The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

In the first verse of Parashat Kedoshim, God instructs Moshe to deliver the laws contained in this parasha to “kol adat Benei Yisrael” – literally, “the entire congregation of the Children of Israel.” Rashi cites the Torat Kohanim as explaining this to mean that Moshe was to present this parasha “be-hakhel,” in an assembly of the entire nation. Later writers have noted that in his commentary to the end of Parashat Ki-Tisa, where Rashi describes the procedure by which mitzvot were conveyed to the nation, he writes that the mitzvot were publicly presented to all of Benei Yisrael. Wherein, then, lies the difference between Parashat Kedoshim and the other parshiyot of the Torah?

Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi explains that the presentation of other mitzvot did not require a single assembly; it was sufficient for the mitzvot to be taught in different groups that assembled one after the other to hear the instructions. Parashat Kedoshim, however, necessitated a joint assembly of the entire nation. Alternatively, he suggests, perhaps only Parashat Kedoshim required the attendance of women and children, who were normally exempt from participation in these assemblies. Finally, the Maharal of Prague, in his “Gur Aryeh,” claims that only the assembly of Parashat Kedoshim was mandatory. The presentation of the other sets of laws did not obligate every member of the nation to attend. For Parashat Kedoshim, however, everyone had to refrain from all other activities to attend the gathering.

In any event, the obvious question arises as to wherein precisely lies the singular importance of Parashat Kedoshim that warranted such a gathering. The passage in Torat Kohanim explains that “rov gufei Torah teluyim ba” – “the majority of Torah principles depend on it.” Later writes have struggled to explain the meaning behind this phrase, why Parashat Kedoshim demanded the attendance of every member of Am Yisrael.

The Chatam Sofer suggests that an assembly of this nature reflected a fundamental quality of the “kedusha” demanded by this parasha. This parasha opens, “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy.” The verse draws a clear association between the sanctity of God and that required by us, His subjects. Somehow, God’s holiness must serve as a paradigm for the type of holiness we must pursue. How can the Almighty provide the model of sanctity for us mortals to follow?

Many commentators have explained that this parallel serves to negate a common misconception regarding the concept of “kedusha.” People often view holiness as synonymous with abstinence and self-denial. To be holy, many assume, is to separate oneself entirely from the mundane and physical, focusing exclusively on the spiritual. The Almighty Himself, however, teaches us that this is not the case. Although He created the world and is infinitely greater than everything on earth, God nevertheless remains closely involved in world affairs. He did not abandon the earth and relegate His authority to the natural forces, as the pagans thought, but rather personally oversees world events. Just as God’s sanctity in no way undermines His involvement and interest in the world, so must our kedusha work within the realm of the mundane, rather than try to escape it. Kedusha, as required by the parasha about kedusha – “Kedoshim,” challenges us to live within the natural world only at a much higher standard.

This, the Chatam Sofer suggests, is the underlying reason for the “hakhel” – the nationwide assembly required for this parasha. The ideal of “Kedoshim tihyu” is not attained in isolation, solitude, or withdrawal from society. Quite to the contrary, Am Yisrael realizes the ideal of kedusha specifically as a nation, as a community, and as a society, a society that on the one hand resembles all other societies while at the same time remains fundamentally different. The Torah bids us to apply the mitzvot to day-to-day life as a means to kedusha, transforming our mundane existence into one of sanctity and spiritual meaning.

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After first issuing the generic command of “kedoshim tihyu” (“you shall be holy”), the Torah in Parashat Kedoshim proceeds to briefly mention the obligation of reverence towards one’s parents: “You shall each revere his mother and his father…” (19:3). In the context of its discussion in Masekhet Kiddushin (31a) of proper treatment towards one’s parents, the Gemara tells the famous story of Dama Ben Netina, a gentile from Ashkelon who was offered an extraordinarily lucrative business opportunity by the rabbinic leaders. They offered him a huge some of money for his merchandise, but the key to his warehouse was located under the pillow of his sleeping father. Dama Ben Netina turned down the profitable sale rather than disturb his father. This, the Gemara says, serves as a paradigmatic example of how far the mitzva of honoring parents extends.

On one level, this passage in the Gemara requires no explanation. The heroic sacrifice of Dama Ben Netina and the extent of his concern for his father’s comfort and well being speak for themselves. But on a deeper level, perhaps, one might inquire as to why the Gemara saw this specific instance as the paradigm of honoring parents. Presumably, the Talmudic sages were aware of other inspiring incidents of selfless sacrifice on behalf of parents. We might expect, then, that this story in particular carries with it some deeper significance that renders it worthy of serving as the prime example for us to follow.

Rabbi Yitzchak Stollman, in his discussion in his “Minchat Yitzchak” to Parashat Kedoshim, suggests that in the view of Chazal, the image of the key under the pillow serves as a powerful symbol of a critical component of this mitzva. The son’s refusal to awaken his father to take the key was seen by Chazal as not only an expression of remarkable consideration and sensitivity, but as a symbol of a more general attitude to his parents. Generally, Rabbi Stollman notes, children often see it as their task to “wake up” their parents. They many times feel that the “key” to improving the world is situated right underneath their parents’ heads, that the older generation possesses the power and capability to come up with solutions but chooses to sleep instead. Frustrated and impatient with the older generation’s lack of progress, children assume the right to wake up their parents from the slumber that has, in their view, denied the world the key to happiness and prosperity. Dama Ben Netina, however, had a different view of his parents’ generation, one of respect and reverence. He understood that he has what to learn from the past, that his youth does not necessarily grant him the key to solving all problems.

Accordingly, honoring parents involves much more than just personal gratitude and appreciation towards those who have done so much for a person. It has to do with a humble sense of reverence towards generations past, towards tradition, an understanding that newer is not always better, and that younger is not always smarter.

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Parashat Kedoshim contains one of the most famous verses in the entire Torah: “You shall love your fellow as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18), a dictum which, as we all know, Rabbi Akiva describes as a “great principle of the Torah.”

This mitzva has become the subject of much discussion among halakhic and philosophic writers alike, in an attempt to identify the precise obligation implied by this verse and its theological underpinnings. The most obvious vexing issue concerning this obligation is its practicality. How can even the most magnanimously oriented human being truly love other people to the same extent as he loves himself?

One simple explanation of this mitzva would view it as involving operative procedure rather than emotion and feeling. The Torah does not expect us to feel the same concern for the welfare of othersas we do for ourselves, but it does call upon us to treat others the way we, ourselves, expect to be treated. This is expressed most clearly and famously in Hillel’s response to the prospective convert who demanded a succinct summary of the entire Torah. Hillel responds, “Do not do to your fellow that which you despise.” In other words, “Love your fellow as yourself” requires us to imagine ourselves in the situations faced by others. As a natural consequence of this perspective, we will come to treat others as we would like to be treated. Whereas existentially we will undoubtedly remain more concerned about, and caught up in, our own needs, as a practical matter we will afford others the same courtesy and sensitivity we expect others to show us.

To further develop this perspective on “Love your fellow as yourself,” let us look at the famous prophecy of Natan in his admonition to King David after the incident of Batsheva (Shemuel II, 12). Natan describes to the king a situation of a poor man who had nothing but a single sheep that he cherished and cared for with devotion and affection. One day, a wealthy man who owned numerous herds of animals invited guests and decided he would not take any of his own animals to serve his company. Instead, he seized the poor man’s only sheep. David angrily responds that the wealthy man should be executed for his insensitivity and cruelty, at which point the prophet turns to the king and succinctly remarks: “That man is you!” (Meaning, David had many wives and yet chose to seize the only wife of Uriya.)

This tactic employed by Natan reflects the underlying theme of “Love your fellow as yourself” that we have developed. The assessments we make in the abstract are often neglected when our own interests are at stake. A person’s love for himself clouds his judgment to the point where he conducts his life in a manner directly contradicting his strongest convictions and beliefs. “Love your fellow as yourself” demands that we make all our decisions affecting others as if they affected us, that we make assessments as if our own interests are at stake. This is perhaps the meaning behind the passage in the “U-nataneh tokef” prayer recited on the Yamim Noraim: “You will remember all that was forgotten, and you will open the book of memories. It will be read from, and the signature of every man is upon it.” Our “signatures” confirm not only the facts of our conduct, but also that it was wrong. We ourselves so strongly condemned this type of behavior on the part of others, while we routinely acted similarly to serve our own interests.

The “great principle of the Torah” demands consistency in our view of others, that we judge and treat people with the same compassion, understanding and sympathy with which we judge and treat ourselves.

(Summary of an article by Professor Shalom Rosenberg)

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As mentioned two days ago, the first specific mitzva introduced in Parashat Kedoshim is that of “ish imo ve-aviv tira’u” – the obligation of reverence towards one’s parents. This same verse also includes a warning about Shabbat observance (“ve-et shabetotai tishmoru”). This led Chazal, as cited by Rashi, to interpret the verse as referring to a situation of a conflict between the respect owed to one’s parents and Torah laws such as Shabbat. Should a father specifically instruct his child to violate Shabbat or some other transgression, the child must disobey his father rather than transgress the Torah’s laws.

Some later writers have questioned the need for an explicit provision to this effect in the Torah. Would one really have entertained the notion that a parent’s wishes warrant a flagrant violation of stringent prohibitions such as Shabbat? Must the Torah explicitly establish that its own authority supersedes that of one’s mother or father?

A fascinating approach (“al derekh derush”) to this Midrash of Chazal, one which takes into account the context of this verse, appears in Rabbi Zalman Yaakov Friederman’s “Shoshanat Yaakov” (Boston, 1927). In Torat Kohanim, Chazal interpret the imperative “kedoshim tihyu” (“you shall be holy”), the mitzva with which our parasha opens, to mean, “perushim tihyu” – loosely translated as, “you shall abstain.” The obligation of “kedoshim tihyu” thus refers to the establishment of priorities in life. Rather than focusing on physical and material indulgence and luxury, we are bidden to concentrate our efforts on that which is spiritual and meaningful. While Judaism does not frown upon wealth per se, it does frown upon the disproportionate preoccupation with wealth. This, Rav Friederman claims, is what “kedoshim tihyu” is all about. It means that we concentrate on holiness rather than the mundane, on the eternal rather than the ephemeral. Moreover, Rav Friederman argues (again, “al derekh derush”) that “kedoshim tihyu” speaks not only of our personal conduct, but – perhaps primarily – of how we educate our children. We must teach our young ones to appreciate the value of kedusha, to develop an interest in that which is holy and meaningful, rather than in that which is vain and unimportant. While Chazal strongly urge parents to see to it that their children learn a trade and become financially self-sufficient (see Kiddushin 30), this must not come at the expense of the priority scale required by “kedoshim tihyu.” Children must be taught not only the importance of earning a living, but also the relative importance of earning a living, that it serves as but a means to a holier end.

It is off this backdrop that Chazal interpret the verse of revering parents as a reference to a situation of a parent asking his child to violate the Torah. The situation they describe is not about a parent who explicitly instructs his child to transgress the Torah, but rather of a subtle implication to this effect. According to Chazal, this verse addresses a family where the children were not infused with the ideal of “kedoshim tihyu,” where priority was given to the means rather than the end. The children were taught by implication to show preference to money and wealth over the mitzvot. The Torah turns to these children and warns them that in spite of the general obligation to honor parents, “you shall observe My Shabbatot.” One who was not raised with the ideal of “kedoshim tihyu” must be given an additional reminder to retain his commitment to the Torah’s laws, even though his upbringing may have taught him otherwise.

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Yesterday we discussed Chazal’s explanation of the third verse of Parashat Kedoshim: “You shall each revere his mother and his father, and keep My Shabbatot.” According to Chazal, the juxtaposition between these two laws – honoring parents and Shabbat observance – indicates that we deal here with a situation of a parent who instructs a child to commit a transgression such as Shabbat. The Torah commands the child to disobey the parent’s orders rather than violate the given prohibition. Today we will look at other possible explanations for this Midrash, why one might have thought otherwise, that a child should obey his parent’s wishes that he violate a transgression.

The Chizkuni suggests that Chazal refer to a case where the parent instructs the child to violate a prohibition legislated by the rabbis, rather than a Torah violation. One might have reasoned that the Torah obligation of honoring parents would override the rabbinic prohibition in question. A specific clause is thus necessary to clarify that a child may not even violate a rabbinic prohibition to satisfy his parents’ wishes. As the “Pardes Yosef” notes, however, the Gemara (Yevamot 5b) implies that without the verse one may have thought to allow even Torah violations in fulfillment of one’s parents’ commands.

Another possible approach would argue that the case mentioned by the Midrash does not involve a direct command of Torah violation. Rather, the parent makes a request of his child that incidentally, and perhaps unintentionally, requires a violation. In such an instance, one may have argued that since the parent did not knowingly or directly instruct the child to transgresthe Torah, the child must obey the command and commit the violation. (See Maggid Mishna, Hilkhot Aveida 11:19.)

An entirely different approach is taken by Rav Barukh Epstein in his “Tosefet Berakha.” He bases his explanation on a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Pe’a 1:1) which establishes that the honor we must show parents exceeds that which we must show the Almighty. The Yerushalmi derives this principle from a verse in Sefer Mishlei (3:9) instructing us to show honor to God from our wealth – meaning, the wealth already in our possession. When it comes to honoring parents, however, halakha requires a child to go around knocking on doors to collect money to support his parents should this become necessary. Rav Epstein claims that taking this notion to its logical extension could perhaps yield the conclusion that one must even violate Torah law to fulfill the wishes of his parents. The verse in Parashat Kedoshim must therefore instruct otherwise, that we may not obey a parent’s command if doing so entails a violation of Torah law.

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Among the many mitzvot found in Parashat Kedoshim is the prohibition against self-mutilation in response to personal tragedy: “You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead” (19:28). The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (68a) records that after the death of his mentor (and, later, his colleague), Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Akiva “beat his flesh until it bled” lamenting the loss of the great scholar. The obvious question addressed by many Rishonim is why Rabbi Akiva was not in violation of an explicit prohibition introduced in Parashat Kedoshim.

Two approaches appear in the Rishonim. The most common answer is presented by Tosefot there in Sanhedrin, who explains that Rabbi Akiva beat himself not over the loss of the person, but rather over the loss of the Torah. As the Minchat Chinukh (467) elaborates, the prohibition against self-mutilation as an expression of anguish applies only when it is done to lament a deceased person. If, however, one commits such acts upon hearing other bad tidings, such as the loss of property and the like, he does not violate the prohibition. Therefore, Tosefot and many other Rishonim explain, Rabbi Akiva, who “beat his flesh” to lament the loss of Torah resulting from Rabbi Eliezer’s death, did not transgress this violation.

Tosefot in Masekhet Yevamot (13b) add a second explanation in the name of Rabbenu Yitzchak, who claimed that the prohibition applies only to “serita” – gashes. One does not violate this prohibition through other means of self-mutilation. Rabbi Akiva “beat” himself; he did not make gashes in his skin, and thus violated no prohibition.

Other Rishonim, including the Rosh (end of Moed Katan), as cited by his son, the Tur (Y.D. 180), strongly reject this limitation advanced by Tosefot in Yevamot. The Shulchan Arukh (Y.D. 180:7) cites both views, as to whether one violates this prohibition by beating rather than gashing.

Much later, Rav Reuven Margoliyot, in his “Margaliyot Ha-yam” to Masekhet Sanhedrin, noted that in truth there may be no question here at all. This incident of Rabbi Akiva is recorded much differently in Masekhet Semachot (beginning of chapter 9), which reads, “he beat his heart and the blood flowed.” It appears from this text that Rabbi Akiva did not bruise his flesh in any way, but merely banged his chest as a symbolic expression of grief. Clearly, then, he violated no prohibition.

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The Torah in Parashat Kedoshim (beginning of chapter 20) repeats the prohibition already mentioned earlier, in Parashat Acharei-Mot, against giving one’s children over to “molekh.” The commentaries disagree as to what precisely this idolatrous worship entailed. According to the Ramban, the child was placed into fire to be burned. The Rambam (Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 6:3), however, claims that the child was not actually burned, but merely passed in between two fires as part of a symbolic, pagan ritual of sorts. Rav Barukh Epstein, in his Torah Temima (Parashat Acharei-Mot), adopts the Rambam’s position, that the child was not actually burned, only he claims that the child was, in fact, brought through fire, but not long enough to be burned. This is in contrast to the Rambam’s view, that the ritual entailed passing the child in between two flames.

The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (64b) establishes a rather counterintuitive provision concerning the halakha of molekh worship: one does not incur the death penalty for molekh worship if he gives over all his children to molekh. The death penalty applies only to one who gives over one or some his children, but not all. Why? What is the reasoning behind this seemingly peculiar halakha?

Several different explanations have been offered. The earliest source addressing this question is the Semag (lo ta’aseh 40; see also Raboteinu Ba’alei Ha-Tosefot, end of Parashat Emor, and Teshuvot Ha-Rashba 4:18), who explains that one who performs the molekh ritual with all his children does not deserve the atonement generally achieved through capital punishment. A person who has reached this point of iniquity forfeits all hope of expiation – even through death.

In later sources we find other approaches. The Pardes Yosef (Parashat Acharei-Mot) records that a priest once approached the Maharal of Prague demanding an explanation of this halakha, exempting one from punishment if he gives all his offspring over to molekh. The Maharal replied, quite simply, that such activity clearly reveals a degree of mental instability which exempts the individual from punishment. The Maharal reportedly compared this halakha to a similar law regarding teruma (Masekhet Chala 1:9), that if one declares his entire yield to be teruma, none of it becomes teruma. Since such a declaration indicates a level of insanity, the individual is not considered as possessing the mental capacity required to declare teruma. Here, too, the Torah does not punish a parent who sends all his children to molekh. Only if he gives over some of his children do we assume that he has consciously adopted the pagan belief of molekh and is thus liable for punishment. (In the work “Likutei Batar Likutei” to Masekhet Sanhedrin, the Maharal is recorded as commenting further that the followers of molekh believed that by sacrificing one child to this god, a parent earns protection on behalf of his other children. Clearly, then, one who gives over all his children does so out of insanity, rather than out of commitment to the religious doctrine of this belief.)

A different approach, cited in the name of the “Shir Ma’on,” claims that the death penalty issued against a parent who performs the molekh ritual is meant to help ensure that the influence of this act does not spread, that others will not follow his example. In a case of a father who sends all his children to molekh, everyone recognizes his mental instability and will not see his worship of molekh as an example for them to follow.

The Torah Temima suggests a simple and straightforward explanation of this halakha. As mentioned earlier, he adopts the Rambam’s position, that the molekh worship did not entail the killing of the child; it was merely a kind of symbolic religious ritual. The Torah forbade it not because of any cruelty, but simply because this act was associated with pagan beliefs. Naturally, then, the Torah forbids only those actions which were indeed performed under the pagan doctrine of molekh. Apparently, the Torah Temima claims, the worship of molekh required specifically passing one or some of one’s children through fire, not all of them. Therefore, the Torah likewise forbids the ritual only when it is performed on one or several of one’s children.

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