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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT CHUKAT

By Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Chukat records the incident of the nechash ha-nechoshet, the copper image of a snake that God ordered Moshe to construct to cure those among Benei Yisrael who were bitten by the snakes that ravaged the Israelite camp. God had punished the nation for their complaints against Him and Moshe by dispatching venomous snakes that killed many among the people. In response to Benei Yisrael's repentance and pleas for help, God instructed Moshe to fashion a copper snake which would offer miraculous healing to anyone bitten by a snake who would look upon the image (21:4-9).

A famous Mishna in Masekhet Rosh Hashana discusses the nature of this "miraculous cure." The Mishna asks, "Does the snake kill, or does the snake bring life?" It responds that "when Israel would look upward and subjugate their hearts to their Father in heaven, they would be cured; otherwise, they would wither." The Mishna emphasizes that the copper snake did not possess any intrinsic, therapeutic power; it was rather a means of facilitating Benei Yisrael's sense of subjugation to the Almighty, in the merit of which they were cured from the bite.

Rav Chayim of Volozhin, in his Nefesh Ha-chayim (3:12), explains more precisely how the copper snake served this role. Twice the Torah emphasizes that the bite-sufferer would look at the copper snake, and not at the heavens (21:8-9). How, then, did this system ensure their subjugation to God? Rav Chayim explained that the spiritual process referred to by the Mishna required the patient to contemplate the snake, to focus his attention on the snake's natural capacity to inflict fatal injury. What God wanted was for them to ponder the natural risk posed by snakes, but then "subjugate their hearts to their Father in heaven," to understand that God's power exceeds and can overturn that of the snake. They were to reinforce their awareness of the fact that the Almighty alone determines one's fate, and that no natural force is free from His control. Once their faith in God's unlimited power was firmly established, they were cured from the fatal snakebite.

If, indeed, it was this awareness that was necessary for Benei Yisrael to be spared from the effects of the snakes, we might conclude that it was the absence or perhaps erosion of this belief that brought on the dire situation in the first place. The Torah records that Benei Yisrael requested permission from the Edomite kingdom to pass through its territory to reach Eretz Yisrael, but the Edomites refused, forcing Benei Yisrael to retreat and circumvent Edom. The people became exasperated and complained, "Why have you brought us from Egypt to die in the wilderness – for there is no bread and no water, and we are fed up with this miserable food" (21:5). In light of the Nefesh Ha-chayim's remarks, we might explain that the people longed to once and for all conduct a life governed by natural laws. They no longer wanted to live off heavenly manna, depending solely on divine grace; instead, they wanted soil to cultivate and rainwater to use to produce bread. But the desert experience was necessary to impress upon Benei Yisrael the awareness of God's indispensable role in sustaining them. The memory of their miraculous survival in the wilderness was to maintain their sense of dependence on His favor and grace even when they begin to self-sufficiently develop a country by tapping the natural resources of the Land of Israel. When the people expressed their desire for a natural mode of life, this reflected a desire to free themselves from their dependence on God and bear full responsibility for their sustenance. The Almighty therefore found it necessary to remind them of His unlimited power over the elements. To this end, He had them stare at and contemplate the image of the snake, and then remind themselves that God's power exceeds and can even reverse the powers of venomous snakes.

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Yesterday, we discussed the story of the nechash ha-nechoshet – the copper snake Moshe erected for the sake of curing those among Benei Yisrael who were stung by the snakes God had sent upon them to punish them for their complaints. After they acknowledged their guilt and implored Moshe to intervene on their behalf, God ordered Moshe to form a copper image of a snake, which would cure a bitten person who would look upon it. Yesterday we presented Rav Chayim of Volozhin's explanation of the spiritual process God wanted Benei Yisrael to undergo by contemplating the image of the snake. Today, we will briefly summarize the approach taken by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary to the Torah (21:6-8).

Rav Hirsch notes that when the Torah describes God's dispatching of serpents against the people, it does not employ the standard form used for "send," which in Biblical Hebrew would be va-yishlach. Rather, the Torah writes, "va-yeshalach," in the pi'el verb form. Rav Hirsch contends that this form, as opposed to the standard form, means to "let go," or to "release." (One of the most compelling proofs is Bereishit 43:14, where this form is used in the context of freeing a prisoner.) God did not "send" snakes to bite Benei Yisrael. Rather, he merely allowed the snakes – for the first time in nearly forty years – to follow their natural course and assault the human beings trespassing on their desert turf. In Sefer Devarim (3:15), Moshe describes to the people how God had led them safely through a "terrible wilderness of poisonous snakes, scorpions and drought." The Almighty thus did not have to "send" snakes; He simply set them free and allowed them to act in accordance with their natural impulses.

It was this message, Rav Hirsch writes, that God wanted to convey through their concentrated gaze at the copper image of the snake. Someone who was bitten "had only to fix the image of a serpent firmly in his mind so that even when God's gracious power will again keep the serpents at a distance he will remember that the danger is still in existence, dangers that daily and hourly the special care of God lets us escape quite unconsciously." The image of the snake thus symbolized the permanent, ongoing reality of danger in which we all live at all times. We are constantly surrounded by "snakes," and it is only "the special care of God" which rescues us from these risks, often without our ever realizing that we had been threatened.

How does this message relate to this episode, to Benei Yisrael's complaints during travel? Why was this realization – of the ever-present dangers lurking all around us – a necessary stage in the process of repentance for their charges against Moshe and God?

Rav Hirsch explains, "Nothing is so thoroughly calculated to conciliate us in the everyday disappointments in life which so easily sting us to impatience – every big prize in the lottery which God has failed to let us win – and to mix them with the exalted feeling of God having saved us, and the joy of being granted a new life… " An awareness of the many "snakes" threatening us all around has the ability to help us overcome life's challenges and disappointments, and help make us feel fortunate and privileged, even during times of frustration and hardship. Benei Yisrael, as we mentioned yesterday, were disheartened by the need to retreat and circumvent the land of Edom in order to reach Eretz Yisrael. After feeling that the decades-long journey through the wilderness was on the brink of culmination, they met with bitter disappointment when Edom denied them passage through its territory, forcing them to embark on the long trek along Edom's eastern border. This disappointment led them to frustration and disgust, which expressed itself in a sense of resentment towards those who brought them to the wilderness in the first place – Moshe and God.

God therefore sought to inspire them with a feeling of appreciation and gratitude, which could help them overcome their frustration. By focusing on the fact that God continually protects and saves them from harm, that He guides their every step, even the more difficult ones, they would not be disheartened by even significant setbacks and detours.

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Over the last two days we have discussed the narrative in the middle of Parashat Chukat (21:4-9) that tells of the snakes that God sent against Benei Yisrael as punishment for their unjustified complaints about their conditions in the wilderness. Benei Yisrael acknowledge their guilt and ask Moshe to intervene on their behalf. In response to Moshe's entreaties, God orders him to produce a copper image of a snake and place it up high; anyone bitten who would then look upon the snake would be miraculously cured.

The Gemara comments in Masekhet Avoda Zara (44a) that God wanted Moshe to not only fashion the copper snake, but to purchase the materials out of his own pocket. He was not to use public funds for this project; rather, he had to use his own money to buy the copper and work tools necessary to erect the snake. The obvious question arises as to why this was necessary. Seemingly, this project, which served to save many lives among Benei Yisrael, should have been funded by the nation. Why did God order Moshe to finance the copper snake?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, extracts from here what he describes as "a great matter regarding the standard of the Torah ethic." He notes that not only was this project for the benefit and well being of Benei Yisrael, and not specifically of Moshe, but it was they who brought upon themselves this entire situation – by wrongly accusing Moshe. The verse tells that Benei Yisrael "spoke against God and against Moshe" (21:5), from which the Talmud (Sanhedrin 110a) deduces that "whoever questions his mentor is considered as questioning the Shekhina." (We will not address the very important issue regarding the limits of this precept.) Apparently, the Gemara understood that Benei Yisrael here challenged only Moshe, and the reference to God means simply that by extension, they challenged the Almighty, as well. Thus, this entire crisis resulted from Benei Yisrael's wrongful accusations against Moshe, for which they were punished with the onslaught of venomous snakes.

And yet, God bids Moshe to use his own money to help the people. What this shows, and strikingly so, is the importance of showing care and concern for even those towards whom one has legitimate reasons to harbor hard feelings. This brings to mind the commands issued in Parashat Mishpatim (Shemot 23:4-5) to assist one's enemy by returning lost property and the like. Here, the Yalkut Yehuda notes, the Torah instructs us that even if the crisis confronting a person results directly from the harm he inflicted or tried to inflict on another, that other nevertheless bears responsibility to help alleviate his nemesis' pain and help him through his time of need.

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Parashat Chukat records the death of Miriam, the sister of Moshe and Aharon (20:1). The Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (29b) extracts a halakha from this verse, based on a gezeira shava – a textual association the Torah implicitly draws between this context and a different area of Halakha. Just as the Torah here emphasizes that Miriam was buried "sham" – "there," in Kadesh – so does it employ this word for emphasis in the context of egla arufa – the ritual performed by a community to atone for a murder that occurred outside the city ("ve-arfu sham et he-egla" – Devarim 21:4). On the basis of this textual similarity between the contexts of egla arufa and Miriam's death, the Gemara concludes that just as one may not derive any benefit from the egla arufa, so is benefit forbidden from the remains of a human being. This establishes the halakha of issur hana'a be-met – the prohibition against deriving any form of benefit from a corpse.

The Mishneh Le-melekh (Hilkhot Avel 14:21) observed that the Rambam, in his discussion of this prohibition, makes no mention of malkot (lashes) as punishment for a violation of this law. Generally, when the Rambam introduces and discusses a prohibition, he specifies whether or not violators are liable to malkot. In this context, however, he is silent with regard to this issue. The Mishneh Le-melekh therefore suggests that the Rambam perhaps considered this prohibition an issur de-rabbanan – a law ordained by Chazal, rather than a Torah prohibition. Although the Gemara, as discussed, appears to establish this halakha based on a gezeira shava, the Rambam understood the Gemara's discussion as referring to an asmakhta – a subtle allusion in the text for a law enacted by the Rabbis. We should add that the Rambam omits any reference to this gezeira shava, and provides no source at all for this prohibition. This might indicate that he grouped this prohibition together with the other laws he presents in the 14^th chapter of Hilkhot Avel, which involve the guidelines enacted by Chazal concerning the proper treatment of human remains.

Most other Acharonim, however, dismissed the position of the Mishneh Le-melekh. The Sedei Chemed brings many sources to this effect. (See also Maharam Shick, responsa, Y.D. 349.) The Chatam Sofer (chiddushim, Avoda Zara 29b) refutes the Mishneh Le-melekh's proof by suggesting a different reason why the Rambam makes no mention of corporal punishment in the context of this prohibition. He notes that elsewhere the Gemara extracts other information from the word sham in the verse reporting Miriam's death. In Masekhet Bava Batra (17a), the Gemara sees in this word a subtle indication of the fact that Miriam was privileged to mita be-neshika – a special type of death reserved only for the exceedingly righteous. And in Masekhet Mo'ed Katan (27a), the Gemara establishes certain protocols for the burial of women based on this verse. Hence, the Chatam Sofer argues, this gezeira shava linking Miriam's death to egla arufa falls into the category of gezeira shava known as mufneh mi-tzad echad – meaning, in only one of thee, two contexts is the common word superfluous. Based on a comment by Rashi in Masekhet Sanhedrin (73a), the Chatam Sofer asserts that malkot are warranted for a violation extracted through a gezeira shava only if the common word is otherwise unnecessary in both contexts linked through this textual association. When, however, the word is superfluous in only one context, the gezeira shava indeed stands, but it does not have the capacity to warrant corporal punishment for violators of the resultant law.

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Parashat Chukat begins with the laws of the para aduma (red heifer), the ashes of which were mixed with water to become the "purifying agent" with which people and objects that had contracted tum'a (ritually impure) through contact with a corpse could become tahor (ritually pure). Rashi, in his opening comments to this parasha, cites the famous Talmudic passage (Yoma 67b) that addresses the Torah's reference to this procedure as a chok – literally, "statute." Rashi writes, "Since Satan and the nations of the world torment Israel, saying, 'What is this mitzva?' – it therefore says regarding it 'chuka,' [meaning,] it is a decree that I issued, and you have no right to question it." The description of this law as a chok stresses the inaccessibility of a rational explanation for these laws, and thus the need to accept it unwaveringly as a divinely ordained precept.

The question arises, why does this emphasis on the chok quality of this mitzva become necessary only when "Satan and the nations of the world" question its rationale? Wouldn’t it be appropriate in any event to stress the need for unquestioning loyalty, regardless of the challenges posed by hostile forces ("Satan and the nations of the world")?

A second question must be addressed, as well, involving Rashi's comments towards the end of this section (19:22). After completing his basic commentary to these verses, Rashi proceeds to cite a Midrashic reading from the famous preacher Rabbi Moshe Ha-darshan, who found symbolic significance in many of the minute details of the para aduma procedure. Specifically, he detected an elaborate symbolic system latent within this ritual intended to link it to the sin of the golden calf, for which the para aduma atones. How could Rashi bring a thorough explanation of the laws concerning the para aduma just several pages after emphasizing the importance of accepting this law despite its inherent irrationality?

One answer, suggested by Rav Yaakov Neuberger (www.torahweb.org/torah/2001/parsha/rneu_chukas.html), distinguishes between different motives for probing the underlying rationale behind mitzvot such as para aduma. Rashi emphasizes the importance of the chok quality when we are confronted by challenge and scorn from the outside, when external forces apply pressure to explain the meaning and reasoning behind the commandments. Under such circumstances, we must reinforce our unwavering devotion and commitment to the divine creed, and refrain from reckless attempts to explain the mitzvot simply to provide a response to challengers. Probing the rationale behind the mitzvot is laudable, however, when performed with sincere objectivity and out of a genuine desire to pursue truth and arrive at a deeper understanding of God's law.

In this vein, Rav Neuberger suggests explaining an otherwise perplexing story related in the Midrash Bamidbar Rabba (19:8), of a gentile who approached Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai and claimed that the purification procedure of the para aduma shows that the Torah is nothing more than witchcraft. Rabban Yochanan dismissed the challenge by drawing a weak analogy to methods of treating illnesses, which involve measures similar to those entailed in the para aduma process. After the gentile left, the students asked Rabban Yochanan for the real explanation. He responded, "By your lives, the corpse does not cause impurity, nor do the waters [of the red heifer ashes] cause purity; rather, the Almighty said: I enacted a law, I issued a decree – you have no right to violate My decree." This final clause suggests that Rabban Yochanan here censures his students. He perhaps detected that they felt compelled to provide an answer in response to the gentile's challenge. Their insistence on clear, decisive explanation reflected their sense of uneasiness brought on by his accusations. Rabban Yochanan therefore found it necessary to impress upon them the importance of obedience to the divine decree. This unwavering acceptance is a necessary prerequisite to the inherently laudable effort to search for rational explanations for the Torah's laws.

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Yesterday, we noted two seemingly conflicting messages conveyed by Rashi in his commentary to the opening section of Parashat Chukat. Commenting on the parasha's second verse, Rashi seeks to explain why the Torah refers to the laws of the para aduma (red heifer), which involve the process of divesting oneself of tum'a (ritual impurity), as chukat ha-Torah ("the statute of the Torah"). Rashi explains that para aduma is an institution that can be easily challenged by those hostile to the Torah, given that it seems to have little rational basis. The Torah therefore emphasizes its quality as a chok – the term used to denote a law that we must accept unwaveringly as a divine decree, regardless of our inability to determine its underlying reason. Yet, later in the parasha, in his commentary to 19:22, Rashi proceeds to cite an elaborate, symbolic explanation of the para aduma laws, showing how they subtly reflect various aspects of the sin of the golden calf, for which the para aduma serves as atonement. The question arises, how could Rashi advance a rational explanation of these laws, once he had previously emphasized their status as chukat ha-Torah – a mitzva with no accessible reasoning?

One simple answer that has been suggested claims that it is precisely the willful acceptance of an enigmatic set of laws such as those of the para aduma that atones for the sin of the golden calf. Many writers, most famously Rabbi Yehuda Ha-levi, in Sefer Ha-kuzari, approach the sin of the calf not as outright idolatry, but rather as a misguided attempt to independently design a representation of God. Benei Yisrael wrongly assumed the right to determine their own ritualistic service of the Almighty. The crux of the sin, according to this approach, lies in the presumptuous, self-serving attitude towards avodat Hashem (divine worship). Rather than humbly and submissively accept and obey the divine command, they instead decided to chart their own spiritual path and choose a new mode of worship. Many writers have commented that it is in this respect that the Mishkan served as a rectification of the fundamental error latent in the sin of the golden calf. The Mishkan, too, served as a physical representation of the divine presence, but, as the Torah repeats numerous times towards the end of Sefer Shemot, it was constructed "ka'asher tziva Hashem et Moshe" – precisely in accordance with God's instructions to Moshe. Benei Yisrael correct their mistake by embarking on a similar yet vastly different endeavor, to build a golden representation of God – but only through strict adherence to the divine command.

With this in mind, the association developed by Rashi (based on the writings of Rabbi Moshe Ha-darshan) between the golden calf and the para aduma becomes perfectly clear. We atone for the sin of the calf, the arrogant attempt to personally determine the proper mode of divine worship, by observing the chukat ha-Torah – a set of laws with no rational explanation accessible to the human mind. Our fervent acceptance of even this type of command demonstrates the correction of the grave error manifest in the sin of the calf, the nation's resolve to humbly listen and obey, rather than brazenly insisting on their own conceptions of religious service.

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Parashat Chukat includes the famous and puzzling incident known as mei meriva, where God orders Moshe and Aharon to speak to a rock which would respond by producing water. But Moshe smites the rock with his staff, instead, and although this produced the same result – plentiful amounts of water for all of Benei Yisrael – God severely punishes Moshe and Aharon for their disobedience, denying them permission to enter Eretz Yisrael (20:2-13).

Among the innumerable – though less known – approaches taken to explain this incident and pinpoint the particular wrong committed by Moshe and Aharon is that of Rav Yosef Albo, in his Sefer Ha-ikarim (4:22). He explains that Moshe and Aharon were punished not for hitting the rock, but for their initial response to the people's demand for water: "Moshe and Aharon came away from the congregation to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, and fell on their faces" (20:6). Rather than addressing the situation and finding a way to resolve the crisis, Moshe and Aharon exhibit a sense of total helplessness. According to the Sefer Ha-ikarim, they should have intuitively understood that the situation calls for some miraculous initiative on their part. Had they announced that they would produce water through some supernatural means, the Almighty would have assuredly followed through. Just several chapters ago we read of Moshe's initiatives in response to Korach's challenge to his authority, independently predicting the earth's devouring of one group of rebels, and challenging others to offer ketoret, which would culminate in their supernatural death by fire. At mei meriva, too, the Sefer Ha-ikarim argues, Moshe should have initiated a miraculous process of water production. By failing to do so, Moshe – however unwittingly – projected an image of helplessness, as if he questioned the Almighty's ability to produce water in the arid wilderness of Tzin. Of course, Moshe fully believed in God's unlimited power; but his failure to act at this critical moment misleadingly bespoke a certain lack of faith in divine omnipotence.

This approach raises several issues, most prominently, perhaps, the question of whether a prophet/leader should, indeed, initiate miraculous processes. Rav Meir Simcha Ha-kohen, in Meshekh Chokhma, addresses this question and observes that, ironically enough, Moshe exhibited less of a tendency to initiate in this regard than other prophets. The Korach incident marks the exception; all other miracles Moshe performed were first ordained by the Almighty. Other prophets, such as Yehoshua, who "demanded" that God make the sun stand (Yehoshua 10:14), Shemuel, who ordained that it should rain in the summertime (Shemuel I 12:18), and Eliyahu, who had God produce a heavenly fire at Mount Carmel (Melakhim I 18:37-8), indeed initiated miracles. This observation, of course, calls into question the entire theory proposed by the Sefer Ha-ikarim. Why suddenly here, at the incident of mei meriva, was Moshe expected to initiate a miraculous process? Why was he justified in the many earlier instances, when he waited for divine instruction, whereas here he is severely punished for not independently undertaking a supernatural course of action?

The Meshekh Chokhma suggests an answer by first explaining why it is that specifically Moshe tended not to initiate miraculous processes. He cites the famous distinction drawn by the Rambam (Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah, 7:6) between Moshe's prophecy, which Moshe received while in full control of his faculties, and that of other prophets, who experienced prophecy while sleeping or in a trance. Moshe's alertness and full consciousness during prophecy had the potential of misleading people into viewing him as a God-like figure, as a being more divine than human. It was therefore of utmost importance that all his "supernatural activity" was first explicitly ordained by the Almighty. Had he initiated a miraculous event, the people would likely mistake him for a kind of God.

The exception, of course, was the incident of Korach's revolt. Korach declared, "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?" (16:3). Korach specifically denied Moshe's singularity, equating his stature and closeness to God with that of everybody else. In this instance, then, there was clearly no concern that Moshe would be mistaken for something beyond human. Understandably, then, he initiated the miracles of the fire and the ground's opening to prove his designation for authority over the people.

This initiative Moshe undertook in response to Korach necessitated a new approach of initiative in other circumstances, as well. The Meshekh Chokhma claims that when the nation's well ran dry and they found themselves in grave danger, Moshe's inaction was assessed off the contrast of his vigorous response to Korach's challenge to his authority. Cynics charged Moshe with selfish, self-aggrandizing hypocrisy, invoking wonders and miracles to defend his position of power, but sitting idle as the nation languishes from life-threatening thirst. Understandably, as the Sefer Ha-ikarim explained, this was a time for initiative and proactive effort to help the people. Moshe's humble passivity was misread as an expression of uncertainty in God's power to assist the people. Whereas Moshe somehow found a way to invoke God's assistance to prove his right to authority, people charged, suddenly, when the nation's survival is at stake, he is powerless. It was for conveying this erroneous message that, according to the Sefer Ha-ikarim, Moshe and Aharon were punished so severely.