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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT BAMIDBAR

Rav David Silverberg

The second chapter of Sefer Bamidbar describes the formation in which Benei Yisrael traveled and encamped in the wilderness. The nation was divided into four camps, which were situated during encampment in the four directions surrounding the Mishkan. The first camp consisted of Yehuda, Yissakhar and Zevulun; the second – Reuven, Shimon and Gad; the third – Efrayim, Menashe and Binyamin; and, finally, the fourth – Dan, Asher and Naftali. The tribes of Yehuda, Reuven, Efrayim and Dan were named the head tribes for their respective groups.

The logic behind this arrangement appears to have taken into account the tribes' classification according to mothers of the original tribes (the twelve sons of Yaakov), as well as the tribes' relative statures of leadership. The most obvious and natural grouping in this arrangement is clearly the third camp, which consists of all three tribes begotten from the matriarch Rachel: the two tribes from her son Yosef – Efrayim and Menashe – and her second son, Binyamin. Efrayim is naturally chosen as leader of this group because he is considered the more prominent of the two sons of Yosef, the older of Rachel's sons (see Bereishit 48:17-20).

The final group – Dan, Asher and Naftali – consists of three of the four tribes begotten from the shefachot – Yaakov's wives' maidservants whom he ultimately married. But since only three tribes could occupy each camp, one of the four of the shefachot's sons had to join the sons of Leah, and thus the tribe of Gad was moved to a different group. Why was specifically Gad chosen to join Leah's sons? This was most likely due to the fact that he was the older of the sons of Zilpa. Bilha's older son, Dan, was the oldest among all the sons of the shefachot and was therefore selected for the distinction of serving as leader of this camp. Next in line for distinction was Gad, Zilpa's oldest, and he was therefore selected to join the more "prominent" camp of Leah's children.

Which brings us to the first two camps, the division of Leah's sons – Reuven, Shimon, Yehuda, Yissakhar and Zevulun. (Levi, of course, was not part of this arrangement at all, as this tribe encamped and traveled separately with the Mishkan.) Instinctively, we would have simply divided them according to age, yielding an older group consisting of Reuven, Shimon and Yehuda, and a younger camp containing Yissakhar and Zevulun, the youngest of Leah's sons, together with Gad, who was transplanted from the shefachot camps. But such an arrangement was not possible, because both Reuven and Yehuda held positions of prominence – Reuven by virtue of his biological birthright, and Yehuda due to his royal stature. Both these tribes deserved a leadership position in the camp's arrangement, and they therefore could not belong to the same group. The separation between these two tribes yielded the final formation: Yehuda-Yissakhar-Zevulun; Reuven-Shimon-Gad. (Admittedly, further explanation is required for why Yehuda was put together with Yissakhar and Zevulun, and Reuven with Shimon and Gad. Suggestions from our readership are welcome.)

Interestingly enough, Gad's transplantation appears to have had a profound impact on the future history of the tribe. Towards the end of Sefer Bamidbar (32), we find the tribe of Gad closely affiliated with Reuven. They both possessed abundant herds of cattle and appealed to Moshe for permission to permanently settle in the fertile, newly captured territory east of the Jordan River. They indeed establish this territory as their permanent holding, and these two tribes forever more share a common history and destiny, until they became, tragically, the first tribes to be exiled by the Assyrian Empire (see Masekhet Arakhin 32b).

(Based on an article by Rav Amnon Bazak)

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Parashat Bamidbar tells of God's singling out of the tribe of Levi to serve Him in the Mishkan. He explains to Moshe that initially, the firstborn were to serve as His attendants, and He selected the Levi'im to assume the firstborns' place. God recalls having chosen the firstborn "be-yom hakoti khol bekhor be-eretz Mitzrayim" – "on the day on which I smote every firstborn in Egypt" (3:13).

One might question the use of the term yom – "day" – in reference to makat bekhorot (the smiting of the firstborn). The narrative of makat bekhorot in Sefer Shemot (chapter 12) makes it perfectly clear that this plague occurred at midnight. Why, then, would God make reference to "the day on which" He killed the Egyptian firstborn?

Ibn Ezra implicitly asks this question, commenting that be-yom here simply means, "at the time," rather than "on the day." Asher Weiser, in his annotation to Ibn Ezra's commentary (in the Torat Chayim edition of the Chumash), cites two proof-texts to this usage of the word yom. In Sefer Yeshayahu (9:3), the prophet makes reference to yom Midyan – the "day of Midyan," presumably referring to the destruction of the Midyanite army at the hands of the Israelite warrior Gidon, as narrated in Sefer Shoftim (chapter 7), a battle which took place at night (see 7:9). Likewise, Sefer Melakhim II (7) tells of the four metzoraim residing outside the city of Shomron, who discovered that the army of Aram, that had besieged the city to the point of deadly starvation, had fled, leaving their provisions behind. The four men began quickly collecting and hoarding food and goods, until they finally realized that "hayom ha-zeh yom besora hu" – this was a "day" of good tidings, which had to be immediately brought to the starving inhabitants of Shomron (7:9). That verse concludes, "if we wait until daybreak – we shall incur guilt." Clearly, then, this episode occurred during the night, and yet they refer to that moment as a "yom" of good tidings. These sources indicate that yom can refer simply to a specific time when a given event transpired, rather than the daytime.

Chazal, however, suggest a different explanation for the Torah's reference to the "yom" of makat bekhorot. A berayta appearing in the introduction to Masekhet Semachot resolves this difficulty by claiming that makat bekhorot unfolded in two, distinct stages. Although the plague struck the firstborn at midnight, their souls did not actually depart until morning. (For further elaboration, see Chatam Sofer, responsa, vol. 1, Y.D. 346.) Understandably, then, the Torah could describe the plague as having occurred by day. It should be noted that this berayta does not appear in earlier editions of Masekhet Semachot (see Teshuvot Eitan Aryeh, 31, and Dr. Boaz Spiegel - www.biu.ac.il/JH/Parasha/bamidbar/shp.html#4). Nevertheless, this point appears in other sources, as well – Pesikta De-Rav Kahana, 7, Pesikta Rabbati, 17, and others).

Interestingly enough, the Maharsham (2:43) cites this berayta as a possible source for the otherwise perplexing custom recorded by the Shakh (Y.D. 305:12) to conduct pidyon ha-ben ceremonies specifically by day. Since this mitzva commemorates – at least in part – the designation of the firstborn at the time of makat bekhorot, the Maharsham suggests, the custom developed (among Ashkenazim) to hold this ritual only during the daytime. Rav Ovadya Yossef (Yabia Omer 8:25) convincingly dismisses the Maharsham's suggestion, arguing that even assuming this two-stage process of makat bekhorot, it seems far more reasonable to commemorate the initial stage, rather than the actual departure of the smitten firstborns' souls. (For further discussion, see the yeshiva's publication Alei Etzion, vol. 12, pp. 107-130.)

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The second chapter of Sefer Bamidbar describes Benei Yisrael's formation as they traveled and encamped in the wilderness. Many scholars have raised the question as to why these instructions are given only now, over a year after Benei Yisrael's departure from Egypt. If God – in His infinite wisdom – decided that the desert travel should follow this procedure and arrangement, then why wasn't it implemented immediately after the Exodus? Why was this specific system not required until Benei Yisrael's departure from Sinai, thirteen months after Yetzi'at Mitzrayim?

One answer, perhaps, has to do with the fact that this formation was necessary specifically for the purpose of Benei Yisrael's conquest of the Land of Israel. The Netziv develops at length the theory that Benei Yisrael's formation resembled that of an army marching together with its king. This was necessary to underscore the fact that it is the Almighty, rather than Benei Yisrael themselves, who would drive away the nations of Canaan and bring the land under Benei Yisrael's possession. Once we understand this formation as integrally related to Benei Yisrael's entry into the Land, we can perhaps explain why it was not necessary until after Matan Torah. It could be argued that before the Revelation at Sinai, Benei Yisrael were not yet on their way to capture Canaan; they were rather headed only to Sinai to receive the Torah. The entire purpose of their entry into the Land was to establish a nation there in accordance with God's Torah. As such, there would have been no purpose in traveling directly to Eretz Yisrael before going to Mount Sinai for Matan Torah. Thus, only once Benei Yisrael embark from Sinai may we consider them on their way to the Land, thus necessitating the formation required for the process of conquest.

A second explanation might be suggested in light of the symbolic meaning of the specified arrangement. When God introduces this arrangement, He emphasizes the banners assigned to each tribe: "The Israelites shall encamp each with his standard, under the banners of their ancestral house; they shall encamp around the Tent of Meeting at a distance" (2:2). Benei Yisrael traveled and encamped according to tribe, with each tribe sporting its own banner. The Midrash (and Targum Yonatan) elaborates on the different features of the banners. This formation, then, highlighted the unique qualities and perhaps approach of each tribe; it symbolizes the various aspects and points of focus that characterized the different tribes.

One might suggest that this theme – of individual "specialization," if you will – could not be brought to the fore until after Matan Torah, when the entire nation stood "as one person, with one heart" and all together heard God's voice and committed themselves collectively to His commandments. A delicate balance must be maintained between uniformity and individualization in religious practice. On the one hand, Chazal were clearly very sensitive to avoid giving the impression that Judaism operates according to multiple "Torahs" and a subjective standard that takes into account individual preferences and tendencies. At the same time, however, Judaism encourages individuals to identify and build upon their unique, personal strengths and talents. Matan Torah, an experience shared equally by the entirety of the Jewish people, reflects the first concern; the tribal arrangement in the wilderness signifies the second. Only after Benei Yisrael committed themselves collectively and uniformly to the same basic set of rules, could they then divide themselves into different tribes, each with its particular tasks and responsibilities.

In truth, the Torah itself, in the aforementioned verse, appears to allude to this balance: "The Israelites shall encamp each with his standard, under the banners of their ancestral house; they shall encamp around the Tent of Meeting." Although the tribes encamp by their individual standards and banners, "they shall encamp around the Tent of Meeting." Their focus and attention must be directed towards the center of the camp, where the Mishkan stood. Individualism is to be encouraged, but only to the extent to which it is geared towards the collective goal of the nation at large, contributing to the shared mission and destiny of Am Yisrael, rather than serving only the personal interests and concerns of the given individual.

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Parashat Bamidbar presents the details regarding Benei Yisrael's formation as they traveled and encamped. During encampment, the tribes were arranged into four groups of three, which encamped around the Mishkan, which stood in the center. The Levi'im, the Torah tells, encamped around the Mishkan. Amidst this discussion, the Torah describes the unique role assigned to Moshe, Aharon and Aharon's sons as the "shomerim mishmeret ha-Mikdash," or "guards for the duty of the Sanctuary" (3:38). The Rambam, in Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira (8:2), appears to interpret this to mean that Moshe, Aharon and Aharon's sons served as the guards around the Mishkan. The Rambam cites this verse as one of the indications that the kohanim and Levi'im were assigned the task of guarding the Beit Ha-mikdash. In Sefer Ha-mitzvot, the Rambam lists a mitzvat asei to guard the Mikdash (asei 22) and a lo ta'aseh forbidding laxity in this regard (lo ta'aseh 67).

A little over a century ago, a European-born scholar in Jerusalem named Rav Moshe Hillel Gelbstein published a treatise entitled Mishkenot La-avir Yaakov arguing for the reinstating of the Temple guard. In his view, the mitzva to guard the site of the Temple does not require the actual presence of the Beit Ha-mikdash. After all, the Rambam rules (Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira 7) that the Temple site retains its full status of sanctity even after the destruction, and thus all the prohibitions regarding entry into the area and the obligation to show respect to the Mikdash still apply nowadays. By extension, Rav Gelbtein argued, the obligation to assign guards should likewise remain in effect. He corresponded on the matter with Rav Avraham of Sochatchov, who printed his response to Rav Gelbstein in his Avnei Neizer (Y.D. 449).

The Avnei Neizer notes several reasons why this obligation does not practically apply nowadays. Firstly, there are practical obstacles that we cannot overcome. The Avnei Neizer discusses at length the fundamental question as to whether guarding the Temple constitutes an avoda – an integral part of the Mikdash rituals – or should be considered a separate obligation, conceptually independent of the sacrificial rituals in the Temple. He hinges this question on the debate among the Rishonim as to whether children Levi'im could serve as guards. If we permit even children to perform this task, then clearly it cannot be considered part of the avoda system, which is off-limits to minors. However, according to those views that guarding the Temple indeed constitutes a formal avoda, it must be performed in a state of tahara (ritual impurity), and thus cannot apply today, when we are all presumed tamei. Furthermore, the Avnei Neizer writes, before the construction of the First Temple, the Levi'im were divided into different groups, each assigned its own tasks, and Halakha forbids a Levi from performing a task assigned to a different group. Nowadays, then, when Levi'im obviously cannot determine from which group they descend, this mitzva practically cannot be performed.

But the Avnei Neizer raises a more fundamental issue, as well, relating to the very definition of this mitzva. The Rambam writes that the guarding of the Mikdash serves not to protect the Temple treasuries from thieves, but rather as a demonstration of honor. Nevertheless, the Avnei Neizer claims, the guarding must be conducted in a manner resembling standard guarding for security concerns. We display respect for the Mikdash by assigning guards as we do to other buildings of immense value and import. By definition, then, this guarding requires a physical structure that we treat as if we are protecting it. The assignment of guards around an empty area is inherently meaningless. By definition, therefore, the mitzva to guard the Beit Ha-mikdash can take effect only in the presence of a physical Temple.

We should note that this argument would likely depend on the underlying basis of this obligation. Indeed, as the Avnei Neizer argues, according to the Rambam's explanation, we would likely require the presence of the Temple for the mitzva of guarding to apply. The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba to 3:38), however, writes explicitly that the guard served to prevent Benei Yisrael from treading on areas that are forbidden to them. (Interestingly, the Rambam himself brings this reason, as well, in his Moreh Nevukhim – 3:44.) According to this reason, then fundamentally speaking, the mitzva should apply even today, when, according to the Rambam, the Temple site retains its sanctity and all the restrictions on entry to the site remain in effect.

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In the final verses of Parashat Bamidbar, the Torah presents instructions to the kohanim regarding the procedure for embarkation, when the Levite family of Kehat would come to transport the Ark and other sacred appurtenances of the Mishkan. The kohanim were to ensure to cover the sacred articles in advance of the Levi'im's arrival, in order that they will not look upon them as they are being covered, which would constitute an infringement on the honor of these articles. The final verse of the parasha warns, "They [the Levi'im] shall not look as the Sanctuary is covered [ke-vala et ha-kodesh], and die."

Although this is, indeed, the straightforward reading of this verse, the Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (81b) sees in it a subtle allusion to a much different halakha. The Mishna (ibid.) establishes that a person who steals one of the keilim (appurtenances) of the Temple is subject to the extraordinary rule of kana'in poge'in bo – which allows zealots to kill him without judicial process. The Gemara cites as a Scriptural basis for this principle this verse at the conclusion of Parashat Bamidbar. As Rashi explains, the word ke-vala – which we translated above as a reference to covering – may also be interpreted as a reference to theft. This definition of ke-vala yields the following reading of this verse: "They shall not come to see the theft of the Sanctuary – [and if they do,] they shall die." Rashi notes that clearly this reading deviates from the straightforward meaning, and should thus be seen as an allusion, rather than an actual Scriptural reference to this halakha. Presumably, Rashi considers this halakha as a halakha le-Moshe mi-Sinai – an oral tradition dating back to Sinai (as Rashi explained in his commentary to the Mishna regarding the more familiar instance of kana'in poge'in bo – when one publicly engages in relations with a gentile woman).

The precise classification of this halakha, allowing those overcome by zealotry to take the life of one who steals one of the kelei ha-Mikdash, is subject to a debate between the Behag (Ba'al Halakhot Gedolot) and the Rambam. In the third of his shorashim ("rules") in the introduction to Sefer Ha-mitzvot, the Rambam cites the Behag – though not by name – as including the prohibition against stealing Temple appurtenances among his list of the 613 commandments. According to the Behag, the Gemara's reading of this concluding verse of Parashat Bamidbar renders it the Scriptural source of this prohibition. The Rambam strongly disagrees, noting that the Gemara specifically refers to this "source" as a remez – an allusion, rather than the primary reading of the verse.

The Rambam then adds another remark in objecting to the Behag's position: "nor is it included in the category of those liable to death at the hands of God." In other words, since the Talmud does not include stealing Temple property in its list of those violations for which one deserves mita bi-dei Shamayim (death at the hands of God, as opposed to court-administered execution), we cannot consider this prohibition one of the 613 commandments. The Ramban, in his critique of the Rambam's Sefer Ha-mitzvot, infers from this remark a "confession," of sorts, on the Rambam's part, that he would be prepared to include this prohibition in his list of mitzvot had it been subject to mita bi-dei Shamayim. If so, the Ramban argues, then the Rambam's challenge against the Behag immediately falls. The Behag likely held that once the Torah licensed kana'in (zealots) to execute an offender, it implicitly imposes a mita bi-dei Shamayim punishment, as well. As for the Rambam's argument that Chazal do not include this prohibition under the category of transgressions subject to mita bi-dei Shamayim, the Ramban responds that this category contains only those transgressions subject to only mita bi-dei Shamayim. This prohibition, however, is also subject to execution by kana'in, and is therefore omitted from the Talmud's list.

Tomorrow we will iy"H discuss this debate further.

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Yesterday, we discussed the final verse of Parashat Bamidbar – "they shall not look as the Sanctuary is covered, and die." The Gemara (Sanhedrin 81b), as we saw, suggests a secondary reading of this verse, whereby it alludes to the extraordinary halakha granting license to kana'im – those overcome by zealous rage – to kill a thief who steals one of the appurtenances of the Mikdash. We presented the different views of the Behag and the Rambam in approaching this halakha, as they emerge from the Rambam's discussion in his Sefer Ha-mitzvot (shoresh 3) and the Ramban's comments in his critique to that work. The Behag understood that the Gemara interprets the verse as introducing a separate prohibition forbidding one from stealing the kelei ha-Mikdash, punishable by mita bi-dei Shamayim (death at the hands of God) and by death at the hands of kana'im. The Rambam, by contrast, held that the Gemara simply extracts a single halakha from this verse – the right of kana'im to execute the violator without trial. He denies that this sin is punishable by mita bi-dei Shamayim; since the Torah never introduces an independent prohibition to this effect, it cannot have a special punishment associated with it. Rather, it is merely subject to the extraordinary provision permitting kana'im to slay the violator.

In defending the Behag's position, the Ramban cites a discussion a bit later in the Gemara (Sanhedrin 82b) regarding another exceptional situation where the Torah mandates immediate execution – when a kohen performs the sacrificial service in a state of tum'a. The Mishna (81b) states than in instances of this violation, fellow kohanim are licensed to kill the violator, even without any judicial process. The Gemara wonders whether this license necessarily indicates that performing the avoda in a state of tum'a incurs the punishment of mita bi-dei Shamayim. According to Rav Sheshet, it is inconceivable that the Torah would mandate "vigilantism" for this violation unless it also incurs a divine death penalty. The Gemara attempts a challenge at this assumption from the halakha concerning one who steals the kelei ha-Mikdash. The Gemara appears to assume – at least at this point – that in such a case, Halakha permits kana'im to slay the offender despite the absence of a mita bi-dei Shamayim punishment. The Gemara dismisses this argument somewhat ambiguously, by simply citing the Scriptural source of this halakha – the final verse of Parashat Bamidbar. Evidently, as the Ramban explains, the Gemara responds that this prohibition – against stealing the kelei ha-Mikdash – indeed carries with it mita bi-dei Shamayim. The Gemara here notes that the verse, which is understood as an allusion to this prohibition, explicitly states va-metu – that violators will die. Hence, the Gemara concludes, this halakha does not prove the possibility of permitted "vigilantism" without a mita bi-dei Shamayim, since it indeed carries a mita bi-dei Shamayim punishment.

At first glance, as the Ramban argues, the Gemara's conclusion lends strong support to the Behag's position. It clearly establishes that the Torah imposes a mita bi-dei Shamayim punishment for violations of this prohibition, which necessarily means that we indeed deal here with an independent prohibition.

In defense of the Rambam, several writers (see Lev Samei'ach, Kin'at Sofrim, Megilat Ester) explained the Gemara differently. According to their reading, the Gemara dismisses the proof by simply casting this case, of one who steals from the Temple, as a glaring exception. A unique provision mandates killing the violator, and this in no way establishes a model on the basis of which we can deduce a similar halakha in other situations. In truth, the case of Temple theft is indeed a situation where kana'im may kill the violator despite the fact that the transgression does not carry the punishment of mita bi-dei Shamayim. Clearly, according to this reading of the Gemara's discussion, it poses no challenge to the Rambam's position.

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The second chapter of Sefer Bamidbar describes Benei Yisrael's formation during their travel and encampment in the wilderness, and makes specific mention of the degalim – the banners, or flags, carried by the tribes. Rashi (2:2) explains that each tribe carried a unique banner whose color corresponded to the color of that tribe's stone on the choshen (breastplate) worn by the kohen gadol. Recall from Parashat Tetzaveh (Shemot 28:17-21) that twelve precious stones were embroidered into the choshen, and the names of the twelve tribes were engraved on the stones. Rashi here writes that each tribe's banner was decorated in the color of its stone embroidered into the choshen.

Wherein lies the significance of this parallel between the tribes' banners and the stones on the choshen? What lesson might God have wished to convey by calling for a correspondence between the colors of the banners and the colors of the stones on the high priest's breastplate?

A simple, yet profoundly meaningful, answer is suggested in Rav Shraga Pollak's work, Tishbi. He contends that this formation constituted part of the nation's preparation for conquering Eretz Yisrael. The arrangement described in this chapter was the way Benei Yisrael were to march into Canaan and begin waging battle to oust the indigenous Canaanites. If, indeed, we view this formation as essentially a military arrangement, the correspondence between the flags and the kohen gadol's breastplate becomes clear. This correspondence symbolizes the need to maintain a consistent mode of conduct in the sacred domain of the Mishkan, and in the far less sublime setting of warfare. The contexts of the choshen on the one hand, and of the tribal banners, on the other, represent opposite points on the spectrum in terms of the nature of their experiences. The Temple represents the spiritual ideal of absolute purity and sanctity, whereas military conflict is a situation requiring one to act in direct opposition to the basic norms and ideals we are taught to cherish and embody in daily life. In Parashat Bamidbar we are told that our "colors" must remain the same in both contexts. Even when circumstances force us into settings that appear hardly conducive to ethical and religious conduct, we are enjoined to nevertheless maintain the same high standards – to whatever extent possible – as we do in the "Mishkan," under ideal conditions.