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The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit
Midrash
Surf A Little Torah
PARASHAT VAYELEKH By Rav David Silverberg The Midrash Tanchuma (Parashat Shemot, 20) records God’s conversation with Moshe at the burning bush in greater detail than is presented in the Torah, telling that the Almighty disclosed to the new leader the meanings behind the various names used in reference to Him. In response to Moshe’s request that God reveal His “name,” God responds, “I am called in reference to My actions.” He proceeds to explain that different divine Names are used to describe different attributes. The Name E-l Sha-ddai, for example, is used “when I suspend a person’s sins.” Wherein lies the connection between the Name E-l Sha-ddai and this particular divine attribute?
Rav Binyamin Sorotzkin, in his work Nachalat Binyamin, suggests an explanation based on the Ramban’s approach to the meaning behind the term Sha-ddai. In his commentary to Bereishit 17:1, the Ramban, based on Ibn Ezra, identifies the word sha-ddai as a derivative of the verb sh.d.d., which is generally used to describe people who overpower others, such as pirates and violent thieves. In reference to the Almighty, the Ramban explains, this term speaks of His manipulation of the natural order, of the concept of nes nistar – miracles concealed under the veil of nature. God generally rewards the righteous not by overturning the natural order, but rather by exerting His control over it, by manipulating it in such a way that the deserving individual is cared for, protected and blessed.
In a similar vein, Rav Sorotzkin suggests, we might explain the relevance of this term to God’s quality of toleh chata’av shel adam – that He suspends people’s sins. Just as the physical, chemical and biological realms are run by fixed laws and regulations, so is the spiritual world governed by the basic rule of reward and punishment. In order for teshuva to be effective, for us to be granted the opportunity to have our sins forgiven and our record cleared, God must assume the quality of Sha-ddai; He must interfere with and manipulate the rules based upon which the world runs. The process of repentance and atonement works only if God exerts His control over the “natural” system of reward and punishment, and manipulates it in such a way that even a sinner can be deserving of divine grace. One of the most powerful passages in the Selichot service is a sentence we recite in the introductory section to each day’s service: “It is not with kindness or compassion that we come before You; like paupers and beggars we knock on Your doors. We have knocked on Your doors, O compassionate and gracious One; please, do not return us empty-handed from Your presence.” No image could possibly set the tone for the Selichot service more poignantly than that of a beggar knocking on a door to appeal for mercy and hope for a meager handout. We come before the Almighty’s throne asking that He bend the rules in our favor; we have done little to deserve His kindness, just as the pauper has no basis on which to request a gift. This, it would seem, is the proper attitude with which to approach Selichot each morning, and to approach the Yamim Nora’im generally. We cannot feel confidence in our worthiness, but only in our ability to improve, and in God’s gracious offer of the opportunity to do so. ****** An enigmatic passage in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (17b) forms the basis of the selichot service, which revolves around the shelosh esrei midot – God’s thirteen attributes revealed to Moshe at Mount Sinai (Shemot 34:6-7). Rabbi Yochanan remarks concerning this revelation: Had the verse not been written, one would not be permitted to say it – it teaches that the Almighty wrapped Himself like a sheliach tzibur and showed Moshe the procedure for prayer. He said to him, “Whenever Israel sins, they shall conduct this service before Me, and I will forgive them.” This passage raises numerous questions, among the most important of which, perhaps, is the “secret” behind the recitation of the thirteen attributes. God informs Moshe that Benei Yisrael should follow His example – appoint a shaliach tzibur and declare the thirteen attributes – when they come before Him to ask for forgiveness. (This is why we recite the shelosh esrei midot on fast days, when we beseech God for atonement and mercy, and before Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we seek forgiveness in anticipation of judgment.) Why and how does this work? It seems hardly conceivable that these verses function as some magical incantation that simply erases our sins. We might explain this passage by considering the broader context of God’s pronouncement to Moshe. This section (Shemot 33:12 through the middle of chapter 34) undoubtedly ranks among the most difficult and enigmatic Biblical passages. What is clear, however, is that amidst Moshe’s appeal for forgiveness on the people’s behalf after the sin of the golden calf, he requests, “Please show me Your glory” (33:18), a request that is partially granted. God responds that He will show Moshe His “back,” but not His front (33:20-23), which seemingly means that Moshe will behold God as clearly as a mortal can, but that “vision” will fall far short of a clear, comprehensive look into the divine essence.
When God indeed “passes by” Moshe, He declares the thirteen
attributes. Evidently, these divine
attributes, God’s disclosure to Moshe of how He governs the world and relates to
His subjects, signifies the “revelation” of His essence. (The Rambam emphasizes in his Moreh
Nevukhim that no man can ever know God’s essence, and can know Him only by
the actions He performs and the qualities He displays.) The Almighty revealed Himself to Moshe by
informing him of His qualities – the thirteen attributes. Through this revelation, God indicates
to Moshe that He will continue to reside among Benei Yisrael despite
their wrongdoing, that even in a state of religious imperfection, the
Shekhina (divine presence) will remain with them. Precisely because He is “compassionate,”
“gracious,” “slow to anger” and so on, God is prepared to maintain His covenant
with Am Yisrael even when they are undeserving. By showing Moshe His qualities, God
essentially accepts Moshe’s plea on behalf of the people, and agrees to
accompany them into
We introduce the shelosh esrei midot in the selichot
service by pleading, “zekhor lanu hayom berit shelosh esrei” – “Remember
for us on this day the covenant of the thirteen [attributes].” The declaration of these attributes
constituted God’s reaffirmation of His covenant with Benei Yisrael. We invoke this incident, the revelation
to Moshe atop (Based on an article by Rav Yair Kahn, available online at www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/4-halak/28slchot.php.) ****** The Gemara in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (16a-b) asks why the shofar is traditionally blown in two different sets – “ke-she-hein yoshvin” – when the congregation sits – and “ke-she-hein omdin”- when the congregation stands. According to most commentaries (the Ba’al Ha-ma’or representing the notable exception), the “sitting” blowing of the shofar refers to the blasts sounded before musaf, and the “standing” set of blasts refers to the shofar blowing conducted as part of the musaf service. The Gemara answers that these two sets of blasts serve le-arbev et ha-satan – literally, “to confound Satan,” “Satan,” of course, referring to the prosecution against us in the heavenly court. Rashi explains that the prosecution is silenced by this demonstration of love and zeal for mitzvot, as we go beyond the call of duty and sound the shofar more than the Torah commanded. This can perhaps be understood in light of the Rambam’s famous remarks in Hilkhot Teshuva (3:4), where he asserts that the sounding of the shofar serves as a “wake-up call,” arousing us to repent and apply ourselves more diligently to Torah and mitzvot. Thus, by adding an extra set of shofar blasts, we effectively demonstrate our desire for additional “wake-up calls,” acknowledging our current state of spiritual slumber and desperate need for improvement. A further insight into this Talmudic passage appears in the work Keren Le-David (on the festivals), by Rav Eliezer David Greenwald, who suggests that these two sets of blasts – the teki’ot de-meyushav (“sitting” teki’ot) and the teki’ot de-me’umad (“standing” teki’ot) – represent the two themes of Rosh Hashanah. The position of “standing” is often associated with pride and confidence, whereas “sitting” generally signifies anxiety and tension. Rosh Hashanah is a day when we are to experience both elements: festive celebration over God’s assumption of the Heavenly Throne, and our confidence that He will choose us once again this year as His treasured people; and, on the other hand, the dread of the divine judgment on this day, recognizing our shortcomings and deficiencies. This dichotomy is perhaps best illustrated by two, seemingly contradictory, comments by Chazal. The Tur (beginning of Hilkhot Rosh Hashanah) famously cites a Midrash that lauds the Jewish people’s confidence as they enter the Day of Judgment, as demonstrated by their grooming themselves and preparing festive meals for the holiday. This Midrash, of course, mandates an enthusiastic, upbeat approach to Rosh Hashanah. The Gemara, however, in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (32b), comments that we do not recite hallel on Rosh Hashanah due to the fact that “the books of life and books of death are open” before the Almighty. The festive hallel recitation is inappropriate given the somber, anxious mood of Rosh Hashanah. The Keren Le-David explains that both aspects apply equally on Rosh Hashanah; we both celebrate God’s kingship and dread the judgment conducted in its wake. The two sets of teki’ot, the Keren Le-David explains, represent these two aspects of the observance of Rosh Hashanah. We blow the shofar both as an expression of triumph and celebration, and as an expression of dread and fear. This complex nature of the Rosh Hashanah observance indeed confounds the “satan” and helps protect us from the arguments advanced against in the proverbial heavenly court. We rejoice as we accept the Almighty’s kingship, but also fear the outcome of the ensuing trial. We can thus not be accused of a begrudging attitude towards God’s rule, or, conversely, of complacency in anticipation of judgment. In this manner, we indeed “confound the satan.” ****** Yesterday, we mentioned two distinct themes underlying the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. On the one hand, it expresses the festive nature of the day, as celebrating God’s kingship over the earth and all its inhabitants, while at the same time, it symbolizes the anxiety and tension we experience, knowing that God’s ascension to the throne also means His judgment of all humanity. Rav Soloveitchik and others have formulated this second aspect, of shofar as an expression of fear and anxiety, in halakhic terms, defining shofar blowing as an act of tefila (prayer). Today we will present several of the more common proofs brought to substantiate this thesis. For one thing, the Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 33b) identifies the teru’a sound based on Onkelos’ translation of teru’a – “yabava” – which the Gemara interprets as “crying.” Thus, the teru’a sound, which constitutes the primary component of the obligation, is intended to resemble weeping; it is the non-verbal manifestation of the rush of emotions running through us on the day of judgment. Seemingly, then, shofar blowing is a type of heartfelt prayer to God. More convincingly, an earlier passage in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (26b) records a debate as to the preferred shape of the shofar – straight or bent. The Gemara clearly indicates that according to both views, the shape of the shofar should correspond to the preferred posture during prayer; they argue only as to whether prayer should optimally be conducted while standing upright, or crouched over. This discussion very likely parallels the debate recorded in Masekhet Yevamot (105b), as to whether one should pray with his eyes lifted upwards, or looking downwards. (The Gemara concludes that one should look downwards, but direct his thoughts upwards towards the heavens.) Possibly, the issue at hand is whether one should pray with confidence and composure, or “bent over,” with his eyes looking down, out of a sense of discomfort and anxiety. In any event, that this issue should affect the shape of the shofar clearly suggests that shofar blowing is an act of tefila, and its form should thus conform to the desired position during prayer. The clearest indication, perhaps, of this aspect of shofar is the Gemara’s discussion (Rosh Hashanah 26a) concerning the disqualification of a cow’s horn for this mitzva. The Gemara attributes this disqualification to the concept of ein kateigor na’asa saneigor – “a prosecutor cannot become a defender.” Meaning, we cannot use in our appeal for mercy any item that brings to mind the sin of the golden calf; a cow’s horn may therefore not be used. As the Gemara notes, however, the rule of ein kateigor na’asa saneigor generally applies only to rituals performed inside the kodesh ha-kodashim, the innermost chamber of the Beit Ha-mikdash. Why, then, is the principle extended to shofar blowing – a ritual conducted anywhere in the world? The Gemara responds, “Since it comes as a reminder, it is like it is performed inside [the kodesh ha-kodashim].” The role of the shofar is to bring our case before the Almighty, particularly, to remind Him, so-to-speak, of the incident of akeidat Yitzchak, which culminated with Avraham’s offering of a ram on the altar; the shofar is reminiscent of the ram, which served as a substituted for Yitzchak. This entire discussion in the Gemara clearly works off the assumption that the sounding of the shofar is in essence a plea to the Almighty, a form of prayer.
Finally, only with this definition of the mitzva can we understand
the berakha with which we conclude the shofarot section of the
Rosh Hashanah prayer service: “Barukh Ata Hashem shomei’a kol teru’at amo
Yisrael be-rachamim” (“Blessed are You, O Lord, who listens to the sound of
the [shofar] blowing of His nation Tomorrow we will iy”H develop this notion a bit further. ****** Yesterday, we mentioned several of the indications to the fact that shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah constitutes a halakhic act of prayer. Whereas we generally pray to the Almighty with words, on Rosh Hashanah the Torah demands that we come before Him as well with the sounding of the shofar. Another possible proof that is often cited is the incorporation of shofar blowing into the shemoneh esrei of the musaf service. In some congregations, the shofar is sounded even during the silent shemoneh esrei prayer, whereas in others the shofar is blown only during the reader’s repetition. Either way, this arrangement reflects shofar’s role as a form of prayer. We would hardly conceive of waving the lulav during shemoneh esrei, or giving charity or performing any other mitzva as we recite the amida. That we include teki’at shofar as part of our shemoneh esrei service likely demonstrates its role as an expression of prayer. Rav Avraham Gurvitz, in his Or Avraham, suggests that this function of teki’at shofar might also shed light on the basic structure of the teki’ot. As the Gemara discusses (Rosh Hashanah 33b), the basic obligation of shofar blowing requires blowing the sequence of teki’a – teru’a – teki’a. It is only due to our uncertainty regarding the definition of teru’a that we blow as well what we call shevarim and shevarim – teru’a. Rav Gurvitz speculates that this sequence might stem naturally from the basic structure of tefila. The Rambam (Hilkhot Tefila 1:2) establishes that tefila is halakhically defined as an expression of praise to the Almighty, followed by an articulation of our requests, and concluding with words of appreciation and gratitude. The teki’ot perhaps reflect this arrangement. The “straight” teki’a sounds at either end of the “broken” teru’a sound might correspond to the more festive sections of praise and thanksgiving, whereas the teru’a, which, as we mentioned yesterday, is meant to resemble a weeping sound, signifies bakasha – the actual petition and requests. Given the function of shofar blowing as an act of prayer, it must conform to the basic structure by which prayer can be halakhically defined as tefila. It therefore follows the format of praise, request and gratitude, symbolically represented by the two teki’ot on either side of the teru’a. Why does the Torah obligate us to “pray” to the Almighty in this manner on Rosh Hashanah? The occasion of Rosh Hashanah, when God reestablishes His kingship and judges mankind, presents us with a difficult dilemma. On the one hand, we are inclined to approach Him and beg for a favorable sentence, to pour our hearts before Him, describe to Him our needs, and beg for forgiveness and mercy. However, the nature of the day does not allow for this kind of response. Rosh Hashanah is designated as a day of celebration of divine kingship and a time for reaffirming our commitment to God. Focusing on our personal concerns at such an occasion would undermine the significance of this day, and diminish from its central purpose and theme – divine kingship. Yom Kippur is the day when the Almighty invites us to bring our concerns before Him. But on Rosh Hashanah, we are to focus our attention on God and His majesty, rather than on our personal requests. The solution to this dilemma, perhaps, is the sounding of the shofar. Through the shofar we express – but do not articulate – our fears and concerns. This is the only way, it seems, that we are permitted to pray on Rosh Hashanah. We dare not rush to the King with our list of requests, so we instead sound the shofar, expressing in only a very general sense our anxiety, without specifying our needs that we rely on Him to fulfill. ****** In the ninth chapter of Sefer Ezra, we read of Ezra’s reaction upon hearing of the widespread intermarriage among the communities that had returned to Eretz Yisrael from exile. Ezra observed a full day of fasting and prayer, and he tells that before evening, “kamti mi-ta’aniti” – “I arose from my fast” (9:5). This description is likely the origin of the Talmudic expression le-meitiv be-ta’anita – literally, “sitting in a fast” – used in reference to observing a fast day (see Berakhot 17a). Why is the observance of a fast referred to as “sitting”? Rav Avraham Gurvitz, in his Or Avraham, suggests that the Talmud describes an activity with this term when it entails serious thought and consideration. In Masekhet Nedarim (77b), we read that Rabban Gamliel “sat down” to conduct hatarat nedarim – the annulment of a vow. This process requires the scholar or scholars to speak with the individual seeking annulment to determine if perhaps he uttered his vow with deficient foresight or under some mistaken preconception. Similarly, the Gemara tells in Masekhet Chagiga (14b) that Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai descended from his donkey and sat down on the ground when his student, Rabbi Elazar Ben Arakh, wished to discuss with him the esoteric topic of ma’aseh merkava.
Though the comparison is perhaps less than perfect, these instances of
“sitting” may shed light on the usage of the term “sitting” in reference to
fasting. The Rambam writes in
Hilkhot Ta’aniyot (1:17) that when a community would declare a fast day in
response to crisis, the city’s leaders would convene to thoroughly examine the
state of religious affairs in the community and decide upon a course of action
to improve religious observance.
And later in Hilkhot Ta’aniyot (5:1), when the Rambam explains the
purpose behind the four fasts days - including Tzom Gedalya – which we observe
in commemoration of events related to the Rav Gurvitz adds that the association between fasts and hatarat nedarim is particularly revealing, in that the process of teshuva very much resembles that of hatarat nedarim. As mentioned, a court annuls an individual’s vow by carefully examining the circumstances under which it was uttered and the frame of mind and presuppositions that drove him to such a drastic measure. Teshuva likewise demands that we carefully examine our actions and identify the misconceptions or weaknesses that allowed these mishaps to occur. Only through this process of “sitting,” of careful and thorough consideration, can one hope to avoid recurrences of this past year’s misdeeds, and begin this new year with new commitments and new strategies for developing a more perfect self. ****** Parashat Vayelekh introduces the mitzva of hakhel – the septennial assembly of the entire nation for a public reading of the Torah (31:10-13). The Rambam (Hilkhot Chagiga 3:6) indicates that the event of hakhel is intended as a replication of Ma’amad Har Sinai – the revelation at Sinai – and even reaches halakhic conclusions on this basis. He demands that one conduct himself at hakhel “with awe, fear and trembling joy, like the day on which it was given at Sinai,” adding that “one should see himself as if he is now commanded with regard to it, and hears it from the mouth of the Almighty.” Once in seven years, Am Yisrael is obligated to collectively reaffirm its commitment to the Torah, just as on the day it was given on Mount Sinai. As many writers noted, the association between hakhel and Ma’amad Har Sinai emerges naturally from the textual parallels between the Torah’s discussions of the two events. In Parashat Vaetchanan (Devarim 4:10), Moshe recalls God’s instruction before the revelation, “Gather the nation to Me so that I may have them hear My words, that they will learn to fear Me all the days that they live on the land, and that they may teach their children.” Here, in Parashat Vayelekh, Moshe describes the obligation of hakhel in very similar terms: “Gather the nation… in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn to fear the Lord your God and faithfully observe all the words of this Torah. And their children… will listen and learn to fear the Lord your God all the days that you live on the land…” This resemblance in the Torah’s phraseology supports the theory to which the Rambam alludes, viewing hakhel as a reenactment, of sorts, of the revelation at Sinai. Interestingly enough, Rav Yitzchak Herzog, the first Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel, in an address on the topic of hakhel (recorded in – among other places – the journal Orayta, vol. 12, p. 31), speculated that the Rambam based himself on some Midrashic source that has since been lost. It is hard to imagine that the Rambam would reach conclusions regarding the fundamental nature and required aura of the hakhel ceremony directly from the verses, without some basis in Talmudic/Midrashic literature. Indeed, as Rav Elchanan Samet discussed in a shiur for the VBM parasha series a number of years ago (see www.vbm-torah.org/hparsha-7/rtf/46nitzavimvayelech.rtf), Rav Herzog’s inkling may have been proven correct a number of years later, with the publication of the 13th-century compilation Midrash Ha-gadol on Sefer Devarim. The editor of Midrash Ha-gadol often includes comments by the Rambam, and sure enough, in reference to the verses regarding hakhel, the Rambam’s remarks associating this mitzva with Ma’amad Har Sinai are cited. But then the Midrash Ha-gadol adds, “On this basis they said: The day of hakhel is like the day on which the Torah was given. It says here, ‘Gather the nation… in order that they hear and in order that they learn,’ and it says there, ‘Gather the nation to Me so that I may have them hear My words’.” This passage is presumably cited from an earlier, Midrashic source, perhaps confirming Rav Herzog’s suspicions. |