shemita and Har Sinai

If the only point of the juxtaposition of Har Sinai with the laws of shemita in Parshas Behar is to teach that the details of all mitzvos were given at Sinai, the lesson could have just as easily conveyed by mentioning Sinai in the context of any number of other mitzvos aside from shemita and yovel(Ramban).  There must be some more fundamental  connection between the two ideas. The gemara (Shabbos 88) tells us that Hashem lifted Har Sinai and held it over the heads of Klal Yisrael and threatened to drop it on them if they did not accept the Torah.  From here, says the gemara, "moda'ah rabbah l'oraysa," Bnei Yisrael had an excuse for not keeping Torah and mitzvos, as their initial kabbalah was done under duress.  Only later, at the time of Purim, was there a willing re-acceptance. But how can this be?  We just read in Parshas Bechukosai all the promises of reward for doing mitzvos and the punishment of galus for disobeying.  If mattan Torah was done under duress and therefore the kabbalas haTorah was not binding, how could there be punishment for disobeying?   Perhaps this was the question of "Al mah avdah ha'aretz?" that all the Nevi'im and Chachamim could not answer (Bava Metziya 85).  They could not fathom why Klal Yisrael was being sent into galus despite the claim of duress that would excuse them from punishment. The Ramban answers (see Parashas Derachim derush 22) that there is a difference between all other punishments and the punishment of galus.  Eretz Yisrael is a special gift.  You can use duress as an excuse to get out of punishment, but you can't expect to get an extra special gift while making excuses.  Our stay in Eretz Yisrael is predicated on our acceptance of Torah, no matter what.   I think this is what the opening to Parshas Behar is hinting at.  The excuse of "moda'ah rabbah" may work for other mitzvos, but when it comes to shemitah and yovel, mitzvos that depend on kedushas ha'aretz and yishuv ha'aretz, even if given "b'har Sinai," with the mountain suspended over our heads and under duress, there are no excuses.  

schar v'onesh: Rishonim vs. the historians

Parshas Bechukosai promises the rewards of a plentiful harvest, peace, prosperity, etc. for those who observe Torah and mitzvos and all the bad tidings of the tochacha for those who do not. The Rishonim are all troubled by the question of why material benefit and material benefit alone is promised as a reward for mitzvos while the ultimate reward, namely, a portion in the world to come, is never mentioned at all. Ikar chaseir min hasefer!

The Kli Yakar (riding on the coat tails of the Abarbanel) summarizes seven different answers given by the Rishonim that you can look up if interested, but I wanted to take a step back and make one a small observation about the problem itself. The entire premis that there is some "question" here that needs to be resolved is one that a historian would dismiss without a second thought. The problem is only a problem if you assume that the concept of reward / punishment in Tanach is consistant with the concept of reward / punishment accepted by the Rishonim, presumably based on Chazal. Otherwise, the answer is simple: In the good ol' Biblical days, there was no idea of afterlife. Reward and punishment happened to you in this world. Later, the Rabbis, either motivated by what they realized were irresolvable philosophical / theological problems with the Biblical account or by external influences on their thinking, came up with this idea of reward / punishment in an afterlife. Biblical Judaism and Rabbinic Judaism are separated by a difference of hundreds of years (not to mention differences in location and surrounding culture) -- is it any wonder that there exists theological differences between the two?

Baruch shekivanti, it took less that 10 seconds to find the following except ( link) from a very prominent Conservative Rabbi, one with a PhD after his name to boot, so his scholarly credentials trump mine:

The biblical references are all to divine recompense and retribution in this world, in terms of material prosperity and suffering here on earth. But a remarkable shift of emphasis took place, it is generally held, at the time of the Maccabees, when righteous men and women were being slaughtered because of their loyalty to their faith.

In the face of such direct contradiction to the notion of reward and punishment in the here and now, faith could only be maintained by affirming that recom­pense and retribution were to be the fate of humans in the Hereafter, in the World to Come, as it is called by the Rabbis. In the Rab­binic literature, while this‑worldly formulations are not unknown it is in the World to Come that the doctrine is made to receive its chief application.

Why not embrace this approach? After all, what could be better than not only solving a kashe that plagued the Rishonim, but even more than that -- showing that the kashe never existed in the first place? As to why the Rishonim didn't give that answer if it's so good -- maybe the Rishonim simply did not have the same historical sense of things that we do; perhaps they were more tolerant of anachronisms and the like; perhaps they saw history as a blur rather than a set of discrete time periods, each with its own flavor and character.

I think this argument is mistaken. I think the Rishonim avoided saying halachos or hashkafos were historically conditioned not because they viewed history as one flat space into which everything melds as one, but rather because they viewed the totality of Torah as one flat space into which everything blurs and melds as one. I think the Rishonim held that the truths of Torah, at least and certainly with respect to ikkarei emunah, are akin to logical or mathematical axioms. 2+2=4 whether you live today or lived 2000 years ago or will live 200 years hence. If the concept of reward and punishment entails belief in an olam ha'ba, the necessity of that belief would have been true in the days of Tanach as much as in the days of the Tanaim and Amoraim.

This example is illustrative of a point I've written about here before, but is worth repeating because it au courant even in some Orthodox circles these days to take the opposing position. The tools of the historian are different than the tools of the halachist. Even where the questions they examine happen to overlap, the framework in which those questions are posed is radically different, the methodology of study is different, and the answers and the assumptions that underlie them are also often radically different.

A Brisker who might answer up a kashe of Tosfos with a gavra/chefzta split will undoubtedly defend his Brisker methodology as being rooted in the Rishonim themselves. It's just taking the use of structural categories, ideas the Rishonim use in many places, to the next level. The historian has no such similar precedent to call on. He cannot argue that his approach is an extension of an already existing methodology of Torah study that has been passed on as part of the mesorah. I think this is the reason the "yeshiva" world views with such suspicion the conclusions of the academic world in matters of hashkafa and halacha. It has less to do with the conclusions themselves than with the methodology, with the paradigm.

I'm not an either / or guy, so let me throw in a caveat. That is not to say we should avoid *all* critical or historical inquiry into Torah. We can be tocho achal and toss away the klipah. My point is that before doing so, one must first recognize the difference between the wheat and the chaff and know what to toss and what to keep. An answer to a halachic or hashkafic question that rings "true" to the historian may carry very little weight in the world of Torah, where other Truths reign supreme. It's those Truths alone that count.

va'yinatzu ba'machaneh -- when things go public

There are multiple explanation in Chazal as to what the mekalal did wrong: According to one view he rejected the idea of lechem hapanim being left out for a week; according to another view is could not tolerate not receiving a spot in the camp just because on his father's side he was related to a Mitzri and not part of any sheivet. Whatever the case may be, the mekalel blasphemized G-d's name and was guilty. He was held in prison until Hashem clarified to Moshe that he deserved the death penalty, after which the Torah tells us that Bnei Yisrael stoned him. The Torah then adds an enigmatic concluding sentence to Parshas Emor: "U'Bnei Yisrael asu ka'asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe," that Bnei Yisrael did what Hashem commanded to Moshe (24:23). The pasuk already told us that the mekalel was judged and executed -- what does the Torah add with this concluding line?

A number of answers are given by the classical meforshim. Rashi explains that not only was the execution carried out, but all the associated halachos involved in the process were fulfilled as well. Ibn Ezra writes that this concluding statement refers back to the other halachos given in the parsha, e.g. the laws of damages. Not only was the mekalel killed, but these halachos too were accepted and fulfilled. Ramban reads the pasuk as addressing the morality of Bnei Yisrael's actions: The execution was carried out only to fulfill G-d's command, "ka'asher tzivah Hashem," without malice or desire for vengence.

Abarbanel has a unique reading of the parsha that sheds a bit of a different light on this pasuk. The mekalel was the son of a Jewish mother and an Egyptian father. This mixed lineage left Bnei Yisrael unsure of how to treat him -- should Torah law be applied equally to this half-member of Klal Yisrael? Was the mekalel fully Jewish and subject to the same halachos as everyone else? (Abarbanel does not get involved in the technical details of whether the child had geirus or not -- see Ramban who discusses.) The "hava amina" of Bnei Yisrael was that this case was different, and the "yichus" of the mekalel to his father the Mitzri was grounds for an exemption from the death penalty.

Moshe Rabeinu decided to investigate further and ascertain whether the whole story of this mixed lineage was correct. He put the question directly to the mekalel's mother: Who is the father of your child? It's a fascinating catch-22: If the mother defends herself and claims the father is Jewish, her son wouldn't have a leg to stand on in terms of avoiding the death penalty. If the mother says the father is not Jewish to get her son off, she blackens her own reputation by admitting to znus with a Mitzri. While Rashi interprets the mekalel's mother's name, Shlomit bas Divri, in a pejorative light -- she called "Shlomit" because she used to say "shalom" to everyone she met; she was called "Divri" from the root d-b-r because she had no constraints in who she spoke with -- Abarbanel interprets the same name in a positive light. She was called "Shlomit" because she wanted to be "mashlim" her son and protect him; she was called "Divri" because she was not afraid to speak out on his behalf, even at the cost of sullying her own reputation.

The Torah ends the parsha by telling us that Bnei Yisrael carried out the death penalty, "ka'asher tzivah Hashem..." Even though Bnei Yisrael held m'sevara that an individual of Mitzri descent should not be put to death, even though in their hearts they thought the law should be different, they nonetheless carried out the sentence as instructed.

In some sense, the behavior of Bnei Yisrael serves as foil to the mekalel himself. The mekalal could not understand the law of lechel hapanim or could not accept the judgment against him in terms of nachala, and therefore rejected Torah. Bnei Yisrael's thought the mekalel should not be subject to the death penalty, but carried out his sentence despite their reservations.
The Abarbanel's introduction of Bnei Yisrael conflicted attitude toward the mekalel sets the stage for the interpretation of the Radomsker. While Abarbanel frames the doubts of Bnei Yisrael as a legal issue -- should an individual with a Mitzri father suffer the same death penalty as a full Jew -- the Radomsker frames the issue as a psychological one. "Vayinatzu bamachaneh," writes the Radomsker, does not simply mean the mekalel's dispute took place in public view -- it means the public itself was torn by the issue. Where there once was complete commitment to Toras Moshe, there was now in the eye of the public two views -- the view of Moshe, and the view of the mekalel -- that stood in conflict. What once would not have even been given a passing thought was now deemed a view that one must at least contend with, even if ultimately rejected.

The idea of "u'bi'arta ha'ra m'kirbecha," is not simply about meting out punishment to wrongdoers. It's about fixing "kirbecha," what's inside of you. It's about uprooting the wrong ideas that take hold after exposure to the mekalel or whatever the outside influence is. "U'Bnei Yisrael asu ka'asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe" -- once the mekalel and his corrupting influence was removed, once the seeds of doubt and / or psychological confusion were removed, Bnei Yisrael returned to their original level of commitment.

the hint to Rus in our parsha

I was preparing a totally different post on the parsha (which I didn't have time to finish writing yet), but this Ta'ama D'Kra from R' Ch. Kanievsky caught my eye and is too sharp to not mention.  Smack in the middle of the parsha of the moados, after talking about the korban ha'omer, the mitzvah of sefirah, and then the shtei halechem, the Torah throws in a mention of the mitzvah of pe'ah and leket (23:22) and then goes back to the topic of the Yamim Tovim.  What are these mitzvos of leket and pe'ah doing here? 

R' Chaim suggests that perhaps the Torah here is hinting at the story of Rus.  Rus met Boaz when she went out to the field to gather leket.  The Torah here specifically mentions, "le'ani v'lager ta'azov osam," the need to leave over grain for the poor and the convert.  Rus came to Eretz Yisrael at the time of the barley harvest; the parsha of leket and pe'ah comes right after the discussion of the korban ha'omer, a barley offering.  "Le'ani v'lager ta'azov" -- take the last letter of "ani" and the first of "ta'azov" and put them together with "v'lager" and it spells "giyores."  "Ta'azov" has the same letters as "Boaz" with an additional letter "taf," which can be combined with the reish and vav of "v'lager" to spell Rus.  And the final icing on the cake: The gematriya of "l'ani v'lager ta'azov osam" = "zu Neomi v'Rus kalasa." 

Even if you don't like remazim, this is pretty impressive.

be all that you can be

The gemara (Kesubos 62) relates the famous story of R' Akiva:

R' Akiva was a shepherd who worked for Kalba Savu'a. Kalba Savu'a daughter Rachel saw that he was modest and refined and offered to marry him on the condition that he would go and learn in yeshiva. He agreed, and they became secretly engaged... R' Akiva went and learned for twelve years and returned home with a following of 12,000 students. As he approached, he heard someone criticizing his wife, saying that she was like a widow, as her husband was gone for so long. She answered back that if was up to her, her husband could stay away another twelve years. R' Akiva inferred that he had his wife's permission to continue learning, and so he immediately turned around and returned to yeshiva. After another twelve years he returned home again, this time with 24,000 students. R' Akiva's wife came out to greet her husband, now the great Tanna, and fell at his feet. The students tried to push her away, but R' Akiva told them to leave her, as all his Torah and theirs came through her merit alone.

Its' clear from the gemara that R' Akiva assumed he could spend at least twelve years learning, enough time to attract 12,000 students. But why? Where did he get this idea from? All his wife told him was that she was getting married on the condition that he learn in yeshiva. Imagine a kollel husband and his wife to be discussing their future plans before the wedding. Together, they decide that he should continue in yeshiva. Right after the wedding, he leaves home and is not heard from for the next twelve years. I imagine that any wife faced with such a situation would say this is certainly not what she bargained for!

R' Baruch Mordechai Ezrachi explains that R' Akiva and his wife understood that yeshiva is not just a place that you spend a few days/months/years accumulating knowledge. It's not about becoming an expert in some particular discipline, an expert in the "field" of Talmud or Jewish law. Yeshiva is about becoming what you are capable of becoming -- "Be all that you can be," to borrow the slogan from elsewhere. When R' Akiva's wife set as a condition of her marrying him that he go to yeshiva, implicit in her "tnai" was the fact that she wanted him to fulfill his potential -- that's what yeshiva is for.  Had he come come home after a year, after five years, after even ten years, even with as many hundreds or thousands of students that might have joined him by that point, R' Akiva would still not have accomplished all that he was meant to.  His potential would still have been unfulfilled.

When R' Akiva returned home and heard his wife agreeing that he could spend another twelve years in yeshiva, this was not a new "matir," not additional permission she was granting him on top of her original consent. This was part and parcel of their original marriage agreement. When you are capable to having 24,000 students, to have only 12,000, as great an achievement as that may be, is nonetheless to stop halfway. R' Akiva's wife did not want a half-way solution -- she wanted her husband to be R' Akiva, in the fullest sense of what he was capable of becoming.

(Interestingly, it was not his sharp mind that attracted R' Akiva's wife to him and led her to recognize his potential, but it was his midos tovos, and in particular, his tzniyus -- the gemara describes him as "tzani'a u'ma'alei." On that basis alone, R' Akiva's wife was able to discern that he had the seeds of becoming the gadol hador.  Apparently lomdus alone doesn't cut it.)

Lest this post be misinterpreted, let me say that of course not everyone is R' Akiva.  Goals and aspirations need to be realistic.  Both husband and wife need to be on the same page -- it would not have worked if R' Akiva thought he could spend twelve years in yeshiva and his wife expected him home in a week, or if his wife wanted him to learn for twelve years and he just didn't have it in him.  That being said, punching the clock is not a goal.  Live up to your potential, whatever it is.  R' Akiva did not stop at 12,000 students when he knew he could have 24,000.  Someone who can learn two blatt a day doesn't need to close the gemara just because the daf yomi calendar says he is done.  That's what R' Akiva's life is all about, and what we look forward to celebrating on Lag ba'Omer.    

the kodesh kodashim within

R' Shimshon Dovid Pincus makes a simple but beautiful point on P' Acharei. The avodah of Yom Kippur done by the kohein gadol was the highlight of the year. You would think that maybe it should be done at Citi Field, Met Life Stadium, or maybe [substitute your local sports arena here]. But no -- the most intense avodah of the day, the offering of ketores, is done inside the kodesh kodashim with no one, not even a malach, present to observe! There is certainly a value to b'rov am hadras melech, but often times we assign too much weight to public displays of piety and lose sight of the fact that it's what happens in private, in the 4 amos of yours that no one but you and G-d can see, that can make all the difference in the world.

The truth is this idea is already found in the first sicha in Ohr Tzafun of the Alter of Slabodka, who takes it a step further. The Alter notes that given two people, one who is shuckling away while learning or davening, visibly involved in what he is doing, and one who is quiet and introverted, the natural tendency (except for those of us who ourselves are introverts) is to think the first person is more "into it" than the second. The knee-jerk assumption is based entirely on what we see on the outside but ignores what is going on in the kodesh kodashim inside.

The gemara (Nedarim 81) tells us that the Chachamim and Nevi'im could not figure out why the churban habayis was warranted until Hashem himself revealed that it was because people were lax in reciting birchas haTorah. The Ran explains that the lack of birchas haTorah demonstrated a lack of "lishma," of proper intent and motivation in learning. The Chachamim and Nevi'im, explains the Alter, saw all the learning taking place, saw the shmiras hamitzvos people had -- on the outside everything looked kosher. They could not see in the kodesh kodashim of people's hearts. But Hashem can see there, and Hashem judges us precisely on what no one else is aware of and no one else can see but ourselves.

mikra kodesh

The Chayei Adam (132) quotes the minhag of the GR"A to eat chadah immediately after 16 Nissan in order to demonstrate that the reason he refrained from eating new wheat earlier was not because he preferred his Cheerios made from old grain, but rather because he did not want to violate the issur of chadash. The GR"A wanted to actively demonstrate that his behavior was motivated only by the desire to fulfill the lav. We see an interesting chiddush: Just like there is a din of mitzvos tzerichos kavanah when it comes to the positive performance of a mitzvah, there is also an idea of obeying a lav with the right kavanah as well.

Where did the GR"A get this idea? The gemara in Shavuos (13a) discusses whether someone who does not fast, does not refrain from melacha, does not call the day of Yom Kikkur a "mikra kodesh," gets a kapparah. Rashi interprets the vague idea of not calling the day "mikra kodesh" to mean that the person did not refer to the day as mikra kodesh in his tefilah. Tosfos rejects this interpretation. How can the gemara attempt to derive from a derasha whether someone who does not refer to the day as "mikra kodesh" in davening gets or does not get a kapprah when the whole text of tefilah is only derabbanan? Instead, Tosfos quotes Rabeinu Tam who explains that the gemara is referring to someone who refrains from melacha but does so simply out of sheer laziness. Even though such an individual has done nothing wrong -- he has fully kept the lav of not doing melacha -- nonetheless, since his kiyum is for the wrong reason, it does not count as a full kiyum mitzvah. 

(If not for the Chayei Adam quoting this proof, I would have though you could be mechaleik. The din of mikra kodesh is a mitzvas aseh that requires sanctifying the day in some way. I would have thought Rabeinu Tam meant that if one does not do melacha out of laziness, one indeed does get full credit for fulfilling the lav; however, one has failed to fulfill the mitzvas aseh of mikra kodesh.  The bad fulfillment of the lav is just a siman that the aseh is lacking, not a sibah in itself to discount any kiyum.  That's very different than the case of chadash where, according to the GR"A, the fulfillment of the lav itself is deficient.)

Rav Soloveitchik (link) is quoted as suggesting a brilliant understanding of a well known gemara based on this chiddush of Rabbeinu Tam.  The gemara connects the mitzvah of "zachor" on Shabos with the mitzvah of "shamor." Women are obligated in the mitzvah of kiddush even though it is zman gerama because whoever is chayav in the lav of shamor is also obligated in the aseh of zachor. This connection between zachor and shamot is not merely a technical derasha. What Chazal meant is that only though  "zachor," by sanctifying the day of Shabbos and declaring in kiddush why we are refraining from work, can we properly fulfill the mitzvah of "shamor." Merely abstaining from work without a sense of being motivated by the kedushas hayom is not sufficient.

What about Rashi's reading of the gemara? Apparently Rashi holds that even though the specific text of tefilah is derabbanan, there is a mitzvah d'oraysa of engaging in tefilah that mentions the kedushas hayom of Yom Kippur / Yom Tov as a means of sanctifying the day. In other words, davening on Yom Tov is not (just) a kiyum mitzvah of the mitzvah of tefilah -- it's a kiyum mitzvah of "mikra kodesh."  Failing to daven does not merely undermine the mitzvah of tefilah alone, but it undermines the sanctity of the day, as part and parcel of how we make our Yamim Tovim special is through engaging in tefilah that makes mention of their special distinction.

Ramban writes similarly (VaYikra 23:2) writes that there is a mitzvah on Yom Tov to gather in shul "l'kadesh hayom b'farhesya b'tefilah v'hallel...," i.e. for public prayer and thanksgiving. I believe someone commented on a post here once that even though R' Chaim Brisker held that it is better to daven in private without a minyan in order to make zman kri'as shema, perhaps the same would not apply on Yom Tov where there is a kiyum d'oraysa of tefilah b'tzibur based on this Ramban. (I would think that so long as one davened even a single tefilah at some point during the day b'tzibur it would be sufficient to fulfill this din of mikra kodesh, so tzarich iyun, but it's an interesting idea.)

the city of Shomron

We learn from Parshas Metzora that a person afflicted with tzara'as must sit alone outside the camp.  The haftarah tells the story of four metzora'im who, because they were sitting outside the city of Shomron, were the first one's to discover that the siege placed by Aram on the city was broken.  Hashem caused the army of Aram to think that they were under attack and so they fled, leaving behind all their food, wealth, and provisions for Bnei Yisrael to plunder (Melachim II ch 7).

I want to focus on where this story took place -- the city of Shomron.   Melachim I 16:24 tells us that Shomron was built by Omri, a king who was "more wicked than all those before him" (ibid 16:25).  Despite his wickedness, Omri managed to pass the throne to his son and then to his grandson -- three generations -- certainly outside the norm for malchei Yisrael.  Why did Omri merit such a special reward?  Chazal answer (Sanhedrin 102b) that it was because he built this new city of Shomron and thereby fulfilled the mitzvah of yishuv Eretz Yisrael.  Omri may have built Shomron for his own personal gain, to serve as his capital city; Omri may have done everything else wrong in his life; yet, Omri's family was zocheh to retain the throne because he dedicated himself to the mitzvah of yishuv ha'aretz.  Rav Teichtel in his Aim haBanim Smeicha (p. 61 in the new edition) writes that we can derive from here not to discount or dismiss the contributions to yishuv ha'aretz of those who are notreligious (see the explanation he quotes from R' Yosef Engel as to how Omri's reward was midah k'neged midah).  Is the chiloni or chofshi zionist who puts his strength into building and protecting our country any worse or any less deserving of credit than the wicked Omri?   (Consider this a belated Yom haAtzmaut post.)


Switching hats to halacha, the Mishna in Keilim (1:7) tells us that the din of sending a metzora out of a city applies only to walled cities.  Many of the Rishonim (Bartenura, R'Sh) qualify this din and explain that the Mishna means specifically a city that was walled since the days of Yehoshua bin Nun.   The problem with this chiddush is it does not fit the story of Shomron.  Shomron was built by Omri -- it did not even exists in the days of Yehoshua.  So why, as we read in our haftarah, were the metzoraim being expelled from its walls?   R' Akiva Eiger on the Mishna answers by quoting the Targum which interprets the pasuk on Melachim to mean that Omri rebuilt Shomron, but was not its true founder (this of course makes all the more remarkable the level of reward he earned for doing so).  See Ksav v'Kabbalah who also addresses himself to this issue.

sefirah tidbits

1) The Rokeach has the following remez for sefiras ha'omer:

"Im tivakshena ka'kesef u'kmatmonim tachapesna..." (Mishlei 2:4) The word "matmonim" can be read as an acronym: M"T (=49) monim -- counting 49. If we have kisufim, real desire for Torah, and eagerly count down the 49 days of sefirah until the chag of mattan Torah, "Az tavin yiras Hashem..."

2) A bekiyus tidbit: The last Mishna in the second perek of Ediyos has a machlokes how long the wicked spend in purgatory. Tana Kama holds they are judged in geheinom for 12 months, while R' Yochanan ben Nuri says they are judged from Pesach to Atzeres (Shavuos).

Bartenura explains that R' Yochanan ben Nuri means that the maximum length of time spent in geheinom is 50 days, the same amount of time as the number of days between Pesach and Shavuos. The Tiferes Yisrael, however, suggests that perhaps R' Yochanan ben Nuri meant davka the 50 days between Pesach and Shavuos, i.e. every year during this time period there is a new judgment passed on those resha'im who were sent to geheinom. Therefore, he writes, the minhag of Klal Yisrael is to treat these days as days of aveilus.

3) The Rishonim explains that the mitzvah of "U'sefartem lachem..." means each individual is personally responsible to count sefirah, unlike the count of years of shemita or yoveil which are done by Beis Din on behalf of all Klal Yisrael. Achronim add that this means that one cannot fulfill the mitzvah of sefirah through shome'a k'oneh, by listening to someone else count and having in mind to be yotzei.

Why is it that the mitzvah of sefirah has this unique din, different than other counting mitzvah? Ramban explains that the count of sefirah is a preparation for mattan Torah. Each day that we check off as a day closer to mattan Torah is a day that we should be using to further ready ourselves for mattan Torah. The Sochatchover (Ne'os Desheh) explains that every single person has his/her own portion in Torah that he/she must get ready to receive. We each have a mission of our own and a Torah that goes with it. I can't be yotzei by listening to my friend learn his portion of Torah -- I have to do my own learning, I have to find my own cheilek, I have to do my own personal sefirah preparation to receive it.

This is why the students of Rabbi Akiva were punished specifically during this time period. The gemara tells is that the reason for their death is because R' Akiva's students did not show proper respect for each other. Each one viewed his chaveir as just another talmid, one of many who listened to the same shiur, took the same notes, had the same rebbe. They did not appreciate that each one of them had their own unique slant, had their own perspective on their rebbe's Torah, had their own cheilek in learning that was valuable and irreplaceable.

where's the beef?

I heard the following story on Shabbos, one of my daughters told me that she heard the same story from a teacher at school with some minor variations, and I found it via google as well (link). Here's the short version more or less as I heard it:

A man flying somewhere by plane gets up to wash after his kosher sandwich is brought to him by the steward. As he makes his way back to his seat, it dawns on him that his fleishig sandwich is now basar she'nisalem min ha'ayin (the halacha is that meat left unattended around non-Jews may not be eaten). Despite his hunger, the man does not eat the meal. Seeing that he has made no move to eat the sandwich, his non-Jewish neighbor in the next seat inquires as to whether he is going to eat his food. The man offers some explanation about not really being hungry and tells the neighbor that he can have it. The neighbor then confesses that he has never many Jews and was curious as to what the kosher meal tasted like, so he switched the sandwich with his own.

Aren't Chazal brilliant, coming up with this law of basar she'nisalem min ha'ayin? Even when you think there is no danger, the halacha is smarter than you are, isn't it?

I really, really dislike stories like this.

Had it been my sandwich, I would have taken a big bite out of it. Firstly, the halacha is (Y.D. 118) that if a Jew comes and goes, if he pops in and out of where the food is -- he is yotzei v'nichnas -- so long as the non-Jew does not know exactly when he will come back (e.g. so long as he doesn't say something like, "I'll be back in an hour"), the meat is not basar she'nisalem. Since the person in the next seat had no way of knowing whether his Jewiah neighbor would be gone for 30 seconds or 10 minutes, as far as halacha is concerned, that is enough of a deterrent to remove any suspicion that the meat was switched.

Didn't you ever walk into a restaurant and see the mashgiach sitting out front? Do you think the mashgiach never takes a break -- he just stands there is the kitchen, watching the food every second? Of course not. So how do you know that the non-Jewish cook didn't swap out a slice from his turkey sandwich with the turkey on the plate he is preparing? The answer is yotzei v'nichnas (there are other good reasons, but this is one of them). If you eat out in a deli without worrying that Juan standing behind the counter switched your corned beef with his own when the mashgiach's eyes were elsewhere, then you can eat on the plane without worrying that the Juan sitting one seat over swapped the kosher meal for his own when your back was turned.

(Parenthetically, many folks where I live employ non-Jewish babysitters and housekeepers.  As my wife correctly pointed out, the housekeeper or babysitter knows full well no one will be home until the end of the day -- there is no yotzei v'nichnas -- and is alone with a kitchen full of food and utensils. How many people after hearing this story ran over to their Rav to ask how to handle such a situation [see Igros Moshe Y.D. I:61]?)

Secondly, and maybe this is the more basic point, the halacha of basar she'nisalem min ha'ayin does not mean we suspect non-Jews of maliciously switching around food on us (see Aruch haShulchan Y.D. 118:30 "V'hinei haskamas kol raboseinu haRishonim v'haAchronim..."). It's only if the non-Jew will benefit from the switch in some way that we need to worry. I am willing to bet that kosher airline food is in no way superior to or more appetizing than non-kosher airline food (the sandwiches in the story were so alike that the person did not even spot the switch), so why suspect a switch-a-roo when there is nothing to gain? (You do need to have the meal double-sealed until delivered to you to ensure that you get a kosher meal because the airline does have a vested interest in your being a happy customer and would benefit by serving you a treif meal should your kosher one be left behind.)

The moral of the story here is not how smart halacha is and how paying attention to its details pays off -- Nope. The moral of the story is that the price of remaining ignorant of halacha is going hungry, albeit maybe feeling more emotionally fulfilled.

No one would ever tell a story about someone like me who would have no qualms about eating the sandwich because al pi din there is no issue, and as a result would end up eating treif. What would be the lesson there? Where's the feel-good ending? Instead, we tell stories about people who follow their own imagination of what halacha should be, and as a result, are rewarded with a miraculously positive outcome. We love the logical fallacy of argumentum ad consequentiam -- a fancy Latin way of saying we judge the truth of things based on how the consequences turn out. If everything works out great, even the worst decision based on irrational nonsense looks like genius. If things go poorly, the greatest strategist who made the best moves looks like a fool. (And we wonder why people are drawn to emotionally appealing segulos and practices instead of just doing what halacha requires. OK, we don't need to beat that dead horse any more.)

I wish there were more stories told of the first variety. To take another example, the story of someone who keeps Shabbos and miraculously sees his business improve does not impress me. What impresses me is the story of someone who chooses to keep Shabbos even as he watches his receipts decline and his business take a hit.

Stories like this airplane ma'aseh substitute a faith of fairy-tales for the real thing. The danger is that either listeners never mature and become adults who live in hashkafic Disneyland where they really believe dreams come true or they realize that reality is so at-odds with what they have been taught that they check out of Torah altogether.

Stories like this are a big fluffy bun with nothing inside. The basar that should be there is nisalem min ha'ayin and the meal in unsatisfying at best, misleading at worst. Dear Meachanchim: Where's the beef?

feeling the pain of others

Rashi writes (VaYikra 9:23) that after the miluim, after all the korbanos, the Shechina still did not come down to the Mishkan.  Aharon blamed himself, thinking that it was his role in making the eigel that prevented the Shechina from descending.  He came to Moshe and complained and asked Moshe why he ever put him up for the job of kohen gadol only to face public embarassment and humiliation.  Moshe responded by immediately entering the Mishkan with Aharon and davening with him until the Shechina descended.  

Rashi further writes that the people saw how for seven days Moshe put up the Mishkan, performed the daily avodah, took it down.  When the Shechina still did not enter the Mishkan, the people came to Moshe humiliated, wondering if their efforts in making a Mishkan were in vain.  Moshe responded by telling them that once Aharon does the avodah the Shechina will descend, demonstrating that Hashem accepted not only the Mishkan, but accepted Aharon as kohen as well.

R' Baruch Mordechai Ezrachi in his sefer Birchas Mordechai says a beautiful vort here.  The fact that the Shechina did not enter the Mishkan for seven days did not bother Moshe.  The fact that the Shechina did not come down immediately after Aharon did his avodah did not bother Moshe.  The Shechina itself seemingly was not moved by the construction of the Mishkan, the offering of korbanos, the service of Aharon.  What changed things?  What caused the Shechina to enter the Mishkan?  It was Aharon's feeling of embarrassment that changed things.  It was Klal Yisrael's feeling of humiliation changed things.  

Had the issue been purely a bein adam laMakom, there might have been very good reasons for the Shechina not to come down to the Mishkan.  Who knows what was needed for kapparah?  However, when the Shechina felt the pain of Klal Yisrael, the suffering of Aharon, it relented and was drawn to the Mishkan to comfort and be close to Klal Yisrael.  When Moshe heard that there is a bein adam l'chaveiro issue here, that his brother was suffering embarrassment, that Klal Yisrael felt humiliated, he stuck his neck out to beg for rachamei shamayim and Hashem responded.

the sin of Nadav and Avihu

Rashi in no less than four places addresses himself to the reason(s) behind the death of Nadav and Avihu. each time offering a different explanation, each with its own set of difficulties:

1) Our parsha (Shmini) says that Nadav and Avihu were guilty of offering an "aish zarah." Rashi (10:2) quotes two interpretations in Chazal as to exactly what they did wrong: R' Eliezer explains that they were guilty of paskening halacha without consulting or deferring to Moshe; R' Yishmael explains that they entered the Mikdash while drunk. It's not clear why Rashi needed these added explanations when the pshuto shel mikra of what was done seems clear.

2) In Shmos 24:9 Rashi explains that at the moment of mattan Torah Nadav and Avihu gazed at G-d's presence is a haughty way, while indulging in food and drink, and were therefore deserving of death. Rather than disturb the joy of that moment, Hashem delayed their punishment until the chanukas hamishkan. If Nadav and Avihu deserved death for what occurred at mattan Torah, why does Rashi in our parsha offer those other explanations for their guilt?

3) In Devarim 9:20 Rashi explains that Moshe's tefilah on behalf of Aharon for his sin of making the eigel was only partially accepted: two of Aharon's four sons were spared, but two were meted out the death penalty. It seems from this Rashi that the death of Nadav and Avihu was a punishment not for their own crimes, but rather for Aharon's. Aside from the problem of why we need yet another explanation for Nadav and Avihu's death, this explanation itself raises the troubling philosophical/ethical question of whether children deserve to suffer punishment for the sins of a parent.

4) Finally, Rashi in our parsha (10:3) writes that Moshe consoled Aharon upon the death of Nadav and Avihu by telling him that it is now clear what Hashem had in mind when he said, "V'nikdash b'kvodi" (Shmos 29:43), that the Mikdash will be sanctified through the death of His honored servants. The fact that Nadav and Avihu were the ones chosen for this fate proves that they held a place of honor in G-d's eyes. This reason for Nadav and Avihu's death seems unrelated to any wrongdoing on their part, quite at odds with Rashi's other explanations.  We are also left to wonder how death can be meted out to an undeserving victim simply to serve some end, even a noble end like sanctification of the Mishkan.

I'll leave it to you to work out answers (or look in the meforshei Rashi). Two points that should help: 1) There is no rule that says that an event cannot be overdetermined; 2) A theoretical liability for punishment may require some trigger to actually bring it to bear in reality.

There is one other point I want to deal with.  As we mentioned above, according to Rashi Shmos 24:9 the punishment due Nadav and Avihu was incurred at mattan Torah and was delayed so as to not interfere with the simcha of that day. So why interfere with the simcha of chanukas haMishkan? Why did that punishment have to be carried out now?

R' Raphael Sorotzkin offers an answer that I think is already found in Maharal in Gur Arye.  The sin of offering an "aish zarah" done by Nadav and Avihu during the chanukas haMishkan stemmed directly from their behavior during mattan Torah. Aveirah goreres aveirah -- an aveirah may either give rise to or be a symptom of a deeper flaw in character or attitude, which, if not eradicated, will eventually sprout other aveiros (see Rav Hartman's notes to the Gur Aryeh).  There was obviously something lacking in Nadav and Avihu's reaction to that closeness with Hashem experienced at Har Sinai which led them to intrude on the moment with food and drink. That exact same shortcoming is what led them to intrude into Hashem's presence in the Mishkan with their own uncalled for offering.  The day of chanukas haMishkan was not arbitrarily chosen  as the day to mete out punishment for the earlier crime.  It was chosen because Nadav and Avihu's actions on that day shared a common denominator with their earlier sin.  Punishment deferred the first time around was not passed over the second.

How could such great people have made such an error? I think the answer is based on the halacha that says  even though eating is normally prohibited in shul, an exception is made for for talmidei chachamim who are there all day (Meg 28).  You and I go home from shul to have breakfast and lunch, but for the talmid chacham, the shul is home.

Precisely because Nadav and Avihu were on such a high spiritual plane they took liberties that you and I might not have.  They basked in the presence of the Shechina and did not want to leave Har Sinai for one moment.  It became their home, a place that brought food and drink into not out of gluttony, but simply because they could not bear to leave.  Whatever the "aish zarah" was, the idea I think is that Nadav and Avihu brought more of themselves into the Mishkan than you or I might have because they wanted to be as immersed in the place as possible.

It was not a sin of gross misconduct that led to their being punished -- the thoughts Nadav and Avihu had were obviously far from mundane.  It must be that on some level something in their conduct or attitude, something you or I would consider a trifle, was off just enough to warrant punishment for people on their level who are judged by a more exacting standard.  I think perhaps the punishment was meted out here because the chanukah, the initiation of the Mishkan, must be done perfectly (see R' Yosef Engel in Gilyonei HaShas, Shabbos 23), without cutting corners.  At least the first time something is done, it should be done right.  Even if their offering might have been overlooked at some other time, on this day, the "grand opening" of the Mishkan, it was completely out of place.

a "greater threat to Israel's survival than her external enemies"

You have to love the opening of this opinion piece in the NY Jewish Week by R' Eugene Korn.  Rabbi Korn tried to strike up a conversation with a chareidi man that he found himself sitting next to  on a flight home from Israel. Sensing that the person wanted to get back to his sefer rather than continue to shmooze, R' Korn ended the conversation. Rather than take this as an isolated event that reflected no more than one individual's desire (or lack thereof) to enter into conversation with him, R' Korn instead reads the withdrawal from the conversation as symptomatic of the chareidi community's withdrawal from society at large.  He then goes on to a fairly predictable tirade about how the chareidim contribute nothing to the betterment of the world etc. etc. (you've heard and read it before I'm sure).

One reason (among many) that I am not a public figure writing articles in a major Jewish newspaper is because had I been in Rabbi Korn's shoes, I might have just assumed the guy sitting next to me is just not interested in conversing, had more important things to do (like learn Torah), or maybe I'm just a lousy conversationalist and was boring him.  I lack the intellectual superman-like ability to generalize in a single bound from the lack of desire on the part of an individual to carry on a conversation to the sweeping assertion that not only this individual, but the entire community he is part of lacks the desire to engage in any productive activity that might benefit society.  Had it been me, I might even been tempted to qualify my words a bit instead of lambasting the entire chareidi community as being the equivalent of the ancient Essenes, labeling them as "Xstian monks, albeit with families," and claiming they are a "greater threat to Israel's survival than her external enemies."  I'm glad I do read the news now and then, because left to my own devices I would never have realized that it's not the threat of nuclear armed Iran that should concern us -- it's yeshiva bachurim who prefer learning to conversation that we really need to worry about.  Had it been me, I might have even been bothered by the contradiction between my posing the challenge of, "How many religious students or adults strive to connect to the Jewish people as a whole?" and my choice to identify the passenger sitting next to me not simply as a fellow Jew, someone who I have a bond with, but as a "hareidi man," some other species that lives in a world apart from my own, not part of that big "whole."  Were I a public figure writing in a major Jewish newspaper with professional editors that review articles before publication, I don't know what I would do.  Glad I'm just a lone blogger with only you guys as readers so I can just spew whatever unqualified, intemperate, rhetoric I want.

some final thoughts on pesach

Welcome back!  Long time no write, but that's what happens when there is too much going on. A few thoughts to close out Pesach:

1. The Chasam Sofer in his derashos is mechadesh that when the ultimate geulah comes we will still have to celebrate a yom tov sheni shel galiyos as a remembrance of the days of galus in which we now find ourselves. He compares this to the renaming of the months of the year post-galus Bavel  from chodesh ha'rishon, chodesh ha'sheni, etc. to the names we now have as a way to create a remembrance of the years we spent in Babylonian exile (see Ramban, Shmos 12). Interesting... Seems to me that one can distinguish between the two ideas.  Yom tov sheni is not a function of galus per se, but is a function of living too far from Eretz Yisrael to receive prompt calendar updates from messengers of Beis Din and therefore having a safeik as to when to celebrate Yom Tov.  Even b'zman habayis, yom tov sheni would be celebrated by those outside Eretz Yisrael.

2. My wife gets the credit for pointing out an amazing Sefas Emes (5642 d"h b'Shir haShirim) that explains that just as our ancestors were 100% convinced that the galus in Mitzrayim would go on for 400 years and never imagined that Hashem would hasten redemption by counting the qualitative intensity of servitude as a substitute for the quantity of years required, so too, we are all convinced based on our mesorah and seforim that the tzaros of chevlei moshiach will be painful and tragic, but it could be that the length of our galus, the quantity of time we have spent in exile, will serve as a substitute for the intense quality of pain predicted. The galus may be long, but this may be b'chasdei Hashem a means of ultimately lessening our overall pain.

Sefas Emes goes on to say (based on Midrashim) that the whole machlokes (Shabbos 55a) whether the merit of zechus Avos still can be invoked is irrelevant to our achieving geulah, as even if we have exhausted our zechus Avos, there is a far deeper well of rachmanus we can draw on in the form of zechus Imahos.  It is in their merit that the future redemption will come.  

3. We use besamim for havdalah on motzei Shabbos because we need some cheering up after the neshoma yeseirah, the extra neshoma spark we have on Shabbos, departs. Why then don't we usually use besamim for havdalah on motzei Yom Tov as well (motzei Yom Tov that coincides with motzei Shabbos, like this year, is an exception)? The usual answer given is that on Yom Tov we don't have a neshoma yeseirah (see Tos. Beitzah 2b).

The Shem m'Shmuel (5672) quotes a different approach in the name of his father (based on a Ramban). He suggests that the kedusha of Shabbos is so intense and beyond us that the departure of Shabbos is like falling off a spiritual cliff -- we need some way to catch ourselves and adjust to the radical change. Not so Yom Tov. The kedusha of Yom Tov is something we can relate to; we feel the enjoyment and beauty of Yom Tov in a different way than we do Shabbos. There are no besamim in the havdalah of motzei Yom Tov not because we lack a neshoma yeseirah on Yom Tov, but rather because that neshoma yeseirah lingers with us and does not flee as we transition back into the days of chol.

So maybe that's not just yet-undigested matzah that you feel still sitting there inside... maybe it's really just a little bit of the neshoma yeseirah from Yom Tov still hanging on.  No rush to let it go.

k'ilu hikravti olah

Chazal (Men. 110) derive from the extra words "Zos toras ha'olah..." that learning the parsha of korban olah is equivalent to actually offering the korban. (It seems from the gemara that the same is true for all korbanos. I am surprised that the Ksav Sofer makes a point here of explaining why the principle is applicable specifically to the olah -- since the olah is brought to be mechapeir on hirhurei aveirah, bad thoughts, not bad deeds, therefore, in this case specifically reading and thinking about the parsha can serve as a mechapeir in lieu of the actual korban.) This is why when we read the parshiyos of korbanos in the morning (or the mishnayos in aizehu mekoman) we recite a ye'hi ratzon asking Hashem to count that recitation as a substitute for the korban itself.

The Tur writes that the exception to the above rule is the korban chatas. There is no such thing a a voluntary korban chatas (a korban nedava) -- if you are not obligated to bring a chatas and offer one anyway, it's an issur of chulin b'azarah. You can't say, "Y'hi ratzon that this should count as a chatas," because you may not really be obligated to bring one (the Tur was generous in his opinion of us all).

The Beis Yosef questions the Tur's logic. Chazal tell us that the recitation of the parshiyos of korbanos count as if they were actually offered -- they don't say that the recitation of the ye'hi ratzon counts as if the korbanos were offered. If the Tur was really worried about the problem if chulin b'azarah, then he should recommend omitting the entire parsha of chatas, not just the ye'hi ratzon.

The Beis Yosef answers that reciting the parsha alone counts as a "kaprah b'miktzas" -- whatever that means. It sounds like the Beis Yosef wants to have his cake and eat it too -- he wants the parsha count for something, yet not count enough to pose a chulin b'azarah problem. The Bach has a different twist. He answers that just reading the parsha is a way of hedging one's bets. At the end of the day, the parsha of chatas is still a parsha in chumash. If one is not obligated to bring a chatas, then reading the parsha counts as no more than talmud Torah; if one is obligated to bring a chatas, then it counts as an actual offering of the korban. However, you can only hedge so long as you don't recite the ye'hi ratzon. Once you daven for Hashem to accept the recitation of the parsh as a substitute for the actual korban, all bets are off -- if you ask for the parsha to count as a korban, it counts as a korban.

Why does the Bach's answer make any better sense than the Tur? It seems like we are back to square 1 -- according to the Bach, it's the ye'hi ratzon that triggers the acceptance of the parsha as a korban, but the gemara clearly says that the parsha itself is the substitute!?

Rav Tzvi Pesach Franks (Har Tzvi O.C. 1) uses this question an an opportunity to discuss the concepts of hashgacha and tefilah. He sets down the following principle: Whatever a tzadik asks for, Hashem will deliver,  irrespective of whether Hashem knows the request is for the good or for the bad. For example: David haMelech davened that Hashem should test him. Hashem certainly knew that David would fail, but since David asked, he got what he wanted. "Retzon ye'rei'av ya'aseh v'es shavasam yisma v'yoshi'eim" -- it's not double-language in the pasuk, but two seperate points: "Retzon ye'rei'av ya'aseh," Hashem does the will of the Righteous, even though He knows it will not turn out the way they think it will; "V'es shavasam yishma v'yoshi'eim," and after the fact, when the tzadikim realize the hole they dug for themseves and daven for Hashem's help to get out of it, He listens and responds. Be careful what you ask for as you may just get it.

As you don't say the ye'hi ratzon, Hashem does what's best -- if you need a korban chatas as a kaparah, He counts the reading of the parsha as a korban; if not, He counts it as talmud torah.  However, once you ask Hashem to count the parsha as a korban, even if that works to your detriment, even if that results is chulin b'azarah, Hashem will grant your request and the damage is done.

I would add one final point. The Bach doesn't just say that tzadikim should avoid saying the ye'hi ratzon because Hashem will act on it -- he says everyone, you and me included, should avoid saying it. I don't think this is b'geder lo plug; I think we see from here that we have every right to assume that Hashem listens and responds to our tefilos. Puk chazei how people talk about tefilah -- it's not uncommon for people to ask why Hashem didn't listen to their prayers without giving a moment's thought to the audacity it takes to assume that the Master of the Universe should pay attention and respond to a sin-filled basar v'dam regardless of his/her past history!  The fact that such an assumption comes as second nature to us perhaps is not just because we like to delude ourselves as to our own importance, but rather it reflects an underlying truth about the nature of tefilah and hashgacha.

why we still do haseiba

I am fairly confident that in most areas of the Western world the practice of reclining on a couch while eating, haseiba, has long since fallen by the wayside. It is culturally no longer a sign of freedom, luxury, social standing, derech cheirus, or anything else. The Ra'avya's conclusion that therefore we can dispense with the obligation of haseiba at first glance makes a lot of sense. Why don't most poskim agree?

I think the simple answer is that most poskim assume that once enacted, the takanah of haseiba does not simply cease to apply just because the cultural norms that may have given rise to the takanah have changed. It would require a formal repeal of Beis Din to change the law. However, Rav Wahrman in his sefer Oros HaPesach (link) is not satisfied with this answer. If I follow his argument, what he says is that while it makes sense to speak of continuing a behavior even if the reason for its performance is no longer applicable, it does not make sense to speak of a cultural symbol that has lost its symbolism -- that's a contradiction in terms.   Haseiba is by definition a symbol of freedom; when it's not, when it's just an empty act of leaning, it ceases to exist -- there is no longer a "metziyus" of such a symbol.

Rav Wahrman suggests a different approach, a classic "two dinim" sevara. He quotes Midrashim that find hints to haseiba in various pesukim in the story of yetzi'as Mitzrayim, e.g. "Vayaseiv Elokim es ha'am derech hamidbar Yam Suf..." These sources point to the fact that in addition to its being a symbol, haseiba is a re-enactment of Bnei Yisrael's behavior as they left Mitzrayim. The poskim who reject the Ra'avya may contend that even if its symbolic meaning is lost, haseiba must still be done as a kiyum of re-enactment.  

I don't know if I'm convinced. Let's start with this case: The gemara (Pes 108) says that reclining on the right side is not acceptable because it's dangerous -- food may go down the wrong tube -- and it's not the normal method of reclining. Rashbam explains that it's not normal because a righty would be very uncomfortable trying to eat with his right hand while leaning right. If so, asks the Maharal, what about a lefty -- why is a lefty required to lean on his left side, putting himself in a position of discomfiture, when a righty is exempt from leaning right for that same reason? Why is a lefty not completely patur (he can't lean right, because that would be dangerous; he can't lean left, as that's not derech cheirus for him)?

Without Rav Wahrman's chiddush I would say the answer to the Maharal's question is that Chazal made a takanah based on whatever the convention of the majority of the populace was. Leftys always have this problem of being ignored -- just ask one. School desks are made to accommodate a right handed writer; cars have controls positioned better for right-handed drivers, etc. Rav Wahrman however answers based on his two dinim model: Even if leaning right is not derech cheirus for a lefty, he must still lean to fulfill his obligation of re-enacting Bnei Yisrael's behavior when they left Egypt.

I'm not sure I get it. Why is the behavior of the right-handed people who left Egypt the model all future generations must imitate? Surely there were leftys who left Egypt -- which way did they lean? Why can't a lefty imitate his lefty forefathers? If the answer is that the takanah is modeled after the majority of the populace, I don't see what Rav Wahrman gains in his answer over mine.

There is an even bigger hole in Rav Wahrman's theory when it comes to explaining why women are exempt from haseiba. The Sheiltos (quoted in Rashbam) writes that since women normally do not eat while reclining, their haseiba would not be an expression of derech cheirus and they are therefore pturos. But if reclining is more than a cultural symbol, if it is also a re-enactment of Yetziyas Mitzrayim and therefore divorced from cultural norms, why are women exempt? Rav Wahrman asks this question and attempts to resolve it, but unfortunately I do not yet understand what he means.

anticipating the future

As we've discussed before, Parshas haChodesh has actually very little to do with Rosh Chodesh. After the first two pesukim, the rest of the parsha deals with the laws of the korban Pesach, with the first seder ever conducted. Why did the Torah even need to introduce the laws of Rosh Chodesh here instead of at mattan Torah?

There is a basic difference between Shabbos and Rosh Chodesh. Shabbos is the culmination of the work week. Chazal tell us that only someone who prepares on erev Shabbos, who uses the time before Shabbos properly, will eat on Shabbos. If you see a nice roast in the market on Monday, you should put it aside for Shabbos in advance. You are even allowed to do work to prepare for Shabbos before davening on Friday because there is a mitzvah of kavod Shabbos to prepare for Shabbos. Not so Rosh Chodesh, which is celebrated in anticipation of the month ahead, not as a culmination of what already took place.

There is a minhag quoted in Shulchan Aruch for women not to do work on Rosh Chodesh.  According to the Da'as Zekeinim in last week's parsha women earned this reward because they gave their jewelry to the Mishkan, which was erected on Rosh Chodesh.  The mirrors which the women used in Mitzrayim to show their husbands their beauty and encourage them to have children and not give up hope were incorporated into the making of the kiyor.  This anticipation of the future geulah symbolized by those mirrors is the hallmark of Rosh Chodesh, the holiday of anticipation of what is yet to come.  R' Tzadok haKohen explains that the renewal of the moon on Rosh Chodesh symbolizes the renewal of malchus beis David.  Women already celebrate the day as a Yom Tov because to them the future geulah is real, their anticipation makes it seems as if geulah is already here, even if b'poel it has not happened yet. 

Bnei Yisrael were bereft of mitzvos and merits when the time came for their geulah.  Therefore, explains the Shem m'Shmuel, Hashem gave them the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh, which illustrates that it's not just what you have done in the past that counts in your favor, but it's what's coming in the future as well.

hakri'ah v'hakedusha

The list of gedolim in the hospital grows longer each day. The Vizhnitzer is gone. Now R' Scheinberg is gone. What happened in France is just the latest indication of the return of European anti-semitism in its most vile form. Is there any good news to talk about?  Our community leaders should be screaming day and night for people to wake up, yet everyone continues somnambulating through the day as usual.  Ho hum.

In the "it boggles my mind" category we also have this story: A Jew is refusing to testify against a fellow Jew because he does not want to violate the issur of mesira, so the court is going to hold a hearing to decide whether to hold him in contempt and jail him for as long as 18 months. This is not the place to debate the parameters of mesira -- suffice it to say he certainly has a halachic leg to stand on; he asked a shayla to whomever he asked and got a psak not to testify. What's not to laud about sticking to your "steadfast beliefs" (as the newspaper described it)?  It sounds so noble.  It must take real mesirus nefesh to risk jail time, to go to court and say to the judge (as quoted in the story), "Because the transgression of mesira is so dire, my mind won’t change until I die.” One small problem: The same guy already served an earlier prison sentence for tax-evasion! Apparently this Yid's "steadfast beliefs" include mesira but not theft.  Maybe tax evasion does not rank up there in the "dire" transgression category.  I know what some of you are thinking -- there's honor among thieves after all, as the guy won't rat out his friend!  Is this the nobility that the Torah has in mind when it says that the nations will say, "Rak am chacham v'navom hhagoy hagadol hazeh"? The ba'alei mussar speak of the ohr and choshech that exist at the same time, mixed up in the same person, b'irbuvya. Exhibit A right here.

Somehow we have to get into a better frame of mind for Shabbos and to welcome chodesh Nisan. Why were the halachos of korban pesach given on rosh chodesh even though the korban was only taken on the tenth of the month? The Shem m'Shmuel writes that these 10 days parallel the aseres ymei teshuvah. One doesn't just walk into pesach -- it requires tremendous preparation, cleaning and scrubbing the neshoma as well as the home. Maybe all these tzaros are there to push us to really focus on what is significant during these ten important days.

The Midrash contrasts the first pasuk of our parsha, "Vayikra el Moshe," with "Vayikra eilav malach," by Avraham after the akeidah.  The former calling was done by Hashem himself; the latter by an angel.  What difference does it make who did the calling, the kri'ah?  In both cases the dibur that followed, the subsequent words and message, was spoken by Hashem. Does it matter if the invitation to a meeting with the King comes by messenger, by fedex, by e-mail, or by telegram? Shem m'Shmuel answers that kri'ah is not just an invitation -- it's the inspiration that readies a person to receive the king's message. One cannot compare the inspiration and preparation to receive the dvar Hashem that comes through a malach, as great a level as that may be, with the inspiration that comes from Hashem himself.

Why do we say "tzeischem l'shalom" to the malachim on Friday night? Because when Shabbos comes the kri'ah to us, the inspiration and readiness to receive the dvar Hashem that will follow, is higher even than what the malachim can help us reach. "Tzeischem l'shalom," thank you malachim for your help this past week, but now it's Shabbos, we can take it ourselves. Kal v'chomer Shabbos Rosh Chodesh Nissan.

Even though it's usually not my cup of tea (my math phobia doesn't mix with fancy gematriyos), this week I just feel we should learn some torah from Vizhnitz (a non-gematriya piece : ). We are IY"H going to say in hallel, "Ana Hashem ki ani avdecha, ani avdicha ben amasecha pitachta l'moseiray" -- Please Hashem, I am your servant, I am your servant the son of your maidservant, you released the bonds that held me. The repetition is obvious: First we say "Ani avdecha," and then we repeat again, "Ani avdicha ben amasecha." What is the meaning behind our repetition of these nearly-identical phrases?

The Imrei Baruch of Vizhnitz writes that when he stood before the amud to say hallel the first time after the passing of his father, he realized his own inadequacy to fill the void left by his father's passing. Here, in the spot his saintly father stood, before the amud at which his saintly father davened, he dared stand as a m'maleh makom to serve in his place -- how could he?!

He answers by quoting a mashal: One day a king was walking outside his castle and happened upon a poor nobody sitting there in the squalor. The king doesn't pay attention to such things and was about to pass by, but that nobody suddenly began to call out to him. "Do you know who I am?" asked the voice. "I'm Ploni, the son of your trusted advisor!" The King was shocked. It would be an embarrassment not only for the advisor, but for it would be a personal embarrassment for the king himself if the son of such a close confidant were left in such a state. The king ordered that Ploni be taken and cleaned up, fed, dressed, and given a place of honor in his court.

"Ana Hashem," we say, "Please Hashem forgive our absolute chutzpa in daring to utter the words 'Ki ani avdecha.'" Who are we kidding -- it doesn't really fit us, we don't really measure up. We are nothing compared with those who came before us.  But before you get angry at us, before you walk away, can we bother you for a minute and remind you of who we are? "Ani avdicha ben amasecha," we are the children of those who have earned a place of honor in your court and who do deserve to be listened to.

Not in our own merit, but in theirs, lift us up, untie our bonds.

parah - undoing the cheit of eitz hada'as

Ashes of the parah adumah are used to make someone who has come in contact with a dead body tahor.  Yet, these same ashes cause someone tahor who handles them to become tamei.  Even Shlomo haMelech could not understand the paradoxical nature of this mitzvah.  It is "chukas haTorah," a mystery.

Sefas Emes explains that death came into the world as a punishment for Adam's sin of eating of the eitz ha'adas, the tree of knowledge. The way to undo the taint of death that resulted from succumbing to the temptation for knowledge is to obey G-d even when his commands seem to defy reason and understanding.  The most unfathomable chok is therefore the greatest metaheir.

I would put the idea this way: When a person relies on the eitz ha'da'as alone, on reason to the exclusion of all else, something within that person dies.  Life can't be boiled down to equations alone, and to do so kills something of the human spirit.  If one is willing to surrender and accept that there is more out there than our little mind's can fathom, that taint vanishes -- a person can live larger than the confines of his/her physical self and is not chained to the decomposing piece of flesh we all eventually become.

the testimony of the mishkan

"Eileh pekudei hamishkan, mishkan ha'eidus..." Rashi comments that the Mishkan is called "mishkan ha'eidus", the tent of testimony, because it was built to stand as a testimony to the fact that Hashem forgave Bnei Yisrael for the sin of the eigel.

The meforshei Rashi ask why the mishkan in particular was needed to testify to Hashem's forgiveness of Bnei Yisrael. Didn't the fact that Hashem gave the luchos a second time demonstrate his forgiveness? Maharal in Gur Arye offers two answers:

1) Torah is a necessity; it doesn't demonstrate the added love that comes with forgiveness. Let me give you an analogy: Can you imagine a parent boasting of the love he/she shows for his/her child by providing that child with food, with water, with a room to sleep in (I'm thinking of a Harry Potter-like crawlspace)? That's not love -- even prisoners in Alcatraz get that much! These are basic necessities for survival. In the same way, Torah is our chiyus, it's necessary for our survival as well. Mitzvos lav le'henos nitnu -- Maharal explains elsewhere that mitzvos are supposed to be a burden. I don't think he means that mitzvos are not supposed to be enjoyable, but rather what he means is that the motivation to do mitzvos should not be personal enjoyment. Mitzvos should be done out of a sense of necessity, because we can't live without them, just as we can't live without eating, drinking, breathing.

The giving of the luchos was necessary simply to ensure the survival of Klal Yisrael -- we cannot exist without Torah. The Mishkan demonstrated that added gift of Hashem's love.

2) Midrashim compare the sin of the eigel to an act of infidelity committed by a bride on the day of chupah/kiddushin. A sotah, a woman who has been unfaithful, is not permitted to live with her husband. To show that our sin was forgiven, Hashem had to show that he could again live with us again in the same home. The Mishkan is that shared home -- it is the dwelling place for the Shechina and ourselves.

Implicit in this answer is the assumption that Torah alone is not a testament to the presence of the Shechina. In other words, a person can be involved in Torah and still not be connected to the Shechina. The truth is that Chazal already tell us that there can be a disconnect between learning and being close to Hashem: Halevay osi azavu v'torasi shamaru... Hashem says that so long as we don't abandon Torah, even if we abandon him, we will find a way back -- clearly, one can have a connection to Torah without having a connection to Hashem. The former may lead eventually to the latter, but they are not one and the same.

It's not enough to connect to Torah alone; we need to build that dwelling place to share with the Shechina.

two books worth reading

I want to recommend two books I read recently that are really worth your time. Both were available from my public library's system, so they are not too hard to get. The first is Listening to G-d: Inspirational Stories by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin. Presented as a series of stories that R' Riskin wants to relate to his grandchildren, the book touches on autobiographical highlights in Rav Riskin's life. We read of R' Riskin's childhood and his eventual decision to enter the rabbinate, his trials in turning Lincoln Square a thriving Orthodox synagogue, his efforts on behalf of Soviet Jewry, his teaching experience at YU, and finally his eventual aliya and experiences in Eretz Yisrael. Aside from Rav Riskin's personal story, what I found most moving was the stories he tells of others: the Chabad shliach risking all to teach Torah in a basement in the Soviet Union; the Soviet refugee who he helped escape to who then turns his back on Juda to marry a non-jew -- years later he meets the family and discovers that the wife has undergone giyur and they live as Vishnitzer chassidim; his childhood memory of the Sanz-Klausenberger Rebbe telling his ba'al koreh to not lower his voice while reading the tochacha, as there was nothing to be afraid of after experiencing the Holocaust; stories of the people and soldiers of Eretz Yisrael who are willing to sacrifice all for the sake of our homeland; his encounters with the Rav, with the Lubavitcher Rebbe -- I could go on and on. In short, it's the story of a remarkable man who has accomplished remarkable things.

The second is Out of the Depths: The Story of a Child of Buchenwald Who Returned Home at Last by Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau. (The book is a translation of the Hebrew MiMa'amakim.) There are so many parts of this book that will literally move you to tears that I don't even know where to begin. The experiences of R' Lau during the Holocaust haunt his entire life, but I think it would be unfair to say that this is a book about the horrors of the shoah alone. It is a book about heroism -- how a child torn from his family and home and exposed to the most traumatic circumstances is not only able to survive, but is able to become a talmid chacham, build a family of his own, and provide inspiration to others in his role as a Rav and later Rav haRoshi of Eretz Yisrael.

One of my children is currently reading Eli Wiesel's Night as part of a unit her school is doing on the Holocaust. While Night is certainly a powerful book worth reading (and is even part of many a public school curriculum), I think she and her class would be better served reading Rav Lau's book. I have not read Night in many years, but from what I recall, I think it provides a more complete picture of the circumstances of concentration camp life than Rav Lau's book does. However, while I don't c'v mean to diminish the importance of preserving the memory of what happened in any way, I think students also need to ask themselves what the memory of the past does for them -- what does it mean for their future and for our future as a people? I also believe any discussion of the Holocaust is incomplete without a discussion of the rise of the State of Israel, the two greatest events in Jewish history on the past century if not the past 2000 years. Rav Lau's story does not end with the shoah; that is just the starting point to the life he builds.  The world of Polish Jewry that shaped his childhood memories is the inspiration that pulls him to building his future, to raising a family in Eretz Yisrael, to dedicating himself to rabbanus (before being taken to be killed, his father charged his brother with the job of preserving R' Lau's life so he could be the next link in the 37-generation long chain of rabbanim that have come from their family).  Rav Lau is a model of how to grow from tragedy, how the legacy of the past can shape how we relate to the present and inspire great accomplishments.

Parenthetically, there were three or four people (gedolim) in particular who Rav Lau singles out as great inspirational figures in his life (post WWII). I won't give away the names -- I'll let you take a guess at who they were. Hint: One name was also a great inspiration for Rav Riskin as well.  One I don't think anyone will get.

Let me leave you with one story from Rav Riskin's book (and again, there are so many anecdotes in both books that are gems; this is just one at random). When he was younger, Rav Riskin spent a summer in Eretz Yisrael and had the opportunity to be in Ponevich for Elul. He developed a connection with the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Kahaneman, which he maintained over the years. When Rav Kahaneman would visit America, Rav Riskin would often host the Rosh Yeshiva. Once, when Rab Kahaneman was already older and had to be hospitalized in NY, Rav Riskin came to visit and found him feeling depressed. Trying to elevate the Rosh Yeshiva's spirits, Rav Riskin started to talk about how much R' Kahaneman had been able to accomplish in his lifetime, his literal rebuilding an empire of Torah after making it through the war. He remarked that while most people barely accomplish 10% of their dreams, Rav Kahaneman surely had been able to accomplish much more.

"Not at all," said the Rosh Yeshiva.  "I just dream bigger dreams."

R' Raphael Sorotzkin on the cheit ha'eigel

Moshe Rabeinu was told on Har Sinai "Lech reid ki shiches amcha...," that he must go back down to earth (probably in a spiritual as well as a physical sense) because Klal Yisrael had made an eigel hazahav. So why is it that when Moshe descends, he drops the luchos from his hands, as if shocked by the scene he witnesses? What did he expect? After all, he had been given fair warning of what was going on.

My wife suggested that this illustrates the idea of "aino domeh she'miya l'reiya," that one cannot compare hearing about something to seeing the actual event. Even knowledge of an event revealed directly by Hashem cannot compare to actually seeing it.

Rav Raphael Sorotzkin in his HaBinah V'HaBracha offers two other answers, both of which carry important lessons:

1. Moshe Rabeinu interpreted "shiches amcha" to mean the people had rebelled against Hashem and Torah and mitzvos. Had that been the case, Moshe would have been non-plussed, as he was confident that he could convince Klal Yisrael to return. What he discovered, however, was that Bnei Yisrael did not think they were rejecting Torah -- to the contrary, they thought that through worship of the eigel they were actually being mekayeim the ratzon Hashem (see Ramban). The eigel "movement" was not a rejection of Torah, but a falsification of Torah. It required breaking the luchos to dramatically demonstrate that the path they were on was in fact a destruction of everything we believe.

2. Moshe Rabeinu interpreted "shiches amcha" to mean that the people had made a philosophical error; their sin was one of emunos v'deyos.  He was convinced that when he returned with the Torah, he could correct whatever misguided thinking had led them astray.  However, when Moshe came down, "Vayar es ha'eigel u'mecholos," he saw not only the eigel, but he saw the celebration taking place around the eigel, the gluttonous orgy that accompanied eigel worship. Moshe Rabeinu realized that it was not a misguided philosophy that was the root of the problem -- that was just a smokescreen -- but rather it was simply ta'avah, desire, that motivated them. You can't fight ta'avah with philosophical arguments.

Mordechai lo yichra v'lo yishtachaveh -- future tense

The Torah avoids spelling out specifics about events that will occur in the future because were the Torah to say what will occur, then those events will inevitably happen and there would no longer be an opportunity for bechira.  (R' Tzadok HaKohen explains that Avraham is credited for his affirmation of belief in the promise of children and yerushas ha'aretz he received in Parshas Lech Lecha, "Vayachshevaha lo tzedaka," because it required his trusting that nothing his children or grandchildren would do would interfere with that promise being fulfilled -- Klal Yisrael's destiny transcends bechira.)

This is why perhaps the most remarkable pasuk in the megillah is, " Mordechai lo yichra v'lo yishtachaveh." The pasuk is written in future tense -- Mordechai will not bow down.  It's a promise of what will happen, not just a report of what did happen.  No matter that every individual has free choice to decide whether or not to bow to Haman.  There will always be someone, that Mordechai hatzadik, who will remain standing and not give in.

Sefas Emes explains that the future tense is used because the megillah is speaking to all future generations. In every time and place there will always be a Mordechai who will not bow his head. The megillah does not at first tell us Mordechai's name.  Our hero is introduced with the generic appellation "ish yehudi," a Jewish man, a somebody -- "Ish yehudi haya b'Shushan habirah...."  That "ish yehudi" could be anyone. In those days he happened to be named Mordechai, but in another time and another place he could have some other identity, some other name -- but he will always be with us.

This is why Haman wanted to destroy the entire Jewish nation.  Haman realized that Mordechai is the yotzei min ha'klal that is melamed al ha'klal, the exception that proves the rule. Were he just to defeat this Mordechai, there would be just be another Mordechai, another ish yehudi, who would step up and take his place.

why Esther did not reveal her identity right away

When Mordechai told Esther to go to Achashveirosh to plead on behalf of the Jewish people, she replied that she had not been called to the king for thirty day.  Anyone who appeared before the king without being called risked being killed (4:11). Mordechai responded by reiterating his demand that Esther go, as the Jewish people were in grave danger. Was Esther really more concerned for her personal safety than the plight of the nation? Of course not. The Vilna Gaon explains that Esther was telling Mordechai that precisely because she had not been called into an audience with the king in thirty days, therefore, the king was bound to call her in sometime very soon. She was not trying to avoid carrying out Mordechai's mission -- she was telling Mordechai that if he would only wait a short time she could carry out that mission with no danger to herself.

Why then did Mordechai demand that she act immediately? R' Chaim Kaneivsky in his Ta'ama d'Kra explains the Mordechai held that the fear and stress caused by the impending danger was itself a life threatening. Living in a precarious situation can cause a person to collapse. Therefore, Esther needed to act immediately.

I don't want to get bogged down in current events, but history does repeat itself. With respect to Iran's nuclear weapon threat, we hear voices saying to just wait some time before acting -- give economic sanctions (which have not worked until now) time to work, give diplomacy (which has accomplished nothing until now) a chance, etc. These voices fail to appreciate that living with danger is itself dangerous. Even if someone knows that the trigger won't be pulled until some point in the future, no person can stand by calmly and idly while a maniac waves a gun at his/her head without going crazy from nervous tension.

Returning to the megillah, the truth is that Esther did not act right away. Despite the fact that she now understood the immediacy of the danger, Esther still delayed for three days during which time Mordechai and Klal Yisrael fasted and davened with her. A very important yesod: Sakanah does not demand any action be taken in response -- it demands effective action that will eliminate or mitigate the danger. Action without tefilah, without first asking Hashem for help, is guaranteed to not be effective.

So I take back the first sentence of the previous paragraph. Esther did act immediately to reduce the danger, as the first and most important step in any crisis is to be mispallel.  That set the wheels of her success in motion, as it triggered the needed siyata d'shemaya.

And this too applies to current events as well...

Since I mentioned R' Chaim Kanievsky's Ta'ama d'Kra, I want to point out what seems to me to be a remarkable chiddush that he says. There are various reasons offered in the commentaries as to why Mordechai told Esther not to reveal that she was a member of Klal Yisrael. R' Chaim suggests as follows: Were Esther's nationality to be known, no one would dare act against her or her people and Haman's plot would never have gotten off the ground.  Now, you or I might think this is a great thing, but that's why you and I are not Mordechai.  Mordechai knew that Klal Yisrael deserved to be punished for their having partaken of Achashveirosh's party. If Haman's plot or some other plot never stood a chance, then the punishment for Klal Yisrael would come purely b'ydei shamayim, at the hands of Hashem through midas ha'din.  Mordechai figured that it is better to allow some plot to develop, better to allow Haman the chance to put Klal Yisrael in danger (and then to undo that danger), than to foil that effort and risk punishment b'ydei shamayim.  Haman's decree amounted to the lesser of two evils.

mechila on mishloach manos -- Rav Asher Weiss' chiddush on why you are yotzei

The 5T-Far Rockaway community had the privilege of hosting R Asher Weiss on P' Terumah - Shekalim.  On Motzei Shabbos he spoke at Shor Yoshuv on the topic of mishloach manos and hilchos Purim. One chiddush to give you a taste:  The poskim point out two reasons given for the mitzvah of mishloach manos: 1) The Terumas haDeshen -- to provide food for seudas Purim; 2) The Manos haLevi -- to increase the feeling of brotherhood and camaraderie.   The Rama paskens that one is yotzei mishloach manos even if the recipient is mochel or does not accept the mishloach manos.  It is widely assumed (quoted in Chasam Sofer) that the Rama is a nafka minah between these two reasons.  If the purpose of mishloach manos is to provide food for the seudah, then (lichorah) one has not accomplished anything if the recipient is mochel and not accepted the food.  If the reason is to simply engender a sense of brotherhood, then the Rama makes sense -- it's the thought that counts more than the gift.

Rav Weiss thought it unlikely that the Rama really meant to pasken like the Manos haLevi against the Terumas haDeshen. Firstly, the Terumas haDeshen is one of the Rama's most frequently quoted sources for minhag Ashkenaz. Why would the Rama here suddenly abandon the Terumas haDeshen in favor of a Sefardic acharon (the Manos haLevi = R' Shlomo Alkebetz) who wrote his comment in the context of peirush hamikra and not halachic analysis?  (R' Weiss even suggested that the Manos haLevi himself may himself have never meant his chiddush l'halacha.) Secondly, the Terumas haDeshen is well grounded in Rishonim. As we noted before, the Rambam places the din of mishloach manos in the context of his discussion of seudas Purim (Hil Megilah 2:16 -- keitzad chovas seudah zu....). Also, when it comes to the dinim of Purim meshulash, the Rishonim all write that mishloach manos is done on the same day that seudas Purim is eaten.  There seems to be a strong link between mishloach manos and the seudah.

Therefore, R' Weiss suggested that even the Terumas haDeshen would agree with the din of the Rama. What the Rama meant is simply that Chazal could only make one responsible for sending gifts -- acceptance of delivery is out of a person's hand. You can't make a takanah for a person to do what is out of their hands to accomplish.

The Ksav Sofer discusses whether one is yotzei sending mishloach manos anonymously and suggests the issue hinges on the debate between the Manos haLevi and Terumas haDeshen. If the point of mishloach manos is to ensure someone has food, then the identity of the sender is irrelevant; if the point is to foster camaraderie, then knowing who sent the mishloach manos is critical -- how can you feel friendship with "anonymous" (a lesson for some of you who comment here ; )

Rav Weiss argued that even if one accept the approach of the Manos haLevi, the goal of enhancing comraderie is achieved even with an anonymous mishloach manos. The recipient can feel a closer bond of friendship with everyone, as anyone might be the sender. But in truth, there is no machlokes. The Terumas haDeshen's reason is m'ikar hadin the driving force behind the takanah of mishloach manos. The Manos haLevi is an added consideration, but not a reason to pasel any gift.

(I have omitted many aspects of the shiur, so any errors can be attributed to me, not Rav Weiss.)

the indestructible zayis

Parshas Terumah is the story of the Mishkan as a building; Parshas TiTzaveh is the story of those who work in the Mishkan. The majority of the parsha describes the clothing of the kohanim and the appointment of the Levi'im , but it opens with the command to Moshe to personally involve himself in collecting pure olive oil for the lighting of the menorah. The Torah does not discuss any other aspect of avodah in the Mishkan here. Why should the olive oil for lighting the menorah be singled out for attention at this point?

The Midrash caught my eye:

ואתה תצוה הה"ד (ירמיה יא) זית רענן יפה פרי תואר קרא ה' שמך וכי לא נקראו ישראל אלא כזית הזה בלבד והלא בכל מיני אילנות נאים ומשובחים נקראו ישראל בגפן ותאנה שנאמר (תהלים פ) גפן ממצרים תסיע תאנה שנאמר (הושע ט) כבכורה בתאנה בראשיתה כתמר שנא' (שיר ז) זאת קומתך דמתה לתמר כארז שנא' (תהלים צב) כארז בלבנון ישגה כאגוז שנאמר (שיר ז) אל גנת אגוז ירדתי וקראן בכל מיני שלחים שנאמר (שם ד) שלחיך פרדס רמונים ובא ירמיה לומר זית רענן יפה פרי תואר אלא מה הזית הזה עד שהוא באילנו מגרגרין אותו ואח"כ מורידין אותו מן הזית ונחבט ומשחובטין אותו מעלין אותו לגת ונותנין אותן במטחן ואח"כ טוחנין אותן ואח"כ מקיפין אותן בחבלים ומביאין אבנים ואח"כ נותנין את שומנן כך ישראל באין עובדי כוכבים וחובטין אותם ממקום למקום וחובשים אותן וכופתין אותם בקולרין ומקיפין אותן טרטיוטין ואח"כ עושין תשובה והקב"ה עונה להם מנין שנא' (שמות ב) ויאנחו בני ישראל וכן (דברים ד) בצר לך ומצאוך כי אל רחום ה' אלהיך הוי זית רענן יפה פרי תואר.

At first glance the Midrash is simply using the mention of zayis, olives, in the parsha as an opportunity to expand on Yirmiyahu's comparison of Bnei Yisrael to the olive tree. This approach begs the question of why discuss this here -- why not any other place in the Torah that mentions zayis?

Therefore, I think Chazal had something else in mind. In the chapter of Yirmiyahu this pasuk is found in, the Navi berates Yisrael for their abandonment of their bris with Hashem. As a result, Hashem promises to visit severe punishment upon them. The pshat in the pasuk of "Zayis ra'anan yfei pri to'ar..." is that Bnei Yisrael used to be like a beautiful zayis tree, but those days are no more -- "Heitzis eish aleha...," Hashem promises to burn down the  branches of that tree.

The derash paints a different picture. Bnei Yisrael are not the zayis ra'anan, the beautiful olive tree, only in the past tense, but the Navi is saying that even in the present tense, even in the midst of their punishment, even in the midst of Hashem burning down the tree, Bnei Yisrael remain that zayis ra'anan yfei pri to'ar. The forces that would destroy any other fruit bring out the best in the olive, the oil that can give light.

"V'Yikchu eilecha shemen zayis zach..." Moshe Rabeinu's personal attention was not necessary for the physical production of olive oil. Moshe Rabeinu needed to give his attention to the people who may have been like that crushed zayis. Those olives, those neshomos, had to be brought to Moshe to be reminded that za'ayis ra'anan yfei pri to'ar is an eternal promise (see Sefas Emes).

The Kohanim and Levi'im are the leaders of Klal Yisrael. The parsha of the zayis is the introduction to their appointment, the mission statement that defines their task in relating to Bnei Yisrael.