S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT TETZAVEH – PURIM

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            In the first chapter of Megilat Ester (verse 14), the Megila lists the names of the seven legal advisors whom Achashveirosh consulted after his queen, Vashti, disobeyed him.  The Gemara in Masekhet Megila (12b) comments that each name alludes to an argument brought on behalf of the Jews of the time in the Heavenly Tribunal.  The angels appealed to the Almighty to spare the nation, and each of the advisors’ names alludes to a certain mitzva which the Jews had observed in the Beit Ha-mikdash, thus rendering them worthy of being spared from annihilation at the hands of the Persians.

            In explaining the allusion embedded within the name “Tarshish” (the name of the fourth advisor), the Gemara cites a verse in Parashat Tetzaveh (28:20) which lists tarshish as one of the twelve avnei ha-choshen, the precious stones set in the breastplate worn by the kohen gadol.  The heavenly angels pleaded to God, “Did they [the Persians] serve before You with priestly garments, regarding which it is written, ‘tarshish, shoham and yashpeh’?”

            The Meshekh Chokhma (in Parashat Tetzaveh) suggests an insightful explanation for the particular significance of the tarshish stone in this context.  The twelve stones on the kohen gadol’s breastplate represented the twelve tribes of Israel, and, in fact, the names of the tribes were engraved upon the stones (28:21).  According to the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 38:9), the tarshish stone on the breastplate corresponded to the tribe of Asher.  Among the characteristics of Asher, as the Meshekh Chokhma cites from the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 71), was the beauty of the women born to this tribe, many of whom married kohanim gedolim.  It is perhaps in this sense, the Meshekh Chokhma suggests, that the Gemara viewed the name “Tarshish” as an allusion to a source of merit for the Jewish people.  For Am Yisrael, physical beauty was seen as a source of honor and dignity.  The girls of the tribe of Asher were raised to become dignified, noble, pious women worthy of marrying the kohanim, the nation’s spiritual leaders, thus bringing honor to the priestly tribe.  The Jews’ attitude toward physical beauty contrasted sharply with the attitude displayed by the Persians.  Achashveirosh, as the Gemara (Megila 12b) famously relates, summoned Vashti to appear unclothed before the foreign dignitaries who participated in his feast, so he could pride himself over her beauty.  He disgracefully boasted to his guests, “The utensil that I drink from…do you want to see her?”  Whereas the Jews approached beauty as a potential source of honor and dignity, Achashveirosh saw beauty as reducing human beings to “utensils,” usable objects.  This contrast was noted by the heavenly angels as they appealed to God for compassion on behalf of the Jewish people, insisting that they were far more deserving of survival than the nation among whom they lived.

Sunday

            The opening verse of Parashat Tetzaveh commands Benei Yisrael to supply olive oil for the kindling of the lamps of the menorah, which the Torah refers to with the term “ner tamid” (“constant lamp”).  Rashi comments that the word tamid (“constant”) does not imply that the lamps were constantly lit.  Rather, as the next verse states, the candles of the menorah burned only “from the evening until the morning.”  The word tamid, Rashi explains, refers to the fact that the menorah was to be kindled each and every night, not that it burned constantly.

            The Talmudic source of Rashi’s comments is a passage in Masekhet Chagiga (26b).  The Mishna relates that during the times of the Beit Ha-mikdash, the less knowledgeable kohanim were warned not to touch the shulchan (show-bread table).  These kohanim were not presumed to be meticulous in observing the laws of ritual impurity, and it was therefore imperative to keep them away from the shulchan.  As the Gemara explains, the Torah requires having bread on the shulchan “constantly” (25:30), and immersing the table to purify it would necessitate neglecting this command.  The less knowledgeable kohanim were thus warned to keep a distance from the shulchan, so as to ensure that it did not become ritually impure.

            The Gemara notes that this warning was not issued regarding the menorah.  The reason, the Gemara explains, is that the Torah does not employ the term “tamid” (“constantly”) in the context of the menorah.  Rashi explains that although the Torah does, in fact, use this term in reference to the lighting of the menorah, this refers to the nightly lighting – as Rashi writes in his Torah commentary – and not to the constant presence of a flame.  Therefore, the menorah could be removed from the Temple and immersed when this became necessary.  The Gemara also cites a different account, according to which the warning was given regarding both the shulchan and menorah.  This view, the Gemara explains, concedes that the menorah’s lamps were not constantly kindled, but maintained that the menorah must be present in the Mikdash whenever the shulchan is present.  Hence, since the shulchan could never be removed, the menorah likewise had to remain at all times in its place in the Temple.  Clearly, according to both views, the term “tamid” used in reference to the menorah lighting does not require a constant flame.

            The Ramban, however, in his Torah commentary here in Parashat Tetzaveh, takes issue with Rashi’s remarks, claiming that they are in opposition to the Sifrei, in Sefer Bamidbar (Beha’alotekha 59).  The Sifrei writes that the ner ma’aravi (“western lamp”) of the menorah would indeed burn constantly, at all times.  This is also the implication of the Gemara’s discussion in Masekhet Tamid (30b) and elsewhere.  These sources appear to conflict with Rashi’s comments that the menorah did not burn at all during the day, and there was no requirement to ensure a constant flame.

            As mentioned, Rashi’s view is clearly rooted in an explicit Talmudic source, which may lead us to believe that different views on the subject existed among Chazal, as reflected in the conflicting sources.  However, Tosefot in Masekhet Chagiga suggest reconciling the different sources.  The Gemara speaks of the constant burning of the ner ma’aravi as a miracle that occurred in the Temple, not as a command.  As the Gemara establishes in Masekhet Chagiga, the Torah does not require Benei Yisrael to ensure the uninterrupted presence of a flame on the menorah, the way it required the uninterrupted presence of bread on the shulchan.  It was God who took it upon Himself, so-to-speak, to have one lamp of the menorah burn at all times.  But this miracle does not conflict with the Gemara’s comment in Masekhet Chagiga that Benei Yisrael did not bear any such obligation.  The kohen lit all the lamps with enough oil to sustain their flames through the night, and as it happened, miraculously, one lamp continued to burn even into the next day.  This miracle does not preclude the possibility of extinguishing all the lamps when it became necessary to immerse the menorah.

Monday

            Parashat Tetzaveh begins with God’s command that Benei Yisrael supply oil for the kindling of the menorah in the Mishkan.  One reason for this mitzva – the kindling of lights in the Mishkan – emerges from a brief remark made by Ibn Ezra in his commentary to Sefer Bamdibar (beginning of Parashat Beha’alotekha).  Although Chazal (Mekhilta, Bo 6) say that God spoke to Moshe only by day, and not in the nighttime hours, Ibn Ezra contended that God spoke to Moshe even by night, when the candles of the menorah burned.  As we know from Parashat Teruma (25:22) and Parashat Naso (7:89), God spoke to Moshe inside the Mishkan, from atop the ark.  According to Ibn Ezra, the light which the menorah provided inside the Mishkan enabled Moshe to meet with the Almighty even in the otherwise dark nighttime hours.

            The Meshekh Chokhma, here in Parashat Tetzaveh (27:20), elaborates on Ibn Ezra’s theory, citing the comment of the Midrash (Tanna De-bei Eliyahu Zuta 21) equating light with joy.  Moshe’s prophetic communion with God required a state of tranquility and clarity of mind which cannot be experienced in darkness.  The kindling of the menorah thus served to illuminate the Mishkan for the purpose of enabling Moshe to experience prophecy even during the nighttime hours.

            Of course, notwithstanding this reason for the mitzva, the obligation to light the menorah did not only apply in Moshe’s lifetime.  The menorah was to be kindled for all time, even in the permanent site of the Beit Ha-mikdash, long after Moshe received prophecy inside the Mishkan.  The Meshekh Chokhma suggests that it is for this reason that the Torah describes the mitzva of the menorah as “an eternal statute, for all generations” (27:21).  The “eternal” quality of this mitzva is a “statute” (“chukat olam”), a law whose underlying reasoning eludes human comprehension.  The reason for the mitzva during the period of travel through the wilderness can be clearly understood, as it facilitated Moshe’s nocturnal prophecy.  “For all generations,” however, this obligation applies as a “chok,” as a mitzva whose rationale cannot be grasped.

            Interestingly enough, the Meshekh Chokhma concludes his discussion by drawing a parallel between Moshe’s prophecy and the convening of a Beit Din.  The Mishna in Masekhet Sanhedrin (32a) establishes that a Bet Din does not begin hearing a case at night (though if it had convened during the day, the proceedings may continue into the night).  This halakha is codified by the Shulchan Arukh amidst its discussion of the laws of Beit Din (C.M. 5:2).  The Sema, however, writes that if the Beit Din convenes in an illuminated room, then they may preside over a case even at night.  The Meshekh Chokhma points to Ibn Ezra’s comments concerning the menorah’s illumination of the Mishkan as a possible basis for, or at least allusion to, this ruling of the Sema.  As in the case of Moshe, illumination provides the Beit Din with the clarity of mind they needed to properly try the case, and it therefore enables the proceedings to take place even in the nighttime hours.

Tuesday

            The final section of Parashat Tetzaveh presents the command to construct the mizbach ha-zahav, the “golden altar” which was situated inside the Mishkan, together with the menorah and the table, and which was used for daily ketoret (incense) offerings. 

Many writers have noted that anomaly in the Torah’s placement of this command.  We would have likely expected the instructions concerning the mizbach ha-zahav to appear in Parashat Teruma, together with the instructions concerning the menorah and the shulchan (table).  After all, the Torah’s presentation of the commands regarding the Mishkan and its furnishings follows a generally straightforward sequence.  It begins with the aron, which was situated in the innermost sanctum of the Mishkan, and then proceeds to the menorah and the table, which were placed inside the Mishkan but in the exterior room.  After discussing the furnishings placed inside the Mishkan, the Torah discusses the construction of the Mishkan itself, followed by the courtyard, which included the mizbach ha-nechoshet, the copper altar which was situated in the courtyard.  Seemingly, the discussion of the mizbach ha-zahav belongs together with the Torah’s discussion of the other furnishings inside the Mishkan – the menorah and the table.  Oddly enough, this altar is discussed only at the end of Parashat Tetzaveh, after the presentation of the commands concerning the Mishkan and the kohanim, almost as an afterthought.  Yet, in Parashat Vayakhel, where the Torah tells of the actual construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings, the mizbach ha-zahav is indeed discussed in the context where we would have expected to find it, together with the menorah and the table (37:25-29).

            One explanation, suggested by Rav Yitzchak Twersky (in Yeshiva University’s Enayim L’Torah, 5754), points to the mizbach ha-zahav’s role in facilitating national atonement.  The mizbach ha-zahav was used, primarily, for the offering of incense, which served as a means of earning collective atonement on behalf of the nation.  This function of the ketoret emerges from its prominence in the Yom Kippur atonement ritual (Vayikra 16:12-13), and from the famous incident of the plague which struck Am Yisrael after Korach’s revolt, and which Aharon ended by offering incense (Bamidbar 17:10-15).  Moreover, the blood of sin-offerings brought on behalf of the entire nation was sprinkled on the mizbach ha-zahav.  Whereas the blood of individual sin-offerings was sprinkled on the altar outside the Mishkan, the blood of public sin-offerings – such as the atonement sacrifices of Yom Kippur (Vayikra 16:18-19) and the sin-offering brought when the entire nation accidentally worshipped idols (Vayikra 4:18) – was sprinkled on the mizbach ha-zahav.

            This “communal” aspect of the mizbach ha-zahav may account for the different positions it assumes in the Torah’s two discussions of the Mishkan’s construction.  The commands to build the Mishkan and its furnishings appear in Parashat Teruma and Parashat Tetzaveh, before the narrative of the eigel ha-zahav (sin of the golden calf).  According to the Ramban, this sequence reflects the chronological sequence of events, and these commands were, in fact, issued before the sin of the calf.  The story of the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings is told in Parashat Vayakhel and Parashat Pekudei, after the story of the eigel ha-zahav.  Before the golden calf, the need for communal atonement was seen as an afterthought of sorts, a concern that was anticipated only in a theoretical sense.  It was only after the sin of the calf that the prospect of a nationwide sin became a practical concern.  At this point, the mizbach ha-zahav was transformed from a mere afterthought to an integral part of the Mishkan’s operation, as the need for communal atonement became critical.

            Rav Twersky suggested an analogy of a family examining a house which they are considering purchasing.  For most people, safety features such as alarm systems and smoke detectors would not likely constitute major factors in their decision-making process.  Only after making the purchase would they install these features as part of their “touching up” of the premises.  However, a family that had been victimized by theft or fire might afford these security concerns high priority in searching for a home, having experienced firsthand the critical necessity of these features.

            Similarly, before the sin of the calf, the prospect of a nationwide sin was a mere afterthought, and did not figure as an integral part of the Mishkan.  After the eigel ha-zahav, however, it became painfully clear that the role of the mizbach ha-zahav to earn collective atonement would be central and integral to the Mishkan’s functioning.

Wednesday

            We read in Megilat Ester of Ester’s invitation to King Achashveirosh and Haman to the feast which she prepared, during which she extended a second invitation, to a feast the following day: “The king and Haman shall come to the feast that I shall prepare for them, and tomorrow I shall do as the king says” (5:8).  It was at that second feast when Ester revealed her identity and informed the king that her life was endangered by Haman’s edict.

            The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni – Ester, 1056) draws a curious association between the word “machar” (“tomorrow”) used by Ester in her invitation, and the use of this word in the context of Benei Yisrael’s battle against Amalek in the wilderness: “Why did Ester say ‘tomorrow’? Because all descendants of Amalek are destined to fall ‘tomorrow,’ as it is written, ‘tomorrow I shall stand atop the hill’ (Shemot 17:9).”  The Midrash refers here to Moshe’s instruction to Yehoshua to assemble an army to respond to Amalek’s offensive “tomorrow.”  For some reason, the Midrash found it significant that this word is used both in the context of the battle against Amalek and Ester’s plan to overthrow Haman, a descendant of Amalek.

            The Maharal of Prague suggested an insightful explanation for the significance of the word “machar” in reference to Amalek.  “Machar” indicates a kind of disconnect between one day and the next.  The implication of “machar” is that what happens tomorrow bears no connection to what happens today, that we live not in a single continuum, but rather in disjointed units.  Today we live for today, and we’ll think about tomorrow when it comes.  The outlook of “machar” is one which lacks a sense of direction and purpose, which focuses only on the present and does not bother to chart a course in life.

            HaRav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (http://www.vbm-torah.org/purim/pur66-rya.htm) cited the Maharal’s insight in reference to the more common association between Amalek and the belief in mikriyut – coincidence and happenstance.  In describing Amalek’s assault on Benei Yisrael, the Torah emphasizes the fact that the Amalekites “chanced upon” (“karekha”) Benei Yisrael as they traveled (Devarim 25:18).  Once again, the Midrash (Ester Rabba 8:5) finds a point of connection between Amalek’s attack on Benei Yisrael and the story of Haman’s edict: “‘Mordekhai told him of all that had happened to him (karahu)’ – He said to Hatakh: Go and tell her (Esther), ‘The descendant of ‘karahu’ has come upon you’.”  Amalek represents the belief in coincidence, that the world is not governed by God, and that events occur randomly, by sheer coincidence.  The Torah describes Amalek as “chancing upon” Benei Yisrael “ba-derekh” – “along the way.”  Whereas Amalek lives with the approach of “mikreh,” seeing everything as random and bereft of significance, Benei Yisrael lives with the mindset of “ba-derekh,” with a definite direction and purpose.  As HaRav Amital explained:

Amalek maintained an ideology of non-ideology: everything is permissible; there is no journey, no direction; everything is coincidental; there is no absolute value that must be held dear.  Am Yisrael, in contrast is always “on the way” – they have a direction and an objective; they have clear values to which they cleave. 

            Our struggle against Amalek entails a struggle against the “ideology of non-ideology,” against the belief that “anything goes” and that there are no absolute values.  Just as the Jews at the time of the Purim miracle made a formal reaffirmation of their commitment to the Torah, similarly, we must recommit ourselves to the concept of “ba-derekh,” that we live lives of meaning, purpose and direction, in direct contrast to the purposelessness of the Amalekite ideology.

Thursday

            Earlier this week, we noted that the Torah presents the command to construct the mizbach ha-zahav, the golden incense altar, at the end of Parashat Tetzaveh, almost as an “appendix” to the instructions regarding the Mishkan.  Intuitively, we would have expected this section dealing with the mizbach ha-zahav to appear in Parashat Teruma, together with the commands to build the other of the Mishkan’s furnishings – the ark, the table and the menorah.  Surprisingly, the Torah makes no mention of this altar in that context, and instead delays its discussion of the mizbach ha-zahav to the end of the instructions concerning the Mishkan.  Yet, in Parashat Vayakhel, where the Torah tells of the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings, it indeed tells of the building of the mizbach ha-zahav in the context of the other furnishings (37:25-29).

            One possible explanation emerges from the theory espoused by the Rambam in identifying the reason and purpose behind the ketoret (incense) offering.  In his Guide for the Perplexed (3:45), the Rambam comments that the incense offering was necessary to neutralize the foul odor that would otherwise fill the Temple as a result of the large numbers of slaughtered animals.  He writes:

Since many beasts were daily slaughtered in the holy place, the flesh cut in pieces and the entrails and the legs burnt and washed, the smell of the place would undoubtedly have been like the smell of the slaughterhouses, if nothing had been done to counteract it.  They were therefore commanded to burn incense there twice every day, in the morning and in the evening, in order to give the place and the garments of those who officiated there a pleasant odor.  There is a well-known saying of our Sages, "In Jericho they could smell the incense" [burnt in the Temple].  This provision likewise tended to support the dignity of the Temple.  If there had not been a good smell, let alone if there had been a stench, it would have produced in the minds of the people the reverse of respect; for our heart generally feels elevated in the presence of good odor, and is attracted by it, but it abhors and avoids bad smell.

The incense offering thus helped to ensure a respectful feeling toward the Mikdash, which people might have otherwise found distasteful due to the stench of animal carcasses.

            In light of the Rambam’s comments, we might suggest a possible explanation for the position of mizbach ha-zahav in the Torah’s commands to build the Mishkan, as opposed to its position in the account of the actual construction.  In Parashat Teruma and Parashat Tetzaveh, the Torah arranges its discussion according to the descending order of inherent importance.  It begins with the ark, the most sacred of the Mishkan’s furnishings, and then proceeds to the menorah and the table, followed by the structure of the tent, and, finally, the courtyard around the Mishkan.  In Parashat Vayakhel, by contrast, where the Torah presents the account of how the Mishkan was erected, it follows the pragmatic sequence that Benei Yisrael followed when they built the Mishkan.  Meaning, they first constructed the tent, before making its furnishings, so that they would have a place to go immediately after their construction.  Thus, whereas Parashat Teruma and Parashat Tetzaveh are structured according to inherent sanctity, Parashat Vayakhel is arranged from a more pragmatic perspective.

            The mizbach ha-zahav, according to the Rambam, serves the pragmatic purpose of neutralizing the foul odor in the Mishkan.  From the perspective of Parashat Teruma and Parashat Tetzaveh, then, this altar is of secondary importance.  It is not integral to the ideal of sanctity represented by the rituals in the Mishkan; it rather serves to enhance the aesthetic experience of frequenting the site.  However, from the pragmatic perspective of Parashat Vayakhel, the mizbach ha-zahav indeed serves no less central a role than the menorah, shulchan, or other furnishings.  Even if the inherent, essential value of the aesthetic role served by this altar is lower than the roles served by the other accessories, from a practical standpoint it is no less vital.  In Parashat Vayakhel, then, where we read of the actual construction of the Mishkan, the mizbach ha-zahav is given equal footing as the other furnishings inside the Mishkan, in light of the important practical purpose that it served.

Friday

            A careful study of Ester’s personality as depicted in the Megila that bears her name reveals a stark contrast between the earlier and later stages of the story.  Early on, Ester is remarkably passive and dependent upon her cousin, Mordekhai.  The Megila twice emphasizes that she did not reveal her identity because this is what Mordekhai instructed (2:10,20), and it even states, more generally, that Ester did all that Mordekhai commanded (“u-ma’amar Mordekhai Ester osa” – 2:20).  Furthermore, the Megila notes that Ester, unlike the other maidens summoned to Achashveirosh’s palace, did not initiate requests for cosmetics; she was instead content with receiving whatever Hegai, the officer in charge of the maidens, ordered on her behalf.  Even as queen, Ester effectively remains in the custody of Mordekhai, who spends his days in the royal courtyard to check up on her and give instructions.

            As the dramatic story unfolds, however, Ester transforms into a woman of leadership, initiative and courage.  She calls upon the Jews of Shushan to observe a three-day fast (which, as the Gemara notes, occurred during Pesach and thus entailed overriding the festive celebration of the holiday), and she single-handedly leads Haman into a fatal trap.  And whereas she had initially been hesitant to approach Achashveirosh uninvited, by the end of the Megila she approaches him on several occasions to request permission for the Jews to wage battle against their foes.  She also uses her authority to appoint Mordekhai over Haman’s property (8:2).  Even the writing of the Megila is attributed primarily to Ester (“Va-tikhtov Ester…” – 9:29).  And, according to the Gemara (Megila 7a), Ester even applied pressure upon the Sanhedrin, insisting that they canonize the Megila and affirm the establishment of Purim as a holiday.

            The point of transition in Ester’s character, as discussed by the Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a (in By His Light: Character & Values in the Service of God, chapter 9), was Mordekhai’s harsh censure of her initial refusal to beg the king to have Haman’s edict annulled.  Mordekhai tells Ester, “Do not imagine that you will escape in the king’s palace from among all the Jews.  For if you are silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from somewhere else – but you and your father’s home will perish!” (4:13-14).  Mordekhai interpreted Ester’s inaction as an expression not of fear or weakness, but rather of apathy.  As Rav Lichtenstein noted:

However, Mordekhai doesn’t attribute her response to weakness.  He pushes his assault all the way, appealing to the deepest recesses of the Jewish soul.  He accuses Esther of refusing to go to the king not because she lacks courage, not out of weakness, but rather as a calculated choice: “Let the entire Jewish nation be destroyed.  Let them all perish – young and old, men and women.  I will remain secure in the royal palace.”  This is how Mordekhai interprets her response, and this is what he addresses: not weakness, not a lack of courage, but rather what he fears may lie behind everything.  Behind the apparent timidity lies apathy.  If you really cared, if you considered your own soul to be at stake, would you be able to say, “For a whole month I have not been called to the king”?  Is this how someone talks when she believes that her nation is in danger?  Is this the response of someone who cares?

            To Ester’s credit, she took Mordekhai’s harsh words of condemnation to heart.  She acknowledged that what she had lacked wasn’t ability or inner strength, but rather sufficient concern.  Once she genuinely cared about her people’s fate, she found deep within herself hidden, heretofore untapped reservoirs of leadership, determination and initiative.  She was now able to think creatively and boldly to find solutions, to lead the Jewish people to prayer and repentance, and to lead their nemesis to his downfall.

            All too often, the feeling of “I cannot” is simply a way of concealing the true feeling of “I don’t care enough” or “It’s not important enough to me.”  If we truly cared about a certain cause, we would muster the energies and skills needed to advance it.  Ester’s transformation over the course of the Megila was triggered by the question implicitly posed to her by Mordekhai: do you care about the Jewish people, or only about yourself?  Once she answered this question, she found a way to help her nation.  We, too, must honestly answer this question, and be prepared to put our selfish interests aside for the sake of assisting fellow Jews in need.