Peace as a Meta-Value

After zealously defending the honor of God and the Jewish people in an act of extra-judicial killing, Pinchas is blessed at the beginning of our portion with the covenant of peace. The blessing bestowed upon the zealot seems at odds with the profound violence of his act. Does the juxtaposition of a graphic act of killing and the promise of peace not seem vulgar? Upon further reflection, however, it may become clear that this vulgarity is a function of our general misunderstanding of peace as a value.

Also, another curiosity exists in the verse. Pinchas is promised a "covenant of peace". Should the verse not say "blessing of peace"? What is the meaning of this covenant? The same question applies to the mishna. The mishnah states in Uktzin: אין לך כלי שהוא מחזיק ברכה אלא שלום, שנאמר ה'--עוז, לעמו ייתן; ה', יברך את עמו בשלום. There is no vessel that holds blessing better than peace. Rabbi Tubi of Kerem B'Yavneh asks: why is it that peace is referred to as a vessel that holds blessing? Should not peace be the blessing itself?

The standard working definition of "peace" is the absence of conflict or violence. Nations that do not make war are at peace. However, upon closer examination, this definition breaks down. Would we call it peace, if World War II had come to an end of hostilities with the Axis powers destroying all opponents? That would be a cessation of war, but most would agree that their intuitive sense of what peace means would not be fulfilled by this outcome. What is it, then, that we really mean when we speak of peace?

Rabbi Hirsch points out that peace is not simply the absence of violence. It is rather the completion experienced when the world is right - when the world is on the path to fulfilling its mission to God. Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits discusses the purpose of the world in his God, Man and History. Free will is given uniquely to Man in order for humanity to take responsibility for what goes on down on earth. Only Man can choose to do good, go against their basic animalistic nature and live the higher moral and ethical life. Man is charged with the task of conquering with his free will his nature, and submitting his inclinations for evil to the good commanded by God.

Three times did man fail. Adam and Eve's fall in Eden was the first. Then, sin of the generations leading up to the flood caused God to try again, giving the world a fresh chance at holy greatness in the seed of Noah. In their third failure at the Tower of Babel, God decided to install a priestly nation, the Jews, to shine the light of the moral and ethical greatness and purpose of existence upon the rest of the nations.

Now that we have a basic understanding of the purpose of the world, we can answer the first question. If humanity had given the Nazis control over the world, there may have been an absence of war. However, there would certainly not be a concert of the real world with the word of God. Hitler made it his mission to destroy the two curses he said the Jews bestowed upon humanity: the curse of circumcision and the curse of conscience. Hitler wanted the social darwanistic, Nietzschean "might makes right", power of the sword to rule the world. This proposed destruction of Godly ethics and the destruction of the Jewish people would have cast the world into a shadow of darkness from which it would not have recovered. Without the light of the Jewish Torah and its ethical teachings, there would be no hope for humanity. And so, our intuition is right to tell us that Nazism over the world would have been far from peace. It would have been peace's antithesis. It was the world's fight to the last drop of blood against Hitler which was, paradoxically, its only chance at true peace.

And in the same vein, it is precisely the act of Pinchas, violent though it was, that brought about a semblence of true peace. Zimri's action was a direct rebellion against the kingdom of God and the very purpose of Israel's earthly charge. And it was Pinchas who stemmed the tide of that rebellion, and brought the Jewish world back into harmony with the commands and ethics of God.
As for the second question: why does God give a "covenant" of peace to Pinchas? A blessing is a gift that is uncontingent. However, a covenant implies a challange to the receiver, that he deserve and live up to it.
Each individual human is a microcosm of the world entire. Just as peace is a meta-value that provides correct and appropriate expression of the various and diverging values beneath it for the world, so does peace act as a meta-value for the individual, categorizing and applying various character traits appropriately for the service of God. Peace is not a value in and of itself. It is a meta-value that acts as a harbor for the other values and emotions that Man subscribes to, providing appropriate dock for each one. When one finds the appropriate use for each value, he is able to maintain stability in the face of diverse situations and conditions.

This is the meaning of the covenant of peace that God forges with Pinchas. Pinchas has demonstrated, by his violent actions on behalf of God’s honor, his ability and willingness to use the value of קנאות, zealotry, at the appropriate time. However, God needed to teach him of the balance that is necessary in life. Zealotry was appropriate here, but elsewhere it will be inappropriate. Therefore, God gave Pinchas the priesthood. כהונה is a mantle that requires the priest to be totally and unreservedly at one and in love with his brothers. Indeed, a kohen must feel this specifically, every day, when he blesses the nation באהבה. By making granting Pinchas the priesthood, God added to his natural zealotry the necessary counter-balance, meek willingness and fore-bearance to all. With this equilibrium, Pinchas is able to enter into covanental שלום, complete wholeness resulting in true peace, with God.

Aharon, the archetypical priest, is a shining example of the opposite personality. He was so loving, so full of חסד, that he participated in the Golden Calf with the people, all the while trying desperately to temper their sin. His overflowing love and willingness to give in was his Achilles heel, and is the only sin which we find him explicitly culpable for. To balance this value, God commands that it be him and his tribe who kill those who worshipped the idol. Perhaps this is also a reason for the prominent place the priest has in the array of war according to the Torah. Pinchas and Aharon represent one value that must be tempered with the other in order to bring about שלום, peace. Indeed, when they reach their perfection, each is an archetype of peace – Aharon the רודף שלום, and Pinchas, he who is granted בריתי שלום.

The same lesson is furthered in our haftarah. Eliyahu, prophet par excellence, leaves Jerusalem, his ministry largely failed. He finds himself in a desert, and, at a moment of personal and ministerial crisis, he calls out to God, declaring himself a קנאי and wishing for death. God provides him food and water, and then reveals a prophecy to him: a whirlwind, then an earthquake, and finally a consuming fire. Yet God is not to be found in these. In the stillness that follows, a small voice is heard. The metaphor is clear: sometimes, it is not in aggrandized, noisy and powerful displays of zeal, but in meek willingness to fore-bear in which the path to God can be found. However, Eliyahu is too much a zealot, and he again wishes for death. God realizes that Eliyahu is no longer suited to his ministry, and directs him to choose a successor.

The background story in this haftarah is recognizable in the later prophet, Yonah. After prophesying to Ninveh, he goes to the desert, where he asks, as did Eliyahu, for death. God provides him a tree for sustenance and shade, and then allows a worm to devour it. Again, the lesson teaches the prophet to recognize the need for mercy as opposed to zealous justice only. In contrast to Eliyahu, Yonah learns the lesson, and the Yalkut Shimoni completes the story that the prophet leaves unfinished, saying “he fell on his face and pleaded that God treat the world with mercy!”

The contrast of Aharon and Pinchas in the Torah and Eliyahu and Yonah in the Nevi’im certainly bear out the lesson of שלום. It is not enough to be zealous or meek. One must be both, at the appropriate time for each.

The lesson of שלום is not a simple one. We may find zeal and fore-bearance touted as the correct response to various occasions strewn throughout Jewish history and Rabbinic literature. God Himself is sometimes portrayed acting with strict justice, as when punishing the city of Sodom, rejecting the pleas for mercy from Avraham, and at other times, He is portrayed as acting with tender fore-bearance, such as when he waits patiently for the repentence of the idolatrous Ninveites. God is zealous for his honor when he kills the sons of Aharon when they offer a forbidden incense-sacrifice, and yet on the other hand, he is so self-effacing that he permits His holy name to be erased to reconcile the estranged husband and wife. We can often lose sight of the larger picture of peace as a meta-value throughout the year, as we become preoccupied with the values that make it up. It is common for us to feel the strength of mercy and its all-encompassing purification during the High holidays to be the only way to ever act, and yet then to feel the absolute zeal of Pinchas when we read the parasha of Balak a few months later. How then, in the face of contradictory evidence, are we to decide the true path to tread, in order to correctly apply the zeal of Pinchas and the self-effacement of Aharon appropriately, so that we may be inductees to the covenant of true peace?

When conflict arises, and we must engage, we may ask ourselves a critical question: would showing fore-bearance to the adversary destroy the moral and ethical fabric of our Torah? Would it destroy the soul of mankind? This question needs to be asked in every era and its answer may be different depending on the time. If the answer is yes, then there is no choice but to zealously set forth in battle, adorned with the values of Pinchas. For if we do not, the kindness and meekness we display will simply be the cause of the downfall of the task of Judaism in this world, to let the light of the Torah shine forth for mankind. If, for example, we had taken Gandhi’s advice to German Jewry in the 30’s and commit mass suicide as a non-violent protest to Hitler’s designs, the very ethics for which the world was created would be gone. If the allies had decided that, in order to avoid war at all cost, they would submit to the Nazi plan and allow Germany to rule over all, perhaps the most immediate immanence of war would have been avoided for a time; however, this would not bring peace, this would not bring a situation where good and God’s will prevail. On the contrary, it would bring darkness and savagery, and all that the morality of Torah sets about to eradicate from the world. With this possibility on the horizon, the task of Judaism and indeed, of all that is good in humanity, is to fight to the last drop of blood. Even within this just war there is peace, the peace of mind of a world that will not bow to evil, but stands up for God and good.

To use a more contemporary example, we may consider the “peace” process being shoved down Israel’s throat for the past 20 years. When an adversary explicitly states his desire to destroy your nation, fore-bearance and meekness, concessions and compromise is wrong. Giving in to this enemy irretrievably negates your very right to exist, and by extension, your claim to a moral code that is necessary for the world. As the midrash says, those who fight against Israel are really using Israel to fight against God.

Back to our portion, Pinchas’s killing of those who, at a critical time in Israel’s history, sought to destroy the morality and purity of the Jewish nation, was an act of peace precisely because inaction would have shattered those ideals without which the world is not worthy of existence.

On the other hand, if the answer to our critical question is no, and fore-bearance will not endanger the values of the Torah, then it is possible to utilize the value of חסד, meekness and fore-bearance, and Aharon’s technique of winning over an adversary with love.

In fact, far too often, we may find ourselves arguing with others and sure of our pure intentions, defending God’s honor, when it is in reality only our own honor which is at stake. These situations are ones where the proper path is that of Aharon, leaving the zeal of Pinchas for other times.

The story of Pinchas is here for us to learn from. While zealotry has its place, we must make sure that it is appropriate. Far too often, we stand upon principle when the only principle is personal pride. In order to be people of שלום, a nation of true peace, we must internalize the complexity of each situation, and choose the correct value. When we do so, we make ourselves privy to the true brotherhood of God, where each thing is done for the sake of heaven and with the purpose of bringing about the ultimate purpose, a world run in harmony with God’s plan, a covenant of peace.

Redemption of the Land

or, Apropos to the spies of Parashat Shelach

Leviticus 25:25 discusses the situation where a person has to sell his homestead in the land of Israel. Relations of the impoverished are expected to buy back the home or land, so that the land not be lost to the family. Interestingly, the Or Hachayim takes this opportunity to discuss the ultimate redemption of the Land.

At the culmination of his essay, he says that, "the redemption of the Land [with this double entendre he implies the final redemption of the nation of Israel] will begin when the souls of the righteous stir within them. They will ask themselves, is it really enough for us to remain outside, exiled from the table of our Father? How can we be satisfied with life in this world, when it is devoid of that divine communion? These righteous ones will begin to loathe the perceived glamor and luxury of life outside the Land. They will be gripped by a spiritual desire to perfect their actions in the Land, and thus redeem Israel. In this way will God affect the redemption of His land and people.

The leaders of the people and the great ones of the Jewish nation are destined to give an accounting of why they were not motivated thus, and it is from them that God will demand redress for the shame of His desolate house [a double entendre referencing the ruins of the Temple, and the poor man's house that is the subject of the verse]."

Providence and Evil

On Shavuot, I was thinking about divine providence and the concept of evil. I would like to share a thought that may not be novel, but certainly seemed eye-opening to me (perhaps mostly due to the early hour of morning at which it occurred).

Rambam in the Guide accepts the idea (mostly found in Yerushalmi, and rejected in Bavli, see Y Elman's essay on rabbinic contributions to a philosophy of suffering in the Orthodox Forum series) that there is no suffering without sin. However, Rambam claims that the measure of divine providence experienced by a person is a direct result of the intellectual occupation with God. When his mind wanders, providence does too, and this is when evil can befall him. It seems clear that Rambam views the all too human proclivity to distraction from enraptured intellectual intimacy with God as the mechanism by which a person becomes available to the vagaries of the natural world and thus evil. Ramban replaces intellectual occupation with the more mystical d'vekut, cleaving to God, but it is the same idea.

Rav Saadia Gaon's view is less absolute. In Emunot V'Deot, he first states that most suffering can be understood as serving the purpose of punishment for past sins, or making the subject more worthy of reward, or a test for the subject. However, he also states that free will allows a person to plan a murder. However, in an occasionalistic passage, he explains that while Man can commit the act of murder (say by pulling a trigger), only God can cause death (the gun firing correctly and the bullet hitting its mark). Finally, he leaves wiggle room for cases that defy these rules by stating that divine providence does not abrogate the need for precaution and does not justify recklessness¹: a person must take care to avoid known dangers and things of that nature (this last part is similar to the Bavli's caveats of luck, קביעה הזיקה, עידן דריתחא, etc).

It is interesting that though Rambam views evil and a lack of divine providence as products of sin, the sin which causes them cuts to the very core of what it means to be human. It is impossible to take suffering and evil away from the human condition, precisely because their causes are part of what it means to be human. The same idea is paradoxically accepted by the Bavli's (and to a lesser extent, Rav Saadia's) general conclusions which claim that there is suffering without reason. The world around Man, whether by nature, demonology, luck or astrology, can affect humans in negative ways that God does not always halt; nature often is left to run its course.

Essentially, as R Elman concludes, it is our inability to come to definite answers regarding these questions that leaves the Bavli and Rambam to an open ended philosophy of suffering, which, while trying to lay ground rules, leaves enough space for the reality witnessed around us, of things often countering these rules.

A similar open ended, non-answer appears in the midrashim and kinnot of the 10 martyrs, עשרה הרוגי מלכות. At the very climax of the suffering of the sainted rabbis, heavenly angels cry out to God, "is this the reward of Torah?!" This is a simple demand for divine justice in our world that is familiar to anyone who has witnessed suffering, especially that of a child. Is this the justice of God?!

It always bothered me that God does not answer the angels with words of comfort, or explanations regarding the world to come, of future reincarnation and dispensation of ultimate justice. God thunders back, "this is my decree, and if I hear another word, I shall destroy the whole world!" Why does God answer in this way?

I think perhaps the response of God (as imagined by the פייטן) leaves a very important imbalance or unease in the minds of readers. Yes, there is injustice and you have just witnessed it. Now, God will not provide you with comfort and make you feel good about it, for injustice is implied in the very free will that makes this world worth living! Injustice is woven into the fabric of our existence, and we are not to find comfort or solace from it. On the contrary, we must feel the tension, the evil, the wrong about it so acutely, for it is our task to fight it with every ounce of our strength. Any validation or justification for the evil or suffering which we witness weakens our resolve to fight it to the end. Although intellectually we know of the world to come, and future divine retribution, and we may discuss theodicy when we have nothing else to do, we are not to allow that to assuage our moral outrage at evil. And so, precisely at the times when injustice enflames our instinct for justice, at precisely those times, we are tasked not to explain away the injustice, but to fight it!

It seems to me that this is the response of the Bavli and Rambam as well: although we have a partial understanding of divine providence and the causes of suffering, we cannot have a full understanding; that is not within our power. What we are able to do, and this is our task, is realize that sometimes things will not fit in our philosophical boxes, and recognize the divinely mandated command to be His partners in perfecting the world: heal the sick, conquer disease, set up ordered and ethical societies, punish evil, reward good. We complete the intentionally unfinished business of creation by fighting injustice, destroying evil, and mitigating suffering as best we can.

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¹ Tangentially, Rav Saadia responds to those who rely on bitachon in a reckless manner by saying that if one believes in the concept of bitachon, they are essentially accepting the concept that God runs this world. In that case, he states, it would be a profound folly to believe that this gives them license to ignore the laws of cause and effect, which are the practical way that God causes the world to run according to His plan. Faith in God leads to wanton disregard for careful, planned living only in the most foolish of minds. See chapter 12 of Sefer Hap'rishut Hash'lema, which forms a sub-composition in treatise ten of Emunot V'deot.

Thread of Kindness

Upon a cursory reading of the book of Ruth, it may be hard to perceive why this simple, seemingly provincial story was canonized as part of the Bible. However, upon deeper consideration of the themes present in this megilah, universal lessons are revealed, which make our heroine, Ruth worthy not only of the canon, but of serious study, and her book as a moral text which sheds light on the social and religious bonds that give strength and versatility to a healthy society.

Of the many themes available in the book, this essay will focus upon that of חסד, loving-kindness. This word recurs repeatedly in Ruth, and, indeed, sets the motif of kindness playing a central role. While the firm, legal strictures of Halachah give a baseline by which we measure our actions, it is לפנים משורת הדין, extra-legal kindness which decides the survival of a person, family or society at large. Halacha cannot legislate each and every way in which one must help his fellow, but this does not weaken the importance of such non-legally required actions. Indeed, כופין על מידת סדום (see תוס' בבא בתרא יב: ד"ה כגון). It is this necessary (though unlegislated) חסד which forms a parallel structure which unifies the book of Ruth. On the one hand, we see Elimelech and the results of his actions, and on the other, we see Ruth and Boaz, and the effects of their activities.

At the beginning of Ruth, we are introduced to Elimelech, one of the leaders of the generation. The Malbim, echoing the midrash, explains that as a result of the famine, the poor would throw themselves before the rich, demanding sustenance. Elimelech fled this situation, fearing that his whole fortune would be consumed before the multitudes. Although one is not required to become poor himself by distributing all of his wealth to the needy, Elimelech is viewed as a selfish and flawed character by the midrash. "Anyone who turns a blind eye from those who need charity, is as though he has no God," quotes Malbim. Perhaps by the strict letter of the law, Elimelech cannot be faulted for not giving his all, on a חסד level, he failed. A famine, a time when society is at the verge of collapse, is precisely when greatness is required, when going above and beyond the call of simple duty is demanded. (We leave aside the sin of leaving the land of Israel, for which Elimelech is called to task by חז"ל. Even had he not left, his relative stinginess would remain reason for rebuke.)

Instead, Elimelech leaves his people and settles temporarily in Moav. And in the familiar irony of מדה כנגד מדה, as he forsook Judean society, leaving it to crumble, so does his own family security and cohesion begin to disintegrate. Elimelech dies, and his sons marry outside of the faith. They also, eventually, die, and leave their mother bemoaning her fate, telling her friends from happier times, "do not call me Naomi [= pleasant], rather call me Bitter, for God has made my life exeedingly bitter." (1:20) Judea thrives again, despite Elimelech's abandonment, for God has not abandoned the Jews; however, He seems to have abandoned the family of Elimelech. (This is reminiscient of another Jewish heroine, Esther, being warned precisely of this possible result by Mordechai, "...for if you are silent now [and choose not to use your position as queen to help your bretheren], salvation and comfort will be given to the Jews from another source, while you and your father's house will be lost." (Esther 4:14))

The Bible sets Elimelech as an example of someone who shied away from חסד. He went as far as the law required, ignored the larger picture of the situation regarding the starving Jews of the time, and refused to be swayed by the historical context of his actions into going beyond the letter of the law, into the realm of loving-kindness. For society cannot hope to exist by virtue of the letter of the law. Mutual consideration and feelings of extra-legal responsibility towards one another are critical in order for a nation to function. Avot declares (5:10) that "what is mine is mine and what is yours is yours...this is the trait of Sodom." When we think that strict legal possession should decide who gets a bite of bread, without considering our liability towards others, we exhibit the features of corruption, callousness and evil; in a word, Sodom. By acting in this way, Elimelech invited upon himself and his immediate family the very consequences he would have allowed to befall his nation.

How does one redeem a family whose lives, honor and wealth are deteriorated by a lack of חסד? This is the main question of the book of Ruth. The tragic tale of Elimelech is a preamble to a series of particular events which lead a weak and seemingly fogotten family back up to the position of kings. How is this accomplished? The answer is our heroine, Ruth, and hero, Boaz.

Ruth and Orpah, the widows of Naomi's sons, both insist upon going with her. This is the natural, socially expected loyalty of daughter-in-law to her new family. Especially in patriarchal social orders such as Moav and Judea, a marriage makes the wife a part of the husband's father's home. These two Moavite women performed their social responsibility by travelling with Naomi. However, when she beseeches them to return to their fathers' homes, Ruth and Orpah are freed from this responsibility. Orpah returns home. However, Ruth goes beyond the call of duty, refusing to abandon her poor, helpless and lonely mother-in-law. She declares her determination to stay with her until death. This is the first act of חסד, kindness beyond that which is required, and suddenly, Naomi is not so lonely, and not so helpless. Ruth has placed Naomi's physical and emotional well-being above the tempting comforts of her old Moavite home.

However, it does not stop there. As pointed out by others, Naomi must have been familiar with the laws of לקט, שחכה, פאה, and מעשר עני. As the wife of one of Israel's wealthiest, she probably witnessed the poor avail themselves of these in her husband's fields many times. However, precisely because of her wealthy past and subsequent shameful poverty, she is embarrassed, and does not even suggest that she and Ruth could find sustenance in the "Poor Laws" of the Torah. And so, Ruth takes the initiative in an unfamiliar social order and religious milieu, learning of these laws. She tells Naomi that she will bear the burden of shame; after all, what shame is there in a lowly convert-widow collecting forgotten gleanings in the fields of the wealthy? This is a second point where the megilah goes out of its way to point out the חסד Ruth continues to perform for her mother-in-law.

And yet again. Naomi, encouraged by Boaz's interest in Ruth, suggests that Ruth literally throw herself at his feet, and all but demand marriage. Ruth, a beautiful, young woman, would surely have been found an attractive wife for many of the young men of Beit Lechem, and would probably have wanted such a marriage herself. However, her next act of חסד was to follow Naomi's suggestion. She gives her life, dignity, and finally, her love, in her devotion to her mother-in-law. Boaz himself is amazed by the loyalty and expressions of kindness Ruth demonstrates towards Naomi, and agrees to marry her.

Boaz, the distant relative of Elimelech, furthers the mission of חסד which will ultimately redeem Elimelech's sins. Although the parallels between the mitzvah of yibum and what Boaz does are clear, it is equally obvious that Boaz is not actually doing yibum. He is not the brother of the dead husband of Ruth. He is a kinsman, and the book of Ruth makes it clear that this is not yibum by stating, "Boaz took Ruth to be his wife." (4:13) This is not the order of things in true yibum, where there is no separate acquisition of the wife other than beginning to live together. Here, Boaz did normal kiddushin. Legally, he had no requirement to marry this poor convert. Doing so, with the precise hopes to raise a family for the name of Ruth's dead husband, is a clear act of חסד, kindness beyond the requirements of law. In fact, his name, Boaz, is seen by some as a contraction of "בא עז" -- one who acts with valiance, for going above and beyond the call of duty. His word choice, "אנכי אגאל", can be taken to not only mean redeeming Elimelech's property, and marrying Ruth, but in the larger context, the redemption of Elimelech's sinful lack of חסד.

We have observed a thematic parallel structure in the book. We have, in the preamble, a lack of חסד, and its destructive results. This is symbolized by the names מכלון and כליון, of Elimelech's sons. Meaning emptiness and destruction, they are the natural "children" of the actions of Elimelech. Parallel to this, and yet in contradistinction, we have the kind acts of Ruth and Boaz, which bear, quite literally, the future royal line as their children.

The threads of kindness and compassion demonstrated time and again by Ruth and Boaz, culminating in their marriage, were sufficient to reverse the damage done by Elimelech's unwillingness to go beyond the law. A family once great, now low and trampled, is given a new chance, and produces the greatest family of Israel, that of Kind David. The delineation of this lineage at the end of the book of Ruth serves as a focal point, directing the theme of kindness towards its result. If a lack of חסד can nearly cut a strong, honored family off of the vine of Israel, then the profusion of חסד by a young convert girl and an old man can renew the spirit and honor of that family. The least noble of beginnings, when watered with the spirit of going beyond the call of duty for one another, can produce the nobility of the Davidic line.

The חסד theme of the book of Ruth justifies its use on the holiday of Shavuot. This spirit of ערבות, mutual responsibility, is noted at the foot of Mt Sinai just before the giving of the Torah. "ויחן שם ישראל נגד ההר," and חז"ל state, "כאיש אחד בלב אחד," that Israel was completely at one. Each Jew felt responsible and liable for the benefit of the others. It is in this spirit that we accept, each day, the Torah upon ourselves anew, as a nation committed to one another. In Orot Hakodesh (חלק ג' עמ' שכד), Rav Kook makes the point that the sin of the Second Temple era was that the people did not feel this way; they demonstrated שנאת חינם. The correction of this sin is אהבת חינם, as demonstrated by Ruth and Boaz. Through the application of mutual responsibility and חסד, may we merit the redemption soon.

Modern Hebrew and L'shon Hakodesh

On Rabbi Adlerstein's excellent latest post at Cross-Currents, the question arose in the comment section regarding the relationship between לשון הקודש and Modern Hebrew. Here is my response there:

The distinction is technical, and really hits at a question of modern theory of linguistics. One hundred years ago and beyond, changes in grammar were seen as corruptions with grammars being viewed as proscriptive (see Gesenius' Hebrew Grammar as an example of this school of thought). Later theory maintains that any spoken language changes, and these are shifts, not corruptions. Grammars are essentially descriptive in that they describe how a language is used, and do not define how a society may use language. One generation’s mistake is another generation’s rule (See the history of the word “ask” in English, for example.)

Modern Hebrew (MH) is unique in that it is a revived language. It started as a proscriptive grammar which takes its rules virtually completely from descriptive examinations (grammars) of Biblical Hebrew (I assume that is what you mean when you say L’shon Hakodesh; parenthetically, “Loshon Kodesh” or Loshon Hakodesh is grammatically incorrect — לְשון is in construct form, vowelized with a shva, not a kamats). Although there are stylistic differences (using for example simple perfect as opposed to the vav-consecutive imperfect), these are not changes or differences, but choices of use — generally using a subset of what is possible in Biblical Hebrew (BH) to simplify MH. MH contains the same grammatical rules and thus the same possibilities as BH. A student of modern Hebrew will be able to fluently read the Bible, for example, and understand it at least on a basic, literal level (of course there are places where this will not be sufficient to acquire the meaning of the text).

That said, certainly there are new words and idiomatic phrases, foreign words, and new concepts present in MH. However, these are not changes, but additions. Furthermore, once MH came to be used as a language by Israeli society, its very grammar will shift as any living language’s does.

Compare this question to the situation in English. Would one say that Shakespeare was not writing “English”? Would one say that his English is ancient English as opposed to Modern? (If you did, Chaucer would require a new category, would he not?) Clearly usages and grammars change over time, and any grammar, even one resurrected and therefore initially proscriptive as Modern Hebrew’s, will immediately begin to shift and therefore become of necessity descriptive; however, this does not mean that learning one will not give you the ability to read and understand the other. One learns English to read Shakespeare, with an eye out for shifts in meaning and grammar.

I find that usually those who distinguish between לשון הקודש and Hebrew do so with an agenda. (I believe this agenda has to do with an unwillingness to concede anything of inherent value or holiness in the enterprise of Zionism and the modern State of Israel.) It is implied that one is holy and one is not. By this measure, distinctions of linguistic holiness would have to be made between the Torah, Nevi'im and Ketuvim, since the style and grammar does shift between them and even within them, as well (where does the word של appear in the Bible, for example? In Shir Hashirim, which Rabbi Akiva called קדש קדשים, incidentally. Why not earlier?). Furthermore, the implication is that Mishnaic Hebrew, Rabbinic Hebrew, and later Responsa are all holy (לשון הקדש), but they are even more different from Biblical Hebrew than Modern Hebrew (think of all the Aramaic)! Modern Hebrew was an attempt to revitalize the Hebrew of the Bible.

In fact, the very term לְשון הקודש does not imply a holy language at all! That would be הַלָּשׁוֹן הַקָּדוֹש — HaLashon HaKadosh. L’shon Hakodesh means quite literally "the language of holy things (texts)". Hebrew’s holiness is a function of what it was used to record (the word of God), the people who used it, and their self-perceived task in this world. (I am aware that this linguistic explanation accords generally with the view of the Ramban. In contrast, the Rambam views BH as לשון הקודש because it contains no indecent words of phrases. I do not entertain his view in this post because according to him, it is precisely the language used in T'nach which is לשון הקודש. If the vernacular of the times of Moshe were to contain "dirty" language, it would not be לשון הקודש to the Rambam. Hence, to him, it is a subset of ancient Hebrew which deserves the title לשון הקודש. It is less a linguistic explanation of the whole language that he presents, and more a description of the diction used, applying to the subset of the language (which, as a living language, almost certainly contained indecencies) found in the T'nach. Essentially, Rambam applies to part of ancient Hebrew, the part found in the Bible, and describes it as לשון הקודש.

Even so, the view of the Rambam is rational, in line with conventional linguistic theory. In Moreh 1:67, he points out that Hebrew, like all languages, is concention -"שכללי כל לשון מבוססים על רוב". See Kol Han'vuah (pp 28-32) by R' David Cohen for a more mystical view of the Hebrew language.)

Extra-Judicial Killings

בן נח שרצח, הריגתו ע"י עד

לפני בערך שנה, עלתה ליד שולחן סעודת שבת בבית מורי חמי שאלה. כלי התקשורת בארה"ב היו כולם המומים מסיפור רופא בקליניקה להפלות שנהרג ע"י גוי מנוגד להפלות. ליד השולחן, אחד מן האורחים האיר שלדעתו, מה שעשה ההורג, בצדק עשה, מנקודת מבט של הלכות בן נח. חלקתי עליו בתוקף, ובסופו של דבר, החלטתי בליבי לחזור לסוגיה זו עם שובי ארצה. לצערי, לא מלאתי את הבטחתי זאת לעצמי עד היום. כמובן, אין לקחת את הלימוד הבא לקמן כפסק הלכה פסוקה, אלא כעיון בסוגיא חשובה, ולדעתי, לא מלובנת כל צרכה. אשמח לקבל כל הערה או הארה, להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה.

חשוב קודם כל לזכר את הגמ' בסנהדרין נז אשר שם ר' ישמעאל פוסק (וכן פוסק הרמב"ם כמותו, דלא כת"ק), שאסור לב"נ להרוג אפילו עובר. דבר זה לא שייך קודם מ' יום (כי לפני זה העובר מיא בעלמא), אבל לאחר מ' יום, בניגוד למשפט התורה ליהודים, לב"נ יש דין מיוחד, והריגתו מעוררת דין מוות. סיבת הדין הינה מח' בין רש"י לרמב"ם, שלרש"י, העובר כל זמן שלא יצא לאויר העולם לאו נפש הוא, ואיסור הריגתו לב"נ הינו דין מיוחד שניתנת לדחייה אם קיים סכנה לאמו, כי כל איסור נדחה מפני פקו"נ. אבל לרמב"ם, עובר הוי נפש, ורק ליהודי שאינו חייב מיתה על עובר מותר להפיל להציל האם, אבל לב"נ, אסור. ר' משה פיינשטיין פסק כרמב"ם ולכן אסור כל הפלה לב"נ, וציץ אליעזר פוסק כרש"י וסיעתו, יעויין שם בחלק ט' סימן נ"א לביאור חשוב ומפורט. (אציין פה שבלא לפגוע בכבודם, איני הקטן מבין את שיטת שני הרבנים משה, כי האם נאמר אותו דבר לב"נ, שגניבה, אבר מן החי, וכל המצוות שלהם (שעליהם חייבים מיתה) לא נדחים בפני פקו"נ? היאך יכולה חברה לפעול אם כל איסור הוא יהרג ואל יעבר?)

לאור דברים אלו, ברור שהדו-שיח בבית חמי התמקד על הפלה שאסורה לב"נ, לפי איזה שיטה שתבחר. (עיין בסוף דברינו פה אות ד' שאפילו לדברי הרמב"ם לא נראה שיהיה עונש מוות מעשית לב"נ הרוצח עובר.) אבל כמובן, כל רעיון של הריגת רופא או עובד בקליניקה להפלות מיד מצומצמת נורא ובכלל לא פרקטית, כי האורח חשב שברור שאסורה כל הפלה לב"נ, וזה טעות גמורה. (בנוסף, האם בדק ה"הורג" שהרופא אכן ביצע הפלות אסורות? איזה מין בדיקה הלכתית היתה כאן?)

קיימות שתי סיבות אשר לפיהן יוכל לחשוב איש שמא מותר לב"נ להרוג ב"נ בלא משפט: 1) מטעם רודף, ו2) מטעם עונש. נדבר בקצרה על הראשונה, כי עיקר הענין שעליו דיברנו אותה שבת התמקד על הסיבה השנייה, ועליה נתמקד גם עתה.

א. רודף: היה מקום לומר שכל אדם שרואה אדם בא לרצוח עוד אדם, מותר לרואה להרגו. ואכן, זה נכון, בתנאי שאין בידו דרך אחרת לעצרו. אבל אם יכול הוא לעצור את המעשה ע"י מעשה פחות קיצוני, אפילו הפסקת חשמל, מכות או חתיכת יד, עליו לעצרו בדרך זו. כמובן, אם עוצר הב"נ את המעשה ע"י מעשה יותר חמור ממשנדרש, יהיה הוא עצמו חייב מיתה. ברור איפא, שעל טעם רודף לא מדובר.

ב. עונש: יש מקום לדון אם גוי שעובר עבירה וחייב מיתה, אם הוא נהרג ע"י כל רואה, או רק בבית דין, אף אם זה בית דין שלהם. הגמ' בסנהדרין נז אומרת:

1. בן נח נהרג בדיין אחד ובעד אחד,שלא בהתראה,
2. מפי איש ולא מפי אשה,
3. ואפילו קרוב...

על הפסקה הראשונה לא אומר רש"י דבר. אבל על הפיסקה השלישית, אומר רש"י, "ע"י דיין איש או עד איש". מזה רצה האורח לומר שרק בעי או עד או דיין, כלומר, זה שרואהו עובר, הורגו כב"ד. ובאמת, כן מבין המנחת חינוך במצווה ת"ד, באמרו, "הוא העד הוא הדיין". ובת"ג, אומר שמיד בעשות הגוי עבירה, להרגו, ובניגוד למשפט היהודים, עד נעשה דיין. ועיין אות ד' בסוף מאמר זה.

אבל מה אעשה, שתוס' בע"ז כ"ב ע"ב, ובס"ד ע"ב (ד"ה איזהו) חולקים על זה, ואומרים שבעי דין בפני ב"ד. וגם הגהות אשרי שם. וכן כותבים המאירי ור' יונה בפירושם לסנהדרין (עוד לא ראיתי אותם בפנים). לדעתי, הם מבינים בגמ' כמו שאני הבנתי, שבעי עד וגם דיין. נקודת רש"י אולי תפורש באחד משתי דרכים: שבעי רק אחד, או שרק אחד צריך להיות זכר. מה שלא יהיה, הלשון שכותב הרמב"ם במלכים ט:יד, היא בדיוק השפה של האגדתא דבי רב, "דיין ועד", לא "או". נראה מזה שהרמב"ם דוחה את דעת רש"י. הרגלינו בדיוק לשונו של רמב"ם מטה אותנו לדעה שאם היה מקבל רמב"ם את הרעיון של "או" ולא "ו", הוא היה כותב זאת במשנה תורה. אדרבא, אם היתה הגמ' כותבת "או" ורמב"ם כותב "ו", היה כל אחד מפלפל בדעתו על שינוי הגרסא. עלינו להיות מדוייקים גם כאשר רמב"ם שומר על גרסת הגמ'.

מה שיוצא זה מח' בין כמה ראשונים נגד מנחת חינוך ואולי רש"י. נראה לי שקיים, אם כן, ספק יהרג ואל יעבר, לב"נ שרואה ב"נ אחר עובר עבירה. מענין להדגיש שלבן נח, עדיין קיים רעיון של "אחרי רבים להטות", אף לדעת המנחת חינוך, עיי' מצווה ע"ח.

חושבני שדברי הקודמים מכניסים מספיק ספק לתוך השאלה של הריגה בלא משפט. אבל יש עוד כמה נקודות המחזקות את דעתי בזה:

א. אע"פ שב"נ לא בעי התראה, הרמב"ם פוסק שצריכים לדעת שמה שעשה היה במזיד. בשוגג, פטור. אע"פ שהמנחת חינוך כותב ש"אומר מותר, חייב", אולי זה לא בתוקף במצב כזה שאנו מדברים בו, שהרופא חושב שאדרבא, הוא עושה מעשה חמלה, במיוחד במצב סכנה לחיי האם.

ב. מה שלא יהיה, עדיין בהריגת ב"נ שרצח, אם הב"נ ההורג גם יהרג אחרים חפים מפשע או אפילו יחבל או יהרס אפילו ממון, יהיה חייב מיתה מדינים אחרים של בני נח, אשר גם עליהם חלה חיוב מיתה (אף אם אולי לא עונש מעשי). ואיך יעשה דבר שיביא לחיוב מיתה על עצמו, רק מכוונה טהורה לענוש אחר?

ג. שמא יש כח בידי השלטון להפקיר חיי העובר כאשר הוא מהווה סכנה לאם, כמו ששלטון יהודי יכול להחליט על עונש מוות שלא מן הדין מטעמים מיוחדים (עיי' דרשות הר"ן דרשה ח'). אבל איני כלל בטוח במהלך כזה שצריך יותר עיון.

ד. אם שלטון יאסור הריגה בלא משפט, כמדומני שזה יהיה אסור, משום תיקון החברה, דינא דמלכותא ומשפט המלך. שוב, איני בטוח במהלך זה, ובעי יותר ליבון.

ה. המנחת חינוך במצוה כו מצטט את הרמב"ם מלכים ט:ב שכל שאין בית דין של ישראל ממיתין עליה אין בן נח נהרג, אע"פ שאסור. לפי זה לא ברור כלל שב"נ שהרג עובר ימות על מעשה זה למעשה, אף לשיטת רמב"ם ור' משה פיינשטיין. אע"פ שאסור, לא יוענש עונש מוות, וכמובן לא תהיה דמו מותרת לכל עד ראייה, אלא בדברים שבית דין של ישראל ממיתין עליו, וזה אינו בהריגת עובר.

ו. דבר אחרון, מח' רמב"ם ורמב"ן במהות מצוות ב"נ של "דינים". לדעת רמב"ן, מהות המצווה זו תיקון חברה, שלא יהא כל אחד עושה כחפץ ליבו, אלא שיהיה סדר חברתי. כמובן לדעה זו, רעיון שכל גוי יהרוג גוי אחר שעובר עבירה מופרכת מיניה וביה. וכי איזה תיקון חברה, איזה סדר ושיטתיות חברתית יש כאשר כל אדם בא לחבירו והרגו בלא הסבר? ונניח שרואהו גוי שלישי מייד אחר כך, ויבוא להרגו מאותו סיבה!? אין זה מדניות חברתית אלא מדינת דמים אשר בו כל אדם יפחד שמחר מגיע סופו בידי שכינו.

אבל מדומני שאף לדעת הרמב"ם, שסובר שדינים זה פשוט בית דין לפסוק את כל שאר השש מצוות, עדיין, בענין זה של כל אחד ואחד עושה חשבון דין לעצמו מופרכת. וכי היאך יכולה הב"ד לדון אם איש את רעהו חיים בלעו? שמא מטעם זה ציטט הרמב"ם את הגמ' בסנהדרין בלי להתחשב ב"או" של רש"י.

דברי דלעיל מוגשים כחומר מחשבה ומבקשים תגובות. כל מאן דבעי, כל מי שחושב שטעיתי במשהו לעיל, או שיש שיטות שהתעלמתי מהם, מבוקש לומר כן. ולוואי שיתקיים בתורתינו הקדושה, דרכיה דרכי נועם וכל נתיבותיה שלום.

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בחודש אב, ראיתי לראשונה ספר "דרך המלך" מאת ר' אריאל פינקלשטיין, בו הוא מדבר על אותו רעיונות שהבאתי פה, החל מדף 102. ראה כאן.

Shadal On Shaatnez

Shmuel David Luzzatto, who lived through the first sixty-five years of the nineteenth century, was a leader of the Italian Jewish community. He fought against what he saw as extremists on either side of him, was willing to accept truth no matter its source, and was confident that even if under-appreciated in his lifetime, the century would come in which his work would find its full glory.

I have just read a letter from him to his father in law, in which he outlines a general overview of the Jewish purpose. In it, he stresses חמלה, which I think he would have translated as intimate sympathy with the position of the other. It transcends straightforward justice or social fairness, and is לפנים משורת הדין; precisely this facet of it is an important foundation of the Jewish ethic. Shadal writes that this emotion is one which is fostered by Judaism as the best way to make Man moral, and to build a healthy, stable society. (Shadal goes through a number of rational arguments for ethics from Greek philosophy, bemoaning the fact that none of them engendered a proper sympathy and caring for fellow humans.) He discusses several places in the Torah where חמלה may seem to be disregarded, and shows that it is not. Usually, this חמלה is applicable to all humanity; Jews believe all humans to be sons of the same Father, and that they should be treated so. Shadal explains the few places where halacha treats Jews and gentiles differently as places where special חמלה is an expression of particularly close national-brotherly bonds. (For example, lending with interest is not immoral, it is perfectly ethical -- indeed, all nations do so. This normative ethic is also acceptable for Jews doing business with gentiles. However, in order to produce strong intra-national links and feelings of fraternity within the Jewish nation, God demands that we abstain from this practice with relation to other Jews.) Essentially, the Torah raises to the status of commandment this חמלה-compassion, sympathy and fraternal love.

Additionally, belief in השגחה, providence, occupies another cornerstone of the Jewish faith, bolstering the possibly weak committment that חמלה creates towards morality and Godliness. Man needs to know that God cares, and indeed, rewards and punishes him for his actions.

The letter goes on to discuss various individual commandments. I found his explanation for שעטנז and כלאי אילן to be interesting. Shadal provides as part of their purpose to deny the idolatrous practices surrounding the Jews. In idolatrous cultures, he writes, it was common to combine naturally separate elements in order to bind together the providential assistance of otherwise competing forces (gods) in benificent kindness towards the idolator. To further remove Jews from any association with idolatrous practices, much less idolatry, these (to the modern mind, seemingly harmless) practices were forbidden, and contributed to the three basic elements of Jewish practice, the betterment of individual morality, strength of religious passion, and the national general good.

This is the Bread of Shame

It strikes me as emblematic of a waning propensity towards introspection and self-examination in our generation that the Passover seder can be celebrated with such blasé contentment by diaspora Jewry. Blithely are so many comfortable Jews able to glide over the words of our daily prayers, asking God to "assemble us from the four corners of the earth", and the Hagaddah's many appeals for redemption and return to the land of our forefathers fare no better. How can it be that only a generation or two after the Holocaust, Jews have forgotten the bitterness of exile, and relish their self-inflicted imprisonment?

This was never supposed to be. The sting of physical and spiritual exile were supposed to hurt us so badly, that we would do all within our power, and perhaps more, to return to the condition of old, where we sat at our Father's table. We should feel shame, pain, disharmony, angst, in our dispersion. In fact, Rabbi Kook sees this as the reason the Hagaddah starts out with the הא לחמא עניא. The seder is supposed to be a time of glory, pride and happiness. However, during the exile, we read in our seder of customs gone by, and splendor lost. How can a Jew rejoice when he reads of the קרבן פסח, the offerings of Passover, the Temple service, Divine immanence and national exaltation, and yet knows the depths of despair and lowly shame his nation wallows in during the present exile?

For this reason, says Rabbi Kook, the Hagaddah starts with the bread of affliction, literal and metaphoric. Know, says the Hagaddah, that when the Jews suffered in the sweltering heat of oppression and slavery, when their bread was depressed and their hope fleeting, even from that point, God saved them. The הא לחמא עניא is an empathetic passage reminding us in the exile that God once saved us, and he will again. When we say, כל דכפין ייתי וייכול, "all who are hungry, come and eat!", we serve God out of the depths of despair. The responding parallel phrase, כל דצריך ייתי ויפסח, "all who are in need, come and share in the passover offering," is the reward that awaits those who valiantly celebrate in the ignominy of exile; they will merit to take part in the paschal offering in Jerusalem. In this way, the Hagaddah attempts to break the depression and sadness of the dispersed Jews, even if only for one night.

In our present day, it would seem that the opposite lesson is needed. Find shame in the exile, find debasement in your lives as a nation dispersed by God's fury! Come to the point where you need הא לחמא עניא to lift your spirits! A renewed awakening to the ignominy of exile is what is needed now. We stand free of 2000 year old shackles, and God invites us home. Will we take the first step?

May the story of our first deliverance spur us to take the steps to the final salvation, and that of the entire world.

Not In Heaven

In Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits' extremely interesting work on the essence of Halacha, I found an important paragraph (Not In Heaven, 140) on the relationship between the modern State of Israel and its religious population:

This twofold alienation, from life and from halacha's concern with it, can be best illustrated by the one-sided educational ideal of the yeshivot in Israel. In general, they frown on secular studies. But a state needs an army, an economic system, health and welfare services, scientific research, technology, etc. The question, therefore, is: Does the Torah desire a Jewish people living in its own land or not? If the answer is affirmative, then the Torah must also desire soldiers, physicians, scientists, architects, engineers, policemen, social workers, etc. To say that these professionals should all come from the secular segment of the population would be a confession that the Torah cannot cope with life. On the other hand, to divide the people into a religious elite, exclusively dedicated to Torah study, and a professional majority, rather ignorant of Torah, incarcerates students of the Torah in another form of a Diaspora Museum, that of the present-day yeshivot.

I would highly recommend the whole book, and particularly the paragraph that comes before the above quote. (Read it to see why I am being so vague.)

Journalistic Integrity

Today, when reporting on the bombing at a Jersualem bus stop, Reuters reported that:

Police said it was a "terrorist attack" -- Israel's term for a Palestinian strike.

An Israeli media source asked for clarification as to why Reuters implied that there was any doubt that this was a terror attack, and received a response from Reueters:

It is not up to Reuters to say who carried out an attack. We always need to quote the authorities, such as the police. On Wednesday, Israeli police used the Hebrew word "peegooa", without specifically mentioning the Palestinians - but in the local context it is clear that this is who they were referring to. We spelt that out to an international audience to clarify precisely who was being blamed.
We were certainly not trying to give a judgment value. We were simply seeking to present the facts, with all the correct attribution.
We have used the same approach for years. This is not a policy we apply only to the Middle East conflict. It is a policy which we use across the globe in all situations.

This biased attitude is similar to that of CNN, who reported the butchery in Itamar (when Arabs entered a home and brutally stabbed to death a sleeping husband, wife and small children and a baby) as "Israeli Family of 5 Killed in 'Terror Attack'". This is a gross, sick understatement, in the guise of objective journalistic impartiality.

Firstly, the term "murder" is the correct one when discussing the illegal taking of lives. To use the term "kill" is to report less than actually took place.

Similarly, the common usage for "terror" is when violence is committed against civilians in order to strike fear in the hearts of the rest of the population. Therefore, placing this term in quotes implies that there is a chance that the event in question was not against civilians, or that it was not an attempt to cause fear in the civilian population. However, any witness would be clear that this attack was indeed against civilians and that it was just the latest in a tradition of bombings, a policy of terror, well reported by the Arabs themselves, attempting to cause Israelis to doubt their safety. Therefore, the use of quotations (or of euphamisms such as "strike") does not only fail to preserve journalistic integrity, it does the opposite: it creates a serious journalistic bias against the truth.

Sometimes, a journalist, or any observer, by simply reporting the honest facts, will have to make a value judgement. Any report from a witness of Jeffrey Dahmer in action would be negligently incomplete without the words "murder", "cannibal" and "repulsive". In this type of extreme circumstance, when purposely using terms that minimize the event observed in order to shy away from passing moral judgement, a reporter ends up making the opposite moral judement. One who claims that Jeffrey Dahmer "killed" instead of "murdered" and "recycled" instead of "cannibalized" would be, in effect, condoning his actions, and making them palatable and justifiable to the audience.

The same applies when reporting on terror and murder. To call the acts of the Itamar terrorists anything less than "brutal murder" simply falls short of the journalistic requirement to report what one sees. To call an Arab bombing in Israel a "Palestinian strike" is an attempt to neutralize the evil being done by the terrorists, and in effect justify it to the readers. It also serves as an attempt to make Israeli "strikes" morally equivalent to Arab terror, ignoring the obvious and clear intent of the Israeli Army to avoid civilian casualties, and the obvious and clear intent of the Arab terrorists to specifically target civilians.

The question to Reuters is: You say that "Police said it was a 'terrorist attack' -- Israel's term for a Palestinian strike." What do you call it when a suitcase filled with explosives is detonated at a civilian bus stop? A "strike". When you are so careful to remove any perceived moral judgement by avoiding the standard terms society uses, you end up siding morally with terror.

Yes, this is exactly what Reuters and CNN have done. The news agencies use euphemisms that they believe will remove any moral judgement, presenting only the dry facts. However, instead of sounding neutral, they end up biased, questioning the basic facts that any witness would acknowledge. They end up at the very least, excusing, and, most likely, rationalizing and validating the murder of innocents. This is bad reporting and an unconsciable display of immorality.

This is not to say that these types of "morally neutral" euphemisms are new to Jews. We Jews have heard these types of phrases before. "Resettlement" (death camps), "lovely new homes for Jews" (Thereisenstadt), "work camp" (Auschwitz), "special treatment" (gas chamber and crematoria), and "final solution" (genocide). The fact is that the media outlets have a huge impact on how the world sees conflicts, and their reporting definitely has taken a side with the "militants" (terrorists) against the "Zionist regime" (democratic, civil Israel).

Not too long ago, another media outlet also tried to supress the reporting of evil perpetrated upon the Jews:

On November 14, 2001, in the 150th anniversary issue, The New York Times ran an article by former editor Max Frankel reporting that before and during World War II, the Times had maintained a strict policy in their news reporting and editorials to minimize reports on the Holocaust. The Times accepted the detailed analysis and findings of journalism professor Laurel Leff, who had published an article the year before in the Harvard International Journal of the Press and Politics, that the New York Times had deliberately suppressed news of the Third Reich’s persecution and murder of Jews.Leff concluded that New York Times reporting and editorial polices made it virtually impossible for American Jews to impress Congress, church or government leaders with the importance of helping Europe’s Jews. (source)

CNN and Reuters editors and journalists should be cognizant of the implications of what they write, apologize to the Jews of Israel, and learn a lesson for the future.

Murder In Itamar

The world again is witness to Jews being murdered in the most brutal way, for being Jews. Parents and three children, the majority of the Fogel family, is wiped out in a way that is reminiscient of the pogroms of years past. It is up to our government to protect us from the animals that surround us, and yet they point the finger of blame at the enemy instead. Is it any wonder that Arabs murder Jews? Is anyone seriously surprised? The shock should be at the Jewish government which gambles time and again with its citizens' lives, like an addicted gambler, every time coming out the loser.

The 12 year old daughter came home and found her three siblings stabbed, mortally wounded, and a baby lying next to his father crying, "Daddy, wake up!". May God avenge the souls of those murdered, and may this be the last tragedy we suffer.

This poem by Bialik speaks of similarly slit throats, babies snuggling close to dead mothers in an attempt to revive them, and the depths of the galut. As we step through the redemption, may we gather our strength and ensure that this evil occur no more.

בְּעִיר הַהֲרֵגָה
קוּם לֵךְ לְךָ אֶל עִיר הַהֲרֵגָה וּבָאתָ אֶל-הַחֲצֵרוֹת,
וּבְעֵינֶיךָ תִרְאֶה וּבְיָדְךָ תְמַשֵּׁשׁ עַל-הַגְּדֵרוֹת
וְעַל הָעֵצִים וְעַל הָאֲבָנִים וְעַל-גַּבֵּי טִיחַ הַכְּתָלִים
אֶת-הַדָּם הַקָּרוּשׁ וְאֶת-הַמֹּחַ הַנִּקְשֶׁה שֶׁל-הַחֲלָלִים.
וּבָאתָ מִשָּׁם אֶל-הֶחֳרָבוֹת וּפָסַחְתָּ עַל-הַפְּרָצִים
וְעָבַרְתָּ עַל-הַכְּתָלִים הַנְּקוּבִים וְעַל הַתַּנּוּרִים הַנִּתָּצִים,
בִּמְקוֹם הֶעֱמִיק קִרְקַר הַמַּפָּץ, הִרְחִיב הִגְדִּיל הַחוֹרִים,
מַחֲשֹׂף הָאֶבֶן הַשְּׁחֹרָה וְעָרוֹת הַלְּבֵנָה הַשְּׂרוּפָה,
וְהֵם נִרְאִים כְּפֵיוֹת פְּתוּחִים שֶׁל-פְּצָעִים אֲנוּשִׁים וּשְׁחֹרִים
אֲשֶׁר אֵין לָהֶם תַּקָּנָה עוֹד וְלֹא-תְהִי לָהֶם תְּרוּפָה,
וְטָבְעוּ רַגְלֶיךָ בְּנוֹצוֹת וְהִתְנַגְּפוּ עַל תִּלֵּי-תִלִּים
שֶׁל-שִׁבְרֵי שְׁבָרִים וּרְסִיסֵי רְסִיסִים וּתְבוּסַת סְפָרִים וּגְוִילִים,
כִּלְיוֹן עֲמַל לֹא-אֱנוֹשׁ וּפְרִי מִשְׁנֶה עֲבוֹדַת פָּרֶךְ;
וְלֹא-תַעֲמֹד עַל-הַהֶרֶס וְעָבַרְתָּ מִשָּׁם הַדָּרֶךְ –
וְלִבְלְבוּ הַשִּׁטִּים לְנֶגְדְּךָ וְזָלְפוּ בְאַפְּךָ בְּשָׂמִים,
וְצִיצֵיהֶן חֶצְיָם נוֹצוֹת וְרֵיחָן כְּרֵיחַ דָּמִים;
וְעַל-אַפְּךָ וְעַל-חֲמָתְךָ תָּבִיא קְטָרְתָּן הַזָּרָה
אֶת-עֶדְנַת הָאָבִיב בִּלְבָבְךָ – וְלֹא-תְהִי לְךָ לְזָרָא;
וּבְרִבֲבוֹת חִצֵּי זָהָב יְפַלַּח הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ כְּבֵדְךָ
וְשֶׁבַע קַרְנַיִם מִכָּל-רְסִיס זְכוּכִית תִּשְׂמַחְנָה לְאֵידְךָ,
כִּי-קָרָא אֲדֹנָי לָאָבִיב וְלַטֶּבַח גַּם-יָחַד:
הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ זָרְחָה, הַשִּׁטָּה פָּרְחָה וְהַשּׁוֹחֵט שָׁחַט.
וּבָרָחְתָּ וּבָאתָ אֶל-חָצֵר, וְהֶחָצֵר גַּל בּוֹ –
עַל הַגַּל הַזֶּה נֶעֶרְפוּ שְׁנַיִם: יְהוּדִי וְכַלְבּוֹ.
קַרְדֹּם אֶחָד עֲרָפָם וְאֶל-אַשְׁפָּה אַחַת הוּטָלוּ
וּבְעֵרֶב דָּם שְׁנֵיהֶם יְחַטְטוּ חֲזִירִים וְיִתְגּוֹלָלוּ;
מָחָר יֵרֵד גֶּשֶׁם וּסְחָפוֹ אֶל-אַחַד נַחֲלֵי הַבָּתוֹת –
וְלֹא-יִצְעַק עוֹד הַדָּם מִן הַשְּׁפָכִים וְהָאַשְׁפָּתוֹת,
כִּי בִּתְהֹם רַבָּה יֹאבַד אוֹ-יַשְׁקְ נַעֲצוּץ לִרְוָיָה –
וְהַכֹּל יִהְיֶה כְּאָיִן, וְהַכֹּל יָשׁוּב כְּלֹא-הָיָה.
וְאֶל עֲלִיּוֹת הַגַּגֹּות תְּטַפֵּס וְנִצַּבְתְּ שָׁם בָּעֲלָטָה –
עוֹד אֵימַת מַר הַמָּוֶת בַּמַּאֲפֵל הַדּוֹמֵם שָׁטָה;
וּמִכָּל-הַחוֹרִים הָעֲמוּמִים וּמִתּוֹךְ צִלְלֵי הַזָּוִיּוֹת
עֵינַיִם, רְאֵה, עֵינַיִם דּוּמָם אֵלֶיךָ צוֹפִיּוֹת.
רוּחוֹת הַ"קְּדוֹשִׁים" הֵן, נְשָׁמוֹת עוֹטְיוֹת וְשׁוֹמֵמוֹת,
אֶל-זָוִית אַחַת תַּחַת כִּפַּת הַגַּג הִצְטַמְצְמוּ – וְדוֹמֵמוֹת.
כַּאן מְצָאָן הַקַּרְדֹּם וְאֶל-הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה תָּבֹאנָה
לַחְתֹּם פֹּה בְּמֶבָּטֵי עֵינֵיהֶן בַּפַּעַם הָאַחֲרוֹנָה
אֶת כָּל-צַעַר מוֹתָן הַתָּפֵל וְאֶת כָּל-תַּאֲלַת חַיֵּיהֶן,
וְהִתְרַפְּקוּ פֹּה זָעוֹת וַחֲרֵדוֹת, וְיַחְדָּו מִמַּחֲבוֹאֵיהֶן
דּוּמָם תּוֹבְעוֹת עֶלְבּוֹנָן וְעֵינֵיהֶן שׁוֹאֲלוֹת: לָמָּה? –
וּמִי-עוֹד כֵּאלֹהִים בָּאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר-יִשָּׂא זֹאת הַדְּמָמָה?
וְנָשָׂאתָ עֵינֶיךָ הַגָּגָה – וְהִנֵּה גַם רְעָפָיו מַחֲרִישִׁים,
מַאֲפִילִים עָלֶיךָ וְשׁוֹתְקִים, וְשָׁאַלְתָּ אֶת-פִּי הָעַכָּבִישִׁים;
עֵדִים חַיִּים הֵם, עֵדֵי רְאִיָּה, וְהִגִּידוּ לְךָ כָּל-הַמּוֹצְאוֹת:
מַעֲשֶׂה בְּבֶטֶן רֻטָּשָה שֶׁמִּלּאוּהָ נוֹצוֹת,
מַעֲשֶׂה בִּנְחִירַיִם וּמַסְמֵרוֹת, בְּגֻלְגָּלוֹת וּפַטִּישִׁים,
מַעֲשֶׂה בִּבְנֵי אָדָם שְׁחוּטִים שֶׁנִּתְלוּ בְּמָרִישִׁים,
וּמַעֲשֶׂה בְּתִינוֹק שֶׁנִּמְצָא בְּצַד אִמּוֹ הַמְדֻקָּרָה
כְּשֶׁהוּא יָשֵׁן וּבְפִיו פִּטְמַת שָׁדָהּ הַקָּרָה;
וּמַעֲשֶׂה בְּיֶלֶד שֶׁנִּקְרַע וְיָצְאָה נִשְׁמָתוֹ בְּ"אִמִּי!" –
וְהִנֵּה גַם עֵינָיו פֹּה שׁוֹאֲלוֹת חֶשְׁבּוֹן מֵעִמִּי.

וְעוֹד כָּאֵלֶּה וְכָאֵלֶּה תְּסַפֵּר לְךָ הַשְׂמָמִית
מַעֲשִׂים נוֹקְבִים אֶת-הַמֹּחַ וְיֵשׁ בָּהֶם כְּדֵי לְהָמִית
אֶת-רוּחֲךָ וְאֶת-נִשְׁמָתְךָ מִיתָה גְּמוּרָה עוֹלָמִית –
וְהִתְאַפַּקְתָּ, וְחָנַקְתָּ בְּתוֹךְ גְּרוֹנְךָ אֶת הַשְּׁאָגָה
וּקְבַרְתָהּ בְּמַעֲמַקֵּי לְבָבְךָ לִפְנֵי הִתְפָּרְצָהּ,
וְקָפַצְתָּ מִשָּׁם וְיָצָאתָ – וְהִנֵּה הָאָרֶץ כְּמִנְהָגָהּ,
וְהַשֶּׁמֶשׁ כִּתְמֹל שִׁלְשֹׁם תְּשַׁחֵת זָהֳרָהּ אָרְצָה.
וְיָרַדְתָּ מִשָּׁם וּבָאתָ אֶל-תּוֹךְ הַמַּרְתֵּפִים הָאֲפֵלִים,
מְקוֹם נִטְמְאוּ בְּנוֹת עַמְּךָ הַכְּשֵׁרוֹת בֵּין הַכֵּלִים,
אִשָּׁה אִשָּׁה אַחַת תַּחַת שִׁבְעָה שִׁבְעָה עֲרֵלִים,
הַבַּת לְעֵינֵי אִמָּהּ וְהָאֵם לְעֵינֵי בִּתָּהּ,
לִפְנֵי שְׁחִיטָה וּבִשְׁעַת שְׁחִיטָה וּלְאַחַר שְׁחִיטָה;
וּבְיָדְךָ תְמַשֵּׁש אֶת-הַכֶּסֶת הַמְטֻנֶּפֶת וְאֶת-הַכָּר הַמְאָדָּם,
מִרְבַּץ חֲזִירֵי יַעַר וּמִרְבַּעַת סוּסֵי אָדָם
עִם-קַרְדֹּם מְטַפְטֵף דָּם רוֹתֵחַ בְּיָדָם.
וּרְאֵה גַּם-רְאֵה: בַּאֲפֵלַת אוֹתָהּ זָוִית,
תַּחַת מְדוֹכַת מַצָּה זוֹ וּמֵאֲחוֹרֵי אוֹתָהּ חָבִית,
שָׁכְבוּ בְעָלִים, חֲתָנִים, אַחִים, הֵצִיצוּ מִן-הַחוֹרִים
בְּפַרְפֵּר גְּוִיּוֹת קְדוֹשׁוֹת תַּחַת בְּשַׂר חֲמוֹרִים,
נֶחֱנָקוֹת בְּטֻמְאָתָן וּמְעַלְּעוֹת דַּם צַוָּארָן,
וּכְחַלֵּק אִישׁ פַּת-בָּגוֹ חִלֵּק מְתֹעָב גּוֹי בְּשָׂרָן –
שָׁכְבוּ בְּבָשְׁתָּן וַיִּרְאוּ – וְלֹא נָעוּ וְלֹא זָעוּ,
וְאֶת-עֵינֵיהֶם לֹא-נִקֵּרוּ וּמִדַּעְתָּם לֹא יָצָאוּ –
וְאוּלַי גַּם-אִישׁ לְנַפְשׁוֹ אָז הִתְפַּלֵּל בִּלְבָבוֹ:
רִבּוֹנוֹ שֶׁל-עוֹלָם, עֲשֵׂה נֵס – וְאֵלַי הָרָעָה לֹא-תָבֹא.
וְאֵלֶּה אֲשֶׁר חָיוּ מִטֻּמְאָתָן וְהֵקִיצוּ מִדָּמָן –
וְהִנֵּה שֻׁקְּצוּ כָּל-חַיֵּיהֶן וְנִטְמָא אוֹר עוֹלָמָן
שִׁקּוּצֵי עוֹלָם, טֻמְאַת גּוּף וָנֶפֶשׁ, מִבַּחוּץ וּמִבִּפְנִים –
וְהֵגִיחוּ בַעֲלֵיהֶן מֵחוֹרָם וְרָצוּ בֵית-אֱלֹהִים
וּבֵרְכוּ עַל-הַנִּסִּים שֵׁם אֵל יִשְׁעָם וּמִשְׂגַּבָּם;
וְהַכֹּהֲנִים שֶׁבָּהֶם יֵצְאוּ וְיִשְׁאֲלוּ אֶת רַבָּם:
"רַבִּי! אִשְׁתִּי מָה הִיא? מֻתֶּרֶת אוֹ אֲסוּרָה?" –
וְהַכֹּל יָשׁוּב לְמִנְהָגוֹ, וְהַכֹּל יַחֲזֹר לְשׁוּרָה.
וְעַתָּה לֵךְ וְהֵבֵאתִיךָ אֶל-כָּל הַמַּחֲבוֹאִים:
בָּתֵּי מָחֳרָאוֹת, מִכְלְאוֹת חֲזִירִים וּשְׁאָר מְקוֹמוֹת צוֹאִים.
וְרָאִיתָ בְּעֵינֶיךָ אֵיפֹה הָיוּ מִתְחַבְּאִים
אַחֶיךָ, בְּנֵי עַמֶּךָ וּבְנֵי בְנֵיהֶם שֶׁל-הַמַּכַּבִּים,
נִינֵי הָאֲרָיוֹת שֶׁבְּ"אַב הָרַחֲמִים" וְזֶרַע הַ"קְּדוֹשִׁים".
עֶשְׂרִים נֶפֶשׁ בְּחוֹר אֶחָד וּשְׁלֹשִׁים שְׁלֹשִׁים,
וַיְגַדְּלוּ כְבוֹדִי בָּעוֹלָם וַיְקַדְּשׁוּ שְׁמִי בָּרַבִּים...
מְנוּסַת עַכְבָּרִים נָסוּ וּמַחֲבֵא פִשְׁפְּשִׁים הָחְבָּאוּ,
וַיָמוּתוּ מוֹת כְּלָבִים שָׁם בַּאֲשֶׁר נִמְצָאוּ,
וּמָחָר לַבֹּקֶר – וְיָצָא הַבֵּן הַפָּלִיט
וּמָצָא שָׁם פֶּגֶר אָבִיו מְגֹאָל וְנִמְאָס – – –
וְלָמָּה תֵבְךְּ, בֶּן-אָדָם, וְלָמָּה תָלִיט
אֶת-פָּנֶיךָ בְּכַפְּךָ? – חֲרֹק שִׁנַּיִם וְהִמָּס!
וְיָרַדְתָּ בְּמוֹרַד הָעִיר וּמָצָאתָ גִּנַּת יָרָק,
וַאֲוֵרָה גְדוֹלָה עִם הַגִּנָּה, הִיא אֲוֵרַת הֶהָרֶג.
וּכְמַחֲנֵה תִּנְשְׁמוֹת עֲנָק וְאֵימֵי עֲטַלֵּפִים
הַסְּרוּחִים עַל-חַלְלֵיהֶם שִׁכּוֹרֵי דָם וַעֲיֵפִים.
שָׁם עַל קַרְקַע הָאֲוֵרָה שָׁטְחוּ לָהֶם שֶׁטַח
אוֹפַנִּים מְפֻשְּׂקֵי יְתֵדוֹת כְּאֶצְבָּעוֹת שְׁלוּחוֹת לִרְצֹחַ,
וּפִיפִיּוֹתָם מְגֹאָלִים עוֹד בְּדַם אָדָם וָמֹחַ.
וְהָיָה בַּעֲרֹב הַיּוֹם, בִּנְטוֹת שֶׁמֶשׁ מַעֲרָבָה,
מְעֻטָּף בְּעַנְנֵי דָּם וְנֶאְפַּד אֵשׁ לֶהָבָה,
וּפָתַחְתָּ אֶת-הַשַּׁעַר, בַּלָּט וּבָאתָ אֶל-הָאֲוֵרָה
וְאֵימָה חֲשֵׁכָה תִּבְלָעֶךָּ, וּתְהֹם זְוָעָה נַעֲלָמָה:
מָגוֹר, מָגוֹר מִסָּבִיב... מְשׁוֹטֵט הוּא בַּאֲוֵרָהּ,
שׁוֹרֶה הוּא עַל הַכְּתָלִים וְכָבוּשׁ בְּתוֹךְ הַדְּמָמָה.
וּמִתַּחַת תִּלֵּי הָאוֹפַנִּים, מִבֵּין הַחוֹרִים וְהַסְּדָקִים,
עוֹר תַּרְגִּישׁ כְּעֵין פִּרְפּוּר שֶׁל-אֲבָרִים מְרֻסָּקִים,
מְזִיזִים אֶת הָאוֹפַנִּים הַתְּלוּלִים עַל-גַּבֵּיהֶם,
מִתְעַוְּתִים בִּגְסִיסָתָם וּמִתְבּוֹסְסִים בִּדְמֵיהֶם;
וְאֶנְקַת חֲשָׁאִים אַחֲרוֹנָה – קוֹל עֲנוֹת חֲלוּשָׁה
מִמַּעַל לְרֹאשְׁךָ עֲדַיִן תְּלוּיָה כְּמוֹ קְרוּשָׁה,
וּכְעֵין צַעַר נֶעְכָּר, צַעַר עוֹלָם, תּוֹסֵס שָׁם וְחָרֵד.
אֵין זֹאת כִּי אִם-רוּחַ דַּכָּא רַב-עֱנוּת וּגְדֹל-יִסּוּרִים
חָבַשׁ כָּאן אֶת-עַצְמוֹ בְּתוֹךְ בֵּית הָאֲסוּרִים,
נִתְקַע פֹּה בִּדְוֵי עוֹלָם וְלֹא-יֹאבֶה עוֹד הִפָּרֵד,
וּשְׁכִינָה שְׁחֹרָה אַחַת, עֲיֵפַת צַעַר וִיגֵעַת כֹּחַ,
מִתְלַבֶּטֶת פֹּה בְּכָל-זָוִית וְלֹא-תִמְצָא לָהּ מָנוֹחַ,
רוֹצָה לִבְכּוֹת – וְאֵינָהּ יְכוֹלָה, חֲפֵצָה לִנְהֹם – וְשׁוֹתֶקֶת,
וְדוּמָם תִּמַּק בְּאֶבְלָהּ וּבַחֲשָׁאִי הִיא נֶחֱנֶקֶת,
פּוֹרֶשֶׂת כְּנָפֶיהָ עַל צִלְלֵי הַקְּדוֹשִׁים וְרֹאשָׁהּ תַּחַת כְּנָפָהּ,
מַאֲפִילָה עַל-דִּמְעוֹתֶיהָ וּבוֹכִיָּה בְלִי שָׂפָה – – –
וְאַתָּה גַם-אַתָּה, בֶּן-אָדָם, סְגֹר בַּעַדְךָ הַשַּׁעַר,
וְנִסְגַּרְתָּ פֹּה בָּאֲפֵלָה וּבַקַּרְקַע תִּכְבֹּשׁ עֵינֶיךָ
וְנִצַּבְתָּ כֹּה עַד-בּוֹשׁ וְהִתְיַחַדְתָּ עִם-הַצַּעַר
וּמִלֵּאתָ בּוֹ אֶת-לְבָבְךָ לְכֹל יְמֵי חַיֶּיךָ,
וּבְיוֹם תְּרֻשַּׁשׁ נַפְשְּךָ וּבַאֲבֹד כָּל חֵילָהּ –
וְהָיָה הוּא לְךָ לִפְלֵיטָה וּלְמַעְיַן תַּרְעֵלָה,
וְרָבַץ בְּךָ כִּמְאֵרָה וִיבַעֶתְךָ כְּרוּחַ רָעָה,
וּלְפָתְךָ וְהֵעִיק עָלֶיךָ כְּהָעֵק חֲלוֹם זְוָעָה;
וּבְחֵיקְךָ תִשָּׂאֶנּוּ אֶל-אַרְבַּע רוּחוֹת הַשָּׁמַיִם,
וּבִקַּשְׁתָּ וְלֹא-תִמְצָא לוֹ נִיב שְׂפָתַיִם.
וְאֶל-מִחוּץ לָעִיר תֵּצֵא וּבָאתָ אֶל בֵּית-הָעוֹלָם,
וְאַל-יִרְאֲךָ אִישׁ בְּלֶכְתְּךָ וִיחִידִי תָּבֹא שָׁמָּה,
וּפָקַדְתָּ קִבְרוֹת הַקְּדוֹשִׁים לְמִקְּטַנָּם וְעַד-גְּדוֹלָם,
וְנִצַּבְתָּ עַל עֲפָרָם הַתָּחוּחַ וְהִשְׁלַטְתִּי עָלֶיךָ דְּמָמָה:
וּלְבָבְךָ יִמַּק בְּךָ מֵעֹצֶר כְּאֵב וּכְלִמָּה –
וְעָצַרְתִּי אֶת-עֵינֶיךָ וְלֹא-תִהְיֶה דִמְעָה,
וְיָדַעְתָּ כִּי עֵת לִגְעוֹת הִיא כְּשׁוֹר קוּד עַל הַמַּעֲרָכָה –
וְהִקְשַׁחְתִּי אֶת-לְבָבְךָ וְלֹא-תָבֹא אֲנָחָה.
הִנֵּה הֵם עֶגְלִֵי הַטִּבְחָה, הִנֵּה הֵם שׁוֹכְבִים כֻּלָּם –
וְאִם יֵשׁ שִׁלּוּמִים לְמוֹתָם – אֱמֹר, בַּמֶּה יְשֻׁלָּם?
סִלְחוּ לִי, עֲלוּבֵי עוֹלָם, אֱלֹהֵיכֶם עָנִי כְמוֹתְכֶם,
עָנִי הוּא בְחַיֵּיכֶם וְקַל וָחֹמֶר בְּמוֹתְכֶם,
כִּי תָבֹאוּ מָחָר עַל-שְׂכַרְכֶם וּדְפַקְתֶּם עַל-דְּלָתָי –
אֶפְתְּחָה לָכֶם, בֹּאוּ וּרְאוּ: יָרַדְתִּי מִנְּכָסָי!

וְצַר לִי עֲלֵיכֶם, בָּנַי, וְלִבִּי לִבִּי עֲלֵיכֶם:
חַלְלֵיכֶם – חַלְלֵי חִנָּם, וְגַם-אֲנִי וְגַם-אַתֶּם
לֹא-יָדַעְנוּ לָמָּה מַתֶּם וְעַל-מִי וְעַל-מָה מַתֶּם,
וְאֵין טַעַם לְמוֹתְכֶם כְּמוֹ אֵין טַעַם לְחַיֵּיכֶם.
וּשְׁכִינָה מָה אוֹמֶרֶת? – הִיא תִּכְבֹּש בֶּעָנָן אֶת רֹאשָׁהּ
וּמֵעֹצֶר כְּאֵב וּכְלִמָּה פּוֹרֶשֶׁת וּבוֹכָה...
וְגַם-אֲנִי בַּלַּיְלָה בַלַּיְלָה אֵרֵד עַל הַקְּבָרִים,
אֶעֱמֹד אַבִּיט אֶל-הַחֲלָלִים וְאֵבוֹשׁ בַּמִּסְתָּרִים –
וְאוּלָם, חַי אָנִי, נְאוּם יְיָ, אִם-אוֹרִיד דִּמְעָה.
וְגָדוֹל הַכְּאֵב מְאֹד וּגְדוֹלָה מְאֹד הַכְּלִמָּה –
וּמַה-מִּשְּׁנֵיהֶם גָּדוֹל? – אֱמֹר אַתָּה, בֶּן אָדָם!
אוֹ טוֹב מִזֶּה – שְׁתֹק! וְדוּמָם הֱיֵה עֵדִי,
כִּי-מְצָאתַנִי בִקְלוֹנִי וַתִּרְאֵנִי בְּיוֹם אֵידִי;
וּכְשׁוּבְךָ אֶל-בְּנֵי עַמֶּךָ – אַל-תָּשׁוּב אֲלֵיהֶם רֵיקָם,
כִּי מוּסַר כְּלִמָּתִי תִּשָּׂא וְהוֹרַדְתּוֹ עַל-קָדְקֳדָם,
וּמִכְּאֵבִי תִּקַּח עִמְּךָ וַהֲשֵׁבוֹתוֹ אֶל-חֵיקָם.
וּפָנִיתָ לָלֶכֶת מֵעִם קִבְרוֹת הַמֵּתִים, וְעִכְּבָה
רֶגַע אֶחָד אֶת-עֵינֶיךָ רְפִידַת הַדֶּשֶׁא מִסָּבִיב,
וְהַדֶּשֶׁא רַךְ וְרָטֹב, כַּאֲשֶׁר יִהְיֶה בִּתְחִלַּת הָאָבִיב:
נִצָּנֵי הַמָּוֶת וַחֲצִיר קְבָרִים אַתָּה רוֹאֶה בְעֵינֶיךָ;
וְתָלַשְׁתָּ מֵהֶם מְלֹא הַכַּף וְהִשְׁלַכְתָּם לַאֲחוֹרֶיךָ,
לֵאמֹר: חָצִיר תָּלוּשׁ הָעָם – וְאִם-יֵשׁ לַתָּלוּשׁ תִּקְוָה?
וְעָצַמְתָּ אֶת-עֵינֶיךָ מֵרְאוֹתָם, וּלְקַחְתִּיךָ וַאֲשִׁיבְךָ
מִבֵּית-הַקְּבָרוֹת אֶל-אַחֶיךָ אֲשֶׁר חָיוּ מִן-הַטִּבְחָה,
וּבָאתָ עִמָּם בְּיוֹם צוּמָם אֶל בָּתֵּי תְפִלָּתָם
וְשָׁמַעְתָּ זַעֲקַת שִׁבְרָם וְנִסְחַפְתָּ בְדִמְעָתָם;
וְהַבַּיִת יִמָּלֵא יְלָלָה, בְּכִי וְנַאֲקַת פֶּרֶא,
וְסָמְרָה שַׂעֲרַת בְּשָׂרְךָ וּפַחַד יִקְרָאֲךָ וּרְעָדָה –
כָּכָה תֶּאֱנֹק אֻמָּה אֲשֶׁר אָבְדָה אָבָדָה...
וְאֶל-לְבָבָם תַּבִּיט – וְהִנּוֹ מִדְבָּר וְצִיָּה,
וְכִי-תִצְמַח בּוֹ חֲמַת נָקָם – לֹא תְחַיֶּה זֶרַע,
וְאַף קְלָלָה נִמְרֶצֶת אַחַת לֹא-תוֹלִיד עַל-שִׂפְתֵיהֶם.
הַאֵין פִּצְעֵיהֶם נֶאֱמָנִים – – וְלמָה תְפִלָּתָם רְמִיָּה?
לָמָּה יֱכַחֲשׁוּ לִי בְּיוֹם אֵידָם, וּמַה-בֶּצַע בְּכַחֲשֵׁיהֶם?
וּרְאֵה גַם-רְאֵה: עוֹד הֵם נְמַקִּים בִּיגוֹנָם,
כֻּלָּם יוֹרְדִים בַּבֶּכִי, יִשְּׂאוּ קִינָה בְּנִיהֶם,
וְהִנֵּה הֵם מְתוֹפְפִים עַל-לִבְבֵיהֶם וּמִתְוַדִּים עַל-עֲוֹנָם
לֵאמֹר: "אָשַׁמְנוּ בָּגַדְנוּ" – וְלִבָּם לֹא-יַאֲמִין לְפִיהֶם.
הֲיֶחֱטָא עֶצֶב נָפוֹץ וְאִם-שִׁבְרֵי חֶרֶשׂ יֶאְשָמוּ?
וְלָמָּה זֶה יִתְחַנְּנוּ אֵלָי? – דַּבֵּר אֲלֵיהֶם וְיִרְעָמוּ!
יָרִימוּ-נָא אֶגְרֹף כְּנֶגְדִי וְיִתְבְּעוּ אֶת עֶלְבּוֹנָם,
אֶת-עֶלְבּוֹן כָּל-הַדּוֹרוֹת מֵרֹאשָׁם וְעַד-סוֹפָם,
וִיפוֹצְצוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וְכִסְאִי בְּאֶגְרוֹפָם.
וְגַם-אַתָּה, בֶּן-אָדָם, אַל-תִּבָּדֵל מִתּוֹךְ עֲדָתָם,
הַאֲמֵן לְנִגְעֵי לִבָּם וְאַל-תַּאֲמֵן לִתְחִנָּתָם;
וּבְהָרֵם הַחַזָּן קוֹלוֹ: "עֲשֵׂה לְמַעַן הַטְּבוּחִים!
עֲשֵׂה לְמַעַן תִּינֹוקוֹת! עֲשֵׂה לְמַעַן עוֹלְלֵי טִפּוּחִים"!
וְעַמּוּדֵי הַבַּיִת יִתְפַּלְּצוּ בְּזַעֲקַת תַּאֲנִיָּה,
וְסָמְרָה שַׂעֲרַת בְּשָׂרְךָ וּפַחַד יִקְרָאֲךָ וּרְעָדָה –
וְהִתְאַכְזַרְתִּי אֲנִי אֵלֶיךָ – וְלֹא תִגְעֶה אִתָּם בִּבְכִיָּה
וְכִי תִפְרֹץ שַׁאֲגָתְךָ – אֲנִי בֵּין שִׁנֶּיךָ אֲמִיתֶנָּה;
יְחַלְּלוֹּ לְבַדָּם צָרָתָם – וְאַתָּה אַל תְּחַלְּלֶנָּה.
תַּעֲמֹד הַצָּרָה לְדוֹרוֹת – צָרָה לֹא-נִסְפָּדָה,
וְדִמְעָתְךָ אַתָּה תֵּאָצֵר דִּמְעָה בְלִי-שְׁפוּכָה,
וּבָנִיתָ עָלֶיהָ מִבְצַר בַּרְזֶל וְחוֹמַת נְחוּשָׁה
שֶׁל-חֲמַת מָוֶת, שִׂנְאַת שְׁאוֹל וּמַשְׂטֵמָה כְבוּשָׁה,
וְנֹאחֲזָה בִלְבָבְךָ וְגָדְלָה שָׁם כְּפֶתֶן בִּמְאוּרָתוֹ,
וִינַקְתֶּם זֶה מִזֶּה וְלֹא-תמְצְאוּ מְנוּחָה;
וְהִרְעַבְתָּ וְהִצְמֵאתָ אוֹתוֹ – וְאַחַר תַּהֲרֹס חוֹמָתוֹ
וּבְרֹאשׁ פְּתָנִים אַכְזָר לַחָפְשִׁי תְשַׁלְּחֶנּוּ
וְעַל-עַם עֶבְרָתְךָ וְחֶמְלָתְךָ בְּיוֹם רַעַם תְּצַוֶּנּוּ.
עַתָּה צֵא מִזֶּה וְשׁוּב הֵנָּה בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת
וְרָאִיתָ אַחֲרִית אֵבֶל עָם: וְהִנֵּה כָּל-אֵלֶּה הַנְּפָשׁוֹת
אֲשֶׁר-חָרְדוּ וְהֵקִיצוּ בֹקֶר – שָׁבוּ לָעֶרֶב וַתֵּרָדַמְנָה,
ִויגֵעֵי בֶכִי וְדַכֵּי רוּחַ הִנָּם עוֹמְדִים עַתָּה בַּחֲשֵׁכָה,
עוֹד הַשְּׂפָתַיִם נָעוֹת, מְפַלְּלוֹת – אַךְ הַלֵּב נָחַר תּוֹכוֹ,
וּבְלֹא נִיצוֹץ תִּקְוָה בַּלֵּב וּבְלִי שְׁבִיב אוֹר בָּעָיִן
הַיָּד תְּגַשֵּׁשׁ בָּאֲפֵלָה, תְּבַקֵּשׁ מִשְׁעָן – וָאִָיִן...
כָּכָה תֶּעְשַׁן עוֹד הַפְּתִילָה אַחֲרֵי כְלוֹת שַּמְנָהּ,
כָּךְ יִמְשֹׁךְ סוּס זָקֵן אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּר כֹּחוֹ.
לוּ אַגָּדַת תַּנְחוּמִים אַחַת הִנִּיחָה לָהֶם צָרָתָם,
לִהְיוֹת לָהֶם לִמְשִׁיבַת נֶפֶשׁ וּלְכַלְכֵּל שֵׂיבָתָם!
הִנֵּה כָלָה הַצּוֹם, קָרְאוּ "וַיְחַל", אָמְרוּ "עֲנֵנוּ" – וְלָמָּה
עוֹד הַצִּבּוּר מִתְמַהְמֵהַּ? – הַיִקְרְאוּ גַּם "אֵיכָה? –
לֹא! הִנֵּה דַרְשָׁן עוֹלֶה עַל-הַבָּמָה,
הִנֵּה הוּא פוֹתֵחַ פִּיו, מְגַמְגֵּם וּמְפִיחַ אֲמָרָיו,
טָח תָּפֵל וְלוֹחֵשׁ פְּסוּקִים עַל מַכָּתָם הַטְּרִיָּה,
וְאַף קוֹל אֱלֹהִים אֶחָד לֹא-יַצִּיל מִפִּיהוּ ,
גַּם-נִיצוֹץ קָטָן אֶחָד לֹא-יַדְלִיק בִּלְבָבָם;
וְעֵדֶר אֲדֹנָי עוֹמֵד בִּזְקֵנָיו וּבִנְעָרָיו,
אֵלֶּה שׁוֹמְעִים וּמְפַהֲקִים וְאֵלֶּה רֹאשׁ יָנִיעוּ;
תַּו הַמָּוֶת עַל-מִצְחָם וּלְבָבָם יֻכַּת שְׁאִיָּה.
מֵת רוּחָם, נָס לֵחָם, וֵאלֹהֵיהֶם עֲזָבָם.
וְגַם אַתָּה אַל-תָּנֹד לָהֶם, אַל-תְּזַעְזַע חִנָּם פִּצְעֵיהֶם,
אַל-תִּגְדֹּשׁ עוֹד לַשָּׁוְא סְאַת צָרָתָם הַגְּדוּשָׁה;
בַּאֲשֶׁר תִּגַּע אֶצְבָּעֲךָ – שָׁמָּה מַכָּה אֲנוּשָׁה,
כָּל-בְּשָׂרָם עֲלֵיהֶם יִכְאַב – אֲבָל נוֹשְׁנוּ בְּמַכְאוֹבֵיהֶם
וַיַּשְׁלִימוּ עִם חַיֵּי בָשְׁתָּם, וּמַה-בֶּצַע כִּי תְנַחֲמֵם?
עֲלוּבִים הֵם מִקְּצֹף עֲלֵיהֶם וְאוֹבְדִים הֵם מֵרַחֲמֵם;
הַנַּח לָהֶם וְיֵלֵכוּ – הִנֵּה יָצְאוּ הַכּוֹכָבִים,
וַאֲבֵלִים וַחֲפוּיֵי רֹאשׁ וּבְבֹשֶׁת גַּנָּבִים
אִישׁ אִישׁ עִם-נִגְעֵי לִבּוֹ יָשׁוּב הַבָּיְתָה,
וְגֵווֹ כָּפוּף מִשֶּׁהָיָה וְנַפְשׁוֹ רֵיקָה מִשֶּׁהָיְתָה,
וְאִישׁ אִישׁ עִם נִגְעֵי לִבּוֹ יַעֲלֶה עַל-מִשְׁכָּבוֹ
וְהַחֲלֻדָּה עַל-עֲצָמָיו וְהָרָקָב בִּלְבָבוֹ...
וְהָיָה כִּי-תַשְׁכִּים מָחָר וְיָצָאתָ בְּרֹאשׁ דְּרָכִים –
וְרָאִיתָ הֲמוֹן שִׁבְרֵי אָדָם נֶאֱנָקִים וְנֶאֱנָחִים,
צוֹבְאִים עַל חַלּוֹנוֹת גְּבִירִים וְחוֹנִים עַל הַפְּתָחִים,
מַכְרִיזִים בְּפֻמְבֵּי עַל-פִּצְעֵיהֶם כְּרוֹכֵל עַל-מַרְכֹּלֶת,
לְמִי גֻּלְגֹּלֶת רְצוּצָה וּלְמִי פֶּצַע יָד וְחַבּוּרָה,
וְכֻלָּם פּוֹשְׁטִים יָד כֵּהָה וְחוֹשְׂפִים זְרוֹעַ שְׁבוּרָה,
וְעֵינֵיהֶם, עֵינֵי עֲבָדִים מֻכִּים, אֶל יַד גְּבִירֵיהֶם
לֵאמֹר: "גֻּלְגֹּלֶת רְצוּצָה לִי, אָב "קָדוֹשׁ" לִי –תְּנָה אֶת תַּשְׁלוֹמֵיהֶם!"
וּגְבִירִים בְּנֵי רַחֲמָנִים מִתְמַלְּאִים עֲלֵיהֶם רַחֲמִים
וּמוֹשִׁיטִים לָהֶם מִבִּפְנִים מַקֵּל וְתַרְמִיל לַגֻּלְגֹּלֶת
אוֹמְרִים "בָּרוּךְ שֶׁפְּטָרָנוּ" – וְהַקַּבְּצָנִים מִתְנַחֲמִים.
לְבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת, קַבְּצָנִים! וַחֲפַרְתֶּם עַצְמוֹת אֲבוֹתֵיכֶם
וְעַצְמוֹת אַחֵיכֶם הַקְּדוֹשִׁים וּמִלֵּאתֶם תַּרְמִילֵיכֶם
וַעֲמַסְתֶּם אוֹתָם עַל-שֶׁכֶם וִיצָאתֶם לַדֶּרֶךְ, עֲתִידִים
לַעֲשׂוֹת בָּהֶם סְחוֹרָה בְּכָל-הַיְרִידִים;
וּרְאִיתֶם לָכֶם יָד בְּרֹאשׁ דְּרָכִים, לְעֵין רוֹאִים,
וּשְׁטַחְתֶּם אוֹתָם לַשֶּׁמֶשׁ עַל-סְמַרְטוּטֵיכֶם הַצֹּאִים,
וּבְגָרוֹן נִחָר שִׁירָה קַבְּצָנִית עֲלֵיהֶם תְּשׁוֹרְרוּ,
וּקְרָאתֶם לְחֶסֶד לְאֻמִּים וְהִתְפַּלַּלְתֶּם לְרַחֲמֵי גוֹיִם
וְכַאֲשֶׁר פְּשַׁטְתֶּם יָד תִּפְשֹׁטוּ, וְכַאֲשֶׁר שְׁנוֹרַרְתֶּם תִּשְׁנוֹרְרוּ.
וְעַתָּה מַה-לְךָ פֹּה, בֶּן-אָדָם, קוּם בְּרַח הַמִּדְבָּרָה
וְנָשָׂאתָ עִמְּךָ שָׁמָּה אֶת-כּוֹס הַיְגוֹנִים,
וְקָרַעְתָּ שָׁם אֶת-נַפְשְׁךָ לַעֲשָׂרָה קְרָעִים
וְאֶת-לְבָבְךָ תִּתֵּן מַאֲכָל לַחֲרוֹן אֵין-אוֹנִים,
וְדִמְעָתְךָ הַגְּדוֹלָה הוֹרֵד שָׁם עַל קָדְקֹד הַסְּלָעִים
וְשַׁאֲגָתְךָ הַמָּרָה שַׁלַּח – וְתֹאבַד בִּסְעָרָה.

Ki Tisa and the Nation

(A short דבר תורה written for this week. For a more philosophical view on מחצית השקל and the dialectic discussed, see previous posts on the subject.)

In general, the world sees society as a way to find the maximum good for the largest number of individuals. Plato's Republic, Rousseu's Social Contract, all of these see unity and nationhood as means to the end of individual success and happiness. Even Christianity does so, in seeing the salvation of the individual as the greatest good, the highest completion of an individual.

Not so the Jewish Torah. Judaism sees a dialectic -- two interdependent, complementing, and at times, competing values: the individual, and the nation. On the one hand, the individual is seen throughout chassidut (especially Chabad) as a microcosm of the universe. Our personal avodas hashem, service of God, and responsibility for our actions are unquestioned.

However, in Torah thought, the Nation occupies its own unique and important role. Judaism sees the completion of the individual only through his contribution to, and building of, the nation -- the society. The Shulchan Aruch rules that one may keep all the laws, but if he separates himself from the community, for example by not fasting with them, he is incomplete as an individual. The teleological goal of Torah and Mitzvos is to bring about a just, complete society, which will be a light unto the nations, such that the nations will look to it, see utopia, and remark that "רק עם חכם ונבון הגוי הגדול הזה", and this immediately brings them to a recognition of God -- as the pasuk continues: ומי גוי גדול אשר לו חוקים ומשפטים צדיקים, the Torah God gave us.

The nation occupies a central place in Jewish philosophy, such that it can define halachik reality, for example, קידוש החדש, and setting the calendar, as we bless מקדש ישראל והזמנים, God sanctifies Isarael, who defines the calendar.

However, in our day to day lives, it is easy to forget this crucial element of our existence. We may easily fall into the trap of thinking that our individual lives are the only important thing, that our individual service of God can be complete in and of itself. Partly to counter this mistaken notion, and to remind us of our completion only through the nation, Hashem instituted the commandment of מחצית השקל. We give a half Shekel. Why not a whole one? As the commentators explain, this half is to remind us that without the nation, whithout counting our brothers and sisters as ourselves, without seeing our completion in the nation of Israel, we are only half. We are incomplete.

May we be spurred, by reading of the מחצית השקל,to find our way to synthesize the dialectic of individual and community, and arrive at a greater level of service of God and personal, and national, completion.

בשאלת מהות איסור חזרה בשבת

במשנה בריש פרק כירה, דף לו: מח' ב"ש נוטלים אבל לא מחזירים (רש"י אומר כי מחזי כמבשל), וב"ה מתירים אף להחזיר. לח: ר' ששת אומר לב"ה, מחזירין אפילו בשבת.מח' בגמ' אם צריך עודו בידו ודעתו להחזיר, או מותר אף עם אחד מן התנאים. מיחם למיחם, תלה במקל, על מטה, תיקו.

- לרש"י, המשנה מדבר בליל שבת, וזה עיקר המח', ולכן דברי ר' ששת שמחזירין אפילו בשבת, מדובר ביום המחרת.הייתי חושב שבליל שבת מותר כי מוכח שאדעתה לאהדורי בשביל מחרת, אבל בשבת לא מוכחא מילתא, קמ"ל שאף ביום השבת מותר.לרש"י, לב"ש, מה שאסור זה ליל שבת.

- אבל תוס' אומר שפשטות המשנה מורה על עובדה שעיקר המח' זה בחול, לא בשבת. כל המשנה מובן יותר בקלות (במיוחד חלק הראשון) בערב שבת. לכן דברי ר' ששת "אפילו בשבת" מוסבים על ליל שבת. לתוס', מה שאסור לב"ש זה ערב שבת אם לא יוכל להרתיחו מבעוד יום. זה בעייתי לי, למה שיהיה אסור בע"ש, אף אם לא יוכל להרתיח מבעוד יום? איך זה שונה משהייה שמותר לפני שבת כדי שייגמר בישולו בשבת עצמו? איך חזרה זה אסור בגלל מחזי כמבשל אבל שהייה מותר?

- לענות על שאלתי, עיין רא"ש שמסביר. כמו תוס' הוא שואל כמה זמן קודם שבת אסור להחזיר? ועונה, 1 אסור היכא דנתקרר ואין שהות להרתיח מבעוד יום. אבל לא שמח עם זה, כי אז יש הבדל בין איסור חזרה בשבת לבע"ש, שבשבת אסור אף אם רותח, אבל בע"ש מותר אם כבר רותח. אז מסיק רא"ש וגם תוס' ש2 בע"ש אף אם רותח אסור כל היכא דאם היה קר לא היה יכול להרתיח עד שבת. ואיסור חול של חזרה זה כמו של שבת. בשבת כבר נתבשל ורק נמצא על הכירה להשהותה שם, כן נמי בע"ש, אסור להחזיר היינו אחר שנגמר הבישול ומניחה עומדת על הכירה להחזיק החום. ואם נטלה אז מן הכירה, אסור להחזירה, אטו שבת (אטו מחזי כמבשל שזה הסיבה שחזרה אסורה בשבת עצמה). וכולה חדא גזרה, כיון שלא מתבשלת עוד על הכירה זה כתחילת שהייה, ואם שרינן להחזיר מבעוד יום, יבוא לעשות כן בשבת. אבל כל זמן שלא נתבשלה כל צרכה וודאי נוטל ומחזיר כל הזמן, כי זה שהייה ולא חזרה. כל זמן שהוא עומד על האש בלא הפרעה ברציפות, זה שהייה שמותר. מיד כשמוריד מהאש, זה שובר את השהייה, ומייד כשיחזיר, זה ממש מחזי כמבשל, זה נראה כמו הפעולה של מבשל.

Allan Bloom's Closing of the American Mind, A Summary

I have almost finished reading Bloom's Closing of the American Mind and, while I am sure I will have more to say in way of criticism and discussion in the future, for now I feel the need to summarize what he has written. The book is heavier reading than I expected, and I anticipate that the finer points may become blunted with the passage of time unless I commit his general thesis to writing while it is still fresh in my mind. Any corrections or comments are welcome.

Bloom argues that in modern culture, people have become homogenized; differences are shallow and culture presently contains only the most superficial elements of what culture used to mean.

Parents have lost control over their children's moral discipline with television and music replacing an anchored morality with relativistic moral theories. There are new morals for new times, and the old generation might get out of the way if they refuse to lend a hand.

Modern American interest in music, other people, relationships, religion, and love, lacks that which gave these things meaning and value. They are now immediate and appreciated for the most superficial elements they possess: love and Eros are really just sex; musical complexity, shades of meaning and passion are really just the heavy, brutish sexualized beat of rock. Making these sublime aspects of life immediately tangible and attainable by everyone, we have robbed them of their height; the ascent to the pinnacle of the mountain has been plowed to a plateau that is the lowest common demoninator.

American democracy has led to an egalitarian push to say that every child is creative, exceptional and genius. As soon as someone develops truly into these things, as a Beethoven or a Shakespeare, democracy pushes them back into the pack, because everyone standing out means no one really can.

In modern society's greatest success, the Enlightenment, Locke and his compatriots cast off the shackles of a social order led by a monarch (the type of society which put Socrates to death) who endangered the scientist/philosopher by trying to fit him into the social system and control his thoughts. They deliberately replaced monarchy with liberal democracy, which saw as the most protected, and the most sacred, the untouchable, the scientists and philosophers, who ultimately ran the society as puppeteers. However, natural science went its own way with its freedom, leaving the unifying meta-system, philosophy, in the cold. While Kant bridged the gap, giving natural science and reason its limits and providing a framework for everything else, Rousseau, and, later Nietzsche and Heidegger, saw the weakness of reason and the contemplative life. They saw action as superior to thought. Thus, in a backlash against the contemplative side of the scientist/philosopher, and against the Enlightenment in fact, they took advantage of the natural sciences and eschewed the historical consciousness called for by the Enlightenment (a prime example is the philosophical climate of the Soviet Union). Viva Activa was better than Viva Contemplativa. Values are relative, and there is no way for one to pass judgment other than action. It is this reaction that ushered in the collapse of the University as an independent, sacred ground for thinkers with true academic freedom. It is here that the University became simply another arena in which the cultural and political theories and parties acted out their battles.

And it is precisely this backlash against the Enlightenment that has come to the shores of America, decades after Heidegger's capitulation of the German University. In the American sixties, as in the twenties in Germany, the University has lost its sacred status as the source of contemplative thought and open, free discourse. The Black Power movement is only a powerful example of what is happening and continues to happen. Bloom quotes Marx, that "History repeats itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce." In Germany, it was the right, here, it is the left, but it is the same dismantling of the University and the contemplative life in both cases. The professors are unable to defend the University because they have lost vision of its purpose. They try to give the public what it wants, because they have forgotten what it means to educate, to raise above the mundane and create a beacon of academic freedom and honesty. They strip core classes of languages, history, philosophy, and they thus turn their schools into vocational schools, not meant to educate and ennoble, but meant to give economical and political power to their charges.

In addition, a new interest in morality rose in the student body (which was indicative of general society). This was not the quiet morality of doing no evil, telling the truth and respecting elders -- the brand of morality that makes sacrifice every day, which Kant claimed is understood by the child but takes a lifetime of humble goodness to achieve. Rather, this new morality was the morality not of keeping laws, but of breaking them in the name of a higher law. It was a constant crisis, not acknowledging true morality, and seeing the moral struggle only in the epic, they type of struggle which in reality is truly rare. (We can see this today with University students championing the major moral causes as their own, while living personally amoral lives. They are "nice", they exude a childish veneer of pleasantness, but have lost Polaris in the search for truth.) Aside from its own problems, this morality had the unfortunate result of allowing students to blithely equate morally between the Beast of Belsen and the secretaries of the War Draft Board. (To my mind comes immediately the ridiculous assertion held on many University campuses and in society as a whole that Israel is as apartheid South Africa was, or that IDF commanders are Nazis. When we see things so starkly, and see our moral banners as the apex of moral struggles, we tend to blur the distinctions between situations, and judge passionately instead of rationally.)

The loss of purpose in the American university is mirrored by the inability of the students to see anything in life as worth striving for, as of higher moral or cultural value than anything else they see around them. The High Culture of society, embodied in the University has become lost and that institution simply reflects now the low culture of society.

The University has excelled at pigeon-holeing increasingly specific fields of knowledge, demonstrating an ability to split the atom, cure cancer, aggregate lexicons of lost languages, collate and study massive amounts of data in psychological studes. It remains, however, unable to define a basic path to a general education of its students. This path, Bloom states, is the concept of the Great Books. Reading these works without the historicism of the humanities, rather as living documents that speak to modern society, is the only way to provide a passion and interest in a holistic application of education to the students. However, most faculties ignore this method, or despise it.

The fact is that natural science sees itself as the sole posessor of true knowledge. It handles empirical fields, the ones that see matter as unified and humans as matter. They see the Great Books as a spiritual quest, but not immediately impactive of their study. On the other hand, the study of that which makes a human human, what is known in religion as the soul, this study is split into humanites, viewing it as an art (Rosseau), and the social sciences, which prefer to view it as a science (and itself as the next rung on the ladder after biology), and qunatifiable (Locke). These two disciplines disagree over their very subject matter. The latter views the Great Books as inapplicable to itself as they are in essence a science (desiring to attain the status of the natural sciences), while the former is embarrassed by what is exposed in the Great Books, rascism, elitsm and sexism.

The destruction of the University and the cheapening of the human experience is what America must struggle with. History will judge her, and we must act to provide the University with a reason for existence, and the student a true depth resultant from a true education. (I believe Bloom's statement here may be reflective of his feeling toward modern humanity in general, not just America.)

A Hauntingly Beautiful Song

השקט שוב צונח כאן משמי הערב

כדאיית דיה מעל התהומות

ושמש אדומה נושקת להט חרב

את הפסגות, המגדלים והחומות.

ראיתי עיר עוטפת אור

והיא עולה בשלל צבעי הקשת

והיא נוגנת בי כנבל העשור

ראיתי עיר עוטפת אור.

הנה זוחל הצל מבין גבעות האורן

קרב בסתר כאוהב אל השכונות.

ומול פניו קריצות, ריבוא עיני האור הן,

לפתע נפקחו אליו כנפעמות.

ראיתי עיר עוטפת אור...

בדממת אשמורת אחרונה נושמת,

ובקטיפת שחקים רסיס אחרון מחויר,

אך שחר כבר כיפת זהב שלה אודמת

למגעו החם, הרך של אור צעיר.

ראיתי עיר עוטפת אור...

(Words from here.) Yossi Sarig was born in 1944. After serving in the IDF, he studied music, which he taught and wrote until the Yom Kippur War. During this war (arguably the greatest threat to Israel's existence of all Arab-Israeli Wars), Yossi served as commander of a unit of tanks in the Golan Heights. It is there that he fell on 10 Oct, 1973.

One year before his death, Yossi was asked to write a song to celebrate five years of Jerusalem's re-unification. His song אור וירושלים, Light and Jerusalem, is performed above by הפרברים.

Tearing "K'ri'ah" At the Kotel

Disclaimer: As in all halachik discussions, what appears below is not meant as ruling, but as discussion only. Please discuss any practical applications with an orthodox rabbi.

The Talmud (מו"ק כו:א) discusses the commandment of rending one's clothing in three distinct situations: the first is when learning of a relative's (or, under specific circumstances, even non-relatives) death. This is a commonly known law. However, less known is the law to 2) tear "קריעה" (rending) upon various pieces of bad news. An additional category of קריעה is 3) upon the desolate cities of Judea, and the remains of the Temple:

"אמר ר' אלעזר: הרואה ערי יהודה בחורבנן אומר ערי קדשך היו מדבר וקורע. ירושלים בחורבנה, אומר ציון מדבר היתה ירושלים שממה וקורע. בית המקדש בחורבנו, אומר בית קדשינו ותפארתינו אשר הללוך אבותינו היה לשריפת אש וכל מחמדינו היה לחרבה וקורע."

Cities that are under Jewish control would no longer be subject to this law (see שו"ע או"ח תקס"א -- it seems הכל תלוי בשלטון) -- such that we would no longer tear קריעה on Jerusalem, but we would on Bethlehem which, while given to us in the Six Day War by God, was handed over to our enemies by our own government later on. However, even while under Jewish sovereignty, the Temple Mount would still be subject to קריעה, as the tragedy is not so much its control by others, as its desolation and absence of the בית המקדש.

Codified by the Shulchan Aruch (יו"ד ש"מ ל"ח-ל"ט), the law is that one who visits the Temple Mount after longer than 30 days of absence tears his garment. (If one finds this law difficult to observe, he can give his shirt to a friend as a gift, and even while he still wears it, would be exempt from tearing it, since one may not tear a shirt owned by another. This gift must be true, and Rabbi Eliezer Melamed comments that one should at least tear a shirt over the desolation of the Temple Mount once in his life.)

The question that came up yesterday was, what if a person visits the Kotel for the first time in 30 days on חול המועד? On the Sabbath or full-fledged holiday, it is clear that קריעה is not done (שו"ע סע' ל"א). What of חול המועד?

As with the other two categories of קריעה, this would be subject to a rishonic dispute. According to the Mordechai and Ramban, one would tear as usual during חול המועד, but according to the T'rumat Hadeshen, one would refrain, as one does on a full-fledged holiday, unless the קריעה is on parents. The Shulchan Aruch declares that one would tear on חול המועד. The Rema rules as the T'rumat Hadeshen, and yet, in a place with no standard tradition, he rules as the Shulchan Aruch.

It would seem from this that the S'faradim would tear on Chol Hamoed, while the Ashkenazim would refrain. However, Rabbi Melamed mentions that in general, the מנהג is that on Chol Hamoed, one does not tear. (This combined with the especially festive atmosphere at the Kotel during Chol Hamoed make it seem particularly out of place for a person to tear קריעה in front of others at a time when even the laws of אבילות are only observed in private.)

The question that remains is, if one arrived at the Kotel on חול המועד and therefore did not tear, but then re-visits within 30 days, after the holiday, would he be required to tear since he did not fulfill his obligation on the holiday? Is the obligation to tear one that is simply נדחה, pushed off, during the holiday, and re-devolves upon a person immediately afterwards (as is the case in tearing over a death), or is the nature of the obligation different?

The answer can be inferred from the מגן אברהם in או"ח סי' תקס"א, where the law of tearing for the Temple is discussed again. He deals with a case where a person was raised in Jerusalem. As a child, he does not have a requirement to tear. However, upon reaching the age of Bar Mitzvah, although he has an obligation to tear, he is not in a position to tear, since he has seen the Temple area within thirty days! Such a person would never be required to tear, unless he were to leave Jerusalem for longer than thirty days. The ערוך השולחן rules so, as well.

It seems clear from this discussion that the requirement to tear is fundamentally one which requires the "newness" of not having seen the Temple area for thirty days. Only if this requirement is fulfilled would one tear. If one has seen the Temple Mount during a time of פטור, when he is younger than thirteen, it seems clear that he has nonetheless seen the area and is thus no longer obligated in tearing קריעה. Tearing over the Temple Mount is fundamentally different in its parameters from tearing over a dead relative.

It seems to me that this reasoning applies in completely the same way to seeing the Kotel on חול המועד. Thus, one who sees the Kotel on חול המועד and then returns to the site afterwards, would not tear on חול המועד, and would also not tear after the holiday, until having been absent from the Temple area for longer than thirty days. (I was pleased to see that Rabbi Melamed comes to the same conclusion as I do.)

May God help us rebuild his Holy Temple quickly. May these laws become theoretical discussions, and no longer practical, with the pilgrimage of the nation to the בית המקדש.

Again, the above is not meant as ruling, but as discussion only. Please discuss any practical applications with an orthodox rabbi.

Basics of Music

Apropos of not much, here is an outline sketch of what is colloquially called "Classical Music":

Early Period: Voice, Gregorian chant, Choral church music. until about 1400.

Medieval Period: More instrumentation, Renaissance period -- introduction of bass instruments and musical transcription. 1400 - 1600.

Common Practice Period:

Baroque Period: 1600 - 18th C. Continuous bass line, use of counterpoint (independent musical voices enunciated together that are harmonically interrelated), distinction of maj/minor motifs. More ensemble, chamber music. eg Bach, Handel.

Classical Period: 18th C - 1820's. Symphonies. More order to music, use of single reed instruments. eg. WA Mozart, Haydn.

Romantic Period: 1820 - 1910. Nationalist (eg Wagner, Dvorak). Less order, even as orchestras began forming for classical period music. Nocturnes, preludes -- free-form. Piano in present form. Romantic, emotional motives and themes. Grand opera. Eg. Beethoven (really straddles Classical and Romantic), Shubert.

Universal Kindness

In parashat Re'eh, the Jewish nation is poised on the banks of the Jordan, ready to enter the Promised Land. Here, at the threshold of their national destiny, Moshe their leader delivers an epic farewell oratory. The speech is more than a review of their past; it is a vision of their future. Moshe focuses upon the laws that have particular relevance to the national and civil aspects of communal life. It comes as no surprise that Moshe exhorts the Jews regarding laws such as charity. However, he also reviews the foods Jews may eat, and those from which they must abstain. How do the laws of kashrut relate to the nation as a whole?

The food we ingest becomes part of our bodies. In the most literal way possible, what we intake is the source of our energy. Every word spoken, every lifted finger, is powered by what we have eaten. And so, a Jew is careful of what he eats and how he eats it. The commentators discuss many kosher and non-kosher animals, pointing out traits that are desirable or undesirable, to help explain their kosher status.

However, Rabbi Wollenberg from England points out in an article on this week's parsha, one non-kosher animal seems to have a positive trait. The Talmud explains that the stork, called chasidah, is so named for its propensity to do chesed, kindness towards its own kind. This seems like an emulable trait; why is the stork forbidden?

The Kotzker Rebbe explains: the stork engages in acts of kindness towards its own kind. However, this kindness does not extend to those outside the stork's family. The rabbi from Kotzk says that it is not enough, and we may not ignore those outside our circles.

On the face of things, this answer seems like quite a beautiful lesson. However, if we examine the laws of charity, we find that (ב"מ ע"א) "aniyei ircha kodmim": when giving tzedaka, we are responsible first for our own families, then for our own town, then our own city. The laws of charity seem to agree with the kindness of the stork! How can the Kotzker call kindness directed towards one's own kind "unkosher", when that is precisely what the halacha seems to require?

The answer to this question can be found in a subtle distinction between the two. In the laws of charity, the closer circles to a person take precedence. It is not that one may cease to give charity after his own are satisfied. The halacha simply informs us of the proper order. Loving-kindness begins at home, but in no way does it stop there. The light and benificence of the Torah emenates forth and eventually envelops the world. This is in stark contrast to the stork, who the Talmud tells us, limits its kindness exclusively to its own.

It is one of the hardest tasks in our lives not only to do good, but to do ordered good. Order, seder, gives structure to our actions, and allows them to be, not only good now, or in an hour, but in twenty years. My father-in-law often tells me that this is a lesson he received from Rabbi Tessler, of blessed memory: ensure that the good you do is true good, not superficial good. When we order our priorities, we are able to ensure that no good goes undone, while at the same time, none is decayed by exaggeration or neglect.

In one of Rav Kook's pieces of poetry, his 'שיר מרובע', he describes the passage of a man from his concern over his personal redemption, to an interest in Jewish National redemption. From there, the protagonist finds a higher plane of redemption, that of all Mankind. Finally, he ends by finding the ultimate redemption, the redemption of the Universe, and the validation of Creation.

Rav Kook in this poem is not describing layers of consciousness that replace each other. He is rather speaking about maintaining four discrete views in harmony, allowing each to influence and vitalize the other properly. The song is of wisely choosing from a blending of the four perspectives that which best suits whatever situation one experiences.

In Moshe's time and today as well, the transition from desert to Israel is one in which the Jews are tasked with taking the physical and spiritual midbar and converting it to a gan Hashem. Upon entry to Israel, a group of individuals begin the task of building a healthy national home. The rights of the individual and the needs of the community will come into conflict more and more. How are we to properly provide each with their just desserts?

The only way to do this correctly is to maintain different perspectives, individual, national, global and universal. We may not stop at any point, as the stork does. We must recognize the priorities set, but not lose ourselves within their details and waypoints. Thus the chasidah gives way to true chesed, and the individual finds his place not by being erased or lost in the group, but by being given his proper place within the community.

Kashrut, then, provides deep lessons for a nation building a state. The teachings imparted certainly are relevant to the Jews at the doorway to Israel.