SALT - PARASHAT EIKEV

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Eikev, Moshe recalls the harsh conditions in which Benei Yisrael lived during their travels through the wilderness: “He [God] tormented you and starved you, and He fed you the manna which you did not know…” (8:3).  Chazal and many commentators addressed the obvious question of how Moshe could describe God as “tormenting” and “starving” Benei Yisrael in the same breath in which he recalls the miraculous manna that fed the people each day for forty years.  The Gemara, in Masekhet Yoma (74b), cites two explanations.  One view suggested that this arrangement “tormented” and “starved” Benei Yisrael in that it arrived in single daily rations.  No manna could be stored from one day to the next, and thus a person went to bed each night with nothing in his cupboard for the following day.  According to this explanation, Moshe speaks here not of physical hunger, but rather of insecurity.  The people were “starved” in that each night they had to pray anew that the next day they would again be provided with a miraculous portion of food.

            The second view suggests a much different explanation, namely, “One who does not see and eats is not the same as somebody who sees and eats.”  As Rashi explains, the manna assumed whichever taste Benei Yisrael desired, but its appearance remained the same regardless.  (This point is actually subject to a debate recorded in Masekhet Yoma 75a.)  Therefore, the manna was unable to fully satisfy, as complete satiation requires seeing, and not merely consuming, the food.  The Gemara similarly mentions in this context that a blind man can never be fully satiated, as he can never see what he eats.

            How might we explain this need to see one’s food to achieve complete satiation?  In what way does the sight of food contribute to one’s enjoyment?

            One answer, perhaps, is that seeing the food prior to eating builds anticipation, which enhances the experience of eating.  Building anticipation and desire adds the element of thrill and excitement, as that desire is then fulfilled through eating.  In this sense, perhaps, the Gemara speaks of seeing food as an important contributor to satisfaction.

            Furthermore, the Gemara likely speaks here of a general sense of serenity and contentment that extends beyond the physical gratification achieved through eating.  Aesthetics play a role in the eating process in that it provides a person with an overall feeling of calm and gratification, which the act of consumption cannot provide alone.  This notion likely underlies a passage in the Midrash Peli’a, which comments that this verse in Parashat Eikev alludes to the obligation of Shabbat candle lighting.  The mitzva of the Shabbat lights is often associated with the obligations of oneg Shabbat (enjoying oneself on Shabbat) and shalom bayit – ensuring a feeling of calm and serenity in the home on Shabbat.  The Midrash Peli’a likely followed the second view in the Gemara, which understood the “torment” of the manna in terms of Benei Yisrael’s inability to see the food they ate.  Hence, this verse indicates that full gratification from the eating experience is not possible unless one can see the food he eats, and thus the obligation of enjoyment and serenity on Shabbat requires the presence of light, which enhances the overall experience of the Shabbat meals.

David Silverberg

SUNDAY

            Yesterday, we discussed the Gemara’s comments in Masekhet Yoma (74b) concerning the verse in Parashat Eikev (8:3) that speaks of the “torment” and “starvation” that Benei Yisrael endured during their travels in the wilderness.  Benei Yisrael were fed throughout this period with heavenly manna that descended each morning, and it thus seems hardly accurate to describe their condition as one of “torment” and “starvation.”  The Gemara cites two views in explaining this verse.  The first view claims that Benei Yisrael suffered in the sense that they went to sleep each night with empty cupboards, dependent solely on God’s guarantee to shower down a new portion of manna the next morning.  According to the second opinion, the manna did not completely satisfy Benei Yisrael because although it could assume any taste they wished, its appearance remained the same regardless.  They therefore could not be satiated because they could not see the food they desired.

            Rav Shimon Moshe Diskin, in his Midrash Shimoni (published posthumously in Tel-Aviv, 5699), suggests an allegorical reading of this passage, whereby these two views do not actually disagree with one another.  The second view intends not to reject the first explanation, but rather to provide some perspective on the concept underlying the first suggestion, namely, the concern for what the next day will bring.  In reference to people who experience constant anxiety about the next day’s livelihood, the second comment in the Gemara says, “One who does not see and eats is not the same as somebody who sees and eats.”  Meaning, a person who does not “see,” who does not approach life with the proper perspective of faith, optimism and confidence, cannot enjoy what he has in the same manner as one who “sees and eats” with this perspective.  Somebody who always focuses his attention on what is lacking, on what he could have but doesn’t, and on the problems that could potentially arise in the future, can never be “satiated,” he can never enjoy the feeling of contentment and gratification.

            According to Rav Diskin, then, the second view comes to instruct that the dissatisfaction Benei Yisrael experienced because of their empty cupboards is not an example to emulate.  Of course, it is imperative to plan for the future and foresee potential problems before they surface; Yosef was called “understanding and wise” when he suggested storing grain during the years of surplus in anticipation of the impending famine.  One should not, however, allow this need for advanced planning to lead to unnecessary anxiety and a preoccupation with problems that as yet do not exist.  At some point, one should endeavor to enjoy the blessings of the present rather than excessively fret over the possible problems of tomorrow.

            A person who cannot “see” his food, who cannot look upon what he has with joy and gratitude, can never be satiated, as he will be forever burdened by the concern of what the next day will bring.

David Silverberg

MONDAY

            The haftara for Parashat Eikev, which is taken from Sefer Yeshayahu (chapter 49), begins with Benei Yisrael’s lament that God has eternally forsaken them, and then proceeds to deliver God’s response to their mournful cries.  In this prophecy God declares, “Chomotayikh negdi tamid” – which literally means, “Your walls are opposite Me at all times.”  In its narrowest sense, this phrase means that the ruins of Jerusalem are constantly on God’s mind, so-to-speak.  Whereas the people feared that God has forsaken and forgotten them, in truth, He is forever mindful of the shattered walls of Jerusalem and its Mikdash, and guarantees their eventual restoration.  (See Radak and Metzudat David.)

            Rav Mendel Hirsch, in his commentary to the haftarot, adds that the term “walls” in this verse may also be understood figuratively, as a generic reference to all sources of Benei Yisrael’s protection and strength.  God promises to personally fortify all the nation’s “walls,” everything to which they look for security.  This promise includes as well Benei Yisrael’s spiritual “walls,” the Torah which serves as their primary source of pride and protection.  God here guarantees that the Torah, like Zion’s physical walls, will ultimately survive the attempts of those who try to destroy it by distorting its meaning and messages.  As long as the Jewish people themselves work to preserve the integrity and authentic meaning of the Torah, God will do His share in ensuring the failure of all attempts to distort it.  Rav Hirsch writes:

These words contain an infinitely comforting assurance to all those who, amidst the struggles and turmoil of the times, make the Torah their task in life, that it – for it is the life-soul of Zion – will be protected from being forgotten and misunderstood, but rather it will be brought to be realized and recognized.  When we consider how gloomy the prospect in this direction seems to be up to this day, how little, even in the circles of the sons and daughters of Zion, there is a clear conception of the nature of Judaism, what misunderstandings, what hostility and insinuations he who dares to stand up unreservedly for the Torah is subjected to from the most different sides, sides most widely opposed to each other, Jewish and non-Jewish, then the full meaning of this assurance stands out in all its clarity: Do not allow yourselves to be misled by any lack of success! is what these words say…

So long as we continue working to building and fortifying the “walls” of Torah, by continuing the ongoing process of transmitting and elucidating our scholarly tradition, then the Almighty will guarantee the success of this most crucial endeavor, and protect the Torah from being forgotten and misconstrued.

David Silverberg

TUESDAY

            In one of the more famous verses in Parashat Eikev (10:12), Moshe proclaims to Benei Yisrael, “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you, other than to fear the Lord your God, to follow all His ways…” 

            The Midrash Bereishit Rabba (21:6) draws an interesting association between this verse and God’s “announcement” in the wake of Adam’s sin in the Garden of Eden: “Behold, man has become like one of us…and now, perhaps he may cast his hand and partake also from the tree of life…” (Bereishit 3:22).  Commenting on the phrase “and now, perhaps he may cast his hand,” the Midrash comments, “This teaches that the Almighty granted him the opportunity for repentance: ‘ve-ata’ [‘and now’] can only refer to repentance, as it says, ‘And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you…’”

            According to the Midrash, Moshe here speaks to Benei Yisrael about the theme of teshuva (repentance), and hence the term ve-ata (“and now”), with which this section begins, may be seen as an allusion to repentance.  As such, the Midrash claims, God’s proclamation after Adam’s sin, which includes the term ve-ata, alludes to the fact that God granted Adam the possibility of earning atonement for his misdeed through the process of teshuva.

            The Midrash’s comment raises a number of questions, including how it understood this verse in Parashat Eikev as relating to the specific theme of teshuva.  Moshe here speaks generally about fearing God and observing His commandments.  On what basis did the Midrash conclude that this verse addresses the particular concept of repentance?

            The likely answer emerges from a brief review of the previous section.  This verse follows Moshe’s lengthy, harsh account of the sin of the golden calf.  He describes in great detail how God had decided to annihilate Benei Yisrael, and the difficulty with which Moshe succeeded in annulling this decree and restoring the strained relationship between the Almighty and His nation.  It is in the context of this historical review that Moshe then declares, “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you, other than to fear the Lord your God, to follow His ways…”  In other words, Moshe tells the people that despite the grievous sins they have committed, God does not demand any special “reparations” as atonement.  Rather, He simply asks that they sincerely commit themselves to remain loyal to Him henceforth.  He asks them not to look back, but rather to look forward.  There is nothing they need to do to rectify the mistakes of yesterday other than ensure a more spiritually successful tomorrow.

            Appropriately, then, the Midrash viewed this verse as embodying the theme of repentance.  What teshuva essentially means is the ability to move forward without being hindered by an inauspicious past.  It allows and urges a person to leave behind his spiritual baggage and set his sights on a new beginning.  Significantly, the Midrash focuses on the word ve-ata (“and now”) as the basis for the connection between the two contexts.  Indeed, teshuva is about “now,” asking oneself what God expects of him in the wake of failure, and finding the answer in Moshe’s exhortation to Benei Yisrael.  God does not impose extraordinary demands to correct the past; He asks simply that one correct the present and the future.  Thus, the theme of teshuva is indeed embodied by the word ve-ata, the notion of breaking free from past mistakes and focusing one’s mind on what is expected of him in the present.

David Silverberg

WEDNESDAY

            In Parashat Eikev, Moshe reviews the infamous and unfortunate incident of cheit ha-eigel, the sin of the golden calf, and recalls how he threw down the stone tablets he had received from God upon seeing the people worship the calf (9:17).

            It is commonly understood that Moshe acted correctly by destroying the two tablets.  This assumption is expressed by a famous comment in the Gemara (Shabbat 87a) which records God responding to Moshe after this incident, “Yeyasher kochakha she-shibarta,” congratulating Moshe for his heroic decision to break the tablets.

            A different view, however, appears to emerges from the Midrash Devarim Rabba (3), which, commenting to our verse, relates that God sharply scolded Moshe for his drastic response: “Moshe, you vent your anger upon the tablets of the covenant?  Do you want Me to vent My anger, and you will see that the world cannot survive even a single moment?”  According to this view, God strongly disapproved of Moshe’s angry reaction to the golden calf, and noted that just as God does not “vent His anger” in response to wrongdoing, Moshe should similarly exercise greater patience and forbearance in handling the people’s mistakes.

            The Midrash continues by telling that God offered Moshe the opportunity to earn atonement for his inappropriate respond: “You broke them – and you will exchange them.”  God’s instruction to Moshe to carve new stone tablets reflects the process of “rectification” for the sin of breaking the original tablets.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, notes that this incident recorded in the Midrash brings to mind the story of Mei Meriva, where God instructed Moshe to produce water by speaking to a certain rock, but he instead struck the rock with his staff.  The Rambam, in one of his more famous essays (Shemona Perakim, 4), claimed that Moshe’s sin in this incident lay in his angry, intemperate response to the people’s complaints.  Curiously, however, whereas the anger displayed at Mei Meriva resulted in a decree forbidding Moshe from leading Benei Yisrael into the land, his angry response to the golden calf incident (as understood by the Midrash) was forgiven with relative ease.  At Mount Sinai, God offered Moshe the opportunity to rectify his mistake by carving a new set of tablets, while after Mei Meriva God unforgivingly issued an irrevocable decree.  How might we explain God’s different reactions on these two occasions?

            One simple answer emerges from the Rambam’s comments in that same context, where he emphasizes the fact that God had expressed no anger or displeasure with the nation’s conduct at Mei Meriva.  The gravity of Moshe’s sin lay not only in his angry response, but also in the fact that it misrepresented God’s response.  God did not condemn the people for their complaints, but Moshe’s harsh words suggested to the people that God was, in fact, incensed, and for this Moshe was punished.  After the incident of the calf, of course, God was indeed angered to the point where he initially sentenced Benei Yisrael to annihilation, and this perhaps mitigated the severity of Moshe’s harsh response.

            Rav Ginsburg, however, suggested a different point of distinction between the two incidents.  Quite simply, shattering the tablets was an affront to the honor of God Himself, whereas at Mei Meriva Moshe expresses his anger by deriding the people: “Listen, please, O rebellious ones…” (Bamidbar 20:10).  Rav Ginsburg asserts that God is more easily inclined to forgive infractions on His honor than insults to His beloved nation.  When Moshe dishonored Him by shattering the tablets, He was prepared to find Moshe a means of atonement.  When it came, however, to the incident of Mei Meriva, when Moshe spoke with unwarranted derision of Benei Yisrael, the Almighty showed no such flexibility, and defended the nation’s honor by harshly punishing Moshe.  Thus, although Moshe may have committed a similar offense in both incidents, the punishment at Mei Meriva was more severe because of the particular care and concern God displays for the honor of Benei Yisrael.

David Silverberg

THURSDAY

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Eikev, Moshe briefly recalls the harsh conditions in which Benei Yisrael traveled through wilderness, and the miraculous means by which they were sustained during this period.  Amidst this discussion he describes how the people’s clothing remained intact throughout all these years: “Your clothes did not wear out on you, and your feet did not swell, for forty years” (8:4).

            How exactly did this happen, that Benei Yisrael’s clothing remained perfectly intact for forty years?

            Rashi, based on the Midrash (Pesikta De’Rav Kahana, Beshalach), explains that the ananei ha-kavod, the “clouds of glory” that encircled Benei Yisrael during their travels, had the capacity to launder and press the people’s garments.  Ibn Ezra, however, cites a theory claming that, quite simply, Benei Yisrael took with them large supplies of clothing when they left Egypt, which sufficed for the entire forty-year period of travel.  According to this approach, Moshe speaks here not of the miraculous nature of Benei Yisrael’s travels, but rather of the enormous bounty they were given when they left Egypt.

            Clearly, however, this interpretation does not seem to accommodate the context of Moshe’s discussion, which focuses on the supernatural sustenance the people enjoyed during their travels, such as the heavenly manna with which they were nourished.

            Ibn Ezra himself suggests a different explanation of this verse, claiming that the clothing’s endurance resulted naturally from the composition of the manna.  Clothing wears due to the sweat produced by the body, and Ibn Ezra speculates that the manna did not enable the body to sweat.  Since Benei Yisrael were nourished solely by the manna, their bodies did not produce any sweat that could adversely affect their clothing.  Hence, their clothing remained in perfect condition for four decades.

            The Ramban disagreed with Ibn Ezra’s theory, claiming that according to his explanation, Moshe’s remark fails to convey the message that he seeks to impress upon Benei Yisrael in this passage.  As the end of this section clearly indicates, Moshe here emphasizes that the people’s success in the land will depend upon their compliance with God’s laws.  Although they will be leaving the miraculous existence of the wilderness and beginning a natural existence of agriculture and industry, the success or failure of their enterprises is a function of God’s involvement.  Just as He miraculously provided them with food and clothing in the wilderness, He will similarly guarantee their material success in Eretz Yisrael if they observe His commands.

            The Ramban then advances a second, “scientific” argument to refute Ibn Ezra’s theory: “If you cover a beam with a new garment it will wear out in forty years even though it has no sweat…”  According to the Ramban, clothing begins to wear over the course of time irrespective of the presence of sweat, and thus the endurance of Benei Yisrael’s garments in the wilderness would be a miracle even if we accept the premise that their bodies produced no sweat during these years.

            Interestingly enough, the Chatam Sofer (vol. 2, Y.D., 283) cites this comment of the Ramban in the context of a discussion concerning the laws of mezuza.  He addresses a question concerning three residents sharing a large building which has forty doorframes.  All forty mezuzot were firmly affixed to the wooden frames and covered with stone, such that removing them for the required periodic inspections would be a most burdensome and arduous task.  The Chatam Sofer ruled that the difficulty entailed does not excuse the residents from the obligation to check the mezuzot, which is required due to the concern that the parchment may have begun decaying.  He cites in this context the Ramban’s comment that a garment begins to wear out with time regardless of exposure to specific elements, and adds that this would similarly apply to the parchment of a mezuza.  Checking the mezuza is therefore an outright halakhic requirement, from which one cannot be excused on the grounds of inconvenience.

David Silverberg

FRIDAY

            Parashat Eikev contains Moshe’s admonition to Benei Yisrael, “Take caution, lest you forget the Lord your God” (8:11), a warning which also appears (though without the words “your God”) earlier, in Parashat Vaetchanan (6:12).

            The Semag (“Sefer Mitzvot Gadol” by Rav Moshe of Couchy, 13^th century), in the introduction to his work, tells that he beheld in a dream that this verse establishes one of the 613 Biblical commands.  And, indeed, in his listing of the commandments (lo ta’aseh 64), he cites this verse as the source for the Biblical prohibition against ga’ava, arrogance.  As the Semag notes, the Gemara in Masekhet Sota in fact invokes this verse as a basis for a prohibition against the conduct of gasei ha-ru’ach – arrogant people.  (The Ramban, interestingly enough, cites a different verse as the source for this prohibition, namely, the Torah’s warning concerning the Israelite king, “…so that his heart shall not be raised above his brethren” – Devarim 17:20).

            In explaining this prohibition, the Semag appears to focus on the notion of dependence.  Meaning, the prohibition against arrogance refers to the feeling of independence and self-sufficiency, that one has achieved success and prosperity due to his own efforts, and not through the assistance and grace of God.  “Forgetting God” means losing sight of human frailty and man’s existential dependence on the Almighty for his very survival.  This understanding of the verse accommodates the context here in Parashat Eikev, where Moshe foresees Benei Yisrael’s success in developing and cultivating the land, and the wealth they will amass.  He then warns, “Take caution, lest you forget the Lord your God,” which indeed seems intended to convey the message described by the Semag, of recognizing one’s dependence on God even upon seeing the fruits of his own efforts and initiatives.

            Nevertheless, we might also point to another possible connection between arrogance and the notion of “forgetting God.”  The Torah speaks of Moshe as the most humble man on earth (Bamidbar 12:3).  At first glance, it might seem ironic that specifically Moshe, the greatest prophet who ever lived, would rise to unparalleled heights of humility.  In truth, however, this is perfectly understandable.  The clearer a person’s conception of God, the more clearly he recognizes his own infinitesimal stature.  The more a person understands God’s unlimited power and authority over mankind, the smaller and less significant he feels.  The only pride he can sense is the pride of being the object of the Almighty’s interest despite his lowly stature.  He feels important only by virtue of God’s having assigned him to His legions and desiring his service.

            Understandably, then, Moshe, who had a clearer understanding of God than anybody else, was the most humble.  He, more than anybody else, recognized just how lowly the human being is in relation to his Creator, and therefore could not take pride in any honor and distinction afforded to him by other people.  He had no interest in receiving honor from other people, because he remains lowly in relation to God regardless of what his fellow mortals think of him.

            For this reason, perhaps, a person who takes pride in his position and stature with respect to other people can be said to have “forgotten God.”  If an individual feels important because of the respect he receives from other human beings, then he must have lost sight of his lowly stature before the Almighty.  Had he been mindful of the Almighty, he would have been unaffected by the distinction shown to him by other people.  It is only somebody who has “forgotten” the enormous gap between him and his Creator, who fails to recognize the lowliness of the human being in relation to God, who relishes the honor and respect given by fellow people.

David Silverberg