Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Ki-Tisa tells the story of chet ha-egel - the sin of the golden calf. On the surface, it appears that Benei Yisrael actually worshipped the calf; this seems to be the straightforward reading of several verses in this narrative (most notably, 32:4). Understandably, this reading made several commentators uncomfortable, as it seems hardly likely that just forty days after witnessing God's Revelation Benei Yisrael would make an idol and call it god. Therefore, several writers, perhaps most prominently the Ramban and Rabbi Yehuda Ha-levi, argued that Benei Yisrael never ascribed divine qualities to the calf. Rather, in Moshe's absence, they felt the need for some other physical representation or messenger of God to lead them.

An interesting variation of this approach is suggested by Rav Moshe Feinstein, as recorded in "Derash Moshe." He claimed that Benei Yisrael felt unable to independently reach God and observe His commandments. Realizing as they did that the Torah came to them from the heavens, from God Himself, they assumed their own incompetence with respect to the commandments. Their only hope, they figured, to live up to the demands of the Torah was Moshe Rabbenu. He, they thought, and only he, who had led them from Egypt and brought them to this point, could now take them by the hand as they proceed to the next stage - the covenant of the Torah. Seeing that Moshe has tarried and fearing that he would never return, Benei Yisrael worried about the future of their relationship with God. Without Moshe, who would guide them in their observance of the Torah? Who could help them fulfill their side of their agreement with God if not Moshe? They therefore constructed a calf, which, as we know from Yechezkel's prophecy (1:10), is included in the "merkava" (divine chariot, beheld prophetically by Yechezkel), as their new medium.

The critical error of the golden calf, then, was excessive self-doubt. Rav Moshe explains that a person must have confidence in his ability to obey and observe the Torah, obviously with divine assistance. We do not have the right to despair from mitzvot just because circumstances become difficult. Even in the absence of our "Moshe Rabbenu," when conditions somehow become less conducive for Torah observance, we mustn't resort to artificial substitutes to move us along. Instead, we are expected to draw strength from within ourselves and rely on God's guarantee that when we invest the necessary effort, He will grant us the assistance we need.

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In response to the grave sin of the golden calf, God initially decides to destroy Benei Yisrael and build a new nation through Moshe (Shemot 32:10). Moshe intercedes on his people's behalf, and, with a stirring plea which has become our Torah reading for public fast days, has the decree revoked. As part of his appeal, he invokes God's promise to the patriarchs: "Remember Your servants, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, how You swore to them by Your Self and said to them: I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven, and I will give to your offspring this whole land of which I spoke, and they shall inherit it forever" (32:13). At first glance, Moshe appears to appeal for a pardon for the patriarchs' sake, on the basis of God's promise to make a large nation from their descendants and bring them to Eretz Yisrael.

This reading, however, is difficult to accept. As mentioned, God had planned to destroy Am Yisrael and begin a new people from Moshe. Now Moshe himself was, obviously, a descendent of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. (Moshe was both a grandson and great-grandson of Levi, Yaakov's third child.) God's decree, therefore, in no way violated His oath to the patriarchs. What, then, did Moshe mean through this appeal?

Rav Yaakov David Willowski, in his "Nimukei Ha-ridbaz," explains this verse by closely examining this entire dialogue between the Almighty and Moshe. As the Torah records, God informs Moshe atop Mount Sinai of what the people had done (32:7-8). Then, we read, "The Lord said to Moshe: I see that this is a stiffnecked people. Now, let Me be, that My anger blaze forth against them and that I may destroy them… " (9-10). Two peculiarities strike us when reading these verses. Firstly, why must the Torah repeat, "The Lord said to Moshe… "? He was already speaking to Moshe; why must this be told to us again? Secondly, why must God request that Moshe "let Him be"? (See Rashi.)

Rav Willowski explains that ordinarily, God would delay any definitive sentence against Benei Yisrael to afford them the opportunity to perform teshuva. Thus, after presenting to Moshe the facts, God then addresses this issue, of the possibility of repentance. He tells Moshe, "I see that this is a stiffnecked people." Therefore, "let Me be… " Meaning, there is no use in Moshe's appeal for a delay in anticipation of the nation's teshuva; they are a "sitffnecked" people, who do not accept criticism, who do not yield to external pressures. Any admonition to them calling for their repentance would fall upon deaf ears. They cannot do teshuva, and they will not do teshuva.

Nevertheless, Moshe still advances a plea in the nation's defense. "Let not Your anger, O Lord, blaze forth against Your people, whom You delivered from the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand." Rav Willowski claims that Moshe here focuses not as much on God's role in the Exodus, as would perhaps appear from the verse, but rather on Benei Yisrael's role in making the Exodus possible. This very stubbornness, which perhaps lowers the chances of Benei Yisrael's teshuva, is what enabled them to remain an independent people even during the harshest conditions of exile. Moshe thus takes the very basis of God's argument against Benei Yisrael and turns it around in their favor. They should not suffer, he argues, on account of their inflexibility, because it is this very inflexibility that has brought them to this point. Moshe continues this same argument by invoking God's oath to the patriarchs, His promise that "they shall inherit it forever." Only the current Benei Yisrael, Moshe claims, can ensure the fulfillment of this promise - that they will eternally retain their identity and attachment to Eretz Yisrael. It is precisely because they are stiffnecked that the Almighty cannot destroy them. God's oath to the patriarchs depends upon the nation's tenacious insistence on surviving as a distinct nation even in the face of exile, persecution, and external influences.

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As we discussed two days ago, many commentators throughout the ages have attempted to explain the incident of the golden calf in a manner by which Benei Yisrael did not actually worship the calf as a god. Today we present the approach taken by one twentieth-century writer - Rabbi Moshe Rosen, in his "Ohel Moshe."

The verses indicate that the initiative to make a calf was prompted by Moshe's delayed arrival. The people ask Aharon to fashion for them an image "because that man Moshe, who brought us from the land of Egypt - we do not know what has happened to him" (32:1). Generally, this is taken to mean that the nation presumed that Moshe had died atop the mountain. Indeed, Rashi cites a Midrash that the Satan (usually a metaphor for the evil inclination) showed Benei Yisrael a picture of Moshe's remains. Rabbi Rosen, however, suggests a creative reading of this verse. They feared not that Moshe had died, but rather that he had been transformed on top of the mountain. Seeing how Moshe's stay on the mountain has been extended, the people grew concerned about what kind of leader will return to them. Ever since taking them from Egypt, Moshe had tended to their every need, providing them with food and water and competently ensuring their safe passage through the wilderness. After nearly six weeks speaking with the Almighty, abstafrom food and drink, how, the nation asked, could Moshe possibly concern himself with their basic needs? After returning from such an experience, Moshe could certainly teach them all about mitzvot, spirituality, closeness to the Creator, and so on, but could he worry about providing his people with water? Would they be able to bring to him their monetary disputes, could he take an interest in the mundane demands of leadership, his administrative duties and managerial responsibilities? Benei Yisrael assumed that the answer is no. They say to Aharon, "ki zeh Mosheh HA-ISH" - "that MAN Moshe" - the physical person who led them so effectively until now, will not return. They will receive instead Moshe the angel, so-to-speak, a purely spiritual being who will be too aloof to worry about the people's mundane needs.

They therefore demanded a golden calf to serve this function. They wanted an earthly leader to supplement, as it were, Moshe's spiritual leadership. They feared the standard that would be required by Moshe's exclusive authority, and sought to counterbalance this authority with a more worldly, materialistically oriented leader - the golden calf.

Needless to say, Benei Yisrael were wrong. Moshe Rabbenu's function at Sinai was specifically to bring the Torah down from the heavens to the earth, to establish the sacred alliance between "kodesh" and "chol," between the spiritual and the material, to teach us how to live a physical and spiritual existence simultaneously. Benei Yisrael sinned by driving a wedge between the two, by leaving spirituality to Moshe and creating something different for the mundane. We might add to this discussion the verse's emphasis on the nature of the tablets as Moshe descended the mountain: "Thereupon Moshe turned and went down from the mountain bearing the two tablets of the covenant, tablets inscribed on both their surfaces… The tablets were God's work, and the writing was God's writing" (32:15-16). The image of divine inscription on stone perhaps symbolizes this concept, of imposing the spiritual upon the mundane, the fusion, so-to-speak, between heaven and earth. A famous Midrash claims that Moshe actually "dropped" the tablets; the letters "flew up in the air" from the tablets, at which point they became too heavy for Moshe to bear, and they fell to the ground. Benei Yisrael attempted to separate between the divine inscription and the stone, between the spiritual and the physical. They wanted one set of rules for religious life, and another set of rules for their mundane life. Once that happens, the stones fall to the ground; from Moshe's perspective, the physical life cannot be sustained without the divine inscription.

According to this approach, then, the lesson of the calf is that we cannot keep Moshe Rabbenu on top of the mountain - in the yeshiva, in the synagogue, etc. - while we build golden calves to dictate our general lives. The ideals of Torah must govern every aspect of our everyday existence, they must establish our mode of conduct in all areas of life, both "atop Mount Sinai" as well "in the camp."

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After the sin of the golden calf, Moshe Rabbenu, who earlier had appealed on Benei Yisrael's behalf to have God's decree of annihilation annulled, returns to God. This time, he pleads that God's presence shall continue to reside among the nation, despite their sin, as they continue towards Eretz Canaan (33:12-13). After securing God's consent, Moshe then asks, "Oh, let me behold Your glory!" (33:18). Chazal explain that Moshe here requests that the Almighty give him the answer to the age-old question of "tzadik ve-ra lo" - why righteous people often suffer while wicked people prosper.

Why would Moshe pose this question now, at this point? How does this philosophical question relate to the sin of the golden calf or its consequences?

Rav Yoel Herzog, in his Imrei Yoel, suggests a connection between these two. The doctrine of paganism resulted from the argument that the Almighty does not personally involve Himself in this world. It was felt that God is too powerful and mighty to take any interest in mankind. Instead, He created the world and then left it in the hands of the natural forces, whom mankind should therefore worship. This argument was bolstered by the phenomenon of "tzadik ve-ra lo." People mistakenly detected a sense of chaos in the world order, seeing righteous people suffer bitterly from the mistreatment of the wealthy, powerful, and successful oppressors. In the wake of the golden calf, Moshe asks the Almighty why He leaves the world in a perceived state of disarray, why He allows for mankind to make this error.

This approach explains the relevance of Moshe's question to the context at hand, but how does God respond to this question?

As the next verse records, God replies, "I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim before you the Name Lord; I will grant grace those whom I grant grace and have compassion for those for whom I have compassion" (33:19). The Divrei Shaul explains that God here shows Moshe His infinite vastness. Only He can calculate the totality of one's conduct and determine what he deserves and what He does not deserve. Applying this to our discussion, God answers that it is specifically because of His intensive involvement in human affairs that the righteous appear to suffer. This results not from God's disinterest, but to the contrary, to the intricacy and comprehensiveness of His judgment of mankind which far exceeds anything the human mind can grasp. What to us appears as chaos is actually the divine system of reward of punishment, whether or not we understand how it works.

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As we've discussed earlier this week, we read in Parashat Ki-Tisa of the sin of the golden calf, God's initial decree to destroy Benei Yisrael as a result, and Moshe's successful appeal on their behalf. He begins his petition by asking, "Why should Your anger, O Lord, blaze forth against Your people, whom You delivered from the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?" (32:11). Moshe somehow invokes the Exodus, particularly God's "great power" and "mighty hand" with which Benei Yisrael were freed, as a reason to pardon their grave sin. The obvious question arises as to the rationale behind such an argument. To the contrary, the fact that the Almighty had done so much for Am Yisrael, that He performed wonders and miracles to bring them to freedom, should work against the nation and add further severity to their wrongdoing. Betraying God is bad enough as it is; but they betrayed the God who is solely responsible for their freedom from bondage!

The Chizkuni explains, "Although they did what they did, You should not forfeit in a brief moment all the efforts and kindness that You performed for them." According to this approach, Moshe argues that by destroying Am Yisrael, God would in effect be rendering null and void all the many great things He did for them.

Still, however, our original question remains. God does not require any "effort" to perform wonders or miracles. He loses nothing by destroying Benei Yisrael and beginning a new nation from Moshe. And besides, if He performed all these wonders for Benei Yisrael and they betray Him, why shouldn't He "forfeit" all that He has done for them? (See Ramban, who offers an explanation which he described as "al derekh ha-emet," which generally refers to Kabbalistic ideas.)

Rav Barukh Yitzchak Yissakhar Halevi, in his "Birkat Yitzchak," suggests a different explanation. As we know from Sefer Yechezkel (20) and countless passages in the Midrash, Benei Yisrael had become idolaters in Egypt. The Almighty had to take them from Egypt in order to detach them once and for all from Egyptian paganism and to establish their firm belief in God. Moshe therefore argues that Benei Yisrael should be pardoned on account of from where they have come. Only recently has God extricated them from Egyptian culture; it is understandable that after such a brief period that still have a natural inclination to return to their old, pagan practices. Herein, perha, lies the crux of Moshe's defense of Benei Yisrael: "Why should Your anger, O Lord, blaze forth against Your people, whom You delivered from the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?" God had to show His force in order to establish Benei Yisrael's belief in Him. Beforehand, they worshipped idols just like the Egyptians. He therefore should be patient with them should they occasionally experience a relapse of their former beliefs.

This approach may also shed some light on the sin of the golden calf itself. Recall that upon seeing that Moshe has yet to return from atop Mount Sinai, Benei Yisrael approach Aharon and demand that he make them a molten image, "because that man Moshe, who brought us from the land of Egypt - we do not know what has happened to him" (32:1). In light of what we have seen, we may suggest a new interpretation of this verse. Moshe was the one who led them away from paganism to the belief in the one, true God. After the splitting of the sea, we are told, "They believed in the Lord and in Moshe, His servant" (Shemot 14:31). With Moshe's absence, they lost their instructor of monotheism. They felt unable to connect to God without His servant. They therefore resorted to their former beliefs, they took the gold they had taken from Egypt and brought it back to its original use, as idols and images.

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The Torah tells in Parashat Ki-Tisa that when Moshe returns from Mount Sinai and sees Benei Yisrael worshipping the golden calf, he casts the two tablets from his hands and breaks them at the foot of the mountain (32:19). The Gemara in Masekhet Shabbat (87a) writes that the Almighty congratulated Moshe on this response to the golden calf. Likewise, Chazal, commenting on the final verse of the Torah - "and for all the great might… that Moshe displayed" - claim that this refers to his having broken the luchot. What purpose did Moshe hope to serve by breaking the tablets, for which he deserved such praise specifically for this single action?

Rav Yitzchak Stollman, in his "Minchat Yitzchak," answers based on another, famous Midrashic passage related to the golden calf. The idea to make a calf arose when Benei Yisrael saw how Moshe's stay atop Mount Sinai was extended (32:1). The Midrash writes that the Satan showed Benei Yisrael an image of Moshe lying dead in a coffin. Seeing that Moshe had died, Benei Yisrael sought a replacement, and thus came up with the idea of a golden calf.

The "Satan" is often used as a reference to the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination, the "other voice" inside us that lures us to go against our conscience and better judgment. How exactly did this enticement of the yetzer ha-ra work? What does it mean that Benei Yisrael saw Moshe lying in his coffin?

Rabbi Stollman suggests that Chazal here refer to the unfortunate, popular argument that the Torah is "outdated" and requires refinement and progress. Three months after the Exodus, Benei Yisrael grow impatient; they had expected to enter the Promised Land quickly with but a brief stopover in Sinai. Moshe's extended stay at Sinai makes them feel stagnated; they want to move on. The yetzer ha-ra then shows them Moshe's death. They argue that the laws he receives atop Mount Sinai are not relevant for them, for the younger generation, who should instead worship God with beautiful, golden images, song and dance, festivity and merrymaking. They order Aharon to make for them a leader "who will walk before us." They want to progress, to move forward, to go beyond what Moshe has to offer them.

With this background, Rabbi Stollman explains, we can understand what Moshe had in mind when he shattered the luchot and why this conveyed such a critical and powerful lesson. By breaking the luchot, Moshe demonstrated that the Torah cannot be destroyed, "Moshe" never dies, God's law never ceases to be relevant. No matter how hard one tries to shatter the luchot, to render authentic Judaism obsolete, the Torah remains. Chazal comment that when Moshe broke the luchot "the letters flew up in the air." The content and essence of the Torah will never be broken, it will never be supplanted by any golden calf. As hard as we may try to "progress" beyond Mount Sinai, the law of Sinai will remain and continue to accompany us, wherever we go, for all time.

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An intriguing passage in the Gemara, in Masekhet Chulin (139b), inquires as to where we may find an allusion to Mordekhai, one of the protagonists of Megilat Ester and the Purim story, in the Torah. The Gemara responds by citing two words from Parashat Ki-Tisa. Towards the beginning of the parasha, God lists the ingredients used to make the shemen ha-mishcha - the anointing oil with which the kohanim and vessels of the Mishkan were formally consecrated. The first of these ingredients is "mar deror" (a type of myrrh). The Gemara notes that Onkelos translates this term as "mora dakhya," which the Gemara sees as a subtle allusion to "Mordekhai." (Interestingly enough, in non-leap years Purim falls in the week of Shabbat Parashat Ki-Tisa.)

Understandably, many later writers assumed that this "allusion" involves more than the play on words between "mora dakhya" and "Mordekhai." Firstly, if this is all the Gemara sought to convey, wherein lies the significance of this allusion? What do we learn from the fact that the Torah alludes to Mordekhai in Parashat Ki-Tisa? But moreover, this allusion is not found in the Chumash itself; it appears in the Aramaic translation of Onkelos. Apparently, then, this Gemara indicates a stronger connection between this verse and Mordekhai, beyond the loose, lingual association between "mora dakhya" and "Mordekhai."

Rav Shimon Schwab zt"l, in his "Ma'ayan Bet Ha-sho'eva," suggests that the allusion to Mordekhai lies specifically in the discrepancy between the superficial meaning of "mar deror" and Onkelos' translation of the term. The Hebrew word "deror" generally means freedom, or liberty. For example, a famous verse in Sefer Vayikra (25:10) requires that we "proclaim deror [liberty] throughout the land" on the jubilee year, when all indentured servants were freed and all lands returned to their original owners. Instinctively, then, we would have perhaps translated "mar deror" to mean "wild myrrh," an herb that naturally grow freely and spreads easily. Targum Onkelos, however, translates differently: "mora dakhya" - "pure" myrrh. According to the Targum, "deror" here means not freedom, but rather purity. This, Rav Schwab suggests, is the allusion to the Mordekhai. On the surface, Mordekhai appears to have simply liberated the Jewish people from Haman's edict. His role might be viewed as simply one of a "freedom-fighter" of sorts, releasing his people from the persecution of the Persian Empire. The Gemara tells us that this is not the case. Beyond the freedom Mordekhai and Ester bring to the Jewish people, they "purified" the nation, as well. Chazal tell us that Mordekhai was the leading Torah personality of his time in Persia, and that the Persian Jews had begun assimilating into the Persian society. Mordekhai led the people through a process of spiritual rejuvenation, by which they resisted the pagan influences of their surroundings and recommitted themselves to the Torah.

Among the common themes of Purim is the discrepancy between superficial appearance and that which lies beneath the surface. According to Rav Schwab, the Gemara had this theme in mind when searching for the allusion to Purim in the Chumash. Chazal searched for an instance where on the surface we see one thing, but when we probe deeper we find something far more profound and meaningful. The freedom achieved on Purim was actually about purification, spiritual revival and renewed devotion to the laws and values of the Torah.

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