1) Parshas Shelach opens with a "machlokes" between the majority of scouts and the minority of Kalev and Yehoshua. The majority delivered a report saying the land was unconquerable – the inhabitants were too mighty, the cities too fortified, there were giants living there. Kalev presented the dissenting view – “Aloh na’aleh v’yarashnu osah,” we can go up and conquer. We can imagine the same scene being played out in any number of other contexts: before battle, generals gather, plans are presented, risk are weighed. Do we invade? Can we succeed? It doesn’t matter if we are speaking about Canaan, D-Day, or Fallujah, it’s all the same story.
The debate seems to end with the majority view winning the day, and the people reacting with tears and complaints to Moshe as to why they left Egypt. But the debate was apparently not over. A few pesukim later Yehoshua and Kalev speak up again, saying the land is good, and, “Im chafeitz banu Hashem v’havi osanu el ha’aretz ha’zos… eretz asher hi zavas chalav u’devash.” (15:8) If G-d desires, he can bring us to the land of milk and honey. The generals/scouts had already sat down at the table and debated, assessed, and came to a conclusion. The people had reacted and weighed in as well. What were Yehoshua and Kalev adding? Why did they think these words would carry any more weight than Kalev’s previous impassioned speech?
Shem m’Shmuel explains that they key to Yehoshua and Kalev’s argument is one word – “chafeitz,” desire. You can argue with me from today till tomorrow that vanilla ice cream is better than chocolate, that the Yankees are better than the Mets, that Picasso is better than Rembrandt, but it won’t make any difference. Reason is irrelevant when you are talking about a like, a desire, a cheifetz. This is what I like – I can’t explain why, I can’t justify why, and I don’t need to.
The generals sitting around the table before any battle in history can weigh the merits of “go” vs. “no go, ” but the fight for Eretz Yisrael is different. In this argument, the side arguing “go” always holds the winning trump card because in this argument, it’s not about risk/benefit analyses or tactics or strategy. B’derech ha’teva all those play a role, but only in so far as determining the “how” – not the “if.” At the end of the day, the conquest of Eretz Yisrael is about one thing: “im chafetz banu” – Hashem's desire. Yehosua and Kalev were telling the people that ain hachi nami, based on logic and reason and strategy their argument may appear to be weaker than that of the majority view – they can even concede that part of the debate -- but their point of view is still right, because logic and reason go out the window when the issue is “im chafetz banu Hashem,” what Hashem wants. Even the question of whether or not we deserve it goes out the window.
2) Many meforshim read the parshiyos of mitzvos that follow the cheit ha’meraglim as a response to their sin. Seforno explains that originally, no korbanos needed nesachim. After the cheit ha’eigel, Bnei Yisrael were given the mitzvah of bringing nesachim with korbanos tzibur to make these offerings acceptable. Now, after cheit ha’meraglim, nesachim were needed even with korbanos yachid to make then acceptable.
Shem m’Shmuel sees the nesachim not as a corrective measure for some deficiency or failure, but as an opportunity. Pre-mattan Torah, korbanos did not have the power to include the ingredients of nesachim in their tikun. After mattan-Torah, Hashem gave us a bonus and we were given the privilege of bringing nesachim. Because the tzibur was united, the nesachim of korbanos tzibur worked on behalf of everyone. The cheit ha’meraglim splintered the community and that unity was lost. Therefore, nesachim had to be brought by each individual on his own behalf.
He doesn't spell it out, but it seems that what broke the unity of the nation was the rejection of Eretz Yisrael. One of the defining features of a nation is having a homeland. Since Klal Yisrael rejected Eretz Yisrael, they were reduced to a collection of individuals, a bunch of tribes wandering around together. Erertz Yisrael is the glue that binds us together as one.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Monday, June 27, 2016
B'ha'aloscha: why "nochal" in future tense; kri\kesiv of "anav;" the two meanings of "na"
1) “Zacharnu es ha’dagah asher NOCAL b’Mitzrayim chinam…” (11:5) I saw the following question quoted in R’ Shteinman’s name: why use the word “nochal,” future tense, e.g. “mah NOACHAL ba’shanah hashevi’is…?” (Vayikra 25:20), when we are talking about what was eaten in the past in Mitzrayim? Shouldn’t it be past tense?
I am surprised that none of the meforshim I took a look at dealt with this issue. My wife suggested that Bnei Yisrael here were planning to rebel and turn back to Mitzrayim. The people remembered the good stuff they saw in Egypt, but never could have. Now, with the defeat of Egypt, they anticipated returning and being able to indulge.
2) Moshe is described in our parsha as “ANAV me’od.” (12:3) The word “anav” is a kri/kesiv. The kesiv is without a yud; the kri is with a yud before the final vav. Can someone who knows more about grammar than I do please explain the difference? How is anav without a yud pronounced differently than anav without a yud? (See Minchas Shai)
R’ Bachyei explains that the missing yud is a punishment. When Moshe was about to draw water from the rock to give to Bnei Yisrael in response to their complaints, he said to BN”Y, “Ha’min ha’sela ha’zeh NOTZI lachem mayim?” (Bamidbar 20:12) He should have said “YOTZI,” referring to Hashem. Since Moshe left out the yud there, the yud is missing here – there is a little something missing from the anivus (we are talking about infinitesimal degrees here, not a noticeable chisaron). Apparently even though had not uttered those words yet, the minute pgam was part of his personality at this point (or you could say the Torah is speaking from the perspective of the omniscient reader, as discussed last week.)
3) There is an interesting machlokes between Targum Onkelus and Targum Yonasan as to how to translate Moshe’s tefilah of “K-l NA refa NA lah” (12:13) Targum Yonasan explains both words “na” the same way, as a supplication. Targum Onkelus explains the second “na” as “immediately.” We find this same use in a few other places (see the notes to R’ Cooperman’s edition of the Meshech Chochma). Ibn Ezra explains that the issur of eating the korban pesach “na” means undercooked – it was taken off the fire too quickly. When the malachim come to Sdom, Lot tells them “suru na” and enter his home. He’s not saying “please” to them – he is telling them to rush, because it was dangerous to welcome guests into your home in Sdom. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Artscroll translation of “Ana Hashem hoshi’a na” captures this meaning. We are not just saying, “Please Hashem help us” (as the Koran siddur explains it, but we are asking, as Artscroll translates, “Please Hashem help us NOW.”
I am surprised that none of the meforshim I took a look at dealt with this issue. My wife suggested that Bnei Yisrael here were planning to rebel and turn back to Mitzrayim. The people remembered the good stuff they saw in Egypt, but never could have. Now, with the defeat of Egypt, they anticipated returning and being able to indulge.
2) Moshe is described in our parsha as “ANAV me’od.” (12:3) The word “anav” is a kri/kesiv. The kesiv is without a yud; the kri is with a yud before the final vav. Can someone who knows more about grammar than I do please explain the difference? How is anav without a yud pronounced differently than anav without a yud? (See Minchas Shai)
R’ Bachyei explains that the missing yud is a punishment. When Moshe was about to draw water from the rock to give to Bnei Yisrael in response to their complaints, he said to BN”Y, “Ha’min ha’sela ha’zeh NOTZI lachem mayim?” (Bamidbar 20:12) He should have said “YOTZI,” referring to Hashem. Since Moshe left out the yud there, the yud is missing here – there is a little something missing from the anivus (we are talking about infinitesimal degrees here, not a noticeable chisaron). Apparently even though had not uttered those words yet, the minute pgam was part of his personality at this point (or you could say the Torah is speaking from the perspective of the omniscient reader, as discussed last week.)
3) There is an interesting machlokes between Targum Onkelus and Targum Yonasan as to how to translate Moshe’s tefilah of “K-l NA refa NA lah” (12:13) Targum Yonasan explains both words “na” the same way, as a supplication. Targum Onkelus explains the second “na” as “immediately.” We find this same use in a few other places (see the notes to R’ Cooperman’s edition of the Meshech Chochma). Ibn Ezra explains that the issur of eating the korban pesach “na” means undercooked – it was taken off the fire too quickly. When the malachim come to Sdom, Lot tells them “suru na” and enter his home. He’s not saying “please” to them – he is telling them to rush, because it was dangerous to welcome guests into your home in Sdom. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Artscroll translation of “Ana Hashem hoshi’a na” captures this meaning. We are not just saying, “Please Hashem help us” (as the Koran siddur explains it, but we are asking, as Artscroll translates, “Please Hashem help us NOW.”
Thursday, June 23, 2016
why Moshe was more disturbed by kivros ha'ta'avah than cheit ha'eigel
Following Bnei Yisrael’s complaint about the man, the Torah tells us that, “V’ha’man k’zra gad hu, v’eino k’ein ha’bedolach.” (12:7) Rashi explains that the Torah is telling us how wonderful the man was, showing us just how silly and baseless the complaint of Bnei Yisrael was. In a similar vein the next pasuk tells us that the man could taste like whatever food a person desired. It was an incredible food – the people should have been gobbling it up. The Torah then adds an additional detail. “U’b’redes ha’tal al ha’machaneh layla yeired ha’man alav.” (12:9) The dew would fall at night, and next morning, on top of the dew, there was the man. Unlike the previous pesukim, this pasuk doesn’t seem to be telling us anything incredible about the taste or quality of the man. The dew fell and then man fell – so what? Why mention it here?
Moving on, the Torah tells us that Moshe heard the people crying, each by their own tent, and Hashem was angry, “u’b’eini Moshe ra,” it was bad in Moshe’s eyes. It sounds like until now everything was A-ok, but now Moshe got upset. Why didn’t he get upset right away, when the people started making their baseless complaints? What set him off only now?
Finally, we have Moshe’s incredible speech in which he asks Hashem how he is supposed to handle the burden of such rebellious people. This is the first time Moshe has had such a reaction. If Moshe was able to handle the cheit ha’eigel, why couldn’t he handle this challenge? (R’ Soloveitchik has a great shiur that addresses this question that you can find quoted many places.)
Chasam Sofer explains that it was probably only a people at first who started complaining -- rebellions start with a few vocal people, not a mass uprising. The rest of Bnei Yisrael stood on the sidelines, watching, waiting. What would the reaction to these rabble rousers be? What punishment would they invite? The people woke up the next morning, and incredibly, “u’b’redes ha’tal al ha’machaneh layla yeired ha’man alav,” the dew had fallen, the man had fallen on top of it, and nothing had changed from the day before. The miracle of the man did not cease, the food was not cut off, and life seemed to be the same as always! At that point, things began to snowball. Since there were no consequences, the rebellion expanded. There were now more people involved, “ha’am bocheh l’mishpichosav,” and Hashem was angry at the people as a whole.
What upset Moshe, “b’eini Moshe ra,” was not the rebellion per se – this wasn’t worse than cheit ha’eigel. What bothered Moshe was the fact that Hashem had done nothing to halt events before they snowballed. What bothered Moshe was, “u’b’redes ha’tal al ha’machaneh layla yeired ha’man alav,” the fact that the man had fallen as it always had. Moshe understood that as the leader of Klal Yisrael, it was his job was to give tochacha, to deal with complaints, outbursts, problems, and guide the people to do good. But he also assumed that it was not his job alone, it was not “masa ha’am ha’zeh alai,” just his burden. He expected Hashem to also play a role in curbing the people's bad behaviors.
A tactic all little kids try is when parent #1, father or mother, decides to punish them in some way, they go to parent #2 and try to get their way. If the parents are not on the same page, it makes for problems. Moshe was in effect telling Hashem that if he has to sometimes take a tough line and give tochacha to Klal Yisrael, Hashem can't still be dispensing goodies to them as if nothing was awry.
But as the Chasam Sofer says succinctly, “Ze’hu darkei Elokeinu yisbarach.” Maybe there would be fewer people who went off the derech if the millionaire who was mechalel Shabbos lost his fortune, or if a lighting bolt immediately struck down wrongdoers. I imagine more people would listen to the Rabbi's speech Shabbos morning if they knew that if they stepped out of line, there would be real consequences. But that’s not how it works. Hashem gives us a long rope. The Rabbi still has to give his speech and try to get us to do good, and hopefully he succeeds, but even if he fails, Hashem does not take away our lifeline.
See Sefas Emes 5644 who interprets the whole parsha here to the credit of Klal Yisrael. The people had a ta'avah, and they started crying, saying that they remembered the food they ate for free in Egypt. What they were crying about is not the fact that they didn't have food. What they were crying about is the fact that they felt such a ta'avah! They were crying that they had hirhurim about the past in Egypt. Amazing.
Moving on, the Torah tells us that Moshe heard the people crying, each by their own tent, and Hashem was angry, “u’b’eini Moshe ra,” it was bad in Moshe’s eyes. It sounds like until now everything was A-ok, but now Moshe got upset. Why didn’t he get upset right away, when the people started making their baseless complaints? What set him off only now?
Finally, we have Moshe’s incredible speech in which he asks Hashem how he is supposed to handle the burden of such rebellious people. This is the first time Moshe has had such a reaction. If Moshe was able to handle the cheit ha’eigel, why couldn’t he handle this challenge? (R’ Soloveitchik has a great shiur that addresses this question that you can find quoted many places.)
Chasam Sofer explains that it was probably only a people at first who started complaining -- rebellions start with a few vocal people, not a mass uprising. The rest of Bnei Yisrael stood on the sidelines, watching, waiting. What would the reaction to these rabble rousers be? What punishment would they invite? The people woke up the next morning, and incredibly, “u’b’redes ha’tal al ha’machaneh layla yeired ha’man alav,” the dew had fallen, the man had fallen on top of it, and nothing had changed from the day before. The miracle of the man did not cease, the food was not cut off, and life seemed to be the same as always! At that point, things began to snowball. Since there were no consequences, the rebellion expanded. There were now more people involved, “ha’am bocheh l’mishpichosav,” and Hashem was angry at the people as a whole.
What upset Moshe, “b’eini Moshe ra,” was not the rebellion per se – this wasn’t worse than cheit ha’eigel. What bothered Moshe was the fact that Hashem had done nothing to halt events before they snowballed. What bothered Moshe was, “u’b’redes ha’tal al ha’machaneh layla yeired ha’man alav,” the fact that the man had fallen as it always had. Moshe understood that as the leader of Klal Yisrael, it was his job was to give tochacha, to deal with complaints, outbursts, problems, and guide the people to do good. But he also assumed that it was not his job alone, it was not “masa ha’am ha’zeh alai,” just his burden. He expected Hashem to also play a role in curbing the people's bad behaviors.
A tactic all little kids try is when parent #1, father or mother, decides to punish them in some way, they go to parent #2 and try to get their way. If the parents are not on the same page, it makes for problems. Moshe was in effect telling Hashem that if he has to sometimes take a tough line and give tochacha to Klal Yisrael, Hashem can't still be dispensing goodies to them as if nothing was awry.
But as the Chasam Sofer says succinctly, “Ze’hu darkei Elokeinu yisbarach.” Maybe there would be fewer people who went off the derech if the millionaire who was mechalel Shabbos lost his fortune, or if a lighting bolt immediately struck down wrongdoers. I imagine more people would listen to the Rabbi's speech Shabbos morning if they knew that if they stepped out of line, there would be real consequences. But that’s not how it works. Hashem gives us a long rope. The Rabbi still has to give his speech and try to get us to do good, and hopefully he succeeds, but even if he fails, Hashem does not take away our lifeline.
See Sefas Emes 5644 who interprets the whole parsha here to the credit of Klal Yisrael. The people had a ta'avah, and they started crying, saying that they remembered the food they ate for free in Egypt. What they were crying about is not the fact that they didn't have food. What they were crying about is the fact that they felt such a ta'avah! They were crying that they had hirhurim about the past in Egypt. Amazing.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
is Torah written from the perspective of the omniscient reader?
The Torah tells us in Parshas Naso that the Nes'im brought gifts to dedicate the Mishkan. Who were the Nesi'im? The Torah describes them as "heim nesi'ei ha'matos, heim ha'omdim al ha'pekudim." (7:2) Rashi explains that they were the leaders who assisted Moshe in the count of Bnei Yisrael that we read about in last week's parsha.
Many of the meforshei Rashi are bothered by the chronology here. The count in last week's parsha took place in Iyar. The chanukas haMishkan when the Nesi'im gave their gifts took place on Rosh Chodesh Nisan. It would have been impossible for Moshe or anyone else to know the Nesi'im at that time as the "omdim al ha'pekudim" as the count had not yet occurred. So how could the Torah describe them as such? (Abarbanel interestingly suggests that the parshiyos are in chronological order. When the Torah speaks of the chanukas hamishkan, it does not mean "opening day," 1 Nisan. It means the first day in which individuals offered their own korbanos, as opposed to korbanos tzibur. The Nesi'im were given the honor to inaugurate this new type of avodah, and the date was sometime post 1 Iyar.)
The answer Maharal proposes is that from our perspective – the perspective of the omniscient reader – we already know what happened in last week's parsha. The Torah is speaking from our point of view, not from the point of view of a character in the storyline.
I don't know why this idea doesn't sit well with me and off the top of my head I don't have a source to challenge it, so it must just be me.
Another example illustrating the same idea:
In Parshas BaMidbar Moshe is told to count every Levi from one month old and up. Rashi explains that the threshold of one month is the demarcation between a viable living child and a neifel. Rashi then continues and offers a Midrashic explanation of why Levi alone was counted from such an early age when all other shevatim were counted from age 20 and up. The Torah tells us that there were seventy members of Ya’akov’s family who came down to Egypt. However, if you tally up all the people listed, the total comes to only 69. The missing person, says Rashi, is Yocheved, who was born just as they entered the city. We see from here that even a baby Levi is counted. Moshe’s count just continued the tradition.
Meforshei Rashi ask: isn’t Rashi self-contradictory? First Rashi tells us that you can only count a child older than 30 days old to ensure that the child is not a neifel. Then Rashi tells us that Yocheved was counted from the moment of birth – even younger than 30 days old. If she is the model, then why not count everyone from birth?
Again, Maharal explains that the Torah is speaking from the perspective of the omniscient reader. Had someone in Ya’akov’s family taken a count, he/she would have excluded Yocheved, as he/she would have no way of knowing until 30 days passed whether she was a neifel or not. When Moshe counted the members of the tribe of Levi, he had to exclude everyone younger than 30 days as there was no way he could tell whether that child was a neifel. However, we, the readers, know that Yocheved did live a long life. We, the readers, know that she was not a neifel. Therefore, from our perspective, she counts as the seventieth member of Ya’akov’s family entering Egypt.
The truth is that this issue comes up in the very first parsha in the Torah. The Torah (Braishis 2:14) describes the third river of Eden, Chidekel, as flowing “kidmas Ashur,” east toward Ashur. There obviously was no nation of Ashur yet – if you told someone standing in Eden to look for the river that flowed toward Ashur, he would have no idea what you are talking about. The gemara (Kesubos 10) explains that this proves “kasav k’ra l’asid,” the Torah was written in a way that anticipates what would happen in the future. Is that the same thing as saying Torah is written from the perspective of the omniscient reader? Or do you think it means something else?
Many of the meforshei Rashi are bothered by the chronology here. The count in last week's parsha took place in Iyar. The chanukas haMishkan when the Nesi'im gave their gifts took place on Rosh Chodesh Nisan. It would have been impossible for Moshe or anyone else to know the Nesi'im at that time as the "omdim al ha'pekudim" as the count had not yet occurred. So how could the Torah describe them as such? (Abarbanel interestingly suggests that the parshiyos are in chronological order. When the Torah speaks of the chanukas hamishkan, it does not mean "opening day," 1 Nisan. It means the first day in which individuals offered their own korbanos, as opposed to korbanos tzibur. The Nesi'im were given the honor to inaugurate this new type of avodah, and the date was sometime post 1 Iyar.)
The answer Maharal proposes is that from our perspective – the perspective of the omniscient reader – we already know what happened in last week's parsha. The Torah is speaking from our point of view, not from the point of view of a character in the storyline.
I don't know why this idea doesn't sit well with me and off the top of my head I don't have a source to challenge it, so it must just be me.
Another example illustrating the same idea:
In Parshas BaMidbar Moshe is told to count every Levi from one month old and up. Rashi explains that the threshold of one month is the demarcation between a viable living child and a neifel. Rashi then continues and offers a Midrashic explanation of why Levi alone was counted from such an early age when all other shevatim were counted from age 20 and up. The Torah tells us that there were seventy members of Ya’akov’s family who came down to Egypt. However, if you tally up all the people listed, the total comes to only 69. The missing person, says Rashi, is Yocheved, who was born just as they entered the city. We see from here that even a baby Levi is counted. Moshe’s count just continued the tradition.
Meforshei Rashi ask: isn’t Rashi self-contradictory? First Rashi tells us that you can only count a child older than 30 days old to ensure that the child is not a neifel. Then Rashi tells us that Yocheved was counted from the moment of birth – even younger than 30 days old. If she is the model, then why not count everyone from birth?
Again, Maharal explains that the Torah is speaking from the perspective of the omniscient reader. Had someone in Ya’akov’s family taken a count, he/she would have excluded Yocheved, as he/she would have no way of knowing until 30 days passed whether she was a neifel or not. When Moshe counted the members of the tribe of Levi, he had to exclude everyone younger than 30 days as there was no way he could tell whether that child was a neifel. However, we, the readers, know that Yocheved did live a long life. We, the readers, know that she was not a neifel. Therefore, from our perspective, she counts as the seventieth member of Ya’akov’s family entering Egypt.
The truth is that this issue comes up in the very first parsha in the Torah. The Torah (Braishis 2:14) describes the third river of Eden, Chidekel, as flowing “kidmas Ashur,” east toward Ashur. There obviously was no nation of Ashur yet – if you told someone standing in Eden to look for the river that flowed toward Ashur, he would have no idea what you are talking about. The gemara (Kesubos 10) explains that this proves “kasav k’ra l’asid,” the Torah was written in a way that anticipates what would happen in the future. Is that the same thing as saying Torah is written from the perspective of the omniscient reader? Or do you think it means something else?
Thursday, June 16, 2016
zemer vs shirah and the mistake of David
No time, but I did not want to skip a whole week from writing!
The gemara (Sotah 35) writes that Hashem was angry at David haMelech for saying, "Zmiros ha'yu li chukecha." How can you call Torah a "zemer," a song? If you stop thinking about Torah for a minute, it is gone -- Torah study demands constant diligence and concentration. It's not like "Row row row your boat." Hashem promised David that as a result of his words and the attitude they reflected, David would make an error in a pasuk that even children know. Sure enough, when it came time to transport the aron kodesh, David used a wagon, misinterpreting the pasuk in our parsha that says the aron must be transported on the shoulders of the Bnei Kehas.
Netziv points out that it's not that David forgot the pasuk. He knew that, "...Ki avodas ha'kodesh aleihem ba'kasef yisa'u." (7:9) Those words, however, can be interpreted in two ways. It might mean that when and if the Bnei Kehas carry the aron, they should do it on their shoulders, i.e. it's a din in the gavra. If others carry it, then other means of transport are acceptable. Or it might mean that when the aron is transported, the only way to do it is on the backs of Bnei Kehas, i.e. a din in the cheftza of the aron. David misinterpreted the pasuk as meaning the former instead of the latter.
Be that as it may, what in fact is the big deal in calling Torah a "zemer?" Isn't the mitzvah of writing a sefer Torah derived from the words, "Kisvu lachem es ha'shirag hazos?" G-d calls Torah a shirah -- so why can't it be called a zemer? And don't we say pesukei d'zimra every morning?
The word zemer shares the same root as the word zomer, pruning. If you want a plant or tree to grow, you have to first clear away all the tangle and bad growth that is strangling and holding back the good growth from developing. When we say pesukei d'zimra, what we are doing is clearing away all the negativity that is holding us back from connecting to Hashem. That's a wonderful and necessary goal, but it's not what Torah is all about, explains R' Yosef Englel in the Gilyonei haSha"s. Torah is not about just eliminating the pitfalls and restraints -- Torah is what brings the new growth and makes it happen. It is positive energy that moves a person forward. It is a shirah that uplifts, not just a zemer that cuts away the bad. (See also Pachad Yitzchak, Shavuos, #18)
R' Yosef Engel explains that when Yehoshua asked the malach who visited him on the eve of battle, as the gemara (Meg 3) tells us, whether he was there to chastise him for having missed the daily korban tamid or for missing learning Torah, what Yehoshua was driving at was whether what mattered more was having missed clearing away the negative energy that might bring harm, which is the goal of korbanos, or having missing the injection of positive good that comes from learning. The malacha answered, "Atah basi," alluding to the pasuk, "Atah kisvu lachem es ha'shirah hazos." It's the positive energy of Torah that was lacking.
The gemara (Sotah 35) writes that Hashem was angry at David haMelech for saying, "Zmiros ha'yu li chukecha." How can you call Torah a "zemer," a song? If you stop thinking about Torah for a minute, it is gone -- Torah study demands constant diligence and concentration. It's not like "Row row row your boat." Hashem promised David that as a result of his words and the attitude they reflected, David would make an error in a pasuk that even children know. Sure enough, when it came time to transport the aron kodesh, David used a wagon, misinterpreting the pasuk in our parsha that says the aron must be transported on the shoulders of the Bnei Kehas.
Netziv points out that it's not that David forgot the pasuk. He knew that, "...Ki avodas ha'kodesh aleihem ba'kasef yisa'u." (7:9) Those words, however, can be interpreted in two ways. It might mean that when and if the Bnei Kehas carry the aron, they should do it on their shoulders, i.e. it's a din in the gavra. If others carry it, then other means of transport are acceptable. Or it might mean that when the aron is transported, the only way to do it is on the backs of Bnei Kehas, i.e. a din in the cheftza of the aron. David misinterpreted the pasuk as meaning the former instead of the latter.
Be that as it may, what in fact is the big deal in calling Torah a "zemer?" Isn't the mitzvah of writing a sefer Torah derived from the words, "Kisvu lachem es ha'shirag hazos?" G-d calls Torah a shirah -- so why can't it be called a zemer? And don't we say pesukei d'zimra every morning?
The word zemer shares the same root as the word zomer, pruning. If you want a plant or tree to grow, you have to first clear away all the tangle and bad growth that is strangling and holding back the good growth from developing. When we say pesukei d'zimra, what we are doing is clearing away all the negativity that is holding us back from connecting to Hashem. That's a wonderful and necessary goal, but it's not what Torah is all about, explains R' Yosef Englel in the Gilyonei haSha"s. Torah is not about just eliminating the pitfalls and restraints -- Torah is what brings the new growth and makes it happen. It is positive energy that moves a person forward. It is a shirah that uplifts, not just a zemer that cuts away the bad. (See also Pachad Yitzchak, Shavuos, #18)
R' Yosef Engel explains that when Yehoshua asked the malach who visited him on the eve of battle, as the gemara (Meg 3) tells us, whether he was there to chastise him for having missed the daily korban tamid or for missing learning Torah, what Yehoshua was driving at was whether what mattered more was having missed clearing away the negative energy that might bring harm, which is the goal of korbanos, or having missing the injection of positive good that comes from learning. The malacha answered, "Atah basi," alluding to the pasuk, "Atah kisvu lachem es ha'shirah hazos." It's the positive energy of Torah that was lacking.
Thursday, June 09, 2016
life after death (II)
Part I was really a sidelight that spun out of control. What I really wanted to talk about is the limud of the gemara. How did R’ Yehoshua ben Levi know that people died when they heard the dibros? The gemara quotes a pasuk in Shir haShirim 5:6, “Pasachti ani l’dodi v’dodi chamak avar NAFSHI YATZA’H B’DABRO…” The problem is that if you look at the pasuk in context, it seems to mean exactly the opposite of what the gemara takes it to mean. The way the gemara interprets it, the pasuk is an allusion to becoming so overwhelmed with Hashem’s presence and closeness that one’s life departs. However, in context, what the pasuk is speaking about is opening the door to Dodi, to Hashem, and finding that it’s too late – that he is no longer knocking and waiting, he’s not there, he’s gone into hiding. Rashi comments on “nafshi yatz’ah b’dabro” that the words Dodi is saying “b’dabro” are words of departure: “I am leaving because you failed to answer.” The pasuk continues that the beloved searches for her Dod but fails to find him; the beloved calls to him but he fails to answer. This is a description of a painful parting, not a description of mattan Torah, not a description of the moment of eirusin, not of closeness with Hashem. What’s going on here?
The Sefas Emes (5640) points out a glaring redundancy in the pasuk, "V'kol ha'am ro'im es hakolos... va'yar ha'am va'yanu'u va'ya'amdu mei'rachok." The pasuk tells us up front that the people were "ro'im es ha'kolos;" why repeat again at the end "va'yar ha'am?" Secondly, why in the beginning of the pasuk does the Torah change the tense from the usual "va'yar," which seems to fit, to "ro'im," present tense?
Sefas Emes answers that the Torah is speaking about two different groups of people. "Va'yar," past tense, refers to the people who stood at Har Sinai over 3000 years ago. "Ro'im" present tense, refers to you and me. Every Shavuos the Torah is given anew, and we have a chance to re-experience seeing it happen all over again.
The difference is, says the Sefas Emes, that we are so far from the closeness to Hashem that we had back then. You can't just walk into a Shavuos, walk into a ma'amad Har Sinai, and expect Hashem to drop a Torah in your lap when you are on such a small level of ruchniyus. "Va'yar ha'am," our great-great... grandparents saw us -- saw what we would be like -- and knew that we would never be able to come close to the mountain and receive the giluy of Hashem's presence in its full force. Therefore, "Vayanu'u," they took a step back for our sake. "Nafshi yatza'ah b'dabro" -- not then, but now. We are the ones who failed to respond and are now staring at the empty doorway, looking for Hashem. But out great-great... grandparents had our neshomos within them, and therefore, even then, even though they were so close to Hashem, their souls departed and they could not take the experience. They could not bear the totality of the giluy of mattan Torah because we were there too, within them, and we are the ones who cannot bear the totality of that giluy.
But, says the Sefas Emes, we can fix it. Every year we experience "ro'im" all over again, and ever year it's up to us -- is this the year of "nafshi yatz'ah..." or the year where we respond to the knock at the door?
The Sefas Emes (5640) points out a glaring redundancy in the pasuk, "V'kol ha'am ro'im es hakolos... va'yar ha'am va'yanu'u va'ya'amdu mei'rachok." The pasuk tells us up front that the people were "ro'im es ha'kolos;" why repeat again at the end "va'yar ha'am?" Secondly, why in the beginning of the pasuk does the Torah change the tense from the usual "va'yar," which seems to fit, to "ro'im," present tense?
Sefas Emes answers that the Torah is speaking about two different groups of people. "Va'yar," past tense, refers to the people who stood at Har Sinai over 3000 years ago. "Ro'im" present tense, refers to you and me. Every Shavuos the Torah is given anew, and we have a chance to re-experience seeing it happen all over again.
The difference is, says the Sefas Emes, that we are so far from the closeness to Hashem that we had back then. You can't just walk into a Shavuos, walk into a ma'amad Har Sinai, and expect Hashem to drop a Torah in your lap when you are on such a small level of ruchniyus. "Va'yar ha'am," our great-great... grandparents saw us -- saw what we would be like -- and knew that we would never be able to come close to the mountain and receive the giluy of Hashem's presence in its full force. Therefore, "Vayanu'u," they took a step back for our sake. "Nafshi yatza'ah b'dabro" -- not then, but now. We are the ones who failed to respond and are now staring at the empty doorway, looking for Hashem. But out great-great... grandparents had our neshomos within them, and therefore, even then, even though they were so close to Hashem, their souls departed and they could not take the experience. They could not bear the totality of the giluy of mattan Torah because we were there too, within them, and we are the ones who cannot bear the totality of that giluy.
But, says the Sefas Emes, we can fix it. Every year we experience "ro'im" all over again, and ever year it's up to us -- is this the year of "nafshi yatz'ah..." or the year where we respond to the knock at the door?
life after death (I)
I am going to break this post into two parts, so if you don't like one, maybe you will liek the other, and if you like neither, I hope you at least like your cheesecake.
The gemara (Shabbos 88b) quotes two statements from R Yehoshua ben Levi as to the “shock and awe” effect hearing the dibros had on Bnei Yisrael: 1) Bnei Yisrael were blown back away from the mountain by the force of Hashem’s words and malachim had to come and help them return; 2) Bnei Yisrael died as a result of shock and Hashem had to rain down dew of techiyas ha’meisim to revive them. So which is it – were they just blown back in shock, or did they actually die from the experience? Maharasha answers that both are correct – it all depended on the level of the listener.
There are Achronim who use this gemara as a proof text to address the following issue: the gemara in Megillah (7) tells us that Rabbah got so inebriated that he killed R’ Zeira in the middle of Purim seudah. He then davened and brought him back to life. Would R’ Zeira need to go home and do a new kiddushin on his wife? Is he the same R’ Zeira as before, or is the old R’ Zeira gone, the kiddushin done by him terminated, and this is a new person? (If you could interpret the whole story metaphorically there is obviously noting to talk about.) We see from our gemara that even though according to R’ Yehoshua ben Levi hearing the dibros caused people to die , they were still permitted to return to their wives after mattan Torah. There was not a mass need for new kiddushin.
I know this is a dochak way to address the proof, but let me have fun and write it anyway. The Pnei Yehoshua (Kid 13) has a big chiddush that the din that the death of a husband cancels ishus and is matir a wife to marry others does not apply to a ben noach. For them, marriage (absent divorce) is forever. Assuming the Pnei Yehoshua is correct (Minchas Chinuch 34:20 disagrees), perhaps it is only on day 40 when Moshe gave Klal Yisrael the entire Torah that their status switched to full fledged yisraelim, but until that point maybe they had the status of ben noach. Therefore, even if they died, their ishus was not terminated and they could return to their wives afterwards.
Obvious problem: we eat milchigs on Shavuos because right after mattan Torah Klal Yisrael could not use their treif pots and pans. Don’t we see that the din of being a yisrael kicked in right away? I could tell you that there are other reasons for eating milchigs (the Rama writes that the idea is to use 2 loaves as a remez to the shtei ha’lechem), but there are probably a host of other questions you can ask to shoot down my idea.
The gemara (Shabbos 88b) quotes two statements from R Yehoshua ben Levi as to the “shock and awe” effect hearing the dibros had on Bnei Yisrael: 1) Bnei Yisrael were blown back away from the mountain by the force of Hashem’s words and malachim had to come and help them return; 2) Bnei Yisrael died as a result of shock and Hashem had to rain down dew of techiyas ha’meisim to revive them. So which is it – were they just blown back in shock, or did they actually die from the experience? Maharasha answers that both are correct – it all depended on the level of the listener.
There are Achronim who use this gemara as a proof text to address the following issue: the gemara in Megillah (7) tells us that Rabbah got so inebriated that he killed R’ Zeira in the middle of Purim seudah. He then davened and brought him back to life. Would R’ Zeira need to go home and do a new kiddushin on his wife? Is he the same R’ Zeira as before, or is the old R’ Zeira gone, the kiddushin done by him terminated, and this is a new person? (If you could interpret the whole story metaphorically there is obviously noting to talk about.) We see from our gemara that even though according to R’ Yehoshua ben Levi hearing the dibros caused people to die , they were still permitted to return to their wives after mattan Torah. There was not a mass need for new kiddushin.
I know this is a dochak way to address the proof, but let me have fun and write it anyway. The Pnei Yehoshua (Kid 13) has a big chiddush that the din that the death of a husband cancels ishus and is matir a wife to marry others does not apply to a ben noach. For them, marriage (absent divorce) is forever. Assuming the Pnei Yehoshua is correct (Minchas Chinuch 34:20 disagrees), perhaps it is only on day 40 when Moshe gave Klal Yisrael the entire Torah that their status switched to full fledged yisraelim, but until that point maybe they had the status of ben noach. Therefore, even if they died, their ishus was not terminated and they could return to their wives afterwards.
Obvious problem: we eat milchigs on Shavuos because right after mattan Torah Klal Yisrael could not use their treif pots and pans. Don’t we see that the din of being a yisrael kicked in right away? I could tell you that there are other reasons for eating milchigs (the Rama writes that the idea is to use 2 loaves as a remez to the shtei ha’lechem), but there are probably a host of other questions you can ask to shoot down my idea.
Monday, June 06, 2016
v'zacharti es brisi: tochacha or blessing?
1) "V'zacharti es brisi Ya'akov v'af v'es brisi Yitzchak v'af es brisi Ya'akov ezkor v'ha'aretz ezkor." (26:42) The Shl"H has a famous comment as to why this pasuk is considered part of the tochacha. If a child is raised by bad parents and he/she doesn't have a role model or training as to how to behave, it would be no wonder if the child grows up to be a monster. But if the child has wonderful parents who are excellent role models and the child still becomes a monster, then something is really wrong. The Torah is telling us that had we lacked role models, then maybe our behavior could be excused and the tochacha would not be that harsh. But we are bnei Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya'akov. We come from the best of the best; we have within us the genes of the best of the best. Therefore, when we misbehave, its an even greater tragedy. WHen the pasuk here talks about Hashem remembering the Avos, it places us in an even worse light and magnifies our sins.
R' Lopian Lev Eliyahu (in the essay 'Ha'kove'a Makom l'Tefilaso' in the Ma'areches HaTeshuvah section in the edition I have) quotes a tremendous question on this Shl"H. In the 10 pesukim of zichronos that we say on Rosh haShana, which do not include zechirot that have negative associations , we mention this pasuk of "V'zacharti es brisi...." Clearly we are quoting the pasuk to elicit rachamim. How can the same pasuk be both a tochacha and a vehicle to bring about Hashem's mercy? R' Lopian in that piece says the answer is a deep yesod that he will get back to some other time -- and then he leaves us with the question. Nu, any answers?
2) "U'fanisi aleichem v'hirbeisi eschem..." (26:9) The parsha until this point contained other brachos as well, brachos about bountiful crops and sufficient rainfall. Why does the Torah only now use this phrase of "u'fanisi aleichem?"
Netziv answers that the Torah here is speaking about raising children, "v'hirbeisi eschem..." When it comes to crops, to rain, etc., it's enough for Hashem to direct his hashgacha to those items at the appropriate time, the appropriate season. When it comes to raising children, it takes constant hashgacha pratis for things to work out well.
I would say that in this regard we have to take a lesson from Hashem. It's enough to check the market once in awhile, but kids need constant hashgacha.
3) "V'im lo tishmi'u li..." (26:14) In many places Rashi writes that "li" means lishma, e.g. Rashi comments on "V'asu li mikdash" that the mikdash must be built lishmi, i.e. lishma. The Netziv similarly here writes that the pasuk is speaking about Klal Yisrael not doing things lishma, for the right intention. This is the start of the tochacha, the first step on a downward spiral of misdeeds. But, asks the Netziv, don't Chazal tell us that, "l'olam ya'asuk adam b'Torah u'mitzvos shel'lo lishma," that a person should do things even she'lo lishma, as that ultimately will bring a person to do things for the right reason, lishma? Don't Chazal tell us that doing things she'lo lishma is the start of an upward spiral, not a downward spiral?
My wife suggested that it all depends on your starting point. If your starting point is she'lo lishma, then doing something is better than nothing and may lead upward. If, however, you were doing things lishma and then regress to a she'lo lishma, that another story.
Netziv answers that there is a difference between the individual and the community. On an individual level, each one of us may do things for less than proper motivations, with the hope of one day doing better. These shortcomings, however, cannot be institutionalized on a communal level. The community needs to strive for the ideal, to strive to act for the right reasons and with the right motivations.
R' Lopian Lev Eliyahu (in the essay 'Ha'kove'a Makom l'Tefilaso' in the Ma'areches HaTeshuvah section in the edition I have) quotes a tremendous question on this Shl"H. In the 10 pesukim of zichronos that we say on Rosh haShana, which do not include zechirot that have negative associations , we mention this pasuk of "V'zacharti es brisi...." Clearly we are quoting the pasuk to elicit rachamim. How can the same pasuk be both a tochacha and a vehicle to bring about Hashem's mercy? R' Lopian in that piece says the answer is a deep yesod that he will get back to some other time -- and then he leaves us with the question. Nu, any answers?
2) "U'fanisi aleichem v'hirbeisi eschem..." (26:9) The parsha until this point contained other brachos as well, brachos about bountiful crops and sufficient rainfall. Why does the Torah only now use this phrase of "u'fanisi aleichem?"
Netziv answers that the Torah here is speaking about raising children, "v'hirbeisi eschem..." When it comes to crops, to rain, etc., it's enough for Hashem to direct his hashgacha to those items at the appropriate time, the appropriate season. When it comes to raising children, it takes constant hashgacha pratis for things to work out well.
I would say that in this regard we have to take a lesson from Hashem. It's enough to check the market once in awhile, but kids need constant hashgacha.
3) "V'im lo tishmi'u li..." (26:14) In many places Rashi writes that "li" means lishma, e.g. Rashi comments on "V'asu li mikdash" that the mikdash must be built lishmi, i.e. lishma. The Netziv similarly here writes that the pasuk is speaking about Klal Yisrael not doing things lishma, for the right intention. This is the start of the tochacha, the first step on a downward spiral of misdeeds. But, asks the Netziv, don't Chazal tell us that, "l'olam ya'asuk adam b'Torah u'mitzvos shel'lo lishma," that a person should do things even she'lo lishma, as that ultimately will bring a person to do things for the right reason, lishma? Don't Chazal tell us that doing things she'lo lishma is the start of an upward spiral, not a downward spiral?
My wife suggested that it all depends on your starting point. If your starting point is she'lo lishma, then doing something is better than nothing and may lead upward. If, however, you were doing things lishma and then regress to a she'lo lishma, that another story.
Netziv answers that there is a difference between the individual and the community. On an individual level, each one of us may do things for less than proper motivations, with the hope of one day doing better. These shortcomings, however, cannot be institutionalized on a communal level. The community needs to strive for the ideal, to strive to act for the right reasons and with the right motivations.
Sunday, June 05, 2016
Chasam Sofer: kedushas Eretz Yisrael greater than Gan Eden
Chasam Sofer suggests that the wild animals referred to in the pasuk "V'hishbati chayah ra'ah min ha'aretz" symbolically represent apikorsim and evil doers. Unlike Gan Eden, where G-d had to place a "cherev ha'mishapeches," a sword at the entrance to keep out Adam after he had sinned, the day will come when the kedushas ha'aretz will be so great that it will act as a barrier and prevent the wicked from entering the land even without the threat of a sword, "V'cherev lo ya'avor b'artzechem."
Happy Yom Yerushalayim!
Happy Yom Yerushalayim!
Thursday, June 02, 2016
im bechukosai teilechu -- tikun of the eitz hada'as
Abarbanel opens the parsha with seven different answers (“b’shiv’ah derachim yanusu mipanecha…”) to the question of why the Torah promises material rewards for the observance of mitzvos and never makes any mention of the spiritual rewards. Rishonim do NOT answer that Biblical Judaism had no concept of reward in an afterlife and these ideas only developed afterwards (I hope you are not surprised). One answer they do give is that the pagan societies had no concept of reward in an afterlife. Avodah zarah “deities” were viewed as being in control of nature. Worshiping them was the means to ensure that one’s crops grew, enough rain fell, etc. Had the Torah only promised an olam ha'ba reward, a farmer might feel his commitment to Torah comes at the expense of the good material life that his oveid avodah zarah neighbor enjoys. Therefore, the Torah promises the same material rewards as avodah zarah worship as well (we are talking gross gain of course, before the high cost of tuition and kosher food sends you into poverty : ) The Torah wants to make it less challenging to leave behind avodah zarah. If you don’t like this approach, the Abarbanel has six others for you.
I think it's worth noting what Abarbanel doesn't ask in addition to what he does. Again, his main problem is ikar chaseir min ha’sefer – why no mention of the "real" reward of olam ha’ba? The Torah is telling us about the appetizer and ignoring the main dish. Achronim go a step further and ask why the appetizer is even on the menu: “schar mitzvah b’hai alma leika” – the ONLY reward that there is for mitzvah performance is reward in olam ha’ba. It's not the absence of a mention of olam ha'ba that bothers them -- it's the mention of olam ha'zeh that is the problem. Why the Abarbanel does not see ask this and address it (though many of his answers cover this issue as well) may be something worth thinking about.
So why are we promised all these great material things if “schar mitzvah” is reserved only for olam ha’ba? Rashi comments that “im bechukosai teileichu…” refers to ameilus ba’Torah – not the learning itself, but the toil involved in the process. Reuvain and Shimon sit and learn the same sugya, but it might take Reuvain 3 days to master it while Shimon grasps it in 3 hours. The material covered is the same, but the measure of toil is very different. “Anu ameilim u’mekablim schar” – we get reward for the toil. Perhaps Rashi means that the rewards of the parsha are payment for ameilus alone, but the reward for the mitzvah itself, the learning itself, comes only in olam ha'ba.
The Sefas Emes (5651) doesn’t so much answer the question as render it moot. Why shouldn’t we be blessed with abundant crops, with all the rain we need, with whatever material goods we need? Why is this considered something extraordinary, a special reward? The answer is simple: because we’ve become accustomed to a world that doesn’t run the way it should. The post-original cheit of Adam world is one that is tainted, one where things are out of kilter, where we suffer droughts and failed crops and all kinds of other tzaros. What Parshas Bechukosai is describing to us is not so much as a reward as simply a return to the way things should be.
How do we get there? Adam’s sin was the desire for da’as, for knowledge. The way back to the perfect pre-sin world is “im bechukosai teileichu,” accepting the idea of chok, of the unknowable. That is not to say that one should disdain intellectualism. The Sefas Emes himself writes here that, “Tzarich adam l’chapeis b’da’ato k’fi hasagas yado.” A person must exercise his mind to its fullest. The point the Sefas Emes is making is that the intellect is just a tool to understand G-d's world, not to be G-d. The sin of Adam was seeking da'as to be "v'heyisem k'Elokim" rather than to be an "oveid Elokim." The hardest thing is to accept and obey even though one does not understand, or one feels things should be different. That's ameilus ba'Torah says the Sefas Emes.
(See Sefas Emes end of 5649 d”h teilechu for another beautiful hesber of this issue).
I think it's worth noting what Abarbanel doesn't ask in addition to what he does. Again, his main problem is ikar chaseir min ha’sefer – why no mention of the "real" reward of olam ha’ba? The Torah is telling us about the appetizer and ignoring the main dish. Achronim go a step further and ask why the appetizer is even on the menu: “schar mitzvah b’hai alma leika” – the ONLY reward that there is for mitzvah performance is reward in olam ha’ba. It's not the absence of a mention of olam ha'ba that bothers them -- it's the mention of olam ha'zeh that is the problem. Why the Abarbanel does not see ask this and address it (though many of his answers cover this issue as well) may be something worth thinking about.
So why are we promised all these great material things if “schar mitzvah” is reserved only for olam ha’ba? Rashi comments that “im bechukosai teileichu…” refers to ameilus ba’Torah – not the learning itself, but the toil involved in the process. Reuvain and Shimon sit and learn the same sugya, but it might take Reuvain 3 days to master it while Shimon grasps it in 3 hours. The material covered is the same, but the measure of toil is very different. “Anu ameilim u’mekablim schar” – we get reward for the toil. Perhaps Rashi means that the rewards of the parsha are payment for ameilus alone, but the reward for the mitzvah itself, the learning itself, comes only in olam ha'ba.
The Sefas Emes (5651) doesn’t so much answer the question as render it moot. Why shouldn’t we be blessed with abundant crops, with all the rain we need, with whatever material goods we need? Why is this considered something extraordinary, a special reward? The answer is simple: because we’ve become accustomed to a world that doesn’t run the way it should. The post-original cheit of Adam world is one that is tainted, one where things are out of kilter, where we suffer droughts and failed crops and all kinds of other tzaros. What Parshas Bechukosai is describing to us is not so much as a reward as simply a return to the way things should be.
How do we get there? Adam’s sin was the desire for da’as, for knowledge. The way back to the perfect pre-sin world is “im bechukosai teileichu,” accepting the idea of chok, of the unknowable. That is not to say that one should disdain intellectualism. The Sefas Emes himself writes here that, “Tzarich adam l’chapeis b’da’ato k’fi hasagas yado.” A person must exercise his mind to its fullest. The point the Sefas Emes is making is that the intellect is just a tool to understand G-d's world, not to be G-d. The sin of Adam was seeking da'as to be "v'heyisem k'Elokim" rather than to be an "oveid Elokim." The hardest thing is to accept and obey even though one does not understand, or one feels things should be different. That's ameilus ba'Torah says the Sefas Emes.
(See Sefas Emes end of 5649 d”h teilechu for another beautiful hesber of this issue).
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
haftarah of Behar -- left hanging with a question
In the haftarah for P' Behar Yirmiyahu is told by Hashem to buy a plot of land from his relative and to deposit the deed, the shtar, in a jug for safekeeping. Yirmiyahu then speaks to Hashem, and we have a few pesukim of introductory shevach before he gets to the point. According to some minhagim, the haftarah ends right after the shevach concludes, at pasuk 32:22, and we in fact never actually get to hear the point Yirmiyahu was driving at.
The more prevalent minhag (at least from what I heard) is to continue for a few more pesukim. In those added pesukim Yirmiyahu asks G-d a question: Bnei Yisrael are about to be exiled from their land by the Kasdim. The enemy will lay waste to Eretz Yisrael and there will be mass destruction. What's the point of storing away this deed to land? There will be no one left in the land, there will be no one to claim the property. Who is this record meant for? If you look up this chapter in the navi, Hashem gives a rather lengthy response; however, the haftarah concludes at 32:26 with only one pasuk of that long answer: "Hinei ani Hashem Elokei kol basar, ha'mimeni yipalei kol davar?"
The halacha says that ideally a haftarah should be at least 21 pesukim long (to correspond to 7 aliyos x a minimum of 3 pesukim each from the parsha), so there is a halachic logic to extending the haftarah to 32:26 so that it passes the 21 pasuk threshold. However, from a literary perspective, we are left hanging. Yirmiyahu has just raised a powerful question -- why not tell us G-d's answer? Why leave us dangling and give us just one pasuk, just a taste of the message that is to come?
My guess is that "Ha'mimeni yipalei kol davar?" is all we need in a nutshell and all the rest is commentary. If Hashem can do anything, then it should be no wonder if He can promise that the land which will desolate for years will ultimately be reclaimed.
The more prevalent minhag (at least from what I heard) is to continue for a few more pesukim. In those added pesukim Yirmiyahu asks G-d a question: Bnei Yisrael are about to be exiled from their land by the Kasdim. The enemy will lay waste to Eretz Yisrael and there will be mass destruction. What's the point of storing away this deed to land? There will be no one left in the land, there will be no one to claim the property. Who is this record meant for? If you look up this chapter in the navi, Hashem gives a rather lengthy response; however, the haftarah concludes at 32:26 with only one pasuk of that long answer: "Hinei ani Hashem Elokei kol basar, ha'mimeni yipalei kol davar?"
The halacha says that ideally a haftarah should be at least 21 pesukim long (to correspond to 7 aliyos x a minimum of 3 pesukim each from the parsha), so there is a halachic logic to extending the haftarah to 32:26 so that it passes the 21 pasuk threshold. However, from a literary perspective, we are left hanging. Yirmiyahu has just raised a powerful question -- why not tell us G-d's answer? Why leave us dangling and give us just one pasuk, just a taste of the message that is to come?
My guess is that "Ha'mimeni yipalei kol davar?" is all we need in a nutshell and all the rest is commentary. If Hashem can do anything, then it should be no wonder if He can promise that the land which will desolate for years will ultimately be reclaimed.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
mah nochal... v'tzivisi es birchasi
Al pi dereh ha’teva, land should be least fertile in the year just before shemitah, after it has been farmed for six straight years without rest. Yet, the Torah says that davka in that sixth year the land will produce a greater abundance than usual in order to provide enough food to last through the shemitah year. This proves, says the Shem m’Shmuel, that the land of Eretz Yisrael does not follow the normal laws of nature. It’s all hashgachas Hashem.
According to many meforshim shemitah is a lesson in bitachon. It’s one thing to skip work for one day of Shabbos, like we all do – it’s quite another thing to take an entire year off. Ramban comments on the pasuk, “Ki tomar mah nochal ba’shanah hashevi’is…” that the pasuk is mesuras, the phrases are out of order. The meaning is not, “When you ask, ‘What shall we eat in the seventh year?’” as during the seventh year there is plenty of food left from the sixth year -- there is no mystery about what to eat. The meaning of the pasuk is, “When in the seventh year you ask, ‘What shall we eat [in the upcoming eighth year]?’” Since you can’t plant in the seventh year, there will be no leftovers for year eight. The bracha, according to Ramban, is that the food from year six will last even until then.
R’ Shimon Sofer explains the pasuk k’peshuto, without reversing the order of the phrases. Even though the farmer’s storehouse is fully stocked for that seventh year, he still feels he can't eat anything because if he does, he will have nothing left for year eight. "Mah nochal...?" right now, in year seven, even though the fridge is full, because if it's eaten now, what will be left for the future?
That's how many of us go through life (es chata'ei ani mazkir). We are so nervous about the future, so worried about what will be, that we can't enjoy the bracha of what we have in the present moment. It's human nature to be concerned about the future, to fear uncertainty, but it has to be balanced with bitachon as well.
There is a famous Noam Elimelech that asks why the bracha of "v'tzivisi es birchasi" for the sixth year to produce such a bountiful harvest is couched as a response to the question of "Mah nochal...?" Why does the Torah not just tell us that Hashem will give a bracha in year six? The N.E. answers that Hashem would give the bracha automatically, but by asking, "Mah nochal..?" and showing a lack of bitachon, the farmer jeopardizes it. He doesn't really deserve the bracha anymore. Nonetheless, Hashem overrides the normal outcome and in this case, "v'tzivisi es birchasi" despite the lack of merit.
The N.E. demands a very high level of bitachon. To not even worry, to not even b'chdrei ha'lev ask, "Mah nochal...?" is hard. The Chasam Sofer has a more positive spin to the pesukim. A normal person wants to earn his living and not live on handouts. There is an idea of "nahama d'kisufa," an embarrassment in doing so. "Mah nochal..." reflects that attitude -- if we don't work, what will we eat? We don't want a handout. Hashem could just as easily do a miracle and provide food during the shemitah year for the farmer without the land being worked at all. But since we want to earn our own keep, Hashem does us a chessed and allows us to do so. "V'tzivisi es birchasi" in year six, when the farmer does have the opportunity to farm the land, to work, so that he feels he has a hand in producing something, in earning the bread on his table.
According to many meforshim shemitah is a lesson in bitachon. It’s one thing to skip work for one day of Shabbos, like we all do – it’s quite another thing to take an entire year off. Ramban comments on the pasuk, “Ki tomar mah nochal ba’shanah hashevi’is…” that the pasuk is mesuras, the phrases are out of order. The meaning is not, “When you ask, ‘What shall we eat in the seventh year?’” as during the seventh year there is plenty of food left from the sixth year -- there is no mystery about what to eat. The meaning of the pasuk is, “When in the seventh year you ask, ‘What shall we eat [in the upcoming eighth year]?’” Since you can’t plant in the seventh year, there will be no leftovers for year eight. The bracha, according to Ramban, is that the food from year six will last even until then.
R’ Shimon Sofer explains the pasuk k’peshuto, without reversing the order of the phrases. Even though the farmer’s storehouse is fully stocked for that seventh year, he still feels he can't eat anything because if he does, he will have nothing left for year eight. "Mah nochal...?" right now, in year seven, even though the fridge is full, because if it's eaten now, what will be left for the future?
That's how many of us go through life (es chata'ei ani mazkir). We are so nervous about the future, so worried about what will be, that we can't enjoy the bracha of what we have in the present moment. It's human nature to be concerned about the future, to fear uncertainty, but it has to be balanced with bitachon as well.
There is a famous Noam Elimelech that asks why the bracha of "v'tzivisi es birchasi" for the sixth year to produce such a bountiful harvest is couched as a response to the question of "Mah nochal...?" Why does the Torah not just tell us that Hashem will give a bracha in year six? The N.E. answers that Hashem would give the bracha automatically, but by asking, "Mah nochal..?" and showing a lack of bitachon, the farmer jeopardizes it. He doesn't really deserve the bracha anymore. Nonetheless, Hashem overrides the normal outcome and in this case, "v'tzivisi es birchasi" despite the lack of merit.
The N.E. demands a very high level of bitachon. To not even worry, to not even b'chdrei ha'lev ask, "Mah nochal...?" is hard. The Chasam Sofer has a more positive spin to the pesukim. A normal person wants to earn his living and not live on handouts. There is an idea of "nahama d'kisufa," an embarrassment in doing so. "Mah nochal..." reflects that attitude -- if we don't work, what will we eat? We don't want a handout. Hashem could just as easily do a miracle and provide food during the shemitah year for the farmer without the land being worked at all. But since we want to earn our own keep, Hashem does us a chessed and allows us to do so. "V'tzivisi es birchasi" in year six, when the farmer does have the opportunity to farm the land, to work, so that he feels he has a hand in producing something, in earning the bread on his table.
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
beheimas shevi'is -- chatzi shiur by an issur aseh
The gemara (Bechoros 12b) writes that if you trade in peiros shevi’s for a cow, the calf of this “beheimas shevi’s” would be exempt from dinim of bechora. Since the kedushas shevi’is of the fruits transfer to the cow, it’s bechor cannot be offered as a korban because peiros shevi’s are “l’achla,” only for eating, not for being burned. The Rambam offers his own reason for this din (maybe based on a different girsa – see the nosei keilim) and quotes the derasha that peiros shevi’is are only “l’achla” to the exclusion of “sechora,” business transactions.
Asks the gemara: by this same logic, why don’t we say that the mitzvah of challah should not apply during shemitah? Since there would be a chiyuv to burn challah if the dough became tamei, why not apply the same rule of “l’achlah” but not for burning? (How the Rambam would learn this question if the reason of beheimas shevi’is has to do with sechorah is difficult).
The gemara answers that there is a special gezeiras hakasuv of “l’doroseichem” by challah that tells us that it applies at all times.
The Maharit Algazi is not happy with this question of the gemara. His objection is built on three assumptions, the first two being relatively simply, the third being quite a chiddush:
1)There is no shiur m’doraysa as to how much dough you need to separate to fulfill the mitzvah of hafrashas challah. Just like separating one stalk of wheat is enough to fulfill the mitzvah of terumah m’doraysa, so too, you can seperate a drop of dough to fulfill the mitzvah of challah.
2) The prohibitions of burning or sechorah stem from an aseh of “lachlah.” Since the shiur achilah in the Torah is always a k’zayis, the shiur of these issurei aseh must also be a k’zayis.
3) The din of chatzi shiur only applies only to a lav and not a mitzvas aseh. Therefore, there is no issur of chatzi shiur on an issur aseh either.
Putting it all together, he asks: why is the gemara bothered by how to be mafrish challah during shemitah – just be mafrish less than a k’zayis, which is enough to fulfill the mitzvah d’oraysa of challah but less than the shiur of the issur aseh learned from “l’achlah?”
Is assumption #3 really true? We’ve discussed before whether there is any significance to chatzi shiur of a mitzvas aseh, but even if one holds there isn’t, maybe one can still argue that the din of chatzi shiur should still apply to an issur aseh since it effectively functions like a lav.
Asks the gemara: by this same logic, why don’t we say that the mitzvah of challah should not apply during shemitah? Since there would be a chiyuv to burn challah if the dough became tamei, why not apply the same rule of “l’achlah” but not for burning? (How the Rambam would learn this question if the reason of beheimas shevi’is has to do with sechorah is difficult).
The gemara answers that there is a special gezeiras hakasuv of “l’doroseichem” by challah that tells us that it applies at all times.
The Maharit Algazi is not happy with this question of the gemara. His objection is built on three assumptions, the first two being relatively simply, the third being quite a chiddush:
1)There is no shiur m’doraysa as to how much dough you need to separate to fulfill the mitzvah of hafrashas challah. Just like separating one stalk of wheat is enough to fulfill the mitzvah of terumah m’doraysa, so too, you can seperate a drop of dough to fulfill the mitzvah of challah.
2) The prohibitions of burning or sechorah stem from an aseh of “lachlah.” Since the shiur achilah in the Torah is always a k’zayis, the shiur of these issurei aseh must also be a k’zayis.
3) The din of chatzi shiur only applies only to a lav and not a mitzvas aseh. Therefore, there is no issur of chatzi shiur on an issur aseh either.
Putting it all together, he asks: why is the gemara bothered by how to be mafrish challah during shemitah – just be mafrish less than a k’zayis, which is enough to fulfill the mitzvah d’oraysa of challah but less than the shiur of the issur aseh learned from “l’achlah?”
Is assumption #3 really true? We’ve discussed before whether there is any significance to chatzi shiur of a mitzvas aseh, but even if one holds there isn’t, maybe one can still argue that the din of chatzi shiur should still apply to an issur aseh since it effectively functions like a lav.
"es Eisav saneisi?"
Over Pesach I read R’ Jonathan Sacks’ latest book, Not In G-d’s Name: Confronting Religious Violence, and I’ve been meaning to jot down some thoughts about it but just never seem to have the time. I still don’t have time, so this will be b’kitzur one point. What I admire about R’ Sacks writing is his clarity and erudition. What I sometimes find hard to digest is his attempts to portray Judaism as always consistent with modern Western liberal, democratic, humanist values (if you’ve ever taken a university Western Civ course [do such things still exist?] you know what values I mean).
Let me give you an example from the book. In the second half of the book R’ Sacks takes a few episodes in Braishis, e.g. Avraham’s banishment of Yismael, Ya’akov’s conflict with Eisav, Yosef’s conflict with his brothers, and he argues that these stories have been misunderstood. Rather than a rejection of the unwanted son/brother, the intent of the Bible is to flip the traditional storyline on its head and actually validate the “other” brother/son/outsider. In G-d’s eyes, everyone has value and no one is rejected. He goes so far as to read the opening of Vayishlach, where Ya’akov sends gifts to Eisav, as a sort of attempt to return the bounty of the brachos, an acknowledgement that maybe the stolen brachos should rightfully have been given to Eisav after all. Read in this way, as validating the “other,” religion becomes a force that unites people, rather than a divisive force that can lead to violence.
I thought I was maybe missing something, so I told this derasha to my son and asked him if there is anything that strikes him as odd. He immediately quoted the pasuk in Malachi, "…v’es Eisav saneisi?” (1:3) How can you think that Eisav is validated? I would have thought that what seems to be a mefurash pasuk against your thesis deserves a mention in the text, but R’ Sacks addresses it only in a footnote to the chapter at the back of the book. His answer is that the navi was speaking about a particular time where there were particular difficulties, but this is not to be taken as a general rule or a normative statement. Putting aside the fact that were an reaction to a particular situation and not a nevu’ah she’hutzrecha l’doros it would never have been written, I think the more basic issue is how do you know what is the rule and what is the exception? How do you know that your derasha on Braishis represents the TRUTH, the categorical rule, and the pasuk in Malachi is the exception? Maybe it’s the other way around? It seems to me at least that Eisav has been historically seen as a bad guy who should be avoided at all costs. Halacha hi she’Eisav sonei Ya’akov. K’she’zeh kam zeh nofeil. The Derashos haRan uses this very pasuk in Malachi as a springboard to argue that the conflict between Eisav and Ya’akov is inherent in their (our) nature, not just a product of circumstance. The two sides can never share common ground. R’ Sacks is not bound to adopt the view of the Ran, but I would have liked to see how he it. A nice derasha is no more than that – a nice derasha. Whether it reflects the majority view of ba'alei mesorah and Jewish philosophers is unproven.
One other quick point: I think the whole argument of the book is academic. Until someone in the camp of Yishmael of similar renown to R' Sacks starts making these same arguments, there is nothing to talk about. To preach peace and tolerance while your enemies plot your destruction is does not make any sense to me.
There is much more to say about the book… maybe one day I get back to it.
Let me give you an example from the book. In the second half of the book R’ Sacks takes a few episodes in Braishis, e.g. Avraham’s banishment of Yismael, Ya’akov’s conflict with Eisav, Yosef’s conflict with his brothers, and he argues that these stories have been misunderstood. Rather than a rejection of the unwanted son/brother, the intent of the Bible is to flip the traditional storyline on its head and actually validate the “other” brother/son/outsider. In G-d’s eyes, everyone has value and no one is rejected. He goes so far as to read the opening of Vayishlach, where Ya’akov sends gifts to Eisav, as a sort of attempt to return the bounty of the brachos, an acknowledgement that maybe the stolen brachos should rightfully have been given to Eisav after all. Read in this way, as validating the “other,” religion becomes a force that unites people, rather than a divisive force that can lead to violence.
I thought I was maybe missing something, so I told this derasha to my son and asked him if there is anything that strikes him as odd. He immediately quoted the pasuk in Malachi, "…v’es Eisav saneisi?” (1:3) How can you think that Eisav is validated? I would have thought that what seems to be a mefurash pasuk against your thesis deserves a mention in the text, but R’ Sacks addresses it only in a footnote to the chapter at the back of the book. His answer is that the navi was speaking about a particular time where there were particular difficulties, but this is not to be taken as a general rule or a normative statement. Putting aside the fact that were an reaction to a particular situation and not a nevu’ah she’hutzrecha l’doros it would never have been written, I think the more basic issue is how do you know what is the rule and what is the exception? How do you know that your derasha on Braishis represents the TRUTH, the categorical rule, and the pasuk in Malachi is the exception? Maybe it’s the other way around? It seems to me at least that Eisav has been historically seen as a bad guy who should be avoided at all costs. Halacha hi she’Eisav sonei Ya’akov. K’she’zeh kam zeh nofeil. The Derashos haRan uses this very pasuk in Malachi as a springboard to argue that the conflict between Eisav and Ya’akov is inherent in their (our) nature, not just a product of circumstance. The two sides can never share common ground. R’ Sacks is not bound to adopt the view of the Ran, but I would have liked to see how he it. A nice derasha is no more than that – a nice derasha. Whether it reflects the majority view of ba'alei mesorah and Jewish philosophers is unproven.
One other quick point: I think the whole argument of the book is academic. Until someone in the camp of Yishmael of similar renown to R' Sacks starts making these same arguments, there is nothing to talk about. To preach peace and tolerance while your enemies plot your destruction is does not make any sense to me.
There is much more to say about the book… maybe one day I get back to it.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
mekalel vs mekoshesh - opposite sides of the coin
Rashi writes that the episodes of the mekalel and the mekoshesh happened at the same time; both wrongdoers suffered the same fate of being imprisoned, albeit separately, until Hashem revealed what should be done with them. Despite the superficial parallel, there is a subtle difference in the description of how each case was handled. In our parsha we are told, “Vayanichu’hu bamishmar lifrosh lahem al pi Hashem,” (24:12) the mekalel was jailed until what should be done was revealed to them, plural. In parshas Shlach, the Torah says that the mekoshesh was jailed “ki lo porash ma yei’aseh lo,” (15:34) because it had not yet been revealed what to do with him, singular. Why the switch between singular and plural? The end of the parsha may provide a clue.
After telling us that Bnei Yisrael took the mekalel out and stoned him, the Torah adds, “U’Bnei Yisrael asu ka’asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe.” (22:23) It’s a seemingly unnecessary addition, as the pasuk just told that that Bnei Yisrael did as they were instructed. Seforno, Netzi”v and Ohr haChaim (who has other answers as well) suggest that the Torah is emphasizing that Bnei Yisrael carried out the punishment of the mekalel simply to fulfill Hashem’s command, not with any sense of vindictiveness. Meshech Chochma (see also Tiferes Shlomo), however, reads the end of the pasuk as referring not to the punishment that was administered, but rather as referring back to the mitzvah of baking the lechem ha’panim described earlier in the perek. According to one view quoted in Rashi, it was this parsha of lechem ha’panim that the mekalel ridiculed. Why would G-d want us to offer 9 day old bread instead of fresh baked loaves? What sense did it make? The Torah closes the episode by telling us that not only was the mekalel punished, but his scoffing had no effect on the community. Bnei Yisrael made and offered lechem ha’panim as they had done beforehand, without regard to the questions and doubts raised by the mekalel.
The story of the mekoshesh is the flipside of that of the mekalel. Instead of sowing seeds of doubt in the community, the mekoshesh’s goal was to strengthen the community’s commitment. Chazal tell us that when Bnei Yisrael heard that they would have to spend 40 years in the desert, they thought all was lost. The mekoshesh deliberately was mechalel Shabbos to show that life would go on as before – there was still a kedushas Shabbos, still obligations and requirements that needed to be fulfilled. Maharasha goes so far as to ask why the mekoshesh’s actions are not classified as a melacha she’aina tzericha l’gufa considering that he had no real practical use for the melacha performed.
Rashi tells us that the mekalel and the mekoshesh did not share the same prison cell – perhaps the message is that they were worlds apart in what they were trying to accomplish.
Returning to our original question, the reaction to the mekoshesh was to try to figure out what to do with him, singular. The community’s belief and observance was at least as strong as before, if not stronger, due to the mekoshesh’s self sacrifice to make the point that Torah and mitzvos were still in force. He, as an individual, would still have to suffer consequences. The reaction to the mekalel was to figure out where they, plural stood – whether the community as a whole had been impacted by the words of the mekalel, by his questions and scoffing. The conclusion of the parsha resolved not only the question of his fate, but the question of the community’s as well. ( There is a piece in the She’eiris Menachem that led to the ideas in this post.)
After telling us that Bnei Yisrael took the mekalel out and stoned him, the Torah adds, “U’Bnei Yisrael asu ka’asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe.” (22:23) It’s a seemingly unnecessary addition, as the pasuk just told that that Bnei Yisrael did as they were instructed. Seforno, Netzi”v and Ohr haChaim (who has other answers as well) suggest that the Torah is emphasizing that Bnei Yisrael carried out the punishment of the mekalel simply to fulfill Hashem’s command, not with any sense of vindictiveness. Meshech Chochma (see also Tiferes Shlomo), however, reads the end of the pasuk as referring not to the punishment that was administered, but rather as referring back to the mitzvah of baking the lechem ha’panim described earlier in the perek. According to one view quoted in Rashi, it was this parsha of lechem ha’panim that the mekalel ridiculed. Why would G-d want us to offer 9 day old bread instead of fresh baked loaves? What sense did it make? The Torah closes the episode by telling us that not only was the mekalel punished, but his scoffing had no effect on the community. Bnei Yisrael made and offered lechem ha’panim as they had done beforehand, without regard to the questions and doubts raised by the mekalel.
The story of the mekoshesh is the flipside of that of the mekalel. Instead of sowing seeds of doubt in the community, the mekoshesh’s goal was to strengthen the community’s commitment. Chazal tell us that when Bnei Yisrael heard that they would have to spend 40 years in the desert, they thought all was lost. The mekoshesh deliberately was mechalel Shabbos to show that life would go on as before – there was still a kedushas Shabbos, still obligations and requirements that needed to be fulfilled. Maharasha goes so far as to ask why the mekoshesh’s actions are not classified as a melacha she’aina tzericha l’gufa considering that he had no real practical use for the melacha performed.
Rashi tells us that the mekalel and the mekoshesh did not share the same prison cell – perhaps the message is that they were worlds apart in what they were trying to accomplish.
Returning to our original question, the reaction to the mekoshesh was to try to figure out what to do with him, singular. The community’s belief and observance was at least as strong as before, if not stronger, due to the mekoshesh’s self sacrifice to make the point that Torah and mitzvos were still in force. He, as an individual, would still have to suffer consequences. The reaction to the mekalel was to figure out where they, plural stood – whether the community as a whole had been impacted by the words of the mekalel, by his questions and scoffing. The conclusion of the parsha resolved not only the question of his fate, but the question of the community’s as well. ( There is a piece in the She’eiris Menachem that led to the ideas in this post.)
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
theft of a good word -- the mechanism of brachos
Apologies for posting on last week’s parsha so late in the week. I've just been really pressed for time.
The Torah writes that Hashem will punish the person who worhsips Molech “l’ma’an tamei es mikdashi u’lchalel es shem kodshi.” (20:3) There is an obvious difficulty: the person might be miles and miles away from the makom mikdash when he is worshipping Molech. How does his actions cause the mikdash to become tamei? Rashi answers that “mikdash” in this context doesn't mean the “beis hamikdash,” but rather means “knesses Yisrael.” We, the nation, become defiled when even one individual does wrong.
Ramban brings proof from Rashi from a famous gemara in Brachos that most people know, but probably read a little differently than Ramban. Chazal tell us that someone who eats food without making a bracha is a thief, as he/she has stolen from Hashem and from Knesses Yisrael. If you’re like me, you probably understood the gemara to mean that what the thief stole is the food. Not so says Ramban. [Does the food belong to the collective community of Knesses Yisrael?] What the thief stole is the presence of the Shechina from Klal Yisrael. Hashem wants us to say brachos – that helps sustain the world and brings us close to Him. If you don’t say a bracha, you have robbed Klal Yisrael of hashra’as haShechina. So too, explains Ramban, someone who worships Molech drives Hashem’s presence away, and therefore harms the community as a whole.
Rashi agrees with Ramban that it’s not the food we are robbing by not saying a bracha, but he gives in two words a different explanation of what is being stolen. What you are stealing, says Rashi (Brachos 35b) is “es birchaso.” You owe Hashem a bracha and you stole it away from him! Sometimes you can be a thief even if you don’t owe any money – you can owe a thank you as well, and be a thief for not giving it. I don't think this new definition of gezel only applies bein adam laMakom. You can steal the thank you you owe your spouse, the bracha of mazal tov you owe your friend, the good morning you owe your neighbor. My daughter did some math problem well and she complained to me that I didn’t tell her “good job.” Es chata’ai ani mazkor – I was a gazlan! I stole the praise I owed her. We have to be careful to pay not just our monetary debts, but also the debt of words of praise we owe to Hashem and others.
Maharal in Gur Aryeh on this pasuk disagrees with the Rishonim and learns the gemara k'peshuto that it is in fact the food which you are stealing. Everything in the world is like hekdesh – “l'Hashem ha’aretz u’melo’ah.” The way we release the food from the ba’alus of hekdesh is to transform Hashem from owner to giver, and the way to do that is by saying a bracha. When we describe Hashem as “Baruch…” what we are saying is that Hashem overflows with generosity and gives to us. We are no longing stealing -- we are accepting a gift.
Maharal in Nesiv ha’Avodah (ch 14) says yet another hesber of how a bracha removes the status of hekdesh. The way something normally is removed from the domain of hekdesh is through pidyon – substituting something else of value in its place. Bracha, explains the Maharal, works through the same mechanism. When you recite a bracha on that delicious food that is hekdesh, you are giving hekdesh a valuable substitute in its place -- yourself. You become the thing that is holy in place of the food, and therefore the food can be eaten.
The Torah writes that Hashem will punish the person who worhsips Molech “l’ma’an tamei es mikdashi u’lchalel es shem kodshi.” (20:3) There is an obvious difficulty: the person might be miles and miles away from the makom mikdash when he is worshipping Molech. How does his actions cause the mikdash to become tamei? Rashi answers that “mikdash” in this context doesn't mean the “beis hamikdash,” but rather means “knesses Yisrael.” We, the nation, become defiled when even one individual does wrong.
Ramban brings proof from Rashi from a famous gemara in Brachos that most people know, but probably read a little differently than Ramban. Chazal tell us that someone who eats food without making a bracha is a thief, as he/she has stolen from Hashem and from Knesses Yisrael. If you’re like me, you probably understood the gemara to mean that what the thief stole is the food. Not so says Ramban. [Does the food belong to the collective community of Knesses Yisrael?] What the thief stole is the presence of the Shechina from Klal Yisrael. Hashem wants us to say brachos – that helps sustain the world and brings us close to Him. If you don’t say a bracha, you have robbed Klal Yisrael of hashra’as haShechina. So too, explains Ramban, someone who worships Molech drives Hashem’s presence away, and therefore harms the community as a whole.
Rashi agrees with Ramban that it’s not the food we are robbing by not saying a bracha, but he gives in two words a different explanation of what is being stolen. What you are stealing, says Rashi (Brachos 35b) is “es birchaso.” You owe Hashem a bracha and you stole it away from him! Sometimes you can be a thief even if you don’t owe any money – you can owe a thank you as well, and be a thief for not giving it. I don't think this new definition of gezel only applies bein adam laMakom. You can steal the thank you you owe your spouse, the bracha of mazal tov you owe your friend, the good morning you owe your neighbor. My daughter did some math problem well and she complained to me that I didn’t tell her “good job.” Es chata’ai ani mazkor – I was a gazlan! I stole the praise I owed her. We have to be careful to pay not just our monetary debts, but also the debt of words of praise we owe to Hashem and others.
Maharal in Gur Aryeh on this pasuk disagrees with the Rishonim and learns the gemara k'peshuto that it is in fact the food which you are stealing. Everything in the world is like hekdesh – “l'Hashem ha’aretz u’melo’ah.” The way we release the food from the ba’alus of hekdesh is to transform Hashem from owner to giver, and the way to do that is by saying a bracha. When we describe Hashem as “Baruch…” what we are saying is that Hashem overflows with generosity and gives to us. We are no longing stealing -- we are accepting a gift.
Maharal in Nesiv ha’Avodah (ch 14) says yet another hesber of how a bracha removes the status of hekdesh. The way something normally is removed from the domain of hekdesh is through pidyon – substituting something else of value in its place. Bracha, explains the Maharal, works through the same mechanism. When you recite a bracha on that delicious food that is hekdesh, you are giving hekdesh a valuable substitute in its place -- yourself. You become the thing that is holy in place of the food, and therefore the food can be eaten.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
setting down roots
1) To the man on the street, the concept of “holiness” belongs in the domain of the spiritual elite. The Dalai Lama, for example, is called “His Holiness” – the expectation is that someone who is “holy” will be living in a monastery in Tibet, not be riding the subway and be walking the streets of Manhattan. That’s what makes the opening of our parsha so remarkable. “Dabeir el kol adas Bnei Yisrael… kedoshim te’hiyu.” Davka here, when speaking of kedusha/holiness, the Torah demands that Moshe gather all of Klal Yisrael to make sure every single individual gets the message. That message is twofold: 1) yes, there is a lofty level of kedusha that only the spiritual elite can reach, but there are also levels of kedusha that each and every one of us can incorporate into our own lives; 2) even if we never reach those lofty levels, we can at least look to them as guides to the path we should be following. Even the GR”A claimed that he did not get beyond the lower rungs of positive midos described by the Mesilas Yesharim. So what are we doing when we learn such a book? We are setting our sights on where we should be headed, even if we never get there.
2) The meforshim (see the very nice Ohr haChaim) discuss why the Torah mentions “u’netatem kol eitz ma’achal” as a preface to the mitzvah of orlah. The Torah could just tell us not to eat the fruit of a tree during the first three years without talking about planting -- obviously you have to plant a tree to have fruit. The Midrash quotes the pasuk of “acharei Hashem Elokeichem teileichu” and asks how it is possible to follow G-d. The gemara in Sota answers that the pasuk means to follow the midos of G-d – just as he is rachum, so too we must show rachmanus; just as he is gomeil chassadim, so too must we be gomeil chassadim, etc., The Midrash here adds an additional element: just as G-d planted, “Vayita…gan b’Eden,” so too, we should be like him and plant. “U’nitatem…” is not just the circumstances under which the issur of orlah applies -- it's a command in its own right, a way of being more like G-d. The Tanchuma writes that Hashem said that even if we find Eretz Yisrael filled with every good thing, we shouldn’t just sit back and enjoy that bounty, but we must plant. Why plant if there is no need? Our Midrash provides the answer – because planting is a way of becoming more like G-d.
The Midrash also connects “u’nitatem” to the pasuk of “eitz chaim hi la'machazikim bah.” Our pasuk is talking about planting real trees that produce real fruit; the "eitz chaim" is a metaphorical tree, the tree of Torah -- what does one thing have to do with the other? The Sefas Emes explains that there are physical roots and spiritual roots. When a Jew plants a tree in Eretz Yisrael, the goal is not just to set tree roots into the ground -- the goal should be to better the world, the goal should be to bring Hashem's plan, not just dates and figs, to fruition.
2) The meforshim (see the very nice Ohr haChaim) discuss why the Torah mentions “u’netatem kol eitz ma’achal” as a preface to the mitzvah of orlah. The Torah could just tell us not to eat the fruit of a tree during the first three years without talking about planting -- obviously you have to plant a tree to have fruit. The Midrash quotes the pasuk of “acharei Hashem Elokeichem teileichu” and asks how it is possible to follow G-d. The gemara in Sota answers that the pasuk means to follow the midos of G-d – just as he is rachum, so too we must show rachmanus; just as he is gomeil chassadim, so too must we be gomeil chassadim, etc., The Midrash here adds an additional element: just as G-d planted, “Vayita…gan b’Eden,” so too, we should be like him and plant. “U’nitatem…” is not just the circumstances under which the issur of orlah applies -- it's a command in its own right, a way of being more like G-d. The Tanchuma writes that Hashem said that even if we find Eretz Yisrael filled with every good thing, we shouldn’t just sit back and enjoy that bounty, but we must plant. Why plant if there is no need? Our Midrash provides the answer – because planting is a way of becoming more like G-d.
The Midrash also connects “u’nitatem” to the pasuk of “eitz chaim hi la'machazikim bah.” Our pasuk is talking about planting real trees that produce real fruit; the "eitz chaim" is a metaphorical tree, the tree of Torah -- what does one thing have to do with the other? The Sefas Emes explains that there are physical roots and spiritual roots. When a Jew plants a tree in Eretz Yisrael, the goal is not just to set tree roots into the ground -- the goal should be to better the world, the goal should be to bring Hashem's plan, not just dates and figs, to fruition.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
5 Iyar -- birchas haTorah, not birchas hamazon
One item that caught my attention in R’ Mayer Fendel’s book Nine Men Wanted for a Minyan was his response to the question of why we celebrate Yom Ha’Atzmaut. The person posing the question argued that the declaration of the state had little immediate significance. There was and still is so much work needed to be done to build Eretz Yisrael – so many more steps are needed to transform aschalta d’geulah (assuming it is at least that) into a full geulah. Even from a secular perspective, 5 Iyar was immediately followed by war, not tranquility. The infrastructure of the country had to be built and numerous hurdles overcome. You don’t celebrate a siyum when you are holding on daf beis! What exactly happened on 5 Iyar that warrants hallel and a yom tov?
Rav Fendel’s answer, if I remember correctly (I don’t own the book), was that having a sovereign political entity that all Jews can call home is of monumental significance. There will never again be an incident like, for example, what happened to the St Louis. Whenever and wherever a Jew is, there is now someplace he/she will always be accepted and welcomed.
That answer is certainly correct, but I would like to add my own two cents. The Sefer haChinuch asks why it is that when it comes to the mitzvah d’oraysa of birchas hamazon, we say the brachos only after finishing a meal, not beforehand, yet when it comes to the mitzvah of birchas hatorah, we reverse things and davka recite the bracha before learning. (Sounds like he assumes birchas hatorah is a birchas hashevach just like bh”m). Why the difference?
The Sefer haChinuch answers that the difference is in the nature of the hana’ah. You only get the enjoyment of satiation that comes from having a good meal after the meal is over. However, when it comes to the hana’ah of delving into a sugya, the enjoyment comes as soon as you start -- the enjoyment stems from the process of learning, regardless of whether you ever reach or ever can reach an endpoint or conclusion. A hana’ah sichlit is a different type of hana’ah, says the Chinuch.
True, you don’t make a siyum when you are only holding on daf beis – but you do say a birchas haTorah.
If all you see when you look at Eretz Yisrael is a physical place, a country like any other, albeit with more Jews living there, then ain hachi nami, you may not have much to celebrate yet. We’re not ready for birchas ha’mazon; the satiation is not there yet. But if you see the building of our land as the unfolding of giluy malchus shamayim, then it’s a hana’ah sichlit, then the process alone is worthy of bracha and celebration. There is a pnimiyus to Eretz Yisrael, to the physical land and trees and mountains, that does not exist anywhere else in the world. There is inherent spirituality that resides in every blade of grass and every brick that is there. Every drop of that that we enjoy is worthy of celebration, even if we don't see the whole picture yet. That’s what we say hallel and give thanks for. 5 Iyar is not a birchas ha'mazon -- it's a birchas haTorah.
“K’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim asher y’shavtem bah lo ta’asu…” Do we need to be reminded that we once lived in Eretz Mitzrayim? “Uk’ma’aseh Eretz Canaan asher ani mavi eschem shamah lo ta’asu…” Do we need to be told that Hashem is bringing us into Eretz Yisrael? The Kli Yakar answers that the Torah is telling us exactly what wrong deeds are the “k’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim” and “ma’aseh Eretz Canaan” that the Torah is warning us of. Firstly, there is the “k’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim” error of “y’shavtem bah,” of choosing to dwell there as if galus was home, not understanding that Mitzrayim and every other galus is just a temporary waystation. We sometimes forget that we don’t belong here no matter how nice it is. Secondly, there is the wrong of “ma’aseh Eretz Canaan,” where “ani mavi eschem shamah,” where I am bringing you there, where I need to twist your arm and drag you through a desert and bring you there willy-nilly. It shouldn't be Hashem that is dragging us there -- we should be running and dancing with joy on our own accord to get there.
B'ezras Hashem we should get the message on our own, without a BDS movement or an Obama or what goes on in London, Brussels, and Paris to remind us.
Rav Fendel’s answer, if I remember correctly (I don’t own the book), was that having a sovereign political entity that all Jews can call home is of monumental significance. There will never again be an incident like, for example, what happened to the St Louis. Whenever and wherever a Jew is, there is now someplace he/she will always be accepted and welcomed.
That answer is certainly correct, but I would like to add my own two cents. The Sefer haChinuch asks why it is that when it comes to the mitzvah d’oraysa of birchas hamazon, we say the brachos only after finishing a meal, not beforehand, yet when it comes to the mitzvah of birchas hatorah, we reverse things and davka recite the bracha before learning. (Sounds like he assumes birchas hatorah is a birchas hashevach just like bh”m). Why the difference?
The Sefer haChinuch answers that the difference is in the nature of the hana’ah. You only get the enjoyment of satiation that comes from having a good meal after the meal is over. However, when it comes to the hana’ah of delving into a sugya, the enjoyment comes as soon as you start -- the enjoyment stems from the process of learning, regardless of whether you ever reach or ever can reach an endpoint or conclusion. A hana’ah sichlit is a different type of hana’ah, says the Chinuch.
True, you don’t make a siyum when you are only holding on daf beis – but you do say a birchas haTorah.
If all you see when you look at Eretz Yisrael is a physical place, a country like any other, albeit with more Jews living there, then ain hachi nami, you may not have much to celebrate yet. We’re not ready for birchas ha’mazon; the satiation is not there yet. But if you see the building of our land as the unfolding of giluy malchus shamayim, then it’s a hana’ah sichlit, then the process alone is worthy of bracha and celebration. There is a pnimiyus to Eretz Yisrael, to the physical land and trees and mountains, that does not exist anywhere else in the world. There is inherent spirituality that resides in every blade of grass and every brick that is there. Every drop of that that we enjoy is worthy of celebration, even if we don't see the whole picture yet. That’s what we say hallel and give thanks for. 5 Iyar is not a birchas ha'mazon -- it's a birchas haTorah.
“K’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim asher y’shavtem bah lo ta’asu…” Do we need to be reminded that we once lived in Eretz Mitzrayim? “Uk’ma’aseh Eretz Canaan asher ani mavi eschem shamah lo ta’asu…” Do we need to be told that Hashem is bringing us into Eretz Yisrael? The Kli Yakar answers that the Torah is telling us exactly what wrong deeds are the “k’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim” and “ma’aseh Eretz Canaan” that the Torah is warning us of. Firstly, there is the “k’ma’aseh Eretz Mitzrayim” error of “y’shavtem bah,” of choosing to dwell there as if galus was home, not understanding that Mitzrayim and every other galus is just a temporary waystation. We sometimes forget that we don’t belong here no matter how nice it is. Secondly, there is the wrong of “ma’aseh Eretz Canaan,” where “ani mavi eschem shamah,” where I am bringing you there, where I need to twist your arm and drag you through a desert and bring you there willy-nilly. It shouldn't be Hashem that is dragging us there -- we should be running and dancing with joy on our own accord to get there.
B'ezras Hashem we should get the message on our own, without a BDS movement or an Obama or what goes on in London, Brussels, and Paris to remind us.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
more on molech and contextual interpretation
Although the Targum Yonasan in last week’s parsha interprets the issur of molech as a prohibition against marrying an aku"m, seemingly against the Mishna in Megillah, the T.Y. in this week’s parsha (20:2) interprets the pasuk prohibiting molech as an issur avodah zarah. Why the difference? My wife’s grandfather, R' Dov Yehidah Shochet, explained that it depends on context. In last week’s parsha, the issur of molech appears in the context of issurei arayos. Therefore, the Targum explains the pasuk in a way that best fits that context, as an issur arayos (baruch she’kivanti - see last week's post). In this week’s parsha, the pasuk appears at the beginning of a perek and the context is not yet set. Therefore, Targum renders the pasuk literally and explains it as an issur avodah zarah.
The Ibn Ezra says exactly the opposite. Back in last week’s parsha, where the context is arayos, Ibn Ezra interprets the molech pasuk as an issur avodah zarah. In this week’s parsha, where the context is not set, he writes, “yitein m’zar’o lamolech – v’ha’ta’am: lishkov im ovedes kochavim” -- here he interprets it as an arayos-related issur. Very hard to understand.
The question that begs asking is why there is this switch in context switches between the parshiyos – why in last week’s parsha does the issur of molech appear towards the end of the list of arayos but in this week’s parsha it is in the lead off position before any arayos are discussed? Furthermore, why does the order in which the arayos are presented changed between the two parshiyos?
The Ibn Ezra says exactly the opposite. Back in last week’s parsha, where the context is arayos, Ibn Ezra interprets the molech pasuk as an issur avodah zarah. In this week’s parsha, where the context is not set, he writes, “yitein m’zar’o lamolech – v’ha’ta’am: lishkov im ovedes kochavim” -- here he interprets it as an arayos-related issur. Very hard to understand.
The question that begs asking is why there is this switch in context switches between the parshiyos – why in last week’s parsha does the issur of molech appear towards the end of the list of arayos but in this week’s parsha it is in the lead off position before any arayos are discussed? Furthermore, why does the order in which the arayos are presented changed between the two parshiyos?
Thursday, May 05, 2016
what is molech doing in the middle of the parsha of arayos?
A positive note to start with: the Kohen gadol could enter the kodesh kodashim only one day a year, only on Yom Kippur. This proves the rule, says the Sefas Emes, that b'makom she'ba'alei teshuvah omdim, even tzadikim gamurim ain omdim. On Yom Kippur we are all ba’alei teshuvah. We can enter places and reach heights that are closed off the entire rest of the year.
And now we can get to arayos and idolatry : ) There is one pasuk in the middle of the parsha of arayos that sticks out like a sore thumb: “U’mi’zaracha lo titein l’ha’avir la’molech…” (18:21) Why should the Torah place a warning against molech worship smack in the middle of the discussion of arayos? The Mishna in Megillah (4:9) warns that someone who translates this pasuk as a prohibition against conceiving a child with an ovedes kochavim should be silenced. The rejected reading is obviously an attempt to find a simple solution to the problem of what the pasuk is doing in this context. The Mishna’s admonition notwithstanding, some parshanim (e.g. Abarbanel, Targum Yonasan) accept this reading as pshat. (As to how they deal with the Mishna, see Maharasha, Mahartz Chiyus, Tos Y”T on the Mishna, and my cousin-in-law [is there such a word?] R' Avraham Wagner's sefer Na’ar Yonasan on the Targum. Maybe I don't get it, but I’m not really bothered by this question. Meforshei pshat oftentimes read pesukim counter to the way Chazal do. Just because the Mishna expresses its opposition to this reading so strongly doesn't change anything. The Mishna is speaking l'halacha; the parshanim are talking about pshat -- two very different levels of meaning. To ignore the distinction would lead to things like censoring Rashbam -- who would dare do that? : )
I want to throw out what may be a crazy idea and suggest that there may be a hint to this rejected reading even in Rashi, or to be more accurate, a derash Rashi quotes. While Rashi on the pasuk interprets molech as a form of idolatry, earlier in the perek (18:2) he cites a derasha in the name of Rebbi: “Hashem knew that Bnei Yisrael would violate issurei arayos in the days of Ezra; therefore, the parsha issues a warning in advance, ‘Ani Hashem Elokeichem,’ a judge who will hold you accountable and one trustworthy to reward those who obey.” The Chasam Sofer asks a simple question: what issur of arayos did Bnei Yisrael violate in the days of Ezra? True, in Ezra’s time intermarraige was rampant, but marrying a nochris is not an issur of arayos as listed in our perek! If you accept at least as plausible pshat the reading that the Mishna rejected l’halacha, namely, that the issur molech is a warning against having relations with a nochris and having child, then the Chasam Sofer’s question is moot and Rebbi’s derash makes perfect sense.
Assuming that one takes the Mishna at face value and the pasuk is referring to actual molech worship, how do you explain what it is doing here? R’ Bachyei writes that the covenant between Hashem and Klal Yisrael is like that of marriage. The Torah here is hinting that the sin of avodah zarah is in some sense equivalent to arayos/infidelity. Alternatively, maybe the Torah is reflecting the idea in Chazal that Klal Yisrael engaged in avodah zarah only to allow themselves the opportunity to engage in arayos, not because they were true believers. We also see from the Ba’al Pe’or episode in sefer BaMidbar that the two sins of idolatry and arayos often go together.
The downside of these explanations is that they do not explain why it is molech in particular and not avodah zarah in general that the Torah focusses on. Perhaps there is a relationship between the manner of molech worship and the rationale behind the issurei arayos. Ramban writes that arayos relationships are the result of pursuit of ta'avah and a rejection of the mission of building a family. (This would explain why nidah is mentioned in the parsha even though technically it might not be one of the arayos [see Esvan d’Oraysa]. Ramban writes that relations with a nidah leads to tainted offspring). The worship of molech involved turning over one’s children to the priests of molech to pass them through fire. Just as arayos is, according to Ramban, a forsaking of normal family life for ta’avah, molech also is a sacrifice, in the literal sense, of one’s family, one’s children, for the sake of avodah zarah.
And now we can get to arayos and idolatry : ) There is one pasuk in the middle of the parsha of arayos that sticks out like a sore thumb: “U’mi’zaracha lo titein l’ha’avir la’molech…” (18:21) Why should the Torah place a warning against molech worship smack in the middle of the discussion of arayos? The Mishna in Megillah (4:9) warns that someone who translates this pasuk as a prohibition against conceiving a child with an ovedes kochavim should be silenced. The rejected reading is obviously an attempt to find a simple solution to the problem of what the pasuk is doing in this context. The Mishna’s admonition notwithstanding, some parshanim (e.g. Abarbanel, Targum Yonasan) accept this reading as pshat. (As to how they deal with the Mishna, see Maharasha, Mahartz Chiyus, Tos Y”T on the Mishna, and my cousin-in-law [is there such a word?] R' Avraham Wagner's sefer Na’ar Yonasan on the Targum. Maybe I don't get it, but I’m not really bothered by this question. Meforshei pshat oftentimes read pesukim counter to the way Chazal do. Just because the Mishna expresses its opposition to this reading so strongly doesn't change anything. The Mishna is speaking l'halacha; the parshanim are talking about pshat -- two very different levels of meaning. To ignore the distinction would lead to things like censoring Rashbam -- who would dare do that? : )
I want to throw out what may be a crazy idea and suggest that there may be a hint to this rejected reading even in Rashi, or to be more accurate, a derash Rashi quotes. While Rashi on the pasuk interprets molech as a form of idolatry, earlier in the perek (18:2) he cites a derasha in the name of Rebbi: “Hashem knew that Bnei Yisrael would violate issurei arayos in the days of Ezra; therefore, the parsha issues a warning in advance, ‘Ani Hashem Elokeichem,’ a judge who will hold you accountable and one trustworthy to reward those who obey.” The Chasam Sofer asks a simple question: what issur of arayos did Bnei Yisrael violate in the days of Ezra? True, in Ezra’s time intermarraige was rampant, but marrying a nochris is not an issur of arayos as listed in our perek! If you accept at least as plausible pshat the reading that the Mishna rejected l’halacha, namely, that the issur molech is a warning against having relations with a nochris and having child, then the Chasam Sofer’s question is moot and Rebbi’s derash makes perfect sense.
Assuming that one takes the Mishna at face value and the pasuk is referring to actual molech worship, how do you explain what it is doing here? R’ Bachyei writes that the covenant between Hashem and Klal Yisrael is like that of marriage. The Torah here is hinting that the sin of avodah zarah is in some sense equivalent to arayos/infidelity. Alternatively, maybe the Torah is reflecting the idea in Chazal that Klal Yisrael engaged in avodah zarah only to allow themselves the opportunity to engage in arayos, not because they were true believers. We also see from the Ba’al Pe’or episode in sefer BaMidbar that the two sins of idolatry and arayos often go together.
The downside of these explanations is that they do not explain why it is molech in particular and not avodah zarah in general that the Torah focusses on. Perhaps there is a relationship between the manner of molech worship and the rationale behind the issurei arayos. Ramban writes that arayos relationships are the result of pursuit of ta'avah and a rejection of the mission of building a family. (This would explain why nidah is mentioned in the parsha even though technically it might not be one of the arayos [see Esvan d’Oraysa]. Ramban writes that relations with a nidah leads to tainted offspring). The worship of molech involved turning over one’s children to the priests of molech to pass them through fire. Just as arayos is, according to Ramban, a forsaking of normal family life for ta’avah, molech also is a sacrifice, in the literal sense, of one’s family, one’s children, for the sake of avodah zarah.
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