MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            Parashat Devarim records Moshe’s brief review of Benei Yisrael’s sojourn through the wilderness, in which he places particular emphasis on the sin of the scouts and the nation’s conquest of the Emorite kingdoms east of the Jordan River.  Naturally, as Benei Yisrael find themselves on the brink of entry into the land, Moshe’s primary concern is to avoid a repeat of the failure that occurred thirty-eight years earlier, after the scouts returned and dissuaded the people from proceeding into the land.  He therefore elaborates on the catastrophic consequences of that episode – the death of the entire generation over a thirty-eight-year period of desert travel – as well as on Benei Yisrael’s recent triumph over the Emorites.  The account of these events impressed upon the people the gravity of their parents’ refusal to enter Canaan, and the fact that the process of conquest has in effect already begun, such that they have no reason to fear the battles awaiting them across the river.

            In describing these events, Moshe also traces the geography of the nation’s travels, bringing to the fore a puzzling issue concerning the aftermath of chet ha-meraglim (the sin of the scouts).  The scouts were dispatched from Kadesh Barnea, along the southern border of Eretz Yisrael, and, as Rashi writes in his commentary to this parasha (2:1), the initial plan was for the nation to enter the land directly from the south.  But in the wake of the sin of the scouts, Rashi writes, God decreed not only that Benei Yisrael would remain in the wilderness for another thirty-eight years, but also that they would enter the land from a different direction.  When they left Kadesh Barnea, they traveled eastward and then turned north, until they arrived to the point parallel to Gilgal, roughly in the middle of Canaan.  The obvious question arises as to why the point of entry changed as a result of the sin of the scouts.  Why didn’t God simply decree that Benei Yisrael would remain at the same spot, in Kadesh Barnea, for thirty-eight years, and then proceed into the land from the south, as was initially planned?  Why was it important for them to travel and then enter Eretz Yisrael via an entirely different route?

            Rav Yitzchak Etshalom (www.torah.org/advanced/mikra/5757/dv/dt.59.5.01.html) suggested that the initially planned route was specifically intended for Benei Yisrael to retrace the steps taken by their ancestors when they came to Egypt in the first place.  When Yaakov and his family first left Canaan to settle in Egypt, they of course took the direct, southward route, from Chevron, to Be’er Sheva, and then down to Egypt.  Often, Rav Etshalom noted, retracing steps serves as a symbolic demonstration of erasing the original trip.  Thus, for example, it is customary after receiving an aliya to return to one’s seat via a different route from the one taken when going to the Torah, in order not to express the desire to symbolically negate the initial trip to the Torah.  Benei Yisrael’s intended route was meant to retrace and thereby “erase” their initial descent to Egypt, as if to declare that the Egyptian exile is no longer a reality to contend with, as the nation begins anew establishing their permanent residence and sovereignty in their homeland.

            This all changed, however, in the wake of chet ha-meraglim.  While this was not the first time Benei Yisrael complained and protested, this incident does mark the first occasion on which they began making plans to return to Egypt: “They said each to his fellow: Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt!” (Bamidbar 14:4).  The nation’s response to the scouts’ report of the formidable Canaanite armies revealed that they were not prepared to “undo” the Egyptian exile.  They still felt attached and drawn to Egypt, and could not yet commit themselves to the challenges of living in God’s special land.  Therefore, instead of tracing their ancestors’ steps and thus symbolically negating the experience of Egyptian exile, they had to change directions and enter via a different route.

David Silverberg

SUNDAY

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Devarim, Moshe recounts the appointment of a judicial network to work alongside him in governing the people.  He introduces this account by recalling, “I said to you at that time: I cannot bear [the responsibilities of leading] you by myself” (1:9).  Rashi, citing the Sifrei, comments, “I am not saying this to you on my own; but rather from the Almighty.”  Moshe emphasizes that he did not merely make a personal request for assistance to help alleviate his burden; God Himself sanctioned this decision and instructed that other judges be appointed.

            Rav Moshe Feinstein (Kol Ram, vol. 1) adds that Rashi here seeks to clarify the meaning of the words “lo ukhal” – “I cannot” – in this verse.  Whereas at first glance it appears that Moshe describes his physical or practical inability to govern independently, in truth, Rashi explains, Moshe refers here to a divine command.  It was the Almighty who instructed that a leadership hierarchy be established, and this does not result merely from the difficulties Moshe encountered in trying to lead alone.

It should be noted that several verses later, Moshe indeed laments his inability to independently bear the heavy burden of leadership – “How can I bear by myself your burdens…” (1:12) – indicating that he felt incapable of serving alone.  It thus stands to reason that Rashi did not mean that Moshe’s limitations played no role in this decision, but rather that irrespective of the practical necessity, God also commanded that additional leaders be assigned to assist Moshe.

            In any event, Rashi’s comments invite the question of why God commanded that a judicial network be established.  If Moshe’s struggles were not the only motivation behind this decision, what other reason was there?

            We could conceive of a number of possible reasons, but Rav Moshe pointed specifically to Moshe’s singular stature and credentials, that could have potentially discourages the masses from striving for greatness.  If Moshe Rabbenu served as the people’s only model of spiritual greatness, they would not likely make any attempts to grow and achieve beyond their current standing.  As the exclusive leadership figure, Moshe’s position would have resulted in an “all or nothing” approach toward spiritual achievement, whereby the people would presume that if they cannot rise to somewhere near Moshe’s stature, they may just as well remain where they are now.  God therefore commanded Moshe to appoint other officials who would serve as leaders, judges and guides for the people, and to whom the masses could look as models of greatness that they feel capable of following.

David Silverberg

MONDAY

            The haftara for Shabbat Parashat Devarim is taken from the prophet Yeshayahu’s scathing condemnation of Benei Yisrael’s conduct, particularly their ongoing involvement in Temple rituals and prayer despite acting in direct contrast to the basic Torah ideals of honesty and sensitivity.  As indicated by the Radak (1:8), this prophecy was delivered during the reign of King Chizkiyahu, the righteous monarch of the Judean kingdom who initiated and led a spiritual revival after his father and predecessor, Achaz, rejected the Torah and shut down the Mikdash.  During Chizkiyahu’s time, it appears, the people very enthusiastically recommitted themselves to the service of God in the Beit Ha-mikdash, but neglected the other values championed by the Torah, particularly those involving honesty, integrity and concern for the underprivileged.

            In this prophecy Yeshayahu laments, “How has the faithful city become a harlot! Righteousness slept there – but now they murder!  Your money has been counterfeited, your wine is diluted with water.  Your officers are wayward and a band of thieves – they all love bribes and seek paybacks; they do not judge the orphan, and the plight of the widow does not reach them!” (1:21-23).

            Malbim, in his commentary, suggests an enlightening interpretation of this series of verses, claiming that Yeshayahu here presents an imaginary dialogue between himself and somebody who has returned to Jerusalem after a brief period of absence.  The individual enters the city and takes note of the drastic transformation it has undergone, from being a “faithful city,” a society that is loyal to the ideals of justice, integrity and kindness, to being a city of murderers.  He emphasizes that “righteousness slept there,” as if to say that “just last night” the people of Jerusalem conducted themselves with proper morals and ethical standards, and now, suddenly, they have become a “harlot,” betraying their commitments to God, and a cruel, murderous society.  How, this visitor asks, can a city change so suddenly from a place of justice to a place of bloodshed?

            The subsequent two verses, Malbim claims, constitute the prophet’s response to the visitor’s bewilderment.  He explains that this transformation did not, in fact, occur overnight, as it at first appears; the people did not suddenly fall from the heights of justice to the depths of barbarism.  Rather, the process took place gradually, starting with ethical corruption: “Your money has been counterfeited, your wine is diluted with water.”  The senseless, bloody hatred among the people of Jerusalem has its origins in selfish greed and deception, dishonesty in the marketplace and commercial backstabbing.  It was not upright citizens who suddenly became murderers, but rather people who had grown accustomed to filling their pockets with stolen goods, who made a living through deception and indifference to their fellow citizens.

            Moreover, the prophet explains, “Your officers are wayward…they do not judge the orphans…”  The so-called leaders set the tone of greed and corruption by abusing their authority for profitable gain.  Rather than using their positions to defend the poor and underprivileged, to protect the widows and orphans from the wild beasts of prey that roamed in the economic jungle that was the city of Jerusalem, they accepted bribes and kickbacks from the beasts themselves.

            This prophecy thus teaches of the evils and dangers of corruption, insensitivity and greed, which are not only intrinsically evil, but also point society in the direction of cruelty and violence.  Yeshayahu here warns that “white collar crimes” create an atmosphere that encourages as well “blue collar crimes.”  He calls our attention to the need to obliterate all forms of dishonesty and corruption, and to recommit ourselves to the basic Torah ideals of integrity, kindness and compassion for all.

David Silverberg

TUESDAY

            The haftara for Parashat Devarim concludes with the prophet Yeshayahu’s famous promise, “Tizyon be-mishpat tipadeh ve-shaveha bi-tzdaka” – “Zion shall be redeemed through justice; her repentant ones, through righteousness” (Yeshayahu 1:27).

            It is worth noting that the prophet appears to afford precedence to mishpat (justice) over tzedaka (righteousness).  Generally, the term mishpat refers to a more basic, elementary standard of ethics than tzedaka.  Whereas tzedaka denotes generosity and kindness, giving of oneself and one’s resources on behalf of others, mishpat is commonly used to mean basic integrity and uprightness, refraining from deception and dishonesty in one’s dealings.  That Yeshayahu speaks first of mishpat and only then of tzedaka might suggest that the process of Zion’s redemption requires us to focus our attention first and foremost on the ideals of mishpat, elementary morals and ethics.  While tzedaka – giving generously above and beyond what can be expected – certainly plays an important role in this process, it is secondary to the concept of mishpat, simple honesty and ethical conduct.

            If so, then the structure of this verse encapsulates one of the central themes of this entire prophecy.  Throughout this chapter, Yeshayahu censures the people for their disproportionate and misplaced focus on the Beit Ha-mikdash and its rituals.  They generously brought voluntary offerings and ensured to frequent the Temple regularly, but made no attempt to implement the ideals represented by the Mikdash outside the sacred precinct.  Upon leaving the Mikdash, they would continue selling faulty merchandise, exploiting the poor, counterfeiting money, and accepting bribes.  In a sense, they excelled in the quality of tzedaka, but abjectly failed in the area of mishpat; they were prepared to go above and beyond the letter of the law, but without abiding by that letter itself.

            In Sefer Bereishit (18:19), God explains the reason for His special affection for Avraham, noting his commitment to disseminating the ideals of “tzedaka u-mishpat.”  Here, in the context of Avraham’s value system, tzedaka precedes mishpat.  Ideally, Am Yisrael is to indeed make the level of tzedaka the highest priority.  We ought not to be content with mere fairness and equity, and should instead commit ourselves to the higher standard of tzedaka.  It seems, however, that after the generation described by Yeshayahu, during which corruption became rampant and deceit became the norm in the marketplace, the priority scale had to be rearranged.  Sadly, rather than committing ourselves to the ideal of tzedaka, Yeshayahu admonishes, we must first focus our attention on the more basic level of mishpat.

            Yeshayahu’s prophecy should therefore remind us to first ensure to be “good” before trying to be “great.”  All too often, people are prepared to perform extraordinary favors, and to donate generous amounts of time and money to worthy causes, but fail to adhere to the basic standards of ethics and morality.  As Yeshayahu teaches, tzedaka does not atone or substitute for the neglect of mishpat.  We are to first ensure to conduct ourselves with honesty and integrity, and only then work toward the higher ideal of tzedaka.

(Based on Rav Matis Blum’s Torah La-da’at – Ba-kodesh Chazitikha, Parashat Devarim)

David Silverberg

WEDNESDAY

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Devarim, we read of Moshe’s appointment of judges to assist him in tending to the nation’s legal disputes.  He instructs the new appointees, “Shamo’a bein acheikhem” – “Hear out [the disputes] between your brothers” (1:16).  The Or Ha-chayim comments that this verse establishes the law requiring the judges to hear the litigants’ claims directly, rather than through an interpreter or other intermediary.  The word shamo’a (“hear out”) implies that the judges must hear the litigants’ claims firsthand, without requiring any third party to relay the information to them.  This is also the ruling issued by the Rambam in Hilkhot Sanhedrin (21:8).

            The Talmud, however, makes no mention of such a halakha.  The Mishna (Makkot 8b) indeed disqualifies the use of an interpreter, but only in the context of testimony, and not with regard to the litigants’ claims.  The Rambam and Or Ha-chayim extended the Mishna’s ruling beyond the narrow context of witnesses’ testimony, to include the claims presented by the litigants.

            Rav Asher Zelig Weiss, in his Minchat Asher (Parashat Devarim), explained that this issue hinges on the question of why the Mishna disqualifies testimony that is heard or understood through an interpreter.  Several different reasons for this halakha have been suggested.  The Nimukei Yosef (in Masekhet Makkot) points to the concern that the interpreter’s version may not be an accurate account of the actual testimony, a concern that led the Sages to disallow the use of interpreters.  Secondly, the Nimukei Yosef added, direct communication allows for a more thorough process of questioning and interrogation.  If all communication between the judges and the witness had to be conducted through an interpreter, the inefficiency of this arrangement might interfere with the judges’ attempts to interrogate.

            Both these reasons suggested by the Nimukei Yosef clearly apply to the litigants’ claims as much as it does to testimony.  Regarding the litigants, too, we must ensure accuracy as well as comprehensive interrogation, and thus, according to the Nimukei Yosef, it stands to reason that the Mishna’s ruling applies even to the litigants’ claims.

            Others, however, have suggested more “witness-specific” factors underlying the halakha presented in the Mishna.  Rashi, in Masekhet Sanhedrin (17a), invokes in reference to this halakha the principle of eid mi-pi eid, or “secondhand testimony.”  Halakha disqualifies testimony relayed by a third party who heard the information from the witness, and therefore, by extension, judges may not accept the translation of a testimony that they otherwise do not understand.  (See also Rashi’s commentary to Devarim 19:15.)  Yet another theory was proposed by the Radbaz, in one of his responsa (vol. 1, 333), where he points to the rule of eidut she-i ata yakhol le-hazima.  This rule disqualifies testimony that has no possibility of being refuted by two other witnesses who testify to having seen the original witnesses somewhere else at the time of the alleged event.  Testimony is accepted only if the witness would be exposing himself to risk by speaking untruthfully.  If the conditions of the testimony do not allow for the possibility of the witness being found guilty of lying, then the testimony is invalid.  Thus, the Radbaz claims, if judges hear testimony only though the medium of an interpreter, the witness will always have the possibility of claiming that he did not say what the interpreter attributed to him.  As such, he does not expose himself to any risk through his testimony, and the testimony therefore cannot be accepted.

            According to the reasons presented by Rashi and the Radbaz, the law mentioned in the Mishna evolves from the specific guidelines of testimony, and therefore cannot necessarily be extended to include the litigants’ claims.

David Silverberg

THURSDAY

            We read in Parashat Devarim of the judges assigned to assist Moshe in leading Benei Yisrael.  Moshe lists the various qualities that he demanded in selecting candidates for this role, including the quality of chakhamim (“wise”).  Rashi cites this term and explains it to mean “kesufim.”  (In some editions of Rashi’s commentary, the word kesufim appears in reference not to the term chakhamim, but rather to the previous word in the verse, anashim.)

            Later writers struggled to identify the precise meaning of the word kesufim, and various different approaches have been taken.  Siftei Chakhamim associates this word with the Talmudic word ikhsif, which refers to embarrassment and shame.  Hence, Siftei Chakhamim suggests that Rashi speaks here of people who feel too ashamed to act improperly, and therefore carefully calculate and assess every action to determine whether it will bring them shame or honor.  In this sense, Siftei Chakhamim explains, the word kesufim is indeed a fitting explanation for the term chakhamim, for true wisdom entails foreseeing the implications and repercussions of one’s conduct.  A famous verse in Kohelet (2:14) declares, “He-chakham einav be-rosho” – “The wise man – his eyes are upon his head.”  Wisdom is manifest in the ability to patiently and diligently assess the potential results of every action before it is performed, and this explains the association between the words chakhamim (“wise”) and kesufim (“ashamed”).

            The Pardes Yosef He-chadash suggests a different possible basis for this association, namely, that the word kesufim in this context perhaps refers to the humility needed to learn and take example from all people.  An arrogant person who is overly concerned with stature will likely disregard those with little knowledge, while the humble person is open to learning from anybody.  As such a person pays no attention to social rank and public image, no avenue of wisdom is closed to this kind of scholar.  He will pursue knowledge and gain insight from any available source, including low-ranking individuals with limited scholarly background.

            It is in this sense, perhaps, that Rashi associates the word kesufim with wisdom.  One who conducts himself with “shame,” with privacy and a low profile, stands a much better chance of achieving wisdom because all sources of wisdom are available.  The true chakham, as the famous Mishna in Masekhet Avot (4:1) establishes, is the person willing to learn from all people, and does not feel too proud to learn from those of lesser intellectual and social standing.

David Silverberg

FRIDAY

            In Parashat Devarim, Moshe recalls his appointment of judges and the instructions he issued to them: “Hear out [the cases] among your brethren, and judge justly…” (1:16). Rashi, in his commentary to Masekhet Ketubot (106a), cites this verse as the Biblical source for the Torah obligation for judges to preside over legal cases.

            The Rashba, in a famous responsum (18), raises the question of why Chazal did not ordain the recitation of a berakha before certain mitzvot, as they did before others.  Among the mitzvot addressed in this responsum is the mitzva of judging.  Why, the Rashba asks, did the Sages not institute a berakha over this mitzva as they did over the performance of many other mitzvot, such as hand washing, donning tefillin, affixing a mezuza, and others?

            Among the insightful answers given for this question was suggested by Rav Aharon Lewin, in his Ha-derash Ve-ha’iyun.  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Berakhot (1:3), introduces the concept of birkat ha-mitzvot (the berakha recited before performing a mitzva) as follows: “Just as we recite a berakha over deriving benefit, so do we recite a berakha over each and every mitzva and thereafter perform it.”  As many writers have observed, the Rambam draws a correspondence of sorts between birkot ha-nehenin – the berakhot recited before deriving benefit and enjoyment, such as eating – and birkot ha-mitzva.  This parallel might indicate that the concept of birkot ha-mitzva applies only in situations that somehow resemble those which require a birkat ha-nehenin in the case of eating and other forms of deriving benefit.  Accordingly, the Ha-derash Ve-ha’iyun suggests that the Sages instituted a birkat ha-mitzva only for a personal mitzva, which is assigned to a person as an individual.  Just as a person eats individually, and completes the action entirely by himself, similarly, a birkat ha-mitzva is warranted only when a person completes the mitzva independently, and not when he merely does his share of a mitzva that is assigned to a group.

            The Ha-derash Ve-ha’iyun thus suggests that the mitzva to judge is not a candidate for a birkat ha-mitzva.  Essentially, he argues, it is the entire nation of Israel, and not merely the judges, who are assigned the obligation of presiding over legal disputes.  We, as a nation, are required to establish a system whereby cases are tried and decided fairly.  The judges thus act as the nation’s agents and representatives in this regard; they do not fulfill their own mitzva, but rather act to fulfill the obligation incumbent upon all Am Yisrael.  As such, they do not recite a birkat ha-mitzva before presiding over a case, which they do in the capacity of the nation’s representatives, and not to fulfill a personal obligation.

David Silverberg