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PARASHAT
CHUKAT
Sheva berakhot are blessings recited at the conclusion
of meals held to celebrate a wedding, within the first seven days of married
life. They are also recited under the chupa, and at the end of the wedding feast on the night of the
wedding. These blessings are recited only when ten men, constituting a minyan, are present. However, when such a group eats
together, in celebration of a wedding, and in the presence of the bride and
groom, they are obligated to say these blessings. Contrary to what is
usually assumed, the individual diners are obligated to recite the sheva berakhot, not
the hosts of the function. This means that if a group chooses to leave early,
they are obligated to say the sheva berakhot even if the function has not ended.
This halakha can prove highly inconvenient.
Today, weddings often continue into the early hours of the morning, and grace-after-meals
is often delayed until that time. Many guests travel great distances, and are
unable to stay late into the night. If they choose to join the wedding feast,
they are obligated to say sheva berakhot. While this is the halakha
in the Shulchan Arukh (Even
Ha-ezer, 62:11), its application to present-day
reality is problematic. If the guests
break into groups and say sheva berakhot early, this may hurt the feelings of the hosts
and cause great inconvenience.
Rav Moshe Feinstein ztz"l
was asked for a solution (Iggerot Moshe, vol. 1, 56). He first recognized that this really is
a halakhic problem: guests are not permitted to leave
before reciting sheva berakhot.
Eating mezonot rolls instead of bread would
not help, as the context of the meal would invest them with the same halakhic importance as bread.
Rav Moshe found a practical solution by opening up the more
fundamental question of what actually lies at the root of the obligation to
recite the zimun, the communal form of
grace-after-meals. This is important because it is this prayer, at the
conclusion of the feast, to which sheva berakhot is appended. Rav Moshe showed that it is not
the fact of eating in a group that obligates one to make a zimun,
nor even the intention to do so. It is rather the intention, from the start of
the meal, to recite grace-after-meals in a group. In a normal case, since it is
preferable to pray in a group, a group of diners are considered to be set to
recite grace-after-meals together. Without any particular intention, they
automatically form a group; since it is the preferable thing to do, it is
considered their assumed intention. However, since fundamentally the forming of
a group for the prayer is not automatically dependent on eating together, but
rather upon the intention to pray together, it may be circumvented. If one
explicitly says, before the beginning of the meal, that one does not wish to
form a group for the purpose of reciting grace-after-meals together, the group
is not formed. While there is a group of diners, they are not a group for
prayers. Each individual prays alone at the end of the meal.
Rav Moshe shows that this is the opinion
of the Rama (O.C. 193:3) and the Magen
Avraham (O.C. 552:9), and says that when one is
unable to stay at a wedding feast, one may rely upon it. Therefore, if a guest
sees from the start that a wedding will continue longer than he or she is able
to stay, the guest can explicitly deny an intention to become part of the group
for the recital of grace-after-meals. In this way, the guest would not be
obligated to stay to the end of the wedding.
While this technical solution may be used when one is unable to
remain at the wedding, the halakhic discussion
teaches us much about the correct approach that one should have as a guest.
Ideally, one should appreciate that being a guest at a wedding makes one part
of a group of celebrators. The obligation to recite sheva
berakhot is not upon the hosts alone. All the
guests at the wedding are party to the recitation, to which they should all
answer amen. Being a guest at a wedding means that one
is a part of the celebration, not a visitor.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Chapter twenty of Bamidbar tells of the sin
that Moshe committed, which made him unable to lead the Jewish People into the
Promised Land. The chapter opens with the death of Miriam, his older sister.
The next verse informs us that there was no water for the people, which caused
them to gang up against Moshe and Aharon. Rashi (quoting the Gemara in Ta'anit 9a) tells us that there is a connection between
these two pieces of information. For forty years the people received water in
Miriam's merit. Now that she had passed away, they thirsted, because the well
that had provided for them had disappeared.
It is easy to understand the connection between Miriam's merit and
the supplying of water. Miriam stood guard when her baby brother, Moshe,
floated down the
There is a closer connection between the issues. Ultimately, these
people were saved because of Miriam. By using water in the service of God, she
made her brother's mission, as a leader, possible. In the same way, his mission
was always made possible through her merit. For her sake, water was supplied to
the people in the desert, without which Moses would not have been able to lead
them there for forty years.
This idea follows throughout the narrative, and opens a window into
understanding fundamental issues later in the chapter. It was because of a lack
of water that the people rose against Moshe and Aharon.
God commanded them to speak to a rock, and when they hit it twice, and it still
gave water, they were told that they had sinned - presumably, in diverting from
the particular command. Not only was Moshe's mission hindered by the lack of
water, by the lack of his sister's merit, but his whole leadership was
challenged, and ultimately his mission was curtailed.
Miriam saved her baby brother's life. Her merit was always with him,
his success always related to it. The water, made by her to save his life as an
infant, stood by him always, in her merit. The fact that the people had water
throughout their wanderings made his mission possible. As soon as this merit
was lost, his mission was subject to the threat held off by that merit - the
challenge of leadership over people without water. The complexity of the issue
is remarkable. There is a direct correspondence, on several levels, between the
nature of the valorous act performed, and its projected implications over time.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Moshe committed a sin, because of which he was not allowed to enter
the
The Rambam claims, in the
fourth chapter of his introduction to Pirkei Avot, that Moshe's sin was that he got angry. He spoke
to the people in a furious manner, which was particularly improper for one
whose behavior would be watched and emulated. Furthermore, by behaving in an
angry manner he gave the impression to the people that God was angry with them
also. This was incorrect. While God, on other occasions, is described
anthropomorphically as being enraged, here He simply commanded Moses to perform
this miracle. The fact that the people behaved in an aggressive manner towards
Moshe (Bamidbar 20:3) does not mean that their behavior
unleashed God's wrath. In showing anger, Moses gave the impression that it did.
For the Rambam this is a crucial issue.
Firstly, the Rambam rules (Hilkhot
Teshuva 7:3) that one must repent over bad character
traits, just as one must repent bad deeds. Secondly, he claims that one who is
not of a virtuous and exemplary character cannot possibly prophesy. This does
not mean that a prophet must be perfect, as this episode concerning Moshe
proves. However, a prophet is not simply God's mouthpiece, but an image to be
emulated. Therefore, the way he presents himself to the people is of the utmost
importance.
What is the connection between Moshe's sin and his punishment? A
divine punishment is not merely a technique for putting one to order. There is
always, we assume, a direct connection between the nature of the sin and the
form of punishment. Furthermore, according to the Rambam's
explanation, why was Moses angry when God was not?
When, at
The people were on the verge of entering the land and beginning to
lead a natural existence. Moshe showed here that he was unable to deal with the
people's succumbing to mediocrity. He demanded from them an ideal form of
spiritual life. God also demands this of us; but He understands when we fall,
and sees the difference between various forms of weakness. Moshe was let down.
In his anger, he revealed that he was simply unable to make the necessary move
between being the leader in the wilderness, and leading the people into a
natural existence in the
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Yesterday, we discussed Rambam's opinion
that Moshe's sin was his anger with the people when he performed the miracle of
bringing water out of a rock. This failing was serious enough to merit divine
punishment. The Rambam is of the opinion that one
must repent bad character traits just as one must repent bad actions, and that
the former are actually worse, as they are harder to change (Hilkhot Teshuva 7:3).
The particular sin of anger is one of the two cases of character
traits that the Rambam understands to be completely
inappropriate, and never acceptable. Generally, the Rambam
argues that one should regulate all of one's personality into the golden mean.
This Aristotelian idea is understood by the Rambam to
be our Rabbis' opinion also. Neither the extreme in excess or in deficiency is
praiseworthy or good; rather, God teaches us to be moderate in all aspects of
our character. In this way, we should be able to keep His commandments and
become closer to him in a healthy and true manner.
The two exceptions that the Rambam makes to
this rule are anger and pride. In no situation whatsoever is it acceptable to
become angry. Unlike various other moods, which each have a place and time,
anger is always harmful. The Gemara teaches (Pesachim 66b) that anger causes the wise to make mistakes,
and prophets to lose their ability to prophesy. In tune with these ideas, the Rambam makes anger an exception to the rule of the middle
path (Hilkhot De'ot 2:3).
Yet he believes that the effect produced in becoming angry can have an
appropriate place and time. Often it may be important to seem angry, and
cause the effect of anger. But one should never actually become angry.
The other exception is pride. Aristotle believed in the idea of the
great-souled man (Nicomachean
Ethics, IV:iii, IX:xiii). He thought that if a person is truly good, he
should be proud of himself and insist upon honors. Jewish thought completely
rejects such an idea. The Rambam claims that it is
insufficient to be simply humble; one must totally expel feelings of
haughtiness from one's personality (Hilkhot De'ot 2:3, Commentary on Pirkei Avot 4:4). It is interesting that the Rambam
takes Moshe as an example of this. We are told that Moses was "exceedingly
humble" (Bamidbar 12:3). The Rambam
understands that being humble is the middle path. So, when we are informed of
Moshe's extreme humility, we are to understand that he veered from a
normal state of humility to an extreme in this character trait.
The Rambam considers Moses the best case by
which to show that it is not enough to be simply humble; one must become
excessive in this quality. The greatest prophet and leader of the Jewish People
is the example from which we learn both of the two exceptions to middle-path
conduct. From him we learn that we must be extremely humble, and it is in study
of his character that we appreciate the correct approach to anger. For a person
of his extreme spirituality, losing his temper was a terrible sin. Therefore,
in study of his character we are able to comprehend the ideal in a personality.
In the case of humility we learn by appreciating his extreme achievements,
and in the case of anger by his single weakness, in the context of his
greatness.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Yesterday, we discussed the Rambam's
approach to anger and pride. While generally he is of the opinion that the golden
mean should be followed, in these cases, he argues that one must go to the
extreme. One should be exceedingly humble, perhaps meek. The Rambam has no problem in finding foundation for this idea
in Talmudic sources. Gemara Sota
includes two long pages in discussion of issue (4b-5b), the overwhelming
majority of which presents an extreme position. A proud individual is compared
first to an idolater, then to a heretic, and then to the idol itself. These
three opinions exhibit three attempts to express the extreme contempt our sages
felt for arrogance. One who is vain worships himself as a false god. Since he
replaces God with himself, he does not believe in God, and this makes him a
heretic. But in actual fact, he is the idol itself.
The Gemara records a disagreement between Amoraic sages whether a very small amount of pride should
be considered appropriate in the personality of a scholar. Rav Chiya argued that a learned person should ideally have a
small degree of pride, so that he be able to influence
others, and hold positions of authority in the community. Rav Nachman dismissed this idea by quoting a verse that
presents a vain person as an abomination to God. If so, no aspect of it should
be legitimized. Rabbeinu Yona
(Commentary to Pirkei Avot
4:4) understands that the halakha is decided in favor
of the latter position, but the Rambam leaves these
two positions open (Commentary to Pirkei Avot 4:4).
An interesting argument, presented in the Gemara
between these two positions, is that of Rava. He makes
a seemingly paradoxical statement: "One who has it should be
excommunicated (or ostracized), and so should one who does not." The Rambam understood this as being in agreement with the first
position. One must have only a small degree of pride; it must be very small,
but it is crucial.
However, seemingly paradoxical statements contain a certain beauty,
and have their own logic. Rava's statement may reveal
something of the complexity of the human condition. Both having and not having
pride are problematic. One is caught in an intrinsically paradoxical situation,
in which there is not only no simple solution, but, often, no real solution
all.
A similar contradiction becomes apparent by comparing two mishnayot in Pirkei Avot with a Gemara. We are taught
(Pirkei Avot 2:18) that one
must not be wicked in one's own eyes, that is, one must not consider himself
wicked. However, in the Gemara (Nidda
30a) we are told that before a baby is born, he is made to swear that he will
be righteous, yet that even if the whole world considers him such, he should be
wicked in his own eyes. To strengthen the contradiction, we may cite another mishna from Pirkei
Avot (1:6), which says that one should judge people
favorably. Are we to understand that this positive outlook on people should not
be exercised towards oneself? Perhaps. What, then, are we to make of the
contradiction between the other mishna
and the Gemara?
Obviously, how one views himself may be a pivotal issue. Humility
does not mean naivete concerning oneself, but rather
some form of outlook that emphasizes the real issues and reality. We see here a
contradiction between two sources, the earlier one (the mishna) being so famous that it is hard to imagine it
was unknown to the author of the later one. A contextual analysis suggests
different readings in the different cases.
Furthermore, it is possible that the later source simply disagrees with
the earlier one. However, in light of Rava's
paradoxical statement, we may suggest that our Rabbis are really calling our
attention to the paradoxical and inherently problematic situation that a human
being is in. Existentially, one is caught in a form of existence that offers no
safe solution. God places us in such a position. We are expected to appreciate
what this situation means, and to understand the paradoxical aspect of the
human condition.
(Compare Gemara Kiddushin 40b: "Study
is greater [than action], for it leads to action.")
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Parashat Chukat opens with the laws concerning the red heifer. In the middle of elucidation of the laws of purification through the red heifer, the narrative includes the following phrase, "This is the law, a man who dies in a tent…" (Bamidbar 19:14). While the literal meaning of these words is easily understood within the context of the narrative, the sages showed us a deeper meaning in them. The word used for "law", in this phrase, is "torah". This word can be understood, by its more general meaning, to relate to the whole of the Torah.
"Reish Lakish said: From where do we learn that the words of Torah endure only with one who kills himself over them? From that which it says, 'This is the Torah, a man who dies in a tent'" (Gemara Berakhot 63b).
The sages interpreted this phrase out of context in order to illustrate an idea that is of great issue for them. We read in the fourth section of the beraita appended to Pirkei Avot (Pirkei Avot 6:4), "This is the way of the Torah: you shall eat bread with salt, drink a measurement of water, sleep on the ground, and live a life of pain [perhaps 'strain,' or 'suffering']. If you do so…you are fortunate in this world, and it will be good for you in the next." This, presumably, is what our rabbis meant when they spoke of killing oneself over Torah. One must renounce the pleasures of the world, in an effort to give oneself over to the Torah; only in such a manner can one develop a real mastery over the Torah.
However, such a scheme seems highly problematic, as study in
such dire circumstances would not seem optimal. Most Jewish religious thinkers
do not consider such asceticism spiritually beneficial. Furthermore, study in desperate conditions is
not a recipe for good acquisition of knowledge and understanding.
The Rambam, in his commentary on Pirkei Avot, explains that it means, "Even if you have nothing to eat but bread with salt, do not withhold yourself from the study of Torah." By this explanation, the excerpt is understood not as relating to the preferred "way of the Torah", but rather, to a possible one. The way of the Torah is such that even in dire circumstances one should study.
The Abarbanel moves the phrase in
the opposite direction. He understands this excerpt to be an explanation of an
earlier assertion, that the study of Torah refines a person, and improves him
morally. How does this happen? It is because "the way of the Torah"
is to make one content with only the necessary, in
one's physical needs. "The way of the Torah," does not refer to the
correct manner by which one should follow a course of study, but rather, the nature
of the study of Torah. While the Rambam saw the
phrase as encouraging a dedication to Torah under any circumstances, the Abarbanel understood it as explaining what a real
dedication to Torah does to a person. It transforms the student into one who is
above physical desires. The Torah does not demand such abstention from a
person; rather, it propels him beyond a dependence on physicality.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Yesterday, we discussed the rabbinic dictum that one should kill oneself in the tent of Torah. We compared it to another idea, that the way of the Torah is one of pain, and saw that the Rambam understood this to encourage a dedication to Torah under any circumstances, even the most dire. The Abarbanel understood it as an explanation of the idea that the study of Torah transforms the student, making him less interested in physical pleasures.
However, the Rambam quotes the fist rabbinic idea, that one should kill oneself in the tent of Torah, in his Mishne Torah (Hilkhot Talmud Torah 3:12), and understands it in a comparatively literal manner. He tells us that the words of Torah do not become established in one who studies in luxurious circumstances, but in one who kills himself over them. Only in one who continuously causes himself physical pain, and restrains his eyes from sleep. While the Rambam understood the dictum, that the way of Torah is one of suffering, in a non-literal manner, he understood the idea of killing oneself in the tent of Torah to be calling for extreme devotion in one's application to Torah, even including physical suffering.
Such an extravagant call for dedication to study, even in the face of physical suffering, makes one wonder if enjoyment of one's learning is positive at all. A danger, inherent in such ideas, is that they cause one to confuse the concepts of physical and spiritual enjoyment. The whole point of abstention from physicality, and extreme dedication to a spiritual aim, is to develop one's identification with, and internalization of, the spiritual goal, even at the expense of physical enjoyment. Such a spiritual goal, however, should also be one of enjoyment, only spiritual and deep, not external and superficial.
In the eighth chapter of Mishlei we learn that the Torah preceded the existence of the universe. We are then told (verse 30) that it was God's plaything. We are to understand that, in some metaphorical sense, the Torah gave God pleasure. It played before Him. The next verse (31) tells us that it plays in His land, and is a source of pleasure for mankind.
Rabeinu Yona
(in his commentary to Pirkei Avot
2:14) explains these verses as outlining and illustrating the correct approach
to the study of Torah. The Torah played before God prior to the creation of the
world, and it gave Him pleasure. Our relationship to Torah should be similar.
It should play in the world today, and should give us pleasure. What the verse
means, when it says that the Torah plays in the world, is unclear. Perhaps it
is related to the issue of our enjoyment. The study and observance of Torah
should not be seen as taking pleasure away from us, but rather, as something
which comes into our lives and exchanges physical and superficial pleasure for
more meaningful and spiritual enjoyment. Inherent to the idea of the giving of
the Torah is that it should play in the world, and become a source of enjoyment
for humanity.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
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