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Parashat Naso introduces the institution of "nezirut," whereby one can take upon himself a stricter spiritual standard, which prohibits him from drinking wine, cutting his hair or coming in contact with tum'a (ritual impurity). The Torah (6:2) describes the individual taking upon himself these strictures with the verb, "yafli," a form of the root, "pele," which generally refers to wonders or miracles. The Ibn Ezra explains that the willingness of an individual to voluntarily refrain from indulgence, as opposed to the natural tendency to pursue physical pleasure and enjoyment, indeed constitutes a "pele" - a wonder of sorts.

Theoretically, we may understand this interpretation in one of two ways. The word "wonder" (like the corresponding Hebrew term, "pele") can have two meanings: either something highly unusual, which in common vernacular would be expressed as "remarkable" or "amazing," or something beyond unusual - something unnatural. Obviously, the extreme example of this second meaning would be something outright miraculous.

Applying these two meanings to the Ibn Ezra, we will arrive at two different explanations of his intent. At first glance, we would perhaps adopt the first meaning. People are generally driven by impulse and pursue personal gratification. It is uncommon to find those who seek the reverse - to minimize their self-gratification in order to pursue spiritual goals - when not specifically required to do so.

Rav Yerucham Lebovitz of Mir, however, prefers applying the second meaning of the term "pele" to the Ibn Ezra's comment, meaning, that the decision to become a nazir is something unnatural - or perhaps even supernatural. He explains that, as we all know from personal experience, habituation often determines one's nature. A habitual routine quickly becomes more than just a routine - it becomes part of one's natural instinct. (Hence the common English idiom - "second nature.") Changing one's habits, then, indeed involves a transformation of nature. One who has grown accustomed to pursuing pleasure and enjoyment will take on the status of "nezirut" only through a "pele" - by deviating from his natural tendency, that had developed over his years of habituation.

It is for this reason that education has always taken such a prominent role in the hierarchy of concerns among the Jewish people. An adult deciding to suddenly accept the yoke of Torah and mitzvot, after having been raised without it, goes beyond the unusual or unexpected - it is unnatural. The fact that it happens, and, B'H', happens quite often, does not undermine the "pele" involved. Children must therefore be intensively trained from the youngest age to observe the mitzvot; this will avoid the need for the "pele" of their changing their routine later in life.

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Yesterday we looked at the term "yafli" with which the Torah, in Parashat Naso (6:2), describes the acceptance of "nezirut." We saw that the Ibn Ezra interprets the term as a derivation of the word, "pele," or wonder, referring to the unusual or unnatural nature of accepting upon oneself additional restrictions.

Virtually all commentators, however, disagree with the Ibn Ezra's interpretation (Rabbenu Bechayei being a notable exception). They generally adopt one of two other approaches to understanding the word. Targum Yonatan, Rashi and Seforno explain the term as referring to "separation," or "abstention." It denotes separating oneself from that in which he would normally be involved, in this case, physical indulgence.

A different interpretation is implied by the Chizkuni. He claims that this verb root, "pele," is among those words that yield two opposite meanings. To demonstrate how this word functions this way, he cites a verse from Parashat Shoftim (Devarim 17:8), requiring one to consult with the rabbinical court when confronting difficult questions of Jewish law: "Ki yipalei mimekha davar la-mishpat" - "If a case is too baffling for you to decide... " There, the term "yipalei" refers to the lack of knowledge, a state of confusion. By inference, then, we may deduce that the Chizkuni interpreted the term in our context to mean a cognizant decision, reached with a conscious awareness and clear resolve.

Without citing the Chizkuni, the Malbim adopts this approach and elaborates further. He claims that this term comes to underscore the centrality of cognizant intent in the process of accepting nezirut. The Malbim points to two specific ramifications of the prominent role played by intent in nezirut. Firstly, it determines the minimum age requirement for taking upon nezirut and other vows. Once a young man or woman understands the concept of a vow and knows before Whom these vows are uttered, the vow is binding - even if the youngster has yet to reach the age of adulthood (bar/bat mitzva). This principle is known in Talmudic terminology as "mufla samukh le-ish," dictating that an eleven-year-old girl or twelve-year-old boy can issue a binding vow so long as they have the basic understanding of the concept. The Gemara (Nidda 46a) notes that the tanna'im debate as to whether this provision holds true by force of Torah law, or was introduced by Chazal. The Rambam (Hilkhot Nedarim 11:4) rules that it indeed constitutes a Biblical provision (as the Malbim assumes in his commentary).

Secondly, the Malbim adds, the need for cognizant intent precludes the possibility of compulsory nezirut. Namely, one cannot accept nezirut under duress; should one be forced into verbalizing the acceptance, it is not binding. Only a willful declaration to take on the obligations of nezirut binds an individual to its laws.

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Among the prohibitions relevant to a nazir, as outlined in Parashat Naso, is the prohibition against cutting his or her hair. Actually, a nazir who cuts his hair during the period of nezirut has violated both a "mitzvat lo ta'aseh," a prohibition derived from the verse, "no razor shall touch his head" (6:5), as well as the "mitzvat asei" - "positive" commandment - of, "the hair of his head shall be left to grow untrimmed" (ibid.).

In his Hilkhot Nezirut (5:14), the Rambam, based on the Gemara, rules that a nazir may not even comb his hair, as doing so will inevitably remove some hair from his head. (A nazir may not remove even a single hair from his head.) However, the Rambam immediately adds that a nazir who does so does not receive the punishment of "malkot" (lashes) as he would if he simply removed some hair. Several Acharonim, including the Keren Ora and Minchat Chinukh, question this ruling of the Rambam. If we assume that combing invariably tears hair from the nazir's head, why should it matter if the nazir combs his hair or deliberately rips out a hair? If direct hair removal renders him deserving of malkot, then why shouldn't combing?

Rav Soloveitchik explained that a nazir who combs his hair violates only the mitzvat asei, the positive commandment requiring a nazir to let his hair grow. As this mitzva involves a general obligation, any action hindering his hair growth violates this mitzva. The negative prohibition, however, is far more specific: it prohibits the cutting of any individual hair. It relates not to the nazir's hair in its entirety, but rather to each hair individually. With respect to each individual hair, there is no inevitability that it will fall out. When it comes to the negative commandment, then, we consider combing a situation of "davar she-eino mitkavein," or a case where an action may - but may not - result in a violation. A risk arises concerning every hair that it may fall out as a result of the combing. In these situations, one does not violate the prohibition even should such a result occur. Therefore, a nazir who combs his hair has violated only the mitzvat asei, which is not punishable with malkot; he has not violated the lo ta'aseh. The Rambam therefore the nazir from combing, but does not render himpunishable by malkot should he do so.

(Taken from the Mesorah Journal, vol. 5, Adar 5751)

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The concluding section of Parashat Naso (chapter 7) records the "chanukat ha-mizbei'ach," the formal inauguration of the altar. The twelve "nesi'im," or tribal leaders, came forth to officially dedicate the altar by bringing a wide array of sacrifices, each on one day. Thus, the dedication ceremony spanned twelve full days. The Midrash, commenting on God's repetition of the phrase, "one tribal leader per day" (7:11), points out that the sacrifices were brought on Shabbat, as well. Elishama Ben Amihud, the tribal leader of Efrayim, brought his dedication offering to the Mishkan on Shabbat. This should surprise us. Generally speaking, only public sacrifices, meaning, those required by the nation as a whole, may be offered on Shabbat. The classic example is the "temidin u-musafin," the daily offerings and the special "mussaf" sacrifices. Individual offerings, however, may not be brought on Shabbat. How, then, did Elishama's sacrifice override the prohibitions of Shabbat? At first glance, one may wish to argue that as this provision was specifically ordained by the Almighty, we need not search for a basis within recognized halakhic parameters. More likely, however, God did not introduce an exception to an established rule, but rather clarified some issue as to the nature of these sacrifices such that its offering overrode Shabbat.

Indeed, the Netziv, in his "He'amek Davar," explains that Elishama's offering worked within, rather than superseded, the familiar halakhic mechanism. We mentioned earlier that only public sacrifices override Shabbat, whereas private, individual offerings do not. This is in fact the majority view in the mishna in Masekhet Temura. Accordingly, the Netziv explains, God simply informed Moshe that the sacrifice of the nesi'im must be viewed as a national, rather than individual, offering. As it served to formally inaugurate the altar, their offering represented the entire nation and may thus be offered on Shabbat.

However, the Netziv notes, the mishna in Temura cites a minority view that draws a different distinction as to the permissibility of sacrifices on Shabbat. According to this view, the dividing line runs in between not public and private offerings, but rather those with a specific time schedule and those that may be offered anytime. Offerings that are specifically scheduled for a certain day may be offered even on Shabbat. However, those that are not specifically prescribed for that day may not be offered in violation of Shabbat. If so, then our question returns. Given that, at first glance, the "nesi'im" did not have to bring this offering specifically on these days, how could Elishama's sacrifice override Shabbat?

In responding to this question, the Netziv refers to his commentary to a later verse, Bemidbar 10:10. There the Netziv established (based on the mention of "Yom Simchatchem" in that verse) that the Torah requires conducting a joyous festival when dedicating the altar. Thus, the altar's dedication comprised a festival like any other - such as Sukkot, Pesach, etc., on which the festival sacrifices are clearly permitted (even on Shabbat), as the day itself requires their offering. Therefore, this "festival's" offerings, brought by the "nesi'im," were naturally brought on Shabbat, as well, just as the offerings required on any other Yom Tov.

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Yesterday, we discussed the Midrash's comment that the inaugural offering of the nesi'im (tribal leaders), described in the final chapter of Parashat Naso, was offered even on Shabbat. As (according to one view) only offerings specifically required on that day may be brought on Shabbat (as opposed to voluntary sacrifices, for example, which may be brought anytime), we would not have expected the nesi'im's offering to override Shabbat. The Netziv explained that the nation is required to observe a festival on the day when the altar is consecrated. Thus, this twelve-day period marked "Chanukah," the celebration of the altar's dedication, which required sacrifices. These sacrifices thus overrode the prohibitions of Shabbat.

In his "Herchev Davar" (to Bemidbar 10:10), the Netziv elaborates a bit further on this concept of celebrating the dedication of the altar. He refers to his comments in a different context (in his "He'amek She'eila," end of 171), where he posits that the nation's completion of the Torah also requires national celebration, similar to the dedication of the altar. In truth, he adds, these two obligations are essentially one and the same. In the absence of the Temple, our Torah study replaces - to one extent or another - the sacrificial order. Whereas in the times of the Mikdash we served God by bringing sacrifices on the altar, in its tragic absence we serve Him through our study; it is through Torah learning that we interact with and experience God, parallel to our interaction with Him in the Temple. Thus, the Netziv concludes, the obligation to celebrate upon dedicating the altar applies as well to the completion of the Torah. When we dedicate the Temple, we prepare the means by which God's Shekhina will reside among us; Torah learning accomplishes that same goal.

It is worth noting this parallel between the dedication of the altar, which means its initiation for use, and the completion of a unit of learning. At first glance, the initiation of the altar seems to be the opposite of completion. How can we compare the two? Apparently (and the Netziv makes a subtle reference to this notion in his discussion), we must view the completion of a given unit of study as but a preparation for further study. Any achievement we make in Torah scholarship must be viewed not as a completion, but to the contrary, as having paved the way for further growth in Torah. Thus, achievement in learning corresponds to the initiation of the altar for sacrifices, as it has prepared the student for further study.

Why must we reenact Matan Torah every year on Shavuot? If we formally accepted the Torah last year, why must we repeat it this year? The answer, perhaps, is that our growth (hopefully) over the past year has brought us to a new level where we can accept higher standards and greater achievements. Our knowledge and comprehension acquired over the last year demands a new acceptance; it has prepared us to move forward and advance further. This, perhaps, constitutes a basic message of Shavuot: we must constantly rededicate ourselves to Torah learning because we must always strive to grow, achieve, and learn more about God and His Torah.

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The Midrash Lekach Tov (towards the end of Parashat Pinchas) draws an association between Shavuot and Yom Kippur. It notes that in its presentation of the mussaf sacrifices in Parashat Pinchas, the Torah generally concludes its treatment of each festival with the clause, "U-se'ir izim echad" - that a goat is offered as a sin-offering as part of the mussaf offering. With regard to Shavuot and Yom Kippur, however, we find a slight, subtle deviation: "se'ir izim echad" (28:30; 29:11). The Torah omits the conjunctive "u-" ("and") when introducing the sin-offering on Shavuot and Yom Kippur. The Midrash explains that just as Yom Kippur marks a day of Matan Torah, as God transmitted to Moshe on Yom Kippur the second tablets, so is Shavuot a day of Matan Torah, as it was then that we received the initial set of tablets.

How may we understand this connection between Shavuot and Yom Kippur, the first tablets and the second? In fact, at least in one respect, the two are halakhically opposite from one another. Whereas the Torah strictly forbids any eating or drinking on Yom Kippur, festivity constitutes a particularly prominent element of the observance of Shavuot. A well-known Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (68b) cites a dispute as to whether one may devote the entire day of Yom Tov to spiritual endeavors, rather than eating and drinking festively. The Gemara then adds, however, that on Shavuot all agree that one must engage in festivit. How, then, can we compare Shavuot to Yom Kippur?

The Midrash perhaps conveys that these two festivals two very different archetypes of Matan Torah. In the Midrashim as well as customs, we find a prevalent analogy drawn between Matan Torah on Shavuot and marriage. Meaning, the Revelation at Sinai marked the wedding ceremony between the Almighty and Am Yisrael. (In Kabbalistic sources, the seven-week period leading up to Shavuot corresponds to the seven "clean days" required of a menstrual woman - or, more accurately, a "zava" - before immersing and resuming - or, in the case of a bride, initiating - marital relations with her husband. This process after the Exodus culminates with the long-awaited union between God and His people at Sinai.) As we will read on Shavuot morning, just prior to Matan Torah God informs the people that if they accept His covenant, "You shall be My treasured possession among all the nations" (Shemot 19:5). On Shavuot, we are singled out by God to engage in a unique bond and relationship with Him, much like a bride and groom commit themselves to one another under the canopy. Thus, refraining from festive celebration would insult the Almighty, as it were, with whom we are married on this day.

Yom Kippur, however, took place after the sin of the golden calf, an event often described by Chazal as a bride's infidelity under her wedding canopy. The Matan Torah of Yom Kippur marks the difficult process of rebuilding trust and resurrecting a damaged relationship. If on Shavuot we lovingly accept the Torah as our "wedding ring," amidst euphoria, pride and excitement, on Yom Kippur we shamefully ask God to renew the covenant that we violated. Extending the marriage analogy to an extreme, on Shavuot we stand with God under a canopy, while on Yom Kippur we join Him in the marriage counselor's office, as it were. We commit ourselves to undergo the grueling process necessary to rebuild our love with the Almighty.

In this light we may perhaps understand a puzzling passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi. In Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (4:5), the Gemara notes that in Parashat Pinchas, the Torah specifically describes the sin-offering as such ("le-chatat") in its discussion of every festival other than Shavuot. In the context of this holiday, the Torah simply requires bringing "se'ir izim echad" (one goat), without appending the term, "le-chatat" ("for a sin-offering"). The Yerushalmi explains that "once you have accepted upon yourselves the yoke of Torah, I consider you as having never sinned." Just as under the canopy the relationship between bride and groom is unblemished, without even the slightest thread of resentment or mistrust, so on Shavuot does the Almighty view us as His perfect "partner," His "treasured possession." Our genuine and unconditional commitment to Him renders us worthy of a unique relationship with Him, symbolized by the Torah. Only on Yom Kippur must we rebuild that relationship by making amends for our wrongdoing.

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Yesterday we briefly mentioned the Gemara's comment (Pesachim 68a) that although some views allow one to devote himself entirely to spiritual pursuits on Yom Tov, all agree that on Shavuot one must indulge in festive celebration, as well. The Gemara cryptically explains the reasoning behind this distinction of Shavuot: "What is the reason? It is the day on which the Torah was given." Yesterday we suggested that Shavuot celebrates not only Matan Torah per se, but the "wedding" between Am Yisrael and the Almighty. As the Revelation at Sinai marked the closest union ever between Benei Yisrael and God, we must celebrate much as a bride and groom celebrate at their wedding.

Today we will look at two other explanations for this Gemara, cited in Rabbi Shmuel Alter's compendium, "Likutei Batar Likutei" (there in Pesachim).

The "Iyyei Hayam" suggests that when accepting the Torah, Benei Yisrael subjugated both body and soul to God's command. They committed themselves on the one hand to act and perform in accordance with His will, as well as, on the other, to learn and develop themselves internally. This dual commitment is expressed in Benei Yisrael's famous proclamation of, "na'aseh ve-nishma" (we will do and we will hear). "Doing" refers to the physical actions required by halakha; "hearing" connotes a more abstract, purely spiritual commitment. Our observance of Shavuot, therefore, must combine both elements. We celebrate - or even reenact - Matan Torah by engaging in both spiritual endeavors, specifically prayer and the study of Torah, as well as using our physical beings in the service of God.

The Chatam Sofer suggested a different approach, claiming that the obligation of festive celebration stems from the universal nature of Matan Torah. God did not give the Torah only to the scholars; it is bequeathed to the entirety of the Jewish people, Talmudist and layman alike. All segments of the population, therefore, must rejoice on this festival. This gives rise to a problem for those with little experience in Torah learning, for whom Torah study does not - as of yet - bring them genuine joy and happiness. How can they celebrate Matan Torah through learning alone? Halakha therefore required that besides devoting time to study, we must also conduct festive celebrations on Shavuot, as eating and drinking provides a means by which everyone can truly rejoice.

This approach of the Chatam Sofer reminds us of a critical message conveyed to us through the festival of Shavuot - that each and every one of us has a share in - and hence a responsibility towards - Torah. Our nationwide celebration of this festival reflects the idea that the Torah is a national possession. The famous comment by Chazal that every Jew who ever lived - past, present and future - stood at Mount Sinai means, at least on one level, that we all share this treasure. This basic principle yields two important applications. First, it obligates those privileged to have amassed Torah knowledge to "share the wealth," by teaching Torah to others. Secondly, it leaves no one exempt from the great mitzva of Torah study. Regardless of one's level, he is required to set aside time for learning; after all, this treasured gift was given to one and all.

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