Divrei Torah
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From the first print issue: fall 2005
The essence of all fairy tales is “Someday my prince will come.” It is an assertion of faith in destiny; the virtuous girl will be rewarded with a worthy prince (AKA best bochur in __) as a mate who attests to her exceptional praiseworthiness. The princess (or girl) need not do anything (thought it never hurts to be beautiful), secure in the knowledge that there is a handsome prince who will inevitably find his way to her and rescue her from obscurity and loneliness forever. To help the process, she may take action like wishing upon a star to make her dreams come true. No matter how enduring the story is in popular culture, reality is not a fairy tale. The Jewish concept of bashert should not be confused with the fantasy presented by fictional romances. Yes, there is a bahsert for you; nevertheless, taking very extended naps or wearing unstable footwear is not likely to bring him to you.
Someday My Bashert Will Come . . .?
By Rabbi Chaim Brown
Probably one of the most abused terms in the shidduch world is "bashert". From the time one comes of age,, the search is on for the one, the bashert. After all, we are all guaranteed to have one, so the magical meeting of soulmates must be destined to occur. If one's mate is guaranteed, you may wonder, why should I have to expend so much energy looking for what will inevitably be found anyway? If it is up to the individual to make the effort to find the bashert, then what practical effect does this enigmatic concept have?
The source for the cryptic concept of bashert is a found in Chazal (Sota 2a). The Gemara records a teaching of Reish Lakish that a man merits a wife according to the worth of his deeds. Rashi explains, a tzaddik will marry a mate who is tzanua, modest, and one who is a rasha, will marry a mate who is similarly wicked. The Gemara then proceeds to challenge the view of Resish Lakish based Rav's teaching that 40 days before a child is born a bas kol, a voice in Heaven, proclaims "bas ploni l'ploni"- the daughter of this one is destined for this child. That saying indicates that each child has a guaranteed partner, a bashert, that is not dependent on his/her future actions in life! The Gemara resolves the contradiction by distinguishing "zivug rishon", one's first marriage, from "zivug sheni", a second marriage. Rashi explains that a first marriage is determined by Heavenly decree of "bas ploni l'ploni," irrespective of the merit of one's deeds in life. The partner for a person’s second marriage, however, is dependent on one's merits.
These few lines open a Pandora's box of philosophical dilemmas. Why does the Gemara see a contradiction between the concept of bashert and the role of one's deeds or character in determining one's mate? Does that mean that one's bashert is determined in advance on the basis of what that individual's nature will be? Rashi categorically rejects that premise. Such predetermination about the nature of what an individual will be, whether tzaddik or rasha contradicts the fundamental belief of bechira chofshis, free will.
In chapter eight of his Shmoneh Perakim, the Rambam elaborates on the concept of free will, and extends the philosophical problem further. The Rambam notes that marriage itself is a mitzva. If one cannot be deprived of free will, then one cannot be forced to perform a mitzva or do an aveira. How then can one be predestined to find a bashert and marry, perforce predetermining one's performance of a mitzva? The Rambam further sharpens his argument in a letter to Ovadya the Convert (Iggros haRambam vol. 1 p. 237). The Torah (Devarim 20:7) allows a dispensation for a newly engaged individual not to have to join in battle lest he die and his neighbor take his betrothed. If one is destined to marry one's bashert, asks the Rambam, how is it conceivable that the marriage go unfulfilled and this Divine decree not be brought to fruition?
Clearly the concept of bashert is more complex than may have been supposed. The Rambam forcefully writes that when a statement of Chazal taken literally flies in the face of such a fundamental principle, such as free will, it means that there is obviously a deeper meaning to the their teachings. Here, suggests the Rambam, Chazal do not mean that one's marriage partner is predetermined in an absolute sense. What bashert means, rather, is that there is a natural inclination for this potential marriage to occur, but it does not diminish the needs and role of a person's choice as well as for schar v'onesh (reward and punishment) to shape the outcome. In other words, all things being equal, a person has a certain proclivity to his/her bashert. Indeed, every person has a natural tendency to be drawn to certain types of people and to be repelled by other types. Of course, a person can work on habituating their personality to go against its natural tendency. Likewise, a person can choose to direct their feelings toward someone other than his bashert, or a person may not be zoche to live up to their personal potential that had been set as the match with their bashert's potential. Consequently, one could end up not marrying the one designated as his bashert.
The Gemara (Moed Katan) allows for betrothing a woman on chol hamoed lest someone else beats him to it. The Gemara challenges how such a scenario can take place when the idea of bashert seems to ensure a specific mate for each individual? The Gemara here answers that the powerful effects of tefilos, prayer, can result in one’s potential bashert marrying a different mate. The idea of this passage would seem to underscore the Rambam's point - bashert is far from a guarantee. Just as bashert can be affected by one's choice and one's merits, it can also be affected by one's tefilos.
What are the ramifications of the Rambam's position for your own involvement in the shidduch scene? Firstly, be who you are, not someone else - it is your natural personality and proclivity who your bashert is meant for. Secondly, tefilos, zechuyos, actions, choices, and middos all play a role in finding your bashert . Your bashert is the one you were matched to before your neshoma faced all the challenges and influences of this world, so the truer one remains to that untainted and unspoiled neshoma, the closer one will be to recognizing one's bashert. Thirdly, bashert is just a proclivity - a person still has to work hard to make the right choices to find a bashert. Hashem has endowed each of us with certain potential and tendencies, including the potential to be zoche to a mate that is the perfect match for each personality, but he also has allowed each of us the freedom to choose whether we take advantage of that potential, whether we choose to marry at all, and whom we choose to marry. The combination of zechuyos, tefilos, and personal effort and choices are what ultimately leads one to his/her bashert.
Quick Vort by Ariella Brown
The layning of the second day of Rosh Hashana recounts the story of the akeida. At the end of the story, Avraham is told that his brother had children whose progeny lead up to the birth of his son’s bashert, Rivka. It’s interesting that a number of people’s names are included in that genealogy, but the name of Lavan, Rivka’s older brother is omitted. One possible answer is that he need not be mentioned because once the Torah arrives at Bethuel’s name, it can immediately mention the birth of his daughter without listing his other children. However, there is a deeper answer, as well. There is a principle advanced in Bava Basra (110A) that one who marries a wife should check out her brother because his character foretells how her sons will turn out. Rashi quotes this in connection to Vaera 6:23 to explain why the Torah mentions the name of the brother of Aharon’s wife. In that instance, the brother was a most illustrious character, a propitious choice for the husband. On the other hand, Rivka’s brother was a notorious rasha. Consequently, the Torah does not bring him up in connection to Rivka at the point when she is introduced as Yitzchak’s shidduch. She is to be accepted in Avraham’s family on her own merits, and the defects of her sibling should not be seen as an obstacle to the marriage.
from the fall 2007 issue The Metaphysics of Marriage by Rabbi Maroof
A person’s wedding day is perhaps the most significant and memorable day in his or her life. The emotional intensity surrounding the beginnings of marriage can be so great and the process so overwhelmingly rapid that the deeper meaning of the ceremony itself is often lost in the shuffle. The content and purpose of the Sheva Berachot - the seven blessings recited under the huppa at a wedding and then at celebratory meals during the first week of a couple’s marriage – are among those elements of a Jewish wedding that are are accepted as a matter of course but rarelyconsidered in depth.
In fact, these blessings are regarded by the Rabbis as essential prerequisites to married life; the Talmud tells us that a man is not permitted to live with his wife until the Sheva Berachot have been recited. Clearly, if the lessons inherent in them contain the key to the spiritual foundation of a Jewish home, then there is more to the text than first meets the eye. The objective of this article is to explore the content of the Sheva Berachot and a few of their applicable halachot, with an eye to developing a clearer understanding of the objective they are meant to serve. I hope that this brief study can offer insights that enable couples and their friends and families to appreciate the beauty of a Jewish wedding on a whole new level..
A quick examination of the Seven Blessings immediately reveals that they revolve around three core topics. The first is Hashem’s creation of the Universe in general and of human beings – male and female - in particular. The second is Hashem’s provision of joy and gladness to a couple united in matrimony. The third is the destruction of the Holy Temple and prayers for its reestablishment in the near future. Of course, the most basic question we must ask is what these three concepts – Creation, celebration, and the rebuilding of the Bet Hamiqdash - have in common. How are they relevant to one another? But before we attempt to explain this, let us first consider a couple of procedural halachot that detail the conditions under which these berachot are to be recited.
The Mishnah in Masechet Megillah tells us that, in order to recite the Sheva Berachot, a quorum of ten men must be in attendance. During the first week of a couple’s marriage, Sheva Berachot can only be recited if, in addition to the presence of ten men, one of the attendees has not participated in any prior Sheva Berachot for the couple. Without panim hadashot – new participants – only the final blessing of Sheva Berachot may be said. According to the Shulhan Aruch, the final blessing can be recited even in the absence of a minyan, provided that there is a zimmun of three people saying Birkat Hamazon together.
In studying these laws, we are confronted with a host of questions. First of all, why is a minyan necessary for Sheva Berachot at all? ? Marriage is fundamentally a private affair, not a prayer service, so it is unclear why it should be dependent upon the presence of a minyan. While qualified witnesses must be present to render the marriage ceremony legally binding, the questions remains why must there be a minyan at the huppa?
Second, the halacha seems to be ambivalent about Sheva Berachot during the “honeymoon week.” If Sheva Berachot are supposed to be recited the entire week, then what need is there to involve new guests? And if Sheva Berachot are not required during this time, why does the presence of new guests change that?
Third, what exactly is the status of the enigmatic seventh blessing? Logically, we would expect Sheva Berachot to either be recited in their entirety or be omitted. Yet, even when the Sheva Berachot are not said – such as when there are no “new faces” or there is no minyan – somehow, the seventh blessing can still be made. Why is it treated differently from the other berachot?
In order to shed light on this complex subject, we need to explore a more fundamental question – the criteria for the requirement of a minyan in general. Based upon the verse in the Torah, “And I shall be sanctified in the midst of the children of Israel”, the Gemara teaches that any “davar shebiqdusha” (matter related to the sanctification of G-d’s name) can only be carried out “in the midst of the children of Israel”, that is, in the presence of a minyan.
On the surface, however, the definition of a davar shebiqdusha is by no means self-evident. One could argue that every mitzvah we perform is, to some extent, a qiddush Hashem, yet the institution of minyan is not relevant to most of the commandments we fulfill on a daily basis. How did the Rabbis know when to require a quorum and when to dispense with this requirement?
To resolve this difficulty, let us consider the example of Torah reading. Obviously, Torah study occurs on a regular basis in private and in small groups; no minyan is required. One could even read directly from a Torah scroll as a part of personal study, without having to gather ten men first. Yet we know that the mitzvah of Torah Reading that occurs in the synagogue on Mondays, Thursdays, Shabbat and Holidays cannot be executed without a bona fide quorum. What is the difference between these two scenarios?
The answer is that Torah reading possesses a dual significance. On one hand, it is a component of learning Torah, and is thus directly relevant to our individual development as Jews. On the other hand, when the Torah is read in public and blessings are recited before and after it, a totally new quality emerges. Communal Torah reading is more than just an act of decoding or comprehending text – it is a reenactment and reaffirmation of the covenant between the Jewish people and the Holy One, Blessed Be He.
As the Rabbis mention in several places in the Talmud, the manner in which we read from the Torah is supposed to be reminiscent of the Revelation at Sinai. (We see proof for this in the mitzvah of Haqhel, which is modeled after the Sinai experience, as well as in the public Torah readings orchestrated by King Josiah, King Hezeqiah, and Ezra.) In other words, there is something transcendent and supernal about communal Torah reading that distinguishes it from individual readings – it reflects something more universal and profound about the Jewish nation’s relationship with the Creator than any individual’s reading ever could. A particular individual’s act of Torah study cannot serve as a vehicle for this kind of demonstration. Only the unique and eternal community of Israel, duly represented by the quorum of ten men, can transform a concrete performance into a metaphysical manifestation.
The same phenomenon can be observed in the context of communal prayer. An individual’s tefillah is, of course, deeply meaningful. However, when the community engages in tefillah together, a new quality of prayer is realized – prayer as a reflection of the Jewish people’s status as a mamlechet kohanim vegoy qadosh, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. This transcendent aspect oftefillah cannot be perceived in a solitary Jew’s supplications. It only finds expression in a communal setting, when individual tefillot combine to generate an effect that is greater than the sum of their parts. When this is achieved, we demonstrate it by adding Qaddish, Qedusha and other important prayers to our order of tefillah.
With this insight in mind, we can approach the issue of Sheva Berachot with increased clarity. Halacha does not see marriage as a purely personal endeavor. On the contrary, when two people commit to one another under the huppa, they are accomplishing something even more significant and monumental than the creation of a particular household for themselves - and identifying and underscoring the hidden, transcendent element of their actions, the universal embedded in the particular, is the whole aim of the Seven Blessings. What is the eternal spark, the higher principle that is revealed under the bridal canopy?
Through their descriptions of G-d’s creation of the Universe and the human race, the Sheva Berachot teach us that every marital union represents the further unfolding of Hashem’s act of creation, which began with the very first couple, Adam and Chava. When we see a hatan and kallah standing under the huppa, we witness a reenactment of the scene described in the first chapters of Beresheet – man and woman, two singular beings united together to fulfill G-d’s design for humanity. This profound symbolism, this moving beyond the “sum of the parts” to a greater whole of tremendous philosophical and spiritual import, is the reason why a minyan is necessary for Sheva Berachot. The blessings are considered a “davar shebiqdusha” because they draw out the eternal and transcendent aspects of an otherwise personal, temporal and ephemeral act.
Awareness of this element of the Jewish wedding is a fundamental precondition of married life. The bride and groom must view themselves as vehicles of the Divine will in both the physical and spiritual dimensions of their existence. The joy they experience as they create a home together should go beyond the sentimental pleasure of companionship; it should derive from their new sense of completeness and increased closeness to Hashem. This is why the Sheva Berachot highlight the fact that our joy and gladness are blessings from G-d - gifts that He gives us to help us fulfill our spiritual purpose in life - and tell us that the first man and woman were also supplied with this Heavenly bounty when they found one another. Like Adam and Eve, the task of the “newly created” couple is to study G-d’s wisdom together, deriving inspiration and guidance from it in the management of their joint household as well as their individual lives.
The benefit of Sheva Berachot, however, is not reserved solely for the bride and groom. Anyone who celebrates together with the hatan and kallah must also reflect upon the transcendent significance of their union. This enriches and deepens the happiness he experiences as he participates in the rejoicing. Indeed, according to the Rambam, the reason why we recite the Seven Blessings when “new faces” dine with the bride and groom is for the sake of the new guests themselves – to grant them the opportunity to hear and to contemplate the message of the Sheva Berachot.
Once the whole series of blessings has been recited under the huppa, repetition of the seventh blessing alone would be sufficient to help bride and groom keep the key principles in mind. However, the arrival of new guests requires a rehashing of the entire progression of Sheva Berachot all over again. (This is in contradistinction to Tosafot who maintain that the “new faces” add a new element to the joy of the bride and groom, thus necessitating a “redo” of the blessings.)
In light of these concepts, we can appreciate the reason why the Bet Hamiqdash figures so prominently in the Sheva Berachot and the Jewish wedding in general. Although we are surely glad to witness the establishment of a Bayit Neeman B’Yisrael – a continuation of Hashem’s creative process on Earth – our joy is tempered by our awareness of the unfortunate spiritual state of the Jewish community and of humanity at this time. How much can we celebrate the foundation of a new home in Israel when our national home - the center of communal life, Divine Service, Torah thought and inspiration - lies in ruins? As beautiful as the household may be, it is only one part of a larger social entity and will no doubt suffer at least some of the effects of the currently tragic condition of our people.
In summary, the purpose of Sheva Berachot is to highlight the transcendent context in which we view the otherwise mundane union of a bride and groom. Because the creation of a new household should be viewed as an event of truly cosmic proportions, a minyan is necessary for the recitation of the Berachot. Not only the significance of marriage as an institution, but even the role of joy and gladness is put in proper spiritual perspective through the blessings; we acknowledge their importance as gifts from Hashem meant to bring us to greater heights in our Torah Study and mitzvah observance.
In theory, reciting the Seven Blessings under the huppa just once would be sufficient – after all, for the remainder of the week of celebration, the seventh and final blessing is appended to Birkat Hamazon even when neither a minyan nor any new guests are available. This repetition is enough to help those who attended the wedding, including the bride and groom, review and internalize the themes of the Sheva Berachot they have already heard. However, the function of the Berachot is not limited to educating and inspiring the hatan, kallah and their guests – it is relevant to every Jew who chooses to rejoice with them. As such, any time a “new face” joins in the festivities, we are obligated to make all seven of the blessings once again. In this way, they too can partake in the transcendent aspects of the celebration to the fullest extent possible.
Rabbi Joshua Maroof is the spiritual leader of Magen David Sephardic Congregation in Rockville, Maryland. In addition to semicha, he holds a masters degree in Educational Psychology from the City University of New York. He has written extensively on Torah topics. His blogs include: http://askrabbimaroof.blogspot.com,%20/ http://vesomsechel.blogspot.com/, http://rambamtorah.blogspot.com/
“Beauty is Truth, truth beauty” Shalom, Emes, and the Chanukah story
“Beauty is Truth, truth beauty” is the declaration of the Grecian urn in John Keats’ famous ode. Whether or not that statement can be taken at face value is not just the subject of poetry, but underlies the story of Chanukah. The urn reflects the culture of Greece, the veneration of beauty as an end in itself. The Hellinists thought that the culture of Greece and the culture of Judaism could live in peace; the underlying conflict of values could be smoothed over and a superficial beauty would replace the inner truth. But the Hasmonaim saw through the falseness of this position and declared that the fundamental conflict of values could not be smoothed over with an appealing façade. Supreme beauty can only be found in a peace based on inner truth, as represented by the word shalom.
Two Elements of Shalom
We usually invoke the concept of shalom after a disagreement has been felt and the two sides seek reconciliation - the personification of shalom bayis is the husband who rushes home with a bouquet of flowers after a disagreement with his wife. We like to view the world as naturally in a state of harmony where shalom is called on only as a bandage to repair the breaches and gaps of discord. The Maharal (Nesiv haShalom ch 2), however, suggests that perhaps the contrarian view is true – the world exists in a state of discord and disharmony, and without our constant efforts to create and promote shalom, there would be no peace. The Midrash (VaYikra Rabbah 25) notes that most mitzvos are expressed in terms of happenstance – “ki yifga”, “ki yirake,” etc., - when some circumstance occurs, the halacha obligates a certain reaction. Shalom is the exception to this rule. The Torah demands “bakesh shalom”, to pursue and create peace, not simply to invoke shalom as a value after the happenstance of machlokes.
The word shalom shares the same root as shelimus, perfection and wholesomeness. Being whole means not just appreciating one’s own viewpoint and excluding all others, but integrating the “other”s point of view into our own understanding with respect and appreciation. The husband who responds with flowers only after disagreement appreciates only the first aspect of shalom, but fails to fulfill the charge of bakesh shalom. Shalom is built before the argument occurs, by creating an environment of sympathetic understanding and unity.
Shalom and Emes: Ya’akov Avinu
These two levels of shalom underlay the differences in outlook between Ya’akov Avinu and his brother Eisav. Although Ya’akov is said to personify the trait of emes, truth, there is a value which Ya’akov personified which is yet even greater than truth. The halacha is that mutar leshanos mipnei hashalom, for the purpose of creating peace a white lie is permitted. Shalom -- peace --trumps the value of emes -- truth. We find repeatedly Ya’akov described as an ish shalom, a man of peace and shleimus. The Torah describes Ya’akov coming to the city of Shchem “shaleim,” complete and whole, after his battle with the Angel of Eisav (Beraishis 33:18); Ya’akov’s children are called “shleimim” by Chamor and Shchem (34:21); Ya’akov tells Yosef to go seek “shlom achecha v’shlom ha’tzon” (37:14), the peace and welfare of his brothers; Rashi (37:2) writes that “bikesh Ya’akov la’sheves b’shalvah,” Ya’akov desired to live out his days in peace. Ya’akov did not simply desire relaxation from the travails of life, an end to mending machlokes. Ya’akov aspired to the higher level of shalom which defines shleimus, perfection and completion of character through incorporating and synthesizing the viewpoint of the “other” into one’s own experience. On the deepest level, the greatest discord in creation is the breach between the experience and personality of mankind and the will of Hashem. Perhaps this was the peace that Ya’akov sought after – the realization of an self that was truly one with G-d.
This level of shalom that calls for constant effort stands in sharp contrast to the world of Eisav. After meeting Ya’akov journeying from Lavan’s house, Eisav tried to convince Ya’akov to continue the journey with him. Eisav fundamentally did not share any of Ya’akov’s values or outlook, but that in Eisav’s mind did not pose an obstacle so long as overt conflict was averted. In this regard, shalom is the fullest realization of emes – a false and superficial overlooking of conflict is replaced by a joint search for true shared vales. Parshas Noach describes the blessing Noach gave his two sons Shem and Yefes, “Yaft Elokim L’Yefes v”yishkon b’ohalei Sheim” – Hashem should give beauty to Yefes, but dwell in the tent of Shem. Superficial beauty with no inner core, peace that avoids conflict but does not lead to a merging of inner values, is the hallmark of Yefes, the valuing of the aesthetic over the ethical which is the hallmark of Eisav and Edom. Ya’akov, however, seeks the inner peace of a shared ethic. R’ Nachman Breslov (Likutei Moharan I:1) contrasts the chein, the beauty of Ya’akov, which results from this inner commitment to shared values of Torah, with the superficial chein presented by Eisav. The latter represents the beauty that is hollow, with a surface harmony that belies its essence. Ya’akov tells his brother “chanani Elokim,” Hashem has given me chein. This can also be read as meaning “my chein stems from Elokim,” a beauty that reflects deep seated values, and not just temporary conflict resolution.
Superficial Beauty vs. Lasting Value
The Greeks shared Eisav’s vision of form without substance, superficial beauty without meaning. The battle of Chanukah between the Chashmonaim and the Greeks parallels the great war between Ya’akov and Eisav. We find numerous hints to the Chanukah story in Ya’akov’s meeting with his brother Eisav. Ya’akov crosses the river to retrieve “pachim ketanim” -- small jugs – a hint to the “pach” of oil found to light the menorah. Ya’akov splits his camp into “machanos,” a word which seperates the letters “m-s” (death) with the letters “chanu”, the root of Chanukah (Tiferes Shlomo). The word Chanukah itself begins with the letters “chein,” beauty. The Tiferes Shlomo writes that Ya’akov transported his family across the “nachal,” a river, which is spelled with the same letters as make up the initial letters of the words “L’hadlik Ner Chanukah.” The Chashmonaim clung to the concept of shalom Ya’akov personified.
Ya’akov hoped to see his vision of shalom as the source for emes culminate in the relationship between Yosef and his brothers. Yosef was beautiful; he is described as “mesalsel b’sa’aro,” twirling his hair, reminiscent of Eisav, who was described as an “ish sa’ir” -- a man of hair. He also attracts the attention of the wife of Potifar. Yet, unlike Eisav and the Greek model of skin deep beauty, the beauty and chein of Yosef was a result of his personifying the inner shalom Ya’akov cultivated – Eileh toldos Ya’akov, Yosef, the offshoot of Ya’akov was typified by Yosef. Despite the great hopes of Ya’akov, Yosef and his brothers never did achieve the united shalom and shleimus as a family which Ya’akov as an individual aspired to. It is no coincidence that the story of Yosef and his brothers is read around the same time of year Chanukah annually occurs – the failure of shalom marked by emes to take root is the source of galus, the source of the ideology of Yavan and the Hellinists, the source of the usurping of the chein of Torah with other false ideologies.
Aharon haKohein – Rodef Shalom and the Menorah
The mitzvah of lighting the menorah in the Mishkan is written immediately after the description of the gifts given by each Nasi for the dedication of the Mishkan. Even though a zar, one who is not a kohein, is permitted to light the menorah, the mitzvah of menorah is written in the Torah as being part of the role of Aharon. The Ramban comments that this mitzvah of menorah carried with it a hint to the future dedication of the Mikdash by the Chashmonaim. Although Ahron did not have the opportunity to give a gift for the Mishkan’s dedication, the Midrash records that he was consoled through the mitzvah of menorah which endures as part of our Chanukah celebration long after we have lost the Mikdash. Why was Ahron singled out for this mitzvah of menorah? Perhaps it is only Ahron, known as an ohev shalom v’rodef shalom, one who pursued and sought peace, who could fulfill the chanukas haMishkan through menorah. While each Nasi’s gift given with individual attention to detail was important, the Mishkan also needed a unifying force to bind the shevatim together – without Ahron, the Mishkan lacked shalom, and hence lacked shleimus, completion. The Midrash Tanchuma in parshas Shmos teaches that in the merit of Ahron going out to greet his brother and rejoicing in his election he merited to wear the Urim vTumim garments of the kohein gadol. The lost peace between brothers that Yosef and the shevatim were missing could be restored only by a true lover and pursuer of peace like Ahron haKohein.
The length of time Chanukah candles must burn is defined by the gemara as “ad she’tichleh regel min hashuk”, literally “until the feet [of passers-by] can no longer be found in the marketplace”. The ARI z”l explains that the odd use of the word regel, hints to the charge of “meraglim atem”, “you are spies”, which Yosef leveled against his brothers. The Chanukah candles must burn until we have absorbed the lesson of creating true shalom between ourselves and our brothers and removed the misunderstandings and discord that separated Yosef from his brothers.
Shabbos and Chanukah – a Double Dose of Shalom
The focus of much of the halachos of Chanukah is on the mitzvah of lighting the menorah in our homes, a reenactment of the lighting of the menorah of the Mikdash by the Chashmonaim after finding one pure jug of olive oil. We might have expected the laws of lighting the menorah to appear in the Talmud amidst a discussion of the laws of the Temple or perhaps in a discussion of the oil used in Menachos; surprisingly, though, as R’ Tzadok haKohein (Pri Tzadik Chanukah 1) notes, we find the laws of Chanukah in Tractate Shabbos amidst a discussion of Shabbos candles. The question is what relationship beyond the act of lighting candles exists between the two?
The completion of the act of Creation brought shleimus and shalom to the world through Shabbos. We greet each other on Friday night saying “Shabbat Shalom”, we sing Shalom Aleichem to welcome Shabbos, we light Shabbos candles to increase shalom bayis by making the home comfortable and bright to inaugurate Shabbos. The sanctity of time which we celebrate through Shabbos sees its counterpart in the sanctity of place the Mikdash represented, also inaugurated through the candles of menorah, symbol of shalom. To return to the question of R’ Tzadok haKoehin, Chazal placed the laws of Chanukah precisely in the context of the laws of Shabbos candles to reflect the common theme of these mitzvos – the element of shalom imbued in Creation through Shabbos and the element of shalom we can introduce to creation through our own efforts at sanctifying the world. Although we no longer have a Mikdash, the lights of the menorah still burn brightly in our homes. Especially for the new chosson and kallah, she lighting the Shabbos candles, he lighting the menorah, these two mitzvos on Shabbos Chanukah serve as an act of inauguration of a new bayis ne’eman b’yisrael, filled with both shalom and shleimus, not just of superficial beauty, but of the deep sharing of values that is the true peace of Ya’akov Avinu, Ahron haKohein, and the victorious Chashmonaim.
Rabbi Chaim Brown's divrei Torah can also be read at divreichaim.blogspot.com
from the summer 2007 issue: Shabbos Chazon: Seeing is Believing
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
The mourning period of the Three Weeks between 17 Tamuz and 9 Av is marked by three special haftarot that deal with the themes of the destruction of the Bais haMikdash and the punishment of the Jewish people. Known collectively as the gimel d’puranuta, these readings are known by their opening verses – "Divrei Yirmiyahum" "Shimu", and "Chazon." R’ Tzadok haKohen m’Lublin notes that the names of these haftarot correspond to three attributes by which a person can interact and communicate with the world: "Divrei Yirmiyahu" refers to the words spoken by Yirmiyahu haNavi, the aspect of speech; "Shimu" commands the Jewish people to listen, the aspect of hearing; "Chazon" refers to the vision of Yishayhu haNavi, the sense of sight. These three attributes correspond to three different levels understanding – we absorb and communicate ideas through speech, through listening, and by observation. The Three Weeks is a time for introspection, for contemplating the churban as well as the possibility of tshuvah by focusing on how we speak, how we listen, and how we see our environment.
The culmination of these three special haftarot is Chazon, which lends its name to Shabbos Chazon, and commands our attention to the sense of sight. Seeing is almost an automatic process which occurs whenever our eyes are open, but when the Torah uses the term "seeing," it means far more than the observation of superficial detail. The Ishbitzer teaches (Mei haShiloach, P’ VaYakhel) that when the Torah uses the the instruction "re’u," see, it means there is some deeper meaning below what is apparent. When the Torah informs the Jewish people, "Re’eh karasi b’shem Betzalelm," see I have called to Betzalel, it means that if they examine Betzalel they will discover that his appointment was not a whim of Moshe’s, but based on "karasi," that Hashem had called specifically him for the task of building the Mishkan because of his special qualities. Eishes Potifar declares, ‘re’u havi lanu ish ivri l’tzachek banu," see, a Jewish slave [Yosef] has been brought to make fun – here in the negative, she calls on the onlookers to not be "deceived" by Yosef’s outward appearance of innocence and instead see him as a charlatan. Pharoah accuses Moshe, "re’u ki ra’ah neged pneichem," I see beyond your superficial words to the hidden plan of escape you have in mind. It is notable that the word "r’eu" has the same numerical value (gematriya) as the word "raz" secret.
So often we see or hear words and interpret them based on their superficial meaning, but we remain blind to the true wishes of the speaker. The Ishbitzer writes that the ninth pasuk of every parsha is significant and contains some secret (sod) meaning. The ninth pasuk of Parshas Devarim, the parsha associated with Shabbos Chazon, is Moshe’s complaint "lo uchal levadi s’es eschem," he alone could not bear the burden of the Jewish people. The Ishbitzer explains that Moshe Rabeinu sensed that it was Yehoshua who was destined to lead the Jewish people into the Land, yet he deeply wished to be the one to fulfill that mission. A hint to the solution to Moshe’s problem lies in the words of this ninth pasuk – Moshe alone could not cancel the decree terminating his leadership, but had we, the Jewish people, joined him in praying that the decree be cancelled and that he lead us into the Land, the decree might have been broken. The Jewish people heard Moshe’s call, we continue to read the same words every year, yet we failed to truly see what was required. It was not acceptance of substitute judges to lighten his load which is what Moshe really wished for, but rather, he wished we would daven so that he would have been able to continue as our leader. The Jewish people grasped the superficial sense of the words, but lacked the insight, the understanding which marks true "re’iya".
Vision does not always mean seeing more, but sometimes vision is sharpened precisely because a person sees less, filtering out unnecessary data to focus only on what is crucial. One of the criteria for the judges we are commanded in Parshas Devarim to appoint is the quality of being "yedu’im", people who are known. Rashi explains that Moshe said that when a potential judge appeared before him wrapped in his talis, he had no way of knowing the judge’s tribe or place, but the people would be aware of exactly who such a person was, his background, his place, his tribe. At first glance we appreciate Moshe’s deferring to the people’s knowledge of background as a factor in selecting judges, yet, upon further reflection, perhaps this is not so much an instruction as a critique.
Is where someone lives, davens, went to school, manner of dress, or other superficial details really important in how we think of them, or are these just distractions that shift our focus away from how a person thinks and acts, which are the real clues to their personality? When a person came before Moshe wrapped in his talis, Moshe had no cognizance of the outer trappings that consume our perception. The Zohar writes that Moshe could decide a din Torah without proof or witnesses; he simply saw the truth in souls’ of the litigants. Our obsession with superficial detail clouds our judgment rather than enhances it. Our judges as representatives of ourselves require evidence, proof, and judicial process because the truth is obscured precisely because we think we know people so well, when in reality, we just know an outer guise and not an individual’s soul. Once again, the shortcoming is a product of an imperfect sense of vision.
The Talmud describes how when a group of Tanaim saw foxes running in the ruins of the Mokdash (Makos 24) they cried in sorrow, yet R’ Akiva laughed, confident that just as the prophecy of destruction was fulfilled, the prophecy of rebuilding would be as well. Surely the other Tanaim did not doubt the prophecy of eventual geula! – so why did they not laugh as R’ Akiva did?
The Midrash teaches on the pasuk, "V’chol yekar ra’asa eino," that insights which were not seen by Moshe Rabeinu were seen by R’ Akiva (see Menachos 29). R’ Tzadok haKohein teaches that of course the Tanaim all believed in the prophecy of redemption, but their eyes were filled with the desolation which surrounded them. R’ Akiva did not just believe in redemption – he saw it as reality even as his eyes beheld ruins. Shabbos Chazon calls us to perfect our perception, to transform sight into in-sight, to be aware not just of the superficial, but to have a deeper vision into what is beyond the surface. Refocusing our vision will lead to our no longer seeing the chazon of destruction, but seeing the redemption as well, u’re’eh b’tuv yerushalayim v’shalom al Yisrael.
For more Divrei Torah from Rabbi Brown visit http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/
from the winter 2007 issue Exceeding Reason by Rabbi Chaim Brown
The stage is set for the climactic conclusion to the conflict between Yosef and his brothers in Parshas VaYigash: Binyamin faces enslavement; the brothers face returning home with a story that will add to their father’s grief; Yehudah faces the loss of even is share in olam haba. Yehudah must rally himself to plead on behalf of Binyamin, and so he approaches the Egyptian viceroy and forcefully argues… nothing! The story he tells does not mention a single mitigating fact or circumstance that we do not already know, does not offer any logical or legal arguments in Binyamin’s favor, yet, despite not really saying anything, when Yehudah is done, Yosef can no longer contain himself and reveals his identity. What was the secret ingredient in Yehudah’s speech that resolved the conflict between the brothers?
The story of Yosef and his brothers always coincides with the holiday of Chanukah and perhaps the two share a common theme. The aim of the Greek oppressors is described in the Al HaNissim prayer which we add to our bentching and Shmoneh Esrei on Chanukah as “l’haskicham Torasecha ul’ha’aviram al chukei retzonecha” – “to cause the Jewish people to forget the Torah and violate the “chukim” of G-d’s will”. As the Shem M’Shmuel notes, the Greeks had a very specific focus in their attack. The Greeks were philosophers, logicians, the great minds of the ancient world. They had respect for many of the legal statutes of the Torah which they understood as to form an ethical and lawful society. Torah laws like not committing murder, not stealing, etc. appealed to the Greeek sense of reason. What irked the Greek mind was the Jewish people’s stubborn adherence specifically to “chukim,” laws whose reasons are unfathomable Why do that which one cannot understand or which makes no sense? What purpose can law have when it has no reason?
We not only find in Al HaNissim the focus of the Greek’s attack on Judaism, but we find in it the Jewish response as well. We refer to “chukei retzonecha,” the “chukim” which are expressions of G-d’s “ratzon,” His will or desire. The Greeks elevated reason above all and subjugated religion to be its handmaiden. The Jewish people, however, understood that reason and understanding is but one facet of our relationship with Hashem. That relationship is ultimately rooted in our obeying Hashem’s will and desire which transcends our understanding. A desire often cannot be formulated in rational terms, a desire is often so deeply rooted that the reasons behind it remain hidden.
Before pleading on behalf of Binyamin, Yehudah had to do more than think about what mitigating circumstances or legal arguments he could put forth. “VaYigash eilav” [Yehudah drew close to him.] The Sefas Emes explains that the “him” whom Yehudah drew close to may have been himself. A lawyer argues on behalf of a client not because he wants to win – he argues because he is being paid to advocate on the client’s behalf. A professional advocate tries to maintain a distance between his/her desires and emotions and the case at hand and use only his rhetorical and logical skill, the tools of Greek wisdom and learning. Yehudah had to cross the chasm between the world of logic and the world of ratzon and bring out from within his inner desire and want. Using cool reasoning, Yehudah suggested that the brothers sell Yosef into slavery. At this point reason was against him, but he could not stand by, even if all appeared lost and out of his hands. Logically there was no argument he could offer, no rationalization, but the ratzon which transcended intellect still demanded one last plea.
The Shem M’Shmuel writes that the story of Yehudah and Yosef is the story of the relationship between the mind and the heart, between seichel and ratzon. But these two leaders among the song of Yaakov cross over into each other’s roles. Yosef tells over his dreams without calculating the effect they will have on the brothers, but calmly hides his emotions from them in Egypt until those dreams are fulfilled and he is forced to reveal himself. Yehudah ignores his brother’s plea because his mind tells him he must be expelled, but Yehudah himself is the one who rises to plea for Binyamin. We do pay homage to cool logical reasoning and thought, but at the same time acknowledge a transcendent quality to life which is irreducible to calculation, the quality of “chok.” It was this special transcendent quality which brought Yehudah to plea for his brother and this special quality which the Chashmonaim recognized as not captured by the laws of logic and reason which the Greek’s sought to impress on them.
Split the Difference
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
The difficulty of finding a shidduch is succinctly captured by Chazal’s statement (Sanhedrin 22) that "Kasheh l'zavgam k'keriyas Yam Suf", the pairing of a couple for marriage is as difficult as the splitting of Yam Suf. The only other similar statement we find in Chazal, which is perhaps equally perplexing, is “kashim mezonosav shel adam k’keriyas yam suf”, providing daily sustenance is as difficult as the splitting of the sea. While it is comforting to know that Hashem kavyachol (so to speak) shares our difficulties with the process, the analogy used by Chazal begs for explanation. Marriage is a bond that we hope lasts a lifetime, yet Chazal compare it specifically to the miracle of rendering asunder the very bonds of nature that hold the sea together. Chazal, masters of language and nuance, have presented us seemingly with an oxymoron.
The Gemara (Menachos 29) tells us that Hashem used the letter “hey” to create this world, and the letter “yud” to create the next world. Whatever we make of the use of letters to create worlds (and specifically these letters), it is clear that together the two letters spell G-d’s name “K-ah”, telling us that each world independently does not reflect G-d, but only when taken in unison.
The goal of the Torah is not ascetic withdrawal from the world, but the use of the world for the purposes of the Torah. What differentiates man from angel is that an angel is trapped in a static world of holiness; only man has been given the unique ability to take the gross physicality of the world we are in and make it holy (Derech Hashem I:4:4). The sifrei chassidus go so far as to tell us that the world serves not just an instrumental good, but that within each physical object there are sparks of G-dliness – the use of the world for Torah and mitzvos reveals what is beyond our daily sensory experience, namely, that every physical object is a mask for G-d’s presence that can be revealed when that object is used for good (see Tzava’as haRivash #109; Tanya , Sha’ar HaYichud v’HaEmunah, ch. 6; Mavo HaShea’arim (Piezezna), ch. 3 & 4). As long as we see the “yud” of the next world as a separate realm from the “hey” of this world, then we are missing the full picture. The “yud” of next-worldy G-dliness is inherent in this world, if we seize the opportunity to use it properly.
The instinctive human response to crisis and tragedy, even for those who are not observant of Torah and mitzvos, is prayer. The Jewish people stood on the banks of Yam Suf, some staring forward at the raging waters, some staring backwards at the pursuing Egyptians, with no hope in sight. The tefilos begin with heartfelt cries, and Moshe Rabeinu himself begins to plead with Hashem to intercede yet again and save us. Abruptly, Moshe is cut short. Hashem declares: “Mah titzak alei, debeir el Bnei Yisrael v’yisau”, “Why scream to me, tell the Jewish people to travel forward!” No end of commentary has been offered to try to explain why here, when the natural inclination is to turn to prayer, when the only other option is to rely on a miracle that has not been promised our guaranteed, Hashem is not interested in our tefila and orders Moshe to simply march forward.
The Telzer Rosh Yeshiva, R’ Yosef Bloch, explains beautifully in the Shiurei Da’as that tefila is an attempt to bridge the gap between the reality that we perceive and what we believe Hashem’s goodness should allow. It is an attempt to bridge the chasm between the “hey” of this world, with all its defects, and the “yud”, the next world of ultimate goodness and holiness that lies just out of reach. This almost universal feeling is what Moshe was told he must transcend. To explain Hashem’s response, the Midrash offers an analogy of the best friend of a king who begins to plead for a favor; the king replies that no begging is needed, the friend simply has to command and the king will see that the wishes are fulfilled. Moshe’s prayers were out of place; the king stood ready to fulfill his command, and all that remained was action. For a Moshe Rabeinu the world of “hey” and “yud” are not two separate worlds divided, but are one and the same. Seeing a physical river as an obstacle to kedusha until somehow G-d chooses to impose his will and change that reality through our prayers is seeing two separate worlds with a gulf between them. Seeing a river as inherently an expression of G-d’s will which exists only to serve Him and enable the Jewish people to do so is to see the “yud” even within our reality. Such a river does not need a miracle to bend to G-d’s will, it just needs for us to walk through it. The song Bnei Yisrael sang when the Yam split is “Azi v’zimras K-ah vayehi li l’yeshua”, the “hey” and “yud” were experienced as one, spelling K-ah, because they realized only then there is no gulf between G-d and the world, between the Jewish people and G-d, and between the laws of nature and the reality of G-d’s presence.
Chazal chose to compare marriage to keriyas Yam Suf with great care and deliberateness. The difference between the word ish, man, and the word isha, woman, is one is spelled with a "yud" and one is spelled with a "hey". As long as the Chassan and Kallah see themselves as two separate elements, as a world of "yud" that lies across a gap from the world of "hey", even if they build bridges across that gap and join in the bond of marriage, there is still something lacking. The key to revealing Hashem’s presence, “K-ah”, at Yam Suf was coming to the realization which transcended even tefila that there is no gap to bridge between the world of "yud" and the world of "hey", that the physical and spiritual worlds are cut from one and the same cloth. Through the analogy to keriyas Yam Suf Chazal teach that the key to a successful shidduch is not figuring out how to cross the divide that separates the “I” of chasson from the “I” of kallah, but to realize that the neshoma of the chosson and the neshoma of the kallah are in reality one and the same “I”. Ish and isha are not two separate parts, but are one united whole, and only with that perspective can they join together to reveal Hashem, “K-ah”, in their world.
The Pursuit of Shalom: The Middah of Hod and Chanukah
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
The Rambam closes Hil. Chanukah (4:14) with the halacha that light for the home takes precedence over ner Chanukah because ner beiso is needed for shalom, which is of such importance that the Torah allows Hashem’s name to be erased from the parsha of Sotah to restore peace between husband and wife. Ends the Rambam, “Gadol hashalom shekol hatorah nitna la’asos shalom b’olam, shene’emar, deracheha darcei noam v’kol nisivoseha shalom.”
The Lubavitcher Rebbe is medayek that the closing line of the Rambam would seem more apropos of Hil. Deyos, as it does not teach us any halacha that is specifically relevant to Hil. Chanukah, While we might suggest that since this halacha comes at the close of a section the Rambam chose to a poetic ending stressing a philosophical idea as he does elsewhere (e.g. see the end of Hil. Temurah), yet the observation is still worthy of reflection.
What is shalom? There are two possible understandings: 1) the world is naturally in a state of harmony until disrupted by machlokes; shalom means removing the impediment of machlokes so that life may return to its natural state; 2) the world exists in a natural state of disharmony unless we take an activist role in creating and maintaining an environment of shalom. The husband who brings his wife flowers in a “shalom bayis” effort only after he gets into an argument is practicing the first type of shalom, which is probably how we instinctively think of the concept. However, the Midrash (VaYikra Rabbah 25, see also MaHaRaL Nesiv haShalom ch 2.) writes that while most mitzvos are formulated in a language of happenstance – “ki yifga”, “ki yirakei,, etc. – only shalom is formulated as an active goal to be pursued – “bakesh shalom”. Chazal clearly suggest that the nature of shalom reflects that second understanding, that it is a goal that must be actively pursued and strived for. Shalom is rooted in the same root as shelimus, perfection and wholesomeness. Shalom means becoming more whole and perfect because we have worked and strived to integrate the “other”s point of view into our own understanding so that we respect, appreciate, and even love it. The husband bringing flowers after an argument is locked into only the first understanding of shalom, but had he worked harder at the second aspect of shalom to be more shaleim by empathizing and appreciating his wife’s opinions, the argument might never have happened.
The common perception of Ya’akov Avinu is that of an “ish emes” – “titein emes l’Ya’akov”. Yet, there is a higher middah than emes - the midah of shalom supersedes the middah of emes, because one is permitted to tell a “white lie” to preserve peace. Our parsha and the previous week’s parsha reveal that Ya’akov is at his core an “ish shalom”. Ya’akov comes to the city of Shchem “shaleim” after fighting the malach (Ber 33:18); his children are called “shleimim” by Chamor and Shchem” (34:21); Ya’akov tells Yosef to go seek “shlom achecha v’shlom ha’tzon” (37:14). Rashi (37:2) cites Chazal that “bikesh Ya’akov la’sheves b’shalvah”. Many misinterpret Ya’akov’s desire as one for relaxation from the travails of life, but based on the second understanding of shalom, nothing could be further from the truth. Ya’akov’s desire was to actively pursue and engage in achieving shalom or shleimus, to successfully incorporate within his vision of the world an understanding of how everything in the world was created and reflects kvod shamayim. When one understands that at the root of everything there is only a nekudah of Elokus that sustains every animate and inanimate object in the world, then everything is one and everything is in harmony. And when one realizes one has a neshoma tehorah that is also Elokus and connects with everything in the most elemental and perfect way, then one has achieved shalom. This madreiga requires not passivity, but tremendous work and avodah –the bakasha of Ya’akov was the striving to turn the fundamental discord of the world into this vision of unity.
Reality presents a conflict between the harshness of the physical world and the ideals we dream of as part of a perfected spiritual realm. Ya’akov knew that although he may not have seemed to be the bechor, though he may have seemed to take the brachos from Eisav duplicitously, though to Lavan’s sons he seemed to be a sheep robber, these are misperceptions because we lack the shalom-shleimus to integrate the spiritual reality with the world around us. This disconnect that blocks true shalom is personified by Eisav. “Yaft Elokim L’Yefes v”yishkon b’ohalei Sheim”; superficial beauty with no spiritual core, physical reality as we perceive it is the hallmark of the Eisav/Edom empire. The great romantic poet Keats writes in his Ode on a Grecian Urn, “Beauty is Truth, truth beauty – that is all ye know on Earth…” R’ Nachman Breslov (Likutei Moharan I:1) contrasts the chein, the beauty of Ya’akov, which results from shalom and oneness between pnimiyus and our physical existence, with the superficial chein presented by Eisav, the beauty that has no pnimiyus but declares itself to be the only and complete truth that exists. The battle between Ya’akov and Eisav, which continues to our time is over version of chein, would dominate. Ya’akov tells his brother “chanani Elokim”, Hashem has given me the chein.
It is perhaps coincidental that Keat’s lines appear in Ode on a Grecian Urn, but it happens to be that the battle of Chanukah parallels the battle of these two visions of reality of Ya’akov and Eisav. For this reason, we find numerous hints to the Chanukah story in Ya’akov’s meeting with his brother. Ya’akov crosses the river to retrieve “pachim ketanim”, reminiscent of the “pach” of oil found to light the menorah. Ya’akov splits his camp into “machanos”, a word which seperates the letters “m-s” (death) with the letters “chanu” (Tiferes Shlomo). The word Chanukah itself begins with the letters “chein”. Ya’akov transports his family across the “nachal” which is spelled with the same letters as make up the initial letters of the words “L’hadlik Ner Chanukah.” The Greek vision was physical form without substance, superficial beauty without meaning, reality as we see it without the baggage of a hidden spirituality. There world is a world of shalom only in the first sense of preventing any disturbance to the perfected natural beauty of man. Ya’akov, however, wanted shalom in the second sense, of recognizing that the natural beauty of the world was a kli that we have to work at integrating and making shaleim with the world of Torah.
In any argument one can win in one of two ways: one can crush one’s enemy into submission, or one can present such an attractive alternative to one’s opponent’s position that they have no choice other than to submit. The first of these middos is referred to as “netzach”, victory; the second is known as “hod”, splendor. Hod does battle using the middah of chein, but faces the great risk of being too accommodating and eventually being tainted by the evil it combats. In the typology of Adam Kadmon, the sefiros of netzach and hod correspond to the two legs. It is not accidental that the Zohar teaches that Ya’akov was struck in the left leg, the leg representing the middah of “hod”, as one must walk a fine line between using the chein as a tool and falling victim to the superficial chein of Eisav.
Rashi tells us that although Ya’akov was mevakesh shalom, it could not be realized without Yosef. Yosef was concerned with his external physical beauty, he was “mesalsel b’sa’aro”, twirling his hair, reminiscent of Eisav, who was described as an “ish sa’ir”, a man of hair. It is noteworthy that the Jewish conception of beauty, at least for females, involves specifically covering the hair, as “kol kvuda bas melech pnima”. “Sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi – isha yiras Hashem hi tishallal” is explained by meforshim to mean that although sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi, the beauty of that chein and yofi itself is praiseworthy to the one who masters yiras Hashem. This was the role of Yosef hatzaddik, one who could appear to play the role of the Egyptian viceroy, one who could toy with his hair like an Eisav, yet retain harmony and shalom with the pnimiyus of Ya’akov’s spirituality. Yet, perhaps because this vision was so lofty, the brothers were suspicious of Yosef’s designs. Instead of shalom, the chein of Yosef was shattered by machlokes and discord.
The length of time Chanukah candles must burn is given by the gemara as “ad she’tichleh regel min hashuk”. Why does the gemara use the expression “regel” instead of “ish”? The ARI z”l explains that the gemara is hinting that the role of Chanukah candles is to eliminate the charge of “meraglim atem”, the charge of being spies that Yosef leveled against his brothers. Before Eisav can be conquered, Ya’akov’s children must learn to create shalom between themselves.
With this background, we can begin to understand who the mitzvah of lighting the menorah was written as if given specifically to Ahron HaKohen despite the fact that al pi din even a zar is permitted to light the menorah. The Torah is teaching the light of the spiritual menorah that illuminates our path to battle Eisav stems from the personality of shalom embodied by Ahron, the “ohev shalom v’rodef shalom”. The holy Radomsker writes that the eight nights of Chanukah correspond to the eight garments of the kohein gadol whose seal closed the oil off from impurity. The garments of the kohein are the superficial beauty of his position, the chein of the physical world that clothes and envelops pnimiyus. The Midrash Tanchuma in parshas Shmos teaches that in the merit of Ahron going out to greet his brother and rejoicing in his election as redeemer he merited to wear the Urim vTumim of the kohein gadol. It was the peace between Ahron and Moshe, the midah of shalom, which made possible Ahron being able to integrate the chein of the physical and spiritual worlds as one.
Ahron typifies the beauty of chein that is one with the pnimiyus of Torah, which is the perfected middah of hod. If we count the sefiros, the eighth sefira, corresponding to the eight nights of Chanukah, is this middah of hod. The crossing of the “nachal” done by Ya’akov not only contains the letters of “Lhadlik Ner Chanukah”, but also contains the letters of the eighth of the thireen middos, “Notzer Chessed L’alafim. Chanukah was instituted as a holiday of “hallel v’hoda’ah”, once again, hinting at the middah of hod.
While we add “al hanissim” to the bracha of hoda’ah, we should not overlook that that bracha is immediately followed by shalom. Hod without pnimiyus is Yavan, Eisav, and downfall. Only when one has shalom, a vision that sees harmony between reality and pnimiyus, can chein and hod be tools for avodah. Chazal tell us that one who is careful in ner Chanukah will merit children who are talmidei chachamim. Perhaps this is middah k’negged middah, as Chanukah is the idea of shalom, and “talmidei chachamim marbim shalom b’olam, she’ne’emar kol banayich limudei Hashem, al tikrei banayich elah bonayich.” And perhaps for this reason we refer to the Chashmona’im specifically as “bnei binah”.
We began with the Rambam’s broad declaration of the value of shalom, which seemed strangely out of place in Hil. Chanukah. Based on our analysis, the Rambam’s intent in his formulation is clear. The crux of the battle with Eisav, the battle between the Chashmonaim and Yevanim, is the battle of whether the world is a world of beauty being the totality of truth, or a world where we integrate a spiritual framework into the reality of our senses and see that one vision as a harmonious whole – shalom. Actively pursuing the latter goal is apprehending the true chein of reality by using the middah of hod, and drawing the great chessed of notzer chessed l’alafim though the mitzvah of l’hadlik ner Chanukah.
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Original to the website Winter 2006
On Tu B'Shvat by Rabbi Chaim Brown
While Tu B'Shevat has blossomed (pardon the pun) into a holiday celebrating ecology, agriculture, and environment and has taken on mystical significance with various "seders" of Tu B'Shevat celebrated, the source of the holiday is quite prosaic. The first Mishna in Rosh HaShana records a dispute between Bais Shamai and Beis Hillel whether the "rosh hashana l'ilanos", the new year for trees, falls on the first or the fifteenth of Shevat. Fifteen is demarcted by the two hebrew letters "tes", which has the value of 9, and "vav", which has the value of six, together spelling Tu B'Shevat. The halachic consequence of the dispute revolves around the technical laws of ma'asors - tithes, which require defining a cutoff point between one year and the next, for which we use the approximate date that the new trees begin to blossom (chanatah). If one reads the Mishna carefully, a grammatical oddity stands out. One does not take ma'aser from the actual tree, but from the fruits that grow on the tree. In fact, the very next Mishna in Rosh HaShana speaks about G-d judging the world for "peiros ha'ilan", how much fruit the trees will produce. Shouldn't Tu B'Shevat be more properly called Rosh HaShena l'Peiors, the new year for fruit, not Rosh HaShana l'Ilanos, the new year for trees? Anyone who has gone apple picking on a September or October day can remember the bright sun beating on the orchard and the sweet apple aroma. If you wander in the same orchards in the early spring months, you will likely still feel the winter frost blowing through the barren trees. Yet the farmer knows that it is during those crucial early months that pollination of his crops must occur if the ripe apples of the fall are to blossom. The ugly bark of the tree carries just below its surface the nutrients needed for the blossoms to grow and ripen to the magnificent red apples of the fall. The Torah (Devarim 20:19) tells us that "man is like the tree of the field". We tend to judge people's character by the superficial evidence that attracts us - their appearance, dress, smile, looks. We are looking at the apple tree in the fall, with the red shiny fruit grabbing all our attention. Yet, that fruit will not return next year or the year after unless the tree itself is healthy and well cared for. Rosh HaShana L'Ilanos tells us that the fruit may catch our eye, but long lasting growth and fulfillment is in the quality of the tree itself.
From Hidden Hester to the Giluy of Megillah by Rabbi Chaim Brown (original to kallahmagazine.com)
"Esther min haTorah minyain?" - Where is there a hint in the Torah to Esther?
"V'Anochi haster astir panay bayom hahu" - "I shall hide my face from them on that day" (Devarim 31:18)
On one level, this enigmatic statement of Chazal (Chulin 139) is simply a remez, a hint derived from a play on words, calling our attention to the similarity between Esther's name and the word "hester", hidden. The theme of "hiding" permeates the holiday of Purim and the entire Megillah: Esther hides her identity from Achashveirosh and his court; Hashem hides within the story and is not mentioned once in the entire Megillah; we hide our identity on Purim behind masks. Yet, hidden within this Chazal is perhaps a deeper message. The MaHaRaL asks: why of all the heroes and heroines of Tanach does the gemara focus exclusively on finiding a hint within the Torah for Esther, Mordechai, and Haman? Why is there never a question of finding a remez to David haMelech, Nevuchatnetzar, or any other Navi or rasha in the Torah? And what does it mean to find these personalities hidden in the Torah - does that make the events of Purim more significant, or does that add weight to the stature of Esther, Mordechai, or Haman?
R' Nachman m'Breslev (Likutei Moharan m"k #56) explains that when describing Hashem's hidden face in galus, the Torah uses a double expression - "haster astir". When something is hidden, it can be sought out and missed. But if one is unaware that something is hidden, one will never look to discover it. The double language of the Torah tells us that in galus, not only is Hashem hidden, but we are even unaware that he is hiding from us.
The Ba'al Shem Tov (see Degel Machne Ephraim, Parshas Ki Tavo) explained the idea of hester with a mashal [allegory]. A king with magical powers wished to seclude himself from his followers. The king had always lived among his people, but now they had come to take his presence too much for granted. Since the king was a master of illusion, the king actually remained where he always was, but created a magical appearance of moats, guards, gates, fences, and all types of barriers to keep people away. Faced with the illusion of insurmountable obstacles, most people did not even try to reach the king. A few others pressed through the first barrier, the second barrier, but eventually gave up. It was a small minority who kept their faith in the king strong, who knew that he loved his people and that the barriers and distance were only an illusion. By holding to that belief and shutting their eyes to the illusion that surrounded them, these few were able to walk right through the obstacles and meet the king as they always had.
Everything in the world, from the holiest mitzva objects down to the lowest item that can be used for avodah zarah, only exists because Hashem wills it to be so. Yet, Hashem is hidden - we think things exist for our sake to enjoy and to use, and we don't often think about the fact that it is not our will, but Hashem's will, and his purposes, that give each and every moment and object its very existence. The King hides behind the illusion of a world running on its own course, with few seeking out his presence.
R' Nachman explains that when we are looking for someone, we call out their name. The Ramban writes (hakdamah to peirush al haTorah) that the Torah is Hashem's name; just as a name represents a person's will (the word shem, name, has the same numerical value as ratzon, will), the Torah represents Hashem's will. We have the power to pierce the illusion by calling out the king's name, by remembering and reminding ourselves that without the Torah, without the constant ratzon Hashem sustaining the world, it would cease to exist.
Purim was a time of tremendous hester panim. We were in galus, and the illusion of being left alone to the political forces of the Persian kingdom was very strong. Yet, this illusion was a mask to the reality of the King never having left us and just waiting for us to call to Him. It is precisely with respect to Purim that the Gemara asks for the remez to Esther and Mordechai in the Torah because by remembering that everything in the world receives it chiyus only because of Torah and only through ratzon Hashem, the guise of illusion and hester panim is dispelled. "Esther min haTorah" is not just a hint, but is the very cause of the nes itself.
The Midrash tells us that even when all holidays are bateil, the holiday of Purim will be with us. R' Tzadok HaKohein explains that at times of great danger and shmad it is difficult if not impossible to observe the mitzvos of Yom Tov, and certainly the same applies to the mitzvos of Purim. Yet, precisely in those times of hester panim, the power of the essence of the day of Purim remains. Precisely in the darkest moments, Purim reminds us that our true chiyus is only from Torah and Hashem is with us always, even when the illusion around us tells us it is not so.
By using the koach haTorah to dispel the hester panim of our galus, we too can be zoche to orah v'simcha, sason v'yikar.
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From the spring 2006 issue on Atzmos Yosef, Yam Suf, and Yetzias Mitavrayim: 2 Perspectives
What’s Bred in the Bone
“What’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh”. In the case of two of our great shvatim, this expression touches on a point of literal truth. The first example is more obvious, as it is explicit in the pesukim of the Torah. The life of Yosef ends with his administering an oath to his brothers, “v’ha’alisem es atzmosei mizeh itchem”, you will take my bones from Egypt with you. And, true to that promise, the Torah tells us that none other than Moshe Rabeinu personally took charge of carrying those bones from Egypt. The second example is more subtle, reflected in a Gemara in Sota (10b). Chazal tell us that for the 40 years that Bnei Yisrael traveled in the desert “atzmosav shel Yehudah hayeu m’galglin b’aron,” the bones of Yehudah were rolling in their coffin. Yehudah had promised his father to return Binyamin, and the consequence of failure was set as no less than the loss of his share in Olam Haba, the World to come. Even though he returned Binyamin, the utterance of such a condition blocked Yehudah from resting in the olam haemes. The gemara concludes that Moshe here, too, personally took charge and davened that Yehudah be admitted and given his rightful place in the yeshiva shel ma’alah, the Heavenly congregation. Is it just coincidence that Yosef and Yehudah have a shared history of remaining bones, or does this concurrence indicate that their fates are intertwined in a way that is somehow “bred in the bone”?
In the story of Yosef, his brothers, and the resolution of their conflict, there are two episodes that seem to interrupt the narrative as a whole and divert our attention from the main storyline. The first interlude occurs in between the sale of Yosef and the events that occur to him in Mitzrayim, where our attention is diverted (Braishis 38) to the story of Yehudah and the deaths of his sons, his relationship with Tamar, and the eventual birth of Peretz and Zarach. The second interlude occurs in between the end of Yosef’s jail term and his ascent before Pharoah, where the Torah diverts our attention (Braishis 40) to focus on the Sar HaMashkim and the Sar haOfim, the winemaker and the baker, two officers of Pharoah, one of whom returns to his former post, and one of whom is beheaded. These seem to be the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of the Yosef story! While it might be argued that we need to know of the Sar HaMashkim because he is the one who eventually reveals Yosef’s power of dream interpretation to Pharoah, nonetheless, the details of his dream, its outcome, and certainly the dream and fate of the Sar haOfim would see redundant to the narrative as a whole.
Nothing in the Torah is redundant or out of place, so if our attention is redirected by the Torah, we must ask how the what idea is indicated by the apparent shift in focus. Everything that occurs to Yosef in Mitzrayim is but a prelude to the fruition of his dreams and the resolution of the conflict with his brothers, and the episode of the Sar HaMashkim and Sar haOfim is no exception to this rule. In the dream of the Sar HaMashkim, he describes in minute detail the growing and ripening of the grapes, the pressing of the grape into wine, the preparation of the wine in Pharoah’s cup, and the eventual serving of the wine to his master, Pharoah. The Sar haMashkim is a process-oriented detail person; he is not just concerned with the final outcome or product, but is concerned with how to get there and every step of production. In fact, the Sar haMashkim was imprisoned not for a fault in his preparation but for the circumstances of a fly happening to land in Pharoah’s cup of wine. On the other hand, the Sar HaOfim’s dream starts with his carrying baskets of loaves on his head to serve Pharoah. We are not told anything about how the dough was prepared, who did the baking, or how the bread got there. The Sar haOfim is an outcome-oriented person, a person who is not concerned about the means to the end, about the steps to get to the desired goal; he is just focused on the end product. When we look at how he got into prison, it reflects the same attitude – the Sar haOfim let a rock be baked into his bread, something a person who was meticulous about the process of baking, the process of sifting the flour, would not have allowed to happen.
The Ishbitzer in Mei HaShiloach teaches that the dreams of the Sar haMashkim and the Sar haOfim reflected the personalities of Yosef and Yehudah. Consider how Yosef is treated by his brothers. The options they considered were: to kill him outright, to do nothing, to throw him into a pit, or as Yehudah took the lead in suggesting, to sell him into slavery. Yehudah followed the rational process of weighing the merits of Yosef’s case, and based on the facts at hand, the supposed danger Yosef posed, he arrived at what seemed a just conclusion. It was not in the process that Yehudah was mistaken, for ain l’dayan elah mah she’einav ro’os, any judge can only look at the facts before him, but nonetheless, the outcome was wrong. Much as the Sar haMashkim is a victim of circumstance outside his control, Yehudah was victim to events for which his rational decision making could not account. Yosef is the baker, expressing his lofty dreams of greatness to his father and brothers with no thought of the preparation it would take to see those dreams to fruition, with no thought as to how those dreams would be received. The process was of no concern, but in Yosef’s case, the hashgacha decrees the outcome would eventually result in the correct ending. Yosef needed to see a vision of his own defects and those of his brother in order to find the strength to grow out of the results-only mindset. Witness the dramatic delay and delay and preparation until just the right moment before Yosef reveals himself to his brothers – the process suddenly dominates Yosef’s entire thinking o insure no mistake is made.
We now have a better perspective on the interlude of Yehudah and Tamar. Yehudah thought he dealt fairly with his daughter-in-law Tamar in telling her to wait for his youngest son to mature, and he considered himself a fair judge in sentencing her to death for the supposed crime of znus. Yehudah was consistent in his process of arriving at the conclusion indicated by the facts. Yet this time, at the critical juncture of pronouncing Tamar’s fate, Yehudah’s process-attitude was brought to a halt. In one dramatic declaration “tzadkah mimeni”, she is more righteous than I, Yehudah was forced to admit that for all his attention to the details of the process, the outcome was faulty. By coming to the realization that process alone does not guarantee a just and correct outcome, the groundwork was laid for Yehudah to reconsider his judgment of Yosef – could he have been mistaken there as well, despite carefully considering all the facts before him?
The contrast and development of Yosef and Yehudah is borne out in their relationships with the women they encounter. Yehudah appears to be tempted by a woman of questionable reputation, and compounds his problem by leaving evidence of his guilt behind. Yeudah seems to exercise questionable judgment, but in actuality the Midrash (85:9) tells us that Yehudah’s actions were coerced by an angel in order to bring about Hashem’s plans. No matter what Yehudah would have or could have done, his encounter with Tamar was inevitable, and would produce the offspring that lead to the lineage of David HaMelech. The Ishbitzer writes based on Zohar that this is why the Levi’im sing the songs of David HaMelech’s Tehillim over the nisuch hayayin, the wine offering brought with korbanos. Just as the Sar HaMashkim could not stop the fly from spoiling the king’s wine cup despite all his preparation, Yehudah could not avoid fathering Tamar’s children. Yehudah’s own life is governed not only by his own efforts and preparations, but by outcomes that lay beyond his control.
While Yehudah is learning that his intelligence and preparation alone do not always lead to the expected outcome, Yosef is learning the importance of attention to the process. Chazal tell us that Eishes Potifar saw her destiny to be with Yosef in Olam Haba, and (as Rashi tells us) she revealed this vision to Yosef. Once again, great and tempting dreams of even spiritual success stood before Yosef, but this time, Yosef’s withstands temptation. The process of succumbing to Eishes Potiphar was wrong, despite the promise and vision of lofty gains to be had. The dreams of Eishes Potifar were realized in the end, but not through he. Rather it was Potifar’s adopted daughter, Osnas, who became Yosef’s wife. The Sar HaOfim ignored sifting the flour at his own peril; Yosef has learned that how you reach your goals is often as important as the ends themselves, and if not attended to, can lead to downfall.
Chazal teach (Nidah 31) that the bones of a child are formed by the father – perhaps Yehudah and Yosef both drew their inspiration from the bones of their father. Ya’akov from the earliest days of his life is referred to as an “ish tam”, which the MaHaRaL (Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Temimus) explains to mean a righteousness that is inherent in the person’s character. Ya’akov is given a second name Yisrael in recognition of his struggle with the angel of Eisav, which led to the confirmation of Yitzchak’s brachos. The bones of Yosef are the bones of the character of Ya’akov, the bones that confer a dream and destiny of greatness from birth. The bones of Yehudah which had no rest are the bones of Yisrael, the bones which struggle to make sense of the world and which are guided willy-nilly to fulfill the Divine plan.
These two aspects of Ya’akov / Yisrael find their expression in Rachel and Leah as well.
Ya’akov takes great pains to avert Lavan’s trickery. To make certain of the match, Ya’akov even gave Rachel signs to ascertain that he was given the right bride. Yet preparation alone does not guarantee outcome. Metaphorically speaking, the wine cup is spoiled by the fly, as Ya’akov realizes that he has in fact married Leah in place of her sister. At the same time, destiny alone does not control all - the Torah describes Leah’s eyes as softened from years of crying over her fate to marry Eisav. In the end, the tears that accompanied her heartfelt prayers bore fruit, and through divine hashgacha, she averted her dreaded fate and became Ya’akov’s first wife. Much as the baker discovers that poor sifting can ruin the best loaves, Leah discovers that events can take a far different course than remote visions would seem to harbinger.
Ultimately, it was the combination of the planning of Yehudah with the dreams of Yosef that brought the plan of hashgacha to fruition, leading Ya’akov to descend peacefully into Mitzrayim. Likewise, it was the combined forces of Yehudah and Yosef which led to the culmination of the geulah at the splitting of Yam Suf. Chazal tell us that it was Nachshon, the leader of Yehudah, who leaped into the raging waters of the Sea, causing the water to split (Sota 36). Yet, Chazal also teach that “vayanas hayam”, the Sea “fled” into parts in the merit of Yosef running away from the temptation of Eishes Potifar, “vayanas hachutza.” Finding a shidduch is compared by Chazal to the miracle of splitting of Yam Suf. It involves planning for the big plunge into married life, but it also involves belief that our bashert is destined and not everything is in our hands.
Every relationship is built of “flesh and bone” – immutable and hard ideals that are inseparable from one’s character, and softer aspects of personality that become molded as life unfolds. The bones of Yehudah and Yosef represented the core elements of their personalities that stayed with klal Yisrael. We find that when Chavah was created, Adam said, “Zos ha’pa’am etzem m’atzamay u’basar m’bisari” – “This is bones from my bones and flesh of my flesh”. Sharing the same bedrock of aspirations and ideals along with the flexibility to cope with crisis when the best laid plans do not work out as expected is the recipe for a successful shidduch. Together, a couple will then be able to say, “Kol atzmosi tomarna Hashem mi kamocha."
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
The Rambam closes Hil. Chanukah (4:14) with the halacha that light for the home takes precedence over ner Chanukah because ner beiso is needed for shalom, which is of such importance that the Torah allows Hashem’s name to be erased from the parsha of Sotah to restore peace between husband and wife. Ends the Rambam, “Gadol hashalom shekol hatorah nitna la’asos shalom b’olam, shene’emar, deracheha darcei noam v’kol nisivoseha shalom.”
The Lubavitcher Rebbe is medayek that the closing line of the Rambam would seem more apropos of Hil. Deyos, as it does not teach us any halacha that is specifically relevant to Hil. Chanukah, While we might suggest that since this halacha comes at the close of a section the Rambam chose to a poetic ending stressing a philosophical idea as he does elsewhere (e.g. see the end of Hil. Temurah), yet the observation is still worthy of reflection.
What is shalom? There are two possible understandings: 1) the world is naturally in a state of harmony until disrupted by machlokes; shalom means removing the impediment of machlokes so that life may return to its natural state; 2) the world exists in a natural state of disharmony unless we take an activist role in creating and maintaining an environment of shalom. The husband who brings his wife flowers in a “shalom bayis” effort only after he gets into an argument is practicing the first type of shalom, which is probably how we instinctively think of the concept. However, the Midrash (VaYikra Rabbah 25, see also MaHaRaL Nesiv haShalom ch 2.) writes that while most mitzvos are formulated in a language of happenstance – “ki yifga”, “ki yirakei,, etc. – only shalom is formulated as an active goal to be pursued – “bakesh shalom”. Chazal clearly suggest that the nature of shalom reflects that second understanding, that it is a goal that must be actively pursued and strived for. Shalom is rooted in the same root as shelimus, perfection and wholesomeness. Shalom means becoming more whole and perfect because we have worked and strived to integrate the “other”s point of view into our own understanding so that we respect, appreciate, and even love it. The husband bringing flowers after an argument is locked into only the first understanding of shalom, but had he worked harder at the second aspect of shalom to be more shaleim by empathizing and appreciating his wife’s opinions, the argument might never have happened.
The common perception of Ya’akov Avinu is that of an “ish emes” – “titein emes l’Ya’akov”. Yet, there is a higher middah than emes - the midah of shalom supersedes the middah of emes, because one is permitted to tell a “white lie” to preserve peace. Our parsha and the previous week’s parsha reveal that Ya’akov is at his core an “ish shalom”. Ya’akov comes to the city of Shchem “shaleim” after fighting the malach (Ber 33:18); his children are called “shleimim” by Chamor and Shchem” (34:21); Ya’akov tells Yosef to go seek “shlom achecha v’shlom ha’tzon” (37:14). Rashi (37:2) cites Chazal that “bikesh Ya’akov la’sheves b’shalvah”. Many misinterpret Ya’akov’s desire as one for relaxation from the travails of life, but based on the second understanding of shalom, nothing could be further from the truth. Ya’akov’s desire was to actively pursue and engage in achieving shalom or shleimus, to successfully incorporate within his vision of the world an understanding of how everything in the world was created and reflects kvod shamayim. When one understands that at the root of everything there is only a nekudah of Elokus that sustains every animate and inanimate object in the world, then everything is one and everything is in harmony. And when one realizes one has a neshoma tehorah that is also Elokus and connects with everything in the most elemental and perfect way, then one has achieved shalom. This madreiga requires not passivity, but tremendous work and avodah –the bakasha of Ya’akov was the striving to turn the fundamental discord of the world into this vision of unity.
Reality presents a conflict between the harshness of the physical world and the ideals we dream of as part of a perfected spiritual realm. Ya’akov knew that although he may not have seemed to be the bechor, though he may have seemed to take the brachos from Eisav duplicitously, though to Lavan’s sons he seemed to be a sheep robber, these are misperceptions because we lack the shalom-shleimus to integrate the spiritual reality with the world around us. This disconnect that blocks true shalom is personified by Eisav. “Yaft Elokim L’Yefes v”yishkon b’ohalei Sheim”; superficial beauty with no spiritual core, physical reality as we perceive it is the hallmark of the Eisav/Edom empire. The great romantic poet Keats writes in his Ode on a Grecian Urn, “Beauty is Truth, truth beauty – that is all ye know on Earth…” R’ Nachman Breslov (Likutei Moharan I:1) contrasts the chein, the beauty of Ya’akov, which results from shalom and oneness between pnimiyus and our physical existence, with the superficial chein presented by Eisav, the beauty that has no pnimiyus but declares itself to be the only and complete truth that exists. The battle between Ya’akov and Eisav, which continues to our time is over version of chein, would dominate. Ya’akov tells his brother “chanani Elokim”, Hashem has given me the chein.
It is perhaps coincidental that Keat’s lines appear in Ode on a Grecian Urn, but it happens to be that the battle of Chanukah parallels the battle of these two visions of reality of Ya’akov and Eisav. For this reason, we find numerous hints to the Chanukah story in Ya’akov’s meeting with his brother. Ya’akov crosses the river to retrieve “pachim ketanim”, reminiscent of the “pach” of oil found to light the menorah. Ya’akov splits his camp into “machanos”, a word which seperates the letters “m-s” (death) with the letters “chanu” (Tiferes Shlomo). The word Chanukah itself begins with the letters “chein”. Ya’akov transports his family across the “nachal” which is spelled with the same letters as make up the initial letters of the words “L’hadlik Ner Chanukah.” The Greek vision was physical form without substance, superficial beauty without meaning, reality as we see it without the baggage of a hidden spirituality. There world is a world of shalom only in the first sense of preventing any disturbance to the perfected natural beauty of man. Ya’akov, however, wanted shalom in the second sense, of recognizing that the natural beauty of the world was a kli that we have to work at integrating and making shaleim with the world of Torah.
In any argument one can win in one of two ways: one can crush one’s enemy into submission, or one can present such an attractive alternative to one’s opponent’s position that they have no choice other than to submit. The first of these middos is referred to as “netzach”, victory; the second is known as “hod”, splendor. Hod does battle using the middah of chein, but faces the great risk of being too accommodating and eventually being tainted by the evil it combats. In the typology of Adam Kadmon, the sefiros of netzach and hod correspond to the two legs. It is not accidental that the Zohar teaches that Ya’akov was struck in the left leg, the leg representing the middah of “hod”, as one must walk a fine line between using the chein as a tool and falling victim to the superficial chein of Eisav.
Rashi tells us that although Ya’akov was mevakesh shalom, it could not be realized without Yosef. Yosef was concerned with his external physical beauty, he was “mesalsel b’sa’aro”, twirling his hair, reminiscent of Eisav, who was described as an “ish sa’ir”, a man of hair. It is noteworthy that the Jewish conception of beauty, at least for females, involves specifically covering the hair, as “kol kvuda bas melech pnima”. “Sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi – isha yiras Hashem hi tishallal” is explained by meforshim to mean that although sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi, the beauty of that chein and yofi itself is praiseworthy to the one who masters yiras Hashem. This was the role of Yosef hatzaddik, one who could appear to play the role of the Egyptian viceroy, one who could toy with his hair like an Eisav, yet retain harmony and shalom with the pnimiyus of Ya’akov’s spirituality. Yet, perhaps because this vision was so lofty, the brothers were suspicious of Yosef’s designs. Instead of shalom, the chein of Yosef was shattered by machlokes and discord.
The length of time Chanukah candles must burn is given by the gemara as “ad she’tichleh regel min hashuk”. Why does the gemara use the expression “regel” instead of “ish”? The ARI z”l explains that the gemara is hinting that the role of Chanukah candles is to eliminate the charge of “meraglim atem”, the charge of being spies that Yosef leveled against his brothers. Before Eisav can be conquered, Ya’akov’s children must learn to create shalom between themselves.
With this background, we can begin to understand who the mitzvah of lighting the menorah was written as if given specifically to Ahron HaKohen despite the fact that al pi din even a zar is permitted to light the menorah. The Torah is teaching the light of the spiritual menorah that illuminates our path to battle Eisav stems from the personality of shalom embodied by Ahron, the “ohev shalom v’rodef shalom”. The holy Radomsker writes that the eight nights of Chanukah correspond to the eight garments of the kohein gadol whose seal closed the oil off from impurity. The garments of the kohein are the superficial beauty of his position, the chein of the physical world that clothes and envelops pnimiyus. The Midrash Tanchuma in parshas Shmos teaches that in the merit of Ahron going out to greet his brother and rejoicing in his election as redeemer he merited to wear the Urim vTumim of the kohein gadol. It was the peace between Ahron and Moshe, the midah of shalom, which made possible Ahron being able to integrate the chein of the physical and spiritual worlds as one.
Ahron typifies the beauty of chein that is one with the pnimiyus of Torah, which is the perfected middah of hod. If we count the sefiros, the eighth sefira, corresponding to the eight nights of Chanukah, is this middah of hod. The crossing of the “nachal” done by Ya’akov not only contains the letters of “Lhadlik Ner Chanukah”, but also contains the letters of the eighth of the thireen middos, “Notzer Chessed L’alafim. Chanukah was instituted as a holiday of “hallel v’hoda’ah”, once again, hinting at the middah of hod.
While we add “al hanissim” to the bracha of hoda’ah, we should not overlook that that bracha is immediately followed by shalom. Hod without pnimiyus is Yavan, Eisav, and downfall. Only when one has shalom, a vision that sees harmony between reality and pnimiyus, can chein and hod be tools for avodah. Chazal tell us that one who is careful in ner Chanukah will merit children who are talmidei chachamim. Perhaps this is middah k’negged middah, as Chanukah is the idea of shalom, and “talmidei chachamim marbim shalom b’olam, she’ne’emar kol banayich limudei Hashem, al tikrei banayich elah bonayich.” And perhaps for this reason we refer to the Chashmona’im specifically as “bnei binah”.
We began with the Rambam’s broad declaration of the value of shalom, which seemed strangely out of place in Hil. Chanukah. Based on our analysis, the Rambam’s intent in his formulation is clear. The crux of the battle with Eisav, the battle between the Chashmonaim and Yevanim, is the battle of whether the world is a world of beauty being the totality of truth, or a world where we integrate a spiritual framework into the reality of our senses and see that one vision as a harmonious whole – shalom. Actively pursuing the latter goal is apprehending the true chein of reality by using the middah of hod, and drawing the great chessed of notzer chessed l’alafim though the mitzvah of l’hadlik ner Chanukah.
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Original to the website Winter 2006
On Tu B'Shvat by Rabbi Chaim Brown
While Tu B'Shevat has blossomed (pardon the pun) into a holiday celebrating ecology, agriculture, and environment and has taken on mystical significance with various "seders" of Tu B'Shevat celebrated, the source of the holiday is quite prosaic. The first Mishna in Rosh HaShana records a dispute between Bais Shamai and Beis Hillel whether the "rosh hashana l'ilanos", the new year for trees, falls on the first or the fifteenth of Shevat. Fifteen is demarcted by the two hebrew letters "tes", which has the value of 9, and "vav", which has the value of six, together spelling Tu B'Shevat. The halachic consequence of the dispute revolves around the technical laws of ma'asors - tithes, which require defining a cutoff point between one year and the next, for which we use the approximate date that the new trees begin to blossom (chanatah). If one reads the Mishna carefully, a grammatical oddity stands out. One does not take ma'aser from the actual tree, but from the fruits that grow on the tree. In fact, the very next Mishna in Rosh HaShana speaks about G-d judging the world for "peiros ha'ilan", how much fruit the trees will produce. Shouldn't Tu B'Shevat be more properly called Rosh HaShena l'Peiors, the new year for fruit, not Rosh HaShana l'Ilanos, the new year for trees? Anyone who has gone apple picking on a September or October day can remember the bright sun beating on the orchard and the sweet apple aroma. If you wander in the same orchards in the early spring months, you will likely still feel the winter frost blowing through the barren trees. Yet the farmer knows that it is during those crucial early months that pollination of his crops must occur if the ripe apples of the fall are to blossom. The ugly bark of the tree carries just below its surface the nutrients needed for the blossoms to grow and ripen to the magnificent red apples of the fall. The Torah (Devarim 20:19) tells us that "man is like the tree of the field". We tend to judge people's character by the superficial evidence that attracts us - their appearance, dress, smile, looks. We are looking at the apple tree in the fall, with the red shiny fruit grabbing all our attention. Yet, that fruit will not return next year or the year after unless the tree itself is healthy and well cared for. Rosh HaShana L'Ilanos tells us that the fruit may catch our eye, but long lasting growth and fulfillment is in the quality of the tree itself.
From Hidden Hester to the Giluy of Megillah by Rabbi Chaim Brown (original to kallahmagazine.com)
"Esther min haTorah minyain?" - Where is there a hint in the Torah to Esther?
"V'Anochi haster astir panay bayom hahu" - "I shall hide my face from them on that day" (Devarim 31:18)
On one level, this enigmatic statement of Chazal (Chulin 139) is simply a remez, a hint derived from a play on words, calling our attention to the similarity between Esther's name and the word "hester", hidden. The theme of "hiding" permeates the holiday of Purim and the entire Megillah: Esther hides her identity from Achashveirosh and his court; Hashem hides within the story and is not mentioned once in the entire Megillah; we hide our identity on Purim behind masks. Yet, hidden within this Chazal is perhaps a deeper message. The MaHaRaL asks: why of all the heroes and heroines of Tanach does the gemara focus exclusively on finiding a hint within the Torah for Esther, Mordechai, and Haman? Why is there never a question of finding a remez to David haMelech, Nevuchatnetzar, or any other Navi or rasha in the Torah? And what does it mean to find these personalities hidden in the Torah - does that make the events of Purim more significant, or does that add weight to the stature of Esther, Mordechai, or Haman?
R' Nachman m'Breslev (Likutei Moharan m"k #56) explains that when describing Hashem's hidden face in galus, the Torah uses a double expression - "haster astir". When something is hidden, it can be sought out and missed. But if one is unaware that something is hidden, one will never look to discover it. The double language of the Torah tells us that in galus, not only is Hashem hidden, but we are even unaware that he is hiding from us.
The Ba'al Shem Tov (see Degel Machne Ephraim, Parshas Ki Tavo) explained the idea of hester with a mashal [allegory]. A king with magical powers wished to seclude himself from his followers. The king had always lived among his people, but now they had come to take his presence too much for granted. Since the king was a master of illusion, the king actually remained where he always was, but created a magical appearance of moats, guards, gates, fences, and all types of barriers to keep people away. Faced with the illusion of insurmountable obstacles, most people did not even try to reach the king. A few others pressed through the first barrier, the second barrier, but eventually gave up. It was a small minority who kept their faith in the king strong, who knew that he loved his people and that the barriers and distance were only an illusion. By holding to that belief and shutting their eyes to the illusion that surrounded them, these few were able to walk right through the obstacles and meet the king as they always had.
Everything in the world, from the holiest mitzva objects down to the lowest item that can be used for avodah zarah, only exists because Hashem wills it to be so. Yet, Hashem is hidden - we think things exist for our sake to enjoy and to use, and we don't often think about the fact that it is not our will, but Hashem's will, and his purposes, that give each and every moment and object its very existence. The King hides behind the illusion of a world running on its own course, with few seeking out his presence.
R' Nachman explains that when we are looking for someone, we call out their name. The Ramban writes (hakdamah to peirush al haTorah) that the Torah is Hashem's name; just as a name represents a person's will (the word shem, name, has the same numerical value as ratzon, will), the Torah represents Hashem's will. We have the power to pierce the illusion by calling out the king's name, by remembering and reminding ourselves that without the Torah, without the constant ratzon Hashem sustaining the world, it would cease to exist.
Purim was a time of tremendous hester panim. We were in galus, and the illusion of being left alone to the political forces of the Persian kingdom was very strong. Yet, this illusion was a mask to the reality of the King never having left us and just waiting for us to call to Him. It is precisely with respect to Purim that the Gemara asks for the remez to Esther and Mordechai in the Torah because by remembering that everything in the world receives it chiyus only because of Torah and only through ratzon Hashem, the guise of illusion and hester panim is dispelled. "Esther min haTorah" is not just a hint, but is the very cause of the nes itself.
The Midrash tells us that even when all holidays are bateil, the holiday of Purim will be with us. R' Tzadok HaKohein explains that at times of great danger and shmad it is difficult if not impossible to observe the mitzvos of Yom Tov, and certainly the same applies to the mitzvos of Purim. Yet, precisely in those times of hester panim, the power of the essence of the day of Purim remains. Precisely in the darkest moments, Purim reminds us that our true chiyus is only from Torah and Hashem is with us always, even when the illusion around us tells us it is not so.
By using the koach haTorah to dispel the hester panim of our galus, we too can be zoche to orah v'simcha, sason v'yikar.
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From the spring 2006 issue on Atzmos Yosef, Yam Suf, and Yetzias Mitavrayim: 2 Perspectives
What’s Bred in the Bone
“What’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh”. In the case of two of our great shvatim, this expression touches on a point of literal truth. The first example is more obvious, as it is explicit in the pesukim of the Torah. The life of Yosef ends with his administering an oath to his brothers, “v’ha’alisem es atzmosei mizeh itchem”, you will take my bones from Egypt with you. And, true to that promise, the Torah tells us that none other than Moshe Rabeinu personally took charge of carrying those bones from Egypt. The second example is more subtle, reflected in a Gemara in Sota (10b). Chazal tell us that for the 40 years that Bnei Yisrael traveled in the desert “atzmosav shel Yehudah hayeu m’galglin b’aron,” the bones of Yehudah were rolling in their coffin. Yehudah had promised his father to return Binyamin, and the consequence of failure was set as no less than the loss of his share in Olam Haba, the World to come. Even though he returned Binyamin, the utterance of such a condition blocked Yehudah from resting in the olam haemes. The gemara concludes that Moshe here, too, personally took charge and davened that Yehudah be admitted and given his rightful place in the yeshiva shel ma’alah, the Heavenly congregation. Is it just coincidence that Yosef and Yehudah have a shared history of remaining bones, or does this concurrence indicate that their fates are intertwined in a way that is somehow “bred in the bone”?
In the story of Yosef, his brothers, and the resolution of their conflict, there are two episodes that seem to interrupt the narrative as a whole and divert our attention from the main storyline. The first interlude occurs in between the sale of Yosef and the events that occur to him in Mitzrayim, where our attention is diverted (Braishis 38) to the story of Yehudah and the deaths of his sons, his relationship with Tamar, and the eventual birth of Peretz and Zarach. The second interlude occurs in between the end of Yosef’s jail term and his ascent before Pharoah, where the Torah diverts our attention (Braishis 40) to focus on the Sar HaMashkim and the Sar haOfim, the winemaker and the baker, two officers of Pharoah, one of whom returns to his former post, and one of whom is beheaded. These seem to be the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of the Yosef story! While it might be argued that we need to know of the Sar HaMashkim because he is the one who eventually reveals Yosef’s power of dream interpretation to Pharoah, nonetheless, the details of his dream, its outcome, and certainly the dream and fate of the Sar haOfim would see redundant to the narrative as a whole.
Nothing in the Torah is redundant or out of place, so if our attention is redirected by the Torah, we must ask how the what idea is indicated by the apparent shift in focus. Everything that occurs to Yosef in Mitzrayim is but a prelude to the fruition of his dreams and the resolution of the conflict with his brothers, and the episode of the Sar HaMashkim and Sar haOfim is no exception to this rule. In the dream of the Sar HaMashkim, he describes in minute detail the growing and ripening of the grapes, the pressing of the grape into wine, the preparation of the wine in Pharoah’s cup, and the eventual serving of the wine to his master, Pharoah. The Sar haMashkim is a process-oriented detail person; he is not just concerned with the final outcome or product, but is concerned with how to get there and every step of production. In fact, the Sar haMashkim was imprisoned not for a fault in his preparation but for the circumstances of a fly happening to land in Pharoah’s cup of wine. On the other hand, the Sar HaOfim’s dream starts with his carrying baskets of loaves on his head to serve Pharoah. We are not told anything about how the dough was prepared, who did the baking, or how the bread got there. The Sar haOfim is an outcome-oriented person, a person who is not concerned about the means to the end, about the steps to get to the desired goal; he is just focused on the end product. When we look at how he got into prison, it reflects the same attitude – the Sar haOfim let a rock be baked into his bread, something a person who was meticulous about the process of baking, the process of sifting the flour, would not have allowed to happen.
The Ishbitzer in Mei HaShiloach teaches that the dreams of the Sar haMashkim and the Sar haOfim reflected the personalities of Yosef and Yehudah. Consider how Yosef is treated by his brothers. The options they considered were: to kill him outright, to do nothing, to throw him into a pit, or as Yehudah took the lead in suggesting, to sell him into slavery. Yehudah followed the rational process of weighing the merits of Yosef’s case, and based on the facts at hand, the supposed danger Yosef posed, he arrived at what seemed a just conclusion. It was not in the process that Yehudah was mistaken, for ain l’dayan elah mah she’einav ro’os, any judge can only look at the facts before him, but nonetheless, the outcome was wrong. Much as the Sar haMashkim is a victim of circumstance outside his control, Yehudah was victim to events for which his rational decision making could not account. Yosef is the baker, expressing his lofty dreams of greatness to his father and brothers with no thought of the preparation it would take to see those dreams to fruition, with no thought as to how those dreams would be received. The process was of no concern, but in Yosef’s case, the hashgacha decrees the outcome would eventually result in the correct ending. Yosef needed to see a vision of his own defects and those of his brother in order to find the strength to grow out of the results-only mindset. Witness the dramatic delay and delay and preparation until just the right moment before Yosef reveals himself to his brothers – the process suddenly dominates Yosef’s entire thinking o insure no mistake is made.
We now have a better perspective on the interlude of Yehudah and Tamar. Yehudah thought he dealt fairly with his daughter-in-law Tamar in telling her to wait for his youngest son to mature, and he considered himself a fair judge in sentencing her to death for the supposed crime of znus. Yehudah was consistent in his process of arriving at the conclusion indicated by the facts. Yet this time, at the critical juncture of pronouncing Tamar’s fate, Yehudah’s process-attitude was brought to a halt. In one dramatic declaration “tzadkah mimeni”, she is more righteous than I, Yehudah was forced to admit that for all his attention to the details of the process, the outcome was faulty. By coming to the realization that process alone does not guarantee a just and correct outcome, the groundwork was laid for Yehudah to reconsider his judgment of Yosef – could he have been mistaken there as well, despite carefully considering all the facts before him?
The contrast and development of Yosef and Yehudah is borne out in their relationships with the women they encounter. Yehudah appears to be tempted by a woman of questionable reputation, and compounds his problem by leaving evidence of his guilt behind. Yeudah seems to exercise questionable judgment, but in actuality the Midrash (85:9) tells us that Yehudah’s actions were coerced by an angel in order to bring about Hashem’s plans. No matter what Yehudah would have or could have done, his encounter with Tamar was inevitable, and would produce the offspring that lead to the lineage of David HaMelech. The Ishbitzer writes based on Zohar that this is why the Levi’im sing the songs of David HaMelech’s Tehillim over the nisuch hayayin, the wine offering brought with korbanos. Just as the Sar HaMashkim could not stop the fly from spoiling the king’s wine cup despite all his preparation, Yehudah could not avoid fathering Tamar’s children. Yehudah’s own life is governed not only by his own efforts and preparations, but by outcomes that lay beyond his control.
While Yehudah is learning that his intelligence and preparation alone do not always lead to the expected outcome, Yosef is learning the importance of attention to the process. Chazal tell us that Eishes Potifar saw her destiny to be with Yosef in Olam Haba, and (as Rashi tells us) she revealed this vision to Yosef. Once again, great and tempting dreams of even spiritual success stood before Yosef, but this time, Yosef’s withstands temptation. The process of succumbing to Eishes Potiphar was wrong, despite the promise and vision of lofty gains to be had. The dreams of Eishes Potifar were realized in the end, but not through he. Rather it was Potifar’s adopted daughter, Osnas, who became Yosef’s wife. The Sar HaOfim ignored sifting the flour at his own peril; Yosef has learned that how you reach your goals is often as important as the ends themselves, and if not attended to, can lead to downfall.
Chazal teach (Nidah 31) that the bones of a child are formed by the father – perhaps Yehudah and Yosef both drew their inspiration from the bones of their father. Ya’akov from the earliest days of his life is referred to as an “ish tam”, which the MaHaRaL (Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Temimus) explains to mean a righteousness that is inherent in the person’s character. Ya’akov is given a second name Yisrael in recognition of his struggle with the angel of Eisav, which led to the confirmation of Yitzchak’s brachos. The bones of Yosef are the bones of the character of Ya’akov, the bones that confer a dream and destiny of greatness from birth. The bones of Yehudah which had no rest are the bones of Yisrael, the bones which struggle to make sense of the world and which are guided willy-nilly to fulfill the Divine plan.
These two aspects of Ya’akov / Yisrael find their expression in Rachel and Leah as well.
Ya’akov takes great pains to avert Lavan’s trickery. To make certain of the match, Ya’akov even gave Rachel signs to ascertain that he was given the right bride. Yet preparation alone does not guarantee outcome. Metaphorically speaking, the wine cup is spoiled by the fly, as Ya’akov realizes that he has in fact married Leah in place of her sister. At the same time, destiny alone does not control all - the Torah describes Leah’s eyes as softened from years of crying over her fate to marry Eisav. In the end, the tears that accompanied her heartfelt prayers bore fruit, and through divine hashgacha, she averted her dreaded fate and became Ya’akov’s first wife. Much as the baker discovers that poor sifting can ruin the best loaves, Leah discovers that events can take a far different course than remote visions would seem to harbinger.
Ultimately, it was the combination of the planning of Yehudah with the dreams of Yosef that brought the plan of hashgacha to fruition, leading Ya’akov to descend peacefully into Mitzrayim. Likewise, it was the combined forces of Yehudah and Yosef which led to the culmination of the geulah at the splitting of Yam Suf. Chazal tell us that it was Nachshon, the leader of Yehudah, who leaped into the raging waters of the Sea, causing the water to split (Sota 36). Yet, Chazal also teach that “vayanas hayam”, the Sea “fled” into parts in the merit of Yosef running away from the temptation of Eishes Potifar, “vayanas hachutza.” Finding a shidduch is compared by Chazal to the miracle of splitting of Yam Suf. It involves planning for the big plunge into married life, but it also involves belief that our bashert is destined and not everything is in our hands.
Every relationship is built of “flesh and bone” – immutable and hard ideals that are inseparable from one’s character, and softer aspects of personality that become molded as life unfolds. The bones of Yehudah and Yosef represented the core elements of their personalities that stayed with klal Yisrael. We find that when Chavah was created, Adam said, “Zos ha’pa’am etzem m’atzamay u’basar m’bisari” – “This is bones from my bones and flesh of my flesh”. Sharing the same bedrock of aspirations and ideals along with the flexibility to cope with crisis when the best laid plans do not work out as expected is the recipe for a successful shidduch. Together, a couple will then be able to say, “Kol atzmosi tomarna Hashem mi kamocha."
rom Extraordinary to Ordinary: Post-Pesach Recovery by Rabbi Chaim Brown Read it here
Sefira, the number 12, and Lag BaOmer by Rabbi Chaim Brown
12,000 pairs of students die during a brief two month period, students of the greatest sage of Torah who studied for two pairs of 12 years, and all that is left is a single great scholar who paired with his son hides in a cave for 12 years. We all recognize the story of Rabbi Akiva and the loss of his students which we mark during the Omer period, the story of his greatest student, R’ Shimon bar Yochai, who was forced to flee Roman persecution and hide in a case for twelve years and whose death we mark on Lag B’Omer, but what of the number twelve? Why is this such a central focus of the events of this period?
The Bnei Yisaschar (Chodesh Tishrei Ma’amar #7 as well as other places) explains that the 13 middot of Rabbi Yishmael used to darshen the Torah correspond to the 13 middot harachamim which we invoke when we recite selichos. Yet, these thirteen are not a single unit, but actually are divided into a group of twelve middot of chessed and one middah of din. The single middah of din, which is described by the name “K-l”, corresponds to the middah of kal v’chomer. The Talmud in fact uses the simple term “din” as a reference to kal v’chomer, e.g. the mishna in Bava Kamma uses the expression “dayo l’ba min HaDin”. Halachically, there is a fundamental difference that exists between kal v’chomer and all the other middot used to explain the Torah. Only kal v’chomer can be derived purely on the basis of sevara, logical inference, while all the other middot require a tradition handed down from one’s teacher. The greatest chessed in the world is Hashem giving of himself to us. The middot of rachamim cause Hashem to reveal more of his presence in the world, and correspondingly, the middot we use to explain the Torah reveal how much more of Hashem’s presence is with us that we see through a superficial reading of the Torah. Yet, even at a time of din when Hashem’s presence is hidden, we must trust that he is with us and seek him out; even when there is no mesorah and tradition to explain a text of Torah, we are free to use kal v’chomer to seek and find that meaning ourselves. ‘Piha pascha b’chochma’, explains the Bnei Yisaschar, refers to the middah of kal v’chomer which requires human intellect to reveal; ‘v’Toras chessed al leshona’ refers to the laws explicitly stated in the Torah which fall under the rubric of chessed.
The dichotomy between twelve and thirteen perhaps reflects on the relationship between the personalities of Rabbi Akiva and his student Rabbi Shomon bar Yochai. The gemara in Menachos tells us that Moshe Rabeinu was given a glimpse of Rabbi Akiva teaching Torah and he was confounded by the depths of the shiur. Moshe was despondent until he heard Rabbi Akiva asked the source for a halacha, to which he replied, “halacha l’Moshe m’Sinai”, it is a law which was revealed to Moshe on Sinai. Rabbi Akiva was the father of all Torah sheBa’al Peh, but like the twelve middot of chessed and twelve middot of derush, ultimately his teaching was a revelation of what was already contained within the depths and profundity of the written Torah which was revealed by Moshe.
When Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai emerged from his cave after twelve years of study everything he set his eyes on was consumed by flame. Rashb”I could not tolerate a mundane world divorced from the revelation of G-d’s holiness. Where was G-d’s presence felt in the bustling marketplace, in the day to day activities of most people’s lives – where was the chessed of Hashem apparent? Rashb”I was missing the extra year, the thirteenth middah, the kal v’chomer. G-d’s presence is found not just where he reveals it, but is found where we choose to discover it through our own efforts and intelligence. Din is but a mask which awaits the revelation of kal v’chomer. After one more year, the thirteenth year, in the cave, Rashb"I emerges and sees that man running home from the marketplace is not just a last minute shopper on some trivial errand, but is preparing for Shabbos. Man’s efforts may appear mundane, but they are a necessary preparation to reveal G-d’s presence in the world.
The Shev Shamytza in his introduction quotes from the Yerushalmi that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that had he been at Sinai he would have asked G-d for two mouths – one mouth to speak mundane matters, and a second mouth to dedicate only to Torah. Surely, asks the Shev Shamytza, it is not prohibited to engage in necessary mundane speech – why was a second mouth needed?! He answers that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai saw that the relationship between one’s mouth and Torah sheBa’al Peh is the same as the relationship between written Torah and its scroll. Not only are the words of Torah holy, but the container for their transmission is sanctified as well. While the words of written Torah sanctify the parchment the text is written on, the words of Torah sheBa’al Peh sanctify the mouth of man which utters them. It is not just the twelve middot of chessed which are Hashem’s revealed presence which are holy, but the mouth of mundane, physical man is holy as well, for it can reveal and discover the presence of Hashem even where not previously apparent.
In a sense, this teaching of Rashb”I is an extension of his Rebbe, Rabbi Akiva’s teaching that “Es Hashem Elokecha tirah” , the command to fear Hashem, also includes a mitzvah to respect talmidei chachamim who are not just transmitters of law, but who embody the holiness of Hashem’s presence by virtue of that role. Perhaps this idea sheds light on the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva’s students who, the Talmud records, failed in some way to properly honor each other. I doubt that these students did not recognize their role in transmitting the teaching their Rebbe revealed, yet perhaps each one did not recognize that the nuance and subtlety of their different personalities which added to color that transmission was like the kal v’chomer, a further revelvation, rather than a mundane obstacle to be overcome.
The power of man to create and reveal greater levels of kedusha is captured in the halachic dispute regarding when to start the entire process of sefira. The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words “M’macharas haShabbos”, the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting. The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the night after the first day of Pesach, irrespective of which day of the week it falls on. Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute. Shabbos is inherently a day which is kadosh based on Hashem declaring and revealing it to be so from the first week of creation – it is a day of chessed. Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date – it requires an act of din, an act of declaration and discovery by man. Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world. The Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives through the power of Torah sheBa’al Peh.
To emulate Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yoachi involves more than a trip to Meron and lighting a bonfire. It involves recognizing the inherent sanctity of all aspects of our life, of not relegating holiness to the cave and the mundane to the marketplace, but of realizing Torah as an all encompassing vision.
Sefira, the number 12, and Lag BaOmer by Rabbi Chaim Brown
12,000 pairs of students die during a brief two month period, students of the greatest sage of Torah who studied for two pairs of 12 years, and all that is left is a single great scholar who paired with his son hides in a cave for 12 years. We all recognize the story of Rabbi Akiva and the loss of his students which we mark during the Omer period, the story of his greatest student, R’ Shimon bar Yochai, who was forced to flee Roman persecution and hide in a case for twelve years and whose death we mark on Lag B’Omer, but what of the number twelve? Why is this such a central focus of the events of this period?
The Bnei Yisaschar (Chodesh Tishrei Ma’amar #7 as well as other places) explains that the 13 middot of Rabbi Yishmael used to darshen the Torah correspond to the 13 middot harachamim which we invoke when we recite selichos. Yet, these thirteen are not a single unit, but actually are divided into a group of twelve middot of chessed and one middah of din. The single middah of din, which is described by the name “K-l”, corresponds to the middah of kal v’chomer. The Talmud in fact uses the simple term “din” as a reference to kal v’chomer, e.g. the mishna in Bava Kamma uses the expression “dayo l’ba min HaDin”. Halachically, there is a fundamental difference that exists between kal v’chomer and all the other middot used to explain the Torah. Only kal v’chomer can be derived purely on the basis of sevara, logical inference, while all the other middot require a tradition handed down from one’s teacher. The greatest chessed in the world is Hashem giving of himself to us. The middot of rachamim cause Hashem to reveal more of his presence in the world, and correspondingly, the middot we use to explain the Torah reveal how much more of Hashem’s presence is with us that we see through a superficial reading of the Torah. Yet, even at a time of din when Hashem’s presence is hidden, we must trust that he is with us and seek him out; even when there is no mesorah and tradition to explain a text of Torah, we are free to use kal v’chomer to seek and find that meaning ourselves. ‘Piha pascha b’chochma’, explains the Bnei Yisaschar, refers to the middah of kal v’chomer which requires human intellect to reveal; ‘v’Toras chessed al leshona’ refers to the laws explicitly stated in the Torah which fall under the rubric of chessed.
The dichotomy between twelve and thirteen perhaps reflects on the relationship between the personalities of Rabbi Akiva and his student Rabbi Shomon bar Yochai. The gemara in Menachos tells us that Moshe Rabeinu was given a glimpse of Rabbi Akiva teaching Torah and he was confounded by the depths of the shiur. Moshe was despondent until he heard Rabbi Akiva asked the source for a halacha, to which he replied, “halacha l’Moshe m’Sinai”, it is a law which was revealed to Moshe on Sinai. Rabbi Akiva was the father of all Torah sheBa’al Peh, but like the twelve middot of chessed and twelve middot of derush, ultimately his teaching was a revelation of what was already contained within the depths and profundity of the written Torah which was revealed by Moshe.
When Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai emerged from his cave after twelve years of study everything he set his eyes on was consumed by flame. Rashb”I could not tolerate a mundane world divorced from the revelation of G-d’s holiness. Where was G-d’s presence felt in the bustling marketplace, in the day to day activities of most people’s lives – where was the chessed of Hashem apparent? Rashb”I was missing the extra year, the thirteenth middah, the kal v’chomer. G-d’s presence is found not just where he reveals it, but is found where we choose to discover it through our own efforts and intelligence. Din is but a mask which awaits the revelation of kal v’chomer. After one more year, the thirteenth year, in the cave, Rashb"I emerges and sees that man running home from the marketplace is not just a last minute shopper on some trivial errand, but is preparing for Shabbos. Man’s efforts may appear mundane, but they are a necessary preparation to reveal G-d’s presence in the world.
The Shev Shamytza in his introduction quotes from the Yerushalmi that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that had he been at Sinai he would have asked G-d for two mouths – one mouth to speak mundane matters, and a second mouth to dedicate only to Torah. Surely, asks the Shev Shamytza, it is not prohibited to engage in necessary mundane speech – why was a second mouth needed?! He answers that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai saw that the relationship between one’s mouth and Torah sheBa’al Peh is the same as the relationship between written Torah and its scroll. Not only are the words of Torah holy, but the container for their transmission is sanctified as well. While the words of written Torah sanctify the parchment the text is written on, the words of Torah sheBa’al Peh sanctify the mouth of man which utters them. It is not just the twelve middot of chessed which are Hashem’s revealed presence which are holy, but the mouth of mundane, physical man is holy as well, for it can reveal and discover the presence of Hashem even where not previously apparent.
In a sense, this teaching of Rashb”I is an extension of his Rebbe, Rabbi Akiva’s teaching that “Es Hashem Elokecha tirah” , the command to fear Hashem, also includes a mitzvah to respect talmidei chachamim who are not just transmitters of law, but who embody the holiness of Hashem’s presence by virtue of that role. Perhaps this idea sheds light on the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva’s students who, the Talmud records, failed in some way to properly honor each other. I doubt that these students did not recognize their role in transmitting the teaching their Rebbe revealed, yet perhaps each one did not recognize that the nuance and subtlety of their different personalities which added to color that transmission was like the kal v’chomer, a further revelvation, rather than a mundane obstacle to be overcome.
The power of man to create and reveal greater levels of kedusha is captured in the halachic dispute regarding when to start the entire process of sefira. The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words “M’macharas haShabbos”, the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting. The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the night after the first day of Pesach, irrespective of which day of the week it falls on. Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute. Shabbos is inherently a day which is kadosh based on Hashem declaring and revealing it to be so from the first week of creation – it is a day of chessed. Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date – it requires an act of din, an act of declaration and discovery by man. Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world. The Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives through the power of Torah sheBa’al Peh.
To emulate Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yoachi involves more than a trip to Meron and lighting a bonfire. It involves recognizing the inherent sanctity of all aspects of our life, of not relegating holiness to the cave and the mundane to the marketplace, but of realizing Torah as an all encompassing vision.
The Marriage of Geulah to Tefillah
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
R’ Nosson writes in Likutei Moharan (II:102):
The key to unlocking the puzzle of Rus lies in unraveling the puzzle of tefillah itself. One would think that surely the few moments a day we have to stand directly before Hashem should be filled with the most sublime thoughts and lofty requests. Yet, it almost seems that much of our tefllah could be boiled down into two words: "I need!" Tefillah of this sort is almost daring in its insinuation that without our prayers Hashem either does not know our needs or has not already fulfilled our every need necessary for our personal mission. R’ Kalonomus Kalmish Shapira, the Piecezna Rebbe hy"d, in Aish Kodesh, explains that there is indeed a more lofty meaning to tefillah. The essence of this higher level of tefillah is not concern for our own needs, but concern for the presence of the Shechina being felt in the world and in our lives. Because we see poverty, sickness, suffering, we are blind to Hashem’s presence. Through our tefillos we beseech Hashem to remove these obstacles, not for our personal sake, but simply so we can better appreciate his greatness. With this, the Aish Kodesh explains the prayers of Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim: "VaYay’anchu Bnei Yisrael min ha’avodah vayizaku, va’ta’al shavasam el haElokim min ha’avodah" – Bnei Yisrael grew forlorn from their labor and cried out, and their prayers ascended to Hashem (Shmos 2:23). Bnei Yisrael were so oppressed that the focus of their tefillos inevitably was to beg for immediate salvation from slavery, "VaYizaku", yet even within that cry, they also begged for the opportunity to once again be able to offer true tefillah only for the Shechina itself, "Vata’al shavasam el haElokim", for Elokus to be felt and realized in the world.
Based on the interpretation of the Aish Kodesh, we have greater insight not just into that particular moment of tefillah, but into the entire goal of yetziyas Mitzrayim. Yetziyas Mitzrayim was not only an act of physical redemption, but a redemption of the act of prayer. The davening in Mitzrayim was tefillah tata’ah, the lower level of davening only for personal need, but upon being freed from the bondage of slavery, we were free to enagage in tefilla ila’ah, the higher level of prayer to Hashem to remove hester panim and fill the world with His presence. This goal of the geulah was set out before Moshe in his initial encounter with Hashem, where he was promised, "B’hotziacha es ha’am m’Mitzrayim ta’avdun es haElokim al ha’har hazeh," – When you take Bnei Yisrael out of Egypt, you shall return to worship on this mountain.
The transformation of tefillah from a purely personal act of need fulfillment to an act of drawing Hashem into the world took place over the days of sefira between Pesach and Shavuos. The large letter "nun" (whose numerical value is 50) in the word "ta’avduN es haElokim al haHar", worship Hashem on Har Sinai, hints to the 50 days of counting between Pesach and Shavuos. We caught a glimpse of the Shechina in its glory in our redemption from Egypt, but it quickly departed and left us seeking and striving to recapture that moment. This is the longing of Shir haShirim which we read on Pesach, the search, "avaksha es she’avavah nafshi" for Hashem, our beloved. Tefillah is the mechanism that can once again bring us back to that moment of Shechina revealed. The days of sefirah are days of learning to daven, of learning that kedusha is not just imposed from above, but can also be drawn into the world by our longing from below.
The source of the halacha which teaches when we begin the count of sefira itself attests to this function of tefillah. The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words "M’macharas haShabbos", the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting sefira. The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the first day of Pesach. We being to count immediately on the second day of Pesach irrespective of which day of the week it falls on. Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute. Shabbos is a day that is inherently kadosh, for Hashem established its holiness from the first week of creation. Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date. Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world. Shabbos is the day of Torah – although the Sages dispute whether mattan Torah occurred on the sixth or seventh of Sivan, everyone agrees it occurred on Shabbos; Yom Tov is a day of mikraei kodesh, which the Ramban writes refers to a public gathering for tefillah. The Tzedukim felt that kedusha can only come from above, when Hashem magnanimously decides to reveal himself, as He does only on Shabbos. However, the Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives.
This dynamic between prayer for personal need and selfless prayer is embodied in the personality of Rus. Read superficially, we might misjudge Rus as seeking out Boaz in order to regain social position for Naomi, in order to have the family fields redeemed, or in order to escape the life of poverty that met Naomi upon her return. Yet, Chazal tell us that Rus’s name hints to David haMelech being "ravah l’Hashem b’shiros b’tishbachos", praising Hashem through the songs of Tehillim. Obviously Rus could not have been named because of the qualities of a descendent who was not yet born – rather, Chazal mean to teach us that Rus herself embodied those qualities which saw expression later in David haMelech, who said of himself, Ani tefillah." I am the embodiment of prayer. Much as true tefillah is a selfless act, Rus represents that very quality of selflessness: she is willing to abandon her home and future in order to cling to Naomi and become part of Klal Yisrael, even though Naomi warns her of the harsh life that lies ahead. Precisely because she is willing to abandon all for the sake of Hashem does she later merit to encounter Boaz, who becomes the family’s redeemer.
R’ Nachman teaches (Likutei Moharan I:65:4) that Rus represents the nefesh which finds expression in words of tefillah, in the longing for Hashem to reveal himself and remove our perception that the world is filled with pain, want, and suffering. "Einayich basadeh asher yiktzorun," even as you sow and plant the field, focus your eyes on the harvest; even as your soul feels the pains of this world, focus your longing on the spiritual harvest which is the true goal of prayer. Yet, R’ Nachman continues, the thirst of the nefesh cannot continue unabated – it must find relief from its longing. Hashem does answer the longing of the nefesh by revealing Himself to us – this is the encounter of learning Torah. Boaz’s name can be read as bo oz, within him is the strength of Torah, for it is Boaz who embodies the answer of Torah to the longing of tefillah.. The gemara tells us that the culmination of the Megillah was Boaz being mechadesh in halacha: he gathered ten people to teach the halacha that any female from Moav is permitted to marry into Klal Yisrael. The selfless dedication of Rus is matched only by the selfless response of Boaz, who agrees to take her as his wife in addition to being the redeemer of the property of Naomi.
This is perhaps some of the meaning of semichas geulah l’tefillah – prayer which is redeemed from any selfish focus and concentrates only on receiving the ratzon Hashem, which is revealed in direct response to the soul’s selfless longing. Rus represents the Jewish heart which cries out for Hashem to reveal Himself. Boaz represents the mind that absorbs the teaching of Torah, the result of that revelation. This perhaps is also the deeper meaning of the Sefas Emes’s teaching that the offering of the two loaves of the shtei halechem on Shavuos represent the offering of Torah and tefillah. And, perhaps, this is the connection between the first and second days of Shavuos. If when Shavuos is over we return to our regular schedule and put the experience of mattan Torah out of our thoughts, we have celebrated the first day of Yom Tov but not the second. But if when Shavuos is over our hearts and souls long to relive that experience, and it fills our tefillos, then we have celebrated the Megillah of Rus and the second day of Yom Tov as well. Through our tefillos, may we zoche again to greater insight into his Torah and to ultimate geulah through the removal of hester panim that will allow us to see Hashem’s presence in all creation.
For more sophisticated Torah thoughts by Rabbi Chaim Brown, see http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/
The Moon and the Monarchy
by Ariella Brown
The first mitzvah given to Jewish people as a nation was “Hachodesh hazeh lachem.” B’nai Yisrael were given the task of bringing the new month into being, so to speak, upon the appearance of the new moon. While the nations of the world are identified with steady sun, the Jewish people are aligned with the constantly changing moon. That may be surprising, for isn’t the steadfast sun more worthy of such prominence than the constantly shifting moon? Yet it is the very fact that the moon appears to change that makes it an apt emblem for the Jewish people. As the moon wanes at the end of month until its light is nearly completely hidden, we affirm tht it will be reborn and grow to its full brilliance again just as we affirm that we will return to our glory as a nation. This power of affirmation, based on our faith in Hashem, is a quality that is especially manifest in Jewish women.
While men are given the opportunity to do kiddush haChodesh, Jewish women are given the day of Rosh Chodesh as a holiday. Shulchan Aruch 417 on the laws of Rosh Chodesh says that women are accustomed not to do work on that day and that is a “good custom.” The Mishana Brurah explains the reason: When Bnai Yisrael were intent on making the golden calf, the women refused to contribute their jewelry Consequently, women were rewarded with Rosh Chodesh as a Yom Tov. The reward is not arbitrary. The golden calf came about because Bnai Yisrael panicked when Moshe did not return to them when expected. The men came up with a plan for a substitute figure to have a concrete presence to take his place. In contrast, the women did not despair of Moshe’s return. The women were not taken in by the appearance of abandonment. They were confident that Moshe will return, so they refused to contribute to the collection. Just as the nashim tzidkaniyos sustained their faith in Hashem’s ultimate salvation during their enslavement in Egypt and took action to ensure the perpetuation of Yisrael, in this instance they were able to perceive that there is a light, though it appears obscured by darkness. Therefore, it is fitting that the women who affirmed their faith were given the Rosh Chodesh as a holiday. The moon wanes until it all but disappears and then begins a new cycle. That turning point, the transition from vanishing light to escalating radiance marks Rosh Chodesh a day that women should observe as commemoration of the potency of their assurance in Hashem’s promise.
At Kiddush levana we say “David Melech Yisrael chai vekayam,” “David, King of Israel lives and remains existent.” As the moon is reborn, so to speak, for the new moon actually is called the nolad, we affirm our faith that the kingdom of Israel will also return, and the Davidic dynasty will reign once again. We make this declaration not as the moon is in its glory of fullness but when it has all but disappeared as it shifts from the final waning phase to the initial waxing phase. We cannot yet see the light, but we know it is there and will grow into greater glory once again. The light of the Davidic kingdom has come out of darkness from heroic women who were able to see the gleam of hope beyond the darkness of the despair that faced them.
The story of Ruth tells the story of the family that follows a trajectory downward until the turnaround yields new hope and the seed of the Jewish monarchy. The spark of hope was sustained and enlarged by the faith of a woman who could see beyond the darkness of the present to the brightness of the future. Naomi becomes “shiray shirayim,” as R” Chania says (Ruth Rabbah) bereft of husband, sons, and all of her worldly goods. While she approaches the stage of hopelessness, she rises out of it. She raises her sights beyond the bleak prospect to recognize the opening of opportunity that was extended to her. She apprehends the glimmer of light behind the darkness and so can pronounce that Hashem had not in fact abandoned her family.
The megillah begins with Elimelech’s family’s defection from Eretz Yisrael. While they start out with a plan of staying only temporarily, they end up settling into the fields of Moav. Thus even after Elimelech dies, the family remains there. In Imma Shel Malchus, Yehoshua Bachrach explains that the punishment began within the sin, and “aveira gorreres aveira,” one sin leads to another. Machlon and Kilyon were ashamed to return to their homeland, so they distanced themselves even further by marrying women from Moav. Machlon and Kilyon fell into despair, and, as result, dug themselves even deeper into their sin. It is from these depths that Naomi, who survives her family, has to extricate herself. When Naomi resolves to return to her homeland, she sounds as if she has lost all hope. Thus she tells the women who knew her before not to call her Naomi (which means pleasant) but Mara, (which means bitter) for Hashem has exacted bitter retribution from her. She, who had enjoyed a high level of wealth, status, and a family, had lost everything (1:20-21). She and Ruth are so destitute that their only source of sustenance is the bit of barley that Ruth manages to glean as the share allotted to the poor.
But Naomi does not remain in a state of despondency; she not only puts her faith in Hashem’s chesed, she takes action. She lights up with hope when Ruth tells her whose field she is gleaning in. Upon recognizing the name of Boaz as a relative, Naomi could well have ordered her daughter-in-law to find a different field. It would be a normal human reaction to avoid him because it is more embarrassing to receive the charity of someone who knew of her fall from her exalted position than to receive from someone to whom she would be anonymous. Instead, she exclaims, “Baruch hu laHashem asher lo azav chasdo es hachayim ve’es hamesim” She is able to comprehend the blessing in the situation that shows that Hashem has not abandoned his lovingkindness to both the living and the dead (2:20). This comprehension is no small feat, for her hope seems to have no real basis. At this point, Boaz has done nothing other than show a measure of recognition to Ruth and an assurance that she would not be harassed if she continues gleaning in his fields. Yet Naomi is confident that the fact that Ruth ended up in Boaz’s field indicates that Hashem has delivered them. Not only will their basic needs be met, but they will not be able to keep the family name alive.
While the light of the moon appears to have gone out completely, Naomi is certain that its light will grow bright again as the moon is reborn. But she knows that it is not enough to cannot passively hope and trust that things will resolve themselves. Naomi recognizes that she must take action to effect the geula that she seeks. She sends Ruth to Boaz, who declares that he will both redeem the field of Elimelech’s family and take Ruth as his wife. As a result of Naomi’s action, not only is her family’s portion preserved, but a fundamental halacha of “Moavi velo Moavit,” is brought to light. No less a figure than the Gadol Hador took Ruth as his wife, to publicly validate her lawful standing as a Jewess. Naomi’s faith and actions are rewarded when Ruth has a son who is more than a grandson to her but like her very own child. This child was called Oved, the father of Yishay, the father of David.
Megillas Ruth was written by Shmuel haNavi to affirm David Hamelech’s rightful kingship. Thus the narrative ends with a genealogy that traces the generations from Ruth’s son to David. However, the line the David was descended from has deeper roots than that. The megillah itself recounts the blessing the people offer to Boaz that his household will be like the house of Peretz, the son of Tamar and Yehudah (4:12). Tamar had attained her aspiration to carry a child from the royal line of Yehudah. When she was widowed from his two oldest sons and was not given the chance to marry the third, she did not despair. Instead she took matters into her own hands and won Yehudah himself as her husband after exposing herself to great personal risk. Ultimately, she was extolled as a woman who put herself on the line leshem Shamayim in much the same manner as Ruth does.
Generations earlier, there was a woman who refused to concede defeat and determined to affirm her faith in the future. After the destruction of Sdom, Lot was left with his two daughters in a cave. They believed that the destruction they had survived had wiped out all other people. Instead of despairing, the eldest daughter determined that it was up to them to repopulate the earth. So she instigated a plan whereby hers son Moav and her sister’s son Ammon were born. Even though they were operating under a mistaken impression and took a questionable path, Hashem rewarded them for their commendable intentions. Consequently, the Davidic line descends directly from Lot’s daughter, through Ruth the Moavit, David’s great-grandmother.
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
R’ Nosson writes in Likutei Moharan (II:102):
- One time I came to him and he related to me that a certain Rav . . . had spoken on the topic of Boaz and Rus, that Boaz and Rus are the secret of ‘smichas geulah l’tefila’. Boaz represents the quality of "goel’ [redeemder], as it is written, "For I am a redeemer [of the field]." Rus represents the quality of tefillah [prayer], as our Rabbis taught, ‘Why was her name called Rus? – Because from her descended David, who exalted G-d with songs and praise.’ It was clear from his words that he revealed through this a very lofty teaching, but I did not merit to hear it."
The key to unlocking the puzzle of Rus lies in unraveling the puzzle of tefillah itself. One would think that surely the few moments a day we have to stand directly before Hashem should be filled with the most sublime thoughts and lofty requests. Yet, it almost seems that much of our tefllah could be boiled down into two words: "I need!" Tefillah of this sort is almost daring in its insinuation that without our prayers Hashem either does not know our needs or has not already fulfilled our every need necessary for our personal mission. R’ Kalonomus Kalmish Shapira, the Piecezna Rebbe hy"d, in Aish Kodesh, explains that there is indeed a more lofty meaning to tefillah. The essence of this higher level of tefillah is not concern for our own needs, but concern for the presence of the Shechina being felt in the world and in our lives. Because we see poverty, sickness, suffering, we are blind to Hashem’s presence. Through our tefillos we beseech Hashem to remove these obstacles, not for our personal sake, but simply so we can better appreciate his greatness. With this, the Aish Kodesh explains the prayers of Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim: "VaYay’anchu Bnei Yisrael min ha’avodah vayizaku, va’ta’al shavasam el haElokim min ha’avodah" – Bnei Yisrael grew forlorn from their labor and cried out, and their prayers ascended to Hashem (Shmos 2:23). Bnei Yisrael were so oppressed that the focus of their tefillos inevitably was to beg for immediate salvation from slavery, "VaYizaku", yet even within that cry, they also begged for the opportunity to once again be able to offer true tefillah only for the Shechina itself, "Vata’al shavasam el haElokim", for Elokus to be felt and realized in the world.
Based on the interpretation of the Aish Kodesh, we have greater insight not just into that particular moment of tefillah, but into the entire goal of yetziyas Mitzrayim. Yetziyas Mitzrayim was not only an act of physical redemption, but a redemption of the act of prayer. The davening in Mitzrayim was tefillah tata’ah, the lower level of davening only for personal need, but upon being freed from the bondage of slavery, we were free to enagage in tefilla ila’ah, the higher level of prayer to Hashem to remove hester panim and fill the world with His presence. This goal of the geulah was set out before Moshe in his initial encounter with Hashem, where he was promised, "B’hotziacha es ha’am m’Mitzrayim ta’avdun es haElokim al ha’har hazeh," – When you take Bnei Yisrael out of Egypt, you shall return to worship on this mountain.
The transformation of tefillah from a purely personal act of need fulfillment to an act of drawing Hashem into the world took place over the days of sefira between Pesach and Shavuos. The large letter "nun" (whose numerical value is 50) in the word "ta’avduN es haElokim al haHar", worship Hashem on Har Sinai, hints to the 50 days of counting between Pesach and Shavuos. We caught a glimpse of the Shechina in its glory in our redemption from Egypt, but it quickly departed and left us seeking and striving to recapture that moment. This is the longing of Shir haShirim which we read on Pesach, the search, "avaksha es she’avavah nafshi" for Hashem, our beloved. Tefillah is the mechanism that can once again bring us back to that moment of Shechina revealed. The days of sefirah are days of learning to daven, of learning that kedusha is not just imposed from above, but can also be drawn into the world by our longing from below.
The source of the halacha which teaches when we begin the count of sefira itself attests to this function of tefillah. The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words "M’macharas haShabbos", the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting sefira. The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the first day of Pesach. We being to count immediately on the second day of Pesach irrespective of which day of the week it falls on. Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute. Shabbos is a day that is inherently kadosh, for Hashem established its holiness from the first week of creation. Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date. Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world. Shabbos is the day of Torah – although the Sages dispute whether mattan Torah occurred on the sixth or seventh of Sivan, everyone agrees it occurred on Shabbos; Yom Tov is a day of mikraei kodesh, which the Ramban writes refers to a public gathering for tefillah. The Tzedukim felt that kedusha can only come from above, when Hashem magnanimously decides to reveal himself, as He does only on Shabbos. However, the Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives.
This dynamic between prayer for personal need and selfless prayer is embodied in the personality of Rus. Read superficially, we might misjudge Rus as seeking out Boaz in order to regain social position for Naomi, in order to have the family fields redeemed, or in order to escape the life of poverty that met Naomi upon her return. Yet, Chazal tell us that Rus’s name hints to David haMelech being "ravah l’Hashem b’shiros b’tishbachos", praising Hashem through the songs of Tehillim. Obviously Rus could not have been named because of the qualities of a descendent who was not yet born – rather, Chazal mean to teach us that Rus herself embodied those qualities which saw expression later in David haMelech, who said of himself, Ani tefillah." I am the embodiment of prayer. Much as true tefillah is a selfless act, Rus represents that very quality of selflessness: she is willing to abandon her home and future in order to cling to Naomi and become part of Klal Yisrael, even though Naomi warns her of the harsh life that lies ahead. Precisely because she is willing to abandon all for the sake of Hashem does she later merit to encounter Boaz, who becomes the family’s redeemer.
R’ Nachman teaches (Likutei Moharan I:65:4) that Rus represents the nefesh which finds expression in words of tefillah, in the longing for Hashem to reveal himself and remove our perception that the world is filled with pain, want, and suffering. "Einayich basadeh asher yiktzorun," even as you sow and plant the field, focus your eyes on the harvest; even as your soul feels the pains of this world, focus your longing on the spiritual harvest which is the true goal of prayer. Yet, R’ Nachman continues, the thirst of the nefesh cannot continue unabated – it must find relief from its longing. Hashem does answer the longing of the nefesh by revealing Himself to us – this is the encounter of learning Torah. Boaz’s name can be read as bo oz, within him is the strength of Torah, for it is Boaz who embodies the answer of Torah to the longing of tefillah.. The gemara tells us that the culmination of the Megillah was Boaz being mechadesh in halacha: he gathered ten people to teach the halacha that any female from Moav is permitted to marry into Klal Yisrael. The selfless dedication of Rus is matched only by the selfless response of Boaz, who agrees to take her as his wife in addition to being the redeemer of the property of Naomi.
This is perhaps some of the meaning of semichas geulah l’tefillah – prayer which is redeemed from any selfish focus and concentrates only on receiving the ratzon Hashem, which is revealed in direct response to the soul’s selfless longing. Rus represents the Jewish heart which cries out for Hashem to reveal Himself. Boaz represents the mind that absorbs the teaching of Torah, the result of that revelation. This perhaps is also the deeper meaning of the Sefas Emes’s teaching that the offering of the two loaves of the shtei halechem on Shavuos represent the offering of Torah and tefillah. And, perhaps, this is the connection between the first and second days of Shavuos. If when Shavuos is over we return to our regular schedule and put the experience of mattan Torah out of our thoughts, we have celebrated the first day of Yom Tov but not the second. But if when Shavuos is over our hearts and souls long to relive that experience, and it fills our tefillos, then we have celebrated the Megillah of Rus and the second day of Yom Tov as well. Through our tefillos, may we zoche again to greater insight into his Torah and to ultimate geulah through the removal of hester panim that will allow us to see Hashem’s presence in all creation.
For more sophisticated Torah thoughts by Rabbi Chaim Brown, see http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/
The Moon and the Monarchy
by Ariella Brown
The first mitzvah given to Jewish people as a nation was “Hachodesh hazeh lachem.” B’nai Yisrael were given the task of bringing the new month into being, so to speak, upon the appearance of the new moon. While the nations of the world are identified with steady sun, the Jewish people are aligned with the constantly changing moon. That may be surprising, for isn’t the steadfast sun more worthy of such prominence than the constantly shifting moon? Yet it is the very fact that the moon appears to change that makes it an apt emblem for the Jewish people. As the moon wanes at the end of month until its light is nearly completely hidden, we affirm tht it will be reborn and grow to its full brilliance again just as we affirm that we will return to our glory as a nation. This power of affirmation, based on our faith in Hashem, is a quality that is especially manifest in Jewish women.
While men are given the opportunity to do kiddush haChodesh, Jewish women are given the day of Rosh Chodesh as a holiday. Shulchan Aruch 417 on the laws of Rosh Chodesh says that women are accustomed not to do work on that day and that is a “good custom.” The Mishana Brurah explains the reason: When Bnai Yisrael were intent on making the golden calf, the women refused to contribute their jewelry Consequently, women were rewarded with Rosh Chodesh as a Yom Tov. The reward is not arbitrary. The golden calf came about because Bnai Yisrael panicked when Moshe did not return to them when expected. The men came up with a plan for a substitute figure to have a concrete presence to take his place. In contrast, the women did not despair of Moshe’s return. The women were not taken in by the appearance of abandonment. They were confident that Moshe will return, so they refused to contribute to the collection. Just as the nashim tzidkaniyos sustained their faith in Hashem’s ultimate salvation during their enslavement in Egypt and took action to ensure the perpetuation of Yisrael, in this instance they were able to perceive that there is a light, though it appears obscured by darkness. Therefore, it is fitting that the women who affirmed their faith were given the Rosh Chodesh as a holiday. The moon wanes until it all but disappears and then begins a new cycle. That turning point, the transition from vanishing light to escalating radiance marks Rosh Chodesh a day that women should observe as commemoration of the potency of their assurance in Hashem’s promise.
At Kiddush levana we say “David Melech Yisrael chai vekayam,” “David, King of Israel lives and remains existent.” As the moon is reborn, so to speak, for the new moon actually is called the nolad, we affirm our faith that the kingdom of Israel will also return, and the Davidic dynasty will reign once again. We make this declaration not as the moon is in its glory of fullness but when it has all but disappeared as it shifts from the final waning phase to the initial waxing phase. We cannot yet see the light, but we know it is there and will grow into greater glory once again. The light of the Davidic kingdom has come out of darkness from heroic women who were able to see the gleam of hope beyond the darkness of the despair that faced them.
The story of Ruth tells the story of the family that follows a trajectory downward until the turnaround yields new hope and the seed of the Jewish monarchy. The spark of hope was sustained and enlarged by the faith of a woman who could see beyond the darkness of the present to the brightness of the future. Naomi becomes “shiray shirayim,” as R” Chania says (Ruth Rabbah) bereft of husband, sons, and all of her worldly goods. While she approaches the stage of hopelessness, she rises out of it. She raises her sights beyond the bleak prospect to recognize the opening of opportunity that was extended to her. She apprehends the glimmer of light behind the darkness and so can pronounce that Hashem had not in fact abandoned her family.
The megillah begins with Elimelech’s family’s defection from Eretz Yisrael. While they start out with a plan of staying only temporarily, they end up settling into the fields of Moav. Thus even after Elimelech dies, the family remains there. In Imma Shel Malchus, Yehoshua Bachrach explains that the punishment began within the sin, and “aveira gorreres aveira,” one sin leads to another. Machlon and Kilyon were ashamed to return to their homeland, so they distanced themselves even further by marrying women from Moav. Machlon and Kilyon fell into despair, and, as result, dug themselves even deeper into their sin. It is from these depths that Naomi, who survives her family, has to extricate herself. When Naomi resolves to return to her homeland, she sounds as if she has lost all hope. Thus she tells the women who knew her before not to call her Naomi (which means pleasant) but Mara, (which means bitter) for Hashem has exacted bitter retribution from her. She, who had enjoyed a high level of wealth, status, and a family, had lost everything (1:20-21). She and Ruth are so destitute that their only source of sustenance is the bit of barley that Ruth manages to glean as the share allotted to the poor.
But Naomi does not remain in a state of despondency; she not only puts her faith in Hashem’s chesed, she takes action. She lights up with hope when Ruth tells her whose field she is gleaning in. Upon recognizing the name of Boaz as a relative, Naomi could well have ordered her daughter-in-law to find a different field. It would be a normal human reaction to avoid him because it is more embarrassing to receive the charity of someone who knew of her fall from her exalted position than to receive from someone to whom she would be anonymous. Instead, she exclaims, “Baruch hu laHashem asher lo azav chasdo es hachayim ve’es hamesim” She is able to comprehend the blessing in the situation that shows that Hashem has not abandoned his lovingkindness to both the living and the dead (2:20). This comprehension is no small feat, for her hope seems to have no real basis. At this point, Boaz has done nothing other than show a measure of recognition to Ruth and an assurance that she would not be harassed if she continues gleaning in his fields. Yet Naomi is confident that the fact that Ruth ended up in Boaz’s field indicates that Hashem has delivered them. Not only will their basic needs be met, but they will not be able to keep the family name alive.
While the light of the moon appears to have gone out completely, Naomi is certain that its light will grow bright again as the moon is reborn. But she knows that it is not enough to cannot passively hope and trust that things will resolve themselves. Naomi recognizes that she must take action to effect the geula that she seeks. She sends Ruth to Boaz, who declares that he will both redeem the field of Elimelech’s family and take Ruth as his wife. As a result of Naomi’s action, not only is her family’s portion preserved, but a fundamental halacha of “Moavi velo Moavit,” is brought to light. No less a figure than the Gadol Hador took Ruth as his wife, to publicly validate her lawful standing as a Jewess. Naomi’s faith and actions are rewarded when Ruth has a son who is more than a grandson to her but like her very own child. This child was called Oved, the father of Yishay, the father of David.
Megillas Ruth was written by Shmuel haNavi to affirm David Hamelech’s rightful kingship. Thus the narrative ends with a genealogy that traces the generations from Ruth’s son to David. However, the line the David was descended from has deeper roots than that. The megillah itself recounts the blessing the people offer to Boaz that his household will be like the house of Peretz, the son of Tamar and Yehudah (4:12). Tamar had attained her aspiration to carry a child from the royal line of Yehudah. When she was widowed from his two oldest sons and was not given the chance to marry the third, she did not despair. Instead she took matters into her own hands and won Yehudah himself as her husband after exposing herself to great personal risk. Ultimately, she was extolled as a woman who put herself on the line leshem Shamayim in much the same manner as Ruth does.
Generations earlier, there was a woman who refused to concede defeat and determined to affirm her faith in the future. After the destruction of Sdom, Lot was left with his two daughters in a cave. They believed that the destruction they had survived had wiped out all other people. Instead of despairing, the eldest daughter determined that it was up to them to repopulate the earth. So she instigated a plan whereby hers son Moav and her sister’s son Ammon were born. Even though they were operating under a mistaken impression and took a questionable path, Hashem rewarded them for their commendable intentions. Consequently, the Davidic line descends directly from Lot’s daughter, through Ruth the Moavit, David’s great-grandmother.
Challah – Food for the Soul
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
It is only after the first thick slice of challah dunked in honey hits the palate that many of us fully sense that another Rosh HaShana is upon us. Challah is more than just an essential gastronomical element of the Yom Tov, but in fact may rightly be called one of the reasons for the Yom Tov itself. “B-reishis,” “ In the beginning…”, which marks the start of creation, is interpreted by Chazal as a hint to the mitzvah of separating challah, which the Torah calls “reishis arisoseichem,” the first dough. The concept of “reishis” -- first -- used with respect to challah is not to be taken in the sense of chronological sequence, like the first one to finish a race, but in the sense of logical hierarchy, a first cause or first order of business necessary before other matters can be attended to. Before creation could proceed, there had to be a mitzvah of challah.
One of the keys to appreciating the significance of hafrashas challah lies understanding the context in which the command first appears. After the return of the spies and their discouraging report which discouraged entering Eretz Yisrael, the Jewish people were told their punishment of having to undergo a 40 year sojourn in the desert. Immediately afterwards, the Torah commands the mitzvah of challah, which could only be performed in Eretz Yisrael. On one level, this commandment intimates a consolation that, although deferred, the dream of entering Eretz Yisrael remained the ultimate destiny of the Jewish people. However, there is also a lesson inherent in the mitzvah of challah itself that serves as a response to the spies.
Maharal contrasts the mitzvah of bikkurim, which is also referred to in the Torah as reishis, with the mitvah of hafrashas challah. The mitzvah of bikkurim entails separating new fruit while the fruit is in its pristine state, untouched by man’s hand, and bringing that fruit to the kohein in the Bais haMikdash. Bikkurim is an acknowledgement of the kedusha inherent in the natural bounty given by Hashem. Although the Torah gives us no specific date for the episode of the spies, we are told that this story occurred in the days of bikkurei anavim, the blossoming of the first grapes. The concept of bikkurim relates to the way of life that the spies wished to preserve, that is the way of life experienced by the Jews in the midbar where mann fell from the sky, water from a miraculous be’er, and protection from the Divine clouds that revealed Hashem’s presence. These wonders sustained life without the normal means of human effort, but they were to cease upon the B’nai Yisrael’s entrance into their destined homeland. The Jewish people would be forced from Hashem’s overt protection into the heat of war, forced to deal with the necessity of taming and farming the land, and challenged to build a kingdom surrounded by enemies.
The spies could appreciate the kedusha of bikkurim, the pristine gifts of Hashem’s benevolence, but they could not comprehend how the barren wilderness of Eretz Yisrael could be transformed as well into a makom kadosh, a holy place. They lacked the perspective of hafrashas challah, separating challah, which can take place only after wheat has been turned to flour, mixed with water and yeast to make dough, and kneaded by human hands. Sanctity is not found only in an idyllic cocoon of holiness separated from the world, but is to be found even within the challenges and daily efforts of life that the Torah itself demands we engage in for the betterment of the world and our surroundings. That is the sanctity epitomized by the mitzvah of hafrashas challah.
The mann that nourished the Jews was imbued with spiritual effect, as Chazal say, “lo nitna Torah elah l’ochlei haman” --the Torah was given only to those who ate mann. Nevertheless, the food produced in Eretz Yisrael through the labor and toil of the farmer engendered a greater sense of appreciation for Hashem. R’ Tzadok HaKohein (Tzidkas haTzadik #247 ) points out that the first bracha of birchas hamazon, which Moshe instituted in the desert, addresses Hashem in third-person, while the second bracha, which was instituted by Yehoshua after entering the land, addresses Hashem in second-person. Precisely because of its great spirituality, the mann created a sense of distance. Indeed, the halacha for saying the beracha on bread calls for holding it with all ten figures to remind us of the ten steps from digging to baking that are entailed in preparing bread. Thus our creative work in preparing this staple of our lives parallels the ten ma’amaros (expressions) that were the steps employed by Hashem in creating the world.
Whereas the mann was a temporary oasis of food found only in the desert, hafrashas challah is something we relate to as a permanent part of our “normal” routine of toiling for our own bread. Because it applies even to our mundane lives, demonstrating that by transforming the world we reveal its inherent kedusha, hafrashas challah and the toil for our own bread engenders an even greater closeness and appreciation for Hashem’s immanent presence. Just as challah applies to the same physical volume of food as the mamn, it has equal if not greater spiritual “volume” and potential to implant the same kedusha in life as the mann.
The advantage of the result of human effort over the raw natural product is proven by Rabbi Akivah in his debate with the Roman leader, Turnus Rufus. The Roman asks, “Whose handiwork is greater, man’s or G-d’s? It obviously must be G-d’s, so why do you do bris milah and attempt to change the body from the way it was created?” Rabbi Akiva unequivocally responds that man’s work is greater. He demonstrates his point by bringing the Roman a loaf of bread and asking if he would rather eat that than a bundle of raw wheat. The Ohr HaChaim is troubled by this Midrash. There is a tangible superiority of bread to wheat, yet what tangible superiority is there to performing the mitzvah of bris milah? Perhaps the answer is that R’ Akiva never intended to demonstrate the obvious physical superiority of bread to wheat. R’ Akiva’s point was that despite the need for man’s effort and involvement to bring it about, we give greater thanks to Hashem for a loaf of bread than for a bundle of raw wheat – there is a spiritual superiority engendered by the actions and involvement of man, not only a physical one. The Roman only saw Hashem’s presence in the bikkurim state of pristine natural beauty, while R’ Akiva taught that Hashem’s presence is all the more so found in hafrashas challah, in the loaves we participate in creating.
Hafrashas challah is one of the three mitzvos particular for women that evoke the three miracles that recurred weekly for our matriarch Sarah, which in turn continued for Rivka: candles remained burning from one erev Shabbos to the next, the dough was blessed so it was never consumed, and a cloud enveloped her tent at all times. There is also a parallel between these miracles and vessels of the Mishkan: the candles correspond to the menorah, the dough to the shulchan and the loaves which stood upon it, and the cloud to the smoke of the altar. The Mishkan represents the idea of holiness imposed by Hashem revealing his presence – no human could enter the inner chambers of the Bais HaMikdash, because like the fruits of bikkurim, the holiness of this space is divorced from man’s efforts and labor. The miracles of Sarah’s tent and the mitzvos they correspond to represent kedusha marked by man’s efforts. Lighting Shabbos candles is done after we complete six days of work and stand ready to mark Shabbos as kadosh; hafrashas challah from dough marks the kedusha of earthly matter and that which we consume by separating off a piece for the kohein; taharas hamishpacha sanctifies the act of procreation. The tent of Sarah and Rivka was itself a Mishkan, not created by the command of Hashem imposed upon them, but created by their own engagement in the world in a way that demonstrated Hashem’s presence even in the mundane.
“B-reishis,” the beginning of Creation, is only possible if we have the perspective of the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, called “reishis arisoseichem.” The toil and effort of humanity on earth ultimately can reveal great spiritual gain which we would never achieve if we stop at the point of offering the pristine first fruits as bikkurim. The world was not created as a place for man’s soul to be demoted from the pristine holiness of Heaven, but to demonstrate that even in the base physical world which surrounds us there is hidden the immanent presence of G-d. We alter the natural state of wheat by grinding it into flour then kneading it with water and yeast to form the dough that is baked into the bread that is obviously preferable to raw grain. Likewise, we toil to improve our own natural states to achieve spiritual elevation. In taking off the dough for the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, we demonstrate that our actions are not just intent on preparing food for our bodies, but in preparing sustenance for our souls.
by Rabbi Chaim Brown
It is only after the first thick slice of challah dunked in honey hits the palate that many of us fully sense that another Rosh HaShana is upon us. Challah is more than just an essential gastronomical element of the Yom Tov, but in fact may rightly be called one of the reasons for the Yom Tov itself. “B-reishis,” “ In the beginning…”, which marks the start of creation, is interpreted by Chazal as a hint to the mitzvah of separating challah, which the Torah calls “reishis arisoseichem,” the first dough. The concept of “reishis” -- first -- used with respect to challah is not to be taken in the sense of chronological sequence, like the first one to finish a race, but in the sense of logical hierarchy, a first cause or first order of business necessary before other matters can be attended to. Before creation could proceed, there had to be a mitzvah of challah.
One of the keys to appreciating the significance of hafrashas challah lies understanding the context in which the command first appears. After the return of the spies and their discouraging report which discouraged entering Eretz Yisrael, the Jewish people were told their punishment of having to undergo a 40 year sojourn in the desert. Immediately afterwards, the Torah commands the mitzvah of challah, which could only be performed in Eretz Yisrael. On one level, this commandment intimates a consolation that, although deferred, the dream of entering Eretz Yisrael remained the ultimate destiny of the Jewish people. However, there is also a lesson inherent in the mitzvah of challah itself that serves as a response to the spies.
Maharal contrasts the mitzvah of bikkurim, which is also referred to in the Torah as reishis, with the mitvah of hafrashas challah. The mitzvah of bikkurim entails separating new fruit while the fruit is in its pristine state, untouched by man’s hand, and bringing that fruit to the kohein in the Bais haMikdash. Bikkurim is an acknowledgement of the kedusha inherent in the natural bounty given by Hashem. Although the Torah gives us no specific date for the episode of the spies, we are told that this story occurred in the days of bikkurei anavim, the blossoming of the first grapes. The concept of bikkurim relates to the way of life that the spies wished to preserve, that is the way of life experienced by the Jews in the midbar where mann fell from the sky, water from a miraculous be’er, and protection from the Divine clouds that revealed Hashem’s presence. These wonders sustained life without the normal means of human effort, but they were to cease upon the B’nai Yisrael’s entrance into their destined homeland. The Jewish people would be forced from Hashem’s overt protection into the heat of war, forced to deal with the necessity of taming and farming the land, and challenged to build a kingdom surrounded by enemies.
The spies could appreciate the kedusha of bikkurim, the pristine gifts of Hashem’s benevolence, but they could not comprehend how the barren wilderness of Eretz Yisrael could be transformed as well into a makom kadosh, a holy place. They lacked the perspective of hafrashas challah, separating challah, which can take place only after wheat has been turned to flour, mixed with water and yeast to make dough, and kneaded by human hands. Sanctity is not found only in an idyllic cocoon of holiness separated from the world, but is to be found even within the challenges and daily efforts of life that the Torah itself demands we engage in for the betterment of the world and our surroundings. That is the sanctity epitomized by the mitzvah of hafrashas challah.
The mann that nourished the Jews was imbued with spiritual effect, as Chazal say, “lo nitna Torah elah l’ochlei haman” --the Torah was given only to those who ate mann. Nevertheless, the food produced in Eretz Yisrael through the labor and toil of the farmer engendered a greater sense of appreciation for Hashem. R’ Tzadok HaKohein (Tzidkas haTzadik #247 ) points out that the first bracha of birchas hamazon, which Moshe instituted in the desert, addresses Hashem in third-person, while the second bracha, which was instituted by Yehoshua after entering the land, addresses Hashem in second-person. Precisely because of its great spirituality, the mann created a sense of distance. Indeed, the halacha for saying the beracha on bread calls for holding it with all ten figures to remind us of the ten steps from digging to baking that are entailed in preparing bread. Thus our creative work in preparing this staple of our lives parallels the ten ma’amaros (expressions) that were the steps employed by Hashem in creating the world.
Whereas the mann was a temporary oasis of food found only in the desert, hafrashas challah is something we relate to as a permanent part of our “normal” routine of toiling for our own bread. Because it applies even to our mundane lives, demonstrating that by transforming the world we reveal its inherent kedusha, hafrashas challah and the toil for our own bread engenders an even greater closeness and appreciation for Hashem’s immanent presence. Just as challah applies to the same physical volume of food as the mamn, it has equal if not greater spiritual “volume” and potential to implant the same kedusha in life as the mann.
The advantage of the result of human effort over the raw natural product is proven by Rabbi Akivah in his debate with the Roman leader, Turnus Rufus. The Roman asks, “Whose handiwork is greater, man’s or G-d’s? It obviously must be G-d’s, so why do you do bris milah and attempt to change the body from the way it was created?” Rabbi Akiva unequivocally responds that man’s work is greater. He demonstrates his point by bringing the Roman a loaf of bread and asking if he would rather eat that than a bundle of raw wheat. The Ohr HaChaim is troubled by this Midrash. There is a tangible superiority of bread to wheat, yet what tangible superiority is there to performing the mitzvah of bris milah? Perhaps the answer is that R’ Akiva never intended to demonstrate the obvious physical superiority of bread to wheat. R’ Akiva’s point was that despite the need for man’s effort and involvement to bring it about, we give greater thanks to Hashem for a loaf of bread than for a bundle of raw wheat – there is a spiritual superiority engendered by the actions and involvement of man, not only a physical one. The Roman only saw Hashem’s presence in the bikkurim state of pristine natural beauty, while R’ Akiva taught that Hashem’s presence is all the more so found in hafrashas challah, in the loaves we participate in creating.
Hafrashas challah is one of the three mitzvos particular for women that evoke the three miracles that recurred weekly for our matriarch Sarah, which in turn continued for Rivka: candles remained burning from one erev Shabbos to the next, the dough was blessed so it was never consumed, and a cloud enveloped her tent at all times. There is also a parallel between these miracles and vessels of the Mishkan: the candles correspond to the menorah, the dough to the shulchan and the loaves which stood upon it, and the cloud to the smoke of the altar. The Mishkan represents the idea of holiness imposed by Hashem revealing his presence – no human could enter the inner chambers of the Bais HaMikdash, because like the fruits of bikkurim, the holiness of this space is divorced from man’s efforts and labor. The miracles of Sarah’s tent and the mitzvos they correspond to represent kedusha marked by man’s efforts. Lighting Shabbos candles is done after we complete six days of work and stand ready to mark Shabbos as kadosh; hafrashas challah from dough marks the kedusha of earthly matter and that which we consume by separating off a piece for the kohein; taharas hamishpacha sanctifies the act of procreation. The tent of Sarah and Rivka was itself a Mishkan, not created by the command of Hashem imposed upon them, but created by their own engagement in the world in a way that demonstrated Hashem’s presence even in the mundane.
“B-reishis,” the beginning of Creation, is only possible if we have the perspective of the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, called “reishis arisoseichem.” The toil and effort of humanity on earth ultimately can reveal great spiritual gain which we would never achieve if we stop at the point of offering the pristine first fruits as bikkurim. The world was not created as a place for man’s soul to be demoted from the pristine holiness of Heaven, but to demonstrate that even in the base physical world which surrounds us there is hidden the immanent presence of G-d. We alter the natural state of wheat by grinding it into flour then kneading it with water and yeast to form the dough that is baked into the bread that is obviously preferable to raw grain. Likewise, we toil to improve our own natural states to achieve spiritual elevation. In taking off the dough for the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, we demonstrate that our actions are not just intent on preparing food for our bodies, but in preparing sustenance for our souls.