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PARASHAT HA'AZINU
By Rav David Silverberg
Towards the beginning of the poem of Ha’azinu, Moshe declares about the Almighty, “The Rock – His actions are perfect, for all His ways are just” (32:4). Based on this verse, the Gemara (Bava Kama 50a) establishes that “whoever says that the Almighty foregoes – his life shall be forgone.” Once the verse proclaims that God’s “ways are just,” we cannot claim that God does not rule the world based on a system of justice and retribution. Thus, one may not speak of God as a vatran – the term generally used to describe someone who foregoes on offenses committed against him and is not concerned with settling scores. God is “just” – He governs the world according to a strict system of justice.
The question, of course, arises as to how this statement can be reconciled with the concepts and themes that play such a central role during this time of year – the notions of teshuva and the divine attribute of compassion (midat ha-rachamim). Do we not appeal to God’s quality of vatranut – His willingness to forego on our misdeeds – in the hope of achieving atonement during this period of judgment? To what, then, does the Gemara refer when it condemns one who speaks of the Almighty as a vatran?
Rav Yehuda Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda (to Parashat Devarim), suggests that the Gemara condemns not the acknowledgment of a divine attribute of vatranut, but rather emphasizing it. Indeed, God is prepared to forego on our wrongdoing, but “whoever says that the Almighty foregoes” – one who places emphasis particularly on this quality, rather than God’s attribute of justice, is deserving of punishment. Our perception of the Almighty’s system of rule over mankind must focus primarily on the basic notion of reward and punishment, man’s accountability for actions and the threat of retribution. Otherwise, if we focus our attention too heavily on the midat ha-rachamim, we will loose sight of our personal responsibility, and will no longer be affected by the deterrent of the prospect of retribution.
A simpler answer is suggested by the Iyun Yaakov, who claims that the Gemara refers to the belief in God’s indiscriminate vatranut. Of course, God is prepared to withhold or mitigate punishment in response to teshuva. But this quality of compassion and kindness must never be misconstrued as the absence of any rhyme or reason to the system of divine justice. The capacity of teshuva to avert punishment and regain God’s favor does not attest to the lack of a structured system, for in truth, it is an integral part of God’s structured system. The Gemara here warns against the notion of “leit din ve-leit dayan” – that there is no system of justice and retribution. This does not, however, undermine the possibility of earning atonement through the process of teshuva.
The Iyun Yaakov suggests a second explanation, as well, namely, that the Gemara speaks of one who relies on God’s quality of vatranut to sin. Essentially, then, the Gemara here warns against the attitude of echeta ve-ashuv (literally, “I will sin and then repent”), whereby one enlists the institution of teshuva to free himself from the constraints of his conscience and act as he pleases on the basis of his subsequent “repentance.”
As we cited earlier, the Gemara remarks that a person who speaks of God as a vatran is worthy of having “his life forgone.” Another version of this passage, in Bereishit Rabba (67:4), as cited in Mesilat Yesharim (chapter 4), reads, “his intestines shall be forgone.” Meaning, such a person deserves to lose his intestines. Rav Yitzchak Rosenblat, in his Chedvat Yotzer, suggests a reason for why this punishment serves as an appropriate response to such an attitude towards divine justice. The human digestive system is assigned the critical role of determining which substances to permit into the body’s bloodstream, and which must be removed. If even a tiny particle of undesirable matter is allowed to be absorbed by the body, the individual will likely die. Chazal here perhaps allude to the fact that the system of divine justice operates in a similar fashion. Certain actions cannot be tolerated; they must not go unpunished. The person of whom the Gemara speaks denies a process of “digestion,” of careful discernment and consideration on God’s part in governing mankind. This individual believes that “anything goes,” that the Almighty will not work to “eliminate” spiritually harmful matter from the earth. We are to firmly believe in the notion of divine justice and retribution, that indeed “all His ways are just,” and evil will, ultimately, be eliminated from the world.
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Towards the beginning of Parashat Ha'azinu (32:3) we read the famous verse, “Ki Shem Hashem ekra havu godel le-Elokenu” – “When I call the Name of the Lord, give glory to our God.” The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (37a) explains that Moshe here tells Benei Yisrael, “At the time when I mention the Almighty’s Name – you give glory.” The Gemara enlists this verse as the basis for the halakha established in the Mishna (35b) that when the people in the Temple courtyard would hear the kohen gadol mention God’s Name while declaring his confession during the Yom Kippur service, they would proclaim, “Barukh Shem kevod malkhuto le-olam va-ed” (“Blessed is the Name of the glory of His Kingship forever and ever”).
The Rosh, in one of his responsa (4:19), similarly cites this verse as the source for the recitation of “Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo” upon hearing God’s Name in the recitation of a berakha. He adds that just as it is appropriate to give praise upon mentioning the name of a great person, so must one respond with praise when he hears the Almighty’s Name. The Tur (O.C. 124) records this halakha from his father (the Rosh), and indeed the Shulchan Arukh (124:5) writes, “Upon each berakha that a person hears, in any context, he says Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo.”
The Arukh Ha-shulchan (124:10) questions the logic behind this halakha. For one thing, he writes, the person reciting the berakha already blesses the Almighty; there seems to be little reason for the listener (who in any event is required to answer amen) to add his own blessing upon hearing God’s Name. What more, he adds, if the Rosh is correct, then one should be required to proclaim Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo whenever he hears God’s Name recited, and not only when he hears the recitation of a berakha. The Arukh Ha-shulchan suggests no answer to these questions.
In any event, common practice indeed follows the ruling of the Shulchan Arukh to recite Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo upon hearing God’s Name recited as part of a berakha. However, as the Mishna Berura cites from earlier poskim, one must ensure not to say Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo in situations where unwarranted speech would constitute a hefsek (unlawful interruption). For example, if a person hears a berakha while he recites Pesukei De-zimra or other parts of the prayer service where Halakha forbids speaking, he may not respond with Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo, since, unlike the response of amen, Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo is not strictly required. Similarly, if a person hears a berakha that he is personally obligated to recite, but fulfills his obligation through the recitation of another, he must not say Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo. This applies in numerous situations, including kiddush, havdala, and the berakhot recited before mitzvot such as Megila reading, shofar, and so on. Interestingly, the Arukh Ha-shulchan notes that for this reason some authorities discouraged the practice of reciting Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo altogether. They feared that people would mistakenly view this recitation as an outright obligation and an indispensable part of the berakha, and would thus recite Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo even when hearing kiddush and other berakhot they are obligated to recite, thus forfeiting their fulfillment of these obligations. In truth, the Chayei Adam, as cited by the Mishna Berura, was uncertain as to whether one who mistakenly recited Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo while hearing a berakha in which he is obligated has forfeited the fulfillment of that obligation. The Mishna Berura rules that be-di’avad one nevertheless fulfills the given obligation, even if he mistakenly recites Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo.
Another concern addressed by the poskim involves the risk of missing the remainder of the berakha as a result of reciting Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo after hearing God’s Name. The Mishna Berura (124:22) admonishes shelichei tzibur to ensure to pause after God’s Name to allow the congregation time to recite Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo, before continuing with the berakha. The Vilna Gaon, as recorded in Ma’aseh Rav (43), held that people should not bother to recite Barukh Hu u-varukh Shemo during the sheli’ach tzibur’s repetition of the shemoneh esrei, given the likelihood that they will as a result miss the rest of the berakha. Common practice, of course, does not follow this position, and therefore shelichei tzibur must ensure to pause after God’s Name, so that the congregation can hear the rest of the berakha.
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In the opening verse of Parashat Haazinu, Moshe summons the heavens and earth to serve as witnesses, so-to-speak, to the content of the poem presented in this parasha. He declares, “Haazinu ha-shamayim… ve-tishma ha-aretz” – “Hearken, O heavens… and let the earth hear.” The Sifrei (see also Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel) notes that Moshe calls to the heavens with the term haazinu (which we translated as “hearken”) and to the earth with the word tishma (“hear”). In a similar verse in Sefer Yeshayahu (1:2), the prophet reverses this arrangement: he summons the heavens by calling “shim’u,” whereas to the earth he cries, “ha’azini” (“Shim’u shamayim ve-ha’azini eretz”). The Sifrei explains that the term le-ha’azin denotes hearing from up close, whereas the verb sh.m.a. refers to listening from afar. Moshe, the Sifrei writes, was closer to heaven than to earth, and he therefore called to the heavens with the term haazinu, while employing the word tishma when addressing the earth. Yeshayahu, who was of a lower stature than Moshe, reversed the terms, since he called to the earth from up close and to the heavens from afar.
To what exactly does the Sifrei refer by this distinction between Moshe and Yeshayahu? What is the significance of Moshe’s being closer to the heavens and Yeshayahu being positioned near the earth?
Rav Moshe Feinstein suggested a novel interpretation of this passage in the Sifrei, as recorded in the compendium Kol Ram (vol. 2). According to Rav Moshe, Chazal here allude to the two different approaches that can be taken to awaken people to repentance and religious growth: focusing on the “heavens,” and focusing on the “earth.” The first approach is to emphasize the potential greatness of man, the lofty spiritual heights to which an individual can ascend through diligent effort, despite his physical nature and instincts. Alternatively, one can stress the lowest depths to which a person will plunge if he blindly pursues material success and physical gratification, without any spiritual focus. Generally speaking, the first method is more successful when addressing an audience that has already been spiritually sensitized, that is already attuned to the relative unimportance of mundane achievement in relation to spiritual pursuits. Such an audience must be reminded of how much higher they can still climb on the road towards spiritual perfection, and of the lofty goals they should set for themselves. For the masses, however, the second approach is generally far more advisable. Lofty aspirations of spiritual greatness seem far beyond the reach and concern of the commoner, and therefore descriptions of the “heavens,” of the spiritual heights accessible to the elite, will, more often than not, fail to inspire the average Jew. He should instead be warned of the results of excessive preoccupation with mundane life, and be reminded of the need to infuse his otherwise material existence with spiritual content and meaning.
The Sifrei’s distinction between Moshe and Yeshayahu, Rav Moshe suggests, actually refers to the difference between their respective audiences. Moshe addresses a people that had been born and raised within the confines of the clouds of glory in the wilderness, who had subsisted on heavenly manna and bore no mundane responsibilities whatsoever. They were “close to the heavens” – they could easily relate to the message of man’s potential for spiritual greatness – but were “far from the earth” – they could not possibly understand the risks and dangers of the excessive pursuit of wealth and luxury. Yeshayahu, by contrast, spoke to a people plagued by greed and corruption. They were very distant from the message of “the heavens,” of lofty spiritual aspirations. Yeshayahu therefore emphasized to them the message of “the earth,” the terrible consequences of spiritual and moral decline that characterized that generation.
While Rav Moshe is perhaps correct that for most of us the message of “earth” resonates more profoundly than the notion of “heavens,” on Yom Kippur we are all given a glimpse of man’s lofty spiritual potential. On Yom Kippur, even the simplest Jew is called upon to push himself to his limits, to divest himself – to some extent – of his physical nature and become a purely spiritual being. Although we obviously cannot be expected to conduct ourselves at this standard throughout the year, the annual experience of Yom Kippur should inspire and motivate us to raise our ambitions and set our sights upon greater levels of achievement. Despite the fact that we live lives characterized by “earth,” our one-day ascent to the “heavens” will hopefully enhance our earthly existence by reminding us of man’s heavenly potential.
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The Rama (O.C. 613:4) writes that one may not rinse his mouth on Yom Kippur. The Mishna Berura explains this ruling as stemming from the concern that one might swallow some of the water in the process, thus violating the prohibition against drinking on Yom Kippur. In truth, however, rinsing one’s mouth is forbidden for another reason, as well – the prohibition against washing on Yom Kippur, which applies to all parts of the body, including the inside of one’s mouth.
There are situations in which only of these two factors would apply, and other circumstances under which neither applies, in which case mouth rinsing would thus be permitted. An example of the first variety is where one needs to rinse for purely medicinal or hygienic reasons. Washing is forbidden on Yom Kippur only if it is done for enjoyment or comfort; one may wash for cleanliness or for health purposes. Nevertheless, rinsing one’s mouth even in the interest of hygiene is forbidden, given the concern that one may swallow some water. Conversely, it is forbidden to rinse one’s mouth even with an inedible or bitter-tasting liquid, such as mouthwash, despite the fact that drinking such a liquid does not violate the prohibition against drinking on Yom Kippur. Since the liquid “washes” the mouth, it violates the prohibition of rechitza (washing) on Yom Kippur.
It is permitted, however, to rinse one’s mouth with an inedible or foul-tasting liquid for medicinal purposes, since in such a case neither prohibition applies. As noted by several poskim (cited in Piskei Teshuvot, 613:5), one who suffers from a painful sore or irritation on his tongue or cheek may apply medicine to the infected area or rinse with an antiseptic. Swallowing such substances clearly does not violate the prohibition against drinking, and the rechitza prohibition does not apply since the purpose is strictly medicinal. Similarly, the work Shevet Ha-kehati (4:166) addresses the situation of one who vomits on Yom Kippur and experiences considerable discomfort as a result of the foul taste in his mouth. The author contends that in such a case one may rinse his mouth, since this degree of discomfort suffices to render this a health or hygienic concern, such that the prohibition of rechitza does not apply. And since the water assumes a foul taste in the individual’s mouth, even should he swallow some water he would not be in violation of the prohibition against drinking.
Needless to say, as the Mateh Efrayim emphasizes (613:3), only in exceptional circumstances – such as those described above – may one rinse his mouth with an inedible or foul-tasting liquid. Normally, however, when one does not experience considerable pain or discomfort, it is forbidden to rinse one’s mouth on Yom Kippur, even with an inedible substance such as mouthwash.
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It is told that the Riva (one of the Tosafists) fell gravely ill and his physicians warned that he would surely die if he fasted on Yom Kippur. By not fasting, they advised, he stood a chance of recovering from his illness. Surprisingly, the Riva refused to eat on Yom Kippur, and indeed, as his doctors warned, he passed away.
The Radbaz, in one of his responsa, addresses the halakhic propriety of the Riva’s decision. Is it necessary – or at least commendable – to risk one’s life in such a case? Or, perhaps, did the Riva act incorrectly? The Radbaz firmly establishes that undoubtedly Halakha permits one to eat in such a case. Even if the doctors are uncertain whether eating will save the patient’s life, nevertheless, the possibility of prolonging his life suspends the prohibition against eating on Yom Kippur. The Radbaz proceeds to assert that Halakha would even forbid one from fasting in such a case. The Rambam (Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah 5:1) famously rules that it is forbidden to risk one’s life to avoid a Torah violation in situations where Halakha mandates committing the violation rather than surrender one’s life. And although Tosefot (Avoda Zara 27b) disagree, and allow risking one’s life even in such cases, the Radbaz claims that this applies only in situations of kiddush Hashem – where the Jew’s life is threatened by enemies seeking to deny the Jews the right to practice their faith. Under such circumstances, one may surrender his life – even when Halakha does not require doing so – as a triumphant demonstration of his unwavering devotion to his faith. When, however, one’s life is threatened by illness, rather than religious persecution, he may not fulfill the given Halakha at the expense of his life.
In defense of the Riva, the Radbaz speculates that he perhaps intuited that eating on Yom Kippur would not help him overcome his illness. Despite the doctors’ assessment that eating might increase his chance of survival, the Riva perhaps felt certain given his frail condition that eating would be of no avail, and he therefore refused to eat.
The Binyan Tziyon (25) addressed the question of whether a gravely ill patient who must eat on Yom Kippur requires atonement, given the possibility of an incorrect prognosis on the part of the physician. The Binyan Tziyon resoundingly rejects such a notion, claiming that a patient is unequivocally bound by the professional opinion of a skilled physician. Therefore, even if it is later determined that the doctor erred, and the patient in fact could have survived the fast, no process of repentance is required. In a similar vein, it is told that a man once came to the Chazon Ish before Yom Kippur and expressed his anguish over the fact that he would have to eat on Yom Kippur in compliance with his doctor’s orders. The Chazon Ish responded by noting Chazal’s remark that one who eats and drinks on Erev Yom Kippur is considered as having fasted on that day, as well. He explained that fulfilling the Torah’s commandment to eat on Erev Yom Kippur is as meaningful as fasting on Yom Kippur, insofar as both constitute the fulfillment of the divine will. By the same token, the Chazon Ish claimed, one whom the Torah requires to eat on Yom Kippur in the interest of maintaining good health is likewise considered as having fasted on that day, since he thereby fulfills the divine command.
There is, however, one qualification to this general principle. Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, as cited by Shemirat Shabbat Ke-hilkhata (chapter 39, note 4) and Nishmat Avraham (618:5), permits a patient to insist upon fasting if the risk to his life is remote. Otherwise, however, even an uncertain risk to life suffices to allow one to eat on Yom Kippur.
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In the famous last Mishna of Masekhet Yoma (85b), Rabbi Akiva exclaims:
How
fortunate you are,
Rabbi Akiva
draws a parallel between
We can perhaps gain a clearer understanding of this parallel by considering the symbolic meaning behind tum’at meit. The loss of life in Jewish thought means the loss of spirit; a being that had embodied the merging of the physical and the spiritual, of earth and heaven, has been divested of its spiritual quality, such that all that remains is its “earthly” component. The lifeless body thus represents sheer physicality, the spiritless condition of earth without heaven, body without soul, a mundane world with no higher purpose. This might explain why tum’at meit is the most severe of all forms of ritual impurity. The process of its elimination is the longest – seven days – and the most complex – requiring both immersion and sprinkling. These provisions perhaps allude to the severity with which the Torah views the reality symbolized by a lifeless body, the condition of physical life bereft of spiritual content.
In effect, every transgression one commits may be perceived in similar terms. A sinner has prioritized his personal gratification over his spiritual commitments, has shown preference for his physical or material concerns over the needs of the soul. By committing a sinful act, an individual defines himself as a primarily physical, lifeless being, rather than a person defined by the spirit. Accordingly, Rabbi Akiva likens the process of teshuva to that of purification from tum’at meit. In both situations – the halakhic impurity of tum’at meit and the more general “impurity” of sin – the individual has experienced a spiritless condition, and must work towards reuniting body and soul, the mundane and the spiritual.
Given the context of Rabbi Akiva’s remark – at the conclusion of the tractate dealing with the laws of Yom Kippur – we might understand it in light of the specific experience of Yom Kippur. On this day we are bidden to withdraw as much as possible from physical activity, and devote ourselves entirely to spiritual engagement, so as to establish the primacy of the spiritual, rather than mundane, quality of our lives. Throughout the year we must care for both body and soul; the human condition necessitates addressing our physical and material needs. The experience of Yom Kippur serves as a declaration, of sorts, that despite the delicate balance we maintain throughout the year between the needs of body and soul, it is the latter that comprises the more central aspect of our lives. The observance of Yom Kippur “purifies” us much as a temei meit must overcome his encounter with a lifeless body, by reinforcing within our minds and hearts the primacy and centrality of the spirit, even throughout the year, when we must concern ourselves with the body, as well.
(Based in part on an essay in Rav Yaakov Ariel’s Mei-ohalei Torah)
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In the poem that comprises the bulk of Parashat Ha’azinu, Moshe foresees Benei Yisrael’s betrayal of God upon entering, settling and cultivating the Land. He describes (in the poetic past tense, referring actually to the future), “Yeshurun grew fat and kicked… and abandoned the God who made him…” (32:15). This verse marks the first time in Tanakh where we encounter the term “Yeshurun,” a poetic reference to Benei Yisrael. What is the etymology of this name, and why is it used in this context?
Ibn Ezra cites two theories regarding the etymological origin of “Yeshurun,” the first of which views it as a derivative of the Hebrew word yashar – “straight.” Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch likewise associates “Yeshurun” with the word yashar, and explains that it refers specifically to Benei Yisrael in their ideal state, when they represent to the world the “straight” path of morality and obedience to God’s law. This condition is lost when the nation “grows fat,” when they focus on indulgence and luxury, rather than on piety and virtue. Rav Hirsch adds here that the “straight” path Benei Yisrael are to follow does not entail withdrawal from the physical and material world. One of the Torah’s central messages is the ability to sanctify mundane life by infusing it with a spiritual quality, rather than by withdrawing from it. As Moshe predicts, Benei Yisrael fail in this regard by leading an excessively indulgent lifestyle, disrupting the desired balance between the spiritual and the physical.
The second theory cited by Ibn Ezra associates the word “Yeshurun” with the root sh.u.r., which means seeing, or looking (e.g. Bamidbar 23:9). (Expressing his preference for the first theory, Ibn Ezra quips, “Ve-ha-rishon hu ha-yashar be-einai” – “the first is yashar in my eyes.”) This approach is advanced later by Seforno, who explains that “Yeshurun” refers specifically to the scholarly elite among Benei Yisrael, the “kehal tofesei ha-Torah u-va’alei ha-iyun” (“the population of those who devote themselves to Torah, and people of in-depth study”). Apparently, this term is used to describe the intellectual “vision,” the wisdom and understanding, of the nation’s Torah scholars. As Seforno explains, Moshe foresees that the nation’s rabbinic leadership will fail by resorting to indulgence, by focusing their energies on the pursuit of luxury and enjoyment, thus hindering their ability to arrive at an accurate and precise understanding of Torah. Seforno cites in this context a verse from Sefer Yeshayahu (28:7), “And these, too, are muddled by wine and dazed by liquor: the priest and the prophet…” Excessive indulgence clouds the scholar’s vision and perception. As a result, as the verse continues, the nation “abandoned the God who made him.” Once the religious leadership fails to provide guidance and direction, and to serve as an example of a life of substance and meaning, the people naturally begin to stray and ultimately abandon the Almighty.