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Among the topics covered in Parashat Beha'alotekha is the formal consecration of the Levi'im for their duties in the Mishkan. God tells Moshe that a Levi begins his work at the age twenty-five (8:24). As many commentators have observed, this age requirement appears to contradict an earlier verse in Sefer Bemidbar, 4:3. There God instructs Moshe to take a census of all males in the tribe of Levi aged thirty to fifty, "all who are subject to service, to perform tasks for the Tent of Meeting." Apparently, a Levi's term of service began only at age thirty, not at age twenty-five as our parasha indicates.

We find three basic approaches in the classic commentators. Rashi, based on Chazal, understood that five years of training were required before the Levi could begin his service in the Mishkan. Thus, at the age of twenty-five the recruit would begin his training, and after five years he was ready to begin the actual work.

The Ramban, however, argues that this explanation of Rashi appears as the minority view in the Sifrei. The Nachalat Yaakov, a work on Rashi's commentary, notes that in our version of the Sifrei Rashi's approach is actually cited without disagreement. What more, it appears to be the majority view in the Gemara, as well (Chulin 24). In any event, the Ramban adds that this explanation - regardless of whether it represents the majority or minority view - was not meant as an actual resolution to the contradictory verses, but rather as an "asmakhta" (textual allusion) to the principle, "Whoever studies for five years and does not see success, he will no longer see success." (What precisely this means is a topic for a different discussion.) Therefore, we cannot accept Chazal's approach as the straightforward meaning of the verse.

Instead, the Ramban claims that at twenty-five years of age a Levi has the option of beginning his service. The work becomes mandatory only at age thirty. (Tomorrow we will explore the possibility that a Levi has the option of performing his tasks in the Mishkan even earlier, once he becomes a bar mitzva.)

The Ramban cites a third approach in the name of the Ibn Ezra, an explanation that is adopted as well by other commentators, including the Rashbam, the Chizkuni, and, many years later, the Netziv. They distinguish between the different duties assigned to the Levi'im. The responsibilities associated with transporting the Mishkan, which involved particularly arduous labor, was charged only upon those thirty years of age and older. The Mahari Kurkus, in his work on the Rambam - Hilkhot Kelei ha-Mikdash 3:7, cites in this context the passage at the end of the fifth chapter of Pirkei Avot, "ben sheloshim le-ko'ach" - that age thirty one reaches his peak with respect to physical strength. The Levi'im began their other work at age twenty-five, but the strenuous labor was delayed until their thirtieth birthday.

The Ramban objects to this explanation in light of the discussion of the census in Parashat Bemidbar. As we mentioned, the Levi'im were counted from age thirty, and the Torah attributes this age to the fact that it was then when the Levi'im began their service. The Ramban cites verses (specifically 4:23-24) indicating that the work begun at this age included other duties besides merely the "schlepping." The Netziv, however, easily refutes this proof with his claim that the census was to include only those Levi'im capable of performing all tasks assigned to the tribe. Therefore, the census began at age thirty, when all the various jobs were open to the Levi'im.

In closing, we should note that in a different context Rashi appears to adopt this third approach. In his commentary to the aforementioned mishna in Masekhet Avot (5:21), Rashi draws proof to the fact that one reaches his maximum physical strength at age thirty from the Levi'im. He writes, "For the Levites were unable to carry with their shoulders until thirty [years of age], because they did not have the strength." In truth, however, this comment does not necessarily imply the Rashi in that context accepted the Ibn Ezra's approach. Rashi may have felt, quite simply, that both factors are true: a Levi requires five years of training before beginning his work, and before the age of thirty the Levi could not physically handle the transportation of the Mishkan. God therefore required that the training period begin at age twenty-five, such that the Levi can begin work when he reaches his thirtieth year.

*****

Yesterday, we saw that Chazal, cited by Rashi in his commentary to Parashat Beha'alotekha (8:24), claim that the Levi'im began their service in the Mishkan at age thirty. However, already at age twenty-five they began a five-year training program to prepare them for their responsibilities in the Mishkan. (Note: Our discussion today ignores the other views discussed yesterday; we work strictly within the view of Chazal as cited by Rashi.)

The Rambam cites this view of Chazal in his Mishneh Torah - Hilkhot Kelei ha-Mikdash 3:7. However, in that very same halakha, the Rambam writes that a child may not perform the service until he reaches adulthood (presumably referring to bar-mitzvah age), a halakha introduced already in the mishna, in Masekhet Arakhin 13b. The Rambam cites a verse from Parashat Bemidbar (4:19 - "ish ish") as the Biblical source of this prohibition. The obvious question raised by many Acharonim is, why must the Rambam (or the mishna, for that matter) specifically prohibit the performance of work in the Mishkan by children, if, as the Rambam just mentioned, a Levi begins his term of service only at age thirty?

The Kessef Mishneh brings three answers. First, he suggests that we distinguish between the different tasks charged upon the Levi'im. Whereas most duties may be performed immediately upon the Levi's reaching adulthood, one specific job - to sing in the choir that accompanied the korbanot - was reserved for adults thirty and above. The particular skill required to sing in the choir raised the minimum age to thirty. Secondly, the Kessef Mishneh suggests a different distinction, between temporary service and permanent responsibilities. A young Levi may be called upon on a "here and there" basis to perform various jobs needed. Only at the age of thirty, however, may a Levi hold a permanent position in the Mishkan.

The Kessef Mishneh then cites a different explanation, one which is suggested by the Mahari Kurkus, in his commentary on the Rambam's Mishneh Torah. This view draws a distinction between transporting the Mishkan and other duties. The Mishkan's transportation required physical strength as well as considerable training, as the Levi would have to become familiar with the various parts of the Mishkan and how to arrange them accordingly. Therefore, whereas all other jobs could begin before age thirty, this specific task was performed only by Levi'im thirty and older, and only after five years of training. We should note that this approach compels us to view the first half of the Rambam's halakha as a historical comment, rather than a halakha. For once the Bet ha-Mikdash was erected, of course, there was no longer any need to transport the Mishkan. Thus, the Levi'im no longer bore any transportation duties. If the Rambam, when mentioning the age of thirty as the point when a Levi began service, referred strictly to the task of carrying the Mishkan, then he must have spoken only of the period of the Mishkan, before the construction of the Temple. Clearly, this appears to be a somewhat far-fetched reading of the Rambam.

Tomorrow we will iy"H look at two other answers suggested by the Acharonim.

*****

Yesterday, we addressed the problem noted by many Acharonim concerning the Rambam's view as to when a Levi begins his service in the Mishkan. In Hilkhot Kelei ha-Mikdash 3:7, he cites Chazal's comment, quoted by Rashin his commentary to Parashat Beha'alotekha (8:), that a Levi undergoes five years of training from age twenty-five to thirty, at which point he begins his term of service. Yet, in that very same halakha, the Rambam then derives from a verse in Parashat Bemidbar (4:19) that a Levi cannot begin his work until he becomes an adult, presumably referring to the age of bar-mitzva. This implies, of course, that a Levi begins working already as a teenager, even before age thirty.

In his work on the Rambam, the Mahari Kurkus suggests (as his first answer; he prefers the second, which we mentioned yesterday) that before age thirty the Levi's work is permissible but not mandatory. As a child he is barred from participating in the Levi'im's service, at thirteen he is allowed to do so, and at thirty he must begin his service. This answer was suggested many years later in the work, ha-Ketav ve-ha-Kabbala.

Perhaps the most convincing answer, however, is that suggested by several later Acharonim, including Rav David Pardo, in his work on the Sifrei ("Sifrei de-Bei Rav"), the Netziv, in his work on the Sifrei ("Eimek ha-Netziv"), and the Avnei Neizer (Choshen Mishpat 76). They claim that the question itself is based upon a mistaken reading of the Rambam. Let us first cite the passage in question: "A Levi may not enter the courtyard [of the Temple] for his service until he is first taught for five years, as it says, 'This is the rule for the Levites: from twenty-five years of age… ' while another verse says, 'from thirty years of age.' How is this possible? Five years are for study." The Rambam then proceeds to mention the prohibition against Levi'im working during childhood.

When the Kessef Mishneh posed his question on the Rambam, he presumed that in citing Chazal's resolution of the seemingly contradictory verses, the Rambam ruled that a Levi begins training at twenty-five and service at thirty. A careful reading of the Rambam's words, however, reveals that this is not the case. Rather, Chazal's resolution of these verses merely introduces the halakha that a Levi must train for five years. In the wilderness, when the Levi's responsibilities included transporting the Mishkan, his service was delayed until age thirty. We have already seen over the last two days that this age is viewed as the point when one reaches his peak in physical strength. Once the permanent Temple was erected, however, and the Levi'im's work regimen no longer included "schlepping" the Mishkan, the age requirement was lowered. The Rambam cited Chazal's resolution of these verses only as the basis for the requirement of a five-year training period. The minimum age of thirty, however, was never meant as a permanent provision.

This reading of the Rambam seemed so obvious to the Chasdei David - a commentary on the Tosefta - in Masekhet Chulin that he suggests the Kessef Mishneh must have had a different text of the Rambam. Otherwise, he could not have understood the Rambam as establishing thirty as the minimum age requirement for the Levi'im to begin their service.

(Those who recall yesterday's discussion will note that to one extent, this answer essentially amounts to the functional equivalent of the second answer suggested by the Kessef Mishneh. We leave it to the reader to identify precisely the difference between the two approaches. Bear in mind how the Kessef Mishneh explained the need for a five-year training period according to his second answer. Could the Acharonim cited today agree with this explanation?)

*****

The final section of Parashat Beha'alotekha relates the incident of Miriam's inappropriate talk about her brother, Moshe. In the midst of this story, the Torah interjects its assessment of Moshe's character: "Moshe was a very humble man, more so that any other man on earth" (12:3). What precisely does the word "anav" (translated here as, "humble") denote, and how does this characteristic of Moshe relate to the narrative at hand?

The Netziv ("He'amek Davar") suggests that contrary to what many people think, the term "anav" does not refer to one's self-image or how he assesses his credentials. Rather, it describes someone who has no interest in honor. He may think very highly of himself, as one should if he indeed deserves to be thought highly of, but he seeks no recognition for his greatness or stature. He simply does what he needs to do without worrying about whether or not people afford him special treatment on account of his greatness. The Torah here wishes to emphasize that God did not react as harshly as He did to Miriam and Aharon out of concern for Moshe's feelings. Moshe, the "humblest" of all men, suffered no emotional harm as a result of his siblings' gossip, because he had no interest in honor. God felt compelled to act in order to demonstrate to posterity the greatness of Moshe, but not to defend his personal honor.

In this vein the Netziv explains an otherwise startling Gemara towards the end of Masekhet Sota. In response to a comment that after the death of Rabbi Yehuda ha-Nasi humility is no longer to be found in the world, Rav Yosef expresses his disagreement. "What about me?" he says. At first glance, Rav Yosef's remark seems ludicrous; how can one possibly argue for his own humility? Does this not itself testify to his arrogance? However, the Netziv writes, once we realize that humility does not involve one's low self-image, but rather a disinterest in how others view him, this Gemara poses no problem at all. That Rav Yosef acknowledged his humility does not undermine it. Indeed, the Netziv notes, the Gemara at the end of Masekhet Horiyot tells that throughout the period when the amora Rabba served as Rosh Yeshiva, his colleague, Rav Yosef, made a point of refusing any expression of honor. Despite his being Rabba's equal, he felt no concern for his own honor and saw to it that nothing he did could be interpreted as a challenge to Rabba's authority.

Thus, Rav Yosef could indeed testify to his own "humility." He worried about doing the right thing and paid no attention to whether or not others paid attention to him. This is what it means to be truly "humble."

*****

Yesterday we discussed the Torah's description of Moshe in Parashat Beha'alotekha (12:3) as the "humblest of all men." While the Netziv, as we saw yesterday, interprets the term "anav" as referring to a disinterest in honor, rather than a low self-image, Rashi seems - at first glance - to argue. He translates the word as "shafal ve-savlan." The first word Rashi uses in his translation, "shafal," generally means "lowly." The second term, "savlan," denotes tolerance or forbearance. How do both these terms define the single word, "anav"? According to Rashi, what does "anav" mean - a sense of lowliness, or the quality of forbearance?

Perhaps the simple understanding would be that Rashi here refers to a cause-and-effect process triggered by one's "shiflut" (lowliness). When seeing himself as undeserving, one naturally tolerates adversity or even hostility. The less he feels he deserves the good will of others, the more likely he is to tolerate their ill will. Thus, according to Rashi, "anav" indeed refers to a low view of oneself.

The Rebbe of Kotzk, however, offers a characteristically sharp interpretation of Rashi's definition. The "humble" person, says the Kotzker, is "lowly and tolerates his lowliness." In other words, "savlan" modifies "shafal"; "anav" describes a person who can "tolerate his lowliness." Consistent with his typical brevity, the Kotzker leaves it at that and explains no further. What does he mean?

External arrogance or presumptuousness often reflects internal insecurity. Many people feel overwhelmed by their shortcomings that they try to compensate with artificial confidence and forced self-esteem, often by seeking the respect of others. According to the Kotzker, the greatness of humility does not lie in the recognition of one's faults, in his lowliness. This recognition is shared by all people, whether or not they admit it. The test of one's humility is how he deals with his existential sense of inadequa. The humble person "tolerates" his shortcomings. Meaning, he feels no need to balance his insecurity withsome artificial coating of self-assurance. Instead, he confronts the weaknesses themselves and tries to improve. If he succeeds, great; if not, then he tries again. The arrogant, by contrast, cannot "tolerate" their low self-image, so they seek ways to fabricate a healthy ego.

In essence, then, the Kotzker's approach brings us to the same result as the Netziv's explanation discussed yesterday, only from the opposite direction. According to both, humility involves not one's self-image but how he responds to his self-image. The Netziv claimed that the humble man recognizes his admirable qualities but has no interest in having others recognize them. According to the Kotzker, the humble man knows his faults, but makes no attempt to seek the high regard of others in order to artificially improve his low self-esteem.

*****

Over the last two days we have discussed the Torah's testimony in Parashat Beha'alotekha that Moshe Rabbenu was "the humblest of all men on earth" (12:3). The Torah makes this observation amidst the narrative of the sin of Miriam and Aharon, Moshe's sister and brother, who spoke disrespectfully about Moshe. Among the issues we raised was the relevance of this "statistic" regarding Moshe's humility to the story at hand. The Netziv, we saw, suggested that we view this verse as a disclaimer of sorts, dispelling the possible notion that God intervened - by punishing Miriam - in response to Moshe's hurt feelings. In truth, this was not the case; as Moshe was an exceptionally humble man, insulting remarks by others could have no emotional impact upon him. God intervened in order to demonstrate Moshe's greatness and show that Miriam's remarks were improper.

Other commentators offer different explanations. According to the Malbim, the Torah here explains why Moshe himself offered no response to Miriam and Aharon's charges. Moshe, the humblest of all men, simply ignored their accusation and felt no need to justify his actions or come to his own self defense. The Almighty therefore intervened on his behalf.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch provides several possible reasons as to why the Torah reminds us here of Moshe's humility. For one thing, lauding Moshe's humility effectively emphasizes the grave error committed by Miriam and Aharon. As Chazal explain, they criticized Moshe for taking upon himself a particularly strict standard of sanctity, particularly by having separated from his wife. Miriam and Aharon viewed this measure as an expression of arrogance, that Moshe saw himself as inherently more holy than his kinsmen. The Torah stresses their mistake by noting that Moshe's humility exceeded that of all other men. His separation from his wife, then, surprising at it may have been, cannot possibly be interpreted as a sign of arrogance on Moshe's part.

Rav Hirsch then suggests a different explanation, that Moshe's humility in effect was the very cause of Miriam and Aharon's misconception. Namely, due to his remarkable humility, Moshe never wore his piety externally; he conducted himself modestly and did not give the impression of being the greatest prophet that would ever live. Judging by his external image, Miriam and Aharon concluded that Moshe was not on the level requiring such severe measures as separating from his wife. As much as they undoubtedly respected their brother, who he was and what he represented, they nevertheless did not recognize the full extent of his stature. They therefore questioned the particularly stringent standard he took upon himself.

In any event, the sad story of Aharon and Miriam reminds us to exercise caution before reaching conclusions in our assessment of other people. Miriam and Aharon may have figured that as family members they have a more accurate picture of who Moshe really was, and they therefore felt entitled to criticize his decision to separate from his wife. In truth, however, we can never fully know what factors prompt others to act in the way they do, and we may therefore never arrive at critical conclusions based on what we see or hear.

*****

Parashat Beha'alotekha describes the formal consecration of the Levi'im. This ceremony consisted of several stages, including the required removal of all hair on the Levi'im's bodies. Why was this necessary, and what does it symbolize?

Rashi, citing Rav Moshe ha-Darshan, draws an association between the Levi'im and a metzora in this regard. Indeed, the only other instance when halakha requires one to shave his entire body is the metzora's purification process. The firstborn, who were to have been the attendants in the Mishkan, forfeited this privilege when they participated in the sin of the golden calf. Rav Moshe ha-Darshan claims that as pagan sacrifices are often called, "zivchei meitim," or "offerings of the dead," the firstborn became figuratively "dead" through their worship of the calf, much like a metzora is considered figuratively "dead." Therefore, their replacements, the Levi'im, required a purification ritual similar to that of the metzora.

Rav Moshe Sternbuch, however, suggests a different approach for this association between the Levi'im and the metzora. Why, after all, must a metzora shave his hair as part of his process of purification? As we know, Chazal explained the manifestation of tzara'at as a punishment for the grievous sin of lashon hara - gossip. Spreading gossip - true or false - about an individual causes him to become self-conscious and uneasy about his reputation. The Torah therefore requires that the metzora himself, upon his return to society (after his term of banishment while suffering from the disease), changes his appearance in such a manner that he will look different. Like the subject of his chatter, he will experience a feeling of uneasiness and social insecurity as he walks the streets of his town.

The haircutting of the Levi'im, Rav Sternbuch suggests, served a similar function. The Levi'im not only served as the assistants to the kohanim in the Mikdash, but also worked as the nation's religious leaders, as Moshe indicates quite clearly in his blessing to the Levi'im before his death (Devarim 33:10). Someone who represents a higher spiritual standard must recognize that he will always seem different, he will always stand out and, to one extent or another, will not fully "fit in" his social surroundings. The haircutting ritual symbolized this shared quality of the metzora and, "le-havdil," the Levi, or the religious educator or leader: he will always stand out, he will always be different.

This approach provides an important guideline for our interaction with secular society. When involving ourselves with a culture whose norms and values differ from others, we must be prepared to be different and be seen as different.

This perhaps brings us back to our discussion over the last several days of Miriam and Aharon's criticism of their brother, Moshe, for taking on a particularly stringent standard of sanctity. Moshe likely realized that his decisions will strike others - even his own family members - as strange or perhaps inappropriate. But this is the price one pays for the privilege of serving in the capacity of Jewish leadership. Today, religious Jews pay a similar price for their stubborn adherence to their laws and customs even while engaging in general society. We must recall the unique "humility" of Moshe Rabbenu, which allowed him to overlook the misgivings of those around them and do what he felt was necessary. Similarly, we are called upon to maintain our distinctiveness, uneasy and self conscious as we may feel, in order to remain fully committed to Torah and mitzvot.

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