sweet dreams

The Ksav Sofer in the previous post suggests that we have become so acclimated to our situation in galus that we no longer even hope and pray for change.  I did not want to mix my own thoughts into his beautiful derasha, so I will just tack them on here.  The gemara (Chagiga 5b) tells us:  

"V'Anochi haster astir panay ba'yom ha'hu" -- Rava said, "Hashem said, 'Even though my face is hidden from them, I still speak to them in dreams.'"  (Rashi: Only "bayom," during the day, am I hidden, but not at night, the time of dreams.  See Maharash"a for another explanation.)

What the gemara suggests to me is that even if the grim reality of day to day life obscures G-d, there always remains in our dreams the hope for a better and brighter future.  It is in those hopes and dreams that G-d's presence is felt and remains very much alive.

The sad thing about growing older is that our dreams and hopes become so small.  Ask a little kid what he wants to be when he grows up and he will tell you with a straight face that he wants to play shortstop for the New York Yankees (that is, until you start training him to say he wants to be a big tzadik.)  As that kid grows up, he becomes what we call "realistic," i.e. he turns off that dream.  Ask a middle age guy what he dreams of and he will tell you that he wants an easy day at work tomorrow and maybe a nicer car or a bigger house or something like that.  If he's really imaginative he will tell you he wants to stop working all together and do who knows what.  Doesn't even come close to dreaming about playing at the House that Ruth built.  That's what the Ksav Sofer was so worried about -- our dreams becoming smaller.  Our robbing ourselves of the one sliver of life where Hashem still openly reveals himself.  

Fortunately, at least as a nation, I don't think we've forgotten how to dream.  For 2000 years we faced the darkest reality of hester panim, but in our hearts we continued to yearn for and dream of a return to Eretz Yisrael.  "B'shuv Hashem es shivas Tzion, ha'yinu k'cholmim," the hester panim is finally lifting and what seemed like only a dream is becoming  reality.

the suffering that only Hashem sees

The Ksav Sofer quotes a Midrash (Devarim Rabbah 4) that teaches that Moshe asked Hashem that when He sees his children suffering, even if no one is crying out for His mercy, He should still respond.  There are two questions that beg asking: 1) Why the circumlocution of “when **you see** your children suffering” – why not say directly, “when the Jewish people **are** suffering?”  2) How could there be a situation of suffering with no one asking Hashem for mercy – is it conceivable that Klal Yisrael will be in trouble and no one will turn to Hashem in tefilah?!

No matter how bad things get, there is a process of accommodation and acculturation that occurs and people get used to it.  We say in Eicah and kinos, “Zechor Hashem meh haya lanu,” Hashem, remember what we had.  The Midrash comments that we ask Hashem to remember because we are prone to forget.  Can you imagine the river of tears that must have been spilled after the first Tisha b’Av?  No matter how much we try to absorb the meaning of what it means to live in galus, it’s just not the same feeling 2000 years later.  We've gotten used to the state of churban and we've forgotten.  But for Hashem, it’s like it just happened – he never forgets, he never gets used to it.  The pain is just as real for Him now as it was for us on that first day of exile.

“Samcheinu k’ymos inisanu, k’shnos ra’inu ra’ah”(Tehillim (90:15) – we want to be gladdened one day just as we now experience days of suffering.  Certainly the plain meaning of the pasuk is that our joy of geulah should be proportional (either quantitatively or qualitatively) to the sadness which we experienc in galus.  But the Ksav Sofer adds another dimension: the pasuk means that our joy should not be the joy of overcoming galus as we see perceive it now, after we have gotten used to it.  What's the big simcha in that?  Our joy should be the joy of overcoming galus, “k’ymos inisanu,” when we still felt the pain and it bothered us.

This is what the Midrash means when it refers to the suffering “which Hashem sees.”  Our senses are dulled, our collective communal memory is hazy, and we no longer even feel the loss of the glory of Knesses Yisrael.   We have grown used to things as they are; we don't see the tragedy of our own plight.  Hashem, however,  still sees just how badly we have fallen.  Hashem will respond even if we are so blinded to our condition that we do not even know enough to daven for our own relief.  

The Midrash writes that when we return to Eretz Yisrael we will shed tears like on the day the brothers re-united with Yosef.  When the brothers first realized the full import of what they had done, they mourned.  Undoubtedly, they wanted their brother back and felt tortuous pain at his loss.  But after 22 years, was that pain still the same; was it even there at all?  It was only when Yosef revealed himself that suddenly those memories came flooding back and the brothers once again cried, reliving and realizing their sorrow even as they experienced its amelioration.  When we return to Eretz Yisrael it will be with similar tears, as our senses re-awaken to all the forgotten pains and sorrow of galus, even as those very pains are wiped away in the joy of geulah.

the drop of ink left in the quill

According to one view in Chazal the “karnei hod” which emanated from Moshe’s face came from the bit of ink left on the quill after he finished transcribing the Torah.  Ksav Sofer beautifully explains that what Chazal are telling us is that not everything in Torah is or can be contained in the text.  There are secrets that were never set down in writing – the leftover ink that never made it onto paper – that Moshe, who learned Toras Hashem directly, was privy too.  Moshe covered his shining face with a mask, meaning he hid these secrets behind a veil, so that only those who would put in the time and effort to dig deeper would discover them.

The point the Ksav Sofer is making applies not just to mysterious “sisrei Torah,” but to Torah law in general.  The thinking of a talmid chacham cannot always (can it ever?) be reduced to a series of logical steps or a precise formula that can be mapped out on paper – one does not take a corpus of texts, add deductive or inductive logic, and poof, generate an answer.  Feel for a text’s nuance, for whether an interpretation is too narrow or too broad, for how rules apply to a given situation etc. is something that a seasoned scholar feels in his kishkes, for lack of a better term.  What constitutes sound, informed judgment it is not something that can be transmitted through writing, but must come from the experience of a lifetime of immersion in Torah study.  That is the drop of ink left on the quill after all that can be written has been.

why no bracha on the mitzvah of zechiras Amalek?

Why is there is no bracha on the mitzvah of zechiras Amalek?  Shu”T l’Horos Noson (5:47)  suggests that the whole purpose of a bracha is to elicit the kavanah that the act being done is l’shem mitzvah.  For example, there is nothing inherent in a 4 cornered garment with fringes that suggests it is being worn for a religious purpose – maybe you like the style or that’s the only shirt you have.  Therefore, the mitzvah of tzitzis requires a bracha to remind you of its purpose.  The mitzvah of zechiras Amalek, however, is different.  The very nature of the mitzvah is to remember that there is a command of mechiyas Amalek.  You don’t need a bracha to remind you that the act you are about to do is a mitzvah – the very words that you are reading make that point clear.  The same logic explains why there is no bracha on the mitzvah of kri’as shema.  You say the words “v’dibarta bam” as part of the mitzvah – you don’t need an external reminder.  I was wondering if you could use the same to explain why there is no bracha over the mitzvah of haggadah, but  on second thought there is a difference – the haggadah does not explicitly mention the text to read.  If you never said the pasuk, “V’higadta l’bincha,” I don’t see why m’doraysa you might not be yotzei the mitzvah.  

(In addition to the reasoning advanced by the L'Horos Noson, one could argue that it is not proper to say a bracha on the downfall of one's enemies, an idea he discusses in the teshuvah.  One could perhaps also argue that the birchas haTorah of parshas zachor also serves as the bracha on the mitzvah of zechiras Amalek, as we fulfill the mitzvah by reading a parsha.   And I am sure this is just the tip of the iceberg.)

are kohanim commanded in mechiyas Amalek?

The Sefer haChinuch (603) opines that women are exempt from the mitzvah of zechiras Amalek because they are not participants in war and do not to go out to battle; since they would not wage war against Amalek, they are exempt from the mitzvah of zechira as well.  The assumption (which the Minchas Chinuch questions) of the Chinuch is that the mitzvah of zecher and the mitzvah of mechiyas Amalek go hand in hand.

R’ Wahrman in his Sheiris Yosef (vol 7) refers to a fascinating teshuvah of the Binyan Shlomo (#57) who suggests that kohanim did not go out to battle either, as they could not risk becoming tamei meis; therefore, they too were exempt from the mitzvah of waging war with Amalek.  The Binyan Shlomo writes that if this is true, kohanim should be exempt from ta’anis Esther, as according to Rabineu Tam the ta'anis is a commemoration of the fast undertaken  on 13Adar in preparation for the war against Amalek.  Since kohanim did not participate in battle, they would not have participated in the fast.  (I am not sure why this follows – perhaps there is a chiyuv to join with the tzibur in doing teshuvah and fasting to ensure success in battle even if one does not participate directly in the fighting.)  It follows as well that according to the logic of the Chinuch, kohanim should be exempt from the mitzvah of hearing parshas zachor.

The gemara's question of whether a kohein can take a yefas to’ar (Kiddushin 23) implies that kohanim did in fact go to battle, contrary to the Binyan Shlomo, but there does seem to be some basis in Rishonim for his view.  In the context of debating whether a kohein who gives a get al tnai may remain together with his wife, the Mordechai (Gittin 432) attempts to bring proof from the fact that all who went out to war with King David wrote gittin (al tnai, lest they be lost in war), presumably including kohanim, who returned afterwards to their wives.  The Mordechai is not convinced of the proof, as one could argue that kohanim never went out to war to begin with (he raises the sugya in Kid as an issue, but how he deals with it is unclear to me.)  Anyone in tune with the current debate over whether yeshiva students should server in Tzahal has probably heard the oft-cited Rambam (end of Hil Shemita) that anyone who wants can take on the role of a levi as teacher to Torah and become exempt from the burden of going out to war.  Whether the Rambam’s view can serve as a basis for yeshiva student levi-wanna-be’s being exempted may be debatable, but it seems clear that a true kohen or levi could indeed stay home.  Or maybe it’s not so clear: the Rambam himself (Hil Melachim ch 7) refers to a kohein married to a gerusha as being exempted from battle because of the aveira he has done, implying that a kohein otherwise would in fact have to join the fight.

if you need writing/editing help

My wife's new site here.
If you are in the market for a writer or editing help (no, she does not edit my posts -- my bad writing is mine alone) please feel free to contact her.

the larger picture

V’asu li mikdash… k’chol asher ani mareh oscha... v’chain ta’asu (Shmos 25:8-9)

Rashi writes “v’chein ta’asu” is a mitzvah l’doros to make the klei hamikdash (when needed) exactly as made during the building of the Mishkan.  Ramban disagrees and proves that this is not a mitzvah l’doros from the fact that the mizbeiach built by Shlomo did not have the same dimensions as that built by Moshe.  The simple answer in defense of Rashi is that although the size of the mizbeiach may not have been the same, its essential features were.  Shiur is a measure of the amount of something that there is; it’s not the essence of what the thing is.  Maharal suggests that Rashi may have been referring to the kli hamikdash in particular, meaning those items that were portable.  The mizbeiach was connected to the ground, to the building of Mikdash/Mishkan, and was therefore different than a normal kli.

The Tiferes Shlomo has a beautiful answer.  The Radomsker writes that “v’chein ta’asu” is not talking about the physical making of the kelim, but rather is talking about the “k’chol asher ani mareh oscha.”  Moshe did not just make kelim the way he thought fit – he had a vision of what the Mikdash should look like and made kelim to fit that ideal.  The mitzvah l’doros is similarly to make kelim not according to one’s own standards or needs, but according to the vision that Hashem shows of what a Mishkan or Mikdash should be.  Every generation has its Moshe who is privy to that vision and can direct the work accordingly. 

I don’t think the Radomsker is telling us a din in the mitzvah of building Mikdash; I think he’s telling us a general din about life.  You can’t build unless you have vision.  The nitty-gritty of how-to can only be addressed if one starts with an image of the ideal one would like to achieve.  And it’s true that the end product many times will not match and it’s true that how to meet that ideal will not always be simple or clear.  “Nitkashe Moshe” is part of the process.  But without an overarching philosophy and dream to guide them, piecemeal solutions will ultimately never have any coherence or direction.

L’havdil, to take an example from the outside world, when JFK made his famous speech challenging the county to land a man on the moon within a decade, he didn’t specify whether to use rocket X or Y or how to build a lunar lander.  He pointed the space program in the direction he wanted it to go, gave his bracha and got funding, and left the details to the engineers.  He trusted that the how-to would eventually work itself out; his job was to get people dreaming and aspiring to achieve a goal. 

It seems to me that our leaders these days are experts in nitty-gritty detail, but short on vision.  We hear a lot these days about what not to read and what not to do and how not to dress and not act etc.  We hear about who to vote for to get the most benefit to yeshivos and avoid yeshiva bachurim from serving in Tzahal.  What we don't hear is an overarching vision of how to bring together the various factions in society in a way that balances the needs of a modern state with the religious needs of our community.  If you don't accept the philosophy of Rav Kook or Mizrachi, what is the answer -- how do you think we can achieve that goal?  I am more than willing to acknowledge that it may be my ignorance; maybe I am just not reading the right books so I'm not getting the message.  How we are going to have doctors, pay bills, keep our yeshivos running if the only path in life that is approved is klei kodesh?  I exaggerate, but you can think of your own examples so I won’t belabor the point.  I don't see the vision; I don't see how the particulars add up to make a strong Torah society of diverse personalities that fill different rolls and can contend with economic, political, ideological, and existential challenges in the modern world. 

We need to start with “k’chol asher ani mareh oscha,” with the larger vision.  We need Moshe's that see that vision and can guide us to make the kelim that match that ideal.

when kavanah alone is enough

Ramban comments based on Midrash that the reason the Torah uses the term “v’asu es ha’aron,” in the plural even though the rest of the commands to build the Mishkan (and the aron as well) are in the singular is because each and every member of Klal  Yisrael participated in the building of the aron.  The symbolic message is obvious: each and every member of Klal Yisrael has some portion in Torah. 

On a practical level, how exactly did everyone participate – what did they do?  Ramban gives three possibilities: 1) They donated gold that was designated specifically for use in the aron; 2) They helped in the physical crafting of the aron; 3) They had kavanah.

It’s the third option that caught my attention.  How exactly does kavanah count as participation?  It sounds just like what managers do where I work – You guys bring the gold, you guys do the work, and I’ll stand here and supervise by thinking deep thoughts of kavanah.  If the aron is the symbol of Torah, I’m even more perplexed.  There are people who contribute to Torah by learning – the parallel to fashioning the aron.  There are people who contribute to Torah by supporting Torah study – the parallel to donating gold for the aron.  But can someone participate in Torah study by watching someone else learn or contribute and just having kavanah?  How does that work?

I told my daughter (who I learned this Ramban with) that next time she forgets her homework she should tell the teacher that she had kavanah to do it and that's enough.  I figure if she quotes this Ramban the teacher should give partial credit.

a great memoir -- Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor

I like reading biographies and memoirs and just finished one that I have to recommend.  You would think that as on orthodox Jew there is not much I could gain from reading something with the title Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith by Barbara Brown Taylor, but you would be dead wrong.  Taylor tells the story of her leaving the ministry after 20 years of service only to re-discover her humanity and inner spirit, something that the intense demands of her job, even a job in the service religion, had robbed her of.  That rediscovery reminds her of what drove her to the ministry in the first place and what the service of G-d is all about.  She has a beautiful writing style and the book is just the type of thoughtful and reflective memoir that I like.  And the message is one that is important to all people: We are in such a rush to achieve and do, even in service of G-d, that we lose sight of the inner essence that religion is all about.

There are two passages in particular that I found interesting as a Jew.  Taylor discusses how hard it is to hit pause in life when there is just so much to do.  She writes that her Christianity exacerbated the problem, as she felt that G-d's kingdom was out there, waiting to be sought out -- under those circumstances, who has time to slow down and stop?  She found the answer in the Biblical verses we are all familiar with.  "Remember the Sabbath day..."  She writes (p. 136-137):

Like every other clergyperson I knew, I believed I had no alternative.  Taking a full day off was so inconceivable that I made up reasons why it was not possible.  If I stopped for a whole day, there would be no more weekend weddings at Grace-Calvary [the church where she was pastor], or someone else would have to do them.  Sick people would languish in the hospital and begin to question their faith.  Parishioners would start a rumor that I was not a real shepherd but only a hired hand.  If I stopped for a whole day, my animals would starve [she lived on a farm], my house would grow mold, weeds would take over my garden, and my credit rating would collapse.  If I stopped for a whole day, G-d would be sorely disappointed in me.

While remembering the Sabbath does involve a radical shift of priorities, these were all lies.  Observant Jews have kept the Sabbath for millennia, even those caring for half a dozen children and elderly parents whose needs do not stop when the sun goes down.  Sabbath is written into the ancient covenant with G-d.  Remember the Sabbath, the rabbis say, and you fulfill all of Torah.  Stop for one whole day every week, and you will remember what it means to be created in the image of G-d, who rested on the seventh day not from weariness but from complete freedom.  The clear promise is that those who rest like G-d find themselves free like G-d, no longer slaves to the thousand compulsions that send others rushing toward their graves.

Wow.  What a derasha.  No wonder Taylor was once ranked as one of the most effective preachers in the English speaking world.

There is another passage I found interesting.  Taylor writes that many ministers developed "larger-than-life swaggers" as they felt they had achieved near perfection, while others suffered sleepless nights as they contemplated just how far from perfection they were.  She writes (p 150):

As Christians, we were especially vulnerable since our faith turned on the story of a divine human being.  Those who became ordained were not presented with Moses or Miriam as our models, so that we could imagine ourselves as flawed human beings still willing to lead people through the wilderness.

When I read that I appreciated anew why the Torah presents every character flaw in our Avos and Imahos and does not try to sweep the defects under the rag and awe us with their greatness.  The message of Torah is that imperfection is not an obstacle to greatness.  

There is a lot more of value in Taylor's book that I think anyone who is human, no matter what their faith, can  appreciate.   

ain ma’avirin al hamitzvos

There is a famous teshuvah of the Radba”z on the topic of a person in prison who can choose one day a year to go out – should be wait for Yom Kippur, the most chashuv day of the year, should he maybe wait for Purim where he gets pirsumei nisa as well as mikra megilah, or should he choose the very next day on the calendar and not wait at all?  Radba”z says “ain ma’avirin al hamitzvos” – take the very next day. 

The Chacham Tzvi argues that this is against a mefurash gemara.  There is a sugya (Menachos 49a) that debates what to do if you have only one animal left in storage to use for korbanos and it’s Shabbos afternoon – should you use it to be makriv the korban musaf of Shabbos, as Shabbos is mekudash, or should you hold it until tomorrow and be makriv Sunday morning’s tamid because of the importance of tamid.  Based on the logic of the Radbaz, just like you don’t wait for Yom Kippur or for Purim because “ain ma’avirin al hamitzvos,”  it should be pashut that you should offer the musaf that is obligatory today instead of waiting for the tamid of tomorrow.  What’s the gemara’s safeik?  QED that since there is a safeik, the Radbaz is wrong.

How could you be mechaleik between the cases?  I'll let you think before writing anything.

mishkan as a b'dieved

The Midrash opens Parshas Terumah with a mashal: A king had an only daughter that was about to get married.  The king loved his daughter dearly and could not bear to part with her.  He begged her groom, “Please, make a small room in your home so that I can come and be with you.”  So too, Hashem could not separate himself from the Torah that he wanted to give to us.  Therefore, he requested that we build a Mishkan so that he could be with us.

R’ Chaim Ya’akov Goldvicht, the R”Y of Kerem b’Yavneh whose yahrzeit is today, pointed out that the mashal does not fit the nimshal.  In the mashal, the princess' marriage brings about her separation from her father, the king.  Hashem certainly did not give us the Torah so that we should separate from him!  Why should we need a mishkan to retain that closeness to Hashem after kabbalas haTorah?

The answer may be found in the brachos in Parshas BeChukosai.  “V’nasati mishkani b’sochichem, v’lo tigal nafshi eschem.  V’halachti b’sochichem v’hiyisem lachem l’Elokim.” (VaYikra 27).  At first glance these two pesukim seem to be just poetic repetition of the same idea.  The Seforno, however, reads them as two different concepts: When you have sinned, then my Mishkan will be there with you, "V'nasati mishkani b'sochichem," so that the Shechina will not be disgusted by you, "V'lo tigal nafshei eschem."   However, that is not the ideal.  “V’halachti b’sochichem,” the ideal is for Hashem to dwell amidst Bnei Yisrael without a Mishkan, “V’hiyisem lachem l’Elokim,”in full appreciation and acceptance. 

According to many Rishonim the construction of the Mishkan was a response  to  the cheit ha’eigel.  This is the idea our Midrash is reflecting.  Bnei Yisrael had moved away (so to speak) from Hashem through their sins and could not remain on the plateau attained at ma'amad Har Sinai.  Therefore, Hashem asked that we create a Mishkan so that he could still dwell among us. [see Pri Tzadik of R' Tzadok haKohen, first piece in the parsha for a similar idea.]

Chasam Sofer on the relationship between 7 Adar and Purim

Chasam Sofer (Derashos, 5699) writes that 7 Adar should be one of the happiest days of the year.  It was on this day that Moshe presented a completed a sefer Torah to sheivet Levi and the rest of Klal Yisrael came to him to complain: Why should Levi be privileged with a sefer Torah – is Torah not ours as well?  “Lo nasan Hashem lachem lev lada’as v’eynayim liros v’oznayim lishmo’a ad hayom ha’zeh” (Devarim 29:3) – this expression of love for Torah showed that Klal Yisrael finally had achieved the greatness that Moshe had been trying to inculcate in them for 40 years (see Rashi ibid.)  Moshe later says on this day of 7 Adar, “I am 120 years old today.” (Devarim 31:2)  Moshe is not telling us that it's his birthday so we know when to bake a cake and send presents.  Rashi comments, “Today my days and years have become complete,” meaning, explains the Chasam Sofer, that Moshe was saying that on this day his life's goal had finally come to fruition.  Mission accomplished!  7 Adar should have been consecrated for all future generation as a day of simchas Torah and kabbalas haTorah.

The only problem is that you can’t live on in this world once your mission is completed.  7 Adar therefore also had to be the day of Moshe’s passing.

What do you do when a chasunah and r”l a funeral coincide?  The gemara in Kesubos 4 (see the sugya for details) tells us that the aveilus takes precedence and only after the week of shiva is over is sheva brachos observed.  Klal Yisrael sat shiva for Moshe Rabeinu and the outpouring of love for Torah of 7 Adar had to take a back burner for a week -- until 14 Adar.  The keviyus of that day as a special holiday of kabbalas haTorah did indeed take place, albeit generations later.  “Hadar kiblu’hu b’ymei Achashveirosh” – in the time of Mordechai and Esther the Torah was re-accepted and the simcha of that original kabbalah of Torah that was the culmination of Moshe's life finally had its Yom Yov.  

On a different note: a post on megillah from my wife.

Haman's shekalim vs. ours

The gemara (Meg 13) writes that Haman’s payment to Achashveirosh to gain permission to destroy the Jewish  people was foiled because our payment of shekalim preceded his.  The coincidence of Haman using shekalim to enable his plot and our doing a mitzvah using shekalim seems to be just that – coincidence.  What’s  the connection between the ideas?

 “Vayivez b’einav lishloach yad b’Mordechai livado ki higidu lo es am Mordechai.”  It seems that there was some “hava amina” in Haman’s mind to strike at Mordechai alone, but then when he heard what people Mordechai came from, he decided to strike at them all.  What has the shakla v’terya behind his thinking?   Rav Moshe Avigdor Amiel explains that Haman originally thought that attacking Mordechai would inevitably bring about the downfall of whatever nation he was part of, as the loss of his leadership would have a massive effect on the population.  However, when “higidu lo es am Mordechai,” when he heard that Mordechai was a member of the Jewish people, he realized that all bets were off.  The chalos shem “tzibur” that applies uniquely to Am Yisrael means that we are more than a collection of individual parts, each with its own identity.  We are not like a car that is made up of a part that is a door, a part that is a motor, a part that is a transmission.  Were that the case, then knocking out the most essential part (e.g. the motor) would cripple the entire vehicle.  The whole of the “tzibur” or “am” is a qualitatively more complex and complete unit than even the sum of its parts and can and will continue to exist absent any member, no matter how significant.  Haman saw that the only way he could win would be by eliminating all the parts completely – which we know to be impossible.

It is the collection of shekalim that reveals this to be true.  The Mishna in Shekalim tells us that the Kohanim thought that they should be exempt from contributing shekalim, as the korban of a kohein is completely burnt.  If the Kohanim own a portion of the korban tzibur by virtue of donating shekalim, they argued, it would mean the halachos of that korban would change to require complete burning of the entire korban.  The Chachamim disagreed.  A korban tzibur is not owned by the sum of the individuals who contribute to its being offered, but is owned by the collective entity called “tzibur” that is greater than the sum of its parts. 

The Midrash writes that Moshe complained to Hashem that once he is gone, there will be no memory left of him.  What will the car be without its engine?  Hashem responded that just as he collected shekalim in his lifetime, it will be as if he continues every year to collect shekalim through our reading of the parsha.  The “tzibur” remains a constant, always retaining the qualities of its members, past, present, and future.  And in turn, they continue to exist by virtue of our collective continuity as a "tzibur."

shekalim donated by a katan

The Mishna in Shekalim writes that although a katan is exempt from the mitzvah of giving machtzis hashekel, if he voluntarily gives, his money is accepted.  The Sha’ar haMelech asks: M’doraysa a katan has no power to be makneh anything to others.  Therefore, the machtzis hashekel money which he gives is owned by hekdesh only m’derabbanan.   Since korbanos tzibur must be bought from the public funds, funds that belong to the tzibur, how is the tzibur yotzei if they use this machtzis hashekel that (m’doraysa) still belongs to the katan?

The Sha’ar haMelech’s suggests that the katan’s machtzis hashekel is but a drop in the bucket compared with thousands of other shekalim donated and is therefore bateil b’rov.  

Many Achronim since have debated how to make sense of this chiddush.  The gemara in Beitzah (38) writes that if I contribute some ingredients to a Yom Tov dish you are cooking, you can’t move the dish outside the limits of my techum; my portion of the ingredients are not bateil.  Just because most of the dish belongs to you doesn’t mean the entire dish belongs to you.  So how is it that just because the majority of the shekalim funds used to buy korbanos belong to the tzibur, the percentage that may belong to a katan can be ignored?   Aside from the gemara, it’s hard to understand how logically the sevara works.  If I mix $10 of yours with a bunch of other bills in my wallet, does your $10 become mine because it is bateil b’rov?  Of course not.  Ownership cannot be bateil.  What does the Sha’ar haMelech mean?

(Aside from the dinei mamonos issue, there is an issue that impacts issur v’heter here as well. Oneg Yom Tov discusses whether bitul b’rov helps in a case where strings for tzitzis not made lishma become mixed into a rov of those that were made lishma – does bitul mean that the miyut takes on the properties of the rov, or does bitul simply render a miyut as if it did not exist?  It seems that the Sha’as haMelech comes down squarely on the side of saying that the miyut takes on the property of the rov, meaning the money of the katan is treated a tzibur money because that is the quality of the majority of funds.)

I think the easiest answer in a nutshell is that the difference between the gemara in Beitzah and this din in Shekalim is that the gemara is speaking about bitul b’rov – when a whole mixture is present, is a miyut counted apart from the whole?  The Sha’ar haMelech’s question is one of kol d’parish – when the gizbar pulls a bunch of coins from the lishka to buy new korbanos (terumas halishka), is there a potential “bad” shekel that belongs to a katan in the mix?  These are two different issues entirely.  To return to the analogy of a wallet, it’s true that if you take your friend’s $10 and mix it into your wallet, that $10 doesn’t become yours, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you pull put a $10 bill at random, odds are that it is one that truly is yours and not the bill you took from your friend.  But again, lots of bigger minds than mine have what to say on these issues (and yes, the Mishna at the end of Me'ila will pose a problem that I don't have time to work out right now.)

Of course, if you hold a kinyan derabbanan has a chalos on a d'oraysa level (see posts here and here), then the whole issue is moot.

shabbos and shivti b'veis Hashem

I've done posts (link) before on linguistic insights found in the sefer HaKsav v'haKabbalah that shed new light on pesukim that we familiar with.  This past week's parsha had another great example.  The word "shabbos" is usually understood to mean a day of rest.  HaKsav V'haKabbalah suggests that the word "shabbos" has an additional connotation: "iyun v'chakirah," reflection and thought.  The root of the word "shabbos" is "shuv," to return.  When one reflects, one turns an idea over again and again in one's mind, constantly returning to it.  I think the English word that best captures the idea is to ruminate -- just like when an animal ruminates it constantly chews its food again and again, when one ruminates over an idea, one keeps bouncing it around in one's head.  The term "yishuv ha'da'as" does not mean having a settled mind, with "yishuv" related to the root y-sh-v, "to sit," but rather "yishuv ha'da'as" means having the ability to ruminate and reflect, from the same root as "shabbos," sh-vav-b, to return.  If you're like me, you probably always though Dovid haMelech's request of "Shivti b'veis Hashem kol ymei chayai" had something to do with his settling down in the beis Hashem, with the word "shivti," coming from the root y-sh-beis, to sit, and being a metaphor of sorts.  Now that we know the root sh-vav-beis relates to rumination and reflection, the pasuk takes on a whole new meaning.  The word "shivti" has nothing to do with sitting , but is rather related to the same root sh-vav-beis as shabbos, having to do with thinking.  Dovid HaMelech wanted to always have the "beis Hashem" on his mind, to always be reflecting on and ruminating about G-d.

R' Shlomo Fischer on the secret ingredient in Yisro's "Baruch Hashem"

Chazal (Sanhedrin 96) are critical of Klal Yisrael because it was Yisro and not they who was the first to say “baruch Hashem” in response to yetzi’as Mitzrayim.  The obvious question is that Klal Yisrael may not have said the exact words "baruch Hashem," but they did sing shiras ha’yam – why is that any less significant?  What is the secret ingredient in Yisro's words that made his thanks to Hashem so special?

In the past we discussed two answers offered by the Ksav Sofer: 1) Bnei Yisrael sang shirah because they experienced the jubilation of being saved and seeing their enemy's downfall.  However, because he was a ger and shared a certain kinship with the Mitzrim, Yisro was pained by the Egyptians being drowned.  Rashi comments on “Vayichad Yisro” that “na’asah besaro chidudim."  Nonetheless, Yisro still said “Baruch Hashem.”  The ability to thank Hashem even when experiencing pain is something that Yisro alone accomplished.  2) Bnei Yisrael experienced first hand the exodus from Mitzrim and kri’as Yam Suf.  Yisro heard about it; it was a vicarious experience.  His “Baruch Hashem” was the joy of someone who can be mishtatef b’simchas chaveiro, someone who shares in and feels joy at his friend’s good fortune even if it is not his own personal simcha.  That thanks belonged to Yisro alone.

I want to share with you a brilliant answer of R’ Shlomo Fischer (in his Derashos Beis Yishai) that draws on some of the topics we discussed these past few weeks.  Just to review: We mentioned (link) that Hashem had to increase the burden of servitude on Bnei Yisrael so that they could go free after only 210 years instead of 400.  The qualitative increase in pressure served as a substitute for the quantitative amount of time spent in Mitzrayim, but that in turn was for Bnei Yisrael’s benefit because it allowed the exodus to occur sooner.  We also mentioned the view of the Ramban (link - Ramban holds like Ra'avad) that even though the punishment of galus had been decreed upon Klal Yisrael from the time of Bris bein haBesarim, the Mitzrim still deserved to be punished for carrying out that decree because they went above and beyond what was necessary in their zeal to oppress Klal Yisrael.  Rav Shlomo Fischer puts two and two together.  Yisro said, “Ki gadol Hashem m’kol Elokim.”  Elokim is the name that refers to how Hashem is manifest through the laws that govern the universe.  One of those natural laws is that man has free choice -- the Mitzrim were free to decide whether and to what degree they would persecute Bnei Yisrael.  Because of the severity of their persecution, “Ki badavar asher zadu aleihem,” the Mitzrim were punished.  Yet, the same harshness and severity which the Egyptians were free to choose to inflict and for which they were punished must have also occurred by virtue of Hashem’s hashgacha, as it was that very same qualitative increase in severity which was the trigger that allowed the galus to end after only 210 years instead of 400 at tremendous benefit to Klal Yisrael.   “Ki gadol Hashem m’kol Elokim” – even while you play by the rules of free choice and deliver schar and onesh accordingly, Hashem you reign above those rules in showing your awesome hashgacha over the universe.

G'eonus!! 

santa hats and black hats: chinuch choices

You would think I would be a prime candidate to advocate attending a modern orthodox day school/yeshiva.  After all, I went to these type of schools myself, I believe secular culture has value beyond its instrumental use for obtaining parnasa, and I'm a zionist as well.  I was not fast enough in pulling out my blackberry to snap a picture, otherwise I would save myself these thousand words (don't worry - hopefully less) with just one image.  One a recent day off for a secular holiday I went for a short walk to stretch my legs.  As I passed by one of the local modern orthodox high schools, there was a young lady entering the building wearing a red santa hat on her head.  A santa hat!  A few moments later I saw another student come out accompanied by a mother wearing pants and with no hair covering.  On my way home the same school was letting kids roam outside for lunch and I got to witness boys with kippot that I needed better glasses to be able to see and girls with dresses that would not be allowed in the front door of the school I send my kids to.  Question: Is this what modern orthodoxy has become?  Is this what modern orthodoxy idealizes? 

Some will no doubt object to that last question -- who says what I witnessed is the ideal?  Point granted.  But it certainly is within the threshold of what is tolerated, while the same cannot be said about the average RW yeshiva or Beis Ya'akov.  Some will object that if there are no schools for kids like these, they will end up in public school and drift off even further.  Point granted as well.  So is that what modern orthodox schools aspire to be -- the last refuge for those who want a Jewish environment but not the demands of a traditional yeshiva program?  I think most who champion the benefits of modern orthodox education would argue that it is far more than that,and indeed, it should be.  So I ask: what are those benefits and where can I see them manifest?  If these students are not the ideal, if the program they are in (co-ed classes, no dress code requirement, minimal exposure in the form of 1 or 2 periods a day to gemara, etc.) is not the ideal, then where is the ideal exemplified within the modern orthodox world?  The boys who spend their summers in Morasha Kollel (been there, done that) and the girls involved in similar programs seem to me to be the exception to their peer group and not at all representative of the norm -- they are managing to achieve great things despite their surroundings and despite the educational system that they find themselves in, not because of it.   

Perhaps for some it is worth it in order to get a better education, but that begs the question: do these type modern schools offer a better education?  I think one must be absurdly naive to think that the answer is "yes" in the realm of limudei kodesh; it's not even worth the time to do a comparison.  What about limudei chol?  Does one get a better secular education in a modern orthodox school that (as I recently saw posted on one prominent school's website) carries a sticket price of over $30,000 compared to a Beis Ya'akov that costs far less?  I have two daughters in high school right now that between them are taking three AP classes in their junior and sophomore years (AP European History, Psychology, Art History).  One took a year of a foreign language.  They both are required to clock a certain number of chessed hours.  One is involved in extra curricular activities like helping with a school performance for the public that is being produced.  Gym is offered.  So what are they missing?  The only class I think I had when I was in 9th grade in a modern high school that they have had no exposure to is music -- in every other area I can think of their education is on par.  

Excuse my being blunt, but at the end of the day, I don't really think anyone is sending their kid to the type high school I saw instead of a Mesivta or Beis Ya'akov because they can get an extra AP class, or they offer music appreciation, etc.  I think it's really all about the walls we erect or choose not to erect between ourselves and the outside world.  Make no mistake about it: the Beis Ya'akov uniform, the black hat and jacket, the requirement to be in yeshiva all day + a night seder -- these are all walls.  Ain hachi nami, it would be dishonest to not admit that in many cases these walls are breached, these walls are porous and permeable, these walls are just a facade and the interior kedusha they are supposed to protect has been decayed and destroyed.  But even if in practice we often fail to achieve the ideal, does that mean we should not aspire to it and try our best to implement it?  That's the issue -- what do we aspire to?  What are our ideals?  What should be policy, even if in practice it is not applied or conformed to with absolute consistency?  Should we try to put up those walls, or do we think they are needless constraints?  

Let's be honest: those walls are not being shrugged off because they make it harder to go attend a performance of Shakespeare or to listen to Mozart.  It's attending a movie on Saturday night (probably too innocent an example) or listening to the latest in contemporary music that's the motivating force.  This is not just an issue of chinuch, but it's an issue as to what kind of frum society we want to construct.  We want to watch the football game this weekend wearing our jeans and team jerseys, eating glatt kosher wings and hero sandwiches, and not have to think about whether we should be having a seder or doing something more productive during that time.  The hero sandwich and wings are glatt kosher -- it's the lifestyle of the person consuming them which is treif.  

We have had battles in our house over whether one of our children should be granted her own e-mail address like her friends have (that one got an OK with conditions); we have had battles over whether I-pads and other such stuff are acceptable (no go on that).  We have no TV, we keep non-Jewish music out.  The philosophy of my kids' schools is also to keep this stuff out as much as possible (and admittedly rules are breached as much as they are obeyed by many parents).  And still, with all that, b'einei chazisi that the outside culture exerts a tremendous influence in what fashions are considered "in", what kids talk about, what they want to look and sound like.  I cannot even begin to imagine the influence outside culture exerts when there are no safeguards, when openness to everything is viewed as appropriate, and where my lifestyle is viewed a narrow minded and fanatical, something out of the middle ages.  The santa hats speak for themselves.   

True, in parts of the chareidi world my ideas and ideals would not pass muster.  The walls are higher, people prefer an even more cloistered environment than my own.  I could easily write a post questioning the degree of insularity the far right has adopted and the intellectual cost of their philosophy.  Some would argue that there is harm even in Shakespeare, that listening to Mozart is as bad as listening to whatever passes for contemporary pop music -- I obviously disagree.  However, and this is just a personal feeling, my impression is that my advocating a more moderate position than those on the far right amounts to a difference of degree, not a difference in kind.   And in the end, if it is a choice of being an intellectual ignoramus but 100% committed to Torah or being an all star in chochmas hagoyim but walking around in a santa hat, does the former fault in any way compare with the latter?

There is an attitude that is prevalent that says the way to win over a talmida wearing a santa hat is to show love and tolerance and over time she will come to appreciate the warm and fuzzy relationship she has with her Moros and teachers and become a true bas Torah.  Maybe it works.  But the other side of the coin is that that tolerance can be interpreted as acceptance and validation, not only of the person, but of the actions and attitude as well.  That's where I think in many cases things are holding.  There are a whole host of modern orthodox bloggers who yomam v'layla have what to say about the failures of chareidi society (and to be fair, in many cases the points raised do deserve attention and are valid and should not be dismissed flippantly).  But where are the bloggers in the modern orthodox community speaking out about the internal shortcomings of their own community?  Where are the critical voices examining whether the chinuch is successful, whether modern orthodox educational institutions are helping their students grow in learning and yiras shamayim, etc. before they get to that year in Israel where magical transformation is supposed to occur?  Where is the self reflection, the kshot atzmecha that must always precede the keshot acheirim? 

This has been a long tirade, and I'm just getting warmed up, but something tells me it's time to stop.  I haven't pulled any punches and that's usually not a good thing.

shirah -- sensing the future

1) I missed posting this before Shabbos: "V'haya bayom ha'shishi" -- ain v'haya elah lashon simcha.  TGIF is right there in the Torah!

2) The Kozhiglover explains that Rashi's interpretation of the future tense of "yashir" as meaning, "alah b'libo," that the feeling/thought of shirah arose in Moshe's heart/mind before he spoke, goes hand in hand with Chazal's interpretation of the future tense being a hint to techiyas hameisim.   Every action is preceded by thought -- what is unique about shirah?  The answer is that thought is not just a necessary precursor to shirah, but it is the very definition of shirah -- shirah is that which is in the heart, it is a feeling that words are almost inadequate to capture.  Shirah is the highest level of dveikus, a level at which a physical body, a physical mouth, is just an intrusion.  This level of connectedness to Hashem is something reserved for the time of ultimate redemption.  It is only because Moshe was able to sense the ultimate geulah, he felt the "remez l'techiyas hameisim," that "alah b'libo" to sing shiras ha'yam.

The Midrash comments that Moshe sinned with the word "az" when he complained that "Mei'Az basi el Pharaoh l'dabeir b'shemecha hei'ra la'am hazeh," that from the moment he asked Pharaoh to free Bnei Yisrael things had gotten worse for them, and he corrected his error with the word "az" by singing "Az yashir."  The question that much ink has been spilled trying to answer (which we discussed once before as well) is why the fact that Moshe used the little word "az" in his complaint to Hashem has any significance -- he used lots of other words too, and we don't find them in the shirah? Those that follow in the footsteps of the Sochotchover (the Kozhiglover has a few pieces on this, it is also in a derasha in She'eiris Menachem) explain that there is a thematic connection that the Midrash is hinting at.  Moshe's use of the word "az," then, at that moment, implies that he felt there was a timing problem.  Moshe's thought that achieving geulah after only 210 years was an unrealistic goal; maybe it would be better to wait.  After all, things were getting worse, not better; Pharoah was increasing the burden on Bnei Yisrael, not giving an inch.  Moshe lacked the perspective to see how the suffering of the present moment would in fact lead directly to an immediate geulah; he had no sense of what the future would soon bring.  It was that lack of perspective that Moshe corrected at Yam Suf.  "Az yashir" -- in the future tense, fully aware not only of the redemption of the moment, but of "remez l'techiyas ha'meisim," future geulah as well, which in turn gave rise to dveikus in the present. 

more on aseh doche lo ta'aseh

The Yerushalmi (Shabbos ch 14) asks why it is that if someone tears kriya on Shabbos he is yotzei, despite having been mechalel Shabbos, but if someone steals matzah and eats it he is not yotzei.  The Yershallmi answers, "taman gufa aveira."  R' Chaim interprets the Yerushalmi to mean that mitzvah haba'ah b'aveira is a psul in the cheftza shel mitzvah.  There is no cheftza shel mitzvah when it comes to kriya -- there is a chiyuv on the person to tear whatever he happens to be wearing, not a din on the clothers to be torn -- but there is when it comes to matzah. 

The Rambam adopts this view of the Yerushalmi.  In Hil Shofar the Rambam paskens that one is yotzei tekiyas shofar using a stolen shofar because "ain b'kol din gezel."  Even though an act of theft was involved in the kiyum hamitzvah, one is still yotzei because the cheftza shel mitzvah is not the shofar -- it's the kol, the voice, and that is not something that can be stolen.   

This is a good opportunity for me to make up for my not having shared a beautiful pshat in a Rambam that I heard from R' Naftoli Jeger, R"Y of Shor Yoshuv, in his Hoshana Rabbah shiur this year.  In brief: the Rambam holds that a stolen lulav is pasul only on the first day of Yom Tov but not other days (other Rishonim disagree).  The difference between the first day and all others seems to be based on the fact that netilas lulav on the first day is a din d'oraysa, "u'lekachtem lachem bayom harishon," while only derabbanan on other days.  However, the Rambam himself holds that aside from the mitzvah of "u'lekachtem lachem" there is a mitzvah d'oraysa of "u'smachtem lifnei Hashem Elokeichem,"  to take lulav and esrog in Yerushalayim for all seven days.  Why then does the Rambam not mention that there is a psul of lulav hagazul for all seven days in Yerushalayim?  R' Jeger quoted (I forget exactly who) that the answer may be that even though "u'smachtem lifnei Hashem" is fulfilled using a lulav, the cheftza shel mitzvah is actually the simcha which is engendered by that act (similar to shofar, where the cheftza shel mitzvah is the kol, not the shofar used to produce it.) 

Last week we discussed (link) the Ohr Sameiach's answer to why we don't say aseh doche lo ta'aseh when it comes to eating matzah made of tevel and instead classify it as a mitzvah haba'ah b'aveira.  Based on this R' Chaim, it is possible to say a different answer. The Rishonim (end of Yoma) debate the following case: a person is deathly ill on Shabbos and requires meat. Non-kosher meat is readily available. Is it better to feed the sick person that non-kosher meat, or to slaughter an animal on Shabbos in order to obtain fresh kosher meat?  At first glance it would seem to be preferable to feed the person non-kosher meat, as neveilah is only an issur lav, which is less stringent than Shabbos.  However, one can make the argument that once there is an allowance to violate Shabbos for pikuach nefesh, the food prepared in 100% kosher with no taint of issur.  Not so with neveilah, which is inherently ma'achalos asuros and remains so.  The fact that you have an allowance to eat non-kosher food under the circumstances doesn't magically transform neveilah into a a properly shechted roast beef. (See previous post here.)

Similarly, the Rambam holds that even if one is allowed to eat non-kosher food, one would not recite a bracha over it.  The special circumstance that allows the food to be eaten does not transform it into a different physical substance -- it's still ma'achalos assuros, albeit with a heter.   

Aseh doche lo ta'aseh works like the heter to violate Shabbos to save a life -- it lifts the lav that blocks the goal of fulfilling the mitzvas aseh.  However, it cannot transform a cheftza shel issur into something different.   We now understand why matzah shel tevel remains prohibited.  Since it is a mitzvah haba'ah b'aveira, which the Rambam defines as a cheftza of issur (a point the Rambam reinforces by the comparison to hilchos brachos), the rule of aseh doche lo ta'aseh is useless, as the cheftza of issur remains fundamentally unchanged and unusable for the purpose of a kiyum mitzvah.  

(In his Reshimos Shiurim on Sukkah R' Reichman discusses this R' Chaim at length, but suggests a different approach to this Rambam that I don't quite understand.  I am not sure why he did not understand it the way I presented it here, which is based on R' Baruch Mordechai Ezrachi's shiurim.  How to work this approach out so that the kilayim b'tzitzis case fits is a story for another post.) 

Ohr Sameiach's guide to when we apply aseh doche lo ta'aseh -- "u'b'zeh yavo b'shalom b'kol sugyos hashas!"

When the Ohr Sameiach (Hil Chameitz u'Matzah ch 6) writes that he has a klal that helps with understanding *every sugya in shas* ("yavo shalom b'kol sugyos sha"s")  that touch on such a fundamental principle like aseh doche lo ta'aseh, it's obviously worth paying attention.  So here's the rule: You never say aseh doche lo ta'aseh when there is a direct clash between the aseh and the lav.  You only say aseh doche lo ta'aseh when the lav is incidental to the kiyum of the aseh. 

So for example, when the gemara suggests that you should be able to violate the lav of breaking the bones of the korban pesach in order to get to the meat inside and be mekayeim the aseh of achilas korban pesach, it makes perfect sense -- the lav of breaking the bones is incidental to eating the meat.   

Another example of the rule in action: The Rambam writes that one cannot eat matzah made of tevel: 

 אין אדם יוצא ידי חובתו באכילת מצה שהיא אסורה לו, כגון שאכלה טבל, או מעשר ראשון שלא ניטלה תרומתו, או שגזלה.  זה הכלל--כל שמברכין עליו ברכת המזון, יוצא בה ידי חובתו; וכל שאין מברכין עליו ברכת המזון, אין יוצא בה ידי חובתו.

Putting aside the strange formulation the Rambam uses -- connecting this din to the issur of bracha on ma'achalos assuros -- the Sha'agas Aryeh asks why we don't say aseh doche lo ta'aseh in this case.  Why does the mitzvah of eating matzah not push aside the lav of tevel? 

The Ohr Sameiach answers that tevel is an issur achila that tells you not to eat the very same foodstuff that the mitzvah of matzah tells you that you should eat.  In this case there is a direct clash betweeh the aseh and the lav, and therefore aseh doche lo ta'aseh doesn't apply. 

The obvious question is that the two most famous cases in shas of aseh doche lo ta'aseh don't seem to fit the rule: 1) Yibum -- the aseh is to be meyabeim the very same woman which the lav prohibits.  2) Kilayim b'tzitzis -- the very same garment that you put on to be mekayeim tzitzis is assur to wear because of the lav of kilayim.  How do these cases work? 

The O.S. explains that we need to distinguish between two different types of mitzvos aseh.  The miztvah of matzah is on the "karkafta d'gavra;" the person has to find a piece of matzah to eat, but there is no rhyme or reason for it has to be piece A as opposed to piece B.  Instead of choosing a piece that is tevel, the person can just as easily take a piece that is non-tevel.   

The mitzvah of yibum on the other hand does not require that a person go out and find a woman to be meyabeim; it demands that a specific woman in a specific circumstance have the mitzvah of yibum be fulfilled with her.  Similarly, there is no mitzvah to run out and find a four cornered garment to wear; the mitzvah is to put tzitzis on a four cornered garment if you happen to choose to wear one.   

Where the Torah demands that the mitzvah be done with a specific item, then you can use aseh doche lo ta'aseh to accomplish the goal -- the aseh that relates to the specific item overrides the lav inherent in the same item.  However, when the mitzvah is on the "karkafta d'gavra," then you can't invoke aseh doche lo ta'aseh -- instead, go get a different piece of matzah. 

I was telling someone this O.S. to my son in yeshiva and someone standing nearby asked asked what the question as to why the mitzvah of hashavas aveidah does not allow a kohein to enter a cemetery to return a lost object because of aseh doche l"t.  I answered that this case fits the pattern perfectly.  There is no mitzvah on the "karkafta d'gavra" to go looking for an aveidah to return -- the mitzvah is to see that an object once found is returned to its owner.  This case is just like yibum and kilayim. 

Tosfos in a few places in shas asks why a chatzi eved cannot marry a shifcha based on the aseh of p'ru u'revu being doche the lav of k'deisha.  The answer, writes the O.S., is simple: the mitzvah of p'ru u'revu is on the "karkafta d'gavra."  Who says the chatzi eved needs to marry this particular woman?   

Final point: Tosfos (Kiddushim 39) asks why the aseh of achilas matzah is not doche the lav of eating chadash.  The Yerushalmi (quoted by Tosfos) answers that the aseh of matzah is weaker than the lav because it was given before mattan Torah.  Based on the O.S. the question should not even get off the ground -- how is this case any different than the case of matzvah made of tevel?  Why not just answer that the aseh that is on the gavra does not doche a lav inherent in the cheftza?  

The O.S. answers that the difference between tevel and chadash is that while tevel is inherently assur, like ma'achalos asuros, chadash is assur only because the korban ha'omer has not yet been brought -- it's not a cheftza d'isura, bur rather simply food that is waiting for it's matir to arrive (see the O.S. who proves that this is actually a machlokes Bavli and Yerushalmi.)

Maybe more on this next week -- it's a brilliant piece on a shas sugya worth taking the time to see inside over Shabbos.  

yarei es dvar Hashem -- even by hedging one's bets

The ba'alei mussar focus focus on the reaction to Moshe's warning in last week's parsha that "ha'yarei es dvar Hashem," the person who fears Hashem, should take his animals in from the field so they are not smitten by the hail of barad.  By this point the Mitzrim had seen six makkos come exactly as predicted by Moshe and there was little to lose by taking the animals in just in case.  And yet, there were Mitzrim who left their animals out and suffered the consequences.  It was not a lack of knowledge or lack of evidence that prevented the Mitzrim from accepting Moshe's warning -- by this point, having gone 6 for 6, Moshe's warning was entirely credible and worthy of any rational person's consideration.  Rather, it was simple stubbornness that prevented them from listening. Lack of emunah in this case, and according to the ba'alei mussar this is symptomatic of all cases, was the irrational response rather than the reasonable one.  

The lesson I take away is more of a positive one.  I don't know about you, but if someone described me as a "yarei es dvar Hashem" I would take it as a pretty big compliment. What did it take to be a Mitzri who is "yarei dvar Hashem?"  Apparently all it took was giving just enough credence to Moshe's warning (after Moshe had already proven himself multiple times over) to hedge one's bets by bringing the animals into the barn rather than risk their loss.  Such a little thing to do!   But apparently because there is such a big yetzer ha'ra to remain stubbon in spite of all the evidence, to remain stubborn even when the risk of being wrong might bring disaster and the upside if right is so great, that even for such a small thing one deserves to be called "yarei es dvar Hashem."

Update: After writing this I saw that R' Yechiel Michel Feinstein in his sefer on chumash is medyayek that the word "dvar" in the phrase  "yarei es dvar Hashem" is superfluous -- it could have just as easily said "yarei Hashem" if the pasuk meant to convey that the Mitzrim feared Heaven.  R YM"F explains that the Mitzrim had no real yiras shamayim.  However, the better Mitzrim realized you can't argue with the facts.  What Moshe said came true, no matter how you explain it.  Therefore, they took his words -- only his words, but not the idea of G-d -- seriously and acted on them.  Of course, this makes the Mitzrim who didn't even go that far that much worse.

Pharoah's loss of bechira: Ramban l'shitaso

As a follow up to what I wrote at the end of the last week, I would like to suggest the Ramban in this week's parsha that addresses Pharoh's loss of bechira works well l'shitaso of his answer in P' Lech Lecha as to why the Mitzrim were punished.  The Rishonim ask how Hashem could harden Pharaoh heart, thereby removing his freedom to choose whether or not to free Bnei Yisrael, and still hold him accountable and punish him for his actions.  The Rambam seems to suggest that at some point a person may be deprived of bechira as part of the punishment for an accumulation of sins and bad choices (more on that here).  Ramban, however, offers a different answer: it's not that Pharaoh's bechira was taken away, but to the contrary, only by hardening his heart would Pharaoh truly have free choice.  Any normal human being faced with the prospect of facing repeated pain and suffering or conceding would at some point give in.  That's not an exercise of choice, but an exercise of submission, an abandonment of freedom.  Hashem made Pharaoh impervious to the pain and suffering of the makos so that he would be free to choose of his own volition which path to follow. 

The Ramban in Lech Lecha suggested that the Mitzrim were punished despite the fact that the enslavement of Bnei Yisrael was decreed by Hashem because their motivation was selfish and self-serving; the Mitzrim enslaved Bnei Yisrael because it fit their agenda, not because it was G-d's will.  The "tikun" for the crime had to be obedience to G-d's will for it's own sake, lishma.  If Pharaoh would have given in because he wanted to avoid further makos, it would not have undone the crime -- it would just be more of the same of following what suits his own agenda.  Pharaoh therefore had to be given the freedom to choose to obey Hashem's command simply for it's own sake, not because of threats or fear of the makkos.  

R' Ya'akov Moshe Charlop on why the Mitzrim deserved to be punished

I usually eat seudah shlishis at home and spend the time learning with my wife while my kids (from the time they were little ad hayom) use the moments of ra'va d'ra'avin to be at their most disruptive : )  The past few months we have been working on the sefer Mei Marom on Avos by R' Ya'akov Moshe Charlop, one of the great talmidim of RA"Y Kook, and I thought I would share with you one insight of his that relates to the parsha.   I'm going to do this slowly step-by-step through the shakla v'terya, so bear with me.  

The Mishna in Avos (2:6) speaks of a skull that Hillel saw floating which occasioned him to remark, "You were drowned because you drowned others, and those who drowned you will themselves be drowned," or, to put in in modern terms, "What comes around goes around."  One of the questions the Mishna forces us to confront is whether killing a murderer is morally wrong.  Hillel's dictum seems to imply that even though the person who was drowned was himself guilty of murder, those who meted out justice and killed him are themselves no better. The fact that the murderer had to be killed in some way by someone in order for there to be justice in the world does not absolve from guilt those who chose to carry out the act.

The Tosfos Yom Tov reminds us that this same principle is used by the Rambam to explain why the Egyptians were guilty for their enslavement of Bnei Yisrael.  Even though it was foretold at the Bris bein haBesarim that the Jewish people would be sent into galus, each and every Mitzri had the choice whether or not to be the one to serve as the agent of that enslavement and persecution.  The fact that there was a decree out there does not absolve the individual of responsibility.

The Ramban (Parshas Lech Lecha) takes issue with this Rambam.  If there is a nevuah that the Jewish people should be enslaved, then rather than criticize and punish those who carry that neuvah out, argues the Ramban, we should praise and reward them.  The Mitzrim were fulfilling the ratzon Hashem and obeying the words of a Navi, were they not!?  (See this past post where we discussed this machlokes, also see Mesech Chochma, parshas Lech Lecha).  

The Tosfos Yom Tov, at the end of his long discussion on this Mishna, defends the Rambam.  When do we say that a person gets a kiyum mitzvah for carrying out the words of a Navi?  Only when the person in question has the intent to fulfill the ratzon Hashem as communicated by the Navi.  However, if a person acts with violence simply because he is cruel, because he is selfish, because he enjoys evil, even though as a byproduct of what he did the wishes of a Navi were accomplished as well, that person is not excused for his actions; he gets no credit and is instead punished.

In other words, according to the Tosfos Yom Tov, it is the intention, the motivation behind the act, which determines guilt or innocence.  

Why would the Ramban not buy this counterargument?  Simple: The Ramban felt that if intent and motivation are all that stand between guilt and innocence, then the punishment doesn't fit the crime.  Since when do intention and motivation, what lies in the heart and mind, count so highly in Jewish law that they would warrant 10 makkos and the drowning that took place at kri'as Yam Suf?  Since when does having impure motivation when fulfilling the ratzon Hashem, in this case the mitzvah of fulfilling the words of a Navi, so corrupt the deed as to render it into a heinous crime?

It is precisely around this point that the machlokes revolves.  Unlike the Ramban, the Rambam/Tos Y"T do not assume that the the punishment meted out to the Mitzrim was for a good deed carried out with bad intentions -- it's not that the Mitzrim carried out the words of a Navi but didn't say a "l'shem yichud" beforehand and therefore got patched.  The reason the Mitzrim got punished is because their intentions reveal that they were not carrying out the words of the Navi at all, but were instead carrying out their own agenda.  Killing, even if sanctioned by a Navi, if done with the wrong intention becomes transformed from a kiyum mitzvah into an act of murder.  It's not a kosher act with bad intentions -- it's a crime.  

(The Chofetz Chaim explains that since Shaul let Agag live when he fought Amalek, it proved that Shaul was motivated by his emotions, not purely to fulfill the ratzon Hashem.  Therefore, Shmuel accused him of doing evil -- it was not just a passive oversight, but the entire war was a crime given that it was waged for personal agenda and not lishma.)

R' Charlop broadens our focus and explains that what we have here is two competing theories of ethics.   Let's move away from the topic of nevuah to something that we can better relate to.  Take as an example the midah of anger: we probably all agree that wanton anger is a bad thing, but it's a midah that has its uses.  A teacher or a parent may need to show anger now and then to curb certain behaviors in their children or students.  Is anger therefore a bad trait, just that there is a "matir," a justification, that allows it sometimes to be used?  Or is there no real purpose to calling anger a "bad midah" at all -- every midah might be called good or bad; it all depends on motivation, use, function?  The Rambam's view seems to be that there are "b'etzem," intrinsically good and bad traits.  Sometimes a Navi may sanction cruelty.  Sometimes a need may arise for a person to show anger.  The justification is just a narrow "matir" for a specific situation, but it does not redefine the act in question or the midah in question as something other than cruel.  Absent the justifying ratzon Hashem, the "mitzvah" motivation, one is left with an inexcusable act.  Is it any wonder the Mitzrim were punished?  Ramban, on the other hand, does not define things as "b'etzem" good or evil; what purpose do such categories serve?  His definitions are more utilitarian, instrumentalist.  When there is no reason for it being expressed, anger is frowned on; cruelty is wrong.  When there is a need, these same traits can be viewed in a positive light.  It's not that the words of the Navi or the mitzvah need are a "matir" for something wrong -- it's that under specific conditions these acts are not "wrong" at all.  The end result redefines the act or the midah as bring positive and beneficial.  Motivation and intent are tangential to the equation, if they have an impact at all.

The structure is beautiful, but I have one nagging problem that bothers me (you knew it was too good to be true, right?)  The Ramban in P' Lech Lecha, after rejecting the Rambam's view, suggests on his own that the Mitzrim were punished because they had no intention of fulfilling the nevuah of "v'avadum v'inu osam."  We see that the Ramban himself does take into account intent and motivation just as much as the Rambam.   

Do the needs of the individual outweigh the needs of the group? -- a difficult Chofetz Chaim

Last week's parsha ends on a bit of a sour note.  In response to Moshe's request to let the Jewish people go free Pharoah doubled-down on the oppressive work, the people lost faith in Moshe, and perhaps they even lost a measure of faith in the message of geulah.  Moshe turns to G-d and, to sum up his question in one word, asks, "Why?"  Why is the suffering only increasing now that the promise of geulah is supposedly here?  Hashem responds by telling Moshe that he will now witness Hashem's might in striking against Pharoah.  

Many of the meforshim are bothered: How did Hashem's response answer the question?  Moshe was told already at the burning bush that he would be the redeemer of Klal Yisrael; we expect Pharoah to be judged and persecuted if he refuses to let them go.  Why start off on the wrong foot and give Pharaoh the upper hand, give the people doubt, cause more suffering and grief?  Why not immediately force Pharaoh to free them?

Perhaps we are wrong to even search for an answer.  It seems from Rashi at the beginning of this week's parsha that Moshe is criticized for even asking the question.  He is contrasted with the Avos and found wanting.  Perhaps there are questions that are not meant to be asked, as they cannot be answered in a way that we can understand.  Perhaps all that we can do is accept the mystery as-is.  This approach is discomforting to us.  We don't like limits on inquiry; we don't like constraints on what we can ask and we don't really respect the fact that there are limits on our understanding.  

The Chofetz Chaim reads Hashem's response as an answer, but it is one that troubles me greatly.  Based on the prophecy of Bris bein haBesarim Bnei Yisrael were supposed to spend 400 years in galus.  Rather than prolong the stay in galus for that many years, Hashem arranged for the workload to be increased.  This qualitative increase would substitute for the quantitative duration of time, i.e. 400 years of slavery would be compressed into 210 years of qualitatively more severe suffering.  This is what Moshe was witnessing.  What was the purpose?  Hashem responses to Moshe, "You will now witness what I will do to Pharoah."  Had the galus gone on for 400 years, you, Moshe, would not be around to see the ultimate redemption.  It's for your sake, so that you should see the geulah, that the suffering of Bnei Yisrael must increase now to hasten the redemption and allow it to occur in your lifetime.  

In other words, the suffering of the entire Jewish nation was increased so that a single individual, Moshe, would benefit by being able to personally witness geulah.  Wow!  I don't even know how to make sense of such an idea.  Do the needs of a single individual, no matter how great, trump those of the nation as a whole?   

The chassidic seforim (Shem m'Shmuel, Kedushas Levi, the Sefas Emes has this other places in the parsha) explain that the geulah from Mitzrayim is the paradigm for all future geulos.  The history of the Jewish people is cyclical, not linear -- we continue to relive the past of the Avos and Shevatim again and again.  For this reason the galus of Mitzrayim had to be the deepest, darkest, most bleak galus imaginable, and the redemption had to take place precisely in a climate where hope had been completely extinguished.  This would provide the model that would allow for future redemptions, such as the one we hope to experience in our lifetimes, to take place under those exact same conditions.  "You will witness what I will do to Pharoah," Hashem told Moshe, alluding, as Rashi notes, to the fact that Moshe will not witness the conquest of Eretz Yisrael, which in turn, because it was not led by Moshe, would ultimately be followed by another exile.  Because there will be other exiles, and in turn other redemptions, the galus of Mitzrayim had to be made more severe so that it could serve as the paradigm of those future experiences.