simchas Purim vs. simchas Yom Tov (II)

Last week (link) we explained that there is no din of ain m’arvin simcha b’simcha when it comes to getting married on Purim because simchas Purim is not a characteristic of the kedushas hayom but is a detail specific to the chiyuv seudah.

Other sources seem to indicate otherwise. The Shulchan Aruch quotes a view (yesh mi she’omer) that an onein may eat meat and drink wine the night of Purim because the communal obligation of simcha overrides the private obligation of aninus / aveilus. The chiyuiv of seudah on Purim does not begin until the next day; clearly, the simcha which pushes off aveilus is of a more general nature. The fact that we wear bigdei Shabbos on Purim night, that at night we (according to the Rama) “yismach v’yirbeh ktzas b’seudah,” eat a festive meal, albeit a less lavish one than during the day, all point to a more global chiyuv of simcha.

If so, hadra kushya l’duchta – why is one allowed to hold a wedding on Purim but not on Yom Tov? Rav Zolti answers, based on a careful reading of the Rama in Darkei Moshe, that the din of ain m’arvin simcha b’simcha applies where the halacha of simcha directs us to focus our attention on the celebration of the day itself – v’samachta b’chagecha. Not so Purim, which is a day of “mishteh v’simcha -- b’kol mah d’misameiach sagi leih,” as the Rama writes -- however and whatever you chose to have simcha about is a fulfillment of the mitzvas hayom. If holding a wedding brings you simcha, that does not contradict the spirit of the day – to the contrary, that is what the spirit of the day is all about.

parting the clouds

We read at the end of Pekudei that Moshe found himself unable to enter the completed Mishkan because of the cloud, representing the Shechina, which enveloped the tent (40:35). The Ohr haChaim points out that this seems to contradict the close of parshas Mishpatim where we read, "Vayavo Moshe b'toch he'anan," Moshe had no problem entering into the cloud which enveloped Har Sinai. Why the difference? Ohr haChaim offers two answers: 1) Moshe had been called to enterinto the cloud that surrounded Sinai; he was not yet called to enter the cloud surrounding the Mishkan; 2) the cloud enveloped the Mishkan; the cloud hovered above Sinai, but did not block Moshe's access to the mountain. I would like to suggest a third possibility which also relates to how we deal with the clouds that muddle our ability to move forward or to see things clearly. The difference between the two clouds is the context in which they occur. Sinai represents the experience of matan Torah; the Mishkan represents avodah, tefilah. Torah provides direction through the cloud -- chayav or patur, mutar or asur, the halacha provides a resolution, an answer, which allows us to move forward. Tefilah operates very differently. It's when we have given up the quest for answers or when we realize that despite our best efforts, we will fall short, that we turn to tefilah. Tefilah is not about finding a way through the cloud; it's about asking Hashem to just remove the cloud entirely because if we dare venture into it, we will be lost and be unable to find our own way out. We wait outside the cloud, not daring to enter, waiting expectently for a response.

the fiery shekel

The Midrash teaches that Moshe found the parsha of shekalim difficult to understand. Hashem responded by showing him a “matbe’a shel eish” pulled from under his throne. The Midrash is ambiguous – what did Moshe find hard to understand and how did Hashem’s response allay his concern? – and it leaves the door open to various interpretations.

The Sefas Emes explains: Machatzis hashekel was an equalizer. No matter how rich or poor you were, you had to give exactly half a shekel, no more and no less. This was the point which troubled Moshe. Are the poor man and the rich, the stingy miser and the benevolent “nediv lev” really cut from the same cloth? How can all people be expected to give exactly the same amount, to be counted the same way, as if on some level all are equal? Especially in our day and age, where our community is so splintered, with so many divergent viewpoints on anything and everything, does it make sense to speak of commonality in any sense of the word?

להגיד גדולתו של מלך מלכי המלכים, הקדוש ברוך הוא, שאדם טובע מאה מטבעות בחותם אחד, וכולן דומין זה לזה, מלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא טובע את כל האדם בחותמו של אדם הראשון, ואין אחד מהם דומה לחברו. לפיכך לכל אחד ואחד לומר, בשבילי נברא העולם.

The Mishna in Sanhedrin (4:5) teaches that Hashem was “tove’a” all humanity with one common stamp. The word “matbe’a” used by the Mishna shares the same root as this word “tove’a” used in the Mishna. It was this commonality which Hashem showed Moshe in response to his questions. As different as we appear on the surface, underneath it all we do share a common core. The Midrash refers to a “matbe’a shel eish,” a burning stamp, because as different as how we act, how we speak, how we think, there is an inextinguishable spark of common goodness that lies in the heart.

too young to lein parshas shekalim?

My son is supposed to lein this Shabbos. Last night I pointed out to him that R’ Tzvi Pesach Frank in Mikraei Kodesh (actually, it’s in the notes, which I believe were written by RTPF’s grandson) has a safeik whether he can lein parshas shekalim. Only those over 20 years old were obligated in the mitzvah of machatzis hashekel. The Rama therefore writes that the minhag of giving coins as a zecher to machtzis ha’shekel is practiced only by those over 20. (There are Rishonim who hold that the shekalim collected in the midbar were an exception to the rule; the mitzvah applied for future generation to all those over bar mitzvah. The Rama clearly does not side with this view, but other Achronim do). By the same token, perhaps the parsha of shekalim should be read only by someone over 20. Yesh l’chaleik, but something to think about.

simchas Purim vs. simchas Yom Tov

The Mechaber paskens (696:8) that one may hold a wedding on Purim. The Magen Avraham poses the obvious question: One is not permitted to hold a wedding on a Yom Tov because “ain m’arvin simcha b’simcha,” one cannot mix two different celebrations together. Since Purim is also a day of simcha, why are weddings allowed?

There are two distinct elements to simchas ha’yom: 1) the nature of the day itself; 2) the chovas hagavra to perform acts that reflect that simcha. R’ Betzalel Zolti (Mishnas Ya’avetz #79) explains that both of these elements are present on Yom Tov. Simchas Yom Tov is part of the character of the day; the chovas ha’gavra to eat shalmei simcha or read hallel is an expression of that underlying character of the day. Not so the simcha of Purim. Purim is a day of “mishteh v’simcha” – simcha is not a defining quality of the day, but is connected specifically to the chovas hagavra of seudah.

The Rambam writes (Hil Yom Tov 6:18) writes that simchas Yom Tov is observed by giving little children nuts [candy?], buying nice clothers for our wives, etc. Yet, in Hil Purim the Rambam makes no mention of these obligations. He refers only to fulfilling mishteh v’simcha in eating seudas Purim. Why does the simcha of Purim not warrant the same as the simcha of Yom Tov? Because Purim is not a day of simcha -- it is day in which we have a chovas ha'gavra to eat a festive meal characterized by simcha. For this reason the Rambam mentions the obligation to drink wine on Purim only in the context of the seudah, to the exclusions of the rest of the day.

The principle of “ain m’arvin simcha b’simcha” means that one cannot schedule a wedding on a day which is already characterized as one of simcha. Purim is a day where there is a chovas hagavra to have a mishteh, but not one in which simcha in not an inherent quality of the day.

Maybe more on this topic (esp. how it relates to the halachos of aveilus on Purim) in a future post.

purim redux

This Sefas Emes (5634) scares me a bit. Yes, Purim had a happy ending, but things were pretty tense until we got there.

It's annoying that I seem to have less and less time to writing this blog. Just thought I would mention that.

tadir vs. mekudash

Rashi writes that the placement of the parsha of Shabbos before the parsha commanding the building the Mishkan teaches that Shabbos is more important than the Mishkan; from here we learn that one is not permitted to violate Shabbos even for the noble task of building a Mishkan. If so, since the Torah places the mitzvah of kibud av before the mitzvah of Shabbos, "Ish imo v'aviv tira'u v'es Shabsosai tishmoru," it should follow that kibud av is more important than Shabbos -- one should be allowed to violate Shabbos to do a parent's bidding. Why does the halacha not entertain such an idea?

Those learning daf yomi will remember that items which are tadir and items which are mekudash take precedence over items which are not. The gemara in Zevacim debates what to do when one has a tadir item on one hand and a mekudash item on the other -- which comes first -- and comes to no clear conclusion. The Rambam paskens one can take either one first.

Chasam Sofer explains: the mitzvah of kibud av is tadir because it can be done all week. Therefore, it takes precedence in the pasuk over Shabbos, which comes only once a week. Shabbos is tadir relative to the Mishkan -- Shabbos comes every week; there is only one opportunity to build a Mishkan. The only possible justification for placing the parsha of the Mishkan before the parsha of Shabbos would be if the Mishkan was more mekudash than Shabbos, in which case its construction should be permitted even on Shabbos. Since the Torah places Shabbos first, QED that we cannot conclude that the Mikdash is more mekudash, and we have no source to permit its being built on Shabbos.

I told this C.S. to a daf shiur expecting to be jumped on with questions, but no one took the bait, which leads to to suspect I'm missing something. The gemara in Zevachim draws a distinction between tadir and matzuy. Tadir means there is an obligation to frequently or repeatedly do a mitzvah. Matzuy means something happens to come up often, but there is no chiyuv forcing it to recurr. Korbanos shelamim may be offererd far more frequently in the mikdash than korbanos chatas, but they are matzuy, not tadir -- shelamim are usually donated voluntarily; there is no chiyuv compelling one to offer them. A person can eat multiple times a day, but bentching is not called tadir because one can choose not to eat at all (Sha'agas Arye #21). The Sha'agas Arye goes so far (#28) as to say the mitzvah of tzitzis is not called tadir because the mitzvah is conditional on wearing a four cornered garment and there is no chiyuv to don such a garment. Even if one chooses to do so, that does not change the nature of the mitzvah.

Is the mitzvah of kibud av tadir or matzuy? I think it belongs in the same category as tzitzis, matzuy. So long as a parent has no requests, no action is required to fulfill kibud av. True, there are things one should not do because of yirah for parents, but when we discuss whether kibud av is doche Shabbos or not, we are speaking of aspects of the mitzvah that require action. I don't understand why the Chasam Sofer classifies kibud as tadir -- do you?

selfless gifts

"Kol ish v'isha asher nadav libam osam l'havi l'kol ha'melacha asher tzivah Hashem b'yad Moshe, heivi'u Bnei Yisrael nedavah laHashem" (35:29)

The pasuk opens speaking of "kol ish v'isha" who wanted to donate to the Mishkan. It would seem to make sense for the pasuk to conclude "heivi'u... nedavah," meaning these same men and women mentioned at the start of the pasuk fulfilled their pledge and dontated. Why does the pasuk add the words "Bnei Yisrael" in place of "ish v'isha" as its subject?

My wife suggested that those who were true nedivim did not call attention to their gifts -- there was no big plaque, no dinner to celebrate their generosity, no announcement of their pledge -- nothing that called attention to the personality of the giver. These true selfless souls looked at their gifts not as their personal bequests, but simply part of the contributions of the people as a whole, hence, "hevi'u Bnei Yisrael..." (see Ksav Sofer as well)

what makes genius

What makes genius? Or perhaps the question we should first ask is whether genius can be made. Modern research answers in the affirmative (as you Malcolm Gladwell fans all know). The difference between becoming a good violin player vs. becoming a great violin player, becoming a good basketball player vs. becoming a great basketball player, is the amount of practice put in. Great achievers typically put in at least 10,000 of practice in their discipline, far more than others.

This came to mind when I read Gary Kasparov's review of a new bio of Bobbly Fischer. He writes in the NY Review of Books:

The focus is on Bobby and the chess, as it should be, though I was hoping for a little more meat on the topic of the nature of prodigy and Fischer’s early development, beyond his own famous comment “I just got good”—but perhaps there is nothing more. The nature of genius may not be definable. Fischer’s passion for puzzles was combined with endless hours of studying and playing chess. The ability to put in those hours of work is in itself an innate gift. Hard work is a talent.

As I've written before, I don't see any reason the same does not apply to Torah study. What makes a talmid chacham? In short: hasmadah, hasmadah, and more hasmadah. That does not mean anyone can become R' Akiva Eiger or R' Chaim Brisker (who were blessed with hasmadah + truly incredible amounts of genius), but it does mean that a person of "average" intelligence (whatever that means) who truly puts in the time can become an outstanding talmid chacham. The only catch, as Kasparov notes, is that hard work is a rare talent indeed.

making Aharon make an eigel

"Vayigof Hashem es ha'am asher a'su es ha'eigel asher asah Aharon..." Hashem brought a plague on the people who made the eigel which Aharon had made.

Why does the pasuk need to remind us that Aharon made the eigel, something we learned just a few pesukim earlier in our parsha? In fact, the pasuk seems almost self-contradictory, on the one hand speaking of the "people who made the eigel," on the other hand, speaking of the eigel, "which Aharon had made."

Ksav Sofer explains that although the eigel was the handiwork of Aharon (and of course Aharon had his cheshbonos as to why he did what he did), he did not create it in a vacuum. It was the circumstances created by the eiruv rav, by those who clamored for an eigel, which put Aharon willy-nilly into the difficult situation that led to the eigel's creation. When Hashem now comes to punish the people, he not only punishes them for the sin of worshiping the eigel, which would be bad under any circumstances, but he punishes them for dragging Aharon down as well, for causing him to be the one to make an eigel, heightening the tragedy and chilul Hashem.

Even without getting into mystical considerations like whether Aharon’s participation gave the eigel certain powers or animation, think practically of the public relations coup his participation led to. “What do you mean you don’t want to be part of the eigel movement? I have here a signed haskamah from none other than Aharon himself declaring, ‘Chag la’Hashem machar!’”

This is our society today. It’s not enough for some people to run around and advocate all kinds of nonsense, but they also have to shlep in the Aharon haKohen’s of our time, or the memory of Aharon haKohen's whom they said would condone their approach, to give themselves legitimacy. This invites one of two responses: 1) those who go ahead and worship eigels, convinced that either they are not really eigels or eigel worship is OK because there is some proclamation that sounds like Aharon haKohen sanctioned it; 2) those who wrap themselves in a mantle of righteous zealousness and use the opportunity to rip apart not eigel worship, but to rip apart our modern day Aharon haKohen’s, never once pausing to consider that there is more to what is going on than meets the eye.