The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

(Last year's Pesach S.A.L.T.'s are at the end of this page)

Parashat Tzav introduces the prohibition against "pigul" (7:18). As Rashi explains, this prohibition involves the individual's intent when slaughtering a korban. If he planned, at the time of the slaughtering, to partake of the sacrificial meat (in cases when certain parts of the animal may be eaten, such as a "korban shelamim") beyond the prescribed period of time, the korban attains the status of "pigul" and may not be eaten. For example, many korbanot may be eaten until sundown the day after the offering. If the kohen (or whoever performs the slaughtering) has in mind at the time of the shechita to partake of the meat two days later, the korban becomes "pigul"; one who eats the meat incurs the punishment of "karet."

What precisely must the kohen do in order to render the offering "pigul"? Need he merely plan in his mind to eat it beyond the time limit, or must he verbalize this intention? The Mishneh le-Melekh, in Hilkhot Pesulei ha-Mukdashin (beginning of chapter 13) addresses this issue and demonstrates that different views exist among the Rishonim in this regard. The compiler and editor of the Mishneh le-Melekh, Rav Yaakov Kuli (author of Me-am Lo'ez) adds that proof may be drawn for the view requiring verbal expression of intent from a comment in Masekhet Zevachim 29b. The Gemara there entertains the possibility that a kohen who has such intent while offering a sacrifice, thereby rendering the sacrifice "pigul," violates a prohibition punishable by "malkot" (lashes). The Gemara establishes that, barring the issue of "lav she-ein bo ma'aseh," that, according to most views, one cannot be punished for a violation committed through inaction, lashes in this case may indeed be warranted. Now a general prerequisite for administering any punishment for a Torah violation is "hatra'a" - warning; those witnessing the transgression must explicitly warn the perpetrator not the commit the violation. Rav Kuli thus asks, if the status of "pigul" can be conferred by mere thought, then how can witnesses warn the kohen in advance not to commit this transgression? What indication do they have that this kohen plans to do an act of "pigul"? We must therefore conclude, he writes, that only through verbal expression of intent can the status of "pigul" be conferred upon a sacrifice.

Rabbi Akiva Eiger, however, in his glosses on the Rambam, convincingly refutes this proof. True, the Gemara most definitely addresses a situation where a kohen verbalized his intent to partake of the sacrificial meat beyond the prescribed time. Only in such a case could there exist the possibility of "malkot." However, that the Gemara discusses such a situation in no way restricts "pigul" to this case. In truth, one perhaps confers the status of "pigul" even though thought alone; the Gemara merely raised the possibility of "malkot" in situations where the kohen expresses his preparedness to perform the sacrifice with wrong intentions.

*****

Towards the beginning of Parashat Tzav we read, "The fire on the altar shall be kept burning, not to go out; every morning the kohen shall feed wood to it. He shall lay out the burnt-offering on it, and offer upon it the fats of the peace-offering" (6:5). Chazal (see Yoma 33a) interpret the final "it" in this verse as modifying the "ola," or burnt-offering mentioned just earlier in the verse. Meaning, "the fats of the peace-offering" is offered "on the burnt-offering." (What this means will soon become clear.) Furthermore, the Gemara understands the "ola" mentioned here as referring specifically to the morning "tamid" sacrifice, which was brought daily, in addition to the daily afternoon tamid. The verse thus instructs that all other sacrifices brought during the day, represented in the verse with the term, "the fats of the peace-offering," must be brought "on," or "after" the morning tamid - to the exclusion of the afternoon tamid. Meaning, no sacrifices may be offered in the Temple after the "tamid shel bein ha-arbayim" - the afternoon tamid offering. This famous principle is known in Talmudic literature as "aleha hashleim."

(Those of you who recite the "korbanot" service in the morning will recognize this passage in Masekhet Yoma, which is cited in the siddur - "Abayei hava mesader seder ha-ma'arakha… ")

Rav Soloveitchik zt"l noted that theoretically, we may understand this halakha in one of two ways. First, this provision may relate to the definition and essence of the korban tamid. Namely, the afternoon tamid offering is defined as the final sacrifice brought in the Temple. By offering a different sacrifice after the tamid, the tamid has retroactively not fulfilled its role. Alternatively, we may view this prohibition as unrelated to the nature of the tamid; quite simply, the Temple schedule as prescribed by the Torah dictates that the afternoon tamid closes the day's sacrificial service. A sacrifice offered after the tamid has missed its deadline, so-to-speak; the time for sacrificing ends with the tamid offering.

Perhaps the clearest ramification of this issue is whether or not a sacrifice is valid if it was mistakenly offered after the tamid. If this prohibition involves the definition of the tamid, then only the tamid has been affected; the other sacrifice is perfectly valid and its meat may be eaten. Conversely, should we view this prohibition as part of the Mikdash time-table, then a sacrifice offered after the tamid would presumably be invalid and forbidden for consumption. Tosefot in Masekhet Menachot (49a) write that a korban offered after the tamid is invalid. The Rambam, however, in Hilkhot Temidin u-Musafin (1:3), codifies the prohibition against offering sacrifices after the tamid without mentioning an ex post facto invalidation should this occur. This would perhaps imply that in his view, the sacrifice is valid.

If, indeed, the Rambam felt that a sacrifice is not invalidated when offered after the tamid, we may associate this ruling with his own stance in his Sefer ha-Mitzvot. The Rambam does not list this prohibition as one of the 613 mitzvot; the Ramban mentions this as one of the mitzvot he believes the Rambam erroneously omitted from his listing. Rav Yerucham Perlow, in his work on Rav Sa'adya Gaon's listing of the mitzvot (lo ta'aseh 264), explains that according to the Rambam, the prohibition against offering sacrifices after the tamid is part and parcel of the mitzva to offer the tamid. Therefore, it does not warrant an independent entry in the list of the 613 mitzvot. This explanation would well accommodate our reading of the Rambam's view concerning a sacrifice mistakenly offered after the tamid. As the prohibition relates to the definition of the tamid, a sacrifice mistakenly brought afterwards is not affected and remains valid.

(Based on Rabbi Menachem Gemack, Gan Shoshanim, chapter 35)

*****

Parashat Tzav opens with the mitzva of "terumat ha-deshen," a ritual which itself opened the daily schedule of rituals in the Temple. The kohen would sweep the ashes that had collected on the altar overnight and take them outside the Mikdash area. Why does this ritual in particular begin the Temple service every morning? After all, this was hardly the most dignified activity, sweeping ashes and taking them outside the vicinity. Why must the kohen begin his day with such a somewhat humiliating job?

The Chovot ha-Levavot (Sha'ar ha-Keni'a, 6) suggests that the kohen begins with the terumat ha-deshen for precisely this very reason. Tending to the needs of the Mikdash and offering sacrifices can easily engender an exaggerated sense of self-worth and importance. The kohen must therefore be humbled as he begins his day; he needs a reminder that before God he is but a "chimney sweeper," and must perform even the lowliest of tasks.

We may add that the terumat ha-deshen demonstrates that we cannot assess the dior hoassociated with a mitzva-related activity with the same yardstick we may use in other contexts. Obeying God's command and observing His mitzvot is inherently dignified and honorable. Even if, by general, secular standards, a given activity may perhaps be deemed humiliating or degrading, in the context of a mitzva it is transformed into something sublime and sacred. Even the Temple housecleaning constitutes an "avoda" of sorts, part of the routine of the holy service in the Temple. (Perhaps we should bear this in mind as we busily clean our homes for Pesach.)

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch suggests a different approach as to the symbolism of the "terumat ha-deshen." The kohen begins a new day where the preceding day had left off. Before tending to the sacrifices of that morning, the kohen first must deal with what remains of yesterday's offering. This symbolizes the continuity of the Jewish people, the ongoing process of construction that continues from one generation to the next. While each era poses its unique challenges and charges its own responsibilities, every generation nevertheless builds on top of the accomplishments of the previous generation, which laid the groundwork for further growth. No generation of Am Yisrael can look at itself in isolation; we must rather see ourselves as but part of an ongoing chain, as we take our tradition from our predecessors and attempt to most effectively transmit it to our successors.

*****

Towards the beginning of Parashat Tzav we read of the requirement of "eish tamid," that the fire on the altar never be extinguished. Rashi, citing the Gemara (Yoma 42b), derives an additional halakha from this verse. The word "tamid" ("perpetual") in this context relates to a different context where the term is used - the lighting of the menorah in the Mikdash (Shemot 27:20). This association alludes to the fact that the fire of the menorah must be lit from the fire on the altar.

Some recent writers have suggested a symbolic interpretation of this requirement, that the menorah receive its light from the altar. As many Midrashim point out, the menorah symbolizes Torah study. It is therefore made from pure gold, and only the very purest and finest oil may be used for its lighting - an allusion to the integrity of Torah that must be preserved as it is studied. The eternal flame was located on the mizbach ha-chitzon - the altar situated outside the mishkan, in the courtyard (as opposed to the mizbach ha-zahav, located inside the mishkan near the menorah). This fire, then, represents the dissemination, rather than individual study, of the Torah. A scholar may mistakenly think that taking time from his own academic pursuits to work with those far beneath his level may have a detrimental academic or spiritual effect. In truth, however, the menorah receives its light from the altar. One's own stature can only be "ignited," enhanced and augmented through his involvement in education and outreach. One's internal light - symbolized by the fire of the menorah - feeds off the fire kindled outside the confines of the mishkan, through the active dissemination of Torah.

This message need not - in fact, must not - be limited to those capable of formal teaching and instruction. To the contrary, the light inside the mishkan - as we know, the mishkan has come to symbolize the internal "mishkan" within every individual - is lit only from the altar, from the dissemination of the values the mishkan embodies. Everyone can fortify his own religious commitment by making a genuine effort - each with his individual strengths and talents - to spread the light of the Torah and bring others closer to the sanctity of the mishkan.

*****

Yesterday we discussed the requirement of "eish tamid," that the fire on the altar never be extinguished. In Pirkei Avot 5:5, we learn that God "helped," as it were, in this effort to preserve the eternal flame. Though the altar was situated outside in the open courtyard around the Temple, the fire miraculously withstood the heavy rains of the Jerusalem winter.

Beyond the pragmatic value of this miracle, Rav Chayim of Volozhin (in his Ru'ach Chayim) viewed it as an instructive and meaningful symbol, as well. First, the rain descending upon the altar alludes to various factors that threaten to disturb one's spiritual "flame." On a daily basis, a religious person encounters challenges and potential obstacles to proper observance and piety. Just as the altar's flame persevered and never succumbed to the powerful rains, so must one stand firm and resolute and resist the many forces that threaten to extinguish his fire of faith and observance.

Secondly, Rav Chayim explains, rain ("geshem" in Hebrew) often symbolizes material needs and concerns ("gashmiyut" in Hebrew). The image of the fire withstanding the winter rains sends a powerful message to those who attribute their religious laxity to their economic needs. One may never allow the rain - material concerns - to extinguish his "eish tamid," his constant dedication to Torah and mitzvot. If proper observance entails financial sacrifice, as it often does, we must be willing to preserve the flame at all costs, and ensure that it does not give way to the "rains" of materialistic concerns and luxury.

*****

Among the sacrifices described in Parashat Tzav is the korban mincha - the meal offering. Generally, the kohen takes a handful of the offering and places it on the altar, at which point the kohanim may eat all the rest (see 6:7-11). The exception to this rule is the minchat kohen, the meal offering brought by a kohen when he performs the Temple service for the first time, and by a kohen gadol every day. This offering is placed entirely on the altar (see 6:16). Why does the Torah make this distinction between standard menachot and those offered by the kohanim?

The Da'at Zekeinim mi-Ba'alei ha-Tosafot explain that if the kohanim had the right to partake of a kohen's meal offering, he will have brought a nearly insignificant offering to God. Generally, an individual donates his meal offering entirely to God - part of it goes onto the altar, the rest to the kohanim. When, however, a kohen himself brings a meal offering, then should he partake of it after the small handful has gone onto the altar, he has, in effect, donated hardly anything to God. He has taken it all for himself, save a tiny handful that went on the altar. (The Ramban and Chinukh cite a variation of this approach from the Rambam.)

The Minchat Chinukh (hashmatot to mitzva 137), however, raises an interesting objection to this approach. There is another offering, besides the mincha, of which a very small portion is offered upon the altar. In Parashat Vayikra we read of the chatat ha-of (5:7-10). Upon the transgression of certain sins, a person who cannot afford the standard animal sin offering may bring instead an offering of two pigeons, with one offered as a chatat (sin offering). As the verses relate, only the blood of the bird sin offering goes on the altar; the rest is eaten by the kohen. According to the theory posited by the Da'at Zekeinim, then, we would perhaps require the entirety of a kohen's bird offering to go on the altar, rather than be consumed by the kohanim. Otherwise, the kohen will not have offered anything substantive to God for his sin offering. Nowhere do we ever find such a provision.

One answer, suggested by, among others, Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk, explains that for this very reason the Torah required an additional bird with the bird sin offering. When the penitent sinner cannot afford the standard animal offering, he brings instead two birds - one as an ola (burnt offering), which is entirely burnt on the altar, and the other as a sin offering, with only the blood placed on the altar. In this way, an entire bird is offered to God together with the blood of the sin offering. Therefore, we may allow the kohen to partake of his bird sin offering, since an entire ola offering is placed on the altar together with the blood of the sin offering. (This explanation of the need for an ola offering together with the bird sioffering was suggested already by the Ibn Ezr- Vayikra 5:7.)

*****

The final section of Parashat Tzav outlines the "milu'im," the formal consecration of Aharon and his sons as kohanim (in fulfillment of the guidelines presented in Parashat Tetzaveh). This procedure spanned seven days, during which time Aharon and his sons were forbidden to leave the area around the entrance of the mishkan. Moshe orders Aharon, "You shall not go outside the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days, until the day that your period of ordination is completed" (8:33).

Rav Meir Simcha ha-Kohen of Dvinsk, in his Meshekh Chokhma, views this verse as a source for an otherwise enigmatic ruling of the Rambam. In Hilkhot Kelei ha-Mikdash 5:7, the Rambam writes that the kohen gadol's home must be situated in Yerushalayim and he may never leave the city. Rav Meir Simcha suggests that the Rambam derived this rule from the verse quoted above. In Parashat Shemini, we read of the death of two of Aharon's four sons (10:1-2). In response, Moshe ordered Aharon and his remaining two sons not to observe any mourning practices (10:6-7). Now generally, a kohen observes mourning upon the death of a relative; only a kohen gadol does not. This demonstrates, Rav Meir Simcha argues, that during the week-long consecration process, Aharon and his sons all had the halakhic status of kohen gadol; they therefore all refrained from observances of mourning despite the deaths of their sons/brothers. So long as they had this status (i.e. during the seven days of the milu'im), God required that they remain in the area around the entrance to the mishkan - the area within which the sacrificial meat must be eaten. We may conclude, then, that a kohen gadol must always remain within the boundaries beyond which sacrificial meat may not be eaten. Once the Bet ha-Mikdash was built, this region was the entire city of Jerusalem. Thus, from Moshe's order that Aharon and his sons - who were all considered kohanim gedolim - stay in the area where sacrificial meat is permitted, the Rambam derived a parallel requirement concerning the kohen gadol in the times of the Temple.

We should note, however, that several other explanations have been given for this halakha introduced by the Rambam. The Minchat Chinukh, among many others, explains this requirement as based on the minchat chavitin - the daily meal offering of the kohen gadol, which we discussed yesterday. There is a general rule that whenever one brings a sacrifice in the Temple he must spend the night in Yerushalayim (see, for example, Tosefot, Masekhet Sukka 47, and Rambam, Hilkhot Bikkurim 3:14). Thus, as a kohen gadol must bring a meal offering every day, he may never sleep outside Jerusalem.

Yet another possible basis for this rule is suggested by the Holocaust victim Rav David Rappaport Hy"d, in his classic work, Mikdash David. Earlier we noted that a kohen gadol does not observe mourning practices upon the death of a relative. This reflects the fact that with regard to the kohen gadol, every day has, at least on some level, the status of a Yom Tov (see Moed Katan 14b). He therefore does not observe mourning, just as a layman does not observe mourning practices on Yom Tov. Rav Rappaport suggests that we extend this concept one step further. During the times of the Temple, the obligation of "aliya le-regel" required a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Yom Tov (Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot). However, a mere daytime visit did not suffice; one had to spend the night in Yerushalayim (see Devarim 16:7, and Rashi, based on Masekhet Chagiga 16). For the same reason, then, the kohen gadol must sleep in Yerushalayim every night, as he observes every day as a Yom Tov of sorts.

Yesterday, we discussed the required amount of marror to be eaten at the seder: a "ke-zayit." While we would expect this requirement to be simple and straightforward, as "eating" throughout halakha refers specifically to a ke-zayit, the Rosh in Masekhet Pesachim implies otherwise. He proves that one must eat a ke-zayit of marror at the seder from the text of the berakha recited thereon, "al akhilat marror" - "eating marror." Apparently, the Rosh felt that the general halakhic axiom identifying "eating" with a ke-zayit would not apply in this case, thus necessitating a specific proof from the text of the berakha. Rav Chayim Brisker explained that as opposed to other mitzvot requiring eating, marror does not constitute an independent mitzva. Rather, it comes simply as part of the mitzva of eating the korban pesach. Therefore, the general guidelines do not apply to the obligation of marror.

In a recently published journal, Rav Avraham Sternbach, a Rosh Yeshiva in London, questioned this explanation of Rav Chayim (Kol Ha-Torah, Nissan 5761, pp. 22-23). According to this approach, that marror does not constitute an independent obligation but is rather dependent on the mitzva of eating the korban pesach, one who does not eat the korban pesach would presumably be exempt from the mitzva of marror. However, the Rosh himself writes (in Tosafot Ha-Rosh) in Masekhet Yevamot (71) that an uncircumcised male, who may not partake of the korban pesach, must nevertheless eat marror. How, then, could Rav Chayim impose his analysis of the obligation of marror on the Rosh? According to his approach, an uncircumcised male would have no reason to eat marror, which constitutes but a subsidiary of the obligation of eating the korban pesach!

We may perhaps suggest quite simply that the Rosh in Masekhet Yevamot assumed his conclusion in Masekhet Pesachim. Meaning, in Masekhet Pesachim the Rosh considered the possibility of a required amount of marror lower than a ke-zayit because, as Rav Chayim explained, this mitzva may not constitute an independent obligation. Based on the text of the berakha, however, which features the word "akhila," the Rosh inferred that marror, too, follows the standard model of mitzvot requiring eating. It, too, constitutes a formal obligation of "akhila" and hence requires a full ke-zayit. Accordingly, in Masekhet Yevamot, he rules that even one disqualified from the korban pesach must eat marror on Pesach. Since, as the Rosh proved from the text of the berakha, the mitzva of marror actually does stand on its own, its obligation does not depend upon that of korban pesach.

*****

On the second night of Pesach we begin the counting of the omer, counting one day every night until Shavuot. A well-know dispute exists among the authorities as to whether the obligation of counting the omer constitutes a single requirement to count the days from Pesach until Shavuot, or each night marks the onset of a new obligation. In other words, do we have here a single, integrated obligation spreading over the course of seven weeks, or forty-nine independent obligations? The basic ramification of this issue involves the all-too-common occurrence of a missed day of counting. If each day triggers its own mitzva, then my obligation to count day forty-two, for example, will be unaffected by my neglect to count day forty-one. By contrast, if we view the omer as essentially one obligation, then one missed day effectively renders this mitzva unfulfilled.

The generally accepted halakha dictates that one who missed counting one night should count the following day without a berakha (in deference to the view invalidating a daytime counting). He may then continue counting every night thereafter even with a berakha. However, if one missed a full day of counting, i.e. by night and by day, he must count from the next day onward without a berakha. He continues counting in light of the view that he has not forfeited his entire count, but he omits the berakha out of concern for the opposing view, that he can no longer fulfill his obligation.

The stringent view, that the omer constitutes one, single mitzva, raises an interesting question concerning the status of all counting properly conducted before a missed day. If, indeed, one missed day renders the mitzva unfulfilled, then we might conclude that all berakhot recited over the previous days of counting are now considered wasted berakhot ("berakhot vatala"). Indeed, Rav Chayim Yosef David Azulai (the "Chida," in "Avodat Ha-kodesh 7:217) confers this status upon all berakhot recited over omer-counting before a missed day. While this issue may at first appear purely academic - after all, what's done is done, it raises an interesting practical question. What should one do if he knows in advance that he must undergo complicated surgery after Pesach that will force him to miss a day of counting? Should he count until that point with a berakha, even though he knows that he will not be able to complete the count?

Seemingly, this should depend on the aforementioned issue. If a missed day retroactively renders all previous berakhot "berakhot le-vatala," then when one knows in advance that he will miss a day he should certainly avoid reciting berakhot.

Piskei Teshuvot (489:22, note 105) cites an impressive list of authorities who dispute the position of the Chida. They believe that even if we view the counting of the omer as a single mitzva, a missed day does not retroactively invalidate all berakhot recited heretofore. These authorities base themselves on several sources, including a comment of the Ritva in Masekhet Chullin (106) regarding "netilat yadayim." If one washes his hands in anticipation of eating bread and thereafter decides not to eat bread, the berakha recited over his washing does not retroactively become a wasted berakha. Apparently, so long as the present situation mandates the recitation of a berakha, future events cannot retroactively invalidate it. Similarly, even one who expects to miss a day currently finds himself obligated in the mitzva. Predictions of future circumstances are not for his consideration in this regard. He should therefore count the omer with a berakha and hope and pray for the ability to continue doing so throughout the entire seven-week period.

*****

As we know from the Haggada, the Torah in several places instructs parents as to how to respond to their children's inquiries concerning the Pesach rituals. The first such instance appears in Parashat Bo - Shemot 12:26-7: "When your children ask you, 'What is this rite for you?' you shall say, 'It is the pesach sacrifice to God, who passed over the houses of Benei Yisrael in Egypt when He smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses.'"

The Ketav Sofer offers an insightful explanation of this particular question and the Torah's response thereto. The child wonders about the parents' personal involvement in the korban pesach ritual: "What is this service for you?" Rather than giving the sheep to servants and helpers to prepare, Jews personally exerted themselves in the arduous preparations of the sacrifice. The parent thus responds that this offering commemorates the Almighty's personal execution of the final stage of the Exodus. As the Haggada stresses, God Himself smote the Egyptians and "passed over" Benei Yisrael's homes. As opposed to the other plagues, in which Moshe and/or Aharon took part and which enlisted the natural forces, the final plague featured no intermediary; the Almighty Himself directly killed the Egyptians firstborn. In commemoration, this "service" of Pesach becomes "for you," our personal responsibility.

If so, then it is perhaps no coincidence that the Haggada reports specifically the wicked son posing this question. "Wicked" in this sense refers not to malice, resentment or even apostasy, but rather to laziness and indifference. This son simply doesn't want to be bothered. He perhaps believes in Pesach and what it represents, but could do without the immense effort required by this festival; he wants to practice only that which he finds convenient. To him the Torah responds by recalling Benei Yisrael's final night in Egypt. The Almighty Himself revealed His love to Am Yisrael by personally involving Himself, as it were, in their freedom. Correspondingly, we cannot look for shortcuts; we demonstrate our unwavering commitment to Him by rolling up our sleeves and doing the "work" he assigns us.

*****

Yesterday we looked at the question posed by the "wicked son," recorded in Shemot 12:26: "What is this service for you?" Today we present another explanation of this comment, one offered by Rav Yechezkel Landau of Prague (the "Noda Bi-yehuda") and very closely related to the ideas spoken of yesterday. The term used for "service" in this verse, "avoda," strikes a familiar and sensitive chord in our national consciousness: "They [the Egyptians] made life bitter for them with harsh labor ['avoda kasha']… " (Shemot 1:14). The son intentionally refers to the religious observance of his parents with the same term used to describe our ancestors' bondage in Egypt. He asks his parents, what purpose did the Exodus serve if we are still subjected to slave-labor? To him, the toil of Torah observance, specifically - explains the Noda Bi-yehuda - the remarkable diligence of the scholars in their pursuit of mastery over Torah knowledge, resembles Benei Yisrael's experience in Egypt. He cannot - or, more accurately, does not - appreciate the beauty, splendor and privilege of committing ourselves to divine service and studying His sacred wisdom.

As stated, this explanation closely relates to that presented yesterday. We suggested, based on the comments of the Ketav Sofer, that the wicked son questions specifically his parents' personal involvement and exertion in mitzvot, their refusal to allow others to toil for them in this regard. In light of today's discussion, the picture of this second son becomes even clearer. He views religious service as a cumbersome weight on his shoulders he would rather have removed. Rather than acknowledging the privilege granted us in becoming God's servants, he retains the all-too-common association of the word "freedom": the freedom to do whatever one wishes. The Haggada informs that "if he were there, he would not have been redeemed." The meticulous observance of the korban pesach ritual constituted a prerequisite to Benei Yisrael's release from Egyptian bondage. They were enjoined to display their obedience to the Almighty and His commands. An individual whose vision of freedom looked askance at the concept of obedience would never had met these requirements. The true "ben chorin" (free man), from a Torah perspective, is the one who marches from the land of Egypt with a longing and yearning to reach Har Sinai, to accept upon himself the responsibilities of the Torah.

*****

The Torah writes in reference to the festival of Pesach, "you shall celebrate it as a festival to God; throughout the ages, you shall celebrate it as an eternal institution" (Shemot 12:14). Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk offers a beautiful interpretation of this verse which explains the relationship between the two components thereof. As Pesach commemorates our achievement of national independence, one may have questioned the ability to celebrate this festival during exile. How does our redemption of Egypt help us throughout the centuries of pogroms, persecution, and intifadas? Rav Meir Simcha finds the answer in the opening clause of the passage quoted: "you shall celebrate it as a festival to God." Although the physical result of the Exodus - our national freedom - may reverse itself, the spiritual element always remains. Our release from Egypt involved a fundamental, spiritual transformation of Benei Yisrael from idolaters to God-fearing followers of Moshe Rabbeinu prepared to accept the Torah. Yetzi'at Mitzrayim meant our emergence as the special nation of God, blessed with a unique relationship with the Creator as He promised to our patriarchs. This can never change.

Therefore, if this is the festival we celebrate, a "festival to God," then indeed Pesach becomes relevant "throughout the ages," and we will "celebrate it as an eternal institution." This commemoration, of our religious liberation, remains eternally relevant, under all circumstances and conditions. Even when we face threats to our national security, we may still proudly celebrate our unique relationship with the Almighty and ability to observe His laws. Therefore, the more wconcentrate on this particular aspect of the Exodus, the more immediately relevant it becomes.

*****

The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (67b) records a seemingly strange argument between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Elazar Ben Azarya regarding the second of the ten plagues, frogs. They both address the Torah initial's description of the frogs in singular form (8:2) but offer different explanations therefor. According to Rabbi Akiva, a single frog ascended from the river and miraculously spewed multitudes of others that devastated Egypt. Rabbi Elazar Ben Azarya expresses wonder and disbelief at Rabbi Akiva's explanation ("Akiva, what are you doing studying Aggada [Midrash]?!") and therefore suggests one of his own: one frog came along and called the others (by croaking) to join it.

Why did Rabbi Elazar react with such astonishment to Rabbi Akiva's approach, and why is his any better?

The Chatam Sofer explains based on a Gemara in Pesachim (53b) discussing the martyrdom of Chananya, Mishael and Azarya. Recall that during the Babylonian exile, these three had themselves cast into a fiery furnace rather than succumb to government pressure to bow down before an idol. They miraculously emerged unscathed from the fire. The Gemara writes that they learned the value of martyrdom from the frogs in Egypt, who sacrificed their lives following God's word, throwing themselves into the Egyptians' ovens as part of the plague (see Shemot 7:28).

Based on this Gemara, suggests the Chatam Sofer, Rabbi Elazar outright rejected Rabbi Akiva's position regarding the frogs' origin. According to Rabbi Akiva, these frogs resulted from a miracle; they were not naturally born frogs. Consequently, one cannot derive any lessons about religious commitment from these creatures. Their self sacrifice in no way binds us to do the same; we are naturally-born human beings, while they were specially "manufactured" for the specific purpose of punishing the Egyptians. The three martyrs could have learned only from natural, not supernatural, creatures.

The Chatam Sofer does not, however, explain the precise point of contention between the two sages. How does Rabbi Akiva respond to this argument posed by Rabbi Elazar?

Rabbi Eliezer Ginsberg, in his commentary on the Haggada entitled Shirat Yehuda, suggests that we view Rabbi Akiva's position in light of his tragic death. As we know, Rabbi Akiva himself died a martyr, subject to brutal, physical torture in the process, to the extent that his own students expressed their amazement at his ongoing devotion to God at his final moments. Rather than complaining, Rabbi Akiva told his students of his sincere gratitude for the privilege of serving the Almighty "with all his soul." Indeed, Rabbi Akiva's self devotion to God knew no bounds. Understandably, then, he accepted the equation between us and the miraculous frogs in Egypt. Unlike Rabbi Elazar Ben Azarya, Rabbi Akiva maintained that one's willingness to sacrifice himself for the Almighty must extend beyond the natural limits of commitment. We must be prepared to sacrifice for God to the same extent as did the frogs created specifically for that purpose. He could therefore claim that supernaturally born frogs carried out this second plague in Egypt.

*****

The seventh day of Pesach marks the anniversary of the miracle of "keri'at Yam Suf," the miraculous splitting of the sea. As we know, Benei Yisrael panicked when they saw the approaching Egyptians army. They turned to Moshe and exclaimed, "Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt?… "

God then turns to Moshe, who was apparently busy praying, and admonishes, "Why do you cry out to Me? Tell Benei Yisrael to go forward!"

The Kotzker Rebbe cited this incident in his censure of the practice of some to spend many hours bemoaning the exile and pleading with the Almighty for redemption. The Kotzker claimed precisely this exaggerated involvement in prayer came under God's criticism. Instead of praying, Moshe was to urge the people to "go forward," which the Kotzker understands as a reference not only to travel, but also to spiritual progress. At this critical moment, Moshe is needed to correct the people's mistaken attitude reflected in their response to the crisis, rather than engaging in endless prayer. Similarly, argued the Kotzker, we should invest more time in earning redemption than we do praying for it.

It is hopefully superfluous to mention the importance of prayer in Jewish life. Unquestionably, among our instantaneous reactions to trouble must involve sincere supplication to the Almighty. It cannot, however, stop there. We must search ourselves, carefully examine our conduct and look for ways to improve. Times of crisis must propel us forward and reassess our behavior and attitudes. When our nation is threatened, "cheshbon ha-nefesh" (introspection), in addition to prayer, is in order.

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This shiur is provided courtesy of the Virtual Beit Midrash, the premier source of online courses on Torah and Judaism 14 different courses on all levels, for all backgrounds.

MakeJewish learning partof your week on a regular basis - enroll in the
Virtual Beit Midrash

(c) YeshivHar EtzioAll rights reserved to Yeshivat Har Etzion

Yeshivat Har Et
Alon Shvut, Israel, 90433
office@etzion.org.il