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S.A.L.T. –
YOM KIPPUR 5772
By Rav
David Silverberg
Motzaei
Shabbat
The Mishna in Masekhet Yoma (18b) teaches that during the Second Temple
period, the kohen gadol would be administered an oath before the Yom
Kippur service that he would perform the rituals properly. The heretical Sadducee sect, which
denied the authority of the oral halakhic tradition, claimed – based on their
reading of the text in Sefer Vayikra – that during the Yom Kippur service, the
kohen gadol must place the
ketoret on the coals to create
a cloud before he enters the kodesh
ha-kodashim. According to the
rabbinic oral tradition, however, this was done right when the kohen gadol
entered the inner sanctum. The elder
kohanim would administer an oath and
have the kohen gadol swear that he would comply with the guidelines as
outlined in the Torah she-be’al peh.
The Mishna relates that both the elder
kohanim and the
kohen gadol would cry after
this oath was taken, lamenting the need to harbor such suspicions.
On a technical level, of course, this oath was necessary to ensure that
the ritual was done properly. As
nobody entered the kodesh ha-kodashim together with
the kohen gadol (Vayikra 16:17), and given the influence exerted by the
Sadducees over the high priesthood, the leaders had no choice but to administer
this oath so that the nation, represented by the kohen gadol, would be
confident that it fulfills its collective obligation regarding the Yom Kippur
service.
But there may also be an additional, symbolic element to this oath, as
well (as developed by
Rav_Avraham_Gordimer. The
kohen gadol’s oath might be seen as one of the goals of the Yom Kippur
experience for each and every one of us.
As the day begins, we must all take an “oath” committing ourselves to go
about this observance with scrupulous honesty.
Like the kohen gadol entering the kodesh ha-kodashim, we
are preparing to enter a kind of holy sanctum, a period of intense prayer,
introspection and repentance in an effort to earn atonement for ourselves and
for our nation. And like the
kohen gadol, we enter this process of teshuva with nobody watching
us. Sure, the people around us in
the synagogue will see us banging our chest and mouthing the words, but nobody
other than ourselves will know what is happening inside our minds and hearts. The ceremonial oath of the kohen
gadol should perhaps alert us all to make a similar declaration to ourselves
before Yom Kippur that we are not going to try to fool anybody. We will not go through the motions
disingenuously without any intention to change course. We are instead going to thoroughly
examine ourselves, our conduct, our religious standing, the choices we have
made, and the direction of our lives, and make a sincere commitment to improve.
And, as in the case of the kohen gadol, the need for this “oath”
should cause us to cry, to lament.
Just as it is unfortunate that the kohen gadol might be suspected of
mishandling the most important and holy service at the most important and holy
site at the most important and holy occasion, it must similarly disturb us that
we are capable of sabotaging the holiness of Yom Kippur through insincerity. And like the suspected Sadducee high
priest, we are all guilty of presenting ourselves as pious and devoted Jews and
using this façade to conceal our shortcomings.
The “oath” of Yom Kippur is the declaration of brutal, self-effacing
honesty, of breaking through the veneer of righteousness behind which we so
often like to hide – and to cry and lament this pathetic attempt to overlook and
ignore our faults.
Sunday
The fast of Tzom Gedalya commemorates the assassination of
Gedalya, whom the Babylonian emperor Nevuchadnetzar had appointed as governor
over the small Jewish population remaining in Eretz Yisrael after the
destruction of the First Temple. The
story of this incident is briefly recorded toward the end of Sefer Melakhim II
(25:25-26), and in far greater detail in Sefer Yirmiyahu (chapters 40-44).
To appreciate the significance of this tragedy, we must consider the
seeds of hopes and optimism that had begun to take root in the aftermath of the
devastation of the Babylonian conquest.
We read in Sefer Yirmiyahu (40:7-12) that as the word spread that
Nevuchadnetzar had allowed some Jews to remain in Eretz Yisrael and even
appointed a governor, army officers and other Jews who had fled to neighboring
lands began returning in the hopes of rebuilding their country. The story is told in an upbeat,
hopeful tone, describing a “kibutz galuyot” of sorts, as Jews began returning to
their land and gathering food resources, laying the groundwork for a renewed
agricultural infrastructure.
These hopes of renewal were instantly shattered when Yishmael ben
Netanya, a Jew from the royal line of King David, killed Gedalya at the behest
of the king of Amon. The
assassination was an assault not only on Gedalya himself, but also, and perhaps
primarily, on Nevuchadnetzar, whose authority the Amonites sought to challenge. The Jews of
Eretz
Yisrael
naturally feared retaliation from the Babylonians, and prepared to move to
Egypt. Despite Yirmiyahu’s
prophecies of peace and security in
Eretz Yisrael, and violating
God’s command through the prophet that they remain (42:9-22), the Jews left and
resettled in Egypt, effectively ending the final chapter of the First
Commonwealth.
The Rosh Yeshiva,
Rav Yaakov
Medan shelit”a, noted a number of intriguing parallels between this
tragic incident and the story of Yosef.
Most obviously, both incidents involve Jews cooperating or conspiring
with people from another nation to eliminate a fellow Jew. Yosef’s brothers sold him as a slave
to Yishmaelite merchants, and Yishmael ben Netanya perpetrated this murder on
behalf of the Amonite kingdom.
Additionally, both sequences of events resulted in an exile to Egypt: Yosef was
brought to Egypt as a slave – paving the way for his family’s exile – and the
remaining Jews of Zion left their homeland as a result of Gedalya’s
assassination and settled in Egypt.
Moreover, Yishmael cast the corpses of Gedalya and his men into a pit (41:7),
reminiscent of Yosef’s brothers casting him into a pit, initially with the
intent of killing him.
Rav Medan extends this parallel one step further to explain an otherwise
baffling, though famous, Midrashic passage.
The Midrash in Bereishit Rabba (82:10), famously cited by Rashi
(to Bereishit 48:7), writes that when Benei Yisrael left into exile, they
passed by the gravesite of our matriarch Rachel, at which point her soul
beseeched God for mercy on behalf of her children. It was to this incident, the Midrash
writes, that the prophet Yirmiyahu refers when he describes our matriarch
weeping for her exiled children (Yirmiyahu 31:14). Rachel’s burial site is traditionally
assumed to be situated in northern Bethlehem, just south of Jerusalem, and this
view is mentioned explicitly by the Tosefta (Sota, chapter 11). Geographically, it seems difficult to
imagine that the Babylonians would lead the Jews southward from Jerusalem to
Bethlehem on their way to Babylonia.
What’s more, we know from Sefer Yirmiyahu (40:1) that the exiled Jews were
brought to a station in Rama, which is north of Jerusalem, on their way to
Jerusalem. How, then, can Chazal
speak the exiles of Jerusalem passing by the burial site of Rachel Imenu on
their way to Babylonia?
Rav Medan suggested reconciling this famous Midrashic tradition with the
geographical realities by claiming that
Chazal refer to the final stage of the Babylonian exile – the relocation to Egypt
after Gedalya’s assassination. As we
have seen, this marked the final seal on the First Commonwealth, and
Chazal describe our matriarch Rachel praying as the last of her sons and daughters
left Eretz Yisrael, traveling southward toward Egypt.
This theory, Rav Medan notes, may signify yet another point of
resemblance between the tragedy of Gedalya’s assassination and the story of
Yosef. A number of sources (Sefer Ha-yashar, and sources cited in Louis Ginzburg’s Legends of the Jews) relate that
as Yosef was being taken to Egypt, he passed by his mother Rachel’s burial site
and prayed. Rachel appeared to Yosef
and assured him that she would continue petitioning God on his behalf throughout
his travails in exile. Consistent
with the parallel between the two stories, perhaps, the final Jews who left
Eretz Yisrael after the Babylonian conquest, in the wake of Gedalya’s
assassination, also passed by Rachel’s tomb, where her soul offered a tearful
prayer to God on their behalf. On
both tragic occasions, when internecine strife among Jews resulted in exile, the
soul of our matriarch awakened to petition the Almighty and ask that He bring us
back so we can live peacefully in our homeland, working and cooperating
harmoniously together to build the nation that she had envisioned for her
descendants.
Monday
The Mishna at the end of Masekhet Ta’anit (26b) famously describes Yom
Kippur as one of the most joyous days on the calendar. In explaining the special joy of Yom
Kippur, the Gemara (30b) comments, “It is a day of forgiveness and pardon, the
day when the second tablets were given.”
Rav Soloveitchik (as cited by Rav Herschel Schachter in
Nefesh Ha-Rav, pp. 293-4) interpreted the Gemara’s
comment as referring to two different factors that render Yom Kippur a joyous
occasion. Besides being a day of
atonement, Yom Kippur also commemorates the
luchot sheniyot, the second set
of tablets which were given to
Benei Yisrael after the incident of
the golden calf. Yom Kippur is a day
that celebrates kabbalat ha-Torah;
just as on Shavuot we celebrate receiving the first set of tablets, on Yom
Kippur we celebrate our receiving the second set of tablets. This cause for celebration is one of
two elements of the festive nature of this day, the other being the forgiveness
that we achieve through our repentance.
What exactly is the difference between the celebrations of the two stages
of kabbalat ha-Torah? How are we to understand the
celebration of Yom Kippur as the day of our receiving the second tablets, and
how does this celebration relate to the celebration of Shavuot?
Rav Soloveitchik explained that Shavuot celebrates our receiving the
written Torah, whereas on Yom Kippur we celebrate the oral law. The Beit Ha-levi (vol. 2,
derush 18) writes that the initial
set of tablets which Benei Yisrael were to have received contained the
entire oral tradition. The initial
plan, which was in place until the sin of the golden calf, was for the entire
Torah to be written. After the sin
of the calf, however, it was decided that
Benei Yisrael would receive a portion
of the Torah through oral tradition.
Rav Soloveitchik thus explained that Shavuot is “zeman matan Torateinu”
in the sense that it was when we received the written text of the Torah, whereas
Yom Kippur is celebrated as the day we received the Torah she-be’al peh –
the oral tradition.
The question arises as to whether some connection exists between the two
elements of Yom Kippur – the time for repentance and atonement, and the
celebration of the Torah she-be’al peh.
Historically, of course, the luchot sheniyot signified God’s final pardon of Benei
Yisrael for the sin of the golden calf, thus establishing Yom Kippur as the
eternal day of atonement for our sins.
But might there be a closer point of connection between these two themes
– forgiveness and the Torah
she-be’al peh?
As part of the Torah’s description of the Yom Kippur ritual, it speaks of
the purification of the Mishkan “which
resides among them amidst their impurity” (Vayikra 16:16). One of themes of Yom Kippur is God’s
willingness to “reside among us” despite our mistakes and frailties. As long as we strive for perfection
and work to correct our mistakes and continuously improve, God is prepared to
maintain a close relationship with Am Yisrael despite our “impurity.” This was the message of God’s
forgiveness after the sin of the golden calf.
Chazal describe Benei Yisrael’s condition at the
time of Matan Torah as one where “paseka zuhamatan” – they lost the
“filth” that mankind has possessed since the time of Adam and Chava’s sin. But the nation could not remain on
this angelic spiritual level, and God ultimately agreed to renew His covenant
with Benei Yisrael despite their state of imperfection, to reside among
us “amidst their impurity,” even though we will make mistakes which we must then
struggle to correct. The message of
Yom Kippur, the day when our forgiveness for the
eigel ha-zahav was finalized, is that God lovingly and
compassionately seeks to maintain His close bond with us even amid our foibles
and shortcomings, as long as we make sincere efforts to grow and improve.
The process of
Torah she-be’al peh similarly
relates to God’s special relationship with
Am Yisrael
as limited, error-prone human beings.
The Almighty invites us to take part in the process of interpreting and
establishing His law, in the form of the Torah Sages’ application and
elucidation of the oral tradition.
This process is, by definition, imperfect, since even the greatest human mind is
imperfect. But just as God is
willing to reside among us “amid our impurity,” similarly, He endorses the
conclusions of the Sages even though they were reached by the inherently limited
and flawed human intellect. As long
as the generation’s scholars sincerely seek the truth in interpreting the
Torah
she-be’al peh, God approves of their conclusions – just as He accepts
us as His nation as long as we sincerely endeavor to serve Him faithfully.
Yom Kippur, the day when we seek to resemble angels, celebrates the bond
we enjoy with God despite our not being angels.
We push ourselves to our limits, raising ourselves to the greatest
spiritual heights we can, to demonstrate the sincerity of our devotion and
desire to be faithful servants of God.
He, in turn, then reaffirms His willingness to “reside among us” despite
our mistakes, as long as we continuously work and strive to correct them.
Tuesday
The Mishnayot in the first chapter of Masekhet Yoma describe the efforts
that were made to ensure that the
kohen gadol
would not fall asleep during the night of Yom Kippur. The concern was that if he would
sleep, he might experience an emission that would render him tamei and hence
unfit for the special service in the Mikdash on Yom Kippur day. Torah scholars were brought to study
with the kohen gadol throughout the night (Yoma 18b), and
young kohanim were on hand to snap their fingers if the kohen gadol began
to dozen (19b).
The Gemara (19b) adds that besides the group of
kohanim and scholars assembled in the chamber in
the Temple courtyard, the residents of Jerusalem also joined the effort to keep
the kohen gadol awake.
Several of the “yakirei Yerushalayim” – the distinguished members of
Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his
Musar
Ha-mishna,
insightfully notes the symbolic significance of this practice of the “yakirei
Yerushalayim”:
If the
kohen gadol feels that all the people sleep soundly in their beds and are
not thinking about Yom Kippur or about the sanctity of the occasion, then he,
too, will fall asleep. Therefore, in
order that the kohen gadol would not sleep, even some of the
distinguished residents of
When the
people “sleep,” when they exhibit indifference and apathy toward important
matters, then the “kohen gadol”
– their public servants – are also likely to “sleep.” The people’s vigor, enthusiasm and
commitment to important ideals and undertakings is what fuels the strength and
zeal of those who volunteer or are chosen to do the work. We cannot expect our community
leaders and volunteers to exert themselves tirelessly on our behalf while we
“sleep.” They feed off our energy
and interest, and we must therefore “stay awake” to ensure to sustain their
idealism and devotion to important causes.
Wednesday
The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 603:1)
famously rules that during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva period from Rosh
Hashanah through Yom Kippur, those who ordinarily partake of “pat akum” should refrain from doing so.
Halakha forbids partaking of baked goods prepared by a gentile, but many people are
lenient with regard to products baked professionally (in a bakery or factory),
and there is some basis for this practice.
Nevertheless, the Shulchan Arukh rules, it is proper to abstain from such products during
Aseret Yemei Teshuva as part of our effort to raise our standards of
Torah observance.
This ruling has its origins in the commentary of the Rosh to the end of
Masekhet Rosh Hashanah. The Rosh
writes that this custom is based on a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbat
1:3) that discusses the ancient practice to eat all meat in a state of ritual
impurity. The Yerushalmi records the
instruction given by Rav Chiya that even those who do not observe this practice
should do so “seven days a year.”
The Rosh explained this as a reference to the period of Aseret Yemei Teshuva. (The missing three days are Yom
Kippur, a fast day when this admonition is obviously irrelevant, and the two
days of Rosh Hashanah, when everyone would anyway ensure to be ritually impure
in honor of the festival.) During
this period, all people were urged to observe this practice, even if they did
not ordinarily follow this stringency throughout the rest of the year. The Yerushalmi’s ruling does not
directly apply nowadays, when we do not observe the laws of ritual purity, but
the Rosh cites this passage as the basis for the custom observed in Ashkenazic
communities to abstain from pat akum during the period of
Aseret Yemei Teshuva.
Many writers and darshanim have addressed
the obvious question as to the rationale behind this practice. Who do we think we are fooling by
accepting halakhic stringencies during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva?
How does this practice reflect a desire to change and improve if it is
undertaken from the outset as a temporary measure? And what does this accomplish,
anyway? If one accepts the lenient
position concerning pat akum, then there is no purpose served by
abstaining from it during this period.
And if one suspects that the stringent position reflects the correct
application of Halakha, then he should abstain
from pat akum throughout the
year.
Rav Yosef Zvi Rimon, in a thorough essay on this subject (http://vbm-torah.org/roshandyk/yk70-yzr.htm),
proposes several approaches to explain the rationale underlying this custom. One possibility he raises is that
this practice is intended to break the natural intimidation that people feel
when considering change. He writes:
A person is afraid to change, to repent. Repentance seems to be very distant
from him. But after a person succeeds in crossing the barriers and obstacles, he
suddenly realizes how his present situation is so appropriate for him. He
suddenly understands that the obstacles that he had seen earlier were an optical
illusion. He suddenly realizes that his previous situation had been totally
inappropriate for him, and it is precisely his present situation that is so
good, so appropriate.
At the beginning of the year a person should try everything; he should try to
repair everything, to improve everything, and to elevate himself in all ways. It
may later become clear that this intensity is indeed too much for him. But it is
also certainly possible that after experimenting with his strengths, he will
find new strengths. He will discover that things that he had been sure are not
relevant to him are indeed relevant to him; he will understand that the palace
that had seemed so distant from him is in fact very close.
The idea behind abstaining from pat akum is not to try to convince God that we
are more righteous now that we’ve taken on a halakhic stringency. Rather, the point is to show
ourselves that we are capable of change, that we are not stuck in our current
condition, that we are indeed able to make resolutions and stick to them. True, abstaining from
pat akum might seem like a trivial matter that has little, if any, effect upon our
souls or upon our record in the heavens.
But the intent is to demonstrate our ability to make changes –albeit
slight changes – in our behavior patterns.
If we are able to observe a small stringency during this week, then we
are also able to make necessary changes in our habits, in the way we speak, act
and conduct ourselves on a day-to-day basis.
And acknowledging our ability to change is the crucial first step toward
actually making the necessary changes that we should be making during this
period of teshuva.
Thursday
Yesterday, we discussed the famous ruling of the Shulchan Arukh
(603:1) that one should refrain from pat akum – bread baked professionally by a
gentile – during the period of the
Aseret Yemei Teshuva. Even though during the rest of the
year we generally allow pat akum that is baked professionally (as
opposed to privately), during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva it is proper to
act stringently in this regard. This
ruling originates from the comments of the Rosh (citing the Re’avya), at the end
of Masekhet Rosh Hashanah, based on a comment in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbat
1:3) concerning the ancient practice of ensuring to eat in a state of ritual
purity. The Yerushalmi writes that
even those who do not generally observe this custom should do so during the
Aseret Yemei Teshuva, and the Rosh writes that the modern-day application of
this ruling is abstaining from pat akum during this period.
The Tashbatz, as recorded by the Beit Yosef (O.C. 603), cites Rav
Shemuel of Bunberg as challenging the Rosh’s ruling. Rav Shemuel notes an obvious
distinction between the practice mentioned in the Yerushalmi and the Rosh’s
application to pat akum. The custom of
chulin be-tahara – eating ordinary food in a state of purity – is not a
strict halakhic matter. Strictly
speaking, only consecrated food, such as sacrificial meat and teruma, require a state of purity. The ancient custom of eating all food
in a state of purity was clearly a level of piety that was not based on any
strict halakhic requirement. The
issue of pat akum, by contrast, relates to a halakhic prohibition
whose precise application is unclear.
Abstaining from professionally-baked goods constitutes not an
extra-halakhic measure of piety, but rather a strict standard of halakhic
observance, ensuring to avoid halakhic uncertainty. Rabbi Shemuel of Bunberg thus
contended that unlike in the case of chulin be-tahara, if we accept the
stringency of pat akum for the week of
Aseret Yemei Teshuva, then we
must continue observing this measure thereafter.
As this is a matter of halakhic import, one who embraces the stringent
interpretation of this law and abstain from all
pat akum during this period must
continue doing so, as he has exhibited his acceptance of that interpretation. According to Rabbi Shemuel, then, as
presented by the Tashbatz, it is improper to accept the stringency of
pat akum during the
Aseret Yemei Teshuva, as one
would then be bound by this practice henceforth.
The
Beit Yosef
refutes this challenge of Rabbi Shemuel of Bunberg. He explains that although the issue
of pat akum
is certainly a halakhic matter, as opposed to chulin be-tahara,
practically speaking, the way people conduct themselves in this regard depends
on personal custom. Even if the
origins of the divergent customs relate to a halakhic question, in practice, as
the question has not been definitively resolved, the issue has become subject to
personal custom. As such, it is
perfectly acceptable to take on this stringency as a temporary measure of piety
during the period of the Aseret Yemei Teshuva.
Interestingly enough, a similar contention to that of the Tashbatz was made by
the Arukh Ha-shulchan concerning other controversial halakhic issues. The Arukh Ha-shulchan writes
that one should not accept as a temporary measure during this period a custom to
follow the stringent view regarding a matter of halakhic dispute. For example, if one ordinarily eats
chadash (newly-harvested grain before the second day of Pesach) outside
Eretz Yisrael, or eats meat from an animal whose lungs had not been
inspected for abrasions, he should not adopt the stringent rulings on these
issues during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva.
If he does, the Arukh Ha-shulchan writes, then he will be bound by
these stringent positions even after Yom Kippur.
Apparently, the Arukh Ha-shulchan held that the issue of
pat akum is not an issue subject to halakhic controversy, and it is clear that
professionally-baked goods are, strictly speaking, permissible. Refraining from pat akum
during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva,
in his view, is a matter of enhanced piety, and not a stricter halakhic
standard, and it therefore does not signify the acceptance of a practice that is
binding even beyond this period.
This custom, then, cannot be applied to matters of halakhic controversy
regarding which the acceptance of the stringent ruling would be binding even
after the period of the Aseret Yemei Teshuva.
Friday
The haftara for the morning of Yom Kippur, which is taken from
Sefer Yeshayahu (57:14 - 58:14), sharply criticizes those who engage in prayer
and fasting without seeking to improve their ethical standards. God exhorts the prophet to raise his
voice “like a shofar” to announce the people’s iniquity, to point out their hypocrisy in crying
out to God in prayer and desiring His closeness “like a nation that has acted
righteously and has not abandoned the statutes of its God” (58:2). The prophet notes that even as they
fast and pray, the people engage in petty and even violent in-fighting (58:4),
failing to realize that the true intent of a fast day is to lend assistance to
the poor and downtrodden, and rein in on the powerful tyrants who abuse the
lower socioeconomic classes (58:6-7).
This trenchant prophecy belongs to the familiar “genre” of prophecies
that bemoan the hypocrisy of ritualistic fervor and punctiliousness devoid of
basic ethical commitment. The reason
why such behavior is hypocritical – and does not simply reflect incomplete or
partial Torah observance – is intuitive and self-understood: ethics and
sensitivity are the foundation and starting point of religious life, without
which ritual observance is meaningless.
Piety cannot be achieved without decency, and therefore people who strive
for spiritual greatness while engaging in corruption and deceit will, by
definition, fail.
However, as noted by the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Moshe Lichtenstein
shelit”a,
this
haftara
also points to an additional aspect of this form of religious inconsistency. Early in his condemnation of the
people’s meaningless fasts, the prophet describes their frustration over God’s
rejection of their pleas: “Why have we prayed but You have not looked? We have tormented our souls, but You
are not even aware!” (58:3). This
question, Rav Lichtenstein writes, bespeaks more than a lack of awareness of the
need for introspection and repentance as part of the fast day observance. It reflects a fundamentally flawed
perspective on not only fasting, but on religion generally. Rav Lichtenstein writes:
Fulfilling the commandments that are “between man and God” is perceived as a
means of advancing and enhancing their personal condition, and the complaint is
thus that the
mitzvot
are not working. The meaning of this
is that a person does not fulfill mitzvot because he sees himself as
obligated to his Creator, but rather because he seeks his own well-being. The person places himself, and not
the Almighty, at the center. He is
the important entity for which one should fulfill the mitzvot,
whereas the Almighty is meant to serve him to do him favors. Thus, it is arrogance and
egocentricism that lies at the root of the problem.
The people viewed Torah observance as a means of achieving what they want,
rather as their basic obligation toward God.
The root of the problem was not so much hypocrisy as an egocentric
perspective on Judaism. They
approached Torah as a strategy for personal success and gratification, as an
instrument they can employ to advance their self-serving interests, and not as
the service of our Creator.
And it is for this very reason that they could display such fervent
devotion to ritual while neglecting their basic obligations to their fellowmen. Their religious commitment was fueled
solely by their personal ambitions.
They fasted not as self-sacrifice, but to the contrary, as a means to get what
they wanted. Naturally, then, they
were not prepared to sacrifice for one another, to share their profits with the
poor, to forego on what they felt was rightfully theirs in the name of peace, or
to exert themselves to defend those oppressed by abusive leaders. The people’s devotion to the laws
“between man and God” while neglecting the laws “between man and his fellow” did
not reflect inconsistency. They were
actually very consistent in their egocentric commitment to themselves. They were out to serve their own
interests, and this drove them to plead to God and fast, while cheating and
neglecting other people.
The purpose of the fast is to engender humility and submission, the
recognition that our lives must be devoted to serving our Creator and not to
serving ourselves. This process
demands that we reexamine our true motives for observing mitzvot, that we
ensure that we observe out of a sense of humble subservience to God, and not for
our own interests.
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