The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT KI TISA

By Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Ki-Tisa tells of the unfortunate incident of chet ha-egel, the sin of the golden calf, when just forty days after receiving the Torah Benei Yisrael betrayed the basic principles of the Torah by fashioning and worshipping a golden image.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (4b) makes the following astounding statement concerning chet ha-egel: "Israel were not deserving of this incident… So why did they do this?  So that…if the nation sins they will be told, 'Go look at the [sin of] the nation'."  (The Gemara makes a similar comment regarding the incident of King David and Batsheva.)  On the surface, the Gemara seems to imply that Benei Yisrael were well beyond the level at which they could have committed such a grave transgression.  This incident occurred only to establish a precedent of repentance for future sinners to follow.  Meaning, if at some later point Am Yisrael commit a sin of similar severity to the golden calf, they could look to their ancestors' successful efforts to repent as a source of inspiration and encouragement in their endeavor to recover from their mistakes and repair their strained relationship with God.  This is indeed how Rashi appears to interpret this passage: "They were strong and in control of their [evil] inclination, and their [evil] inclination was not capable of overcoming them, but it was the King's decree that it should control them, in order to offer an opportunity for penitent sinners…"

            This reading seems very difficult on a number of different levels.  Most obviously, it appears to directly conflict with the fundamental belief in human free will, the concept that God does not intervene to cause a person to act piously or sinfully.  Secondly, if, indeed, Benei Yisrael did not commit this sin of their own decision, but were somehow forced into this type of sinful conduct, then their repentance hardly provides any encouragement for subsequent sinners.  After all, Benei Yisrael were understandably capable of recovering from this grave offense because they did not really bear any accountability in the first place.  Their behavior resulted from the disruption of their free will, with which they would have otherwise remained fully obedient to God and never committed this grave offense.  Finally, Benei Yisrael were severely punished for the sin of the golden calf; in fact, the Gemara (Sanhedrin 102a) famously comments that whenever God punishes the Jewish people, He adds a degree of severity as punishment for the ancient sin of the golden calf.  Why would Benei Yisrael be held responsible for this act, if God made it happen to set an example of teshuva?

            These difficulties led Rav Yitzchak Arama, author of Akeidat Yitzchak, to a much different reading of this passage.  In his view, the Gemara here presents Am Yisrael at this point in their history and development as the most drastic example of a group of people whom we would never expect to fall into the spiritual abyss of sin.  Just weeks after beholding God's revelation at Sinai, they were, as a nation, less likely than any other group of people to betray God.  That they were capable of deteriorating as quickly and as drastically as they did demonstrates that sinful tendencies are endemic to all people, that nobody is free from the possibility of sin: "for there is no righteous man in the world who does [only] good and does not sin" (Kohelet 7:20).  When the Gemara describes Benei Yisrael at Mount Sinai as "not deserving of this incident," it means that if anybody would ever appear to be free from the snares of the yetzer ha-ra (evil inclination), it was they.  That they nevertheless committed a grave transgression serves as an invaluable source of hope and encouragement for sinners who feel genuinely remorseful and ashamed of their misconduct.  Chet ha-egel reminds them that sin is a virtually inescapable reality of human existence, and our responsibility is to make a genuine and constant effort to perfect ourselves, rather than allow our mistakes to discourage us or undermine our resolve to improve.

            Tomorrow we will iy"H present possible explanations for Rashi's understanding of the Gemara.

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            Yesterday, we addressed a perplexing comment of the Gemara in Masekhet Avoda Zara (4b) concerning the sin of the golden calf: "Israel were not deserving of this incident… So why did they do this?  So that…if the nation sins they will be told, 'Go look at the [sin of] the nation'."  Rashi, as we saw, explains this to mean that Benei Yisrael were in full control of their evil inclinations and thus would not have ordinarily been susceptible to this type of misconduct.  God, however, decreed that such an incident should occur in order to establish a precedent of repentance on a nationwide scale.  If, at some future point, Benei Yisrael err as grievously as they did at the time of the golden calf, they could point to their ancestors as a model of nationwide repentance for them to follow.  As we mentioned, this passage is difficult to understand on numerous levels, particularly in light of the fundamental precept of human free will.

            The Maharsha explains as follows: "Israel deserved that the Almighty should save them from a grievous sin such as this, for even though 'everything is in the hand of God except for fear of God,' nevertheless, a person is led along the path he chooses to follow."  According to the Maharsha, God did not deny Benei Yisrael their free will, but rather withheld from them the assistance they deserved in their efforts to resist pressures and temptations to sin.  A person who truly wishes and genuinely attempts to live a life of spiritual perfection is generally given the divine assistance he needs to achieve that goal.  In Benei Yisrael's case, however, God withheld this assistance in order to allow them – but not cause them – to stumble and thereby set an inspiring model of teshuva.

            Still, the question remains as to how God could "break His own rules," so-to-speak, with regard to the standard process of bechira (free will).  If spiritually sincere, dedicated people who exert themselves in the pursuit of religious perfection deserve divine assistance, why should Benei Yisrael be denied this right?  And why should they be punished for sinning as a result of the denial of the assistance God normally provides?

            Rav Yehuda Gershuni, in his Sha'arei Tzedek, suggests a slightly different approach to explain the Gemara's comment (as understood by Rashi).  Basing himself on a passage in the Meshekh Chokhma, Rav Gershuni writes that the experience of the revelation at Sinai, during which Benei Yisrael beheld and sensed God's presence like it was never again sensed, effectively eliminated their bechira.  Upon witnessing such an event, it is inconceivable that a nation would as much as consider sinning against the Almighty.  The normal human condition is such that God's presence is concealed, which allows even God-fearing people to occasionally lose sight of His omniscience and the judgment they will ultimately have to face for their conduct during their lifetime.  At Mount Sinai, however, the people were given such a direct "view" – as it were – of the Almighty that they could not then even momentarily feel that they could violate His word and survive.

            According to Rashi's understanding of the Gemara, Rav Gershuni explains, before the sin of the calf God somehow restored the people's natural state of bechira.  He did not deny them their free will, but rather, quite to the contrary, He returned their free will which had been effectively eliminated as a result of the revelation.  He did this, as the Gemara explains, in order to set an important precedent of teshuva that would serve Benei Yisrael on subsequent occasions.  It thus emerges that Benei Yisrael indeed sinned through their own bechira, and not as a result of their having been denied their bechira.

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            The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa describes the inscription on the luchot (tablets containing the commandments) as "the writing of the Lord, engraved on the tablets" (32:16).  A famous Mishna in Masekhet Avot (6:2) suggests that the word charut – "engraved" – in this verse may be read also as cheirut – "freedom" – such that the verse alludes to an association between the divine command and personal freedom.  The Mishna thus infers from this verse the celebrated proverb, "There is no free man other than he who occupies himself in Torah."

            This comment is generally understood as referring to "freedom" from the external and internal pressures that we must frequently resist in our endeavor to live in the faithful service of God.  Intensive involvement in Torah study, as Chazal remark in several different contexts, is the most effective means of combating the natural sinful tendencies within a person as well as external pressures and influences.  Whether one explains this concept on a mystical level – as referring to the spiritual impact of Torah learning upon a person's inner being – or on the practical or psychological level – the natural result of frequent and substantive engagement in, and thorough knowledge of, divine wisdom – the Mishna here has been understood as instructing that we devote ourselves as intensively as possible in Torah learning if for no other reason than to "free" ourselves from the various manifestations of the yetzer ha-ra.

            The question, however, remains, what prompted the Sages to impose this concept upon a verse describing the inscription of the commandments upon the luchot?  Did Chazal decide arbitrarily to change charut to cheirut in order to concoct an artificial source for the "emancipating" effect of Torah study?  Or, did they find some significant association between the inscription on the tablets and the notion of Torah study granting an unparalleled sense of personal freedom?

            Rav Mayer Twersky (http://torahweb.org/torah/2005/parsha/rtwe_kisisa.html) suggested that indeed, the cheirut quality of Torah learning very meaningfully relates to the engraved lettering on the luchot.  The Sages sought to convey the message that a student of Torah achieves personal cheirut from the constraints of his sinful tendencies only if the "letters" are truly "engraved" upon him just as they were upon the tablets.  He must not merely study Torah, but also internalize it, through complete dedication to, and existential identification with, its laws, values and principles.  The charut-cheirut association is thus far more than just a clever play on words.  Chazal viewed the inscription of the commandments upon the stone tablets as symbolic of the "engraving" of the words of Torah upon an individual's mind and heart.  Torah learning indeed grants one the ability to rise above the pressures and tensions created by the evil inclination within him – but on the condition that he allows its messages to become embedded within his soul and permanently engraved upon his heart.

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            We read in Parashat Ki-Tisa of God's harsh response to the sin of the golden calf: "The Lord smote the nation with a plague because they made the calf, which Aharon made" (32:35).  Why does the Torah choose to emphasize in this context Aharon's role in fashioning the golden calf?  Of what relevance is this particular detail to the plague that God visited upon the people?

            The Ramban explains that the Torah here clarifies the distinction between the three thousand violators who were killed by the tribe of Levi, as mentioned earlier (32:28), and those affected by the plague mentioned in this verse.  The Levites were ordered to execute those who actually worshipped the golden calf, whereas the plague was delivered against those who had instigated this incident.  These people had pressured Aharon, who served as the nation's leader in Moshe's absence, to make a graven image for them, and as such they bore primary responsibility for this debacle.  This verse should thus be read as, "The Lord smote the nation with a plague because they made the calf – in that they coerced Aharon to make it."

            Rav Baruch Yitzchak Yissachar Leventhal, in his Birkat Yitzchak (Jerusalem, 5706), suggests a slightly different reading, namely, that the Torah here alludes to the shirking of responsibility on the part of the instigators.  The people who demanded of Aharon that he make a graven image for them to worship denied their guilt and directed an accusing finger at Aharon, who was, after all, the one who collected gold and fashioned the calf.  Different explanations have been offered for why Aharon acted as he did; the most common explanation (as mentioned by Rashi, 32:2) claims that he intended to stall until Moshe's return the following day.  In any event, the group that gathered around Aharon to demand a "god that will go before us" (32:1) sought to absolve themselves of responsibility by casting the blame squarely upon Aharon.  And it was for this reason that God brought a deadly plague upon the nation.  He would have perhaps been prepared to forgive the instigators had they admitted their guilt and displayed remorse.  It was because they insistently avowed innocence and absolved themselves of culpability that God reacted as harshly as He did.

            This verse thus teaches the importance of accepting responsibility and admitting guilt.  While we cannot be expected to be perfect, we are most certainly expected to acknowledge our imperfections as part of a genuine effort to work towards perfection.

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            Parashat  Ki-Tisa features the famous narrative of chet ha-egel, the sin of the golden calf, which began when Benei Yisrael became anxious over Moshe's extended stay atop Mount Sinai.  They approached Aharon, who was appointed the leader in Moshe's absence, and demanded, "Go make a god for us, for this man, Moshe – we do not know what happened to him" (32:1).

            Rashi, citing the Gemara (Shabbat 89a), comments that the people's concern resulted from an image shown to them by the Satan, of Moshe lying lifeless in a coffin atop Mount Sinai.  This image misled the nation into thinking that Moshe had died, thus prompting them to search for an alternative form of leadership.

            Often, Chazal employ the figure of the Satan as an allegorical reference to a familiar manifestation of the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination.  When we find a description of the Satan intervening to convince a person – or, in this instance, an entire nation – to pursue a certain mode of action, it often refers to a negative tendency or thought process that the Sages urge us to avoid.

            In this instance, then, the depiction of the Satan showing an image of a deceased Moshe likely refers to a certain tendency that was at least partially responsible for Benei Yisrael's tragic mistake in this episode.  To what particular manifestation of the yetzer ha-ra might Chazal be referring in this context?  What kind of tendency is implied by the image of a deceased Moshe?

            One approach, perhaps, is to explain Moshe's image as representing his teachings and legacy.  Chazal here perhaps allude to the tendency among some to declare torat Moshe "dead," irrelevant or outdated, the moment complications arise, as soon as it appears to remain "atop Mount Sinai."  During times of rapid cultural change and social upheavals, questions naturally arise in the minds of some Jews as to whether "Moshe" will indeed "come down from the mountain" – whether the Torah can retain its relevance and stature as the guiding and authoritative creed of Am Yisrael.  As new realities surface, it may at first appear that Moshe remains on the mountain and has nothing to say concerning the new and rapidly changing state of affairs.  In response, some might be tempted to determine that Moshe has "died," that the ancient teachings of the Torah and its Sages no longer bear any relevance as they did under the circumstances of yesteryear.

            More broadly, perhaps, this comment of the Sages perhaps refers to the tendency among many people to immediately think the worst when circumstances do not play themselves out as planned.  All people occasionally encounter unanticipated situations, and often life takes us along a different route from the one we had attempted to follow.  As soon as Benei Yisrael noticed that Moshe failed to return at the anticipated time, they immediately envisioned him lying in a coffin; they assumed the worst, rather than remaining hopeful and patiently waiting to see what would happen.  When people instinctively assume the worst, they are prone to take drastic measures in response to what they perceive as a dire situation, such as was the case with the golden calf.  The portrayal of the Satan is thus perhaps intended to teach that we should respond to unexpected circumstances with patience and sound, levelheaded measures, rather than impulsively "pressing the panic button" and reaching drastic conclusions.

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            Parashat Ki-Tisa records God's command to Moshe regarding the shemen ha-mishcha, the anointing oil which he was to prepare and use for the formal consecration of the Mishkan, its appurtenances, and the kohanim.  God begins His instructions by ordering Moshe, "Kach lekha" – that he should "take for himself" the various ingredients and blend them into a special anointing oil.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (3b) cites a debate between Rabbi Yoshiya and Rabbi Yonatan as to precise implication of this phrase, kach lekha ("take for yourself").  According to one view, whenever God employs this expression in His instructions to Moshe, He means that Moshe must supply the stated materials from his own, personal resources.  The other view contends that to the contrary, this phrase indicates that Moshe was to solicit donations of the stated materials from the people.  There are thus two opinions as to whether the materials for the anointing oil were supplied personally by Moshe, or solicited from the nation.

            A number of writers noted that a verse later in Sefer Shemot appears to provide conclusive evidence that Moshe did not personally supply these materials.  In Parashat Vayakhel (35:27-28) the Torah writes explicitly that the nesi'im, the twelve tribal leaders, supplied a number of the more costly materials needed for the construction of the Mishkan, including the oil for the menora and the shemen ha-mishcha.  Clearly, then, the anointing oil was donated not by Moshe, but by the nesi'im.  Moshe had requested that the people donate the necessary materials, and the nesi'im volunteered to provide the items listed in Parashat Vayakhel, including the oil.  How, then, could one view claim that God demanded that specifically Moshe supply the oil for the shemen ha-mishcha?

            Several Acharonim, including the Meshekh Chokhma (here in Ki-Tisa) and the Netziv (Eimek Ha-netziv, Behaalotekha), explained that this debate hinges on a different issue concerning the definition of the word nesi'im in the aforementioned verse in Parashat Vayakhel.  Rashi there cites an interpretation from the Sifrei (Parashat Naso) that accepts the straightforward reading of this verse, namely, that the tribal leaders donated the oil.  The Gemara, however, in Masekhet Yoma (75a), explains that the word nesi'im in this verse refers to the clouds that descended upon the Israelite camp along with the manna each morning.  It was these clouds, the Gemara claims, rather than the tribal leaders, that brought the materials listed in Parashat Vayakhel, including the oil.  Apparently, the view claiming that Moshe was personally responsible to supply the oil accepted this second reading of the account in Parashat Vayakhel, that the oil arrived in the camp miraculously.  Moshe then took the oil and designated it for use in the preparation of the shemen ha-mishcha.

            As some writers have noted, however, an additional question arises with regard to a different verse, in Parashat Teruma (25:6), where God mentions the anointing oil in the list of materials that Moshe was to collect from the people.  If God wanted Moshe to personally provide the oil, and He even sent the oil down from the heavens along with the manna for this purpose, why did He include it in the list of materials to be donated by the nation?

            The Or Ha-chayim (here in Ki-Tisa) suggested, very simply, that in Parashat Teruma God lists in general terms all the materials that would be necessary for the construction of the Mishkan and its accessories.  He then later specified that the oil should be supplied specifically by Moshe, rather than by any other member of the nation.

            Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima, raises the possibility of offering an entirely different reading of the Gemara.  When the Gemara records the view explaining the phrase kach lekha to mean "mi-shelkha" ("from yours"), it perhaps means simply that the oil should be kept securely under Moshe's auspices.  Ibn Ezra, in his Peirush Ha-katzar, in fact suggests interpreting kach lekha as indicating that Moshe should keep the oil in his personal possession, rather than entrusting it to somebody else.  Similarly, the Midrash Ha-gadol comments on this phrase, "…that you shall be the treasurer over it."  Possibly, then, the Gemara's comment that kach lekha indicates "mi-shelkha" might refer not to the requirement that Moshe personally donate the oil, but rather to God's insistence that only Moshe watch over the oil after it is donated.  This view is thus fully consistent with the inclusion of oil in the list of materials that Moshe was to solicit from the people.

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            In Parashat Ki-Tisa, God concludes His commands to Moshe regarding the Mishkan with a command concerning the obligation of Shabbat: "And you shall speak to the Israelites, and say: 'But you shall observe My Shabbatot…'" (31:13).  As the commentators explain, the word akh ("but") indicates a connection between this verse and the preceding verses.  God instructs that Shabbat observance must continue despite the command to build a Mishkan.  Notwithstanding the importance of this project, it does not override the Shabbat prohibitions.  Professor Nechama Leibowitz noted that this tension between Shabbat and the Mishkan is further expressed in the opening clause of this verse: "Ve-ata daber el Benei Yisrael…"  ("And you shall speak to the Israelites…").  God in effect tells Moshe, "You, the same person who teaches the people about building the Mishkan, must also speak to them about observing Shabbat."  Though these two mitzvot might appear incongruous, the same Moshe who brought God's command to build a Mishkan also announces the obligation to desist from this activity every week on Shabbat.

            The construction of the Mishkan exemplifies the value of human productivity – taking the raw materials of the earth and utilizing them to progress the world in a meaningful way.  A number of sources indicate a relationship between the building of the Mishkan and the creation of the world.  Most famously, the Gemara comments in Masekhet Berakhot (55a), "Betzalel [who led the construction of the Mishkan] knew how to combine the letters with which heaven and earth were created."  In a sense, the construction of the Mishkan represents the converse of the creation of the world: God created the world as a residence for mankind, and Benei Yisrael constructed a Mishkan as a residence for God.  The Mishkan thus signifies the highest manifestation of the "creativity" that we are to display as part of the obligation to follow the example set by the Creator Himself.

            Shabbat, of course, represents just the opposite – passivity and withdrawal.  God therefore had to emphasize that notwithstanding the nation's responsibility to construct a Mishkan, to create and develop the world, they must also observe Shabbat – a day of withdrawal and cessation from normal activity.  As much as the Torah values work and proactive involvement in developing the earth, it nevertheless demands the observance of Shabbat as an everlasting reminder of our covenant with the Almighty: "for it is a sign between Me and you for all generations…"

            The Gemara comments (Shabbat 16a), "The Almighty said to Moshe: I have in My treasuries a hidden gift, and it is called 'Shabbat'; I would like to give it to Israel."  Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that God describes Shabbat as a "hidden gift" because its benefit is not readily obvious.  It imposes numerous restrictions upon the individual and denies him the opportunity to earn income one day a week.  The "gift" quality of Shabbat is thus "concealed," it is something that cannot be seen on the surface.  We might add that the theme of withdrawal from the cultivating the earth appears inconsistent with the message of the Torah, which begins with God creating Adam and placing him in the Garden of Eden "to till it and to guard it" (Bereishit 2:15).  It is only upon further reflection, when we consider the proper balance between proactive development of the earth and the importance of withdrawing and acknowledging God's mastery over the world, do we understand and appreciate how Shabbat observance is indeed a precious gift given to us by the Almighty.