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Pesach continued – Sefirat HaOmer

by Rav David Silverberg

            Yesterday, we discussed the halakha mentioned in the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 489:1) that we perform sefirat ha-omer specifically after arvit, and not earlier.  Despite Rav Yaakov Emden's implication to the contrary, it appears that this sequence is a natural result of the famous halakhic principle known as "tadir ve-she'eino tadir, tadir kodem" – more frequent mitzvot precede less frequent mitzvot.  We therefore first recite the daily arvit service, before performing the far less regular mitzva of sefirat ha-omer.

            Rav Moshe Feinstein, in the teshuva cited yesterday, applies this principle to the very common case of a daily arvit minyan that meets later at night.  Many communities hold an arvit service around the time of nightfall, and then a later minyan at around 9:00 or 10:00 PM.  Now Halakha forbids conducting a meal after nightfall until he recites arvit, just as one may not eat a meal at night before performing other mitzvot required that night – such as Chanukah candles, kiddush, bedikat chametz and sefirat ha-omer.  However, many people who attend late arvit minyanim on a regular basis rely on the position permitting one to eat before arvit if he has a regular minyan that he attends.  Since arvit has become part of the person's nightly routine, we are not concerned that over the course of his meal he will forget to recite arvit.  During the omer period, the question arises as to whether such a person is permitted to eat before sefirat ha-omer.  Perhaps he should first count the omer privately, before eating?  After all, sefirat ha-omer does not require a minyan; why, then, should he delay sefira until his late arvit service?

            This question was posed to Rav Moshe by his illustrious disciple, Rav Efrayim Greenblatt (of Memphis, Tennessee).  Rav Moshe rules that such a person should not perform sefirat ha-omer earlier in the night, before his minyan, and he may eat before arvit as usual.  The rule of "tadir ve-she'eino tadir" requires him to count the omer only after he recites arvit, and thus once Halakha permits him to delay arvit until later, he may delay sefirat ha-omer to that point, as well.

            Rav Shemuel Wosner (Shevet Ha-levi 6:53) agrees with Rav Moshe's ruling, but not with his reasoning.  According to Rav Wosner, the rule of "tadir" would not apply to such an individual, who participates in a regular arvit service later at night.  The principle of "tadir" means that when a person currently has two mitzvot to fulfill, the more frequent mitzva should precede the less frequent one.  But if a person routinely recites arvit with a late minyan, then his obligation of arvit does not really present itself until the time of his regular minyan arrives.  Therefore, once night falls, the obligation of sefirat ha-omer immediately sets in, whereas the obligation of arvit does not.  Consequently, were it only for the consideration of "tadir ve-she'eino tadir," we would instruct the individual to count the omer privately at nightfall and participate in his regular minyan later.

            For a different reason, however, Rav Wosner concurs with Rav Moshe's view, that the person should delay sefirat ha-omer to his late arvit minyan.  Quite simply, sefirat ha-omer is something that people very often forget.  If we begin instructing people to count privately, they might get into the habit of not counting with the minyan, and situations may arise where they will forget.

            A third consideration, mentioned in the work "Piskei Teshuvot," is that, as we noted several days ago, the Shela writes that one should endeavor to count the omer together with a minyan, as a show of honor to the mitzva.  This, too, would warrant delaying the sefira until the late arvit minyan, rather than counting privately at home.

David Silverberg

*****

            Although the Torah never specifies the particular nature of the Yom Tov of the seventh day of Pesach, Chazal tell us that this day celebrates the miracle of keri'at Yam Suf - the splitting of the sea, which occurred on this day.  Accordingly, on this Yom Tov we read for our Torah reading the story of keri'at Yam Suf in Parashat Beshalach, including the shirat ha-yam – the song of praise sung by Benei Yisrael upon seeing their enemies drowned.

            An interesting debate exists among the classic commentators as to where precisely the shirat ha-yam ends.  Ibn Ezra claims that the final verse of the shira is Shemot 15:19: "For the horses of Pharaoh, with his chariots and horsemen, went into the sea; and the Lord turned back on them the waters of the sea; but the Israelites marched on dry ground in the midst of the sea."  Ibn Ezra explains (referring to his earlier comments, to 14:29) that Benei Yisrael here praise God for a particular aspect of the miracle.  While the winds blew in one direction to split the waters for Benei Yisrael, winds blew in the opposite direction where the Egyptians fled to topple the walls of water and drown them.  In any event, according to Ibn Ezra, this verse was sung by Benei Yisrael as part of the shirat ha-yam.

            The Ramban cites this interpretation of Ibn Ezra and disagrees, arguing that in this verse we return to the Torah's narrative.  The Torah explains that Benei Yisrael sung this song of praise to the Almighty at this point because "the horses of Pharaoh… went into the sea… but the Israelites… "  This verse was spoken by the Torah, and not by Benei Yisrael.

            The author of the Peri Megadim, in his work "Ginat Veradim" (O.C. 2:7), claims that the Ramban is a lone voice in this regard.  All other authorities, he claims, follow Ibn Ezra's view that this verse constitutes part of the shira.  However, Rav Tzvi Hersh of Berlin (a grandson of the Chakham Tzvi), in his notes to Masekhet Gittin (printed in the back of the standard editions of the Talmud), notes that this is simply not the case.  First, he demonstrates that the Ramban's interpretation was followed already by Rashi and Tosefot.  The Gemara in Maskehet Gittin (90a) delineates the four different meanings for which the Hebrew word "ki" is used in Tanakh.  The most common, perhaps, is "because."  Rashi, in his commentary there in Masekhet Gittin, cites several examples of this usage, including the opening word of our verse: "ki va sus Pharaoh" – "For [or, 'because'] the horses of Pharaoh… "  Clearly, Rashi interpreted this verse as giving the reason for the shira.  Ibn Ezra, who maintains that this verse is part of the shira, could not interpret the word "ki" to mean "because," for this verse does not explain the reason for the preceding verse – "The Lord shall reign forever."  Necessarily, then, Rashi follows the approach of the Ramban.  And it is clear from Tosefot's comments to that Gemara that they accept Rashi's reading of the verse, as well, and thus they, too, side with the Ramban, and not with Ibn Ezra.

            Rav Tzvi Hersh cites other sources, as well, that clearly follow the Ramban's reading.  Rabbenu Bechayei, in his commentary to Parashat Beshalach, discusses the significance of the fact that the shira consists of eighteen verses.  A quick glance at the shira reveals that "The Lord shall reign forever" is the eighteenth verse of the shira, and thus Rabbenu Bechayei clearly viewed it as the final verse, in accordance with the Ramban's view.  (In truth, Rabbenu Bechayei was a disciple of the Ramban, so his agreement with the Ramban does not necessarily disprove the Ginat Veradim's claim that the Ramban is a lone voice, for this does preclude the possibility of the Ramban's students accepting his approach.)  In addition, the Avudraham (one of the Rishonim who authored a very important work on the siddur) claimed that when we recite shirat ha-yam during Pesukei De-zimra, we repeat the verse "Hashem yimlokh" ("The Lord will reign… ") in order to demonstrate that the shira ends at this point.  Quite clearly, the Ramban is not alone in his view, that the shirat ha-yam ends with the verse, "Hashem yimlokh… "

            Nevertheless, Rav Tzvi Hersh concludes his discussion by conceding that halakha follows the view of Ibn Ezra.  One might wonder what halakha would have anything to do with a controversy surrounding the meaning of a Biblical verse.  In truth, however, this debate has important halakhic ramifications concerning the proper way of writing these verses in a Sefer Torah.  Biblical poetry – shira – is written in the Torah scroll in a specific arrangement.  The status of the nineteenth verse of this chapter, which Ibn Ezra and Ramban debate, will determine whether this verse should also be written in the special poetic form.  Rav Tzvi Hersh of Berlin observes that both Masekhet Sofrim (12:11) and the Rambam (Hilkhot Sefer Torah 8) include the verse in question as part of the shira in presenting the proper form for writing the shirat ha-yam in the Torah scroll.  Apparently, then, halakha follows Ibn Ezra's position, viewing this verse as part of the shira itself.

David Silverberg

*****

            On the seventh day of Pesach, as we discussed yesterday, we celebrate the miracle of keri'at Yam Suf – the splitting of the sea, and we read from the Torah the narrative of this event as well as the shirat ha-yam – the song of praise sung by Benei Yisrael at that moment.  Towards the beginning of the shira, Benei Yisrael declare, "Hashem ish milchama" – "The Lord is the master over war."  According to several commentators, this means that God controls warfare; He, and only He, determines the outcome of war.  Victory or defeat depends not on weaponry or strategy, but rather on divine assistance.

            Rav Moshe Feinstein, in a passage cited in "Kol Ram," develops this basic theme further.  A famous Midrash describes the arrogance of Bar-Kokhba, the mighty, daring Jewish general who led an unsuccessful revolt against the Roman occupation a number of decades after the second Temple's destruction.  Bar-Kokhba turned to the Almighty and said, "Do not assist the Romans, and do not assist us."  In other words, Bar-Kokhba asked God not to interfere.  The Jewish rebels could manage by themselves, without His help, and need only that He withhold His assistance from the Roman legions, as well.  God punished Bar-Kokhba for his self-confidence: the rebellion was brutally crushed, and Bar-Kokhba was killed.

            But why did Bar-Kokhba deserve punishment for asking God to withhold His assistance?  After all, the world progresses according to natural law unless God interferes, so-to-speak.  If Bar-Kokhba indeed felt that he and his army possessed the military strength to overpower the Roman occupiers, then why was it wrong for him to ask the Almighty to "stay out of it"?  Wasn't he correct, that once God withholds His assistance from the enemy that the Jews would emerge victorious?  Why was this considered such a grave, even heretical misconception on Bar-Kokhba's part?

            Rav Moshe explains that the answer lies in this verse from shirat ha-yam: "The Lord is the master over war."  When it comes to warfare, Rav Moshe claims, there is no such thing as "nature," as "natural events."  There is nothing natural about warfare or its outcome.  It depends solely on God's intervention.  Never did mankind see this as clearly as it did on the seventh day of Pesach, a week after Yetziat Mitzrayim, when a powerful army pursued a nation of defenseless slaves (albeit armed – see Rashi, Shemot 13:18), but the slaves escaped through the split sea.  This demonstrated most clearly the fact that "Hashem ish milchama" – when it comes to warring nations, the outcome is determined only by the Almighty.

            The verse continues, "Hashem shemo" – "The Lord is His Name."  Rashi explains that this continues the theme of the first half of the verse – "Hashem ish milchama."  When God fights a battle, He does so with His Name, so-to-speak, rather than with weaponry.  Rashi cites in this context David's immortal words of defiance to Golyat (Goliath): "You come against me with sword and spear and javelin; but I come against you in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the ranks of Israel" (Shemuel I 17:45).  Indeed, David became arguably the most successful military leader in Benei Yisrael's long history of warfare.  Bar-Kokhba, however, who failed to learn this fundamental lesson about the Jewish perspective on war, failed to lead his people to victory, despite his military superiority over the enemy.

David Silverberg

*****

            Parashat Shemini tells of the tragic death of Nadav and Avihu, Aharon's older sons, on the final day of the Mishkan's consecration.  Much has been written regarding the precise nature of the sin for which Nadav and Avihu deserved to die, and indeed we devoted several divrei Torah to this topic in our series last year.  Perhaps the simplest approach, however, emerges from a basic comparison between the Torah's description of their misdeed and the previous narrative.  The Torah tells, "Aharon's sons Nadav and Avihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before the Lord alien fire, which He had not commanded them" (10:1).  Earlier, towards the very beginning of the parasha, we are told that Benei Yisrael "took the things that Moshe had commanded to the front of the Tent of Meeting" (9:5).  As opposed to Nadav and Avihu, who "took" and offered something "which He had not commanded," Benei Yisrael had brought an offering precisely in compliance with God's instructions to Moshe – "the things that Moshe had commanded."  In fact, twice the Torah emphasizes that Aharon and his sons (before their sin) performed the rituals "as the Lord had commanded Moshe" (9:10) or "as Moshe had commanded" (9:21).  The Torah's emphasis on the fact that Nadav and Avihu brought an offering "which He had not commanded them" is likely meant as an intentional contrast with the earlier description of the nation's compliance with God's commands.

            This contrasting parallel applies to Nadav and Avihu's punishment, as well.  The sacrificing ceremony described in the beginning of the parasha culminates with God's dramatic revelation to the people: "Fire came forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fat parts on the altar" (9:24).  Obedience and compliance results in the descent of Heavenly fire as a sign of God's revelation.  In response to Nadav and Avihu's offering, by contrast, "Fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord" (10:2).

            This narrative clearly distinguishes between two kinds of offerings, two types of religious gestures: those that God commanded, and those that He did not command.  In response to the former, God's "fire" descends and willingly accepts our offerings; the latter type, however, sparks divine anger, rather than love.

            The story of Nadav and Avihu, then, underscores the point that the service of God necessarily entails the subjugation of one's will to His command.  Regardless of the nobility of one's intentions, religious worship that conforms to one's own ideas but violates the dictates of God Himself cannot possibly be considered the service of God.  Quite to the contrary, one thereby serves only himself.  Though on the one hand the contemporary Jew owes an immeasurable debt of gratitude to the concept of "freedom of religion" which has enabled him to practice Judaism freely without fear of persecution, on the other hand, this notion threatens to dilute our sense of "as the Lord had commanded Moshe."  The moment we reserve for ourselves the right to decide how to serve God, rather than faithfully observing His commands, we in effect repeat the sin of Nadav and Avihu, as we offer "alien fire which He had not commanded them," rather than the offerings enjoined upon us.

David Silverberg

*****

            In response to the deaths of Aharon's sons, recorded in Parashat Shemini (and which we discussed yesterday), Moshe instructs Aharon and his remaining sons not to observe any laws of mourning (10:6-7).  Though generally the loss of a child or sibling obligates one in the various laws of aveilut (mourning), the singular nature of this day – the day of the Mishkan's inauguration - required Aharon and his sons to overcome their personal grief and focus their attention on their priestly responsibilities.

            Interestingly, the Gemara in Masekhet Mo'ed Katan derives several laws of aveilut from these verses.  From Moshe's instructions to the kohanim we can extract the laws that normally apply to mourner, which Moshe ordered Aharon and his sons not to observe in this particular circumstance.  For example, from the fact that Moshe instructed Aharon and his sons not to rend their garments, Chazal deduce that a mourner must normally perform "keri'a" – rend his garments (Mo'ed Katan 15a).

            Later in Masekhet Mo'ed Katan (19b), in a somewhat more convoluted fashion, the Gemara derives from these verses the concept of "sheloshim" – the thirty-day period after a person's death during which the relatives may not cut their hair or engage in various types of celebration.  Moshe here tells the kohanim not to let their hair grow ("rasheikhem al tifra'u"), indicating that generally mourners must let their hair grow.  The Torah employs a similar expression in the context of the nazir ("nazirite"), who is likewise forbidden from cutting his hair ("gadeil pera se'ar rosho" – Bamidbar 6:5).  Just as the period of nezirut (unless explicitly stipulated otherwise) lasts for thirty days, similarly, by force of textual association, a mourner must let his hair grow for thirty days.

            Surprisingly, however, the Rambam, in introducing the laws of sheloshim, suggests a different source for this prohibition (Hilkhot Avel 6:1).  The Rambam cites the Torah's discussion of the "eishet yefat to'ar" – the female captive whom the Torah permits a soldier to take and marry upon his compliance with certain guidelines (see beginning of Parashat Ki-Tetze).  One condition is that the soldier must wait "yerach yamim" – a full month – during which the captive "cries for her father and mother."  From here the Rambam deduces the concept of a thirty-day mourning period.  The Ra'avad, in his critique of the Rambam's Mishneh Torah, briefly notes that the Gemara, as we have seen, arrives at the halakha of sheloshim from a different source – the verses in Parashat Shemini. 

            Why did the Rambam bring a different source from that mentioned in the Gemara, and what did the Ra'avad have in mind in noting this discrepancy between the Rambam's comments and the Gemara?

            In this halakha, the Rambam explicitly describes sheloshim as a law originating from "divrei sofrim" – the legislation of Chazal (though there is considerable discussion as to what precisely the Rambam means when he uses this term).  He makes it clear that Chazal did not extract this halakha from the laws of "eishet yefat to'ar," but rather used those laws as an "asmakhta" – an allusion for their enactment in the Torah.  As Rav Barukh Ha-levi Epstein points out in his "Torah Temima," the moment we assume that the "source" for a given halakha is not really a source, but rather an "asmakhta," it should not surprise us if the Rambam suggests a different verse than the one used in the Gemara.  If the law was enacted by Chazal, and they simply found an allusion for it in the Biblical text, than the Rambam could reserve the right to suggest a "source" that he finds clearer or more compelling.  In this case, since with regard to the "eishet yefat to'ar" the Torah explicitly mentions a thirty-day period in the context of mourning, the Rambam preferred this allusion over the verse in Parashat Shemini, whose association to a thirty-day period is more remote.

            Presumably, the Ra'avad understood this to be the logic underlying the Rambam's comments.  By insisting upon the original source presented in the Gemara, the Ra'avad perhaps expresses his conviction that the prohibition against haircutting during sheloshim constitutes a Torah obligation which Chazal indeed extracted from the verse in Parashat Shemini – "rasheikhem al tifra'u."  Whereas the Rambam viewed this prohibition as a rabbinic enactment, and thus took the liberty to find a more compelling "asmakhta," the Ra'avad took this passage in the Gemara more seriously, as an actual derivation of Torah law from this verse.  Sure enough, the Rosh, in his comments to Mo'ed Katan, cites the Ra'avad as maintaining that although we generally assume (according to many opinions) that only the first day of aveilut constitutes a Torah obligation, haircutting during the thirty days after a relative's death is also forbidden by Torah law.  This is very likely what prompted the Ra'avad to insist upon the Gemara's source for sheloshim, and to take issue with the Rambam who viewed this source as only an "asmakhta."  (The Rosh proceeds to bring the view of the Maharam of Rutenberg that the prohibition of sheloshim is rabbinic in origin – in line with the view of the Rambam.)

David Silverberg

*****

            The haftara for Parashat Shemini, taken from Sefer Shemuel II (6-7), tells of the death of Uza, one of the wagon drivers for King David when the king ordered the ark's relocation to "Ir David" (the section of Jerusalem that he had made his capital).  Seeing that the wagon slipped from the oxen's harness, Uza quickly jumped to hold the ark to ensure that it wouldn't fall, and God killed him.  Distressed over the tragedy that had just befallen the Jewish people, David decided to delay the ark's relocation.  This tragic incident parallels the narrative in Parashat Shemini, which tells of the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, Aharon's two sons, on the otherwise joyous day of the Mishkan's inauguration.

            Much has been written regarding the nature of Uza's sin and why he deserved to die.  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (35a) presents three explanations.  Firstly, Uza should have realized that the aron could protect itself.  After all, the Gemara explains, when Benei Yisrael crossed the Jordan River to enter Eretz Yisrael, the ark "carried its carriers," meaning, the kohanim (the formal "carriers") were not actually needed to carry it; they were actually carried by the ark.  Uza therefore infringed upon the aron's honor – and thus, by extension, the Almighty's honor – by thinking that it needed his support.  A second view in the Gemara maintains that Uza "performed his needs in its [the ark's] presence."  Rashi appears to interpret the Gemara literally, that Uza in fact performed his bodily functions in front of the aron.  Rav Avraham Rivlin, in his "Iyunei Haftara," suggests that one might interpret the Gemara differently, as meaning that Uza conducted himself in perfectly normal fashion before the aron.  The ark's presence demands a degree of awe and reverence which Uza failed to display, and for this he was killed.  (Apparently, the Gemara means that his grabbing hold of the ark was not the sin for which Uza was killed, but rather a manifestation of his generally disrespectful attitude towards the aron.)  Finally, the Gemara attributes the sin not to Uza himself, but rather to the king.  God here punishes David for having referred to Torah as "zemirot," songs (see Tehillim 119:54).  The Gemara detects in this description of lack of awareness of the sheer complexity of Torah and the intense effort, devotion and concentration required to master it.  God punishes David by allowing him to forget an explicit verse in Sefer Bamidbar (7:9), requiring that the ark be transported on the kohanim's shoulders, rather than by carriage.  In other words, according to this final approach, Uza died because the aron was not transported in accordance with the rules established in the Chumash.  What allowed this oversight to occur was David's lackadaisical approach to Torah study.

            A brief study of the parallel account in Sefer Divrei Hayamim appears, at first glance, to render the Gemara's entire discussion unnecessary.  The verses in Divrei Hayamim seem to make it very clear that this tragedy occurred because, as the Gemara's third reason explained, Benei Yisrael did not follow the Torah's directions.  We read in Divrei Hayamim I (15) that when David decided to try a second time to bring the ark to his capital, he announced that this time the ark would be transported specifically by the Levi'im themselves, rather than in a wagon.  (See especially 15:2,13.)  In fact, when the ark is actually transported, the verse emphasizes, "The Levi'im carried the Ark of God by means of poles on their shoulders, as Moshe had commanded in accordance with the word of God" (15:15).  Quite clearly, this verse emphasizes that as opposed to the initial attempt, in which David had the ark placed in a wagon, in this instance he obeyed the Torah's command and had the Levi'im transport the ark on their shoulders.

            Apparently, Chazal sought to place this specific misdeed, of transporting the aron by wagon, within a broader context.  This sin cannot be viewed in isolation.  Had it not reflected a more general attitude of disrespect and irreverence, in itself it would not have resulted in the tragic death of Uza.  The three sins enumerated in the Gemara all involve a lack of appreciation of the singular quality of the aron, or of the Torah, which the aron represents.  This disrespect resulted in David's overlooking the obligation to transport the ark by shoulder, rather than by wagon.

            Tomorrow we will iy"H discuss this issue further, in an attempt to identify more precisely what the use of a wagon signifies in this narrative.

David Silverberg

*****

            Yesterday, we discussed the tragic story told in the haftara for Parashat Shemini (in Sefer Shemuel II, chapter 6) of the death of Uza, the wagon driver who led the wagon carrying the ark to David's capital city.  We read that the wagon slipped from the oxen, and Uza, concerned that the ark might fall, quickly grabbed hold of it to support it, an act for which he was punished by God with death.  As we saw yesterday, the verses in Sefer Divrei Hayamim appear to attribute this mistake not to the specific act of touching the ark, but rather to the violation of the law mentioned in the Torah that the aron must be transported by shoulder, rather than by wagon.  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota, as we saw, brings other indications of the fact that Uza and even King David were guilty of a generally irreverent attitude towards the ark.  Uza's handling of the aron was but one manifestation of what appears to have been a more general problem among the people. 

One important source we inadvertently omitted from yesterday's discussion is a verse in Divrei Hayamim I, recording David's comments to the Levi'im as he prepares his second attempt to bring the ark to Jerusalem.  He tells them: "Because you were not there the first time, the Lord our God burst out against us, for we did not show due regard for Him" (15:13).  This verse clearly indicates that the use of a wagon, as opposed to transporting the ark on the Levi'im's shoulders, reflected a disrespectful attitude towards the aron and the Almighty.

            The question, however, remains, what led David to make this mistake?  It is difficult to imagine that King David simply lacked an appreciation for the singular sanctity of the ark and what it represented.  In fact, it was he who, when announcing his plans to bring the ark to the newly captured Jerusalem, criticized the nation for their disregard of the aron throughout the period of Shaul (see Divrei Hayamim I 13:3).  Wherein precisely lies his disrespectful attitude towards the aron?

            A fascinating comment by the Vilna Gaon, in his "Aderet Eliyahu" to Sefer Divrei Hayamim, sheds some light on David's conduct.  The Gaon claimed that David mistakenly assumed that the prohibition against transporting the ark by wagon applied only during Benei Yisrael's journeys through the wilderness, when this command was issued.  Only then, when Benei Yisrael enjoyed a uniquely close relationship with God, who traveled with them, as it were, in the Mishkan, was it necessary for the Levi'im to carry the ark on their shoulders.  In Eretz Yisrael, however, Benei Yisrael's relationship with the Almighty was more distant, and hence it was appropriate to carry the aron is less direct fashion, through the use of wagons.

            It is possible to extend a bit further David's perceived distinction between the generation of the wilderness and his time period, and thereby gain a better understanding of David's mistake.  He might have felt that only then, when Benei Yisrael wandered as nomads, without the splendor and glory of a developed, prosperous, independent country, was it appropriate to transport the ark in such a simple, "crude" manner.  But now that Benei Yisrael have established a national infrastructure and have begun, under David's leadership, to emerge as a regional power, the ark, the king thought, deserves much more.  Now the ark deserves an elegant carriage and an elaborate affair to celebrate its relocation.  The narrative in Divrei Hayamim emphasizes at great length the musical accompaniment during the second, successful attempt, as opposed to during the initial, failed attempt.  When David first tried to bring the ark, the verse says, "David and all Israel danced before God with all their might – with songs, lyres, harps, timbrels, cymbals and trumpets" (Divrei Hayamim I 13:8).  The entire nation was involved in the song and celebration.  The second time around, however, only the Levi'im played music.  (See 15:16-22.)  The celebration seems to have been far less elaborate, more modest and simpler.  The second attempt was less of a royal, gala event than a sincere, emotional, intimate celebration of the ark's return.

            This might also explain the harsh exchange between David and his wife, Mikhal, upon his return home after the successful relocation of the aron.  Mikhal criticizes David for his exuberant, unrestrained dancing as he led the ark to its new home.  She sarcastically exclaims, "Didn't the king of Israel do himself honor today – exposing himself today in the sight of the slavegirls of his subjects, as one of the riffraff might expose himself!" (Shemuel II 6:20).  David replies that for the honor of God he would be willing to dishonor himself even more than Mikhal claims that he did.  This event, the successful return of the aron, lacked the formality and fanfare of the initial attempt, and Mikhal found her husband's informality inappropriate.  She felt that David compromised his authority and regal image by opting for a less formal, elegant affair, and conducting himself like a commoner.  But David had learned the lesson of Uza, that one does not show respect to the ark and to God through extravagance and formality, but rather through the sincere expression of love and joy.  Specifically the absence of regal, luxurious trimmings can help express the people's true feelings of celebration over the ark's return.

David Silverberg

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