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PARASHAT BO

By Rav David Silverberg

In Parashat Bo God tells Moshe to convey to Benei Yisrael His instructions relevant to the night of the Exodus from Egypt. Benei Yisrael were to designate a sheep several days earlier, and then slaughter it on the night of the Exodus and place its blood on the lintel and doorposts of their homes (12:7).

We will survey here a number of explanations given for the reason behind this ritual, of placing the sacrificial blood on the lintel and doorposts. (The sources are taken from Nechama Leibowitz's analysis of the topic in her Studies on this parasha.)

Most commentators saw this ritual as intended for the purpose of public demonstration. The Rambam, in his Moreh Nevukhim (3:46), writes that Benei Yisrael had, over the course of the Egyptian exile, adopted the Egyptians' worship of Aries, which entailed refraining from killing sheep. He explains on this basis the requirement to place blood on the doorframes:

We had to free ourselves of evil doctrines and to proclaim the opposite, viz., that the very act which was then considered as being the cause of death would be the cause of deliverance from death… Thus they were rewarded for performing openly a service every part of which was objected to by the idolaters.

Benei Yisrael were called upon to publicly demonstrate that the very act that they had perceived as the cause of death – killing a sheep – would now spare them from the death of the firstborn. This ritual thus constituted a very dramatic expression of the nation's firm and unequivocal rejection of Egyptian paganism.

Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala, among many others, focuses on the life-threatening risk entailed in this ritual. Earlier, in Parashat Vaera, we read that after the plague of arov (wild beasts), Pharaoh expressed to Moshe his willingness to allow Benei Yisrael to observe a sacrificial festival to God in Egypt, but without going into the wilderness as Moshe had demanded. Moshe replies, "It is not proper to do this, for we will sacrifice the deity of Egypt to the Lord our God. Is it possible that we will sacrifice the deity of Egypt in their presence and they will not stone us?" (8:22). The public ritual slaughter of sheep in ancient Egypt would undoubtedly arouse fury among the population who deified sheep as symbols of the constellation Aries. God ordered Benei Yisrael to not only conduct such a ritual, but to place the blood outside their homes, on the doorframes, in full view of the Egyptian pagans. In this way Benei Yisrael demonstrated their faith in the Almighty and willingness to risk and even sacrifice their lives on His behalf.

Midrashic support for this position may be drawn from the Mekhilta. Commenting on God's promise that He "will see the blood and pass over" Benei Yisrael during the plague of the firstborn (12:13), the Mekhilta writes, "I see the blood of the binding of Yitzchak." It seems, at first glance, that according to the Mekhilta, God saved Benei Yisrael from the plague not in the merit of their compliance with the laws of the paschal offering, but rather on account of akeidat Yitzchak. Many writers have explained that the Mekhilta refers to the self-sacrifice entailed in performing this ritual. By complying with these laws despite the risk to life they involved, Benei Yisrael followed the example of akeidat Yitzchak, of the willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice in the Almighty's service, and in this merit they earned redemption. (It should be emphasized that only in very specific instances does the Torah require one to sacrifice his life to God.) Thus, when God saw the blood on the doorframes, He saw before him the "blood of Yitzchak," the tradition of selfless sacrifice in the service of God.

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Today we will continue yesterday's discussion regarding the possible reasons underlying God's command to Benei Yisrael in Egypt – as we read in Parashat Bo – that they must sacrifice a sheep on the night of the Exodus and place some of its blood on their doorframes (12:7).

Rav Yitzchak Arama, in his Akeidat Yitzchak, claims that this ritual was aimed at conveying a message to the Egyptians, rather than expressing Benei Yisrael's own convictions (as opposed to the views cited yesterday from the Rambam and Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala). There could be no greater demonstration of the Egyptians' complete reversal of fate than this spectacle, of thousands of Israelite homes stained with the blood of sheep, which the Egyptians had worshipped and refrained from slaughtering on religious grounds. For over two centuries the Egyptians had subjugated and oppressed Benei Yisrael, subjecting them to physical torment and humiliation. And now, despite two hundred years of subjugation, they could only watch as the slave nation publicly renounces and makes a mockery of their belief. This experience demonstrated to the Egyptians as clearly as any the sheer emptiness of their faith and God's superiority and unlimited authority over them.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary, advances an entirely different approach. Consistent with his general theory perceiving the mitzvot as symbols and finding symbolic significance in even the most minute halakhic details of the commandments, Rav Hirsch seeks to uncover the meaning behind the placement of blood on both the lintel and the doorposts. These two components of the doorframe, in his view, represent the two functions served by a home. The lintel, which hovers over a person's head, symbolizes protection from the natural elements, whereas the doorposts represent fortification against what Rav Hirsch terms "human elements," referring to intrusion and invasion of privacy. He explains the significance of this symbolism as follows:

The slaves when elevated to free human beings with full human rights over their own family life received mashkof [a lintel] and mezuza [a doorpost], insurance by God of their protection against intrusion by the forces of man and nature. To achieve this, he was first to place his whole self at the disposition of God, giving up to God, as his Shepherd, every kind of existence he had hitherto lived. This is what was to be expressed by the placing of the blood of the slaughtered lamb on the doorposts and lintel of the houses in which the offering itself was to be eaten. It was not the walls that will protect him against the unfriendly forces of fellow man, nor the roof against the unfriendly forces of nature. Within the walls and under the roofs, it is God that protects those who are ready to give themselves to Him.

The placement of the blood on the doorframes expressed the people's awareness that the Almighty is the true source of protection, not the manmade structures upon which we grow to depend for our security. When the Almighty "saw" this blood, when He took note of Benei Yisrael's belief in Him as their sole source of protection, He "passed over" their homes and shielded them from the devastating plague.

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In Parashat Bo we read God's instructions concerning the korban pesach, the paschal sacrifice that is to be observed each year on Pesach in commemoration of Yetzi'at Mitzrayim. He commands, "It shall be, when you enter the land that the Lord will give you, as He has spoken, you shall observe this rite" (12:25). Rashi, citing the Mekhilta, writes that God here explicitly hinges the obligation of korban pesach on Benei Yisrael's arrival in Canaan. During the forty years prior to their entry into the land, they observed this ritual only once, as recorded in Sefer Bamidbar (chapter 9), because God issued an explicit command to do so. That command, the Mekhilta explains, was exceptional, in that the standard obligation of korban pesach took effect only once Benei Yisrael arrived in their land.

Ibn Ezra elaborates a bit further, in his commentary to this verse:

He now specifies that the slaughtering of the pesach depends on the Land. And the pesach [observed] at Mount Sinai should not be difficult for you, for this was a command of the Supreme Being. They performed no other pesach in the wilderness, because at Mount Sinai they were near a settled area and they found matzot, but when they were in a territory where no man has passed, they had only manna.

Ibn Ezra appears to have held that the korban pesach obligation did not obtain during Benei Yisrael's sojourn in the wilderness due to the purely pragmatic issue that they had no means to produce matza. The only food accessible to them was the manna, which could not – halakhically – be used to bake matza with which one can fulfill his obligation to eat matza on Pesach. Now since the korban pesach was to be eaten together with matza and marror (12:8), the unavailability of matza naturally resulted in the impossibility of performing the paschal ritual.

Ibn Ezra's comments are difficult for two reasons. For one thing, he begins his commentary to this verse by noting that this verse limits the application of the korban pesach obligation to the Land of Israel, and explicitly informs Benei Yisrael that they would not have to perform this ritual in the wilderness. Why, then, did Ibn Ezra feel compelled to find a pragmatic reason for why no paschal offering was brought in the wilderness, except in Sinai? And he had already taken the trouble of noting that the pesach ritual at Sinai was exceptional, having been specifically ordained by God. Why does he then resort to the practical explanation, that at Sinai they could produce matza whereas during the rest of the wilderness experience they could not?

The second difficulty inherent in the Ibn Ezra's remark involves his presumption that the korban pesach obligation absolutely depends on the presence of matza. The Mekhilta, commenting on a verse earlier this chapter (12:8), states explicitly that one offers and partakes of the korban pesach even if he has no matza or marror.

Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima (Shemot, chapter 12, note 470), therefore suggests a different reading of the Ibn Ezra's comments. He insists that Ibn Ezra did not attribute the exemption from korban pesach in the wilderness to the unavailability of matza. His closing remark, that other than at Sinai Benei Yisrael had no access to matza, was not intended as an explanation for why the korban pesach was not offered during the wilderness period. The offering was not brought because, as Ibn Ezra himself writes, God explicitly restricted the mitzva of korban pesach to the Land of Israel. Rather, the Ibn Ezra merely informs us incidentally that Benei Yisrael did not observe the mitzva of matza, either, during this period, because of the impossibility of producing matza in the wilderness.

The straightforward reading of this passage in Ibn Ezra's commentary, however, clearly indicates otherwise, that he saw the unavailability of grain for matza as the reason why Benei Yisrael did not bring the korban pesach in the wilderness.

We should perhaps also note that Ibn Ezra's theory is predicated upon yet another questionable assumption, that Mount Sinai was situated in or near an inhabited area, where Benei Yisrael could gain access to grain for matza. It is not clear on what basis he made such an assumption.

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In the closing verses of Parashat Bo, the Torah instructs a father how to explain to his inquiring son the concept underlying the mitzva of bekhor, the obligation to offer as a sacrifice every male firstborn animal (among the animals suitable for sacrifices) and to redeem one's firstborn son:

With a mighty hand the Lord freed us from Egypt, from the house of bondage. It happened that when Pharoah stubbornly refused to let us go, the Lord killed every firstborn in the land of Egypt, from firstborn humans to firstborn animals. I therefore sacrifice to the Lord every first of the womb among males, and I will redeem every firstborn among my sons. (13:14-15)

The Steipler Gaon, in his Birkat Peretz, notes the seeming peculiarity in the father's statement, "I therefore sacrifice to the Lord every first of the womb…" The halakha of bekhor beheima requires that one give his firstborn male animal to the kohen, and the kohen then bears the responsibility of offering the animal as a sacrifice. Why, then, does the father in this verse tell his child that he must sacrifice his firstborn sheep and cattle to God in commemoration of the Exodus, if in truth it is the kohen who will bring this sacrifice?

The Steipler Gaon answers by developing a distinction between the two components of the mitzva of bekhor beheima. On the one hand, this obligation involves the de facto consecration of one's firstborn animal as a sacrifice. But in addition, bekhor is included among the matenot kehuna, the priestly gifts intended to ensure the sustenance of the kohanim, who were not given a share in the Land of Israel and hence were denied the opportunity of agricultural enterprise (see Bamidbar 18:15). The Steipler Gaon argued that essentially, the animal's owner bears the obligation to bring it as a sacrificial offering; in practice, however, because a separate obligation requires donating the animal to a kohen, it is the kohen who actually offers the sacrifice. In essence, it is the individual who "sacrifices to the Lord every first of the womb," even if as a practical matter it is the kohen who brings the animal to the Temple as an offering.

The Steipler Gaon added that this perspective on the obligation of bekhor – which carefully distinguishes between its essential relationship to the owner and the practical involvement of the kohen – is reflected in Halakha. The Gemara in Masekhet Temura (7) establishes that even after the animal's owner gives it to a kohen, only he, the original owner, is capable of performing temura – of transferring the animal's formal status of sanctity and designation as a sacrifice onto a different animal. (The exception to this rule is when the animal has a physical defect which disqualifies it as a sacrifice, in which case the kohen keeps the animal for himself, and thus he has the power temura.) The power of temura is invested only in the owner of the animal. The fact that the original owner is empowered to effectuate temura even after giving the bekhor to a kohen demonstrates that even at the time of the sacrificing, the animal retains its association and identification with the original owner. This corroborates the Steipler's theory that while practically it becomes the kohen's responsibility to offer the bekhor, essentially the offering is perceived as that of the initial owner.

(The Steipler refers us to his more comprehensive treatment of this topic in his work Kehilat Yaakov on Masekhet Bekhorot, chapter 24.)

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Parashat Bo presents many laws pertinent to the korban pesach (paschal offering), including the prohibition, "lo totiru mimenu ad boker" (12:10), forbidding one to let any of the sacrifice's meat to remain on the morning of the first day of Pesach. All the meat must be partaken of during the seder night or burned before morning.

This provision is unique to the korban pesach. All other korbanot have deadlines past which one may not partake of their meat (either a day and a night or two days, depending on the sacrifice), but none feature this prohibition against allowing any meat to remain. Today we will explore three reasons that have been offered to explain this unique halakha concerning the korban pesach.

The Sefer Ha-chinukh views this prohibition from the perspective of the theme of royalty that arises in a number of traditions and rituals observed at the seder. Kings and dignitaries feel no need to save their leftovers from one meal or day to the next. They would customarily destroy leftovers rather than saving them, preferring to eat fresh food the following day. Our observance of Pesach commemorates our sudden transformation from downtrodden and oppressed slaves to a stature of greatness and royalty, and thus our conduct on this night must resemble that of wealthy and aristocratic noblemen.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch suggests that this prohibition is intended to maintain the conceptual link between the consumption of the sacrificial meat and the ritual slaughtering of the animal that preceded it. The slaughtering, Rav Hirsch explains, expresses the theme of sacrifice and submission to God, whereas the consumption of the sacrifice signifies independence and freedom. (On this basis, Rav Hirsch, commenting on the preceding verses, explains the role that consumption plays in the context of the korban pesach, more so than with other sacrifices.) The message conveyed by the korban pesach requires that the consumption – the notion of our national freedom – be integrally linked to the slaughtering – the concept of submission to divine authority. Meat left over until the morning would signify the separation between these two themes, and for this reason the Torah demands its destruction. This obligation represents the Torah's firm opposition to the prospect of Benei Yisrael's national freedom without submission to the Almighty.

Rav Moshe Leib Shachor, in his Avnei Shoham, advances an entirely different theory in explaining this mitzva, associating it with the deification and worship of sheep that was prevalent in ancient Egypt. Many sources indicate that Benei Yisrael, over the course of their stay in Egypt, had gradually adopted these beliefs and rituals, and only before the Exodus did they collectively renounce the pagan religion of the surrounding culture. The korban pesach ritual was intended – at least in part – as a public and demonstrative expression of the nation's unwavering rejection of Egyptian paganism and their return to the faith of their ancestors. Leaving over meat from the paschal lamb would give the mistaken impression that the individual plans on using the meat for pagan worship, in accordance with the idolatrous practices of the time. The consumption and elimination of all meat from the korban pesach was thus an important component of this sacrifice's function, to demonstrate Benei Yisrael's outright rejection of the pagan beliefs and practices to which they had grown accustomed.

In a similar vein, Rav Shachor explains the prohibition against breaking any bones of the korban pesach (12:46), which in essence requires that the skeleton of the paschal lamb remain fully intact. Rav Shachor suggests that this measure was intended to publicize the fact that the sacrificial meat consumed on this night is that of a sheep, further highlighting this sacrifice's role as a demonstrative renunciation of Egyptian paganism.

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Towards the end of Parashat Bo, the Torah for the first time introduces the mitzva of tefillin (13:9,16), which includes, of course, both the tefillin shel yad which one wears on his arm, and the tefillin shel rosh on the head. With regard to the tefillin shel yad, the Torah writes, "Ve-haya lekha le-ot al yadekha" – "It shall serve for you as a sign on your arm…" (13:9). The Gemara in Masekhet Menachot (37b) comments on the seemingly unnecessary word lekha ("for you") in this clause, and claims that this word is added to instruct a halakhic principle relevant to the tefillin shel yad: "For you a sign, and not for others a sign." Meaning, one should not wear his tefillin shel yad in a place where it is clearly visible to others; it is rather worn in such a manner that does not expose it to public view. On this basis the Gemara deduces that the word yad in this context refers to the upper arm, rather than the hand. If one would wear tefillin on his hand, it would be clearly visible; wearing it on the upper arm, towards the shoulder, conceals it from the public eye. Indeed, common practice is to make sure that the tefillin shel yad remains covered with either one's tallit or sleeve.

Interestingly enough, we find the precise opposite theme with regard to the tefillin shel rosh. The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (6a) famously comments that the verse in Sefer Devarim (28:10), "And all the nations on earth will see that the Name of the Lord is called upon you" refers to the nation' reaction upon seeing Benei Yisrael wearing tefillin. However one understands the specific purpose of this demonstration before the eyes of the other nations, the Gemara's remark clearly suggests that tefillin shel rosh should be publicly displayed. Indeed, the custom among most Jews is to ensure that the tefillin shel rosh remains exposed (though the Kabbalistic tradition advocates wrapping one's tallit around the tefillin shel rosh).

Rav Yehuda Leib Graubart, in his Yabia Omer (Toronto, 1936), suggests an explanation for this distinction between the tefillin shel yad and tefillin shel rosh based on the traditional symbolism associated with each. The tefillin shel yad, situated on the arm, is often perceived as representative of active performance, the service of God through concrete action. In addition, the proximity of the tefillin shel yad to the heart has been understood as pointing to an association between the arm tefillin and the realm of emotion and prayer. The tefillin shel rosh, by contrast, perched upon the Jew's head, symbolizes the role of the intellect in the service of God, primarily through the intensive study of Torah. Just as the mitzva of tefillin demands wearing both tefillin shel yad and tefillin shel rosh, so does Judaism generally call upon us to utilize our physical, emotional and intellectual faculties for the purpose of avodat Hashem.

Accordingly, Rav Graubart explains, the different themes of exposure and concealment, which sets apart the two components of the tefillin obligation from one another, reflect the different approaches one must take in the various areas of religious life. In the realm of action and emotion, privacy and modesty are of critical importance. Even if under certain circumstances a public display of mitzva performance is necessary to set an example and encourage others to follow, as a rule, one should preferably perform mitzvot privately without making a public display. This is true in the area of prayer and religious feeling, as well, where one is best advised not to publicly broadcast his innermost yearnings for spiritual fulfillment. When it comes to the tefillin shel rosh, however, to the realm of Torah study, one must, indeed, publicize his knowledge. Torah knowledge should never be withheld in the name of humility; a scholar fortunate enough to have achieved mastery over an area of Torah is obliged to share his wisdom with others, in the spirit of the exposed and publicly visible tefillin shel rosh.

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Parashat Bo features God's famous instruction to Moshe and Aharon in Egypt, "Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lakhem rosh chodashim" – "This month shall be for you the first of the months" (12:2). Rashi brings from the Mekhilta that God here showed Moshe and Aharon the new moon in the nighttime sky and instructed that this sighting establishes the onset of a new month in the Jewish calendar. It is here that God introduces the mitzva of kiddush ha-chodesh – the system of the Jewish calendar which works according to the moon's revolutions around the earth, as a new month begins with the completion of a revolution.

During the times of the Tanna'im, as discussed at length in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah, months were declared on the basis of testimony rendered by two witnesses to the appearance of the new moon. The witnesses were interrogated by the Sanhedrin, and once their testimony was confirmed that day was declared Rosh Chodesh, the first of the new month. At some point during the period of the Amora'im (according to the Rambam, in Hilkhot Kiddush Ha-chodesh 5:3, this occurred during the time of Abayei and Rava), this system, known as kiddush al pi ha-re'iya, was discontinued, and replaced by the system referred to as kiddush al pi cheshbon, which we still use today. This means that months are determined based on the astronomical calculation of when the new month should begin. Rishonim generally refer to this calculation as cheshbon ha-emtza'i, or "the average calculation," as it determines the date for the new month based on averages, such that Rosh Chodesh will not always occur on the precise day when the new moon first appears. This calculation is generally attributed to Hillel Ha-nasi, a great-grandson of Rabbi Yehuda Ha-nasi, though this attribution does not appear anywhere in Talmudic or Midrashic literature. (Its earliest source is in the writings of the Geonim.)

Rav Menachem Kasher wrote an entire treatise on this subject, which is printed in the thirteenth of volume of his Torah Sheleima. Among the subjects covered in this monumental work is the precise relationship between the two systems of re'iya and cheshbon, meaning, which of the two constitutes the primary method of kiddush ha-chodesh, and which serves as the substitute, or whether both were established as equally valid and legitimate systems.

A number of different positions on this issue emerge from Rav Kasher's exhaustive presentation.

At one extreme, Rabbenu Sa'adya Gaon (and, later, Rabbenu Chananel) was of the opinion that months are determined strictly through the process of cheshbon, based on mathematical computation. Re'iya was initiated only during the Second Temple era with the rise of the Sadducee and Baitosi heresies, which argued that the months should be determined based solely on the sighting of the new moon, and not based on any calculations. Chazal therefore instituted the re'iya system to demonstrate that their calculations indeed correspond to the empirical manifestation of the new moon. Rav Kasher, in his treatise (chapter 3), elaborates on the possible proofs in Talmudic literature both for and against this position. We will mention only that Ibn Ezra voices his disapproval of Rabbenu Sa'adya Gaon's view in his commentary to Vayikra 23:3, as does the Rambam, in his commentary to the Mishna (Rosh Hashanah, chapter 2), though without mentioning Rabbenu Sa'adya by name.

At the opposite extreme, the Ramban, in his hasagot to the Rambam's Sefer Ha-mitzvot (mitzva asei 153), expresses the view that kiddush al pi re'iya constitutes the true means of kiddush ha-chodesh, and it was this system that the Almighty had in mind when He commanded Moshe and Aharon with regard to the Jewish calendar. Hillel established the cheshbon system as an emergency measure as he foresaw that the re'iya system would soon fall into disuse due to the absence of competent rabbinical courts. The system in use today is a far from ideal method of determining the months necessitated by the decline of the authority of the rabbinical courts.

In between these two views is that of the Rambam, which he presents both in Sefer Ha-mitzvot (asei 153) and in Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Kiddush Ha-chodesh, chapter 5). He is of the opinion that the verse "Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lakhem rosh chodashim" refers to the re'iya system, whereby the new month is declared on the basis of testimony, but a halakha le-Moshe mi-Sinai (oral tradition dating back to Moshe's receiving of the Law at Sinai) mandates employing the cheshbon system when the re'iya method is no longer an option. According to the Rambam, then, although re'iya is the primary system, the cheshbon arrangement is not merely an extraordinary measure enacted due to the extenuating circumstances that arose. Rather, it was already foreseen by the oral tradition conveyed to Moshe at Sinai as the substitute for the standard system of re'iya.