion of the korban tamid, which was a korban tzibur. (It seems from this Rashi that the korban tzibur was a type of large shutfus, a partnership among all members of Klal Yisrael, such that an individual share could be excluded. See Ramban at the beginning of VaYikra who discusses whether this is indeed the case, or whether a tzibur is a whole that transcends its individual parts and cannot be sliced and diced.) 


Ramban takes a more expansive view and writes that Moshe was asking that Hashem not accept any offering or respond to any tefilah from Korach's lot.  Why should the fact that these evildoers happened to be engaged in a rebellion against Moshe automatically negate the value of their korbanos?  If someone, for example, does not keep Shabbos properly, who are we to ask G-d not to accept that person's tefilah should they come to shul?  The difference is, explains Ramban, that the korbanos here would serve as a means to further rebellion.  What better way to demonstrate the valdity of a "kehunah for all" popularist rebellion than to lead the masses is offering korbanos without the aid of Aharon or his family?  Unfortunately, the baby must be thrown out with the bathwater when the validation of good behavior might be misinterpreted (or where it is deliberately used as a means of fostering the misinterpretation) as validation of other wrong behaviors.  This point has practical relavance in other contexts, e.g. can we work together with members of other "movements" of Judaism to achieve shared aims, and if we do, how do we ensure that cooperation in one context is not taken as a broader tacit approval of everything those movements represent?  Where do you draw the line?


Seforno goes a step further and writes that Moshe asked that Hashem not accept even korbanos Korach's camp may have offered for the sake of achieving kaparah.  Avodah can help achieve repentance in the realm of bein adam la'Makom, but sins bein adam l'chaveiro require asking and receiving mechilah on the part of the one who was wronged.  Moshe was not willing to let Korach's lot off with a korban offering alone when it was he as well as G-d who was wronged.  I was a bit taken aback by this Seforno.  Would Moshe callously deny mechila?  I think the point here is that Korach's rebellion at heart was aimed at separating adherence to G-d from adherence to Moshe's leadership.  We're all good Jews, preached Korach, and so why should we bow to Moshe's leadership?  The only way to undo Korach's false ideology is to acknowledge that no kapparah is possible -- no korbanos are acceptable -- so long as Moshe, G-d's chosen leader, is shut out.  The bein adam laMakom is inseperable from the bein adam l'chaveiro of accepting Moshe's authority.

Finally, my favorite reading of this difficult pasuk is found in Ralbag, who suggests that it is not a request by Moshe, but simply a statement of fact -- if those who join with Korach pray that G-d help their cause, G-d will not respond to those tefilos.  You cannot daven for G-d's help to achieve an unjust or improper cause -- it just won't work.  I seem to recall that the gemara says that even a thief offers tefilah on the threshold of the home he is breaking into.  We seem to think that prayer is just another part of the effort required to get what we really want.  The thief wants his money, Korach's wanted kehunah, we all want something, and we put those wants into tefilah.  What the Ralbag is reminding us is that tefilah works only as an expression of our ethical consciousness -- we pray to bring G-d into the world to make it a better place, not to satisfy our own selfish needs. 

korach -- religious reformer or political opportunist?

The question of how to judge the motive(s) and sincerity of Korach's rebellion I think depends in large measure on the machlokes between Ramban and Ibn Ezra as to when the rebellion took place. If one takes the view of Ibn Ezra that the rebellion took place immediately after the first born were replaced by Levi'im and Kohanim -- i.e. chronologically the parsha of Korach occurred immediately after cheit ha'eigel -- then perhaps there was a certain sincere religious motivation to the revolt. Coming so close to ma'mad Har Sinai where the entire nation was told that they were a "mamleches kohanim," the displacement of the bechorim and the creation of a tiered system of Levi'im and Kohanim as exclusively responsible for avodah, with Aharon, the very person who crafter the eigel, as kohen gadol, would create an understandable feeling of frustration. That is not to say that Korach was correct -- simply that the position of those involved becomes more understandable and that perhaps there was a degree of idealism that motivated them.


According to Ramban, the story of Korach occurred chronologically after the meraglim episode. Korach waited to act until Moshe's power was weakest. The people had just suffered the setbacks of the punishment of the misonenim, kovros ha'ta'avah, the meraglim and the decree that they would not enter Eretz Yisrael, they had just heard the prophecy of Eldad and Meidad that Moshe would die in the desert with them -- the time was ripe of revolt. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I don't think an idealist concerned only with religious reform would engage in such political calculations before making his move.

Dasan and Aviram or Bnei Eliav -- what a difference it makes!

The Kozhiglover explains that Korach had tremendous hislahavus in his avodas Hashem and therefore felt that Moshe's leadership was unnecessary.  Does the presence of one string of techeiles really make a difference when the entire talis is made of techeiles?  What Korach did not realize is that all his hislahavus and all the great avodah of those who stuck with him was due not to their own efforts and ability alone, but was due to their being in the presence of the tzadik hador Moshe Rabeinu.  It was the one string of techeiles that elevated the rest of the talis. 

We once discussed the Maharal's beautiful approach to Rashi's comment that Ya'akov requested that he not be mentioned in recounting the lineage of Korach. Rav Shach in his sefer on chumash writes more plainly that what Rashi means is that Ya'akov davened that he not be assigned any portion of blame for Korach's behavior. The Torah takes the position that certainly parents, but even grandparents and great-grandparents and generations back share in the responsibility for how the next generation turns out. Ya'akov did not want it said that somehow he did not put in enough effort in the chinuch of his children, which in turn led to a Korach generations later.  This despite the fact that any minor mistake Ya'akov might have made (and we are speaking of Ya'akov Avinu, so the mistake would be subtle and very minor if there was one at all) had no effect at all on Levi, his son, as Levi himself was a tzadik and had children who were tzadikim. Apparently a minor mistake that is invisible one generation may resound many generation later in ways we might never imagine.

We see a similar idea in a positive vein as well. In an effort to quell the machlokes Moshe sought out Dasan and Aviram. "Vayishlach Moshe likro l'Dasan vaAviram bnei Elieav vayomru lo na'aleh." (16:12) Why does the Torah here make reference to Dasan and Aviram's father, "bnei Eliav" -- we already know from the first pasuk in the parsha who their father was?  R' Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, the Apta Rav, in his Ohev Yisrael writes that Moshe was trying to find some way to turn Dasam and Aviram to good.  Rather than fight them head on, he appealed to their "shoresh ha'neshoma," he went back to their roots.  He reads the pasuk as follows: "Vayishlach Moshe," Moshe sent, "Likro l'Dasan v'Aviram," to call Dasan and Aviram not by their usual names, but by a different name --  "Bnei Elieav," "Children of Elieav." Moshe invoked the name of their saintly father. 
 
We can understand this without getting into any mystical ideas.  The names Dasan and Aviram were on  most wanted posters, so to speak.  They already were laden with the baggage of a lifetime of sin.  Moshe had to remind Dasan and Aviram that they were not born that way.  They were once Bnei Elieav, the name Eli-Av being a contraction of K-li / Av, Hashem is my Father.  Their neshoma came from very holy roots, and they therefore had within them the potential for greateness and tzidkus -- if only they would acknowledge those roots.  Moshe said, "I'm not calling you Dasan and Aviram anymore, because you are not really those bad guys everyone is talking about.  You are really 'Bnei Eliav,' holy righteous Jews. 
 
Unfortuantely, Dasan and Aviram's response was, "Lo na'aleh."  We are not interesting in being elevated by your speech about the greatness of our lineage, the greatness of our neshoma. 
 
There are teachers who I have heard always refer to students as this tzadik'l or that tzadik'l, when most of us would be tempted to call the same kids little monsters.  The message is the same -- other people might call them Dasan and Aviram's, but deep down, their real name just might be tzadik'l.
 
And so we come full circle.  Korach, as the Koshiglover explains, viewed his achievements as isolated from outside influence.  Dasan and Aviram refused to allow the past lineage of their family, their neshomos noble roots, to influence their destiny -- they refused a name that connected with their family's past greatness.  The musar haskel, as we learn from Ya'akov's tefilah, is what tremendous influence we indeed have over others, in particular over our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, as every deed reveberates and impacts genrations to come.

40 day cram session

The gemara writes that midah tovah outweighs punishment by a scale of 500 to 1. Chazal illustrate the point from the fact that in the merit of Miriam having waited just a few moments to see that her baby brother Moshe was safe, the entire nation of Bnei Yisrael waited two weeks while Miriam overcame her leprosy . Tosfos (Sota 11a) is bothered by the apparent contradiction to this rule from the story of the meraglim. For every one day that the meraglim spent scouting out Eretz Yisrael, Klal Yisrael had to spend an entire year in the desert. That's not much different than the 500 to 1 ratio of midah tovah.


Tosfos in the end does not answer the question (see Maharasha), but the Sefas Emes offers a response (I did not find this in the Sefas Emes but saw it quoted in the Beis Yisrael). In reality, al pi derech hateva, Klal Yisrael should have had to spend 40 years in the desert. It should have taken that long for them to develop as a nation and be ready to deal with the challenges of yishuv ha'aretz. Hashem, however, wanted to do Klal Yisrael a favor and cram those 40 years of preparation into only 40 days. If only the meraglim had brought back a positive report and Klal Yisrael would have responded appropriately, job over! Since they didn't, they had to face reality and do the job the long way. The 40 years therefore were not an onesh -- they were simply the way things should have been if not extra special chassadim.


Says the Sefas Emes, once Klal Yisrael figured out over 40 years the tikun that was necessary and realized the mistake they had made, the power to effect the same result in only 40 days as originally planned became part of the collective spiritual yerusha of Klal Yisrael. We now know what needs to be done and can do it the quick way. Every year during these 40 days, from the beginning of Tamuz until 9 Av, we have a chance to do it right this time around. 

ishbitzer on nesachim and challah

The story of the mergalim is immediately followed by the parsha of nesachim and the parsha of mitzvas challah, both of which seem out of place here. Nesachim would seem to fit better somewhere in VaYikra, or perhaps in Parshas Pinchas where the nisachim of korbanos hachag are discussed. Challah seems to fit in with terumos and ma'asros, not here. So why does the Torah choose this place to discuss these halachos?

Ramban adopts the view (it is a machlokes Tanaim) that nesachim were only offered in Eretz Yisrael.  Based on this he explains that the Torah here is reassuring Bnei Yisrael that despite the setback of having to spend 40 years in the desert, they will ultimately get to Eretz Yisrael. The same idea holds true of challah, which is the only agricultural-type mitzvah that applies immediately upon entering Eretz Yisrael, even before the land is conquered and divided.

Even though the Ramban himself doesn't say it, I think there is a connection between nesachim and a Ramban earlier in the parsha. What did Moshe Rabeinu hope to gain by sending meraglim? Surely Moshe believed that Eretz Yisrael was a land of "zvas chalav u'devash," and no matter what the report, he intended to lead Bnei Yisrael to Eretz Yisrael. So what did he hope to gain? Ramban explains that Moshe Rabeinu was fully confident that the spies  would bring back a glowing report of Eretz Yisrael. The description of the land's beauty would serve to heighten Bnei Yisrael's enthusiasm for the task of kibush and yishuv ha'aretz.  Moshe wanted Bnei Yisrael to not just enter the land, but to do so b'simcha, with hislahavus.  [Obvious lesson of how important how a mitzvah is done is.]

The Midrash darshens the pasuk in Koheles (9:7), "Leich echol b'simcha lachmecha u'shtei b'lev tov ye'einecha ki kvar ratzah ha-Elokin es ma'asecha," as referring to our parsha. The lechem the pasuk refers to is challah; the wine the pasuk refers to is nesachim; both showed that Hashem still desired the avodah of Klal Yisrael despite the cheit hameraglim. In light of the Ramban, I think the key words here are "simcha" and "lev tov." Even though the attempt to inject simcha and hislahavus into the mitzvah of kibush ha'aretz ultimately resulted in the entire miztvah being lost for a generation, that doesn't mean these values carry no weight.  It doesn't mean we should push aside emotion lest it disrupt or cause the loss of the ikar mitzvah.  Echol b'simcha.. shtei b'yein tov -- don't throw the baby out with the bathwater.

The Ishbitzer has such a classic Ishbitzer torah (no other way to describe it) here. The pasuk in Koheles refers first to lechem and then to wine. Why then does our parsha first introduce the mitzvah of nesachim, wine, and only secondly present the halachos of challah, bread, the reverse order of the pasuk in Koheles?

The difference between bread and wine is that wine takes little effort to produce -- the juice is already there inside the grape. Bread, however, takes enormous effort to produce. You have to harvest the wheat, mill it, turn the flour to dough, bake the dough, etc. There are a whole host of melachos on Shabbos that we derive from the numerous steps in the process of producing bread. Bread is symbolic of yiras shamayim -- a person has to work on him/herself day in and day out to maintain yirah, and certainly to grow in yirah. It's not an easy task. Wine is symbolic of the connection each and every one of us has b'omek halev to Hashem, a connection that can never be extinguished or destroyed,a connection which is there whether we work on it and want it to be there or whether we ignore it.

Under ordinary circumstances, bread precedes wine. A person has to first grapple with the challenge of building his/her yiras shamayim, but after all that grappling, the end result is that a person realizes that all along they were connected to Hashem b'omek halev -- it was always like wine. But sometimes that doesn't work -- sometimes a person is so down and out that the prospect of engaging in the avodah of lechem is overwhelming; it's too daunting, it seems beyond anything a person is capable of. In that case, you have to start with the avodah of wine. You need to remind a person that no matter how far he/she has fallen, b'omek halev there is still a connection.  Beneath the surface, just like the juice inside the grape, the sweetest taste is there already. That chizuk will be the motivation to once again return to making bread, to putting in the effort to grow and come closer through one's own avodah.

After the cheit hameraglim, Bnei Yisrael felt they were the lowest of the low -- they didn't have the strength to go on. The Torah had to first give the parsha of nesachim and remind them that b'omek halev they were and always will be connected to Hashem, and only then remind them of the mitzvah of challah, of the need for great avodah and growth in yirah.

tefilos for the meraglim

The theme of tefilah seems to sneak its way between the lines of the story of the meraglim. Moshe davens for his beloved talmid Yehoshua, which of course begs the question of why he did not daven for anyone else if he smelled danger. Kalev takes a detour to Chevron to daven at the kever of the Avos, and Rashi makes the point that noticably missng are the tefilos of the other meraglim.  And yet there is an even larger component of tefilah hidden in the parsha.

The biggest question, the unavoidable question, that one must grapple with in reading the parsha of the meraglim is what was Moshe Rabeinu thinking. Was there any doubt in his mind that Eretz Yisrael was "eretz zavas chalav u'devash?" Surely not. Yet if the purpose of sending spi was purely to discover the best military strategy, why ask them to scout out whether the land is "shmeina hi im razah," whether, "ha'yesh bah eitz im ayin?"

R' Yehoshua of Belz has an interesting insight that brings us back to a gemara discussed in a post way back in 2006 (link1,link2)If you rent a field with payment being a certain number of bushels from your crop, and you agree to grow wheat (for example), if the whole city suffers a flood you owe nothing -- it's like an implicit act of G-d clause (B.M. 106). However, if instead of the agreed upon crop of wheat you plant barley, even if the entire city gets flooded, you still owe the owner payment. Why? What happened to the built-in act of G-d clause? The gemara answers that the difference in tefilah. If the owner and you agree that you will plant wheat, and despite his davening for nothing to go wrong with that wheat crop the field gets flooded, you are off the hook. But if you plant barley, the owner has a right to come back to you and say that he davened for nothing to go wrong with the wheat crop -- had you lived up to the agreement and planted wheat, maybe in fact nothing would have gone wrong! Because you planted barley, his tefilah accomplished nothing and you have to pay.

I ask you -- if the owner of the field knew you were going to pull a switch and plant barely instead of wheat, don't you think he would want the barley to grow so he could collect his due? Don't you think that had he known, just like he davened for wheat thinking you were planting wheat, he also would also have davened for bracha and hatzlacha for barley? In fact, isn't it implicit in the fact that he davened for wheat thinking his sharecropper was planting wheat that he also wants Hashem's bracha for barley if his sharecropper plants barley? Why does he have to spell out the obvious?!

Yet we see a chiddush gadol from this gemara that in fact you do have to spell things out. If you daven for wheat, you stand to gain a bracha on wheat and wheat alone. If you daven for barley, you stand to gain a bracha on barley alone. Words matter. Tefilah is not Hallmark -- it's not just the thought that counts.

The reason why Moshe wanted precise information about Eretz Yisrael, says the Belzer Rebbe, is because Moshe wanted to daven for Bnei Yisrael's success in the conquest of the land.  Had Moshe and Bnei Yisrael had a wrong impression, their tefilos mght be completely off base and ineffective.  By knowing the nature of the land, they could direct their tefilos like precise missiles.  (True, one could be mechaleik between the case of the gemara, where the tefilos were done for the wrong crop, and Bnei Yisrael's situation where they could have still offered general tefilos, but the point remains that tefilah is enhanced by greater specficity.)

Unfortunately it's late and my keyboard is broken, so maybe I'll come back to this post when I have more time and will tie things up. Al regel achas: Were these tefilos a tnai in the battle of conquest being successful, or perhaps the physical battle was just a tnai in these tefilos coming to fruition?  I think perhaps Moshe sent the spies with the hope that the latter would be true,while unfortunately the meraglim took the former view.  Moshe was aware of the danger of this shift in attitude and therefore he prepared Yehoshua in particular with his tefilos, because it was Yehoshua who already served as general while Moshe stood to the side and davened in the war against Amalek - Yehoshua was the physical arm of the army while Moshe was its spiritual heart.