Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT VAETCHANAN

By Rav David Silverberg

On “Shabbat Chazon” – the Shabbat immediately preceding Tisha B’Av – we read for the haftara the famous, scathing prophecy of Yeshayahu, recorded in the first chapter of Sefer Yeshayahu. In the prophecy’s second verse (after the introductory verse, which gives the historical setting), the prophet cries in the Name of God, “An ox knows its owner, a donkey – its master’s trough; but Israel has not known, My nation has given no thought” (Yeshayahu 1:3). God here accuses Israel of showing Him less loyalty than domesticated animals display towards their masters. Oxen and donkeys faithfully remain in their owners’ service and perform their work without complaint. (Bilam’s shock and dismay over what he mistakenly perceived to be his donkey’s betrayal perhaps proves that people generally expected their animals to obey orders without objection.) The prophet’s reference to the “trough” perhaps means that animals remain in their owners’ service because they realize their dependence on them for sustenance. Benei Yisrael, however, failed to acknowledge their dependence on God, and defiantly betrayed Him.

The obvious question arises, is the situation of donkeys and oxen a fair example? After all, animals work on instinct. While there is some discussion as to whether animals have any bechira chofshit (free choice), we may assume that domesticated animals have little if any inclination or impulse to leave their masters’ service. Human servants of God, however, as Benei Yisrael are meant to be, are beleaguered by the constant naggings of the yetzer ha-ra in all its many different manifestations. Can we truly compare a donkey’s transportation of cargo to the Torah’s dietary code, for example, or to refraining from melakha (forbidden activity) on Shabbat? All types of physical, material and social pressures combine to make Torah observance a formidable challenge for all of us. Is it fair to portray the donkey and ox as more loyal servants than sinful Jews? (I recently saw this question cited in the name of Rav Avigdor Miller.)

The answer, perhaps, emerges from the verse’s final clause: “Israel has not known, My nation has not given thought [hitbonan].” God criticizes the people not only for not “knowing” Him – meaning, for not recognizing Him as their Lord and Master – but also for not “giving thought.” True, we are not created with an instinctive drive to observe the mitzvot, but we are enjoined to work towards developing an ingrained awareness of the value and importance of mitzva performance. Benei Yisrael are taken to task for not “giving thought,” for not carefully considering their values and priorities. If we are mitbonen, if we think seriously about our lives, our history, and our religious responsibilities, we would indeed remain loyal to the Almighty and His Torah, and serve Him with at least the same devotion and fidelity – and perhaps with the same instinctive impulse – as oxen and donkeys.

Quite possibly, then, God here criticizes the people precisely because they had not engendered within themselves an instinctive appreciation of Torah and mitzvot, for failing to give serious thought to their religious calling, which could indeed drive a person towards Torah observance like animals are driven to serve their masters.

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Among the measures observed on Tisha B’Av as an expression of bereavement is a prohibition against Torah study. Just as a mourner is forbidden during the period of shiv’a from learning Torah, an activity which brings joy and gratification, so do we all refrain from learning Torah on Tisha B’Av, when Halakha deems all Jews “mourners.” The important exception to this rule is the study of areas referred to as devarim ha-ra’im – the distressing sections of Sefer Yirmiyahu, and the book of Eikha, which relate to the calamity of the Temple’s destruction. In addition, it is permitted to study on Tisha B’Av the disheartening book of Iyov, the Talmudic sections dealing with the Temple’s destruction, and the laws of mourning.

An interesting question has been raised by a number of Acharonim concerning the nature of these exceptions. Do the shiv’a period and Tisha B’Av absolve one from the standard obligation of Torah study, but one is permitted to study the less enjoyable areas, or does the obligation to learn remain in force, merely becoming limited to very specific sections of Torah scholarship? In other words, is it permissible to study these areas, or is one obligated to learn these sections on Tisha B’Av, given the obligation of talmud Torah? The poskim cite two works which write explicitly that Torah study is optional during these periods. The Shevet Yehuda takes this view regarding the period of shiv’a, and the book Erekh Ha-shulchan is cited as advancing this position with respect to Tisha B’Av.

One possible source for this ruling is a comment by the Shibolei Ha-leket (Hilkhot Semachot, 26), citing a responsa from the Geonic period to the effect that during mourning and on Tisha B’Av one does not recite birkot ha-Torah. According to the Geonim, since one is forbidden from studying Torah on these occasions, the berakha over Torah learning must be omitted. Presumably, they felt that the obligation of Torah study does not apply during mourning or on Tisha B’Av. Of course, as the Shibolei Ha-leket notes, this position leaves open the question of whether one who chooses to learn the permitted areas of study should recite birkot ha-Torah. In any event, the view of the Geonim appears to work off the assumption that Torah learning on Tisha B’Av and during mourning is optional.

Common practice, of course, is to recite birkot ha-Torah during mourning and on Tisha B’Av. Does this prove that the obligation of talmud Torah applies on these occasions? Not necessarily. As the Shulchan Arukh explicitly rules (O.C. 554:4), even during mourning and on Tisha B’Av we recite the sections in the prayer service that are taken from the Tanakh or Talmud (e.g. korbanot, Pesukei De-zimra). Although one fulfills the mitzva of Torah study through the recitation of these sections, we may recite them on Tisha B’Av and in mourning because we do so as part of the daily prayer service, and not strictly for purposes of learning Torah. Hence, we must in any event recite birkot ha-Torah, even if the mitzva of Torah learning does not obtain, and the study of Yirmiyahu, Eikha and the like is optional.

For purposes of clarification, it is important to distinguish between two different levels of the mitzva of talmud Torah. In Masekhet Nedarim (8a), the Gemara establishes that strictly speaking, one fulfills his obligation of Torah study morning and evening through the recitation of shema. The Ran, in his commentary to Nedarim, famously clarifies that the Gemara refers only to one level of this mitzva, which demands a minimum level of involvement in Torah each day and night. But in addition, the Ran insists, a separate obligation demands that we exert ourselves to the best of our abilities in Torah learning. Needless to say, all views acknowledge that we must recite keri’at shema on Tisha B’Av and during mourning, since the basic obligation indeed applies. This entire discussion relates to the additional level of obligation, demanding maximum effort in talmud Torah, and it is in this regard that the Shevet Yehuda and Erekh Ha-shulchan assert that one is exempt from talmud Torah on these occasions.

Other authorities, including the work Simchat Yehuda and Rav Ovadya Yosef (Yalkut Yosef, vol. 5, p. 580), disagree, and maintain that the obligation of talmud Torah remains fully intact on Tisha B’Av and during mourning, despite the restrictions on permissible study material.

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Parashat Vaetchanan contains a section which we read yesterday, on the morning of Tisha B’Av, warning Benei Yisrael of exile should they embrace pagan worship after entering Eretz Yisrael. This opening verse of this section reads, “When you have begotten children and grandchildren and have dwelled for a long time in the Land, if you act corruptly and make for yourselves sculptured images of any form…” (4:25). The subsequent verses describe Benei Yisrael’s banishment from their homeland as a result of their deviant religious conduct, and proceeds to foresee the people’s ultimate repentance and God’s favorable response to their return.

While the basic structure, theme and message of this section are clear, the formulation of its introductory verse requires some explanation. The Torah here clearly emphasizes Benei Yisrael’s prolonged stay in the Land prior to their abandonment of their faith: “When you have begotten children and grandchildren and have dwelled for a long time in the Land…” The word “ve-noshantem,” which we translated as “have dwelled for a long time,” is particularly striking. It evolves from the Hebrew word yashan, which means old, or aged. For some reason, in warning against an eventual rejection of faith and tradition, the Torah stresses the element of “aging,” that this unfortunate sequence of events might occur after Benei Yisrael have become firmly established in their Land and rooted themselves there over the course of several generations. How might we explain this emphasis?

One answer, perhaps, is that the Torah thereby warns against feeling the sense of stability and security that naturally develops after a lengthy presence in a given location. God emphasizes that even after Benei Yisrael root themselves in their Land, their presence there must not be taken for granted or presumed to be an inalterable condition. They must instead approach each day of residence in Eretz Yisrael as a privilege granted to them on condition of obedience to the Torah’s laws.

Rav Soloveitchik suggested a different explanation (as cited by Rabbi Jacob J. Shachtar in the Orthodox Union’s compendium, Torah Insights, p. 276). The Rav commented, “Man is basically a forgetful being, not only intellectually but also emotionally.” The first generation or two after Benei Yisrael’s conquest of the Land were close enough to the miracles of the wilderness and the spectacular victories over the Canaanite armies to withstand the cultural pressures of paganism. With time, however, this collective memory began to fade, and the people lost their sense of dependence on the Almighty. Indeed, we read towards the beginning of Sefer Shoftim (2:7), “The people served the Lord during the lifetime of Yehoshua and the lifetime of the elders who lived after Yehoshua, and who had witnessed all the wondrous deeds that the Lord had wrought for Israel.” Thereafter, however, there arose a generation that felt disconnected from the events of the past, and fell prey to the cultural lures of the time.

Rav Soloveitchik added that this phenomenon constitutes a major theme of the Tisha B’Av observance, and may have even contributed to the selection of this portion in Parashat Vaetchanan as the Torah reading Tisha B’Av morning. As is the case concerning several occasions on the Jewish calendar, Halakha intends for us to experience past events, and not merely to recall them. Cognizant recollection does not require sitting on the floor and lamenting like mourners, just as we can commemorate the Exodus without a festive seder ritual. But Halakha recognized the need for us to connect to our national past emotionally, and not merely intellectually. To this end, we are enjoined on various occasions to reenact our moments of both glory and failure, to help ensure that our collective memory does not fade, and the critical lessons of our past are etched into our minds as we chart our path for the future.

As we read Moshe’s warning in Parashat Vaetchanan, we are reminded of the dangerous phenomenon of ve-noshantem, the process of nationwide “aging” to the point where our connection to the seminal events of the past begin to fade. Hopefully, our observance of the laws and customs of Tisha B’Av and other occasions will strengthen this critical bond, and ensure that the lessons of yesteryear remain in the Jewish people’s consciousness from generation to generation.

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In Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe urges Benei Yisrael to constantly remember the events of Ma’amad Har Sinai, and in particular to recall that they beheld no visible image when God revealed Himself to them: “But take utmost care and watch yourself carefully, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and lest they leave your heart” (4:9); “You shall watch yourselves very carefully, for you saw no shape when the Lord your God spoke to you at Chorev [Sinai] from amidst the fire” (4:15). On the surface, Moshe here uses emphatic language to impress upon Benei Yisrael the importance of Ma’amad Har Sinai with respect to their perception of the divine essence. When the Almighty “revealed” Himself to Benei Yisrael, they beheld no actual image, thus proving God’s incorporeal nature. This belief constitutes among the most basic, fundamental tenets of Judaism, and Moshe therefore reminds this to the people in particularly emphatic terminology – “take utmost care”; “watch yourself carefully,” and so on.

In the Talmud, however, we find these verses interpreted differently. The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (32b) tells of a certain chasid (pious individual) who was approached by a gentile official during his prayers, and chose to ignore him and continue praying. Upon the chasid’s completion of the shemoneh esrei recitation, the gentile questioned why he had risked his life by ignoring the presence of an official, and cited the aforementioned verses (“But take utmost care and watch yourself carefully”; “You shall watch yourselves very carefully”). The officer apparently understood these verses as demanding that one look after his physical well-being, and he thus wondered how the chasid could risk his life for the sake of an uninterrupted prayer service. The chasid responded that just as the gentile official himself would not have interrupted a meeting with a king when approached by someone else, so was the chasid unprepared to allow the official to interfere with his communion with the King of kings. It is generally assumed that the gentile official in truth posed no life-threatening danger to the chasid. But had there been an actual risk to his life, the chasid would have most certainly interrupted his prayer service, as the importance of uninterrupted tefila does not override the concern for human life.

The question, however, arises as to whether the gentile had interpreted these verses correctly. From context, it seems clear that Moshe warns against forgetting the experience of Ma’amad Har Sinai, and is not referring at all to the importance of self-preservation and maintaining physical health. Indeed, Maharsha dismisses the official’s reading of the verse, claiming that it is entirely erroneous. The chasid didn’t bother responding to this misinterpretation, preferring instead to address the heart of the matter, namely, why he chose to continue praying rather than greeting the gentile.

The Rambam, however, explicitly adopts this interpretation. In Hilkhot Rotzei’ach (11:4), the Rambam cites these verses as the Biblical source for the importance of avoiding physical danger. As the Minchat Chinukh (in the Kometz Ha-mincha) and Torah Temima (here in Parashat Vaetchanan) suggest, the Rambam likely embraced this reading of the verses based on a comment in Masekhet Shevuot (36a). The Gemara there establishes that one who curses himself is in violation of the command, “But take utmost care and watch yourself very carefully.” Without embarking on a discussion as to the efficacy of verbal maledictions, we will simply observe that the Gemara clearly reads this verse as introducing a prohibition against endangering oneself.

The question, of course, remains, how does this reading accommodate the context of this clause? How can we impose upon this verse – which deals with the importance of remembering Ma’amad Har Sinai – a warning against exposing oneself to physical danger?

Rabbi Reuven Bulka of Ottowa (in his work, More Torah Therapy, pp. 108-109) makes an ambitious attempt at identifying a point of connection between these two themes – Ma’amad Har Sinai and self-preservation. He does so by advancing a novel theory to explain the underlying significance of God’s imageless revelation at Sinai:

Imageless revelation symbolizes the power invested in the individual to create his own world, to shape and mold his existence, by deciding whether or not – and to what extent – to abide by the divine law.

This same message underlies Judaism’s attitude towards self-preservation. Just as we are empowered to determine the quality of our spiritual world, so do we have the capacity – albeit to a limited extent – to control our physical well-being. Judaism rejects the notion that a man’s health and longevity are determined solely by divine decree and thus not affected by his lifestyle (as the Yiddish saying “Vos is bashert is bashert” would have it). Of course, we depend on the Almighty for life and good health, and precautionary measures are no guarantee of protection. But at the same time, we are expected and empowered to help ourselves in this regard and take whatever measures are necessary to maintain good health.

Thus, the importance of caring for one’s physical welfare is a function of one of the central themes of Ma’amad Har Sinai, the underlying symbolism of imageless revelation. This experience demonstrated that we are responsible for shaping our lives – both the spiritual quality and meaningfulness of life, as well as – to some extent – our physical well-being.

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Towards the beginning of Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe makes brief reference to the unfortunate incident of Ba’al Pe’or, which the Torah records in the closing section of Parashat Balak, where Benei Yisrael became sexually and religiously involved with the neighboring nation of Moav. Moshe declares, “Your eyes saw that which the Lord did at [the incident of] Ba’al Pe’or, how every man who followed Ba’al Pe’or – the Lord your God destroyed him from your midst. But you, who stick to the Lord your God – you are all alive today” (4:3-4).

To what does Moshe refer with the phrase, “Ve-atem ha-deveikim be-Hashem Elokeikhem” – “But you, who stick to the Lord your God”? What kind of devotion to the Almighty is implied by the term deveikim – “sticking,” or being “attached,” to Him?

Ibn Ezra comments very simply, “And he who did not serve Ba’al Pe’or – behold, he is alive.” In other words, “sticking to God” in this context means refraining from the idolatrous worship of Pe’or.

Professor Nechama Leibowitz (Iyunim Chadashim Le-Sefer Devarim) questions Ibn Ezra’s interpretation, as it fails to do justice to the lofty connotation of the concept of deveikut. Seemingly, “attachment” to God demands much more than refraining from pagan worship. We should add that Chazal speak of Pe’or as an idol whose followers worshipped by defecating before it. Is abstaining from such conduct all that one requires to achieve deveikut – closeness with the Creator?

Professor Leibowitz therefore expresses her preference for the approach to this verse taken by Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook, in the introduction to his work Shabbat Ha-aretz. Rav Kook explains this verse to mean that a person truly “exists” – in the spiritual sense of the term – only when he clings to the Almighty, when his life is characterized by a meaningful relationship to God. Moshe tells the people that only those who attach themselves to God can be described as chayim – as “alive” in the deeper sense of the word.

This reading, profound as it is, seems insufficient to explain the verse’s context. Moshe very clearly appears to distinguish between two groups among Benei Yisrael: those who worshipped Pe’or and suffered God’s deadly punishment, and those who “stick to the Lord your God.” Any explanation for the concept of “deveikut” mentioned in this verse must take into account this contrast between the followers and the rejecters of Pe’or.

We might therefore return to Ibn Ezra’s approach, and suggest the following explanation for why deveikut is the appropriate term in this context. The catastrophe of Ba’al Pe’or resulted from seduction. Chazal describe how Moavite women were commissioned for the expressed purpose of luring the Israelite men to the worship of Pe’or through sexual seduction. We might speculate that this incident involved a degree of cultural “seduction,” as well, that the Moavites invited Benei Yisrael to experience their general lifestyle and have a taste of their customs and mores. Benei Yisrael were lured away from their religious source and roots. Moshe indeed describes the sinners of Pe’or as “ha-holekhim acharei Ba’al Pe’or” – literally, “those who walked after [or followed] Ba’al Pe’or.” These men lacked the spiritual fortitude to withstand the pressures applied to them, and left the Almighty to go follow Pe’or.

In this vein, perhaps, we should understand the description of deveikim applied to those who resisted the temptations of Pe’or. This term perhaps describes not merely the abstention itself, but the frame of mind and spiritual condition that made abstention possible. Those who escaped the Moavite trap did so because they clung to the Almighty, they had developed such a strong sense of loyalty to God that no other force could pull them away. This, perhaps, is what Moshe means by deveikut in this context: firm religious resolve that enables one to withstand external pressures and temptations, and remain steadfastly loyal to God’s will.

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Among Moshe’s many exhortations to the people in Parashat Vaetchanan we find the verse, “lo tosifu al ha-davar… ve-lo tigre’u mimenu” – forbidding adding to or detracting from the Torah’s laws (4:2). Rashi, based on the Sifrei, explains that the Torah here forbids adding to or detracting from the required performance of a given mitzva. One example Rashi offers is adding a fifth species when performing the mitzva of arba minim on Sukkot, or, conversely, taking only three of the four required species. The Rambam, in Hilkhot Mamrim (chapter 2), explains these prohibitions differently, as prohibiting the Sanhedrin from adding a new mitzva or denying the Biblical status of a Torah law. He brings the example of a Sanhedrin establishing that partaking of fowl with milk is forbidden according to Torah law. (Torah law prohibits the consumption of milk with meat, but not with poultry; this measure was introduced later by Chazal.) While the Torah certainly allows – and in fact mandates – the rabbinic leadership (under certain conditions) to enact new measures and on occasion even suspend Torah law, it forbids doing so in the form of an amendment to the Torah itself. Rabbinic legislation must never be done as an attempt to revise the Torah, and should rather be clearly designated as lower-level enactments sanctioned by the Torah.

We find among the Biblical commentators a number of other interpretations to this verse. Keli Yakar suggests reading this verse as a single imperative, interpreting “lo tigra” (“you shall not detract”) as an explanation of “lo tosif” (“you shall not add”). The Torah explains that one should not add onto the Torah’s commandments because one thereby detracts from them. By adding more commandments to those the Torah already issued, one necessarily detracts from its stature and undermines its authority.

Seforno writes that the Torah here anticipates the famous error traditionally attributed to King Shelomo, who allowed himself to violate a Torah law thinking that its underlying reason and purpose does not apply to him. As the Gemara tells (Sanhedrin 21b), Shelomo violated the law forbidding a king from marrying many women, confident that he has no reason to fear the detrimental spiritual effects of excessive polygamy, the concern for which lies at the heart of this prohibition. According to Seforno, the admonition of lo tigra prohibits precisely this kind of rationale, whereby one seeks to ignore a given law on the basis of what he perceives to be its underlying reason.

In a slightly different vein, Netziv explains this verse as addressing those who might consider alternate approaches to achieving a relationship with God, approaches that involve additional or fewer commandments. Whereas Seforno understood these exhortations as directed to someone who might find a given law inapplicable in his personal case, Netziv suggests that Moshe here speaks of those who feel they can achieve the Torah’s goal in a more effective or meaningful fashion. Moshe therefore admonishes the people to follow the Torah’s guidelines for achieving spiritual perfection, rather than attempting alternative methods towards that end.

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Among the events reflected upon by Moshe in Parashat Vaetchanan is Ma’amad Har Sinai – the giving of the Torah at Sinai. Moshe recalls the nation’s trepidation upon experiencing this spectacular sight, and their request that God no longer speak to them directly. Instead, they ask, Moshe alone should hear God’s commands and then convey them to Benei Yisrael. As Moshe recalls, God looked favorably upon the people’s request, and indeed invited Moshe to come forth and listen privately to the rest of the divine law (5:19-27).

Instinctively, we might associate this account with the narrative towards the end of Parashat Yitro (Shemot 20:15-18). There, too, we read of the people’s fear of the fire and noise generated by God’s revelation, prompting them to ask Moshe, “Please – you shall speak with us, and we will listen; but let not God speak with us, lest we die.” Seemingly, Moshe here in Parashat Vaetchanan simply recalls the events told in those verses in Parashat Yitro.

The Ramban, however, in his commentary to Shemot (20:14), explains differently. He claims that in Parashat Yitro, the Torah tells of Benei Yisrael’s dread before hearing God speak, whereas here in Devarim, Moshe recounts the people’s fear after having heard God proclaim the Ten Commandments. This is indeed the implication of the verses. In Shemot, we read, “And the entire nation saw the sounds, torches, shofar blast and smoking mountain; the entire nation saw and trembled, and stood at a distance. They said to Moshe: ‘Please – you shall speak with us…’” Here the Torah mentions only the accompanying features of God’s descent to Sinai, and not His proclamation of the Ten Commandments. In Parashat Vaetchanan, however, Moshe recalls the people saying, “if we continue hearing the voice of the Lord our God, we will die; for which mortal has heard the voice of the living God speaking from midst the fire – as we have – and lived?” (5:21-22). This contrast, the Ramban claims, demonstrates that the two narratives tell of two different events. When Benei Yisrael first arrived at the foot of Mount Sinai, the sight of the mountain frightened them, and they decided they did not want to hear God speak at all. As we read in Parashat Yitro, Moshe replied, “Do not fear, for it is in order to test you that God has come, and in order for His fear be upon you, so that you do not sin” (Shemot 20:17). He did not grant their request, and instead insisted that they remain and listen to God speak.

In Parashat Vaetchanan, the Ramban explains, Moshe tells of what happened after the people heard the Ten Commandments. Concerned that God might perhaps convey to them the entire Torah, they asked Moshe to hear the remaining commandments in private, and then convey the information to them. This request, as opposed to the one made before the Ten Commandments, was indeed granted.

Moving to a separate issue, a number of writers have noted an apparent contradiction within the nation’s remarks to Moshe as recorded here in Parashat Vaetchanan. The people introduce their request by saying to Moshe, “Indeed, the Lord our God has shown us His glory and His greatness… Today we have seen that God will speak to a man, and he lives” (5:20). But then, in the very next verse, they express their fear of dying: “If we continue hearing the voice of the Lord our God, we will die; for which mortal has heard the voice of the living God speaking from midst the fire – as we have – and lived?” (5:21-22). After explicitly acknowledging that God’s revelation proved the possibility of humans hearing God’s voice and surviving, they then immediately ask whether such a thing is possible. How might we resolve this glaring contradiction?

Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala cites an answer from the Vilna Gaon, who distinguished between the term adam (“man”), which the people use in the first verse cited, and basar (literally “flesh,” translated above as “mortal”), which is used in the second verse. Benei Yisrael indeed recognize that an adam can survive such an encounter with the Almighty, but they are afraid that a basar could not possibly hear God’s voice and live. The Gaon contended that adam signifies a person who has achieved spiritual excellence, whereas basar denotes a lower spiritual condition. The people understood that they could survive a direct encounter with God only if they remain on the level of adam, in the state of near-perfection that they had achieved through their process of preparation for Ma’amad Har Sinai. They feared, however, that they would be unable to maintain this spiritual intensity for an extended period. Therefore, despite their having survived hearing God declare the Ten Commandments, they felt incapable of hearing the rest of His laws directly.