The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARSHAT TZAV / PURIM

Rav David Silverberg

            We find in Parashat Tzav a number of instructions concerning utensils that had been used in cooking sacrificial meat.  In the context of the chatat (sin-offering), the Torah instructs that metal utensils used for this purpose must be immersed in hot water, whereas earthenware utensils must be broken (6:21).  As Rashi cites from the Talmud (Pesachim 30b), this verse introduces the principle that ta'am (taste) of food absorbed in the walls of an earthenware utensil can never be expelled.  Whereas absorbed taste in metal utensils can be expelled through immersion in hot water, earthenware utensils retain the absorbed taste permanently.  Hence, an earthenware utensil used for cooking sacrificial meat must be broken, and may never be used again, since the taste absorbed in its walls has the status of notar – leftover sacrificial meat – which is forbidden for consumption.  If food is subsequently cooked in the utensil, the food will absorb the taste of the notar from the walls of the utensil, and will thus become forbidden for consumption.

            This explanation of the verse follows the approach taken by Rashi, who claimed that the Torah here refers generally to all sacrificial meat.  Although this discussion is presented in the specific context of the chatat, in truth these laws actually apply to all sacrificial meat: whenever meat of a korban is cooked in an earthenware utensil, the utensil must be broken, for otherwise food subsequently cooked in that utensil will be forbidden for consumption.  The Rambam, however, in Hilkhot Ma'aseh Ha-korbanot (8:14), writes explicitly that this halakha applies only to meat of a chatat.  When it comes to other sacrifices, there is no requirement to break an earthenware utensil used for cooking the meat.

            Many later writers addressed the question of how to reconcile the Rambam's ruling with the Gemara.  As mentioned, the Gemara infers from this verse the general rule that an earthenware utensil cannot be "kashered," meaning, absorbed taste is permanently retained.  This halakha, of course, has implications for all types of forbidden foods, such as meat and milk cooked together, and chametz on Pesach.  According to the Rambam, however, the Torah here speaks only of the specific case of a chatat.  In his view, the Torah introduces a special rule requiring that an earthenware pot be broken after chatat meat is cooked in it, irrespective of the absorbed taste in its walls.  Had this issue related to the problem of absorbed taste, it should have applied to all sacrificial meat, and not merely the chatat.  The Rambam thus clearly approached this halakha as a formal, ritualistic requirement, rather than a natural result of the absorption of flavor in the walls of the utensil.  If so, then the question arises as to how the Sages inferred from this verse a general rule concerning the nature of earthenware utensils and their status with respect to absorbed taste, a rule that affects all areas of Halakha.

            Rav Chanokh Henikh Aigus, in his work Marcheshet (6), resolves this question by reformulating the Rambam's definition of the halakha introduced in this verse.  According to the Marcheshet, the Rambam did not approach the breaking of earthenware utensils as a strictly formal, ritualistic act.  This requirement, in the Rambam's view, relates to the obligation of bi'ur – to destroy sacrificial meat that remains after the final time for partaking of the meat, an obligation mentioned later in Parashat Tzav (7:17).  In the case of the korban chatat, the Torah, for whatever reason, extended this obligation to include the destruction of even the taste of sacrificial meat absorbed in the pot in which it had been cooked.  It therefore ordained that metal utensils be purged of the absorbed taste through immersion in hot water, and that earthenware utensils be broken.  Since absorbed taste cannot be released from the walls of earthenware utensils, the only effective means of destroying the taste of leftover chatat meat is by breaking the utensil.

            Obviously, according to this reading of the verse, the Torah here works off the assumption that absorbed taste cannot be extracted from an earthenware utensil, and it thus becomes abundantly clear how, according to the Rambam, the Talmud infers this principle from this verse.

            Tomorrow we will iy"H address this issue further.

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            Yesterday, we discussed the halakha introduced in Parashat Tzav (6:21) requiring breaking an earthenware utensil that had been used for cooking the meat of a chatat.  Rashi explains that the Torah actually refers here to all sacrificial meat, and it establishes that the taste of food cooked in an earthenware utensil can never be expunged.  Therefore, since leftover sacrificial meat is forbidden for consumption, there is never any possibility of using an earthenware utensil once it had been used for cooking sacrificial meat, and for this reason it must be broken.  The Rambam (Hilkhot Ma'aseh Ha-korbanot 8:14), however, understood this verse differently, as presenting a unique halakha relevant specifically to chatat offerings.  When an earthenware utensil is used with meat of other sacrifices, it need not be destroyed.  The utensil of course may not be used for cooking other foods, because of the taste of leftover sacrificial meat absorbed in its walls, but it does not have to be broken.  The requirement introduced in this verse relates specifically to the meat of a chatat, and mandates breaking an earthenware utensil used for cooking this meat.

            The Marcheshet suggests a possible proof for the Rambam's position from the Talmud.  The Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (30a) records Rav's ruling that earthenware utensils that had been used for cooking chametz must be broken before Pesach.  Rav held that the taste of chametz embedded in the walls of earthenware becomes forbidden at the onset of Pesach, and remains forbidden even after Pesach, and thus the utensils must be broken.  The Gemara challenges and then explains Rav's view, but, as the Marcheshet notes, it seems to have overlooked a fairly simple understanding of his position.  The Mishna (Pesachim 2:1) cites the famous ruling of Rabbi Yehuda that the obligation of bi'ur chametz – destroying one's chametz on the fourteenth of Nissan – requires specifically burning the chametz; no other means of elimination fulfills this mitzva.  The Gemara (Pesachim 28a) explains that Rabbi Yehuda's ruling is based upon an association drawn between chametz and notar – leftover sacrificial meat: just as the Torah requires burning leftover sacrificial meat, Rabbi Yehuda maintains, so does it demand that chametz be specifically burned.

The Marcheshet contends that if we extend this association to its logical conclusion, what results is a requirement to break earthenware utensils that had absorbed the taste of chametz.  Just as the Torah requires destroying earthenware utensils containing the taste of sacrificial meat, so does it require destroying utensils that had been used with chametz as part of the obligation to rid one's property of chametz before Pesach.  Thus, Rabbi Yehuda's view provides a clear basis for Rav's ruling, that earthenware utensils must be destroyed before Pesach.  Why, then, did the Gemara struggle to find an explanation for Rav's position?

The answer, the Marcheshet writes, emerges clearly from the Rambam's ruling, that the requirement to destroy earthenware utensils containing the taste of sacrificial meat applies only to utensils used with meat of a chatat.  According to the Rambam, this is not a general rule regarding utensils used with sacrificial meat, but rather a specific obligation relevant in the special case of a chatat offering.  Hence, the association drawn by Rabbi Yehuda between chametz and leftover sacrificial meat does not necessarily result in a requirement to destroy one's chametz earthenware.  Rabbi Yehuda draws an association between chametz and sacrificial meat generally – and not specifically the meat of the chatat.  As such, the laws governing the meat of a chatat will not affect the laws regarding chametz before Pesach.

Accordingly, the Marcheshet suggests, one might argue that the Gemara's discussion implicitly supports the Rambam's view.

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            The second half of Parashat Tzav tells of the milu'im, the seven-day procedure for the formal consecration of the Mishkan and the kohanim.  Towards the end of the parasha, we read that Moshe instructed Aharon and his sons to remain at the entrance of the Mishkan throughout this seven-day period: "Do not leave the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days – until the day on which your days of consecration are completed… And remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting day and night for seven days, and observe the Lord's charge…" (8:33-35).

            A cursory glance at these verses reveals that Moshe repeated this command twice, almost in the same breath: "Do not leave the entrance… And remain in the entrance…"  How might we explain this seemingly superfluous repetition?

            Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his Divrei Shaul, suggests that these two commands correspond to the two qualities of the kehuna (priesthood), namely, its being both a privilege and an obligation.  The kohanim were likely eager and enthusiastic about undergoing the milu'im process which marked their designation as God's exclusive attendants in the Mishkan.  They welcomed this opportunity with great excitement, anticipation and sense of privilege.  Moshe, however, wanted to impress upon the newly-consecrated kohanim that they must undergo this procedure not only with a sense of privilege, but with a sense of duty and responsibility, as well.  He therefore repeats the instruction, with a discernibly harsher tone: "And remain at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting…and observe the Lord's charge so that you do not die; for this is what I was commanded."  The second command emphasizes the quality of duty and obligation that must accompany the more immediate feelings of fervor and excitement.

            The Divrei Shaul makes reference in this context to the famous comment of the Maharal of Prague concerning the Gemara's account (Shabbat 88a) of God threatening Benei Yisrael at Sinai with destruction should they refuse to accept the Torah – "the Almighty turned the mountain on top of them like a tank."  Even though the people had already proclaimed their eager desire to accept and fulfill God's laws, He nevertheless wanted to ensure that this acceptance would be simultaneously self-motivated and coerced.  Commitment based solely on voluntary will does not suffice; a person must feel bound to the Torah even on the occasions when he does not feel motivated and emotionally driven to observe the mitzvot.

            The Gemara there in Shabbat adds that the acceptance of the Torah at Mount Sinai was reaffirmed many centuries later, at the conclusion of the Purim story ("hadar kibeluha bi-mei Achashverosh").  After their miraculous "escape" from Haman's edict, the Jews formally recommitted themselves to the Torah, reinstating the acceptance of God's law at Sinai.  As we know from Sefer Yechezkel, many Jews in Babylonia concluded that the exile marked the annulment of God's covenant with Am Yisrael, and signified His rejection of them as His nation, such that they were thus no longer bound to the Torah's laws.  The remarkable events of the sudden threat of annihilation, followed by the equally sudden miracle, demonstrated that the nation's relationship with the Almighty has remained, albeit in a less direct form.  The Jews at the time of Ester were shown that Mount Sinai is still suspended over them, that if they renounce the covenant with God, they are condemned.  The Purim episode thus constituted a veiled reenactment of Ma'amad Har Sinai, a renewal of the dual acceptance of the Torah.  Once again, the people committed themselves to the Torah with both joy and loyalty, out of a sense of both love and fear, and both enthusiasm and obligation.

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            The opening verses of Parashat Tzav introduce the obligation of terumat ha-deshen – the daily removal of some ashes from the altar.  The Torah writes that before the kohen performs this ritual, he must wear "mido vad" – literally, "linen according to his size" (6:3).  The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (23b) explains this phrase as a reference to the kutonet, the linen tunic worn by the kohen, and the Torah here instructs that the kutonet must be mido – the proper size.  A kohen may not wear a tunic that is either too long or too short; it must fit his size properly.  Elsewhere (Zevachim 18a), the Gemara establishes that after the fact, rituals performed with an improperly-fitted kutonet is nevertheless valid, and need not be repeated; however, the kohen is required to ensure to wear a properly-fitted tunic during the avoda (Temple service).

            The obvious question arises as to why the Torah chose to introduce this requirement specifically here, in the context of the terumat ha-deshen.  Shouldn't this halakha been mentioned in Parashat Tetzaveh, amidst the Torah's discussion of the priestly vestments?  What particular relevance might this requirement bear in the particular context of the terumat ha-deshen, the removal of ashes from the altar?

            Rav Dov Weinberger, in his Shemen Ha-tov, explains that the terumat ha-deshen is a far less dignified ritual than the other avodot performed in the Mikdash, as it involved nothing more than removing some ashes from the altar.  This was, essentially, custodial work, which many kohanim may have regarded as a less significant or honorable component of the daily ritual service.  They were thus likely to reach the mistaken conclusion that the regulations concerning the bigdei kehuna (priestly vestments) do not apply with regard to the terumat ha-deshen procedure.  The kohanim might think that their garments must be properly worn only for the more important and dignified rituals, but not while sweeping the altar, which did not require the same kind of noble attire.  The Torah therefore introduced the obligation of mido vad specifically in this context, where it is more likely to be ignored.  Especially with regard to the terumat ha-deshen ritual the Torah found it necessary to impress upon the kohanim the importance of appearing comely and dignified as befitting the sacred service in the Mikdash.

            This halakha thus reflects the notion that all aspects of avodat Hashem must be approached and regarded with the same degree of respect and reverence.  In the realm of Torah observance, there is no such thing as an undignified act; by definition, every act of service to the Almighty is a great privilege and honor, and worthy of reverence and zeal.

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            Rav Yaakov Betzalel Zolty, in his work Mishnat Yabetz (festivals, 80), writes that one may not use products with kedushat shevi'it (the status of shemita produce) to fulfill the obligation of mishlo'ach manot – sending food packages to one's fellow on Purim.  In his view, using shemita produce for this purpose violates the halakha established in Masekhet Avoda Zara (62a) forbidding the repayment of debts with shemita goods.  Just as Halakha forbids the commercial use of shemita produce – which is designated exclusively for consumption – so does it prohibit using this produce for paying a debt, which is also a kind of "sale."  Rav Zolty held that the obligation to deliver mishlo'ach manot constitutes a "debt" imposed by Halakha, and thus one may not use shemita products for this purpose.

            Rav Shlomo Brin (http://vbm-torah.org/purim/pur62-sb.htm) noted that one could perhaps question this ruling based on a number of arguments.  For one thing, it is not entirely clear that the obligation of mishlo'ach manot indeed constitutes a "debt" in the legal sense.  Mishlo'ach manot is what we might term a ritualistic, rather than strictly monetary, obligation.  A person bears this obligation not towards his fellow, but rather towards Halakha.  As such, delivering mishlo'ach manot does not actually pay a debt; it simply fulfills a religious requirement, and there thus appears to be no reason to forbid using shemita goods for this purpose.

            Moreover, Rav Brin notes, this issue must be assessed in light of the particular parameters of the prohibition against commercial activity with kedushat shevi'it produce.  Rashi, in Masekhet Sukka (30a), defines this prohibition as referring to storing the produce until after the shemita year and then selling it for a profit.  The Rambam (Hilkhot Shemita Ve-yovel 6:1) also restricts this prohibition, ruling that one may sell small quantities of shemita produce.  According to these Rishonim, the question arises as to why this prohibition includes repaying debts with shemita produce, which entails neither storing the produce nor a large-scale transaction.  Rav Brin suggested that this prohibition is perhaps defined as using shemita produce as part of the commercial system, rather than as simply food for consumption.  Rashi and the Rambam did not intend to limit the commerce prohibition to the specific cases mentioned (storage and bulk sales), but rather confined this prohibition to the commercial framework.  Any non-commercial use of shemita produce is permissible, even if technically it involves a transaction, such as in the case of a small-scale transaction between private individuals.

            If so, then we may easily distinguish between repaying debts and sending mishlo'ach manot.  Paying employees or creditors is clearly an activity that belongs to the realm of commerce, and shemita produce may therefore not be used for these purposes.  Mishlo'ach manot, by contrast, is required as part of the Purim celebration, and clearly takes place outside the formal context of commerce.  As such, it should not be included under the prohibition forbidding the commercial use of kedushat shevi'it goods.

            Finally, the Ramban in Masekhet Avoda Zara (62a) explicitly associates the prohibition against the commercial use of shemita produce with the mitzva to partake of this produce.  According to the Ramban, the Torah forbade using this produce commercially because it insisted that they be eaten and not used for any other purpose.  If so, then one could argue that to the contrary, sending shemita goods as mishlo'ach manot is fully consistent with the Torah's objective in forbidding the commercial use of these fruits.  The Terumat Ha-deshen (111) ruled that one fulfills the obligation of mishlo'ach manot only by sending food products – and not by sending other gifts.  Presumably, he defined this obligation in terms of helping one's fellow in his festive celebration of Purim by providing food.  Thus, using kedushat shevi'it produce for mishlo'ach manot actually serves to further the goal of ensuring that this produce is consumed, and should therefore not transgress the prohibition against the commercial use of these goods.

            As for the final halakha, the work Piskei Teshuvot (695:10) cites a number of prominent authorities – including the Ben Ish Chai and Rav Shemuel Wosner – who rule stringently in this regard, and forbid using shemita produce to fulfill the mishlo'ach manot obligation.  Even these authorities, however, maintain that this restriction applies only to the minimum requirement of mishlo'ach manot, namely, two food products (or a food and a drink) to one individual.  If one gives more than two products, or gives to more than one individual (as is usually the case), then he may use kedushat shevi'it items for the additional mishlo'ach manot.

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            The Rama, in his glosses to the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 695:4), rules that if a person brings his fellow mishlo'ach manot on Purim, and the latter, for whatever reason, refuses the gift, the giver has nevertheless fulfilled his obligation.  Despite the fact that the food package never made it onto the recipient's table, and even if he did not even allow it into his house, the one who presented the package has satisfactorily performed the mitzva of mishlo'ach manot.

            The Peri Chadash, however, questions this view, arguing that one does not fulfill this obligation if the gift was rejected.

            The Chatam Sofer, in one of his responsa (196), explained that the issue debated by the Rama and Peri Chadash is an outgrowth of the more fundamental question as to the nature of the mishlo'ach manot obligation.  The Terumat Ha-deshen (in the responsum we cited yesterday) held that the institution of mishlo'ach manot is intended as a means of ensuring that everybody would have copious amounts of food for the Purim meal.  Hence, he ruled that one cannot fulfill this obligation by sending gifts other than food or drink.  By contrast, the legendary Kabbalist Rav Shelomo Alkabetz (author of the Lekha Dodi hymn), in his work Manot Halevi, held that the purpose of mishlo'ach manot is to increase a sense of festive camaraderie among Jews.  Sending gifts to one another on Purim serves to negate and undermine Haman's cynical description of the Jews as "mefuzar u-meforad" ("scattered and dispersed" – Ester 3:8) – a reference to their disunity and endless strife.

            According to the Terumat Ha-deshen, it would seem, one does not fulfill his obligation of mishlo'ach manot unless the recipient actually accepts the gift.  Since the gift is intended for the purpose of providing food for the Purim celebration, the mitzva depends on its acceptance.  According to the Manot Halevi, by contrast, one likely fulfills his obligation by offering the gift and thereby expressing friendship, regardless of whether the recipient accepts it.

            This fundamental debate affects many other questions relevant to mishlo'ach manot, as well.  For example, the Ketav Sofer (141) addresses the question of whether one fulfills this mitzva with an anonymous gift.  If we view mishlo'ach manot as intended primarily to ensure sufficient provisions for the Purim meal, then the recipient's knowledge of the giver's identity seems irrelevant.  According to the Manot Halevi, however, the gifts are intended specifically to increase love and friendship among Jews, which would likely require that the recipient knows who sent him the gift.

            Similarly, this issue might affect the question of whether a wealthy man fulfills the obligation by sending a low-value gift to a poor man.  The Bei'ur Halakha (695) cites the Chayei Adam's ruling that the wealthy man does not fulfill his obligation with such a gift.  However, as noted by Rav Yaakov Betzalel Zolty in his Mishnat Yaabetz (festivals, 80), this issue would conceivably hinge on the debate between the Terumat Ha-deshen and the Manot Halevi.  The Chayei Adam's ruling appears to assume the position of the Manot Halevi, namely, that mishlo'ach manot is geared towards increasing a sense of friendship and camaraderie.  A tiny gift given by a person of means hardly signifies any kind of fraternal love, and thus would not satisfy the requirement according to this view.  If, however, we view mishlo'ach manot as a means of ensuring adequate provisions for the Purim meal, then a small gift, which can go a long way in enhancing the celebration of a poor man, would indeed suffice.

            Another consequence of this debate relates to the unique situation of Purim Meshulash, when the fifteenth of Adar occurs on Shabbat.  In such a case, Jerusalem residents, who normally observe Purim on this date, divide the Purim festivities among the three days of Friday, Shabbat and Sunday: the Megila is read on Friday; Al Ha-nisim is added to the amida prayer and birkat ha-mazon on Shabbat; and the festive meal is held on Sunday.  The authorities debate the question of when one should send mishlo'ach manot in such a case.  The Mishna Berura (688:18) writes that since the festive meal is held on Sunday, mishlo'ach manot should likewise be sent on Sunday.  This ruling assumes, of course, a linkage between the two mitzvot of the Purim meal and mishlo'ach manot, in accordance with the Terumat Ha-deshen's ruling.  According to the Manot Halevi, we might not necessarily reach this conclusion.  (As for the final halakha, the common practice in such a case is to deliver mishlo'ach manot on Sunday, though the Chazon Ish held that this should be done on Friday.)

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            One of the primary themes – if not the primary theme – of Megilat Ester is undoubtedly that of divine providence, the concealed hand of God that governs events even when it appears that they run their course naturally and coincidentally.  By the time Haman emerged on the scene with his vicious attempt to kill the Jewish people, God had already set a mechanism into motion that doomed his plan to failure.  Ester had already replaced Vashti as the Persian queen, and Mordechai had already earned the king's favor by informing the queen of an assassination plot.  Megilat Ester is thus a story about God's subtly discernible guidance of world events, demonstrating how it is ultimately He, and not nature or human beings, who determine the course of history.

            While on one level this is undoubtedly true, this reading of the Megila might be a bit too simplistic.  As Rav Mordechai Breuer noted, we find in the narrative one evident flaw in the divine scheme, one dangerous "glitch" in the providential mechanism that threatened to render it entirely useless as far as the Jewish people's survival was concerned.  When Mordechai urges Ester to approach the king and appeal on the Jews' behalf, she responds:

All the king's servants and the people in the king's provinces know that any man or woman who comes to the king – in the interior courtyard – without having been called – his sentence is one: death.  And I have not been called to come to the king for thirty days now! (4:11)

Providence had indeed implanted Ester in the royal palace ahead of Haman's decree, but this was not sufficient to foil the plot.  Although Ester technically held the position of queen, she was not in a position to petition Achashverosh on the Jews' behalf.  The king, it appears, had lost interest in Ester, and she did not enjoy the kind of stature in the palace that she would need to appeal for his help.

            Had the providential system been perfectly designed, Ester would not only have been selected queen, but would have kept Achashverosh's interest all throughout.  Their relationship would have remained close such that she would have nothing to fear by pleading on the Jews' behalf.

            Rav Breuer explained that the Purim story conveys an important lesson in the proper approach to hashgacha (providence), namely, that it leaves "holes" that need to be filled by the human being.  God lays out all the pieces, but leaves it to man to put them together to achieve the desired goal.  The turning point of the Megila is precisely at the moment when Ester makes the heroic decision to risk her life by approaching Achashverosh – when the human being steps in where providence is "lacking," as it were, and brings redemption and salvation.

            Significantly, Rav Breuer added, it is particularly an act of sacrifice and selflessness that fills the "gaps" in the providential mechanism.  The world is perfected when human beings are prepared to act in opposition to their own, personal interests on behalf of mankind, when people overcome their egotistical instincts and work towards the advancement of the world – as was the case with Ester.  This heroism, together with the veiled power of God's providence, is what guides and directs human events and brings the world closer to perfection.