SUKKOT / VEZOT / BEREISHIT

By Rav David Silverberg

            The Torah instructs that we must dwell in sukkot “in order that your generations know that I had the Israelites dwell in sukkot when I took them from Egypt” (Vayikra 23:43).  Torat Kohanim and the Gemara in Masekhet Sukka (11b) cite a famous debate between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva regarding the “sukkot” in which Benei Yisrael dwelled during their sojourn through the wilderness.  While one view accepts the literal meaning of this word, as a reference to makeshift huts, the other claims that the Torah speaks here of the ananei ha-kavod, the “clouds of glory” that encircled Benei Yisrael in the wilderness.

            Many writers have addressed the question of how to explain the word hoshavti (“I had [the Israelites] dwell”) according to the first reading.  This term implies that God caused Benei Yisrael to reside in the sukkot spoken of in the verse.  If the Torah refers to some supernatural structure, such as the ananei ha-kavod, then we can easily understand how God was “moshiv” – how He had Benei Yisrael reside in these “sukkot.”  However, if we explain this verse in terms of actual huts, it becomes less clear why the Torah would speak of God as “having the Israelites dwell” in these structures, which they themselves built.

More generally, one might wonder why these huts would be worthy of commemoration in the first place.  Clearly, the ananei ha-kavod, which, as a number of Midrashic passages describe, miraculously cared for many of Benei Yisrael’s needs, signified a supernatural experience that warrants commemoration.  But why would God issue a command to commemorate the huts that Benei Yisrael constructed in the wilderness?

Rav Eliezer David Greenwald, in his Keren Le-David, explains that according to the literal reading of the verse, we must explain it as referring to the generally harsh, austere conditions to which Benei Yisrael were subjected during their period of travel.  The sukkot in which we reside during Sukkot commemorate not the actual structures in the wilderness per se, but rather the overall experience of a crude, unstable dwelling.  The Torah wants us to remember that God subjected our ancestors to this kind of existence before they entered Eretz Yisrael, in order to prepare them for the challenge of devoting themselves to His service even while living in a developed, cultivated, prosperous land.  When Benei Yisrael build their country and develop a thriving economic infrastructure, they would have the annual observance of Sukkot to remind them of their humble beginnings, and to reinforce their sense of dependence on God.  By spending a week away from our comfortable, furnished homes, relocating in the unstable structure of the sukka, we remind ourselves that we once spent forty years in a desolate wasteland, where we were sustained miraculously by God.  This memory helps ensure our sense of dependence on God even when we seem independent and self-sufficient, when we live off what appears as the fruit of our labors and the results of our hard work and initiative.

This easily resolves the question raised by many of why Sukkot is observed during this season.  If the mitzva of sukkot serves to commemorate the miracles of the wilderness, then why don’t we dwell in sukkot on or around the time of Pesach, when we celebrate the Exodus from Egypt, at which point Benei Yisrael first entered the wilderness?  The simplest answer, perhaps, is that Sukkot is the celebration of the asif, the gathering of the harvested produce into the warehouses.  As part of this celebration, we are told to return to the wilderness, to dwell as our ancestors did in the desert, and thereby remember our nation’s humble beginnings.  This will help ensure that we do not become too proud over our material achievements, and always bear in mind our dependence on the Almighty for our survival and sustenance.  Specifically during this season, when the farmer takes stock of his yield and feels gratified over what he has produced, he is told to return to the wilderness and experience our ancestors’ sense of complete dependence on God.

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            The Torah introduces the mitzva of arba minim in Sefer Vayikra (23:40), where it writes, “You shall take on the first day [of Sukkot] a citrus fruit, a date branch…”  The obligation of arba minim applies on the level of Torah obligation only on the first day of Sukkot, as indicated in this clause.  In the Beit Ha-mikdash, however, the Torah obligation applied throughout the seven days of the festival, as the Sages inferred from the end of this verse – “and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God for seven days.”

            In a famous yet enigmatic passage, the Midrash Tanchuma comments that the phrase “on the first day” alludes to the fact that the first day of Sukkot serves as “rishon le-cheshbon avonot” – “the first day of the accounting of sins.”  It appears, at least at first glance, that the Sages viewed Sukkot as opening the new “year of sin,” after our sins of the previous year had been erased several days earlier, on Yom Kippur. The obvious question arises as to why Chazal were so pessimistic concerning the prospects of a successful and enduring teshuva.  Why did they assume that we all resume our sinful conduct so soon after Yom Kippur, already on the first day of Sukkot?  Why does the “accounting of sin” begin on this day?

            One common explanation is that generally speaking, the rush of Sukkot preparations after Yom Kippur all but precludes the possibility of relapsing into sin until the first day of Sukkot.  The Sages here observe that the numerous responsibilities that we have after Yom Kippur in preparation for Sukkot make it likely that at least for those several days we will succeed in living up to the commitments we took upon ourselves during the Yamim Nora’im.

            Rav Dov Weinberger, however, in his Shemen Ha-tov, proposes an entirely different reading of the Tanchuma’s comment.  He suggests that the Midrash refers not to an “accounting” made in the heavens of our conduct, but rather to our own “accounting” and evaluation of ourselves.

The festival of Sukkot marks the transition from the period of judgment to the period of joy and festive celebration.  This occasion is characterized by rejoicing over our relationship with God, rather than the awe and dread of judgment that results from this relationship.  The experience of leaving one’s home to dwell in the sukka represents the realization that it is preferable to forego on our material luxuries in order to enjoy the presence and closeness of the divine presence, as symbolized by the sukka.  As we celebrate our close relationship with the Almighty, we spend seven days away from our permanent homes in order to rejoice together with God, so-to-speak, in the sukka.

The special joy of Sukkot, the unique experience of celebrating our relationship with God, has the effect of giving us a new perspective on our misdeeds of the previous year.  Whereas during the Days of Awe the memory of our wrongdoing caused us anxiety and fear, on Sukkot, it brings us sheer astonishment.  As we experience the joy of avodat Hashem, we look back upon our misdeeds and wonder how we were prepared to compromise our relationship with the Almighty for fleeting pleasures, convenience or material gain.  From the mindset of the Sukkot celebration, our past misdeeds are seen in an entirely different light.  We now realize – more so than during the days of judgment – the foolishness of our mistakes, how we sacrificed the greatest privilege of all for sheer vanity.

In this sense, Sukkot marks the beginning of the “accounting of sins”; it causes us to reassess our wrongdoing.  It reminds us that sin not only results in liability, but also causes us to lose the most precious asset of all – our close relationship with our Creator.

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            Toward the beginning of Parashat Vezot Haberakha (33:5) we find the famous yet difficult verse, “Va-yehi bi-Yshurun melekh be-hit’asef rashei am…” (generally translated as, “There was a king in Jeshurun, when the heads of the nation assembled”).

            The commentators disagree in identifying the “king” spoken of in this verse.  Rashi explains this verse to mean that the people collectively accept upon themselves divine kingship; in his view, the “king” in this verse is none other than God Himself.  Ibn Ezra and Chizkuni, by contrast, claim that this verse refers to Moshe, who was mentioned in the preceding verse: “Moshe commanded us the Torah as an inheritance to the congregations of Yaakov.”  Moshe became a “king” in the sense that he assembled the people to transmit to them the Torah he received from God, and they all accepted his authority and committed themselves to his teachings.

            The Ramban follows Rashi’s view, that the term melekh (“king”) in this verse refers to God, and cites proof to this effect from the Gemara in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (32b).  The Gemara there lists this verse among the verses to be recited in the malkhuyot section of the Rosh Hashanah prayer service, clearly indicating that this verse expresses the theme of divine kingship.  Hence, it must be referring to God’s kingship, rather than that of Moshe.  Ibn Ezra and Chizkuni apparently viewed the Gemara’s ruling as reflecting a Midrashic reading of this verse, whereas according to the straightforward interpretation, in their opinion, the “king” spoken of here is Moshe.

            Ibn Ezra cites another approach in the name of Rav Yehuda Halevi, who claimed that this verse speaks of the Torah as the “king” of Benei Yisrael.  As we saw, the previous verse discussed the Torah that Moshe commanded, and Rav Yehuda Halevi thus interpreted our verse to mean, “It became a king in Jeshurun,” meaning that Benei Yisrael accepted the Torah upon themselves as a kind of “royal” authority.  This is the approach taken also by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, who writes in his commentary, “The Torah, the Law, became King in Jeshurun.  It alone is the ruling, directing and deciding power in Israel; the actual king stood under it and was only to be its first model subject.”

            Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky, in his Emet Le-Yaakov, cites Rav Yehuda Halevi’s interpretation and notes that it seems grammatically incorrect.  The word Torah is a feminine noun, and thus the verb “it became” should be conjugated in the feminine form – “va-tehi” – as opposed to the masculine form, va-yehi, which is used in the verse.

            Rav Hirsch, anticipating this challenge, notes that in Biblical Hebrew, the verb h.y.h. often appears in the masculine form even when modifying a feminine noun.  He cites as an example the Torah’s description of the birkat Hashem (“blessing of the Lord”) bestowed upon the Egyptian officer Potifar: “Va-yehi birkat Hashem…”  Here, too, the masculine form va-yehi is used, despite the fact that it modifies the feminine noun berakha.  Thus, Rav Hirsch contends, the phrase “Va-yehi vi-Yshurun melekh” can refer to the Torah despite the use of the masculine form va-yehi, which the Torah occasionally uses even in reference to feminine nouns.

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            The Torah says about Moshe in Parashat Vezot Haberakha (33:21), “Tzidkat Hashem asa u-mishpatav im Yisrael” (literally, “He performed the righteousness of the Lord, and His statutes with Israel”).  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (13b) tells that the ministering angels declared this verse when Moshe died and his soul ascended to the heavens.  In other words, this was their welcoming pronouncement to Moshe’s soul when it reached the heavens.

Apparently, the Gemara saw in this verse, at least from a certain perspective, a succinct description of Moshe’s greatness, an expression that captured the essence of who he was as a person, prophet and spiritual leader.  How exactly did the Gemara understand this phrase, and in what way does it encapsulate his character, or at least the aspect of his persona that most impressed the ministering angels?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggested that the angels’ praise of Moshe related to his ability to synthesize the two segments of this verse.  First, Moshe performed “tzidkat Hashem,” he achieved the highest levels of personal piety and devotion to God.  But in addition, “mishpatav im Yisrael” – he succeeded as well in the role of national leader, in applying the ideals of the Torah to the practical realities of everyday life.  He was able to address the down-to-earth needs and concerns of the people, and show how the Torah’s laws and guidance applied even to those areas, that God’s law is not “too holy” to provide instruction for common, everyday situations and questions.  Not always are spiritual giants capable of combining “tzidkat Hashem” with “mishpatav im Yisrael,” of effectively addressing the practical realities of day-to-day life even after having achieved spiritual greatness.  Moshe was exceptional in this respect, in that he ascended to the greatest spiritual heights ever achieved by a mortal, while still serving as an understanding, sensitive and practical-minded leader.

            We might add that for good reason, it was specifically the heavenly angels who selected this verse as the most meaningful expression of Moshe’s greatness.  The angels, who embody spiritual perfection but have no earthly properties, particularly marveled at Moshe’s ability to combine the Torah’s lofty ideals with the practical realities of worldly living.  They recognized that Moshe achieved angelic qualities without detaching himself from earthly, human existence.  This, more than any other quality of Moshe, impressed the heavenly angels and led them to their exuberant proclamation, “Tzidkat Hashem asa u-mishpatav im Yisrael!”

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            After the narrative of Hevel’s murder at the hands of his brother, the Torah in Parashat Bereishit presents a brief genealogical record of the descendants of Kayin, the killer and surviving brother.  Thereafter, the Torah lists the descendants of Sheit, another son of Adam and Chava, concluding with the birth of Noach.

            One might wonder why the Torah goes through the trouble of listing several generations of Kayin’s descendants.  The listing of Sheit’s genealogical line was necessary in order to reach Noach, the protagonist of the subsequent narrative and the man who essentially became the father of all mankind, after the deluge.  Kayin’s descendants, however, did not survive the flood, and there thus seems to be little reason to trace this genealogical line.

            One simple answer, perhaps, relates to the cultural and industrial developments with which a number of Kayin’s descendants are credited.  Kayin himself built a city (4:17), and a number of his descendants are described as making important contributions in areas such as farming, music and metal work (4:20-22).  For this reason, perhaps, the Torah reviews the descendants of Kayin, to tell of the gradual process of industrialization and development that mankind underwent during this period.

            We might point to another, perhaps more subtle, purpose, as well.  The Torah writes that Chava named her third son Sheit because she responded to her birth by proclaiming, “Shat li Elokim zera acheir tachat Hevel’ – “God has given me another offspring, in place of Hevel” (4:25).  Sheit was seen as a “replacement” of Hevel.  After Hevel’s murder, Adam and Chava responded by begetting another son, by filling the void left by Hevel’s death.  Rather than despairing, they continued their work of populating the earth as God had commanded.  They could have easily just given up, seeing how quickly and brutally a life can be taken.  But instead of allowing this tragic setback to discourage them, they persisted, in the confident hope that their new son would mark the fulfillment of the dreams that were left shattered by Kayin’s bloodshed.

            Sure enough, not only did Sheit survive and beget children, but it was he who became the father of all mankind.  Noach emerged from the line of Sheit’s descendants, whereas Kayin’s were eradicated from the face of the earth during the flood.  Adam and Chava’s heroic decision to move on, to persist, to retain their optimism and resolve in the face of tragedy, is what ensured the survival of mankind.  The boy who was described as “taking the place” of Hevel, who embodied the virtues of persistence and perseverance, ultimately begot Noach, the only survivor of the flood, and in this way became the father of all people.

            By presenting side-by-side the genealogical lines of Kayin and Sheit, the Torah perhaps emphasizes the point that specifically the latter’s line produced Noach, and thus, by extension, produced all humankind.  As opposed to Kayin’s line, which ended with the flood, the line of Sheit, the product of Adam and Chava’s perseverance, continued, and continues even to this day, thereby underscoring the importance of persistence, of never despairing, of working to fulfill our duties despite heartbreaking setbacks.

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            Yesterday, we noted the two genealogical lines that the Torah presents side-by-side toward the end of Parashat Bereishit, namely, the descendants of Kayin, and the descendants of his younger brother, Sheit.

            Rav Amnon Bazak observed that a careful comparison between the two lists reveals a number of obvious similarities, as well as significant differences.  The similarities lay primarily in resemblances between names.  For one thing, both Kayin and Sheit had descendants named Chanokh (4:17, 5:18) and Lemekh (4:18, 5:25).  In addition, the name of Kayin’s grandson Irad (4:18) resembles that of Sheit’s descendant Yered (5:15).  Rav Bazak also noted the resemblances between the names Mechuyael (4:18) and Mahalalel (5:12), and between Metushael (4:18) and Metushelech (5:21).

            On the other hand, an attentive reader will notice a basic difference between the two accounts, in terms of the mention of God.  In the genealogical record of Sheit’s descendants, we find God mentioned on a number of occasions.  First, we are told that during the time of Sheit’s son, Enosh, “huchal li-kro be-Shem Hashem” (4:26), which, according to some commentators, means that people began turning to God in prayer during this period.  Noach’s father, Lemekh, expressed his hope for relief from the hard work entailed in tilling “the land which the Lord cursed” (5:29).  And Lemekh’s grandfather, Chanokh, is described as “walking with God” (5:22).

            The listing of Kayin’s descendants, by contrast, includes no mention of God.  Rav Bazak explains God’s Name’s absence from this section in light of the theme of industrial development that quite clearly characterizes the period in question.  As we noted yesterday, the Torah makes a point of mentioning a number of important inventions made by some of Kayin’s descendants.  Additionally, the Torah here records that Kayin himself built a city.  The emphasis on invention and creativity, coupled with the absence of God’s Name, might lead us to conclude that this period was marked by an arrogant sense of self-sufficiency and pride in human ambition and enterprise.  As opposed to people like Lemekh, who recognized God’s control over the earth and recognized mankind’s limitations, the descendants of Kayin took undue pride in their achievements and overlooked God’s authority over them and the world.

            Rav Bazak added that this attitude may underlie the comments of Kayin’s descendant Lemekh, who attempted to minimize the severity of a murder he committed (4:23-24).  Rather than humbly submitting to divine justice, Lemekh found comfort in the forgiveness granted to Kayin after his act of murder, and assured himself that he, too, would be spared punishment.  This also might reflect a certain hubris that appears to have been characteristic of this age, the people’s unwillingness to subject themselves to God’s authority, and to instead see themselves as self-sufficient masters over the earth.

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            The Talmud in Masekhet Sota (14a) notes that both toward the beginning and toward the end of the Torah, we read of God performing an act of kindness for a human being:

Performing kindness is great, for the Torah begins with kindness and ends with kindness.  It begins [with kindness] as it says (Bereishit 3:21), “The Lord God made leather garments for Adam and his wife, and clothed them.”  And it ends [with kindness] as it says (Devarim 34:6), “He [God] buried him [Moshe] in the valley.”

It appears from the Gemara that it viewed these two acts of kindness – giving clothing and burying the dead – as the paradigms of gemilut chasadim, the prototypes of loving kindness to one’s fellow.  The entire Torah, the Gemara observes, is framed by these acts, suggesting that they combine to express the essence of gemilut chasadim, which comprises one of the central messages the Torah seeks to convey.  Why are these two forms of chesed seen as the paradigms of kindness?

            Rav Dov Weinberger, in his Shemen Ha-tov, explains that both clothing the naked and burying the dead involve preserving a person’s dignity, be it during life or after death.  Among the most basic expressions of a human being’s tzelem Elokim (divine image), of a person’s being fundamentally different from animals and possessing a spirit in additional to a physical body, are clothing and burial.  Concealing a person’s body has the effect of drawing attention to the soul; it conveys the message that the individual – both during and after life – possesses far more than flesh and blood, and is endowed with a sacred soul.

            The greatest act of kindness, the Shemen Ha-tov explains, is restoring or preserving a person’s dignity and sense of self-worth.  By pointing specifically to clothing and burial, the Sages teach that chesed, at its core, means giving respect to all people, allowing them to maintain the dignity they deserve purely by virtue of their having been created in the divine image.

            If so, then one can perform chesed even if he is unable to give significant sums of money to those in need.  We have the ability to give people a sense of self-importance and dignity simply by speaking respectfully and courteously, by greeting and treating other people in a polite, dignified manner.  By giving others a feeling of dignity and self-worth, we perform chesed in its purest form, by filling the human being’s most basic need – the need to sense the tzelem Elokim within him, and to recognize that he is endowed with a sacred spirit, beyond his physical being.

David Silverberg