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Yeshivat Har Etzion
PARASHAT NITZAVIM
By Rav David Silverberg
Parashat Nitzavim contains the famous verse, “Lo va-shamayim hi” – “it is not in the heavens” (30:12). The concept of the Torah being “not in the heavens” is discussed in several different contexts, including the Gemara in Masekhet Eruvin (55a). The Gemara interprets this phrase to mean that Torah scholarship cannot be sustained within an arrogant soul, within a person whose self-esteem can be described as “extending to the heavens.” Interestingly, however, the Gemara cites two different variations of this idea. Rava remarked that Torah knowledge cannot be found be-mi she-magbi’a da’ato aleha – literally, “in one who raises his mind above it.” Rabbi Yochanan, by contrast, explains that Torah cannot exist within gasei ha-ru’ach, the more familiar term for men of arrogance. What is the difference between these two forms of arrogance which this verse deems incompatible with Torah scholarship?
Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that these two remarks in the Gemara refer to two very different phenomena. A person who “raises his mind above” Torah approaches the material with preconceived notions on the basis of which he assesses the value and truth of what he learns. He grants himself the authority to decide what to accept and what to discard, which teachings of Torah are worth absorbing and which ought to be dismissed. Needless to say, one who approaches Torah study with this frame of mind will never achieve mastery over the material, since he has no interest in mastering content that does not suit his preconceptions. Thus, Torah is “not in the heavens” – it cannot exist within those who see themselves as above Torah, as capable of rendering judgment about its laws and values.
The second type of arrogance, gasut ha-ru’ach, refers to the more common phenomenon of elitism and condescension, the refusal to humbly listen to and learn from others. Chazal famously comment in Pirkei Avot, “Who is wise – he who learns from all people.” Someone who has no interest in learning from those he considers inferior denies himself exposure to valuable resources of information, and thus cannot achieve true Torah scholarship.
While these basic concepts clearly apply to all areas of scholarship – a person can never learn anything if he refuses to acknowledge his currently insufficient knowledge of the subject – there is good reason why Moshe – as understood by the Gemara – would emphasize this point with regard to Torah study. Ironically, many people confess ignorance when it comes to all kinds of different fields, yet assume the right to pass judgment and reach their own, independent conclusions on matters involving Torah law and thought. Specifically when it comes to the most central area of life – spiritual values and the service of God – there is a tendency to presume sufficient knowledge and refuse submitting to the authority of our tradition and sages. Whatever the reason for this tendency, we can readily understand why Moshe found it necessary to emphasize lo va-shamayim hi – that Torah study and practice demands self-effacing humility and the preparedness to submit unconditionally to the authority of God’s law as transmitted to us by its scholars.
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As we discussed yesterday, Parashat Nitzavim contains the famous verse, “Lo va-shamayim hi” – meaning, the Torah is not “in the heavens” (30:12). Yesterday, we saw that the Gemara in Masekhet Eruvin (55a) interpreted this adage to mean that Torah cannot be sustained within a person of arrogance. Elsewhere, however, Chazal enlist this verse as the basis for the fundamental principle that halakhic decisions cannot be made “from the heavens,” meaning, through any kind of divine intervention. Most famously, the Gemara tells in Masekhet Bava Metzia (59b) that Rabbi Eliezer tried proving his position on a certain halakhic issue by invoking supernatural phenomena, and even asked for a heavenly voice to burst forth and confirm his stance, and such a voice indeed was heard by the scholars in the study hall. Nevertheless, Rabbi Yehoshua, representing the majority position, declared, “Lo va-shamayim hi,” that heavenly proclamations are meaningless as far as halakhic decision-making is concerned. Since Halakha mandates following the majority position among the scholars, the rabbis disregarded Rabbi Eliezer’s “proofs” and upheld the majority view.
Rav Yosef Karo, in his Kesef Mishneh, appears, at first glance, to extend this principle well beyond the case of a heavenly voice and the like. The background to the Kesef Mishneh’s remark is a story told later in Masekhet Bava Metzia (86a) about Rabba Bar Nachmani, who, just prior to his death, was involved in a halakhic “dispute” between the Almighty and the yeshiva shel ma’ala – the “heavenly academy.” (It hopefully goes without saying that we do not profess to fully understand to what these terms actually refer; we will simply paraphrase the narrative as it appears in the Talmud.) The issue under discussion involved the laws of tzara’at. As established in the Mishna in Masekhet Nega’im (4:11), if a white discoloration appeared on one’s skin and then two hairs in that area turned white, the individual is considered definitively tamei (ritually impure). If, however, the hairs turned white before the skin’s discoloration, the infection requires hesger – meaning, the individual is considered tahor pending subsequent examinations). The debate that erupted between God and His heavenly academy concerned a situation where the sequence of the infection’s development could not be determined. The Almighty ruled that the individual may be presumed tahor, whereas the academy insisted that he must be considered tamei. (This issue is actually debated among the Tanna’im, in the aforementioned Mishna in Nega’im.) The Gemara tells that Rabba Bar Nachmani - who was recognized as an unchallenged authority in the area of tzara’at - was summoned to settle the dispute, as it were, and, in his dying breath, uttered the word tahor, affirming the Almighty’s position.
Surprisingly, however, the Rambam (Hilkhot Tum’at Tzara’at 2:9) codifies the position of the yeshiva shel ma’ala – that such an individual is tahor. The Kesef Mishneh explains the Rambam’s ruling as follows: “Since it was at the moment of his soul’s departure that he said this, it is included under [the rule of] lo va-shamayim hi, and it therefore cannot undermine the rule that Halakha follows the first position [mentioned in the Mishna].” The Kesef Mishneh appears to establish that lo va-shamayim hi mandates ignoring not only heavenly halakhic rulings, but also rulings issued by even the most distinguished halakhic authorities just prior to their death. Therefore, since the Tanna Kama (first recorded view) in the Mishna in Nega’im rules stringently in the case described above, the Rambam codified this position, ignoring the lenient ruling issued by Rabba Bar Nachmani in his final breath.
As one might expect, the Kesef Mishneh’s remark was met with some astonishment on the part of later writers. The Chatam Sofer (responsa, O.C. 208) dismisses this theory, and notes, interestingly enough, that lo va-shamayim hi would nevertheless apply here for an entirely different reason. He notes that from the Gemara’s narrative it emerges that nobody was present at Rabba Bar Nachmani’s death, and thus nobody actually witnessed or heard his ruling. This entire episode was revealed to Chazal through ru’ach ha-kodesh (“divine spirit”) of some sort, and therefore invoking it as an authoritative basis for Halakha indeed violates the rule of lo va-shamayim hi. (In his chiddushim to Masekhet Nidda 19a, the Chatam Sofer explains the Rambam’s ruling differently.)
Others, however, reread the Kesef Mishneh’s remark, denying the implication that halakhic rulings issued at one’s dying moments fall under the category of lo va-shamayim hi. The work Peri Ha-adama suggested that the Kesef Mishneh refers to the state of mental instability that overtakes a person moments before his passing. A halakhic decision rendered during these moments is suspect not because of the halakhic concept of lo va-shamayim hi, but simply because we cannot presume clarity of thought under such circumstances. Clearly, however, this reading seems very difficult to impose onto the Kesef Mishneh’s remark.
Rav David Pardo, in his Shoshanim Le-David on Masekhet Nega’im, suggests an entirely different reading of the episode recorded in Bava Metzia, which would explain the Kesef Mishneh’s comment, as well. He claims that the Almighty and the yeshiva shel ma’ala did not actually engage in a dispute; after all, how could anyone argue Halakha with God? Rather, they represented two different halakhic perspectives. God, naturally, voiced the absolute Torah truth, according to which an individual stricken with tzara’at that develops in such a way does not contract ritual impurity. The heavenly academy, however, stated the halakha as it must be determined here on earth. Once the oral tradition concerning this matter was obscured, and the halakha could no longer be stated with absolute certainty, the Sages were bound by the Torah’s guidelines, which mandate following the majority view, that a person in this situation is considered tamei. Rabba Bar Nachmani was not called upon to settle this dispute, for in truth, there was no dispute at all. Rather, the yeshiva shel ma’ala felt uncomfortable with the situation of what appeared as a disagreement between the Almighty and the academy, but yet they did not want to reverse their position. They therefore invited a “newcomer” – Rabba Bar Nachmani – who had not yet voiced a position, to declare that the Halakha is as God had proclaimed, so as not to give the appearance of controversy and discord in the heavenly academy.
This, Rav Pardo suggests, is to what the Kesef Mishneh refers when he speaks of lo va-shamayim hi in this context. Rabbinic scholars determine Halakha based on Halakha’s own guidelines. Thus, even if the Almighty states one position, as it were, if the principles of halakhic decision-making mandate the contrary ruling, we must indeed follow that conclusion.
Needless to say, this topic requires more elaborate treatment in a separate context.
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Towards the beginning of Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe reiterates the terms of
the covenant between God and
Among the questions raised concerning Moshe’s description is why the envisioned betrayer will “fancy himself immune.” Moshe suspects that when this person “hears the words of these sanctions” he will nevertheless insist upon his ability to somehow avert catastrophe even while ignoring these warnings. What would lead a person to such a conclusion? Secondly, Moshe emphasizes that God “will not agree” to grant this violator forgiveness. This syntax suggests that even if the individual repents and begs for God’s pardon, his appeal will be denied and he will suffer the unmitigated effects of divine rage. Why is such a person denied the right to teshuva?
Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his Divrei Shaul (Mahadura Telita’a), resolves both questions based on the Rambam’s ruling (in Hilkhot Teshuva 4:2) that ha-poresh min ha-tzibur – one who separates himself from the Jewish nation – is denied the power of teshuva. The Rambam explains, “Because when they [the community] perform teshuva, he will not be with them, and he does not earn a share in the merit they accrue.” While repentance is undoubtedly a very personal endeavor, its power stems from the collective merit of Kelal Yisrael. A sinner who approaches God as only an individual will not necessarily gain access to the divine attribute of justice and compassion, and his forgiveness thus cannot be guaranteed. The gates of repentance and mercy open only for those who proudly identify with the tzibur and come before God as part of the Jewish nation, as a member of the nation who entered an eternal covenant with the Almighty at Sinai. One who isolates himself from that nation forfeits the unique power of teshuva.
The person Moshe describes “fancies himself immune” because the covenant with God was entered into by the Jewish people as a nation, and not by each individual. He has decided to let the others shoulder the burden of the covenant, while he joins them only in reaping its benefits. Moshe therefore warns, “The Lord will not agree to forgive him.” One who relinquishes his share in the nation’s responsibilities relinquishes as well his share in the nation’s collective merit – an indispensable component of the process of repentance and forgiveness. Only through complete identification with the collective entity of Kelal Yisrael does one earn the opportunity to clean his record and reestablish his personal relationship with the Almighty.
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Yesterday, we discussed Moshe’s warning in Parashat Nitzavim regarding the covenant into which Benei Yisrael entered with the Almighty. He foresees the possibility of a person “whose heart turns away from the Lord our God,” and, upon hearing Moshe’s warnings of the harsh consequences of disobedience, “may fancy himself immune, saying ‘All will be well with me, when I follow the will of my heart’” (29:17-18). Moshe assures such an individual that God “will not agree to forgive him; for then the Lord’s anger and rage will be kindled against that individual...” (29:19). As we noted, the phrase, “The Lord will not agree to forgive him” appears to suggest that even if this violator repents, he will be denied forgiveness. The question, of course, arises as to why this sinner forfeits the privilege of teshuva, which constitutes one of the basic tenets of Jewish belief.
Rav Shimon Schwab, in his Ma’ayan Beit Ha-sho’eiva, suggests that Moshe here does not, in fact, deny the possibility of forgiveness for the transgressor described. This sinner has lost not the chance for expiation, but rather the divine attribute to which Rav Schwab refers as ha-rotzeh bi-teshuva – that God “desires,” so-to-speak, a sinner’s repentance. Normally, what is demanded of a sinner is but a degree of initiative, a genuine desire to return, and a small first step towards self-perfection. The Almighty, who longingly awaits a sinner’s repentance – “Do I really desire the death of a wicked man – says the Lord God; rather, His return from his ways, so that he may live” (Yechezkel 18:23) – will then lend him assistance and support as he embarks on his path of return. Rav Schwab suggests, however, that this assistance is granted only to those who acknowledge their accountability for their wrongdoing, who understand that sin must, strictly speaking, be met with punishment, and only through divine grace and pity can violators escape retribution. Here, Moshe warns that one who feels, “All will be well with me, when I follow the will of my heart,” who stubbornly and intentionally refuses to accept the basic doctrine of reward and punishment, is not guaranteed God’s special assistance in the process of teshuva. Nevertheless, should he manage to successfully return and recommit himself, he, too, is indeed granted access to the remarkable gift of repentance of expiation.
In essence, then, Moshe here informs us that the initial step to teshuva is negating the sense that “All will be well with me, when I follow the will of my heart.” Before all else, we are called upon to acknowledge that it din ve-it dayan – there is judgment and there is a Judge, we bear accountability for our conduct. Once we are fully aware of our accountability, we can then proceed to the next stage – identifying our flaws, taking responsibility for them, and committing ourselves to correcting them.
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Towards the end of Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe declares to Benei Yisrael, “I have placed before you life and death, blessing and curse; you shall choose life, in order that you will live, you and your offspring” (30:19). Moshe tells the people that the choice between accepting and rejecting the Torah, between obedience and betrayal, is a choice between life and death, between blessing and curse. Naturally, he urges them to choose wisely – “you shall choose life.”
One might question the meaning of Moshe’s reference in this verse to “offspring”: “you shall choose life, in order that you will live, you and your offspring.” This choice between observance and disobedience is presented before each individual on a personal basis, each day – or perhaps each moment – of his life. What guarantee, then, is there that one’s offspring will “live” as a result of his decision? As we know all too well, the piety and devotion of parents is not always transmitted to their children. How, then, can Moshe assure Benei Yisrael that their decision of “life” over “death,” to commit themselves to Torah, rather than neglect it, will guarantee their children the same blessings that they themselves will earn?
Rav Moshe Feinstein, in Derash Moshe, answers (perhaps “al derekh derush”) by explaining more precisely Moshe’s admonition to “choose life.” Rav Moshe claims that this “decision” entails more than simply not choosing the alternative. This verse is referring to a deep-seated awareness of the inestimable value of Torah observance, the recognition of the fact that there is no greater privilege in the world than fulfilling God’s commandments. If a person lives his life with this kind of awareness, then his performance of mitzvot will be much richer than that of someone who approaches them as an onerous responsibility. One who lives with a sense of “Ashreinu ma tov chelkenu,” of how fortunate he is to have the opportunity to serve his Creator, will carry out his religious duties with excitement and fervor, with energy and love.
This “choice,” Rav Moshe claims, can go a long way in assuring that one’s children, too, will continue along the parent’s path of “life.” If one truly lives with a keen sense of “u-vacharta va-chayim” – that choosing Torah and mitzvot means choosing life, choosing the most rewarding and meaningful pursuit in life, then “you will live, you and your offspring” – he can help ensure that this sense will be successfully conveyed to the next generation. A begrudging attitude towards Torah will, very often, fail to inspire one’s children to embrace a religious lifestyle. This inspiration is far more likely to occur if one approaches religious observance with an attitude of bechira – with the firm resolve that this is, indeed, the best choice and most profitable decision one could make.
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Earlier this week, we discussed the famous verse in Parashat Nitzavim, “It is not in the heavens, as if to say: ‘If only someone would ascend to the heavens for us and bring it to us and teach it to us, we would observe it’” (30:12). Today, we will focus our attention on the verse that immediately follows: “Nor is it across the sea, as if to say: ‘If only someone would cross the sea for us and bring it to us and teach it to us, we would observe it’.”
The Gemara in Masekhet Eruvin (55a), as we discussed earlier this week, interprets the phrase, “It is not in the heavens” to mean that Torah scholarship cannot be sustained within an arrogant person, who is described as “in the heavens” – raising himself above everyone else. The Gemara offers a similar interpretation of the phrase, “It is not across the sea,” taking it to mean that Torah cannot be sustained within a person “she-marchiv da’ato aleha ka-yam,” literally, “who widens his mind over it like the sea.” To what sort of phenomenon does the Gemara here refer? What kind of arrogant attitude towards Torah is described with the phrase, “she-marchiv da’ato aleha ka-yam”?
Rav Yehuda Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests that the Gemara refers to a person who claims an expansive breadth of knowledge in Torah. A person will never master Torah if, after a small measure of achievement, he feels he has already covered the vast “sea” of Torah knowledge. Only if a person recognizes the enormity of the corpus of Torah knowledge will he diligently devote himself to studying it, such that he can ultimately achieve mastery and thorough knowledge.
Rav Shimon Schwab, in his Ma’ayan Beit Ha-sho’eiva, suggests a much different explanation, claiming that the Gemara reminds the student of Torah to remain within the bounds of the “playing field.” Sefer Iyov (11:9) describes the divine law as “rechava mini yam” – wider than the sea. With enough breadth, ingenuity and effort, an experienced student can arrive at virtually any conclusion. The Gemara therefore reminds us that Torah scholarship is not possible if someone “expands his mind upon it like the sea,” if the student does not remain within the bounds of accepted procedures and guidelines for analyzing the material. Torah certainly allows room for creative thinking and postulating new theories in attempting to understand and clarify the concepts; chiddush has always been a central feature of Torah scholarship. At the same time, however, as Rav Schwab put it, one mustn’t turn Torah into mayim she-ein lahem sof – an endless ocean. Torah study must be conducted within its traditional limits, rather than becoming a reckless, unrestrained discipline.
Of course, not always can these limits be easily determined. The question of which ideas are within the acceptable range and which must be dismissed as illegitimate is one which is continuously debated. What is certain, however, is that limits do exist, and that not every idea and theory is necessarily valid.
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In a famous passage in Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe tells Benei Yisrael, “For this instruction that I enjoin upon you today is not too baffling for you, nor is it distant from you… For the matter is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it” (30:11,14). The meaning of these remarks is clear: the Torah does not impose unrealistic demands upon the Jew. If God gave us a Torah and issued commands, then undoubtedly He considers these laws’ observance well within our reach. We need not “soar to the heavens” or “cross the sea” (30:12-13) to satisfactorily obey God’s laws; it is rather “very close” to us, in our “mouths and hearts.”
Rav Shraga Pollak, in his work Tishbi (
In these verses, Moshe informs Benei Yisrael as to where on this spectrum they should perceive the area of Torah and mitzvot. Instinctively, they might look upon God’s laws as an enhancement of life, something worthwhile but not indispensable as an absolute necessity for our very existence. Torah, people might think, is like a jewel, a commodity available only to the select, privileged few, which everyone else can manage just fine without. Moshe therefore emphasizes that the Torah is not “distant”; its laws and values apply to every individual at every moment. Like air, as opposed to diamonds, it is readily available in abundance to one and all: “For the matter is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart.” This demonstrates the indispensable quality of Torah learning and observance, its being a necessity of life for every Jew, rather than simply a luxury reserved for the illustrious, privileged elite.