The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Eikev contains the Torah source of the mitzva of birkat ha-mazon, to recite a berakha to God after eating bread: "You shall eat and be satiated, and you shall bless the Lord your God… " (8:10). The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (48b) traces the development of the current text of birkat ha-mazon, noting the various stages in which its various parts were introduced. The final berakha, that of "Ha-Kel Avinu, Malkenu, Adirenu… ," the Gemara informs us, was instituted to commemorate the decision of the Roman government to allow the Jews to bury the fallen victims of Beitar. Miraculously, the remains of the fallen did not decompose, despite the scorching summer heat to which they were exposed. (Recall that the city of Beitar fell on Tisha B'Av, an event listed as one of the five tragedies for which we mourn on Tisha B'Av.) The Sages of the time memorialized this miracle, as well as the permission granted to bury the remains, by composing this berakha and appending it to birkat ha-mazon. (Towards the end of Masekhet Ta'anit, the permission to bury the fallen of Beitar is said to have been granted on the fifteenth of Av – which falls this Wednesday – and is listed among the reasons for the celebration of this day as a quasi-festival.)

In our S.A.L.T. series to Parashat Eikev last year, we cited the explanation offered by the Meshekh Chokhma as to the connection between this incident and birkat ha-mazon. Here we would like to mention a far simpler point that emerges from this extraordinary event.

When considering the general history of the time period involved, we realize the immense significance of this fourth berakha, a berakha that reflects the unique power of Kelal Yisrael, which we may credit with sustaining our nation through millennia of exile and persecution. Beitar was the last stronghold of Shimon Bar Kokhba, who led the famous second revolt against the Roman occupation of Judea some sixty years after the destruction of the Second Temple. Bar Kokhba was a remarkably talented general who enjoyed widespread support from the people and particularly from the rabbinic leadership, most famously from Rabbi Akiva, likely the most influential rabbinic figure of the time. The Midrashim tell that Rabbi Akiva genuinely believed Bar Kokhba to be the Mashiach, the "star from Yaakov" that would shoot forth and destroy Yisrael's enemies (see Bamidbar 24:17). Bar Kokhba's initial military victories reinforced the people's trust in him and raised their expectations. We can only imagine, therefore, the sense of shock and despair that overcame the nation when the city of Beitar fell. The Gemara in Masekhet Gittin (57a) tells that hundreds of thousands of Jews were slaughtered by the Roman army when Beitar was destroyed. The Talmud Yerushalmi (Ta'anit 4:5) tells that Hadrian, the emperor at the time, had a giant vineyard around which he "built" a fence from the corpses of the Jews slain in Beitar.

The aftermath of this massacre saw arguably the most severe religious persecution against the Jews in their long history of religious persecution. Hadrian correctly saw that he could not win the Jews' submission to his authority so long as they continue observing their laws and customs. He therefore initiated a series of decrees forbidding the performance of basic mitzvot such as Shabbat, circumcision and, perhaps most significantly, Torah study. Religious leaders who violated these edicts, such as Rabbi Akiva, were brutally tortured to death. The famous yeshiva of Yavneh, established by Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai with permission from the emperor Vespasian just prior to the destruction, the center of post-Temple scholarly activity, was closed. Jerusalem was rebuilt as a pagan city and renamed Aelia Capitolina, and Hadrian forbade Jews from even entering the city. The Jews of that time saw their messianic hopes dissolve into the massacre of hundreds of thousands and an all out war against their traditions, heritage, and scholars.

That in such a period the Sages could compose a blessing describing the Almighty as "Ro'enu, Ro'ei Yisrael, ha-Melekh ha-tov ve-ha'meitiv la-kol" ("our Shepherd, the Shepherd of Israel, the gracious King, who deals kindly to all") is beyond astonishing. Remarkably, Chazal detected in the remains of Beitar's fallen a glimmer of hope, an expression of God's everlasting kindness and love for Benei Yisrael. The fourth berakha of birkat ha-mazon thus reflects in the most powerful way imaginable that even in the darkest of hours, in times of suffering and persecution, we must still find the inner strength to look to God as our loving, caring shepherd, as a benevolent King who will never abandon His subjects.

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A well-known verse in Parashat Eikev describes the Land of Israel as, "the land which the Lord your God looks after; the Lord your God always keeps His eye on it, from year's beginning to year's end" (11:12). Commenting on the phrase "doreish ota" ("looks after") in this verse, the Yalkut Shimoni (860) explains, "It [Eretz Yisrael] is subject to 'derisha' ['looking after'] with respect to separating chala, terumot and ma'aserot from it… It is subject to 'derisha,' and other lands are not subject to 'derisha'." In other words, the uniqueness of Eretz Yisrael as described in this verse relates to the agricultural mitzvot – such as chala, terumot and ma'aserot – which apply only there.

The question arises as to how this verse, as understood by the Yalkut Shimoni, fits into the context in which it appears. The section in Sefer Devarim containing this verse does not deal at all with the halakhot of Eretz Yisrael. Rather, it deals with the distinctiveness of Eretz Yisrael in relation to other lands, specifically Egypt:

How does the concept of terumot and ma'aserot relate to this theme – the unique quality of Eretz Yisrael?

The Keli Yakar, in his commentary to Parashat Pinchas (Bamidbar 26:64), explains this Midrash by examining the contrast drawn in these verses between Eretz Yisrael and other lands, particularly Egypt. According to most commentaries (Rashi being a very notable exception), in these verses Moshe actually points to a distinct advantage of life in Egypt as opposed to in Eretz Yisrael. Whereas the mountainous terrain of Eretz Yisrael does not allow for large-scale irrigation, and the land's agriculture thus depends entirely on rainwater, Egypt enjoys the practically incessant water supply of the Nile River, from which the entire country is irrigated. For this reason, Benei Yisrael's survival in their land naturally depends on their observance of God's commandments, in reward for which they are blessed with abundant rainwater. Indeed, the very next section is the second paragraph of shema, which speaks of the cause-and-effect relationship between Benei Yisrael's compliance with God's laws and rainfall in Eretz Yisrael. By way of introduction to this warning, Moshe emphasizes the dire need for rainwater in Eretz Yisrael, as opposed to Benei Yisrael's previous home, Egypt, where rain plays a far less critical role in the country's agricultural viability.

On the basis of this contrast, the Keli Yakar arrives at an insightful analysis of the agricultural mitzvot of Eretz Yisrael – such as chala, terumot and ma'aserot. In areas less dependent on rainwater, a farmer, at least to some extent, can take full credit for his successful yield. He invested all the effort and thus enjoys an exclusive claim to ownership over the produce. In Eretz Yisrael, however, a farmer cannot yield produce without God's cooperation – in form of rainfall. In effect, then, the produce does not belong exclusively to the farmer; God, as the farmer's partner, has a share, as it were, in the successful yield. Accordingly, the Keli Yakar explains, the farmer must give God His share by giving chala, terumot and ma'aserot to the Almighty's representatives – the kohanim and Levi'im (and, in the case of ma'aser ani, the poor). These obligations help ensure the farmer's recognition of God's role in the cultivation of his land and growth of his produce.

Appropriately, then, the Yalkut Shimoni interprets the "derisha" spoken of in these verses as a reference to these mitzvot. Only in Eretz Yisrael does God require a farmer to express his awareness of God's involvement in the land's production of food, for it is there where God plays a particularly critical role in the agricultural process.

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Parashat Eikev includes the second paragraph of shema ("ve-haya im shamo'a" – 11:13-21), which briefly presents the fundamental doctrine of reward and punishment. It tells of the reward of rainfall and economic success for observance of God's commandments, and the warning of drought and destruction should Benei Yisrael neglect the mitzvot.

The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (35) cites a famous dispute between Rabbi Yishmael and Rabban Shimon Bar Yochai concerning these verses, a debate which touches upon the very nature of Jewish life as envisioned by the Torah. According to Rabbi Yishmael, the description in the first half of this section, by which Benei Yisrael are blessed with rainfall and "gather their grain, their wine and their oil" (11:14), represents the ideal situation foreseen by Moshe. This, indeed, appears to be the straightforward reading of these verses - that God rewards Benei Yisrael for their obedience with this ideal state of affairs – by which they till the land and enjoy success and prosperity. Rabban Shimon, however, claims, surprisingly, that this description reflects an acceptable though less than ideal condition. When Benei Yisrael are at their highest point of spiritual devotion, they do not even work the land. They immerse themselves exclusively in Torah learning and leave their physical and material affairs to others.

Seemingly, these tanna'im debate a fundamental question regarding the nature of the ideal Jewish life. Should Benei Yisrael ideally withdraw from mundane pursuits, involving themselves in only Torah study with the trust that the Almighty will somehow provide them with their material needs? Or, should they live a "normal" life, working for a living and making a proactive effort to secure their own sustenance, while allocating significant periods of time for Torah study and mitzva performance? It would appear that Rabbi Yishmael and Rabban Shimon debate this very issue.

But if this is the case, then the question arises as to how we should understand the Gemara's conclusion. The Gemara cites Abayei's remark, "Many [people] acted like Rabban Shimon and they were not successful." On the one hand, Abayei appears to accept Rabbi Yishmael's view, that one should, in fact, occupy himself in mundane pursuits. However, rather than expressing this view clearly and unequivocally, Abayei merely makes the observation that Rabban Shimon's position often does not work. But if Rabbi Yishmael and Rabban Shimon debate such a central, fundamental issue of Judaism, how can the Gemara leave us with such an ambiguous conclusion? Moreover, why does Abayei build his conclusion on the fact that many people tried Rabban Shimon's method and failed? Since when do we reach halakhic conclusions, let alone conclusions touching at the very fabric of religious life, based purely on empirical observation of the success or failure of each opposing position?

Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook, in his "Ein Aya," explains that in truth, these two tanna'im do not debate the ideological question of work versus full-time Torah. Rather, they address the question regarding the nature of man himself, whether the human being is created with an ingrained capacity or tendency to exclusive spiritual involvement, or whether his internal makeup requires engagement in worldly occupation. The issue disputed is thus factual, not ideological. If man's nature allows for unhindered, uninterrupted engagement in learning, then one must strive for this ideal. Though the Torah might deem acceptable, even according to this view of man, a lifestyle that incorporates mundane activities, it demands an ambition to reach the ideal of a life devoid of anything other than Torah. If, however, the human being by nature cannot live by this standard, than the life described in this parasha, a life of mundane activity within the framework of Torah and mitzvot, constitutes the ideal, rather than a concession.

This perception of the debate, Rav Kook explains, helps us understand Abayei's conclusion. Since we deal with a factual question, we would expect it to be resolved through empirical observation, by carefully examining the nature of human beings. Abayei observes that when it comes to this question, not all people are alike. Most people are of Rabbi Yishmael's type, naturally inclined to a life of worldly pursuits and occupation. For the majority of mankind, an attempt to live the lifestyle prescribed by Rabban Shimon is doomed to failure. For some, however, such an approach indeed corresponds to their natural tendencies and inclinations. Certain extraordinary, uniquely gifted individuals are in fact capable, and hence required, to live the life of Rabban Shimon Bar Yochai, of exclusive involvement in Torah study and withdrawal from mundane activities and pursuits.

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The second paragraph of the shema prayer, which appears in the Torah in Parashat Eikev, promises Benei Yisrael material success and prosperity for their observance of the mitzvot – "you shall eat and be satiated" (11:15). The following verse warns against the abandonment of the Torah in favor of idolatrous faiths: "Take care not to be lured away, to stray and serve other gods and bow to them." Rashi comments that these two verses are linked by a cause-and-effect relationship: "Since you will be eating and satiated, take care not to rebel; for a person betrays the Almighty only out of satiation." Specifically when Benei Yisrael experience wealth and success must they be warned not "to be lured away," because satiation and contentment naturally lead one to betray God.

But what exactly is this process of "being lured away" to which the Torah refers? What type of "betrayal," as Rashi put it, does the Torah warn against in these verses?

Rashi writes, "To stray – to separate [yourselves] from Torah [study]; and as a result, 'and serve other gods,' for once a person separates from the Torah, he goes ahead and attaches himself to idolatry."

In other words, the Torah describes here a three-stage process, whereby Benei Yisrael accumulate wealth, then stop studying Torah, and ultimately worship idols. When Rashi writes, "A person betrays the Almighty only out of satiation," he means that wealth and prosperity often lead to laxity in Torah learning, which itself results in the ultimate betrayal of God – the worship of other deities.

The question, of course, arises, how does "satiation" threaten to lead to laxity in study? Why does Rashi assume that success has a tendency to discourage one from learning?

At first glance, one might attribute this relationship to practical reality. One with vast, expanding business enterprises may find it difficult to set aside significant portions of time for study. Naturally, then, success can lead to reduced or no Torah learning. But even should we accept this questionable assumption, that material success makes Torah learning impractical, Rashi does not appear to refer to this factor. He speaks of a laxity in Torah learning that results in idol worship. We deal here not with a lack of time or peace of mind for religious contemplation, but a substitution of Torah with a foreign faith. Why would prosperity have the tendency to lead to laxity in learning and then to idolatry?

The Hebrword "Torah" means "instruction." When studying Torah, one studies a book of instructions and guidelines. Torah learning requires one to bow his head and accept rules that govern human life. Very often, success and prosperity result in an exaggerated sense of independence and self-sufficiency, a feeling that one needs no outside assistance and can handle life adequately on his own. Perhaps it is to this feeling that Rashi refers when he describes the potential laxity in Torah study that can result from material success. Torah learning is a humbling experience of submission – an experience that people will try to avoid if they feel entirely independent and self-sufficient. Such a person is unlikely to devote too much time or mental and emotional energy to a system of laws imposed upon him from an outside source – even if that outside source is the Almighty. In the next stage of the process, he resorts to idolatry. Unlike monotheism, paganism allows one to select and even construct his own god. Rather than remaining passively subject to the dictates of a higher authority, a pagan worships a god that he himself has fashioned or purchased. Failure to study Torah and engage in the humbling experience of submission to God's will naturally leads one to adopt a different god whose will he can himself determine.

It turns out, then, that Rashi here alludes to an important feature of Torah study – the humble submission to divine authority that is involved in the study and analysis of divine law.

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