Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

One of the last verses in the Torah (Devarim 34:6) informs us that the location of Moshe Rabbenu's burial site remains unknown to this very day. The Yalkut Shimoni (968) records that a certain government made an attempt to find the site. They consulted with the people of nearby "Beit Pe'or" (see the aforementioned verse) and asked them to show their where Moshe is buried. The Yalkut writes: "When they stood above, it appeared to them as situated down below; when they went down, it appeared to them as situated up above." What does this mean, and what does the Midrash seek to teach us?

A beautiful approach to this Midrash is cited in the name of the Da'at Sofer, who viewed this description as allegorical. The "government" described by the Yalkut searched not literally for Moshe's burial site, but rather for where among the Jewish people Moshe's memory has been buried. They looked for an element within the populace that has turned its back on its past and "buried" Moshe Rabbenu. Whenever they looked upwards, the burial site appeared low. Meaning, they first looked to the nation's elite, the intellectuals and sophisticates, expecting to find there a cynical scorn and disdain for the "primitive" and "archaic" teachings of Moshe. Instead, they found the upper class fully committed and devoted to the Torah. Moshe's burial site would therefore have to be found "down below," among the laymen, the simple folk. If the nation's elite could appreciate and respect the Torah, then undoubtedly the commoners would have no way of relating to, let alone remaining committed to, Moshe's legacy. But when they went down below, to the common people, they once again found a populace unwaveringly loyal to Moshe and his Torah. They could not understand necessarily all the intricacies involved, but they remained innocently faithful to their religion and tradition. Moshe's burial place then appeared up above - it seemed possible only among the elite, who were already found to be loyal and committed.

Thus, the "government" - a euphemism for the enemies of Israel - could not find the burial place of Moshe. His memory and legacy had remained alive and well throughout the Jewish people, both among the elite, sophisticated upper class as well among the common folk.

Accordingly, the Midrash understood the mystery surrounding Moshe's grave as symbolic of the mystery of Jewish survival. We might add that we are given one "clue" as to the whereabouts of Moshe's grave: "mul ha-Pe'or" - opposite the site of Pe'or, where Benei Yisrael were led astray by the women of Moav and resorted to harlotry and pagan worship (see Rashi on this verse). Here is where Moshe Rabbenu is buried: wherever Benei Yisrael abandon their faith and follow the lure of the cultures and norms of surrounding peoples. As we discussed yesterday, Benei Yisrael have survived by "holding tight" to the teachings of Moshe. Once we lose this grip and follow the example set by other faiths, we indeed arrive at the grave of Moshe Rabbenu, and it is there where his memory could, Heaven forbid, vanish.

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Parashat Bereishit begins, of course, with God's creation of the world. A famous Midrash establishes that the Almighty created the world somewhat differently than we might have expected: "The Almighty would look at the Torah and create the world… " (Bereishit Rabba, 1). In other words, the blueprint God had before Him, as it were, when He fashioned the universe was the Torah. This comment raises many questions and can be discussed at length. What concerns us here is the practical message this Midrash seeks to convey. What are we to learn from God's having built His world based on the Torah?

One possible explanation may be found in a different Midrash: "A person must exert himself in worldly occupation and make time for Torah [study] and work in both these areas, for exertion in them both makes sin forgotten. Lest a person say… it is improper for me to perform work and humiliate myself, say to him: Fool! Your Creator has already preceded you… He performed work before you came to the world" (Midrash ha-Ne'elam). This Midrash bids us to follow the Almighty's example when it comes to work. Just as the Almighty worked towards the development of the world, so must man exert himself towards this end, continuing God's process of creation.

The question, though, arises as to the second activity in which this Midrash exhorts us to engage: Torah study. From the verses it appears that throughout the six days of creation God did only that - He created. He never "studied." How, then, do we learn from creation the proper way to go about our lives - to work while allocating time for Torah learning?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg (Denver, Colorado, mid-20^th century), in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that the Midrash with which we opened our discussion provides the answer: God looked to the Torah and created the world. This set the example for us to follow in charting our path of life. Just as God built the world based on what He saw written in the Torah - whatever this may mean, so must we cultivate His world only based on His wisdom. We must dedicate time to study Torah because it teaches us the proper direction to take when we build, create, and continue God's work in developing the universe.

Thus, while we may not exactly understand what it means that God first looked into the Torah before creating, we do understand the message this concept conveys: we must do the same. We cannot go about our business of building and creating if we do not spend time looking into the Torah and learn the proper direction to take in this ongoing process of creation.

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On the second day of creation, as recorded in Parashat Bereishit (1:6-8), God created the "raki'a," the firmament, the separation between the heavenly and earthly waters. Before creation, water covered the entire universe (1:2). On this second day of creation, God separated the water into two distinct sections - the waters of the heaven and the bodies of water on earth. On the third day, He gathered together the earthly waters to create oceans and dry land.

A passage in the Midrash (Pesikta Rabbati 21) draws an association between the second day of creation and the second of the Ten Commandments - "You shall not have any other gods besides Me." The separation between heaven and earth symbolized the separation between God and pagan deities. Just as the Almighty divided the world's water between heaven and earth, so did He ordain that we distinguish between Him and false deities. How are we to understand this parallel between the separation of water and the distinction between the true God and pagan deities?

According to this Midrash, the basic theological issue that separates monotheism from paganism reduces to the question of where our "water" originates. Wherein lies the source of life, the source of sustenance, the power that grants us and the world existence? The pagans found the answer to this question down on earth, within the natural elements themselves. The natural world - including the sun, moon and stars, which, in this context, belong to the "lower world" - itself was deified, godlike powers were attributed to the basic forces and elements of nature, such as wood, stone and sunlight. Our task, assigned to us on the second day of creation, is to separate and distinguish between heaven and earth, to recognize the existence of a Power above and beyond all the natural forces down below that governs them. Our "water," our very existence, originates not from the atmosphere, but from the heavenly waters, from God, from the supernatural Force that stands separate and distinct from the natural order.

This separation between heaven and earth, as representing the distinction between monotheism and idolatry, extends beyond the specific point of who governs and controls the world. It affects the nature of our religious aspirations, as well. The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yehuda Amital shlit"a, has noted that although Islam, too, believes in only a single God, its monotheistic quality is compromised by its conception of the afterlife as a purely physical existence of unbridled physical gratification. Such a belief system fails to distinguish between heaven and earth, to acknowledge a level of existence that extends beyond the physical world familiar to us. We believe that the physical world is but a means to an end, the method by which we connect to the Almighty. Ultimately, we strive not for eternal earth, but to utilize the earth in our quest for the heavens; our goal is to live a heavenly life here on earth, rather than an earthly life in the heavens.

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The first mishna in the fifth chapter of Masekhet Avot observes that God created the world "ba-asara ma'amarot" - with ten proclamations. This refers to the clause, "Va-yomer Elokim," "God said," that preceded each stage of creation, as recorded in the first chapter of Sefer Bereishit. The Gemara in several places notes that in truth only nine such proclamations were issued; however, the first verse in the Torah - "In the beginning God created heaven and earth" - similarly involved a proclamation by the Almighty. Although the Torah does not explicitly record a divine declaration with the creation of heaven and earth as it does subsequently in each stage of creation, tradition tells us that in fact a proclamation accompanied this initial phase, as well. Why, then, did the Torah not record an explicit proclamation at this first stage, when God created heaven and earth? Rav Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, in his Torah Temima, explains that, as the Ramban comments, the creation of heaven and earth described in the first verse of the Torah refers to the ex nihilo generation of all matter in the universe; from this matter God later fashioned each part of nature, as described subsequently in the chapter. The notion of God issuing a proclamation, as it were, in the process of creation means He "commanded" the previously-generated matter to produce the given elements. Therefore, the Torah could not describe the initial stage, of ex nihilo generation, in the form of a divine proclamation, as there was as yet nothing in the universe to which God could direct such a proclamation. This answer is also cited from an earlier source, the Tiferet Yisrael.

The mishna in Avot continues by asking, "What does it come to teach us - could it not have been created in a single proclamation?" The mishna replies that the multiple proclamations raises the stakes, so-to-speak, for mankind. A sinner is held accountable for the spiritual destruction of the world that results from his wrongdoing. The more stages involved in the creation of that world, the greater the culpability of the sinner, and hence the greater his punishment. Conversely, the righteous are rewarded for sustaining the world through their piety; that the world was created with ten proclamations thus increases their reward tenfold.

This mishna requires explanation. Firstly, as many commentators ask, why would the Almighty devise a system to bring harsher punishment upon the wicked? Would we not expect Him to seek a reduction, rather than intensification, of punishment? More generally, how does this system work altogether? Why should extra divine proclamations have any effect on the essence of the world, such that it would result in greater reward or punishment for the righteous and wicked, respectively?

The Rambam, in his commentary to the mishna, explains that the mishna seeks to explain not how the Almighty created the world, but how the Torah records this creation. The mishna does not ask why God chose to create the world in ten different stages; rather, it asks why the Torah describes creation as having occurred in these distinct stages. The Torah could have simply written that God created the entire universe. Instead, it dedicated an independent section to each facet of the universe. The mishna explains that the Torah seeks to impress upon us how significant our actions are, in that they can destroy or sustain something so grand as the earth. The more "effort," as it were, invested in a given enterprise, the more there is at stake in its maintenance. By depicting creation as having necessitated ten distinct divine proclamations, the mishna emphasizes what we stand to accomplish or destroy by behaving in one way or the other.

A different approach is cited in the name of the "Musar Avot." The division of creation into ten stages sets each one apart from all the others; we cannot look at all of creation simply as a single phenomenon, but rather as a series of different creations. Consequently, the final phase, when God created the human being, must be seen as distinct from the previous phases, when the rest of the natural world came into existence. In effect, this compartmentalization raises the expectations and demands of mankind. As evidenced by the independent "proclamation" through which God created man, far more is expected of us than of any other of His creatures. It also means that man has unique potential, beyond that of the inanimate world and animal kingdom. This thus allows for greater reward for the righteous, who capitalize on man's unique powers and potential, and greater punishment for the wicked, who fail to actualize their potential and do not distinguish themselves from the rest of the creatures on earth.

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Yesterday, we discussed the comment in the mishna (Avot 5:1) that the world was created "ba-asara ma'amarot" - with ten divine proclamations. Rather than simply creating the world in a single utterance, the Almighty instead issued ten distinct proclamations, as recorded in the first chapter in the Torah, each proclamation generating a facet of creation. The mishna explains that God did this in order to increase the reward of the righteous and the punishment to the wicked. The more "effort," as it were, invested in creating the world, the greater the consequences of sustaining or destroying the world through one's good deeds or sins, respectively.

Among the many questions arising from this passage, as mentioned yesterday, is how divine proclamations have a qualitative effect on the earth. Even if God generated the universe in stages, the end result, seemingly, is the same as if He would have produced the earth in an instant. Thus, the significance of one's sustaining or destroying the world through his conduct would not seem to hinge on the number of stages involved in the creation of the world.

Rav Chayim Brisker is cited as deriving an important principle from this mishna: what matters most is not the direct, net result, but rather the compliance with or violation of God's world. Rav Chayim said that the Kabbalists, in an effort to encourage Torah observance, spoke about the mystical effects of one's conduct on the universe, how a good deed creates many worlds and a sin destroys worlds. Rav Chayim felt that such emphasis was unnecessary or perhaps misplaced, as demonstrated from this mishna. According to the mishna, the effects of sin become more severe when it undermines multiple proclamations of the Almighty, not when it destroys more worlds. From the mishna's perspective, the significance of a transgression is determined by the extent to which it violates God's word, not by its mystical effects. Only with such a perspective can reward and punishment be increased by multiple divine proclamations during creation. Every action we do either obeys or violates each of these ten proclamations, through which God created the universe for the purpose of man's accepting His kingship. The world would be the same no matter how many proclamations occurred over the course of its creation; we would not "sustain" or "destroy" more or less if God had issued more or fewer proclamations during creation. But the multiple proclamations mean that we obey God or, Heaven forbid, disobey God, more when we observe or violate His commandments.

This must be our outlon Torah and mitzvot - as an endeavor to obey God's word rather than violate it. Rav Chayim therefore felt that we have no need to resort to the Kabbalistic theories of the metaphysical effects of good deeds and wrongdoing; the obedience or violation of God's will is what ultimately matters most.

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Over the last two days we have discussed the observation of the mishna (Avot 5:1) that God created the universe with ten "ma'amarot," or proclamations. The Gemara cites this mishna in two contexts, both, surprisingly, in an attempt to find a source for a halakha. In Masekhet Rosh Hashana 32a, the ten ma'amarot form the basis of the requirement to recite ten verses in each of the three special sections (of "malkhuyot," "zikhronot" and "shofarot") in the Rosh Hashana musaf service. The ten verses in each of these berakhot correspond to the ten stages of creation. Similarly, in Masekhet Megila 21b, the Gemara points to the ten proclamations as the source for the minimum requirement of ten verses for any public Torah reading.

What relationship is there between the ten ma'amarot of creation and these two halakhot?

The connection between the creation of the world and the musaf service of Rosh Hashana seems pretty clear. As we declare in our High Holiday liturgy, "zeh ha-yom teechilat ma'asekha" - this is the day on which You began Your actions. Rosh Hashana celebrates the anniversary of creation. It is befitting, then, that the form of our prayer service is arranged in a manner alluding to creation. But why would a similar correspondence be mandated in the laws of Torah reading? What connection is there between creation and the public reading of the Torah?

Rav Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, in his Torah Temima, suggests an explanation based on the famous notion that heaven and earth could not be sustained without Torah. The Gemara (Shabbat 88a) understands that when the Torah describes the sixth and final day of creation as "yom ha-shishi," "the sixth day," it refers [not only to the sixth day of creation, but also] to the sixth of Sivan, when Benei Yisrael received the Torah. The Gemara explains that at the end of creation, God stipulated that the world will be sustained only if Benei Yisrael accept the Torah. Rav Barukh Epstein suggests that to underscore this dependence of creation on the observance of the Torah, Chazal ordained that we read a minimum of ten verses in every public reading, symbolic of the ten ma'amarot of creation.

We might add that Rav Soloveitchik famously understood our public Torah reading as a reenactment of Ma'amad Har Sinai, the giving of the Torah at Sinai. In light of the aforementioned Gemara in Masekhet Shabbat, this notion could perhaps reinforce the theory advanced by the Torah Temima. When we relive the experience of Mount Sinai, we must remind ourselves of the significance of this event - that the very existence of the universe depends on it. Chazal therefore introduced a subtle reminder of the world's creation in the halakhot of Torah reading, to stress that our acceptance of the Torah allows for the continued sustenance of all of creation.

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Parashat Bereishit records the first offering of sacrifices mentioned in the Torah - those of Kayin and Hevel. (Several Midrashic sources indicate that Adam had offered sacrifices even earlier.) Many writers have pointed to these sacrifices as conclusive evidence against the controversial view of the Rambam concerning the nature of sacrifices according to Jewish theology (see Moreh Nevukhim, 3:46). The Rambam claimed that God required the sacrificial order merely as a necessary concession to the pervading religious concept of sacrificial ritual. Only because Am Yisrael had grown accustomed to the pagan practice of animal sacrifice did the Almighty feel compelled, as it were, to mandate such a system for Benei Yisrael. The notion of sacrificial worship had become so ingrained that God could not expect the nation to adopt a religious system without it. This approach of the Rambam has met the harsh criticism of many later writers, most famously the Ramban, in his commentary to the beginning of Sefer Vayikra (1:8). Among the more compelling proofs brought against the Rambam's position is the offerings of Kayin and Hevel, who lived before pagan ideas ever surfaced, and hence before the proliferation of the notion of sacrificial worship. The Ramban, and others, therefore argue for the essential value of korbanot, that they possess inherent religious meaning and significance, and are not merely a necessary capitulation to pagan practice.

Many attempts have been made to defend the Rambam's view. The Abarbanel, in his introduction to Sefer Vayikra, does not accept the Rambam's approach but nevertheless advances a possible explanation to respond to the challenges raised against it. He claims that the Rambam accepts the view of the Ramban and others that korbanot possess inherent significance; even before the pagans utilized sacrificial rituals as part of their idolatrous worship, sacrifices were a valuable means of achieving closeness to God. What troubled the Rambam is why God chose specifically this means of achieving closeness. However one explains the efficacy of sacrifices, there are other ways of reaching the same goal far more effectively - more obviously, through prayer. Why, then, did the Almighty ordain an elaborate and intricate system of korbanot, without instituting a parallel system of prayers? (According to the Rambam, tefila is required by Torah law, but only any brief utterance over the course of a day, as opposed to the specific, liturgical ritual established by Chazal.) It is this question the Rambam seeks to resolve with his theory; once sacrifices had become such an integral part of mankind's perception of religious ritual, it earned a prominent role within the broader system of Torah and mitzvot. (Another, emphatic defense of the Rambam's position is launched by Rav Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, in his "Tosefet Berakha," beginning of Sefer Vayikra.)

In conclusion, we cite here an important observation by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch in his commentary to the story of Kayin and Hevel. He indeed sees the offerings of Kayin and Hevel as conclusive proof against the Rambam's theory (though he does not mention the Rambam by name). He adds, however, that here, in the Torah's first mention of korbanot, we see not only evidence of their inherent value and efficacy, but also that this efficacy is not absolute. Kayin and Hevel both brought offerings, but only one was accepted by God. This, too, reflects a critical point regarding our perspective on the korbanot: ritual offerings to God are effective only insofar as they are accompanied by sincere religious devotion. Regardless of how one understands why God refused Kayin's offering (Rav Hirsch himself advances an interesting approach), clearly there was something lacking in his sincerity. Thus, the proof to the inherent worth of korbanot also proves the inherent limitation of korbanot - and of all religious ritual. Rituals do not work magic; we must perform them with a genuine desire to serve the Creator, observe His laws, and follow the path of Godliness.

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