The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Behar includes the laws of the "eved ivri," or indentured Hebrew servant. This series of laws is presented after the laws of yovel (the jubilee year), as one important feature of the yovel year is the emancipation of all indentured servants (25:40-41). We find in this parasha other laws concerning the eved ivri, namely, that his master may not force upon him slave labor (25:39,43).

This is not the only place where the Chumash discusses the laws of eved ivri; we find this subject dealt with in two other contexts, as well – in Parashat Mishpatim (Shemot 21:2-6) and Parashat Eikev (Devarim 15:12-18). Many significant differences exist between the laws presented in our parasha, and those described in the two other contexts. For example, the only point at which the master must free his servant according to our parasha is the jubilee year. Elsewhere, the Torah mandates that a servant goes free after six years. If he wishes to stay on longer, he undergoes an ear-piercing ritual that binds him to his master's service until the jubilee year. None of this appears in our parasha. Additionally, in Parashat Re'ei the Torah adds the obligation of "ha'anaka," that the master provide his servant with some possessions when he goes free.

Chazal, in Masekhet Kiddushin (14a), explain that the different sets of laws – in our parasha on the one hand, and the other two contexts, on the other – address two entirely different types of eved ivri. Parashat Mishpatim and Parashat Re'ei speak about a thief who could not afford to repay what he owes, so Bet-Din sells him into indentured servitude in lieu of payment. Parashat Behar, by contrast, deals with a person who decides to sell himself due to financial difficulties. The Rambam (Hilkhot Avadim 3:12), based on the Gemara, lists five differences between the two types of eved ivri:

1. A servant sold by Bet-Din goes free after six years of service; one who sells himself determines the duration of his term of service (though it cannot continue past the yovel).
2. The thief whom Bet-Din sells has the option of undergoing retzi'a – the ear-piercing ritual – which extends his term of service; no such equivalent feature exists with regard to the one who sells himself.
3. Only the servant sold by Bet-Din receives a "ha'anaka" grant from his master upon his emancipation; the servant who sells himself does not.
4. When purchasing a thief who cannot repay, a master can have him marry a "shifcha kena'anit," a gentile maidservant, and the children from this union remain in the master's service even after the servant goes free. The master of a servant who sold himself does not have such an option available to him.
5. Finally, Bet-Din sells the thief only to a Jew; someone who wishes to sell himself as a servant can choose to work for even a non-Jewish master.

With these differences in mind, let us ask: can we detect a single, overarching, basic difference between these two types of eved ivri?

Rav Elchanan Samet suggests that the clue to determining this fundamental difference lies in the fourth point mentioned by the Rambam – the possibility of allowing a servant to marry a shifcha kena'anit. Jewish men generally may not, according to Jewish law, marry a shifcha kena'anit. The fact that one becomes allowed to do so when Bet-Din sells him as an eved ivri testifies to a basic status change he undergoes as a result of the sale. The eved who sells himself, by contrast, may not marry a shifcha because he retains his status as an ordinary Jew.

The other points of contrast help clarify the significance behind this change in status undergone by the one sold by Bet-Din. The one who sells himself enjoys much more flexibility in establishing the terms of his arrangement, specifically concerning to whom and for how long he works as a servant (differences 5 and 1, respectively). He has no need for a retzi'a ritual, for from the outset he determines the length of his service. As opposed to the thief sold by the court, the one who sells himself is much closer to an employee than a slave. His arrangement resembles an employment contract, rather than a term of servitude. His only restriction is that he must end his term at the jubilee year, so as to emphasize the point that all of Benei Yisrael are ultimately under the authority of no one other than the Almighty Himself (see 25:55).

The eved sold by Bet-Din, by contrast, loses a considerable measure of independence and drops to a lower status. He is subject to the regulations established by the Torah and has no say in the matter, with the exception that he can prolong his term of service if he so desires. When he goes free, he undergoes a basic transition from dependent to independent, from indentured servitude to freedom. He therefore requires financial assistance from his master to help him rehabilitate himself as he begins his new life. The one who sells himself, by contrast, never became entirely dependent on his master, and he therefore requires no financial assistance upon his emergence to freedom.

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Parashat Behar introduces us to the prohibition of "ona'a," which forbids overcharging or underpaying for property (25:14-16). Since all lands in Eretz Yisrael are to return to their original owners on the jubilee year, real estate prices must be determined accordingly and adjusted based on the number of years remaining until the jubilee. A seller who overcharges or buyer who underpays for a piece of property has violated this prohibition.

Immediately after presenting this prohibition, the Torah appears to repeat this same law: "Do not wrong one another" (25:17 - "Ve-lo tonu ish et achiv"; compare with 25:14). Rashi, citing the Torat Kohanim, explains that this verse in fact adds a separate prohibition known as "ona'at devarim" – verbal abuse. Rashi cites the example of purposely misleading a person by rendering unsound advice. Chazal give other examples, such as reminding a ba'al teshuva of his sinful past and other forms of verbal abuse.

The obvious question arises as to why the Torah introduces this prohibition together with that of ona'at mammon – fairness in commerce. At first glance, these two issues share nothing in common other than the word "ona'a," abuse, or wronging, which is used in the context of both. But whereas ona'at mammon applies specifically to commercial activity, and thus is naturally addressed here, in Parashat Behar, which deals with business law and ethics, ona'at devarim is far more general, spanning the entire range of human relations – domestic, commercial, communal, etc. Why would the Torah suddenly, in the midst of the laws of business and commerce, make mention of this prohibition of ona'at devarim?

Perhaps we have here another example of a general prohibition that the Torah presents by addressing a specific context in which such a violation may likely occur. The clearest example may be identified as the prohibition against smiting another, which the Torah introduces in Parashat Ki-Tetze (Devarim 25:3). The verses there discuss the situation of malkot, when Bet-Din administers lashes to a violator, and the Torah warns that the court official may not add any more lashes beyond what the law prescribes. Chazal explain, however, that herein lies the source of the general prohibition against hitting another. The Torah chose to introduce this prohibition in the specific context of malkot, a situation which more readily lends itself to the unnecessary beating of another Jew. Similarly, towards the beginning of Parashat Ki-Tetze, the Torah commands that we bury the bodies of executed violators on the day of their execution (21:22-23). Chazal see in this command a general obligation to bury the remains of any deceased person on the day of death. Here, too, people may tend to be more lax regarding the necessary respect for the dead when we deal with one who violated a griesin and was put to death by the court. Spin this context, therefore, the Torah introduces the prohibition against treating the remains of the deceased disrespectfully.

This might explain the location of ona'at devarim, as well. All too often, people undergo a drastic change in character when they enter the commercial context. Aside from the strong temptations of dishonesty and unfairness that exist in the world of finance, people often allow themselves a greater degree of latitude in terms of how they speak to and treat others. The nature of free enterprise is such that strength of character, unyielding stubbornness and an authoritative demeanor generally work to one's advantage in the marketplace. The Torah perhaps issues this command of ona'at devarim specifically in the context of commercial dealings because it is here where people very often lower their standards of proper speech, where the parties involved do not necessarily afford one another the respect they deserve. Although, needless to say, ona'at devarim applies to all situations of human interaction, the Torah saw it appropriate to initially present it specifically in the context of business law and ethics, where standards of proper speech and respect for others are often, unfortunately, relaxed.

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The haftara for Parashat Behar is taken from Sefer Yirmiyahu 32, and tells the fascinating story of the prophet's purchase of land from his cousin, Chanamel, one year before the destruction of the First Temple. With the Babylonian army besieging Jerusalem, Chanamel comes to Yirmiyahu in his prison cell (the king had arrested him from urging that the kingdom surrender) and asked him to purchase his field in Anatot. In line with the laws of "ge'ula" (redemption of land) outlined in Parashat Behar, Chanamel, in dire need of funds, offered his close relative, Yirmiyahu, the purchase of the land. God had previously informed Yirmiyahu of Chanamel's visit and instructed Yirmiyahu to agree to the deal. Though such a purchase was hardly a promising investment, given the dark cloud of destruction that hovered over the Judean Kingdom, God nevertheless ordered that the prophet purchase the property as a sign that Benei Yisrael will return from exile to rebuild their land.

In describing the technicalities of the purchase, the verse (32:11) refers to the deed of sale with two terms: "chatum" (literally "sealed") and "galuy" (literally, "exposed"). Rashi, based on Chazal, explains that Yirmiyahu had two deeds written for the transaction. The first was a "get pashut," or "simple contract," written on a standard, easily readable piece of paper. To this the verse refers when it speaks of "galuy." The second document, the "chatum," was what Chazal call a "get mekushar," or "tied contract." After having been written, a "get mekushar" is folded and tied in several places, and cannot be read before it is untied and unfolded. The final chapter of Masekhet Bava Batra elaborates on the technical differences between these two types of shetarot (contracts, or documents). Wherein lies the significance behind these two documents? Why did Yirmiyahu order both be written for the purchase of his cousin's land?

Rav Soloveitchik (as cited by Rav Herschel Shachtar, "Nefesh HaRav," pp.300-302) explained that the two documents symbolize the two types of events experienced in life, at both the individual and national levels. Many events resemble the "get pashut," they are easily foreseen and readable. There are many events that we can, with just a little bit of foresight, anticipate and prepare for ahead of time. Many other developments, however, may be described as a "get mekushar," as closed, sealed, tied, and unreadable. So much of what we see and experience could never have even been imagined, let alone expected. For so many of us, life has taken us along a path we had never as much as dreamt of following. And undoubtedly on the broader, historical plane, events often unfold in the most unexpected ways, such that the future sometimes seems to us as written in a "get mekushar," with the script entirely concealed and inaccessible.

Yirmiyahu here performs a symbolic act meant at reassuring the people that Jews will again purchase and develop land in Jerusalem and its environs. While for the practical purpose of the sale he perhaps required a "get pashut," for his symbolic message he ordered the writing of a "get mekushar," as well. To the residents of the Jerusalem at the time, it seemed inconceivable that real estate will ever sell in the region again. Yirmiyahu had to remind them of the message of the "get mekushar," that the future cannot always be read, that we are often denied access to the divine plan and can only hope and pray for the speedy fulfillment of His promise to the prophet of the rebuilding of Jerusalem.

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Parashat Behar introduces the laws of the yovel (jubilee) year, during which all purchased lands return to their original owners. This institution may possibly have ramifications for even the nature of one's possession over purchased land before the yovel year. When the laws of yovel are in force (the halakhot of yovel apply only when the majority of Jews live in Eretz Yisrael, and they are therefore not in effect nowadays), one never acquires permanent possession over purchased land. The question thus arises, can one be said to truly own land that he knows he must return in a given number of years? This question forms the basis of a very famous debate in the Gemara (Gittin 47b-48a and elsewhere) between Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish, known as "kinyan peirot ke-kinyan ha-guf dami." According to Rabbi Yochanan, when the yovel laws apply, one enjoys absolute possession over purchased lands despite the temporary nature of his ownership. Although he practically enjoys only "kinyan peirot," or unlimited rights to the land's produce, halakha nevertheless considers these privileges akin to "kinyan ha-guf," full-fledged ownership over the property. Reish Lakish, by contrast, holds that a kinyan peirot is not legally equivalent to a kinyan ha-guf. The fact that the buyer enjoys unlimited rights to the fruit in the interim does not render him the true owner over this land, since he must return the land on the jubilee year.

The practical ramification of this debate, as noted by the Gemara, involves the mitzva of bikkurim (the annual bringing of the first fruits to Jerusalem), specifically the associated obligation of "mikra bikkurim," the recitation normally required when bringing bikkurim. The obligation to recite the text of mikra bikkurim applies only to one who brings bikkurim from his own field. According to Rabbi Yochanan's view, that temporary ownership over land amounts to complete ownership, one would, indeed, perform this recitation when bringing bikkurim grown from purchased land. According to Reish Lakish, however, who maintains that unlimited rights to fruits does not constitute actual possession over the land itself, in such a situation one does not recite mikra bikkurim. Only when bringing bikkurim from land inherited from his fathers does a farmer recite mikra bikkurim.

The Gemara in Masekhet Gittin (48a-b) draws proof for Reish Lakish's view from a verse in Parashat Behar. As we discussed earlier this week, the Torah in this parasha requires that land be sold at a fair price, in accordance with the number of years left until the jubilee year. Since one purchases the land only until the yovel, the price tag on any given piece of property must be adjusted depending on for how many years it will remain in the buyer's possession. The verse reads, "He [the seller] shall charge you [the buyer] for the number of crop years [remaining]" (25:15). Chazal took note of the Torah's reference to the sale as "crop years," which perhaps serves as a subtle indication of the nature of the transaction. The seller does not actually sell the property itself; rather, he sells "crop years," access to the land's yield until the jubilee. This, the Gemara claims, provides textual support for the position of Reish Lakish, that when the yovlaws apply purchased property is not fully owned. Indeed, it is generally assumed that wherwe usually accept the position of Rabbi Yochanan in his disputes with Reish Lakish, in this instance halakha follows Reish Lakish's opinion.

We will continue our discussion of this debate be"H tomorrow.

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Yesterday we presented the famous debate between Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish concerning the legal status of purchased lands when the laws of the yovel (jubilee) year apply. According to Rabbi Yochanan, one who purchases land is considered the full-fledged owner over the property despite its eventual return to the original owner in the yovel year. Reish Lakish, however, maintains that "kinyan peirot lav ke-kinyan ha-guf dami" – the temporary rights to the field are not sufficient to lend the buyer the status of full owner over the land. As we saw, the Gemara notes that according to Reish Lakish, one who brings bikkurim (first fruits) grown from purchased land does not recite the generally required "mikra bikkurim" text, which is recited only by one who owns the land from which the bikkurim were grown.

Amidst its discussion of this debate, the Gemara (Masekhet Gittin 48a) makes the following comment: "If Rabbi Yochanan did not hold that 'kinyan peirot ke-kinyan ha-guf dami,' he would not find his arms or legs in the Beit Midrash." This means that if Rabbi Yochanan had not maintained this position concerning the status of a kinyan peirot (temporary ownership over land), he would have become entangled in an irresolvable halakhic paradox. This paradox would involve a different ruling of Rabbi Yochanan concerning the laws of inheritance. When a landowner dies, his property naturally goes to his inheritors, who decide upon a fair distribution of the land inherited. We can view this process of distribution in one of two ways. First, we might view it as a retroactive determination of the inheritance. Once each son receives his agreed-upon share, we look at that share as from the outset earmarked for that son's inheritance. If we do not accept this approach, then we must view the entire estate as theoretically designated to each son. Thus, when each receives his portion, we consider him as having acquired the share from the other brothers. In several places, the Gemara cites a debate concerning this very point: do we consider the inheritors of an estate "yorshin," direct inheritors of the estate, as if his brothers never had even a theoretical claim to his portion, or as "lekuchot" – purchasers of the land from the other brothers?

As the Gemara notes, Rabbi Yochanan was of the opinion that we consider the brothers purchasers of their respective lots. Consequently, Rabbi Yochanan holds, each brother "returns" his share of the inheritance to the others with the onset of the jubilee year, to fulfill the mitzva of returning purchased lands on the yovel. It thus turns out that according to Rabbi Yochanan, all land inherited by multiple inheritors is owned only as a "kinyan peirot," a temporary holding. Therefore, if Rabbi Yochanan had held that such ownership does not legally qualify as full-fledged possession, when would mikra bikkurim ever be recited? The Gemara observes that mikra bikkurim would then apply only if a piece of land had been handed down to only a single inheritor from one generation to the next, ever since it had been initially apportioned after Benei Yisrael's original conquest of the land at the time of Yehoshua. Since only a single inheritor could – according to this combination of opinions – be deemed a true owner over inherited land, mikra bikkurim would apply only in this virtually impossible situation. Rabbi Yochanan saved himself from this quandary by taking issue with Reish Lakish and holding that even when the jubilee laws apply a purchaser has full legal ownership over land he acquires.

Commenting on this Gemara, Tosefot cite the following exclamation of Rabbenu Tam: "And we – how do we find our arms and legs?!" Meaning, whereas Rabbi Yochanan saved himself by claiming that "kinyan peirot ke-kinyan ha-guf dami," we, or accepted halakha, indeed falls into this quagmire. As mentioned yesterday, we accept the ruling of Reish Lakish, that temporary ownership does not amount to full possession. Yet, we accept Rabbi Yochanan's position concerning the case of multiple inheritors, that they are considered as having purchased the shares from one another. If so, then when and how was the mitzva of mikra bikkurim performed?

Tosefot suggest two answers. First, they explain that we do not, in fact, adopt Reish Lakish's view. We accept his ruling in only one specific case, of a father who writes over his possessions to his son while keeping for himself rights to the produce for the remainder of his lifetime. Here, we accept Reish Lakish's position that the father's rights to the fruits does not grant him full possession over the land. We follow this position only because of the unique affection of a father to his son, which allows us to assume that the nature of the arrangement was such that he granted essential ownership over the land to his son even before the father's death. In general, however, we adopt Rabbi Yochanan's view, that "kinyan peirot ke-kinyan ha-guf dami." Tosefot add that although, as discussed yesterday, the Gemara draws support for Reish Lakish's view from a verse in Parashat Behar, which would imply that it sides with his position, in truth this is not the case, as we do not accept Reish Lakish's position.

Alternatively, Tosefot suggest, we do not, in fact, accept in total Rabbi Yochanan's view concerning multiple inheritors. True, we view them as having purchased their shares from one another. Unlike Rabbi Yochanan, however, we do not extend this status to the laws of yovel; halakha does not accept Rabbi Yochanan's requirement that the inheritors exchange portions on the jubilee year. Tosefot argue that the law of returning purchased land on the yovel applies only to "purchased land" – in the strict sense of the term. The inheritors, however, do not actually purchase their respective shares from one another. At most, this "transaction" may be seen as a "matana," a gift, rather than a purchase. Hence, Tosefot suggest, the mitzvot of yovel would not affect land inherited by multiple inheritors even if, in a certain sense, we consider them as having "purchased" the lands from each other.

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As we've discussed this week, Parashat Behar devotes considerable space to the prohibition of "ona'at mammon," overcharging and underpaying for merchandise. The Torah introduces these laws as follows: "When you sell merchandise to your fellow, or buy from your fellow… " (25:14). In describing the purchase of items, the Torah speaks of buying "mi-yad amitekha" – literally, "from the hand of your fellow." The Gemara in Masekhet Kiddushin 26a cites the view of Reish Lakish, who interprets this phrase as indicating the precise point at which the transaction takes effect. According to Reish Lakish, the sale is effectuated by "meshikha," when the buyer (or his agent) physically takes the given item. (Obviously, we deal here with only tangible property; real estate has its own set of laws as to the formal effectuation of a transaction.) By describing the transacted item as passing from one hand to the next, the Torah informs us that it is the physical transfer of the given merchandise that effectuates the change of ownership.

Rabbi Yochanan, however, disagrees. He maintains that meshikha as the effectuation of a transaction was instituted by Chazal. According to Torah law, he claims, "ma'ot konot" – the transfer of money from the buyer to the seller effectuates the sale, even before the buyer ever took (or, for that matter, ever saw) the merchandise. Why, then, did Chazal legislate that a transaction takes effect only at the point of meshikha, when the buyer takes physical possession of the item? Rabbi Yochanan explains that Chazal sought to avoid a situation where the buyer, after receiving the sum for the given item, keeps the merchandise for himself and falsely claims that iwas destroyed ("nisrefu chitekha ba-aliya"). Once Chazal required the physical transfer of the merchandise for the transaction to take effe, the buyer obviously cannot make such a claim. Additionally, the Gemara says, this legislation of Chazal helps ensure that if a fire, for example, breaks out in the buyer's home after he receives the money, threatening to destroy the sold merchandise, he will make a concerted effort to save the merchandise. Without this provision, the merchandise will have already been legally transferred to the buyer, and the seller would thus have no incentive to exert himself to save the items in danger.

In any event, according to both Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish, a transaction does not take effect with the transfer of funds, but does so only when the merchandise is physically taken by the buyer. Accordingly, even after the transfer of money, either the buyer or the seller could renege on the deal. Since the transaction has yet to take effect, the buyer could reconsider his decision to purchase the item and demand the return of his money. While this is technically true, the mishna in Masekhet Bava Metzia (44a) writes, "If he gave him the money but did not take [the merchandise], he can retract, but they [the Sages] said: The One who punished the generation of the flood and the generation of the dispersion shall punish the one who does not keep to his word." Meaning, though according to the strict letter of the law the buyer has done nothing wrong by canceling the sale, Chazal nevertheless issued this "curse" of sorts (referred to in halakhic jargon as "Mi she-para"), warning that God will punish those who renege on their agreements.

One question that arises from this mishna is why in formulating this warning Chazal invoked specifically the dor ha-mabul (generation of the flood) and the dor ha-palaga (generation of the dispersion – the tower or Bavel). We find in Scripture so many examples of divine wrath punishing sinners. Why did the Sages issue this warning specifically in light of the punishments that befell these two groups of sinners? This question perhaps becomes stronger in light of Reish Lakish's position, that even according to Torah law merchandise does not change ownership until meshikha. If so, then the buyer who withdraws from the deal has worked entirely within the legal framework of buying and selling. Why, then, do Chazal declare upon him the punishments suffered by the two sinful generations, of the deluge and of Migdal Bavel?

An interesting answer was suggested in the work "Tikkun Shelomo" (cited by Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg in his Yalkut Yehuda). These two events – the flood and the dispersion – mark perhaps the most glaring examples of severe punishment without the violation of any specific code of law. The generation of the flood did not have a Shulchan Arukh or even a Talmud; no written or oral body of law forbade the type of behavior in which they engaged. The same is true about the tower of Bavel. These two events demonstrate perhaps clearer than any other that not every rule need be written to demand compliance. God created the world with a certain basic code of ethics for mankind to observe, and He endowed the human being with an intuitive moral sense, which results in his accountability for unethical conduct.

Therefore, the "Tikkun Shelomo" suggests, Chazal naturally invoked these two catastrophes in their admonition against those who renege on verbal agreements. True, the buyer has not violated any specific divine command. But the intuitive values of honesty and sensitivity dictate that one follow through on his agreements with others. Therefore, one who violates this "unwritten law" is deserving of punishment just as calamity befell the generation of the flood and the builders of the tower.

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Parashat Behar deals almost exclusively with the laws of shemitta and yovel, addressing first the agricultural aspects of these mitzvot and then proceeding to the effects of these institutions on business and employment. The final two verses of the parasha, however, appear to have nothing to do with this discussion (and indeed, the Christian editors who divided the Chumash into chapters began a new chapter with these two verses):

"You shall not make idols for yourselves, or set up for yourselves carved images or pillars, or place figured stones in your land upon which to bow, for I the Lord am your God. You shall keep My Shabbatot and venerate My Mikdash; I am the Lord." (26:1-2)

How do these mitzvot fit into the context? What do these laws – idolatry, forbidden images, Shabbat and the Temple – have to do with the laws discussed throughout the parasha?

Ibn Ezra claims that these verses continue the theme introduced in the immediately preceding verse. Concluding the laws of servants, who must go free on the jubilee year, the Torah declares, "For it is to Me that the Israelites are servants; they are My servants whom I freed from the land of Egypt." The Torah attributes the mitzva of freeing servants to the fact that we may not subjugate ourselves to any master other than the Almighty Himself. Continuing with this theme, Ibn Ezra claims, the Torah repeats the prohibition against idolatrous practices, which involves the acceptance of an authority besides God. And once the Torah mentioned the prohibition against bowing on figured stones, it mentions as well Shabbat and the Mikdash, for the practice was to bow down in the Temple on Shabbat (as implied in Yeshayahu 66:23).

Most other early commentators, however, follow the explanation of the Torat Kohanim, that these verses refer to the situation described several verses earlier, of a Jew who was compelled by financial straits to sell himself into the service of a gentile. After calling for the redemption of the servant by his relatives (see 25:47-54), the Torah now turns its attention to period of servitude itself, and warns the servant not to forsake his tradition despite his current residence in a pagan home. He must not adopt the ritual practices of his master, neither the idolatrous beliefs nor the mode of worship, which involved all types of monuments, statutes, mosaics, and the like.

But why did the Torah add a specific reminder concerning Shabbat observance and reverence for the Temple? Why are these mitzvot singled out in the discussion of the Jewish servant in the non-Jewish home? Particularly difficult to understand is the mention of the Temple. Presumably, a Jew held by a gentile does not have the opportunity to frequent the Bet Ha-mikdash. Why, then, does the Torah remind him to "venerate the Sanctuary"?

The Seforno explains that a Jew in foreign servitude might have thought to no longer observe the Shabbat. After all, Shabbat is about freedom, our emancipation from the shackles of the workweek and the opportunity to rest and engage in loftier pursuits. The Jewish servant might have therefore concluded that this mitzva does not apply to him, who is currently denied his freedom. The Torah therefore reminds him that he, too, must continue observing the Shabbat, even when subjected to foreign rule.

As for the mitzva to "venerate My Sanctuary," the Seforno boldly suggests that "Mikdash" here refers not to the Temple, but rather to the sacred institutions built in exile – the synagogues and study halls. Despite the absence of the Bet Ha-mikdash and our subjugation to foreign rulers, we may not undermine the sanctity of our holy institutions. Chazal famously comment (Megilla 29a) that the Batei Kenesset and Batei Midrash built and sustained in exile constitute a "Mikdash me'at," a minor Temple, as it were, they are, to some extent, infused with the sanctity of the Bet Ha-mikdash.

We might add that in this approach to this verse, the Seforno addresses what we may consider the two primary spiritual challenges in exile. The first is our sense of dignity and existential independence. The observance of Shabbat in exile has helped remind us that come what may, we are, ultimately, never fully subjugated to any force other than God Himself. Every seventh day, we remove our chains and decour exclusive subservience to the Almighty. Secondly, the "hester panim" ("concealment" of God's "face") in exile threatens to call into question our continued relationship with Him.After the destruction of the First Temple, the people turned to the prophets and asked, "A servant sold by his master, and a wife driven away by her husband – do they have any responsibilities one to another?" The people here wrongly presumed that exile meant the end of our covenant with God. The establishment of houses of worship and religious study, and a commitment to make these institutions a national priority, help ensure our ongoing awareness of God's continued presence in our midst, that even in the darkest hours of exile, God has never left His people.

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Bechukotai begins with the berakhot, the promise of blessings that Benei Yisrael will enjoy should they remain faithful to the mitzvot. The opening verse of the parasha presents the condition for the bestowal of these blessings: "If you walk according to My statutes" – "Im be-chukotai teileikhu." The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 35:4) claims that the term "chukotai" ("My statutes") here is a reference to "the statutes with which I established heaven and earth." The Midrash continues by citing the verse, "Thus said the Lord: As surely as I have established My covenant with day and night – the laws ['chukot'] of heaven and earth… " (Yirmiyahu 34:25). Meaning, the term "chukot" in the opening verse of our parasha corresponds to the "chukot" there in Sefer Yirmiyahu, where it refers to the laws of nature, "the laws of heaven and earth." The simple meaning of this Midrash is that the doctrine of reward and punishment discussed in this parasha should not be perceived as a system imposed onto the natural order. Rather, it constitutes part of the natural order itself. God created the world in such a way that mankind bears responsibility for his conduct, and that the natural world reacts to man in accordance with his behavior.

A deeper analysis of this Midrash, however, appears in Rav Barukh Yitzchak Yissakhar Halevi's "Birkat Yitzchak," which focuses specifically on the Midrash's reference to "the laws of heaven and earth." The Birkat Yitzchak suggests that the "laws of heaven and earth" refer to the inconsistent nature of life, the cycle of ups and downs that characterizes the world. For individuals, nations, and the world at large, life at times brings us high into the heavens, and at other moments it casts us down to the ground. We experience great moments of triumph and glory, and others of defeat and humiliation. This is the law of the heaven and earth, of the world generally, and this is also the law of Torah observance, which must be continued under all circumstances. We cannot limit our commitment to Torah to "the heavens," to periods when we enjoy prosperity and comfort, when circumstances allow for convenient involvement in Torah study and observance. The Torah must accompany us through all the hills and valleys of life, along all our journeys to the heavens as well as the unfortunate return to the depths of the ground.

The Birkat Yitzchak then suggests a second approach to the symbolism of "heaven and earth," one which better accommodates the straightforward reading of the Midrash. The Midrash perhaps refers here to the relationship between heaven and earth that God implanted within the world He created. "The laws of heaven and earth" might mean the effect the man's conduct on earth has on the heavens, the power invested within the human being to control the skies, so-to-speak. Commenting on Yaakov's famous dream of the ladder, Chazal note that the Hebrew word for ladder, "sulam," has the same numerical value as "Sinai." The Birkat Yitzchak explains that the Torah is our ladder, it is what allows us to control the heavens even while we stand on earth. Indeed, the blessings promised in Parashat Bechukotai are mainly about abundant rainfall. Rain, perhaps more than any other natural phenomenon, symbolizes the connection between heaven and earth. The Torah here makes rainfall contingent upon our observance of Torah. This is the essential nature of "chukotai," of God's commandments, that they grant us the power to control the heavens even as we live our lives here on earth.

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Parashat Bechukotai presents the "berakhot" and "kelalot," the descriptions of the blessings and curses that Benei Yisrael will experience for their observance or neglect of the Torah (respectively). An enigmatic passage in the Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 35:1) notes the letters with which each of these sections begins. The berakhot section begins with the first letter of the alphabet, "alef" ("Im be-chukotai teileikhu"), and ends with the final letter, "tav" ("va-oleikh etkhem komemiyut" – 26:13). The curses, by contrast, begin with the sixth letter, "vav" ("Ve-im lo tishme'u li" – 26:14), and conclude with the immediately preceding letter, "hei" ("be-yad Moshe" – 26:46). "Not only that," the Midrash continues, "but they are in reverse order." Meaning, not only do the curses begin in the middle of the alphabet, rather than at the beginning, but they move backwards, so-to-speak, from "vav" to "hei." What is this Midrash coming to tell us?

Rav Shlomo Yosef Zevin explains that this Midrash expresses the fundamental nature of berakhot and kelalot, of times of success on the one hand, and of crisis on the other. In good times, events follow a logical sequence and arrangement, they unfold in a more or less predictable and sensible fashion. "Alef" is followed by " bet," which itself is followed by "gimmel," etc. Crisis, by contrast, is characterized by irrationality. Disaster is often accompanied by incomprehensible cruelty, entirely insensible conduct of those involved, and the unpredictability of events. A period of kelalot is a period that cannot be easily understood or foreseen, when we hesitate before opening the newspaper in fear of what we might read.

The Midrash continues, "If you are worthy, I will turn the curses into blessings for you. When? When you observe My Torah." Rav Zevin explains that the backward progression from "vav" to "hei" can, potentially, also reflect a logical progression: we can continue proceeding backward until we come around again back to the letter "vav." Meaning, times of trouble have the potential to turn into times of triumph, regression can often help precipitate progress. If, after suffering defeat, we are meritorious, then God can and will easily make order out of chaos, stability out of turmoil. The Midrash thus emphasizes to us as we prepare to read Parashat Bechukotai that even the curses can turn into blessings, and out of the most chaotic realities can emerge a period of blessing.

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Amidst the warnings presented in the "tokhecha" section of Parashat Bechukotai, God threatens Benei Yisrael, "Va-avadetem ba-goyim" – literally, "You will be lost among the nations" (26:38). The straightforward reading of this clause implies that God here threatens to annihilate Benei Yisrael, Heaven forbid, in exile. Yet, just several verses later, when God offers soothing words of comfort and solace to conclude the harsh, frightening list of curses, He guarantees them that He will never destroy them completely (26:44). What, then, did God mean by "Va-avadetem ba-goyim"? The Torat Kohanim cites the explanation of Rabbi Akiva, that this verse refers specifically to the tribes often called "the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel." In the latter part of the First Temple period, the Northern Kingdom, which consisted of all the tribes besides Yehuda and Binyamin (and Levi), were exiled by the Assyrian Empire. According to Rabbi Akiva, our verse forewarns that these ten tribes never have nor ever will return to the Jewish people. This position of Rabbi Akiva appears as well in the mishna in Masekhet Sanhedrin (11b), where Rabbi Akiva posits, "The ten tribes will never return."

The Torat Kohanim then presents an anonymous second view that the word "va-avadetem" in this verse does not mean destruction, but rather exile. This is presumably the position of Rabbi Eliezer, mentioned in the aforementioned mishna in Sanhedrin, who claims that the Ten Lost Tribes will ultimately return to Am Yisrael, they have not been lost forever.

Rav Barukh Ha-levi Epst, in his Torah Temima, cites a number of examples where the verb "a.v.d.," which generally denotes permanent loss, actually means exile. Among these examples are relatively famous verses, such as the verse from Parashat Ki-Tavo cited at the Pesach seder: "Arami OVED avi." According to some commentators (see Ibn Ezra, Devarim 26:5), this verse means, "My father [Yaakov] was a lost Armean." "Lost" here obviously does not refer to his having been destroyed, but rather describes Yaakov's constant wandering, his never having found a permanent residence. The Torah Temima also cites here the famous verse in Sefer Yeshayahu (27:13), "U-va'u ha-OVEDIM be-eretz Ashur" – "The 'ovedim' in the land of Assyria will come… " This verse foresees the return of those exiled to Assyria (the Ten Tribes?), to whom it refers as "ovedim."

Returning to the view of Rabbi Akiva, one must wonder as to how such a thing can occur – that ten of the twelve tribes of Israel are lost forever. Do Reuven, Shimon, Yissakhar, Zevulun, etc. really have no more descendants that remain part of the Jewish people? Did all these tribes really leave entirely, such that forever more we consist only of those from Yehuda, Binyamin and Levi?

Rav Reuven Margaliyot, in his "Margaliyot Ha-yam" to Masekhet Sanhedrin, claims that the Ten Tribes did not entirely disappear. He notes that the Rash Mi-shantz, in his commentary to Masekhet Yadayim (4:4), writes that when Sancheriv (the Assyrian emperor) occupied the countries of Amon and Moav, he exiled only the upper classes, leaving behind the peasant class. Perhaps, then, the same occurred when Sancheriv captured the Northern Kingdom of Israel, that he exiled only the upper classes. The lower class, perhaps, moved south to join the Judean Kingdom, which at that time became a strong kingdom under the capable leadership of Chizkiyahu. Rav Margaliyot adds that recently discovered manuscripts indicate that Sancheriv took only 27,290 people from the Northern Kingdom. We might speculate, then, that he exiled only the prominent citizens, leaving behind the peasantry, who joined the southern kingdom. The debate in the mishna and in Torat Kohanim, then, is whether or not the descendants of those upper classes who did go into exile will ever return. According to both views, however, remnants of all twelve tribes remain to this very day.

(Rav Margaliyot cites as proof the verses in Sefer Divrei Hayamim II (beginning of chapter 30), which tell of letters King Chizkiyahu of the Judean Kingdom sent to tribes in the north, implying that there remained a discernible population from the northern tribes. But it is clear from the sequence of events as told there in Divrei Hayamim that this occurred before Sancheriv's capture of the Northern Kingdom, and one thus wonders how Rav Margaliyot sought to draw proof from those verses. Likewise, Rav Margaliyot cites as a source to this theory, that Sancheriv left behind the peasantry, from the comments of the Radak in Zekharya 7:5. This, too, appears to be a terrible mistake, as the Radak there is referring to the peasant population left in Eretz Yisrael after the destruction of the First Temple at the hands of the Babylonians; he does not speak there at all about Sancheriv and the Ten Tribes.)

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The mishna in Masekhet Megila (31a) establishes that "ein mafsikin be-klalot," literally, "we do not interrupt the [reading of the] curses." This refers to the reading of the "tokhecha" section in Parashat Bechukotai, the description of the unspeakable horrors that God warns will befall Benei Yisrael should they disobey His commands. The mishna teaches that we may not end an aliya in the middle of this section; the one who begins the tokhecha section must complete it. The Gemara (31b) explains that this halakha evolves (according to one opinion) from a principle mentioned in Sefer Mishlei (3:11) that we should not "despise rebuke." By bringing the aliya to a close before concluding the sharp words of admonition presented in the tokhecha, one gives the impression that he attempts to avoid the continuation, that he has heard enough. Chazal instituted that we must read the tokhecha section straight and uninterrupted to its completion, symbolic of the message that we must confront the bitter truth honestly, rather than trying to escape it. The fact that the curses of this section are very unpleasant to the ear – not to mention the heart – does not make it any less relevant to our lives, nor does it excuse us from carefully listening to and studying its harsh details.

Rabbi Yitzchak Stollman, in his "Minchat Yitzchak," suggests a deeper dimension to this halakha of "ein mafsikin be-klalot." Ending an aliya in the middle of the curses makes it appear as though nothing remains afterwards, that this is the end. Our insistence on continuing to read through the entire tokhecha section symbolizes our national resolve to continue regardless of the curses that have befallen us. Am Yisrael has always understood that the hard times it endures do not mark the final chapter; they ultimately lead to the blessings that follow. We therefore do not stop an aliya during the tokhecha, but rather press onward, confident that better times will soon be upon us.

That same Gemara in Masekhet Megilla cites the comment of Rav Acha, "Al ta'aseh ha-tokhecha kotzin kotzin" – do not turn the tokhecha section into thorns. On the surface, Rav Acha teaches us simply that we mustn't break up the tokhecha into small pieces, but rather read it as a single unit. But what specifically does the image of "thorns" convey? Rav Stollman suggests that periods of crisis and tragedy can often become "thorns" that keep Jews away from their faith. Like a fence of thistles intended to ward off trespassers, the fulfillment of the tokhecha threatens to keep Judaism off limits to so many among the nation. By ending the aliya, so-to-speak, in the middle of the tokhecha, by placing a period at the end of the sentence, we effectively plant a thorn bush around the Torah preventing Jews from coming near. Only by reminding ourselves and others of the eternal strength of the Jewish people, through our firm belief that the sentence does not end in the middle of tokhecha, can we continue inviting all Jews into the world of Torah and mitzvot, rather than keep them at a distance.

(It is important to point out that Rabbi Stollman published this volume in 1948, three years after the end of the Holocaust.)

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The opening verses of Parashat Bechukotai describe the blessings God promises to bestow upon Benei Yisrael in reward for their observance of the commandments. These blessings speak mainly of two categories: prosperity and security. First, Benei Yisrael are promised abundant rainfall and a surplus of produce. Thereafter, God speaks of military success and the blessing of security, the ability to live without fear of attack.

Interestingly, though, one verse seems to itself combine both themes: "Your threshing shall overtake the vintage, and your vintage shall overtake the sowing; you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land" (26:5). How do the two halves of this verse – agricultural success and security - relate to one another? By and large, this section separates between these two areas of blessing; why does this verse combine the two?

The Or Ha-chayim suggests that the description of agricultural prosperity in this verse includes an additional element – that foreigners will perform the labor in the fields for Benei Yisrael. This situation naturally results in a need for security: if Benei Yisrael spend their days in their homes, offices or yeshivas, while foreign workers tend to their fields, they need a special blessing to protect their property from the hostility possibly felt by their laborers.

Previously, however, the Or Ha-chayim suggests a different, simpler interpretation, one to which we can very easily relate in our times. Agricultural success means little if the nation is constantly preoccupied with security. Beautiful homes, large bonuses and expensive cars do little for a nation if it must consistently deal with wars and conflict. Ther, the natural culmination of the blessings of financial prosperity is the blessing of security. The Or Ha-chayim then adds a comment about the word "be-artzekhem" ("in your land") in this verse. He claims that this word comes to explain to what type of security the verse refers: a situawhere our right to the land is accepted and unchallenged. "You shall dwell securely in your land" thus means, "You shall dwell securely, for all will recognize that this is your land."

The modern history of the Land of Israel affords us a perspective by which we can add a further dimension to this interpretation to our verse. So long as there was no threshing or sowing in the land, we faced no challenge to our right to Eretz Yisrael, and we thus had no particular need for security living there. But once Benei Yisrael come to Eretz Yisrael and "eat your fill of bread," then suddenly we are confronted, we are challenged, we are denied our historic and divine right to our homeland. It is at this point, when the first half of this verse is fulfilled, that we so desperately call to the Almighty in prayer that He fulfill the second half, as well: "You shall dwell securely in your land," that the nations of the world once and for all acknowledge our right to Eretz Yisrael, so that we can once and for all dwell securely, without fear of bloodshed and conflict.

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Towards the end of the "tokhecha" section in Parashat Bechukotai, which describes the terrible tragedies God threatens to bring upon Benei Yisrael for their disobedience, we find a prediction that the nation will ultimately repent. The Torah foresees the time when "They shall confess their iniquity and the iniquity of their forefathers, in that they trespassed against Me" (26:40). Much to our surprise, in the very next verse, God promises to intensify His punishment of Benei Yisrael: "I, in turn, will be hostile to them and bring them into the land of their enemies… " How is this an appropriate response on God's part to the nation's repentance? Does not teshuva constitute among the most basic and central concepts in Judaism, the opportunity mercifully granted to a sinner to return to God and eradicate his iniquitous past? Why, then, does Am Yisrael's confession result in their being driven to their enemies' lands?

Chazal, in Torat Kohanim (cited by Rashi here), explain that beneath the surface of this prediction, of Benei Yisrael's banishment into enemy lands, lies a glimmer of hope and encouragement. Living among foreign peoples in foreign lands, Benei Yisrael may likely decide to abandon their heritage, bring their unique covenant with God to an end, and become like all other nations. God here assures Benei Yisrael that this will not happen. He will bring them into the lands of their enemies; meaning, He will ensure that the host nation will always be an enemy, thus preventing full Jewish assimilation into the society. In this way, the first step of God's acceptance of Benei Yisrael's teshuva is ensuring their successful maintenance of identity, which He accomplishes by ensuring continued resentment on the part of the host population towards the Jews.

The Ramban suggests a different explanation, claiming that the land to which Benei Yisrael are brought in these verses is actually Eretz Yisrael. In the Ramban's view, as elaborated upon by Professor Nechama Leibowitz in her Studies to this parasha, the verbal confession marks only the first stage of repentance, and, in response, God brings about the first stage of redemption. In this stage, He brings Benei Yisrael back to Eretz Yisrael but keeps them under foreign rule. "I will bring them to the land of their enemies" refers to a period when Benei Yisrael live in their land as subjects to another kingdom, such as when they returned during the time of Ezra, under the protection and authority of the Persian Empire. As Professor Leibowitz notes, however, it seems difficult to interpret "the land of their enemies" as a reference to the Land of Israel.

A much different approach is taken by Rav David Tzvi Hoffman, in his commentary to this section. He claims that the second verse, which describes God's continued anger and punishment, is in fact part of the confession described in the previous verse. Benei Yisrael's admission of guilt will include an acknowledgment not only of their wrongdoing, but also that the calamities they suffered resulted from their misdeeds. Thus, the verse, "I, in turn, will be hostile to them and bring them into the land of their enemies… " does not tell of God's response to the confession, but rather presents the content of the confession. Clearly, however, as Professor Leibowitz observes, this interpretation, too, seems to deviate from the plain meaning of the text. The second verse ("I, in turn, will be hostile to them… ") so closely resembles the other verses of the tokhecha which predict the calamity God warns will befall Am Yisrael. It thus seems hardly likely that this is not a prediction but a citation of Benei Yisrael's confession.

Tomorrow we will iy"H look at other explanations suggested for these verses.

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Yesterday we looked at the difficulty arising from two adjacent verses in the "tokhecha" section in Parashat Bechukotai. Towards the end of the Torah's description of the devastating calamities threatening to befall Benei Yisrael should their fail to observe God's commandments, we find that Benei Yisrael will "confess their iniquity and the iniquity of their forefathers, in that they trespassed against Me" (26:40). Immediately thereafter, however, we are told that God "will be hostile to them" and "bring them into the land of their enemies." How is this an appropriate response to Benei Yisrael's teshuva?

Today we will consider three other possible explanations.

The "Bina Le-itim" finds the clue to understanding these verses in the term "and the iniquity of their forefathers." Confession involves more than the admission of wrongdoing; it means the admission of guilt. That is, the sinner must acknowledge not only that he committed a wrongful act, but also that he could have avoided the transgression, it was well within his capabilities to refrain from the sin committed. Attributing the cause of one's misdeed to external parties or factors undermines the entire worth of the confession. The Bina Le-itim thus suggests that in this verse, Benei Yisrael confess their wrongdoing but blame it on the "iniquity of their forefathers." This confession thus does not qualify as the first stage of repentance, and God therefore continues punishing Benei Yisrael. While it is true that much of who we are depends on our background and upbringing, there is a limit to how much we can hang our shortcomings on our education and childhood.

Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his "Divrei Shaul," suggests a similar approach, only with a slightly different point of emphasis. The process of teshuva, as famously outlined by the Rambam in his Hilkhot Teshuva, entails both confession regarding the past and a commitment regarding the future. The sinner must not only acknowledge his previous wrongdoing, but he must make a concerted effort to change his conduct henceforth. God therefore does not absolve Benei Yisrael for their neglect of the Torah despite their confession, because this confession was not accompanied by the necessary commitment to improvement. The Divrei Shaul points out that for this reason, God adds that after bringing Benei Yisrael into enemy lands, "then at last shall their obdurate heart humble itself." This perhaps suggests that previously, before their banishment into exile, Benei Yisrael did not undergo a change of heart, regardless of their sincere confession. Exile was therefore necessary to effect the necessary change in Benei Yisrael's conduct.

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," identifies a different deficiency in Benei Yisrael's confession. In his description of teshuva, the Rambam (Hilkhot Teshuva 7:3) emphasizes that one must repent not only for wrongful actions committed, but also for sinful thoughts, attitudes and personality. This includes sins such as anger, overindulgence, laziness, anso on. Teshuva is required not only for concrete acts of sin, but also for one's sinful interior, so-to-speak. Rav Ginsburg claims that herein lies the shortcoming in Benei Yisrael's repentance. As the verse describes, Benei Yisrael confess tiniquity "in that they trespassed against Me." The term used in this context, "ma'al," denotes an act of betrayal. Benei Yisrael are described as confessing their acts of sin, but not their sinful thoughts and personality traits. Therefore, God does not accept their teshuva, but rather continues punishing them until the point where "their obdurate heart humbles itself," meaning, they have cleansed themselves internally, as well, correcting the flaws of not only their conduct, but their heart and mind, as well.

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