The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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by Rav David Silverberg

Many years after Parashat Vayera, Benei Yisrael constructed a mishkan (Tabernacle) in the wilderness. One specific feature of this edifice was the "bri'ach hatikhon" - the central beam that ran across the entire structure, from one end to the other. Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel (Shemot 36:33) writes that Benei Yisrael made this central beam from the tree that Avraham Avinu planted in Be'er Sheva, where he "called out in the Name of God." Targum Yonatan undoubtedly referred to the mysterious "eshel" spoke of in Parashat Vayera (Bereishit 21:33): "He planted an 'eshel' in Be'er Sheva, and he called there in the Name of God, the Lord of the universe." Rashi cites a dispute from the Midrash whether "eshel" means an orchard from which he fed guests fruits or a motel to offer hospitality to wayfarers; Targum Yonatan seems to understand the word to mean a single tree.

In any event, the question of course arises, wherein lies the relationship between the tree planted by Avraham in Be'er Sheva and the mishkan in the wilderness? Why is it significant that they specifically used wood from this tree to fashion the central beam?

The answer would seem to lie in Rashi's comments to the second half of the aforementioned verse: "He called there in the Name of God." Rashi explains that through his hospitality, Avraham glorified the Name of God. He would take advantage of the opportunity afforded by the arrival of guests to spread the truth of monotheism. He would explain to his visitors that the single God takes the credit for the delicacies they enjoyed in Avraham's tent, thus prompting them to thank and acknowledge the source of all blessing in the universe.

The connection between the "eshel" and the mishkan, then, may relate to the universal aspect of the Temple. In his famous prayer at the dedication ceremony of the Bet Hamikdash, King Shelomo (Melakhim I 8:41-43) speaks of the gentiles coming to the Temple to worship the Almighty. Likewise, the prophets Yeshayahu (2:1-3) and Mikha (4:1-2) foretell of the many nations who will descend upon the Temple in Jerusalem to study the word of God. Although in one sense God's representative presence among Benei Yisrael marked an intense personal relationship between Him and His people, ultimately the concept of a "mikdash" means universalizing the awareness of God, the dissemination of the moral and ethical standards that Benei Yisrael have taken upon themselves to represent.

This function constitutes the "central beam" that holds the mishkan together. The different accessories in the Temple symbolize different aspects of religious service. But the single theme that runs throughout the ideal of the Mikdash is Avraham Avinu's "eshel," his successful campaign to teach the world the ways of God.

Not always will people gladly enter Benei Yisrael's "eshel." Avraham Avinu was a wealthy, prominent and influential personality in Eretz Canaan; the same could be said many years later about King Shelomo. Commoners and dignitaries alike naturally visited their houses of worship and came under their sphere influence. Unfortunately, however, throughout our exile and most notably during recent weeks, the world looks to criticize the Jewish people rather than learn therefrom. Am Yisrael has often earned the scorn and contempt of the surrounding nations, rather than their respect. The question of whom to blame is of far less importance than the reinforcement of our commitment to this "central beam" of our spiritual mission. At such times we must galvanize our efforts to ensure that our communities more firmly ground themselves on the ideals of "tzedaka u'mishpat," such that we can properly represent God's wisdom to all mankind.

The Gemara in Masekhet Nidda (69b) relates that the people of Alexandria posed twelve questions to Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Chanania, including several "foolish" questions. Among them, records the Gemara on the next page (70b), was an issue related to Parashat Vayera. This parasha tells of the destruction of the city of Sedom, which featured the bizarre incident of Lot's wife. The angel who came to save Lot and his family from the destruction gave them strict orders not to turn around and watch as they flee. Lot's wife ignored the command, turned around, and suddenly transformed into a pillar of salt (19:26). [See the commentary of Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor, who offers a surprising interpretation of the verse.] The people of Alexandria asked Rabbi Yehoshua whether or not physical contact with this pillar of salt renders one ritually impure, just as contact with a dead body does. Rabbi Yehoshua responded with what the Gemara considered the offensively obvious answer: "A dead body transmits ritual impurity, but a pillar of salt does not transmit ritual impurity."

Rav Moshe Feinstein (Iggerot Moshe, Y.D. vol. 1, 230), however, wonders why the Gemara felt the answer to be so obvious. After all, Rabbi Eliezer maintains that a certain measurement of ashes from a cremated body does, in fact, transmit ritual impurity. Why should the salt of Lot's wife be any different than these ashes? And although the halakha does not follow this opinion of Rabbi Eliezer (see Masekhet Ohalot 2:2), why does the Gemara ridicule the questioners for inquiring as to whom the halakha follows? Additionally, claims Rav Moshe, all authorities agree that if a body that had been burnt still retains the form of a human body, it can transmit ritual impurity (Nidda 28). Perhaps, then, the people of Alexandria wondered whether or not the pillar of salt retained the form and shape of Lot's wife! Why, then, did the Gemara consider their question foolish?

Rav Moshe concludes that the Gemara must have assumed that Lot's wife never died. Meaning, she turned from a human being into a pillar of salt without the occurrence of death. Therefore, the Gemara could not take this question seriously. This pillar of salt had no trace of human life or of ever having possessed human life; it was a purely inanimate object. There is thus no reason in the world why it should transmit impurity. One cannot compare Lot's wife to a cremated body, in which case the individual died and his remains then turned into ashes. Since death occurred, ritual impurity is possible. Lot's wife, by contrast, never died; she at once became an inanimate object, which does not generate ritual impurity.

Sedom, the city that meets its destruction in Parashat Vayera, has earned its place in religious Jewish history as the paradigm of social injustice (see, for example, Yeshayahu 1:10), its destruction the quintessential example of mass annihilation (see Devarim 29:22). The story of Sedom is one of the clearest instances in Chumash of direct retribution for collective sin, of a wicked society that receives its due punishment in full measure.

We must therefore try to understand one view in the mishna in Masekhet Avot 5:10: "One who says, 'What's mine is mine and what's your is yours' - this is the average attitude. Some say, this is the attitude of Sedom." What's so terrible about someone keeping what rightfully belongs to him and refusing to take that which belongs to others? Granted, we must aspire to a higher level of sensitivity towards the needs of others and seek to nurture our attribute of "chesed." But why does such an approach deserve the very derogatory association with Sedom?

One answer suggested explains that the mishna refers to an attitude that sets the ideal at the level of "what's mine is mine and what's yours is yours." This axiom became the governing social philosophy in Sedom. When this ideology marks the level beyond which no one aspires, the result is Sedom. As the Midrash relates, the city's constitution banned hospitality, as inferred from the Chumash itself. When a society's ideals negate at their core the value of assisting others and lending a hand to the need, an ethical vacuum emerges. One who has yet to inculcate Avraham's Avinu's message of kindness and selflessness has not necessarily rendered himself worthy of association with Sedom. However, once an individual or society sets their goals no further than avoiding taking from others, they have embarked on a dangerous journey on the road to Sedom.

Parashat Vayera opens with God's appearance to Avraham. Strangely, no conversation takes place between the two, at least none that the Torah records. Chazal explain that God came to fulfill the mitzva of "bikkur cholim" - visiting the sick, as Avraham, a man of ninety-nine years of age, was in the process of recovering from his circumcision. The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (14a) bids us to follow the Almighty's lead: "Just as the Almighty visits the sick, so must you visit the sick."

The invention of the telephone a century or so ago raises the possibility of a convenient way to fulfill the mitzva. Rather than actually leaving one's house to visit an ill patient, perhaps one can simply pick up the phone and give his sick friend a call. Can one fulfill the mitzva of visiting the sick by making a phone call? (The same question may apply to letters and e-mails, as well.)

Rav Moshe Feinstein (Iggerot Moshe Y.D. vol. 1, 123) answers that although one can fulfill one aspect of this mitzva by phone, personal visitation is necessary for the complete fulfillment of the obligation. He explains that the obligation of visiting the sick entails three different elements: to encourage the patient, to pray on his behalf, and to offer basic assistance. Rav Moshe argues that the final two components require a personal visit. In terms of praying on behalf of the patient, Rav Moshe suggests that personal visitation is indispensable for two reasons. First, a visual encounter will arouse the visitor's compassion and prompt him to pray with more emotion and vigor. Secondly, whereas Chazal teach us that the Shekhina resides at the bed of an ill patient, prayers are more beneficial at his bedside. Regarding the second element, the obligation of assisting the patient in practical matters generally requires personal attendance. Even the first component of the mitzva, the encouragement afforded to the patient through the visit of a caring friend, can be achieved in full only through a personal visit. Rav Moshe claims that this obligation may be fulfilled only partially through the telephone; a personal visit means much more to a sick patient then a mere phone call.

Parashat Vayera includes Avraham's valiant effort to annul the divine decree of annihilation against the wicked city of Sedom. The Torah describes Avraham's intervention with the word, "vayigash," literally, "he approached" (18:23). Rashi there notes the various connotations of this word. One usage of the word appears in the parasha that opens with, and derives its name from, this word - Parashat Vayigash. There, as Rashi observes, "vayigash" implies an attempt at appeasement, as it depicts Yehuda's attempt to save Binyamin from Egyptian captivity. Interestingly, however, in his commentary to that portion in Parashat Vayigash, Rashi describes Yehuda as fiercely threatening the Egyptian viceroy; the "appeasement" in this instance took the form of bitter confrontation. This image relates, appropriately enough, to a second usage of the word, in Shemuel II 10, where the word refers to warfare. This apparent association of the term "vayigash" with aggressiveness calls upon us to take a closer look at its usage in our context. How may we uphold this understanding of the word in the context of Avraham's appeal on behalf of Sedom? Additionally, Rashi notes yet a third meaning of "vayigash": prayer. Rashi concludes that Avraham here engages in all three definitions of the word "vayigash": appeasement, war, and prayer. How does this word accommodate both "prayer" and an aggressive, militant operation?

One explanation given focuses upon the delicate balance Avraham must find in his effort to spare Sedom. On the one hand, he works now as their defender, trying to find some basis for an acquittal, or at least a pardon. On the other hand, as the leading champion of the ideals of loving kindness and compassion, he can only look upon the corrupt society of Sedom with utter contempt and disdain. The values of Sedom directly oppose Avraham's entire campaign in Canaan, which sought to steer the population in the direction of proper conduct among people. As he attempts to invoke divine mercy on behalf of the sinners, Avraham does two things: he sincerely begs for a pardon, seeking a presence of righteous residents in the city on whose account God may spare the city, and, secondly, he "wages war" against the corrupt society. In other words, even as Avraham pleads on Sedom's behalf, he retains his relentless commitment to fight against everything the city represents. His petition to God did not undermine for a moment Avraham's fierce campaign to destroy the culture that Sedom had introduced and come to embody.

This explanation may help us find the proper approach towards those who seek to undermine Torah values. Like Avraham, we must genuinely concern ourselves with their welfare and pray on their behalf. However, this benevolent attitude towards the perpetrators of evil must never translate into benevolence towards evil itself. Although we must extend good-will towards our ideological opponents, we must also continue to fight on behalf of the ideology they seek to destroy.

Earlier this week we mentioned Chazal's explanation of God's appearance to Avraham in the beginning of Parashat Vayera, that He came to visit Avraham who was still recovering from his circumcision (Sota 14a). Today we will focus on an interesting halakhic issue regarding visiting the sick.

The Gemara in Shabbat (12a) cites a dispute between Bet Hillel and Bet Shamai as to whether or not one may visit the sick on Shabbat. Bet Shamai forbids such a visit since it will cause the visitor distress, which is not allowed on Shabbat (Rashi). Bet Hillel argues. Given our general tendency to follow the rulings of Bet Hillel when disputed by Bet Shammai, it would appear that no room for stringency exists in this regard. However, the Gemara on the very next page (12b) cites an intriguing comment of Rabbi Chanina: "With great difficulty they [Chazal] allowed consoling the mourners and visiting the sick on Shabbat." According to Rabbi Chanina, Chazal look down upon visiting the sick (and consoling mourners, though this is not our topic for now) on Shabbat, and they allowed it only in response to extenuating considerations. If so, then one should preferably not visit the sick on Shabbat.

The question arises, however, does Rabbi Chanina state this view independently, or does he intend to clarify the lenient position of Bet Hillel? In other words, does Rabbi Chanina come to present a third view, different from both Bet Shamai - who forbade Shabbat visitations altogether - and Bet Hillel - who allowed visiting the sick without reservation, or does he argue that even the lenient position of Bet Hillel prefers refraining from visiting patients on Shabbat?

This question is critical for our arrival at a final ruling. If Rabbi Chanina represents a third opinion, we would presumably rule in accordance with Bet Hillel, and thus allow without hesitation visiting the sick on Shabbat. If, however, Rabbi Chanina clarifies Bet Hillel's otherwise ambiguous view, then we, who follow Bet Hillel, would prefer that people not visit the sick on Shabbat.

The Magen Avraham (O.C. 287) adopts Rabbi Chanina's halakha as normative. He therefore rules that people should not specifically plan to visit an ill patient on Shabbat; they may pay such a visit only if they could not do so during the week.

Rav Eliezer Waldenberg (Shut Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 13, 36) disagrees. He observes that both the Rambam (Hilkhot Shabbat 24:5) and the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 287) rule unconditionally that one may visit the sick on Shabbat. He also notes that the Levush allows visiting the sick on Shabbat without hesitat, arguing that the mitzva of performing kindness overrides the prohibition of experiencing distress on Shabbat. Accordingly, rules Rav Waldenberg, under all circumstances one may visit a sick patient on Shabbat.

Before destroying Sedom, God "consults," as it were, with Avraham. The Torah lets us in on God's "thought process" when deciding to divulge this information to Avraham: "For I know him, that he will instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of God by doing what is just and right…" (18:19). Rashi explains the expression "yedativ" ("I know him") in this context as affection. Meaning, God professes His special love for Avraham specifically on account of his commitment to teaching the ways of God to his offspring.

One explanation for this basis of God's love for Avraham likens his instruction to his children to that of a skilled worker. A practitioner who works only for his wages will not necessarily encourage his children to pursue the same occupation. He will rather advise them to seek other professions that make a better profit for less work. One who truly loves what he does and views it as bearing paramount significance will strongly urge his children to follow his example is career selection.

God's love for Avraham thus resulted from Avraham's love for God, as reflected by his commitment to disseminating the ideals of Godliness throughout the world. As the Chatam Sofer notes, others before Avraham - most notably, Chanokh - had also achieved exalted spiritual heights. However, true devotion to the word of God entails more; it results in a relentless effort to share it with others, to teach, assist, guide, and inspire. Avraham was chosen to father God's nation, then, because he possessed the spark necessary to ignite the eternal transmission of the "mesora" (tradition). Only one with such an inflamed devotion to the way of God can implant these ideals within the hearts of his progeny.

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