Tzav - Shabbos Hagadol 5772

In a non-leap year, Shabbos Hagadol – the Shabbos before Pesach – always coincides with Parshas Tzav. Is there a connection? The Abudraham (cited in Biur Halacha Siman 428) relates the pre-Pesach kashering of vessels to the topic – discussed in Parshas Tzav – of merika u’shetifa, the ritual cleansing of vessels in which the meat of a Korban Chatas was cooked. Perhaps, upon careful examination, we can find additional connections.

Matza, of course, is central to our observance of Pesach. The conventional wisdom is that it relates to the historical experience of the Jewish people both before and immediately after the exodus from Egypt. Matza is both the Lachma Anya, the Bread of Affliction that our forefathers ate as slaves, and the symbol of the haste of our liberation in that the dough we prepared for our departure had insufficient time to rise. Consequently, the matza we eat for the Seder has very specific Halachic requirements: It must be made in haste to prevent leavening and it must not be enriched with fruit juice or eggs.

Interestingly, these same rules apply to the flour-offerings brought in the Bais Hamikdosh throughout the year, as it states in the Torah (Vayikra 2:11), “For no leaven and no honey may be brought as a fire-offering to Hashem.” In our Parsha, the prohibition is extended from the portion of the offering burnt on the Mizbeach to the portion eaten by the Kohanim (Vayikra 6:10). It would appear that, aside from the historical symbolism which we emphasize on Pesach, there must be an additional aspect to the matza-rules which gives them relevance – at least in the Bais Hamikdosh – year round.

The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 117) suggests that leaven and honey symbolize two character flaws that the true servant of Hashem must overcome. Leavening requires an extended period of time during which the dough is allowed to “rest”; this corresponds to laziness and lethargy. Honey, being sweet, corresponds to the excessive desire for material pleasures. Both of these flaws are major obstacles in the pursuit of perfection in the service of Hashem. That they are to be banned from the Mizbeach is hardly surprising, but that the “off-duty” Kohen must adhere to this rule in eating the remainder of the offering points to an idea that we neglect at our peril: We are servants of Hashem 24/7 and not only when we are actively engaged in the sacrificial ritual. The same energy, enthusiasm, and selflessness that infuse the Temple service must carry over to our personal lives.

The freedom we celebrate on Pesach is not merely “negative liberty” – relief from the external constraints imposed by Pharoah and his regime. It is meant to be “positive liberty” – the opportunity to realize our highest aspirations and goals for life. The Matza that we eat does not only symbolize our historical release from the prison called Egypt. It also symbolizes freedom from our own personal variations of Mitzrayim, the personality defects that prevent us from living lives of true meaning and purpose. Parshas Tzav reveals to us this additional dimension of Matza, and thus is a fitting prelude to the observance of Z’man Cherusainu, the Season of our Freedom.

Vayikra 5772

Within the realm of symbolism it is often the case that less is more. Just as the power and effectiveness of a mashal is not a function of its own elegance but rather the extent to which its elements correspond to that of the nimshal, so the power of a symbolic object is not in its size, weight, or cost but rather in its ability to represent that for which it stands. Thus, a smaller, lighter, or even more inexpensive item may serve its purpose in a manner superior to its alternative. Let us keep this in mind as we explore just one of the many facets of the sacrificial laws, the central theme of this week’s portion.

The Korban Olah, entirely burnt on the altar, is generally a voluntary sacrifice, yet it serves as atonement. For what sins does it atone? Here we have an apparent contradiction in the words of Chazal. Toras Kohanim (cited in Rashi, Zevachim 5B) says that it atones for the failure to fulfill a positive command of the Torah. However the Talmud Yerushalmi (Yoma 8:7) contends that it atones for sinful thoughts. The Chasam Sofer suggests that it may depend on the particular animal used for the offering. The Olah of cattle (discussed at Vayikra 1:3-9) atones for the neglect of the positive command; the Olah of sheep (discussed at Vayikra 1:10-13) atones for the illicit thoughts. Now the Chasam Sofer does not explain the basis for this distinction. One would be tempted to say that failure to perform an act is worse than a mere thought and thus requires a “bigger” atonement; thus the distinction is rooted in the comparative size difference between a bull and a ram.

But there may be something deeper here. A point reiterated again and again in the commentaries to Vayikra is that a Korban is a symbolic self-sacrifice, where the animal represents the person who is bringing the offering. (See Sfas Emes, Vayikra 5643 for a fascinating comparison of a Korban to the Akeidas Yitzchak, where the ram replaced the human offering.) We may then ask: Is there a difference between the bull and the ram in their symbolism? Does a person choose one or the other merely on the basis of expense or convenience, or does the choice reflect different aspects of self-sacrifice?

Rav Hirsch in his commentary reveals a fundamental difference between cattle and sheep. A bull is a beast of burden; it bears its master’s yoke. A sheep is shepherded by its master; it is the object of nurturing and tender care. Says Rav Hirsch, when a person feels that he has been remiss in his responsibilities to G-d and wishes to make amends, he wills himself to serve as the bull bearing his master’s yoke. When a person sees himself as inappreciative of G-d’s kindnesses, he wills himself to be the sheep, cared for and pampered. Thus, the choice of animal is connected to the message the person wishes to communicate to G-d.

The words of the Chasam Sofer now take on a new poignancy. Does the bull enjoy its burdens? Perhaps yes, but probably it does not. Yet it does its duty in any case. The bull therefore does not atone for the illicit thought – the bull may have illicit thoughts of its own; it atones for a failure to perform one’s duty, specifically the neglect of a positive commandment. The sheep, however, as the object of his master’s care and devotion is undoubtedly wholehearted in reciprocating his master’s love; the slightest thought of rebellion or defiance would be a betrayal. Thus the person who wishes to make amends for such thoughts represents himself as the sheep.

Vayakhel-Pikudai 5772

As this week marks the conclusion of Sefer Shemos, it would be appropriate to reflect on the curious fact that the Torah is divided into separate books. It is hard to imagine that the division is merely for the sake of convenience. Without the appended commentaries, even all five books together still comprise an easily handled volume. Undoubtedly the rationale for the division is that each book encompasses a unique theme; with the conclusion of that theme’s treatment the book itself is concluded. What then, we may ask, is the theme of the book of Shemos?

Fortunately, the Ramban addresses this question in his introduction to the book where he explains that Shemos is the Book of Geulah/Redemption, telling the story of the Jew’s liberation from Egypt. However, points out Ramban, a serious objection can be raised to this definition: The story of the Exodus is completed in the first several chapters which make up the weekly portions of Shemos, Va’erah, Bo, and the first half of B’shalach. What do the remaining chapters have to do with the theme of redemption?

Here the Ramban offers a fascinating suggestion. The term “Geulah/Redemption” means much more than deliverance from servitude. It actually implies a total restoration to an original, ideal state. Explains the Ramban, our patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov lived on such a lofty spiritual level that it would not be an exaggeration to say the Shechina rested upon their tents. But when their descendants were exiled to Egypt, a long process of degeneration began, and this was no longer the case. (In many ways, according to Chazal, the Jews in Egypt were indistinguishable from their Egyptian neighbors.) Therefore, the Jews could not be considered truly redeemed until they were restored to their original state. With the revelation at Sinai, the receiving of the Torah, the building of the Mishkan, and the resting of the Shechina upon it, the restoration is complete. It is at that point that Geulah/Redemption is achieved and the Book of Geulah/Redemption is concluded.

A careful reading of the concluding verses seems to indicate that the “Cloud” came to rest on the Mishkan as soon as its construction was completed. Surprisingly, in the book of Vayikra (9:6-23) we read that a number of sacrifices were required before the “Glory of Hashem” was seen on the Mishkan. Is this “Glory of Hashem” identical with the “Cloud” of which our Parsha speaks? (See Seforno 30:1 where he clearly differentiates between them.)

When we speak of Shechina/Divine Presence, we may discern two aspects. The first is the idea that Hashem oversees, protects, and guides us. (See Maharal, Netzach Yisrael Chapter 10.) Second is the idea that Hashem enables us to feel a sense of intimacy and closeness when we pray and serve Him.

In the conclusion of Shemos, the emphasis is clearly on the first idea. For this reason the Torah conveys the fact that the “Cloud” guided the B’nai Yisrael throughout their travels in the Wilderness. We can suggest that this first aspect of Shechina was manifest as soon as the Mishkan was completed. But the second aspect – intimacy in Divine service – could only become manifest when we initiated that service. Thus it was contingent upon the offering of the special sacrifices described in Sefer Vayikra.

Purim 5772

One is obligated to become intoxicated on Purim to the extent that he can no longer differentiate between “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordechai”. (Megillah 7b)

In discussing this well-known statement of Chazal, there is no need to point out the difficulties. Judaism places a premium on rationality and, consequently, on sobriety. Even conceding the topsy-turvy nature of the day, it is hard to understand that we should be commanded to lose our minds!

In addition, the metric that Chazal applied in defining the standard of intoxication requires understanding. How could the celebration of Purim necessitate that we confuse the hero and the villain? At that point, what would we be celebrating?

In various Halachic works (Eliyahu Rabbah and Chayei Adam cited in Biur Halacha Siman 695), we are told that the basis for drinking wine at the festive Purim Seudah is to commemorate the fact that many of the episodes in the Purim story took place in the setting of a drinking party at the royal residence. While this is certainly true, as an explanation, it seems inadequate. Drinking may have been the background of Purim, but that hardly justifies moving it to the foreground!

“On the seventh day, when the King’s heart was merry with wine…” Until now, the King’s heart was not merry? Said Rava, that “seventh day” was the Shabbos. When the Jews would eat and drink, they would begin speaking words of Torah and songs of Divine praise; when the idolaters would eat and drink, they would begin with words of foolishness. (Megillah 12b)

So, what is the answer to the original question? Until now the King’s heart was not merry? R. Tzadok HaKohen (Pri Tzadik, Purim 3) offers an insightful explanation based on the tradition that whenever the title King appears in the Megillah – without the name Achashverosh attached – it is a veiled reference to the Supreme King.

During the first six days of the party, Ribbon Shel Olam was not very happy. (In fact, the Jews’ participation in the feast of Achashverosh was one of the sins for which Hashem allowed Haman’s decree of annihilation to pass.) Only on that seventh day, which coincidentally was Shabbos, was the underlying virtue of the Jewish people revealed. On that day, the Supreme King’s heart was merry with the wine of the Jewish people.

Let us take this one step further. The events of that day actually laid the groundwork for the salvation of the Jewish people that was to come nine years later. The execution of Vashti created the opportunity for Esther to become queen and, of course, to be in the right place at the right time to foil the plot of Haman. This, as Chazal say, was the healing that was put into place long before the illness.

But Hashem does not play favorites. We know that when the Jews stood at the Yam Suf and G-d contemplated splitting the sea to save the Jews and drown the Egyptians, the angels raised an objection, “These are idolaters and these are idolaters.” If the Jews are no better than their enemies, they cannot be saved.

The justification for that initial Divinely-guided process which paved the way for the ultimate salvation was the revelation of Jewish merit in that to which their drinking of wine led – words of Torah and songs of praise – by contrast to the idolaters whose drinking leads to nonsense.

We may suggest that our drinking at the Purim Seudah is not simply a commemoration of the fact that the Purim story took place against a background of wine, Rather, our Purim Seudah, with the drinking that leads to words of Torah and joyous songs of praise, is a replication of the merit which allowed for the first step in the process of salvation to take place.

Taking this again one step further, our drinking wine reveals something very special about the fundamental nature of the Jew, as Chazal say (Sanhedrin 38a), “When the wine goes in, the secrets come out.” The essential Jew is not primarily focused on his own comfort and pleasure; he is focused on the Ribbono Shel Olam, His Torah, His commandments, and the sanctification of His name. And here is the key to the puzzle with which we began.

The Midrash (Shemos Rabbah 7:4) says, “Just as the praise of Hakadosh Baruch Hu emerges from the righteous in Gan Eden, so it emerges from the wicked in Gehinnom.” In other words, just as the blessings which the righteous enjoy reinforce our resolve to live proper lives, so the punishments of the wicked have the same effect. Everyone contributes to the ultimate Kiddush Hashem. Our choice is only how we are going to make our contribution.

To the Jew who thinks of himself and his own well-being, his feelings toward Mordechai and Haman will be quite different. To Mordechai, our saviour, he will bestow blessings; to Haman, our mortal enemy, he will bestow curses. But to the Jew who has taken his wine on Purim and rises above personal score-keeping, the picture is not so clear at all. The Kiddush Hashem that took place on that Purim so many hundreds of years ago required the contributions of Mordechai and Haman. When we realize this we are not in such a rush to curse Haman. Yes, he certainly was a flawed person and his intentions were diabolical. But his “contribution” to the world, unintended as it was, was real.

Tetzaveh 5772

It is a well known fact that the name of Moshe Rabbeinu is not to be found in Parshas Tetzaveh. While there are many explanations for this, the simplest is that Tetzaveh is focused mainly upon Moshe’s brother Aharon. It is in this Parsha that the instructions are given for the Bigdei Kehuna (priestly vestments) and for the ceremonies through which Aharon is to be inducted into the priesthood. Accordingly, Moshe recedes into the background.

The significance of this “disappearance” may be rooted in the very concept of the Bigdei Kehuna. Ramban explains (Shemos 28:2) that these garments were regal in nature; undoubtedly their function was to present the priests to the nation as exemplars of the highest religious and ethical values and thus, as worthy role models. Strangely, Moshe Rabbeinu, who served as Kohen for the week of the Sanctuary dedication, did not wear the Bigdei Kehuna. The Talmud (Avodah Zara 34a) teaches that Moshe served instead wearing a plain, unadorned white robe. We may suggest that Moshe Rabbeinu could not serve as an effective role model; his spiritual level was light-years beyond the capacity of any other human being. So there was no point in “dressing him up”; nobody could follow his example. Aharon was closer to the people and his level was more accessible.

There may be an additional factor involved in Aharon’s unique ability to inspire others. The Mishna in Pirkei Avos (1:12) tells us, “Be a student of Aharon, a lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves people, and brings them close to Torah.” The Maharal observes in his commentary to Pirkei Avos, Derech Chaim, that there is no direct evidence from the Torah to the proposition that Aharon loved people. Yet, there is evidence that he did not have a specific personality flaw that often interferes with our ability to love other people – jealousy.

When Moshe Rabbeinu was commanded at the Burning Bush to liberate the Jewish people from Egypt, he asked Hashem to send Aharon instead. (See Rashi, Shemos 4:13.) According to the Midrash Rabbah, Moshe’s reluctance was rooted in concern for the possibility of hurting Aharon’s feelings. After all, Aharon was the older brother and he could have expected to be selected for the mission. At this request, however, Hashem was angered. He told Moshe (4:14), “Behold Aharon will come to meet you; he will see you and rejoice in his heart.” Aharon did not have a jealous bone in his body. Not only would he not be resentful, he would actually rejoice at the honor his brother was given.

(The Yalkut Shimoni commenting on the above verse, says that Aharon’s joy would be in his heart only but would not be expressed in words. The Magen Avraham in his notes to the Yalkut, Zeis Ra’anan, explains that Aharon’s joy would be so great that it could not be put into words!)

The ability to rejoice in the achievements of another is a unique, but unfortunately, rarely found character trait. (Even Moshe Rabbeinu could not imagine Aharon’s being such a person until Hashem told him!) But this quality makes one especially effective as a role model, mentor, and inspiration. Many would rise to great heights – intellectual and spiritual – if there was someone that loved them and who they loved who would take notice and revel in those achievements. What one is not motivated to do altruistically, he may do to give others satisfaction.

The Choshen breastplate, its twelve stones inscribed with the names of the B’nai Yisrael, was placed on Aharon’s heart. According to Chazal (cited in the above mentioned Rashi) this was a reward for having rejoiced in his heart. The deeper meaning is obvious. Aharon carried the names because, in everything he did as Kohen Gadol, he was an advocate for the Jewish people. There is no better qualified advocate than the one who truly cares, whose greatest satisfaction is the well-being and success of those he represents.