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The first verse in Parashat Korach has puzzled the commentators throughout the ages, for the simple reason that it appears to be a sentence fragment. The verb, "took," which the parasha's opening verse attributes to Korach, by definition requires a direct object. A person cannot "take" nothing; if Korach and his followers "took," they must have "taken" something.

Targum Onkelos resolves this problem by simply redefining the first word in the verse, "va-yikach," which we would generally translate as, "he took." The Targum translates it instead with the Aramaic term, "ve-itpeleg," or "dissented." The question, of course, arises as to why the Torah would choose a Hebrew word that generally means "taking" to refer to dissenting, or leading an uprising. Rashi, in his commentary, explains that in truth, Targum Onkelos defines "va-yikach" in accordance with standard meaning, as taking. However, the Targum felt that there is an unwritten object in the verse modifying the verb, "va-yikach." That object, Rashi claims, is Korach himself. We must read the verse as, "Korach took himself," meaning, he took himself out of the Israelite community in order to instigate an insurrection.

But the question remains, why did the Torah not simply write that Korach dissented? What does it add by describing Korach's uprising as his having "taken himself" from the nation?

Perhaps we may suggest that the Torah here alludes to the real motivation behind Korach's revolt, a motive that he concealed when advancing his claims. In their initial confrontation with Moshe, Korach and his following argue, "For the entire nation is holy, and the Lord is in their midst; why, then, do you raise yourselves above the congregation of Israel?" (16:3). From this declaration, "For the entire nation is holy," it appears that Korach presented his uprising as a general struggle for equality. He did not campaign for himself; he rather told the people that he sought to protect them from Moshe's alleged nepotistic policies and monopoly over the nation's religious and political life. In truth, however, Korach led this campaign to further his own interests; as we saw yesterday, Chazal view Korach's uprising as his response to the election of his cousin - rather than himself - to a prominent post within the tribe of Levi.

For this reason, perhaps, the Torah initially introduces the story by describing Korach as taking himself out of the nation. Though he deviously disguised himself as a populist leader fighting on behalf of the commoners, whom he persuaded of their victimization, in reality his revolt entailed his removal from the people. He was driven not by a genuine concern for the masses, but rather by his own envy and desire for power.

*****

Parashat Korach is the parasha of "machloket," strife, as it warns of the dangers of instigating controversy and dispute. Korach sought to overthrow the leadership of Moshe in order to further his personal interests and realize his dreams of power. The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (110a) cites the comment of Rav, that "whoever grabs onto a dispute violates a Torah prohibition, as it says, 'he shall not be like Korach and his following.'" In other words, pursuing strife in effect follows the example of Korach - precisely the example we are bidden to avoid.

Yet, Chazal's attitude towards machloket appears far more complex than we might think. First and foremost, anyone who has ever opened a page anywhere in the Talmud confronts machloket from beginning to end. In-depth study of Gemara (what we call, "lomdus") focuses almost exclusively on assessing the differences of opinion among the various Tanna'im, Amora'im, Rishonim and Acharonim, raising and refuting proofs for every side, and seeking to identify the precise point of contention between the conflicting positions. Indeed, analytical study of halakha is essentially the study of machloket.

Chazal's general approach to machloket is summed-up in a famous mishna in Masekhet Avot (5:17): "Any argument that is for the sake of Heaven - will, in the end, endure; any argument that is not for the sake of Heaven - will, in the end, not endure." The mishna proceeds to cite the example of Korach as the paradigm of a machloket that is conducted "not for the sake of Heaven." As has been often noted, the mishna does not frown upon machloket per se; quite to the contrary, the ideal controversy is one that is ultimately sustained. Rather, the constructive or, God forbid, destructive value of a given machloket depends on its underlying motive. Is the individual waging the battle driven by sincere, genuine motives that we can define as "le-shem Shamayim" (for the sake of Heaven), or is there an element of personal honor and egotism involved in his campaign? Given the potentially destructive nature of an improperly motivated machloket, one must therefore exercise extreme care before launching a machloket under the banner of "le-shem Shamayim."

But how can one truly determine whether or not a given controversy is conducted with proper motives? Do we have any signals that indicate the "le-shem Shamayim" or "she-lo le-shem Shamayim" quality of a given dispute?

In an article published a year ago, Yeshivat Har Etzion alumnus Rav Yuval Shirlo, Rosh Yeshiva of the Yeshivat Hesder of Petach Tikvah, suggested the following three factors by which we can assess the nature of a given machloket:

1. Whether or not the debate intrudes upon the personal plane. A dispute conducted "le-shem Shamayim" will not cross the line into the personal relationship between the two parties. The most famous example of this is the Gemara's testimony that the schools of Bet Hillel and Bet Shamai, who argued vehemently with one another on all areas of Jewish law, were still prepared to marry one another. Only disputants with insincere motives will proceed to reject the person holding the other view, rather than rejecting only the view itself.
2. A preparedness to understand the differing opinion and gain some insight from it, even while opposing it. If the parties conduct their debate sincerely for the sake of truth, without personal interests in mind, they will honestly seek to find whatever merit they can in the opposing position, and make an attempt to see things from the conflicting viewpoint. One who debates "she-lo le-shem Shamayim" will do what he can to portray the opposing view as foolish and inherently absurd in order to prove the validity of his own position.
3. The style of argumentation. Generally, cynicism and scorn in the context of debate and deliberation signal a "she-lo le-shem Shamayim" motive. By contrast, when one maintains his sense of dignity and purity of speech even in the heat of controversy, he testifies to the sincerity of his participation in the given dispute.

Machloket has always been part of Jewish life, and not always lamentably. At times it is valuable, and many times it is necessary. A cautiously positive outlook on debate and argumentation does not mean that in every argument both sides are correct; to the contrary, machloket is often necessary to militate against incorrect or dangerous views. If we bear in mind these three factors, we can help ensure that when machloket becomes necessary, it is fruitful and productive, and will not create unwanted, damaging hatred and disunity.

*****

Yesterday, we encountered Chazal's famous dictum relevant to the sad story of Korach: "Any controversy conducted le-shem Shamayim [for the sake of God] will, in the end, endure; any controversy conducted not le-shem Shamayim will, in the end, not endure" (Masekhet Avot 5:17). The mishna then cites the example of Korach's uprising as the paradigmatic example of a machloket (controversy, or dispute) waged she-lo le-shem Shamayim.

The obvious question arises as to why Chazal chose the story of Korach as the classic example of a machloket she-lo leshem Shamayim. This is far from the firtime that the reader of Chumash comes across strife and contention. In fact, as we know from the end of Parashat Beshalach, there is a location in the wilderness named "Massa U-meriva" - literally, "testing and fighting" - which received this name because of "riv Benei Yisrael," the people's having fought with Moshe over the lack of water. Benei Yisrael have fought several times for food, water, what have you. What more, Korach's rebellion was launched - if only in part - for what appears to be sincere motives. He and his cohorts come to Moshe with a seemingly altruistic - if illegitimate - claim: "for the entire congregation is holy, and the Lord is in their midst." The two hundred and fifty men who join Korach sought to offer the incense. True, they were clearly wrong, but why does this incident qualify for mention as the classic example of an argument instigated for insincere motives?

Rav Elchanan Sorotzkin ("Le-ma'an Achai ve-Rei'ai") offers a very simple answer: this is precisely what Chazal sought to teach us in this mishna. The mishna felt no need to address petty quarreling over mundane matters such as food and water. Such arguments need no comment. It is specifically those arguments waged under the pretense of "le-shem Shamayim" that the mishna feels compelled to address. The story of Korach serves as the classic example of a machloket waged out of impure motives under the guise of sincerity (as we discussed earlier this week). And it is particularly this type of controversy against which the mishna warns. In fact, we are almost compelled to interpret the mishna in this light, for, as we noted yesterday, the mishna presumes an interest in having arguments "endure." What kind of controversies are we interested in lasting forever? Clearly, this mishna speaks only of those controversies involving religious issues. And these are the most volatile and potentially dangerous arguments of all, the ones that have the ability to most effectively drive wedges in otherwise peaceful communities and hew unbridgeable divisions within the Jewish people (as we all know all too well).

As we learn from Korach, we must exercise utmost care when involved in disputes specifically in the inherently religious realm, to ensure that we are truly driven le-shem Shamayim.

*****

Today we will take another look at the mishna we have discussed over the last two days: "Any controversy conducted le-shem Shamayim [for the sake of God] will, in the end, endure; any controversy conducted not le-shem Shamayim will, in the end, not endure… Which controversy is not le-shem Shamayim? The controversy of Korach and his following" (Masekhet Avot 5:17). Many commentators have noted that the mishna appears to encourage the maintenance of machloket (strife, controversy), and hence arguments fueled by sincere motives will "endure." Why do we want machloket to last, rather than give way to peace and harmony?

We have already seen several explanations; today we will look at an answer cited in the name of Rav Yechiel Mordekhai Gordon. He suggests redefining the term used by the mishna, "le-hitkayeim," which we generally translate as, "endure," or "be sustained." Rav Gordon claims that we should perhaps alter the definition slightly and interpret the term to denote confinement or restriction. Meaning, a machloket waged le-shem Shamayim will remain consistently in its place; it will not veer off into other areas not integrally related to the issue at hand. By contrast, those controversies whose disputants are driven by insincere motives, seeking to promote their personal interests or egos, will invariably, at one point or another, expand beyond the initial point of contention. When those involved in machloket engage with their personal concerns in mind, rather than genuinely pursuing truth, the debate crosses into the personal realm and generates hatred and contempt.

According to this explanation, it appears, the mishna takes a neutral stance as to the value of machloket. It neither lauds it nor condemns it; it merely accepts difference of opinion as endemic to social life. It is impossible to expect everyone to agree on all matters. What we can expect, however, is that disputing parties ensure to keep their argument on topic, that they restrict their debate to the specific issue under deliberation, rather than introducing other, external issues - such as personal attacks and the like - into the discussion. For it is then when acceptable difference of opinion deteriorates into entirely unacceptable contempt towards one other.

*****

Among the mitzvot discussed in the second half of Parashat Korach is that of pidyon ha-ben. The father of a firstborn male must symbolically "redeem" his son a month after the birth by paying a certain sum of money to a kohen. When performing this ritual, the father recites two berakhot: "asher kideshanu… al pidyon ha-ben," and "she-hecheyanu." Many Rishonim, including the Sefer ha-Chinukh (392) and the Ramban (Hilkhot Bekhorot), cite a third, lengthy berakha instituted by the Geonim to be recited by the kohen receiving the redemption money. The Rambam, however, does not cite such a berakha, and indeed it is not mentioned in the Shulchan Arukh, nor has it become standard procedure nowadays when conducting a pidyon ha-ben. The Rosh, in Masekhet Kiddushin 1:41, observes that the communities in France in Germany did not accept the practice of reciting such a berakha, for it is mentioned nowhere in the Gemara. After the Talmud was completed in the times of Rav Ashi, he claims, we have no right to introduce any new berakhot.

The Taz (Orach Chayim 46:7), however, notes that, at first glance, this comment of the Rosh seems inconsistent with his own ruling elsewhere. In the first chapter of Masekhet Ketubot, the Rosh cites a custom that grooms recite a berakha ("asher tzag egoz be-Gan Eden") after consummating their marriage with a virgin bride. (This berakha is cited by the Tur, in Even ha-Ezer 63, but the Arukh ha-Shulchan there notes that the prevalent custom is not to recite this berakha.) The Rosh speculates that this berakha, which appears nowhere in the Talmud, was instituted by the Geonim. In this context, the Rosh does not object to the institution of a berakha in the post-Talmudic era. Why, then, did he object to the kohen's berakha at a pidyon ha-ben on the basis that it does not appear in the Talmud?

The Taz answers that the Rosh does not necessarily object to berakhot with no explicit mention in the Gemara. If a custom dating back to the Geonim dictates the recitation of such a berakha, then we may assume that the Geonim found some basis in the Talmud for instituting this recitation. With regard to the kohen's berakha at a pidyon ha-ben, the Rosh merely observed that this custom had never spread in northern Europe; therefore, those communities do not recite it even though such a berakha is recorded in the writings of the Geonim. Unless prevalent custom dictates otherwise, the Taz writes, we do not recite a berakha not found in the Talmud. When, however, a custom had become prevalent, then we may assume that sufficient basis for the berakha exists and therefore follow the practice.

Thus, the Rosh in Masekhet Kiddush did not object to the kohen's berakha per se, but rather explains why in certain location this recitation had not become accepted practice.

The Taz employs this theory to justify our daily recitation of the berakha, "ha-notein la-ya'eif ko'ach" ("who gives strength to the weary"; included in the daily birkot ha-shachar"). The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 46:6) cites this custom and rejects it (though the Magen Avraham cites testimony to the fact that towards the end of his life, Rav Yosef Karo changed his mind and held that it should be recited). The Taz and Vilna Gaon explain that this ruling of the Shulchan Arukh is based on the Rosh's comment in Masekhet Kiddushin, that we cannot recite a berakha never mentioned in the Talmud. However, the Rema notes that the prevalent custom in Europe was to indeed recite this berakha. The Taz explains, bon his analysis, that the Rosh never intended to overrule the recitation of berakhot thathad become standard practice; he meant rather that in the absence of such a custom, no new berakha should be recited, even if it is mentioned in the writings of the Geonim. Therefore, Ashkenazim, who generally follow the rulings of the Rema, include this berakha in the morning berakhot. The Acharonim cite that the Arizal also maintained, based on Kabbalah, that this berakha should be recited.

*****

The final section of Parashat Korach, chapter 18, presents a series of laws pertaining to the institution of the kehuna (priesthood). The bulk of this chapter deals with the "matenot kehuna," the gifts that the rest of the nation owe the kohanim, such as teruma, a small portion of produce given to a kohen. This chapter also makes mention of the "ma'aser" - tithe - that Benei Yisrael must give the Levi'im.

The Gemara in Masekhet Bekhorot (26b) introduces an interesting halakha relevant to the gifts of the kohanim and Levi'im, known as "mesayei'a be-beit ha-granot." A kohen or Levi who works as an assistant in any capacity in the field of agriculture, be it in the growth, maintenance, storage or distribution of the produce, may not accept teruma or ma'aser from that yield as his wages. Regarding a kohen or Levi who violates this provision the Gemara applies a verse from Sefer Malakhi, "shichatem berit ha-Levi" - "you have corrupted the covenant of Levi." The institution of terumot and ma'asrot are meant to sustain the tribe of Levi, which was not given a portion of the Land. By creating a situation where certain Jews will prefer giving their terumot and ma'asrot specifically to him - such as by working for them - the kohen or Levi undermines the integrity of the entire institution of terumot and ma'asrot. In effect, he threatens the livelihood of other kohanim and Levi'im who do not have the same "connections."

Later in Masekhet Bekhorot (51b), the Gemara records the practice of two kohanim, Rabbi Chanina and Rabbi Tarfon, who, after receiving money for pidyon ha-ben (the "redemption" of one's firstborn son, as discussed yesterday), would immediately return the money to the father. Tosefot there ask why this practice does not violate the halakha of "mesayei'a." After all, fathers of firstborn sons will be far more likely to choose a kohen accustomed to returning the money after the pidyon ha-ben, over other kohanim, who keep the money. Tosefot suggest two answers. First, these kohanim would not inform the father before the pidyon of their intention to return the money. Therefore, fathers would not know ahead of time that these rabbis would return the money, and would thus not necessarily have a preference for these kohanim. The difficulty with this answer, of course, is that presumably word quickly spread that these kohanim returned the pidyon ha-ben money to the fathers; this reputation would naturally award them many "customers" and indeed appear to violate the "mesayei'a" provision. For this reason, it would seem, Tosefot suggest a second solution, that Rabbi Chanina and Rabbi Tarfon would not return the money to every father who gave them money for pidyon ha-ben. They did so only for the underprivileged, for whom the cost of pidyon ha-ben was difficult to pay. When performing a pidyon ha-ben for wealthy fathers, they would not return the money.

This answer, too, however, seems, at first glance, difficult to accept. How did these kohanim avoid this problem by restricting this practice to only a certain segment of the population? Still, poorer fathers would undoubtedly show preference for them over other kohanim, thereby undermining the integrity of the institution of matenot kehuna, and potentially depriving other kohanim of pidyon ha-ben money!

Rav Yitzchak Rosenblat, in his "Chedvat Yotzer," suggests the following approach to understand this answer of Tosefot. Clearly, he notes, if a kohen happens to be a particularly amiable, respectable person, people will be more inclined to give him their matenot kehuna. Obviously, halakha would not prohibit a kohen from exhibiting fine midot in order that he not deprive other kohanim of their matanot! But if so, then where do we draw the line? When does a kohen's conduct overstep his bounds and violate this prohibition? Rav Rosenblat answers based on the Rambam's formulation of this halakha: "It is forbidden for kohanim and Levi'im to assist in the granary in order to receive their gifts." The Rambam implies that it all depends on the kohen or Levi's intent. He may not act in a certain manner in order to earn the goodwill of a farmer who must give teruma and ma'aser. He may, however, act innocently, even if his conduct is likely to earn him teruma and ma'aser.

Rav Rosenblat explains Tosefot's answer on this basis. The fact that Rabbi Chanina and Rabbi Tarfon returned the pidyon ha-ben money only to the poor demonstrates the altruism of this practice; they were not looking to win anyone's favor, but rather to assist those in need. This custom therefore involved no violation.

Two comments, however, should made concerning this approach. Firstly, once we accept this premise, that the prohibition of "mesayei'a" applies only when the kohen or Levi specifically intends to earn teruma or ma'aser in exchange for their assistance, then we need not resort to either of Tosefot's answers at all. If Rabbi Chanina and Rabbi Tarfon never held onto pidyon ha-ben money, then obviously they were not seeking more "customers." How would they benefit from more "business" if they never kept the money anyway? Thus, Rav Rosenblat's approach seems to provide a different answer to Tosefot's question, rather than explain Tosefot's own answer.

Secondly, as Rav Rosenblat himself notes, the Vilna Gaon (Y.D. 305:12) limits the prohibition of "mesayei'a" to terumot and ma'asrot. It does not apply, the Gaon maintains, to other matenot kehuna, such as pidyon ha-ben. Accordingly, Tosefot's question never arises in the first place.

In any event, the Shulchan Arukh (305:8) adopts Tosefot's second answer, that a kohen may return the pidyon ha-ben money so long as he does so only to the poor, and not to everyone.

*****

In his commentary to the first verse in Parashat Korach, Rashi, based on the Midrash, explains the tactic Korach employed in challenging Moshe's authority. He instructed his followers to come before Moshe dressed in garments made entirely of tekhelet, the blue dye used to color one string (or two strings) of one's tzitzit. They asked Moshe, does such a garment, made entirely of tekhelet, require a string of tekhelet (with the tzitzit) like other garments? Moshe replied that indeed, all four-cornered garments require tzitzit with tekhelet. They then posed a similar question, whether a room full of Sifrei Torah requires a mezuza on its doorpost. Again, Moshe replied in the affirmative. Korach and his followers then ridiculed Moshe's rulings and challenged his authority.

Perhaps the simplest explanation of Korach's tactic is based on the argument he posed: "for the entire nation is holy, and God is in their midst" (16:3). They denied the very need for an established leadership. A room full of Sifrei Torah does need a religious symbol on the door, just as a tekhelet garment should have no need for tzitzit; similarly, a nation of prophets should not require spiritual leaders.

Rabbi Yitzchak Stollman (rabbi in Detroit, Michigan in the mid-20^th century, author of "Minchat Yitzchak"), however, advances a different interpretation, based on an insightful understanding of the mitzvot of tzitzit and mezuza. Wearing tekhelet (which Chazal associate with the blue color of the heavens, thus representing the Heavenly Throne) on the fringes of one's garment symbolizes the religious connection required between one's essential, interior being, and the world he confronts. A person can be committed to Torah internally but lose that commitment as soon as he interacts with society. These two realms of an individual's life, the internal and external, must be bridged by the tekhelet, by a constant sawareness. Similarly, the mezuza establishes continuity between one's domestic life and the street. Wearing a garment made entirely of tekhel, or living in a home with shelves filled with religious books, does not itself ensure a proper level of observance when one leaves his own, private domain, when he walks out the door. The tzitzit and mezuza symbolize this need for religious consistency between one's private and public life.

We may add that this perspective on Korach's uprising integrally relates to the desire his followers express to offer the ketoret (incense). These men could not accept this bridging of the gap between the home and the street, between one's soul and his daily conduct. To them, religious observance requires a "garment made entirely of tekhelet" or a "room filled entirely with Sifrei Torah." Spirituality has no place in a mundane world. They therefore insisted on personally offering the ketoret; since religious worship requires total separation from the mundane, one must personally serve in the Mishkan if he wants to serve God. They viewed the exclusivity of the kehuna as the exclusivity of spiritual life, rather than a division of roles. If they could not serve in the Mishkan, they felt, then they could not serve God.

Needless to say, they were sorely mistaken. The Torah must be studied, observed and applied within the context of mundane life; it must elevate the mundane, rather than reject it. We are called upon to serve God through every activity in life, by conducting ourselves in accordance with the laws and values of the Torah. The mezuzot on our doors must bridge the gap between our internal, spiritual beings and our day-to-day lives.

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