The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

In its two descriptions of the festival of Rosh Hashanah, in Sefer Vayikra and Sefer Bemidbar, the Torah employs two different terms. In Vayikra (23:24), the Torah refers to this festival as a "zikhron teru'a," literally, "a remembrance of [shofar] blowing." In Sefer Bemidbar (29:1), by contrast, the Torah speaks of a "yom teru'a" - "a day of blowing." In the Gemara, we find two possible explanations for this discrepancy - one explicit, the other implicit. The more famous, explicit resolution appears in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah 29b, where the Gemara attempts to draw a distinction between Shabbat and other days of the week. Whenever Rosh Hashanah falls on a weekday, we observe a "Yom Teru'a" - a day of shofar blowing. On Shabbat, however, we refrain from blowing the shofar, and observe merely a "zikhron teru'a" - a remembrance of the blowing, by speaking about the significance of the shofar, without actually sounding the blasts. Rava, however, disputes this position, noting that according to Torah law the shofar is to be sounded even when Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat; only by force of rabbinic enactment is shofar blowing suspended on Shabbat. (The Yerushalmi, however, accepts this distinction between Shabbat and weekdays even in its conclusion.)

A different explanation appears to emerge from a passage later in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (32a). There the Gemara cites a berayta which derives from the term in Sefer Vayikra, "zikhron teru'a," the obligation to recite "zikhronot" and "shofarot." These are two of the sections added to our mussaf service on Rosh Hashanah. "Zikhronot" deals with the concept that God remembers all our actions as well as the covenant with our patriarchs, and "shofarot" speaks of the symbolism of the shofar, specifically its role at Ma'amad Har Sinai and in the future redemption. This would seem to suggest that the two descriptions refer to two different obligations. "Yom Teru'a" refers to the requirement to actually blow the shofar, while "zikhron teru'a" speaks of the requirement of "shofarot," to discuss the significance and import of the shofar as part of our Rosh Hashanah observance.

How are we to understand these two distinct requirements, of blowing the shofar and discussing the shofar as part of the Rosh Hashanah prayers of "malkhuyot, zikhronot ve-shofarot"?

An interesting approach to the relationship between shofar blowing and shofarot is taken by the Netziv, in his "Herchev Davar" to Vayikra 23:24. The Netziv claims that God's judgment of the world on Rosh Hashanah operates on two levels: individual and national. First, the Almighty judges every person on earth individually. Additionally, He determines the outcome for that year of the ongoing struggle between Am Yisrael and the nations of the world. On this second level, Am Yisrael stand trial as a nation, rather than as individuals. The mitzva of shofar, as the Rambam eloquently describes in Hilkhot Teshuva, is meant to stir individuals to repentance; its purpose is to "wake up" those sunken in a slumber of iniquity and vanity and trigger a process of introspection. In this sense, the shofar serves on the individual plane, it involves the judgment of people as individuals. The "malkhuyot, zikhronot ve-shofarot," which focus on the unique relationship between Am Yisrael and God, operate on the national level. Here we beseech God to assist us in our struggles and save us from those who seek our destruction. In this capacity, the shofar serves less as a call to repentance and introspection than as a call to prayer. Indeed, trumpets were sounded as a call to prayer whenever Benei Yisrael would go to war (Bemidbar 10:9). On the national level, we approach God as if we are preparing for battle against our foes and, with the shofar, we pray. This is the meaning behind "malkhuyot zikhronot ve-shofarot"- an appeal to God on the national level, asking Him to save Am Yisrael from those who wish to cause us harm.

The Netziv adds there herein lies the distinction between the two sets of teki'iot that we sound. Before mussaf, we blow the "individual" teki'ot; these are the blasts calling us to repent and improve. During mussaf, as an accompaniment to our prayer service, we again sound teki'ot, only here we approach God as a unified nation, as His people, appealing for His assistance in our struggle against those who wish to destroy us.

(We should note, however, that the Netziv there explains the terms "yom teru'a" and "zikhron teru'a" differently from the explanation we suggested based on the Gemara.)

******

More so than perhaps any other festival on the calendar, Rosh Hashanah appears to present us with mixed messages and conflicting signals as to its essential theme and the mood and mindset it is meant to generate. On the one hand, the notion of "eimat ha-din," the fear of judgment, plays a critical role in establishing the tenor of Rosh Hashanah. The overall format of our tefila, by and large, is geared towards generating a sense of awe, solemnity, and even dread. This is most profoundly expressed in the "piyutim," the poems added to the basic liturgy which describe in vivid terms what is at stake on this Day of Judgment. Perhaps most famous is the depiction in the "U-netaneh Tokef" prayer: "On Rosh Hashanah they will be inscribed, and on Yom Kippur they will be sealed: how many will pass on, and how many will be created; who will live, and who will die; who is at his end, and who is not at his end… " Few of us have never shed a tear, skipped a heartbeat, or lost a breath while reading these words.

On the other hand, of course, Rosh Hashanah is a Yom Tov in every sense of the word. In fact, Rav Soloveitchik and others have demonstrated from the Rambam's comments in Hilkhot Chanukah (3:6) that a halakhic requirement of "simcha" (joy and celebration) indeed applies on Rosh Hashanah (and Yom Kippur). Normative halakha forbids fasting on Rosh Hashanah (against the ruling of some Geonim, who permitted or even encouraged such a practice). The Vilna Gaon prohibited crying on Rosh Hashanah. This tension between dread and celebration is perhaps best expressed in Sefer Nechemya (end of chapter 8), where the people of Judea, overcome by pangs of remorse for their neglect of the Torah, wept bitterly at an assembly on Rosh Hashanah. Only at the urging of Ezra, Nechemya and the Levi'im did the people stop crying and agree to go home and enjoy a festive Rosh Hashanah meal.

Why, in fact, and how, can Rosh Hashanah be a joyous festival? How can we be expected to celebrate on a day when questions of life and death hang over our heads?

Among the earlier sources that address this question is the Sefer ha-Chinukh (mitzva 11), who explains why Rosh Hashanah must indeed be observed as a joyous occasion like other festivals. The alternative to an annual day of judgment, the Sefer ha-Chinukh writes, is a much less frequent judgment - or perhaps just a single judgment at the end of an individual's life. Imagine, he claims, what would happen if we were never judged throughout our lives. Without the fear and trepidation of a Rosh Hashanah, mankind would continue along their iniquitous paths without ever repenting. Having no impending judgment to steer them off this path, people would proceed with a clear conscience and conveniently forget the consequences of their wrongdoing. The Sefer ha-Chinukh goes so far as to say that Rosh Hashanah in effect takes credit for the very ongoing existence of the world. Were we not to have to stand trial every year, the demerits that would accumulate over the course of the years would compel the Almighty to destroy the earth (recall the flood of Parashat Noach).

According to the Chinukh, then, we celebrate on Rosh Hashanah specifically because we are forced to experience the fear of judgment. This festival marks an invaluable opportunity fous to improve and to grow - which is truly something to celebrate.

******

In Masekhet Avoda Zara 17a, the Gemara tells the famous story of Rabbi Elazar Ben Dordaya. Before receiving the title "rabbi," Elazar made a point of visiting every prostitute of whom he heard. One day, he heard of a prostitute in a faraway land who charged an exorbitant fee for her services. He immediately traveled to her and paid her the amount she demanded. As they slept together, the prostitute commented that Elazar Ben Dordaya has no hope of ever repenting; his teshuva could never be accepted. The Gemara goes on to describe how this remark shook Elazar, to the point where he indeed tearfully repented, and he died a ba'al teshuva. The Sages even granted him the title, "rabbi." Concerning this incident Rabbi Yehuda ha-Nasi declared, "There are those who acquire their world [their portion in the world to come] in but an instant!"

There are many lessons relevant to teshuva that we can draw from this incident. Perhaps one message that emerges - even if we do not consider this the primary message - is that inspiration can come from anywhere. Imagine - a cynical comment made by a world-famous prostitute during relations with a patron effected a change whereby a pathological sinner suddenly transformed into a righteous man. Rabbi Yehuda emphasized the suddenness of this transformation, the ability a person has to instantaneously make drastic changes. But the story also reflects the message that one need not search very far for sources of inspiration and guidance. While teshuva can hardly be said to be easy, the elements capable of pushing a person in that direction are very easy to come by.

"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 beyond the sea… No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart to observe it" (Devarim 30:11-14). According to the Ramban and others, Moshe here speaks of the mitzva of teshuva, emphasizing its accessibility to everyone. Undoubtedly, substantial spiritual growth generally requires a suitable atmosphere and an environment conducive to this goal. But on the other hand, opportunities for growth present themselves all around us, in whatever situation we find ourselves. For Elazar Ben Dordaya, it was a prostitute who provided him with such an opportunity. This extreme example represents the more common phenomenon that if we are sincerely interested in learning, growing and improving - as Elazar Ben Dordaya, in the deepest recesses of his heart, clearly was - we have the opportunities to do so. True, we must make an effort to capitalize on these opportunities, but they exist. Teshuva is within everyone's reach, "in your mouth and in your heart to observe it."

******

This Shabbat we read the famous haftara of "Shuva Yisrael" - "Return, Israel." The prophet Hoshea (chapter 14) here issues a call to repentance, and this selection is often seen as a basic guideline for the process of teshuva. In a Midrash in Bereishit Rabba (84:19), Chazal associate this prophecy with Hoshea's ancestor, Reuven - the oldest son of Yaakov. Recall from Parashat Vayeishev that Reuven had convinced his brothers not to carry out their plan to actively kill Yosef, recommending instead that they kill him passively, by casting him into a pit. Reuven's intention was to later come by and rescue Yosef, but his plan backfired when the brothers decided the lift Yosef from the pit and sell him as a slave. Reuven returned to the pit to rescue Yosef and found the pit empty. Where was Reuven during the interim? The Midrash claims that he had left his brothers to resume his fasting and lamenting over his sin involving his stepmother, Bilha. The Midrash continues that God rewarded Reuven for his groundbreaking efforts towards repentance, and as a reward, his descendant, the prophet Hoshea, would issue the call, "Shuva Yisrael" - "Return, Israel."

What was so unique about Reuven's repentance, and how was this uniqueness manifest specifically in this context, when he continued his penitence after his attempted rescue of Yosef?

The Meshekh Chokhma (end of Parashat Vayelekh) offers the following explanation. As Chazal explain, Reuven sinned by moving his father's bed into the tent of his mother, Leah, in an effort to defend her honor. This constituted a grave violation of his father's privacy, and hence his respect. In essence, Reuven made amends for this wrong by exerting himself on behalf of Yosef. As we know from Divrei ha-Yamim I 5:1, Yaakov responded to Reuven's act by stripping him of the birthright and appointing Yosef in his stead. Saving Yosef, his replacement as firstborn, thus marked a heroic act of selfless devotion and sacrifice on Reuven's part - a sacrifice he made first and foremost for his father's sake. However, the Meshekh Chokhma continues, making amends for a wrong committed against another person does not complete the repentance process. All sins between man and his fellow originate from a distance of sorts from God and His Torah, which demands kind, compassionate and respectful treatment of other people. Therefore, teshuva for sins involving interpersonal relationships must include a "God-directed" process of repentance, such as prayer, fasting and the like. It is this message about teshuva that Reuven introduced to the world. Even after his heroism in attempting to save Yosef for Yaakov's sake, Reuven continued his process of teshuva. He understood that even after rectifying the specific wrong committed against his father, he must continue to work towards repairing his relationship with the Almighty. Reuven thereby expressed this complex interplay between the two areas of Jewish law - "bein adam la-Makom" (between man and God) and "bein adam la-chaveiro" (between man and his fellow).

Although improper "middot" must be corrected within the context of one's relationship with others, we must recognize the "bein adam la-makom" origins of these types of character flaws. Improving our interpersonal conduct thus demands careful consideration of one's conduct towards God, beyond the efforts required when dealing with other people.

******

In introducing the "song" of Ha'azinu, Moshe Rabbenu declares, "May my discourse come down as the rain… like showers on young growth… " (32:2). Chazal, in the Sifrei, draw an association between the term, "se'irim" - "showers" - in this context and the more common usage of the same word, to mean "goats." Specifically, Chazal view this verse as an allusion to the two "se'irim" sacrificed on Yom Kippur, one of which went upon the altar to God, while the other was sent to "azazel" - the wilderness, where it was cast off a cliff. The Sifrei comments, "Just as the se'irim come for sins and atone, so do words of Torah atone for sins." By comparing his teachings to se'irim, Moshe hints to the power of expiation common to the Yom Kippur goats and Torah. Just as the goats offered on Yom Kippur earn atonement on behalf of Benei Yisrael on Yom Kippur, as described in Vayikra 16 (the Torah reading for Yom Kippur morning), so does one achieve forgiveness through Torah study.

But why do Chazal compare the atonement powers of Torah learning specifically to the se'irim? What particular quality is shared by the Yom Kippur offerings and Torah study?

Through our observance of Yom Kippur, we establish a basic distinction between "le-Hashem" ("to God") and "la-azazel" ("to the empty wilderness"). We recommit ourselves to the notion that anything that is undesirable to God must be cast away to "azazel" and driven from our minds, our homes, and our societies. For one day a year, we refrain as much as humanly possible from physical involvement and devote ourselves almost entirely to spirituality, reinforcing the concept that our lives must be directed towards a higher purpose than our physical and material needs. Though we cannot and are not expected to live at this standard throughout the year, the Yom Kippur observance represents in the extreme the critical message we must internalto earn atonement: conduct that is not "le-Hashem" is "le-azazel"; if it does not somehow serve our primary purpose, then it must be condemned. This, perhaps, is the theme of Yom Kippur as expressed through the two sin-offerings - one brought upon the altar to God and the other sent away to the wilderness.

The Sifrei might intend to describe the "atonement" of Torah learning as operating in a similar manner. Torah establishes this same dividing line between right and wrong, between "Hashem" and "azazel." It determines which activity is permissible or required and which must be avoided. It draws the necessary distinctions between that which God sanctions and that which He forbids. A sinner earns atonement through Torah learning because it redirects him and shows him how to live. As on Yom Kippur, through learning Torah a person recommits himself to the distinction between right and wrong, between "Hashem" and "azazel."

******

"Shirat Ha'azinu" (the "song" of Ha'azinu) describes the process of sin and punishment, foreseeing Benei Yisrael's abandonment of God, acceptance of idolatrous faiths, and consequent punishment. In introducing its description of Benei Yisrael's sins, the song asks, "Do you thus requite the Lord … Is not He the Father who created you, fashioned you and made you endure?" (32:6). This verse appears to underscore Benei Yisrael's ingratitude towards the Almighty, their abandoning and rejecting the "Father" who turned them into a nation and gave them whatever they had. In the middle of this verse, the shira describes Am Yisrael as "am naval ve-lo chakham" - which would appear to translate as, "a despicable and unwise people." The verse thus condemns Benei Yisrael on two counts: moral depravity ("naval" - despicable) and foolishness ("ve-lo chakham" - unwise). In context, we can understand the first adjective far better than the second. As stated, the verse seems to highlight Benei Yisrael's ingratitude to God, as expressed by their rejection of Him in spite of His ongoing kindness showered upon them. Such ingratitude clearly warrants the description of "naval" - despicable. But why does the verse describe the nation also as "lo chakham" - unwise? How does this relate to the current context?

For this reason, it would seem, Rashi takes a slightly different approach to the general thrust of the verse. Commenting on the original question - "Do you thus requite the Lord?" - Rashi writes that the shira points to two considerations that render the rejection of the Almighty inexplicable. The first is the moral issue, the sudden rejection of the Almighty who created, fashioned and nurtured Benei Yisrael since their inception. The term "naval," as mentioned, refers to this element of Benei Yisrael's forsaking of the Torah. But there is an additional element: rejecting God is "unwise." The Almighty has unlimited power and possesses all possible means to punish those who forsake Him; Benei Yisrael's iniquity was thus not only morally reprehensible, but foolish, as well.

A much different approach to this verse is taken by Targum Onkelos, as understood and interpreted by the Ramban, in his commentary to this verse (though the Ramban proceeds to advance his own explanation). According to the Ramban, Onkelos associated the word "naval" with a term found earlier, in Sefer Shemot (18:18) - "navol tibol" - which refers to fatigue, or weariness. The description of Benei Yisrael as an "am naval" refers to their having become weary of Torah and mitzvot, the burden that God's laws had become on their shoulders, prompting them to resort to other, new, foreign modes of religious worship. The verse therefore describes Benei Yisrael as "lo chakham" - unwise. Were we wise, we would recognize the beauty and invaluable worth of Torah and mitzvot and thus avoid the spiritual fatigue that has unfortunately developed with time. People are prepared to exert themselves and make sacrifices for what they deem valuable and important; once this sense of importance wanes, the willingness to inconvenience oneself diminishes or disappears entirely. The "naval" phenomenon results directly from "lo chakham" - an inability to recognize the greatness of Torah and mitzvot.

This approach could perhaps enhance our understanding of a verse later in Shirat Ha'azinu, where the shira describes the idolatry practiced by Benei Yisrael: "They sacrificed to demons, no-gods, gods they have never known, new ones, who came but lately, whom your fathers never feared" (32:17). The verse emphasizes the novelty of these idols, the fact that Am Yisrael had never previously known of these so-called deities. At first glance, this emphasis is meant to underscore the gravity of the transgression, that Benei Yisrael substituted the Almighty, with whom they have had a unique relationship for centuries, with foreign deities with whom they had never previously associated. But in light of the aforementioned explanation of the Ramban (as he understood Onkelos), we may interpret this verse as explaining why Benei Yisrael resorted to new, foreign religions: specifically because they were new and foreign. Benei Yisrael grew tired of their relationship with the one, true God and the mitzvot He commanded; they felt the time had come for something new, something different, something innovative.

Historical continuity constitutes among the primary themes of Shirat Ha'azinu: "Remember the days of old, consider the years of ages past… " (32:7). New is not necessarily better; very often it is far worse. Torah does not lose its value with time, only our appreciation of it often diminishes with time. Shirat Ha'azinu bids us to be "chakham" - intelligent enough to retain our perspective and sense of priorities and recognize the great gift we have to study and practice God's Torah. In this way, we will avoid growing tired and the temptation to search for new "substitutes," God forbid, for the mitzvot.

******

During the period of "Asseret Yemei Teshuva," the "Ten Days of Repentance" from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, we make several additions to our prayer service, among them the inclusion of Psalm 130, or "Shir ha-Maalot mi-Ma'amakim." We add this chapter of Tehillim to our service before the recitation of "borkhu," after "yishtabach."

That forgiveness constitutes a primary theme of this Psalm is clear from the opening verses: "Out of the depths I call You, O Lord. O Lord, listen to my cry… If you keep account of sins, O Lord, Lord, who will survive?" Here we appeal for divine compassion - without which survival on earth would be impossible. The following verse, however, requires some explanation: "For with You is the power to forgive, so that You may be held in awe." How do we explain the cause-and-effect described in this verse, by which God's willingness to forgive causes us to fear Him, to hold Him in awe? Does not the prospect of atonement potentially diminish the fear of divine retribution?

Rashi explains that the first clause of the verse, "For with You is the power to forgive," emphasize God's exclusive right to pardon transgressions; He has not delegated this power to any other agent. This now explains the verse's second clause. Were God to have shared the power of absolution, if He had commissioned some agent to grant atonement on His behalf, people could be misled. They would feel mistakenly confident in the absolution they received and would thus not feel the burden of their wrongdoing on their shoulders. The fact that God alone reserves the right to grant atonement compels us to appeal to Him directly and fear retribution. The Radak cites this same approach from his father.

Ibn Ezra offers a much different explanation. The forgiveness granted to sinners instills within other sinners the desire and confidence they need to turn over a new leaf and repent. If God refuses to forgive, sinners would continue along their iniquitous path with no incentive to return. But God grants atonement in order that He "may be held in awe" by those who have sinned, in order to give them encouragement to perform teshuva. The section of the Yom Kippur ne'iservice that begins, "Ata notein yad la-psha'im" elaborates on this theme, that God affords us the opportunity of teshuva so as to encourage us to return and recommit ourselves to His command.

A third interpretation of this verse, which resembles that of Ibn Ezra, is suggested by Rav Yosef Albo in his Sefer ha-Ikarim 4:26. He explains that human nature is such that man does not fear the inevitable. When faced with any tragedy or hardship from which he cannot escape, a human being naturally resigns himself to the adverse situation and accepts it. Thus, for example, Rav Yosef Albo explains this as the reason why people are generally not overcome by a fear of death. As death is the inevitable end of every human being, people do not dwell on it to the point where they live in constant fear. People experience fear only when the possibility exists of avoiding the given experience. The prospect of teshuva and forgiveness thus gives rise to a fear in divine justice. Once we realize that repentance can indeed earn us expiation, we feel the pressure and impetus to repent. If no such possibility existed, we would resign ourselves to the outcome of our wrongdoing and would have no reason to undergo the grueling process of introspection and repentance. Now that God has granted us the opportunity of teshuva, we experience fear in divine retribution and, hopefully, will make every effort to avoid it.

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.

Make Jewish learning part of your week on a regular basis - enroll in the
Virtual Beit Midrash

Yeshivat Har Etzion
Alon Shvut, Israel, 90433
office@etzion.org.il