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Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion
PARASHAT NITZAVIM
by Rav David Silverberg
The opening verse of Parashat Nitzavim informs us that in this parasha Moshe Rabbeinu takes Benei Yisrael into a covenant with God. This marks the second such covenant, the first having occurred forty years earlier, at Mount Sinai. One important feature of this covenant is the concept of "areivut," the personal responsibility of each member of Kelal Yisrael towards every other: "The concealed matters are for the Lord our God; but the revealed matters are for us and our children for all time" (29:28). Rashi explains (based on the Gemara) that God administers communal punishment for transgressions committed by individuals publicly without protest, since we are all collectively responsible for the actions of one another.
This sense of mutual responsibility is not new to Parashat Nitzavim. The Mekhilta cites Rebbi as finding the origins of this concept already at Har Sinai: "When they stood at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, they all blended together into a single heart to accept the kingdom of Heaven with joy; moreover, they made a pledge to one another." Rebbi drew this theory of mutual responsibility from the singular form employed in the Torah's description of the giving of the Torah - "Vayichan sham Yisrael," implying that they viewed themselves as a single entity, thus accountable to one another.
An important distinction, however, exists between the "areivut" of Sinai and that in our parasha, in the covenant of Avot Moav. As stated, the sense of mutual responsibility established at Sinai evolved from the "oneness" of Benei Yisrael. Our nation is not merely a composite of individuals, but a single, organic body to which we may refer in the singular form. We are therefore naturally responsible for the actions of one another. When the shortstop commits an error in a baseball game resulting in the game-winning run, his entire team suffers defeat despite their not having done anything wrong. Similarly ("le-havdil"), the national entity of Kenesset Yisrael is charged with a mission. The wrongdoing of even a single member of that entity causes the entire nation to miss its mark. A more familiar analogy points to the discomfort experienced by the entire body a result of a wound suffered by a single limb. At Sinai, Benei Yisrael blended together into one being. Naturally, then, we are all responsible towards one another.
A much different sense of responsibility arises in Parashat Nitzavim. In the verse with which we opened our discussion, as well as throughout this entire parasha, the plural form is used. What more, whereas Chazal describe the gathering at Sinai with the expression, "as one man, with one heart," in our parasha Moshe explicitly focuses on the different types of people assembled: "your tribal heads, your elders and your officials… your children, your wives, the stranger within your camp, from woodcutter to water-drawer." Here Moshe focuses specifically on the nation's diversity, pointing to a second, concurrent characteristic of Am Yisrael: the involvement of different personalities, talents, tendencies, careers, and characters. The Midrash Tanchuma clearly emphasizes this point: "Not only the leaders among you, but even your children… A human being shows more compassion for the males than for the females, but the Almighty does not do so, for His compassion is upon all His creatures, on males and females, on the righteous and on the wicked." The mutual responsibility of which Moshe speaks, then, differs significantly from that which emerged at Sinai, which resulted naturally from the nation's sense of indivisibility. The responsibility of Parashat Nitzavim presents perhaps a far greater challenge: holding oneself accountable to those who are different. Even on the more practical level, where Benei Yisrael constitutes not a single entity (as it does in the absolute sense) but rather an assembly of different character types, we must hold ourselves responsible to the other sectors of the nation. We must recognize our accountability that arises not only out of the metaphysical oneness of Kenesset Yisrael, but also out of the real-life concern for the common welfare and successful achievement of our shared national goals. Although we are different from one another, we cannot be separate from one another. The woodcutters must see himself responsible for the water-drawer, just as the tribal leaders must concern themselves with the lower echelons of the political hierarchy. Even when we do not blend together into a single heart, the heart of each individual must feel for the heart of every other.
(Based on an article by Rav Baruch Gigi, Ram at Yeshivat Har Etzion)
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In presenting the terms of the covenant in Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe warns of what will happen to one who tries excusing himself from his obligations: "Perchance there is among you some man or woman, or some clan or tribe, whose heart turns away today from the Lord or God to go to worship the gods of those nations… When such a person hears the words of these sanctions, he may fancy himself immune, thinking, 'I shall be safe, though I follow my own willful heart… God will never forgive him… " (29:17-19). Moshe depicts the rebellious individual or group as convinced of their immunity from the terms of the covenant, thinking to themselves that all be well "though I follow my own willful heart." We used here the standard reading of this clause, which in Hebrew reads, "ki bi-sherirut libi eileikh." According to this translation, the word "ki," which usually means "because," here means "though," a usage indeed found in other places, as well.
This translation does, however, raise one difficulty. According to this reading, Moshe offers no basis on which one would stake such a claim. It would be one thing if he referred to someone generations later who denies his ancestral tradition of the covenant. This skepticism or even denial we could perhaps understand. But why would an individual who "hears the words of these sanctions" so cavalierly discard the terms of the covenant, without any basis or reasoning?
Though we cannot know for sure, this question may have prompted a different interpretation, brought in the work, "Imrei Noam," a collection of commentaries by the Tosafists and other early Rishonim. This interpretation understands "I follow my own willful heart" not as simple resignation to follow one's instincts and desires, but rather as a statement of intellectual superiority. The rebel Moshe describes denounces the authority of the Torah "ki" - because - he follows his own reasoning and intuition and affords them overriding authority. This interpretation beautifully accommodates the context in which this verse appears. Moshe introduces these comments by saying, "Well you know that we dwelt in the land of Egypt and that we passed through the midst of various other nations; and you have seen the detestable things and the fetishes of wood and stone, silver and gold, that they keep." Observing and engaging in foreign cultures may lead one to accept their norms and dogmas and consequently reject those of the Torah. The person of whom Moshe speaks thus launches a theological assault against the Torah's authenticity armed with the accepted ideology of the time. Having experienced the dominant cultures of Egypt and other nations, one may have branded Torah an inferior way of life, Heaven forbid.
As we all know only too well, this threat presents itself at least as intensely today as it did during the time of Moshe Rabbeinu. Belief in the eternal nature of the covenant means constantly reaffirming one's commitment to the unchanging law even in the face of a changing world. Like our ancestors centuries ago, we, too, must "stand before the Lord your God," ready and willing to devote ourselves unwaveringly to the eternal obligations of the Torah.
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Parashat Nitzavim includes thfundamental halakhic dictum, "lo ba-shamayim hi" - "it is not in the heavens" (30:12). Chazal have understood this verse to mean that God has entrusted the scholars of every generation with the right of interpretation of the law. Halakha is thus decided by scholars, not by prophets.
A celebrated source relevant to this topic is a Gemara in Masekhet Bava Metzia 59b. The Gemara there tells the unusual story of the "tanur shel akhnai," whereby Rabbi Eliezer resorts to supernatural means of argumentation to prove his minority view on a certain issue. He invokes several miracles to demonstrate the correctness of his opinion until he finally calls upon a heavenly voice to declare his position the correct one. Sure enough, a voice came forth affirming Rabbi Eliezer's view. Rabbi Yehoshua, representing the majority position, stood up and rejected even this proof, citing our verse. The Torah is decided on earth, not in the heavens, he announced, and the Torah itself dictates siding with the majority view.
It appears from this presentation that supernatural sources simply may not override a preexisting principle of halakha. Once halakha required following the majority's view, no prophet or heavenly voice can dictate otherwise. What would have happened if the sages were evenly split on the issue? If no majority existed, thus rendering the issue unresolved, could a prophet or heavenly voice provide a definitive ruling, or does this, too, violate the axiom that "it is not in the heavens"? The Radbaz, in his Metzudat David mitzva 9, leaves this as an open question. Rav Chayim Yosef David Azlai (the "Chid"a), in his Ein Zokher Ya'ir Ozen (ma'arekhet alef, 15), writes that in such a situation one may, indeed, rely on supernatural sources such as prophecy. Only when a conclusion has been definitively reached do we refuse to accept a ruling arrived at through supernatural means. The Ran, however, in his Derashot (11), cited in the introduction to the classic work, "Ketzot Ha-choshen," explicitly states that under no circumstances do we rely on supernatural sources in halakhic decision-making. He draws seemingly convincing proof from a Gemara in Masekhet Temura 16a, which tells of three thousand halakhot that were forgotten after Moshe's death. Yehoshua, his successor, refused to resort to prophecy to retrieve the lost information, citing our verse as the basis of his decision. Clearly, no scholars had, in this case, determined a halakha that prophecy sought to override. Does this not prove that we cannot accept any supernatural means to reach halakhic conclusions, even when no contrary ruling has been issued by scholars?
A refutation of this proof is suggested by Rav Reuven Margaliyot. Rav Maragliyot published a modern edition of the work of responsum "Shut Min Ha-shamayim" by Rabbeinu Yaakov of Meirous, one of the Ba'alei Ha-tosafot. This work differs drastically from other works of Torah law. Whenever he confronted a difficult question of halakha, Rabbi Yaakov would pray for a revelation in a dream to resolve the issue. Indeed, a "maggid" (some angelic being) would appear to him in a dream and answer Rabbi Yaakov's query. He recorded the answer the next morning and eventually compiled the responsa in this work. Rav Margaliyot presents a lengthy introduction devoted mainly to the issue we have discussed: the possibility of resolving halakhic questions through supernatural means. Addressing this Gemara in Masekhet Temura, Rav Margalyot notes that Rav Menachem Azarya of Fano (16th century, Italy) explained Yehoshua's refusal to resort to prophecy as based on a much different concern. He was afraid that the people would view him as capable of introducing (rather than merely clarifying) Torah law as Moshe Rabbeinu had done. In truth, Yehoshua could have prophetically retrieved the lost halakhot. He nevertheless refrained from doing so in order to maintain the distinction in status between himself and his predecessor. Thus, this Gemara does not prove that we may not accept halakhic decision-making through supernatural means. To the contrary, it demonstrates that barring extenuating circumstances, such methods of resolving halakhic questions are perfectly valid.
For more information on this fascinating topic, the reader is referred to Rav Margalayot's comprehensive treatment in the aforementioned piece.
*****
Yesterday we discussed the verse in Parashat Nitzavim that declares, "lo ba-shamayim hi," it is not in the heavens. In that discussion we focused on Chazal's interpretation of the verse, that halakhic decision-making is in the hands of the sages; we therefore do not allow supernatural factors to decide halakha against the deductive reasoning of the scholars.
Today, we will discuss the verse in its textual context. Moshe tells the people, "For the mitzva that I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?'" (Devarim 30:11-13). At the simplest level, Moshe here tells Benei Yisrael that Torah and mitzvot lie well within the reach of every individual.
The Targum Yerushalmi, however, adds several words to these verses which would seem to alter their meaning significantly: "The Torah is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'If only we would have someone like Moshe the prophet who would ascend to the heavens and bring it to us and teach the laws, we would observe them.' Neither is the Torah across the sea that you should say, 'If only we would have someone like Yonah the prophet who would descend to the depths of the ocean and bring it to us and teach the laws, we would observe them.'"
How are we to understand this reference to Moshe and Yonah in this context? Why did Moshe fear that the people would entertain such a notion, that they would observe the mitzvot only if the likes of Moshe and Yonah would ascend to the heavens and descends to the depths of the sea to bring them the Torah? Hadn't Moshe already done so?
According to the Targum Yerushalmi, Moshe may have feared the common phenomenon of people waiting for "it" to occur before fully dedicating themselves to Torah and mitzvot. They do not know what "it" is or will be. They know that they must make the commitment but anticipate some momentous, cataclysmic event that will inspire them to do so. Even more commonly, many of us are guilty of thinking or saying, "Maybe at some point… " Though we often recognize the need for change in areas such as level of observance, children's education, place of residence, and other important issues, we tend to sit and wait. People by nature are afraid of change, preferring instead to continue along the same path of compromise followed until now, comforted by the possibility of implementing the change at some point. We often wait for some "bolt of lightening," a Moshe or a Yonah to come with the word of God to put us on our feet and point us in the right direction.
In Masekhet Avoda Zara 17a, the Gemara relates the famous story of Rabbi Elazar Ben Dordaya, the man who visited every harlot in the world and then heard of yet another across the sea. He spent a fortune of money, time and energy to arrive at this woman's home. Unexpectedly, the prostitute commented to him that he will never repent. Elazar suddenly became very disheartened by this prospect and pleaded with the natural forces to intercede on his behalf that he be allowed to repent. When receiving negative responses from all these forces, he declared, "The matter depends only upon me." He broke out in bitter crying until his soul departed. The Gemara concludes that he is considered a genuine "ba'al teshuva" (penitent) and even earned the title "rabbi."
Rav Amital shlit"a has often explained that Elazar knew that he must correct his behavior, only he decided to wait until he has enjoyed all the pleasures the world. Eventually, he thought to himself, he will perform teshuva. Ironically enough, it was the harlot across the sea, who realized just how submerged he was in iniquity, who raised the possibility that he has passed the point of no return. Terror-struck by such a prospect, Elazar pleaded that some power come and bring him back. Ultimately, he reached the conclusion that only he is the master over his fate. The possibility of repentance depends only on himself.
This remarkable story serves as a perfect example of the verse, "it is not in the heavens" as understood by the Targum Yerushalmi. Delaying our implementation of the necessary changes in our lives can only do us harm. Moshe Rabbeinu will never come down from the heavens again; only once did Yonah emerge from a whale's belly and lead an entire city to repent. We cannot wait for external stimuli or fantastic upheavals to turn our hearts around and trigger a process of purification. We must bear in mind the immortal words of Rabbi Elazar Ben Dordaya - "The matter depends only upon me."
*****
We devoted the previous two editions of "S.A.L.T." to the section in Parashat Nitzavim of "lo ba-shamayim hi." These verses inform us that "this mitzva" is situated neither in the heavens nor across the sea; it is rather "very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it." In our discussion two days ago we assumed Chazal's understanding of "this mitzva" as a reference to halakhic rulings. Yesterday, we adopted perhaps the more straightforward approach, that "mitzva" in this context denotes Torah observance in general. (The Jewish Publication Society, for example, translates "ha-mitzva" in this verse as "the Instruction.") The Ramban, however, famously identifies "this mitzva" with the specific mitzva of teshuva, repentance. Basing himself on the previous section, which foresees Benei Yisrael's ultimate return to observance after a period of rebellion and exile, the Ramban understands this parasha as stressing the availability of teshuva. One may never lose hope in himself; no matter how far he has strayed, the Torah promises that repentance lies well within his reach.
The Ramban's approach may shed new light on the immediately following section, as well: "See, I set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity… " Moshe here formally presents Am Yisrael with the choice between two paths: the path of life, guaranteed if the nation faithfully observes the commandments, and that of "death and adversity," the tragic consequences of disobedience. Moshe bids the nation, "You shall choose life, so that you and your offspring may live."
We may identify "today" in this section's opening verse as the key word of this unit. As Rav Moshe Feinstein (in "Derash Moshe") suggests, Moshe here refers not to the specific day on which he delivered this sermon, but rather to every day of a person's life. This choice between good and evil presents itself to every individual on every day that he lives. Each morning one has the remarkable opportunity to choose and chart his path as he wishes. This basic precept underlies the concept of teshuva. At the heart of this institution lies the notion that man possesses the capability of change, that days and years of iniquity need not dictate today's conduct. Our behavior is never predetermined, not even by deeds or habits of the past. At all times we can decide between "life and prosperity" on the one hand and "death and adversity" on the other.
Rav Moshe adds, however, that the opposite holds true, as well. Years of meticulous observance do not guarantee continued commitment. One may never consider himself "home free" from the many challenges to his faith and devoted adherence to mitzvot. A committed Jew must "choose" this path and reaffirm his commitment throughout his life. Just as we have been granted the possibility of teshuva, so do we possess the ability to turn away at any time and leave our ancestral heritage and spiritual origins. We must therefore heed Moshe Rabbeinu's instruction - "You shall choose life" - every day of our lives.
*****
In the past three days we encountered three different interpretations of the term, "this mitzva" in the following verses in Parashat Nitzavim: "For this mitzva that I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens… Neither is it across the sea… No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it." Here are the three interpretations we have seen so far:
Yet a fourth interpretation emerges from the Gemara in Masekhet Eiruvin 55a. The Gemara explains "it is not in the heavens" to mean that Torah knowledge cannot be found among those "in the heavens," meaning, the arrogant. Likewise, "neither is it across the sea" teaches that merchants constantly traveling on business will not become great Torah scholars. The time and concentration devoted to business enterprises inevitably hinders one's ability to master the realm of Torah scholarship. (See also Rambam, Hilkhot Talmud Torah 3:8.) According to the Gemara, then, these verses speak of the mitzva of talmud Torah (Torah study).
You may have noticed, however, that this Gemara seems to have turned these verses completely inside-out. No matter how we interpret "this mitzva," Moshe here stresses its accessibility to everyone: "the thing is very close to you… " The emphasis, then, is on the relative ease in performing this mitzva as opposed to the intimidating first impression that Benei Yisrael likely had at this point. In the Gemara, the verse suddenly takes the opposite direction. Torah is not for everyone; it remains off-limits to the arrogant and professionally preoccupied. What, then, did Moshe mean when he said, "the thing is very close to you"?
It is hard to know whether Chazal felt this to be the true intent of the verse or if they drafted it as an "asmakhta" - a textual allusion - for the message they sought to transmit. Either way, however, a critical lesson emerges. Just when the Torah underscores the universal accessibility of scholarship, either it or Chazal found it necessary to interject a disclaimer of sorts: it may be accessible, but that doesn't mean it's easy. The fact that Torah knowledge is within our reach does not imply the possibility of effortless achievement. We can do it, but it requires sacrifice of ego - "it is not in the heavens" - and of material comfort - "neither is it across the sea." Everyone has the potential to become knowledgeable; whether or not one maximizes that potential depends solely on him.
*****
As we have seen, sources in Chazal and the Rishonim appear to take different views as to the meaning of Moshe's comments in Parashat Nitzavim that "this mitzva" is not "in the heavens" nor "across the sea," but rather "very close to you." Over the last two days we focused on the Ramban's approach, understanding "this mitzva" as a reference to teshuva, and that of the Gemara in Eiruvin, interpreting the phrase as denoting Torah study.
Former chief rabbi of Jerusalem Rav Yaakov Betzalel Zholti zt"l, in his work, "Mishnat Yabetz" (1:54), attempts to reconcile these two interpretations of the verse, that of the Ramban and of the Gemara in Eiruvin. He does so on the basis of a distinction drawby the Gemara in Masekhet Yoma 86b between two types of repentance: "mei-ahava" and "mi-yira." The ideal form of return, "mei-ahava," involves the person's resolve to improve out of a deep sense of love for the Almighty. He regrets his misconduct because it meant violating the word of his Beloved. The Gemara says that when one repents out of this sense, not only are his intentional misdeeds forgiven, but they transform into merits. The second type of teshuva is that performed out of fear. A recognition of the consequences of wrong prompts the sinner to regret what he has done and take it upon himself to improve. Such teshuva earns one the transformation of his intentional wrongs into unintentional sins, but not into merits.
The Ramban, argues Rav Zholti, understands our verse as speaking about the first, ideal form of repentance. Moshe Rabbeinu here assures Benei Yisrael that even this pristine level of teshuva lies within their reach. Once this verse addresses "teshuva mei-ahava," love-motivated repentance, we can readily understand why the Gemara interpreted it in reference to Torah study. Torah study constitutes perhaps the greatest expression of love for the Almighty, as it demonstrates one's desire to learn as much he can about the Almighty and, in a sense, spend as much time with the Almighty as possible ("Ten people who sit and occupy themselves in Torah - the Shekhina rests with them… and how do we know even one [person]… " - Avot 3:6). The clearest source for this association between Torah study and love of God, as Rav Zholti notes, is the Midrash Tanchuma in Parashat Noach, speaking about the study of the Oral Law: "It is fierce as death and hard as Sheol; no one studies it except one who loves the Almighty with all his heart and all his soul and all his might… " If sin distances one from God (Rambam, Hilkhot Teshuva 7:6), then Torah study brings one close to the Almighty. It reflects the individual's desire not merely to clear his record, so-to-speak, but to actively pursue a relationship with the Almighty by learning about Him in the only way we can, by studying His will.
Rav Zholti proceeds to show that intensive Torah study as a supreme form of teshuva is well documented in traditional sources. Chazal posit that even Yom Kippur and divine punishment cannot atone for the grievous sin of chilul Hashem (desecration of God's Name). Nevertheless, Rabbeinu Yona writes in Sha'arei Teshuva (4:16) that one guilty of this sin can nevertheless achieve atonement through diligent Torah study. Rav Zholti explains that since "teshuva mei-ahava" retroactively transforms sin into merit, rather than simply earning one gracious expiation, it works for any misdeed, regardless of how severe. Similarly, the Sifrei in Parashat Ha'azinu writes, "Just as these goats [sacrifices in the Mikdash on Yom Kippur] come to atone for sins, so do the words of Torah atone for sins." Rav Zholti explains that, as the Rambam writes (Hilkhot Teshuva 1:4), during the time of the Temple the two goat offerings atoned for all sins, including the most severe. The Sifrei thus informs us that Torah learning likewise earns one atonement for any sin he may have committed.
We have thus reconciled the Ramban's interpretation with that of the Gemara: this verse speaks of both teshuva and Torah study, for both are one and the same. Neither lie in the heavens or beyond the ocean, both are readily accessible to those prepared to invest the necessary effort. We are guaranteed the opportunity not only to erase our wrongdoing from memory and start anew, but even to have those misdeeds work on our behalf at the heavenly tribunal as they transform into merits.
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To see this year's S.A.L.T. selections: |
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To see this year's S.A.L.T. selections: |
|
www.vbm-torah.org/salt.htm |
||
This shiur is provided courtesy of the Virtual Beit Midrash, the premier source of online courses on Torah and Judaism 14 different courses on all levels, for all backgrounds.
MakeJewish learning partof your week on a regular basis - enroll in the
(c) YeshivHar EtzioAll rights reserved to Yeshivat Har Etzion
Yeshivat Har Et
Alon Shvut, Israel, 90433
office@etzion.org.il