Author: devora

Excerpted from Rabbi Shmuel Goldin’s Unlocking the Torah Text – Bereishit, co-published by OU Press and Gefen Publishers

What Kind of Answer Is This?

Context

Towards the end of Parshat Lech Lecha God delivers two dramatic promises to Avraham. The patriarch reacts to each in vastly different ways.

God first states, “Look up to the heavens and count the stars if you can; thus will be your children.” Faced with this prediction, Avraham responds with unquestioning belief. God then continues, “I am the Lord Who took you out of Ur Casdim to give you this land to inherit.” Here, Avraham objects, “O Lord God, how do I know that I will inherit?”

In response to Avraham’s objection, God commands the patriarch to slaughter a series of animals, divide some of the carcasses in half and place each half opposite the other. God causes a deep sleep to fall on Avraham and appears to him in a dramatic vision. “Know full well,” God proclaims, “that your children will be strangers in a land not their own, where they will be tormented and enslaved for four hundred years…. And the fourth generation will return here…”

God’s presence then passes between the divided animals and a covenant between God and Avraham is struck, known as the Brit bein Habetarim, the “Covenant between the Pieces.”

Questions

Why does Avraham believe God’s promise concerning progeny, yet question the inheritance of the land? If it is within God’s power to bless Avraham and Sara with children after so many years of barrenness, He is certainly capable of ensuring that the Jewish nation will inherit its homeland. Compounding the problem is the fact that on two previous occasions God has already clearly promised that the land of Canaan will be given to Avraham’s descendants. Avraham, for some reason, does not question that promise until now.

On the flip side, God’s response to Avraham’s doubts seems abundantly strange. How is the prediction of Egyptian slavery meant to allay Avraham’s fears or answer his questions? Is there a message of reassurance hidden in the dark vision of exile and slavery? Or is this simply God’s way of saying that “all will be well that ends well”? Further, what is the significance of the ritual accompanying the Covenant between the Pieces?

Finally, on a deeper level, how does this entire episode affect the delicate balance existing between prescience (God’s knowledge of the future; see Bereishit 4, Approaches A) and man’s free will? Once God informs us of the future, is He not, then, predetermining it? Are Joseph and his brothers, the biblical characters whose actions will lead to the descent of the Jewish people into Egypt, simply actors playing out predetermined roles on a predefined stage?

Approaches
A
The scholars of the Talmud and Midrash draw two direct yet vastly different connections between Avraham’s question and God’s response at the Covenant between the Pieces.

The first approach perceives the patriarch’s question as the catalyst for God’s dire prophecy. The very descent of the nation into Egyptian slavery will be a direct result of Avraham’s doubts.  Shmuel said: ‘Why was our forefather Avraham punished through the enslavement of his children in Egypt for 210 years? Because he questioned the powers of God, by saying, ‘how do I know that I will inherit?’”

In Shmuel’s eyes, God’s message at this moment is not one of reassurance but punishment. You have doubted my power, and as a result your children will suffer through enslavement at the hands of strangers. Then, and only then, will they inherit the land.

Shmuel fails to explain why Avraham suddenly doubts God. He also raises the serious philosophical question of why children should be punished for a sin committed by their ancestor.

The question as to whether or not children are affected by the sins of their parents is dealt with on a number of occasions within rabbinic literature. The most well-known iteration of the issue is found in a Talmudic passage in the tractate of Brachot. The Talmud notes an apparent discrepancy between the following two biblical passages:
1. “He Who visits the iniquity of fathers on children and children’s children until the third and fourth generation.”
2. “Fathers shall not die because of their children, nor shall children die because of their fathers. Each individual will die in his own sin.”

The Talmud resolves the contradiction by suggesting that God will indeed punish children for their parents’ sins but only if the children persist in continuing in their parents’ ways.

Based upon this Talmudic passage, the following balance can be suggested.

Judaism absolutely rejects the Christian concept of “original sin” (the idea that all generations of mankind continue to bear guilt for the original sin of Adam and Chava). We are not responsible for the sins of others. We are each responsible for our own fate.

Judaism cannot deny the idea, however, of “intergenerational reverberation.” Our actions help shape our children’s lives, just as we are, in large measure, a product of our ancestors’ decisions and deeds.

We are not guilty of the sin committed by Adam and Chava. We do, however, still pay the price. This is not punishment, but, rather, a reality of life. Had Adam and Chava not sinned, we would now be living a very different existence in the Garden of Eden. We are still affected by the actions of our primal ancestors.

Similarly, such overarching life issues as where we are born, to whom, into what environment, and, in fact, whether or not we are born at all, are determined not by us and not only by God, but also by our parents and those who came before them as well.

If, as we have said before, the box that defines our lives is, in large measure, predetermined by God (see Bereishit 4, Approaches a), it is also partially created by those who precede us.

The Talmud warns that parents and grandparents should be careful of their decisions and actions, for they help shape the lives of generations to come. Their children will build upon what they have built, reaping the rewards or paying the price.

In the episode before us, for example, Avraham’s descendants are neither guilty of nor punished for his failings. They are, however, affected by his decisions and by his actions – either because they will learn from his example and make the same mistakes in their time, or because Avraham’s actions themselves will create a given set of circumstances that will reverberate across the ages and influence generations to come.

B
The second Midrashic approach focuses not on the substance of God’s prophecy but on the ritual that accompanies it.

“Rabbi Hiyya Bar Hanina said: [Avraham did not question] as an accuser but, rather, he asked, ‘By what merit [will my children inherit the land]?’ God responded, ‘By the atonements that I will give to Israel.’” Rabbi Hiyya goes on to explain that the animals used in the covenant ritual represented specific sacrifices that would be brought by the Jewish people as atonements throughout the ages.

Rashi summarizes Rabbi Hiyya’s approach as follows: “Avraham asked, ‘In what merit?’ and God responded, ‘In the merit of the sacrifices.’”

According to this approach, Avraham is not questioning God’s power at all. He is instead questioning his own merit and that of his progeny. He believes in God’s ability but he doubts his own.

Textual support for Rabbi Hiyya’s position can be found in the seemingly superfluous word lerishta, “to inherit,” found at the end of God’s promise to Avraham concerning the land. In its active conjugation, this word does not mean to inherit but to conquer and acquire.10 God is informing Avraham that the land will not be given to his children as a gift. They will have to actively acquire the land when the time comes.

When the patriarch hears that his children will have to participate in the conquest of Canaan, he realizes, for the first time, that the acquisition of the land is not a foregone conclusion. He therefore asks: “How do I know that they will do their part? How do I know that they will inherit the land?”

God responds by reassuring Avraham that his children will indeed merit a return to their homeland. The source of that merit will be their religious devotion, represented by the sacrifices they will offer across the years. This reassurance is then driven home through the symbolic ritual of the covenant itself.

C
While Rabbi Hiyya focuses on the ritual of the covenant as a response to Avraham’s self-doubts, perhaps the prophecy of exile itself contains an element of reassurance. God is saying to Avraham that his children will inherit the land because when the time comes to leave Egypt, they will rise to the challenge. After centuries of slavery, they will still be a recognizable people and they will respond to God’s call.

In that merit, they will inherit the land.

Interpreted this way, the Covenant between the Pieces can also be seen as a harbinger of exiles to come. Throughout our turbulent history, we will be challenged, against great odds, to retain our integrity as a people and to keep the dream of return to our Homeland alive. How much greater is the challenge in our own day when the possibility of such return is real.

D
Finally, there are those commentaries, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch among them, who see no element of doubt at all in Avraham’s reaction. They claim that the patriarch, hearing for the first time that his children will have to actively conquer the land, simply asks, Ba’ma eida? How will I know when the time is right?

God responds: It will not happen in your time, or in your children’s time, or in their children’s time. Only after generations, only after exile, will your descendents conquer the land.

Points to Ponder

The tension between God’s foreknowledge of events and our own free will comes to a head when we encounter an event such as the Covenant between the Pieces (for a brief discussion of the concepts of free will, prescience and predestination see Bereishit 4, Approaches a). For while God’s prescience does not normally affect our actions in any way, the moment He shares a prediction of the future with us the equation changes dramatically. How much choice can we have if we know that events are already predetermined? How much choice, for that matter, did Joseph and his brothers have concerning Joseph’s sale, the catalyst for our exile in Egypt?

While a full discussion of the issues raised by this question is well beyond the scope of our text, the following brief comment can be made.

God will often paint the broad brushstrokes of history but allow us to fill in the details. We are told, for example, that the Mashiach (Messiah) is destined to come, bringing with him the culmination of our nation’s story. How he comes, when he comes, how much difficulty or ease will precede his arrival, and which of us will be there to greet him are all issues that are determined by our actions. Similarly, while God predicted in general fashion that the Jewish people would experience hardship and exile in a strange land, the details of how those events came to fruition were determined by the actions of the personalities at the time. (For a more complete discussion of these issues see Vayeishev 3, Approaches a.)

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

פרש

 

 

פרשת לך לך

שורש הפירוד בין אברהם אבינו ללוט

ויעל אברם ממצרים הוא ואשתו וכל אשר לו ולוט עמו הנגבה (יג, א)

שמעתי ממו”ר מרן הגרי”ד הלוי סולובייצ’יק זצ”ל, שבפסוק זה אנו רואים שינוי ביחס שבין לוט לאברהם, שהנה בתחילה כתיב (יב, ה): “ויקח אברהם את שרי אשתו ואת לוט בן אחיו ואת כל רכושם אשר רכשו ואת הנפש אשר עשו בחרן, ויצאו ללכת ארצה כנען, ויבאו ארצה כנען”. והרי קודם ירידתם למצרים לוט הוא תלמידו של אברהם והולך אתו. ועל כן בפסוק זה לוט מוזכר קודם הרכוש מפני שהוא מבני ביתו של אברהם, ועדיין מאמין בחזונו של אברם והולך אתו ארצה כנען.

אולם כשעלו ממצרים רואים שיש כבר מרחק בין לוט לאברהם, דכתיב (יג, א): “ויעל אברם ממצרים הוא ואשתו וכל אשר לו, ולוט עמו הנגבה”, הרי כאן הרכוש של אברהם – “כל אשר לו”, מוזכר קודם ללוט. וכן משמע מלשון “ולוט עמו”, שלוט רק נוסע באותו כיוון של אברהם, אבל אינו עוד מבני בריתו ואינו משתתף עוד בהשקפתו. וכנראה השינוי ביחס של לוט לאברהם הוא כתוצאה מהיותם במצרים; לוט התרשם מהעושר והגדולה של מצרים, וחמד את אשר ראה במצרים, וזה היה הגורם לפירוד הדעות בין לוט לאברהם.

וכך אנו רואים שכשבאה השעה להפרד לוט מאברהם, דכתיב: “וישא לוט את עיניו וירא את כל ככר הירדן כי כולה משקה לפני שחת ה’ את סדום ואת עמורה כגן ה’ כארץ מצרים בואכה צער” (יג, י) – בעיני לוט, ארץ מצרים היתה כגן ה’. בפסוק זה באים לידי ביטוי מחשבותיו והשקפתו של לוט, על אף שלפי האמת לא היתה כארץ מצרים לרוע, מבחינה רוחנית, מ”מ בעיני לוט דמתה מצרים לגן ה’.

הפירוד בין לוט לאברהם היה על רקע חילוקי דעות, וכפי שאפשר לשפוט מכך שהריב בין רועי מקנה אברהם לרועי מקנה לוט היה במיוחד על עניני דעות. רועי לוט היו גוזלים משדות אחרים, כמפורש ברש”י (יג, ז ד”ה ויהי ריב), וז”ל: “שהיו רועיו של לוט רשעים ומרעים בהמתם בשדות אחרים ורועי אברם מוכיחים אותם על הגזל”, עכ”ל. וכן אפשר להבין ממה שאברהם אמר ללוט: “אל נא תהי מריבה ביני וביניך ובין רועי ובין רועיך כי אנשים אחים אנחנו” (יג, ח), לשון ‘מריבה’ הוא יותר חזק מ’ריב’, ומשמעותו היא מחלוקת בדעות והשקפות, והיא שעמדה בין הרועים (עיין במלבי”ם).

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

פרשת נח

א

חידוש העולם אחרי המבול הוא בריאה חדשה

המעיין היטב בלשון המקרא יווכח, שהתורה השוותה לשונה במעשה בראשית ללשונה בפרשת נח אחר המבול בשעה שנבנה העולם מחדש. ונציג את הדברים לפרטיהם.

“ויזכור אלוקים את נח ואת כל החיה ואת כל הבהמה אשר אתו בתבה ויעבר אלוקים רוח על הארץ וישכו המים” (ח, א); “ויסכרו מעינות תהום וארבות השמים ויכלא הגשם מן השמים” (ח, ב). והוא ניצב כנגד: “והארץ היתה תהו ובהו וחשך על פני תהום ורוח אלוקים מרחפת על פני המים” (א, ב).

הפסוק: “והמים היו הלוך וחסור עד החדש העשירי בעשירי באחד לחדש נראו ראשי ההרים” (ח, ה) – עומד כנגד: “ויאמר אלוקים יקוו המים מתחת השמים אל מקום אחד ותראה היבשה ויהי כן” (א, ט).

ומה ששלח נח את העורב והיונה – כנגד “ועוף יעופף על הארץ” (בראשית א, כ). ואז ברכם אלקים, כדכתיב (ט, ב): “ויברך אלוקים את נח ואת בניו ויאמר להם פרו ורבו מלאו את הארץ ומוראכם וחתכם יהיה על כל חית הארץ ועל כל עוף השמים בכל אשר תרמוש האדמה ובכל דגי הים בידכם נתנו”, תוכן ברכה זו מקביל לברכה שנתן ה’ לאדם: “ויברך אותם אלוקים ויאמר להם פרו ורבו ומלאו את הארץ” וגו’ (א, כח).

וכל זה, להראות שהעולם שאחר המבול היה נחשב בריאה מחודשת כבריאת העולם בבראשית.

ובמה שכתוב: “ומיד האדם מיד איש אחיו אדרוש את האדם” (ט, ה), באה התורה לרמוז על הריגת הבל ע”י קין, ולכן כתבה לשון “איש אחיו”.

 

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

פרשת בראשית

חטאו של אדה”ר הוא שורש חטאו של קין

המעיין בלשון הקרא יראה שתגובת הקב”ה לחטא אדם הראשון באכלו מעץ הדעת מקבילה לתגובתו של קין אחרי הרגו את הבל. אצל אדם כתיב: “ויקרא ה’ אלקים אל האדם ויאמר איכה” (ג, ט), ומקביל לזה גבי קין כתיב: “ויאמר ה’ אי הבל אחיך” (ד, ט). אצל אדם כתיב: “ארורה האדמה בעבורך” (ג, ז) ובקין כתיב: “ארור אתה מן האדמה” (ד, יא). אצל אדם כתיב: “ויגרש את האדם” (ג, כד), ובקין כתיב: “הן גרשת אותי היום מעל פני האדמה” (ד, יב). אצל חוה כתיב: “ואל אישך תשוקתך והוא ימשל בך” (ג, טז), ובקין כתיב: “ואליך תשוקתו ואתה תמשול בו” (ד, ז). גבי אדם כתיב: “וישמע את קול ה’ אלקים מתהלך בגן” (ג, ח), ובקין כתיב: “קול דמי אחיך צועקים אלי” (ד, י).

וכפי הנראה, זה שהתורה השתמשה באותן הלשונות שהשתמשה בהן בתיאור חטא אדה”ר בסיפור של הריגת הבל ע”י קין ועונשו של קין, בא להורות על כך שרציחת הבל ע”י קין היתה תוצאה של חטא אדם הראשון, וכיון שאדם חטא ומרד בה’ נעשתה גם הרציחה כהיתר לקין. ובאמת הרצח הראשון בתורה אינו רציחת הבל ע”י קין, אלא מה שע”י חטאו השפיל אדם הראשון את האנושות כולה והיו כל הדורות בני מות שלא יחיו לעולם.

עבודת האדם בגן עדן והגירוש ממנו

השומר אחי אנוכי (ד, ט)

נראה שדברי קין מכוונים אל עצם התפקיד שנתן הקב”ה לאדם: “ויקח ה’ אלקים את האדם ויניחהו בגן עדן לעבדה ולשמרה” (בראשית ב, טו), כלומר: התפקיד והשליחות שנתן הקב”ה לאדם מתחילת בריאתו היה לשמור את הגן. והנה בדברי קין מרומז שהוא עדיין פורק את עול השליחות הקדומה, שהרי מן השליחות שנתן הקב”ה לאדם לשמור את הגן מתחייב כמו כן לשמור על אחיו.

 והנה אחרי חטא אדם וחוה כשגורשו מגן עדן כתיב: “ויגרש את האדם וישכן מקדם לגן עדן את הכרובים ואת להט החרב המתהפכת לשמור את דרך עץ החיים”. ועל פי פשוטו, הכרובים ולהט החרב המתהפכת הוצבו לשמירה והרחקה, כמו שכתב רש”י שהכרובים הם מלאכי חבלה והחרב המתהפכת – “לה להט לאיים עליו מליכנס עוד לגן”. וכן כתב הרד”ק שהיא “להפחיד את האדם שלא ישוב לגן”. ונראה שהתורה מדגישה שתמורת תפקיד שמירת הגן שניתן לאדם ולא קיימו הוטל עתה על המלאכים לשמור את דרך עץ החיים.

אבל יש מן המפרשים המציגים פן נוסף בענין זה, ויעוין רד”ק שכתב דברי פלא, וז”ל: “ועוד עשה לו זה הדבר כדי שיתחרט האדם וישוב בתשובה, ושם עליו שומרים שלא יכנס שם כדי שיבוש מעצמו ויתחרט על שחטא, ומזה למדוהו דרך תשובה, ולאחר ששב בתשובה סרה המראה ההיא ושב לגן פעמים, ופעמים עובד את האדמה אשר לקח משם”. וגם המלבי”ם הילך בדרך זו, וזו לשונו בתוך דבריו באורך: “שני אלה שהם הכרובים ולהט החרב יעזרו לה להשיג שלמותה ולנצח את הנחש והיצה”ר גם בעודו בחיים”. למדנו איפוא מכאן גודל רחמיו של השי”ת על האדם: הגירוש איננו סילוק ממעשה ידיו ודחייה חלילה בשתי ידים, אלא הוא עצה מרחוק וכניסה לעולם של תיקון והוראת דרך לחטאים.

כמדומה שאוזן שומעת תבין שמצות “והלכת בדרכיו” מחייבת התבוננות בפרשה זו, ונתינת דעת לשינוי צורת ההתייחסות לאלו מתוכנו שרחקו מן הדרך ואל אלו שמעולם לא נמצא מי שהטעימם מטעם חיי אמת.

[ויעוין עוד במה שכתבנו בענין כניסת הכה”ג לפני ולפנים בפר’ אחרי מות (אות ב’). ומשמעות דברי המדרש שהבאנו שם היא כפי’ הרד”ק ע”פ פשוטו.]

Excerpted from Rabbi Dr. Norman J. Lamm’s Derashot Ledorot: A Commentary for the Ages – Genesis, co-published by OU Press and Maggid Books

The Three Faces of Adam*

The Torah’s story of Adam was never meant to be simply the biography of the first human being, a biblical attempt to satisfy our idle curiosity about our origins. Rather, it is a source of what might be called biblical anthropology, God’s view of man. It is therefore the stuff of profound interpretation as to the nature of man, from the earliest, brief insights of the Midrash to the latest philosophical dissertations.

I will suggest three insights, all drawing on the name Adam. For the Torah hints, but never openly states, that the origin of the name is adama, earth or ground, and therefore leaves open the question of the  derivation of the name Adam and its significations.

Some distinguished Orientalists and lexicographers assert that the Hebrew Adam is related to the Assyrian adamu, to make or produce. From this derivation, we learn that man’s superiority, his charismatic endowment, his spiritual dignity, lies in his technological genius. He is, like his Creator, creative. He was placed in the Garden of Eden “to work it and to guard it” (Genesis 2:15), to develop it and improve it. Rabbi Leibele Eger, a great scholar who became a Hasid of the Rabbi of Kotzk, once returned from a visit to his master and said that one of the three things he learned in Kotzk was: “Bereshit bara Elohim.” When asked what he meant thereby, he said: “I learned that God created only bereshit, only the beginning – man must do all the rest.” Man, Adam, must be adamu, a maker, producer, and creator.

In a remarkable interpretation, the sages (Proverbs Rabba 19:1) revealed to us the same insight in yet another fashion. We read that when Abraham met the king of Salem after defeating the captors of Lot, the king, Melchizedek, said to him, “Barukh Avram leEl Elyon, Koneh shamayim va’aretz” (Genesis 14:19), usually translated as: “Blessed be Abram to God the Most High, Possessor (or: Creator, since ‘koneh’ actually means ‘the one who makes’) of heaven and earth.” The rabbis, however, maintain that the last phrase, “Koneh shamayim va’aretz,” refers not to God but back to Abraham! Melchizedek blessed Abraham who was creator of heaven and earth, to God the Most High. What the rabbis meant, of course, was that Abraham was the creator of the world in a spiritualized fashion; that is, by virtue of his merit and his righteousness he sustained the world. Today, however, we can give that rabbinic statement a quite literal turn: man has become the master of earth, and heaven as well! With our thrusts into space, we, the successors of Abraham, have extended our hegemony over the heavenly bodies as well as our own globe. Indeed, Rabbi Menachem M. Kasher, in an article which appeared in Hapardes, maintains that the landing on the moon was a fulfillment of a prophecy of Isaiah that has to do with the end of days. Isaiah says that in the time of the Messiah, the moon will be embarrassed or ashamed (24:23). Mankind once worshiped the moon, then sang about her and admired her – and now men have landed on the moon, violating her integrity, humiliating her. We have established our mastery of our nearest neighbor.

Hence, by exercising our adamu function, we enhance science, engineering, and medicine; we build cities, tame nature, and enjoy the benefits of modern life.

However, this is not the totality of man. Were it so, man would be nothing more than a machine with a computer on top. Unlike machines or animals, man has the capacity for personal relations. Man is involved not only with things, but with beings; he has not only a brain, but a heart, and this quality derives from the divine “breath of life” that God blew into the nostrils of man (Genesis 2:7).

In blatant disregard of the principles of scientific linguistics, a famous talmudic scholar offers a penetrating insight into the nature of man that is no less valid because of its faulty etymology. Rabbi Ezekiel Landau, the Rabbi of Prague, and known as the author of Noda biYehuda, avers that the Hebrew Adam comes from adameh, which means, “I shall be like unto.” Adam fulfills himself when he achieves adameh, when he compares himself to and imitates God, who is ĥanun veraĥum ve’erekh apayim, merciful and gracious and patient. Adameh therefore spells the dimension of warmth and relatedness.

So man is more than a functionary, more than a producer or consumer. He is more than a grocer or mechanic or lawyer or industrialist. He is a human! His net worth may be measured in dollars, but his ultimate and real worth can be judged only in terms of friendships and loves, of influence and good deeds.

There is a common maxim: “You can’t take it with you.” The Psalmist, however, put it slightly differently: “For at his death a man shall not take everything with him” (49:18). We do not say that you can’t take it with you absolutely; just that you can’t take “everything” with you. But there are certain things that you can take along as your portion for the world-to-come: cherished memories, a good reputation, love, good deeds, mitzvot performed. The adamu function of man ceases with his last breath; the adameh function continues beyond that.

The conflict between the generations – and it is not really between the generations as such as much as between two lifestyles and philosophies: one established and defensive, the other emerging and militant – can be expressed as the attitude to the balance between adamu and adameh. The pragmatic philosophy which made America great – which ideologically founded Western civilization, spurred on science, and gave the impetus to technology – viewed Adam as adamu. Man’s greatness lies in his creativity, his productivity, his mastery.

The new thinking, however, rejects this role as the major definition of man. It emphasizes Adam not as adamu but as adameh: man’s existential plight, his freedom, his love, and his self-expression, his relations with his family, his neighbors, his community – and his integrity. It desires not to build the mute world all around but the living self within; not to produce but to experience; not to create but to relate.

The lines are being drawn in our times. The established generation takes a hard line against the revolutionaries, condemns all critics of society and the status quo as “hippies.” And there are times that the established segment of society invites excesses of criticism – as, for instance, when the government announces with a flourish that last week we lost only sixty-four men in Vietnam – meaning to say, that we are pleased it was so low, but revealing meanwhile its basic orientation: for the purpose of the smooth functioning of the military machine, sixty-four men are indeed expendable. In the same week, the financial leaders of the government inform us that by a stroke of good fortune and great wisdom, we have achieved a 4 percent degree of unemployment. Here again, the government indicates that in its attempt to relieve the pressure of inflation for the total population, a certain amount of “inconvenience” is inevitable. But the younger critics do not want to accept this excuse. Perhaps in the system of economics under which we live, a certain amount of unemployment is unavoidable and even necessary. But then, if we look at the problem from the point of view of these downtrodden, miserable, humiliated individuals who are thrown out of jobs, perhaps the whole system of economics should be overthrown! Perhaps all of society is rotten and corrupt if this is all it can do. Perhaps our form of government that allows an involvement in Vietnam which can revel in a death rate of sixty-four per week should be disbanded.

And the rebels, on their part, are indiscriminate in their rejection of society and its values. They fail to select the enduring values while they reject those that are damaging. They disdain work and productivity, science and technology. They take its advantages for granted, and uncritically condemn the whole philosophy that made these benefits possible.

Obviously, both are right and both are wrong, for both are necessary. Adamu alone leads to a hard, depersonalized view, and reduces humans to cogs in a wheel. But adameh alone results in a society where there are no wheels in which we ought not to be cogs! It means that insofar as civilization is concerned, we stagnate, and we must ultimately be defeated by Nature, by illness and storm and all else against which technology is a shield.

So both definitions or faces of Adam are needed, adamu and adameh. However, these two are still insufficient. Even with material progress and viable personal relations, man must remain dissatisfied, unhappy, possessed of an inner vacuum. With all this, he still lacks something transcendent, something holy, something beyond nature and beyond man – something supernatural. With all his achievements, Adam today is haunted by the same question that confronted the first Adam: “Ayeka?” “Where are you?” Where are you going, what is the meaning of your life, what is the purpose of it all?

Adamu and adameh do not exhaust the meaning of Adam, for Judaism requires a third dimension, yielding three faces of Adam. It demands yet another facet to the totality of man’s existence.

In a typical, characteristic flight of romantic, speculative philology, which often has little bearing on scientific facts, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch maintains that the name Adam derives from the Hebrew word hadom, which means “footstool.” Thus, Isaiah says in the name of God, “hashamayim kisi veha’aretz hadom raglai,” “the heavens are My throne and the earth My footstool” (66:1). And David says, “vehishtaĥavu lahadom raglav kadosh Hu,” “Bow down to His footstool, for He is holy” (Psalms 99:5).

What does this mean? Man always wants to feel significant and needed, that what he does has meaning and purpose. Therefore, Judaism tells us that every man must be a shaliaĥ, a messenger or an ambassador. Each of us must feel that we are the hadom raglav, the footstool of God, that we carry out His mission, that what we do or are all lead to a higher, divine end. This is not a separate explanation, but an interpretation of the other two suggestions: Whether adamu or adameh, whether at office or at home, whether at factory or with family, I must seek to advance God’s causes by acting as His hadom. Whether as a technical creator or as a human in relation with others, I must see myself as a footstool of the Lord. Only then can I be sure of avoiding the extremes of becoming too hard – a mere producer; or too soft – one who revels in ethereal relationships that have no objective worth or enduring value.

Perhaps that is what the rabbis of the Kabbala meant when they said that the patriarchs became a merkava, a chariot or vehicle for the Lord. The righteous man is one who puts his life at God’s disposal and carries out His causes. Not always do we know in advance what function has been assigned to us, but the discovery and execution of that purpose – that is all of life.

No wonder that Dr. Viktor Frankl, in his great book, Man’s Search for Meaning, maintains that psychologically and existentially man needs purpose and meaning in life as much as nourishment and sex and power. It is a fundamental dimension of his being. Man as hadom, as a missionbearer, is God’s ambassador, and it makes adamu bearable and adameh enduring.

When man explores the hadom aspects of his nature, he aspires to be more than human. But without it, he must perforce remain less than human. Man can be commercially, scientifically, domestically, and socially successful if he pursues only the adamu quality of his life and enhances the adameh dimension, but remains woefully inadequate if he is ultimately meaningless in all his actions.

So as a people and as individuals, we must recapitulate the story of the first Adam. Like Adam, we must strive for adamu, to transform life into a Garden of Eden. Like Adam, we must attempt to be successful in adameh, in our personal relations, in fulfilling our humanity. But again like Adam, that little but powerful voice that unnerved him still pursues us: “Ayeka?” Where are you, what  meaning does your life have?

And the answer must be forthcoming without hesitation: I, an adam, am ready to become a hadom, a footstool of God, and place my life at His service.

---

*October 11, 1969.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

 

 

פרשת האזינו

בגדרי ברכת התורה

א”ר יהודה, מניין לברכת התורה לפניה מן התורה, שנאמר כי שם ה’ אקרא הבו גודל לאלוקינו. (ברכות כא, א)

א. ועיין ברמב”ן (סה”מ, מצ’ טו הנוספת) שכתב דהחיוב לברך ברכת התורה הוא מדאורייתא. והנה פשטות הקרא הוא שכשמזכירין שם המפורש במקדש חייבים לתת כבוד לשם ע”י השתחויה, וצ”ב היכן מרומז כאן ציווי על ברכת התורה. וצ”ל דיסוד החיוב הוא מה שהתורה הושוותה בפסוק לקריאת שם ה’, ונראה דזה מבואר על פי הרמב”ן בהקדמתו לתורה שכתב שהתורה כולה מורכבת מצירופי אותיות של שם ה’. [וכבר נזכר בזוהר בכ”מ, ועיין בזה בנפש החיים ש”ד פי”ט.] ועוד יש לומר, שהנה מציאות ה’ בעצמה הינה למעלה מהבנת האדם והשגתו, ועל כן נאסרה החקירה בענין וכמו ששנינו “במופלא ממך אל תחקור”, וכל מה שאנו יכולים להבין ולהשיג ממנו יתברך הוא רק דרך התורה המגלה רצונו בבריאה, ונמצא שלימוד תורה הוא אופן של קריאת שם ה’.

והנה המברך ברכת התורה בבוקר אומר פסוקים של ברכת כהנים, משנה בריש פאה, וברייתא מגמ’ שבת (קכז, א). והנה המשנה בפאה מונה את הדברים שאין להם שיעור, ומהם תלמוד תורה. והגמ’ בשבת נקטה הדברים שאדם אוכל פירותיהם בעולם הזה והקרן קיימת לו לעולם הבא ומסיימת: “ותלמוד תורה כנגד כולם”. וחשיבותן של המשנה והברייתא לענין ברכת התורה מובנת, שהרי יש בהן שימת דגש על חשיבות התורה, אבל עדיין צ”ב מה הטעם באמירת הפסוקים של ברכת כהנים דוקא.

ונראה שהביאור בענין הוא, שהנה מצינו שבברכת כהנים ישנו קיום מיוחד של הזכרת שם המפורש, ובמקדש היו כורעים ונופלים כשהיו שומעים שם המפורש ואומרים דברי שבח לה’. וזה מפורש בקרא: “ושמו את שמי על בני ישראל ואני אברכם” (במדבר ו, יז) ורש”י שם הביא מהספרי: “ושמו את שמי – יברכום בשם המפורש”. הרי דבברכת כהנים יש קיום מיוחד של הזכרת השם, וכיון שתורה גם היא ענין של הזכרת השם שכולה שמותיו של הקב”ה וכמו שנתבאר בפתח דברינו, לכן אומרים את הפסוקים של ברכת כהנים מיד אחר ברכת התורה, ודו”ק.

[ועיין בספר אגרות הגרי”ד הלוי (הל’ ק”ש פ”ב ה”ג) שהוכיח שיש שני דינים באמירת שם המפורש גבי נשיאת כפים במקדש, חדא, דבמקדש מותר להזכיר שם המפורש, ועוד, דין מסויים בקיום מצות ברכת כהנים דבמקדש צריך להיות בשם המפורש. ועיין ב’מסורה’ (חוברת יח, עמ’ מ).]

ב. שמעתי ממו”ר מרן הגרי”ד זצ”ל שכנעשה הגר”ח זצ”ל בר מצוה שאל את אביו ה’בית הלוי’ אם צריך הוא לברך שוב ברכת התורה בליל הבר מצוה, שהרי הברכה שבירך בבוקר היתה בהיותו עדיין קטן ונעשה לגדול בלילה בהגיעו לי”ג שנים ויום אחד, ונסתפק אי יצא בברכה שבירך בבוקר בקטנותו. והשיבו אביו שיש להסתפק בזה, ולכן יתכוון בברכת אהבת עולם במעריב לצאת חיובו.

והנה לכאורה הסברא שלא יתחייב שוב בברכת התורה היא מפני מה דסבירא ליה להגר”ח [עיין בחי’ מרן הרי”ז על הרמב”ם הל’ ברכות פי”א הט”ז שהביא דברים אלו בשם הגר”ח] דברכת התורה אינה על קיום מצות ת”ת אלא על החפצא של תורה דתורה טעונה ברכה, ולפיכך גם נשים מברכות ברכת התורה אף שפטורות ממצות ת”ת. והנה נראה דמזה הטעם ברכת התורה שבירך בקטנותו מהניא ליה בגדלותו, דגם ברכה של קטן חשיבא חפצא של ברכה, וכמו דמהניא להו ברכת נשים על החפצא של תורה כן הוא בקטן.

ונראה דזהו ג”כ הטעם דסבר המחבר (או”ח סי’ מז ס”ד) דעל לימוד בהרהור לבד אינו מברך ברכת התורה [ועיין בביאור הגר”א שם דס”ל דחייב לברך], דאף דבודאי דמקיים מצות ת”ת גם ע”י הרהור, כיון דהברכה חלה על החפצא של תורה, ובהרהור אין החפצא של תורה שיחול עליו הברכה, או אולי דע”י הרהור חסר מעשה המצוה אע”פ שיש בהרהור קיום מצות תלמוד תורה, ואשר על כן אינו מברך על הרהור.

והנה ממו”ר מרן הגרי”ד זצ”ל שמעתי לבאר במה שאמר הגר”ח שברכת התורה אינה ברכת המצוה אלא ברכה על החפצא של תורה. כי ברכת התורה היא כעין ברכת הנהנין על תורה. וכעין זה הוא בלבוש (או”ח סי’ מז סע’ א) שכתב, וז”ל: “קודם שיתחיל ללמוד או לומר דברי תורה יברך ברכת התורה ומאד מאד צריך האדם להזהר בה, להראות שהתורה היא חשובה בעיניו ונהנה ממנה כמו שמברך על כל הנאותיו”, עכ”ל.

ולפ”ז נראה לבאר ג”כ את תוכן הברכה “והערב נא דברי תורתך בפינו ובפי עמך בית ישראל”, דהיינו הבקשה היא שיהיו דברי התורה מתוקים בפינו וזהו ברכת הנהנין על מתיקות התורה, וחלק בלתי נפרד מקיום מצות לימוד התורה הוא ההנאה שישנה בלימוד התורה, כמבואר בהקדמת האגלי טל, וכבר כתב כן רבנו אברהם מן ההר נדרים מח ע”א.

 

Excerpted from Rabbi Dr. Norman J. Lamm’s Festivals of Faith: Reflections on the Jewish Holidays

Indispensability: Myth and Fact*

Recently, I paid two calls upon two different individuals. One was a condolence call to a mourner sitting shiv‘ah. The other was a sick call to a patient in a hospital. By a remarkable coincidence, each of these told me of something he had learned from his experience, and the results were identical.

“From my experiences during this confinement, away from my normal activities,” each of them told me, “I have discovered a marvelous truth. To my great relief, I now realize that I am not indispensable. I had always thought that if I took time out, away from my business or practice, all of it would collapse hopelessly. Now I see that I have been away from my office, my business, my home; and while all might have benefited somewhat by my presence, and I  might have done things somewhat differently, nevertheless, my absence proved to be no disaster. It is both a welcome and a humbling thought! I am not as crucial to their survival as I thought I was! From now on, therefore, I shall give more time to my wife and my children, to discovering the wonders of the world about me, to attending to my synagogue, to developing my own mind and cultural level. I never realized I could do all these things and get away with it. Now I have learned—and not only I but my family as well will be the beneficiary of my discovery.”

I believe all of us can appreciate the simple truth in these remarks. I submit to you, therefore, that the good Lord has given us an easier and more pleasant way to learn that truth than by suffering. He has given us the sukkah and the festival of Sukkot.

The essence of Sukkot is Tzei mi-dirat keva ve-shev be-dirat arai (Sukkah 2a)—leave your permanent home, and for seven days dwell in this temporary booth. Normally, the interpretation of the significance of this commandment points out the independence of man from his possessions. You need not have a fine home and expensive appointments in order to survive. Consider how for seven days you can get along without them. What you do need is God, the tzila de-mehemanuta, the shadow of faith. Your home is not indispensable to you. (Cf. Rashbam to Lev. 23:43, and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, Horeb, vol. I, pp. 124 ff., Grunfeld translation.)

I prefer to interpret the meaning of Sukkot in the reverse direction, by emphasizing the converse: you are not indispensable to your home, to your society! When a man leaves his dirat keva, his lavish home and complex society, and for seven days he moves out—whether completely, or at least partially, for meals—he discovers that they survive even without his presence! By moving out from under a roof to under the sekhakh, he learns what the patient does in the hospital and the survivor in the house of mourning—except that he learns it through simhah, not anguish: that, in a great measure, the world can very well get along without him.

This is a sobering thought, for by destroying the myth of our indispensability, it makes us feel that we are not the center of the world, that we are essentially dependent beings. And it is also a liberating thought, for it assures us that we can now learn, throughout the year, to pay more attention to the things in life that are really important, and that we will not thereby be endangering the existence of the other, mundane affairs.

Perhaps, then, we ought to take a little bit of Sukkot with us through the rest of the year. Every day, a waft of the sukkah’s atmosphere ought to inspire us to “let go” for a short while and divert our attention to ourselves, our minds, our hearts—our neshamah. The world can get along without us.

Bratzlaver Hasidim offer us a remarkable suggestion: every day ought to contain at least one “dead hour.” All our waking hours are so filled with “life,” with nervous tensions of all sort that afflict us in the course of our daily affairs in commerce, in business, in professions, in society. Our emotions are engaged with others, our feelings entangled with them, our sensitivities inflamed with real or imaginary slights to our pride, our minds overflowing with a myriad of details and plans, worries and concerns on paying bills, satisfying employers or employees, pacifying clients or customers, meeting the competition, keeping up with the neighbors. These so-called “live” hours are so preoccupied with other people that we utterly ignore our own selves. No wonder we have so little inner peace, inner tranquility. We are “alive” so tensely, so neurotically, so busily, that we head straight for the psychiatrist’s couch and for spiritual oblivion. Hence, say the Bratzlaver Hasidim, keep one little hour set aside as your “dead hour.” Make no appointments, answer no phone calls, read no newspapers, keep away from radio and television, see no people, write no memos to yourself. Be “dead to the world”—and alive to yourself. Banish all your usual problems from your mind. Think of where you are going in life—or, perhaps, where life is taking you; the difference is worth thinking about. Ponder your own conduct, and what it is doing to you and to your character and personality. Project into the future—that of yourself, your children, your community. Make a heshbon ha-nefesh with yourself that may help you redirect and reorient your day-to-day activities. And if you are not the contemplative kind, then pull your mind out of the sucking whirlpool of daily business and elevate yourself to a new and higher kind of existence by reading that which is enduring, reviewing the sidrah, finding inspiration to a higher-than-animal existence through art or music, studying a blatt gemara—dead to the world and alive to yourself. One “dead hour” a day can make all of life worth living!

This ought to be one concrete, felicitous result of the message of Sukkot. For the Bratzlavers’ “dead hour” is the essence of Sukkot: you can get away from under your dirat keva, from your normal routine, and into the sukkah under God’s great heaven, without permanent damage to all the intricate goings-on in that home or office or factory, the dirat keva.

But when we say that Sukkot teaches us that man is not indispensable, does that mean that he is expendable, that there is no area of life where he is indeed indispensable?

No, there are areas where man is crucial, where there can be only dismal failure without him. If in his mundane affairs, his dirat keva, his presence is dispensable, then in the sukkah, symbol of the spiritual world, man is indispensable! A sukkah without a Jew to make Kiddush in it is meaningless. There is nothing holy about it. Strange as it may sound, in matters of the spirit God needs man! Ha-Kadosh barukh Hu mit’avveh li-tefillatan shel tzaddikim (Yevamot 64a)—God deeply desires the prayers of the righteous. His purposes in the world cannot be fulfilled without men—without each individual man or woman called upon by Him to contribute to the building of malkhut Shamayim, the Kingdom of Heaven, the God-approved society and world. If any one of us fails in his or her spiritual mission then, as our Sages were wont to say, God’s Name is incomplete. Here each of us is truly indispensable.

The Talmud (Sukkah 53a) tells us an interesting story of the renowned Hillel at the simhat beit ha-sho’evah, the joyous celebration at the drawing of the waters which took place in the Temple on Sukkot.

When Hillel would reach the heights of happiness at this occasion, he  would say: Im ani kan, ha-kol kan; ve-im eini kan, mi kan, “If I am here, everyone is here; and if I am not here, who then is here?”

A strange remark, is it not? Hillel the humble, the gentle, the meek—is this sentiment worthy of him: I am indispensable? The Jerusalem Talmud (Sukkah 5:4), which understood the quotation to refer to Hillel himself, therefore rightly asks: Ve-killusin Hu tzarikh? Does God need Hillel’s praise and celebration that he should regard himself as so important? For the same reason, Rashi is moved to interpret the remark as being a quotation by Hillel of God, of the Shekhinah. Hillel, speaking in God’s name, says, “If I am here, that is sufficient, for if I am not here, who is?” That is, nothing else counts. Yet this too is strange, for Hillel was a sage, a rabbi, and not a prophet, and hence not given to speaking of God in the first person.

Even stranger is a sentence attributed to Hillel which follows immediately upon the one mentioned (cf. Rabinowitz, Dikdukei Soferim): Im attah tavo el beiti, ani avo el beitekha; ve-im attah lo tavo el beiti, ani lo avo el beitekha, “If You, O God, will come to my home, I will come to Yours [i.e., the Temple]; but if You will not come to my house, I will not come to Yours.” What an astonishing expression! Is Hillel striking a bargain with God, making conditions about reciprocal hospitality with Him?

I believe that Hillel was guilty neither of arrogance in saying “im ani kan ha-kol kan,” nor of religious commercialism in saying “im attah tavo el beiti.” What he meant was simply to teach what we have been saying: that man is not indispensable to the mundane world and its affairs, but is indispensable to the world of the spirit, of Torah, of Temple, of Ha-Kadosh Barukh Hu. For this is what the great Hillel said: Im ani kan, ha-kol kan—if I am here, in the Beit ha- Mikdash, in God’s house; if I am here at the festival of simhat beit ha-sho’evah, the drawing of the waters, which tradition has understood symbolically as the drawing of the Ruah ha-Kodesh, the holy spirit, from its divine source; when I am involved in the life of spirituality and sanctity; then if I am here, all is well.
But if I am not here, im eini kan, then mi kan, then I must feel that I am responsible for the fact that the holiness of the Temple is diminished, that the joy of the simhah and the whole spiritual enterprise is a failure—for here, in this House of God, I as a human am indispensable!

And then Hillel continues, not by setting conditions in negotiations, but by stating an indisputable fact of spiritual life: im attah tavo el beiti, when You come to my home, O God, when I understand that my home, my office, my factory, all my mundane affairs, all my successes and triumphs, all are Your doing, that only because You are present do my home and career exist, that it is You Who have given me the intelligence and the substance, the health and the wealth, the confidence and the mazzal to be what I am and have what I have, and that I am only ancillary, and my presence and services can be dispensed with; when I realize that in beiti, in my mundane life and the world, You are indispensable and I am not, then it is equally true that ani avo el beitekha, then
I am important, nay indispensable, to the existence of Your house, the Beit ha-Mikdash, the universe of the divine spirit. When a man has grown in spiritual maturity and understanding to appreciate his real place in the world, to acknowledge God as the cause of his success, then he is great enough spiritually to be crucial to the existence of God’s house. When we know we need God, He knows that He needs us! However, im attah lo tavo el beiti, when I am so foolish that I give You no entree to my home, when I think I can get along without You and that it is I who am indispensable, that it is my wisdom and my shrewdness that have built my house and my career and my business, then ani lo avo el beitekha, then I have no business in Your home, then You can get along very well without me. If man thinks he does not need God, then God knows He does not need man. The man who considers himself self-made and worships his maker is ignored by God.

Here then is an invaluable lesson for us from Sukkot: into the sukkah for a week’s time, enough to learn that the world can get along without you, but that God cannot.

Abolishing the myth of indispensability from our daily concerns will prevent us from entertaining exaggerated notions of self-importance and will inspire us to plan those “dead hours” which can grace all of life with meaning, with serenity, with a touch of poetry. And affirming our indispensability to the spirit, to Torah, to the synagogue, to Judaism, and to God’s purposes will give us a new insight into our true significance and our lofty place in the world. Vaani be-rov hasdekha avo beitekha. Only when I realize that my whole life, my very self, my ani, my family and livelihood and joys and pleasures, all are the result of Your indispensable hasadim, Your kindness; only then avo betekha, do I have the right to enter Your House, Your Holy Temple, and only then may I be
considered indispensable to its prevalence in the world.

---

*5724 (1963)

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

 

פרשת וילך

התורה היא שירת החיים של איש ישראל

איתא במגילה (דף ג’ ע”א): ויהי בהיות יהושע ביריחו וישא עיניו וירא והנה איש עומד לנגדו וכו’, אמר לו: אמש בטלתם תמיד של בין הערבים, ועכשיו בטלתם תלמוד תורה, אמר לו: על איזה מהן באת? אמר לו: עתה באתי! מיד: וילן יהושע בלילה ההוא בתוך העמק, אמר רבי יוחנן: מלמד שלן בעומקה של הלכה. ואמר רב שמואל בר אוניא: גדול תלמוד תורה יותר מהקרבת תמידין שנאמר עתה באתי, ע”כ. ולכאורה צ”ע דמשמע שם דתלמוד תורה והקרבת תמידין ענין אחד להם, וכדחזינן שכלל המלאך במוסרו שתי העוונות האלו בחדא מחתא, עד כדי כך שיהושע נסתפק לפני המלאך, על איזה עוון יצא הקצף, אם על ביטול תורה או על ביטול תמיד, וענה לו המלאך שביטול תורה חמיר טפי מהקרבת תמידין, ומכל זה משמע שביטול תורה וביטול קרבן תמיד הם מענין אחד, ולכאורה צריך ביאור שייכותם זה לזה.

והנראה בזה, בהקדם דהנה בתוס’ שם ד”ה אמש בטלתם תמיד של בין הערבים הקשו, וז”ל: וא”ת והיכי משמע לישנא דקרא דבטלו התמיד ותלמוד תורה, ויש לומר דהכי פירושו, מדקאמר: הלנו אתה – הכי קאמר בשביל תלמוד תורה באת, דכתיב: תורה צוה לנו, אם לצרינו – או בשביל הקרבנות שמגינים עלינו מצרינו. עתה באתי – פי’ ריב”ן על תלמוד תורה באתי דכתיב ביה ועתה כתבו לכם את השירה הזאת, עכ”ל. וצריך ביאור, מה שבחר המלאך לענות דווקא בלשון “עתה באתי” לרמז בזה על התורה דכתיב בה ועתה כתבו, ולמה לא ענה לו באותה מטבע לשון ששאלו יהושע על ת”ת תורה ציוה לנו וכו’, ושמעתי מחתני ר’ אברהם ידידי’ מושל שליט”א בשם הרב מפונוביז’ זצ”ל שאמר בזה ביאור נפלא, דהנה בעסק התורה ישנן שתי בחינות, האחת, עצם קיום מצות תלמוד תורה מצד עיקר חיובה ומצוותה, וזוהי תורה ציוה לנו, ופסוק זה קאי על הציווי והחיוב שבלימוד התורה, והשניה, שהתורה היא שירת החיים של איש ישראל, כדכתיב: ועתה כתבו לכם את השירה הזאת, וזהו מה שענה לו המלאך, שאם כי אמנם מצד מצוות ת”ת יתכן שיש פטורים, שהרי מפאת מאמץ המלחמה ביום כמעט בלתי אפשרי הוא ללמוד בלילה, ואונס רחמנא פטריה, אבל מצד הבחינה של שירה שיש בתורה כאן אין פטורים, ועל זה היתה התביעה. וביאור הדברים הוא שאמנם אמת הוא שישנם מצבים שקשה לאדם ללמוד, אבל אם זוכה הוא למתיקות התורה, יכול הוא ללמוד בכל מצב, ואדרבה תמיד משתוקק לתענוג של תורה, ואין לו סיפוק בלא עמל התורה, וממילא אינו יכול שלא ללמוד, וזוהי שירת החיים שבתורה המרומזת בפסוק ועתה כתבו לכם את השירה הזאת.

ולפי זה נמצא שעיקר טענת המלאך אל יהושע מתייחסת דווקא לחלק השירה שבלימוד התורה, שמצד קיום זה אין מקום לפטורי אונס וכיו”ב, ולפי זה שפיר מבואר זיקתם זה לזה, של עוון ביטול תורה וביטול הקרבת התמיד, שהרי בדין כתבו לכם את השירה הזאת, נתחדש שיש בלימוד התורה קיום של שירה ועבודה, מעין קיום של עבודה שבמקדש, וכמו שדרשו חז”ל: עבדהו במקדשו, עבדהו בתורתו, ומצד קיום דין שירה ועבודה, וודאי שיש מכנה משותף בין שתי מצוות אלו, וכמו שנתבאר דשירת התורה ג”כ בגדר עבודה היא, ודמיא לעבודה שבמקדש.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

פרשת נצבים

מאה קללות בתוכחה

“ומדרש אגדה, למה נסמכה פרשת אתם נצבים לקללות, לפי ששמעו ישראל מאה קללות חסר שתים, חוץ ממ”ט שבתורת כהנים, הוריקו פניהם ואמרו מי יוכל לעמוד באלו, התחיל משה לפייסם וכו'” (רש”י כט, יב).

והנה עיין בכלי יקר שהקשה למה בחרו בלשון “מאה חסר שתים”, היה לו לומר ‘צ”ח’, וביאר, דבאמת יש מאה, בהוספת מה שנאמר: “גם כל חלי וכל מכה אשר לא כתוב בספר התורה הזה יעלם ה’ עליך עד השמדך”. ומה שלא נכללו בתוך המאה הוא משום שהן קללות שלא נכתבו בספר התורה, ולכן אמרו שיש כאן מאה חסר שתים, והשתים הן אלו שלא נכתבו. ועל כן: “נבהלו נחפזו רעדה אחזתם בעבור שתים אלו שחסרו ונסתם מהותם ויראו מהם שיעשה בהם כליון” – לשון הכל”י שם.

והנה במשנה במגילה (לא, ב) איתא דקורין ברכות וקללות שבמשנה תורה קודם ר”ה, ומה שנוהגים היום לקרות פרשת נצבים קודם ר”ה, הוא משום דברכות וקללות היא הכריתת ברית שבערבות מואב וזה נמשך בפ’ נצבים – “לעברך בברית” וגו’, והזכרת הברית צריכה להיות קודם ר”ה (ובפרט שבנצבים מוזכרת מצוות התשובה).

והנה לפ”ז נראה מקור למנהגנו לתקוע מאה קולות בר”ה, שהרי בקשתנו לסליחה ומחילה בר”ה מבוססת על הברית, וכפי שאנו אומרים בנוסח הסליחות (ליל יו”כ): “לברית הבט”, ואשר על כן מאה הקולות באים כנגד המאה קללות כדי להיטיב לנו שלא תבואנה עלינו ח”ו הקללות המוזכרות בתוכחה.

Excerpted from Rabbi Dr. Norman J. Lamm’s Festivals of Faith: Reflections on the Jewish Holidays 

Let There Be Light*

One of the fascinating minor themes in our rabbinic literature concerning the shofar is that of confusing and confounding Satan, the devil or angel of evil. Thus, we blow the shofar all during the month of Elul le-arbev et ha-Satan, in order to confuse Satan as to when Rosh Hashanah falls (Rosh ha-Shanah 16b). Before sounding the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, we recite six verses from the Psalms, beginning with Koli shamata. The initial letters of these lines spell kera Satan, “destroy, or confound, Satan.” And, finally, we sound the shofar twice, one series before the Amidah and another during its repetition by the cantor, again le-arbev et ha-Satan, to confuse Satan (see Rosh ha-Shanah 16b, especially the Yerushalmi quoted in Tosafot, s.v. kedei).

What does all this mean? Are we involved in a kind of game with the devil? Is this an echo of a non-Jewish mythology?

I believe not. I believe that there is a far deeper Jewish thought in these words, one for which the expression le-arbev et ha-Satan is a kind of poetic garment. This idea, of which shofar comes to remind us, is that we right-thinking, well-meaning, loyal Jews—that we must not be confused! Satan always seems to be better organized and more efficient. The forces of evil and tyranny on the international scene are usually far more effective and disciplined than those of democracy and peace. The Satan within each of us is usually far more competent and energetic than our yetzer tov, our inclination for the good.

For most people, concentration, single-mindedness, and determination are more prevalent when they are in the casino than when they are in the synagogue. On Rosh Hashanah, we are invited le-arbev et ha-Satan, to change roles with Satan, to confound him and, in turn, to learn from him the secret of how not to be confused.

Confusion is, indeed, the hallmark of our times. We are confused by the daily anxieties of existence, the senseless anguish and the seeming emptiness of life all about us. We are confused by the apparently suicidal inclinations of world leaders, who explode atom bombs with no thought to the irreparable damage inflicted upon generations unborn. We are confused by the conflicting claims pressed upon us by the differing interpretations of Judaism, both those to the right of us and those to the left. We are confused by the clash of religionists and secularists in the State of Israel. We are confused by the strange kind of world in which our children are growing up—indeed, by our children themselves, their dreams and ambitions, their fears and piques, their aradoxical, ambivalent attitudes toward us—rebelliousness on the one hand, love on the other.

Those of the younger generation are especially bewildered. The intense competition of diverse doctrines and different philosophies for the mind and heart of a young person invariably leaves him or her deep in doubt and perplexity. Around his head there swirls a series of smiling salesmen, as if in some weird nightmare, each offering his product and clamoring for its acceptance. Which shall it be: Genesis or evolution? Moses or Marx? Determinism or free will? Shabbat or Ethical Culture? Neturei Karta or Ben-Gurion? Loyalty to parents and past or a clean break and new horizons? A generation is growing up that is genuinely confused.

Of course, confusion is not a good thing. Philo taught that “confusion is a most proper name for vice.” Indeed, many a sinister crime in our society has been lightly dismissed as the doings of “that crazy mixed-up kid,” as if confusion were some delightful affectation to be expected of an adolescent.

On Yom Kippur, we confess to the sin of confusion: Al het she-hatanu lefanekha be-timhon levav. And R. David Kimhi, the great grammarian, tells us that the word le-arbev, “to confuse,” is related to the word erev, “evening” or  “nighttime,” because then all is confused and dim (commentary to Gen. 1:5). Confusion is, surely, a darkness of the mind and heart.

And yet the person gripped in confusion ought not to despair. The fact that it is regarded as a het, or sin, means that it can be avoided or voided and banished. Confusion is often a necessary prelude to clarity and creativity. Before the world took the form its Creator ordained for it, it was tohu va-vohu (Gen. 1:2)—void and chaotic, all confusion. Only afterwards, after the darkness on the face of the deep, the erev of irbuv, did God command “Yehi or—let there be light” (Gen. 1:3)—and there was light! Creative thinkers or writers or artists know that immediately before the stroke of inspiration, there must be a period of tohu va-vohu and irbuv, of true confusion.

In this spirit and with this knowledge, let us think of how we of this confused generation ought to respond to the challenge of shofar to achieve clarity and emerge from our perplexity.

Three ways of emerging from this perplexity commend themselves to us. The first way is consciously to have a scale of values. There can be no meaningful existence unless one knows what is more  important and what less so, what is right and what is wrong. In Judaism, this scale of values is not a matter for every individual to invent for himself. It is contained in the Torah. To know values, therefore, one must learn Torah. That is the first great requirement.

Of course, that sounds so self-evident as to be a truism. Yet it is not always accepted. I have more than once been exasperated in discussing this fundamental question of the values of life with young people who prefer to argue from a confusion born of ignorance, and who are dogmatically certain that they cannot be enlightened by Torah. It is remarkable how a single semester of comparative religion can qualify a youngster to pass judgment on religion without ever having to read the Bible, study the Talmud, or even glance at the inside of a siddur. So it must be stressed again: the first way to climb out of the web of religious confusion is to study Torah—not just to read a bit or discuss, but to study. After the tohu va-vohu, the chaos and the void, as we mentioned, there came the creation of light. Our Rabbis (Bereshit Rabbah 3:4) observed that light is mentioned five times in this portion, and they asserted that it was ke-neged hamishah hummeshei Torah, corresponding to the Five Books of Moses. Only through the study of Torah can there be that enlightenment that will form creative clarity out of formless chaos. Ignorance leads to a distorted scale of values and even greater confusion. Study alone can clear up perplexity.

The second way of banishing confusion also sounds deceptively simple. It is faith. By this I mean not only faith in God but faith in the soundness of your values, and faith that ultimately they will be clear to you even if now you are somewhat vague and do not understand them completely. You must have patience and confidence if you are to dissipate the clouds of confusion. When the psalmist spoke those glorious words of faith, “Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me” (Ps. 23:4), he may have had our problem in mind. Even when mentally we walk through the valley of doubt and emotional perplexity, covered by the dark shadows of intellectual chaos, when our problems mount up on both sides of us like steep cliffs so that we seem dwarfed in a deep valley, even then we must not fear, for God is with us. Confusion can be cleared up by the faith that it will be cleared up.

Here we can learn a lesson from Satan, who always has faith in the persuasiveness of his case. The grafter is deeply convinced of the irresistibility of corruption. The unscrupulous advertising man knows for certainty that the shameless exploitation of sex will sell everything from cigarettes to convertibles. What we need is le-arbev et ha-Satan, to change roles with Satan and learn from him confidence in our convictions and values. We must not be diffident in presenting our case to the world. We must not so lack confidence in our tradition that we allow the spokesmen for Judaism to be not the genuine gedolei Torah, but outright secularists or half-assimilated political leaders. We must have sufficient faith in the irresistibility—and invincibility—of Torah that we will spare no effort in increasing the number and quality of day schools in the United States this year. During the year when we celebrate the Diamond Anniversary of Yeshiva University, our faith is doubly justified—and must be twice as effective. Hashem ro‘i lo ehsar, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, or fail” (Ps. 23:1), was interpreted by one Hasidic sage to mean, “I shall never fail (lo ehesar) to know at every moment that the Lord is my shepherd (Hashem ro‘i).” With this confidence and faith and patience, we can overcome our confusion.

Finally, in addition to obtaining a scale of values through the study of Torah and having faith and confidence in them, we must be prepared to live practically and decisively by these same values.

It is not enough to “have” values; one must live by them, or else they are meaningless. Just studying and having faith is not enough. One must act by them clearly and constantly. The eminent Harvard professor, the late George Foot Moore, once said that the difference between philosophy and religion is that religion does something about it. There must be a commitment in action. No young person—or even ancient person—can ever emerge from doubt or perplexity merely by pondering Judaism. You have got to take the plunge into the deep waters of the Torah and Talmud and actually swim in it, live it. You must experience Shabbat and tefillin and the striving for kedushah. You must practice kashrut, refrain from lashon ha-ra and sha‘atnez. Unless you have tasted Judaism in actual practice, you cannot escape from your perplexity. You may study the doctor’s prescription and have faith in his competence, but if you do not take the medicine, you will not get well.

In Pirkei Avot, we read that az panim le-Gehinnom; bosh panim le-Gan Eden (Avot 5:24). That means, literally, that a brash, brazen person will go to Gehinnom, whilst the quiet, shamefaced person will enter a more cheerful residence—Paradise. One rabbi, however, interprets this mishnah as a complaint rather than a prediction. Why is it, he says plaintively, that when it comes to Gehinnom, to doing evil and cooperating with Satan, we are always az panim, bold and decisive and brash? When it comes to Gan Eden, however, to good causes such as charity or attending the minyan or a lecture of Torah, we suddenly become bosh panim—shy, reticent, hesitant, withdrawn! If we are to escape the confusion of our times, we must be willing to live Judaism as decisively and as boldly as we ordinarily would be bold and decisive in indulging our own pleasures.

My words are meant for all people who are sensitive to the crises and demands of our times, but especially for young people who, in their first encounters with our bewildering civilization, still feel acutely and poignantly the anguish of confusion, the collision of cultures, and the impact of opposing standards and principles clashing head-on. To you I emphasize that you have in Judaism, the ancient-yet-new Judaism, values tested in the crucible of history and found to be durable for ages yet unborn. Throughout all vicissitudes, these values have been available to all who have been willing to study its sacred literature and discover its eternal light. Have patience with it, even as it has had patience with you and us for so long. Have faith that it will stand you and justify your loyalty to it. But above all—do it, live by it, make it an integral part of your life, now not later, today not tomorrow. That is what shofar tells you: Ha-yom harat olam—today is the birthday of the world. Today you create your own private world anew, and a great, noble, exciting, and meaningful world it shall be.

For those of us who agree with this proposition but who by nature tend to take their time and procrastinate, who promise themselves to think the matter through, but not right now, let me leave you with this one story told by R. Hayyim Sanzer. A poor village woman with a large family one day luckily found an egg. She called her family about her and beamingly told them the good news. “But,” she said, “we are not going to eat it now. First we shall borrow a hen so that the egg will hatch. Then this new chicken will lay eggs, and they will hatch more chicks. When we have enough, we shall buy a cow, and by selling its milk, we shall be able to buy many cows, then a wagon, and then . . .” And then, to her utter dismay, the woman looked down and realized that the precious egg had fallen to the ground and broken.

Let us dispense with all the grand plans for the future. Let us put aside our well-intentioned promises and resolutions about how we shall pay attention to our Jewishness when we finish school—or when we are married—or when we have children—or when our children are grown up—or when we have retired. We must, like Abraham responding to God’s command to proceed with the akedah, arise early in the morning. We must begin not later, but now, this moment, with an iron determination to emerge from our confusion and live by Torah. For if we wait, time passes all too quickly, and ere we know it, the egg has broken and the bubble of life has burst.

Ha-yom harat olam. Today is the birthday of the world. Today each of us must create anew the patterns of his life. With the clear call of the shofar, let us determine le-arbev et ha-Satan, to confound all that is evil and bring clarity to our lives. Through Torah let there be light—and may we see the light. Amen.

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*1961