SALT - PARASHAT PINCHAS

by Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            The final section of Parashat Pinchas introduces the command of the musaf sacrifices which are to be offered on Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh and festivals, specifying in detail which sacrifices are offered on each of these special occasions.  The obvious question that arises upon reading this section is why it appears here, in Sefer Bamidbar.  The Torah addresses the topic of sacrifices in the first chapters of Sefer Vayikra, which would seem to be the more fitting context for a description of the musaf offerings.  Why did the Torah choose to present this information specifically here, in the closing chapters of Sefer Bamidbar?

            The Ramban answers this question by posing the controversial theory that the musaf offerings were not required during the forty years of travel in the wilderness.  This obligation, the Ramban asserts, took effect only once Benei Yisrael entered the Land of Israel.  God therefore issued this command only now, during the nation’s final year in the wilderness, as they prepared for entering the land.  This section of the musafin thus appears among other sections that deal with Benei Yisrael’s preparations for life in the land, such as the distribution of territory, Moshe’s successor, and so on.

            A number of later writers, including the Panim Yafot, noted that the Ramban’s theory runs in direct opposition to an explicit comment in the Mishna.  In Masekhet Menachot (45b), the Mishna cites Rabbi Shimon as stating explicitly that all the sacrifices listed in Sefer Bamidbar were offered during the period of wilderness travel.  The Mishna does not cite any Tanna’im who dispute Rabbi Shimon’s contention, thus calling into question the Ramban’s theory that the musaf offerings became obligatory only once Benei Yisrael entered the land.

            Rav Yaakov Zev Yoskovitz, in his Ambuha De-Sifrei commentary to the Sifrei Zuta, addresses this question and notes that the Ramban apparently approached Rabbi Shimon’s remark as expressing one of several views among the Tanna’im.  To substantiate this theory, we must find a Tanna’itic debate elsewhere in the Talmud that would affect the question of whether the musaf sacrifices were offered in the wilderness.  Rav Yoskovitz speculates that such a debate might be found in the first Mishna of Masekhet Shavuot, which discusses the purpose of the musaf offerings.  Rabbi Yehuda, as the Mishna cites, claimed that the musaf offerings served to atone for tum’at Mikdash u-kodashav – violations of the Beit Ha-mikdash involving tum’a (ritual impurity).  If a person mistakenly entered the Temple or partook of sacrifices in a state of tum’a, this violation was atoned through the musaf offerings.  The Mishna proceeds to cite differing reports regarding Rabbi Shimon’s view on the subject.  According to one version, Rabbi Shimon held that the musaf offerings served a slightly different function, namely, to atone for someone who partook of sacrificial food that had become ritually impure.  These sacrifices offer expiation not for the sin of violating the Temple or its sacrifices through personal impurity, but rather for the sin of eating food that had become disqualified through contact with tum’a.

            This debate, Rav Yoskovitz suggests, might affect the question of whether the musaf sacrifices were offered during the forty years of travel.  He cites a Midrashic passage from Pirkei De-Rabbi Eliezer (44) commenting that during the years of Benei Yisrael’s travel in the wilderness, people who contracted tum’a were instantly “expelled” from the camp by the clouds of glory, and returned only when they regained their state of purity.  While the precise intent of this passage is somewhat unclear, Rav Yoskovitz infers that nobody who contracted tum’a during this period remained in the camp long enough to commit any violations of tum’at Mikdash.  Hence, according to Rabbi Yehuda’s view, that the musaf offerings served to atone for this category of violations, there was no need to offer these sacrifices in the wilderness.

Rabbi Shimon, however, held that the musaf sacrifices served to atone for the sin of partaking of disqualified sacrificial food – a transgression that could have occurred in the wilderness, as well.  According to Rabbi Shimon, therefore, the musaf sacrifices were required even during the years of wilderness travel.

This resolves the question raised against the Ramban’s theory from the Mishna in Masekhet Menachot, which stated explicitly that the musaf offerings were brought in the wilderness.  As we saw, this comment was made by Rabbi Shimon.  Consistent with his view concerning the purpose of the musaf sacrifices, Rabbi Shimon maintained that they were required even during the years of wilderness travel.  The Ramban, however, stated his view within the view of Rabbi Yehuda, that the musaf sacrifices atoned for sins that could not occur under the circumstances of Benei Yisrael’s travel through the wilderness, thus obviating the need for these sacrifices during this period.

David Silverberg

SUNDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Pinchas discusses the mitzva of the musaf offerings, which were brought on special occasions – Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh and festivals.  The Gemara in Masekhet Chulin (60b) notes that in describing the sin-offering brought as part of the Rosh Chodesh musaf sacrifice, the Torah refers to it as a “sin-offering to the Lord” (28:15).  This offering is described as brought on God’s behalf, as though God Himself requires atonement.  The Gemara explains that on Rosh Chodesh, when the light of the moon reaches its lowest point, God bids us, as it were, to bring a sacrifice on His behalf, to atone for His having reduced the moon’s size.  The Gemara relates that God had initially created two equally sized luminaries, until the moon protested, claiming that two “kings” cannot rule simultaneously.  God at that point reduced the moon’s size, a decision for which He must earn “atonement,” so-to-speak, through the monthly offering of the musaf sacrifice every Rosh Chodesh.

            This passage, of course, raises numerous questions, including how we are to understand the notion of a “dialogue” between God and the moon, and how God could undertake a measure for which He would later seek “atonement.”  (In our S.A.L.T. series last year, we suggested that the Gemara’s account might symbolically represent the reality of inequality in the world, the fact that some people “shine” and are successful as the sun while others struggle and remain “small” as the moon.)  Leaving these questions aside, we must also endeavor to identify the practical message that the Sages sought to convey through this concept of God seeking atonement for reducing the moon.

            Rav Dov Eliezerov (cited in Ke-motzei Shalal Rav) noted the significance of the fact that atonement was required even though the moon’s reduction was clearly justified and warranted.  However one chooses to explain the concept behind God’s decision to make one luminary smaller than the other, the Gemara describes His feelings of uneasiness – obviously in an anthropomorphic sense – as a result of this decision.  Quite possibly, Rav Eliezorov suggests, Chazal convey the message that although at times we are compelled to “lower” another person, we must share in that person’s humiliation.  Parents must discipline their children; teachers must correct their students’ mistakes; employers are at times forced to reprimand or even dismiss employees; friends must occasionally offer criticism; commercial competitors struggle against one another to win over the market.  Life frequently presents us with situations that require making difficult decisions that direct affect other people, and often the correct decision is one which causes others harm or shame.  Our Sages teach us that we, like the Almighty after reducing the moon, must feel uneasy about the results of such decisions – even if we feel confident that we acted correctly.  “Lowering” a fellow human being, even when justified, is something that should not be taken lightly, and should rather be approached with ambivalence and unease.

David Silverberg

MONDAY

            We read in the opening verses of Parashat Pinchas that God approved and even rewarded Pinchas for his act of zealotry during the tragic incident of Ba’al Pe’or.  Pinchas killed a tribal leader of Benei Yisrael who engaged in a public relationship with a Midyanite princess, ending the divine plague that had already resulted in 24,000 deaths.  God informed Moshe that Pinchas would be rewarded for his heroism.

            As Rashi notes, God refers to Pinchas in this context as “Pinchas, son of Elazar, son of Aharon.”  Although Pinchas had already been introduced earlier (25:7) as the son of Aharon’s son Elazar, and despite the fact that Moshe clearly knew quite well who his great-nephew was, God found it necessary to specify his family background in speaking to Moshe about Pinchas’ reward.  Citing the Gemara (Sanhedrin 82b), Rashi explains that God sought to emphasize Pinchas’ illustrious lineage in response to the people’s grumblings about Pinchas’ violence.  The people disapproved of his act and attributed it to his maternal pedigree – as a descendant of Yitro, who had worshipped idols.  God therefore stressed that Pinchas was the grandson of the kindhearted kohen gadol, Aharon, and he acted out of compassion, not out of unrestrained, violent emotion.

            The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/bamidbar/41-62pinchas.htm), suggested a different possible approach to explain why God would emphasize Pinchas’ lineage in this context.  The Gemara in Masekhet Zevachim (101b) comments that (according to one view) Pinchas would not have earned the status of kehuna had it not been for his act of zealotry at Ba’al Pe’or.  Aharon and his sons were anointed as kohanim, a status which they then bequeathed to all sons born to them henceforth.  Pinchas had already been born prior to Elazar’s designation as kohen, and therefore he did not obtain the status conferred upon Elazar and his offspring.  It was only in reward for his heroism at Ba’al Pe’or that Pinchas earned the rights and responsibilities of the kehuna for himself and his descendants.

            Pinchas thus earned the priesthood in a fundamentally different manner than other kohanim.  While other kohanim received their status as a natural birthright, Pinchas had to earn it.  One might have thought, then, that the nature of Pinchas’ status also differed from the kehuna of his fellow kohanim.  Since he had worked to earn his status, he perhaps could enjoy greater privileges, or maybe had the right to define his role and determine on his own which tasks he could perform.  The unique circumstances surrounding his achievement of kehuna might have misled us to conclude that his kehuna was of a different type, one which allowed greater flexibility and autonomy on Pinchas’ part.

            For this reason, the Rosh Yeshiva suggested, God stressed that Pinchas was “the son of Elazar, the son of Aharon the kohen.”  He was not to be any different from other kohanim.  He, like those born into the priesthood, would be bound by the entire range of laws and dictates that apply to the kohanim, and would have to perform the same duties and bear the same responsibilities as his fellow kohanim.

            The Rosh Yeshiva noted that this message bears relevance with regard to a different kind of status, which every Jew has the ability to earn through his own efforts.  The Rambam (Hilkhot Talmud Torah 3:1) speaks of the three “crowns” that exist among the Jewish people: the crown of kingship, which is reserved for the Davidic dynasty; the crown of priesthood, which is reserved for the descendants of Aharon; and the crown of Torah, which is, in the Rambam’s words, “waiting and ready for each Jew.”  Like the priesthood of Pinchas, the “crown of Torah” – Torah knowledge and proficiency – must be earned through hard work and sacrifice, and does not pass from parent to child through natural birthright.  And as with regard to Pinchas, we must not make the mistake of thinking that one who earns this status earns also the right to define it and dictate its terms.  Even though we work hard to achieve Torah knowledge, we must relate to it as a birthright, an heirloom, which we must preserve in its authentic form, rather than manipulate and alter to suit our personal preferences and intuitions.  Rav Lichtenstein commented (as transcribed by a student):

Innovation and “chiddush” in Torah learning are important, even desired.  The springs of Torah are not meant to be stagnant, but rather flowing and vibrant.  Although the question of how central a role chiddush should occupy in Torah learning is the subject of an ongoing debate, everyone agrees that it plays some role.  Nonetheless, our learning has to be characterized by a desire to cling to the Mesora and not deviate from the tradition that originates with Moshe.

David Silverberg

TUESDAY

            Earlier this week we discussed the Gemara’s comments in Masekhet Chulin (60b) regarding the musaf offering brought on Rosh Chodesh.  The Torah in Parashat Pinchas (28:15) describes the goat offered as part of the musaf sacrifice with the words, “a sin-offering to the Lord,” which the Gemara understood to mean, “a sin-offering for the Lord.”  The Gemara explains that on Rosh Chodesh, when the light of the moon reaches its lowest point, we offer a sin-offering to atone for God, as it were, for having reduced the light of the moon.  The moon had originally been created the same size as the sun, but was later reduced because “two kings cannot serve with the same crown.”  The Rosh Chodesh sin-offering serves to “atone” for God’s reducing the size of the moon.

            The Meshekh Chokhma, in his commentary to Parashat Pinchas, explains this Midrash as referring to the ancient pagan practice of sun-worship.  The belief in the sun as a deity, the Meshekh Chokhma writes, likely resulted from its visible prominence in the sky.  The sun stands out as the most powerful and majestic visible entity in nature, and this led the ancients to view it as the supreme being.  Had the sun and moon shared equal prominence, this mistaken belief would very likely not have surfaced, and people would have recognized that both the sun and the moon are under the control of a Supreme Being.

            Thus, when the Gemara speaks of God’s “atonement” for reducing the moon’s size, it means that we acknowledge God as the one, true God, even though He created the world in a manner that could lead us to think otherwise.  In a sense, our offering of sacrifices to God gives Him “vindication,” as it were, demonstrating that we can still recognize Him as God despite the “misleading” aspects of the natural world.  He gains “expiation” for having created a visibly singular, prominent entity in the sky through our firm, unwavering faith, which shows the human being’s ability to look beyond the superficial appearance of the natural world and acknowledge the Almighty’s unlimited control and authority over the universe.

            By God’s own admission, so-to-speak, the world was not created in a way that makes a religious lifestyle easy, convenient or self-evidently worthwhile.  His existence and control over the earth is far from obvious, and the often harsh realities of life deter us from fulfilling our responsibilities.  The Rosh Chodesh offering proclaims that we recognize God and remain loyal to Him despite these challenges, and that we commit ourselves to overcoming the many obstacles that stand in the way of proper avodat Hashem each day.

David Silverberg

WEDNESDAY

            The final section of Parashat Pinchas discusses the temidin u-musafin, the daily regimen of sacrifices brought in the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The daily tamid sacrifice was offered twice each day, and additional musaf offerings were brought on special occasions – Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot.

            A number of writers addressed the question of why the Torah would present these laws here, toward the end of Sefer Bamidbar, amidst the discussion of Benei Yisrael’s preparations for entering Canaan.  The laws of sacrifices are presented in the first chapters of Sefer Vayikra, which would seemingly be the appropriate context for the section of the temidin u-musafin.  Why did the Torah see fit to “transplant” this section from its natural context – the chapters in Sefer Vayikra dealing with sacrifices – to the end of Sefer Bamidbar?

            As we mentioned earlier this week, the Ramban claimed that the musaf offerings were not brought during the years of travel in the wilderness, and were required only once Benei Yisrael entered the land.  Thus, the Ramban writes, this section appears here as part of the discussion of the preparations for entering the land, as these obligations which had not applied to this point would take effect once the nation crossed into Eretz Yisrael.  (Although the tamid sacrifice was offered in the wilderness, it is repeated here so that the sacrificial schedule would be presented as a single unit.)  As we saw, however, several later writers dismissed the Ramban’s theory, noting an explicit comment in the Mishna (Menachot 45b) stating that these sacrifices were indeed brought in the wilderness.

            Another possible answer might be alluded to in a comment of the Sifrei, cited by Rashi (28:2).  Chazal note that the commands regarding the temidin u-musafin appear immediately following the section that describes the formal designation of Yehoshua as Moshe’s successor.  Moshe had asked God to name a successor and thereby ensure a smooth, stable transfer of leadership after his passing, and in response, God instructed Moshe to conduct a public ceremony appointing Yehoshua as the future leader.  In explaining the connection between this section and the laws of the daily sacrifices, the Sifrei comments, “The Almighty said to him: Before you command Me with regard to My children, command My children with regard to Me.”  In other words, God reminded Moshe that alongside his demand that God provide the people with a leader, he should also demand from the people that they fulfill their responsibilities to God.

            Possibly, Chazal here seek to explain the broader relevance of the temidin u-musafin to this context, the preparations for entry into the land.  Quite often, engaging in technical particulars causes one to lose sight of his general goals and objectives.  In Benei Yisrael’s case, after forty years of supernatural existence in the wilderness, during which time all their needs were miraculously cared for, they began preparing for life in Eretz Yisrael.  Much of Parashat Pinchas, for example, is devoted to issues surrounding the distribution of the land.  A national census was conducted to determine the allocation of territory to families, and guidelines for extraordinary circumstances – such as the situation of Tzelofchad’s daughters – were established.  And, of course, the knowledge that Moshe would die in the wilderness gave rise to the question of succession, which had to be addressed.  These concerns brought about a necessary shift of focus onto the mundane, technical issues involved in the process of building a new country.  God wanted to ensure that the spiritual purpose of this endeavor would not be lost amid the flurry of activity taking place.  He intentionally imported a section from Sefer Vayikra, which is devoted to the theme of hashra’at ha-Shekhina – God’s presence among Benei Yisrael and the responsibilities this entails – and embedded it within the final chapters of Sefer Bamidbar.

“Before you command Me with regard to My children, command My children with regard to Me.”  God here certainly does not criticize Moshe for raising the issue of succession.  Such concerns had to be addressed as the nation prepares itself for its imminent progression to the next stage of its history.  God does, however, seek to impress upon Benei Yisrael that these preparations must not divert their attention from the spiritual meaning and purpose of the country they are to build, their responsibility to maintain the special bond between God and His nation, as signified by the service in the Beit Ha-mikdash.

David Silverberg

THURSDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Pinchas presents the mitzva of the korban ha-tamid, the daily sacrifice that was offered each morning and afternoon in the Beit Ha-mikdash (28:1-8).

            The Talmud Yerushalmi (Pesachim 4:1) raises an interesting question concerning this daily offering.  The Mishna in Masekhet Pesachim (beginning of chapter 4) mentions a prohibition against performing certain kinds of melakha – constructive work – in the afternoon of Erev Pesach.  According to the Yerushalmi, this halakha does not relate specifically to Erev Pesach, but rather stems from a general prohibition that forbids performing melakha on the day when one offers a sacrifice.  On Erev Pesach, all members of the nation offer the paschal sacrifice in the afternoon, and therefore melakha is forbidden for all people during those hours.

            The Yerushalmi thus wonders why melakha is permitted on any day of the year.  Since the daily tamid sacrifice is offered on behalf of the entire nation each day of the year, all Jews should be required to refrain from work every day – since every day is a day on which they bring a sacrifice!

            The Yerushalmi answers by citing a verse from the second paragraph of the daily shema recitation, where the Torah promises agricultural prosperity in reward for Torah observance, and states, “you shall collect your grain, your wine and your oil” (Devarim 11:14).  The clear implication of this verse is that Benei Yisrael are expected to engage in agriculture, to cultivate the land and grow produce.  This obviously precludes the possibility of a halakhic prohibition against ever engaging in work.

            The Turei Even (Megila 22b) questions the Yerushalmi’s conclusion.  The Yerushalmi clearly presumes that this prohibition against melakha does not apply throughout the day on which a sacrifice is offered, but rather during the specific period in which the sacrifice is brought.  Recall that the Mishna forbids performing melakha only during the afternoon hours of Erev Pesach – the period in which the korban pesach is offered.  Therefore, even if we accept the Yerushalmi’s premise that this prohibition fundamentally applies even to the daily tamid offering, we would be required to refrain from work only during the hours when this offering may be brought.  According to one view mentioned in Masekhet Berakhot (27a), the morning tamid offering may not be brought past the fourth hour of the day, and this is the position codified by the Rambam (Hilkhot Temidin U-musafin 1:2).  The afternoon tamid may be brought only from the sixth hour of the day, thus leaving a two-hour window during which the people can “collect your grain, your wine and your oil.”  Why, then, does the Yerushalmi conclude that no melakha prohibition can be associated with the tamid offering, if two hours are available for work each day?

            The most obvious answer, perhaps, as the Turei Even himself notes, is that two hours a day hardly suffice for earning a proper livelihood.  It is thus inconceivable that the Torah would explicitly allow Benei Yisrael to engage in agriculture while forbidding melakha for all but two hours of every day.  Formulating this answer more broadly, we might say that the verse “you shall collect your grain” establishes a more general concept, that Benei Yisrael are entitled and expected to engage in professional activities and develop a flourishing national economy.  The Torah did not expect Benei Yisrael to live in Eretz Yisrael the way they did in the wilderness, relying on supernatural means of sustenance, but rather anticipated the development of a proper, successful agrarian society.  (This issue of course hinges on the famous debate between Rabbi Yishmael and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai in Masekhet Berakhot 35a; the Yerushalmi quite obviously follows Rabbi Yishmael’s view.)  As such, the Torah could not possibly require Benei Yisrael to refrain from work for most of the day every day of the year.

            Rav Mordechai Carlebach, in his work Chavatzelet Ha-sharon (Jerusalem, 5767), suggests a different possible answer for the Turei Even’s question.  The Rambam, in his listing of the 613 mitzvot (Sefer Ha-mitzvot, asei 39), counts the two daily tamid offerings as a single affirmative command.  Although the two sacrifices obviously entail two different rituals performed at two different times, and, what’s more, each is offered even if, for whatever reason, the other could not be offered, the Rambam did not view them as independent of one another.  Rather, he saw the two sacrifices as two stages of a single mitzva.  Accordingly, it stands to reason that the entire day is defined as the day of the tamid offering.  Even though there are several hours of the day in which neither tamid can, as a practical matter, be offered, even those hours are part of a “day of sacrifice.”  Once we recognize a single, integrated mitzva requiring the offering of two sacrifices over the course of the day, the entire day becomes endowed with a certain status of sorts that would, in principle, require refraining from melakha.

David Silverberg

FRIDAY

            As discussed in yesterday’s edition of S.A.L.T., the Torah presents in Parashat Pinchas the mitzva of the daily tamid sacrifice, which was offered in the Beit Ha-mikdash each morning and afternoon (28:1-8).

            In the comments of the Sifrei Zuta to this section (28:4), we find an ambiguous passage where the Sifrei infers from the text that the tamid offering may be brought “after midday.”  The Sifrei does not specify which of the two daily sacrifices or what circumstances it is discussing.  We know from other sources that the morning tamid offering may be brought either until the end of the fourth hour of the day or until midday (this is subject to a debate in Berakhot 26a), and the afternoon tamid is brought from chatzot (midday) until sundown.  It is thus unclear what the Sifrei Zuta meant by establishing a provision allowing the offering of the tamid after chatzot.

            The Zayit Ra’anan commentary (by Rav Avraham Gombiner, author of the Magen Avraham) explains that the Sifrei Zuta simply establishes the two offerings’ independence from one another.  He understands this passage to mean that in the event that the morning tamid was not offered in the Temple, the afternoon sacrifice could still be brought as usual.  Although the Torah clearly requires offering two tamid offerings each day, each could be offered without the other.

            Rav Yosef Engel, in his Tziyunim Le-Torah (37), explains differently, claiming that the Sifrei Zuta introduces the concept of tashlumin (“making up” a missed sacrifice) to the context of the tamid sacrifice.  In his view, the Sifrei Zuta held that if the morning tamid was not offered one morning, an extra sacrifice was brought that afternoon in addition to the afternoon tamid, to make up for the missed morning sacrifice.

            This notion likely hinges on the issue discussed yesterday concerning the precise nature of the relationship between the two tamid offerings.  As we saw, the Rambam allocates only one entry in his listing of the mitzvot to the daily tamid sacrifices (Sefer Ha-mitzvot – asei 37).  Apparently, he viewed the tamid offerings as two stages of a single process.  The Torah issued a command to offer two sacrifices each day, not a command to offer a sacrifice in the morning and another command to bring an offering in the afternoon.  The essential definition of the mitzva is to offer two temidin each day; the scheduling is but a detail of that mitzva.

            The Ramban, by contrast, in his critique of the Rambam’s Sefer Ha-mitzvot, argues that the two daily sacrifices should be listed as separate Biblical commands.  In his view, then, we have two independent obligations: one to offer a sacrifice in the morning, and another to offer a sacrifice in the afternoon.

            According to the Ramban, we should not anticipate the possibility of tashlumin for a missed tamid offering.  If we view the morning tamid as entirely independent from the afternoon tamid, then making up a missed morning tamid in the afternoon would be akin to offering a missed Shabbat musaf sacrifice on Sunday – which Halakha certainly does not allow.  According to the Ramban, the two daily sacrifices are halakhically separate and independent, and thus once the morning passes, the opportunity for offering the morning tamid sacrifice has also passed.

            According to the Rambam’s view, however, we might indeed entertain the possibility of making up a missed morning tamid in the afternoon.  If the different times for these sacrifices constitute but a halakhic detail of the mitzva, which is essentially defined as offering two sacrifices each day, then we can at least consider the notion of tashlumin.  Once we define the mitzva in these terms, the morning tamid offering is, fundamentally, relevant even in the afternoon hours.  The requirement to offer the sacrifice in the morning is merely a halakhic detail, and thus, conceivably, Halakha could offer the option of making up the missed sacrifice.  According to the Ramban’s view, however, each tamid offering is entirely independent, and thus the morning tamid cannot be offered once its time frame has ended, anymore than the Shabbat musaf sacrifice can be offered on Sunday.

(Based on Rav Mordechai Carlebach’s Chavatzelet Ha-sharon, Parashat Pinchas)

David Silverberg