Fascinating Find

Coins depicting the image of a man with the name "Joseph" have been found in Egypt, according to a Cairo newspaper. While the Jerusalem Post quotes the significance of this find as "countering the claim held by some historians that coins were not used for trade in ancient Egypt, and that this was done through barter instead," it seems that this find has another dimension of significance: it is further outside confirmation of the Biblical narrative.

Shabbat shalom and G'mar Chatima Tovah!

Vayelech: Personal and National Teshuva

In this week's haftarah for Vayelech, Hoshea exhorts the Jewish people to return to God. "שובה ישראל, עד ה' אלקיך כי כשלת בעווניך...אשור לא יושיעינו" Return, O Israel, to God, for you have failed in sin...[say] Assyria will not save us..." (Hoshea 14:2) The prophet tells the Jewish nation how to repent: say that the great powers of the world will not save us, and abandon idolatry, and return to God. What is the connection between Jewish return to God and an admission that we have no one else to rely on?

Perhaps the answer lies in the psychology of repentance. Throughout our lives, we encase ourselves in protective layers of posessions and alliances. As social beings, we find protection from the elements and from enemies in the comforting warmth of the Group. We have amassed great wealth, prestige and honor, and these things serve us as security blankets. It is a poor man who finds himself penniless, and even worse indeed is one who finds himself without friends and a social position to rely on.

While these things are a normal and healty part of the human condition, they can become a person's worst enemy. One may allow his possessions and position to shift his understanding of his own vulnerability. When we have nothing, we realize quickly that it is God upon whom we must ultimately rely. However, the things we surround ourselves with and the social positions we attain make it very easy to hide this truth from ourselves. We become enamoured by ourselves, and feel that our position dictates that we are untouchable, protected by our peers, and so forth. This makes it very hard for a person to see God in his own life. The religious experience of knowing God as the beginning and end can be dimmed. This makes it very hard, indeed, for a person to repent sins. Sins may become permitted (as the Talmud says) in our own minds, after committing them, and seeing no immediate reprecussions. An aura of invincability can easily descend, making us rely on our stature as a sign we are always (and perhaps by definition) doing good. Teshuva and true closeness to God is a forgotten relic of a less prosperous time.

Into this atmosphere, Hoshea speaks: In order to cleave to God, we must first divest ourselves emotionally from the things and positions we rely on. We must come before God in a kittel, in a burial shroud. We must remember that we carry none of our prestige and wealth with us to the court of God, but our good deeds and our bad deeds. This divistement allows us to realize who we really are, and is the first step to repentance. Viewing ourselves truly, and not through the rose colored glasses of our own egos, is foundational to Teshuva. And so, Hoshea tells us to admit that nothing we rely on is really reliable -- we come before God with ourselves, plain and simple. We can only rely on Him.

In a larger sense, the message of Hoshea is aimed not at the individual alone, but at the nation of Israel. For each year, we repent as a nation. What is the first step to re-build the fractured relationship our nation has with God? Admission of reliance. Reject the nations you rely on for support, alliances and economic prosperity. Internalize that it is from God that Israel succeeds or fails, and based on our fulfillment of our national obligations to Him. Understand that, אשור לא יושיעינו, the superpowers will not save us, but God will. (In an interesting twist of history, the letters of אשור correspond to the Latin letters of A-S-U-R, which make up the letters of both the USA and the USSR, driving home the poin doubly, that the world powers, the superpowers, are not to be relied upon by Israel.)

The flip-side of this message can be found in our parasha: if we cannot rely on them, who can we rely upon? "Be strong and brave, do not fear or balk before them, for Hashem, your God, it is He that accompanies you, he will not forsake you!" (Deut. 31:6) When we rely on God, we will find victory, security and happiness.

The message is clear: on an individual and on a national level, we are to divest ourselves of perceived external protection and support, for these things only allow us to grow distant from God, and sell us the lie that we can rely on others, not only on Him. By renewing our covanent with Him, personally and nationally, may we merit a year which is better, a year in which the safety, happiness and security of each Jew and the nation as a whole is clearly, obviously, unmistakeably, in the hands of God.

The Concept of War

When we read the beginning of כי תצא, we may find ourselves asking a very basic question: What is the purpose of war? Though they are obviously towards the bottom of the preferred list of ways to resolve conflicts, the Torah teaches that there are wars which are actually required, מלחמות מצווה. The understanding that war is not something that can always be avoided is one which demonstrates to us truths about the pragmatism of the Torah, and the way in which we are to navigate our imperfect world.

In an imagined perfect world, it can be reasonably assumed that the violence and horrors of war would be absent. Idealized attempts at utopia-building, such as Marx's Communist Manifesto, commonly included the cessation of war as part of their vision. Why does the Torah not outlaw war? The answer to this question can be found in a letter written by Rabbi Kook (אגרות הראי"ה חלק א' אגרת פט עמוד ק pointed out at Rav Kook Torah), where he wrote that it would have been impossible that, at a time when the surrounding nations were wolves, the Jews would unilaterally abstain. The nations would quickly form an axis that would destroy the Hebrew people. On the contrary, says Rabbi Kook, it was imperative that the Jews act mercilessly, to deter the threats around them.

Rabbi Kook here makes an important point: the Torah is not some abstract ideal which has little relation to the world in which it is placed. Rather, its purpose is to teach humanity how, from within the realia of that world, to slowly, step by step, bring about its perfection. It would be disastrous for humanity if any nation chosen to bear the Torah's truths were to be extinguished immediately upon observance of those truths. And so, the Jews are to make use of war, as bad as it is, when necessary to survive, and continue in their task of bettering the world.

The Torah, however, has a different view of what war morality is. There are five values which the Torah supports that may come in conflict with general western ideas. 1) Mercilessness: As Rav Kook writes above, a war must be fought with ferocity. Mercy has no place on the battlefield. As Rashi states on the words כי תצא למלחמה על אויבך, it is not on our brothers that we go to war, who would have mercy upon us. It is rather on enemies, who will not have any mercy. In order to win, we must be willing to be the same. 2) Motivation: Warriors need to be ready to do what is necessary with willingness and resolve. Ehud Olmert is quoted as saying, "we are tired of fighting, we are tired of winning". As Rambam makes clear in הלכות מלכים, this attitude is defeatist, giving the strong and victorious the attitude of the defeated. The Olmertian attitude is described in Yeats' The Second Coming: "The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity." This is no way for good to triumph. Good must be more motivated, filled with more intensity than evil. 3) Civilian losses: We must be willing to allow enemy civillians to die. The enemy civilian in a time of war is not differentiated from the enemy combatant. Jewish morality sees the value of life in Jewish soldiers. The '90's concept of טוהר הנשק, purity of arms, resulted in numerous Israeli casualties in Lebanon because terrorists dressed as women to fight, throwing the Israelis off guard. 4) Independence: Jewish war must be fought with faith in God and our own right, not with reliance upon external powers. As the prophet exhorted Egypt, יען הייתם משענת קנה, since Egypt provided Israel with an ostensible ally (who later abandonded the Jews), she is cursed. While alliances upon equal footing are sometimes beneficial, total reliance on anyone but ourselves and God is  wrong and will only lead to failure. 5) Enemy population: The enemy population may not be allowed to remain in areas that are Israeli territory. Those that do, become thorns in our eyes and sides.

When Israel maintains these Jewish values of war, peace can prevail. However, when Israel neglects them, two things immediately happen: 1) Israel, by being merciful to the evil, ends up being evil to those who are merciful. Nothing is more clearly and example of this than the permissive attitude of the Israeli Government in the years before 2005 towards rocket attacks from Gaza, which led to the criminal Gaza Evacuation. 2) Israel teases its enemies by allowing them to think that they have never been fully beaten. Thus, the enemies continue conflicts for decades that should really last weeks. The Biblical story of Shaul and Amalek is a perfect example of this, in that Haman came from the Amalek King's union the night before he was killed by Sh'muel.

The sixth Jewish value in war is that of purity: once the battlefield is left, the warriors spend 7 days outside normal society to divest themselves of the negative traits needed in war. Mercilessness is replaced again by mercy, might by flexibility, gentility and empathetic kindness.

Today, we may feel that we find ourselves no nearer to the goal of world perfection and peace. I once read a book review in the New York Times, in which the author claimed that twentieth century was the bloodiest ever. Indeed, the greek term for a perfect world, 'utopia' (coined by Thomas More), also derives from οὐ, "not", and τόπος, "place", in other words, a place that is imaginary, and will never exist. In light of this, what is our job? The answer of the Torah is a pragmatic one: accepting the need for the grime and blood of war, maintain our morality while within it. The laws of אשת יפת תואר and beseiging an enemy city are some examples of this. In holiness, we go out to the camp of war.

We also ensure that the negative traits of character needed in war such as cruelty, anger and hatred never become naturalized characteristics. Kindness, empathy, love, gentleness, these are the characteristics that make up our persona. The others are like armor that is put on in times of need and removed at the earliest opportunity. In holiness we wage war, and in holiness we leave the field of battle, immediately divesting ourselves of the negative traits.

In a larger sense, this view of "war as clean as practically possible", is one which guides our path throughout our lives. For as Rav Neriyah has said, "we live in a world of בדיעבד." From the moment we are born to the moment we die, from morning to night, we are met by constant choices. We often must choose between two unappetizing options. It is in these situations where we often demonstrate our committment to the abstract ideals of Torah. In frustration at something, do we react calmly at the child who has just tracked mud into the house, or do we lose it? These kinds of questions are also applications of מלחמת מצווה. By fighting our baser desires and knee-jerk reactions, we conquer ourselves, and go to personal mini-war in holiness, as it were.

(Rav Soloveitchik makes another point in a similar vein. He says that, as a people constantly surrounded by other cultures, we often bring home יפת תואר, beautiful things and concepts from outside. Our job, as Rav Hirsch writes in his essays on education, is not to reject them out of hand, but to sublimate that which is good into our service of God. We take good, after studying it and assuring ourselves that it is indeed good, from any source.)

However, another aspect of war is that it fulfills an important purpose in our world. Rabbi Kook in Orot (המלחמה א) writes that war stirs the powers of Messiah. Just as a pressure cooker can cook in a short time things that would take hours in a conventional oven, so does war produce unnatural pressure in the world which allows change and upheavals at a faster rate than under normal circumstances. Borders shift and nations wrest from one another victory and status. God utilizes these changes to re-position geo-political realities that further the process of global redemption. When the general shake-up and pandemonium settles down, the stillness of punch-drunk adversaries leads to a renewed interest in true peace.

Thus, military upheavals may move the world in the direction God desires. As opposed to the greek "utopia", Judaism sees world harmony not only as possible, but as an inevitable teleological event. Yeshaya prophesies that in the end of days, the nations of the world will recognize God. The Temple will be a focal point for world spiritual strivings, and the inhabitants of our globe will beat their swords and spears to agricultural implements. At this time, the perfection of the general world and individuals will be accomplished slowly and incrementally, without the need for war.

So war is inevitable in our imperfect world, and it can even serve an important positive purpose. We may hear in today's headlines the drumbeats of tomorrow's war; we are quite cognizant of the dangers. We may wonder, how will the redemption ever be completed?

We can be strengthened in our faith in God's ultimate game-plan as was Rabbi Akiva. While his friends wept at the destruction of the Temple, he rejoiced and saw the fulfillment of the negative prophecies as a guarantee that God would eventually fulfill the fortellings of good. While danger still exists, we know that there is, in the not-distant future, a time when the world will, indeed, live in peace, with no need for the ravages of war. God and truth will reign supreme, and Man will serve Him in unity. It will be a time when the most destructive of forces will be used to build, when swords will be used to till the soil. Through the present haze of the battlefield upon which we still struggle, we hear the voice of God, promising that the redemption is no pipe-dream. Work towards it; wait for it; expect it. In the words of our הפטרה, "Though the mountains crumble and the valleys disintegrate, my loving-kindness for you, Israel, will never falter, says the Merciful One."

Response to Neve Gordon's Op-Ed

I am planning to begin blogging regularly again this week. However, I felt so outraged after reading an op-ed in the LA Times, that I composed this as a response:

In Response to Neve Gordon's Op-Ed piece, here.

It is tragic and dangerous when a member of Israel's supposed intellectual elite joins forces with the Jewish State's enemies. It is painful for Jews around the world to witness such overt self-hate. And yet, readers of the Los Angeles Times were treated to such a display in the above-mentioned op-ed. As a Jew who sees the situation through less simplistic lenses, I offer this response to Neve Gordon.

1) Your article ignores the history that led to Israel's control over the West Bank. As you know, Israel accepted the UN Partition Plan in 1947 and declared Statehood over a land they had returned to after 2000 years. The Jews accepted a severely reduced amount of land than what had been promised by the British, and it excluded the West Bank. Israel was immediately attacked by more than 5 Arab armies, and over the next decades, was attacked three more times. In each of these wars publicly planned by the Arabs to "throw the Jews into the sea", Israel beat back their aggressors. Israel came to control the West Bank (historically part of ancient Israel) after the Six Day War.

In ignoring the way in which Israel came to the West Bank, you erase any moral highground that belongs to the defensive victor in a war. Israel's old "Aushwitz borders" (to quote Abba Eban, a leftist who, unlike you, had some sense) were redrawn to provide the fledgling State reasonable natural frontiers across which to defend itself. Israel's wars have all been defensive, and this is an important point which you neglect. There is no moral equivalence between the Israeli assumption of the West Bank and an offensive land-grab. To imply that there is is a dishonest play into the hands of Israel's enemies.

2) Your article states that there are only two options, one is a one-state solution with Arabs and Jews granted full and equal rights, and the second is a two-state solution. I am sorry that a university professor is victim to such a fallacy as the false dilemma you present. In reality, there are other options, many of which are part of a vigorous discussion within Israel today. As was the case in the separation of India and Pakistan, a transfer of populations is only one of a number of other options, in which the Jews transferred from Arab lands in the past 6 decades would be traded for a future transfer of Arabs to those lands. An important point to mention is that all suggestions of transfer voiced in Israel include fair renumeration to Arab families for property left in Israel. This is something which was not done when Jews were forcibly transferred from their homes in Arab lands.

3) Finally, the climax of your op-ed piece is a subscription to a Palestinian initiative to isolate Israel by way of boycott. This odious suggestion from a Jew to the world, to marginalize and isolate the Jewish State does indeed, as you point out, smack of anti-semitism, and in your case, self-hate. However, I wish to point out the hypocrisy of your position. You do not call for boycott of Hamas or Fatah or the PA, all of which routinely, as you know, in their own broadcasts to their population, advocate armed terror against the Israeli civillian population. It is common for PA television to broadcast children speaking of their desire to be "martyrs" (Arab double-talk for "terrorists"). You do not call for a boycott of Iran or Syria. You do not speak out against any other world evils. You choose, rather, to focus all your public, international voice against your own country and people, who are defending themselves against increasingly deadly and existential dangers including terrorism and nuclear annihalation.

You have turned the victim into the aggressor, ignoring history and morality. In doing so, you have weakened the State of Israel and the the Jewish People. You have opened a door for other anti-semites by joining forces with the Palestinian boycott anti-semites; after all, they gleefully reason, if a Jewish University Professor from Israel can agree with it, it must be acceptable.

And so, shame on you. In a fit of emotional frenzy, you have sold your pen and your soul to your enemy.

Thank God Israel and the free world do not rely on the likes of you to fight evil.

In light of the above, I call for another, Israeli initiative, and I hope it is more successful than yours will be. I call for your ouster as a tenured professor at Ben Gurion University. The people of Israel should not have to pay your salary, as you poison the minds of students with your self-loathing.

Blessing on the Sun

In Sh'mot (24), the Torah tells us of the Jewish people's preparation for the revalation at Sinai. The midrash states that the Jews were not content with the plan that God transmit to Moshe the teachings, and he in turn teach them. "רצונינו לראות את מלכנו," we desire to "see" God, as it were. Indeed, the revelation took place with God speaking to the people directly. The midrash describes the mass expiration of the nation, and only after God ceases to speak do they become re-animated.

This event stands distinct from the midrashic interpretations at the end of parashat Tzav. The Torah says (8:36), "Aharon and his sons did all the things that God commanded by the hand of Moshe." Torat Kohanim notes on this: "ששים ושמחים לקבל מפי משה כשומעים מפי הקדוש ברוך הוא," they were happy to receive the teachings from Moshe as if they had heard them directly from God.

What changed? Why is it that the Jews are suddenly satisfied, indeed, joyful, over hearing the teachings through Moshe? By examining a rare occurence that is coming up this year, perhaps we can come to a deeper understanding of these midrashim.

This ערב פסח is special, because it coincides with the day that, according to tradition, the Sun is aligned with earth in exactly the same way it was on the day it was created in Genesis. This happens, according to the Jewish calendar, every twenty-eight years, and we say the blessing of עושה מעשה בראשית to commemorate it. However, it is a fact that this twenty-eight year cycle does not truly describe the astronomical reality. So why is it that we celebrate this, essentially a non-event?

Rabbi Eisen, in a class delivered in Jerusalem this year, explained that the mysteries of creation and the Divine manner of running the world are hidden from us. He gives an analogy: one may look inside a pot, and see precious stones and other treasures shimmering before him. He may then be told that what he is admiring is nothing other than the intricately painted lid of the pot. So the Torah shows us not necessarily an ontological truth, but a working-reality truth. It is truth in that it is the foundation of the way that God expects us to interact with the world around us. As the midrash states regarding the story of creation, we are unable to plumb the depths of God's infinite wisdom in creation, and so the Torah concealed with, "In the beginning". The very narrative of creation is a screen behind which the ontological truth hides, inaccessible to us.

Taking Rabbi Eisen's point further, the precision and truth of the twenty-eight year cycle is the precision and truth that the Torah chooses to reveal to us: it is a working truth, and is eminently valuable to us -- for it describes the way God wants us to interface with creation. Ontological truth is not what we need (or can even attain in many circumstances).^[1]

This is the strength of the Oral Torah. The Yerushalmi (Pe'ah 2:4) states that "the words of the Sages are preferred to the Written Torah". This is because the Torah of the Sages is the practical concretization of the abstract Written Law in this world. And since Man is finite, he is unable to perfectly undestand many actual truths; however, he is able to come to a working truth, and it is this truth that God cherishes, for it represents Man coming forth, struggling against the darkness, closer to Him. And thus, when we bless on the sun this coming Wednesday, we are in essense celebrating the value, validity and importance of the Torah of the Sages.

Perhaps now we can better understand the two midrashim with which we began. At the foot of Sinai, the people naiively believed that they could plumb the depths of ontological truth: they wanted to "see" God. However, after experiencing the life-ending combustion that results from such an interaction with the Divine, they understand that for this world, the Torah of the Sages (represented by Moshe's transmission of God's word), the working truth, is sufficient, and to be cherished. It is then that, at the consecration of the Tabernacle in our parasha, they joyfully accept the words of God through Moshe, as if they had heard these words from God himself. The lesson of Sinai is internalized.

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^[1] In truth, this is taken further: Halacha concerns itself with scientific accuracy, but only as one of many considerations when rendering a decision. Far greater weight is given to social concerns, and the ease of perpetuation of a specific halacha (the whole idea of גזרה שאין הציבור יכולה לעמוד בה, that some otherwise valuable rabbinic enactments are abandoned when it is clear that the public would be unduly stressed to keep them, is a demonstration of this point). The calendar created around a 28 year cycle is the best possible calendar for human beings: it is accurate enough to not impact the correct seasons of the festivals for many millenia, and yet it is short enough to be remembered by human beings. A halacha that falls out once every 150 years is not practical. And yet, ברכת החמה, the blessing on the sun, would become just such a halacha if any greater accuracy were attempted by the creators of the Hebrew calendar. In short, for finite Man, halacha creates a realistic, practical framework, and that trumps ontological truth. For finite Man, the twenty-eight year calendar is the best possible calendar. And this is the aim and focus of the Torah.

Fate and Destiny

In Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck describes the depression-era migration of Eastern share-croppers and their families to the West. Beset by troubles, the Joad family breaks a connection-rod in their truck, and visit a scrapyard to find a replacement. There, they meet an unkempt man who has only one eye. He does not even try to cover up the socket of the missing eye with a patch. He bemoans his situation: he cannot find a wife, for, who could like someone like him? he cannot find a better job, for, "Ain't so easy to get a job --not for a one-eye' man." The junkyard man presents a totally miserable life, with no hope for rehabilitation.

On the other hand, Tom Joad has undertaken the obligation to see his family to California to find work. The Joad farm was foreclosed, and they were cheated out of many of their expensive farming implements. Grandfather died on the road, and they buried him themselves. However, hope does not die. The Joads actively work towards a better future for themselves.

When Tom meets the man at the junkyard, he listens. Finally, he says, "Now, look-a-here, fella. You got that eye wide open...Ya just asking for it. Ya like it. Lets ya feel sorry for yaself. 'Course you can't get no woman with that empty eye flappin' aroun'...I knowed a hump-back...Make his whole livin' lettin' folks rub his hump for luck...an' all you got is one eye gone."

In קול דודי דופק, Rabbi Soloveitchik details two possible modes of the human condition. Man can either exist in the mode of fate, or he can rise to that of destiny. Fateful Man is one who lives in depressing reaction to the things that occur around him. He is an object -- events happen to him, and he does not initiate them. He lives trapped in the reality of "It is against your own will that you live." (Avot 4:29) When tragedy strikes, he cries out in pain and anguish, at the edge of the dark abyss of human reason. He cannot undestand the "why", and so retreats into a shell of pain and loneliness.[1]

The second possible dimension of life is that of a Man of Destiny. This Man is a subject -- and active initiator of events in the world around him. While it is true that "It is against his will that he is born and dies" (ibid.), Man of Destiny changes the interlude between those two events to, "By your own free will do you live". Although life may serve hardships and suffering, this Man chooses to overcome everything, and knows that what does not kill him will only succeed in making him stronger. Life is transformed from forced to motivated, from muted to resplendent with purpose.[2]

In brilliant color and authenticity, Steinbeck's characters fulfill these two opposite roles. The junkyard man is Rav Soloveitchik's classic Man of Fate. He as been dealt an ugly hand. What does he do with it? Nothing. He does not even attempt to hide his disfigurement, or keep himself clean. He wallows in his own filth and misery, taking perverse delight in how repulsive, rejected and lonely this makes him. He sees the happiness of others not as an offer of hope for himself, but as a teasing mockery of what he has become.

Tom, on the other hand, has his share of troubles as well. However, he views them as stepping stones on a path to a better life. He hears of the jobs out West, and decisively acts to bring himself that success. He takes the things that life doles out, and does his best to build for those around him, and for himself. He even remarks on other cripples, and how they use their disability to their advantage! Tom berates the junk-man for not following in their paths.

At one point, the junk-man seems to see the glimmer of destiny through his goggles of fate. He asks, "ya think a fella like me could get work? Black patch on my eye?" He sees the power of Tom's way, and wishes to come along. Tom calls, as he leaves the scrap-yard, "See ya maybe in California." The Man of Fate has been brought to the sweet waters of Destiny and has been given permission to drink. And yet, the junk-man is a tragic figure, for he is not able to lift himself out of his fateful misery. He "watched them go, and then he went through the iron shed to his shack behind. It was dark inside. He felt his way to his mattress on the floor, and he stretched out and cried in his bed, and the cars whizzing by on the highway only strengthened the walls of his loneliness." Steinbeck demonstrates how hard it can be to rise out of darkness of fate and into the breaking dawn of destiny.

And it is hard, indeed. However, precisely during the month of Nissan, our Torah teaches that each of us is ennobled with the ability to live a life of purpose and destiny, and we must actively choose to do so. As Rabbi Hirsch points out, the whole exodus story is a monumental lesson that fate does not have power over us. By any normal course of events, a nation of slaves that has been subjected to such ordeals as the Jews in Egypt would have remained in bondage, perhaps disappearing as the centuries passed. The story of the plagues and the subsequent redemption, demonstrate clearly that God is actively and immanently involved in human events. Fate was no match for God's active shift of human history. In the same way, fate is no match for the free will God has embedded within each of us. Only because we have free will, and Man's activities are not predetermined, can positive and negative commandments be binding, and can one be moral or immoral. Mired in sin or sadness, pain or depression, there is no situation in which the free will of humans cannot find a way to be active, to grow from suffering and promote a closer relationship with Hashem.

The Exodus which we re-live each year is a foundational message that our actions and reactions are not pre-determined, but fully controllable by our free will. May we, this Pesach, continue to transform our lot from slavery to our passions and fate, to the happy freedom of those who live motivated, free-willed lives, physically and spiritually.

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[1] In truth, there seem to be two modalities to the Man of Fate: 1) Man needs to understand the whole of the divine calculus that encompasses theodicy. It is impossible for finite man to fathom the intricacies and complexity of the ways of God, and so this modality is destined to failure. Man cannot completely fathom God, and so he will come away unsatisfied and unrequited. 2) Man rejects the fundamental theory that there is sense to the occurrences in the universe. In the face of pain and suffering, this modality throws up its hands in anguish, sensing a cold, unfeeling universe, instead of a loving, immanent Creator. Both of these relate to Man of Fate, for their conclusion is the same: there is no Divine calculus, and nothing is balanced; justice is a cloud of smoke, and dissipates in the face of reality.

[2] Also here, there exist two streams that reinforce each other: 1) Man understands that although a full reckoning of Divine calculus is beyond his ken, he can understand the “why” as it relates to his field of activity: he can search his ways and return to God. “נחפשה דרכינו ונחקורה ונשובה עד ה'.” He may not understand all of the complexity, but what relates to him, he can fathom, and act to stem. 2) By divine order, Man also fights suffering and evil, to root out evil. This second halachik response to suffering is, paradoxically, the attempt to uproot it from the world. Man sees as his imperative, after gleaning purpose and lessons from suffering, to alleviate the evil of this world, and thus participate in God’s work.

Awe from Afar

The mishkan seems to contain a paradox. On the one hand, its purpose is ultimately, "that I may dwell in them". God establishes the reason of the mishkan not for Him, rather, as a conduit through which the Divine presence may permeate the settlement of the Jewish people. Each home, each heart, is filled with the sublime shechina when the mishkan is in service. The Holy of Holies contained keruvim, a visual metaphor of God's love for the Jewish nation. On the other hand, as the holiest place on earth, the mishkan (and Temple after it) had very strict rules which made it a fearful place to be. Touching the holy Ark was forbidden, and the high level of formality forbade sitting when visiting. Even a well-intentioned deviation from the prescribed method of service would warrant death, as Aharon's own sons demonstrated. The paradox of intimacy and formality, love and awe, fills our understanding of the mishkan with tension.

This paradox exists in our relationship with God in general. The first building block of Jewish thought is God's absolute infinite oneness. However, as finite, complex beings, our understanding of Him and the attributes we perceive, as it were, are varied. A fundamental dialectic in our relationship with God is his distant glory on the one hand, and his intimate nearness on the other. Not only are these two philosophic modes, but, at times, individuals can feel the warmth of his nearness, "ואני קרבת אלקים לי טוב" (Tehilim 73:28), and at other times, we recognize the infinite gulf between us, "ואלקינו בשּמים". Who has not felt Hashem as near as a father at some times, setting things up just so, in times of joy, and ennabling us to continue in the face of tremendous suffering, when things are hard? Who has not turned to Him in tears, as to a parent? And yet, we all know the awe of a King, and tremble in trepidation when the chazzan sings the un'tane tokef, of God's judgement, on Rosh Hashanna. We are constantly in a state of flux between the two poles of immanence and transcendence.

But how are we to interact with these distinct human realities vis-a-vis God? The Kedushat Levi relates them to the two primary modalities of feeling, those of love and awe. Awe (yirat Hashem) is active when we consider our relationship to the transcendent Creator of the world. Awe is our reaction to Hashem's Kingship, His distance. It is this mode that produces fear and respect towards the all-powerful, all-knowing, extra-temporal Source of all being. Rav Levi Yitzchak sees an expression of this in God's command to Moshe and the elders to come closer, and yet, "prostrate yourselves from afar" (Sh'mot 24:1). There is a limit to our ability to approach, and we kneel before God's glory.

On the other hand, love (ahavat Hashem) is in mind when we consider the animating spirit that God's breath instills in His creations. He is our father, the one we go to for help and comfort. That intimacy bourne of an immanent, parental bond is one which inspires us to dependency, reliance, and ultimately, to love of God.

Love and awe are different aspects of the same God. Hashem does not change, and yet our perception of Him at various moments does. Because our minds are finite, they see things in a compartmentalized way. However, Love and awe are not mutually exclusive. Our service of Hashem takes the dialictic and merges it. The very act of prostration from afar that Moshe and the elders do is preceeded by "ascending towards God". In the mishkan, closeness and distance rule together. We must, to the best of our abilities, strive to relate to God at once as our most intimate relationship, and yet, still, understand that this closeness cannot begin to bridge the abyss between us and our Creator. Even in our closeness, our ascension onto the mountain, we are still insurmountably far from Him, and bow meekly before that glory which we cannot begin to understand.

The way we relate to the mishkan mirrors the way we relate to God Himself. Perhaps this is part of the lesson the mishkan teaches. We know that each shul, indeed, each Jewish home, is a מקדש מעט, a small Temple. By taking the lessons from the Temple and mishkan, and applying them to our communal and private resting places for the shechina, we can bring the immanence and transcendence of the shechina into our every-day lives.

חקירת סוגיא בשבת ה.: זריקה

ה. ר' יוחנן בענין זריקה והנחתה: הגדרה

הקדמה:
זריקה יותר מד' אמות ברה"ר הינה תולדה דהוצאה. לכן, כמו אביה, היא צריכה עקירה והנחה המיוחסות לאדם הפועל, העושה את המלאכה. כמובן, זריקה שונה מהוצאה, כי אע"פ שהעקירה נעשתה בפועל, ההנחה מתבצעת ממילא, בלי הנחה פועלת (אקטיבית). על אף זאת, נחשבת הנחה זו הנחה המיוחסת לאדם הפועל מספיק כדי להחשב להנחה שמחייבת אותו במלאכה. (דבר זה מוכח מלשון הגמ' ורמב"ם, עיי' ניסוחו בהל' שבת, פרק י"ג הלכה י"ג.)

עוד דבר שחשוב לזכור: ד' על ד' זה נחשב מקום אחד בהלכות שבת, ולכן, אולי כאשר אנו מדברים על מקום והנחה במקום, סטייה של פחות מד' לא נחשב מקום אחר, אלא נחשב אותו מקום.

הגמרא:
יש גרסא אחרת, אבל קודם נתעסק בגירסא שלפנינו.
ר' יוחנן אומר ה' מימרות בה. בחצי השני של העמוד:

1) ידו של אדם חשובה כד' על ד' אפילו היכא דלא אחשביה.
2) זרק חפץ ונח בתוך ידו של חבירו, חייב הראשון (בגלל 1).
3) עמד במקומו וקיבל החפץ, חייב הראשון.
4) עקר ממקומו וקיבל, פטור הראשון.
5) אדם אחד זרק, עקר וקיבל החפץ, ר' יוחנן שואל אם הוי כאדם אחד (וחייב) או שני בני אדם (ופטור). השאלה היא האם שני כחות באדם אחד כאדם אחד או שני בני אדם.

אפשרויות בהגדרת המקרים שבגמרא:
מקרים 2, 3 ו4 לא מדוייקים, וצריכים ביאור. מה בדיוק קורא במקרים? יש כמה אפשרויות:

א) אדם המקבל עמד עם כף יד פתוח ונפל החפץ עליו, ולא סגר את ידו.
ב) אדם המקבל עמד עם כף יד פתוח ונפל החפץ עליו, וסגר ידו לשמרה.
ג) אדם המקבל עמד במקומו, והושיט ידו ולקח את החפץ מהאוויר.
ד) אדם המקבל עקר ממקומו ולקח את החפץ מהאוויר.

כמובן, א' מתייחס ל2, וד' מתייחס ל4. אבל האם 3 מתאמת דרך אפשרות ב' (ואז ג' זה כבר כמו 4) או ג' (ובמקרה זה ב' כמו 2)?

כדי לענות על שאלה זו, צריכים אנו להבין מה החילוק המדוייקת המחלקת בין 3 ל4.

אפשרויות בהבנת החילוק המחלק בין 3 ל4:
a) זה ענין של אחשביה: אתה צריך להחשיב את היד למקום הנחה, ואם לא תעשה כן לא יהיה הנחה. זה ענין מיוחד ליד, וזה למה שב3 אתה חייב, כי החפץ נח (תוך ד' או) במקום שהחשבת שיהיה מקום להנחתו. אבל ב4, אין אחשביה ולכן לא חייב. אפשרות זו לא עובדת, כי כל חידוש 2 בגמרא זה שלפי רבא ור' יוחנן, אע"פ שלא אחשביה, עדיין יד נחשב ד' על ד'!
b) זה שאלה של הנחה השייכת לאותו אדם שעשה את העקירה. כאשר ההנחה מיוחסת לעוקר, יש לנו מלאכה שלמה הנעשית ע"י אדם אחד. אבל אם נחשב ההנחה לשל המקבל, אז לא יהיה חייב הראשון. וב3, החפץ מונח ממניע ומכוח הראשון (אולי כי נח תוך ד' ממקום שנתכוין) ולכן חייב, משא"כ במקרה 4.
c) השאלה היא האם החפץ סוף סוף נח במקום (או תוך ד') שהתכוון הזורק מקודם. הנקודה המכריעה פה זה כוונת הזורק. בגלל שההנחה לא כ"כ מיוחסת לעקירה בכלל בזריקה, כי זה פאסיבי, לכן צריכים שהיתה מחשבתו, דהיינו, כוונתו, למסלול (trajectory) הזה.
d) אפשר להגיד שונה מc, שזה רק שאלה של פוטנציל בזריקה, שלא קשור לכוונת הזורק. אם נעשתה הפוטנציל אז חייב, ואם לא, פטור. זה מאוד דומה לb ולדעתי זהה לזה.

עתה נבדק את שיטות הראשונים ונגלה אם אפשר להחליט על האפשרויות האלה מדבריהם המדוייקים.

שיטת רש"י:
ב4, רש"י מסביר שפטור בגלל ש"לא עביד הנחה". על אף שדבר זה אולי משמע שאין הנחה בכלל, מיד בא הד"ה (שמפרש את הסיבה לחייב ב5) הבא לבאר: "הא עבד עקירה והנחה". במקרה שאדם אחד זורק ורץ ותופס, וודאי שיהיה חייב (זה ההווא אמינא של הגמ'), כי הוא עשה עקירה והנחה. מוכח משורה זו שוודאי וודאי, אע"פ שנעקר ממקומו ותופס, עדיין נחשב הנחה. לכן, מה שאמר רש"י בהסבר לפרש ב4 זה וודאי בא לומר שלא עביד הזורק הנחה, אלא ההנחה מתייחסת לאדם השני.

עכשיו, בד"ה הבא, שמבאר למה יש הו"א שיהיה פטור אדם אחד אם זה כשני בני אדם, כותב רש"י:
i) דהוו להו שנים שעשאוה,
ii) דכיון שלא הניח החפץ לילך עד מקום הילוכו ולנוח, אלא רץ אחריו ועכבו,
iii) הויא ליה עקירה קמייתא בלא הנחה.

למה רש"י מתעקש לומר שרץ אחריו ועכבו?

הסיבה היא שכאשר אנו מתעסקים במלאכה אחת שיכולה להיעשות ע"י אדם אחד, ועשאוה שניים, הם פטורים (עיי' ג.). לכן רש"י צריך להסביר למה אדם אחד שרץ ותופס מעצמו יהיה פטור, הלא זה אדם אחד! לכן רש"י מסביר שכאשר יש לאדם אחד שני מעשים, שני כוחות, והמעשה השני (כוח השני) היא סותרת למעשה הראשון, אז זה כשני בני אדם, ופטור, כי העקירה קמייתא שהתבצעת ע"י האדם היתה בלא הנחה שיכולה להתייחס לעקירה. ההנחה מתייחסת לכח השני ולא הראשון! ולכן צריך רשֲ"י להגדיר את מקרה 5 כיירוט, כדי שיהיה הו"א של פטור – כי אם לא, ההנחה נובע ישירות מהעקירה, וזה וודאי חייב.[1]

הסבר זה ברש"י עובד יפה עם הסבר b שלנו מקודם, ואז החילוק בין חייב לפטור יהיה בין ג' לד'.

(בעייה עם רש"י זה שהגמ' מתעקשת לומר הוי כשני בני אדם דמי ופטור, והרי רש"י אומר בלי כל הכינויים, שזה זהה לשניים שעשאוה, לא כשניים שעשאוה. אבל תוס' עוזר לנו להבין גם ברש"י שההשוואה היא לא במקרה, אלא בדין, הדין זה של שניים שעשאוה.)

שיטת רבינו חננאל:
תוספות מזכירים את שיטת ר"ח, ומצביע לגירסא אחרת שיש לו. לר"ח, מקרה 5 זה מנוסח כך: אדם אחד זרק, עקר וקיבל החפץ, ר' יוחנן שואל אם הוי כאדם אחד (ופטור) או שני בני אדם (וחייב). השאלה היא האם שני כחות באדם אחד כאדם אחד או שני בני אדם.

גירסא זו קשה, כי בהבנות שלנו עד כה, "כשני בני אדם" היה תמיד סיבה לפטור, כי המלאכה מיוחסת לשניים, וזה סיבה לפטור! לכן, ר"ח (לפחות לפי מהלכו של תוס' תוך דברי ר"ח -- ברמב"ן נראה שזה לא כ"כ פשוט) רואה את מקרה 5 כמקביל לא ל4 (כמו שתמיד הבננו בפשטות מהגמ' וגם בבירור משיטת רש"י), אלא 3[2]! דהיינו: אם זה כשני בני אדם, זה זהה למקרה שבו אדם אחד זורק, ואדם שני עומד במקומו ומקבל את החפץ. (רעיון זה בר"ח ברור מדברי תוס' אשר כתבו ש"הכא נמי, כי קבלה הוא עצמו ולא חטפה מהילוכו -- ליחייב.") לא כמו שהבהיר רש"י, שהזורק עצר את החפץ תוך אווירו (ii), אלא שהגיע למקום ששם ינוח החפץ מבחינת המסלול, ועמד שם לקבלו. במקרה כזה, הראשון חייב. למה? הבה נבדק בלשון ר"ח ונראה.

על 3, ר"ח אומר: "כגון שזרק לחבירו, חייב, בזה שנעשית מחשבתו." ברור שלר"ח, סיבת ההלכה במקרה 3 היא שנתקיימה מחשבתו של הזורק. דהיינו, אנחנו לא מעוניינים בהנחה עצמה (b), וגם לא בפוטנציל של הזריקה (d, אם אכן d שונה מb), אלא בכוונת, במחשבת הזורק והגשמת רצונו.

לפי זה, יוצא שהנחה אולי אפילו לא דין בכלל בזורק! אלא זה היכי תימצא שכוונת הזורק יתגשם. (ובאמת, בנקודותיו על פירוש הרמב"ן, אומר כן הרב פישר.)[3]

אז לפי כל האמור, במקרה 5, צד החיוב סיבתה, לר"ח, היא שנעשתה כוונתו. אע"פ שנעשה ע"י שני בני אדם, זה לא פוגם בכוונה שהתגשמה, וזהו עיקר החיוב במלאכת זורק. ועל צד הפטור, אם הוי כאדם אחד, ר"ח מסביר שזה סתם כמושיט מידו אחת לידו אחרת, אע"פ שעבר ברה"ר, לא משנה לנו. עכשיו נבאר את עניין זה.

בהסבר ר"ח למה אם הוי כאדם אחד, יהיה פטור, ר"ח אומר: "לא נעקר ממקום זה והונח במקום אחר, אלא מקום העקירה הוא מקום ההנחה." כל המעשה של הזזת חפץ נעשית באותו מקום[4]. איך אפשר להבין רעיון כזה שאע"פ שחפץ נזרק ועובר למקום אחר, עדיין נחשב כאילו שהוא באותו מקום אשר ממנו נזרק?

החתם סופר נתפס בשאלה זו. הוא שואל למה בעירובין צח:, תוס' מצטטים ר"ח שאומר שאדם שעומד במקום אחד, ומעביר חפץ מצד אחד לצד שני, ומניחו מחוץ לד' אמות שהיה החפץ קודם, חייב. תוס' עונים, אתה חייב כי היד עובר וזז ומניח חפץ חוץ מד' אמות, לכן היד לא נחשב מונח כל הזמן אגב הגוף שלא זז. חת"ס אומר שברור שתוס' רואים הבדל בין המקרה שם למקרה שלנו, אבל מה ההבדל בין שם לכאן?

להסבר לשאלה המרכזית הזו בשיטת ר"ח, יש שני זרמים שבאמת מורים על אותו ענין. אבאר את שניהם:

דרך א': ברה"ר, אדם יש לו כעין רשות שלעצמו, וזה, ד' אמות, שהם "מקומו" של אדם. מחוץ לעירוב תחומין, יש לאדם ד' אמות לשימוש גופו, ידיו ורגליו. בתוך רה"ר, עדיין יש ד' אמות לאדם שהם שייכים לו, ואם אדם מוליך ומביא חפצים תוך ד' אמות שלו כל היום כולו, לא עשה מלאכה. כאשר עובר אדם את הקו האדום ומעביר דבר חוץ לד' אמות שלו, הוא כאילו מעביר מרשות לרשות, וחייב משום מעביר ד' אמות ברה"ר.

כמובן, אנו לא סופרים את ד' אמותיו של אדם כל הזמן, כי הם תמיד משתנים. אדם המהלך ברה"ר, יש לו כמין עיגול של ד' אמות הזזות בתמידיות אתו, והוא עומד בנקודה המרכזית בה. אבל, כאשר אדם מתחיל לטלטל משהו, עכשיו הוא הגדיר את תחילת מקום ד' אמותיו. עכשיו שנושא משהו, כאילו שהקצה של ד' אמותיו נהדקות ארצה, והוא מהלך מקצה ד' אמותיו עד תחילת רה"ר (קצה הסופי של ד' אמותיו). הד' אמות קובעו ע"י מעשה זה של העברה שהוא עושה, וכשהוא עובר את הסף של ד' אמות, עבר על איסור דאו'.

אבל, כאשר אדם זורק חפץ באויר, אז כשהוא מהלך ברה"ר, הד' אמות לא נהדקות ארצה, כי אין לו חפץ ביד, ואין סיבה שהד' אמות לא ימשיכו לזוז בתמידיות איתו. כאשר עומד שוב במקום השני, הד' אמות הם אותם ד' אמות אשר היו כאשר הוא זרק ועקר את החפץ. אע"פ שמבחינת הקרקע, הם אמות שונות, לגבי הגברא, לגבי מלאכת הזורק השייכת לו, הם אותם הד' אמות. וזה בדיוק השאלה, האם הד' אמות זזים אתו, וזהים לאיפה שהתחיל לזרוק, או לא? זה ספק ר' יוחנן.

ליתר ביאור, נסביר בדרך אחר, עם מילים קצת שונות, אבל הרעיון הוא שווה. כאשר חפץ נמצא בידו של אדם, יש לו מציאות דוּאַלְית:
א) נחשב מונח על הגוף/יד הזה, ו
ב) נחשב מונח ברשות אשר בו נמצא הגוף/יד.
מעשה זריקה מקיימת עקירה מן הגוף ותחילת ההולכה מקיימת עקירה מן הרשות בו נמצא הגוף.

במקרה שלנו, החפץ נזרק מן היד ונתפס ביד אחר. כיוון ששני הידיים שייכים לאותו אדם, אפשר להתעלם מן העובדא שהאדם זז, כי החפץ נעקר מן הגוף ואח"כ נח שוב על הגוף. החפץ למעשה נשאר באותו יד ממנו יצא. לכן זה כאילו לא זז. לעומת זו, כאשר האדם זז בעצמו, ועובר ברה"ר, אי אפשר לחלק את היד מן ההעברה ברה"ר, ולכן, זה עבר ד' אמות ברה"ר וחייב. העקירה עוקרת מן הקרקע ומניחה שוב על הקרקע.

שיטת חכמי ספרד:
כאשר למדנו את שיטת ר"ח, היה ברור מתוס' וגם היה הגיוני שר"ח משווה בין מקרה 5 למקרה 3. אבל דבר זה לא מוסכם לכל הראשונים.

הרמב"ן בפירושו לדברי ר"ח מזכיר את המהלך בה נקט תוס', ולא דאיק לו. הוא מתקשה כי אם החפץ עבר עד מקום אשר היה הולך להיות נח על פי הזריקה הראשונה, איך אפשר להגדיר את זה כשני כוחות? הרי הכח המעשי אשר ביצע את כל המלאכה, כח אחד היא! נכון שחייב הזורק, אבל איך אפשר בכלל להגדיר את זה כשני כחות באדם אחד? זה כח אחד באדם אחד!

על כן מביא הרמב"ן אפשרות שנייה בהסבר המקרה לפי ר"ח, דחוקה מאוד: "כגון שקיבל בעקירה ממקומו", שהחפץ נעצר על ידו קודם שהגיע למקום אשר היה מגיע על ידי המעשה הראשון. עכשיו מובן היטב איך אפשר להיות הוא אמינא שהמעשה מוגדר כ"שני כוחות". ושאלת ר' יוחנן היא: האם המקרה הזה למקרה של (בלשון הרמב"ן) "שני בני אדם דמי, בעומד ומקבל"? דהיינו, בצד זה של שאלת הגמ', הרמב"ן משווה את 5 למקרה של אי-יירוט (מקרה 3), "דהא, עקירה והנחה תרוייהו מכחו אתו". סיבת החיוב במקרה 3 זה שההנחה נובעת ישירות מן מעשה העקירה, אז הם כנעשו ע"י הזורק , ולכן חייב. במקרה 5, בגלל שיש רק אדם הפועֵל אחד, זה רק יכול להיות שני כחות אם מדובר ביירוט. לכן מדובר ביירוט, וזה שני כחות, והם נעשו ע"י אדם אחד, ולכן חייב. מורם מכל זה, שיש שני מוצרכים לחייב: 1) שהמעשה ייעשה ע"י שני כחות (וזה נותן הוא אמינא של פטור), וגם ש2) שני הכחות הללו ייעשו ע"י אדם אחד. עד כאן דעת הרמב"ן, ורשב"א גם כן כותב כמעט אותם המילים.

עכשיו, לצד השני של שאלת ר' יוחנן: "או דילמא, כאדם אחד דמי", ואומר הרמב"ן: "שעשה עקירה ולא הניחה במקום אחר דפטור, והכא נמי, ההנחה לא נעשית מכחו הראשון". רמב"ן בפירוש מתנגד לדברי ר"ח, שהוי כמושיט מימינו לשמאלו, או עקירה זוהי מקום ההנחה. הרמב"ן מסביר שבגלל שההנחה לא נעשית מכח העקירה, שמא זה שווה למקרה בו עשה אדם עקירה ולא עשה הנחה, כי ההנחה באה מכח אחר לגמרי. ע"י זה, מצרף הרמב"ן עוד תנאי לחיוב בזריקה, 3) שההנחה תהיה תוצאה ישירה של העקירה. ושאלת הר' יוחנן בגמ' היא: האם תנאי 3, זה רק במקרה בו מדובר בשני בני אדם, ולכן יש סיבה טובה לחלק את המלאכה, אבל במקרה 5 שמדובר באותו זורק לאורך כל המלאכה, אין צורך בתנאי 3, ולכן הוי כשני בני אדם וחייב, או דילמא, אפילו במקרה 5, יש צורך בתנאי 3 ולכן הוי כאדם אחד ופטור.[5]

כמובן, הבנה זו בגמ' דחוקה. לכן מסיים רמב"ן ב"יש לרש"י ז"ל פירוש אחר טוב מזה [הפירוש שהסברנו באריכות לעיל], אבל אין הגירסא מודה לו." רמב"ן מתאבל על זה שאין בידו גירסא שיכולה לכלכל את שיטת רש"י, ולכן עומד בדוחקו. לעומת זו, הרשב"א, אחרי כל הענין, מוכן לקבל את שיטת רש"י כיותר נכונה, ואומר בפשטות, "רש"י פירש...וכן עיקר."

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[1] המורם מנקודה זו, שרש"י לפי צד "כשני בני אדם", מצריך הנחה הנובע ישירות מן העקירה כדי לחייב. זה מייצר מלאכה או מעשה אחת.
[2] ברור מהרשב"א שכך הוא קורא את תוס', כי הוא (ואריאל העלה קושי זה לפני שראינו את זה ברשב"א) מעלה כקושי בשיטה זו שלפי הסבר זה, המילה "עקר" ב4 שונה במשמעותה מכוונת המילה ב5. ב4, הכוונה ליירוט (interception), ובמקרה 5, הכוונה זה לתפיסה במקום אשר היה מגיע החפץ מלכתחילה. זה לא כ"כ קשה, כי במקרה 5 יש צורך בריצה כי מדובר באותו פועֳל, והמילה היחידה שהגמ' יכולה להשתמש זה "עקירה", שהוא זז ממקומו, ולכן המילה לא מתכוונת ליירוט. אבל ב4, יש שני בני אדם, והמילה "עקר" משומשת במובן מנוגד ל"עמד במקומו" שבמקרה 3.
על אף זאת, הבאנו לדיון אפשרות נוספת בהבנת תוס' בשיטת ר"ח (ואולי אפשרות זו היא תהווה תשובת תוס' עצמו לטענת הרשב"א), שלא כרוכה באי-עקביות במובן המילים: תוס' משנה בהבנת מקרה 4 ולפי ר"ח, מבין את המקרה כמקרה אשר בו אין יירוט. אם כן, למה הדין שונה מ3 ל4? ההסבר הוא ש3 זה מקרה אשר בו התכוון הזורק שהתופס יתפס, ולכן חייב כי נעשית מחשבתו. אבל ב4, מדובר איך שהזורק התכוון שהדבר יגיע לקרקע במקום מסויים, וקדם התופס ועשה שהחפץ ינוח באותו מקום, אבל במקום להיות נח על הקרקע, נח החפץ על ידו, ולכן לא נעשית מחשבתו של הזורק, ופטור הזורק. המורם מכל האמור הוא שבמקרה 5, צד "כשני בני אדם" חייב כי אדם שזורק לעצמו, בוודאי מתכוון שהחפץ יגיע למקום אשר בו תפס, ושיגיע לידו. לכן, חייב הזורק אי הוי כשני בני אדם (כי אם כאדם אחד דמי, אז זה כמעביר מימינו לשמאלו, כמו שנפרש להלן).
[3] באמת, יש שלש דרכים להבין את מקרה 5 בדברי ר"ח, ורק הראשון מוכח שאין הנחה ענין בדין זורק.
1) זרק החפץ לאדם מסויים, והוא עקר, קידם וקיבל את החפץ במקום מוקדם יותר מאיפה שהיה החפץ נח טבעית. לפי אפשרות זו, אכן אין הנחה חשובה במקרה זורק לר"ח, כי הראשון לא עשה הנחה כלל, ועדיין חייב.
2) התכוון שהחפץ ינוח במקום מסויים, והתופס בא ומגיע למקום המסויים הזה, וקבל. כל מה שהשתנה ממחשבתו של הזורק זה שעכשיו במקום להיות נח על הקרקע, החפץ בידו של אחר. ובגלל שנח במקום שהתכוון, חייב, כי נעשת מחשבתו, וגם הנחה שלו נעשתה, כי התופס לא עשה מעשה יותר מלהיות כמו קרקע, וההנחה מתייחסת לזורק. זה לא כ"כ נראה מדברי ר"ח, במיוחד ש ר"ח משמע (בדבריו ש"כגון שזרק לחבירו חייב בזה שנעשית מחשבתו") שזריקה ליד מישהו שונה מזריקה לקרקע, וכל סיבת חיוב של ר"ח זה שנעשית מחשבתו, ולא שהיה פה הנחה (שזה רק היכי תמצא שיהיה מלאכה).
3) הצהיר על כוונתו לזרוק לראובן, אבל חטא, וראובן נעקר כדי שמחשבת הזורק תיעשה. גם לזה שייך השאלה ששייכת לעיל.
למעשה, בגלל גירסת ר"ח, שאם 5 זה כשני בני אדם, זה סיבה לחייב, נאלצים אנו ללכת על דרך הבנה הראשונה, כי אם באמת נאמר שהנחה זה חשוב למלאכת הזורק, אז קשה עד מאד להסביר למה השוואה לשני בני אדם יהווה סיבה לחייב. אולי זה הסיבה שבאפשרות השנייה שלו, הרמב"ן מודה שהמהלך של רש"י זורמת ביותר נחת, אבל מה יעשה, הגירסא שלפניו (שהיתה גירסת ר"ח) לא משתלבת כלל עם שיטה כמו שיטת רש"י.
[4] אע"פ שר"ח משמע מפה שחשוב הנחה, וכמובן, צריכים הנחה כהיכי תמצא שיהיה פה מעשה מלאכה (כי בלי זה, אין מלאכה שמחייבת בשבת). אבל ההנחה זה לא העניין המחייב, החשוב כאן, כי מוכח מלשונו קודם שלא, וההנחה פה זה משמש דרך להסביר שכל המעשה נעשית במקום אחד. לא הכוונ ה שיש צורך הלכתי להנחה לר"ח. נדגיש פה בלי להתמקד על זה, שיש שינוי בין ר"ח לתוס' שמצטטו. לעומת ר"ח, תוס' אומר "ופטור, דהוי כמו שנותן מימינו לשמאלו -- דאע"פ שהעבירה ד' אמות, פטור."
[5] המילים של הרמב"ן, "שעשה עקירה ולא הניחה במקום אחר", אם לא היינו יודעים את המשך דברי הרמב"ן, היו מורים על שיטתינו בדברי ר"ח מלעיל, שלא היה הנחה במקום חיוב, אלא באותו מקום בו עקר הזורק את החפץ, ולכן פטור. רשב"א באמת משמע כן, ואין לו המשך כמו שיש לרמב"ן שהורס הבנה כזו. דברי הרשב"א: "באותו מקום שנעקר – ממנו חזר ונח, הלכך פטור." מכח זה, נאלצים אנו להניח שהיה שיטה מוקדמת ממנו גם הרמב"ן וגם הרשב"א שאבו את דבריהם, ושיטה זו הזכירה את דברים אלו ש"עשה עקירה ולא הניחה במקום אחר". (כמעט מוכח מדבריו של הרשב"א שהיה שיטה מוקדמת שהרמב"ן ורשב"א מצטטים, מזה שרשב"א מצטט את הרמב"ן בתחילת דבריו, ואז אומר את הדברים החשובים האלו בשם יש מי שאומר.) רשב"א (וגם תוס' ור"ח) היו מוכנים לקבל חידוש מחודש זה כמו שהוא (וכמו שהסברנו לעיל), אבל רמב"ן לא היה מוכן לקבל זו, ולכן נאלץ להסביר כמו שדחק במשך דבריו, ש"הכא נמי ההנחה לא נעשית מכחו הראשון".

Purim Torah and Hebrew Slang

There is a relatively recent vernacular occurrence that I have noticed Israelis use. It has annoyed me as a distortion of the Hebrew language. Often, I hear Israelis (especially work-men and repair-men) say, "אני יעשה את זה" or "אני יתקן את זה". Of course, the proper grammatical construction would be "אני אעשה" or "אני אתקן". It assails the ear to hear the third person being used instead of the first!

However, I believe that I have found a valid source for this seeming linguistic malformation. The fathers of modern Hebrew made sure to use Biblical Hebrew as their guide as much as possible. It must be that the slang of modern Hebrew is also rooted in the Bible. After an exhaustive search, I found the source and root of this alleged grammatical inconsistency! The book of Tehilim 38:14 says, "ואני כחרש לא אשמע, וכאילם לא יפתח פיו". The parallel structure of this pasuk implies an equation between אשמע and יפתח. This demonstrates to us that one can use the third person as a valid reformulation of the first.

(Of course, during any month but Adar, I would simply say that this perversion of correct Hebrew is a result of the yud sound of אני blending into the alef sound of future tense first person and, over time, becoming future tense third person.)

Keruvim and Fear of Heaven

Aside from the k'ruvim that were formed upon the holy ark, there were another set found in the mishkan. On the screen that seperated between the heichal and the holy of holies, exquisitely woven images of k'ruvim faced outwards, towards the ark, menorah and shulchan, comprising Man's domain within the house of God. What is the significance of these k'ruvim? Whereas the golden k'ruvim intently protect the aron (as discussed in a previous essay, they represent the Jewish people bearing and guarding the Law throughout history), the woven ones do not. Why do they direct their gaze outward instead of in, towards the holy of holies? Finally, the tapestry is made of the high cloths that are common in the mishkan: White, red, purple and sky blue. However, the gold thread that is so common in the clothes of the Kohen Gadol is missing. Why?

Rav Hirsch provides the key to the secret of these k'ruvim. If one were to stand within the heichal, he would see the table of show-bread to the north. This symbolizes the material success that arises naturally for a nation which, with brotherly love and care for one another, faithfully keep the laws of God. On the south, the menorah casts the light of Torah and intellectual success. In the direct center, the holy ark contains the source of these national and individual benefits, the word of God. When the Jewish people take the lesson of the golden k'ruvim seriously, truly bearing and preserving the word of God throughout the generations, they find themselves possessing all the spiritual and material blessings that flow from it. It is over all this good that the woven k'ruvim guard.

The colors of thread that are used in the weaving of the tapestry are also meaningful. The white is the pure vegetative element of the world. The red wool, dyed from the blood of worms, represents the animal element, while the regal purple wool represents the highest callings and elements of mankind as humans. The sky blue wool represents as it does in the tzitzit the Godly spark that was placed in humanity. Man contains all of these elements within his personality, and their use together represents the harmonious use of all our faculties for the higher purpose within the ark. When humanity uses its strengths thus, Heaven showers upon it the riches of the menorah and the table, the spiritual and physical successes. Thus, these k'ruvim which look out over Man's domain within the heichal represent Divine Providence, the hashgacha of God, bestowing the multi-faceted reward upon a nation that uses all its faculties for Divine commands.

However, one golden thread is left out. Heaven showers all blessings forth, including the blessing of continued use of vegetative, animal, human and Godly facets in God's service. The only thing left out is the golden thread, that most noble moral force of Man: fear of Heaven. "All is in the hands of Heaven, except fear of Heaven." The grace of God leaves this fear of God and awe of his commands as a constant test, a constant labor, left only for Man. This constant free-willed re-affirmation to this foundation of foundations ensures that Man continues to reap reward for a task that is still in his domain alone to choose.

And so, the k'ruvim, the heavenly bestowers of grace and kindness upon this earth, leave the final touch, the golden thread, constanly in our hands. Our success or failure is our decision, to enter the house of God on earth, or to turn away at the last minute. This missing gold thread is that which we constantly, each day anew, provide.

Is Spiritual Height a Measure of Piety?

It is second nature for most religious people to assume that when one does G-d's will, he becomes more spiritual, i.e., he rises in spiritual attainment (מדרגה). We usually assume that spiritual height is a measure of our closeness to G-d, and thus, of our fulfillment of His will. This seems to hold in many areas of life. However, in the extremes, this thesis seems to unravel, and our tasks in this world become uncomfortably subjective.

In Megilla 16b, the talmud relates two conflicting enumerations of those men who left Bavel to found the second state of Israel. In the first, Mordechai is counted fifth. Twenty-four years later, he is mentioned sixth in the list. The talmud finds this puzzling, and Rav Yosef posits the reason for Mordechai's demotion: "the study of torah is greater than life-saving..."

This passage does not sit right. Mordechai was seen as less spiritually complete because he occupied himslef with protecting Jewish lives while he could have been learning? We know that anyone who saves a Jewish life, is as if he saved an entire world (Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:9). Also, we are commanded not to stand by our brother's blood (Lev. 19:16). So how can it be that Mordechai was lower spiritually after seemingly fulfilling G-d's will on a large scale?

On this troubling passage, Rashi says that "...because of this [his work on behalf of the Jewish People], Mordechai's status was lowered in the eyes of the sages." (Emphasis mine.) Perhaps this is the key. In the eyes of the sages, in the eyes of Man, Mordechai was on a lower spiritual level¹. In the simplistic calculus of humanity, he spent less time concerning himself with the study of torah (which, after all, is כנגד כולם), and dealt with the nitty gritty aspects of the world around us. He dealt, in the parlance of the בית מדרש, with חיי שעה, temporal concerns, and neglected חיי עולם, the eternal torah (see Shabbos 10a). Thus he lost ground to his study partners, who did not leave the study hall, and who thus reached high spiritual levels.

A person, it turns out, can be a צדיק חוטא. One can constantly concern himself with the spiritual climax of Torah, and while developing himself spiritually, miss (חטא) his actual job in this world. To use an analogy, one can cheat on his taxes, and become more wealthy. Similarly, one can cheat on his tasks in this world (for example, by not saving lives when he can), and dishonestly gather for himself higher spiritual attainment (by studying torah during the time he saved).

In Pesachim 50a, (the same?) Rav Yosef visits the next world. When he returns, his father asks him to describe what he saw. He answers, "I saw an upside-down world, those who are high here, are low there, and vice-versa." His father said, "You saw the true world, and this one is inverted." Perhaps his statement from Megilla is an example of what Rav Yosef saw in Pesachim. Not only are the rich here sometimes lowly there, and the poor here, on a high level there, but Rav Yosef is making a deeper point, as well. Spiritual giants that we see in our world, may have gained their spiritual height deceitfully, and thus, they will be made low in the world of truth. That is a world where G-d, who insight and knowledge is perfect, judges people not only by how much spiritual currency they have, but, more importantly, by how (and why) they attained it.

(This idea is further supported by the Talmud (Menachos 98b) where Reish Lakish derives from Moshe's breaking of the לוחות that, "פעמים שביטולה של תורה זוהי קיומה", sometimes in order to uphold the Torah, we must neglect it.)

It is relatively simple to know what G-d wants us not to do. סור מרע, keep from evil, is pretty straightforward. It is the עשה טוב, the 'actively do good' that is so tricky. We must be self aware and cognizant of the totality of our situation in this world, in order to choose the right action instead of simply a good action. We must realize that right is subjective, and what is right for everyone else may not be right for me. We must not allow herd mentality to affect our service of G-d in this world. May we resolve to follow the path of Mordechai and do right, not just good.

Update (18 April 2010): See the Maharal in Derech Chaim page 66, where he says something very similar: Derech Chaim.

Update (24/12/2012): See the final paragraph here.

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¹ See Taz, YD 251, note 6.

B'shalach: Past Essays

מה תצעק אלי: Redemption Through Action

The Complaint Against the Manna

Moshe Striking the Rock

The Ethics of מחיית עמלק

The Haftara: Yael's Sacrifice

Between the Rationalist and Mystical Viewpoints

After a regularly scheduled study session on דרשות הר"ן this past Saturday night, I felt the need to clarify my positions regarding the spiritual world. First, of course, I believe there is one. I believe that there is a God, and that we are all possessed of a soul. This is not the discussion. However, as a tangent to our discussion that night regarding prayer to dead souls, one of our group touched on the question: do I believe that the souls of dead people can hear or see or relate to the goings on earth-side. The answer that I may not have made clear enough is: "I do not know."

Allow me to explain in just a few lines what I mean. There are real philosophical issues that, throughout history, have been brought up, and different streams of philosophical thought answer them in various ways. There is the more rationalistic stream, and the more mystical, kabbalistic one. I see great benefit to aspects of each stream, and also drawbacks to each stream. I see questions that are answered more satisfactorily by the rationalists, and some that are more acceptable when answered by the mystics. To paraphrase Rabbi Carmy in class regarding something completely different, each pathway must overcome different obstacles. Some issues will be answered apologetically by one stream, and other issues will seem to flow naturally, while the opposite will be true for the other stream. Neither flows perfectly, and I do not even know if that is a deficiency. Often-times, the tension between the two may uncover or even catalyze ideas and dualities of phenomenal beauty and truth.

I am able to see the merits in the Rambam's view, just as I can hear the view of Abulafia and other Kabalists. I know that Jewish thought lately may tend towards one extreme. However, I do not feel confident enough in the issues to decide definitively about the issue. Perhaps the nature of these issues precludes anyone's really deciding the question.

In Halacha, the questions flow from the text; there is a halachik reality which imposes itself on the world, and we use our texts and minds to decide how it will be applied. Therefore, for example, I can be very sure as to how Rabbeinu Tam explains the passage in the Talmud discussing the length of the wait between milk and meat. I can feel confident enough about the issue to decide definitively, because I have all the facts before me. However, the question of philosophy is often one of reality, of fact. Unless you choose (as I often do) to read the chassidut, kabbala, and other sources metaphorically, it often comes down to a simple question, to wit: "does olam han'shamot function in such a way that the souls of the dead are intimitely interested in the goings on on earth, or are they in spiritual rapture with God such that the temporal, mundane world below is of no interest to them (or perhaps they have no way of relating)? I can easily see both sides of this question, and feel that it is simply a question of fact, of מציאות, one which I can appreciate on both sides, but do not have the tools to decide definitively.

As another of our study group noticed, often I lean to one side or the other. When studying something academically (including "learning"), I may tend towards the rational explanation, or the explanation which requires less assumptions to be complete (think Occam's Razor). However, on an emotional level, I often tend towards the other pole. Perhaps this is really why the range of views exists!

One personal example: the question of theodicy is one which I may feel is easier answered by the more rationalistic approach sometimes. However, after personal brushes with tragedy, I have found myself only comforted by extremely mystical explanations. The concept of gilgul may not appeal to me so much when learning the Ramban or Rambam on Iyov, but when tragedy strikes, it is the only thing that I found to assuage the pain. So, far different than not knowing which is true, I find invaluable benefit in both views.

This is what I meant when I said, "I can entertain the possibility of souls praying to God on our behalf, but don't feel it is true at this point." I think everyone fluctuates, to some extent, between these poles throughout their religious lives.

Bo: Tefillin - Ennobling Servitude

At the cusp of leaving Egypt, the nation of Hebrews is told, not once, but twice, the commandment of tefillin. In 13:9 and 16, the formulation is similar: we are told to bind our arms and place a remembrance between (above) our eyes, "for with a mighty hand, God released you from Egypt." What is so special about this particular mitzva that it is mentioned now, at this critical moment?

There is a tremendous pitfall when telling the story of the Exodus. Many revolutionaries have become obsessed with the clarion calls of freedom and liberation that pulse from the words of God, "Let me people go!". Often, they and we fail to complete the sentence, "...that they may serve Me." An absence of servitude and subjugation is seen as the goal of the redemption from Egypt. This could not be further from the truth. The Jews were liberated only to accept upon themselves the subjugation of God's law. In Avot (6:1), we learn that the only truly free person is one who has taken upon himself the yoke of Torah observance and learning. Freedom is not freedom when it is left unchecked.

A parable I like to use is that of a prisoner in a deep underground prison. He is locked in his subterranean cell, and the prison is an impossible maze built so that, even if one were able to escape one's cell, he would be lost forever in the labyrinth forever. Now imagine you go to your friend who is being held prisoner there. You unlock his door and say, "you are free." Nothing could be farther from the truth. He is now destined to roam aimlessly, never leaving the prison, with every moment bringing fresh false hopes that will only be dashed later on.

If, on the other hand, you were to hand your friend a map of the prison, and say, "I have outlined your course to find your way out. Do not wander aimlessly. Follow only the directions I give, and you will find your true freedom." At first blush, one could claim that I am trying to limit my friend's freedom. However, in truth, my channeling of his freedom into constructive, useful movement is the only true path to real freedom.

The commandment of tefilin is full of symbolic meaning that impresses itself upon the wearer. Rabbi Hirsch explains in his collected writings that the binding of the arm symbolizes our challange to allow our free-willed actions to be channeled and restricted by the bindings of God's law. The fact that the arm tefilin is applied before the head teaches us that our commitment to the fulfillment of the Torah's precepts comes before our desire and need to understand them rationally.

The symbolism of the commandment of tefilin is precisely the lesson of the map in the dungeon. Only by subserviating ourselves to the strictures of God's law can we truly be free, and find favor and peace in this physical and spiritual world.

Tefilin is therefore a most appropriate reminder to the nation of Israel throughout the generations. At this moment of freedom, remember what true freedom is. Remember why you are being set free, and to whom you are accountable. This ennobles us and sets apart our free-willed duty from the false freedom of the beasts. By recalling the tefilin, we can avoid the misunderstanding of liberty, and enjoy the true benefits of our deliverance.

I Am That I Am

The first encounter of Moshe with God was permeated with symbolism and a sub-text that has philosophical meaning. Ever since I was a child, I was troubled by the laconic and seemingly evasive answer God gives when Moshe asks his climactic question. When Moshe understands that he will be God's messenger, whether he likes it or not, he asks God, "they will ask me, 'what is His name?' What shall I tell them?" God's answer is "אהיה אשר אהיה", "I will be that which I will be". What is the meaning behind this answer?

In a previous post, we discussed the Rambam's rational proof for God's existence. In other posts, I mentioned that there are other streams of thought in Judaism that decry the very attempt to prove this. Part of the importance of faith is that is not inherently provable as a necessity in our logical system of thought. It is a matter, in a word, of knowledge versus faith. I believe that these two streams are well-articulated in the interpretation of אהיה אשר אהיה found in the Rambam's writings and the Ramban's.

In the Moreh(א:סג), Rambam writes: "לפיכך הודיעו ה' אז מדע שיביאהו אליהם לאמת אצלם מציאות ה', והוא אהיה אשר אהיה. ושם זה נגזר מן 'היה', והיא המציאות. כי 'היה' מורה על עניין "כאן , ואין הבדל בין אמרך "כאן" או "וג'ד" בלשון העברי. וכל הסוד הוא בכפילתו הביטוי עצמו, המורה על המציאות כאלו הוא תואר. כי 'אשר' משמשת להזכרת התואר הסמוך לה, לפי שהיא שם חסר, וזקוק לסמיכות, כעניין "אלד'י" ו"אלתי" בערבית. ולפיכך עשה את השם הראשון, והוא המתואר, 'אהיה'; והשם השני, שהוא מתארו בו, 'אהיה', והוא הוא עצמו. וכאלו ביאר כי המתואר הוא התואר עצמו. והנה זה ביאור עניין שהוא מצוי שלא במציאות.נמצא תמצית אותו העניין ופירושו כך: 'המצוי אשר הוא המצוי', כלומר: מחויב המציאות., וזה הוא אשר הביא עליו ההוכחה בהחלט, שיש שם דבר מחויב המציאות, לא נעדר ולא יעדר, כמו שאבאר ההוכחות לכך. וכאשר הודיעו יתעלה את הראיות אשר בהם יאמת מציאותו אצל חכמיהם, לפי שאחר זה נאמר "לך ואספת את זקני ישראל." In essence, he says that the word אהיה means "that which exists". The next word, אשר, means "which is contingent upon". Thus, the statement אהיה אשר אהיה encapsulates the argument from contingency. In essence, God is that which exists (אהיה) in such a way that it is contingent upon (אשר) itself (אהיה)! God is therefore that (logically) first cause which exists necessarily, upon which all other things are contingent.

This converts Moshe's question and God's answer to an extremely important, fundamental discourse. The Jewish nation swelters under the oppressive weight of slavery. They have reached (according to the midrash) the lowest levels of spiritual impurity, and indeed, have reverted to idolatrous practices. How, asks Moshe, can they be shaken from this stupor and re-enlightened? How do I show them that there is only one God, and that He will now release them from their chains of bondage? How can I make them know You?

And God's answer is no evasion, no vague promise about being with the people in other times of national trouble (see Rashi). Rather, the answer according to Rambam is the rational proof of God's existence! It is with this that God arms Moshe as Moshe accepts his task.

On the other hand stands the Ramban. For him, the rational proof (if it even exists) is an inappropriate way to approach God. Perhaps the Hebrews felt abandoned by God in Egypt. According to some, the exile of Egypt was not a punishment so much as a crucible from which to forge the chosen People. And so, it may well have seemed to the Jews, as bitter weeks and months became years, as vilification led to slavery and genocide, that God had indeed abandoned the Jews. It was not so much that the Jews lost faith in God, but that they came to the opinion that while He may exist, His handling of worldly affairs is haphazard at best, and without a just course of cause and effect.

This, then, was Moshe's question: "When the Jews hear that I come as Your agent, they will not believe, for they do not believe that You execute justice and good in this world. How can I convince them that it is otherwise?" In other words, Moshe asks not of God's existence, but of his הנהגה, His method of interaction with the world. It is to this that God responds, in the words of the Ramban: "אהיה עמם בכל צרתם יקראוני אענם...ועוד אמר כיוצא בזה במדרש אגדה: מהו אהיה אשר אהיה? כשם שאתה הווה עמי כך אני הווה עמך. אם פותחין את ידיהם ועושים צדקה, אף אני אפתח את ידי".

For the Ramban, in essence, אהיה אשר אהיה is a statement to those who believe in God but not his justice. It means, I will act with you as you act. If you act with kindness, I will act towards you thus. If you cause suffering, I will cause you suffering. It is the concept of מדה כנגד מדה, the perfect balance and fairness with which God infuses His actions. In this statement of purpose, God states unequivocally that there is justice in this world. God is intimately interested in Mankind and our activities, and the length of hardships does not imply a breakdown in the system of God's calculus. The arc of the world may be long indeed, but it does bend in the end to justice. Even the suffering of the Jewish nation in Egypt is not for naught, and a lack of human perception does not make this any different. (Whether the כלי יקר is right, and the suffering of the exiles in Egypt is punishment for allowing the גלות to take hold of the hearts and minds of the Jews, or it is punishment for the sale of Yosef, or it is not punishment, and rather, a necessary step in the creation of the nation, makes no difference. The important point here is that שכר ועונש and צדק have not been forfeited by God.)

It is this reiteration of God's foundational principal in His relationship to his creatures that validly answers the hopeless sense of abandonment, and Moshe accepts it.

Either way, in 4:31, the Torah testifies to the worthiness of Moshe's question and God's answer: ויאמן העם, וישמעו כי פקד ה' את בני ישארל, וכי ראה את עניים, ויקדו וישתחוו. The nation had faith (Rambam?), and heard that God remembered the children of Israel, and saw their suffering (Ramban?), so they bowed and prostrated themselves.

Peace House and Peace

Update and Disclaimer: I wrote the following essay before learning that there are a number of youth in Chevron who are instigating violence. I want to be clear: I do not condone violence against innocents. I do not condone spray-painting cemeteries. If the media is being honest (which is quite a דן לכף זכות), then I reject the actions of the few who purposely attack to satisfy their own desire for "action". Of course, the media has a track record of mis-reporting to make it look as though settlers attack innocent Arabs, when in reality the Arabs attack first, and the Jewish response is taken out of its proper context. Again, if the media is honest, then I reject the attacks on innocents.

However, I have been assured by many who are in the know that these youth are in the small minority. Most Jews who made their way to Chevron are using their time there learning Torah, and trying to use their bodies as tools to prevent the gross injustice of evacuating a legally owned home. It is in their support that I wrote the following lines. I support the non-violent resistance to injustice that was so successful in the United States civil rights movement, and hope that this model carries the day. Ultimately, I am not sure we should be willing to pay the price of civil war, even if it is instigated by the other side.

I have been reflecting upon the drama in Chevron that, as I write these lines, unfolds under a blanket conspiracy of silence from the traditional media in Israel and abroad. Young and old, loyal Jews have packed into the house that was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, purchased by a Jew from an Arab. For obviously political and ideological reasons, the Supreme Court of Israel willfully ignored video footage recording the sale, and ordered the residents of the building out.

While rockets smash into fields, streets and homes of southern and not-so-southern Israel (testimony to the wisdom and foresight of previous governmental withdrawls), those in power are intent to show a band of "settlers" that they have been singled out for abuse and injustice, in a way that would raise the ire of the EU and UN, if only applied to the Arabs. A blinder, more obtuse heavy-handedness and simple hatred is hard to imagine.

I was in a cab in Jerusalem recently, and the driver stated passionately that, "the Supreme Court has ruled, and this is a country of laws. They must obey the law..."

How short-sighted an opinion. How dangerous to justice, morality and the fiber of our national position. For it is a moral duty to oppose injustice, and justice requires the opposition of immoral laws. At times, obedience is a vice. It becomes so when, in its service, we abdicate our moral responsibility to oppose evil and injustice. In the words of Albert Einstein, we must "never do anything against conscience even if the state demands it."

It is a moral duty to oppose the law of the land when that law attempts to remove a rightful owner from his property. However, many argue that there is danger in tipping the status quo in Chevron. The situation there is volatile, and peace must be preserved at all costs.

In response to this are three points. First, the court's decision in no way made the argument that civil unrest was being fomented by Jews residing in the Peace House. Their argument was that, blind to all evidence to the contrary, the building's ownership was questionable, and as such, must be evacuated until the legal owner is ascertained.

However, on a practical level, the interest of civil peace is ill served by this eviction notice. Over the past few days, Arab rioters have continually rained cinderblocks upon Jewish passers-by, with the army and police force arresting not one of these attempted murderers. In fact, a Jewish teen-ager is presently in the hospital with his head smashed in by a cinderblock, fighting desperately for his life. The Arab violence is the practical and immediate result of Jewish demonstrations of weakness. Furthermore, the damage done to the fabric of Israeli society, when the police and army are used for political purposes against citizenry can be seen in the damage from the infamous Amona pogrom. The peace of Israel is seriously damaged by these shows of executive and judicial force.

Finally, a philosophical study of the nature of peace demonstrates that opposing this immoral law is anything but a danger to peace. In Bamidbar, when Pinchas kills the prince of Shimon and the Midianite woman he sins with, he is given "בריתי שלום", the covanent of peace, by God. How can his actions vest him with the blessings of peace, when he fomented infighting and anger amongst the people? The answer given by our sages is that, "true peace is the following of justice, the setting right of wrongs in this world, as God's law desires it. Peace is not the absence of violence, but the reign of morality and of truth." And so, fighting for truth and justice is a search for peace, not a step away from it.

The American consciousness, suffused with the lofty oratory of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the civil rights movement's call to fight injustice, will understand implicitly the importance of fighting unjust laws. To the policemen and soldiers of Israel, I quote Thoreau, who bade: "If... the machine of government... is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law." The Rambam states it centuries earlier: "If a king decrees against the moral word of the Torah, he is not to be obeyed." Stand up for what is right, and you will have a clean conscience. Stand up for right, and you will have peace of mind.

Sometimes, the path to peace is broken and unpaved. Those who choose to reach that goal may have hard times ahead, but they can take comfort in the fact that they have not sold their consciences. To our brave brothers and sisters in Chevron today, I send my sincere thanks and prayers. May God grant you success.

Mazal Tov!

הדרן עלך תלמוד בבלי, והדרך עלן!

True Faith in a Doubting World

In the fifth book of the Torah we begin this weekend, God warns us to keep His commandments. If we do not, we will be sent into exile, and 'we will be singled out for suffering' (Deut 29:20). The nations will stand in wonder at the torture and destruction of God's beloved nation, and they will say, 'it must be punishment for turning away from God's covenant' (29:24). And yet, no matter how far we fall, God will redeem us. 'God will return with our exiles, and have mercy; He will gather us from the lands of our dispersion', into Israel (29:3-5). God promises us this.

In Amos (9:13-15), we are again promised the vision of salvation, this time even more clearly and in far more detail:

"יג הִנֵּה יָמִים בָּאִים, נְאֻם-יְהוָה, וְנִגַּשׁ חוֹרֵשׁ בַּקֹּצֵר, וְדֹרֵךְ עֲנָבִים בְּמֹשֵׁךְ הַזָּרַע; וְהִטִּיפוּ הֶהָרִים עָסִיס, וְכָל-הַגְּבָעוֹת תִּתְמוֹגַגְנָה. יד וְשַׁבְתִּי, אֶת-שְׁבוּת עַמִּי יִשְׂרָאֵל, וּבָנוּ עָרִים נְשַׁמּוֹת וְיָשָׁבוּ, וְנָטְעוּ כְרָמִים וְשָׁתוּ אֶת-יֵינָם; וְעָשׂוּ גַנּוֹת, וְאָכְלוּ אֶת-פְּרִיהֶם. טו וּנְטַעְתִּים, עַל-אַדְמָתָם; וְלֹא יִנָּתְשׁוּ עוֹד, מֵעַל אַדְמָתָם אֲשֶׁר נָתַתִּי לָהֶם--אָמַר, יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ."

"'When the plowman shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of grapes him who sows seed; the mountains shall drip with sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it. I will bring back the captives of My people Israel; they shall build the waste cities and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and drink wine from them; they shall also make gardens and eat fruit from them. I will plant them in their land, and no longer shall they be pulled up from the land I have given them,' says the Lord your God."

In Makot (24b), Rabbi Akiva and his friends visit Mt. Scopus. They witness a fox scamper through the ruins of the Holy of Holies. While his friends break down in tears, Rabbi Akiva laughs. Astonished, his friends ask, "How can you laugh?" He counters, "How can you cry?" The rabbis answer, "The Holy of Holies, concerning which God commanded that any stranger who enters it shall die, now is desecrated by foxes, and we should not cry?" Rabbi Akiva responds, "This is precisely why I laugh. Uriah prophesied that because of Israel's sins, the Temple would be plowed into a field. Zechariah foretold of elderly men and women once again inhabiting the streets of Jerusalem. Before seeing the fulfillment of Uriah's prophecy, one might have doubted that Zechariah's would come true. But now that we see the realization of the first, we can be sure that the second will also come true!" His friends took solace in this, and said, "Akiva, you have comforted us."

The two prophecies that Rabbi Akiva mentions are essentially re-formulations of the verses from the book of D'varim. Akiva saw the dreadful destruction of the Temple in its full effect, an epic destruction which, though horrific, demonstrated God's continued involvement and fidelity to His promises to our nation. Thus, the fulfillment of the exile was intrinsically a promise for redemption.

However, the Talmud also states in Sanhedrin that one possibility is that the ultimate redemption will come only after Israel despairs of it, and loses hope. Indeed, throughout the intervening two thousand years, we have, as a nation, become numb from our pain and suffering, slipping into national depression. Paradoxically, by suffering so much, we may lose the conviction that our suffering comes from God and is the fulfillment of a plan. And the way history plays out subsequently, faith in God's plans for history are further in danger.

In the past millennia, Jews and gentiles have accepted prima facie the authenticity of the Torah and other books of the Bible. Even without the fulfillment of the positive prophecies of reconstruction, they have survived with their faith in God and His word. They lived and died for a day when their children and grandchildren would be able to witness the fulfillment of God's promises. They needed no proof.

However, around the turn of the last century, scholars and skeptics have begun to question, not only the dating of certain works, or the exact authorship of certain parts of some books, but the very concept of God's revelation of His will and future plans to Mankind. Whole sections of Jews may not believe in the divinity of our scripture, or even in the existence of God! Humanity has become cynical, and so, have chosen to question God's revelation.

And so, the laugh of Akiva that echoed for more than a thousand years began to dim. The epic nature of the destruction is forgotten, and perhaps we are like all other nations, with no special divine providence guiding our suffering to ultimate redemption. This is the despair which is discussed by the passage in Sanhedrin. We might lose our faith!

However, we must pay attention to the historical currents that surrounded this movement. The return of Jews to Zion with the intent of rebuilding the land and Jewish culture gained steam. Eventually, European Jewry was destroyed, and out of the fire, like a phoenix, the modern state of Israel rose. The remnants beat back blood-thirsty hordes of Arab soldiers, intent on destroying them. This happened, not once, but five times. Jews returned and continue to stream to their land, and even the anti-Zionists admit that, if not ראשית צמיחת גאולתינו, we are living through, at least, עיקבתא דמשיחא.

This is God's most poetic answer to the skeptics. God counters their questions by making the living word of His books come true! Hashem always keeps us open to faith. Sometimes we are sustained by faith in the word, as the generations before us. However, if we begin to question its authenticity, he makes it come true, so we can no longer doubt it.

In Nitzavim and Amos, God promised us redemption, and placed his name on it as a seal of truth. Before, the destruction was enough of a promise to believe in the redemption. But in a world where this is no longer enough, God gives us the redemption to re-ignite our faith. It happens now as we watch! And yet, we are blinded by its shining light, even as we live through it. Future generations will ask us, did you not see the obvious fulfillment of God's word?

I realized, while speaking to a skeptical friend, that what we are witnessing with our own eyes is the irrefutable realization of the prophecies of God. These verses are our generation's personal Har Sinai experience; this is our revelation! We ourselves bear witness to the fact that God exists, and that He keeps his promises to Israel. Thus, the laughter of Akiva is renewed, and our faith in our future is strengthened.

God's hand forces history, and history, against all odds and against all precedent, favors Israel (by all accounts a dead nationalism) and the nation of Israel rises again in the land of Israel, just as the Torah and prophets foresaw.

The Talmud discusses two ways the redemption can play itself out. If we merit, it will be upon the wings of an eagle, in a glorious way, and can happen "hayom", any day. However, if we do not merit it, we will be forced into a redemption process of "in its time", with messiah as a poor man, riding on a donkey. This is a process where the Jews may suffer greatly, until they call out to God as a last resort.

It seems the redemption we witness today is a hybrid. There are aspects that are tremendously glorious, and some that are as sad and full of suffering as possible. This validates the thesis of the Vilna Gaon, that there is no binary choice between the glorious and inglorious redemptions, but a sliding scale. Any action we do, any show of true faith in the God of Israel, brings us one unit closer to the achishena, and any action in the opposite direction leads us towards the other pole of the scale. It is all actions that apply, but especially those that demonstrate Israel's fundamental reliance only on God, not on other nations (as evidenced by the haftarah of Shabbat Shuva).

Thus, while there of course is a messiah we await, who brings the process to its conclusion, the Vilna Gaon places the responsibility and merit for an easy, glorious redemption directly in our hands. How empowering! Each of our actions affects the redemption, and we are all, in a sense, messiahs.

The day of Tisha B'av is different from other fasts, in that it is not only a day of mourning, but also of repentance. If we learn this lesson, and redirect our actions towards our Father in heaven, we can contribute our lives to the task of bringing the national scale of geula towards the achishena scale, and further from be'ita.

Who Really Wants Peace?

Israel just wants to live. We don't ask anything of the world, whose history towards our people is blood-spattered. We just want to live in peace, without bombs, terrorists and hostile armies probing us constantly for any sign of weakness of which to take advantage.

What other country has army musicians who sing of dreams "when we will no longer need guards" on the walls of our cities?

Here is one of my favorite Israeli songs, by Dan Almagor and Beni Nagri, called Guard of the Walls:

אני עומד על החומה
עומד בגשם לבדי וכל העיר העתיקה
מונחת לי על כף ידי אני מביט בה מאוהב
אני עולה לכאן תמיד סתם להביט
אבל עכשיו אני נמצא כאן בתפקיד.

כן, כן, מי חלם אז בכיתה
כשלמדנו לדקלם על חומותייך ירושלים
הפקדתי שומרים
שיום יגיע ואהיה אחד מהם.

אני עומד על החומה
עומד מקשיב אל הקולות
קולות השוק והמהומה
קריאות רוכלים ועגלות
הנה הוא קול המואזין
הנה דינדון הפעמון אבל עלי להאזין
אם אין שום נפץ של רימון.

אני עומד על החומה
רועד מקור ומסתכל הנה שקעה כבר החמה
שומר מלילה מה מליל אור הירח במלואו
שוטף חומות ושערים מתי יבוא היום שבו
לא נזדקק עוד לשומרים.

I stand on the wall,
In the rain, alone, and the Old City
Is in my palm, while I gaze at it, enraptured,
I come up here often to view it,
But now I am here on duty.

Oh, who dreamed back then, in school,
When we learned to recite "Upon your walls,
O Jerusalem, I have set watchmen,"
That one day I would be one?

I stand on the wall,
Listening to the voices
of the bustling marketplace,
Calls of merchants and sounds of carts,
There is the voice of the Muazzin,
And the ting-a-ling of a bell, but I must be certain
That there is no explosion of a grenade.

I stand on the wall,
Shivering with cold, and watching the sun set,
Standing guard from night, under the full moon,
As it bathes the walls and gates.
When will the day come when
Finally we will need no more guards?

Prophecies of Destruction and Redemption

On the arid plateau of Masada, the dry, hot wind has parched all that was left after the deaths of the Jewish rebels. Among the archeological finds in the area were a number of desiccated seeds from the now extinct Jerusalem Palm tree. In the past few years, scientists in Israel have induced these seeds to sprout forth new life -- life that has been two thousand years frozen in time, waiting for the return of the land's rightful inhabitants. Yechezkel prophesies, "ואתם הרי ישראל ענפכם תתנו ופריכם תשאו לעמי ישראל כי קרבו לבא". Rashi explains, "כשתתן א"י פריה בעין יפה אז יקרב הקץ ואין לך קץ מגולה יותר": "When the land of Israel gives forth its fruits freely, the redemption is near, and there is no clearer sign of the redemption than this..." What a miraculous realization of this Rashi! This inspired part of the following ideas.

In one of his sichot to his students, Rabbi Lichtenstein chooses to compare the task and prophetic endowment of Moshe to that of Yirmiyahu, whose calling by God is the substance of our haftarah. In reading his words, I developed what I believe to be an interesting take on the distinction between Moshe and Yirmiyahu, which I hope to expand upon as the years progress.

Let us examine the inception experiences of both Moshe and Yirmiyahu. The first difference that immediately presents itself is age. Yirmiyahu is a young man, while Moshe was chosen when he was already a mature man, at eighty years old. Also, it is important to note the manner in which each candidate responded to God's invocation. Moshe protests against his appointment as messenger of God for days, and when he finally culminates with his speech impediment as an excuse, God loses patience, as it were. On the other hand, Yirmiyahu seems quite willing, and his only hesitation is that he is too young to be a leader. As soon as Hashem assures Yirmiyahu that He will be with him, the young prophet moves forward with faith and complacency. Why is it that Moshe, the more mature one, searches for more excuses than Yirmiyahu?

Upon closer reflection, we notice that the two prophets are actually being called to quite different tasks. God summons Moshe to the unimaginable task of raising a nation of slaves out of the sweltering heat of their oppression. He then would have to bring this stiff-necked people through a desert, fighting them each step of the way. He would feel so strongly the futility of his task at times, that he would ask to be relieved of his position. And he would bring the nation from the heights of Sinai to the depths of the golden calf, finally leaving them, his dearest desire unfulfilled, and leave his student to bring them into the Promised Land. God tells Moshe, "I will be with your mouth" (Ex. 4:15). "With" implies a dialogue, a co-participation. Almost in a partnership with Hashem, Moshe is to be the prophetic leader of the Jews.

On the other hand, Yirmiyahu is to walk the streets and alleys of Jerusalem, prophesying its destruction. He was not meant to be a leader. Indeed, more often than not, reviled by his brothers, he finds himself the outsider, and the very enemies of Israel release him from his fraternally induced incarceration on the eve of the burning of the city. Yirmiyahu is most definitely not a leader. Whereas God is "with" Moshe's mouth, and there is an element of teamwork, God "places his words" in Yirmiyahu's mouth (compare to the prophetic experience of Bilam). There is monologue here, no dialogue. He is a prophet only, a mouthpiece for the message of God.

Because of Moshe's role as leader and prophet, he is a completely public figure. He separates from his wife, and is praised by Rashi (Ex. 19:14) for his neglect of his own affairs, finding time only for the matters of the nation. For Moshe, no national suffering can be dealt with as a tragedy with private mourning. When God threatens the nation with destruction for the sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe draws his dialogue with God into sharp relief, carrying on a spirited, almost disrespectful argument with God, in which he successfully arbitrates the salvation of Israel. All of the nation's troubles are his, and he responds to them as an intercessor, not as a private citizen.

In contrast, we do not find Yirmiyahu attempting to change the decree against Jerusalem. And when it is finally enflamed, he joins the chained ranks of Jewish prisoners. He seeks no audience with God, he has no special connection to utilize and mitigate the suffering. Instead of the monologue of God which he faithfully transmitted, now all that Yirmiyah can produce is a dirge-like monologue of his own, the book of Eicha. In it, and as an equal to them, Yirmiyah is found lamenting the suffering of his brothers, crying into the howling wind of the dark abyss, receiveing no particular response from God. Relieved of his mission as mouthpiece, he reverts to the status of individual member of Israel, pained as they are by hester panim, that iron curtain that has descended between God and His people.

And through these distinctions emerges the defining characteristic of the two men's roles: exile and redemption. Moshe represents a vivid image of the redemption: the rise of Israel's honor and respect, and with this, the rise of that intimate dialogue between God and His chosen ones. Moshe leads the Jews through his special relationship, his interactive prophetic nature. On the reverse side, Yirmiyahu is the prophet who ushers in the exile. He is no leader, for the Jews will have no centralized leader in their dispersion. He is rather a prophet of doom, and he signifies the beginning of the end of prophecy. Eventually, as the Rambam implies, God's word to Man became so mundane in the eyes of humanity, that the phenomenon of prophecy ceased altogether.

This is so because of the general principle that the leader of the nation reflects the spiritual position of Israel at that time (Arachin 17a). When the Jews follow the law and are on a spiritual and national high, they are in the redemptive mode. When this is not the case, the prophecy takes on the form of Yirmiyahu's, and eventually ends.

This interaction with God changing from dialogue to monologue can perhaps be encapsulated as the seed of the Jerusalem Palms. When the dialogue relationship begins to lose its potency, Hashem allows it to desiccate, as it were, into the monologue. Indeed, as the Jewish people spread out over the world in their exile, prayer took the place of sacrifice, and the monologue of the Jewish nation represents the freezing of our special intimate national relationship with God, preserved by Him until the time that redemption again becomes the paradigm, when humankind finds a new hunger, "no hunger for bread or thirst for water, rather for the word of God!"

When Man finds himself parched for a taste of this life-giving intimacy, this dialogue with God, then the shift from exile to redemption (begins) is made. However, this process is also a long and arduous one, and according to the Gaon from Vilna, must begin as our present history teaches us, with a physical re-awakening and movement towards Israel, and then the spiritual one.

Rabbi Hirsch teaches that the purpose of our three weeks of mourning is not to simply to grieve over the past. We are particularly meant to reflect on where we are in our present situation, and compare that to the ideals of the Torah. And so, as his first message to the Jews, and the last verses of our Haftarah, Yirmiyahu begins his book with a prophecy of the youthful vigor of Israel. This is not only a look back at the Mosaic prophetic paradigm, but a look far into the future, past all the suffering that will fill the sad pages of the book of Jeremiah, into the redemption of the distant future, whose stages we today are experiencing.

We look during these three weeks not only at our defection from our mission that led to Jerusalem's destruction, but also at the "youthful love" of our nation, following God into the wilderness, and we remind ourselves of our purpose in this world: to bring ourselves back to that reality, and to be willing to sacrifice for it!

With this, our Tish'a B'av takes on meaning not only as a period of mourning, but one of renewing our strength, re-aligning ourselves to our task, and rededicating ourselves to the redemption, which we pray and act for every day.

May we merit it quickly!