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Surf A Little Torah PARASHAT YITRO by Rav David Silverberg
Parashat Yitro tells of God's Revelation to Benei Yisrael atop Mount Sinai and proclamation of the Asseret Ha-diberot (Ten Commandments). The fourth of the Diberot reads: "Remember ['zakhor'] the Shabbat day, to sanctify it." A famous discrepancy exists in this regard between the record of the Ten Commandments here, in Parashat Yitro, and Moshe's recounting of them in Parashat Va'etchanan. There, the fourth Commandment reads, "Guard ['shamor'] the Shabbat day, to sanctify it." Most commentators explain that these two versions represent the two distinct elements of Shabbat observance. The Hebrew word "shamor" ("guard," or "protect") generally denotes prohibition; Chazal teach that when the Torah employs the term "hishamru," it refers to a "lo ta'aseh" (negative commandment). Thus, "Guard the Shabbat day" commands us to refrain from those activities forbidden on Shabbat. "Zakhor," by contrast, refers to the "do's" of Shabbat. Specifically, Chazal derive from this verse the obligation to recite kiddush. More generally, this command introduces the requirement to actively transform Shabbat into a sacred day, by devoting oneself on Shabbat to spiritual pursuits, beyond merely refraining from melakha (forbidden activity). With this in mind, it is worth examining a puzzling passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Nedarim 3:2). The Yerushalmi comments that "zakhor" and "shamor" were announced simultaneously, at the same moment, something that the human voice obviously cannot do. At first glance, we could perhaps explain this comment as emphasizing the close relationship between these two dimensions of Shabbat. One depends on the other; one cannot properly claim to have observed Shabbat if he only refrains from melakha or if he engages in spiritual pursuits while transgressing the Shabbat prohibitions. Indeed, halakha teaches that anyone included in the prohibitions of Shabbat must also observe the positive commandments of Shabbat; women are therefore included in the obligation of kiddush despite their general exemption from time-bound mitzvot asei. The continuation of this passage, however, seems to point us in a much different direction. The Yerushalmi proceeds to bring other examples of a pair of different commandments that God uttered simultaneously. First, God forbade us from performing melakha on Shabbat at the same time as He required that we bring the daily tamid offering in the Temple, even on Shabbat - despite the fact that this requires slaughtering an animal, which is generally forbidden on Shabbat. Secondly, the Yerushalmi notes the general prohibition against sexual relations with one's sister-in-law, which God proclaimed at the same time as He required one to marry his childless, widowed sister-in-law ("yibum"). In these examples, the simultaneity expresses the occasional "contradictions" found in Torah law. God overrides His own laws, as it were, by instituting certain exceptions to His prohibitions. The obvious question thus arises as to how "zakhor" and "shamor" fit this pattern. These two different commandments appear complementary, not contradictory. They reflect simply two concomitant aspects of Shabbat; neither seems to be an exception to the other. Why, then, does the Yerushalmi include "zakhor" and "shamor" together with these other examples of God's simultaneous pronouncements? Apparently, "zakhor" and "shamor" do, indeed, contradict one another in some way. Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Keter Ha-shabbat (p.11), introduces a remarkable and novel theory in suggesting such an approach. Theoretically, the prohibition against "work" on Shabbat should include "spiritual" work, as well, particularly intensive Torah study, which, as we all know, can be grueling and tiresome work. If God forbade exertion and hard work on Shabbat, then, in theory, this should include Torah learning, as well. But just as the obligation of yibum breaks the rules established by the laws of arayot (forbidden sexual relations), so does "zakhor" break the general rules of "shamor." There is one type of work that God does not forbid on Shabbat; to the contrary, He requires it: work of the mind and spirit. "Zakhor" requires that we use Shabbat as a time for spiritual growth and learning, even if this entails hard work and exertion - the type of work otherwise included under the prohibition of "shamor." ****** Parashat Yitro tells of the establishment of an elaborate network of judges to assist Moshe in tending to the legal needs of Benei Yisrael. The Torah describes that Moshe appointed a judicial hierarchy, consisting of lower-level judges responsible for as few as ten people each, others in charge of fifty, and those assigned to a hundred and, at the highest level, a thousand people. Such a system would, normally, trigger a considerable amount of friction and resentment among the judges. Moshe himself hand-picked these judges and decided who will assume which position. In such situations, the lower-level judges would naturally feel slighted and harbor feelings of jealousy towards the higher-ranking officials. Did Moshe have no other, "fairer" method of selecting and appointing the nation's judicial leaders, so as to avoid resentment? The Rebbe of Kotzk answers that the Torah itself provides the answer to this question. The Torah lists the various qualifications Moshe required when selecting the judiciary. One quality he looked for was "anshei emet" - "people of truth" (18:21). The Kotzker Rebbe claims that "people of truth" will not harbor feelings of jealousy towards others. Those who are interested first and foremost in "truth" do not seek honor and prestige, because honor and prestige is not true. The feeling of gratification experienced when others look upon us with esteem is an artificial feeling, a fleeting and false sense of satisfaction. In essence, honor is the means by which one feels good about himself when he does not necessarily deserve to; people seek honor when they are unable to honor themselves because they know who they really are. Moshe did not think twice about establishing a judicial hierarchy because he knew that he dealt with "people of truth," people who were committed to doing what was right, and not to doing what will make other people think highly of them. ****** We read in Parashat Yitro of the Almighty's proclamation of the Ten Commandments. The Gemara in Masekhet Kiddushin (31a) tells of the reaction of the other nations to these commandments: "When the Almighty said, 'I am the Lord your God' and 'You shall not have other deities,' the nations of the world said: He demands this for His own honor. But when they heard, 'Honor your father and your father,' they turned around and conceded to the first commandments." In other words, the other peoples were not impressed, so-to-speak, by the first commandments, which demanded Benei Yisrael's exclusive allegiance to God. When, however, the Almighty legislated not only obedience to Him, but respect for one's parents, as well, people of other faiths changed their entire perspective on the Ten Commandments. Wherein lies the meaning and significance of this passage? What exactly did the people of other beliefs think initially, and how did the fifth commandment, to honor parents, change their perspective? An insightful explanation is suggested by Rav Yaakov Moshe Lessin, in his "Derekh Chayim." The pagan religions of the time believed in the existence of God, but denied His involvement in human affairs. They could not imagine that the omnipotent God that created and governs the universe could have any interest in flesh and blood, in what we do and how we act. (This is why they worshipped lower-level forces, so-to-speak, such as the sun, the constellations, stone, etc.) In fact, Benei Yisrael themselves had come under this influence. Just recently, in Parashat Beshalach, we find thquestioning, "Is the Lord in our midst, or not?" (17:7). Benei Yisrael had yet to become convinced that God concerns Himself with the needs of human beings. Naturally, then, as they entered a barren desert, numbering two million people without any provisions, they panicked and despaired. This explains why, there in Parashat Beshalach, they express anger at Moshe for having taken them from Egypt. Though they lived as slaves, they still received food. But in the desert, who will feed them? Certainly not God, they argued, who had "better things" to do than worry about a group of former slaves wandering in the wilderness. This, Rav Lessin explains, is what made the entire event of Ma'amad Har Sinai so crucial for the development of Benei Yisrael. By beholding God's Presence and hearing Him, so-to-speak, they became convinced once and for all of the interaction between heaven and earth, of God's interest in and concern for what occurs down below. At first, however, this revelation did not convince the pagan world. "He demands this for His own honor." God descended, as it were, from the heavens merely to ensure that He is acknowledged; this in no way, they thought, undermined their theory that He has no interest in human affairs. This misconception lasted until God proclaimed the mitzva to honor one's parents. This proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that God's will relates to day-to-day life, beginning in one's home. He demands not merely the abstract, cognitive, philosophical awareness of His existence, but a strict and detailed moral code, which governs every facet of human life. For the pagan world, this was, indeed, a "revelation," a revolutionary notion. Rav Lessin cites a Midrashic passage which understands the first commandment, "I am the Lord your God who took you from Egypt," as an admonition against ingratitude. The acknowledgment of God who released us from bondage represents the more general theme of appreciation. Once we understand the fundamental message underlying Matan Torah, of the connection between heaven and earth, between awareness and conduct, we can understand how Chazal superimposed this theme onto the first commandment. The concept of "I am the Lord your God" may not remain in the abstract; it must rather be translated into concrete, practical terms. Once God commands us to honor our parents, show concern for the property and life of others, and deal honestly with people, we must approach the first two commandments with a similar mindset. The lofty ideas and concepts of faith and belief must find practical expression in the way we behave and conduct ourselves in every area of life. ****** A famous passage in the Gemara (Masekhet Shabbat 88b) gives an account of Moshe's experience when he first ascended Mount Sinai. The angels turned to God and asked, "What is a human being doing here with us?" The Almighty instructed Moshe to respond. Moshe proceeded to go through the Ten Commandments, one by one, showing their inapplicability to the angels. For example, "I am the Lord your God who took you from the land of Egypt" can apply only to those who suffered the Egyptian bondage . "You shall not have any other gods besides Me" can be conveyed only to a nation living among pagans with the constant challenge of having to resist false ideologies and religious ideas. "You shall not commit adultery" can be said only to those who experience temptation, and so on. The Gemara concludes that the angels conceded and made no further objection to the Torah's transmission to Benei Yisrael. What are we to learn from this account? Rav Yoel Ha-levi Hertzog of Paris, in his Imrei Yoel, explains by drawing an analogy to a child studying Jewish customs in school. He is taught about the observance of Yom Kippur, the obligation to refrain from all food or drink for the entire day. As a small child, however, he will obviously eat as much as he likes on the sacred Day of Atonement. Cognitively, he might know just as much about the laws of Yom Kippur as his parents. Experientially, however, his appreciation of the halakhot of this day in no way resembles that of his parents, who put nothing in their mouths for a full twenty-five hours. He knows only the theory; they know truly what this day is all about. This, Rav Hertzog suggests, sums up Moshe's response to the angels. They, like the child, can know about Torah, but they cannot relate to Torah. Only someone with a family to feed, debts to pay and a bankrupt business can appreciate the prohibition against stealing; only those who experience rage and anger have the ability to observe "You shall not murder." To understand what it means to serve the Almighty, the temptation has to exist to disobey. And only when a person must leave work unfinished until Sunday morning or close his shop while his competitors keep the doors open, can he internalize the meaning of Shabbat observance. Chazal say many times, "The Torah was not given to the ministering angels." Torah was given to us, to people for whom Torah observance is not easy, to those who must sacrifice, struggle and grapple in order to obey the commandments. All too often, however, we approach Torah and mitzvot with the precisely opposite perspective. We decide to observe only that which is convenient, whatever fits into our schedules, the rituals which we personally find meaningful and enjoyable, and the areas of Judaism that suit our interests. We sometimes prefer to leave the Torah in the heavens, with the angels, rather than bring it down from Sinai into our homes, our workplaces, our vacations, and every other facet of life. Our relationship to our tradition then becomes like that of the child to Yom Kippur. We know it's there, but we don’t feel the need to do anything about it. With the giving of the Torah, God's law was taken away from the angels and given to us, specifically because of our human limitations, specifically because we must invest maximum effort and often make difficult sacrifices to observe the mitzvot. ****** The fifth of the Ten Commandments requires one to respect his parents: "Honor your father and your mother… " Earlier this week, we saw a passage in the Gemara stating that this commandment "impressed," so-to-speak, the gentile nations. Whereas the first four commandments could have been mistakenly attributed to God's own interests, Heaven forbid, this fifth commandment, which introduces a series of laws governing interpersonal relationships, proves that the Almighty conveyed these commandments not for His own needs, but rather as a means of elevating the spiritual and moral fabric of mankind. Today we will deal with the fifth commandment itself, its intrinsic significance and unique importance. One could ask as to why honoring parents has earned a place among the ten principal guidelines of the Torah. When viewed on a microcosmic scale, the final five commandments more or less run the gamut of interpersonal relationships, addressing respect for the bodies, property, and families of others, encompassing both deed, speech and thought. That certain people demand a more rigorous standard of treatment is certainly important, but why would this warrant a new commandment? Wherein lies the unique quality of this mitzva for which it earns entry into the Ten Commandments? Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary to Shemot 20, explains that it is this commandment that ensures the transmission of the Torah. (This idea was actually expressed earlier, by Rav Yosef Albo, in his Sefer Ha-ikarim 3:18.) Without respect for the previous generation, the current generation can never receive tradition; it will focus its energies instead on new ideas and laws, rather than internalizing the teachings of the past. "Honor your father and your mother," according to Rav Hirsch, involves more than mere appreciation and gratitude for all they have done for their children (though this element is hard to overlook). It molds the younger generation's mindset such that it will lend a listening ear and thereby become a receptacle for the traditions and values of its predecessors. Iis interesting to note that although honoring parents has made its way into the Ten Commandments, the obligation to respect scholars has not. Theoretically, in light of Rav Hirsch's theory, this latter mitzva is as suitable a candidate for inclusion in the Ten Commandments as honoring parents; it, too, serves to help ensure the successful transmission of Torah from one generation to the next. This perhaps underscores the centrality of the family and home in the process of mesora (the process of transmission). It is mainly here, in the home, where Jewish tradition is perpetuated; children learn primarily from their parents, who play the central and pivotal role in this eternal mission of transmitting our tradition. They must form the children's link to Sinai, and the respect they receive from their children must help facilitate this process of extending the golden, eternal chain of Torah tradition. ****** The final of the Ten Commandments is "lo tachmod," generally translated as, "You shall not covet." The Torah forbids one from looking upon the possessions of others with an eye to seize it. Some writers have observed that this final commandment should, seemingly, negate the necessity for the eighth commandment - "lo tignov," "You shall not steal." If the Torah already forbids desiring the property of others, then certainly one may not actually proceed to take it. Why, then, did God allocate two commandments for these two prohibitions? (Rashi and Ramban interpret "lo tignov" as a reference to kidnapping, rather than theft; Ibn Ezra and Seforno, by contrast, claim that lo tignov encompasses stealing both people and property.) Rav Yehuda Leib Ginzburg, in his Yalkhut Yehuda, answers that "lo tignov" forbids theft even of a type that is not preceded by covetous feelings. The Gemara in Masekhet Bava Metzia (61b) explicitly applies the prohibition against theft to instances where one has no intention of keeping the money, for example, if one steals only to disturb his fellow, or with the intention from the outset of repaying the stolen property. Similarly, Torat Kohanim (in Parashat Kedoshim) forbids one from "stealing" that which belongs to him from the possession of another without the due process of law. In all these cases, the thief steals without ever having desired the property of another person. We can therefore understand why a separate commandment of "You shall not steal" is necessary, as it forbids even theft that is not preceded by greed. It thus turns out that crimes such as theft are forbidden even if they are committed in such a way that they do not infringe upon the property of others. The standard by which the Ten Commandments demand that we live allows no room for the seizure of someone else's possessions independent of the financial loss incurred as a result. Our respect for other people and for the general value of law and order preclude the possibility of the unlawful appropriation of property under any circumstances. ****** Yesterday we briefly discussed the final of the Ten Commandments, "Lo tachmod" - "You shall not covet." Many writers have raised the question as to how God could possibly issue such a command. Can a person control his thoughts and emotions such that he will not as much as desire some object that belongs to another? Obviously the Torah can order one to overcome such wishes and longings, and withstand the temptation to seize the given property, but how can it command us to eliminate these feelings altogether? Perhaps the simplest answer is to explain that the Torah forbids not the instinctive reaction to a given item or piece of property belonging to another, but rather following up on those feelings. The Torah requires one to resign himself to the other person's possession of this item, disquieting as this may be, rather than designing schemes to somehow acquire it. This is indeed the implication of the Rambam, who writes that "lo tachmod" forbids scheming to acquire an object belonging to someone else (Hilkhot Gezeila 1:9). In a famous passage, the Ibn Ezra takes a different approach to "lo tachmod." He draws an analogy to a poor peasant living in a large empire who has no aspirations of marrying the princess. The impossibility of such a scenario is so self-evident that it does not allow for any concrete desire or wish towards that end. Similarly, the Ibn Ezra explains, "lo tachmod" requires that we look upon the property of others as so absolutely "off limits" that we cannot as much as even entertain any substantive wish to acquire it. It is told that Rav Meir Chadash, the famous "mashgiach" of the Chevron Yeshiva, said that in the renowned yeshiva of Slobodka this analogy drawn by the Ibn Ezra was reversed. The rabbis in the yeshiva would say that the precise opposite is true: A person must look at himself not as a lowly peasant with no aspirations of royalty, but to the contrary, as a prominent nobleman with regal stature. And how could someone of such prominence marry a peasant girl? Meaning, we are to view ourselves with too much importance to permit ourselves to "marry" the mundane and materialistic areas of life, rather than the "royal" realm of Torah and mitzvot. Beyond the obvious point emerging from this comment, as to how the Torah expects us to look at ourselves, this notion perhaps presents us with a new perspective on "lo tachmod." As opposed to the Ibn Ezra, who views this commandment as requiring a certain attitude towards property that does not belong to us, this approach sees "lo tachmod" as forbidding (or at least intended to discourage) a preoccupation with the mundane. Someone who focuses his energy and mind on the more important issues in life, is more likely to have little interest in property belonging to other people. Such an interest arises more commonly in those whose minds are preoccupied with wealth and possessions, who are thus inclined to take note of the property of others and long to acquire it.
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