Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

For the haftara reading on Simchat Torah we read the opening chapter of Sefer Yehoshua, the very first chapter in Tanakh following the Chumash, which we complete on Simchat Torah. Surprisingly enough, however, the Gemara in Masekhet Megila (31a) establishes that on Simchat Torah we read for the haftara the eighth chapter of Sefer Melakhim I – the prayer of King Shelomo at the dedication of the Temple. Tosefot there note that it was Rav Hai Gaon who, reportedly, instituted that we should read the first chapter of Sefer Yehoshua rather than following the Gemara's instruction. But it remains unclear, Tosefot add, as to why Rav Hai Gaon would rule against an explicit law in the Talmud.

Rav Meir Simcha Ha-kohen of Dvinsk, in his "Meshekh Chokhma" (Parashat Vezot Haberakha), suggests the following explanation. Generally speaking, a haftara is selected due to the prophecy's thematic connection to the parasha. On some occasions, however, we read a haftara not because it relates in any way to that week's parasha, but because it has relevance to the time of year, to the given period on the calendar. Thus, for example, on the three Shabbatot preceding Tisha B'Av, we read for the haftara prophecies forewarning the Temple's destruction. On the seven Shabbatot following Tisha B'Av, we read prophecies of comfort and promise for a brighter future. These ten haftarot do not necessarily share any common theme with their respective parashot; they were selected based on season, not due to a connection with the parasha.

Now on the festivals, generally, this distinction is irrelevant. After all, on the Yamim Tovim, the Torah reading itself is not part of the standard system of weekly readings; rather, we read from the Torah a section dealing with the given festival or the festivals in general. The haftarot, therefore, will naturally correspond to both that day's Torah reading as well as the season. In this sense, Simchat Torah is unique. Unlike all other festivals, on Simchat Torah we read Parashat Vezot Haberakha - a section which, seemingly, is simply part of the Torah reading cycle, rather than something thematically associated with the Yom Tov. The haftara, then, could, theoretically, either correspond to the Torah reading, or relate to the festival, to Simchat Torah.

Herein, claims the Meshekh Chokhma, lies the fundamental difference between the haftara mentioned by the Gemara and that instituted by Rav Hai Gaon. The first chapter of Yehoshua, which Rav Hai Gaon established as the haftara, relates to Parashat Vezot Haberakha. This parasha speaks of the death of Moshe Rabbenu, and the first chapter of Yehoshua describes the aftermath of his death, specifically, Yehoshua's assumption of the mantle of leadership. The eighth chapter of Sefer Melakhim I, by contrast, relates to the theme of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Benei Yisrael's unique relationship to the Almighty. As Chazal explain (Sukka 55b), on Sukkot we pray on behalf of the nations of the world, and on Shemini Atzeret we celebrate "alone," so-to-speak, with the Almighty, exulting in our unique relationship with Him – a relationship emphasized by Shelomo in his prayer (see 8:53).

The Gemara, therefore, chose a haftara connected to the day of Simchat Torah, whereas Rav Hai Gaon selected a haftara that related to the day's Torah reading. But what accounts for this distinction? The Meshekh Chokhma explains that the basis on which we select our haftara for Simchat Torah depends on why we read Vezot Heberakha on Simchat Torah. As we mentioned, the selection of this parasha seems to have nothing to do with the day of Simchat Torah; rather, the annual Torah reading cycle was scheduled in such a way that we read the final parasha, Vezot Haberakha, on Simchat Torah. In truth, however, we might be compelled to find an association between Parashat Vezot Haberakha and Simchat Torah. For the practice in Eretz Yisrael during Talmudic times (as recorded in Megila 29b) was to complete the Torah reading only once in three years. Thus, the reading of Vezot Haberakha on Simchat Torah, which presumably occurred in Talmudic Israel every year, even when the Torah was not completed, must stem from some thematic connection between this parasha and the festival. Rav Meir Simcha suggests that Parashat Vezot Haberakha, too, speaks of Am Yisrael's uniqueness and God's having selected them from among all other peoples, specifically as manifest through Matan Torah (see Devarim 33:2-3).

It thus turns out that according to the practice of Eretz Yisrael during Talmudic times, the Torah reading was selected because of its reference to the theme of the festival. Naturally, then, the haftara should likewise be chosen on the same basis – due to its thematic connection to Simchat Torah. Rav Meir Simcha claims that the Gemara, in establishing the chapter in Sefer Melakhim as the haftara, refers to the practice of Eretz Yisrael. Therefore, it selected a haftara that related to the theme of the day – the chapter in Sefer Melakhim. After Talmudic times, however, Jewish communities everywhere adopted the system of the annual Torah reading cycle. According to this system, the reading of Vezot Haberakha on Simchat Torah is due to the annual reading schedule, rather than to the parasha's connection to Simchat Torah. Correspondingly, then, we should choose a haftara that connects not to Simchat Torah, but rather to the parasha, Parashat Vezot Haberakha. Therefore, Rav Hai Gaon instituted that we should not follow the Gemara's ruling, and we should instead read for our haftara the first chapter of Sefer Yehoshua, which closely relates to the Torah reading of Simchat Torah.

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Commenting on the second verse in Parashat Bereishit – "And the earth was unformed and void, with darkness over the surface of the deep," the Midrash Rabba writes that "darkness" in this verse refers to the Greek Empire. "'And darkness' – this refers to Greece, which darkened the eyes of Israel with their decrees." Which decree in particular warrants this association between the Greek Empire and "darkness"? The Midrash explains: "For it [the Greek Empire] would say [to the Jews]: Write for yourselves on the horn of an ox that you have nothing to do with the God of Israel!"

What did the Greeks have in mind when they commanded the Jews to make this written proclamation "on the horn of an ox"?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," explains that the Greeks here invoked the ox as a symbol of agriculture and agricultural life. The Greeks argued that the Torah and its laws allow no room for a normal existence, for tilling the land and producing food. After all, they argued, the Torah imposes so many restrictions on daily living that it is simply incompatible with worldly occupation. The Greeks therefore had the Jews write on the horn of an ox that they choose a worldly lifestyle over a Torah lifestyle. They ordered the Jews to acknowledge the Torah's incompatibility with normal life, the impossibility of engaging in worldly pursuits while remaining loyal to the demanding laws of the Torah.

In actuality, of course, nothing can be further from the truth. The Torah seeks not to deny its adherents a life of worldly occupation, but rather to enhance it, to elevate it to a higher plane. The mitzvot place mundane life within a spiritual framework, where even the most basic, seemingly simple action can take on a powerfully spiritual quality.

Rav Ginsburg adds that this may explain the famous Midrashic passage towards the beginning of Bereishit Rabba, "The Almighty would look in the Torah and create the world." Meaning, the Torah was not introduced into the world after creation; rather, the world was created based on the blueprint of the Torah. What exactly does this mean? Rav Ginsburg suggests that this Midrash be read as a response to the aforementioned argof the Greeks against Judaism, their claim of the Torah's incompatibility with mundane life. The Midrash here teaches us that contrary to what we might have thought, the mundane world came into existence on the basis of Torah. Not only is Torah not incompatible with mundane life, but from the very outset the physical world was created to accommodate the Torah. We thus can never claim that the Torah has nothing to say or becomes irrelevant in given situations. For in truth, the Torah preceded the universe, which was created solely for the purpose of the Torah's observance.

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The Midrash in Bereishit Rabba (3:7; 9:2) cites the comment of Rabbi Avahu that the Almighty created numerous universes prior to the creation of the world we know. Each time He created a universe, He destroyed it. The Midrash explains that Rabbi Avahu extracted this theory from the verse in Parashat Bereishit (1:31), which tells that after creation, "God saw all that He made, and behold, it was very good." The world "ve-hinei" ("and behold") suggests a novelty of some sort, that this creation, as opposed to God's previous "attempts," was "very good."

Needless to say, this claim requires explanation. Did Rabbu Avahu really think that God was unsuccessful in His earlier attempts to create a world? Is it possible for us to believe that God could not get it right the first time, or the second, third, fourth and so on, until He finally figured out how to make a universe?

Rav Soloveitchik zt"l is cited as offering a simple explanation for this Midrash. A famous concept in Judaism teaches that to whatever extent possible, we must follow God's lead and imitate His conduct. The Torah and Chazal depict for us God's "conduct" in anthropomorphic terms so that we can behave in our lives in a manner similar to His behavior. In his famous essay, "The Lonely Man of Faith," Rav Soloveitchik develops the idea that this obligation to imitate God extends to God's capacity to create, as well. We are to build, create and produce in the world, just as the Almighty Himself built and created and produced the universe. The Rav claimed that this is what is meant by the concept of "tzelem Elokim," that man is created in the "image of God" (see Bereishit 1:26-27). Man resembles God in that he, too, is endowed with this creative power. The obligation to follow God's lead thus includes the responsibility to build and develop.

This would then explain why, as the Midrash records, God built and destroyed several worlds before creating the world we know. Since we are to follow His example of building, God taught us a critical lesson about the art of building: sometimes, we make mistakes and must start again. Well before the universe was created, God saw to it that mankind would not become discouraged after failure. It goes without saying that God could have "gotten it right" the first time around. But He wished for us to learn that in the process of building and growing, we will often encounter setbacks that mustn't deter us from pursuing our goals. As we go through life, we will all make mistakes – some bigger and more consequential than others. When we commit these mistakes, we must have the courage to "destroy the worlds," to change course and start anew, to try again, to continue building. This is the message of the universes that were created and destroyed, of the worlds that God created to show us the importance of moving forward even after suffering a setback.

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The end of Parashat Bereishit tells of the spiritual deterioration of mankind, to the point where the Almighty decides to destroy the earth, sparing only Noach and his family. (This story continues, of course, in next week's parasha, Parashat Noach.) The Chumash tells us, "The Lord regretted that He had made man on earth" (6:5). Many commentators note the obvious philosophical difficulty in this statement. How can God do something that He later regrets? The human being, with his inability to foresee the future, can act mistakenly, in a way that he does not realize will turn out to be the wrong decision. But how can we attribute such limitation to God? Many writers add that a verse later in the Torah explicitly denies the possibility that God will do something and then feel remorseful: "God is not man to be capricious, or mortal to change His mind" (Bamidbar 23:19; see also Shemuel I 15:29).

Ibn Ezra easily resolves this difficulty by claiming that God did not, in fact, change His mind. Rather, "The Torah spoke the language of human beings, by which one who destroys what he had made appears to have regretted [the initial creation]." God did not regret making man; He only appeared to have regretted making man by virtue of the fact that He created man and then destroyed him.

Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor tackles this problem differently, by differentiating between three forms of remorse. The first type is sheer fickleness, where an individual simply does not remain firmly devoted to his decisions. Secondly, a person may decide to act a certain way but then find himself unable, rather than unwilling, to carry out this decision. Neither of these two instances of regret, Bekhor Shor writes, can ever be ascribed to the Almighty. He will never change His mind due to His own whimsicality or because of forces beyond His control. There is, however, a third form of remorse, which even the Almighty can experience, so-to-speak. Namely, when someone decides to do something to the benefit or detriment of someone else, he might change his mind due to a sudden change on the part of the other party. A decision to help someone may be retracted if the intended beneficiary suddenly becomes hostile; conversely, a plan to punish might be annulled if the criminal shows signs of change. Similarly, God will change His plans, as it were, should man's conduct dictate such a change. As Bekhor Shor explains, God created mankind for His own honor and glory, for people to serve Him. Once the people on earth did not fulfill this obligation, He naturally decided to destroy them.

A particularly novel approach to this verse is suggested by Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his "Ha-ketav Ve-ha'kabbala." He suggests that the word "va-yinachem" in this verse, which we generally translate to mean "He regretted," should actually be read as, "va-yerachem" – "He had compassion." He cites two instances elsewhere in Tanakh where the Targum translates the verb "n.ch.m." as if it were written "r.ch.m." (Hoshea 11:8, Yona 3:9), and he applies this technique in our verse, as well. According to Rav Mecklenberg, this verse refers to God's decision to delay the flood one hundred and twenty years so as to allow mankind the opportunity to repent and improve. As Nechama Leibowitz notes, however, neither this verse nor those that follow deals with the one hundred and twenty-year reprieve. This section deals only with God's decree of destruction, and thus the interpretation suggested by the Ha-ketav Ve-ha'kabbala seems difficult to accept.

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Towards the end of Parashat Bereishit, we read that the Almighty took note of man's spiritual decline, and observed "how all the inclinations of his thoughts are only evil, all the time" (6:5). On the basis of this verse, Rabbi Yitzchak, cited in Masekhet Sukka (52a), comments, "A person's [evil] inclination is renewed against him every day." The fact that, as God observes, man's inclinations are evil "all the time" indicates that the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination, "is renewed" on a daily basis.

What does Rabbi Yitzchak mean by this statement? To which particular quality of the yetzer ha-ra does he refer?

The Bina Le-itim explains that Rabbi Yitzchak here seeks to resolve a specific anomaly regarding the workings of the evil inclination. Generally speaking, people grow disinterested in those activities in which they constantly engage. The excitement and thrill of a given experience will naturally fade as the experience comes more frequently. Yet, when it comes to sinful behavior, very often the attraction never subsides; the temptation remains even after repeated occurrences othe given misdeed. Rabbi Yitzchak thus remarks that this is indeed a unique quality of the yetzer ha-ra – it has the capacity to be "mitchadesh," or renewed. It can confront a sinner with the same appeal and draw as it had originally, even after many instances of violation.

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," explains similarly, only from a slightly different angle. A person might be led to succumb to a given temptation thinking that he will then free himself from the grip of the yetzer ha-ra from that point on. Committing a one-time violation, one might think, indulging just once, will allow him to put his mind to rest and eliminate that yetzer ha-ra forever more. Rabbi Yitzchak therefore teaches that the yetzer ha-ra is renewed on a daily basis. Yesterday's violation will have no effect on today's temptation. Man's battle against his yetzer ha-ra is a perpetual struggle, one which cannot simply be overcome by yielding to temptation "just once."

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The second chapter of Sefer Bereishit tells of the creation of woman, a story which begins with God's pronouncement, "It is not good for man to be alone" (2:18). While instinctively we all readily understand why, indeed, man should not live alone, the question must still be asked, why specifically did God determine that "it is not good for man to be alone"?

The Gemara in Masekhet Yevamot (62b) comments that a man who lives without a wife is lacking "joy, blessing and goodness." The lack of "goodness" is derived from this verse – from the fact that God declared, "It is not good for man to live alone." While it is not entirely clear, at first glance, what the Gemara means by "goodness," and how it relates to "joy" and "blessing," we might understand "goodness" to mean, quite simply, the emotional satisfaction that results from a healthy marriage. Or, "goodness" might refer to a passage one page later in the Gemara (63a), where the Gemara explains the term "eizer ke-negdo" ("a helper alongside him") to mean that a wife assists a man in that she manages the household and cares for his domestic needs. We might similarly explain that having a wife is "good" for man in that she assists him in his day-to-day living. This is indeed the approach taken by Seforno in his commentary to this verse.

Rashi, however, adopts an entirely different interpretation: "So that people do not say that there are two deities: the Almighty is singular in the upper world and has no partner, and this one [man] is singular in the lower world, and has no partner." According to Rashi, the "goodness" which could not be achieved without the creation of man's mate involves the theological repercussions of the existence of only a single human being in the world. Man was created from earth, like the rest of the creatures in the world, but was infused as well with the "image of God," with a divine soul. His job is to unite heaven and earth, to become the meeting point between the mundane world below and the divine, spiritual realm above. If man would not have a mate and reproduce like other creatures, this balance would be disrupted; he would be too close to God, rather than standing at the midway point between God and animal.

While we can understand what Rashi says in explaining this verse, it seems difficult, at first glance, to understand why he resorted to this explanation. It is generally assumed that Rashi prefers the simple, straightforward reading of Biblical text and resorts to Midrashic interpretation only when he felt compelled to do so by some difficulty in the text. Why, then, did Rashi here eschew the Talmud's approach, that a woman is "good" for a man in the simplest and most obvious sense? What compelled Rashi to view the "goodness" mentioned in the verse as a reference to the theological necessity of an equal to man?

Professor Nechama Leibowitz explains that Rashi was troubled by the phraseology of this verse. God did not say, "Lo tov le-adam lihyot levado" - "It is not good for man to be alone," which would imply that God was concerned for Adam's own well being. Instead, He proclaimed, "Lo tov heyot ha-adam levado" - "It is not good for man to be alone," or, perhaps more precisely, "Man's being alone is not good." God here establishes the objective necessity for man's mate, a necessity that relates not to man's own interests, but rather to the needs of the entire universe. The very nature of the world, the purpose for which God created it, necessitated that a balance be maintained between man's worldliness and Godliness, a balance that would be disrupted should there exist only a single human being on earth.

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Parashat Bereishit tells of the process of creation, which culminated in the creation of man. The Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (54a) tells that although the entire world was completed after six days of creation, God had not created any fire during those six days. Instead, on the first Motza'ei Shabbat, God endowed Adam with the knowledge to take two stones together to create a flame. In commemoration of this momentous event, we recite a berakha over a flame every Motza'ei Shabbat, a flame that has since become known as the "havdala candle." The Sefer Charedim writes that this berakha constitutes a Torah obligation, but it is generally assumed that this berakha, like most other berakhot, is obligated by force of rabbinic enactment, rather than Torah law.

One basic question arises as to the fundamental nature of this berakha. Generally, berakhot belong to one of three categories: birkot ha-mitzva – berakhot recited over the performance of a mitzva; birkot shevach – berakhot expressing praise to the Almighty for certain phenomena; and birkot ha-nehenin – berakhot recited before deriving some form of physical benefit from the world. The berakha recited over fire on Motza'ei Shabbat clearly does not classify as a birkat ha-mitzva, but it is unclear into which of the final two categories it belongs. On the one hand, we might consider it a birkat shevach, a berakha praising God for the great wonder of fire, just as we have berakhot praising God for other natural phenomena – rainbows, thunder, lightening, etc. Alternatively, we might view this berakha as parallel to the berakhot recited over food and the like; before deriving benefit from fire, we must first recite a berakha, just as we must recite a berakha before partaking of food.

Seemingly, one could draw proof to this berakha's classification as a birkat shevach from the simple fact that we recite it only once a week. Birkot ha-nehenin must be recited at every instance of the given benefit; i.e. one recites "borei minei mezonot" every time he partakes of a food product made from grain. The berakha over the havdala candle, however, is recited only once weekly, on Motza'ei Shabbat, and need not be recited whenever we derive benefit from fire during the rest of the week. It thus follows, at first glance, that we have no choice but to consider this berakha a birkat shevach, rather than birkat ha-nehenin. Seemingly, through the recitation of this berakha on Motza'ei Shabbat we praise God for creating fire, which was first produced on Motza'ei Shabbat.

A response to this argument, however, is given by (among others) the Sefer Ha-mikhtam (a commentary from the time of the Rishonim) to Masekhet Pesachim. He claims that in truth, the berakha over the havdala candle is to be viewed as a birkat ha-nehenin. But the berakha recited on Motza'ei Shabbat covers all benefit one will derive from fire until the next period at which he is denied the ability to fully benefit from fire – meaning, Shabbat, when cooking is forbidden. The period of Shabbat, which forbids benefiting from fire for purposes of cooking, disrupts the application of the previous Motza'ei Shabbat's berakha to subsequent benefit from fire. One must therefore recite a new berakha on Motza'ei Shabbat.

In fact, the Sefer Ha-mikhtam brings proof against the possibility of considering this berakha a birkat shevach from the requirement to recite this berakha on Motza'ei Yom Kippur. If the berakha over fire were simply an expression of pto the Almighty for the creation of fire, then we should recite it only on Motza'ei Shabbat, when, as mentioned earlier, fire was first produced. We should have no reason to recite this berakha on Motza'ei Yom Kippur. This would indicate, the Sefer Ha-mikhtam argues, that this berakha in fact constitutes a birkat ha-nehenin, rather than a birkat shevach.

Tomorrow we will iy"H consider several practical ramifications of this issue.

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Yesterday, we discussed the obligation to recite a berakha over a flame every Motza'ei Shabbat in commemoration of the first fire ever produced – when God showed Adam how to make fire on the first Motza'ei Shabbat after creation. We saw two possible approaches as to the fundamental nature of this berakha. It classifies either as a "birkat shevach," a berakha expressing praise to the Almighty over this wondrous natural phenomenon, or as a "birkat ha-nehenin," a berakha required before deriving some physical benefit, in this case, from fire.

This question will yield several halakhic ramifications. The Sefer Ha-mikhtam, who, as we saw yesterday, maintains that this berakha falls under the category of birkot ha-nehenin, rules that if someone, for whatever reason, did not recite this berakha on Motza'ei Shabbat, he must still recite it when he has the opportunity to do so, even later in the week. If we would consider the berakha over fire a birkat shevach, which we recite to commemorate the first production of fire on Motza'ei Shabbat, then we would likely restrict the berakha's recitation to Motza'ei Shabbat, in opposition to the Sefer Ha-mikhtam's ruling.

A more common issue that may hinge on this question is the proper procedure for the recitation of this berakha. Many authorities, including the Peri Megadim, Mishna Berura and others, maintain that one should first put his fingernails near the fire and look at them, and only thereafter recite the berakha. The "Likutei Maharich" claims that this is the position of many Ashkenazic Rishonim, such as the Shibalei Ha-leket, Kolbo, Machzor Vitri and Or Zarua. This position is predicated on the theory that this berakha constitutes a birkat shevach. Therefore, we first experience the phenomenon – in this case, the flame – and only then recite the berakha. By contrast, the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh (96:9) observes the common practice to first recite the berakha and only then look at one's fingernails by the light of the fire. This is indeed the view of Rav Yaakov Emden, in his siddur, as well as the Kaf Ha-chayim. This seems to reflect the position of the Sefer Ha-mikhtam, viewing this berakha as a birkat ha-nehenin. Just as one must recite the berakha before he bites into his food, so must one first recite the birkat ha-ner before deriving benefit from the candlelight. (We should note that the practice of the Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein shlit"a, is to satisfy both views, and look at his fingernails both before and after the recitation of the berakha.)

This question as to the nature of birkat ha-ner may also impact upon the issue of its recitation by a blind person. The Mordekhai in Masekhet Megila (799) cites Rabbenu Yehuda Ben Kalonimus as expressing uncertainty over whether or not a blind person recites birkat ha-ner. The Mordekhai then cites the "Avi Ha-ezri" as concluding that a blind person should not recite this berakha, since he cannot derive benefit from the fire. This position is adopted by the Tur and Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 298:13). Seemingly, one who allows a blind person to recite this berakha considers this berakha a birkat shevach, an expression of praise over the phenomenon of fire, rather than a berakha over the benefit derived from fire. (The Shemirat Shabbat Ke-hilkhata 61:21 rules that although a blind man does not recite this berakha and therefore cannot recite it on behalf of another, he can recite it on behalf of minors who have reached the age of chinukh and are thus obligated to hear havdala.)

(Today's and yesterday's divrei Torah were based mainly on Rav Shemuel Eliezer Stern's "Shevivei Eish" on Parashat Bereishit.)

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