VAETCHANAN

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            In Parashat Vaetchanan Moshe informs Benei Yisrael that upon entering Eretz Yisrael, they will take possession of “homes filled with all goods, which you did not fill” (6:11).  The Gemara in Masekhet Chulin (17a) interprets this verse to mean that Moshe granted Benei Yisrael permission to partake of the food of the indigenous Canaanites, despite its not meeting the Torah’s dietary code.  An exceptional provision – to which the Gemara refers as katli de-chaziri, or “pots of swine” – permitted the Canaanites’ food for consumption during the period of conquest, and hence Moshe speaks of Benei Yisrael enjoying the “goods” discovered in the Canaanites’ homes.

            The Gemara introduces this unique halakha amidst its discussion of the meat Benei Yisrael brought with them into the Land of Israel.  According to Rabbi Akiva, the requirements of shechita (slaughtering) as a necessary condition for partaking of an animal’s meat did not apply during Benei Yisrael’s travels in the wilderness.  During this forty-year period, it was permissible for them to partake of meat without performing shechita.  The Gemara raises the question of whether, according to Rabbi Akiva, Benei Yisrael’s leftover meat remained permissible when Benei Yisrael crossed the Jordan River into the Land of Israel, when shechita became required.  On the one hand, the meat was already considered permissible, and thus should perhaps retain that status regardless of the change of location.  On the other hand, once they entered the land and the requirements of shechita took effect, this meat should perhaps be deemed forbidden for consumption.

            The Gemara initially clarifies that this question bears relevance only regarding the period following the years of kibbush ha-aretz (the land’s conquest).  After all, during the period of conquest, as we saw, Benei Yisrael were allowed to partake of non-kosher food; certainly, then, it was permissible for them to partake of their leftover meat produced before they crossed into the land.  Thereafter, however, the Gemara notes that this question actually pertains to the period of kibbush, as well, because, as the Gemara comments, “what was permissible – the spoils of the gentiles; their own [food] was not permissible.”  Since the special provision pertained only to the non-kosher food of the Canaanites, and not Benei Yisrael’s own food, the question concerning the status of their leftover meat was indeed relevant even during the period of conquest.

            The Rashash notes that the Gemara appears to express some ambivalence with regard to this premise. As mentioned, the Gemara initially assumes that the question asked regarding the status of the leftover meat pertained only to the period after the land’s conquest, because during the land’s conquest all non-kosher food was in any event permissible.  It seems that the Gemara at least briefly considered the possibility that even Benei Yisrael’s own food provisions were permissible for consumption regardless of whether or not they met the standards of kashrut.

            The Rashash proceeds to raise the question of how the Gemara could even conceive of such a possibility.  After all, the Gemara elsewhere (Ketubot 25a) explicitly establishes that the obligation of chala – to separate a portion of one’s dough as a gift to a kohen – took effect immediately after Benei Yisrael entered the land, even during the years of conquest.  The Gemara in fact infers this halakha from a verse in Sefer Bamidbar (15:18).  Now if all non-kosher food was permissible during the period of conquest, then the laws of chala should not have applied in those years, as the dough would be permissible even without separating chala.  Seemingly, if Chazal made a point of expressly stating that Benei Yisrael were bound by the obligation of chala even during the years of conquest, then we must conclude that the Torah’s dietary laws indeed applied in this period, except with regard to the Canaanites’ stockpiles of food.

            The Rashash answered by suggesting a possible distinction between the obligation to separate chala and the forbidden status of dough from which chala has not been separated.  In principle, we could conceive of a situation where a Torah obligation requires separating chala, but failure to do so does not render the batter forbidden for consumption.  Therefore, the fact that the chala obligation took effect immediately upon Benei Yisrael’s entry into Canaan did not necessarily mean that their dough was forbidden for consumption until this mitzva was fulfilled.  Accordingly, there is no proof from the chala obligation that the laws of kashrut applied during the years of kibbush ha-aretz.

            Rav Avraham Yitzchak Sorotzkin, in his Rinat Yitzchak, notes that the Rashash’s perspective on the obligation of chala differs from the position expressed by the Magen Avraham (O.C. 8:1).  The Magen Avraham writes, “Separating chala is not so much a mitzva – for one performs no [mitzva] act other than preparing his food, similar to slaughtering…”  According to the Magen Avraham, separating chala from one’s dough does not fulfill any mitzva, but rather allows one to partake of the dough, which would otherwise be forbidden for consumption.  The Rashash, in his analysis, clearly held a different view, and acknowledged a mitzva to separate chala independent of the need to avoid transgressing the prohibition of eating grain products from which chala had not been taken.

David Silverberg

SUNDAY

            In Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe recalls the event of Ma’amad Har Sinai (the Revelation at Mount Sinai) and reviews the Ten Commandments.  A number of minor differences exist between Moshe’s text of the Ten Commandments here, and the text in the Torah’s initial account, in Sefer Shemot.  One such difference relates to the ninth commandment, the prohibition against rendering false testimony.  In Sefer Shemot (20:13), the Torah forbids serving as an “eid sheker” (“false witness”), whereas here, in Parashat Vaetchanan, the Torah speaks of an “eid shav.”  The word shav can at times be used synonymously with sheker, but could also mean “meaningless” or “for naught.”  Instinctively, we might assume that in the context of the ninth commandment it is used as a reference to falsehood, and is thus functionally equivalent to the word sheker.  Indeed, the Rambam, in his Sefer Ha-mitzvot (lo ta’aseh 285), writes explicitly that the verse in Parashat Vaetchanan is simply a repetition of the prohibition introduced in Sefer Shemot.

            The Ramban, however, in his commentary to this verse (here in Parashat Vaetchanan), claims that the prohibition of “eid shav” introduces an additional aspect of the prohibition against false testimony:

…it forbids testifying against one’s fellow even regarding an inconsequential matter that will not render him obligated in anything by the court, such as if one testifies, “So-and-so said he would give a hundred [coins] and they made no kinyan [formal act of acquisition],” for shav means a meaningless thing….

According to the Ramban, the word shav in this verse indeed denotes something that is meaningless or purposeless, and thus refers to inconsequential testimony.  He presents the example of a witness who testifies that a certain person expressed his intent to give another individual a sum of money, but they never made a formal agreement (such as with a handshake and the like).  Such testimony, even were it true, serves no purpose, because a verbal commitment without a formal act of agreement is not legally enforceable.  Nevertheless, the Ramban writes, it is forbidden on the grounds of edut shav (“meaningless testimony”).  The use of the word shav in this verse extends the prohibition of false testimony to include testimony that would not adversely affect the individual in question.

            The Minchat Chinukh (37) questions the Ramban’s view, arguing that one cannot possibly transgress the prohibition of false testimony if the testimony is any event legally inconsequential.  He gives the example of a person who testified that his fellow ate a certain food, while in fact that individual had not eaten that food.  Here, too, even had the testimony been true it would not have yielded any legal consequences whatsoever, and it therefore can hardly be considered “testimony” at all.  It thus seems difficult to imagine such a “witness” violating a prohibition against testifying falsely.

            One possible explanation of the Ramban’s position was suggested by Rav Yekutiel Yehuda Halberstam, the Sanz-Klausenberger Rebbe (as cited in the journal Moriah, 20:23).  Rav Halberstam claimed that the Ramban speaks of situations where even meaningless testimony nevertheless besmirches the individual’s reputation.  In the example that the Ramban mentioned, a person testifies that his fellow made a verbal commitment which he failed to execute and later denied.  Despite the fact that the court cannot compel the individual to render payment on the basis of such testimony, the testimony nevertheless harms that person’s reputation of honesty and dependability.  By contrast, in the case described by the Minchat Chinukh, no harm is caused to a person as a result of false testimony that he ate a certain permissible food, even if he in fact did not eat that food.  Thus, according to Rav Halberstam, the Ramban extended the prohibition of false testimony to include situations of purposeless testimony only if the testimony somehow causes any sort of damage to the person or his reputation.  Even though the court cannot act upon the testimony, it constitutes a Torah violation insofar as it harms the individual’s good name and social standing.

David Silverberg

MONDAY

            Yesterday, we discussed the Ramban’s comments concerning the ninth of the Ten Commandments as recorded in Parashat Vaetchanan, where he claims that the Torah forbids rendering false testimony even if the testimony has no legal consequence.  According to the Ramban, the second account of the commandments uses the term eid shav, which literally means, “a meaningless witness,” to indicate that one violates this prohibition by testifying falsely even if the court in any event cannot act upon the testimony.

            A number of later scholars noted that the Ramban himself appears to express the precise opposite view elsewhere in his writings.  In his Milchamot Hashem to Masekhet Sanhedrin (86), the Ramban addresses the case of two witnesses who falsely testified that a certain individual kidnapped a person.  According to Torah law, this crime is punishable by the court only if the kidnapper then proceeds to sell the victim, and therefore testifying to only the act of kidnapping yields no legal ramifications.  There is no restitution payment in such a case, because there was no theft or property damage involved, and there is no corporal punishment because the witnesses do not testify about the sale of the alleged victim.  The Ramban thus writes that witnesses who testify falsely to this effect are not liable for violating the prohibition of false testimony, because, in the Ramban’s words, “false witnesses do not receive lashes for merely uttering with their lips.”  This prohibition pertains only to formal testimony, and a report that yields no legal consequences cannot be considered “testimony” in this regard.

            Similarly, in his commentary to Masekhet Makkot (2), the Ramban establishes that witnesses are not liable to punishment for falsely testifying that a person is obligated to pay kofer (“ransom”).  A person pays kofer when his ox kills somebody after he had been warned to restrain the animal.  This payment, however, serves as personal atonement for the ox’s owner, rather than as restitution, and, as such, nobody can bring the owner to court to demand this payment.  (In halakhic jargon, this kind of payment is considered “mamon she-ein lo tove’in.”)  Hence, the Ramban claims, witnesses who come to court to testify that an ox killed a person, thus rendering the owner liable to kofer, achieve nothing more than informing the owner of his obligation.  As far as the court is concerned, the testimony serves no purpose, since they cannot enforce kofer payment.  The Ramban therefore contends that if witnesses falsely testify about a kofer obligation they are not liable to punishment for violating the prohibition of bearing false witness.

            At first glance, it appears that the Ramban took a different position in his Talmudic writings than he did in his Torah commentary.

            However, Rav Zalman Nechemya Goldberg of Jerusalem (in an article in the volume Shilo, 5743) suggested an approach to reconcile these seemingly conflicting passages.  In his discussions in the Milchamot Hashem and his commentary to Makkot, the Ramban speaks specifically in terms of the false witness’ liability to malkot (lashes).  It appears that even in cases of inconsequential false testimony – such as regarding kidnapping and kofer – the witnesses indeed transgress the Torah prohibition, but they are nevertheless not liable to corporal punishment.  The reason for this distinction, Rav Zalman Nechemya suggests, might relate to the Gemara’s discussion toward the beginning of Masekhet Makkot (2b) concerning the punishment for rendering false testimony.  The Gemara comments that this prohibition falls under the category of lav she-ein bo ma’aseh – a violation transgressed without performing a concrete action.  Generally speaking, one does not incur corporal punishment for transgressing prohibitions of this sort, and thus in principle, a false witness should not be liable to malkot.  However, the Gemara infers from a verse later in Sefer Devarim (“ve-hitzdiku et ha-tzadik ve-hirshi’u et ha-rasha” – 25:1) that a special provision requires administering malkot to convicted false witnesses, despite the fact that the violation entailed no concrete action.  Conceivably, the Ramban limited this provision to standard cases of testimony, to the exclusion of situations of inconsequential testimony.  Generally, an exceptional halakha that does not follow standard halakhic guidelines is presumed to apply to the minimal extent.  Here, too, the Ramban may have felt that the unique provision calling for malkot in the case of false testimony applies only to standard situations of false testimony.  But when witnesses violate the prohibition of “eid shav,” which the Torah introduces in the second account of the Ten Commandments, then the special provision requiring malkot does not apply.

            Accordingly, the Ramban is indeed consistent in extending the Torah prohibition to include cases of inconsequential testimony, but he simply restricts corporal punishment for this prohibition to cases of testimony that would yield legal consequences.

David Silverberg

TUESDAY

            Moshe admonishes Benei Yisrael toward the beginning of Parashat Vaetchanan, “You shall observe and perform [these laws], for this is your wisdom and insight in the eyes of the nations, who will hear of all these statutes and say, ‘Indeed, what a wise and understanding people is this great nation!’” (4:6).  Whereas at first glance it appears that our rituals, observances and lifestyle seem peculiar to other peoples, and serves as a source of shame and derision, in truth, faithful compliance with the Torah’s laws brings Benei Yisrael great esteem and admiration on the part of the nations of the world.

            Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his work Divrei Shaul (Mahadura Tanina), raises the question of why Moshe speaks in this context specifically of chukim (“statutes”).  This term is generally reserved for those mitzvot whose underlying rationale eludes human comprehension, or at least cannot be definitively ascertained.  Seemingly, these externally “irrational” mitzvot appear less likely to earn the admiration and respect of gentile nations than the Torah’s legal and ethical codes, those laws which are eminently understandable.  Why will specifically the chukim invite the esteem of the other nations?

            The Divrei Shaul suggests that when people hear of a seemingly irrational edict issued by the king of a foreign country, they will likely reach one of two conclusions.  Namely, either the king is cruel and insensitive, and therefore imposes laws purely for the despotic purpose of demanding obedience, or, the populace is intelligent enough to understand the value and rationale of the edict, even without the king’s explanation.  Here, in Moshe’s presentation to Benei Yisrael, he exclaims in the subsequent verse, “For who is such a great nation that has a God close to it – like the Lord our God, whenever we call to Him?” (4:7).  When the other nations observe God’s special protection of Benei Yisrael, they will have no choice but to reach the second of the two conclusions mentioned above.  Seeing God’s loving kindness toward His people, the people’s acceptance of the chukim can only be explained as a function of their ability to discern the value of these laws even when they seem irrational and purposeless.

            Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary, obviates the need to raise this question by suggesting an entirely different interpretation of the word chukim in this context.  In his view, the term here refers not to the narrow category of laws that appear irrational, but rather to the singular quality of permanence that characterizes all the Torah’s laws and distinguishes them from manmade laws.  What will impress the other peoples, Moshe promises, is specifically this feature of eternal relevance, the suitability and applicability of the mitzvot to every time and place.  Rav Hirsch writes:

Other nations seek incessantly for some measure of state wisdom which could fit conditions of life which are constantly, unceasingly changing.  And because their legislatory efforts only spring from the shortsighted narrow thoughts of the human brain, only seeing the superficial nature of things, their rules are in a constant state of flux, and what today is proclaimed as the right and wise means for ensuring happiness and well-being is buried tomorrow as pernicious folly.  Only the Jewish nation has an everlasting measure for the duties of the whole of its internal and external private and public life, to which it can submit, with full confidence, its personal and national life for all times, knowing that just by this submission to God’s Torah, it makes itself lord and master of its own fate.

Laws conceived by man, by definition, cannot address the concerns, needs and realities that emerge with the advent of fundamentally different life conditions.  Herein lies the great “wisdom” of the Torah’s eternal chukim.  Having originated from the all-knowing God, they allow Am Yisrael to rely confidently on the value and benefit of these laws and statutes, despite whatever changes and upheavals unfold.  What to us are unforeseen circumstances were most certainly foreseen by the Giver of the Torah, and we can therefore rest assured that this Torah remains equally relevant, meaningful and binding at all times and under all circumstances.

David Silverberg

WEDNESDAY

            In Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe commands the people, “Do not test the Lord your God as you did in Masa” (6:16).  He refers here to the incident of Masa U-meriva, recorded in Sefer Shemot (17:1-7), where Benei Yisrael protested to Moshe about the unavailability of water.  In presenting this narrative, the Torah does not describe the people as “complaining” to Moshe, as it does in other contexts, but rather relates that the people “fought” (va-yarev) with Moshe.  Apparently, their objections ran deeper than simply the practical issue of water resources.  Indeed, that narrative concludes by informing us that in voicing their protestations, the people “tested” God by asking, “Is the Lord indeed in our midst, or not?”

            Thus, in the incident of Masa U-meriva, the people not merely demanded water, but also hinged their religious belief on the presence of water.  The question of “Is the Lord indeed in our midst,” in their minds, would be answered by the availability or unavailability of water.  If they were led into the wilderness without water, then they could no longer attribute the Exodus and all that followed to the power and grace of the Almighty.  Thus, the issue of water resources became a “test” whereby Benei Yisrael would determine whether they were indeed led by and cared for God through their travels.

            Here, in Sefer Devarim, Moshe warns Benei Yisrael not to repeat this mistake of their parents’ generation once they enter and settle the land.  They mustn’t hinge their faith and commitment to God on the immediate and straightforward conquest and settlement of Eretz Yisrael.  They are to remain steadfastly committed to God and His Torah even in the face of crisis and hardship, rather than condition their commitment on immediate and unbridled success.

            The Ramban, in his commentary to this verse, cites as an example of “testing God” a verse from Sefer Yirmiyahu (44:17): “then we were satiated with bread, we were well off, and we endured no evil.”  The context of this verse is the response of the Judean refugees in Egypt to Yirmiyahu’s prophecy condemning their decision to settle in Egypt and embrace pagan practices.  These survivors of the kingdom’s destruction brazenly rejected Yirmiyahu’s criticism, and responded that while they and their predecessors had worshipped foreign gods in Judea, they enjoyed stability and prosperity.  They claimed that it was only when they ceased these practices that calamity struck, and it is therefore in their best interest to continue their idolatrous rituals in spite of Yirmiyahu’s warnings.

            According to the Ramban, this response exemplifies the kind of “testing” that the Torah here forbids.  Our fealty to God must be unconditional and well beyond the need for any sort of “verification” on His part.  Moshe demands that we firmly and unwaveringly adhere to the Torah come what may, even if we do not see any clear and obvious “results” of our observance.

David Silverberg

THURSDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Vaetchanan (4:41) relates that Moshe, prior to his death, made a point of designating three cities to serve as arei miklat, cities of refuge for inadvertent killers.  Earlier, in Sefer Bamidbar (35:14), God had commanded Benei Yisrael to set aside six cities for this purpose, three in the mainland of Eretz Yisrael, and three on the recently-captured territory east of the Jordan River, which was settled by the tribes of Reuven and Gad (and half of Menashe).  Moshe was denied permission to cross the Jordan River together with Benei Yisrael, and thus he did not have the opportunity to prepare all six cities.  Instead, he prepared only the three cities east of the Jordan, where Benei Yisrael were currently encamped.

            The Midrash (Devarim Rabba 2) lauds Moshe’s zeal and devotion to mitzva observance as manifest in his efforts to prepare the three cities of refuge.  Halakha stipulates that all six cities are dependent on one another with regard to their status as arei miklat; they do not begin functioning as cities of refuge until all six are formally designated.  Hence, the Midrash notes, the three cities prepared by Moshe did not begin functioning as arei miklat until after his death, but he nevertheless exerted himself in this endeavor, out of his desire to perform as many mitzvot as possible.  The Sages apply to Moshe the proverb, “Ohev mizvot lo yisba mitzvot” – “One who loves mitzvot is not satisfied with mitzvot.”  Somebody who truly recognizes the worth and value of each mitzva will pursue every mitzva opportunity that presents itself, even those that he can only partially fulfill.

            The Midrash compares Moshe in this respect to King David, who was denied permission to build the Beit Ha-mikdash, but nevertheless exerted himself tirelessly in preparing for the Temple’s construction.  As in the case of Moshe, David knew ahead of time that he would not live to see the final result.  But in his zeal and passion for fulfilling mitzvot, he ensured to complete as much of the mitzva as he could.

            It is interesting to note the stark contrast between the two mitzvot discussed by the Midrash – Moshe’s involvement in preparing arei miklat, and David’s work to prepare for the Mikdash.  The Temple was the site of pure sanctity, an idyllic, spiritual reality, a place where man encountered the Shekhina in the most direct manner possible.  The arei miklat, by contrast, represent an entirely different kind of mitzva, namely, mitzvot that relate to the imperfect, problematic realities of life.  Here we deal not with holy sacrifices and communion with the divine presence, but rather with the more mundane issues of wrongful death, vengeance, and the safety of a fugitive.  The mitzva of the Mikdash involves the pursuit of lofty spiritual goals, while the law of arei miklat entails the Torah’s guidelines for handling the unfortunate circumstances that arise in day-to-day life.

            This Midrashic passage thus perhaps seeks to emphasize the importance of zeal and fervor in performing both kinds of mitzvot.  Some people might instinctively reserve their religious energies for the more elemental, down-to-earth aspects of Jewish practice, feeling intimidated or otherwise unable to relate to the lofty concepts of sanctity, purity and spiritual feeling.  Others, however, might approach Torah observance with the precise opposite mindset.  They can show enthusiasm and feel passion when it comes to the “Beit Ha-mikdash,” the loftier, idyllic concepts of kedusha and the like, but find themselves unable to relate to the Torah’s practical guidelines for normal, everyday life as a religious calling and a means of serving the Creator.  In their mind, avodat Hashem is restricted to the sacred realm, and divorced from the mundane realities of life.

            But the Midrash teaches us to follow both models of zeal and enthusiasm, the examples set by both Moshe and David.  We are not to shy away from any mitzva, from neither the more inherently spiritual concepts of prayer and the like, nor the more “worldly” laws and precepts that govern day-to-day living and the less-than-ideal realities of the world.  Both kinds of mitzvot must be approached with conviction and love, and with an appreciation of the inestimable value of each and every mitzva we perform.

David Silverberg

FRIDAY

            Parashat Vaetchanan includes the first paragraph of the daily shema recitation, which makes mention of the mitzva of tefillin (5:8).

            Tosefot, in Masekhet Shabbat (49a), cite a Midrashic passage that raises the question, “Tefillin – mipenei ma lo hecheziku ba-hen,” which literally means, “Tefillin – why did people not hold on to them?”  At first glance, as Tosefot initially assume, the Midrash appears to question the phenomenon of widespread negligence with regard to this mitzva.  Indeed, Tosefot earlier cited a passage in Masekhet Shabbat (130a) indicating that in Talmudic times many people disregarded the obligation of tefillin, and it seems that the Midrash here seeks to explain the reason behind this unfortunate reality.  The Midrash’s answer, however, does not appear to accommodate this reading: “Because of the deceivers.”  It is very unclear why the preponderance of deceivers would prevent people from wearing tefillin.

            Tosefot therefore cite an entirely different reading of this passage in the name of the Ri, who explained the Midrash’s question to mean, “Why do we not presume the trustworthiness of people who wear tefillin?”  People who faithfully observe this mitzva should, in principle, be presumed to conduct their affairs honestly and speak the truth.  The Midrash concludes, however, that we cannot make such a presumption because of the “deceivers” who wear tefillin in order to give an appearance of piety and thereby earn people’s trust.  The Ri drew support for his reading from a story told in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Berakhot 2:4) of a person who entrusted an expensive article to his fellow, who later denied ever receiving the object.  The object’s owner said, “It was not you whom I trusted, but rather this thing on your head.”  The individual felt he could trust his fellow because he strictly observed the mitzva of tefillin, thus indicating that wearing tefillin was somehow seen as evidence of truthfulness.

            Rav Avraham Pam (as cited in Rav Shalom Smith’s The Pleasant Way) noted the significance of this theory proposed by the Midrash.  The presence of tefillin on a person’s body is meant to raise the individual to a higher standard.  It serves as a kind of “uniform” that designates the person as somebody committed to the values and teachings of the Torah, the fundamentals of which are inscribed inside the tefillin.  In principle, therefore, a person wearing tefillin should be presumed to abide, at very least, by basic standards of ethical conduct, honesty and integrity.  It is only due to the unfortunate phenomenon of “deceivers,” those who abused the significance the tefillin to disguise themselves as ethical people, that such a presumption cannot be made.

            Rav Pam draws our attention in this context to the comments of the Sefer Ha-chinukh (mitzva 220), who observed that many people in his day refrained from wearing tefillin because they deemed themselves unworthy.  Halakha requires wearing tefillin in a state of guf naki (bodily cleanliness), which refers to full control over one’s bodily functions.  It seems that in the times of the Chinukh, many people erroneously extended this concept to apply even to spiritual cleanliness, and they therefore “piously” withdrew from the mitzva of tefillin, lest their religious and moral failings desecrate the sanctity of their tefillin.  The Sefer Ha-chinukh essentially writes regarding such people that to the contrary, they should specifically make a point to wear tefillin and allow it to serve its purpose of inspiring them to a higher standard.  He comments that the aforementioned account in the Yerushalmi, of the tefillin-wearing friend who betrayed his fellow, was not intended to discourage liars from wearing tefillin.  Rather, it meant to denounce religious hypocrisy and encourage those who wear tefillin to strive to conduct themselves in all areas in accordance with the values represented by the tefillin.

            Nowadays, of course, virtually every religiously-committed Jew ensures to wear tefillin every day as required by Halakha.  For us, the challenge is to allow this mitzva to serve its role in infusing us with a self-identity that is based upon Torah values, and implement those values in all areas of daily life.

David Silverberg