S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT NITZAVIM-VAYELEKH

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

Parashat Nitzavim contains a famous series of verses in which Moshe emphasizes the point that Torah practice is within our capability:

For this instruction that I enjoin upon you today is not too baffling for you, nor is it distant from you.  It is not in the heavens, such that you can say, “Who can ascend to the heavens for us and bring it to us, and teach it to us, and then we will observe it? ”And it is not across the sea, such that you can say, “Who will journey for us across the sea and bring it to us, and teach it to us, and then we will observe it?” For the matter is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it?”  (30:11-14)

While the message of these verses seems clear, its redundancy requires some explanation.  What is the difference, for example, between the claims that the Torah is not “too baffling” and that it is not “distant from you”? And why must Moshe address two possible misconceptions – that the Torah is “in the heavens” and that it is “across the sea”?

It would seem that Moshe here responds to two possible reasons people might give for disregarding Torah observance.  The first is that Torah is “in the heavens,” it belongs to a different sphere; it bears no relevance to “real life.”  People might claim that the concept of religious observance is “otherworldly,” that it is entirely incompatible with their aspirations for a normal, happy life.  It is to this misconception, perhaps, that the phrase “lo nifleit hi” (“it is not too baffling for you”) refers.  The root p.l.e. denotes something supernatural and abnormal.  Thus, for example, Ibn Ezra famously explains that the Torah uses this term in reference to the nazir (Bamidbar 6:2) because voluntarily abstaining from wine is something unusual and unnatural.  Here, in Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe insists that Torah observance is not a “pele,” it is not something that belongs to the heavenly domain and which therefore has no practical relevance to our lives here on earth.  Torah observance enhances, rather than negates, normal human life; it is very relevant and applicable to our lives in this world, and is not something consigned to the heavenly spheres.

Moshe also addresses a second complaint, that the Torah is “across the sea.  ”Lands across the sea are in the earthly sphere, but are very difficult to get to.  Here, Moshe refers to the charge that Torah life is simply too difficult and demanding, that it entails too much effort.  People might acknowledge the relevance and significance of Torah observance in theory, but in practice, consider it too difficult a commitment to make.  Moshe therefore reassures us, “For this matter is very close to you.  ”Even if at times it appears to require “crossing the sea,” it is, in fact, well within our reach, a goal we can achieve by simply investing a reasonable amount of effort.

Sunday

In the opening verses of Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe reminds Benei Yisrael that each and every member of the nation, regardless of age, gender and stature, has entered into a binding covenant with God.  He emphasizes that this covenant applies equally to them all, “from your woodcutter to your water-drawer” (“mei-choteiv eitzekha ad sho’eiv meimekha” – 29:10).

Several commentators addressed the question of what precisely Moshe meant by this phrase -“from your woodcutter to your water-drawer.  ”Usually, this form – “from…to…” – is used to indicate a wide spectrum.  The first item or group mentioned signifies one extreme, and the second refers to the opposite extreme (“from the tallest giant to the tiniest midget,” or “from the most influential aristocrats to the poorest peasants”).Here, however, both groups mentioned are toward the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder – woodcutters and water carriers. What, then, did Moshe mean when he emphasized that the covenant includes everyone “from your woodcutter to your water-drawer”?

The Panim Yafot suggests a bold and novel reading of this verse, claiming that Moshe perhaps refers here only to a specific group of woodcutters – those who were responsible for cutting wood for the altar.  The Torah (beginning of Parashat Tzav) requires ensuring the presence of a constant flame on the altar, and it was therefore necessary to maintain a stockpile of wood from which to feed the altar’s fire.  Herein Parashat Nitzavim, the Panim Yafot suggests, Moshe emphasizes that the terms of the covenant apply equally to those who serve in the lofty capacity of preparing wood for the altar, as well as those who perform the simple, menial task of bringing water from the well.

According to the Panim Yafot, it would seem, Moshe here seeks to negate two possible ways by which people might excuse themselves from the mandates of the Torah: by claiming that they’re too important, and by claiming that they’re too unimportant.  The “woodcutters,” members of the nation involved in vital communal work, prominent religious institutions and the like, may feel that their stature exempts them from some of the Torah’s requirements. People who occupy important, high profile positions may take themselves and their roles a bit too seriously, and conclude that the normal rules and guidelines that apply to the ordinary laymen do not apply to them.

At the opposite end, those on the lower social strata might mistakenly assume that the Torah is restricted to the exclusive domain of the higher-ranking elements.  “What does God want from me, anyway?” they might think to themselves.  Viewing themselves as inferior, they are likely to reach the conclusion that they have no business getting involved in something as lofty and sublime as religious observance.

Moshe therefore reminds us that the Torah applies to everyone, “from your woodcutter to your water-drawer.  ”Nobody is too important or not important enough to be included in Am Yisrael’s covenant with God.  The Torah, in its entirety, is binding upon each and every member of the nation, from those who occupy the most prominent positions to the simplest and most “ordinary” members.

Monday

            Commenting to the opening verses of Parashat Nitzavim, Rashi cites several different explanations of the parasha’s opening verse, “Atem nitzavim hayom kulekhem  lifnei Hashem Elokeikhem” (“You are standing today, all of you, before the Lord your God”).  One explanation is taken from the Midrash Tanchuma: “Because the Israelites were going from one leader to another – from Moshe to Yehoshua – he [Moshe] therefore made them into a monument, in order to urge them on.” 

The Midrash understands the word “nitzavim” as an allusion to the word “matzeiva,” or “monument.”  Before transferring the mantle of leadership to Yehoshua, Moshe made Benei Yisrael into a “matzeiva,” so-to-speak, through his final address to them, as told here in Parashat Nitzavim, when they formally affirmed their covenant with God.  Rashi adds that Yehoshua similarly assembled the people before his death (24:1), as did Shemuel, who, in fact, also used a term related to “matzeiva” (“hityatzevu” – Shemuel I 12:7) in that gathering.

What does the Midrash mean when it speaks of a leader making his constituency a “matzeiva”?

            A monument indicates stability and perpetuity.  A person erects a “matzeiva” to memorialize another person, or an event.  When the Midrash describes Moshe as turning Benei Yisrael into a matzeiva “in order to urge them on,” it perhaps means that he urged them to stay on course despite the significant transition that is about to occur.  Benei Yisrael will now be led by somebody much different than Moshe.  Yehoshua’s personality, temperament, way of doing things, policies and approaches likely differed substantially from that of his mentor.  Benei Yisrael might have mistakenly thought that new leadership means a new Torah, a new national destiny; they might have assumed that Moshe’s teaching would be buried with him in the grave, and Yehoshua’s succession heralded a fundamental change of direction.

            Moshe therefore reaffirmed the eternal relevance of the nation’s covenant with the Almighty, thereby turning Benei Yisrael into a “matzeiva.”  By assuring that the nation’s commitment to the berit would survive his passing and the transition to Yehoshua’s leadership, he turned us into a “matzeiva,” an eternal nation with an eternal identity and eternal religious commitment.  He ensured that Am Yisrael will endure drastic changes and upheavals; that, like a matzeiva, we will remain steady and stable in our commitment to God, even as we and the world undergo significant changes and transitions.

Tuesday

            We read toward the end of Parashat Vayelekh (31:28) of Moshe’s instruction to the Leviyim to assemble the nation’s leaders so he could present to them the poem of Ha’azinu.  Rashi, citing the Midrash Tanchuma, raises the question of why the chatzotzerot (trumpets) were not used for this purpose.  As we know from Sefer Bamidbar (10:1-10), Moshe was instructed to make two silver chatzotzerot which the kohanim would blow on certain occasions, including to announce the assembly of the entire nation or its leadership.  Seemingly, if Moshe wanted to summon the nation’s elders, he should have had the kohanim sound the chatzotzerot.  Rashi explains that the chatzotzerot were not used because they were buried that day.  The trumpets were not left for Yehoshua, Moshe’s successor, and they buried on the day of Moshe’s death – even before he died – as an expression of the concept, “ein shilton be-yom ha-mavet” (Kohelet 8:8), meaning, that even the most powerful figures forfeit their authority in the face of death.  Thus, when Moshe summoned the elders, his chatzotzerot had already been buried, and Yehoshua was not yet the nation’s leader, and so his chatzotzerot could not be used.

            Rav David Mandelbaum, in his Pardeis Yosef He-chadash, presents three possible reasons for why Moshe’s chatzotzerot were not handed down to his successor.  First, Rav Mandelbaum suggests a halakhic reason, noting that Moshe had the formal halakhic status of a king.  (The issue of Moshe’s status as king is discussed at length earlier in the Pardeis Yosef He-chadash – Bamidbar, vol. 1, pp. 376-7.)  The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (44a) establishes that after a king’s death, his scepter may not be used, even by his successor.  And the Rambam (Hilkhot Melakhim 2:1) rules that all the king’s personal items are destroyed after his death.  For this reason, perhaps, Moshe’s trumpets had to be discarded, and were not to be used, even by his successor, Yehoshua.

            In a much different vein, Rabbenu Bechayei, in his commentary to Parashat Beha’alotekha (Bamidbar 10:2), writes that the sounds blown by the chatzotzerot were actually expressions of profound wisdom, which only Moshe, through his unparalleled prophetic capabilities, could understand.  The chatzotzerot made by Moshe were buried, and not used by anybody else, as an indication that only he was capable of understanding the deep messages conveyed by the sounds of the trumpets.

            Finally, Rav Mordechai Ilan, in his Mikdash Mordekhai, views the burial of the chatzotzerot as expressing the notion that each leader uses different “instruments” in proclaiming the immutable messages of the Torah.  Moshe’s chatzotzerot were not used because leaders should not necessarily look to mimic the precise methods and strategies used by their predecessors.  While the laws and values remain the same from one generation to the next – just as the precise same sounds were blown with every set of trumpets in every generation – the “instruments” used by leaders and educators to communicate those laws and values must be altered and modified to suit the needs of each particular age.  Yehoshua was, without doubt, to transmit the same Torah as taught by Moshe; however, he was to use different “chatzotzerot,” different tools and media to convey the Torah.  Moshe’s trumpets were therefore buried on the day he died, to teach that each leader must choose the means of communication that best suits him and the particular needs of his generation.

Wednesday

            The Torah in Parashat Vayelekh presents the mitzva of hakhel, which requires the entire nation to assemble once every seven years, just after the conclusion of the shemitta year, and hear parts of the Torah read by the king.

            In presenting this mitzva, the Torah emphasizes that all members of the nation must attend, including young children (“ha-anashim ve-ha’nashim ve-ha’taf” – 31:12).  The inclusion of the children in this ceremony gave rise to an intriguing exchange among the Tanna’im, as recorded toward the beginning of Masekhet Chagiga (3a).  The Talmud relates that Rabbi Yochanan ben Beroka and Rabbi Elazar Chisma once visited Rabbi Yehoshua, who asked them what was taught in the yeshiva that day.  The visitors informed their rabbi that Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya discussed the subject of hakhel, specifically, the requirement to bring the young children.  Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya explained that the children were brought “in order to bring reward to those who bring them.”  Seemingly, this means that the children do not necessarily derive any direct benefit from the experience, as they cannot understand the words of Torah spoken at the event, but they are nevertheless included for the sake of the parents, who are rewarded not only for their own participation, but also for bringing the children.  Rabbi Yehoshua responded enthusiastically to this insight, describing it as a “precious gem.”

            What exactly did Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya mean, and why did Rabbi Yehoshua consider his comment so “precious”?

            One possibility, perhaps, is that Rabbi Elazar essentially noted that we ultimately do not know and cannot explain why the Torah required bringing the children.  The parents come to hear, to learn, to study, to reinforce their commitment, but when it comes to the children, we do not understand why the Torah required their attendance.  We do know that the parents fulfill a mitzva by bringing their youngsters, and will be rewarded accordingly, but in endeavoring to explain the reason behind this requirement, we have no choice but to acknowledge the limits of our understanding of the reasons underlying God’s commands.

            And this, perhaps, is precisely why Rabbi Yehoshua responded with such enthusiasm.  As the Talmud relates, the students were initially hesitant to share with their rabbi the lesson taught in the yeshiva that day.  When Rabbi Yehoshua inquired into what was taught, the students replied, “We are your disciples and we drink your waters.”  This might mean, “Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya did not have anything particularly insightful to say in the yeshiva today; we prefer hearing your Torah novellae.”  They weren’t especially impressed by Rabbi Elazar’s lecture, in which he merely raised and left unanswered the question of why the children are included in hakhel.  They preferred to hear a dazzling, intricate, novel approach to answer the question.

Therefore, upon hearing Rabbi Elazar’s comments, Rabbi Yehoshua remarked, “That was a precious gem in your hands, and you wished to deprive me of it?”  He wanted to teach his disciples that even the humble recognition of the limits of our understanding is something “precious.”  There is value in asking a question and conceding that we do not have a satisfactory answer.  This is an integral part of the process of talmud Torah, and, as such, is as “precious” as arriving at a brilliant, novel insight.  Rabbi Yehoshua thus reminds us that saying “I don’t know” is an important component of the talmud Torah experience, and there is no shame in raising questions for which we as yet do not have answers.

Thursday

            Yesterday, we discussed a peculiar exchange recorded by the Gemara in Masekhet Chagiga (3a) that ensued when Rabbi Yochanan ben Beroka and Rabbi Elazar Chisma visited Rabbi Yehoshua, after studying in the yeshiva of Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya.  Rabbi Yehoshua asked the visitors to share with him the material taught in the yeshiva that day.  The students initially refused, expressing their preference to hear Rabbi Yehoshua teach them. But Rabbi Yehoshua insisted, and so Rabbi Yochanan ben Beroka and Rabbi Elazar Chisma reported to him the lesson they had heard that day from Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya.  They said that Rabbi Elazar discussed the subject of hakhel, the national assembly that was held in the Beit Ha-mikdash every seven years, as the Torah commands in Parashat Vayelekh (31:12).  Rabbi Elazar raised the question of why the Torah required bringing the young children to hakhel, even though they could not understand, let alone internalize or apply, the words of Torah spoken at this assembly.  He explained, ambiguously, “In order to reward those who brought them.”

            Upon hearing Rabbi Elazar’s explanation, Rabbi Yehoshua scolded his students for their initial refusal to share with him this insight: “That was a precious gem in your hands, and you wished to deprive me of it?”

            What exactly did Rabbi Elazar mean by his comment, and why did Rabbi Yehoshua find this explanation to be “precious”?

The Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Baruch Gigi shelit”a (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot68/48-68nitzavim-vayelekh.htm), suggested that when Rabbi Elazar spoke of the parents receiving “reward” for bringing their children, he meant that the parents learn a valuable lesson about Torah from their children’s inclusion in hakhel.  Quite obviously, the youngsters do not come to hakhel learn, to gain knowledge, to grow intellectually.  Rather, they attend because even they are affected by the experience – not intellectually, but emotionally.  The experience of attending a large Torah gathering has an impact upon children.  Their connection to Torah and to Am Yisrael is enhanced by the special atmosphere of the event, even though they do not understand the material that is taught.

And this is the “reward” that the parents earn.  They are reminded that Torah is not only about the mind, but also about the heart, that we must develop an emotional attachment to Torah alongside our intellectual study of Torah.  As Rav Gigi explained:

Sometimes we say to ourselves, “I’m not impressed by atmosphere and by externals,” or “I want to understand and don’t need an emotional connection.” The hak’hel ceremony teaches us to absorb and make the most of every aspect of the occasion. There are people who, when exposed to a learned, complicated proof, will understand nothing, yet sometimes these very people demonstrate immense power of Torah and of fear of heaven. “To give reward to those who bring them” means learning a lesson from the children. A person may bring his children, wondering at the same time why he is bringing them, but then he witnesses the child’s excitement and the fear of God that the child attains – and this should signal to the parent to learn from the child and to absorb some of that aspect of the occasion, too.

People gather for hak’hel in order to learn, but at the same time it is important to know that the Torah also addresses itself beyond the intellectual level; there is always an aspect of inner, soul-connection with things. We…must be aware of this aspect, and be prepared to internalize it and absorb it into ourselves.

            This was the “precious gem” revealed to us by Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya in his discourse on hakhel – that the Torah must be not only studied, but absorbed; that one must apply himself to Torah learning not only intellectually, but emotionally, as well.

Friday

            In the opening verse of Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe proclaims to Benei Yisrael, “Atem nitzavim hayom kulekhem lifnei Hashem Elokeikhem” (“You are standing today, all of you, before the Lord your God”).  He then proceeds to explain that this assembly is held for the purpose of the nation’s formal entry into a binding and eternal covenant with God.

            A number of writers have suggested different insights into the possible significance of the term “nitzavim” (“standing”) in this context.  Rav Shamai Ginsburg, in his Imrei Shamai (Jerusalem, 5748), explains Moshe’s use of this term here on the basis of an association drawn by Chazal between the verb n.tz.v. and ru’ach ha-kodesh (quasi prophetic insight).  Commenting on Moshe’s instruction to Benei Yisrael before the splitting of the sea, “Hityatzevu” (Shemot 14:13), the Mekhilta writes that this verb refers to obtaining the level of ru’ach ha-kodesh.  With the word “hityatzevu,” Moshe alluded to Benei Yisrael as they stood at the sea that they would soon behold a kind of prophetic revelation.  The Mekhilta cites a number of prooftexts to substantiate this interpretation of the word, including the description in Sefer Shemuel I (3:10) of the first prophecy beheld by Shemuel (“Va-yavo Hashem va-yityatzav”).  The prophet Amos (9:1) similarly describes his prophetic vision with the term “nitzav.”  Thus, the Mekhilta comments, when Moshe declares to the people at sea, “Hityatzevu,” he alludes to their imminent rise to the level of ru’ach ha-kodesh.

            Similarly, the Imrei Shamai suggests, here in Parashat Nitzavim, the term “nitzavim” might allude to ru’ach ha-kodesh.  As Benei Yisrael gathered to formally affirm their eternal covenant with God, they were raised to a quasi prophetic stature, alluded to by the word “nitzavim.”

            Why would the verb n.tz.v. be viewed as an allusion to ru’ach ha-kodesh?

            The term “nitzav” generally refers to something or someone firmly implanted in its or his position.  As we discussed earlier this week, the word “matzeiva” (monument), which is derived from the root n.tz.v., is associated with permanence, stability and endurance.  A matzeiva is erected to ensure the survival of an otherwise fleeting memory.  Likewise, a person who is described with the word “nitzav” stands firmly in place, holding steadfast to his or her position.

            By associating this verb with ru’ach ha-kodesh, the Sages perhaps sought to instruct that intellectual and spiritual achievement require a person to stay in place, to focus his or her attention with intensity on the subject at hand.  Many of us engage in “nitzavim” only rarely.  Bombarded by multiple tidal waves of pressures and responsibilities, we are constantly on the move, proceeding to our next task the moment we have completed the current one.  To obtain “ru’ach ha-kodesh” – knowledge, spiritual fulfillment, a close connection with our Creator – we must allocate time to be “nitzavim,” to focus our attention on Torah, prayer and spiritual development.

            When Avraham saw three wayfarers passing not far from his tent, he ran to them and pleaded, “Al na ta’avor mei-al avdekha” – “Do not pass by your servant” (Bereishit 18:3).  He perhaps took note of the haste with which they traveled, and suspected that they might not want to take a break from traveling.  Indeed, Rashi, commenting on this episode, famously cites from the Midrash that Avraham thought these men were idolaters who worshipped the dust of their feet.  Some darshanim explained this to mean that the angels appeared as traveling merchants, who were obsessed with their commercial enterprises and are thus described as worshipping the dust of their feet, excessively fretting over money, and compulsively and endlessly lusting for higher profits without ever feeling satisfied.  Avraham therefore begged, “Do not pass by your servant.”  He urged them to take a break from the rat race, to take some time to find meaning and fulfillment in their lives, to focus their attention on more substantive matters than increasing their profits.

            “Atem nitzavim hayom kulekhem.”  To firmly establish our bond with the Almighty, we must make the time to focus, we must pause from our constant race against the clock, take time to study, think and pray, and remind ourselves of what our priorities and primary goals ought to be.