The Multifaceted Nazirite – Parshat Naso

Printable PDF available here. Previous pieces on Naso are available here and here.

Rav Kook: Three Different Thoughts on the Nazir

Orot haKodesh (6:22): It is true and correct that the way of moderation (lit. דרך הממוצע) is the path that leads to flourishing life. The avoidance of extremes is appropriate for the vast majority, in accordance with Divine wisdom and the Torah’s counsel. It is this path of moderation that the Torah refers to as “the way they [Israel] are to go and the practices they are to follow” (Shemot 18:20).

However, the spiritual character of humanity is such that extraordinary individuals, for whom the path of moderation is not fitting, are bound to emerge. These unique personalities perceive reality with a supernal, penetrating gaze. For them, a life of extreme asceticism (lit. פרישות) and purity is appropriate. While their journey, being unsuited for the masses, is a lonely one, it is undertaken [not out of elitism or hatred for the world, but rather] to bring supernal light to the entire community and uplift the entire world.

One might think that as a result of their austere and self-denying path, these spiritually elite personalities are unhappy, repressed and sickly, that life is a burden to them. The opposite is the truth. They are not lacking in fulfillment and satisfaction from life. On the contrary, they enjoy the richness of life to an even greater extent than the masses who follow the way of moderation.

These masters of extreme piety are an essential expression of Israel’s holiness and its ineffable spiritual character (lit. סגולת ישראל). Few are qualified to follow their path, but all Israel benefits greatly from their influence. These spiritual giants have done much to illuminate the darkness of raw and unrefined physical reality, to straighten that which is crooked, and bright us light in our dark exile.

Pinkasei ha’Reiah (1:164): Our Sages teach that the existence of teshuva preceded the creation of the world. A full and complete existence comes from living in accordance with our nature (lit. טבע), but our physical nature is unthinking and blind to the spiritual dimension of reality. Our desires and instincts can serve G-dly purposes, but they often distance us from G-d. In this regard, sin is an organic and inseparable part of our reality. To be human is to be liable to sin. “For there is not one righteous man on earth who does only what is good and never errs” (Kohelet 7:20). But G-d has given us a tool to repair what we break. This tool is teshuva.

But one might feel that this process of teshuva, of climbing out of the pit of sinfulness to return to G-d and His holiness, is too difficult and exhausting. If our physical nature is what makes us susceptible to sin, perhaps we should strive to negate it. Perhaps it is not sin that is our enemy, but rather life itself. Perhaps the road to spiritual flourishing runs through asceticism and self-denial.

To this, the Torah answers as a resounding “No!” It declares that the attempt to escape sin by negating life is the greatest possible sin. This is the lesson of the sin offering brought by the Nazirite, the individual who takes on a vow to abstain from wine. “The Kohen shall offer one [bird] as a sin offering… and atone on the Nazirite’s behalf for the guilt that he incurred by signing against his soul” (lit. מאשר חטא על הנפש) (Bamidbar 6:11).

For this reason, the very foundation of existence and the key to man’s ultimate freedom is teshuva. Thus has declared G-d, to whom Tanach [1] refers to for this very reason as “The G-d of Life” (lit. אלוקים חיים).

[1] Devarim 5:23; Shmuel Aleph 17:26 and 36; Yirmiyahu 10:10 and 23:36.

Shemonah Kevatzim (30:12): A Nazirite is considered a sinner for depriving himself of wine. Similarly, the Talmud Yerushalmi declares that a person must eventually give an accounting for every permitted pleasure that he denies himself, and that one of the Talmudic Sages would even save his ‘small change’ to purchase and eat various kinds of fruit. Apparently, there is religious value in developing one’s physical senses and connecting to G-d through experiences of physical pleasure.

It is even more true that one must give an accounting for failing to actualize their spiritual sensitivities. Allowing one’s spiritual faculties to languish in an unrefined and undeveloped state is a far more serious matter than missing out on exotic fruits. The soul is capable of deep thought and refined emotions. It can attain experiences of supernal delight that far exceed any physical pleasure in intensity and magnitude. One for whom this spiritual dimension of life is missing lives a frail, withered existence, regardless of the extent to which his capacity for physical pleasure has been sharpened and refined.

Food for Thought

Talmud Yerushalmi (Hagiga 2:1): This Torah is like two paths: one of fire, and the other of snow; Turn toward the one—die in the fire; turn to the other—die in the snow. What should one do? Walk in the middle.

Maimonides (Mishnah Torah, Hilchot De’ot 3:1): A person might say, “Since envy, desire, [the pursuit] of honor, and the like, are a wrong path and drive a person from the world, I shall separate from them to a very great degree and move away from them to the opposite extreme.” For example, he will not eat meat, nor drink wine, nor live in a pleasant home, nor wear fine clothing, but, rather, [wear] sackcloth and coarse wool and the like – just as the pagan priests do.

This, too, is a bad path and it is forbidden to walk upon it. Whoever follows this path is called a sinner [as implied by Numbers 6:11’s] statement concerning a nazarite: “and he [the priest] shall make an atonement for him, for his having sinned regarding [his] soul.” Our sages declared: If the nazarite who abstained only from wine requires atonement, how much more so does one who abstains from everything.

Therefore, our Sages directed man to abstain only from those things which the Torah denies him and not to forbid himself permitted things by vows and oaths [of abstention]. Thus, our Sages stated: Are not those things which the Torah has prohibited sufficient for you that you must forbid additional things to yourself?

This general statement also refers to those who fast constantly. They are not following a good path, [for] our Sages have forbidden a man to mortify himself by fasting. Of all the above, and their like, Solomon directed and said: “Do not be overly righteous and do not be overly clever; why make yourself desolate?” (Ecclesiastes 7:16).

The Kotzker Rebbe: You see, the two sides of the road are for human beings; only horses walk in the middle.

Ramban (Bamidbar 6:14): The reason why a Nazirite must bring a sin-offering has not been explained. In accordance with the plain meaning of Scripture, [it is because] this man sins against his soul on the day of completion of his Naziritehood; for until now he was separated in sanctity and the service of G-d, and he should therefore have remained separated forever, continuing all his life consecrated and sanctified to his G-d, as it is said “And I raised up of your sons for prophets, and of your young men for Nazirites” (Amos 2:11). We thus see that Scripture compares the Nazirite to a prophet. It is also written, “All the days of his Naziritehood he is holy unto the Eternal” (Bamidbar 6:8. Thus [when he completes his Naziritehood and returns to his normal life] he requires atonement, since he goes back to be defiled by [material] desires of the world.

Aish.com: In the twilight years of his life, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, the extraordinary leader of 19th century German Jewry, announced his plans to visit the Swiss Alps. When pressed for the reason behind planning so arduous a journey at his advanced age, Rabbi Hirsch replied, “I may have only a few years left, and when I stand before the Almighty on Judgment Day, I don’t want Him to ask me, ‘Shimshon, why didn’t you see My Alps?'”

Rav Yuval Cherlow (The Divine Image): Living this type of spiritual life is no simple task. In Man’s mind, his constant yearning to see G-d’s face demands a life of asceticism and monasticism. The body is a burden, and life’s desires are an encumbrance. Engaging with physical reality creates a sense of distance from the divine purity of the world of faith and religious thought. The transience of matter and recurring experiences raise profound thoughts of “vanity of vanities; all is vanity?’ Moral failings, resulting from excessive desires, generate an aversion to constant contact with these desires. Other matters push Man towards a dichotomous understanding, which distances him from the vitality of natural life found in the world around him. Furthermore, it is easier to find spiritual life at the extremes than to experience a constant tug-of-war between two forces.

Questions for Discussion/Further Thought

What exactly does “moderation” mean? Are we supposed to be only “moderately” committed to Torah values? Only “moderately” good at our mitzvah observance?
Rav Kook writes that when elite individuals adopt an extreme/ascetic approach to life, it brings light and inspiration to broader community. In what way is this true?
Where in the Torah and halacha do we find a positive attitude to human life?
What famous statement of the Sages uses the phrase אלוקים חיים?
If a Nazirite is a sinner, why does the Torah allow for this institution in the first place?
Does our community have a healthy attitude toward permitted pleasures?

The Fires of the Kohanim – Parshat Bamidbar

Printable PDF is available here. Previous pieces on Bamidbar are available here and here.

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat 20a)**

These were the names of Aaron’s sons: Nadab, the first-born, and Abihu, Elazar and Itamar; those were the names of Aaron’s sons, the anointed priests who were ordained for priesthood. (Vayikra 3:2-3)

A mishna teaches that one may kindle a fire in a [particular chamber] of the Temple on Shabbat eve just before nightfall and allow the fire to spread throughout the entire bonfire. [And we are not concerned that the Kohanim will stoke the coals and violate Shabbat.] The reason is because Kohanim are vigilant (lit. כהנים זריזים הם), and they will certainly not come to stoke the coals. (Gemara Shabbat 20a)

On the most basic level, our relationship with G-d expresses itself in two dimensions – the intellectual and the emotional. The world of the intellect – where rigid structure, poise and clear consciousness dominate – is primarily associated with Torah study. The world of the emotions – of prayer, love of G-d, song and poetry, among other – is far more stormy and turbulent. Preserving the proper balance between these two worlds is a challenge.

Consider the dangers of unbridled emotional religious fervor. A person swept up in an emotional current of religious experience is liable to become unmoored from the structure and guidance of Torah law. Such a person can lose clarity and cease to be grounded in the Divine structure of “Thou shalt” and “Thou shalt not.” These imperatives constitute the supernal architecture that bring heaven down to earth, that lift us up to a higher level of existence – but they can be swept away in a flood of shortsighted emotive fervor, with the claim that “Love covers up all faults” (lit. על כל פשעים תכסה אהבה) (Mishlei 10:12).”

But this is a mistake. True closeness to G-d cannot come through the world of emotion alone. The intellect, the revealed and structured dimension of Torah, must guide the soul’s emotive faculties and channel them in an appropriate direction.

This was the greatness of the Kohanim, whom our Sages permitted to kindle a fire in the Temple immediately before sundown on Friday, so that they could warm themselves on the Sabbath day. The Sages were not concerned that the Kohanim would stoke the coals and violate Shabbat. Our Sages are speaking on multiple levels, for this teaching is about more than just a literal bonfire. Fire represents the ‘warm’ aspect of emotional Divine service, as opposed to the ‘coldness’ of intellect. Even when the Kohanim transitioned from intellect and engaged their emotions, they maintained a sense of vigilance (lit. זריזות). Their sense of judgment did not remain dormant. They maintained consciousness of the Sabbath and the restrictions of Torah law, and would not ‘stir the coals’ of emotional fervor in breach of the Divine law.

While not all Jews are Kohanim, we are all Divinely tasked to strive for harmony in our inner worlds, between our emotion and our intellect. “If you will obey Me faithfully and keep My covenant… you shall be to Me a kingdom of Kohanim and a holy nation” (Shemot 19:5-6). We must be a “kingdom of Kohanim” – with a wealth of spiritual passion and sentiment – and also a “holy nation” – with the transcendent[1] and structured perspective conferred by the Holy Fire of the Law (lit. אש דת, a reference to Devarim 33:2).

[1] The word קודש has a connotation of being separate and set apart.

Food for Thought

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (Covenant and Conversation, Ha’azinu): Emotions matter. They guide our choices. They move us to action. Intellect alone cannot do this. It has been a failing of intellectuals throughout history to believe that all we need to do is to think straight and we will act well. It isn’t so. Without a capacity for sympathy and empathy, we become more like a computer than a human being, and that is fraught with danger.

It was precisely this point – the need for emotional intelligence – about which Rabbi Soloveitchik spoke in one of his most moving addresses, ‘A Tribute to the Rebbetzin of Talne.’ People, he said, are mistaken when they think there is only one Mesorah, one Jewish tradition handed on through the generations. In fact, he said, there are two: one handed down by fathers, the other by mothers. He quoted the famous verse from Proverbs 1:8, “Listen, my son, to the instruction of your father (mussar avikha), and do not forsake the teaching of your mother (torat imekha).” These are two distinct but interwoven strands of the religious personality. From a father, he said, we learn how to read a text, comprehend, analyze, conceptualise, classify, infer and apply. We also learn how to act: what to do and what not to do. The father-tradition is “an intellectual-moral one.” Turning to “the teaching of your mother,” Soloveitchik became personal, speaking of what he learned from his own mother. From her, he said:

I learned that Judaism expresses itself not only in formal compliance with the law but also in a living experience. She taught me that there is a flavour, a scent and warmth to mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life – to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting upon my frail shoulders. Without her teachings, which quite often were transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive.

To put it in other words: Torat imekha is about emotional intelligence. I have long felt that alongside Rabbi Soloveitchik’s great essay, Halakhic Man, there was another one he might have written called Aggadic Woman. Halakhah is an intellectual-moral enterprise. But aggadah, the non-halakhic dimension of rabbinic Judaism, is directed to the broader aspects of what it is to be a Jew. It is written in narrative rather than law. It invites us to enter the minds and hearts of our spiritual forebears, their experiences and dilemmas, their achievements and their pain. It is the emotional dimension of the life of faith….

We are all called on to develop both sensibilities. But they are radically different. Halakhah is part of Torat Cohanim, Judaism’s priestly voice. In the Torah, its key verbs are le-havdil, to distinguish/analyze/categorize, and le-horot, to instruct/guide/issue a ruling. But in Judaism there is also a prophetic voice. The key words for the prophet are tzedek u-mishpat, righteousness and justice, and hessed ve-rahamim, kindness and compassion. These are about I-Thou relationships, between humans, and between us and G0d.

The priest thinks in terms of universal rules that are eternally valid. The prophet is attuned to the particularities of a given situation and the relationships between those involved. The prophet has emotional intelligence. He or she (there were, of course, women prophets: Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah and Esther) reads the mood of the moment and how it relates to longstanding relationships. The prophet hears the silent cry of the oppressed, and the incipient anger of Heaven. Without the law of the priest, Judaism would have no structure or continuity. But without the emotional intelligence of the prophet, it would become, as Rav Soloveitchik said, soulless, dry and insensitive….

Without the prophetic passion of an Amos, a Hosea, an Isaiah, a Jeremiah, without the music of the Psalms and the songs of the Levites in the Temple, Judaism would have been a plant without water or sunlight; it would have withered and died. Intellect alone does not inspire in us the passion to change the world. This is a life-changing idea: If you want to change lives, speak to people’s feelings, not just to their minds. Enter their fears and calm them. Understand their anxieties and allay them. Kindle their hopes and instruct them. Raise their sights and enlarge them. Humans are more than algorithms. We are emotion-driven beings. Speak from the heart to the heart, and mind and deed will follow.

Encyclopedia Judaica (Emotions): Genesis introduces feelings of Love, Joy, Fear, and their opposites (in, e.g., 3:6; 4:5; 29:18; and 37:3) that are later found in such figures as Saul and David, the psalmist, and the lovers of the Song of Songs. Similarly, in His initial appearances G-d is portrayed as a deity who acts out of deep feelings of compassion and anger (Gen. 4:10; 15; 6:5; 8:21; 18:17; 29:31), emotions which are revealed at Sinai as essential to His nature (Ex. 20:5, 6; 34:6). The Israelites encountered G-d’s fearsome, possessive love, frequently expressed in jealous wrath and moral indignation, in their desert wanderings, and the prophets tended to identify with these same emotions (see Ex. 19:3; 32:9; Num. 14:11; 17:8; Isa. 65:3; Jer. 7:19; Ezek. 16:36). However, the Torah advocates a different set of relationships and emotions as an ideal, one in which G-d loves His people and wishes them to respond in love as well as fear (Deut. 6:5; 10:12, 15), and in which man is exhorted to rid himself of hatred and lust, relate to his fellow man in love and kindness, and joyfully observe G-d’s commandments (Ex. 20:14; Lev. 14:17, 18; Deut. 16:11).

Questions for Discussion/Further Thought

Rav Kook writes that intellect must serve as a guide for emotion. In “Food for Thought” above, Rabbi Sacks claims “Speak from the heart to the heart, and mind and deed will follow.” Who do you agree with, and why?
What aspects of Jewish life are associated with the intellect? What aspects are associated with the emotions?
Rav Kook talks about the danger of excessive emotionality. What are some of the dangers of an excessive emphasis on the intellect?
According to Rav Kook, the Kohanim embodied a proper balance between the intellect and the emotions. How did they accomplish this balance? Where did it come from?
As noted in Encylopedia Judaica in “Food for Thought” above, Tanach is replete with descriptions of Divine emotion. What might this mean about the role of emotion of religious life?

Stand Tall? – Parshiot Behar/Bechukotai

Printable PDF available here. Prior pieces on Behar/Bechukotai are available here, here and here.

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Berachot 43b)**

I am the Lord your G-d who brought you out from the land of the Egyptians to be their slaves no more, who broke the bars of your yoke and made you walk erect (lit. קוממיות). (Vayikra 26:13)

One may not walk with an upright posture (lit. קומה זקופה), for one who walks with an upright posture, even only four amot, it is as if he pushes away the Divine Presence, as it is written (Isaiah 6:3) “The entire world is full of His glory.” (Gemara Berachot 43b)

In Gemara Berachot, our Sages teach that it is prohibited to walk with an upright posture. One who does so arrogantly “pushes” – so to speak – the Divine Presence away from the world. While we can all agree that arrogance is a bad character trait, this teaching seems to contradict an explicit verse in Parshat Bechukotai. G-d declares that He freed us from Egyptian slavery, so that we could walk ‘קוממיות’ – upright! How are we to make sense of this apparent paradox?

To answer this question, we must understand that our Sages are speaking (as they often do) on multiple levels. After all, your posture is more than just a matter of how your vertebrae are aligned. It is a function of how you see yourself and your inner world. It is the latter that our Sages are primarily concerned with.

Every person is created with various abilities and talents, both physical and spiritual. By actualizing our potential, we can attain completeness, contentedness, and the ultimate blessing of Divine closeness. We were all created with a yearning to elevate ourselves, to express our talents on the highest dimensions and to continually erase the border between the potential and the actual. But this process is not one we undertake out of a sense of raw ambition or self-centered desire. It is a religious task, one that must be undertaken with consciousness of the Divine taskmaster who has given us the abilities that we seek to develop and express.

One who views his talents through a spiritual lens will always be conscious of a guiding Divine hand. He will exert himself to the best of his abilities, but also retreat and place a limit to his ambition when G-d or His Torah demand it. Although he realizes that he was put in the world to achieve and accomplish, he knows that the yardstick for his accomplishments comes from Above – and not from his family, friends, or society around him.

In other words, this person “walks” upright – but not to the fullest extent possible. His “posture” is somewhat bowed, because he knows that no matter how much he achieves or accomplishes, there are certain places he could take his talents that G-d has put off limits.

This is the resolution to the contradiction we started with. The Torah indeed declares that G-d wishes us to walk erect (lit. קוממיות) – but this is not the same thing as the ‘upright posture’ (lit. קומה זקופה) condemned by our Sages in Gemara Berachot. The latter refer to someone who walks entirely upright, who acknowledges no limits to his powers or talents. In this way, he “pushes away the Divine Presence” and leaves no room for Divine influence to guide or impact the actualization of his potential.

It’s a Cover-Up – Parshiot Achrei Mot/Kedoshim

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat 22a)**

And if any Israelite or any stranger who resides among them hunts down a wild animal or a bird that may be eaten, he shall pour out its blood and cover it with earth. (Vayikra 17:13)

“He shall spill its blood and cover it with dust”. This means that with what one spills, he shall cover. [Just as a person spills the blood of a slaughtered animal with his hand, so too, he is obligated to cover the blood with this hand and not cover it with his foot.] The reason is so that mitzvot will not be contemptible to him. (Gemara Shabbat 22a)

There is a mitzvah to cover the blood of a shechted bird or non-domesticated animal. Various explanations have been offered for this mitzvah, known as kisui ha’dam. Some explain that the mitzvah is intended to distance us from the prohibited consumption of blood. Others explain it as a protective measure against ancient pagan practices involving blood.

But these explanations seem simplistic. Can it be that this G-dly mitzvah is nothing more than a guardrail against lowly paganism or consumption of blood, both practices that most of humanity has evolved beyond? These kind of flimsy, contingent explanations cannot possibly exhaust the depths of this – or any – G-dly mitzvah. The mitzvah must be relevant to every stage of humanity’s development.

We should note that although humanity has made great strides in its ethical and moral development, there are still many rungs to climb. We still have not reached the highest levels of holiness and elevation that are our destiny. Granted, we cannot speak in detail about the moral code or ideals that will govern at the end of history, in the Messianic era and subsequent to the revival of the dead (lit. תחיית המתים). These matters are simply beyond our ability to comprehend. But we can point to aspects of humanity’s current state of being – things that we take for granted as normal – and identify them as flawed practices that will be discarded when humanity eventually rises to a perfected state. The spilling of animal blood is one such practice. It cannot possibly be reconciled with man’s ultimate state of ethical and spiritual perfection. It is not a mere coincidence that according to the Torah, humanity was originally prohibited to consume meat and only the vegetable world was permitted.

Although we will eventually return to this lofty state, it is improper for humanity to leap impulsively to levels of extreme piety and forgo the consumption of meat. That would be neither suitable nor sustainable for our current state of being. Such inappropriate piety would breach the boundaries of what the Torah permits, and its end will be catastrophic failure. Much work remains to be done in the interpersonal and social domains of existence before man can rightfully extend a loving hand to the denizens of the animal world. How can we, in good conscience, divert our spiritual energies and resources to the animal kingdom as long as our fellow human beings are afflicted with poverty, disease, war, persecution and suffering?

This places humanity’s moral development into a difficult paradox. On one hand, consumption of meat is permitted to us in our current state, and it is both rash and impudent for us to leap to Messianic levels of piety by forgoing meat. But on the other hand, we cannot become so habituated to our imperfect state that we become struck in it, that we forget that there are more rungs to climb, that we stop becoming and content ourselves with being.

The mitzvah of kisui ha’dam is G-d’s divinely legislated means of navigating this paradox. The animal world is permitted to man for his needs, and he is allowed to spill animal blood. But G-d demands that this be done with hesitation, with a certain sense of shame. Man may spill blood, but he must cover it up. He thus reminds himself that in the light of the ultimate and most perfect truth, spilling animal blood is cause for contrition and a measure of shame.

This also explains why the mitzvah of kisui ha’dam is limited to birds and non-domesticated animals, a question that has bothered many commentators. Based on our analysis, we can explain that slaughtering birds and wild animals is particularly shameful because they are generally self-sufficient and do not rely on people to provide their needs. By contrast, humans provide for and take care of domesticated animals, and their slaughter thus has a semblance of a fair exchange. In this way, the Divine lawgiver ensures a proper balance between humanity’s current moral state and the ultimate heights to which it is destined to ascend.

For this reason, our Sages teach that kisui ha’dam should not be performed with one’s feet as it would be disrespectful to the mitzvah (lit. ביזוי מצוה). The feet are the lowest part of the body, and using them for this mitzvah would express that it is oriented towards the lowest stages of humanity’s moral development (like weaning us from consuming blood or paganism). For this mitzvah is Divinely engineered to bring about nothing less than the highest and brightest future, and it should thus be performed with the hands. The hands can be raised higher than any part of the body, higher than even the head, which is the seat of the intellect. The message is that kisui ha’dam connects us to a level of spiritual reality that is beyond our current comprehension, to levels of holiness that await us at the end of history.

In this regard, kisui ha’dam serves as a paradigm for all of the Torah’s mitzvot. No mitzvah is consigned to a distant past or to the inferior stages of humanity’s development. Every mitzvah advances humanity and history to its ultimate conclusion, to the light of G-d and His splendor, to the day when G-d will pour out his spirit upon all flesh and remove the spirit of impurity for the earth. On that day, animals will become human-like in their spiritual capabilities and humanity will attain levels that we cannot even comprehend. Humanity will revert to its Edenic diet and animal slaughter for food will be a vestige of the past.

Idolatry and Intoxication – Parshat Shemini

Printable PDF available here. Previous piece on Shemini available here.

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Berachot 32a)**

Do not drink intoxicating wine, neither you nor your sons with you, when you go into the Tent of Meeting, so that you shall not die. [This is] an eternal statute for your generations, to distinguish between holy and profane and between unclean and clean… (Vayikra 10:8-10)

Now Hannah was praying in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice could not be heard. So Eli thought she was drunk. Eli said to her, “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Sober up!” And Hannah replied, “Oh no, my lord! I am a very unhappy woman. I have drunk no wine or other strong drink, but I have been pouring out my heart to the Lord. Do not take your maidservant for a wicked woman (lit. בת בליעל); I have only been speaking all this time out of my great anguish and distress.” (Shmuel Aleph, 1:13-16)

[Hannah told Eli that she was not a wicked woman (lit. בת בליעל). Rabbi Elazar said we derive from here that when a drunk person prays, it is as if he engaged in idol worship. For the word בליעל also appears with regard to a city that has been instigated to engage in idol worship: “Benei beliya’al have gone out from your midst and have lured the inhabitants of their city, saying let us go and serve other gods which we have not known” (Deuteronomy 13:14). Just like that context deals with idolatry, so too Hanna referring to one who prays drunk as a בליעל indicates idol worship. (Gemara Berachot 31b)

All forms of idolatry share two essential characteristics. The first is an emphasis on man’s emotional and imaginative faculties, untethered from the intellect. Indeed, the idolatrous impulse is based on a superficial, unthinking perspective on reality. Idolatry deifies the powerful and inescapable forces of nature, but fails to see their underlying Divine unity.

Intoxication also enfeebles one’s intellect and ability to perceive clearly. This is what our Sages had in mind when they compared one who prays while drunk to an idolater, based on a verse in Sefer Shmuel. This is more than just exaggeration or a homiletical flight of fancy. Our Sages are identifying the very essence of idolatry, and teaching us that intoxicated prayer shares the same essential characteristic.

This is not to imply that moderate drinking has no role to play in religious life. Indeed, there are times when we are allowed (or perhaps even encouraged) to transcend the world of rationality and tread in the realm of holy emotion and sentiment. But prayer is not such a time. Jewish prayer demands a clear mind, and a razor-sharp focus on the Divine ideals expressed in the world of tefilah. And thus intoxication and prayer are a contemptible combination, barred by the inner truth of aggadah and the world of halacha as well.

A second – and related – characteristic of idolatry is a fissure between the realms of action and thought/ideals. Paganism sees the world as fragmented and divided among warring gods. Some of these gods are (or can be bribed into being) favorably disposed to humanity, and others are full of wrath and vengeance. There is no underlying Divine unity to all of reality. Idolatry’s fragmented perspective on reality results in a similarly fragmented religious personality. There is no need to harmonize what one believes with how one behaves. Paganism’s religious ideas provide no guidance to the individual on how to act, and no guidance to the collective on how to construct a just society. On the contrary, the world of action is abandoned to the stormy and unreliable influence of imagination and raw emotion – which, as we have seen, are the dominant characteristics of idolatry. For this reason, idolatry always results in degenerate and horrible ethical failures – such as child sacrifice, ritual murder, and sexual deviance.

This is what our Sages have in mind when they associate idolatry with the world beliya’al, which has a connotation of ‘bli ol’, without a yoke. Idolatry is untethered from the ‘yoke’ of true ideals and clear thinking. This yoke can only be found in the perfected and holy Divine Torah, which teaches us how to harmonize the world of action with the highest G-dly ideals.

Food For Thought

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (Chorev, pg. 7-8): Nor is this idolatry merely an error, a mistaking of falsehood for truth. In that case, it would be simply an intellectual mistake, a delusion, deplorable indeed, but, even at the worst, not the worst that might happen. For there would still be left human dignity and the purity and uprightness of human action. But this is not the case. As soon as you set anything else beside G-d as G-d, and still more as your G-d, forthwith human dignity, purity and uprightness fall to the ground, the fabric of your life goes to pieces.

If a man follows after any being as G-d except G-d, he necessarily sinks to a lower level. As soon as a man thinks of any being as independent and as belonging only to itself, it must appear to him as tyrannical, intent only on self-aggrandizement and producing only for self gratification. Hence the man who reveres such beings as gods must of necessity regard unbridled violence and self-indulgence not as something bestial and so beneath man but as something Divine and so above man, and pursue them as such. Nay, more; when the law of Unity has vanished from his conception of the world and the universe breaks apart for him into isolated deities which serve only themselves, he will soon count himself among the gods, and, recognizing no law in his own life either, he will break out into all kinds of excesses and abandon himself to arrogance and dissoluteness.

Dr. Hylton I. Lightman (Ou.org): Judaism has a not uncomplicated relationship with alcohol. We Jews start drinking young, real young. There is the wine at the Bris when the baby is only eight days old. Then there is wine at the Pidyon HaBen. The two sips at the Chuppah. The focal point of our week is the Friday night Shabbos meal when typically Abba or another post-Bar Mitzvah male will sanctify the wine. Havdallah. Yom Tov Kiddush. The famous Four Cups at the Seder. Is there a Jewish simcha that is without the raising a glass of schnapps and proclaiming, “L’Chaim”?

No shul or yeshiva would want its members or students to become alcoholics. But let’s be honest. Many shuls and others create a social life around alcohol and to be cool and in (are those words current?), you have to partake. Think Kiddush Club when men, typically at some point during the layning and definitely before the rabbi’s speech, exit the sanctuary and call to order their own private gathering of booze and food.

Our Torah is filled with references to wine so clearly wine is important and plays a major role in Judaism. Sefer Shoftim describes wine as “bringing joy to G-d and man.” Every sacrifice brought to the Mikdash was accompanied by a wine libation. Likewise, there are times in our Torah when wine has been mishandled – actually, let’s call it accurately – abused. Our Torah does not sanitize those times and their consequences. Noach was disgraced by excessive wine consumption. Ahron’s sons’ faux pas stemmed in part from intoxication. And these are only two examples. Then there’s Purim. This day suffers such a bad name because of the drinking. Let’s not forget Simchas Torah. A nurse on staff in an area emergency room once told me that she and her colleagues call it “The Other Jewish Halloween.”

Like anything else in life, balance is a good thing. Alcohol, when imbibed appropriately, can enhance our Ruchniyus. By the same token, when treated inappropriately, it can make for a Chillul HaShem, G-d forbid. Kohanim were not allowed to serve in the Beis HaMikdash while drunk. We are forbidden to daven while drunk. A kohen is not allowed to “duchen” after having even a single glass of wine. The Tree of Knowledge in Gan Eden, according to one opinion, is both “good and bad.” When utilized properly, its potential for good is infinite. By the same token, if not used for good, the negative consequences are of equal proportion. It is up to each of us to choose how it should be used. Hopefully, we will choose to choose to make a Kiddush HaShem.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch: (Collected Writings Vol. II, pg. 143-144): Not “belief’’ but “knowledge,” not “sentiment” but “determination and accomplishment;” these are the energies through which the “Jewish religion” becomes manifest. And for that very reason Judaism is not a “religion.” It has no part with any of the facets that other “religions” emphasize as the “essence of religion.” He who would drag Judaism down to the level of “belief’’ divorced from knowledge, who would place also at the head of the “Jewish faith” all the nebulous subjectivism which indulges in “devout impulses” and have these notions constitute the basic requirements of the Jewish “religion,” cannot be one of the “priests of the Lord.” He is in reality one of the priestlings of paganism who exploit vague sentiment and sensibilities for the worship of their own delusions, whose harvest, therefore, has mostly been grief and mourning, misery and distress…. This is probably the reason why [non-Jewish clergy] are called כמרים, “hierophants of sentimentalism” or, more accurately, “fishermen of sentimentalism” (In Tanach, the root כמר denotes both stirrings of sentiment and the fisherman’s net.) They prey upon the “feelings” of the people and catch their fish in the muddied waters of sentimentalism. By contrast, G-d requires of His priests that “the lips of the priest shall preserve knowledge and they should seek instruction from his mouth, for he is the messenger of G-d” (Malachi 2:7). And similarly, “Our G-d did not speak from amidst mystical murkiness, “not in the darkness of night. I did not say to the sons of Jacob: Seek Me in the waste places. I am G-d, speaking of right; proclaiming that which is straightforward and clear” (Isaiah 45:19).

Questions for Discussion

Rav Kook writes that idolatry inevitably results in ethical failures because it severs the world of action from the intellect. Do you agree? Could there be other explanations for the ethical failures of paganism?
What distinguishes an appropriate level of drinking from the kind of intoxication that Torah Judaism dispproves of or prohibits?
See the excerpts from Rav Hirsch above in “Food for Thought.” Is he saying the same thing as Rav Kook? If not, how is his analysis of idolatry different?
What are some events on the Jewish calendar or life-cycle events where alcohol plays a role? Why is it given a role?
Were Nadav and Avihu drunk when they brought their offering to the Mishkan?
Why do people leave davening to go to kiddush club?

Sabbath: Heavenly or Down to Earth? – Parshat Vayakhel/Pekudei

Printable PDF available here. Previous pieces on Vayakhel/Pekudei are here and here.

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat 49b)**

Six days work may be done, but the seventh day shall be holy to you, a day of complete rest to the Lord; whoever performs work on this day shall be put to death. (Shemot 35:2)

What is the source for the 39 primary categories of melacha which are prohibited on Shabbat? Rabbi Ḥanina bar Ḥama said “They correspond to the labors in the Mishkan.” Rabbi Yonatan son of Rabbi Elazar… said “They correspond to the instances of the words מלאכה (labor), מלאכתו (his labor) and מלאכות (labors) [which appear in the Torah a total of 39 times]. (Gemara Shabbat 49b)

What is the significance of this dispute between the Sages on the source for the 39 categories of prohibited Sabbath labor (lit. אבות מלאכות)? Is this simply a technical disagreement, or is there something more fundamental at issue in whether we derive from the Mishkan or from the number of times “labor” is written in the Torah?

It seems that the resolution of the matter is as follows. In deriving the prohibition of labor from the Mishkan, Rabbi Hanina is highlighting the transcendental character of Shabbat. Shabbat is a Divine gift that reflects the perfection and completeness of its Creator. Shabbat transports us to a realm of supernal holiness, where work is prohibited not because we need a break from the travails of the workweek, but because everything has reached its ultimate purpose. Wherever the light of Sabbath holiness shines, work and preparation are banished. For work implies imperfection, and one only needs to prepare if they have not already reached completion. But as the sun slips below the horizon and Shabbat enters, existence ascends from a state of ‘becoming’ to a state of ‘being.’ The struggles of the week ebb away, and we enter into a semblance of the World to Come, מעין עולם הבא.

Given this lofty conception of Shabbat, it would be unacceptable to derive the 39 prohibited labors from an ordinary, profane context. Thus, Rabbi Hanina teaches that they are derived from the Mishkan itself, the most intense domain of holiness and the locus of Divine closeness in our world. According to Rabbi Hanina, the fact that creating a home for G-d requires human labor is a reflection of the incomplete and flawed nature of our reality. After all, in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve walked directly with G-d and beheld his presence directly, in all places and at all times. No Mishkan was needed. The institution of a Mishkan – like the concept of work itself – is a post-Edenic reality. By teaching that the 39 prohibited labors are derived from the Mishkan itself, Rabbi Hanina is highlighting the transcendental character of Shabbat. He is alluding to Shabbat as an experience of “the day that is entirely Shabbat,” the day that “One will no longer teach his neighbor or his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know Me from their smallest to their greatest” (Yirmiyahu 31:33).

However, Rabbi Yonatan disagreed with Rabbi Hanina. He was not comfortable with lifting Shabbat into the transcendent realm and leaving the rest of reality behind. For him, the division of reality between holy and profane (lit. חול), between the Mishkan and the rest of the world, is not a reflection of the flawed and fallen character in the world. When all of humanity’s actions, emotions, talents and aptitudes are unified and oriented towards the Holy, there is no difference between holy and profane. Life in its totality becomes one integrated whole, all of which is Holy of Holies (lit. קדש קדשים).

Seen in this light, the world of labor and preparation is also an integral part of the Shabbat experience. The holiness of Shabbat washes over not only the sacred world of the Mishkan, but also upon all of man’s worldly strivings and struggles. Shabbat elevates all of them to a domain free of labor and struggle, where everything is suffused with light, joy, and delight – a domain of pure Purpose (lit. כולו תכליתי). The center, the Mishkan, will be uplifted, but the “branches” too will partake of the holiness and blessing of the Shabbath, which uplifts and unifies all dimensions of reality. For this reason, the 39 prohibited labors correspond to “the [39] instances of the words מלאכה (labor), מלאכתו )his labor) and מלאכות(labors).”

Food for Thought

Rabbi Akiva Tatz: Shabbat is described as “me’eyn olam ha’ba” – a small degree of the experience of the next world. There is an idea that all spiritual realities have at least one tangible counterpart in the world so that we can experience them: it would be too difficult to relate to the abstract if we could never have any direct experience of it. Sleep is a sixtieth of the death experience; a dream is a sixtieth of prophecy. Shabbat is a sixtieth of the experience of the next world.

Why specifically a sixtieth? What is unique about the proportion of one in sixty? One who has a sensitive ear will hear something very beautiful here. One in sixty is that proportion which is on the borderline of perception: in the laws of kashrut there is a general rule that forbidden mixtures of foods are in fact forbidden only if the admixture of the prohibited component comprises more than one part in sixty. If a drop of milk accidentally spills into a meat dish that dish would not be forbidden if less than one part in sixty were milk – the milk cannot be tasted in such dilution. The halachic borderline is set at that point where taste can be discerned.

The beautiful hint here is that Shabbat is one sixtieth of the intensity of olam ha’ba – it is on the borderline of taste: if one lives Shabbat correctly one tastes the next world. If not, one will not taste it at all. How is the higher taste experienced? By desisting from work. Not work in the sense of exertion, that is a serious misconception of Shabbat. What is halted on Shabbat is melacha – creative activity. Thirty-nine specific creative actions were needed to build the Mishkan in the desert; these mystically parallel the activities God performed to create the Universe – the Mishkan is a microcosm, a model of the Universe. God rested from His creation, we rest from parallel creative actions. The week is built by engaging in those actions constructively, Shabbat is built by desisting from those very actions. The Mishkan represented the dimension of holiness in space, Shabbat is the dimension of holiness in time.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (Haggadah, Chapter 4): Shabbat, the sabbatical year and the Jubilee became Judaism’s most original contribution to political life. In the history of the human mind there have been many utopias, imagined paradises. None has been realized. Indeed, the word ‘utopia’ itself means ‘no place.’ Utopias never happen because they come without a realistic map of how to get from here to there. They are discontinuous with the present. They can only be brought about by revolution, and almost without exception, revolutions replace iniquities and inequities with injustices of their own. What is unique to Judaism is the sabbatical concept of utopia now, a rehearsal, every seventh day and seventh year, of an ideal social order in which rest is part of the public domain, available equally to all. The Sabbath is the lived enactment of the messianic age, a world of peace in which striving and conflict are (temporarily) at an end and all creation sings a song of being to its Creator.

Questions for Discussion

In what way is Shabbat an experience of the World to Come?
Can you think of any other reasons for the 39 prohibited labors to be derived from the Mishkan? (Hint: Think about parallels between creation/Shabbat and the Mishkan).
What can one do in order to experience the transcendent dimension of Shabbat as a ‘taste of the World to Come?’
Why does the Torah command us to keep Shabbat?
Is Rabbi Sacks, in “Food for Thought” above saying the same thing as Rav Kook, or slightly different?

The Tachash’s Splendor – Parshat Terumah

Mishkan

Printable PDF available here. A prior piece on Parshat Terumah is available here.

Rav Kook (Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat 28b)

And this is the offering that you shall take from them: gold, silver, and copper… ram skins dyed red, tachash skins, and acacia wood… (Shemot 25:3-5)

The taḥash that existed in the days of Moses was a unique species… It was fortuitously provided to Moshe to make one of the coverings for the Mishkan, after which this species was concealed and no longer found. (Gemara Shabbat 28b)

In Aramaic, tachash is referred to ‘Sasgona.’ Our Sages explained this as a reference to its multicolored hide – the tachash is “Proud (lit. “sas”) of its many vivid colors (lit “gona”). It seems that the multihued tachash is a metaphor, representing the desire to include as many talents and gifts as possible when building up the Jewish people – even talents that, on their own and without a proper framework of holiness, might have a negative influence.

However, this integration cannot be fully achieved in an imperfect, pre-Messianic world. The tachash could only be used in the desert, where the people lived an otherworldly existence, unconcerned with the temptations and challenges that would confront them once they entered the Land of Israel. The reality of the Torah as revealed to Moses’ generation was not one suited to practice or application; it was rather the very essence of holiness itself. In our current imperfect state of existence, we are neither worthy nor capable of using this overwhelming holy light to guide our ways. This is the deeper meaning of the tachash disappearing after it contributed its hide to the Mishkan.

However, the tachash was merely hidden away (lit. נגנג). A day will come when all of reality will be uplifted and purified, and the multihued splendor of the tachash can reappear. At the end of history, all of humanity’s talents and gifts will contribute to building up the House of G-d. When Divine majesty permeates every corner of existence and the spirit of impurity has been removed from the earth, there will be no nation, no inclination and no character trait that will be turned away, that cannot be harnessed for holy purposes.

We should note the deeper nuance of tachash being concealed, as opposed to destroyed. In other words, the splendor of the tachash that will emerge at the end of history is not something new that G-d will insert into or impose upon reality. It is present now, but concealed because humanity cannot properly integrate and incorporate the tachash’s colors into its imperfect reality. When G-d removes the concealment, we will see what was truly there in potential all along.

In the interim, there are elite spiritual personalities to whom glimpses of those future colors are revealed. “He conceals wisdom for [sharing with] the upright, a shield for those who walk in integrity” (Mishlei 2:7). But for the rest of us, it is sufficient to know that existence is destined for deeper, richer, more G-dly reality, a reality which already exists and is already present even now, like a seed that germinates underground and eventually bursts forth from its slumber beneath the soil. As Isaiah declared (66:22) “For as the new heavens and the new earth that I am making stand before Me (lit. עומדים לפני)” says the Lord, “so shall your seed and your name endure.” It does not say that the new heavens and the new earth “will stand” (lit. יעמדו) before G-d, but that they stand in front of Him, even now.

Healing and Health – Parshat Mishpatim

Printable PDF available here. Previous years’ pieces on Parshat Mishpatim are available here and here.

**Rav Kook (Ein Ayah, Gemara Berachot 60a)**

Rav Acha taught that if one is about to engage in bloodletting [a basic medical procedure in pre-modern times], he should say “May it be Your will, O Lord my G-d, that this enterprise be for healing and that You should heal me. As You are a faithful G-d of healing and Your healing is truth. Because it is not the [proper] way that people should heal, but they have become accustomed to it.” [I.e., people should ideally not practice medicine, and healing should rather be left to G-d.]

Abaye objected that one should not say this. As it was taught in the academy of Rabbi Yishmael, from the verse [in Parshat Mishpatim] “And he shall cause him to be thoroughly healed” (Shemot 21:19), we derive that permission is granted to a doctor to heal. [I.e., the practice of medicine is in accordance with the will of G-d.]

The human body is a complex entity, with various organs and faculties bound together. The soul is similarly comprised of various emotional and intellectual components, which are bound together in a wondrous manner with the physical body. No person can pridefully declare that he has fully mapped out the full complexity of the human body or that he understands its full depth.

From this perspective, medical science is an ultimately unreliable discipline. Even if a doctor can heal a specific illness within the purview of his or her narrow expertise, who can assure that the treatment administered will not have undesirable and unforeseen side-effects? Perhaps these side-effects will throw the patient into disequilibrium and prove to do more harm than good. In light of our imperfect knowledge, no medical treatment can be guaranteed to be totally and unqualifiedly beneficial. This was the perspective expressed by Rav Acha, who cast aspersions on the reliability of medical knowledge. “Because it is not the [proper] way that people should heal, but they have become accustomed to it.” At the same time, experience demonstrates that medicine does frequently discover important truths that bring about healing and improve human welfare. How are we to reconcile these competing perspectives? According to Rav Acha, we must relate to medicine as a wonder of Divine governance and something that is ultimately out of our hands. We do the best we can but remain aware that our efforts are meager and our knowledge is fragmentary. Healing is ultimately in G-d’s hands. His “healing is truth,” while ours is inherently falsifiable, incomplete and liable to do more harm than good.

However, our sacred tradition contains other perspectives as well. Not all of the Sages agreed that the discipline of medicine is somehow religiously illegitimate or compromised. R. Yishmael maintained that we do not need to concern ourselves with contingencies or eventualities that lie beyond the scope of human understanding. Caution and humility are important values, but not in overabundance. A constant wariness against unforeseen consequences or side-effects undermines human initiative, and suffocates the religious imperative for humanity to improve the world – both the physical world and the inner dimension of the spirit. Man must live by the principle that הנסתרת לה׳ אלקינו והנגלת לנו ולבנינו עד־עולם לעשות את־כל־דברי התורה הזאת (Devarim 29:28) – “Hidden things are the concern of the Lord our G-d, but the revealed is for us and our children.”

R. Yishmael maintained that “a judge can only adjudicate based on what is own eyes see.” The Torah gave permission to a doctor to heal, without needing to constantly question or suspect the efficacy of his or her craft. A competent doctor does not usurp the Divine prerogative, but acts as a messenger of G-d to bring healing to His creations and improve His world. Far from being illegitimate, medical science is a Divine gift that flows down from heaven, as is every application of human intellect to the development and improvement of the world.“And he shall cause him to be thoroughly healed” (Shemot 21:19), from here we derive that permission is granted to a doctor to heal. In the words of Kohelet (7:19), “Wisdom affords strength to the wise” (Kohelet 7:19).

Food for Thought

Rambam (Commentary to the Mishnah, Pesachim 4:10): [Some maintain that seeking medical treatment indicates a lack of faith in G-d.] According to their faulty and foolish imagination, if a person is hungry and he turns to bread and eats it, undoubtedly relieving himself from that great distress, would we say that he has removed his trust from G-d? Fools, say to them, just as I thank G-d at mealtimes for providing me with something to remove my hunger and maintain me, so too we should thank Him for providing a cure that heals my illness when I use it.

The Wings of the Sun – Traditional Jewish Healing in Theory and Practice: After having been immersed in Rebbe Nachman’s profound and moving teachings about simchah and healing, his emphatic warnings against doctors may seem almost jarring. He urged his followers to avoid medicine even in cases of serious illness. He said that the majority of doctors have no understanding of the art of healing. Being far more likely to cause damage than to do any good, most doctors are nothing but agents of the Angel of Death (Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom #50)…

Rebbe Nachman’s essential point in this teaching is that the true meaning of the rabbinic dictum that “the Torah gave the doctor license to heal” can be understood only in relation to the talmudic teaching that the sick person is healed “through a particular drug and a particular doctor on a particular date” (Avodah Zarah 55a). This second statement of the Rabbis defines and limits the extent of the doctor’s license to heal. Illness is seen as a heavenly decree, a “judgment.” Unless the decree is mitigated through pidyon nefesh, redemption of the soul, the illness will run its course, and only when its required duration is complete, as laid down in the decree, will the patient recover. In order for the illness to continue until a particular day and hour, the decree governs the very means by which the patient will eventually be cured: through “a particular drug and a particular doctor.” Thus if the doctor has “license to heal,” it is only as Heaven’s agent to release the patient from the decree of illness when its duration is complete. The doctor is like a prison warden who is given the key to open the cell only after the sentence has run its course. The only other circumstance in which the doctor has license to heal is when the decree against the patient has been revoked or mitigated through pidyon nefesh.

Rebbe Nachman’s response to the objection that many people receive medical treatment and recover is that the treatment itself is an incidental factor. The essential reason why the patient recovers is that the decree has reached its end, and therefore a heavenly-ordained chain of events ensures that his body heals. On the other hand, as long as the heavenly decree is in force, no matter what the patient or the doctors may try, nothing will avail. This would explain the common phenomenon of patients who wander from doctor to doctor in search of a cure, but nothing seems to help – until one day, often unexpectedly, a cure comes about through some quite simple remedy, or even spontaneously.

Shaar HaMitzvot (Parshat Ekev p. 60): Once a man came to the Ari and said that for two days he had been suffering intense pain in his shoulder. The Ari looked at him and said the reason for the pain was that instead of reciting the Grace after Meals directly after washing his hands at the conclusion of his meal (mayim acharonim), he had paused to study some Mishnah. The Rabbis said, “Recite the blessing directly (teikhef) after washing” (Berakhot 42a). TeiKheF, had turned into KaTeF), a “shoulder,” and this was why he felt the pain in his shoulder.

Permission Given to a Doctor to Heal (Rabbi Dr. Benjamin Gesundheit, MD PhD): It should be noted that the Posekim decided the law in accordance with the position of Rabbi Yishmael: Rif (Berakhot 44a), Maimonides (Hilkhot Berakhot 10:21), Rosh (Berakhot 9, no. 21), Tur and Shulchan Arukh (Orach Chayyim 230:4) codify only part of the talmudic passage in Berakhot 60a: “One who goes in to have his blood let should say: ‘May it be Your will, O Lord, my G-d, that this operation may be a cure for me, for You heal without payment.’ And when he goes out, he should say: ‘Blessed are you, O Lord, who heals the sick.’” The continuation of the prayer (“and may You heal me, for You are a faithful healing G-d, and Your healing is true”) and the Gemara’s explanation (“since men have no power to heal, but this is the common practice”), they all omit from their rulings. Rabbi Yishmael’s opposition (“A man should not speak thus…”) was accepted as law.

Questions for Discussion

As noted above, poskim decided the law in accordance with the position of Rabbi Yishmael. Does this mean that Rav Acha’s position is decisively rejected, or are there elements of truth to his position?
Is it a Torah value to take care of your health?
Rav Kook states that “Caution and humility are important values, but not in overabundance.” Can you think of examples that illustrate this point?
Why does the Torah need to give explicit “permission” to a doctor to heal? Why wouldn’t it be permitted by default?
See Rebbe Nachman quoted in “Food for Thought” above. Why does he disagree with Rav Kook?
Why do a disproportionate amount of Jews go into the medical profession?

Rest Stop – Parshat Yitro

Printable PDF available here. Previous years’ pieces on Yitro are available here and here.

**Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat 86b)**

What was the chronology of the period before the Torah was given on Mount Sinai? Rabbi Yose taught that Rosh Chodesh Sivan fell out on the first day of the week. On that first day, G-d did not say anything to Israel because they were weary from journeying. (Gemara Shabbat 86b)

The highest form of holiness demands the manifestation of complete life, in all of its fulness. Physical exhaustion impedes the noble expression of life’s breadth and purity, just as sadness or depression obstructs the emotional realm. An exhausted soul cannot manifest its potential for infinite fulness of elevated thought, profound emotional depth, or pureness of ethical conduct. A tired and weary individual is destined to fall prey to the scourge of Amalekite spiritual influences [1]. The exhaustion of his body will impede his spiritual development, and he will be unable to maintain true awe of G-d.

If one seeks to listlessly drag themselves forward on the journey to spiritual advancement, there is a grave danger that the search for G-d will become corrupted. One is liable to conclude that human weakness and enfeeblement is a Divine ideal, that the diminishment of life’s vitality and neglect of man’s physical side is a religious duty.

G-d forbid that our Torah would ever endorse such an approach! In the face of physical exhaustion, one must allow time for his strength to gradually return, until his physical and emotional faculties can express their full vitality. One must recuperate to the point that his physical constitution is suited to bear the surge of supernal holiness. Only once one’s strength is restored and conscious of his bodily vigor (lit. גבורת הגויה והבשר), only then can his physical nature serve as a base for the establishment of the vigor of his spirit and his soul (lit. גבורת הרוח והנשמה). In this restored and refreshed state, the light of Divine life will flow downwards upon him, like drops of dew descending upon freshly opened flower buds.

This is the deeper lesson behind Rabbi Yose’s teaching that G-d did not address the Israelites on the first day that they arrived at Sinai, because they were wearing from journeying.

[1] Rav Kook is alluding to the verse in Devarim 25:17-18 – “You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt, how he happened upon you on the way and cut off all the stragglers at your rear, when you were faint and weary, and did not fear God.” According to Rav Kook, the Jews became vulnerable to Amalek because being “faint and weary” meant that they, i.e. the Israelites, lost some measure of fear of G-d. When the verse says “and he did not fear G-d,” it refers to Israel, not Amalek.

Questions for Discussion

Rav Kook writes that “The highest form of holiness demands the manifestation of complete life, in all of its fulness.” What do you think he means?
Do Rav Kook’s insights have any relevant to how or why we observe Shabbat?
Where does the halacha give expression to the value of taking care of one’s physical health?
Were the Jews really so exhausted upon arriving at Sinai?
What does being tired have to do with Amalek?

Concert In Utero – Parshat Beshalach

Printable PDF available here. Previous years’ pieces on Beshalach are available here and here.

Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Berachot 50a)

At the Yam Suf, even fetuses in their mothers’ wombs recited song. As it is stated in the chapter of Psalms that describes the Exodus from Egypt: “In assemblies, bless G-d, the Lord, from the source of Israel (lit. מקור ישראל)” – “source” is an allusion to the womb. (Gemara Berachot 50a)

This teaching of our Sages is strange and hard to make sense of. Is it meant to be taken literally? Did the fetuses really join in the Song of the Sea, like some strange in utero concert? Also, why do the Sages teach that unborn children participated specifically at this juncture, as opposed to any other miraculous or transcendent moment of Jewish history? Indeed, we don’t find the gemara or midrash asserting that fetuses were part of the giving of the Torah or praised G-d for any other miracle.

To resolve this puzzle, we need to investigate some fundamental aspects of Jewish identity and religious development. Israel’s national identity is rooted in awe and love of G-d (lit. יראת ה׳ ואהבתו), and these in turn are cultivated through various channels. A significant part of our spiritual development is self-driven. By accepting the Torah and living according to its precepts, we refine our dispositions and elevate our souls. Chinuch is another layer or component of our religious development. Our parents and communities educate us to aspire to Torah life. They train us to claim the inheritance that prior generations have bequeathed to us as our most precious treasure.

However, we also have an innate predisposition to a connection with the Divine, one that has nothing to do with our own actions or those who educated us. It is nature, not nurture. Every Jew possesses a soul drawn from the G-dly source of Israel (lit. מקור ישראל – the same phrase from Psalms cited by the gemara), and is possessed with an innate yearning for spiritual perfection and rejoicing in G-d. Not everyone succeeds at manifesting these yearnings, and sadly many Jews are not even consciously aware of them. But embers of spiritual passion smolder within every member of Israel.

When did Israel become aware of its own uniqueness? As a nation, when did we first encounter the embryonic potential that lay within us? The answer is that it transpired shortly after the Exodus, at the Yam Suf. At that point, of our own spiritual conduct was nothing to boast about. Before Moshe split the sea, we complained bitterly and demonstrated a lack of faith. Outwardly, our Sages even teach that we were indistinguishable from the Egyptians, and that the ministering angels could not understand why G-d chose to save us but drown our former masters. Similarly, we had minimal chinuch or training to speak of. It was barely a week before that we had performed our first mitzvah – the korban pesach – and witnessed G-d crush the might of Egyptian empire through the death of their firstborn.

But the fetuses in the womb had not even witnessed this. Their only connection to the world of G-dliness and spiritual truth was the fact that they’d been conceived by a Jewish mother and father. And yet Our Sages teach that even they participated in the Song at the Sea. Presumably, this is not meant to be taken literally, but to highlight the spiritual potential that comes from nature, as opposed to nurture. In other words, our Sages are not interested in teaching us about literal fetuses, but rather our own very real embryonic potential. The most profound and sublime Divine ideals are the birthright become of every member of Israel, no matter their background or prior choices.

Food for Thought

Sefas Emes (Beshalach): Then Moses and the children of Israel sang. After the exodus they became instruments to give witness to the Creator. As it states, “the people I formed for Myself that they might declare my praise (Is. 43:21). The midrash quotes the verse, “G-d lifted me out of the gruesome pit, the slimy clay, and set my feet on a rock, steadied my legs. G-d put a new song into my mouth, a hymn to our G-d. (Ps. 40:3-4). The meaning of “new” is that it forever carries this power of renewal. It can never be forgotten by the souls of Israel. It was not a throwaway that [our sages] established that we should sing this song each day. Israel’s faith [at the sea] was the this saving act would last for all generations…this song and the attachment to the Divine have been implanted in the Jewish soul forever. But until the exodus from Egypt they were not able to call it forth. Only after this was the longing for G-d revealed…thus on every Shabbat the soul and desire are set free. That is why Shabbat is “in remembrance of the exodus from Egypt” [and why we sing G-d’s praises on that day].

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (Covenant and Conversation, Ha’azinu 5777): There is something profoundly spiritual about music. When language aspires to the transcendent, and the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song. Jewish history is not so much read as sung. The rabbis enumerated ten songs at key moments in the life of the nation. There was the song of the Israelites in Egypt (see Is. 30:29), the song at the Red Sea (Ex. 15), the song at the well (Num. 21), and Ha’azinu, Moses’ song at the end of his life. Joshua sang a song (Josh. 10:12-13). So did Deborah (Jud. 5), Hannah (1 Sam. 2) and David (2 Sam. 22). There was the Song of Solomon, Shir ha-Shirim, about which Rabbi Akiva said, “All songs are holy but the Song of Songs is the holy of holies.” The tenth song has not yet been sung. It is the song of the Messiah.

Mystics go further and speak of the song of the universe, what Pythagoras called “the music of the spheres”. This is what Psalm 19 means when it says, “The heavens declare the glory of G-d; the skies proclaim the work of His hands . . . There is no speech, there are no words, where their voice is not heard. Their music carries throughout the earth, their words to the end of the world.” Beneath the silence, audible only to the inner ear, creation sings to its Creator.

So, when we pray, we do not read: we sing. When we engage with sacred texts, we do not recite: we chant. Every text and every time has, in Judaism, its own specific melody. There are different tunes for shacharit, mincha and maariv, the morning, afternoon and evening prayers. There are different melodies and moods for the prayers for a weekday, Shabbat, the three pilgrimage festivals, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot (which have much musically in common but also tunes distinctive to each), and for the Yamim Noraim, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. There are different tunes for different texts. There is one kind of cantillation for Torah, another for the haftorah from the prophetic books, and yet another for Ketuvim, the Writings, especially the five Megillot. There is a particular chant for studying the texts of the written Torah: Mishnah and Gemarah. So by music alone we can tell what kind of day it is and what kind of text is being used. Jewish texts and times are not colour-coded but music-coded. The map of holy words is written in melodies and songs.

Music has extraordinary power to evoke emotion. The Kol Nidrei prayer with which Yom Kippur begins is not really a prayer at all. It is a dry legal formula for the annulment of vows. There can be little doubt that it is its ancient, haunting melody that has given it its hold over the Jewish imagination. It is hard to hear those notes and not feel that you are in the presence of G-d on the Day of Judgment, standing in the company of Jews of all places and times as they plead with heaven for forgiveness. It is the holy of holies of the Jewish soul. Nor can you sit on Tisha B’av reading Eichah, the book of Lamentations, with its own unique cantillation, and not feel the tears of Jews through the ages as they suffered for their faith and wept as they remembered what they had lost, the pain as fresh as it was the day the Temple was destroyed. Words without music are like a body without a soul…

Faith is more like music than science. Science analyses, music integrates. And as music connects note to note, so faith connects episode to episode, life to life, age to age in a timeless melody that breaks into time. G-d is the composer and librettist. We are each called on to be voices in the choir, singers of G-d’s song. Faith is the ability to hear the music beneath the noise. So music is a signal of transcendence. The philosopher and musician Roger Scruton writes that it is “an encounter with the pure subject, released from the world of objects, and moving in obedience to the laws of freedom alone.” He quotes Rilke: “Words still go softly out towards the unsayable / And music, always new, from palpitating stones / builds in useless space its G-dly home.” The history of the Jewish spirit is written in its songs…

Rabbi Elchanan Shoff (Contemporary): We are taught that when one is being formed in the womb, an angel teaches him the entirety of Torah. When he is born, an angel hits him on the mouth, and he forgets that Torah… In fact, we are left to wonder why we even are taught the Torah in the womb in the first place. Would this not seem to simply be an example of learning for no purpose at all? The Jewish people left Egypt like a child leaving the womb. It was a time that the Jewish people were being born. The experience at the sea was not one that the Jewish people had earned. They had not spent the time working on themselves, and were not at the level of prophets. In fact, had they remained in Egypt one more moment, they would have sunk to depths from which they could not have been revived. This was the desperate need for urgency on the part of Hashem. And yet, the maidservant at the sea saw what even the great prophets never merited to see!

It was just like the time that an infant spends in the womb of his mother. The Jewish people were brought to great levels of understanding, which they did not earn or deserve. We will always look back to the exodus to know what it means to be a Jew, and we will mention it every day, and in so many of our blessings and prayers. The song that we sang at the sea was the song of the fetus. It is the song of pure potential. Nothing has been earned, and nothing is separating us from who we really are. That purity, what we are made up of, is something that must always be on our minds. We are not learning Torah and fulfilling its commands in order to change who we are, but rather to discover that information. It is fundamental that we remember that our job in this world is simply to peel off the garbage that is separating us from ourselves. You are a Torah. As your body was being formed of the physical cells, your soul was being formed as a piece of truth and nothing more. If you become lost, it is a Torah that became lost. And if you can peel through the layers that are hampering you, you will discover that you really knew all that Torah all along.

Questions for Discussion

Rav Kook claims that the Jewish people possession a unique spiritual predisposition. How do you think he would explain the concept of geirus (conversion)?
What is the role of song and music in Jewish religious life?
What is an area of your life where you possess innate potential that hasn’t yet been realized? What can you do to change that, even just a little?
Are there any dangers to the idea that Jewish people possess a unique spiritual predisposition?
What is the proper balance between nature, nurture and training/chinuch in Jewish life?