The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

The Torah never mentions explicitly that God judges the world on Rosh Hashanah. This tradition is mentioned in the mishna, in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah 16a (the mishna we discussed three days ago). The Gemara (earlier, in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah 8a), cites Rav Nachman Bar Yitzchak as bringing a Biblical source: "[It is a land… ] on which the Lord your God always keeps His eye, from year's beginning to year's end" (Devarim 11:12). Rav Nachman Bar Yitzchak interprets this verse to mean that God judges the world at the beginning of the year to determine what will occur at its end, meaning, what kind of year it will be.

The Gemara does not, however, inform us as to why the Almighty selected Rosh Hashanah as the trial date. True, this is when the year begins, but this itself requires an explanation: why did God determine that for purposes of judgment the year begins in Tishrei?

Several Rishonim addressed this question. The Ran in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah suggests two historical bases for this designation of the first of Tishrei. According to the Midrash, it was on the same day that Adam was created that he committed his sin in the Garden of Eden. And on that very day he stood trial before God and was forgiven, or at least had his sentence lightened. It was thus established that forever more God will judge the world on the same day when Adam was created and later stood trial - Rosh Hashanah. The Ran's second suggestion involves a later historical event - Benei Yisrael's atonement for the sin of the golden calf. Our tradition tells us that God formally granted atonement on Yom Kippur. The Ran claims, however, that it was ten days earlier, on Rosh Hashanah, when God began to accept Moshe's pleas on the nation's behalf. He thus decided to establish this day, which had become a day of mercy and compassion towards Benei Yisrael, as the day of judgment for years to come.

A much different approach to Rosh Hashanah is mentioned by the Meiri. Rosh Hashanah falls at the height of the harvest season, when a farmer once and for all sees the fruits of his labor and experiences the pride of productive toil. Specifically at this point in the agricultural season, God found it necessary to humble mankind, to ensure that they recognize their dependence on His kindness. He therefore instituted the first of Tishrei as the most intimidating day of the year, the day on which we must stand trial before His tribunal. This helps prevent an arrogant sense of self-sufficiency and independence that might otherwise overcome the proud farmer.

The Meiri's approach reflects an aspect of Rosh Hashanah that bears relevance even in contemporary, non-agrarian society. The Yamim Nora'im period is intended to be a humbling experience for us all. It is meant to remind the individual of his powerlessness and dependence on God's mercy. Over the course of the Days of Awe one must realize that his very life, not to mention his health and livelihood, rests on God's compassion, compassion that we must earn through our conduct. Herein lies perhaps the most humbling recognition of all - that we have not earned divine compassion. We come face-to-face with ourselves and recognize that we are undeserving, by our own merit, of God's mercy. Only once we have arrived at this conclusion and undertaken a concerted effort to improve can we go into Yom Kippur, ask for forgiveness, and thereby earn God's favor.

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Yesterday we made reference to the mishna in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (16a) that establishes this festival as the day on which God judges all mankind. As we discussed several days ago, the mishna describes the judgment of Rosh Hashanah as, "all people on earth pass before Him like 'benei maron'." The Gemara (18a) cites several different interpretations of this phrase, "benei maron." According to Rashi, all the different approaches amount to the same concept: that we pass before the Almighty one by one. No two people are judged together. Each of us must individually stand before the heavenly tribunal. We have no one else on whom to rely during this trial; we have no attorney or any other line of defense. Our deeds alone will determine the verdict.

Then, the Gemara cites a comment in the name of Rabbi Yochanan that appears to mark a complete about-face in the Gemara's perspective of the judgment of Rosh Hashanah: "ve-khulan niskarin b-skira achat" - "They are all assessed in a single assessment." This implies that the judgment of this day occurs on the general, rather than individual, plane. God does not assess each person independently, but rather surveys mankind as a whole and renders judgment. How can we resolve this glaring contradiction?

The following explanation was suggested by Rabbi Lawrence Kelemen, a noted contemporary author and lecturer. The first passage in the Gemara deals with the procedure of the judgment, whereas the second addresses its content and substance. As Rashi explains, every individual indeed passes independently through the tribunal; every person stands trial as an individual. But what are we judged for? What exactly must the tribunal determine? Every person must give an accounting of how he has contributed to the world, the extent to which he has fulfilled the role for which God placed him on earth. This determination requires "sekira achat," a general assessment of the state of the world, which will reveal if and how and to what degree the given individual has done his share. Holes or cracks that appear on the general picture may be attributed to a particular person, if his role in the world involved those pieces of the universal puzzle - pieces that he has failed to supply.

This idea presents a somewhat frightening perspective on Rosh Hashanah. We are tried not for our actions in and of themselves, in a vacuum, but rather within the context of the world around us. How have we met the unique challenges of our generation and our particular circumstances? Have we taken our own "sekira achat," general assessment of the world, in determining how we spend our time and in what activities we invest our energies and talents? Have we considered the problems and dangers facing the world and Kelal Yisrael today in charting our path of conduct? These are the questions that God will undoubtedly answer on Rosh Hashanah, and these are the questions we must ask ourselves as we prepare for this Day of Judgment.

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In his Hilkhot Teshuva (3:4), the Rambam articulates his view concerning the mitzva of blowing shofar on Rosh Hashanah: "Although shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah constitutes a Biblical decree, it [also] contains a message, as if to say, 'Awaken, you who slumber, from your sleep… search through your deeds and repent, and remember your Creator!'" If, indeed, this is how the Rambam understood this mitzva, and bearing in mind that he issued this statement in his Mishneh Torah, his halakhic work, rather than in his philosophical work, Moreh Nevukhim, we could perhaps expect a correlation between the basic halakhot of shofar and the concept of teshuva that lies at its core.

We will consider one such correlation in light of the Rambam's famous position as to the precise halakhic definition of the mitzva of shofar. In his introductory comments to Hilkhot Shofar, the Rambam describes the mitzva as an obligation "to hear the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah." One might have defined the obligation not to hear, but rather to blow; the public shofar blowing in the synagogue would then parallel mitzvot such as Megilla reading, where everyone essentially bears an obligation to read but one individual may read on behalf of others (though the famous principle of "shomei'a ke-oneh"). This contrary perspective on shofar, that the obligation entails blowing, rather than hearing, is generally attributed to Rabbenu Tam, who rules that before shofar blowing we recite the berak, "al teki'at shofar" - "the blowing of the shofar," as opposed to the accepted text of, "li-shmoa kol shofar" - "to hear the sound of the shofar." The Rambam explicitly articulates his position in a responsum (Shut ha-Rambam 142), where he distinguishes between "blowing" and "hearing," and argues that the mitzva is to hear, rather than to blow.

This position gives rise to numerous difficulties raised and discussed by many Acharonim. If, indeed, the mitzva entails only hearing, then why does halakha place so many restrictions and establish so many specific guidelines as to who may blow and how? Specifically, those who are, for whatever reason, exempt from the mitzva, such as children, may not blow on behalf of others who are included in the obligation. Furthermore, halakha explicitly requires the ba'al tokei'a (the one blowing for others) to have in mind to fulfill the obligation on behalf of his listeners. If the mitzva merely requires listening, what difference should it make who blows and with what intention?

One answer to this question is suggested by the Avnei Nezer (O.C. 431). Although the precise definition of the obligation is listening, it also requires human initiative in producing the sound to be heard. In other words, the mitzva requires listening to a sound that one has himself produced. Through the institution of "shelichut," one can enlist the services of another to produce the sound on his behalf. Essentially, however, one must hear a sound that he himself helped produce.

Carrying this concept over to the theme of teshuva underlying the mitzva of shofar, we may perhaps point to a critical lesson that emerges. As the Rambam writes in Hilkhot Teshuva, the shofar is meant as a "wake-up call" of sorts. This call, however, cannot be effective without the individual's initiative and personal effort. One cannot sit passively and wait for some external force to sound his shofar, to wake him up to the spiritual realities he has been ignoring. The wake-up call must come from his internal being; it must emerge from within, rather than from without. No other person or power can change an individual; only his own resolve, devotion and effort can trigger the process of spiritual improvement that we so desperately require during this season.

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Anyone who has ever tried blowing a shofar knows that shofar blowing requires a certain level of skill or some training. In some communities, a qualified ba'al tokei'a is hard to find, and at times a single individual may be called upon to blow the shofar in several different synagogues or in other locations, such as at the homes of ill patients who could not attend services, and so on. An interesting halakhic issue arises in such a case as to at which point the individual should have in mind to fulfill his own obligation of shofar. Should he have in mind to fulfill his requirement immediately when he blows shofar for the first time, or should he wait until his final blowing? This question is addressed by Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank in his "Har Tzvi" (O.C. 2:86).

The problem in this case involves a possible conflict between two halakhic interests. Instinctively, we would probably tell the ba'al tokei'a to fulfill his requirement when blowing for the first time, given the famous and important principle of, "mitzva ha-ba'a le-yadekha al tachmitzena" - we should never delay the performance of mitzvot. Indeed, this is the ruling of the famous halakhic work, the Mateh Efrayim (585:9). Other authorities, however, disagree, and argue that a different factor overrides this fundamental precept. Generally speaking, halakha dictates that "af al pi she-yatza, motzi" - one can fulfill a mitzva on behalf of others even if he has already satisfied his own obligation. Thus, for example, someone who already recited havdala on Motza'ei Shabbat can repeat it for those who have yet to hear or recite havdala. One who read the Megilla on Purim at the early minyan can read it again for those in attendance at the late minyan. Similarly, one who has already blown or heard the shofar should, presumably, have the ability to blow on behalf of others later in the day. However, the Behag and several Geonim are of the opinion that this principle applies only to mitzvot of rabbinic origin - such as Megilla reading. When it comes to Torah obligations, like shofar, one can perform the action on behalf of others only if he himself has yet to fulfill his requirement. Though we generally do not accept this view, some authorities believe that it is worth overriding the concern for not delaying mitzva performance in order to satisfy the view of the Behag and the Geonim. Therefore, one should have in mind not to fulfill his obligation until the final blowing.

Rav Frank points to a possible flaw in the logical reasoning behind this second position. Namely, one could argue that little is accomplished by delaying the ba'al tokei'a's own fulfillment of the mitzva until his final blowing. This position advocated this delay out of concern for the view of the Behag that Torah obligations can be performed on behalf of others only if one has yet to fulfill the mitzva himself. One very likely reading of this view is that one can fulfill a Torah obligation on behalf of others only when he fulfills his own obligation through that same act. Applying this reading to shofar, one may blow for others only if through this blowing he fulfills his obligation. Although the Behag and Geonim addressed only the situation of one who has already satisfied his requirement, logic may dictate that we compare the situation of such a person with one who blows without any intention to fulfill his mitzva at that point. Therefore, returning to our case, if the ba'al tokei'a has in mind to delay his fulfillment until his final blowing, then according to the Behag all previous listeners may not have fulfilled their requirement.

Rav Frank elaborates a bit on this issue, and ultimately finds basis for a distinction within the view of the Behag between the ba'al tokei'a's status after having fulfilled his obligation and when blowing without having in mind to fulfill his mitzva.

For a conclusive halakhic ruling, please seek competent rabbinic guidance.

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When the first day of Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbat (the second day can never fall on Shabbat), as it does this year, we refrain from blowing the shofar. Out of concern that shofar blowing may lead to an inadvertent violation of Shabbat, Chazal implemented their power to override Torah obligations and prohibited shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah that falls on Shabbat. This rabbinic enactment raises many questions and provides much room for discussion on various levels. We will address the precise content of the enactment, meaning, what exactly Chazal did to the Biblical command of shofar blowing. In theory, we could describe the enactment in one of two ways. Minimally, all Chazal did was forbid us - strange as this sounds - from performing the mitzva of shofar on this day. The mitzva remains fully intact, but we are forbidden from observing it. This would mean that one who violates the edict and blows shofar on Shabbat Rosh Hashanah violates a rabbinic ordinance but fulfills the Biblical command of shofar. Alternatively, one could argue that Chazal employed the power granted them to annul or uproot the mitzvot of the Torah in specific situations. When Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, Chazal cancel the mitzva of shofar, such that one who blows shofar on this day has not fulfilled any mitzva.

We will look at two practical ramifications - or possible ramifications - of this question. Several writers cite a discussion from the work, "Peri ha-Aretz" (2:17) concerning this case - of one who violates the rabbinic enactment and blows shofar on Shabbat Rosh Hashanah. Needless to say, one's blowing on the first day of Rosh Hashanah will have no impact on his obligation the following day, Sunday, the second day of Rosh Hashanah, and he must obviously blow on the second day. The question arises, however, as to whether he recites "she-hecheyanu" when blowing the shofar onthe second day. We recite this berakha whenever we perform a given mitzva for the first time this year. If Chazal did not uproot the mitzva, but merely forbade our observance thereof, then the violator in fact fulfilled the mitzva of shofar when he blew on the first day. On the second day, then, he would not recite she-hecheyanu. If, however, we view the enactment as a suspension of the shofar obligation, then the individual performed no mitzva act by blowing shofar on the first day. He must therefore recite she-hecheyanu on the second day.

A second possible ramification involves the ruling of the Hagahot Oshri (Masekhet Rosh Hashanah 4:7) permitting one to train a minor to blow shofar on Shabbat Rosh Hashanah. Though generally adults may not actively engage minors in forbidden activities - despite the fact that they are yet to be bound by the mitzvot - here, the Hagahot Oshri rules, it is permitted. Since shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah generally constitutes a mitzva, but is merely suspended on Shabbat, no prohibition applies for purposes of chinukh (educating children in mitzvot). The Magen Avraham (citing Rabbenu Yerucham - O.C. 343:3) extracts from this ruling a general principle concerning chinukh: one may actively engage minors in forbidden activity if a mitzva is somehow involved. For example, the Magen Avraham claims that the Hagahot Oshri necessarily accepts the ruling of Tosefot (Pesachim 88a) allowing one to feed a child meat of the korban pesach even if the child had not "signed up" for the korban. (Normally, one may not partake of a korban pesach unless he had previously registered, so-to-speak, on that korban.) Since a mitzva is essentially involved, Tosefot permit feeding this forbidden meat to a minor.

Rabbi Akiva Eiger, however, disagrees, and claims that we cannot extend the ruling of the Hagahot Oshri any further than its immediate context, and certainly not to this ruling of Tosefot. According to Rabbi Akiva Eiger, Chazal never suspended the mitzva of shofar blowing on Shabbat Rosh Hashanah; they simply told us not to go through with it. Therefore, blowing shofar on this day indeed fulfills a mitzva, and hence a minor may be trained to blow shofar even on Shabbat Rosh Hashanah. This does not, however, yield Tosefot's ruling concerning the korban pesach. Once the meat of the korban pesach is forbidden to all those who have not registered, we have no reason to permit feeding it to a minor; there is no mitzva involved in its consumption if he did not register. This case does not parallel the situation of Shabbat Rosh Hashanah, where, according to Rabbi Akiva Eiger, the mitzva still exists, and we may therefore allow the child to ignore the rabbinic ordinance for purposes of chinukh.

(Taken from an article by Rav Chaim Shaul Kaufman of Gateshead)

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A fascinating discussion appears in the Gemara, in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah 26a, concerning the mitzva of shofar which may shed light on the nature of this mitzva and Rosh Hashanah in general. The mishna there records a debate as to whether a cow's horn may be used as a shofar on Rosh Hashanah. The Gemara explains that the majority view, which follows the stringent position, is based on the principle of "ein kateigor na'aseh saneigor," literally, "a prosecutor cannot become a defense attorney." In other words, we do not want to use the horn of a cow, which evokes memories of the sin of the golden calf, in our effort to appease the Almighty on the Day of Judgment. The Gemara later challenges this argument on the basis of a significant restriction of this principle: it applies only to service performed by the kohen gadol in the kodesh ha-kodashim (innermost chamber of the Bet ha-Mikdash). The Gemara responds, "Since it [the shofar] is 'le-zikaron' [to bring our remembrance before God], it is similar to that which takes place inside [the kodesh ha-kodashim]." The "zikaron" quality of the shofar somehow renders it comparable to the high priest's Yom Kippur service, thus warranting the application of the "ein kateigor" principle. How are we to understand this quality of "zikaron," and how does it relate to "ein kateigor"?

In approaching this Gemara we should perhaps take a step back to examine the concept "ein kateigor na'aseh saneigor" in and of itself. The kodesh ha-kodashim represents the closest and most direct encounter between Am Yisrael and the Almighty since Matan Torah. In fact, according to the Ramban, God's residence in the Mishkan/Mikdash is meant to reenact Ma'amad Har Sinai. The chamber where this intimate encounter occurs is not the place for memories of prior friction and instability in our relationship with God. Just as a spouse should never introduce points of sensitivity during moments of marital intimacy, so must the kodesh ha-kodashim remain free of any trace of prior agitation in the relationship.

The shofar, perhaps, is the tool by which we seek to repair the damage caused to our relationship with the Almighty by our disloyalty. We have already seen the Rambam's comment that the shofar blast is meant as a "wake-up call" to inspire us to teshuva. Rav Soloveitchik has added that the shofar blowing signifies our helpless loss of words; we have nothing to say to the Almighty in our defense, so we can only wail like an animal in search of food and water. In any event, the shofar is our attempt at restoring the bond of love and trust that had existed between us and God. The shofar serves "le-zikaron," to bring back the memories of the relationship that was in an effort to resurrect it. In this endeavor, "ein kateigor na'aseh saneigor" - we cannot allow the intrusion of any memories of friction. We look to evoke the fond memories of the past - the loyalty of the patriarchs (specifically akeidat Yitzchak - zikhronot) and the devotion of Am Yisrael as a whole (particularly at Ma'amad Har Sinai - shofarot). We must therefore avoid introducing elements associated with our past sins into the shofar, the very tool we use in our attempt to restore our relationship with God, and the vehicle through which we engage in sincere prayer and repentance.

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As we noted yesterday, the mishna in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (26a) brings a debate as to whether or not a cow's horn may be used as a shofar on Rosh Hashanah. In the following mishna, however, we encounter the view of Rabbi Yehuda that a bent ram's horn should be used for this mitzva, and the Gemara rules in accordance with this position. Earlier in the masekhet (16a), the Gemara cites Rabbi Avahu's explanation as to why a ram's horn is used: "The Almighty says, blow before Me with a shofar of a ram, in order that I remember for you the binding of Yitzchak… " The use of the ram's horn evokes the memory of akeidat Yitzchak, which culminated with Avraham's offering of a ram in place of his son, Yitzchak (Bereishit 22:13). Obviously, the Almighty does not need a "reminder" of the akeida. In fact, the entire "zikhronot" section of the mussaf service on Rosh Hashanah is devoted to the concept that God remembers everything and forgets nothing. Our symbolic reference to the akeida through the shofar, then, must serve as a reminder for us, rather than for God. Indeed, the Ketav Sofer (in his transcript of a drasha he delivered in Pressburg on Rosh Hashanah, 5605 [1844]) writes that the recollection of the akeida must inspire us to follow the example of our patriarchs. Invoking the memory of the boundless devotion of Avraham and Yitzchak is meant to stir our minds and hearts, such that the Almighty will take their merits into account as He judges us on Rosh Hashanah.

A question arises, however, as to the particular significance of the ram within the akeida story. According to Rabbi Avahu, it is the ram's horn that we use to invoke the merit of Avraham and Yitzchak. At first glance, the ram pays a relatively insignificant role in the drama of the akeida. After God instructs Avraham to withdraw the sword from his son, Avraham beholds a ram caught in the thicket and offers it in place of Yitzchak. What particular lesson do we learn from this incident, the lesson that we are draw in order to earn the merit of the akeida?

Perhaps the answer lies in the Seforno's comments regarding the ram. According to the Seforno, Avraham sacrificed the ram "as an exchange for his son, in the spirit of, 'and who speaks truthfully in his heart'." Apparently, Avraham felt obligated to offer a sacrifice in place of his son because he had pledged to bring an offering and was therefore bound by this pledge. Avraham's honesty compelled him to find a substitute for Yitzchak, to come up with some method of fulfilling his pledge.

The ram, then, symbolizes Avraham's sense of duty and commitment. Though the Almighty ultimately refused to accept Yitzchak as an offering, Avraham did not conveniently excuse himself from bringing a sacrifice. He understood the value of consistency in avodat Hashem - the obligation to remain true to one's ideals and beliefs. All too often, we allow considerations of comfort and convenience to override our deepest convictions and commitments. We are at times willing to forego to some degree on that which we believe in to take a shortcut. To invoke the merit of the akeida, we must learn the lesson of the ram, the lesson of honest and consistent devotion to our religious ideals.

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