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PARASHAT TETZAVEH

By Rav David Silverberg

            The first half of Parashat Tetzaveh outlines the laws and requirements concerning the bigdei kehuna, the priestly garments, which God commanded that Benei Yisrael prepare for Aharon and his sons for the purpose of "le-kadesho le-khahano li" – "to sanctify him to serve Me" (28:3).

            The Lev Samei'ach (commentary to the Rambam's Sefer Ha-mitzvot), in mitzvat asei 33, interprets these two terms – le-kadesho and ­le-khahano li – as references to two different but simultaneous functions served by the bigdei kehuna.  The term le-khahano li refers to these garments' role with respect to the Temple service.  The unique, sacred quality of these rituals requires that they be performed with special garments that reflect honor and grandeur ("le-khavod u-le-tif'aret" – 28:2).  In this sense, the garments are necessary as a precondition for the performance of the avoda.  But in addition, the priestly vestments are intended for the purpose of le-kadesho, to give honor to the kohanim themselves.  According to the Lev Samei'ach, the obligation of le-kadesho corresponds to the mitzva of "ve-kidashto" (Vayikra 21:8), which requires Benei Yisrael to treat the kohanim with respect in recognition of their special status.  The notion of le-kadesho requires the kohanim to themselves reflect this status by wearing special garments as they carry out their priestly duties.

            On the basis of this theory, the Lev Samei'ach explains why the Rambam classified wearing the bigdei kehuna as one of the Torah's 248 positive commands.  As the Ramban noted, donning the priestly garments seems to be but a necessary prerequisite for the avoda, and thus should not be afforded the status of an independent obligation.  The Lev Samei'ach explains that beyond their role of preparing the kohen for the avoda, the priestly garments serve as well the role of le-kadesho, of reflecting the unique status and stature of the priestly tribe, and, as such, wearing the bigdei kehuna indeed constitutes an independent obligation.

            The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 98:4) rules that it is proper for one to designate special garments for prayer "similar to the bigdei kehuna."  In light of this comparison and the Lev Samei'ach's analysis of the bigdei kehuna, we may perhaps assign a corresponding, dual role to the special garments that one should designate for prayer.  On one level, of course, these garments are to serve the purpose of le-khahano li, as a demonstration of respect to the act of prayer.  But additionally, wearing special garments for prayer has the effect of le-kadesho, showing honor and respect to oneself.  This requirement ensures that at least three times every day, the Jew is dressed respectfully and appears dignified – something which can have a profound effect on his self-image and sense of self-worth.  It reminds us that we, like the kohanim, are designated for an important role and higher calling, that we are to conduct ourselves as God's loyal servants and devote our lives to the fulfillment of this sacred mission.

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            The opening verse of Parashat Tetzaveh records God's command that Benei Yisrael supply shemen zayit zakh, pure olive oil, for the kindling of the menora in the Mishkan.  The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 36:1), commenting on this verse, elaborates on the symbolic significance of olive oil, noting that the prophet Yirmiyahu (11:16) likens Benei Yisrael to an olive: "The Lord has named you a fresh olive, a beautiful, comely fruit."  In explaining this analogy, the Midrash points to a number of similarities between Am Yisrael and the olive, including, "Just as an olive is crushed and then produces its oil, so do Israel: the nations of the world come and beat them, and they then repent and the Almighty answers them."  The olive's production of oil as a result of pressing is thus symbolic of Benei Yisrael's return to God in response to persecution.

            Rav Simcha Bunim Sofer, in his Shevet Sofer, notes the seeming discrepancy between the tone of the verse cited by the Midrash, and the Midrash's comment on that verse.  Yirmiyahu appears to draw this analogy as an expression of praise for Benei Yisrael, whereas the Midrash seems to explain this analogy as a condemnation of Israel, who must be beaten and persecuted in order to return to the path of observance.  The answer, the Shevet Sofer suggests, is that the Midrash lauds Benei Yisrael for their positive response to suffering.  Most other people respond to misfortune with more rebellion, with more forceful rejection of their faith.  The Jewish people, however, have traditionally responded to crisis and calamity with teshuva, by humbly acknowledging the truthfulness of divine justice and committing themselves to improve and be deserving of better fortune.  (The story of Megilat Ester, of course, immediately comes to mind as a clear and apropos example of this response to persecution.)

            This Midrash thus commends Benei Yisrael's steadfast loyalty and devotion to God, how even times of hardship are seen as opportunities for growth and improvement, rather than serving as a catalyst for rebellion and rejection.  Our nation's fealty to its tradition does not buckle under the pressure of challenge; to the contrary, these challenges often help bolster our resolve and determination, increase our "production" and raise our level of commitment.

            This symbolic approach to the oil of the menora might relate to another, more common explanation of the oil's symbolic meaning.  The menora has traditionally been viewed as representing Torah wisdom, which provides "light" that guides and directs us through life.  The requirement to use specifically "pure" olive oil symbolizes the importance of honest objectivity while studying and interpreting the Torah.  Our process of study must not be "adulterated" by preconceived notions or personal agendas; it must "pure," honest and impartial.  Just as our devotion to mitzva observance must remain steadfast even in the face of hardship and persecution, so must our study of Torah remain unaffected by external pressures.  The "pure" olive oil symbolizes the need for honest, objective interpretation of the Torah even if this results in inconvenient or unfashionable conclusions.  Just as we have remained committed to our traditions even when we were "crushed" by our enemies, so must we remain committed to honest Torah learning even in the face of external pressures and opposition.

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            The final verses of Parashat Tetzaveh introduce the obligation to offer the ketoret, the incense offering, twice each day: "Aharon shall offer incense spices on it [the incense altar]; each morning, when he cleans the lamps [of the menora], he shall offer it.  And when Aharon kindles the lamps in the afternoon he shall offer it" (30:7-8).  Intriguingly, the Torah establishes a link between the two rituals of the ketoret offering and the kindling of the menora.  How might we understand this association between these two mitzvot?

            The Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Yehuda Amital shlit"a (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/shemot/20-65tetzaveh.htm), suggested an approach by noting the symbolism of the ketoret and the kindling of the menora.  Halakha requires that nobody be present inside the Mikdash when the kohen offers the ketoret (see Rambam, Hilkhot Temidin U-musafin 3:3, based on numerous Talmudic sources).  This perhaps reflects a certain mystical, "off-limits" quality to this ritual.  It represents the areas of Torah that are not accessible to one and all, that only select individuals are privileged to probe and understand.  The ketoret spices are placed on coals and produce a thick cloud, symbolizing obscurity and vagueness, the lack of clarity and comprehension.  This theme directly contrasts with the symbolism of the menora's light, which represents clear understanding and guidance.

            Thus, the association drawn by the Torah between these two rituals, between the obscurity of the ketoret and the clarity of the menora, alludes to the proper balance one maintain in his attitude towards Torah learning and practice.  We are bidden, on the one hand, to follow the model of the menora, to endeavor to explain and understand to whatever extent possible.  At the same time, however, we must also bear in mind the theme of the ketoret, and acknowledge the mysterious quality of Torah, that there is much that we do not, and likely will never, properly understand.  Observant Jews must be prepared to learn and practice with both clarity and confusion, to understand what can be understood and accept that which cannot.

            Shortly after Benei Yisrael's departure from Egypt, they arrived in Mara, where, as Rashi famously cites from the Talmud, Moshe taught them a small sampling of mitzvot, including para aduma and dinim (civil laws).  The laws of para aduma, the procedure whereby one divests himself of the status of tum'a, is commonly perceived as paradigmatic of mitzvot whose underlying rationale eludes human comprehension.  The Torah's code of civil law, by contrast, is a legal system that can be easily understood and appreciated as a necessary and logical means of protecting people's rights and property.  In order to gradually initiate Benei Yisrael into Torah life, Moshe presented to them a sample of both areas of Torah law – the ketoret and the menora.  He wanted them to experience, on the one hand, the logic and common sense underlying many aspects of Halakha, and, on the other, the "mysterious" quality of Torah, the rituals that we obediently perform despite our inability to fully grasp their underlying rationale.

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            One of the bigdei kehuna (priestly garments) described in Parashat Tetzaveh is the me'il, or robe, worn by the kohen gadol (28:31-35).  Rashi (28:4) writes that the me'il, essentially, is the same kind of garment as the kutonet, the tunic, another of the bigdei kehuna.  The kohen wore the kutonet directly on his skin and the me'il on top of the kutonet, but they were both the same kind of garment, the only difference being that the me'il was made entirely from tekhelet, whereas the kutonet was produced from linen (see 28:31 and 28:39).

            The Ramban, however, disagrees, claiming that the me'il differed from the kutonet in that it had no sleeves.  The kutonet was a long shirt, whereas the me'il was open entirely along the sides, similar to the tallit katan customarily worn today.  The Ramban seeks to prove his position from the fact that in many instances in Tanakh, wearing a me'il is described with the verb a.t.h., which, in the Ramban's view, refers to a loose, draping garment, rather than a garment fitted around one's body.  This term is therefore more appropriate in the context of an open robe draped over the kohen gadol's body, rather than a closed shirt.  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Kelei Ha-mikdash (9:3), describes the me'il in accordance with the Ramban's view, as an open robe, whereas the Ra'avad disagrees, seemingly following Rashi's interpretation.

            A passage in Masekhet Yoma (72a) appears, at least at first glance, to lend support to the position of Rashi and the Ra'avad.  The Gemara there comments that generally speaking, all the bigdei kehuna were produced through weaving, rather than stitching, the only exception being the garments' sleeves, which were woven separately and then stitched to the garments.  As the Gemara cites from a Berayta, "The sleeve of the priestly garments was woven separately and [then] attached to the garment."  Now the only two priestly garments which could have had sleeves were the me'il and the kutonet.  Thus, if the Berayta speaks of "the sleeve of the priestly garments," in the plural form, it must assume that the me'il, like the kutonet, was a closed shirt with sleeves.

            Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima (Parashat Tetzaveh, appendix 12), suggests that the Rambam and Ramban likely had before them a different text of the Gemara.  The Dikdukei Sofrim cites a manuscript of the Talmud where this Berayta is cited slightly differently: "Their sleeve was woven separately…"  Rather than making reference to "the sleeves of the priestly garments," this version speaks only of "their sleeve."  This text allows for the possibility that the Berayta refers specifically to the kohanim's tunics, and does not include the me'il, which, according to the Rambam and Ramban, did not have sleeves.

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            Yesterday, we discussed the debate among the Rishonim regarding the formation of the me'il, the robe worn by the kohen gadol.  One view (Rashi, Ra'avad) describes the me'il as a long shirt, whereas others (Rambam, Ramban) held that the me'il was open on both sides.  According to the second opinion, the me'il resembled the tallit katan worn today (only much longer), and was an open garment draped over the kohen gadol's head.

            A number of Acharonim addressed the interesting question of why, according to the second view, the me'il did not require tzitzit.  The mitzva of tzitzit requires affixing tzitzit to the corners of a four-cornered garment, and, according to the Rambam and Ramban, the me'il was open on both sides such that it featured four corners, two on either side of the kohen gadol.  Why, then, were tzitzit not required for the me'il?

            Instinctively, one might answer that the Torah suspended the tzitzit obligation with regard to the me'il, just as the prohibition of sha'atnez – which forbids wearing a garment woven with both linen and wool – did not apply to the priestly vestments.  The Torah here perhaps introduces an extraordinary measure that should not be questioned on the basis of normal halakhic guidelines.  However, as the Minchat Chinukh (99) convincingly demonstrates, the Gemara quite clearly implies otherwise.  The Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin (3b) cites a Berayta establishing that kohanim are included in the obligation of tzitzit.  In response to the question of why such an obvious halakha requires explicit mention, the Gemara explains that one might have thought to exempt kohanim from this obligation given the association drawn in the Torah (Devarim 22:11-12) between tzitzit and sha'atnez.  Since kohanim are absolved from the laws of sha'atnez (at least performing the Temple service), one might have exempted them from tzitzit, as well.  The Minchat Chinukh notes that if an exceptional provision applied with regard to the me'il exempting it from tzitzit, then the Gemara could have suggested a far more compelling reason why the Berayta emphasized the kohanim's inclusion in the tzitzit obligation.  Namely, since the kohen gadol wore the me'il without first affixing tzitzit, one might have erroneously concluded that the obligation of tzitzit does not apply to the kohanim.  The fact that the Gemara did not advance such an argument appears to prove that the me'il, for whatever reason, did not meet the criteria required for a garment to be obligated in tzitzit, and was not exempted simply by a gezeirat ha-katuv, an extraordinary provision.

            The Minchat Chinukh explains that the me'il was not obligated in tzitzit because it was not owned by the kohen gadol.  The Gemara in Masekhet Chulin (136a) explicitly exempts borrowed garments from the tzitzit obligation; one must affix tzitzit only to a four-cornered garment that he owns and wears.  Since the me'il belonged to hekdesh, the Temple treasury, and not to the kohen gadol personally, it did not require tzitzit. 

            Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima (Parashat Tetzaveh, appendix 13), questions this approach, noting that the exemption for borrowed garments perhaps applies only to garments that can be retrieved by the owner at any moment.  Nobody other than the kohen gadol could or would ever wear the me'il, and in fact, according to the Rambam (Hilkhot Kelei Ha-mikdash chapter 8), the kohen gadol could wear his special garments whenever he wished, and not merely during the avoda.  Conceivably, then, these garments could be deemed his property with respect to the obligation of tzitzit, and not borrowed garments.

            The Keli Chemda suggests a different explanation for why tzitzit were not affixed to the corners of the me'il.  Any addition to the bigdei kehuna beyond the material prescribed by the Torah would disqualify the kohen's service, given the rule of ribuy begadim, which requires that the kohen be dressed during the avoda only in the garments specified by the Torah.  It was therefore halakhically unfeasible to affix tzitzit to the me'il, given that the Torah makes no mention of tzitzit in its description of this garment.  The Keli Chemda writes that according to one view in the Rishonim, the obligation of tzitzit constitutes only an obligation, and not a prohibition.  Meaning, one who wears a four-cornered garment has not transgressed a Torah prohibition; he has merely neglected a Torah obligation.  The practical implication of this perspective is that in a case where tzitzit cannot be obtained by any means, one would be permitted, according to this view, to don a four-cornered garment.   Since no prohibition is transgressed by wearing such a garment without tzitzit, the individual bears merely an obligation to affix tzitzit – an obligation that he is currently unable to fulfill.  Accordingly, the Keli Chemda suggested, the kohen gadol was allowed to don the four-cornered me'il without affixing tzitzit, given the halakhic impossibility of adding material to the priestly garments.

            A particularly novel theory was advanced by Rav Gershon Henoch of Radzhin, in his work Ein Ha-tekhelet, where he cites a passage from the Zohar to the effect that the bells and pomegranate-shaped adornments along the edge of the me'il functioned as the garment's tzitzit.  It thus turns out that according to the Zohar, the me'il in fact did have tzitzit, thereby obviating this entire discussion.  One might, of course, argue in response that the Zohar never intended this analogy as a halakhic statement concerning the status of the me'il with respect to the tzitzit obligation, and referred only to the symbolic meaning of this garment.

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            On Shabbat Zakhor, the Shabbat immediately preceding Purim, we read as the maftir reading the final verses of Parashat Ki-Teitzei, which introduce the command to destroy the wicked nation of Amalek and always remember their crime against Benei Yisrael.  Am Yisrael's campaign against Amalek is among the cases of a milchemet mitzva, a war that we are obligated to wage.  Halakha also recognizes the concept of a milchemet reshut, a war that is not obligatory but permissible under certain conditions.

            The Ramban, in presenting the list of mitzvot which, in his view, the Rambam erroneously omitted from his listing (lo ta'aseh 17), discusses the question of whether consultation with the Urim Ve-tumim is required before waging war.  The Urim Ve-tumim was an oracle-like device worn by the kohen gadol, which would respond to inquiries regarding matters of national concern through the illumination of its letters to spell the given answer.  The device was occasionally consulted when the nation was deciding whether or not to go to war, and, according to the Ramban, this consultation was obligatory.  Before waging any sort of battle – be it a milchemet mitzva or a milchemet reshut – Benei Yisrael were to first seek the permission of the Urim Ve-tumim.  The Ramban cites as the source of this obligation the verse in Sefer Bamidbar (27:21) concerning the appointment of Yehoshua as Moshe's successor: "He [Yehoshua] shall stand before Elazar the [high] priest and inquire through him about the decision of the Urim – in accordance with it shall they go out…"

            Rav Meir Dan Platsky (author of Keli Chemda), in his work Chemdat Yisrael, discusses this issue and notes that the Rambam omitted this obligation from his listing of the mitzvot because he deemed this consultation optional.  In Hilkhot Melakhim (5:2), the Rambam rules that before leading the nation to a milchemet reshut, the king must receive the authorization of the Sanhedrin; before embarking on a milchemet mitzva, the Rambam writes, the king does not require any authorization.  The Rambam makes no mention here at all of a requirement to consult with the Urim Ve-tumim before initiating warfare – even a milchemet reshut – and thus clearly held that this consultation was optional, and not a prerequisite for waging war.

            After noting this dispute between the Rambam and Ramban, the Chemdat Yisrael proceeds to raise the question of why the Ramban required the king to consult with the Urim Ve-tumim before initiating a milchemet mitzva, such as the battle against Amalek.  Suppose the Urim Ve-tumim responded in the negative, denying the nation permission to wage this war that the Torah obligated.  Seemingly, we should apply in such a case the famous rule of lo ba-shamayim hi, that no prophetic source can ever suspend or override Torah law; God will never convey a message through prophecy or any similar means calling for the abrogation of even a single law of the Torah.  It stands to reason that the king should pay no heed to the Urim Ve-tumim's response advising against waging a mandatory war.  Hence, it seems difficult to understand why, in the Ramban's view, the Torah requires consulting the Urim Ve-tumim before waging a milchemet mitzva.

            The Chemdat Yisrael answers by suggesting that the Ramban followed the view of the Chinukh (425), who indicates that the obligation to eradicate the seven Canaanite nations applied only when no threat to life was entailed.  In situations where a member of Am Yisrael would have to endanger his life to wage war against the Canaanite peoples, he was not required to do so.  The Minchat Chinukh disputes this ruling, claiming that by definition, a mitzva to wage war requires risking one's life, and therefore Benei Yisrael are required to wage war in situations of a milchemet mitzva even when this entailed endangering their lives.  If the Ramban followed the Chinukh's view, that Benei Yisrael were to wage a milchemet mitzva only when this did not involve a threat to life, we can perhaps understand why he considered it obligatory to first consult with the Urim Ve-tumim.  The purpose of this inquiry was to determine whether or not the conditions were safe for initiating the given conflict, and the response of the Urim Ve-tumim would thus establish whether or not the mitzva to wage war applied.  Hence, the Chemdat Yisrael explained, the kohen gadol would ask the Urim Ve-tumim not for a halakhic decision, whether or not the given battle was warranted, but rather the practical question of whether the battle would endanger the lives of Benei Yisrael.  (It should be noted that the Ra'a, who many people believe authored the Sefer Ha-chinukh, was a disciple of the Ramban, and it is thus likely that the Chinukh's view concerning milchemet mitzva is indeed based upon a position of the Ramban.)

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            A famous passage in Masekhet Megila (12a) addresses the question of why the Jews were deserving of annihilation during the time of Achashveirosh.  One explanation cited claims that the Jews were sentenced to destruction "because they took part [literally, 'they enjoyed'] in the feast of that evil man [Achashverosh]."  This refers to the lavish, seven-day feast held by Achashverosh to which all residents of Shushan were invited, and the participation of Shushan's Jews in this affair rendered all the Jews of the Persian Empire worthy of destruction.  It should be noted that Achashverosh ordered the officials running this affair "to fulfill the wishes of each and every man" (Ester 1:8), which the Targum explains to mean that kosher food was made available for the Jewish participants.  (According to the Maharsha, this is the Gemara's understanding of this verse, as well – Megila 12a).  Thus, despite the fact that the Jews did not violate the Torah's dietary code at Achashverosh's feast, their participation was nevertheless deemed sinful and warranted their destruction.

            Instinctively, we might explain this harsh decree by viewing the Jews' participation in this feast as reflective of a more general trend of assimilation.  God's anger was kindled not as a result of this particular event, but rather the broader phenomenon that it represented, namely, the developing distance between the Jews and Torah observance, their progressive involvement in Persian society and culture at the expense of their traditions.  After two generations in exile, the Jews no longer saw themselves bound by the ancient laws of their grandparents, and instead saw themselves as full-fledged members of Persian society, as manifest in their participation in Achashverosh's feast.  It was this trend of assimilation that rendered Persia's Jews liable to annihilation.

            However, another, precise opposite approach to the Gemara's comment may be suggested, and is indeed cited in the name of Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook and Rav Yosef Salant (see http://torahweb.org/torah/2004/parsha/ryud_terumah.html).  This approach explains the severity of the Jews' participation in Achashverosh's feast in light of the Gemara's earlier discussion concerning the nature of this celebration.  The Gemara comments that the Persian emperor celebrated what he perceived as the end of the seventy-year period of Jewish exile foreseen by the prophet Yirmiyahu (29:10).  Achashverosh miscalculated and determined that this period had passed without the Jews' redemption, thus disproving Yirmiyahu's prophecy.  He thus concluded that the Jewish exile is a permanent reality, and he celebrated by conducting this lavish feast in which he displayed the articles from the Beit Ha-mikdash that had been looted during the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem.  Achashverosh thereby sought to publicize the permanence of the Jews' exile and the impossibility of their return to their previous condition of power and glory.

            If so, then the Jews' participation in Achashverosh's feast likely reflected their acceptance of the emperor's conclusions, their resignation to living in a foreign land, under foreign rule, without a Beit Ha-mikdash.  This event reflected not the Jews' gradual departure from Torah observance, but rather, to the contrary, their belief that they can live full religious lives in Shushan.  Having despaired from the nation's return to Zion and the reinstatement of the Temple service, the Jews felt satisfied with the observance of their traditions in Persia and entertained no hopes or ambitions of the ideal condition envisioned by the Torah.  They lost sight of the fact that Am Yisrael's full spiritual potential can be realized only with the nation's return to its homeland and the rebuilding of the Beit Ha-mikdash.

            According to this approach, then, the serving of kosher food at Achashverosh's feast embodied the intolerable irony of the Jews' condition in Persia.  They felt content with their strict halakhic observance, without anticipating the Jewish people's return to Eretz Yisrael and the restoration of the kingship and the Temple service.