Shemos - 5773

One of the curious aspects of the Galus Mitzrayim is the fact that the tribe of Levi was not enslaved. Rashi (Shemos 5:4) raises this point to explain why Moshe and Aharon were apparently free to come and go as they wished. Ramban, citing the Rashi, agrees and quotes the Midrash Rabba which is the source for the idea. Then Ramban offers a conjecture as to why this was so: Every nation had its sages who taught its doctrines; Pharaoh therefore provided this for the Hebrews as well by freeing the tribe of Levi to perform this function.

This strikes us as odd. Was Pharaoh truly concerned for the spiritual enlightenment of his slaves?

Perhaps we can suggest an alternative explanation. There is a well-known aphorism of Karl Marx, “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” This means that religion, by holding out the promise of a blissful afterlife as a reward for suffering in this world, tends to anesthetize people to their suffering and suppress the motivation for revolution to make this world a better place. Perhaps it was put best by Vladmir Lenin:

Religion is one of the forms of spiritual oppression which everywhere weighs down heavily upon the masses of the people, over burdened by their perpetual work for others, by want and isolation. Impotence of the exploited classes in their struggle against the exploiters just as inevitably gives rise to the belief in a better life after death as impotence of the savage in his battle with nature gives rise to belief in gods, devils, miracles, and the like. Those who toil and live in want all their lives are taught by religion to be submissive and patient while here on earth, and to take comfort in the hope of a heavenly reward…Religion is opium for the people. Religion is a sort of spiritual booze, in which the slaves of capital drown their human image, their demand for a life more or less worthy of man. (Novaya Zhizn No. 28, December 3, 1905)

In the history of man, there was no religion more focused on the afterlife than the Egyptian state religion. The mummies, tombs, and pyramids all testify to the extensive preparations for the “next world” that was in store. (Although our museum artifacts represent the provisions made for the Pharaohs, the focus on the afterlife was common to all social classes.) We may suggest that this religious doctrine satisfied the needs of the state to suppress revolution and maintain tight control over an enslaved populace.

There is a tendency for people to assume that everyone thinks as they do. (If I want a power saw for my birthday, undoubtedly my mother also wants one for her birthday!) Pharaoh assumed that the Hebrew religion would be based on the same premises as the Egyptian religion and would thus serve to facilitate the further enslavement of the Hebrews.

But Pharaoh was soon to discover something that the Communists were to discover hundreds of years later. Even after Communism evolved from a revolutionary movement to a movement that was determined to crush revolution, there was still a need to suppress religion. While religion sometimes encourages an attitude of acceptance and passivity, it can also serve as a force for idealism and radical social change. (Recall that the overthrow of Communism in Poland was driven by the Catholic Church.)

Pharoah assumed that Moshe and Aharon, the finest of Shevet Levi, would be the teachers of a doctrine that would advance his domestic political agenda. By the time he came to realize that Moshe and Aharon were the vanguard of revolution, it was too late.

Vayechi - 5773

As the Sefer of Bereishis comes to its conclusion this week, we may reflect on the very fact that the Torah is divided into five Seforim. It is highly unlikely that this is simply a matter of convenience. Rather, it is reasonable to assume that each of the Seforim is a comprehensive treatment of a single overall theme; when the treatment is concluded, the book comes to its end. In fact, the Ramban in his introductions to each of the Seforim develops these themes. His comments will be the starting point for our discussion.

Sefer Bereishis, contends Ramban, is the Sefer Yetzira - the book of formation. It comprises the account of the formation of the physical universe as well as the formation of the Jewish people. How so? Explains the Ramban, there is a fundamental principle, Ma'aseh Avos Siman L'bonim, the acts of the forefathers are an omen for the children. This means that Hashem guides the course of Jewish history by leading the forefathers through episodes and events that pave the way for similar episodes and events which will occur later on the national level. Throughout his commentaries on Sefer Bereishis, the Ramban points out the parallels in the stories of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov  to subsequent developments in Jewish history.

Sefer Shemos, says Ramban, is the Sefer HaGeula - the book of redemption. Although it appears that only the first four weekly portions deal with the redemption from Egypt and that the rest deal with unrelated themes, this does not challenge the Ramban's contention. Redemption is not to be defined as mere deliverance from political oppression. Rather, it is a full restoration to original status. The Avos, explains Ramban, lived life on such a lofty spiritual plane that to describe them as the Divine Chariot would not be an exaggeration. The Divine Presence literally rested upon their tents. But with the descent of the children of Yaakov to Egypt a process of decline began. Ultimately, in the estimation of the angels, the Jews were indistinguishable from the Egyptians. (When Hashem saved the Jews and drowned the Egyptians at the Red Sea, the angles were incredulous. "But these and these are both idolators.") The Jews were only restored to this status when they were liberated from Egypt, had received the Torah, and built the Mishkan. When the Mishkan was complete and the Shechina rested upon it, the Jews had truly been restored to their original position Then the process of Geulah is complete and the Book of Shemos comes to its end.

Thus, the connection of Sefer Bereishis to Sefer Shemos is relevant in two distinct ways. First, Sefer Bereishis foretells and foreshadows that which will happen to us further down the road. This knowledge could benefit us; knowing what is in store gives us the ability to cope in times of crisis and difficulty. For example, recounting the story of Avraham and Sarah in Egypt in which Sarah was abducted and saved through Divine intervention which resulted in Avraham becoming fabulously wealthy, undoubtedly was a tremendous source of satisfaction and emotional support to the enslaved Hebrews.

But, secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it inspires us to follow in the footsteps of the Avos by presenting a view of Jewish history in which the basic enterprise of the Jewish nation is the struggle to reclaim the spiritual level of our founding fathers and mothers. Thus Sefer Bereishis must be carefully examined, not only to analyze that which happens to us, but also to discover how the Avos react and respond to the situations in which they find themselves. To illustrate: Yaakov's experience in the house of Lavan is not only significant in that learning about it prepares us for the type of abuse that Jews will experience at the hands of our Galus tormentors. It also serves as a guide for how we must maintain our own integrity in the face of the duplicity of those taskmasters just as Yaakov did, (See Rambam, conclusion to Hilchos Sechirus, where he develops the idea that Yaakov become successful in the merit of his honesty and trustworthiness in his dealings with Lavan.)

Vayigash - 5773

Joseph said to his brothers and to his father's household, "I will go up and tell Pharaoh, and I will say to him, ‘My brothers and my father's household who were in the land of Canaan have come to me. The men are shepherds, for they were [always] owners of livestock, and their flocks and their cattle and all they possess they have brought.’

And if it comes to pass that Pharaoh calls you and asks, ‘What is your occupation?’ You shall say, ‘Your servants have been owners of livestock from our youth until now, both we and our ancestors,’ so that you may be allowed to dwell in the land of Goshen, because all shepherds are abhorrent to the Egyptians." (Bereishis 46:31-34)

The anticipated tension between the native Egyptians and the newly arrived Jews is rooted in the fact that the Jews were shepherds and that this profession was especially despised by the Egyptians.

Rashi contends that this abhorrence is related to the fact that the sheep was the deity of Egypt as is well known from the teachings of Chazal regarding the symbolism of the Korban Pesach.

Yet, the matter still calls for explanation. One could conjecture that those who tended to the deities should be considered the most distinguished members of society!

Rav Elchanan Wasserman zt’l, who was a disciple of the Chofetz Chaim zt’l, was once asked to explain the uniqueness of his Rebbe. He responded by pointing out that many sages that we may admire from a distance become diminished when we observe them from close. What was special about the Chofetz Chaim zt’l was that the closer you became, the greater he appeared to be.

The deification of the sheep would be undermined in a society whose members lived in close proximity to sheep. They would see the sheep for what they truly were – animals! Consequently, those members of society had to be marginalized.

There is another approach to understanding the Egyptian disgust with shepherds: the conventional tension between farmers and herders. Egypt was a farming society; flocks and herds could potentially ruin farmland. (See Bava Kama 79b for a discussion of Rabbinic ordinances made in Eretz Yisrael to prevent this problem.)

One could easily say then that the bottom line is economic; the strangers’ herds and flocks could bring ruin upon Egypt’s economy. But Rav Hirsch (Commentary to Bereishis Ch. 4) argues that the farmer/herder issue is the root of the spiritual and cultural divide between Mitzrayim and Yisrael as well. I will present his words verbatim; it would be impossible to merely paraphrase them and still do them justice:

Agriculture demands all of one's physical energies. The Divine decree "By the sweat of your countenance shall you eat bread" (Genesis 3:19) is applicable particularly to the tiller of the soil. He must devote himself totally to his physical existence. Self-pride and pride of possession are especially predominant in the tiller of the soil. The ground that the farmer has fertilized with his own sweat becomes for him a supreme value, becomes part of his personality, and he is caught up in it and settles down.

To be sure, agriculture stimulates and develops civilization. Most inventions and skills may be credited to agriculture. The settlement of the land implicit in agriculture leads to the formation of society and state and to the administration of justice. The decree upon the human being to work the ground opened the way to humankind's development.

On the other hand, a farmer is a slave to his field, which lowers him to the level of the soil. Once he places his neck under the yoke of the pursuit of possessions, his spirit, too, becomes bowed. He can be manipulated through his desire for property. This leads to slavery; one human being is subjugated to another. Moreover, the farmer can easily come to worship the forces of nature, on whose influence hinges the success of his field.

Agricultural peoples were the first to lose faith in God and in the higher dignity of the human being; it was in their midst that slavery and idolatry first emerged.

By contrast, there is much virtue and advantage in pastoral life. The shepherd works mainly with living creatures, and the care he extends to them fosters in him human feelings of tenderness and empathy. His property is movable. The flock needs the shepherd's care, but does not owe its very existence to the human being. As a result, the shepherd is saved from the danger of attaching too much value to himself and to his property. His vocation does not drain all his energy, or occupy his mind to a great extent, and he has time to elevate his spirit to Divine and humane values. Hence, our forefathers were shepherds, as were Moshe and David.

Conversely, consider the antipathy of the ancient Egyptians towards shepherds and pastoral peoples. All the negative outgrowths of the agricultural mentality discussed above were found in Egypt. Egyptian culture was based on agriculture; its characteristic features were polytheism, on the one hand, and human enslavement, on the other. Work was the purpose of the human being. The individual per se had no value, no dignity, no freedom. The Egyptian was born a slave to his occupation. Faith in God, the freedom of the human being, and the human being's likeness to God remained alive only in the hearts of one tribe of shepherds: our ancestors. The Egyptian leaders were therefore very shrewd in instilling in their people an implacable hatred for pastoral peoples.

Thus, the reluctance of the newly arrived Jews to give up shepherding was much more profound than is conventionally believed. We assume that it was simply a ploy to gain isolation from the Egyptians who would consider the Jews disgusting. In reality, there was much more at stake; the Jews could not give up their traditional profession without giving up as well every spiritual and cultural value that they cherished.

Miketz - 5773: Response to Hazony, Part 2

Last week this column began an analysis of a recent New York Times article by Yoram Hazony, president of the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Shalem Center in Yerushalayim. The premise of the article is that the traditional conception of G-d as omnipotent, omniscient, and perfectly virtuous has no basis in the Bible and that the very concept of Divine perfection can be questioned. As this position runs counter to the most basic premises of our faith, the need to respond is self-evident. The previous column critiqued the first half of the Hazony article which presented the scriptural “evidence”; this week we will turn to Hazony’s philosophical claims. (The italicized paragraphs are from the Hazony article; the responses are in regular typeface.)

I’d start with this: Is it really necessary to say that God is a “perfect being,” or perfect at all, for that matter? As far as I can tell, the biblical authors avoid asserting any such thing. And with good reason. Normally, when we say that something is “perfect,” we mean it has attained the best possible balance among the principles involved in making it the kind of thing it is. For example, if we say that a bottle is perfect, we mean it can contain a significant quantity of liquid in its body; that its neck is long enough to be grasped comfortably and firmly; that the bore is wide enough to permit a rapid flow of liquid; and so on. Of course, you can always manufacture a bottle that will hold more liquid, but only by making the body too broad (so the bottle doesn’t handle well) or the neck too short (so it’s hard to hold). There’s an inevitable trade-off among the principles, and perfection lies in the balance among them. And this is so whether what’s being judged is a bottle or a horse, a wine or a gymnastics routine or natural human beauty.

What would we say if some philosopher told us that a perfect bottle would be one that can contain a perfectly great amount of liquid, while being perfectly easy to pour from at the same time? Or that a perfect horse would bear an infinitely heavy rider, while at the same time being able to run with perfectly great speed? I should think we’d say he’s made a fundamental mistake here: You can’t perfect something by maximizing all its constituent principles simultaneously. All this will get you is contradictions and absurdities. This is not less true of God than it is of anything else.

Hazony misses the entire point. The doctrine of Divine perfection asserts that G-d is truly unique and beyond comparison to any created entity or object. Perfection in the physical realm may be defined as the optimal balance of trade-offs, but this is because it is a composite of elements, each with its own characteristics and qualities. (The bottle, to use Hazony’s example, is a composite of neck, bore, and container.) G-d’s essence, on the other hand, is an absolute unity in which all aspects of perfection exist.

The attempt to think of God as a perfect being is misguided for another reason as well. We can speak of the perfection of a bottle or a horse because these are things that can be encompassed (at least in some sense) by our senses and understanding. Having the whole bottle before us, we feel we can judge how close it is to being a perfect instance of its type. But if asked to judge the perfection of a bottle poking out of a paper bag, or of a horse that’s partly hidden in the stable, we’d surely protest: How am I supposed to know? I can only see part of it.

Is G-d’s perfection to be limited by our ability to perceive and understand it? (That would be the case only if G-d was a human creation!) Again, Hazony misses the point. The doctrine of Divine perfection does not make the claim that empirical observation leads us to our understanding of G-d; rather, through revelation and reason, we accept certain propositions about G-d, the full implications of which we are unable to sense and even fully comprehend.

Yet the biblical accounts of our encounters with God emphasize that all human views of God are partial and fragmentary in just this way. Even Moses, the greatest of the prophets, is told that he can’t see God’s face, but can only catch a glimpse of God’s back as he passes by.

Exactly! Because G-d’s perfection is absolute and thus outside the boundaries of human experience, our perception of him is partial and fragmentary.

At another point, God responds to Moses’ request to know his name (that is, his nature) by telling him “ehi’eh asher ehi’eh” —“I will be what I will be.” In most English-language Bibles this is translated “I am that I am,” following the Septuagint, which sought to bring the biblical text into line with the Greek tradition (descended from Xenophanes, Parmenides and Plato’s “Timaeus”) of identifying God with perfect being. But in the Hebrew original, the text says almost exactly the opposite of this: The Hebrew “I will be what I will be” is in the imperfect tense, suggesting to us a God who is incomplete and changing. In their run-ins with God, human beings can glimpse a corner or an edge of something too immense to be encompassed, a “coming-into-being” as God approaches, and no more.

A note on Hebrew grammar is required here. Modern scholars of Biblical Hebrew claim what we, as schoolchildren, called future tense is a misnomer. In English, for example, the phrase, I will eat, clearly implies that the action will take place in the future. However, in Biblical Hebrew, the verb ya’aseh, could equally imply something occurring at the present time on an ongoing basis. (See Iyov 1:5 for an illustration.) Consequently, modern Biblical grammarians use the term imperfect tense instead of future tense. (This is not to be confused with the use of the term imperfect in Indo-European languages.)

Regarding the phrase “ehi’eh asher ehi’eh”, our recognition of the dual use of the imperfect tense should lead us to the conclusion that “I am that I am” is actually the preferable translation. It means that Hashem is consistent with his fundamental essence not only at the moment he was speaking to Moshe but rather from the beginning of time for all eternity. The claim that the use of the imperfect implies “coming into being” is a misunderstanding of the grammatical issues.

The belief that any human mind can grasp enough of God to begin recognizing perfections in him would have struck the biblical authors as a pagan conceit.

We never claimed this. (See above.) It would not only be a pagan conceit; it would be a monotheistic conceit as well!

So if it’s not a bundle of “perfections” that the prophets and scholars who wrote the Hebrew Bible referred to in speaking of God, what was it they were talking about? As Donald Harman Akenson writes, the God of Hebrew Scripture is meant to be an “embodiment of what is, of reality” as we experience it. God’s abrupt shifts from action to seeming indifference and back, his changing demands from the human beings standing before him, his at-times devastating responses to mankind’s deeds and misdeeds — all these reflect the hardship so often present in the lives of most human beings. To be sure, the biblical God can appear with sudden and stunning generosity as well, as he did to Israel at the Red Sea. And he is portrayed, ultimately, as faithful and just. But these are not the “perfections” of a God known to be a perfect being. They don’t exist in his character “necessarily,” or anything remotely similar to this. On the contrary, it is the hope that God is faithful and just that is the subject of ancient Israel’s faith: We hope that despite the frequently harsh reality of our daily experience, there is nonetheless a faithfulness and justice that rules in our world in the end.

What would the basis of our faith and trust be if G-d is understood as being inconsistent, constantly oscillating between indifference and action? Would there be any greater moral failing than this? Why should we be so confident that things will work out in the end? Hazony himself recognizes this:

The ancient Israelites, in other words, discovered a more realistic God than that descended from the tradition of Greek thought. But philosophers have tended to steer clear of such a view, no doubt out of fear that an imperfect God would not attract mankind’s allegiance.

Instead, they have preferred to speak to us of a God consisting of a series of sweeping idealizations — idealizations whose relation to the world in which we actually live is scarcely imaginable. Today, with theism rapidly losing ground across Europe and among Americans as well, we could stand to reconsider this point. Surely a more plausible conception of God couldn’t hurt.

It most certainly would hurt. Our conception of G-d is not a mere preference, a vanilla/chocolate choice. It is rooted in our deepest conviction that it is the absolute truth. To give it up because we are losing ground across Europe and among Americans is absurd. Perhaps we should embrace the principle that 1+1=3 as this would result in increased aggregate economic activity, thus addressing the European and American fiscal crises?

In conclusion, no coherent argument has been presented for the abandonment of the traditional conception of G-d and, as well, no evidence has been presented for the claim that this conception would have been foreign to Jews of Biblical times. However, a few additional comments are in order:

The starting premise of the Hazony article was that abandonment of the traditional conception of G-d could solve the problem of theodicy. Presumably, it is only the view of G-d as omnipotent, omniscient, and perfectly virtuous that creates the expectation that G-d should prevent all suffering. Rejecting any one of the three beliefs would solve the problem; suffering could be easily understood if G-d was powerless to stop it, unaware of it, or indifferent to it. But let us explore these choices. Which of the three should we be most eager to surrender?

Generally it is assumed that the belief in G-d’s moral perfection cannot be rejected without undermining religion generally. As Hazony himself acknowledges, a morally imperfect G-d would not attract our allegiance. So we must now contemplate the rejection of omnipotence or omniscience. Again, it is generally assumed that these could be safely rejected. A G-d imperfect in these ways would still be worthy of our devotion.

Frankly, I find this argument to be flawed. Put yourself in the imperfect G-d’s shoes – to use an inaccurate metaphor – for a moment. You are contemplating creating a universe. You are aware of Your own shortcomings – that You are not omnipotent and not omniscient. You must therefore be aware that Your acts of creation may result in sufferings and injustices that You will not be able to prevent or stop. Is it then morally justified for You to create the universe? I believe not. The only way we could contemplate a non-omnipotent G-d or a non-omniscient G-d is if we also assume that He is imperfect in the moral sphere. But this, as we have already stated, undermines religion totally.

If this is the risk that Hazony wishes to take, that is his own business. (Although I would warn him that after 120 years he may discover that he made a big mistake!) But let us not follow him into the abyss.

Vayeshev - 5773: Response to Hazony, Part 1

As a rule, this column does not respond to articles in the press, especially those published in the New York Times. However, a recent guest submission by Yoram Hazony, president of the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Shalem Center in Yerushalayim, calls for comment. As it casts doubt on the most cherished theological principles of Torah Judaism without a scrap of justification, it must be countered so not to lead the unwitting astray by the elegance of its literary style. (The italicized paragraphs are from the Hazony article; the responses are in regular typeface.)

Is God perfect? You often hear philosophers describe “theism” as the belief in a perfect being — a being whose attributes are said to include being all-powerful, all-knowing, immutable, perfectly good, perfectly simple, and necessarily existent (among others). And today, something like this view is common among lay people as well.

There are two famous problems with this view of God. The first is that it appears to be impossible to make it coherent. For example, it seems unlikely that God can be both perfectly powerful and perfectly good if the world is filled (as it obviously is) with instances of terrible injustice.

The problem of theodicy – justification of Divine judgement – has been discussed for hundreds of years. According to the Talmud (Berachos 7a), Moshe Rabbeinu himself asked Hashem to provide an explanation of these issues. The Biblical book of Iyov is, according to the commentaries of Rambam in the Moreh Nevuchim, Ramban, Malbim and others, a comprehensive treatment of this subject from many perspectives.

The starting point for any discussion, however, is the Biblical verse (Devarim 32:4-5): “The deeds of the Rock are perfect, for all His ways are just; a trustworthy God, without injustice, He is righteous and upright. Corruption is not His; it is His children's defect, you crooked and twisted generation.”

To assume, as Hazony does further in the article, that the Bible embraces a view of an imperfect deity and thus can accept the possibility – let alone the certainty – of  “terrible injustice” is clearly absurd.

Similarly, it’s hard to see how God can wield his infinite power to instigate alteration and change in all things if he is flat-out immutable.

It is hard to believe that any serious philosopher would roll out this chestnut in the twenty-first century. This argument is rooted in an Aristotlean conception of the Deity whose acts follow of necessity from His essential nature. Thus, if His essence is unchanging, his works (i.e. the created world) should be unchanging. The Rambam has already noted (Moreh Nevuchim 2:25) that the Aristotelian view runs counter to the belief in miracles. But Judaism has never accepted this conception.

And there are more such contradictions where these came from.

Should we take Hazony’s word on this? Presumably he has chosen his best arguments for presentation. The ones he expects us to accept on faith cannot be better!

The second problem is that while this “theist” view of God is supposed to be a description of the God of the Bible, it’s hard to find any evidence that the prophets and scholars who wrote the Hebrew Bible (or “Old Testament”) thought of God in this way at all. The God of Hebrew Scripture is not depicted as immutable, but repeatedly changes his mind about things (for example, he regrets having made man).

But the Bible itself says (Bamidbar 23:19), “G-d is not a man that He should lie, nor is He a mortal that He should change His mind. Would He say and not do, speak and not fulfill?” Obviously, the use of the term “regret” in relation to G-d (Bereishis 6:7; Shemos 32:14; Shmuel I 15:11; Shmuel II 24:17) is merely a metaphor for a change in action in response to new conditions. (See Abarbanel, Bereishis 6:5 for an elaboration of this idea.)

He is not all-knowing, since he’s repeatedly surprised by things (like the Israelites abandoning him for a statue of a cow).

Look up the story at Shemos Chapter 32. There is absolutely no indication in the text that Hashem was caught off guard by the Jews’ worship of the Golden Calf.

He is not perfectly powerful either, in that he famously cannot control Israel and get its people to do what he wants.

This is sheer nonsense. G-d wants man to choose good and reject evil of his own volition, as the verse states (Devarim 30:19), “This day, I call upon the heaven and the earth as witnesses [that I have warned] you: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. You shall choose life, so that you and your offspring will live.” His non-intervention in our choices is not a contradiction to His omnipotence. (As to why our commission of evil is referred to as a violation of His will, see Rambam, Shemoneh Perakim Chapter 8.)

And so on.

We have already commented above on the undisclosed proofs.

Philosophers have spent many centuries trying to get God’s supposed perfections to fit together in a coherent conception, and then trying to get that to fit with the Bible. By now it’s reasonably clear that this can’t be done.

There is nothing in Hazony’s presentation that makes this clear at all. In fact, there is nothing that even challenges the traditional conception of G-d.

In fact, part of the reason God-bashers like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris are so influential (apart from the fact they write so well) is their insistence that the doctrine of God’s perfections makes no sense, and that the idealized “being” it tells us about doesn’t resemble the biblical God at all.

The reason they are so influential is because they are writing for the uninformed masses. But the claim that Dawkins and Harris have made the argument that the idealized being does not resemble the biblical G-d leaves me scratching my head. They are not proving their claims from the Bible and they are not embracing a new conception of an imperfect G-d. They are unabashed atheists.

So is that it, then? Have the atheists won? I don’t think so. But it does look like the time has come for some rethinking in the theist camp.

This is true. The time has come for some rethinking in the theist camp. But the question to be asked is not Hazony’s. Rather we should be asking the following: Why are we – as Jews – so unfamiliar with our own Torah, heritage, and philosophy that we should take articles such as this seriously?

(To be continued next week.)

Vayishlach - 5773

In light of the principle Ma’aseh Avos Siman L’Banim – events in the lives of the patriarchs foretell events in the lives of their children – we look for specific parallels between our current Parshiyos and later Jewish history. The opening verses of Parshas Vayishlach point to one such intriguing connection.

Last week’s Parsha tells the story of Yaakov’s exile to the house of Lavan; this week’s Parsha relates the story of his return. We would have imagined that Yaakov’s homecoming would usher in a period of tranquility and peace akin to the anticipated Messianic Age. This was hardly the case. Considering Yaakov’s terrifying encounter with Aisav, along with his daughter’s abduction and his sons’ war of reprisal, we would not be faulted for applying the well-known metaphor, “Out of the frying pan and into the fire”!

In the Tochacha of Parshas Bechukosai (Vayikra 27:38-41) we read:

You will become lost among the nations, and the land of your enemies will consume you. And because of their iniquity, those of you who survive will rot away in the lands of your enemies; moreover, they will rot away because the iniquities of their fathers are still within them. They will then confess their iniquity and the iniquity of their fathers, their betrayal that they dealt Me, and that they also treated Me as happenstance. Then I too, will treat them as happenstance and bring them into the land of their enemies. If then, their clogged heart becomes humbled, then, [their sufferings] will gain appeasement for their iniquity.

The Ramban is perplexed by the verse that states that, after the Jews confess their sin in exile, Hashem will bring them into the “land of their enemies”. First of all, the Jews were already in exile. Secondly, why should further punishment be a consequence of their confession? The Ramban gives a surprising answer: The “land of their enemies” is a reference to Eretz Yisrael! We know that, when the Jews returned to Eretz Yisrael after the Babylonian Exile, the land was under foreign rule – Persians, Syrian and Egyptian Hellenists, and Romans – for an extended period. Because our repentance in exile was incomplete, we were not given the full gift of Eretz Yisrael.

This is perhaps the significance of our Parsha. Yaakov is returning to Eretz Yisrael, but it is still very much the “land of his enemies” where he must contend with Aisav and Shechem. The events in the lives of the patriarchs do foretell events in the lives of their children.

Let us consider – for a moment – whether this concept has a further application. Over the last century there has been a “gathering of the exiles” from all the lands of the Diaspora. (The Jews of North America may be the last holdouts!) The infrastructure of the land has been developed both in the spiritual and material realms. Is there unfinished work for Mashiach to do? Certainly! But the groundwork is clearly being laid for the fulfillment of the Messianic prophesies albeit in natural ways.

And yet, the dangers facing the Jews of Eretz Yisrael today – a rising Palistinian state at our borders, an increased likelihood of a nuclear Iran serving as a main sponsor of terrorism, an Islamist regime in Egypt following the so-called Arab Spring – are greater then they have been for many years.

This is the Ramban’s message: The return from exile will not necessarily be utopian. As Jewish history moves into the final act, it will sometimes seem as if our own grasp of Eretz Yisrael is tenuous at best and that – Rachmana Litzlan – our enemies are in control. But this is only until the repentance of Klal Yisrael is complete. As previously cited:

“If then, their clogged heart becomes humbled, then, [their sufferings] will gain appeasement for their iniquity.”

Vayetze - 5773

This week’s Parsha, the story of Yaakov’s Avinu’s personal exile from Eretz Yisrael, is the template for the national experience of Galus. Consequently, a careful analysis of Parshas Vayetze will illustrate and illuminate many aspects of our post-Churban history. 

(In last year’s newsletter, one aspect of this was discussed – the fact that, just as Yaakov had achieved success and prosperity in the house of Lavan, many Galus communities have been similarly blessed, for the special promise of Divine protection and support extended to Yaakov during his dream was repeated on the national level in a Divine commitment (Vayikra 26:44), “But despite all this, while they are in the land of their enemies, I will not despise them nor will I reject them to annihilate them, thereby breaking My covenant that is with them, for I am the Lord their G-d.”)

We generally assume that Galus is first and foremost a punishment for sin; this is certainly the impression we are given in the Tochacha of Bechukosai and Ki Savo. Yet, in the teachings of Chazal, we find that Galus is also an opportunity in a positive sense. The Gemara in Pesachim (87b) states, “The Holy One, Blessed be He, only exiled the Jewish people among the nations in order that proselytes should be added to their number.” If not for exile, there would have been no opportunity for these worthy souls to have encountered Jews, to have begun the conversion process, and ultimately make valid contributions to the nation. But how do we reconcile these two images?

The simple answer is that both are correct. If not for sin, Hashem would have brought the prospective proselytes to Eretz Yisrael through some pretense. If not for the imperative of initiating conversion, Hashem would have designed other punishments for our sins. The combination of both considerations made Galus the ideal solution.

Yaakov’s exile also involved a blend of considerations. The Bais Halevi points to the opening verse of the Parsha, “And Yaakov left Be’er Sheva and traveled to Charan,” and notes an apparent redundancy. Why would the Torah have to talk about his leaving Be’er Sheva? Mention his arrival at Charan and we understand ourselves that he left Be’er Sheva!

Explains the Bais Halevi: Yaakov went into Galus for two reasons. First, as his mother advised, he fled (“And Yaakov left…”) to escape from Esav who was plotting to kill him. Second, as his father advised, he made Charan his destination (“…and traveled to Charan…”) to find a wife. Either objective could have achieved in a different way; the combination made exile to the house of Lavan the optimal resolution.

We should keep this in mind as we grapple with our own personal circumstances. Every life has its difficulties and challenges. When things don’t go as we would have hoped, we may attribute this to the traditional calculus of reward and punishment. (After all, Chazal do tell us (Berachos 5a) that if a person experiences suffering, he should examine his deeds.) But, as well, we must recognize that seeming misfortunes can be opportunities as well. (For example, a failed business venture can create the opportunity for entry into a new, exciting career.) The ways of Divine Providence are inscrutable; what appears to be dreadful may be the ultimate harbinger of hope and success.

Toldos - 5773

Parshas Toldos poses some very difficult problems. First, how is it possible that Yitzchak preferred Eisav to Yaakov? Granted that Yitzchak was fooled as to Eisav’s faults; it is still hard to believe that Yitzchak considered Eisav to be Yaakov’s superior. Second, how is it possible that Yaakov and Eisav – twins born to Yitzchak and Rivka – could have become so different from each other? (The precedent of Yitzchak and Yishmael is more easily accounted for as they were born to different mothers.)

Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch, both in his Chumash commentary and in a separate essay, attributes the difference to a shortcoming in the Chinuch that Yitzchok provided his sons. They were given an identical experience in violation of the most fundamental principle of Chanoch L’naar Al Pi Darco, that is, educate a child in a manner suited to his nature and temperament. This undifferentiated training was perfectly suited to Yaakov who was pious and studious by nature; it was totally inappropriate for Eisav. Consequently, when he was old enough, he rebelled against it.

The problem with this approach is that Rivka received a prophecy before the children were born (“There are two nations in your womb…”) that their paths would diverge. This implies inevitability to their being different. The difference could not have been a consequence of poor choices made by Yitzchak in his parenting style.

Classical texts speak of two personality types. The first is called Chassid (by Rambam) or Tzaddik (by the Ba’al HaTanya). This is defined as an individual who not only does the right thing consistently but has a natural inclination in that direction. Accordingly, he lives a life that is free from tension and conflict and filled with a yearning for spiritual achievement. The second is called Kovesh es Yitzro (by Rambam) or Beinoni by the Ba’al Hatanya). This individual also does the right thing consistently, yet he lives with conflict. He is pulled in different directions by his natural instincts and drives. In this internal battle he may be victorious but the “enemy” is never decisively defeated and certainly never surrenders.

The Ba’al HaTanya (Chapter 26), using this classification, contends that the free will of an individual may sometimes only apply to his actions; he may not be free to convert himself from Beinoni status to Tzaddik status. Rather, it is decreed upon him to serve Hashem specifically through the suppression of evil rather than through its elimination. The Ba’al Hatanya describes the unique satisfaction that Hashem has from the service of the Beinoni who, through struggle and torment, overcomes the many obstacles in his path.

It would not be unreasonable to conjecture that the prophecy of Rivka entailed the children being different only in temperament and natural inclination. One would be the Tzaddik who was naturally drawn to the Bais Medrash; the other would be the Beinoni who would have to grapple with the illicit desire for idolatry, incest, and even murder. But there was no inevitability to Eisav’s wicked acts. He could have overcome his desires. Whether Yitzchak shares the “blame” for not having given Eisav the necessary tools to fight this battle as Rav Hirsch contends or whether the responsibility is Eisav’s alone will remain – for us – an unanswerable question.

But why the two children should have been so different in temperament can be answered. The succession of Yitzchak was meant to be an open question.

Had Eisav made better choices in life and overcome his various temptations, he would have been the successor. This, we know, was Yitzchak’s plan. It was not rooted in the mistaken assumption that Eisav was more virtuous than Yaakov, but rather in the assumption that Eisav was simply good enough and should be awarded the honor in acknowledgment of the special satisfaction he gave Hashem through his superior effort in overcoming challenges. Of course, as Rivka understood, this was not meant to be. Eisav had clearly disqualified himself by succumbing to his desires and thus the successor would be Yaakov.

Chaye Sarah - 5773

Parshas Chayei Sarah records two negotiations – that of Avraham with Ephron and the B’nai Ches for the purchase of the burial grounds in Chevron and that of Eliezer with Rivka’s family to arrange the marriage of Yitzchak. The contrast of Eliezer’s conduct with Avraham’s is striking. Eliezer wears his religion on his sleeve; he is constantly praying, thanking, and bowing to Hashem. Avraham, on the other hand, is gracious and well mannered – he bows to the B’nai Ches and Ephron – yet, we do not find any overt expressions of religious sentiment or piety. How can we account for this difference?

Chazal observe that the Torah devotes much space to the account of Eliezer’s mission and to Eliezer’s retelling of the story to Rivka’s family. At the same time, fundamental Torah laws are often derived from a single extra letter in the Torah. Explain Chazal (Midrash Rabba), “The conversation of the servants of the Avos is more precious than the legal discussions of the children of the Avos.” However, a difficulty still remains, because it is not only the legal discussions of the Avos’ children that are abridged. The conversations of the Avos themselves aren’t given the equivalent attention.

Sfas Emes (Chayei Sarah 5641) in a cryptic comment explains that the actions of the Avos defy understanding. Their bodies were loftier than our souls, as Chazal say, “The Avos comprise the Divine Chariot.” Only the actions of the servants can be fathomed and therefore it us only here that the Torah speaks of the prayers and the bowings. Yet, continues the Sfas Emes, we know that Eliezer is called (Bereishis 15:2) Damesek Eliezer because we drew the waters of his master’s teachings and gave others to drink (doleh u’mashkeh). This means that Eliezer’s practices were not of his own design; rather they were rooted in the teachings of his master.

I believe that the point of Sfas Emes is this: Eliezer functioned on two levels – the religious and the mundane. When he was engaged in mundane activities, he was the mere servant of a wealthy Middle Eastern sheik. When he was engaged in religious activities, his prayers and bowings testified to a lofty spiritual level. Avraham, on the other hand, was a totally integrated individual. Whatever he may have been doing, he was in a constant state of Deveikus – cleaving or bonding – to the Ribbono Shel Olam. Every ostensibly casual movement was a manifestation of the most profound devotion to the service of the Ribbono Shel Olam. To emphasize Avraham’s visible religious expressions would distort the reality that his seemingly ordinary movements were equally lofty.

Yet, this could not be perceived by the casual observer. Only Eliezer, who was Avraham’s closest disciple, could see the reality and draw from those very deep wellsprings of perfection. As the verse states (Mishlei 20:5), “The counsel of a man’s heart is as deep water, but a man of understanding can draw it up.” Thus he could serve as the doleh u’mashkeh, spreading the teachings of Avraham to the world.

Vayerah - 5773

One of the recurring themes in the Ramban’s commentary to Sefer Bereshis is the concept of “Ma’aseh Avos Siman L’Banim,” that the events that occurred in the lives of the Avos foreshadow later episodes that occur to the Jewish nation as a whole.

For example, in the Ramban’s analysis, the story of Avraham’s descent to Egypt and his return to Eretz Yisrael (Parshas Lech Lecha) corresponds in virtually every detail to the story of the Egyptian exile. In Parshas Toldos we will read the story of Yitzchak’s relocation to the land of the Pelishtim to escape from famine; Ramban writes that this episode corresponds to the story of Babylonian exile which followed the destruction of the first Bais Hamikdosh.

What is the connection between the land of the Pelishtim and Babylonia? Explains the Ramban: Just as the land of the Pelishtim was a place in which Avraham had lived (as described in this week’s Parsha), and Yitzchak in moving to that land was actually returning to an ancestral home, likewise Babylonia was the original home of Avraham and the Jews exiled there were returning to the place from which they had come. (See Pesachim 87b where Babylonia is called “Bais Iman” – the Jews’ mother’s home.

One may ask: Either Avraham or Yitzchak could have experienced exile twice as portents of Egypt and Babylonia. Why was it necessary that these two historical events should have been foretold in the lives of different Avos?

The roles of Avraham and Yitzchak in the development of the Jewish people were very different. Avraham was a revolutionary. He made a clean break with his own past (see Rambam, Hilchos Avodah Zara, Chapter 1, Halacha 3) and sparked a world-shattering religious upheaval thereby establishing the foundations of a nation that would stand apart in opposition to the entire world. Yitzchak, on the other hand, was the first born Jew. His role was to consolidate and secure the achievements of Avraham, giving the Jewish enterprise stability and permanence.

(A hint to this distinction: Rav Hutner in Pachad Yitzchak, Succos Ch. 5, observes that whereas Avraham’s name was changed from the original Avram, Yitzchak kept his original name throughout his life. Avraham was transformational; Yitzchok was consistent from beginning to end.)

The Egyptian exile was a formative experience of the Jewish people. In Egypt we developed from a family into a nation. Our encounter with the depravity of the Egyptians resulted in a polarization through which our innate sense of morality was reinforced and strengthened. (See Maharal, Gevuros Hashem, Chapter 4.) It also marked a break with our past and thus is appropriately alluded to in the experiences of Avraham Avinu.

The Babylonian exile was the “mid-course correction” in the history of the Jewish people. Over the centuries, we had drifted away from the ideals that were first established by Avraham Avinu; the exile was the consequence of a slide into idolatry and the associated sins of murder and incest. In other words, it was caused by our failure to sustain the revolution of Avraham Avinu. As a consequence it was necessary to return “to our roots” in Babylonia, the very place where Avraham Avinu waged his first battles against the idols of Nimrod and Terach.

Babylonia was not a venue for radical transformation. It was a place for restoration of that which should never have lapsed. It therefore relates to the role of Yitzchok which is the stable continuation of Avraham’s works. For this reason the Babylonian exile is alluded to specifically in the experiences of Yitzchok.

Lech Lecha - 5773

Regarding the covenant of Bris Milah, which is introduced in Parshas Lech Lecha, I believe that two important points can be made:

1.  The practice of Bris Milah is rooted in the conviction that the natural forms have no presumptive claim of superiority over the works of man. To the contrary: The world was fashioned in an incomplete and imperfect way to create opportunities for man to perfect creation.

This point is made in the well known Midrash (Tanchumah, Tazria 5):

The wicked Turnus Rufus asked Rabbi Akiva, “Which are more beautiful, the works of the Holy One, Blessed be He, or those of flesh and blood. Rabbi Akiva replied, “The works of flesh and blood are more beautiful.”

Turnus Rufus then asked, “Why are Jews circumcised?” Rabbi Akiva replied, “I knew you would ask this and that is why I told you previously that the works of man are superior.” Rabbi Akiva then brought sheaves of grain and loaves of bread. “These sheaves are the works of the Holy One Blessed be He. These loaves are the works of flesh and blood. Are the loaves not superior?”

The Bais Halevi points out that, in giving the command for Bris Milah, Hashem introduces Himself using the name “Shaddai” (Bereishis 17:1). This name is understood by Chazal (Chagigah 12a) as related to the Hebrew word “Dai”, meaning “Enough”, in that when Hashem created the world, it continued to expand endlessly until Hashem said “Enough” and arrested the process.

This process of expansion was not only quantitative. There was also a process of qualitative development in which everything was striving to higher and higher forms of perfection. Wheat would have evolved into loaves had this process not been stopped. But it was stopped in order to allow man the opportunity for using his ingenuity and talent to produced finished goods through his own efforts. The utterance of “Dai/Enough” creates the potential for bread and for Bris Milah and consequently the name of Hashem derived from this utterance is the name associated with the command.

2. Performing Bris Milah on babies rather then on adults entails a high level of conviction and commitment. If Bris Milah was a mere preference, we would not impose it on our young children; we would allow them to make the decision for themselves upon reaching maturity. (Many critics of Bris Milah do make this point!)

But because Bris Milah is an integral part of the Torah which is ultimate truth, we “impose” this on our children without hesitation. Just as no parent would be faulted for teaching the basic number facts (one plus one equals two etc.) to his children, no parent can be faulted for giving his child Bris Milah. These are not subjective preferences but rather objective truths.

Perhaps this explains the cryptic comment of the Rivash (Teshuvos Rivash 131) that whereas Pidyon Haben is a rite that the father performs on behalf of his young son, Bris Milah is a rite that the father performs for himself. (The Halachic ramifications of this distinction are developed in that Responsum.)

Bris Milah is not merely a service that the father performs to benefit the child with early admission to the covenant. The willingness of the father to peform Bris Milah is a demonstration of the depth of his own conviction. Thus it is a Mitzva he performs for himself.

Noach - 5773

And I will set up My covenant with you, and you shall come into the ark, you and your sons, and your wife and your sons' wives with you. (Bereishis 6:18)

A covenant was necessary for the fruits so that they should not rot and become putrid, and so that the wicked of the generation should not kill him. (Rashi from Bereishis Rabbah 31:12)

This understanding of the covenant is somewhat surprising as there really should be a simpler interpretation: The covenant was Hashem’s promise to Noach that he would survive the flood and emerge from the Tevah to begin the repopulation of the earth. In fact, this is the Ramban’s interpretation!

Rashi’s limitations on the extent of the Divine commitments lead us to an intriguing conclusion: There was no inevitability to Noach’s coming out of the Tevah alive. Hashem only promised that he would not be killed before the flood and that the food would not spoil, nothing more. This would mean that Noach’s being in the Tevah was not merely an opportunity for refuge from the floodwaters; it was a time for Noach to earn his right to survive the flood.

Interestingly, this seems to be a point of contention between Ramban and Rashi later in the story. We read that after the flood, “Hashem remembered Noach…” Ramban takes this to mean that Hashem remembered the covenant that he had made with Noach before the flood and accordingly sent a wind that caused the waters to subside. This, of course, is consistent with his understanding of the covenant.

Rashi, however, understands the verse to mean that Hashem took note of something that transpired in the Tevah – Noach’s prayers for an end to the ordeal. The clear implication is that, had Noach not prayed, the waters would not have subsided and Noach would not have emerged. This follows Rashi’s earlier position that the covenant did not entail Noach’s leaving the Tevah alive.

What Noach achieved in the Tevah perhaps can be understood in a different way.

The sin for which the fate of humanity was sealed was Chamas – theft. (See Rashi at 6:13.) The root of this sin seems to be a self-centeredness that allows an individual to see the entire world as existing only for his personal benefit or gain. (“What is mine is mine and what is yours is mine.”) Now, while Noach was clearly the greatest of his generation, he was not totally free of this personality flaw. The Zohar (1:67) tells us that in a sense Noach was responsible for the flood because he did not pray for his generation after his own safety and that of his family was assured. Consequently, Noach could not become the foundation of a new generation and a new world unless that fatal flaw was totally removed.

Hashem’s plan was to remove that tiny speck of self-centeredness by giving Noach the responsibility of service to others – specifically the myriads of animals which he was commanded to protect, feed, and nurture. Just as service to others naturally follows from selflessness, service to others can instill selflessness. (See Sefer HaChinuch, Mitzvos 16, 40, 99, 264, and 299 for a general statement of the principle that actions can instill personality traits and Mesilas Yesharim, Chapter 7, where this principle is applied regarding alacrity in Mitzvah performance.) That this experience was successful is attested to by the comment of the Zohar (1:254) that the sacrifices that Noach brought after coming out of the Tevah were to atone for the sin of not praying for his generation.

Bereishis - 5773

The various curses which were placed upon mankind as a consequence of eating from the Etz HaDa’as must be viewed not as punishments but rather as consequences. A punishment is justly applied only to the guilty party; children and grandchildren should not suffer for the sins of their forbears. Consequences, on the other hand, do impact future generations. If a parent does not provide his child an education, the child’s illiteracy is a consequence of that failure.

This distinction is significant. A punishment is merely a volitional response to an offence; the offence does not cause the punishment. A consequence, however, is causally related to the original act. Therefore, if our assumption is valid, we must attempt to trace this chain of cause-and-effect and explain the relation of the curses to the original sin.

While an examination of all the curses is beyond the scope of this small essay, let us focus on what is arguably the most severe of the curses – it certainly is the only one that was foretold before the sin – which is the imposition of death upon mankind. The text makes it clear that had man not sinned he would have been eternal; death entered the world as a consequence of eating the forbidden fruit. Why should this be?

Derech Hashem (Part 1 Chapter 3) in a lengthy discussion assumes that the scheme of Olam Hazeh and Olam Habah, a temporal, material world and an eternal, spiritual world, would have been true even had the sin never been committed. The transition from the one to the other, however, would have been incremental. Had Adam and Chava withstood temptation, their souls would have refined their bodies and, in turn, the entire universe that was ultimately created only for them. Thus, Olam Hazeh would have been transformed into Olam Haba.

The sin changed everything. By introducing elements of imperfection into their bodies – which is the natural effect of eating the forbidden – the bodies could no longer be refined to the extent that they could enter into the spiritual realm. They would have to undergo a process of degeneration and decay so that, at a later time, they could be reconstituted without the imperfections. This process of degeneration is, of course, what we call death.

There may be another aspect to the imposition of death. The Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim, Part 1 Chapter 2) cites a question that was asked by an individual who considered himself wise: We all know that before the sin in Eden, man did not have the Yetzer Harah, and thus was not subject to temptation. (Let us momentarily put aside the obvious problem: If he had no Yetzer Harah, what motivated him to commit the sin?) Why then was he given such a superior mind? What was the purpose of his masterful intellect, if there was no opportunity to exercise moral choice?

The Rambam, with uncharacteristic scorn, dismisses the question. Man was not originally given his intellect to make choices. He was given his intellect to come to know G-d! Had he not sinned, that would have been the focus of his life. After the sin, the nature of his life changed. Now the focus of his life would be the imperative of moral choice as “a knower of good and evil”. He would need every ounce of his intelligence to rise to this challenge.

In the original position, eternal life would have been possible. As G-d is infinite in every aspect of his being, an infinitely long life could be productively used in the quest to achieve understanding of the divine.

But in the new world of moral choice, it is precisely the shortness of our lives that create the greatest dilemmas, for one of the most important choices we make – perhaps the most important – is that of prioritization. We have so many options and so little time and so few resources. How do we decide what is important and deserving of our attention? What is unimportant and deserving our rejection? When man’s mission became the exercise of moral choice, it became necessary to introduce death; meaningful choice is only made possible by placing man in a setting which has real limits.

Vayelech - 5773

The Rambam opens his Hilchos Teshuvah with the laws of Vidui – verbal confession – stating that anyone who violates one of the Mitzvos of the Torah is obligated to say Vidui when he repents. (It is noteworthy that Rambam does not consider Teshuvah itself to be a Mitzvah; only the Vidui which concludes the Teshuvah process is counted as one of the 613 commandments.) In the Rambam’s formulation, the Vidui is more than an admission of guilt. The Vidui must also contain an expression of regret (Charata) and an expression of resolve not to repeat the sin (Kabbala L’haba). In other words, Vidui is a verbalization of the entire Teshuvah process.

Why is this necessary? Why must Teshuvah be put into words? Why can’t Teshuvah simply be a state of mind?

One possibility is that words are more firm than mere thoughts which are often vague and cloudy. Putting the Teshuvah steps into words makes the repentance solid.

There may be however another idea behind this mandated verbalization:

The Rambam writes that the Vidui must be said “Before Hashem”. To put it differently, in Vidui we are communicating with Hashem. (Perhaps it is for this reason that on Yom Kippur the Vidui is inserted into the silent Amidah. Prayer too, as the Rambam explains in Hilchos Tefillah, must be said “Before Hashem”. While engaged in the one, we are in the necessary state of mind for the other.)

Teshuvah without Vidui can cut Hashem out of the picture entirely. You see, the very concept of sin can be understood without reference to a Supreme Being. A person can sin against himself by contravening his most deeply held principles or by failing to achieve his own potential. Teshuvah then would just be another form of self-improvement akin to stress reduction, time management, or goal-setting. By requiring that the penitent speak to Hashem, he is forced to acknowledge that sin is first and foremost a violation of a relationship with the Divine Other. A damaged relationship cannot be repaired unilaterally; the guilty party must face the other and speak words of apology and appeasement. This is the meaning of Vidui.

Perhaps this explains the apparent redundancy in the opening line of the special Haftarah for this Shabbos (Hoshea 14:2-3), “Return, Israel, to Hashem, your Lord, for you have stumbled in your sins. Take for yourself words and return to Hashem…” Why is the admonition to return repeated?

The initial return refers to the process of Teshuvah; regret for the past and resolve for the future themselves constitute a return to Hashem in the sense that the person has returned to compliance with the Divine Command. The “taking of words” is a reference to the words of Vidui (see Shaarei Teshuvah, Part 1 on his discussion of the Fifteenth Fundamental of Teshuvah). This is a return of a different kind. Here the penitent returns to face Hashem in addressing the words of Vidui to Him.

In the Hebrew, the two “returns” are expressed differently. The first is “Ad Hashem”; the second is “El Hashem”. While both “Ad” and “El” are translated as “to”, there is a subtle difference in connotation. By way of illustration: A person traveling to a border but not crossing can be said to have traveled “to” the border. Here the Hebrew “Ad” would be more appropriately used in the sense of “up to”. A person traveling to New York and entering the city would be said to have traveled “El”. Thus, in speaking of the approach of one person to another – or to Hashem – “El” would imply a greater closeness than “Ad”. It is only in Vidui that this higher level is attained.