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Parashat Emor concludes with the somewhat enigmatic incident of the "megadef," the one who blasphemed God's Name and was thus sentenced to death. The Torah very briefly reports the criminal's family background and the circumstances surrounding this unfortunate incident: "There came out among the Israelites one whose mother was Israelite and whose father was Egyptian. And a fight broke out in the camp between the [aforementioned] son of the Israelite woman and a certain Israelite. The son of the Israelite women pronounced the Name in blasphemy… " (24:10-11). The blasphemer had a less than distinguished family background. As Rashi explains, back in Egypt his mother engaged in harlotry and begot this child from one her Egyptian patrons. Interestingly, however, the Torah makes only a single mention of his half-Egyptian lineage, and even this reference is made parenthetically: the clause, "ve-hu ben ish Mitzri" may be read as, "and he happened to be the son of an Egyptian. Surprisingly, throughout the rest of this section the Torah calls the blasphemer, "the son of the Israelite woman," as if to divert our attention from his biological roots. It is also noteworthy that the Torah chooses to omit any reference to his mother's prostitution from which he was born; this is presented only in the Midrash.

This perhaps reflects a concerted effort on the Torah's part to ensure that we, the readers, do not attribute this crime to the blasphemer's family background. As we mentioned yesterday, in Parashat Acharei-Mot the Torah clearly indicates that Egyptian culture was particularly vulgar; one may very easily have concluded that only such contaminated roots could have given rise to a blasphemer. The Torah therefore emphasizes that the perpetrator was "the son of an Israelite woman." This act was done by someone from Israelite heritage, as well. A person must take full responsibility for his actions; while one's education and background undoubtedly affect him even as he grows into adulthood, he cannot cast the blame for his imperfections entirely on these and other factors. We therefore cannot focus on the Egyptian aspect of the blasphemer's heritage; we must rather consider his Israelite side. It really doesn't matter; he must take personal responsibility.

This may explain the relevance of this story to the context in which it appears. This incident concludes the unit in Sefer Kedoshim which we may call, the "kedusha" unit. Since the beginning of Parashat Kedoshim, the theme of kedusha (sanctity) is repeated over and over and undoubtedly emerges as this unit's dominant component. The Torah here perhaps emphasizes that kedusha is open to anyone - that is, anyone willing to exert the necessary effort towards this end. Regardless of one's background, he could potentially attain the highest levels of kedusha or do the exact opposite - reject the source of kedusha, the Almighty Himself. One's past, however strongly it impacts upon him, is far less important than his present and future. Ultimately, everyone has the capacity for kedusha.

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Parashat Emor opens with the prohibition of "tum'at kohanim," forbidding a kohen to come in contact with a dead body. It emerges from these verses that kohanim are allowed to come in contact with their immediate relatives (parents, brothers and unmarried sisters) upon their deaths. This provision does not apply to a kohen gadol; he may not bring tum'a upon himself even to tend the burial needs of immediate relatives. All kohanim, however, including a kohen gadol, may tend to the burial needs of a "meit mitzva," a deceased person with no relatives arranging a proper burial. These halakhot are spelled out in the opening verses of Parashat Emor and elaborated upon in the Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh Dei'a 373-4.

As part of the Yom Kippur service, we tell the tragic stories of the "asra harugei malkhut," the ten Jewish sages who were cruelly murdered by the Romans. This account describes how the Romans severed the head of Rabban Shimon Ben Gamliel, the leading rabbinic authority of his time, in the presence of Rabbi Yishmael Kohen Gadol. Overcome by grief, Rabbi Yishmael takes and embraces the severed head and laments the brutal death of such a sacred and revered sage. Generally, given that while reciting this account we - appropriately - focus on the tragedy described, we overlook the obvious question as to how Rabbi Yishmael Kohen Gadol was permitted to take Rabban Shimon's head - does this not violate the prohibition against kohanim coming in contact with tum'a?

This question was posed to Rav Moshe Feinstein zt"l by Rav Efrayim Greenblat (of Memphis, Tennessee, author of the voluminous work, "Rivevot Efrayim"), as recorded in Iggerot Moshe O.C. vol. 4, 69:8. Rav Moshe responded by noting the comment of Rav Chayim Kohen, a Tosafist, cited in Tosefot, Masekhet Ketubot 103b. Rav Chayim Kohen said that were he to have been alive at the time of the death of Rabbeinu Tam (generally regarded as the most influential of the Ba'alei ha-Tosafot), he would have attended the burial despite his being a kohen. Rav Moshe explained that the permission granted to a kohen to attend to the needs of a "meit mitzva" extends beyond the actual burial. Anything necessary to provide a respectable burial commensurate to the deceased's stature may be performed by a kohen. When a leading rabbinic authority such as Rabbeinu Tam passes away, his honor demands the presence of all of Kelal Yisrael. Thus, his funeral, too, takes on the status of a "meit mitzva" with the respect to the participation of kohanim.

Similarly, Rav Moshe, argues, the death of Rabban Shimon, the leading rabbinical figure of his day, required that Rabbi Yishamel Kohen Gadol, the only one present at the time of his murder, afford honor to the sage. As Rabbi Yishmael knew that the Romans would kill him next, and thus he had no opportunity to make burial arrangements for Rabban Shimon, he felt that at very least he could do some small demonstrative act in the rabbi's honor. He was thus permitted to hold the severed head, despite the prohibition against tum'at kohanim.

We will iy"H elaborate further on this issue tomorrow.

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Yesterday we discussed the prohibition against "tum'at kohanim," introduced in Parashat Emor, which forbids kohanim to come in contact with a dead body. We raised the question as to how Rabbi Yishmael Kohein Gadol, as described in our Yom Kippur liturgy, seemingly violated this prohibition when he embraced the severed head of Rabban Simon Ben Gamilel immediately after his execution by the Romans. As we saw, Rav Moshe Feinstein explained that the situation of Rabbi Yishamel Kohein Gadol was that of a "meit mitzva." Namely, a kohein may bring tum'a upon himself if his involvement is necessary for the proper burial of a deceased individual. In this situation, then, Rabbi Yishmael was permitted to come in contact with Rabban Shimon's remains as a demonstration of honor for the slain rabbinical leader.

One point of clarification is necessary in the context of Rav Moshe's explanation. Although, as we saw yesterday, a kohein may personally involve himself in the burial of an immediate relative, he may do so only if the complete body is intact. The Shulchan Arukh (Y.D. 373:9) cites two views as to whether this includes a relative whose body had not been intact even before death - e.g. he underwent an amputation at some point during his lifetime, Heaven forbid. According to the lenient view, a kohen may become tamei for a relative so long as the remains have been maintained just as they were before death. The Shakh, however, notes that even according to the lenient position, if the deceased's body was dismembered during death - such as in the case of Rabban Shimon - a kohein relative may not become tamei to tend to the deceased's needs. (Tragically, of course, these halakhave become relevant regarding the painfully victims of terror and their relatives; we do not, obviously, intend to issue definitive rulings, but merely to raise the issues involved.) Would this impact the situation of Rabbi Yishmael Kohein Gadol and Rabban Shimon?

In the next chapter in the Shulchan Arukh (372:2), it is stated clearly that this discussion applies only to the kohein's involvement in the burial of relatives. When it comes to a "meit mitzva," a non-relative to whose burial needs there is no one but the kohein to attend, the kohein may become tamei even if the deceased's body is not intact. Therefore, if, as Rav Moshe claims, Rabbi Yishmael was permitted to handle the remains of Rabban Shimon on the grounds of "meit mitzva," the fact that the victim's head was severed would not undermine this basis of permission.

Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank, however, suggested an entirely different explanation as to why Rabbi Yishmael was allowed to touch the severed head of Rabban Shimon. He posits that this tragic incident occurred inside a building, under a roof. Therefore, Rabbi Yishmael was exposed to tum'a in any event, as one contracts tum'a by being situated under the same roof as a Jewish corpse, even without direct contact ("tum'at ohel" - see Bemidbar 19:14). As Rabbi Yishmael was confined to tum'a in any event, his embrace of Rabban Shimon's remains did not generate any further tum'a.

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Parashat Emor features an entire chapter (Vayikra 23) devoted to the festivals, generally referred to as, "Parashat Hamo'adot." In its brief discussion of Rosh Hashanah, the Torah commands us to observe this day as a "zikhron teru'a," literally, "a remembrance of blowing" (23:24). Rashi explains this verse as introducing the requirement to recite "zikhronot" and "shoferot" on Rosh Hashanah. As we know from our Rosh Hashanah prayer service, during mussaf we add three special sections - "malkhuyot," "zikhronot" and "shoferot," in which we cite verses related to these three themes: divine kingship, God's remembering of His covenant to our forefathers, and divine revelation through the sounding of the shofar. According to Rashi (based on the Gemara, Rosh Hashanah 32a, and Torat Kohanim on this pasuk), our pasuk introduces the requirement concerning the last two of these three sections. "Zikhron" refers to "zikhronot," and "shofar" refers to "shoferot." Several texts of Rashi's commentary include the word "malkhuyot" in this context, though most versions - including those in widespread use today - omit "malkhuyot." The Maharal (in his Gur Aryeh) states clearly that the common text is the correct one, as Rashi based his comments on the Gemara, which derives the obligation to recite "malkuyot" from a different verse: "… you shall sound blasts on the trumpets, that you may be remembered before the Lord your God… I, the Lord, am your God" (Bemidbar 10:9-10). The Torah here juxtaposes the theme of "malkhut," divine kingship (expressed in the clause, "I, the Lord, am your God") with the themes of shofar blowing and God's positive "remembrance" of us in judgment. Thus, from this verse Chazal derive that "malkhuyot" must always accompany "zikhronot" and "shoferot."

The Ramban, however, claims that this interpretation constitutes a "derash halakha" (halakhic exposition), rather than the straightforward reading ("peshat") of the verse. He suggests that on the level of "peshat," the Torah here commands us to sound the shofar on Rosh Hashanah as a means to achieve "zikhron" - a favorable judgment from God. The verse therefore says nothing about the recitation of other verses as part of a prayer service, but rather introduces the requirement and primary function of shofar blowing.

The Maharal suggests that essentially Rashi's interpretation of the verse follows that of the Ramban. After all, the requirement to recite the pesukim of "malkhuyot," "zikhronot" and "shoferot" is clearly of rabbinic origin. How, then, can Rashi read this verse as introducing this requirement? The Maharal therefore explains that Rashi understood the verse just as the Ramban did - that through our sounding of the shofar we are remembered favorably by God. It was precisely for this reason that Chazal instituted the recitation of these verses on Rosh Hashanah: our prayer service, in which we invoke the Scriptural sources of these central themes, helps ensure that the shofar blowing yields the desired result. Thus, it turns out that even Rashi did not interpret the verse as introducing the liturgical requirement of "zikhronot" and "shoferot." Rather, it presents the fundamental concept on the basis of which Chazal instituted this obligation.

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Yesterday we began discussing the verse in Parashat Emor (23:24) that describes Rosh Hashanah as a "zikhron teru'a." As we saw, Rashi, citing Chazal, interprets this clause as a source for the requirement to include in our Rosh Hashanah liturgy verses related to the themes of "zikhronot" - God's "remembering" us favorably in judgment, and "shoferot" - the role of shofar blowing in bringing God closer. There is, of course, a third requirement of "malkhuyot," to recite verses related to the theme of divine kingship. Chazal derive this obligation from a different verse, in Parashat Beha'alotekha, in the context of the sounding of trumpets ("chatzotzerot") during wartime: "… you shall sound blasts on the trumpets, that you may be remembered before the Lord your God… I, the Lord, am your God" (Bemidbar 10:9-10). This passage mentions the themes of "zikhronot" and "shoferot" and concludes, "I, the Lord, am your God." From here Chazal derive the basic principle that "zikhronot" and "shoferot" must always be accompanied by "malkhuyot" - the concept of divine kingship.

This principle may have fundamental implications beyond the strict, halakhic issue concerning our Rosh Hashanah liturgy. During times of judgment, particularly Rosh Hashanah and wartime, we yearn for "zikhronot" - that God look upon us favorably as He renders judgment. In His infinite mercy, He has provided us with the tool to achieve this goal: "shoferot," the sounding of the shofar. The aforementioned verse in Bemidbar, however, teaches us that this process, of realizing "zikhronot" through "shoferot," can be effective only with "malkhuyot," when accompanied by a sense of "I, the Lord, am your God." The shofar does not work as some magic potion that automatically erases our "demerits" and yields a favorable sentence. Rather, as the Rambam so eloquently writes in Hilkhot Teshuva (3:4), the sounding of the shofar is to serve as an alarm, as a "wake-up call," calling our attention to the need for teshuva. It signals the arrival of the King to judge His nation, which demands repentance and a sincere effort to improve.

When Am Yisrael finds itself at war, God sits in judgment, as it were, deciding His nation's fate. This realization is, at once, both frightening and encouraging. It must frighten us in the same sense as Rosh Hashanah, our annual day of judgment, does, as our conduct is carefully looked upon and assessed, all our deeds and misdeeds precisely counted on the heavenly scales. At the same time, we are encouraged by the knowledge that while we have no other nations to whom to turn for assistance, when the world forbids Jewish blood from being avenged or protected, we have the Almighty to whom to turn, His compassion to invoke. Through our sincere prayer (which replaces "shoferot" in the absence of the Temple) and genuine acceptance of God's "malkhut," we long for "zikhronot," a favorable sentence during this critical period of judgment.

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The first section of Parashat Emor presents various laws relevant specifically to the kohanim. Within this context we find, surprisingly, prohibitions that apply to the rest of the nation, as well: "They shall not shave smooth a part of their heads, or cut the side-growth of their beards, or make gashes in their flesh" (21:5). Rashi notes that although these prohibitions apply to all of Benei Yisrael, they were nevertheless repeated here in order to introduce various details relevant to laws (that it applies anywhere on the head, and specifically in the context of mourning).Clearly, however, an explanation is required as to why the Torah chooses to introduce these details specifically here, in Parashat Emor, amidst its discussion of the special laws of the kohanim. If these details apply equally to all of Benei Yisrael, why does the Torah mention them at all in this context?

The Maharil Diskin (cited by Rav Moshe Sternbuch, in "Ta'am ve-Da'at") suggests a beautiful explanation for the relevance of these prohibitions to the halakhot of kohanim. In many cultures, the religious officials wore their titles externally, in the form of special hairdressing or permanent marks on their bodies. This would establish or underscore their distinction from the laymen and their prominent stature in society. Such external symbols were necessary because internally, these officials were no different from the masses. Their devotion and qualities did not surpass those of the lay population, thus necessitating artificial, external symbols of alleged greatness.

The Torah here calls upon the kohanim to establish their stature internally, rather than externally. Indeed, immediately following this verse forbidding kohanim from shaving their heads and the like, we read: "They shall be holy to their God and not profane the Name of their God; for they offer the Lord's offerings by fire, the food of their God, and so must be holy." The sanctity of the kohanim emerges from their having been chosen to officiate in the Mishkan; they must therefore become internally sacred. They must not resort to artificial modes of distinction, but rather genuinely develop themselves spiritually and thus rightfully earn the title of kohanim.

The Torah does not deny the effects of one's external appearance on his internal being; even the kohanim must wear special garb while performing the service in the Temple. But the external appearance must serve as a means, rather than become an end unto itself. Shabbat clothing is to enhance our appreciation of the honor and sanctity of Shabbat; the modest dress required by halakha must strengthen our sense of humility, dignity and self-respect. But our primary focus must always be directed internally; how we appear is of far less importance than who we are.

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As we've discussed earlier this week, Parashat Emor opens with the prohibition of "tum'at kohanim," which forbids the kohanim to come in contact with "tum'at meit" (the ritual impurity contracted upon contact with a corpse). How are we to understand this prohibition, and how does this reflect the nature and function of the kohanim?

Rav Moshe Feinstein explained that the concept of "tum'at meit" highlights the centrality of the soul, as opposed to the body, in determining the value of the human being. By rendering a person's remains "tamei," the Torah effectively indicates that once his soul has departed, what is left is worthless, something deemed impure. What makes a human being "tahor," pure, is his soul. In the broader sense, then, one can theoretically become "tamei" during his lifetime, as well. Should he afford primary concern to his physical well being at the expense of the nurturing of his soul, he becomes, in a certain sense, "tamei," an entirely physical being. That non-kohanim may, and, in many circumstances, must, come in contact with "tum'a," Rav Moshe explains, reflects the Torah's positive outlook on meticulous care for one's physical needs. Unlike other religious doctrines, Judaism has always advocated strict hygienic and medical standards, and it in fact forbids neglecting one's body's needs. However, in order to emphasize the subsidiary nature of these concerns, that they serve as merely a means to spirituality, the Torah assigned the kohanim the task of withdrawing to some extent from physical and material pursuits. They do not own farmland; instead, they devote their lives to the Temple service and Torah education and receive support from the rest of the populace. This designation of kohanim is symbolized by the prohibition of "tum'at kohanim." They may not come in contact with dead bodies because they must distance themselves from the physical pursuits in which the laymen engage. By setting the example of an exclusively spiritual existence, the kohanim show the nation that the mundane must serve the sacred; our involvement in the secular must be geared towards the enhancement of our souls.

In the context of this discussion, Rav Moshe addresses the question we raised yesterday as to why the Torah here introduces the prohibitions against shaving one's head and making gashes in one's skin. As we discussed, these prohibitions apply to all of Benei Yisrael but are repeated here, in Parashat Emor, amidst the laws relevant specifically to the kohanim. Rav Moshe arrives at a different answer from the one we saw yesterday (suggested by the Maharil Diskin). He explains that as the kohanim must serve as living examples for the rest of the nation, the Torah forbids them to draw too solid a line between themselves and those whom they must teach and inspire. These physical signs of distinction, which were prevalent among ancient clergymen, indicated a fundamentally different plane upon which the religious officials supposedly stood. They intended to rise above the general populace and sever their connection to them. The kohanim, by contrast, were to live among the people, only at a higher standard. Thus, on the one hand they must withdraw from mundane pursuits, as symbolized by the prohibition of "tum'at kohanim." But at the same time, they may not distinguish themselves fundamentally from the masses, but rather fully interact with them, in order to demonstrate the proper relationship between the sacred and the mundane.

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