S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT KI-TISA

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            One of the obligations that apply on the day of Purim is “mishteh,” to eat a festive meal.  The Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (68b) comments that although with regard to certain festivals some Tanna’im held that one may devote the day entirely to prayer and learning, all views agree that one must conduct a festive meal on Purim.  The Megila itself describes Purim as an occasion of “mishteh ve-simcha” (9:17), indicating that it must be observed through festive eating.  The Gemara also notes the exception of Shavuot, which, as the day commemorating our nation’s receiving the Torah, must be observed with a festive meal.  The third exception mentioned by the Gemara is the weekly occasion of Shabbat, which the prophet Yeshayahu (58:13) requires observing as a day of “oneg,” or physical delights.

            Some writers suggested that the obligatory nature of the meals on Purim and Shavuot actually originate from the same concept – the celebration of kabbalat ha-Torah.  The Gemara famously teaches in Masekhet Shabbat (88a) that the event of the Purim miracle was a time of reacceptance, when the Jews formally recommitted themselves to the obligations of the Torah.  The original acceptance of Torah at Mount Sinai, the Gemara comments, was done with a degree of coercion, as Benei Yisrael had no choice but to accept the responsibilities of Torah observance.  After the Purim miracle, the Jewish people renewed their original commitment, proclaiming that they happily accept the Torah’s commands upon themselves and their descendants.  Thus, just as on Shavuot all Tanna’im require eating a festive meal to celebrate the occasion of kabbalat ha-Torah, similarly, the Sages enacted an obligation to eat a festive meal on Purim in commemoration of the renewal of kabbalat ha-Torah.

            This understanding of the mishteh on Purim, as relating to the celebration of the kabbalat ha-Torah that occurred in the wake of the Purim miracle, perhaps sheds light on the Gemara’s famous and startling remark regarding the extent of this requirement:  “A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’” (Megila 7b).  Leaving aside the practical implications of the Gemara’s statement, and the question as to whether the Gemara indeed sanctions or requires intoxication on Purim, how might we explain this peculiar phrase – “until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’”?  And what might this inability to “distinguish” reflect about the nature of the Purim celebration?

            In light of the association between the obligation of mishteh on Purim and kabbalat ha-Torah, the answer perhaps becomes clear.  Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, in one of his published discourses (Reflections of the Rav, chapter 8), describes the event of kabbalat ha-Torah as a manifestation of what the masters of Kabbalah called the ratzon elyon, the human being’s “higher will” which, in the Rav’s words, “makes decisions without consulting the intellect.”  He explains:

The major decisions of man’s life are made spontaneously and suddenly, in response to an aboriginal command from within, and are not necessarily dictated by external considerations or conditions, not necessarily affected by pragmatic considerations.  They derive from intuitive affirmations which suddenly light up from within.  Decisions of faith, of marriage, choice of profession, solutions to financial problems, acts of military genius, and most pivotal resolutions in life are reached intuitively, without addressing any inquiries to the intellect.  We are suddenly struck by an incisive insight and with a sense of direction.  Later on, the practical intellect is called upon to justify the decision, to remove inconsistencies and to plan implementation.

And it was with this “higher will,” which is beholden to inner instinct rather than reason, that Benei Yisrael proclaimed their unconditional acceptance of the Torah at Mount Sinai:

When God offered the Torah at Mt. Sinai, the Israelites did not ask for a sample, to witness a demonstration, or to accept the Torah for a thirty-day trial period.  This would have been the calculated, practical thing to do… The Jewish response was na’aseh venishma, which means “we have decided to commit ourselves and, after that, to understand intellectually.”  The decision was a leap of faith by the ratzon elyon, an intuitive sense of what was valid and imperative.

            It is to this kind of unthinking intuition that the Gemara perhaps refers in describing the extent of the festivities required on Purim: “until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’.”  Our reacceptance of the Torah must be an intuitive one, not a rational one.  We needn’t be able to distinguish between “blessing” and “curse” to affirm our subservience to God and willful acceptance of His commands.  This must be done through raw instinct, through the mysterious faculties of our ratzon elyon, which drives us to make a complete and unconditional commitment to the obligations of the Torah, without first consulting our faculties of reason and intellect.

Sunday

            Yesterday, we noted the Gemara’s famous comment in Masekhet Megila (7b), “A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’.”  This passage gives rise not only to the practical question as to the propriety of inebriation on Purim, but also to the question as to what kind of attitude, feeling or outlook is indicated by the inability to “distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’.”  Yesterday, we suggested that this description perhaps refers to the intuitive, as opposed to rational, nature of kabbalat ha-Torah (accepting the Torah).  On Purim we celebrate not only the miracle that occurred in the time of Ester and Mordekhai, but also the renewal of our nation’s acceptance of the Torah, and this acceptance must be characterized by raw instinct and intuition, as opposed to calculated thought and reasoning.

            Rav Meir Hakohen of Warsaw, in his Imrei Kohen (Warsaw, 5695), also associates the Gemara’s comment with the theme of kabbalat ha-Torah, but from a different angle.  He writes that most people aspire to leave their mark in the world, by which they will be remembered after their death.  The ingrained desire for immortality is reconciled with the inescapable reality of death through the quest for eternal fame and distinction.  This quest comes in two forms, to which the Gemara refers as “arur Haman” and “barukh Mordekhai.”  The wicked strive to leave their mark through the ruthless exertion of power and dominion, or by amassing wealth, often through cruelty and deceit.  The righteous, however, seek to achieve immortality by leaving behind a legacy of piety and Godliness; they hope to memorialize themselves not through “arur Haman,” through power and intimidation, but through “barukh Mordekhai” – establishing a renowned legacy of goodness.

            There is, however, another approach toward the quest for immortality on earth.  The ideal, according to the Imrei Kohen, is not to harbor any such hopes at all.  The highest aspiration is to perform God’s will as an end unto itself, without seeking to memorialize oneself at all.  On Purim, when we reaffirm our commitment to the Torah, we are reminded of the pure, ideal standard of commitment, one which takes into account neither “arur Haman” nor even “barukh Mordekhai.”  The joy of Purim, of our kabbalat ha-Torah, is to raise us above any and all self-serving ambitions, to the level where we rejoice and exult in our status as faithful servants of the Almighty, regardless of any personal dividends we earn.

Monday

            The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa introduces the mitzva of shemen ha-mishcha, the special anointing oil that Moshe prepared and used to formally consecrate the Mishkan, its furnishings, its utensils, and the kohanim.

The Torah lists a number of different spices, and their amounts, that were to be mixed with olive oil to produce the shemen ha-mishcha (30:23-24).  No indication is given, however, as to how precisely the process is to be done.  Rashi (30:24) cites from the Talmud (Horiyot 11b and elsewhere) a debate among the Tanna’im on this subject.  Rabbi Meir (according to Rashi’s version of the debate) held that the roots of the spices specified by the Torah were boiled in the olive oil to make it fragrant.  Rabbi Yehuda (according to Rashi’s version), however, noted that this was practically impossible.  The Torah requires using only a hin of oil, and this small quantity would be completely absorbed by the herbs if they were boiled together.  For this reason, Rabbi Yehuda held that the roots were soaked in water, and the hin of olive was then poured over the water to absorb the fragrance.  Once the oil became fragrant, it was quickly removed before any of it was absorbed into the herbs.  Rabbi Meir, however, held that the procedure was done miraculously, and the hin of oil remained intact despite being boiled with the fragrant spices.  (In other sources, these two views are attributed to different Tanna’im.  In Masekhet Horiyot, for example, Rabbi Yehuda is cited as claiming that the shemen ha-mishcha was prepared through miraculous means, and Rabbi Yossi expressed the view that the herbs were soaked in water.)

            Several verses later (verse 32), the Torah introduces a prohibition against preparing a replica of the shemen ha-mishcha (“u-ve’matkunto lo ta’asu kamohu”).  Rashi, based on the Gemara (Keritut 5a), writes that this prohibition forbids only preparing oil according to the precise specifications established for the shemen ha-mishcha.  Thus, if somebody prepared oil using different amounts or proportions of oil and spices than those specified by the Torah, he does not violate this prohibition.  The obvious question arises as to how to understand this prohibition according to Rabbi Meir’s position.  As we saw, in his view, the oil could not be prepared according to the manner prescribed by the Torah without God’s supernatural intervention.  God enabled the oil to be miraculously prepared in this manner, to facilitate the consecration of the Mishkan and the kohanim; otherwise, the procedure could not possibly succeed.  Why, then, did the Torah bother to issue a prohibition against subsequently preparing the shemen ha-mishcha, if this could never happen?

            This question led Rav Moshe Feinstein to suggest (as recorded in Derash Moshe) a novel understanding of this prohibition.  Namely, according to Rabbi Meir, the Torah forbids not actually replicating the shemen ha-mishcha, but rather thinking about replicating the shemen ha-mishcha.  Since, according to this view, there is no possibility of making a replica, we have no choice but to interpret this command as forbidding the mere thought of doing so.

            Other scholars, however, explained differently.  Rav Yitzchak Zev Soloveitchik (Kitvei Ha-Griz – Keritut, 5a) maintained that in truth, even Rabbi Meir agreed to the validity of shemen ha-mishcha prepared in the manner described by Rabbi Yehuda.  He simply held that as a factual matter, at the time when Moshe prepared the shemen ha-mishcha, there was no need to soak the herbs in water, because it was possible to prepare the oil miraculously.  Fundamentally, however, the shemen ha-mishcha could have been prepared with water.  Therefore, when the Torah forbids replicating the preparation of the shemen ha-mishcha, it forbids the means of soaking the spices in water, even according to Rabbi Meir.

            The Panim Yafot (Parashat Ki-Tisa) suggested a much different explanation, claiming that according to Rabbi Meir’s position, the Torah forbids going through the process of preparing the shemen ha-mishcha even though it would obviously not succeed.  Producing the shemen ha-mishcha is impossible without God’s supernatural involvement, but the Torah forbade the very act of boiling the herbs in oil in the specified quantities.  It is not the end result which the Torah forbade, but rather performing the action that Moshe performed in the wilderness to produce the shemen ha-mishcha.

(Taken from Rav Chayim Dov Eisenstein’s Peninim Mi-bei Midresha)

Tuesday

            Parashat Ki-Tisa begins with the mitzva of machatzit ha-shekel, the annual half-shekel tax that every individual had to pay to the treasury of the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The Torah emphasizes that this was a flat tax; each person had to pay precisely a half-shekel, regardless of his financial status: “The wealthy man shall not increase, nor shall the indigent man decrease, from the half-shekel” (30:15).

            The Ramban, in his commentary to this verse, interprets it as establishing a mitzvat lo ta’aseh (Torah prohibition) that forbids deviating in either direction from the specified amount.  While noting the fact that the Ge’onim and Rishonim who listed the Torah’s 613 commands make no mention of such a prohibition, the Ramban asserts that we should, indeed, include this command in the list of the mitzvot.  Accordingly, in the Ramban’s view, a pauper who pays less than a half-shekel not only fails to fulfill the affirmative command to pay a half-shekel, but also violates the command that forbids paying less.  Furthermore, and perhaps even more surprisingly, a wealthy man who pays more than a half-shekel violates a Torah prohibition, since he exceeded the specified amount of a half-shekel.

            A number of later writers (including Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his Oznayim La-Torah) note the significance of this prohibition as it applies to the wealthy person’s additional donation.  Sometimes, chesed is used as a means of asserting control or earning distinction.  The Torah certainly allows, and even encourages, voluntary donations to the Temple treasury.  However, it insists upon an equal annual tax in order to reserve one area where all members of the nation are equal, and where no member can assert supremacy over another even through the means of magnanimity.  We might imagine that for the wealthier members of Benei Yisrael, it was very difficult to pay the same measly half-shekel that the nation’s beggars paid.  They likely felt a natural drive and inclination to pay higher dues, if for no other reason than to set themselves socially apart from the mendicants.  The prohibition of “he-ashir lo yarbeh” required the nation’s aristocrats and moguls to experience a sense of kinship and identification with members of the lower socioeconomic classes.  The Torah found it necessary to designate one area where the wealthy would be unable to distinguish themselves – even through acts of generosity.  While the Torah certainly encourages voluntary donations to the Mikdash, it assigned one “flat tax” which reminded the people that all members of Am Yisrael are, ultimately, equally beloved by the Almighty and worthy of bringing His presence into the nation’s midst.

Wednesday

            Parashat Ki-Tisa begins with God’s command to Moshe to levy a half-shekel tax from each member of Benei Yisrael, a tax that would also serve as the means of conducting a national census.  God informed Moshe that by conducting the census in this manner, “there shall not be death among them when they are counted” (30:12).  The half-shekel payment served as a means of atonement (30:15-16) and was necessary to avoid the “death” that would otherwise befall the nation.

            Rashi famously explained that this atonement was necessary to avoid the harmful effects of the ayin ha-ra (“evil eye”) that threatens the nation at the time of a census.  This might mean that determining the population can lead to a sense of pride, arrogance and unwarranted confidence in numbers.  Donating to the Mishkan during the census was perhaps intended to have a humbling effect upon the people, reminding them of the need for devotion to God, who is ultimately their true source of strength and power.

            Malbim suggests a different explanation.  Counting the people has the effect of isolating each individual from the whole.  Each person is assigned a number, which sets him apart from the others.  As Chazal indicate in several contexts, when a person is judged independently, as a single individual, he exposes himself to rigorous and strict scrutiny.  When, however, a person is assessed as part of Am Yisrael, he gains access to the nation’s collective merit.  The atonement of the machatzit ha-shekel was necessary because the census, which had the effect of isolating each individual, threatened to expose the personal flaws of the people and deny them the protection received through identification with the aggregate whole.

            Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explains that the machtatzit ha-shekel tax was necessary to underscore the point that a person can claim the distinction of membership in Am Yisrael only if he is prepared to contribute toward the nation’s goal.  A person can be counted as part of the nation only by giving, by making some personal sacrifice.  Rav Hirsch writes:

Not by mere existence, by living for himself, has his nefesh, his personality, value and meaning, not by his just being there is he an integral part of the nation, his mere existence does not even give him the right to be here; only by giving, doing something, is he to be counted, only by giving, doing, does he gain the right for he continuance of his existence,  only by contributing his share in accordance with his duty does he obtain a justifiable position in the community of his nation.  Only by contributing something may he be reckoned in the number of the Children of Israel.  The moment he allows himself to be counted without having contributed anything to the community, and so wishes to claim the right to live without doing anything for the common welfare, at that moment he forfeits the right to exist.

In order to avoid a “negef” (“plague” or “death”), each member of Benei Yisrael must recognize that the nation’s unique relationship with God requires sacrifice.  Nobody is allowed to lay claim to this special status without being prepared to do his share in reaching this goal of serving as God’s representatives in the world.  Each individual must contribute his “half-shekel” to the “Mishkan,” toward advancing the goal of bringing the divine presence into our midst.

Thursday

            God concludes His commands to Moshe regarding the construction of the Mishkan by presenting the command of Shabbat observance: “And you shall speak to the Israelites, saying, ‘But you must observe My Shabbatot!’” (31:13).  As Rashi explains, God appended the command of Shabbat to the instructions concerning the Mishkan to indicate that the construction does not override the Shabbat restrictions: “Even though you should be preoccupied with the intensity of the work, do not override Shabbat to give way to it.”

            The observance of Shabbat during the period of the Mishkan’s construction perhaps provides an instructive model of balancing conflicting religious ideals.  Shabbat is described here in Parashat Ki-Tisa in the loftiest of terms, as a possession of God Himself (“My Shabbatot”) and as the sign of His covenant with Am Yisrael.  And the Mishkan, of course, served as God’s representative abode on earth, which He chose to place specifically among Benei Yisrael.  When the sun set on Friday afternoon each week during the period of building, Benei Yisrael had to choose between these two spiritual ideals – between the holiness of the Mishkan and the holiness of Shabbat.  And despite the emotion and excitement surrounding the construction of the Mishkan, particularly in the wake of the golden calf, Benei Yisrael were to give precedence to Shabbat and delay the work on the Mishkan until after Shabbat.

            Professor Nechama Leibowitz, in her Studies, notes the significance of the word “ve-ata” (“and you”) in this context, introducing God’s command to Moshe regarding Shabbat observance.  God emphasized to Moshe that he must personally convey to the people the command of Shabbat observance.  Indeed, the Mekhilta (as understood by Malbim and others; see Torah Sheleima, note 26) notes that God impressed upon Moshe the importance of relaying this information personally, and not through a third party, such as Aharon.  It was critical that the same Moshe who instructed the people to build a Mishkan and oversaw its construction also commanded them to desist on Shabbat.  If a different figure, such as Aharon, had conveyed the command concerning Shabbat, the people may have viewed Moshe and Aharon as representing two different ideological streams, one advocating the aggressive, proactive process of the Mishkan, while the other championing the more passive, low-key approach expressed through Shabbat.

            God wanted Moshe to personally convey to the people both commands in order to demonstrate to them the complexity of an integrated Torah life.  Torah cannot be narrowly defined in terms of a single ideal or value.  Living as God’s servants means obeying all His commands and embodying a range of different important values.  By hearing Moshe himself teach them about the Mishkan’s construction and about how Shabbat overrides this construction, Benei Yisrael learned this lesson of complexity, of the need to balance many different religious values and ideals in our quest for spiritual perfection.

Friday

            Rashi, in his commentary to Parashat Ki-Tisa (32:7), cites two surprising comments from Chazal describing God’s reaction to the sin of the golden calf.  As the nation worshipped the calf and celebrated and reveled in its new idol, God told Moshe, “Go down,” which, according to the plain reading, refers to his descent from atop Mount Sinai.  The Talmud (Berakhot 32a), however, explains this phrase as referring to Moshe’s demotion: “Go down from your position of leadership.”  God “dismissed” Moshe from his position, viewing the nation’s rapid decline to the depths of idolatry as an indication of Moshe’s failed leadership.  The Midrash Tanchuma and Shemot Rabba (42:2) go even further, saying that the “Heavenly Court” excommunicated Moshe on account of the incident of the calf.  Just as the chief executive officer takes the blame for the failures of the staff under his charge, similarly, Moshe was held responsible for the people’s failure. 

Shemot Rabba draws an intriguing parallel between Moshe’s “descent” in the wake of the golden calf and the Torah’s description of Yehuda’s “descent” after the tragedy of mekhirat Yosef (“va-yeired Yehuda me’et echav” – Bereishit 38:1).  The Midrash relates that Yehuda’s brothers excommunicated him after this incident.  As the leader of the group, they argued, it was his responsibility to take charge, quench the flames of hatred, and sternly oppose the plan to harm Yosef.  It appears that, according to the Midrash, Moshe bore a similar degree of responsibility for the calamity of chet ha-eigel.  Like Yehuda, the leader among the brothers, Moshe took part of the blame for the failure of those under his charge.

One possible explanation for Moshe’s accountability emerges from God’s description of Benei Yisrael in this verse – “amekha” (“your nation”).  God emphasizes here that Benei Yisrael were Moshe’s people, whom he – not God – had taken from Egypt (“asher he’eleita mei-eretz Mitzrayim”).  It goes without saying that Moshe was an effective, successful and extraordinary leader, but he is nevertheless called to task for failing to breed a degree of independence and self-sufficiency among the people.  They saw themselves as Moshe’s people, entirely dependent upon his presence and leadership.  Thus, when Moshe did not return at the anticipated time and the people presumed he had died (Rashi, 32:1), they decided to end the entire enterprise.  Without Moshe, they figured, there was no hope of continuing along the course they had begun traveling under his guidance.  They saw the process that had begun in Egypt and brought them to the Revelation at Sinai as dependent on Moshe.  And God held Moshe partially responsible for this mistake.  As successful as he was in leading, teaching, inspiring and guiding the people, he did not succeed in forging their independent identity and sense of mission.  He was unable to convey the message that their destiny depended on them, not him.  It was for this reason, perhaps, that God reacted so harshly to Moshe and blamed him for a debacle in which he played no direct role.  He is criticized for leading Benei Yisrael as “his” nation, and not impressing upon them their independent status as God’s people that does not hinge upon the any single individual – not even himself.