The Perils of Skepticism

Recently, in a discussion of his conflicts regarding religious beliefs, a well known skeptic in the blogosphere wrote the following:

Some things I am on the fence about. Some things I am off the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence and then get off. Sometimes I get off and then get back on. Sometimes I am off the fence, but then have a chnage of heart and jump over to the other side of the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence, and fall off unintentionally. Sometimes I am on the fence but think I'm off it, but really I'm on it. Sometimes I think I'm on the fence, but really I'm off it.

This reminded me of a famous statement in the second chapter of Maimonides' Laws of Idolatry:

We are commanded not to consider any thought that might lead us to uproot one of the fundamental principles of the Torah. We should not turn our minds to it, reflect and be drawn after the imaginings of our hearts. Because a person's mind is limited, and not all minds are capable of grasping the truth accurately. And if just any individual were to be drawn after the musings of his heart, he would end up destroying the world on account of his limited intellect.

How so? Sometimes he will occupy himself with idolatry, and other times he will reflect upon the oneness of the Creator - maybe it is true, or maybe not; [or he will muse about] what is above, below, before or after the Universe. Sometimes he will consider prophecy - maybe it is authentic, maybe not. Sometimes he will think about the Torah - maybe it is divine, maybe not. Yet he does not know the principles by which to judge these matters such that he should grasp the truth properly, thus he eventually becomes a heretic.

About this, the Torah states, "do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes." That is to say, everyone should not follow the inclinations of his limited intellect and imagine that his thinking process has led him to the truth.

Certainly the Rambam does not intend to discourage thinking. What he is emphasizing is that an individual who wishes to investigate the most basic questions of religious meaning must be a person of profound humility who possesses the requisite background knowledge and the necessary training to succeed in his quest. Even someone with all of these qualities will fail unless he exercises extreme caution throughout the process, and carefully distinguishes between issues he is prepared to tackle and those for which he is not yet ready.

One who doesn't have the prerequisite qualifications for this course of study is bound to fail. He will move back and forth between different ideas based on their intuitive appeal - "maybe it is true, maybe not" - and will be unable to arrive at secure conclusions. As Maimonides explains in several places in the Guide for the Perplexed, the reason for this flip-flopping is a reliance - conscious or unconcious - on untrained intuition.

A person with an extensive background of study in a field of knowledge will develop an intuition grounded in reality. His gut feeling about an idea will carry weight because it is rooted in authentic intellectual cognition. This is why great physicists, mathematicians and Talmudists often legitimately and successfully employ their intellectual intuition in the course of theorizing about problems in their respective subject areas.

In one famous incident, Rabbi Soloveitchik z"l, known as the Rav, was asked for evidence to support a legal ruling he had offered. He responded that his conclusion was intuitive; nonetheless, he observed, "my intuition is halacha." Having been immersed for countless years in the wisdom and methodology of the Talmud and Codes, the Rav harbored no doubt that, when a specific formulation of a Torah concept appealled to him, this appeal had a rational basis and was not merely subjective.

A novice, on the other hand, has only his imagination and his emotions from which to draw intuitive guidance. Naturally, these agencies are among the most fickle and unreliable in the human psyche. They can provide the appearance of certainty one moment, only to replace it with doubt and skepticism in the next. Unfortunately, our innate desire to arrive at the truth and to investigate the mysteries of existence often causes us to overestimate our competence and delve into subjects that are beyond our ken. With nothing but shaky intuition leading us, we have a very slim chance of success.

This is where the benefit of mesorah, authentic intellectual tradition, comes in. All human civilizations transmit a cultural mesora of some sort to their citizens. This tradition shapes the values, practices and beliefs of the members of that civilization from earliest youth. Similarly, the mesorah of Judaism provides us with a system of metaphysical principles and mitsvot that serve as a basic framework for a lifetime of intellectual and spiritual growth. In its absence, the vast majority of people would either spend their lifetimes in philosophical perplexity, or be overwhelmed by the pressures of instinct and devote themselves to hedonism or materialism.

Of course, skeptics will question the tradition and wonder why they should accept it to begin with. I have already discussed this point on Vesom Sechel in the past, and hope to revisit it again soon.

Here it is in a nutshell: Judaism offers a systematic, rational approach to meaningful living. Its principles and structure are unique, profound and coherent. And the authenticity of its mesorah is rooted in the historical experience of an entire nation rather than resting upon personal testimonials alone. I think this makes it by far the most reasonable choice available to a thinking individual who is interested in conducting his or her life prudently, consistently and reflectively.

Relying on Miracles

Sorry for the delay in posting...My schedule hasn't permitted me to write much lately, but I am beginning to get back on track!

In this week's Parasha we read about the famous incident of the spies. Moshe sent twelve representatives of the Tribes of Israel on a fact-finding mission to the Land of Canaan. As we all know, the would-be spies utilized their trip as an opportunity to orchestrate a quasi-rebellion against Moshe and, as a result, the Jews were condemned to wander in the desert for forty years.

The commentaries debate whether Moshe sent spies because it was appropriate to do so, or whether this choice was actually a concession to the weakness of the Jewish people who needed reassurance before their entry into the land.

The Ramban argues that it stands to reason that Moshe would have sent spies regardless of the feelings and attitudes of the people. Although the Jews were charged with the responsibility of conquering the Land of Israel, Hashem expected them to conduct this campaign prudently and not to rely on miracles. As a part of normal military strategizing, Moshe would certainly have sent agents to gather data that would help him formulate a swift and efficient approach to capturing the Land. Moshe would have proceeded like any other political leader in this respect and would not have blindly and simplistically placed his trust in Divine intervention.

The Ramban's interpretation, however, raises an interesting difficulty. In Parashat Lech-Lecha, the Torah tells us that, immediately after Abraham arrived in Canaan, there was a famine in the land and he was compelled to relocate to Egypt. Although most commentaries regard this choice as appropriate and wise, the Ramban is an exception. He criticizes Avraham for lacking the faith necessary to remain in Israel despite the scarcity of food. Since Hashem had instructed him to settle in Canaan, Avraham should have trusted that he would be well taken care of even during a period of hardship.

In another post, I discussed the more traditional view of this narrative about Avraham and the lessons we can derive from it. It is certainly possible (and, in my opinion, more intuitive) to read the story of Abraham's trip to Egypt differently, and not to construe it as a failure on his part. Nonetheless, this is how the Ramban interprets Avraham's choice in this matter - as an error of major proportions.

The question, then, is clear. In the case of Avraham, the Ramban suggests that unwillingness to rely upon Divine intervention is a defect. By contrast, when it comes to the story of the spies, the Ramban states that, as a matter of course, a person should not rely upon miracles, and that it would have been incumbent upon Moshe to dispatch spies on an investigative mission before leading the Jews into Israel. Why does the Ramban distinguish between these two circumstances? Is reliance upon Divine aid praiseworthy or inappropriate?

I believe that the Ramban would answer as follows: Avraham was (ostensibly) commanded by Hashem to dwell in the Land of Canaan. Remaining there was, in and of itself, fulfillment of a Divine decree, and Avraham should have been willing to take risks in order to do so. There was no excuse for him to leave and thereby contravene Hashem's instructions. Avraham had reason to assume that God would provide for him in Israel no matter what, since he was involved in the performance of a mitzvah that could not be completed otherwise. Put simply, being in Israel was the mitsvah.

On the other hand, the commandment given to the Israelites in the desert was to conquer and settle in the Land of Canaan. But making decisions about how they would accomplish this objective was their responsibility entirely. Because it was only a means to an end, the process of conquest and settlement had to be carried out with careful forethought, extensive planning and thorough deliberation. There was no guarantee of miraculous assistance unless the Jewish people did their part to make the mission a success. Divine intervention would be experienced on an as-needed basis only!

Second Place Win!

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JIB Finals Conclude Today

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Please take a few moments to vote for this blog for "Best Torah Blog 2007."

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Zeved Habat - Baby Naming Prayer

Please read the latest post on my Ask Rabbi Maroof Blog, in which I briefly explain why I am dissatisfied with the traditional text used for newborn girls' baby naming ceremonies.

You can also download the PDF version of an original baby naming prayer I composed over two years ago when my daughter, Zehara Yehudit, was born.

(Also note the thoughtful constructive criticism there from my friend David G.)

Racism Against Sephardic Jews

That is the topic Rabbi Maryles considers in one of his most recent posts.

Hazaq U'varuch to him for taking a strong and principled stand on what is unfortunately a very sensitive issue.

(The comments are worthwhile perusing as well.)

Shavuot and Shemini Atseret - Two of A Kind (II)

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In the previous post, we identified five noteworthy characteristics that Shavuot and Shemini Atseret have in common. What is the reason for their strong resemblance?

The Ramban, in his commentary to Leviticus 23:36, offers a cryptic explanation for the holiday of Shemini Atseret:

According to the way of truth: For in six days did Hashem create the Heavens and the Earth; the seventh day is Shabbat and has no partner, and the Congregation of Israel is its partner, as it is written "and the Earth"; and behold, she is eighth. "It is an Atseret", for there everything is stopped (Heb. netsar hakol). And He commanded regarding the Festival of Matsot seven days with holiness before and after them, for they are totally holy with Hashem in their midst, and count from it forty nine days, seven weeks like the days of the world, and sanctify the eighth day like the eighth day of Sukkot - the counted days in between are like the Intermediate Days of the festival between the first and eight days of Sukkot - and that is the day of the giving of the Torah on which He showed them His great fire and they heard His voice from the fire. Therefore, the Rabbis always call Shavuot "Atseret", because it is like the eighth day of Sukkot which the Torah calls "Atseret"...

This statement of the Ramban is quite mysterious, but I believe we can still derive a tremendous insight from it. The key distinction he introduces is between the number seven - which, as he points out, is a reference to the seven days of creation in Genesis - and the number eight, which he understands as a symbolic reference to the Congregation of Israel.

Although he is deliberately obscure, it seems that the Ramban is therefore suggesting that the holidays that fall on "eighth" days - i.e., Shavuot and Shemini Atseret, which follow the seven-day holidays - are associated with the metaphysical identity of the Jewish people, whereas the seven-day holidays themselves are linked to the material world.

This simple observation has the potential to account for several of the unique properties of Shemini Atseret and Shavuot that we mentioned in the last post. But let us begin by considering the implications of this theory for the seven-day holidays that precede them.

Both Pesah and Sukkot relate primarily to our physical lives. On Pesah, we consume a new form of bread, and on Sukkot we eat and sleep in a new 'home' environment. Both holidays address our bodily existence and elevate our awareness of Hashem through the introduction of special mitsvot that "interfere" with our normal, physiologically-based routines. It is not unreasonable to say, then, that both Passover and Sukkot are holidays rooted in the "seven days of creation"; that is, they address us insofar as we are biological creatures, parts of the broader framework of the natural world.

By contrast, Shavuot and Shemini Atseret are related to the "Congregation of Israel" - our metaphysical, spiritual identity as human beings that distinguishes us from the rest of the created order and allows us to rise above it. The ultimate manifestation of this uniquely human capacity is the experience of revelation whereby we become cognizant of God's infinite wisdom. The product of that Divine encounter is the Torah, which is the focal point of both Shavuot and Shemini Atseret. Put simply, these holidays are related to the spiritual rather than the physical dimension of our existence.

This is the concept of the Jewish people being the "partner" of Shabbat. The universe displays Divine Wisdom with breathtaking elegance. However, absent a group of people who are dedicated to observing and reflecting upon that wisdom, it would never become fully actualized; it would remain, as it were, undiscovered. The Jewish people literally 'complete' the Universe by contemplating the beauty of its design every Shabbat.

Thus, we see that the Torah institutes two seven-day holidays, each of which is followed by a one-day "Atseret". The seven day holidays heighten our awareness of God by implementing changes in the physical aspects of our lifestyle - what or where we eat, etc. For these adjustments to really have an impact, they must be extended over an entire week's time. Sitting in a Sukkah or abstaining from leavened products for only one day would not make a significant difference in a person's life. Internalizing the message of these holidays is a gradual process; it takes a while for our minds to absorb the implications of what our bodies are doing.

However, the ultimate goal of all of these concrete behaviors is to prepare us for the apprehension of Hashem's truth with our highest faculties - our minds. When we reach this final stage, embodied in Shavuot and Shemini Atseret, we celebrate the actual achievement of a new intellectual plateau - either the experience of revelation at Sinai or the completion of our annual course of Torah study - rather than focusing on the gradual process of reaching that plateau. Consequently, these holidays are observed for a single day only, just like Shabbat. It goes without saying that no physical rituals are associated with these days because their theme is, by definition, metaphysical in nature.

In summary, then, Pesah and Sukkot serve to lay the material groundwork for the more transcendent celebrations of Shavuot and Shemini Atseret. And, of course, both Shavuot and Shemini Atseret center on our holy Torah, which represents the intellectual interface between human beings and their Creator.

Two major questions still remain. First of all, being that Shavuot and Shemini Atseret both revolve around Torah knowledge, celebrating both of the seems redundant. Why do we need two holidays dedicated to the same theme?

Second, if they are indeed so similar, why is Shavuot separated from Pesah by a stretch of 49 days? We know that, unlike Shavuot, Shemini Atseret is directly appended to the seven days of Sukkot - it is literally the eighth day of the holiday. What is the reason for the disparity between the structure of Passover-Shavuot and the structure of Sukkot-Shemini Atseret?

Stay tuned - in a post to follow shortly, I will suggest an answer to both of these questions that I think sheds light on the nature of the Jewish Holiday cycle as a whole.

Shavuot and Shemini Atseret - Two of a Kind?

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What do Shavuot and Shemini Atseret have in common? A brief consideration of these holidays reveals that they bear an unmistakable resemblance to one another on a variety of levels:

1) Both are observed for a single day only (two days in the Diaspora).

2) Both are "appended", as it were, to seven day holidays - Shavuot is the culmination of the Omer count begun on Pesah, and Shemini Atseret represents the culmination of Sukkot.

3) Both are referred to as "Atseret" - Shemini Atseret is designated as such by the Torah itself (hence its name), whereas, in Rabbinic parlance, "Atseret" is the term used for Shavuot.

4) Both holidays lack any concrete ritual expression or seasonal commandment (outside of the special offerings brought in the Temple, that is). Unlike Passover, which is associated with the consumption of matsa, and Sukkot, which revolves around dwelling in the Sukkah and waving the Four Species, Shavuot and Shemini Atseret do not obligate us in any positive mitsvot at all.

5) Both Shavuot and Shemini Atseret are thematically linked to the study of Torah. Shavuot commemorates the Revelation at Sinai, while Shemini Atseret is "Simhat Torah" - the day that we celebrate our completion of yet another annual cycle of Torah readings.

What is the reason for these remarkable similarities?

Stay tuned for a fascinating answer based upon a cryptic commentary from Nachmanides.

Meanwhile, of course, educated guesses are welcome in the comments to this post.

Samples of Sephardic Cantillation

Two very exciting events are coming up for me this Sunday. The first is that Magen David Sephardic Congregation will be celebrating a hachnasat Sefer Torah - the welcoming of a new Torah Scroll to our community. The Sefer Torah in question is particularly special because it has been dedicated, not by a single individual or small group of philanthropists, but by the membership of our synagogue as a whole. Nearly every family in our congregation contributed funds toward the purchase of the Scroll.

The second exciting event scheduled for this Sunday is the wedding of one of my dear friends and congregants here in Rockville. Mazal Tov!

Because of all the positive energy in the air today, I have been in a singing mood. I channelled that into the preparation of recordings of various upcoming Torah and Haftara selections.

The Haftara of Bemidbar with Syrian/Yerushalmi Cantillation

The Haftara of Bemidbar with Moroccan Cantillation

Parashat Nitsavim (First Aliya) with Yerushalmi Cantillation

You will probably notice some minor grammatical and perhaps even musical errors in my reading. Please excuse me; I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet this morning.

If you are very perceptive (i.e., a nudnik), you will notice systematic differences in Hebrew pronunciation between the Haftarot and the Torah reading. The reason for this is that the Parasha was prepared for an actual Bar Mitsvah student; as a result, I tried to read in a more conventional Sephardic Hebrew than I am normally accustomed to using.

The JIBs Rigged?

Two hours ago, Vesom Sechel was in the lead for Best Torah Blog in the Jewish-Israeli Blog Award (JIB) Finals, with over 170 votes.

Moments ago, the number of votes to its credit was drastically reduced, leaving only 83. Vesom Sechel suddenly fell into a distant and rather precarious Second Place position.

I suspect that the process of vote-authentication being employed by the JIBs staff is far from objective, and that this caused Vesom Sechel to lose many of the votes it had rightfully earned.

Please make sure to cast your ballot if you haven't already!

Who is Mighty?

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In Pirqei Avot last week, we read the famous Rabbinic dictum "Who is mighty? He who conquers his evil inclination." Most people take this statement in a metaphoric sense. Really, they assume, the quality of "gevurah" (mightiness) means just that - the possession of brute, physical strength. But, they claim, the Rabbis transformed the concept into something spiritual in order to put a more positive spin on it, and to make it seem more worthy of admiration.

I disagree with this approach. I think that the Rabbis are providing us with a tremendous insight into gevurah that is intended quite literally.

The average person goes to great lengths to appear powerful and "in control" of his life. When we reflect upon the epitome of "coolness" in our culture, we envision an individual who is unswayed by environmental influences - he calls the shots, so to speak, and others carry out his bidding, while he remains consistently detached, calm and collected.

Yet beneath that veneer of mastery he exhibits in the outside world lies a turbulent inner life, dominated by passions and emotions that are very much in the "driver's seat" of that individual's decision making processes. He is not as powerful or well-put-together as he would like us to believe. His desire for instinctual and psychological pleasures of all kinds rages within him and influences his conduct on an almost constant basis. Whereas the external elements of his life appear orderly and well managed, his soul is a bundle of petty emotions that are his true "masters" in life. Only a person who has command over his internal world is really in control.

We encounter examples of this dichotomy in the media all the time. Recently, right here in the Washington, DC area, several high profile businessmen and politicians were disgraced when their names were found on the customer list of an upscale escort service. These purportedly mighty individuals are in reality putty in the hands of their instinctual drives. Once their indiscretions become public knowledge, it is difficult for them to regain the respect of the masses - respect that, it seems, was predicated on an illusion from the outset. These characters were admired because people believed they embodied genuine gevurah; the dispelling of this misconception is a source of great humiliation for all involved.

This insight into the concept of gevurah can also help us to explain a fascinating occurrence at the beginning of the Book of Joshua. When Joshua sends spies to Jericho to assess the morale of the locals, they stop in at the home of Rahav, the proprietress of an inn which also functioned as a 'house of ill repute'. The Midrash tells us that Rahav was not just any member of the world's oldest profession - she was the equivalent of the premiere "upscale" escort in Biblical times, who enjoyed relationships with all the rich and famous of Canaan.

The question is often raised - why did these righteous men see fit to lodge in a place of immorality and prostitution? Couldn't they have stopped in a more wholesome location?

In light of our analysis, the answer seems clear. The powerful leaders of Canaan had no problem maintaining a public image of coolness and detachment before their constituents. The common people may have been blissfully unaware of the private insecurities and deficiencies of their kings and princes. But Rahav saw these influential figures for who they really were - weak men, addicted to and enslaved by base pleasures and fantasies, who nonetheless sought to present themselves as larger-than-life heroes worthy of admiration.

Like many prostitutes and "adult entertainment" workers, Rahav had no respect for her customers and may even have despised them. She became disillusioned with the culture of falsehood and deception created and perpetuated by these lustful and immature men. Her recognition of the hypocrisy of the smooth-talking politicians of Canaan enabled her to appreciate the truth of the Torah's message and inspired her to cleave to the Nation of Israel.

We can see, then, that the Jewish spies selected their destination based upon a sound knowledge of psychological principles. They realized that the person who would be able to provide them with the most accurate assessment of the morale of the Canaanites would be Rahav. Because of her profession, the madame of Jericho had countless opportunities to interact with the most influential personalities in the region when their guard was down and their true colors were on display.

Although the leaders of Jericho appeared mighty on a superficial level, they lacked true gevurah. Their artificial image of confidence and control obscured the fact that, in truth, they were not the masters of their own destiny at all. These ostensibly powerful men allowed themselves to be enslaved by the most ignoble elements in the human psyche.

Visiting Rahav gave these men the chance to drop the charade, step out of character and be themselves for a while. And during these moments of weakness, they found comfort in sharing their hidden insecurities and fears with their professional paramour. Rahav was disgusted with the disingenuousness of the Canaanite power brokers and was more than happy to reveal what she learned from them to the invading Israelites.

The Rabbis teach us that mastery over one's environment is no substitute for gevurah. Only a person who rises above his passions and makes his decisions with wisdom and forethought is truly in control of his life.

Shoshanat Yaaqov

I am proud to present a new compendium entitled "Shoshanat Yaaqov: A Guide to the Jewish Wedding and Laws of Family Purity in Light of the Fundamentals of Jewish Thought."

Shoshanat Yaaqov includes practical halachic guidelines on an introductory level, as well as a philosophical perspective on the meaning and significance of these laws.

As it has not yet fully been edited and is still a work in progress, I would very much appreciate your feedback and constructive criticism.

You can download Shoshanat Yaaqov here.

Shabbat Shalom!

The Marital Prohibitions

The arayot, or sexual prohibitions of the Torah, feature prominently in this week's double parasha. One of the most fascinating aspects of the Jewish 'take' on sexual restrictions is the way in which they are conceptualized by the early commentaries. It never occurred to our great Rabbis that we should be stricken with horror at the very prospect of incest or homosexuality. On the contrary, not only Ibn Ezra and Rambam, but even the Ramban asks why the Torah forbids these activities. The implicit premise of their analyses is that the Torah is a system of wisdom, not a set of taboos. It may be true that we have a natural aversion to certain forms of sexual expression, but this is of no significance to the Torah whatsoever.

The Rambam famously explains the incest restrictions from a practical standpoint. We grow up in close proximity to our relatives and spend a great deal of time with them throughout our lives. Were sexual relationships among siblings or between parents and children allowed, the constant availability of these individuals to us would encourage excessive involvement in sensual pleasure. The Ibn Ezra likewise adopts this explanation of the laws.

Nachmanides objects vigorously to the Rambam's analysis on several grounds. He points out that a man's wife lives with her husband and is regularly available to him as well, yet the Torah sets few limits on intimacy within the framework of marriage. Moreover, the Torah allows a man to take numerous wives, which would seem to defeat the whole purpose of minimizing access to sensual pleasure.

The Ramban therefore rejects the notion that the basis for the incest prohibition is related to diminishing the extent of a person's pursuit of instinctual gratification. Instead, he explains the incest restrictions from the perspective of Qabbalah. According to the Qabbalistic tradition, the children of certain marital unions are spiritually defective. These problematic relationships are the ones barred by the Torah.

The position of Maimonides, however, demands our consideration. How would he respond to the challenges levelled against him by Nachmanides?

I believe that the Rambam's understanding of the harmful nature of incest reveals his profound grasp of human psychology. When a person is growing up, it is important for him or her to experience home and family life as something safe and non-threatening. The household environment must be a forum for learning, exploration and development. If a child were to be viewed by his or her own relatives as a sexual object, or were to view his or her relatives as potential sexual partners, the whole structure and focus of family life would be undermined.

Modern literature on sexual abuse and incest fully supports this idea. Homes in which siblings and/or children and parents engage in physically intimate activities with one another are never healthy homes. Parents cease acting in the roles of teacher and mentor and are transformed into predators. Children are treated not as helpless creatures in need of nurturing and guidance but as tools for the personal gratification of more powerful adults. The results are profoundly disturbing; being raised in such a household never fails to scar an individual for life.

A family is supposed to serve as an educational resource and a wellspring of inspiration for its children, preparing them for a healthy existence in the "real world". An incestuous family dynamic moves in the opposite direction. Its energies are occupied with its own immediate satisfaction rather than any transcendent objective or ideal . Members of such a family become steeped in the selfish pursuit of instinctual pleasure - and the youngsters reared in this environment internalize these values, lacking the maturity to "rise above" them.

Anna Freud, in her book Psychoanalysis for Teachers and Parents, discusses this problem at length. She cites one instance in which, from earliest youth, a particular young boy's sexual interests were never allowed to be frustrated. He experienced unlimited gratification whenever he wanted it. The situation evolved over time to the point that, as a teenager and well into his adult years, the "child" maintained an exclusive sexual relationship with his mother.

Anna Freud observed that many people might expect this person to be very happy and productive - after all, he was provided with unlimited, unrestricted sensual pleasure throughout his formative years, and never had to experience the pain or frustration most people endure. However, the opposite turned out to be the case. The boy never developed emotional or intellectual maturity - he was totally stagnant as a human being. He was not capable of succeeding in school or contributing to society. His life was a tragic failure.

This is a perfect example of what the Rambam is saying about incest. Sexuality cannot be a part of the home environment of a youngster. If interactions with relatives cross the boundary of what is appropriate, a child will have great difficulty developing into a mature, sensitive and intellectually attuned human being in the future.

Thus, the Rambam was not simply suggesting that incestuous relationships would allow for too much sexual activity. It is not a matter of quantity alone, as Nachmanides rightly observed in his critique. What the Rambam really means is that incestuous behavior - precisely because it occurs within the confines of a family and cannot be regulated or controlled - stands in the way of the development of a child's personality, and derails the holy objective for which Jewish households are established.

The Importance of Review

Since Pesah, many of us have spent our Shabbat afternoons reflecting upon Pirke Avot, The Ethics of Our Fathers. One of the key themes of Pirke Avot is the incomparable value of Torah knowledge and the importance pursuing it wholeheartedly. Although we all attach great significance to Torah wisdom, few people take the time to seriously consider practical strategies for acquiring it effectively. We have a tendency to simply "dive" into the texts of the Torah or Talmud without too much forethought.

In order to enjoy the most enriching Torah Study experience possible, we must turn to the masters of our tradition for guidance as to the proper method of learning. An examination of the words of our Sages reveals that they placed an unusually strong emphasis on the importance of hazara, review. Remarkably, the Talmud (Sanhedrin 99a) asserts that "anyone who learns Torah but does not review is considered like one who sows seeds but does not harvest his crop."

Obviously, no farmer who has spent long hours tilling, sowing and fertilizing his field would pass up the opportunity to profit from his investment. Indeed, the reason for all of his toil is his desire to eventually benefit from the produce of his land. If a farmer neglects to reap what he has sown, all of his efforts are retroactively rendered meaningless. Intriguingly then, the metaphor that the Rabbis employ suggests that one who diligently engages in the study of Torah but fails to review his studies has literally labored in vain.

Certainly no one would question the practical, mnemonic value of review - without review, one is likely to forget at least some of what one has learned. When a student reviews material, he revisits information and ideas that he has explored in the past so as to improve his capacity to remember them in the future. This repetition does not contribute anything to what he knows; he is simply making use of a strategy that will help him hold onto the knowledge he has already acquired. Nevertheless, the Rabbis maintained that if a person does not review his Torah studies, his process of learning itself is somehow incomplete. In their view, hazara does not simply reinforce our memories - it adds a crucial element to our understanding of Torah.

By definition, though, review involves the rehashing of facts and concepts we have already learned. How can this possibly contribute something novel to our body of knowledge?

The answer to this difficulty lies in a clarification of the Torah’s concept of review. A person who wishes to expand his Torah knowledge must begin somewhere. He selects a specific set of laws or halachic topic to research and analyze, and progresses carefully from one aspect of this subject to the next. The only way to explore a Torah topic systematically is to consider its component parts in detail, one by one. By the time he has concluded his investigation, he may have accumulated a vast array of meaningful insights - each fascinating in its own right - that have offered him a glimpse of the inscrutable depth of the Torah’s wisdom.

However, the collection of novel points he has discovered, as beautiful as it might be, remains just that - a collection, loosely knit and lacking unity. Unless the student opts to revisit these insights and synthesize them into a meaningful whole, he will not have reaped the ultimate benefit of his Torah study - the chance to perceive the magnificent conceptual structure that underlies all of the smaller hidushim he has toiled to develop and perfect. It is this search for the "big picture", this process of reevaluating and integrating the results of one’s Torah learning in order to reveal abstract principles of ever more stunning elegance, that constitutes genuine review.

With this in mind, we can better understand the value that our Rabbis attached to the review of Torah learning. What Hazal advocated was not the mechanical repetition of memorized facts or ideas but a fundamental transformation of the way we understand and conceptualize the knowledge we have acquired.

After we have thoroughly acquainted ourselves with a topic of Torah study and have subjected its details to careful analysis, we are presented with the chance to take our comprehension of the wisdom of Torah to an even more profound level. It is now the time for us to review the insights we have gained with the hope of identifying a broader, more penetrating theoretical formulation that will further integrate and illuminate them. We mull over our previous discoveries not as an aid to memory, but as a stimulus to qualitatively deeper intellectual breakthroughs.

Now it is clear why a person who learns but does not review is compared to a farmer who works tirelessly to plant but never harvests his crop. Through his toil, the student has placed himself in a position where he can avail himself of the most precious of opportunities - the opportunity to unlock a whole new realm of Torah wisdom and knowledge of God.

If he fails to review his learning and thereby move beyond his current level of understanding, his comprehension of Torah will never reach its zenith. In effect, he will have abandoned the most delectable fruits of his labor, leaving new vistas of Torah knowledge unexplored.

On the other hand, one who performs hazara in this unique manner experiences the breathtaking beauty of the Creator’s wisdom with an added dimension of clarity. From this new vantage point, the student gains a deeper awareness of the infinity of God’s knowledge as it is revealed in His Torah. Having perceived the untold richness, complexity and sophistication of the Torah’s wisdom in such an exquisite way, he is sure to echo the words of King David, "for every pursuit I have seen an end, but Your commandment is exceedingly vast."

JIB Awards Nomination

It just came to my attention that this blog has been nominated for "Best Torah Blog" on the JIB Awards Site (Group C).

I am honored to have been nominated, especially in view of the fact that my communal obligations have prevented me from posting on a regular basis for the past couple of months.

Of course, I plan to resume my every-other-day posting schedule as soon as I possibly can.

Thank you to my readership for your kind support.

The Relationship Between Pesah and Matsah

The Paschal offering in Egypt marked the beginning of the final stage of the Jews' redemption from their oppression. It subsequently became the focal point of the observance of Passover which, despite its absence today due to our lack of a Temple, is still commemorated in several ways at the Seder.


Passover and the Problem of Timing

The Pesah Sacrifice stands out from among all other sacrifices in several respects. The first unusual characteristic of the Pesah that is noteworthy is its timing. Holiday sacrifices are typically offered on the Yom Tov when they are supposed to be eaten. Not so the Qorban Pesah, which is carried out the day before the holiday of Passover.

(Indeed, the Torah assigns the name "Pesah" to the 14 of Nissan, the day we refer to as "Erev Pesah", and calls the 7-day holiday "Hag Hamatsot" instead of "Pesah". That is to say, the 14 of Nissan is treated as if it were a holiday in its own right that revolves around the offering of the Paschal sacrifice. We are indebted to Rabbinic parlance for the change in terminology. )

Furthermore, the Temple obeyed a general rule that forbade sacrifices from being offered in the late afternoon. No sacrifice was allowed to be brought after the fixed Afternoon Offering (Tamid) was completed. The regular communal offering was supposed to be the final sacrifice each day. Remarkably, the Qorban Pesah is governed by the opposite rule - it must be offered after the Tamid sacrifice on the 14th of Nissan!

The problem of timing is compounded by the laws regulating the consumption of the sacrifice. Although the Qorban Pesah is offered in the Temple on the calendar date of 14 Nissan, one is not permitted to eat of its meat until the nighttime, i.e., until the 15th of Nissan! This is quite unusual. As a rule, offerings are to be consumed as soon as possible. Different sacrifices have different halachic deadlines that specify the amount of time within which they must be eaten. However, we almost never find a sacrifice that is offered on one day for the purpose of a meal on the next day.

One more striking feature of the Qorban Pesah deserves mention. In ancient times, prior to the construction of the First Temple, individual and local altars were still allowed to be used for sacrifice. Only communal offerings had to be brought to the national altar that was housed in the Tabernacle. The Paschal Sacrifice, however, despite the fact that it was a personal offering, could not be completed at a local altar - it had to be offered at the national sanctuary. Indeed, the Torah tells us in Parashat Re'eh:

You may not slaughter the Passover Offering in one of your gates which the Lord, your God, gives you. Rather, to the place which the Lord, your God, will choose to rest His name - there shall you sacrifice the Passover in the evening; when the sun goes down, it is the Holiday of your exit from Egypt.

Ironically, though, once the 15th of Nissan rolls around and the issue of eating the Paschal lamb comes up, communal seders are prohibited, and individualism is the rule:

In one house it shall be eaten - do not bring any of the meat outside of the house...

The Qorban Pesah is not the only mysterious element of Passover. The prohibition of hametz is also formulated in a way that seems counterintuitive. The Torah explicitly forbids the consumption of hametz during the seven days of Passover. The Torah also tells us that the Passover sacrifice may not be offered "on hametz". Our Rabbis teach us that this means that hametz must be removed from our domains beginning with midday of the 14 of Nissan, i.e., Erev Pesah.

An obvious technical question thus presents itself. Why does the Torah formulate this as two distinct prohibitions, one for half a day on the 14 of Nissan, and one for a full seven days during Passover proper? Why not simply command us to abstain from hametz from midday on the 14 through the end of the 21st?


Exodus - National and Individual

In order to better understand the significance of the 14th and 15th of Nissan, respectively, we must consider the dual function of the Exodus experience. One objective of the offering of the Qorban Pesah was the constitution of a new nation dedicated to the service of Hashem. This was accomplished through the communal participation in the sacrifice "the entire community of the congregation of Israel shall do it." The fourteenth of Nissan is a day on which every individual Jew demonstrates his identification with the Jewish people and its mission. This is reflected most clearly in the fact that the Qorban Pesah, although a personal offering, must be brought in a national setting.

As important as the events of the 14th of Nissan were for establishing the unity of the Jewish nation, they were only one step in the process of creating a holy community. Every household had to implement the concepts of Pesah in its own framework and apply them to its function. This process was initiated through the consumption of the Qorban Pesah in the home. Through carrying the sacrificial meat from the national sanctuary to one's private domain, an individual showed his intention to bring the message of the offering into his personal life.

Indeed, the seven day holiday of Passover can actually be construed as our "response" to the fundamental lesson of the Qorban Pesah. Through the Paschal Sacrifice, we demonstrate our rejection of the materialism of idolatry and our commitment to a spiritual, transcendent purpose in life. This shift in thought should yield a commensurate shift in behavior - an abandonment of leavened bread, the bread of luxury, and its replacement with matsah, the bread of servitude. Our recognition of the metaphysical basis of existence leads us to spurn the pursuit of wealth and pleasure and to dedicate ourselves to the service of a higher objective - knowledge and imitation of the ways of God.

There is a beautiful proof for this idea in a curious verse in Parashat Re'eh which presents the law of the Paschal Sacrifice:

You shall not eat any hametz on it; seven days you shall eat on it matzot, the bread of affliction.

There is an obvious difficulty with this verse. We understand that hametz may not be eaten "on" the Paschal Offering. We also know that hametz is prohibited during the seven days of Passover. But why does the Torah say we should eat matsot "on" the Qorban Pesah for seven days? After the first night, the Paschal Sacrifice is gone!

In light of what we have already explained, the verse makes perfect sense. The seven day holiday of Passover is in fact integrally linked to the Paschal Sacrifice - it represents our response to the spiritual challenge that the Qorban Pesah lays at our feet. Thus, we are actually eating matsot "on" - that is, in the wake of, or by dint of - the Passover Offering, for seven days.

We can now appreciate why the Passover sacrifice had to be brought after the Tamid offering, not before. Although it is offered during the daytime of the 14th of Nissan, its ultimate goal is only realized in the evening, where its consumption becomes a fundamental part of the observance of the Festival of Matsot. The fact that the sacrificial procedure is delayed until the conclusion of the daily order of offerings shows that it is in fact not related to that order of offerings - it is tied to the upcoming night's festivities. The national offering of the Paschal Sacrifices on the 14th of Nissan sets up the theological framework for the observance of Passover in each and every Jewish household on Pesah night.

The difficulty we raised with regard to the prohibition of hametz can now also be resolved. The Passover Offering cannot be completed unless its owners have already divested themselves of hametz in anticipation of the Festival. This is over and above the requirement to avoid hametz during the seven day "Hag Hamatsot" that begins in the evening. Our separation from hametz on the 14th of Nissan demonstrates that, even before we offer the Qorban Pesah, we are already prepared to bring it into our homes on the Seder Night. Thus, through abstaining from hametz on the 14th of Nissan, we underscore the connection between the offering of the Qorban Pesah in the Temple and its function as the "stimulus", as it were, for the Holiday of Passover proper.

We should not overlook the subtle and elegant manner in which the Torah formulated the holiday of Pesah. The central event on Passover is the Seder, which, in contradistinction to most of our holiday observances (Shofar, Lulav, etc.), takes place at night. Nighttime has a dual identity in Jewish Law. From the perspective of Shabbat and Holidays, the evening precedes the morning - "and it was evening and it was morning, one day" - so our holy days always begin the 'night before' their calendar date. From the perspective of the Laws of Sacrifices, however, the daytime is viewed, in the conventional sense, as preceding the nighttime. Offerings brought on a given day are eaten or burned during the night that follows.

The Seder Night, then, embodies both facets of nighttime. It is simultaneously the "end" of the 14th of Nissan - the date of the Paschal Sacrifice - and the beginning of the 15th of Nissan, the first day of the Passover Holiday. The Pesah Offering is consumed at the conclusion of the 14th of Nissan from the vantage point of the Temple's regulations, while serving as a key component of the meal that marks the beginning of the Festival on the 15th. Hence, it is through the night of the Seder that Biblical "Passover" and the "Festival of Matsot" are linked!

Finally, we may now be in a position to understand why the Rabbis chose to refer to the "Festival of Matsot" as "Pesah", despite the fact that this contravenes Biblical usage. Through adopting this terminology, the Sages emphasize that "Hag Hamatsot" ultimately derives from "Pesah". The Jews' ideological commitment, reflected in the Paschal Sacrifice, generates the impetus for the lifestyle change adopted on the Festival of Unleavened Bread. This lifestyle change, in turn, is a manifestation of the Jews' dedication to internalizing the ideas represented by the Pesah Offering. Thus, in a very real way, the "Festival of Matsot" embodies the message of Passover in its fullest form.

Pesah and Matsah and Maror - But Why?

One peculiar feature of the Haggada stands out year after year:

Rabban Gamliel used to say: Anyone who fails to mention three things on the night of Passover has not fulfilled his obligation. And what are they? The Paschal Sacrifice, Matsa and Maror.

The simplest interpretation of Rabban Gamliel's statement is that he is referring to the commandment to tell the story of the Exodus on the first night of Passover. Rabban Gamliel informs us that, unless the mitsvot of the Paschal offering, Matsa and Maror are discussed, one has not discharged one's obligation to speak about the Exodus. It is imperative that we identify the purpose of each one of these rituals on the Seder night.

This, however, poses an obvious problem. The mitsvot we are doing on the Seder night are not a part of the story! If Rabban Gamliel had insisted that anyone who forgets to mention the Ten Plagues has not done justice to the Exodus narrative, we would understand why. If he had ruled that anyone who fails to draw attention to the harshness of Pharaoh's oppression or the swiftness of the redemption had not captured the essence of the dramatic tale, we would accept it.

But explaining the commandments that we are about to perform on the night of Pesah - though important - is not a component of telling the story. Why should skipping that part of the Haggada invalidate our discussion of God's deliverance of His people from bondage?

Fascinatingly, this difficulty is not limited to the statement of Rabban Gamliel. There are several noteworthy instances in which the Haggada appears to value the discussion of the mitsvot of Passover more than the discussion of the Exodus itself. For example, consider the Haggada's instructions on how to respond to the query of the Wise Son:

You shall tell him the Laws of Passover, that we do not have dessert after the Paschal offering.

What happened to the story of the Exodus? Why are we entering into a conversation about the rules and regulations of Pesah, when it seems we should be focused on gaining insight into the most fundamental event in our nation's history?

(Another memorable example is the discussion of the Rabbis in Bene Brak, which revolves around a practical halachic issue only tangentially related to Pesah).

I believe that the answer to this basic problem is surprisingly simple. It is contained in the language of the Torah itself:

When your son asks you tomorrow, saying, 'What are the testimonies, the statutes and the ordinances that Hashem our God commanded you?' And you shall say to your son, 'We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Hashem took us out of Egypt with a strong hand. And Hashem placed signs and wonders - great and terrible - in Egypt, against Pharaoh and his entire household before our eyes. And we He took out from there...And Hashem commanded us to do all of these statutes, to fear Hashem our God; for our benefit all of our days...

A close examination of the Bible reveals that the mitsvah to retell the story of the Exodus is always mentioned in conjunction with the performance of the commandments of the Torah. A parent is typically portrayed as justifying his commitment to the halachic system based upon the historical experience of oppression and redemption in Egypt.

This indicates that the function of discussing the Exodus on Passover is not to entertain the family with historical trivia or midrashic tales. The Seder is not meant to transport us into the ancient past so that we can reminisce about a bygone era. Rather, the objective of Passover night is to draw from history so as to shed light on the reasons for our current observance of Judaism.

This is precisely the message Rabban Gamliel is sending us. Our exploration of the Exodus must revolve around deepening our sense of commitment as Jews in the here-and-now. Otherwise, the dramatic narrative is reduced to an historical relic. The ultimate goal of Pesah is to revitalize our dedication to God each year through the performance of the mitsvot of the holiday. In order for this to happen, we must delve into the historical genesis of these commandments and reflect upon their relevance to the experience of our ancestors in Egypt.

The offering of the Paschal Lamb represented the Jews' rejection of the idolatrous worldview of the Egyptians, who worshipped the sheep as a god. The consumption of unleavened bread was a demonstration of our forefathers' rejection of the materialistic value system of Egypt. The Egyptian culture revolved around bread, the staple food of the wealthy man who lived luxuriously. Slaves, on the other hand, were sustained by unleavened products that were easier and less time-consuming to prepare. Through eating the "bread of affliction", our ancestors expressed their desire to live a life of service to God rather than a life of self-indulgence. Although free, they still saw themselves as dedicated to a purpose nobler than that of sensual gratification.

However, when all is said and done, this historical background must serve as a springboard for us to understand the significance of the mitsvot for our families today. What modern forms of idolatry must we liberate ourselves from in this day and age? What are the symptoms of our own attachment to the decadence of Western culture and its deification of pleasure, wealth and power? What steps can we take to root it out?

If we walk away from the Seder table with beautiful new explanations of the Haggada text but without a better sense of why the Paschal Lamb, Matsah and Maror are relevant to our lives, then we have not fulfilled the mitsvah of discussing the Exodus. The experience has entertained us but has not tranformed us.

This is why the more advanced a child is, the more we divert our attention from the story and spend time analyzing the Laws of Passover in depth. A wise youngster who is capable of appreciating the beauty of the mitsvot and their purpose will discover that the concepts, values and ideals expressed in the Exodus narrative manifest themselves in the mitsvot that we perform on Passover and all year round. The themes of the story are not vague philosophical notions about God or platitudes about freedom; rather, they are profound, highly practical ideas that are translated into rigorous halachic form and "lived" in realtime. A child who is the beneficiary of such a sophisticated Seder will have a qualitatively different experience of Pesah observance and of Jewish life in general.

The upshot of this analysis of the Haggada is that the ultimate aim of the Seder is the enrichment of our observance of Judaism. We cannot allow the annual retelling of our ancestors dramatic Exodus to be reduced to an historical study. Our goal should be to utilize the Haggada as a means of enhancing our family's appreciation of the eternal significance of the mitsvot of Pesah.

In an upcoming post, I hope to discuss additional aspects of Pesah observance and their deeper meaning.

Guide to the Laws of Passover

This is a duplicate of the latest post on my other blog, "Ask The Rabbi".

"My yearly guide to the Essential Laws of Passover is now available online in PDF format. You can download a copy by clicking here.

If you are interested in receiving a version of the guide that includes extensive Hebrew footnotes and sources, please email me and I will gladly forward you a copy."


P.S. Keep checking back here. B'ezrat Hashem, there will be a new Pesah-related post on Vesom Sechel by the end of today.

Trickle-Down Spirituality

One of the most perplexing problems we encounter when studying the Book of Exodus is the style of presentation of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. Four parashot are dedicated to the construction of the Tabernacle - Terumah, Tetsaveh, Vayaqhel and Pequde. The first two deal with Hashem's instructions regarding the design of the Mishkan, its vessels and the Priestly vestments. The second pair discuss the fulfillment of these commandments by the Children of Israel.

Because of their common theme, we might expect these two "sets" of parashot to appear consecutively in the Torah. Instead, the thematic flow of the parashot is "interrupted" after Parashat Tetsaveh by the dramatic narratives in Parashat Ki Tissa. Why does the Torah structure its presentation of the Mishkan in such an unusual manner?

Our difficulty is complicated even further by the traditional view - accepted by Rashi and Seforno, among others - that the entire concept of the Mishkan was not actually introduced to Moshe until after the sin of the Golden Calf, i.e., after Parashat Ki Tissa. Logically, then, it would have made sense for the Torah to have placed all four of the relevant Parashot after Ki Tissa, rather than starting the discussion of the Mishkan with Terumah and Tetsaveh only to be sidetracked by the story of the Calf.

I believe that a "bird's eye" view of the structure of the past five Parashot, beginning with the end of Mishpatim, can offer us a compelling explanation for why the discussion of the Mishkan is divided up the way it is. Near the end of Parashat Mishpatim, a rather bizarre incident occurs that is only briefly described in the text:

"And Moses and Aaron went up; Nadav and Avihu, and seventy of the Elders of Israel. And they saw the God of Israel; and beneath His feet was like the work of sapphire stone and like the essence of the heavens in purity. Yet against the nobles of Israel He did not strike; and they beheld God, and ate and drank."

The Rambam, in the Moreh Nevuchim, explains the deeper significance of this vision:

But the Nobles of the Children of Israel were impetuous, and allowed their thoughts to go unrestrained: what they perceived was but imperfect. Therefore it is said of them, "And they saw the God of Israel, and there was under His feet.," etc., and not merely, "And they saw the God of Israel"; the purpose of the whole passage is to criticize their act of seeing and not to describe it. They are blamed for the nature of their perception, which was to a certain extent corporeal - a result which necessarily followed, from the fact that they ventured too far before being perfectly prepared. They deserved to perish, but at the intercession of Moses this fate was averted by God for the time. They were afterwards burnt at Taberah, except for Nadav and Avihu who were burnt in the Tabernacle of the Congregation, according to what is stated by authentic tradition.

In the Rambam's view, as a result of the revelation at Sinai, the elders overestimated their closeness to God and wound up reaching distorted conclusions about His nature. They attempted to translate Divinity into concrete terms, into a form they could relate to even in the midst of eating and drinking. The possibility that the Revelation might lead to this kind of mistake was anticipated by God from the outset. Immediately after the event, He told Moshe:

"...So shall you say to the Children of Israel - 'You have seen that I spoke to you from the fire. Do not make anything with Me; gods of silver and gods of gold you shall not make."

This concept was emphasized by Moshe when he recounted the experience at Sinai to the generation that was preparing to enter the land:

"You heard the sound of a voice, but you saw no picture - only a voice. Lest you become corrupt and make for yourselves a graven image..."

Returning to the vision of the Elders at the end of Parashat Mishpatim, we must ask ourselves a simple question: Is it mere coincidence that, a couple of Parashot later, we read:

"Get up and make us gods that will go before us...And they got up in the morning, and they sacrificed burnt offerings and peace offerings, and the people sat down to eat and drink, and they got up to engage in revelry."

The sin of the Golden Calf includes the same basic elements we observed in the vision of the elders. The Jews felt the need to create a tangible representation of God's presence, and they celebrated their newfound "intimacy" with God in a similar manner: through eating, drinking and partying.

Taking a step back and looking at the progression the Torah displays to us, we notice a fascinating pattern in the text. The spiritual high point of Revelation and the solemnization of the covenant is punctuated by the distorted vision of the Elders. Immediately after the transgression, Moshe is summoned to Mount Sinai as a sign of reconciliation and the Laws of the Mishkan are presented.

Moshe's period of separation on the Mountain - the high point of his prophetic experience - is similarly interrupted by the incident with the Golden Calf. The situation is resolved through the return of Moshe to Mount Sinai for a second stint of forty days and forty nights. After rapproachment is achieved, the Mishkan is finally constructed.

By tying both the vision of the Elders and the idolatrous worship of the nation to the Mishkan, the Torah intimates that there is a conceptual connection between the mistake of the leaders and the grave error of the people. The relatively minor metaphysical distortion in the Elder's conception of God predisposed them - and the people of Israel, who depended upon them for spiritual guidance - to fall into the disastrous trap of outright idol worship.

The desire to make God something tangible, present in a subtle form in the minds of the wise elders, developed into a full blown, irrepressible obsession among the people. The primitive impulse to "see God" derived from the Israelites' attachment to the realm of the physical in general; hence the association between idolatrous tendencies and "eating and drinking" - the indulgement in pleasures of the body - in both cases.

The Rambam hints to these issues himself in his subsequent remarks about the vision of the Elders:

If such was the case with them, how much more it is incumbent upon us who are inferior, and on those who are below us, to persevere in perfecting our knowledge of the elements, and in rightly understanding the preliminaries that purify the mind from the defilement of error...The Nobles of the Children of Israel, besides erring in their perception were, through this cause, also misled in their actions; for in consequence of their confused perception, they gave way to bodily cravings....

We can now appreciate that the monumental sin of the Golden Calf was, in reality, a direct result of the intellectual immodesty and spiritual imperfection of the Elders. In the end, the seemingly minor errors of the leaders exterted a major influence on the perspective of the Jews and brought them quite literally to the brink of destruction.

What is the connection between these sinful thoughts and actions and the eventual construction of the Tabernacle? The Mishkan, according to many commentators, is designed to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf. A simple consideration of its significance reveals how it accomplishes this objective. The Mishkan serves as a concrete reflection of God's presence among the Jewish people, while categorically forbidding any representation of Hashem Himself. It satisfies the human need for concreteness but disallows the attribution of physicality to the Creator proper. In this sense, it functions as a compromise between the emotional attraction to idolatry on the one hand and fidelity to the Jewish concept of God on the other.

By linking the respective mistakes of the Elders and the Nation to the Mishkan, the Torah shows us exactly how the institution of the Sanctuary helped to address the psychological need for a tangible representation of the Divine Presence. After the sin of the Elders, the Laws of the Mishkan were detailed. Just as their mistake existed only in the realm of the intellectual, so to did its "remedy", the Tabernacle, come into existence intellectually, in the form of commandments and instructions.

However, the sin of the Golden Calf took place in the realm of action - the Jews carried the philosophical error of the Elders to its ultimate conclusion, and physically engaged in idolatry. As such, it is followed up with the actual construction of the Mishkan; that is, the concrete implementation of its abstract laws and guidelines, the realization of its design in the material world.

Of course, the more general lesson here cannot be overlooked. Ideas and concepts are much more powerful than we tend to assume. An incorrect notion is not a harmless triviality; it can be a dangerous thing. The way we think about God, the world and ourselves can have the effect of tainting or even derailing our personal, communal and religious development. Wrongheaded teachers and leaders pose an especially serious threat, because the influence they exert on their followers is extraordinarily potent and can lead to destructive consequences of major proportions.

Sadly, we need not look too far to find contemporary examples of such phenomena in both Jewish and non-Jewish contexts.

Article on the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy

Back in September, I posted an extensive piece on the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy and their important role in our High Holiday liturgy. However, I have two good reasons for assuming that very few people read the original article, namely:

1) At that time, my blog was relatively new and the readership has grown a great deal since then, and

2) The article itself was lengthy, detailed and somewhat complex.

Because the September post deals with the structure of Parashat Ki Tissa - and, in my opinion, presents a helpful way of approaching many difficult aspects of that Parasha - I thought that this would be an ideal time to give it a special "plug".

Feedback on the original post will be much appreciated.

Of Children

"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that

His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable."

From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.

(This passage never fails to bring tears to my eyes, and to remind me of the sacred responsibility that is parenthood.)

The Mystery of The Red Heifer

This week, in addition to Parashat Ki Tissa, we also read "Parashat Parah", the section in the Book of Numbers that describes the ritual of the Red Heifer (Parah Adumah). This ritual involved the slaughter of a Red Heifer outside of the Temple, and the subsequent reduction of its flesh and entrails to ashes. The ashes of the heifer were then combined with several other ingredients, including cedar wood, a branch of hyssop and a scarlet string. A person who came into contact with a dead body - whether at a funeral or otherwise - had to be sprinkled with this formula on the third and seventh days of his impurity before immersing in a mikveh, or ritual bath. Only then could such an individual regain admission to the Tabernacle or Holy Temple.

Interestingly, the Torah opens its presentation of the Red Heifer with the phrase "zoht huqat Hatorah" ("this is the statute of the Torah"). The Rabbis explain that the Red Heifer is the quintessential "hoq", or mysterious commandment, whose rationale is hidden from us. Indeed, it embodies a classic paradox; although the ashes of the Heifer serve to purify a person who has contracted impurity from the dead, they render anyone else who handles them impure! So they have contradictory effects, purifying and defiling simultaneously. Because of this and other unusual features of the process, the Red Heifer ritual is perhaps the most enigmatic commandment in the entire Torah. In fact, the Rabbis tell us that King Solomon grasped the reason behind every one of the 613 mitsvot, except for the Parah Adumah.

There is one fundamental questions that we can ask about the Parasha of the Red Heifer: Why did the Torah see fit to establish this particular institution as the epitome of a "hoq"? Why did Hashem choose to make this commandment - a purification ritual - so very mysterious and counterintuitive?

In order to gain a deeper insight into the significance of the Red Heifer, let us consider the fascinating comments of Rashi, who draws from a Midrash cited by Rabbi Moshe Hadarshan. In essence, Rashi interprets the ritual of the Red Heifer as an atonement for the sin of the Golden Calf. Along these lines, he proceeds to identify several fascinating parallels between the Heifer and the Calf. For example, the Torah states:

"Take for yourselves a perfectly red cow, that has no blemish..."

Rashi comments:

"Take for yourselves", from your own (communal) funds. Just as you gave of your golden rings for the [Golden] Calf, so too shall you provide its atonement.

"A red cow", this is analogous to a maidservant's son who soiled the king's palace. They said, 'let his mother come and clean the dirt.' Similarly, let the [red] Cow come and atone for the Calf.

"Red." As the verse says, 'if you have become red like crimson,' because sin is called red.

"A perfectly red cow". To symbolize Israel, who were first perfect but then became defective. Let the cow come and atone for them.

Rashi then goes on to explain numerous other details of the Parah Adumah ritual in the same spirit (see his comments on Numbers 19:22 at length).

Overall, Rashi makes a convincing case for positing the existence of a symbolic relationship between the sin of the Golden Calf and the preparation of the Red Heifer. Be that as it may, there is a major problem with this equation. After all, the Red Heifer is not a sacrifice, and is not presented as a vehicle of atonement at all! The Red Heifer is never associated with any transgression - its ashes are used to purify individuals from contact with a corpse, not from the defilement of sin.

Moreover, people usually encounter the dead in the context of a mitsvah, such as while present at a funeral or burial service. Such attendance is meritorious and should not require them to seek expiation or forgiveness afterward. Yet, despite their innocence, these individuals - because of their contact with a corpse - must now be purified through the ashes of the Red Heifer. It seems clear that this process of removing defilement has nothing to do with the comission of any crime. Why, then, does Rashi accept the view that the ritual of the Parah Adumah is meant to atone for the sin of idolatry?

I believe that the link between the Golden Calf and the Red Heifer provides us with a profound insight into human psychology and religious impulses in general. It is part of human nature to have a fear of death, a sense of vulnerability in the face of one's own mortality. Indeed, this anxiety is the basic nucleus from which most religious doctrine and behavior emerge. It is the fear of death and its mystery that propelled primitive man toward two objectives: The creation of elaborate theologies and detailed descriptions of the afterlife that removed it from the frightening category of the "unknown", and the development of complex rituals to ward off the forces of death and destruction that threatened him.

We can see the influence of the fear of death in all religions, ancient and modern. In Egypt in particular, superstition and ritual were almost exclusively concerned with reflection on and preparation for the afterlife. Involvement with the spirits of the dead, construction of huge tombs in which provisions for eternal life would be stored, and sacred literature that expounded upon the experiences of the deceased were the lifeblood of Egyptian religion.

This focus upon death is by no means absent from more modern religions, however. The New Testament abounds with discussions of eternal life, and the quintessential Christian symbol is a man dying, bruised and bloodied, on a cross. The Quran is similarly very detailed in its description of the rewards and punishments that await people in the hereafter.

Not so the Holy Torah. In absolute contradistinction to all other faiths, the Torah does not speak a word about the Afterlife. It provides us with no simplistic solutions to the mysteries posed by life and death. As the Rambam comments in several places, the human mind cannot grasp the concept of purely spiritual existence, and therefore is incapable of imagining what life in the Next World might be like. Anything we say about it, as comforting as it may seem, is either metaphoric or simply incorrect. For this very reason - because life after death is and will always be a mystery that transcends and defies human comprehension - the Torah refuses to offer us platitudes that might sate our curiosity, and requires us instead to make an honest admission of our ignorance in these areas.

The Torah similarly rejects the notion that religious activity should serve as a panacea for our anxieties about the fragility of life. Service of God and preoccupation with death do not mix. Our Kohanim are generally not permitted contact with the dead, and, unlike Catholic Churches that are typically situated directly over the graves of saints, our synagogues are never built even in remote proximity to tombs. Our motivation to study Torah and observe mitsvot is tied to a love of God and His wisdom as we experience it in this world, and should have nothing whatsoever to do with concerns about our fate in the World to Come. Unlike idolatrous religions, our Torah derives its appeal from life, not death.

When a human being is confronted with death, when he comes into contact with a corpse, there is an inevitable psychological impact. His own vulnerability and mortality are thrown into sharp relief. One very natural response is to seek solace in religion, either in the form of simplistic answers and reassurances, or in the form of rituals that offer him a sense of protection and security.

The Torah denies him both of these, condemning them as a reflection of the same primitive impulses that lead most people to idolatry. He is therefore not permitted to offer a sacrifice or even to enter the Temple until he has observed a period of seven days' separation. And during this time he must submit to the bizarre ritual of the Red Heifer - the ultimate acknowledgment of our helplessness in the face of the inexplicable mysteries of death and the hereafter.

We can now understand the relationship that obtains between the Red Heifer and the Golden Calf. An encounter with death has a tendency to make a person susceptible to idolatry, to the search for comforting metaphysical platitudes or magical protective rituals. This feeling of vulnerability and the urgency associated with it were precisely what led the Jewish people to construct and worship the Golden Calf - it provided them with reassurance, however imaginary and meaningless, and assuaged their fears. This incident is the ultimate proof to the kinds of spiritual danger into which this emotional frailty can lead us.

From this perspective, we can also appreciate the famous paradox of the Parah Adumah - namely, the fact that it purifies the defiled while defiling the pure. For someone who has already opened up the Pandora's Box of dealing with the issues and anxieties related to death - he has attended a funeral, lost a relative, or otherwise been faced with loss of life - participation in the ritual of the Red Heifer is a vital therapeutic process. It helps restore a person's humility, honesty and rationality as he struggles with the powerful emotions that have welled up inside him.

By contrast, one who has not had occasion to come into contact with a corpse should not voluntarily divert his mental energy to these complex emotional and existential problems. Such preoccupation can generate confusion, depression and angst, resulting in a waste of valuable time and resources. It would be the equivalent of orchestrating a crisis in order to try and resolve it.

Thus, much like psychoanalytic therapy, the Red Heifer's ashes should be pursued by those who need them, but should be avoided by those who don't. A psychologically healthy person who undergoes psychoanalytic therapy can wind up causing damage to himself by uncovering aspects of his personality he is not prepared to handle. These discoveries may seriously upset his emotional balance and drain his mental energy. Similarly, a "healthy" person who gets involved with the ashes of the Parah Adumah runs the risk of creating problems for himself where none existed before, leaving him "defiled" rather than purified from his experience with them. Hence, they purify the impure, while contaminating those who were pure to begin with!

The Torah, which is a profound system of knowledge and wisdom, demands intellectual honesty and humility from mankind. It does not permit us to indulge in wanton fantasies of immortality and eternal life that are nothing more than the products of our own imaginations. It wishes for us to recognize the reality of our finiteness and to acknowledge that our time here is brief and fleeting. It insists that we accept the inscrutable mysteries of life and death as just that - inscrutable. And, above all, it encourages us to live life nobly and meaningfully in the here-and-now, rather than focusing on what awaits us afterwards.

Purim Festivities

My son Netanel (as a spider) and I (as a Sultan) enjoying some Purim fun!

What is Tanach?

I had originally planned to post a great deal of material on Purim. Unfortunately, the exigencies of practical life over the past two weeks prevented that from happening. Be that as it may, I'd like to offer a few basic thoughts about the nature of Tanach in lieu of a more extensive presentation on the themes of Purim in particular.

It is well known that "Tanach" is not a monolithic entity. Its contents varied over time and were reconsidered and adjusted at several points in Rabbinic history. The Talmud tells us, for example, that the Rabbis debated whether or not to keep the books of Ezekiel and Ecclesiastes in the canon. They also argued about the precise status of some of the canonical books, such as the Book of Esther.

Many find this phenomenon troubling. After all, if a text is holy and presumed to be divinely inspired, why should it be excluded from Tanach? And if the holiness of the work itself is what is being questioned, how can logical argumentation in the Talmud serve to establish it? Jewish law cannot "rule" on an empirical fact, such as whether divine guidance played a role in the composition of a particular book!

We can sharpen our question further by asking what difference it makes whether a book is included or excluded from the canon. For example, did the Rabbis who maintained that the Book of Esther was not part of Tanach believe that reading Esther was a waste of time? Did the Rabbis that advocated removing Ecclesiastes or Ezekiel from the canon hold that studying these books would not be meaningful, or that their content was inaccurate or false? It is hard to accept such a conclusion, especially since, in the case of the Book of Esther, even those who held it was not part of the canon still agreed that it was a mitsvah to read it on Purim.

Study of the nature of Tanach leads us to another interesting problem. The Mishna in Masechet Megillah discusses the guidelines that must be observed in the preparation of Torah Scrolls, Megillot and books of the Prophets and Writings (Nach). All of these texts must be written on kosher parchment with kosher ink, etc. The difficulty is as follows: We know that there is a mitsvah to write a Torah scroll. Similarly, Megillot must be written in order to be used for the mitsvah of reading the Megillah on Purim. Therefore, it makes sense that there are halachic principles that dictate the mechanics of composing these texts.

However, there is no mitsvah at all to read most of the books of Tanach, at least not publicly. Being that there is no commandment to read from these volumes, and therefore no mitsvah to write them, how can there be halachic guidelines as to their preparation?

Indeed, the Rabbis themselves seemed ambivalent about the value of Tanach. Several statements of Chazal declare that the entirety of the Bible was given at Sinai, implying that its importance is on par with that of the Torah itself. Other statements suggest that the Prophets and Writings will be eliminated in the Messianic era, and that only the Torah and the Book of Esther will remain (this view is in fact codified by Maimonides at the end of Hilchot Megillah). How can we reconcile these contradictory perspectives on the Bible?

In order to resolve these difficulties, we must address the most basic question of all: Why does Tanach exist in the first place? We can understand the need for Torat Moshe, which provides us with a theological framework and a system of commandments to abide by. But what purpose is served by additional holy books?

I would suggest that the ultimate goal of all Jewish learning is the proper comprehension of Torah, i.e., the Five Books of Moses. It is the Torah of Moshe that includes, explicitly or implicitly, all of the ideas that comprise God's prophetic message to the people of Israel. However, bringing out the latent content of the Torah is no simple matter. In fact, its true meaning can be obscured by a variety of factors, such as the intellectual ability of its students, the influence of current cultural trends, etc. It is precisely to form a "bridge" between the comprehension of a given generation of Jews and the ideational content of the Torah that the Nach comes into existence. The books of the Prophets and Writings revolve around themes that are present in the Torah in some form but were deemed by the Baalei Hamesorah to require a "fleshing out", a separate "academic course" dedicated to them in their own right.

Examples of this kind of phenomenon abound in secular culture. Despite the bold proclamation that "all men are created equal", our country tolerated slavery and discrimination against women for hundreds of years. Many tracts were written detailing the incongruence and hypocrisy inherent in this state of affairs, until it was finally comprehended by the common man and a shift in cultural attitudes ensued. Nowadays, most of those important texts have become obsolete historical relics. They are no longer studied in depth because their message has already been internalized by the average person, who perceives their truths naturally in the simple words "all men are created equal".

Similarly, the Torah teaches the ideal of a wise life of prudence and justice. This is implicit in the Torah's narratives and commandments, and, in the proper cultural context, this overarching principle would be obvious to its readers. Nevertheless, King Solomon saw fit to author two books - Ecclesiastes and Proverbs - in which he expounded upon these themes at length. He understood that a separate "curriculum" was necessary for these ideas alone, and that such a study had to be completed in order for the average person to grasp the true import of the Torah's lessons.

Thus, the concept of Tanach is not a differentiation between meaningful/inspired books and meaningless or secular ones. Rather, a book is "inducted" into Tanach when the Baale Mesora determine that, if the Torah is to be understood properly, this additional book must have a separate course of study dedicated to it as well.

In this sense, becoming a book of Tanach is more a function of the laws of Torah Study than of a particular book's intrinsic value. A divinely inspired book may not demand a separate activity of learning and analysis just by virtue of its holiness. In some cases, it may be excluded from Tanach because the Rabbis think it will interfere with the correct understanding of Torah in their generation. Similarly, a non-inspired book like Proverbs may still be seen as an indispensible "course" in the Talmud Torah curriculum, despite its lack of "holiness".


The fact that these texts demand a process of learning in their own right is reflected in the halachic principle that they must be committed to writing in the same fashion as a Torah Scroll. They become an additional component of the Written Torah; therefore, although there is no specific commandment to write them, when they are written it must be done in a manner that demonstrates their special status.

What, then, is the status of a holy book that is rejected from Tanach? I would argue that, rather than robbing it of importance or significance, this merely relegates its contents to the status of Oral Torah, of useful commentary that may shed light on the meaning of other books in the canon. The Book of Esther is an excellent example of this. It is dedicated to a theme that is repeated numerous times in Tanach - the struggle with Amaleq. If it had not been officially accepted as part of the canon, it would have remained a very important, divinely inspired addendum to the presentations of this theme elsewhere in the Bible. It would have been read and studied, not as a course in its own right, but as a source of clarification and elucidation of the concept of Amaleq that is mentioned in the Torah and in the Book of Samuel. And, of course, it would have remained the central focus of the Purim celebration!

This also clarifies how the Rabbis could debate the inclusion or exclusion of particular works from Tanach. They were not engaged in arguments about the value of those texts, or their status vis a vis divine inspiration. What concerned the Sages was whether those books were necessary "courses" in the Torah curriculum of their generation. In some cases, the analysis revolved around whether involvement in certain texts would prevent people from attaining true knowledge of the Torah and its commandments. Whatever the case might have been, the Rabbis never questioned the accuracy or validity of any of the holy books in their possession. The issues they grappled with were halachic, not theological or empirical.

This approach is supported by the Rambam who, in his Laws of Torah Study, emphasizes that the Prophets and Writings are considered parts of the Written Torah. It is noteworthy that he establishes this classification in the context of the laws of learning Torah - and, specifically, while dealing with the correct Torah study schedule. This suggests that the distinction between Written and Oral Torah has more to do with the proper allocation of study time than with the intrinsic importance of the subject matter assigned to each category. Only texts that generate their own, independent obligation of Torah study are granted membership in the canon of Tanach. Other books, however profound and beautiful, are to be utilized as interpretive tools in the process of exploration of Biblical literature.

This is why the Rabbis can simultaneously claim that the entire Tanach was given at Sinai, and then state that all of the Prophets and Writings, save Esther, will one day be obsolete. The thematic principles of Tanach are all rooted in the Torah itself, they derive from Sinai. However, our need for separate courses of study to elucidate and deepen our grasp of these principles - that is, the fact that we cannot access them directly through study and interpretation of the Five Books of Moses - is a function of our spiritual weakness at this point in history. In Messianic times, the level of Torah study will be such that no other "Books" will be necessary - we will have Torat Moshe alone, and all other writings will serve as commentary.

In summary, aside from the Torah, the composition of Tanach is not divinely established, and inclusion or exclusion from Tanach is not a reflection of the truth or importance of any particular book. The structure of Torah literature - what attains the status of Written Torah and what does not - is purely a function of the educational needs of each generation, as determined by the Masters of the Torah Tradition. This determination impacts the process, order and format of Torah study, but not necessarily its scope.