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by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Chukat tells the famous story of Mei Meriva, where Benei Yisrael complain to Moshe and Aharon over the lack of drinking water, and Moshe responds by hitting the rock to which God had ordered him to speak. Moshe and Aharon are punished for this incident by being denied permission to lead Benei Yisrael onward towards Eretz Yisrael.

Among the many explanations offered as to precisely how Moshe sinned is that of Rav Yosef Albo, in his Sefer Ha-ikarim (4:22). He writes that ironically enough, Moshe erred in misapplying the quality for which he is perhaps best known – his humility. Immediately upon being confronted by Benei Yisrael, Moshe should have initiated the miraculous production of water from a rock in the wilderness. The Sefer Ha-ikarim points to several examples in Tanakh where a prophet intuitively understands that he must perform a miracle in order to provide water or other necessary commodities (Eliyahu at Mount Carmel; Elisha during the war of Yehoshafat, and others). But due to his extraordinary humility, Moshe did want to presumptuously initiate such a process before receiving an explicit instruction from the Almighty. In so doing, Moshe diminished somewhat from the miracle and its inspirational and educational impact.

Later writers have raised many difficulties regarding this approach. One particularly interesting challenge is posed by Rabbi Yitzchak Arama, in his famous work, "Akeidat Yitzchak." He writes: "We have yet to hear of any mishap occurring as a result of the quality of humility." According to the Akeidat Yitzchak, one cannot sin by being too modest, and it is therefore inconceivable that Moshe's sin involved his excessive or unwarranted humility.

Rav Yaakov Emden (cited in the journal "Kerem Shelomo," 5758, vol. 1) raised an objection against this claim of the Akeidat Yitzchak. A famous Gemara in Masekhet Gittin (56a) tells that a man named Bar Kamtza, in an act of revenge against the rabbis for their perceived injustice towards him, falsely reported to the Roman emperor that the Jews planned a revolt. As proof to his charge, he told the emperor to send a sacrifice to the Temple in Jerusalem and see if they would accept it. As he made his way back to Jerusalem with the animal sent for the sacrifice, Bar Kamtza inflicted a wound in the animal that rendered it unfit for sacrifice according to halakha. The rabbis, understanding full well the situation, suggested that perhaps they should offer the animal anyway, or maybe kill Bar Kamtza so that he cannot follow through with his devious plan. But Rabbi Zekharya Ben Avkilus rejected both ideas, fearing the misconceptions that would result – that a blemished animal is suitable for sacrifice, or that one who makes a blemish in an animal is liable for the death penalty. He therefore insisted on offering the animal and ruled against executing Bar Kamtza. Sure enough, the Roman government believed Bar Kamtza's allegations, and they began a campaign against Jerusalem which ultimately destroyed the Second Temple. Rabbi Yochanan declared: "The humility of Rabbi Zekharya Ben Avkulis destroyed our house, burnt our Sanctuary, and exiled us from our land." Apparently, Rav Yaakov Emden writes, Rabbi Yochanan attributes one of the worst calamities that ever befell the Jewish people to misused humility. Clearly, then, the Akeidat Yitzchak is incorrect: there are, indeed, instances when humility leads to sin and even disaster.

As others have pointed out, however (such as a writer to the next volume of aforementioned journal), this passage does not at all disprove the Akeidat Yitzchak's theory. The word used in the Gemara– "anvetanuto" ("his humility") – has several different meanings. In fact, Rashi, in his commentary to that Gemara, explains the word to mean "tolerance." Rabbi Zekharya Ben Avkulis' refusal to execute Bar Kamtza, who ultimately succeeded in turning the Roman government against the Jews, a process that culminated in the destruction of Jerusalem, led to this disaster. Elsewhere, we find the term "anivut" used to mean excessive piety. This meaning, too, could very well be applied to this Gemara. According to either of these interpretations, this passage proves nothing about the quality of humility.

In any event, even if we accept the Akeidat Yitzchak's thesis, that no sin can ever result from humility, we may still uphold the approach taken by the Sefer Ha-ikarim (though, as mentioned, his approach raises several other difficulties, as well). The work, "Chamesh Yadot" (Vilna, 1904) suggests a novel explanation for the position of the Sefer Ha-ikarim. Moshe did not sin by exercising too much humility, but the current generation needed a leader with less humility. The Chamesh Yadot explains that the current generation did not witness the miracles brought about by Moshe in Egypt and in the first two years after the Exodus. (Recall that this incident, according to nearly all commentators, occurred in the final year of Benei Yisrael's sojourn in the wilderness). They began questioning Moshe's strength, and hence his authority. Moshe's humility, therefore, was unsuitable for them; they needed a leader who would take the initiative and forcefully demonstrate to them his power and authority. Moshe's humility, then, did not result in a sin on his part, but rather naturally necessitated a transition of leadership from the humble, unassuming personality of Moshe, to the more forceful and commanding personality of Yehoshua. (A full development of the contrast drawn by the Chamesh Yadot between these two personalities lies beyond the scope of this dvar Torah.)

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Parashat Chukat begins with the laws of the para aduma, the "red heifer," the ashes of which are used to administer tahara (purification) to those who have become tamei (ritually impure) through contact with a corpse. According to halakha, every stage of this process must be performed by someone tahor; a person who is ritually impure may not burn the para aduma, collect its ashes, pour the water over them, or sprinkle the waters to administer tahara. (See Masekhet Yoma 43a.) Rav Velvele Soloveitchik, the "Brisker Rav," is cited as raising two theoretical understandings of the nature of this requirement. On the one hand, one might group this halakha together with the general prohibition against handling sacrifices in a state of impurity. No sacrificial service may be performed by a tamei. Perhaps, it is this prohibition which halakha naturally applies to the rituals involving the para aduma to forbid their performance in a state of tum'a. (Several discussions in the Talmud surround the issue of to what extent we view the para aduma as a sacrifice – see Avoda Zara 23b, Menachot 51b-52). Alternatively, however, we might isolate this halakha from the general rules governing hekdesh. The Torah imposes many rules and regulations on the para aduma procedure, laws that have nothing at all to do with any other area of halakha, including sacrifices. Perhaps, then, we have here an independent regulation requiring that specifically a tahor prepare the para aduma. The Torah does not prohibit a tamei from coming in contact with a para aduma, as it does regarding sacrifices, but rather requires a state of tahara as a prerequisite for the process' validity.

Reb Velvele reportedly preferred this second option, viewing this halakha as a special prerequisite for the para aduma rather than an application of the standard prohibition against performing sacrificial rituals while tamei. He reached this conclusion based on a unique provision allowing a "tevul yom" to perform the rituals associated with the para aduma. A "tevul yom" is someone who had been tamei and completed the entire tahara process, but needs to wait until sundown before becoming tahor. Generally, halakha considers such a person tamei, since the final stage of puri– the termination of the specified period of impurity – awaits fulfillment. When it comes to the para aduma, however, halakah permits a tevul yom to perform the various procedures associated with it. Seemingly, this reveals that the halakha requiring a tahor to perform the para aduma rituals is not an extension of the standard prohibition against performing sacrificial rituals while tamei, as this prohibition applies to a tevul yom, as well.

A compelling Talmudic source for Reb Velvele's theory is suggested by Rav Yisrael Be'eiri (former rabbi of the Nes-Tziyona community), in his work, "Kevoda Shel Torah." A Tosefta cited in Masekhet Sanhedrin (83a) lists the transgressions for which one is punished with "mita bi-dei Shamayim" – death at the hands of God (as opposed to execution by Bet-Din), and this list includes "tamei she-shimeish" – a ritually impure person who performs the Temple service. The Gemara in Masekhet Shavuot (17a) discusses how such a situation is possible; after all, the tamei must have entered the Temple before performing the service, in which case he is already liable for this punishment for having entered the Temple grounds in a state of tum'a! The Gemara therefore assumes that the Tosefta refers to one who became tamei while in the azara (Temple courtyard), whom halakha requires to quickly leave the area along the shortest route possible. The individual performed the given service either immediately before leaving or during his departure. Why, Rav Be'eiri asks, did the Gemara not simply answer that we deal with the para aduma rituals, which are performed outside the vicinity of the Temple! Here we have a situation of a ritual which halakha forbids performing while tamei, which does not involve physical presence in the Mikdash – precisely the case the Gemara needs to explain the Tosefta! Apparently, Rav Be'eiri explains, the Gemara assumed, in accordance with the second possibility described, that the halakha requiring a tahor for the para aduma rituals has nothing at all to do with the standard prohibition of performing sacrificial rituals while tamei. This is not a prohibition, but rather a prerequisite for the procedure's validity. Naturally, then, one incurs no punishment for performing the para aduma rituals while tamei, and therefore the Gemara did not mention such a case in its attempt to explain the Tosefta.

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Towards the end of his commentary on the section in Parashat Chukat dealing with the "para aduma" (red heifer), Rashi cites the elaborate, homiletic approach to these verses of Rabbi Moshe Ha-darshan. The crux of this approach, which is based upon earlier, Midrashic sources, is that the institution of the para aduma as a means of purification serves as atonement for the incident of the golden calf. In the words of Chazal, "Let the mother come and clean the filth of her son." The red heifer, the mother, comes to "clean" the sin of her "son" – the golden calf.

Chazal here appear to draw some association between the golden calf and the institution of the para aduma. How may we understand this connection? What element of the para aduma renders it an appropriate means of atonement for the sin of the golden calf?

One possible explanation is suggested by Rav Shraga Pollak in his work, "Tishbi." The para aduma is required in order for one to divest himself of tum'at met – the ritual impurity contracted upon coming in contact with a corpse. This is the only form of tum'a requiring the ashes of the para aduma; if one contracts any other form of tum'a, his process of purification is generally far simpler (with the notable exception of tum'at tzara'at). Several commentators, including Chizkuni and Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor, explain that the Torah imposed particularly rigorous guidelines for the purification from tum'at met in order to discourage excessive preoccupation with the dead. The elaborate process involved in divesting oneself of tum'at met discourages people from coming in contact with dead bodies unless it becomes absolutely necessary. The Torah, these commentators explain, urges us to focus our energies on life, on living people, on the improvement of the world in which we live, rather than on those that have passed.

Rav Pollak explained that the Jewish perspective on death is a complex one. On the one hand, a well-known Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (5) encourages one to contemplate his eventual death as a means of avoiding sin. Reminding oneself of his mortality and limited time spent on earth helps him see beyond the present moment and puts whatever fleeting, immediate gratification he currently desires into its proper context. On the other hand, the prophet Yeshayahu warns of an impending day on which God summoned "to weeping and lamenting, to tonsuring and girding with sackcloth," and he records the following famous response of the people: "Behold, there was rejoicing and merriment… eating of meat and drinking of wine – 'Eat and drink, for tomorrow we will die!'" (Yeshayahu 22:12-13). The people responded to the prospect of death by releasing all constraints, by removing from themselves all yokes of responsibility and obligation, "for tomorrow we will die." The laws of tum'at met seek to prevent one from preoccupying himself with the dead so that he does not despair from his future and thus free himself from all constraints and obligations.

Herein, Rav Pollak suggests, lies the connection between the para aduma, the rigorous purification process required to overcome tum'at met, and chet ha-egel. In describing the events surrounding the incident of the golden calf, the Torah inserts two critical but often-neglected words: "va-yakumu le-tzachek" – "they rose to make merry" (Shemot 32:6). The worship of the calf marked a sudden release of tension, after forty days of spiritual intensity and focus. The substitution of Moshe with the golden calf meant not only replacing a human being with a graven image, but replacing his strict laws and prohibitions with eating, drinking, dancing, and merrymaking. At chet ha-egel, Benei Yisrael released the constraints of Ma'amad Har Sinai, they left from underneath the mountain that, as the Gemara describes, God had suspended over their heads, from the zenith of spiritual intensity to which they had risen since arriving in the wilderness of Sinai.

The second verse of Parashat Chukat lists the basic qualifications for the red heifer, including "upon which a yoke has never ascended." The para aduma used for this ritual must never have been harnessed to a yoke. In light of what we have seen, the symbolism behind this requirement is clear. The burning of the para aduma symbolizes the destruction of this sense of "yokelessness," this desire to shake oneself free from external constraints and conscience. This, perhaps, marks the common theme between the laws of the para aduma and the incident of the golden calf.

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Parashat Chukat tells of the death of Aharon at Hor Ha-har (20:22-29). The Torah tells that Moshe and Aharon ascended Hor Ha-har together with Aharon's son and successor, Elazar. Moshe removed Aharon's priestly garments and placed them on his son, formally executing the transfer of the kehuna gedola, after which Aharon died.

Curiously, or perhaps not so curiously, the Torah makes no mention of Aharon's burial. Similarly, in the Torah's brief recount of Aharon's death in Parashat Masei (Bamidbar 33:38), the Torah mentions only Aharon's death and omits any reference to his burial. What are we to make of this omission? According to Chazal and virtually all commentators, nothing. It is generally assumed that Moshe and Elazar buried Aharon immediately after his death at Hor Ha-har, despite the absence of any explicit reference to this effect in the Chumash.

A notable exception is the Malbim, in his commentary to Sefer Devarim (10:6). The Malbim there addresses the glaring contradiction between our parasha and the verse there: "And the Israelites journeyed from the springs of Benei Ya'akan to Mosera; there Aharon died and was buried there " – indicating that Aharon died and was buried at Mosera, rathethan Hor Ha-har. Rashi, following Chazal, explains that Aharon was eulogized at Mosera, though he died at Hor Ha-har. The Ramban suggests that Mosera was a location in the valley that ran parallel to the mountainous area of Hor Ha-har. The Malbim, however, posits a revolutionary theory, that Aharon died in Hor Ha-har was not buried until Benei Yisrael reached Mosera. He explains that, as the verses here tell, Benei Yisrael came under attack by the kingdom of Arad immediately after Aharon's death. The Malbim claims that the ensuing battle left no time for the proper burial of Aharon, and it was therefore delayed until a later point. This accounts for the absence of any mention of his burial here and in Parashat Masei, which speak only of his death on Hor Ha-har; the funeral, however, took place at Mosera.

As mentioned, however, this is the minority view among Chazal and the commentators, all of whom assume that Aharon is buried atop Hor Ha-har.

Do we know anything about Aharon's burial site today? The Yalkut Shimoni (Parashat Masei, 787) writes that Aharon's burial site is unknown to us, just as the Torah testifies to the mystery surrounding the burial site of Moshe (see Devarim 34:6). However, this position does not seem to have been accepted by later sources. Rashi cites from Chazal that "Hor Ha-har" is a mountain within a mountain, "like a small apple on top of a large apple." Josephus Flavius, in Antiquities of the Jews (4:4:7), claims that this refers to the famous region of Petra in modern-day Jordan, south of the Dead Sea, which in fact is shaped in the manner described by Chazal. Indeed, in Arabic the area is known as "Jibal Ahrn," or "the mountain of Aharon." Geographically, this premise works very well with the narrative here in Parashat Chukat, as it lies east of Israel, on the southwest corner of the ancient kingdom of Edom. (As we read later in the parasha, after Aharon's death Benei Yisrael must circumvent Edom and travel further to the east, away from Eretz Yisrael, which results in their exasperation from travel.) In a remarkably comprehensive essay in the journal "Beit Aharon Ve-Yisrael" of the Stolin-Karlin yeshiva (10:5, 5755), Rav Yosef Ezra Zelikha documents several personal accounts of Jews who visited Petra and were shown by the local Arabs the site believed to be the burial site of Aharon.

Rav David Mandelbaum, in his "Pardes Yosef He-chadash" to Parashat Chukat, comments that near the aforementioned site in Petra stands a large monument to which the Arabs refer as "the monument of the snake." Rabbi Mandelbaum speculates that this name originates from the incident told later in the parasha, that when Benei Yisrael embarked from Hor Ha-har to circumvent Edom they began complaining against God, who punished the nation by sending snakes to bite them. When the people repented and pleaded with Moshe to intervene on their behalf, God ordered Moshe to make the "nechash ha-nechoshet," a brass snake to which the people would look after being bitten and then be cured. This naturally occurred not far from Hor Ha-har, and the location may very well have been given a name in commemoration of this miracle, a name that has been sustained through tradition over the years.

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Parashat Chukat concludes with Benei Yisrael's stunning military victory over the two powers of the East Bank of the Jordan River - Sichon, the king of the Emori, and Og, the king of Bashan. In describing these battles, Chazal place particular emphasis on the victory over Og, specifically the intimidating character of Og himself and his ultimate defeat. In an almost bizarre illustration, the Gemara, in a well-known passage in Masekhet Berakhot (54b), tells that Og, a giant of extraordinary dimensions, lifted a mountain and planned on throwing it onto Benei Yisrael and crushing them. But Moshe Rabbenu, who stood ten amot tall (roughly fifteen feet – a remarkable piece of data in its own right), confronted the giant with a spear ten amot long. Moshe leaped ten amot into the air and stabbed Og with the edge of the spear – on Og's ankle!

Even taking this depiction as an exaggeration, the question arises as to what Chazal sought to convey through this incident. More precisely, what did the Almighty seek to convey by having Og defeated in such a manner?

Throughout its history, and in many different ways, Benei Yisrael have been confronted by an "Og," a fearsome enemy – in the form of a single person, an empire, an ideology, etc. – who appears insurmountable. The problems that have faced our nation over the centuries, including those that challenge us today, have seemed so vexing and insoluble that the best we can even imagine doing is making a slight "prick in the ankle." Destroying the enemy is unthinkable; at most, it seems, we can inflict some insignificant damage, perhaps we can make an undetectable dent in the blockade standing before us.

But Chazal here teach us not to despair when such problems arise, when the Og's of the world threaten to cast mountains on top of us. We are called upon to take as long a spear as we can find – employ the most effective means we have accessible, and leap as high as we can – exert maximum effort to overcome the given obstacle. How Og died from Moshe's stabbing is not clear, but perhaps we are to learn that once we have done everything in our power to overcome adversity and resolve the problems facing us, the Almighty will take care of the rest.

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As we discussed yesterday, the final section of Parashat Chukat describes the attack waged by the two powers of the East Bank of the Jordan River, Sichon and Og, against Benei Yisrael, and Benei Yisrael's victory. At one point in the narrative, the Chumash digresses to briefly tell the history of the area controlled by Sichon, which had previously belonged to the kingdom of Moav. Sichon captured the region and turned the Moavite city of Cheshbon into his capital. The verses here describe the impact of Sichon's resounding victory: "Therefore, the bards would recite: Come to Cheshbon; firmly built and well founded is Sichon's city… " (21:27).

The Gemara in Masekhet Bava Batra (78b) brings a homiletic interpretation to this verse. The word "moshelim," "bards" or "poets," is interpreted instead to mean "rulers," and the name "Cheshbon" is associated with the Hebrew word "cheshbon," which means "calculation." Chazal thus read the verse as follows: Those who "rule" over their evil inclinations declare: Come, let us conduct the "cheshbon" of the world, meaning, let us calculate the loss incurred as a result of mitzva performance against what is gained, and what is gained by committing a sin against what is lost.

One might explain this Gemara as teaching us how one becomes a "moshel," a ruler over his inclination, how a person can gain control of his sinful drives and abstain from wrongdoing. The way one does this is by making this simple calculation, weighing the pros and cons of every action and understanding that what we gain from a mitzva far exceeds the loss, and what we lose committing an aveira far outweighs the gain. Bearing in mind this "cheshbon" helps one seize and maintain control over his evil inclinations.

The Mesilat Yesharim (chapter 3), however, understands this passage differently. He explains that only the "moshelim," those who have already succeeded in overcoming their instincts, can instruct others how to follow their example, how to attain this control. The Mesilat Yesharim gives an example of a maze of identical paths, some of which lead to dead-ends, whereas others lead to an elevated platform in the middle of the maze. The goal is to make it to the platform by figuring out which paths to take. Since all the paths are similar, one has no way of knowing which direction to take unless he consults with those who have already reached the destination, and who now look out from the elevated platform and see all the paths from up high. Similarly, the Mesilat Yesharim explains, only those who have already mastered this "maze" of life, who have struggled with human frailties and have reached the point of control ovetheir inclinations – they are the ones who can advise others how to do the same.

Thus, according to the Mesilat Yesharim, this homiletic reading of the verse teaches not only how to take control over one's inclinations, but who are the ones capable of guiding others in this regard.

In any event, this interpretation of the verse is clearly intended as a Midrashic reading; according to "peshat," the straightforward reading, "moshelim" refers to poets who composed songs about Sichon's capture of the city of Cheshbon. Nevertheless, it remains unclear as to whether Chazal here remove the verse entirely from its context in "peshat," or if this Midrashic reading connects somehow to the straightforward meaning.

We might suggest such a connection by first asking a more basic question: why does the Torah introduce this poem here in the first place? Of what relevance is Sichon's impressive victory over Moav years earlier to his current defeat at the hands of Benei Yisrael? Perhaps the Torah here seeks the emphasize the irony of these events, that Sichon launched a stirring offensive to capture this area from Moav, a battle memorialized in the poetry of the time, only to be routed in equal fashion by Benei Yisrael. As in so many other instances in world history, the Almighty gets the last laugh, so-to-speak.

Chazal perhaps had this theme in mind when they interpreted this poem as an allusion to this "cheshbon" with which one can overcome his inclination. Since man ultimately cannot foresee the outcome of his actions, he never really knows whether a certain action will result in gain or loss. It depends far more on God than on himself. Therefore, any calculations we make about our future are virtually meaningless. We are sure of only one thing: the loss incurred as a result of sin, and the gain earned as a result of mitzva performance. Unbeknownst to them, the "bards" who sang the praises of Sichon in fact sang about "cheshbono shel olam," the "calculation of the world," the meaninglessness of human plans and considerations, and the singular importance of the only meaningful "cheshbon" – the value of mitzvot as opposed to the destructive power of aveirot.

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Parashat Chukat begins with the laws of the para aduma (red heifer) and from there proceeds to tell of the death of Miriam. The Gemara in Masekhet Moed Katan (28a), cited by Rashi in his commentary to 20:1 (though with some variation), explains the underlying significance of the juxtaposition between the para aduma and Miriam's passing: "To teach you that just as the red heifer brings atonement, so does the death of the righteous bring atonement." Chazal thus introduce a connection or parallel between the institution of para aduma and the death of tzadikim, a connection involving the power of both to bring atonement. What exactly is this connection, and, furthermore, how does the red heifer bring "atonement"?

A beautiful explanation is cited in the name of the work, "Melei'a Ketoret." The defining characteristic of the para aduma, as emphasized in the Midrashim, is its quality as "chukat ha-Torah," the "statute of the Torah." Chazal view this institution as the quintessential "chok," mitzva without any rational explanation to which the human mind has access. As Rashi comments in his opening remarks to Parashat Chukat, the mitzva of para aduma presents a considerable theological challenge to the Jew, testing his faith in the truth and meaningfulness of the mitzvot when their logic and reasoning are concealed. This, perhaps, is the "atonement" of the para aduma; we earn atonement by virtue of our firm faith and trust in these laws, despite the seeming absence of any logical explanation for them. The religious challenge posed by the para aduma and our proper response to this challenge is what yields atonement.

The death of the righteous poses a similar challenge to the believing Jew. The universal phenomenon of death is also a "chok," it defies reason and has no sound theological explanation. While we can easily understand the death of sinners as a natural consequence of the doctrine of reward and punishment, we can never fully understand why the righteous, too, must ultimately perish. The Torah therefore juxtaposes the halakhot of the red heifer with the death of Miriam, as both challenge the Jew's faith in similar ways. They call upon us to reinforce our unwavering loyalty to Torah and mitzvot, despite of all that we do not, and cannot, fully comprehend.

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