The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

A famous Talmudic passage (Yoma 9b) draws a fundamental distinction between the destruction of the First Temple and that of the Second Temple. The first Mikdash, the Gemara tells, fell on account of the three severe transgressions of idolatry, adultery and murder. During the time of the Second Temple, by contrast, the Jews of Eretz Yisrael committed a different sin for which they were exiled: sin'at chinam – baseless hatred among people.

At first glance, this distinction is of critical importance for us in determining where our focus should be placed during this time of year, when we are to concentrate on the causes of the destruction and the means of ushering the redemption. The straightforward reading of the Gemara suggests that the two events – the loss of the First and Second Temples – are inherently unrelated. The spiritual failings of the First Commonwealth were corrected in the Second, and it is only because of sin'at chinam that the Second Temple also fell. Bearing in mind the famous, frightening assertion of the Talmud Yerushalmi that every generation that passes without witnessing the Temple's reconstruction is considered as having destroyed it, we might conclude that we are guilty of only sin'at chinam. The problems of the First Temple have been fixed, but the disease of sin'at chinam remains uncured, and for this reason alone we have "destroyed" the Beit Ha-milkdash in every generation over the last 1,930 years.

While this does appear to emerge from the aforementioned Gemara, the Ramban claims otherwise. In his essay, "Sefer Ha-ge'ula" (3), the Ramban argues that the sins of the First Temple have also yet to be fully atoned for. The Jews' return to Israel under the Persian Empire and their rebuilding of the Temple did not result from the complete expiation of their wrongdoing during the First Commonwealth. It was rather a temporary respite from exile, whose impermanence was foreseen from the outset. The Ramban bases this approach on his reading of the prophecy given to Daniel by the angel Gavriel, as recorded in the ninth chapter of Sefer Daniel. We read there that Daniel had calculated the end of the seventy-year period of Jewish exile predicted by Yirmiyahu (25:11; 29:10) and thus anticipated the nation's imminent return to its homeland. Daniel thus offers an impassioned prayer to the Almighty, and in response the angel Gavriel appears to him. Gavriel's prophecy is very difficult to understand and lends itself to different interpretations. The Ramban interprets it to mean that although Yirmiyahu had indeed predicted a seventy-year period of Babylonian rule, the end of this period would not mark the end of exile. It would merely begin a temporary phase in which Benei Yisrael would return to and rebuild Zion, but this effort would ultimately fail, because Benei Yisrael had yet to correct the flaws that drove them into exile in the first place. The final redemption, Gavriel tells Daniel, will unfold only much later, once the Jewish people's repentance is complete.

It turns out, then, that according to the Ramban, when mourning the Temple's destruction we must contemplate not only the Second Temple's destruction at the hands of the Romans, but the fall of the First Temple, as well. Evidently, Benei Yisrael as a nation are still guilty of the three cardinal sins of idolatry, adultery and murder, and these transgressions, along with baseless hatred among Jews, must be addressed and eliminated for us to earn the final redemption.

The question, of course, arises as to what purpose was served by the Second Commonwealth if from the outset it was doomed to failure and never intended to serve as Benei Yisrael's final return to Jerusalem. Rav Yehonatan Eibshitz, in his "Ye'arot Devash" (1:4), explains that the period of the Second Temple was necessary for the spiritual fortification of the Jewish people, to ensure that their heritage would not be forgotten completely. There are several indications in Sefer Ezra-Nechemya that ignorance and neglect of the Torah had become widespread among the Jews during the seventy-year period of Babylonian exile. Ezra and Nechemya speak of large-scale Shabbat desecration and intermarriage, and the Jews were surprised when they were informed about the mitzva of sukkot. Had Benei Yisrael remained in Persia, Rav Eibshitz claims, this process of religious decline would have continued unabated until the Jewish religion would have disappeared entirely, Heaven forbid. God therefore allowed Benei Yisrael to return to their homeland and rebuild the Temple, a development which gave rise as well to the establishment of the Anshei Kenesset Ha-gedola (Men of the Great Assembly), who enacted many laws aimed at ensuring the continuity of the Torah. Indeed, this period saw a dramatic renewal of Jewish observance and scholarship, which curbed the tide of assimilation and laid the groundwork for religious survival throughout centuries of exile. Rav Eibshitz points out that the Jews' ability to preserve their faith despite all the years of persecution and hardship was made possible by the religious revival led by Ezra and the Anshei Kenesset Gedola during the early period of the Second Commonwealth.

In any event, according to the Ramban, on Tisha B'Av we mourn not only the calamity of 70 C.E., when the Second Temple fell, but also the destruction of 586 B.C.E., when we lost the First Temple.

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The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (54b) tells that when the Romans destroyed the Temple, they entered the kodesh kodashim (innermost chamber of the Mikdash) and saw that the two keruvim ("cherubs") were embracing one another. The Romans were astounded, the Gemara says, to see that this is what the Jewish people had in their holiest site: a graven image of a man and woman embracing. They took the keruvim into the public square of Rome and proclaimed, "This nation, whose blessing is a blessing and whose curse is a curse, occupies themselves with things such as this?!" The Gemara writes that a verse in the first chapter of Megilat Eikha alludes to this denigration of Am Yisrael: "All who admired her despise her, for they have seen her disgraced" (1:8).

The Rishonim raise the question of why the keruvim were embraced at this moment, when the Temple was set ablaze. After all, the Gemara writes in Masekhet Bava Batra (59b) that only when Benei Yisrael served God properly ("osin retzono shel Makom") did the keruvim embrace, as a symbol of God's love for His people. When, however, Benei Yisrael acted disobediently, the keruvim would separate and face straight ahead, indicative of God's estrangement from Benei Yisrael. Clearly, the day the Romans desecrated and destroyed the Temple was one of estrangement, rather than closeness and affection. Why, then, were the keruvim embracing when the Romans entered?

The Ritva cites those who suggest distinguishing between the actual keruvim that covered the ark, and the drawing of keruvim on the walls of the kodesh kodashim. The aron (ark) was not present in the Second Temple, and so neither were the keruvim. Necessarily, then, this Gemara in Yoma speaks of the drawing of keruvim that appeared on the walls in the kodesh kodashim, and these keruvim were in a constant state of embrace. However, the Ritva dismisses this answer in light of a Gemara earlier in Yoma (54a) indicating that even in the Second Temple the keruvim's embrace served as a symbol of God's affection for Benei Yisrael, suggesting that this occurred only when the Jews were obedient. The Ritva therefore expresses his preference for the explanation of the Ri Migash, who claimed that God had the keruvim embrace when the Romans entered the Temple specifically so that they could disgrace the Jews. This served as part of Benei Yisrael's punishment, that the Romans would wrongly accuse them of displaying inappropriate images in their holiest site.

Rav Aryeh Leib Shapiro, in his work, "Chazon La-moed," suggests a different approach, claiming that specifically at this moment of destruction and estrangement, it was necessary for the Almighty to show His sense of love towards the Jewish people. The Vilna Gaon, in his commentary to Megilat Ester (1:12), describes how the miracle of Purim put into proper perspective the nature of the Babylonian exile. The Gaon drew an analogy to a king who became angry with his only son and drove him from the palace. Unbeknownst to the son, the king assigned several men to look after the exiled prince and protect him from harm. In several instances, the son came under attack from animals or other people, and the king's servants saved him. The prince thus understood that his banishment did not signify the king's outright contempt for him and decision to permanently disown him, but rather a temporary, punitive measure. Similarly, the Gaon writes, the miracle of Purim, in which Benei Yisrael detected the Hand of God and His ongoing protection, clarified for them the true nature of the exile they endured. God did not cast them away forever, and His fatherly love and concern never left them, even as He turned the Temple into ashes and drove them into Babylonia.

What was true regarding the destruction of the First Temple, Rav Shapiro suggests, may very apply to the destruction of the Second Temple, as well. God had the keruvim embrace despite the current state of affairs because He wanted to show the Jewish people what the Temple's destruction was. It was not a permanent revocation of His covenant, it did not signify abandonment, neglect or lack of concern. The catastrophe of Tisha B'Av was nothing more than a parent punishing a child, with the natural feelings of love and compassion fully intact. It was God's hope that we, His children, would soon learn to improve our conduct and be worthy of His invitation back into His palace, where the keruvim will once again permanently embrace, representing the unshakable bond between the Almighty and His people.

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The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 559:4) writes (based on the Hagahot Maimoniyot), "We do not recite tachanun on Tisha B'Av because it is called a 'mo'ed' ['festival']." The Acharonim explain that this ruling refers to a verse in the first chapter of Sefer Eikha (verse 15): "He has proclaimed a mo'ed against me to destroy my young men." The fact that the prophet employs the term "mo'ed" – which generally denotes festivity and celebration – in conjunction with the Temple's destruction, lends a certain "festive" quality to the day of Tisha B'Av. But the obvious question arises, how can we speak of a festive quality of this day of mourning and sorrow? In what way does Tisha B'Av qualify as a "mo'ed"?

The Arukh Ha-shulchan (end of 552) suggests that this and other halakhot related to the "mo'ed" quality of Tisha B'Av refer to the promise we have been given that Tisha B'Av will, in the future, be transformed into a day of festive celebration. The prophet Zekharya (8:19) famously foresees the time when the four fast days commemorating the Temple's destruction will once again be observed as festival days. Therefore, even nowadays, when we unfortunately observe these days amidst mourning and lamentation, we make some commemoration of the fact that Tisha B'Av will transform into a festive holiday.

Rav Moshe Pinchuk, in an article on this topic (available on-line in the yeshiva's Daf-Kesher archives: www.etzion.org.il/dk/1to899/451daf.htm#Heading2), suggests a different approach, based on the famous story about Rabbi Akiva told at the end of Masekhet Makkot. Upon seeing jackals scurrying about in the area of the Temple's ruins, Rabbi Akiva's colleagues all cried, while he laughed. Rabbi Akiva explained that the fulfillment of the prophecies concerning the Temple's destruction reaffirms his belief that the prophecies of redemption, blessing and prosperity will likewise be actualized. Therefore, the site of the Temple's ruins is actually cause for joy, rather than sadness. Similarly, Rav Pinchuk suggested, the mourning we observe on Tisha B'Av is itself half the consolation and cause for optimism. The calamities of the churban (destruction) only reinforce our faith in the ultimate end of our pain and sorrow. Halakha found several, subtle ways of expressing this optimism, and herein lies the "mo'ed" quality of Tisha B'Av.

A much different explanation is cited in the name of Rav Yerucham Lebovitz, the famous Mir mashgiach. Rav Yerucham commented – somewhat ambiguously – that there are "mo'adim" (holidays, or fixed time) of closeness with God, and there are "mo'adim" of distance and estrangement. The three regalim (Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot) are the classic "mo'adim," occasions when we spend time with the Almighty, as it were, in the Beit Ha-mikdash. Tisha B'Av is a "mo'ed" in the opposite sense, an occasion designated specifically for the theme of distance.

What exactly did Rav Yerucham mean?

Rav Aryeh Leib Shapiro, in his work, "Chazon La-mo'ed," suggests that this point relates to the idea he develops in that book, as we discussed yesterday, concerning the nature of our estrangement from God on Tisha B'Av. Latent within God's abandonment of His people with the destruction of the Temple was a positive note of encouragement: He did not truly abandon us, but rather sent us away as a temporary, punitive measure. In one sense, then, there is indeed room for some "celebration" on Tisha B'Av. We celebrate the fact that the exile did not mean the end of our special relationship with the Almighty, that despite the calamity of exile, God's protection remains with us, and His love for His people continues even as He subjects us to punishment.

Rav Shlomo Wolbe, in his "Alei Shur" (vol. 1, pp. 115-116), suggests a different approach to understand Rav Yerucham's comment, while acknowledging that he cannot claim for sure that this is what the venerable mashgiach had in mind. One of the verses in our "ashrei" prayer (Tehillim 145:18) reads, "The Lord is close to all who call to Him, to all who call to Him truthfully." This verse, Rav Wolbe explains, indicates that God's "closeness" to a person and acceptance of his prayer depends not on the person's piety or religious stature, but rather on the degree of his "truthfulness." Calling to God "truthfully" means praying with an understanding of who we are, what we deserve or do not deserve, and acknowledging our distance from God. When a person looks at himself honestly and truthfully and comes before God with a humble and self-effacing assessment of his worthiness, God comes close to hear his prayer. How distant from the Almighty this person is initially is of no consequence; what matters is his honest recognition of that distance.

This concept, Rav Wolbe suggests, might explain the notion of Tisha B'Av as a "festival of distance." On this day, all of Am Yisrael comes together to acknowledge our distance from our Creator. We spend the day contemplating and lamenting the fact that God has left us because we did not and do not deserve His presence among us. Ironically, such a day is well suited for a "mo'ed," for an experience of closeness with God. For on Tisha B'Av we call to the Almighty "be-emet" – with an honest assessment of our national condition, and as a result, God comes close to us and hears our prayers. Such a day is, indeed, a "mo'ed."

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In the second chapter of Megilat Eikha (verse 13), the prophet laments, "For your ruin is vast as the sea: who can heal you?" This verse appears to mean that the magnitude of the destruction and suffering endured by Benei Yisrael does not allow for the possibility of healing. The Midrash, however, claims that this verse answers its own question, of "who can heal you?" The Midrash comments, "The one who will, in the future, heal the ruin of the sea will heal you." This passage obviously refers to the Almighty, the only one with the power to "heal" Benei Yisrael. But what does the Midrash mean when it refers to God as "tone who will… heal the ruin of the sea"? What is the "ruin" of the sea, how will God "heal" it, and what does this have to do with Benei Yisrael's exile and redemption?

One explanation, cited in the name of the "Mateh Aharon," suggests that the Midrash here refers to another Midrashic passage regarding the initial "ruin" of the sea during the six days of creation. The Torah tells in Parashat Bereishit that when the process of creation began, water covered the earth until the second day of creation, when God separated between the "upper waters" and "lower waters," with the firmament standing in between them. The Midrash relates that the lower waters complained, as it were, that they were driven so far away from God. In response, God assured them that they will return to Him when the Beit Ha-mikdash is built: water libations will be poured upon the altar, and sea salt must be offered together with every mincha (meal) offering. In this way, the lower waters have the opportunity to return to the heavens and reunite with God.

This, the Mateh Aharon claims, helps explain the Midrash in Eikha. When God will heal the sea, meaning, when He will once again allow for the waters' return to the heavens through their offering upon the altar, He will heal Benei Yisrael, as well, as then the Temple will be rebuilt.

If the Mateh Aharon is correct in drawing this association between these two Midrashim, then a powerful lesson emerges from the Midrash's comment on this verse in Eikha. According to the Midrash, this verse compares Benei Yisrael's "ruin" with that suffered by the lower waters. Just as the lower waters were banished, so-to-speak, from God's presence, and no longer enjoyed a sense of closeness with the Creator, so did this occur to Benei Yisrael with the Temple's destruction. God cast us down to the ground and placed a barrier – parallel to the firmament – in between Him and us. How do we overcome this barrier and return to the Almighty? If we express the same longing to return as did the lower waters, if we genuinely yearn for the restoration of our previous relationship and closeness with God, then He will rebuild the altar and allow us to elevate ourselves to the heavens. It is only because we do not feel this longing to return that we have been denied this privilege. The Midrash tells us that once we learn from the example of the "ruin of the sea," our "ruin" will be healed and we will be given the opportunity to return to God.

Rav Yaakov Emden writes in one of his many works that the sin most responsible for our ongoing exile is our indifference to this reality. As a nation, we have resigned ourselves to life in exile, and very few of us genuinely feel the loss of the Temple and of malkhut Beit David. Tisha B'Av is the day when we remind ourselves of just how tragic our current situation is, and of the dire need for us to return to Zion and see our Temple and sovereignty restored.

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Amidst his admonition to Benei Yisrael in Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe warns, "But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes… " (4:9). Though the straightforward reading of this verse indicates that Moshe refers to the need to remember Ma'amad Har Sinai, Chazal, in a famous mishna in Masekhet Avot (3:8, or, in other versions, 3:10), read this verse as referring to Torah in general. Based on Moshe's warning that Benei Yisrael not forget the Torah, the mishna establishes that "whoever forgets a single item from his studies is considered as risking his life." The mishna claims that when Moshe admonishes, "watch yourselves scrupulously" ("shemor nafshekha me'od"), he refers to the risk to one's life that presents itself when a person forgets any of his Torah learning. The mishna then immediately qualifies this statement: "Perhaps this applies even if one's learning becomes overwhelming for him? The verse thus states, 'lest they are removed from your heart' – one is liable only if he sits and removes them from his heart."

When exactly does this prohibition against forgetting apply? To what exactly does "removing them from his heart" refer?

The Etz Yosef (a commentary on Pirkei Avot) adopts perhaps the most literal interpretation of this mishna, claiming that it indeed forbids one to allow any of his Torah knowledge slip out of memory. Only if "one's learning becomes overwhelming for him" – meaning, if his memory simply cannot contain anymore knowledge, and so any new information that enters his mind necessitates the loss of old information, is he not liable to punishment. Generally, however, a person who forgets even a single piece of Torah knowledge is deserving of punishment, even if this results from his busy work schedule and efforts to make a living.

Needless to say, as the "Lechem Shamayim" (a different commentary on Pirkei Avot) points out, it is difficult to imagine that the mishna condemns people who work for a living and thus by necessity cannot possibly review all the Torah knowledge they had accumulated. The "Lechem Shamayim" cites several passages in which Chazal emphasize the obligation to earn a livelihood through work, which for most people precludes the possibility of retaining all their Torah knowledge. For this reason, the "Lechem Shamayim" rejects the literal interpretation of the mishna.

On the opposite extreme, Rav Chayim of Volozhin is cited as explaining that the warning of this mishna no longer bears practical relevance nowadays. According to Rav Chayim of Volozhin, this mishna refers to the time when the Oral Law was indeed transmitted orally, before the chatimat ha-Talmud (the final redaction of the Talmud). In order to ensure the proper transmission of halakha, it was incumbent upon students to constantly review the information they learned and ensure it would not be forgotten. Only this emphasis on review and memorization would guarantee the successful transmission of the Oral Law from one generation to the next. Once, however, the Talmud was written, there is no longer any prohibition against forgetting one's Torah knowledge.

The Netziv, in his "Herchev Davar" to this verse, explains differently. Unlike Rav Chayim, the Netziv maintains that this mishna indeed applies for all time, but it forbids only forgetting "mishnato" – one's personal Torah, the chiddushim (novel interpretations) at which he has arrived. A scholar who over the course of his learning develops his own chiddushim must make point of remembering them, for these ideas exist only in his mind. If they are lost from his memory, then they are lost from the world. Rav Eliyahu Ha-kohen of Izmir, in his work, "Shevet Musar" (22:15), explains similarly, and urges yeshiva students to record all their chiddushim immediately, so as to ensure that they are not lost.

An entirely different approach to this mishna is taken by Rav Yehoshua Falk, in his work on Pirkei Avot, "Avnei Yehoshua" (the first sefer ever written in the United States – New York, 1860). Rav Falk suggests that "forgetting" in this context refers to the intentional dismissal of information, rather than its loss from memory. The mishna here speaks of a person who finds a certain law in the Torah objectionable according to his own intuitive reasoning and preconceptions, and thus discards it. We are not expected to fully understand the rationale behind every halakha, and from time to time we might, indeed, encounter a law that appears difficult to grasp and even to accept. But the Torah demands our obedience to God and loyal acceptance of every detail of the Torah, and we may not conveniently "forget" and dismiss even a single law.

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In Parashat Vaetchanan, we find one of the Torah's two admonitions against "forgetting the Lord." Moshe tells Benei Yisrael that upon entering Canaan, they will be treated to "great and flourishing cities that you did not build, houses full of all good things that you did not fill, hewn cisterns that you did not hew, vineyards and olive groves that you did not plant" (6:10-11). He warns them that after they "eat their fill," they must "take heed that ydo not forget the Lord who freed you from the land of Egypt" (6:12).

As we discussed in our S.A.L.T. series to this parasha last year, this warning appears again in next week's parasha, Parashat Eikev, only in a much different context (see 8:11-18). There Moshe foresees Benei Yisrael's development of an agricultural and economic infrastructure in the land, and warns that their success may lead them to conclude, "My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me" (8:17). This section in Parashat Eikev begins with Moshe's warning, "Take care lest you forget the Lord your God" (8:11). The concern here is that Benei Yisrael's successful endeavors in cultivating the land and developing their national economy will lead to a sense of self-sufficiency and independence. Moshe therefore urges them to remember their days of wandering in the wilderness when they depended on the Almighty's kindness and miracles for their very existence. Just as they could not live in the wilderness without divine providence, so must they realize that life in Eretz Yisrael is possible only with God's constant protection and assistance.

But what is Moshe afraid of in our parasha? What would lead Benei Yisrael to "forget the Lord" when they first enter the land and enjoy the resources left behind by the Canaanites? At this point, they are not eating the fruits of their labors, but rather make use of the cities, houses, vineyards and cisterns prepared by the Canaanites. Why must they be reminded in this situation to remember God?

In the very next verse, Moshe appears to clarify a bit more specifically what he has in mind: "Revere only the Lord your God and worship Him alone, and swear only by His Name. Do not follow other gods, any gods of the peoples about you" (6:13-14). Apparently, the concern here was avoda zara – abandoning God and embracing foreign deities. But why would this risk arise specifically in the wake of Benei Yisrael's enjoyment of the goods and resources left behind by the Canaanites?

The Netziv, in his "Ha'amek Davar," explains that this entire section in Parashat Vaetchanan speaks of the period of warfare, when Benei Yisrael fought to conquer Eretz Canaan. Indeed, the Gemara (Chulin 17a) interprets the description of these "houses full of all good things" as referring to the forbidden foods of the Canaanites which Benei Yisrael were permitted to eat during the period of conquest. (According to the Rambam, this permission was granted in order to assist the weary soldiers who might find it difficult to find kosher food to eat during battle.) Many sources indicate that forbidden foods possess a mystical quality that has an adverse effect upon the person who eats them. It was therefore necessary to urge Benei Yisrael to "take heed that you do not forget the Lord who freed you from the land of Egypt." The temporary permissibility of these foods gave rise to the threat of spiritual decline, which Benei Yisrael are here urged to avoid by making a concentrated effort to retain their devotion to God. As for the warning against resorting to pagan worship, the Netziv claims that Moshe feared the people might invoke certain idolatrous forces thinking that they can thereby overpower the gods of the Canaanites. Benei Yisrael might be tempted to worship the gods of the nations surrounding Canaan in an effort to subdue the nations in Canaan. Moshe therefore reminds them that they should turn only to the Almighty for assistance, as the pagan gods will be of no use to them whatsoever.

Rav Elchanan Samet, in his shiur for the VBM Parsha series in 5760 (available online at www.vbm-torah.org/parsha.60/44vaetch.htm), suggests a different explanation. What Moshe describes here in Parashat Vaetchanan is Benei Yisrael's inheritance of an entire material culture. After four decades of nomadic wandering in the wilderness, Benei Yisrael will suddenly encounter a far more elaborate and attractive lifestyle, a standard of living qualitatively higher than anything they had even remotely experienced thus far. Moshe has no objection to Benei Yisrael's adoption of this superior material culture, to their making use of the agricultural systems, cities, buildings and technology developed by the previous inhabitants of Canaan. However, this embrace of the Canaanites' material culture carried with it the threat of embracing their religious culture, as well. The line separating material life and religious life is not always clear. Religious beliefs and convictions often make their way into otherwise purely secular areas of life. Moshe feared, understandably, that Benei Yisrael's enthusiastic response to the material goods of Canaan might include their religious culture, as well. He therefore warned that even as they make use of the resources and infrastructure left behind by the Canaanites, they must never forget their commitment to God, or embrace the idolatrous culture of the land's former residents.

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Parashat Vaetchanan includes the first paragraph of shema, which begins with the famous verse of "Shema Yisrael" and continues with the paragraph of "ve-ahavta" (6:4-9). After declaring the oneness of the Almighty, this paragraph introduces the obligation to love God and instructs us to place "these words" upon our hearts. We must also "speak of them" day and night, bind them upon our arms (tefillin) and place them upon our doorposts (mezuza).

The Netziv, in his "Ha'amek Davar," presents a particularly fascinating approach to these verses, claiming that they lend themselves to two equally valid interpretations, each referring to a different sect among Am Yisrael. Meaning, this paragraph means one thing for the commoners, and something entirely different for the spiritual elite.

He begins with the mitzva of ahavat Hashem – loving God, and notes that the Rambam appears to give two very different interpretations to this mitzva. In the second chapter of Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah (and similarly in Sefer Ha-mitzvot, mitzva 3), the Rambam defines this obligation as requiring one to study the world and the Torah to the point where he becomes so enamoured by God's handiwork and wisdom that he naturally falls in love with Him, so-to-speak. However, later in Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah (chapter 5), the Rambam cites this verse as the source for a different obligation: to surrender one's life rather than violate any of the three cardinal sins (adultery, idolatry and murder). "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul" requires one to make the ultimate sacrifice to God rather than transgress one of these sins. The Netziv reconciles these two vastly different definitions of the mitzva by claiming that this mitzva means something different to different people. For most people, ahavat Hashem demands merely the willingness to sacrifice one's life for God should such a situation arise. "You shall love the Lord your God… with all your soul" means that a person's devotion to the Almighty should reach the point where he would even be prepared to sacrifice his life on His behalf. For the spiritual elite, however, ahavat Hashem requires much more than that, as the Rambam describes in the second chapter of Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah – rigorous and intensive study and contemplation of the Torah, through which one reaches genuine love for God.

In this manner, the Netziv interprets the next verse as addressing itself to these two classes of people: "These things that I enjoin upon you today shall be upon your heart." For the masses, this refers to the internalization of the concept of "mesirut nefesh" (sacrificing one's life), firmly resolving in one's heart that he would even give his life for God's honor. For the spiritual giants, placing "these things" upon one's heart means constant, intensive involvement in Torah study. Likewise, the imperative "ve-shinantam le-vanekha" (literally, "you shall teach them to your children") means either conveying to the next generation the message of "mesirut nefesh," or, with regard to the uniquely devoted, the obligto teach to students ("banim" often refers to students, rather than biological children). Finally, the obligation to "recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up" refers, for most people, to the obligation to recite this paragraph twice each day. For the spiritual elite, however, it means, quite literally, that they must invest all their energies and all their time into the relentless pursuit of Torah scholarship.

This approach of the Netziv, even if requiring a far-fetched reading of the verses, has several advantages. For one thing, as noted, it resolves the seeming contradiction between the Rambam's two definitions of ahavat Hashem. Moreover, as we discussed in our S.A.L.T. series to this parasha last year, the Rambam's definition in the second chapter of Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah (as well as in Sefer Ha-mitzvot) is difficult in and of itself. How can the Torah require each and every Jew to spend his days contemplating nature and studying Torah? Isn't a person required to work for a living, involve himself in community affairs and assist those in need? Is every Jew capable of reaching this exalted level of "love" described by the Rambam? As we saw last year, Shadal (Rav Shmuel David Luzatto), for this very reason, strongly objected to the Rambam's definition and claimed, brazenly enough, that it was influenced by the teachings of Greek philosophy which, as we know, had a profound impact on the Rambam's thought. According to the Netziv, however, the Rambam never intended to apply this lofty definition of ahavat Hashem to every Jew, but only to the uniquely gifted. In addition, the Netziv's approach helps explain an otherwise difficult comment of Rava in Masekhet Yoma (19b): "Whoever converses in mundane matters violates a positive commandment, as it says [in this first paragraph of shema], 'You shall recite them' –them and not mundane matters." How could Halakha forbid one from ever speaking about matters unrelated to Torah and spirituality? The Netziv writes that this Gemara refers only to the interpretation of this verse relating to the spiritual giants of Benei Yisrael, who are required to invest maximum effort in studying and mastering the gamut of Torah knowledge. For the rest of us, however, the obligation to "recite them" refers to the obligation to recite the shema twice daily – the bare minimum of Torah study a person is required to conduct every day.

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