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PARASHAT PINCHAS
Parashat Pinchas opens with God's approval of the zealous act that Pinchas performed, related at the end of the previous parasha. The Netziv, in his commentary on Chumash, the Ha'amek Davar, explains why God told Moshe that He would give Pinchas "a covenant of peace" (Bamidbar 25:12). Pinchas killed people. Within its context, this was a heroic act, and saved many people from the plague that was landed upon them on account of their misbehavior. However, the act of killing is a brutal act, and has the effect of making one cruel. Good intentions affect the moral aspect of an action; they do not control the psychological inner workings of one's personality. Therefore, it is theoretically possible that through well-intended behavior, in extreme circumstances, one may develop a cruel character. God said that He would give Pinchas "a covenant of peace". This means that Pinchas's good nature would not be spoilt by the act of cruelty that he had committed.
The reason, the Netziv explains, why Pinchas's character would be spared, was that he acted "leshem shamayim", "for the sake of heaven". He was blessed with a peaceful personality, in spite of the character-harming act that he had committed, because he acted out of good intentions. This point complexes the issue somewhat. Are we now to understand that well-intended behavior never actually poses a threat to one's personality, because God rewards it with a blessing of peacefulness? Or, should we rather notice the moral warning in the Netziv's analysis? Does God's canceling out of the threat to one's character, in the performance of mitzvot that involve unavoidable cruelty, mean that mitzvot are never dangerous to one's character, in the final analysis?
The Netziv makes reference to his commentary on Devarim 13:18, in relation to the ir hanidachat, a city destroyed because of rampant idolatry. We are told that no part of the spoil may be gathered, "in order that God may repent of His anger, and give you mercy, and be merciful towards you". Here also, the Netziv explains that the giving of mercy relates to the canceling out of the harm to one's personality that the fulfillment of the commandment would naturally affect. However, the verse made this promise conditional to one's taking care that the tiniest part of the spoil does not "stick in you hands" ("velo yidbak beyadkha meuma min hacherem"). It is not enough to do the right thing for the right intentions; one must become extreme in the purification of the act.
The next verse reads, "When you listen to the voice of the Lord your God, to keep all of His commandments…to do that which is straight [or, "upright"] in the eyes of the Lord your God." The Netziv continues his argument: Listening to the voice of the Lord is the study of Torah. One must study Torah with the aim to keep God's commandments, and also in order to do that which is upright, that is: by aspiring to emulate the divine attributes. If one does so, the merit of the Torah saves one from character decay resulting from cruel behavior. The Netziv says that this is a condition! While generally we say that one who is involved in the performance of a mitzva need not worry about being harmed (physically, or, according to the Netziv, in his personality either), here, the extremeness of the situation makes such a guarantee impossible ("shekhichi hezeika"). One must therefore act to counter the imminent danger to one's character.
The Netziv understands that God's blessing of peace, restoring the calmness, and refined nature, of a character that has had to perform ethically positive but cruel acts, is not automatic. One must actively work to counter the potential moral decay. Firstly, one's actions must be completely clean of personal gain; they must be purely for the sake of heaven. Secondly, one must study Torah with the aim of infusing its message into one's life. We live a complex existence in a perplexing world. We must sometimes perform missions involving actions, the external and direct meaning of which, is cruelty. By refining our behavior to our utmost, and studying Torah with the intention of imbuing ourselves with its message, we respond to this inherent danger, and God blesses us with "a covenant of peace".
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Yesterday, we discussed an idea of the Netziv's concerning Pinchas's zealous act. He argues that even an action performed for the best purposes may affect one's character negatively, if it involves cruelty. For this reason God blessed Pinchas with "a covenant of peace". Similarly, those that destroy an ir hanidachat, a town with rampant idolatry, are in need of protection from such personality-harming affects. They must beware not to take spoil, and must study Torah with the aim of both fulfilling its mitzvot and aspiring to emulate the divine attributes.
It would seem from the Netziv's explanation that the consequence of such careful conduct is to counteract the potential danger to one's character, inherent in such behavior, however positive. One starts from a state of moral health; the act one performs has the potential consequence of harming this refined nature. God's blessing, or one's moral care and study of Torah, maintain or reassert this state of health. I would like to suggest an alternative model.
Interpreting our Sages' dictum, that when one repents sin out of the love of God, the sin retroactively becomes a mitzva, the author of the Tanya explains that such repentance involves extreme spiritual heights. The agony of terrible distancing from God, as a result of sin, creates a thirst for closeness to God that is greater than that of the perfectly righteous. For this reason, people who repent are greater than those who never experience this distancing. The torment of estrangement contains potential for exceptional spiritual gains. The sinful process, by which one was originally distanced, is considered retrospectively a positive episode. Obviously, the sin retains its original objective negativity, and it would clearly be idiotic, in a religious sense, to commit a sin: distance oneself, with the aim of reaching spiritual heights. Closeness to God is not a question of rigid clockwork; one cannot recede in order to gain impetus for closeness. Who knows what will happen, and how God will judge such a move? Yet, if one does fall, dealing with inner struggles over it, holds remarkable potential.
The Tanya deals with the case of sin. Even when what one does is unquestionably negative, its effects can be used to reach spiritual heights one could never otherwise attain. The important point is that one does not return to a previous state of nature, the sin erased. The act remains, but is invested with a different meaning, in a new context. You can never return to a previous state of equilibrium. Every action makes its effect, only it can receive a new meaning. If this is so in the context of sin, how much more so in the case of a good action, involving moral dangers.
When you fulfil a positive mission that involves actions that affect your personality negatively, you must counteract this negative effect. However, the result is not that the act leaves no mark on your character. Rather, both it, and the process of moral development that counters it, become formative in your spiritual growth. The effects are not cancelled out, but used to develop one's personality further. God's blessing of peace did not simply annul the psychological effects of Pinchas's action. The blessing gave his nature something new, in the context of which his action would not affect his personality negatively, but would enrich it.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
Moshe turned to God and requested that He appoint a leader for the people, since Moshe would soon not be with them (Bamidbar 27:15). However, God told him that he would not enter the land two Parshiot previously. In Parashat Chukat we read the account of Moshe's sin, resulting in the decree that he would not be able to enter into the land (Bamidbar 20:1-14). Why did Moshe wait until now to ask for a replacement?
A simple solution would point to
the immediate context of his request. The preceding event is God's command to
Moshe to ascend
The Rebbe of Kotzk explained that Moshe was not originally at a loss for a candidate. As soon as he learnt that neither he nor Aharon would enter the land, he assumed that the future leader of the Jewish People would be Pinchas. As we see from the role he played at the end of Parashat Balak (Bamidbar 25:1-9), Pinchas' ability to lead and make decisions on the spare of the moment was phenomenal. He took action alone, publicly, and responsibly, and saved the people from God's wrath. Moshe knew him well (he was his great-nephew) and knew of his abilities well in advance. Therefore, Moshe did not originally ask who the leader would be; he was sure it would be Pinchas. However, when Pinchas acted as he did, Moshe understood that he could not be a leader. While God endorsed Pinchas' behavior, it was not an act of leadership. There is a place, and even the necessity, for zealots in the community; extreme circumstances demand extreme responses. But zealots cannot be leaders. Now that Moshe saw how Pinchas' personality expressed itself in the real world, he knew that he could not be the leader, and he turned to God to ask for a replacement.
If we consider how Moshe behaved in the many crises that he experienced, we notice that, while he was sometimes at a loss for action, he never acted in the slightest way against the people. He never behaved as a zealot in a social sense. He could smash the Tablets, and could smite the rock, but even in anger, he never moved against anyone. With the exception of Korach, who purposely pitted himself against Moshe, leaving him no option, never did Moshe abandon his position as a defender of the people. Pinchas saved the people, but not as a leader. Moshe turned here to God and asked that the people not be "as sheep that have no shepherd" (Bamidbar 27:17). The people need a shepherd, not a savior.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
When Moshe turned to God to request that He appoint a leader for the people in advance of his death, he called Him, "the God of the spirits of all flesh" (Bamidbar 27:16). Rashi quotes the Medrash Tanchuma: "the opinions [or, "characters"] of every single individual are revealed and known before You, and they are all dissimilar. Appoint over them a leader that will be able to bear [or, "tolerate"] everyone". God answered Moshe's request. In informing him that Joshua would replace him, God tells Moshe that he is "a man with spirit in him" (Bamidbar 27:18). Rashi comments: "as you requested, that he should be able to walk by the spirit of every individual". The Medrash understands that God did as Moshe requested; He appointed a leader who was able to harmonize with all opinions and personalities.
However, the verse actually says that Joshua
is, "a man with spirit in him," and Moshe called God, "the God
of the spirits of all flesh." There is a difference here. Moshe spoke
about the spirits of the people; God related to the spirit of the leader
himself. I would like to suggest a variant on the idea of the Medrash.
Moshe alluded to the necessity that a leader be able to harmonize with all of the people that he is responsible for. He must be tolerant of their varying characters and opinions, and do his best to accommodate for them all. God did not disagree with this point, but He taught us how such a leader is to be found. He appointed Joshua, "a man with spirit in him". Joshua was not lacking in spirit; on the contrary, he was strong and resolute. While his nature was able to accommodate and harmonize, it was not feeble. Pinchas was zealous; Joshua was judicial and restrained; but he was a directed visionary.
We often feel that the most crucial issue in leadership is an ability to empathize with everyone and accommodate for all the different needs in the community. But we mistakenly think that this is best achieved by a neutral pluralistic approach that does not come with its own vision and values. However, the great leaders of the Jewish People have always been visionary, and charged with spirits of their own. Their ability to lead and harmonize has always been facilitated by the fact that they were not simply trying to answer the various calls of the people, but rather, direct them. God answered Moshe that if you are to have a leader who is able to bear and tolerate everyone, he must be a man of spirit. He must be charged with his own spirit and dream in order to answer and direct others.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
When Moshe requested that God appoint a leader to replace him, he asked that the people should not be like "sheep that have no shepherd" (Bamidbar 27:17). Never before did Moshe use these metaphors. He himself was a shepherd in his youth, and he now, by implication, regards himself as having shepherded the Jewish People for forty years. The explicit association made here, between being a shepherd and leading a people, strengthens our natural assumption that Moshe's earlier occupation was in some manner related to his later mission. The Medrash develops this idea further:
Moshe also was tested with sheep.
Our Rabbis said: When Moshe shepherded the sheep of Jethro
in the desert, a goat ran away from him, and he ran after it until it came to a
shrub. There the goat found a pool of water, and stopped to drink. When Moshe
caught up with it he said, "I did not know that you were running because
of thirst, you must be tired!" He raised him onto his shoulder and
continued walking. God said, "you have mercy to
lead the sheep of a human being; you shall shepherd my sheep -
Our rabbis did not choose a story randomly. The same Medrash tells us that David was tested as a shepherd, but a different aspect of care is illustrated. This account relates in some specific way to Moshe's personal mission.
In the anecdote that the Medrash brings, Moshe caught up because the goat arrived at water. The Radal, in his commentary on the Medrash suggests that this story comes to teach us leadership qualities. A leader should always run after those that are rebellious, to try and help them repent. He should pursue even when there is no chance of catching up with them, given the present rate of the chase. They may arrive at the waters of teshuva, repentance. Then, the leader, who is in pursuit, will have a chance to catch up, and to bring them back slowly, and with care.
We can develop this idea. What
was the reason why the goat, in the anecdote, originally ran away from the
flock - was it because of rebelliousness, or due to thirst? Moshe says, "I
did not know that you were running because of thirst, you must be tired!"
If we are to understand that stopping at water is analogous to coming to the
waters of repentance, we must draw the conclusion that the reason for the
goat's original rebellious behavior was a thirst for spirituality! The moral
must be that often, rebellious people that run away from the community are
really spiritually thirsty. That is the reason the leaders are able to catch up
with them. They will inevitably arrive at the waters of repentance, for that is
what they were ultimately in search of all along, even if they were never aware
of it. But the fact that they stop to drink does not mean that they have
returned. If the leader is not close behind, if he lost hope in the chase and
gave up, the goat will simply wander. The shepherd must be there to help the
revived goat return to its brothers and sisters, to bring it home. He must show
it how to find its source of sustenance without thirsting and wandering. That
is the job of the leader.
We asked earlier why our rabbis chose specifically this anecdote. Moshe always judged spiritual thirst favorably. When Eldad and Medad prophesied in the camp, and Joshua saw a threat in this, Moshe's response was, "if only all the people were prophets!" (Bamidbar 11:29) When the people served the golden calf, Moshe begged God not to leave them. They were lead astray, but they were thirsty. When did Moshe lose his ability to lead the people? Tragically, when the closest parallel to the story of the Medrash became reality. The people thirsted for water. God did not get angry with them, but Moshe did (see Rambam, Shemona Perakim 4). Moshe lost his temper and his leadership. Why was God not angry when the people thirsted, but rather, wished to show them a great miracle? Because He knew they were thirsty in more ways than one. Moshe did not see this. After he realized his mistake he turned to God asking Him to appoint a shepherd for the flock. He felt that he was no longer the shepherd, because he had fallen in the task of a shepherd, for which he was originally chosen.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
The latter part of Parashat Pinchas deals with the sacrifices that were offered up on different occasions. First we are told about the daily sacrifices, brought both in the morning and in the afternoon. Then we are commanded to bring a special addition on Shabbat, and next, a special addition on Rosh Chodesh (the beginning of the month). After these regular additions, we are told about the sacrifices brought on the festivals, starting with Pesach, and ending with Sucot and Shemini Atzeret.
There is nothing peculiar about this sequence. Moving from the common to the rare, we are taught that one must add a musaf (an additional) sacrifice on days of particular importance. Our musaf prayers, on Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh and festivals, parallel these sacrifices. Much can be learnt from the text of these musaf prayers. The sacrifices may be reasons for the prayers, but the ideas found in them relate not to the nature of the sacrifices, but to the nature of the holidays. We may understand more about the nature of the festivals by reading carefully and closely the words of our prayers.
An interesting case is the musaf prayer for Rosh Chodesh that falls on Shabbat (known as ata yatzarta). While we would expect the prayer to reflect both occasions by mixing phrases and concepts from the two corresponding prayers, or to invent completely new forms, we find neither in the siddur. What we see instead are formulations found only in the musaf prayer for festivals, into which particular aspects of the other two prayers are carefully interwoven. This is most peculiar. The festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sucot have their own spiritual and halakhic natures, and their prayers would seem to reflect them. Why then, should Shabbat and Rosh Chodesh converging make such a prayer legitimate?
It would seem that the superimposition of these two occasions brings different elements that together create a new situation. Shabbat's holiness is very great, notwithstanding its regularity. But the festivals have the advantage of being connected to periodical time. This aspect lends them a uniqueness that Shabbat, being fixed from the first week of existence, can never have. Furthermore, the festivals, by their dependence upon the calendar, embody an aspect of the close relationship between the Jewish People and God, in that it is the earthly Bet Din that fixes the calendar. Shabbat is not part of this. While Shabbat is God's gift to His people, and has extreme holiness, it is given from without. God, as the creator of the world, gave us a fixed day of holiness, which was carved into the nature of the world; but for that reason, it does not reflect, by its inherent nature, our relationship with the divine. The festivals do reflect this relationship, precisely because they are not fixed from the days of creation, but depend on human beings.
When Shabbat and Rosh Chodesh converge, we have both. Shabbat gives the day its extreme holiness; and Rosh Chodesh, usually of comparatively little importance, lends the day its aspect of dependence on periodical time. The temporal cycle by which months are fixed, and their being decided by a Bet Din, lend the day a character only found in festivals. We get, by this convergence of the holiness of Shabbat with the nature of Rosh Chodesh, a day that shares these two aspects. Our prayers reflect this and take the form of the musaf prayer for festivals.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
*****
The latter part of Parashat Pinchas deals with the
sacrifices that were offered at regular times, daily, weekly, monthly, and on
festivals. Every day two sacrifices were offered up, one in
the morning, and one in the afternoon. Today, there is no temple in
There is a dispute in the Gemara (Berakhot 26b) whether the daily prayers were instituted parallel to the daily sacrifices (and their nocturnal continuation), or are connected to the forms of prayer our forefathers created in their innovative service of God. According to this latter position, Abraham formed the idea to pray in the morning, Isaac invented the idea of an afternoon prayer, and Jacob prayed at night. While the specific times of the prayers parallel the laws of the sacrifices, they were originally innovations of our forefathers.
The Rambam and the Ramban dispute the original source of the obligation to pray. The Rambam holds that we are commanded in the Torah to pray at least once a day. This is the meaning of the command to serve Him with all our heart. The Ramban argues, pointing to the many indications in the Gemara that prayer is a Rabbinic institution. If we consider the dispute of the Gemara, concerning the origin of the idea of three daily prayers, in light of this disagreement concerning the source of the obligation to pray at all, we may appreciate completely different ways of looking at the concept of regular prayer.
If we accept the opinion of the Ramban, and consider the position that argues that our forefathers instituted regular prayer, we can conclude that these three daily prayers are the earliest cases of Rabbinic institution. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob instituted Rabbinic commandments even before the Torah was given! If so, praying three times a day is almost the only ritual mitzva that we have in tradition from the earliest times of Judaism, even before the giving of the Torah. Such an understanding centralizes the importance both of Rabbinic institution as an integral part of Judaism (from its earliest times), and of prayer, as being the earliest case of such innovation. One could argue that prayer by definition must be a Rabbinic institution, as it is a turning toward one's creator. While this is meaningful only because God did not command it, it is so central that its institution dates to the dawn of our religion.
However, according to the opinion that prayer was instituted as paralleling the daily sacrifices, the Ramban can consider the whole idea of daily prayer as merely a way of making up what we miss by not having a temple (or, being far away from it, in ancient times). Because the Ramban is of the opinion that daily prayer is not an obligation from the Torah itself, the difference between whether it dates from the times of our forefathers, or is a later parallel of the laws of the sacrifices, makes a phenomenal difference.
The Rambam holds that the Torah commands us to pray daily. Therefore, even if the three daily prayers were innovations of our forefathers, the source of the obligation of daily prayer is from God, irrelevant of whether they had ever prayed. Similarly, if the times of the prayers correspond only to the sacrifices, this changes little in the centrality of prayer, as it is obligatory anyway, as a commandment from God. But, as we considered above, according to the Ramban, the question whether the times of the daily prayers were institutions of our forefathers, or parallel the sacrificial service, has great ramifications for how we should understand prayer.
Shlomo Dov Rosen
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