Shoftim - 5772

“Judges and police you shall place at all your gates…” (Devarim 16:18)

While the literal interpretation of this verse is a reference to the establishment of the institutions that comprise the justice system, the Shelah Hakadosh sees here a hint to a different idea. “Gates” can be understood as referring to the seven openings through which we take in the sensory experiences of the world – the two eyes, the two ears, the two nostrils, and the mouth. Obviously there are good things to look at, hear, smell and eat; there are some bad things as well. To insure that only the good is allowed to enter, we must have judges and police at these “gates”.

There is more to this interpretation than is immediately apparent.

Among the ancients, there was a great philosophical debate as to the means through which children and students could be brought to virtue. Some – including the Greek philosopher, Plato – held that the key to the inculcation of virtue is instruction in morals. Given the assumption that no one would knowingly commit an injustice, merely providing instruction as to what is right and what is wrong would certainly result in complete compliance with the standards of virtue. Others – among them Plato’s greatest disciple, Aristotle – questioned the underlying assumption. People often do knowingly commit injustices. Many people lack the control that would enable them to live up to even their most deeply held convictions. Thus an additional ingredient is necessary for the development of virtue – exercise in self-discipline.

In this debate, Shlomo Hamelech clearly takes the second side. In Mishlei, he makes many references to Chochmah and Mussar, sometimes within the same verse. (See, for example, Mishlei 1:2 and 1:7.) As Malbim explains throughout his commentary, the possession of Chochmah, or moral knowledge, is the ability to identify the morally justified alternative when faced with a choice. Mussar, which comes from the Hebrew word which means restraint, is the ability to follow the course of action that Chochmah prescribes. We need both the guidance of Chochmah and the discipline of Mussar to lead lives that exemplify good character.

These, of course, correspond to the judges and the police of our opening verse. The judges issue rulings but only the police have the force with which to implement them. As applied to the “gates” of our heads, we must make good judgments as to what we should embrace and allow entry, but we need the strength of the police to compel us to live up to those judgments.

It would appear that there is a fundamental distinction between the roles of the “judges” and those of the “police” in our personal gates. Each “case” that comes before the judge is unique, and the underlying issues are different. How much television I should watch and which programs has little to do with the question as to what I should eat and in what quantity. Different areas of Halacha and Torah insight must be applied to every question. But the “police” function is the same in all cases: The individual uses the self-control needed to do the right thing. Consequently, every victory – in whatever area of religious observance – strengthens the willpower needed for success in every other area.

Elul, as we all know, is a time for introspection and self-improvement. We must all make an accurate assessment as to whether it is our “judges” that need strengthening or whether, in fact, our judges are fine; rather it is our “police” that need the reinforcement. Our answer to this simple question will determine our necessary strategy in the process of Teshuvah.

Chukas - 5772

Because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me before the eyes of the B’nai Yisrael, you will not bring this congregation into the land that I have promised them.” (Bamidbar 20:12)

The story of the Mei Merivah and its consequence - Moshe and Aharon losing their right to enter Eretz Yisrael – is the subject of a vast body of interpretation. But in virtually all readings of the story, the above cited verse remains problematic; the story does not seem to depict any lack of belief on the part of Moshe and Aharon.

The crisis which gives rise to the story – the desperate need for water – had also occurred almost forty years before. As described in Parshas B’shalach (Shemos 17:1-7), Moshe brought forth water by striking a rock with his staff. According to Chazal (Ta’anis 9a) this miraculous spring was granted in the merit of Miriam; her death, at the end of the forty years, resulted in the spring’s drying up. Again, as described in our Parsha, Moshe is commanded to take his staff, but this time he is meant – according to Rashi’s interpretation of the story – to speak to the rock and not to strike it. The incessant demands of the people anger Moshe, in error he strikes the rock, and the sin has been committed.

The Malbim takes note of one fascinating detail that differentiates the two episodes. In the first story, the rock is described in the Hebrew text as “Tzur”; in the second story, as “Selah”. The difference, says the Malbim, is that “Tzur” implies a hard. Solid, dry stone, while “Selah” implies a porous stone that may contain water. The miracle of extracting water from a “Tzur” is achieved by the application of a powerful force that transforms the stone into water; thus, the miracle was achieved by Moshe striking the stone with his staff. A “Selah”, by contrast, already contains water. If Moshe was to strike the rock, the emerging waters would not appear to be miraculous at all. Perhaps Moshe merely cracked open the covering rock and the waters flowed naturally. That it be understood as miraculous, it was necessary that Moshe coax water from the rock using words alone.  

The question is: Why were the two rocks different? It would seem that the earlier generation that left Mitzrayim and the later generation that was entering Eretz Yisrael were being taught two different lessons.

The earlier generation needed to be educated in the fundamentals of belief, most importantly, the belief in the omnipotence of G-d. The miracles performed for this generation, therefore, were dazzling in their power – the Ten Plagues, the splitting of the Red Sea, the thunder, lightning, and smoke of Har Sinai, and finally, drawing water for the entire nation from a hard stone.

Over the next 39 years, these lessons were absorbed, but there was a new lesson that needed to be taught, and – it can be argued – that the need was prompted by the nature of those dazzling miracles. The fact that Klal Yisrael was routinely saved just in the nick of time – the proverbial “damsel in distress” – left the people wondering whether Hashem really cared about them, because, if He really cared, wouldn’t He have made proper provisions for them well in advance? (See Shemos 17:7. Even after all the miracles the Bnai Yisrael apparently questioned whether Hashem was in their midst.)

 The “Selah” was designed to impress upon Klal Yisrael that they are always utmost in G-d’s thoughts. Contained within the rock is the water they so vitally need; it is just waiting to be tapped. This is a unique type of Emunah/belief; not belief in G-d’s power but belief in G-d’s caring. Thus, Moshe’s striking the rock – treating the “Selah” as “Tzur” – was a failure to believe that the water was really there all along and could be extracted with mere words.

Korach - 5772

Any dispute which is for the sake of Heaven will have a constructive outcome. Any dispute which is not for the sake of Heaven will have no constructive outcome. What is an example of a dispute for the sake of heaven? This is the dispute of Hillel and Shammai. What is an example of a dispute not for the sake of Heaven? This is the dispute of Korach and his company. (Pirkei Avos Chapter 5)

This comparison of the two types of dispute requires understanding. This Mishna gives the impression that we are essentially dealing with the same phenomenon; only the intentions of the participants are different. In the one case, the intention is altruistic; in the other case, the intention is self-serving. But this hardly seems to be so. Hillel and Shammai were engaged in the pursuit of truth in the interpretation and application of Torah. Korach and his company were attempting to undermine the authority of Moshe Rabbeinu which places the entirety of Torah in doubt. How could the same word be used to describe both?

The Hebrew word Machlokes is generally translated as “dispute” or “controversy”, but a more precise translation would be “division”. The monolithic nature of a group or community becomes divided and splintered as each member tries to assert his own personal vision. This is the common denominator of the two episodes. In both, each of the protagonists had a unique way of seeing things; thus, they become divided from one another. When the division leads to the questioning of authority, it is a negative thing; the opposing visions become the engines for competition for positions of leadership.When this division, however, facilitates the expansion of horizons in understanding Torah, it is a positive thing; the truth emerges from the dialectic between the two opposing viewpoints.

The question arises: In selecting an example of the Machlokes for the sake of Heaven, why does the Mishna cite the dispute of Shammai and Hillel? Isn’t every Halachic dispute for the sake of Heaven?

Maharal (Derech Chaim) offers an explanation which is genuinely frightening in its implications. He explains that a disputant can only be deemed as acting for the sake of Heaven if his arrival at a given conclusion was the outcome of a totally altruistic search for truth. But what if he arrived at the conclusion because he was too tired – or perhaps, too lazy – to devote all his energy to the issue at hand? To the extent that personal comfort becomes a factor in the process, the conclusion is not the outcome of a quest that was conducted one hundred percent for the sake of Heaven.

Only the disputes of Shammai and Hillel themselves attained this level of perfection. Regarding their students, the Gemara (Sanhedrin 88b) teaches that the students of Shammai and Hillel did not adequately apprentice under their masters – Maharal takes this as a personal failing – and as a result there was an explosion of Machlokes. While Shammai and Hillel themselves debated three or four points, their disciples, the Houses of Shammai and Hillel argued in over 250 instances!

Regarding issues of Torah ideology, people often embrace positions without thinking or without adequate research. Yet, they assume that their taking that position is for the sake of Heaven. The words of Maharal should give us pause. Following the path of least resistance undermines the claim of pure altruism.

Shelach 5772

And Moshe called Hoshea bin Nun, Yehoshua. (Bamidbar 13:16)

He prayed for him: Hashem (the added letter, “Yud”, hints to the Divine Name) should save you from the conspiracy of the spies. (Rashi)

This comment of Rashi is puzzling. Did Moshe realize in advance that the Meraglim would conspire to commit their sin? Why didn’t Moshe pray for them that they should resist temptation? Could Moshe have assumed that the Meraglim were beyond hope? But what about the righteous Kalev; why didn’t Moshe pray for him as well?

However, Kalev did pray for himself. On the verse (13:22), “And they rose up through the south and he came to Chevron,” Rashi notes the inconsistency in number (they/he) and explains that although all the Meraglim traveled through the south, only Kalev went to Chevron in order to pray at the graves of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov that he not be seduced to join the conspiracy of the Meraglim. (It is interesting to note that in Maseches Sotah (34b), the Gemara states that Kalev himself noticed that Moshe prayed for Yehoshua and not for him.)

Another interesting point: In Rashi’s explanations, there is a subtle difference between Moshe’s prayer for Yehoshua and Kalev’s prayer for himself. Moshe prayed that Yehoshua be saved from the Meraglim; Kalev prayed that he not be seduced by them. How do we account for this? (Again, it is worth noting that in the Gemarah Sotah this distinction is not made; it appears to be an original insight of Rashi.)

As the story unfolds, we see that there is a very interesting aspect to the nature of Kalev. When the Meraglim present their report that Eretz Yisrael is unconquerable, only Kalev stands in opposition. Rashi (13:30) implies that Kalev was only able to do so because until the very last moment the other Meraglim assumed that he would confirm their report. Later, Rashi is more explicit in his commentary. On the verse (14:24) which states that “Kalav had a different spirit,” Rashi comments that his initial words were different than his thoughts; to the Meraglim he said that he was with them but in his heart his intention was to undermine them.

The Noam Elimelech writes that Yehoshua was very different. He was transparent. Everyone knew where he stood, because he was the type of Tzaddik who felt he could not even mingle, let alone appear to join, the wicked. Kalev, on the other hand, could get along with everybody. Everyone therefore assumed that he was on their side. This made it possible for Kalev to protest the report of the Meraglim; Yehoshua would not have been able to speak at all. The Meraglim would have shouted him down.

It would therefore appear that Yehoshua and Kalev were in different types of danger. There was no danger that that the Meraglim would try to seduce Yehoshua; he was clearly antagonistic to everything they stood for. The danger was that the Meraglim might try to injure him or even kill him to advance their scheme unopposed. Thus Moshe prayed that he be saved from them. Kalev, on the other hand, was not in any physical danger – the Meraglim assumed that he was one of them! The risk was that, because of his relationship with them, he could be seduced to see things their way. Thus when Kalev prayed for himself his request was that he not be seduced.

Perhaps this can also account for the fact that Moshe prayed for Yehoshua but Kalev had to pray for himself. Whether one can pray for Divine assistance in making proper life choices is a difficult question. As a rule, we know that Hashem does not interfere with the free will of human beings and consequently, it may be inappropriate to ask Him to do so. (See Rambam Hilchos Teshuvah Chapter 6 for an extensive discussion of this subject.) Maharsha (Berachos 10a) makes a distinction between a person who prays for himself and a person who prays for others. When a person prays for himself, that is an exercise of his capacity to make free decisions, and therefore the prayer is legitimate; when a person prays for others, that is tantamount to asking Hashem to “brainwash” another person and therefore unacceptable.

Consequently, Moshe could pray for Yehoshua. He was in physical danger and to pray that he be spared is certainly proper. Kalev was at risk of making a bad decision. For that, he had to pray for himself. No other person could pray for him.

It is interesting to note that ultimately it was Yehushua, and not Kalev, who became the successor of Moshe. Undoubtedly, there were many considerations in this selection which, of course, was made by Hashem himself. But in light of the above discussion, we may suggest an additional one: It is an important quality in a Jewish leader to be clear as to where he stands. Equivocation, or even the public perception of equivocation, compromises the ability of the leader to truly lead. Because everyone could know where Yehosua – as opposed to Kalev – stood, he was the one who received the Divine endorsement.

Beha'alosecha 5772

Parshas Beha’alosecha is a turning point both in the Book of Bamidbar and in the history of our people. The triumphant march to the Land of Israel begins on the twentieth of Iyar – thirteen months after the exodus from Egypt – but within days there is a shift in the mood of the people. Grumbling and complaints bring Divine wrath and dire consequences and ultimately the unique status of Moshe is challenged by a member of his own family. Against this background of discontent and skepticism, the tragic episode of the spies’ mission takes place – as related in next week’s Parsha – and the Children of Israel are condemned to decades of wandering in the desert. These stories describe a slippery slope in which one catastrophe leads to the next; once the chain reaction begins, the disastrous consequences seem inevitable.

The first episode in this series (Bamidbar 11:1-3) is that of the Misonenim. The Hebrew word Onen connotes a person who has suffered a genuine loss; usually the term is applied to one who has suffered the loss of a close relative. A Misonen, however, is a person who has somehow turned himself into an Onen, perhaps by mentally inflating a slight inconvenience into a massive ordeal. In this instance, Rashi explains that they were complaining about the exertion of travel. Keeping in mind that the Jews had been encamped at Sinai for almost a year, we can perhaps sympathize with their finding travel difficult. But apparently they had gone too far and a Divine fire began to consume those at the edge of the camp; only the prayers of Moshe brought relief. In any case, this complaint – despite its being apparently illegitimate – was at least timely; the objection to travel came just as the travel from Sinai began.

In the second episode we have the Asafsuf, who are identified with the Erev Rav – the large number of Egyptian converts who joined the Jews at the exodus – complaining about the Manna. The timing of this complaint is baffling. The Jews had been eating the Manna daily for over a year. Why does the Asafsuf wake up just now? Furthermore, the fact that there is no separation between the two stories in the Sefer Torah seems to indicate a connection between them. Yet, at first glance, that connection is not apparent.

Who were the Misonenim? The simple meaning of the text implies that they were native-born Jews; the Erev Rav is only introduced in the subsequent episode. (Rashi cites two possibilities on this issue.) If this assumption is correct, we can offer a conjecture that will address the problems we raised.

In last week’s Parsha (Bamidbar 5:5-8), we read the law of Gezel HaGer, theft from a convert to Judaism, which raises the intriguing question of how to make restitution in the case where the convert died and left no heirs. (Every native-born Jew would have an heir; any descendent of Avraham Aveinu is distant cousin!) Sforno writes in his commentary that Gezel HaGer is fundamentally worse than theft from a native-born Jew as it disillusions the idealistic convert who has come to take refuge under the wings of the Divine Presence.

We intuitively sense that this observation is correct. Those who have a long association with Judaism and the Jewish community – and are conscious of their own shortcomings – tend to react to others’ offenses with pity and understanding; certainly they are not led to question the validity of the entire Torah system. For the convert this may be very different. If his initial attraction to Judaism is rooted in an overly romanticized view of the Jewish community in which everyone is virtuous and saintly, becoming the victim of a Jewish thief can be a devastating experience.

Whatever troubled the Erev Rav about the Manna should have been apparent months earlier, yet they did not protest for a year. Perhaps they felt that the advantages of joining the Jewish nation more then compensated for the dietary deficiencies. It was axiomatic that truly spiritual people would not be obsessed with their creature comforts and undoubtedly their Jewish role models would not complain about such things. When the Misonenim began to grumble, the Erev Rav’s idealism was shattered. If these native-born Jews don’t feel that being G-d’s chosen people justifies sacrifice, why should we?

The lesson for us is self-evident. On a daily basis we encounter people who could be encouraged to embrace Torah values and lifestyle. The impression we make on that person is of supreme importance. If we convey an impression of happiness and contentedness, he may consider making changes in his own life. Who doesn’t want to be happy and content? But if we convey an impression of being stressed and tormented in our religious lives, that our Torah study and Mitzvah observance give us no satisfaction, we would then be walking advertisements for the secular life.

Naso 5772

It is a well-known fact that Naso is the longest Parsha in the Torah with 176 verses.  (Interestingly, it is not the most difficult to prepare. As the reading contains twelve repetitions of the five-verse section which describes the offerings of the Princes, a substantial portion of the Parsha can be mastered in minutes!) .We also find this number as the number of pages in the longest tractate in Babylonian Talmud, Bava Basra.  Likewise, the longest psalm in Tehillim is Chapter 119 which has – you guessed it – 176 verses.

What is the significance of the number 176? 

It represents the combination of two key numbers since it is the product of 22 times 8.  The number 22 represents the letters of the entire Hebrew alphabet and as such signifies a body of material that is all encompassing in its length and breadth. 

Maharal explains that the number 6 represents the physical world as it corresponds to the six directions – up, down, right, left, forward and back – in which a person can travel from a point in physical space. The number 7 is symbolic of the spiritual core of the physical world which gives it coherence and meaning. Thus, we have the six weekdays devoted to physical labor and the seventh – Shabbos – which gives them their ultimate spiritual dimension.

The number 8, being one higher than seven, rises beyond the material world and symbolizes the supernatural.  Bris Milah, for example, is performed on the eighth day as it is the supernatural perfection of the body; Chanukah is celebrated for eight days as it commemorates a supernatural miracle of the oil lasting much longer than the laws of chemistry and physics would have allowed for.

This is also alluded to in Az Yashir, the song of Moshe and the Jewish people at the Red Sea. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 91b) comments that the use of the future tense (Yashir) alludes to the future resurrection when Moshe will rise from the dead and perform the song again. Of course, resurrection is the most supernatural event that can be imagined and it has a connection to the very word Az whose numerical value is 8.

So the formula of the number 22 – the vastness and completeness of torah – times the number 8 – the supernatural – comes together to create the infinite depth of the number 176.  On the Shabbos after Shavuos, having committed ourselves again to lives of Torah study and observance, we are given this particular portion of the Torah.  We know that Psalm 119 is Dovid HaMelech’s love song for the Torah in which he declares his total devotion to it. So too does this number find its way into the Oral Law. Although the pagination of the Talmud is a human creation, we know that nothing is by coincidence alone. The fact that the largest tractate has this same number of pages reflects upon the breadth and depth of the Talmud and the Oral Law generally.

Bamidbar 5772

As a rule, on the Shabbos before Shavuos we read Parshas Bamidbar. Presumably there is some connection between the two, but even a cursory examination of Bamidbar leads us to question this assumption. The seemingly mundane topics of the Parsha – the census, the array of the camp, the redemption of the first-born – hardly match the thunder and lightning of the Sinai revelation which Shavuos celebrates.

Yet, if we look beneath the surface, there actually is a very deep connection between Shavuos and this Parsha. The Ramban, in his introductory comment to Sefer Bamidbar, mentions that the encampment of the Jews around the Mishkan – described in this Parsha with a wealth of detail – is actually reminiscent of the enclosures that were erected to fence in Mt. Sinai before the revelation. This, of course, reminds us of an earlier comment of Ramban (Shemos 25:1) that the Mishkan itself was designed to be the resting place of the Shechina which had appeared on Mt. Sinai. In other words: The Mishkan with its surrounding encampments was the perpetuation of the experience of Sinai in sanctified space just as the holiday of Shavuos is the perpetuation of the Sinai experience in sanctified time. The connection is thus self-evident.

The centrality of the Mishkan in the design of the encampment is symbolic of the centrality of Torah in the life and thinking of the Jew. This idea can be understood on two levels:

First, within the realm of our religious lives, Torah is first and foremost. Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin in his commentary to Pirkei Avos, Ruach Chaim, explains that although the world is founded on three pillars – Torah, Divine Worship, and Acts of Kindness – these three are not co-equal. Ultimately it is the Torah which defines the other two. Whether a given ritual practice – such as animal sacrifice in the absence of the Bais Hamikdosh – is a meaningful and valid act of worship or not will depend on definitions and guidelines provided by the Torah. As well, whether an interaction of two people – such as lending money on interest below market rates – constitutes an act of kindness or an act of abuse will depend on legal standards spelled out in the Torah. (Both examples are, in fact, prohibited.) Thus, Torah is central as it defines all other areas of religious life.

But, more importantly, Torah must be central to the entirety of a Jew’s life.

Many people live with a misconception. They believe that there are many diverse components to life; religion being just one of them. Others would include career, social life, community involvement, cultural and artistic pursuits, and so on. Life is viewed as a pie and each component is a slice of the pie. In this conception, the defining characteristic of the “religious personality” is simply the size of the slice.

A genuine Torah perspective calls for a different metaphor. To the serious Jew, religion is the baking dish; all the other aspects of life – slices of the pie – must fit into that dish. As the Rambam writes (Shemoneh Perakim Chapter 5), the ideal of Judaism is “Know Him in all your ways.” Every aspect of life has value only to the extent that it facilitates and serves as a means to the ultimate end of coming to know G-d. If a person was to integrate this ideal into his way of life, everything would be different. His eating, sleeping, recreation, work habits, relationships, and even his thoughts would be focused on the imperative of living a life totally devoted to the will of Hashem.

The centrality of the Mishkan is meant to convey the idea that Torah is not merely an important part of life and not merely the most important part of life. It is the pivot and the core around which everything must revolve.

Behar-Bechukosai 5772

It has been taught: R. Simeon ben Eleazar says: Ezra made a regulation for Israel that they should read the curses in Vayikra before Shavuos and those in Devarim before Rosh Hashana. What is the reason?  Abaye , or you may also say Resh Lakish, said: So that the year may end along with its curses. I grant you that in regard to the curses in Devarim you can say, ‘so that the year should end along with its curses’. But as regards those In Vayikra, is Shavuos a New Year? —Yes; Shavuos is also a New Year, as we have learnt: ‘Shavuos is the New Year for [fruit of] the tree’. (Megillah 31b)

The question may be asked: Is there a specific correlation between the two versions of the Tochacha and the occasions before which they are read or could the readings just as well have been reversed?

It would seem that there is a very profound historical connection between the blessings and curses of Bechukosai and the giving of the Torah which Shavuos celebrates, but to understand this properly we must first examine the structure of the closing chapters of Sefer Vayikra and their place within the context of the entire book.

Vayikra opens with Hashem speaking to Moshe from within the Sanctuary. From the time the Sanctuary was built, this was the standard practice as the Divine Presence had already moved from Mount Sinai to the Sanctuary’s Kodesh HaKodoshim. However, the two concluding sections – Behar and Bechukosai – were clearly communicated to Moshe at Mount Sinai as the opening and closing verses explicitly state. So why are these sections set apart and not incorporated into the book of Shemos which contains the other teachings of Sinai?

Ramban (Vayikra 25:1) writes that these sections were taught to Moshe on Mt. Sinai, but not during the first forty days – rather during the last forty days at the end of which Moshe was given the replacement set of Luchos. This is why they are set apart from the other teachings which belong to the first forty days.

What did these teachings add to that which was taught during the first forty days?

Here the Ramban offers an astounding insight: After the initial revelation at Mt. Sinai, there was a covenant that was made between Hashem and the Jewish nation. The ceremony at which this covenant was made featured burnt offerings, sprinkling of blood, a reading of the Sefer Habris – all the Mitzvos that were given to date, and finally the formula of ratification, “Na’aseh V’nishma.” This covenant, however, was abrogated when the Jews committed the sin of worshipping the Golden Calf.

When Moshe went up for the final forty days he was given – in addition to the second Luchos – instructions for a new covenant. These instructions included an expansion of the Sefer Habris – the sections of Behar and Bechukosai – to be read at the ratification ceremony. Thus, the laws of Shemitta (Behar) which were in the original Sefer Habris in concise form are incorporated in expanded form. But more importantly, the Sefer Habris now includes blessings and curses (Bechukosai) for the first time.

Apparently, the Jews’ spiritual level had been diminished as a consequence of the terrible sin of the Golden Calf. Now they needed the inducements of blessings and curses to insure that they would comply with the Divine commands.

In the spirit of Ramban’s comments we can add one point: The blessings and curses of Bechukosai were actually the necessary corrective to the original covenant – the Shavuos covenant – that was violated by the Jewish people. We are no longer on the level of altruistic acceptance of Torah; the Golden Calf ended all that. Now we need that our acceptance of Torah be rooted in the self-interest that is consequent to blessings and curses. Accordingly our celebration of Shavuos is preceded specifically by the reading of the Bechukosai version of the Tochacha.

Emor 5772

The association of Shavuos with the giving of the Torah is well established; the wording of the Amida prayer and the Torah Reading reflect this. Yet, surprisingly, in Parshas Emor (Vayikra 23:17-22), Shavuos is ordained as Mikra Kodesh – a day of Holy Assembly – only in consideration of the fact that it is the day on which two loaves of newly grown wheat are offered as a sacrifice to Hashem. Thus, Shavuos is the culmination of an agricultural celebration which begins with the second day of Pesach (on which the Omer of the new barley is brought), continues through the seven weeks of Sefira, and concludes with the above-mentioned loaves, the Shtei HaLechem. What happened to the celebration of the Torah?

It is also noteworthy that Shavuos does not always fall on the anniversary of the revelation at Sinai. There is a dispute in the Talmud (Shabbos 86b) as to whether the revelation took place on the sixth or the seventh day of Sivan. Shavuos, on the other hand, really has no fixed calendar date. It is always the fiftieth day of the Sefira counting which begins on the second day of Pesach.

Originally, the length of months was not fixed as the declaration of Rosh Chodesh was based on the observation of the new moon. Thus, if the months of Iyar and Sivan were both “complete” months (that is, 30 days long), the fiftieth day would fall on the fifth of Sivan. If Iyar and Sivan were both “defective” (that is, 29 days long), the fiftieth day would fall on the seventh of Sivan. If one month is complete and the other is defective, then the fiftieth day falls on the sixth of Sivan. In any case, there was no guarantee that Shavuos would fall on the anniversary of revelation. (See Rosh Hashana 6b.)

(One would be tempted to make the following argument: Granted that the calendar dates do not match, but wasn’t the Torah given on the fiftieth day, which is exactly when Shavuos occurs? Unfortunately, this is not the case. The Talmud (Shabbos 86b) clearly states that the day of the Exodus was a Thursday and the day of Matan Torah was Shabbos. Do the calculation and you will discover that the Torah was on the fifty-first day!)

If Hashem really wanted to connect Shavuos to the giving of the Torah, it would seem that the fixing of dates should have been a bit more precise. How do we reconcile this imprecision with that which we know to be true, that Shavuos does celebrate the giving of the Torah?

I believe that we are compelled to come to a curious conclusion: From Hashem’s perspective, Shavuos has nothing to do with the giving of the Torah. It is simply a celebration of the harvest sacrifices, despite the fact that it falls (approximately) at the time the Torah was given. The Jewish people, however, transformed the nature of the day, connecting it to the Matan Torah, resulting in the Rabbinic ordinances of the Amida and Torah Reading reflecting this new association.

The explanation of this curiosity is both simple and profound.

The Torah makes many demands of the Jewish people, both as individuals and as a community. It regulates what we eat and what we wear; how we think and how we speak; our social lives and our professional lives; our relationships to parents, spouses, and children; how we earn our money and how we spend it; and much, much more. Hashem, from His perspective, understanding that, as humans, we may find these rules overly restrictive, would not demand that we celebrate their being given to us. He will demand that we comply and live by them, but he will not insist that we feast joyously at the prospect of being given such a burden.

Through our experiences, however, we come to the conclusion that the Torah is actually the greatest source of satisfaction in life. It gives our lives purpose and direction. It facilitates the most powerful and meaningful relationship that a human being could possibly have; a relationship with Hashem. The collective genius of the Jewish people sensed that at this time of year we should be celebrating the gift of Torah, and thus our Sages blended into the agricultural holiday an additional spiritual dimension which ultimately eclipsed – in our conventional thinking – the harvest aspect.

Thus the celebration of Matan Torah on Shavuos is not an obligation that was imposed on us. It is rather the expression of a voluntary sentiment that emerged from the grassroots of the Jewish people.

Acharei Mos-Kedoshim 5772

This week’s Parsha gives us an opportunity for a five-month head start on our preparations for next Yom Kippur; of course, Teshuvah, which is the essence of Yom Kippur, is always in-season.

Perhaps the most outstanding feature of the Yom Kippur ritual is its requirement that the Kohen Gadol enter the innermost chamber of the Bais Hamikdosh – the Kodesh HaKodoshim – four times. What is the significance of this fact? We may suggest two possibilities:

First, it symbolizes the esteem in which the genuinely penitent are held. Chazal (Berachos 34b) teach, “In the place where Ba’alei Teshuvah stand, the absolutely righteous cannot stand.” On Yom Kippur we present ourselves before Hashem as Ba’alei Teshuvah. Accordingly, our representative – the Kohen Gadol – can stand in a spot which is so holy and so close to the Divine Presence that it is off limits in any other circumstance.

Second, it symbolizes an important element in the process of Teshuvah. To understand this fully, we may use an analogy:

The law of the Nazir grants an individual the ability to make a vow of self-sanctification. In that state he must avoid drinking wine, cutting his hair, and defiling himself by contact with the dead. These laws express three different aspects of the Nazir’s holiness: total rationality (avoiding intoxicants), selflessness (inattention to personal grooming), and purity (non-defilement). Why would a person become a Nazir? In the Torah, the law of the Nazir is juxtaposed to the law of the Sotah, the suspected adulteress. Says the Talmud (Sotah 2a): “A person who sees the ruination of the Sotah should take the vow of the Nazir.” Presumably the downfall of the Sotah was rooted in a drunken loss of control; becoming a Nazir addresses the problem.

But is it necessary? If our only concern is maintaining rational control, why is it not sufficient to make a vow to forbid wine? Being a Nazir entails so much more!

Chazal may have something else in mind. The value of becoming a Nazir is not just the resulting avoidance of alcohol. Becoming a Nazir raises one to a new spiritual plane at which the temptations of the past are simply unimaginable. The Nazir has “outgrown” them much in the same way that a ten-year old outgrows the antics of a toddler. Making a vow to avoid wine would be perhaps a band-aid solution; becoming a Nazir is a genuine transformation.

(Interestingly, it would not be necessary to become a Nazir forever. An unspecified vow of Nazir lasts for only 30 days. But that may be enough. The impression left on the psyche of the Nazir lasts beyond the expiration of his vow.)

In doing Teshuvah, we are not looking for the band-aid solutions for sin-avoidance. We are seeking ways to raise our overall spirituality and elevate ourselves above and beyond temptation. Our Torah study, prayers, and spiritual experiences may never directly address the sins we have committed. Yet, they will be the building blocks of our Teshuvah. What we really are trying to do is to follow the Kohen Gadol into the Kodesh HaKodoshim. If we can go there, we will happily leave our old baggage behind.