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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT CHUKAT

By Rav David Silverberg

            The Torah tells in Parashat Chukat (20:1) of Benei Yisrael's arrival in the wilderness of Tzin, which became the site of Miriam's passing and the subsequent incident of Mei Meriva.  As Rashi and many other commentators note, the Torah at this point brings us to the final year of Benei Yisrael's sojourn in the wilderness.  All the events described heretofore in Sefer Bamidbar occurred during the first two years since the Exodus; the narrative now leaps thirty-eight years forward, to the final year before the nation's long-awaited entry into the Land of Israel.

            The Torah's omission of any account concerning the interim thirty-eight years can best be explained by assuming that nothing worthy of Biblical narrative occurred during this period.  In the first and final years of the forty-year period of desert travel Benei Yisrael made numerous mistakes and blunders, which the Torah finds it appropriate to record for posterity.  During the interim thirty-eight years, perhaps, Benei Yisrael were not – at least as a nation – guilty of any serious wrongdoing worthy of being eternally memorialized in the Torah.

            How might we explain this drastic difference between the first and final years, when the people committed grievous sins that nearly led their destruction, and the interim period, when they faithfully followed God without complaint?

            Rav Simcha Broyde zt"l (Rosh Yeshiva of the Chevron Yeshiva), as recorded in Sam Derekh, suggests, very simply, that periods of change and transition lend themselves to spiritual failings.  During the first two years after the Exodus, Benei Yisrael had to make the drastic transition from a slave nation mired in the culture and mores of Egyptian paganism, to loyal servants of an invisible God, preparing to enter a new land where they would bear the responsibility of developing a country in accordance with a new set of laws they had just received.  This was a period of instability that naturally lent itself to extreme behavior fluctuation.  Likewise, towards the end of the forty-year period, the new generation had to make the adjustment from the supernatural existence they had known since birth to the life they would live upon crossing the Jordan River.  During this period of adjustment and transition, they were more prone to impatience, short-temperedness and ingratitude, as we indeed read in Parashat Chukat.

            As an example of his theory, Rav Broyde cites the Gemara in Masekhet Megila (12b) which tells that Achashverosh approached the rabbis in his empire for advice as to how to respond to Vashti's disobedience.  The rabbis realized that they ran the risk of igniting the king's ire regardless of how they responded, and so they refused to answer, claiming, "From the day the Temple was destroyed and we were exiled from our land, counsel has been lost from us, and we are unable to adjudicate capital cases."  The Gemara adds that this was not just a pretense; it was the truth.  The rabbis felt unable to rule on matters of life and death as a result of the tribulations they had experienced during and after the exile from Eretz Yisrael.  The Gemara cites a verse from Sefer Yirmiyahu (48:11) indicating that the nation of Moav had the ability to render sound decisions because it always dwelled in tranquility and never suffered the disorientation of exile.  The Jews of Persia did not enjoy this sense of stability, and thus lost some degree of sound judgment.

            Periods of drastic transition and adjustment are often accompanied by emotional turmoil, anxiety and confusion, and therefore pose the risk of religious deterioration of one kind or another.  According to Rav Broyde, this could perhaps explain the otherwise mystifying concentration of Benei Yisrael's misdeeds in the wilderness into the limited timeframes of the first and final years, as these periods marked critical points of transition in the nation's development.

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            The second verse of Parashat Chukat famously describes the ritual of para aduma (the red heifer) as chukat ha-Torah, or "the statute of the Torah."  Targum Onkelos translates these words as gezeirat orayta, which literally means, "the decree of the Torah."  This translation deviates from Onkelos' standard translation of the word chuka, which he usually renders as keyam (see, for example, Bamidbar 15:15).  It should also be noted that the word gezeira normally denotes a decree that casts an obligation or prohibition.  The para aduma ritual, however, entails neither; it merely outlines the procedure whereby a person or utensil who/that came in direct contact with a corpse can regain his/its halakhic state of tahara (purity).  In what way can this law be perceived as a gezeira?

            The Chatam Sofer (in Torat Moshe) suggests a homiletic reading of Onkelos' translation, based on a comment in the Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 19:6) that God revealed the underlying rationale behind para aduma to Moshe, but forbade him from divulging this secret to anyone else.  Moshe was privileged to learn the true reason why the para aduma waters bring purity to the impure and impurity to the pure, but the Almighty decreed that no other human – including King Shelomo – would be privy to this information.  For Moshe, the Chatam Sofer remarked, this was, indeed, a gezeira, a difficult decree that he had to accept.  Moshe was overcome by a longing to teach and disseminate Torah, and thus the secret of para aduma, which he was required to keep to himself and not share with anybody else, could indeed be described with the word gezeira.

            Rav Avraham Pam (as cited in Rabbi Sholom Smith's Rav Pam on Chumash) elaborated on the critical message that emerges from the Chatam Sofer's approach to Onkelos' translation of this word.  He mentioned in this context the Gemara's comment in Masekhet Sanhedrin (99a) that when the Torah speaks of somebody who "has scorned the word of the Lord" ("ki devar Hashem baza" – Bamidbar 15:31), it refers to a person who has learned Torah but does not teach it.  Rav Pam explained that the Gemara does not require everyone who ever studied in yeshiva to pursue a professional career in Torah education.  Rather, it means that somebody who studies Torah must experience an overpowering desire to share it with others; otherwise, he has "scorned the word of the Lord," he does not afford words of Torah the value and high regard that they deserve.  Rav Pam draws an analogy to a newly-engaged young woman who, unable to contain her excitement, approaches total strangers on the street to show off her diamond ring.  This must be a student's attitude to the words of Torah he studies – as something so precious, so exciting, that he feels the desperate need to share it with other people.

            Moshe indeed experienced this longing, and therefore the divine command that he keep to himself the secret of para aduma may, indeed, be aptly termed a "gezeira."

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            Parashat Chukat tells of the death of Aharon.  God instructs Moshe to ascend a mountain called Hor Ha-har with Aharon and his son, Elazar, and to remove Aharon's clothes and place them on Elazar.  Rashi (20:26) explains that this refers to the special garments of the kohen gadol that Aharon wore. Just before Aharon's death, Moshe was to take these garments off his brother and place them on Elazar.  Presumably, this was intended to formally confer upon Elazar the status of kohen gadol, which God wanted Moshe to do just before Aharon's death.

            Why was it so important for Elazar to be named kohen gadol before Aharon's death?

            The Maharil Diskin suggests two reasons why God wanted Elazar to be formally named kohen gadol prior to Aharon's death, both of which involve the kohen gadol's exemption from the laws of aveilut.  Firstly, a kohen gadol is not permitted to tend to the burial needs of even an immediate relative (Vayikra 21:11).  God wished to spare Elazar the need to become tamei through burying his father, and therefore made a point of conferring upon him the status of kohen gadol, which absolves him from this obligation, already before his father's death.

            Secondly, the Maharil Diskin explained, it was necessary for Elazar to become kohen gadol before Aharon's death so that a kohen will be available to offer the afternoon tamid (daily) offering.  The only kohanim at the time were Aharon's two sons – Elazar and Itamar – both of whom would immediately attain the status of onen after their father's death, which forbids a kohen from performing the service in the Mikdash.  A kohen gadol, however, as the Rambam rules (Hilkhot Ma'aseh Ha-korbanot 10:20), may offer sacrifices even in a state of aninut.  Therefore, by consecrating Elazar as kohen gadol before Aharon's death, God ensured that there would be a kohen capable of completing the day's sacrificial service in the Mishkan.

            Rav David Mandelbaum, in his Pardes Yosef Ha-chadash, raises a number of difficulties against the Maharil Diskin's claims.  First and foremost, it is unclear why God would make a point of absolving Elazar from the obligation to tend to his father's burial needs.  It is a mitzva for a kohen to bury an immediate relative, despite the exposure to tum'a entailed, and it thus seems difficult to understand why, according to the Maharil Diskin, God would want to "spare" Elazar this responsibility.

            And as for the Maharil Diskin's second point, the Ramban (20:26) writes explicitly that Aharon ascended Hor Ha-har for his death only after completing the entire sacrificial procedure for that day, including the afternoon tamid, the kindling of the menora and the offering of ketoret.  It therefore seems unnecessary to ensure that Elazar would be spared the status of onen for that day to enable the completion of the day's rituals in the Mishkan.

            Rav Mandelbaum cites several other explanations as to why God wanted Elazar to attain the status of kohen gadol before his father's death.  The simplest reason, perhaps, which Rav Mandelbaum cites from the work Tzeror Ha-mor, is that God wanted to give Aharon the satisfaction of seeing his son fill his place already in his lifetime.  It was a gift, of sorts, to Aharon to show him right before his passing his son donning his garments and assuming the distinguished position of high priesthood.

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            Towards the end of Parashat Chukat, we read of Benei Yisrael's stunning triumph against the Emorite king Sichon, which resulted in their seizure of the area of Trans-Jordan, a region that ultimately became the permanent territory of several tribes among the nation.  In the midst of this narrative, the Torah briefly digresses onto the history of this region, which had formerly been part of the territory of Moav, but was then captured by Sichon.  The Torah even cites a poem that had been composed celebrating Sichon's victory over Moav: "Al kein yomeru ha-moshelim bo'u Cheshbon" – "Therefore, the poets would say: Come to Cheshbon…" (21:27).  Cheshbon was the capital city of Moav that was lost to the Emorites, and the poets began their compositions by declaring, "Come to Cheshbon!"

            The Gemara in Masekhet Bava Batra (78b) presents a famous homiletic reading of this verse, interpreting the word moshelim (literally, poets, or those who speak in parables) as referring to eilu ha-moshelim be-yitzram – those who control their inclinations.  According to this reading of the verse, those who exercise control over human passions and tendency to sin accomplish this by saying, "Bo'u cheshbon," which may be read as, "Let us make a calculation."  These people live with an understanding and keen awareness of the value of mitzva observance in contrast to the loss incurred through sin.  Although it may initially appear that one stands to gain by committing a certain transgression or neglecting a given mitzva, the loss incurred far outweighs the temporary enjoyment or monetary gain.

            In formulating this concept, the Gemara writes that these righteous people declare, "Bo'u ve-nachshov cheshbono shel olam," which literally means, "Come, let us make the calculation of the world."  To what exactly does the Gemara refer when it speaks of "the calculation of the world"?  Why is this "calculation" called "the calculation of the world"?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that one exerts control over his inclination by taking into account the repercussions of his conduct on the world at large.  If a person looks beyond his personal desires and interests, and perceives himself as an important member of mankind, whose behavior affects the entire world, he acts differently, with a greater sense of responsibility and accountability.  Part of the "calculation" mentioned by the Gemara is taking into account the consequences of a person's individual actions for the world at large – an awareness that can help a person take control of his instincts and conduct himself responsibly.

            Additionally, Rav Ginsburg suggests, the Gemara perhaps employs the word olam in the sense of eternity, as in the familiar expression le-olam va-ed.  The Gemara teaches that one must make a "calculation" between the immediate, temporary enjoyment or gain and the long-term repercussions and consequences of the action.  Sin very often originates from a preoccupation on the "here and now," on the fleeting moment of gratification, and a lack of attention to the long-term considerations.  The Gemara therefore admonishes taking into account cheshbono shel olam, the state and condition of one's eternal standing, as a means of gaining proper perspective and avoiding the mistake of focusing on the immediate future while overlooking the distant future.

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            The opening section of Parashat Chukat presents the basic laws concerning the preparation of the para aduma – the red heifer, the ashes of which were added to water that was used for purification – and the process of tum'a and tahara – ritual purity and impurity.  The Torah here introduces the concept of tum'at ohel, the law that one contracts tum'a by being under the same roof as a corpse, even if he did not come in direct contact with it.  The introductory verse to this subsection reads, "Zot ha-torah adam ki yamut be-ohel" (19:14), which literally means, "This is the law concerning a person who dies in a tent…"  The Gemara (Shabbat 83b) famously advances a homiletic reading of this verse, whereby the word torah means not "law," or "procedure," but rather Torah study.  The Gemara interprets this verse to mean, "Torah is sustained only by one who kills himself over it."  A student must "die in a tent" – in the tent of Torah learning – in order to achieve Torah scholarship.

            Several different explanations have been offered for this concept of "killing" oneself in the study of Torah.  Most famously, perhaps, the Rambam, in Hilkhot Talmud Torah (3:12), cites this passage amidst his exhortation that Torah scholarship can only be attained by denying oneself a degree of comfort and enjoyment.  A person who wishes to achieve Torah knowledge cannot indulge in sleeping, eating and other forms of physical enjoyment.  He must rather devote himself tirelessly to this pursuit, at the expense of physical comfort.  The image of "killing oneself" thus means compromising one's physical comfort.

            The Taz, in his commentary to the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 47:1), explains this passage somewhat differently, in reference to the exertion required in the pursuit of Torah study itself.  He focuses not on the withdrawal from physical delights as a prerequisite for success in learning, but rather the hard work that one must invest into his studies.  A student cannot possibly achieve any degree of scope or depth in his Torah scholarship unless he is prepared to invest maximum intellectual effort into the field.  "Killing oneself" thus refers to hard work, intense concentration and rigorous analytical thinking.

            A much different reading is suggested by the Maharshdam (Rav Shemuel Di Modena, 1506-1590), in his work of responsa (C.M. 97).  He explains the Gemara's comment to mean that even if a person feels "dead" as a result of the many trials and tribulations he and the nation endure, he must nevertheless spend time in the "tent" of Torah study.  The Gemara here teaches that Torah knowledge can be achieved only by one who is prepared to study ever under difficult circumstances, during trying times, in conditions that do not naturally lend themselves to academic excellence.  The Maharshdam thus reads the Gemara to mean that even if one must "kill himself," if he endures crisis and hardship, he must still be prepared to devote time and energy into the pursuit of Torah scholarship.

            A particularly insightful reading of this passage is suggested by Rav Menachem Tzvi Taksin, in his work Or Yekarot to Masekhet Shabbat.  He explains that one must keep to his schedule of Torah studies even if it requires that he act as though he is "dead" with respect to other responsibilities.  Many people understand the need to allocate time for Torah study, but they find themselves unable to afford the time to do so.  The Gemara, according to this reading, teaches that a person must occasionally see himself as "dead" with regard to other matters.  Just as a dead person obviously cannot tend to these matters, so must a Jew allocate a period of time each day where he simply cannot engage in other responsibilities, when regardless of other concerns he devotes himself to Torah.  The mitzva of Torah study requires that an individual occasionally withdraw from the world, forget his other interests and needs, and spend some time focusing on acquiring Torah knowledge.

(Sources taken from the work Ke-motzei Shalal Rav)

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            The Torah in Parashat Chukat tells of Benei Yisrael's complaints to Moshe as they were forced to take the circuitous route around the kingdom of Edom, whose king had denied them passage through his territory to the Land of Israel.  The people complain, "…there is no bread and no water, and we have come to loathe this dismal bread" (21:5).  Benei Yisrael bemoan the absence of food and water provisions, and express their disgust towards the manna.

            This is the second instance where Benei Yisrael complain about the manna.  The first occasion is recorded in Parashat Beha'alotekha (11:6), but there the Torah gives us a clearer picture of to what the people objected.  In that context, Benei Yisrael nostalgically recalled the rich variety of food they were fed in Egypt, and contrasted it with the monotonous daily ration with which they were supplied in the wilderness.  As the Torah describes, Benei Yisrael "experienced a desire" (11:4), they felt a craving and wanted to indulge in a variety of delicacies, and they were tired of the daily portion of manna.  Here, however, in Parashat Chukat, it is less clear what precisely troubled Benei Yisrael and why they suddenly found their heavenly bread so objectionable.

            One particularly fascinating approach to this episode is suggested by Rav Moshe Leib Shachor, in his work Avnei Shoham.  Rav Shachor refers us to a section earlier in that work, where he presents a novel theory to explain the sin of Adam and Chava in partaking of the "tree of knowledge."  (We cited this theory in our S.A.L.T. series to Parashat Bereishit several years back.)  One view cited by the Gemara (Sanhedrin 70b) identifies the fruit partaken by Adam and Chava as wheat.  The obvious question arises as to why they would be so tempted by a raw stalk of wheat, which is hardly edible in its current state.  Rav Shachor suggests that according to this view, what tempted Adam and Chava was precisely the effort and innovation entailed in processing wheat and transforming it into bread.  In the Garden of Eden, where everything was pre-prepared and Adam and Chava could eat and enjoy without needing to exert any effort, they were enchanted by the concept of self-sufficiency, by the prospect of working for their daily bread.  They were tempted by a stalk of wheat because it offered them the opportunity to feel the gratification that results from reaping the benefits of one's own toil, rather than simply taking from the Almighty's hand.

            Rav Shachor extends this theory to explain Benei Yisrael's objection to the manna at this point, after four decades of spoon-fed nourishment.  The people were anxious to till their own soil, sow their own seeds, reap their own harvests, and then enjoy the fruits of their labor.  They came to loathe the experience of receiving their sustenance effortlessly each day.  Rav Shachor goes so far as to suggest that the people's description of manna in this episode as lechem ha-kelokeil evolves from the word kal, or easy.  They were tired of the "easy life," and looked forward to a life of independence and self-sufficiency.

            We should note that regardless of how one explains the reason behind Benei Yisrael's complaints about the manna, a difficulty arises from their opening remarks to Moshe: "Why have you brought us from Egypt to die in the wilderness…"  This accusation echoes several earlier instances where Benei Yisrael charged that Moshe brought them into the desert to die (such as earlier in this parasha – 20:4).  In this context, however, this accusation seems entirely unreasonable, for as Benei Yisrael themselves acknowledge, they were given sustenance through the manna.  Whatever objections they may have had towards the manna, they could not deny that it kept them alive in the otherwise deadly nutritional vacuum of the desert.  Why, then, did they accuse Moshe of bringing them there to die?

            The answer, it would seem, is that Benei Yisrael here complain not that they would die as a result of the absence of food, but rather that they would never make it to their final destination.  As they were forced to encircle the land of Edom, the people felt that they would never reach Eretz Yisrael, that the much-anticipated entry into and settlement of their ancestral homeland would never materialize.  They complained not that the harsh desert elements would kill them, but rather that they would die without ever realizing their long-awaited goal.  They failed to realize that very often life proceeds along a circuitous path, and that the realization of our most sought-after goals and loftiest dreams many times unfolds indirectly and evasively, requiring maximum patience and forbearance on our part.

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            The opening verses of Parashat Chukat present the basic laws concerning the para aduma, the red heifer from which special waters were prepared to be used as a means of purification for one who had contracted tum'at meit (ritual impurity through contact with a corpse).  The Torah establishes several qualifications required when chosing a cow as the para aduma – that it be red, unblemished, never used for agricultural work, and never harnessed to a yoke.  The Sifrei notes that the second verse of the parasha appears to unnecessarily repeat the second of these criteria, that the animal be unblemished: "temima asher ein ba mum" – "perfect, that has no blemish."  The Sifrei therefore explains that the word temima refers not to the absence of any physical blemishes, but rather to the animal's color.  Meaning, this word must be read in conjunction with the preceding word – aduma (red) – and requires that the cow be "perfectly red," without even one pair of hairs that are of a different color.

            Rav Barukh Yitzchak Yissakhar Leventhal, in his work Birkat Yitzchak (Jerusalem, 1946), suggests a symbolic explanation for this provision, requiring that the para aduma feature "perfect redness."  As Rashi discusses in his closing remarks to this section (19:22), the mitzva of para aduma has been seen by many as a means of atonement for the sin of the golden calf.  Rashi cites from Rav Moshe Ha-darshan several associations between the red heifer and golden calf – starting with the obvious fact that they both involve cows – that reflect this function served by the mitzva of para aduma.  If so, Rav Leventhal claims, then we can easily understand why the Torah demands that the para aduma be entirely red.  Redness often symbolizes sin and guilt, as in the famous verse in Sefer Yeshayahu (1:18), "If your sins are like crimson, they shall turn white as snow; if they are red as dyed wool, they shall be like fleece."  The "perfect redness" of the red heifer may thus symbolize the full acceptance of guilt on the sinner's part as a prerequisite for the process of repentance and atonement.  If even a small portion of the "cow" is not red, if a person softens his sense of guilt to even the slightest degree, by proposing some justification, excuse or other mitigating factor, then the process of teshuva cannot proceed.  The first, indispensable stage of repentance is the unqualified acceptance of guilt, the acknowledgment that one has failed, that he could have and should have avoided committing the given misdeed, and that he therefore bears full responsibility for his actions.