Monthly Archives: February 2020

This week’s alumni Dvar Torah is by Pnina Grossman

Parashat Terumah opens with a list of architectural dyes.  Midrash Tanchuma 5 seeks to provide a symbolic resonance for each color (although for some reason it skips argaman):

“תְּכֵלֶת” –

שֶׁצּוֹבְעִין אוֹתוֹ בְּדָם,

זֵכֶר לְאוֹת שֶׁכְּבָר הִתְקִינוּ אֲבוֹת הָעוֹלָם;

“תּוֹלַעַת” –

שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר:

אַל תִּירְאִי תּוֹלַעַת יַעֲקֹב (ישעיה מא, יד).

“וְעֹרֹת אֵילִם” –

בִּזְכוּת יַעֲקֹב,

שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר:

וְאֵת עֹרֹת גְּדָיֵי הָעִזִּים (בראשית כז:טז).

אָמַר הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא:

הַשָּׁמַיִם וּשְׁמֵי הַשָּׁמַיִם לֹא יְכַלְכְּלוּ אוֹתִי,

וְאַשְׁרֶה שְׁכִינָתִי בְּתוֹךְ עֹרֹת גְּדָיֵי עִזִּים.

“Tekhelet (blue) ” –

which they dye with blood (from the chilazon),

to symbolize the sign (circumcision) that the patriarchs had already prepared.

“Tola’at (scarlet)” –

as it says:

Fear not, thou worm (tola’at) Yaakov (Isa. 41:14).

“The rams’ skins” –

in the merit of Yaakov,

as it is said:

And she put the skins of the kids of the goats upon his hands (Gen. 27:16).

The Holy One, blessed be He, declared:

The heavens and the heavens of the heavens cannot contain Me,

yet I will cause My Shekhinah to dwell within the skins of the goats’ kids.

This midrash is puzzling. Why is Yaakov the only Patriarch specifically mentioned?  Especially puzzling here is that the ram, a classic symbol of Akeidat Yitzchak, is used here instead to refer to the goatskins that Rivka put on Yaakov.  

 Shemot Rabbah 34 also connects the mishkan to Yaakov exclusively among the Patriarchs:

אָמַר רַבִּי טַבְיוֹמֵי:

בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁהִגִּיעַ זְמַנּוֹ שֶׁל יַעֲקֹב אָבִינוּ לִפָּטֵר מִן הָעוֹלָם,

קָרָא לְבָנָיו, אָמַר לָהֶם:

“הֱיוּ יוֹדְעִין שֶׁהַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא עָתִיד לוֹמַר לִבְנֵיכֶם לַעֲשׂוֹת מִשְׁכָּן,

אֶלָּא יִהְיוּ כָּל צְרָכָיו מוּכָנִים בְּיֶדְכֶם…”

וְיֵשׁ מֵהֶם שֶׁהִתְקִינוּ עַצְמָן לַדְּבָרִים, וְיֵשׁ מֵהֶן שֶׁשָּׁכְחוּ.

וּכְשֶׁבָּא משֶׁה וְעָשׂוּ הַמִּשְׁכָּן –

יֵשׁ מֵהֶם שֶׁהֵבִיאוּ מֵעַצְמָן, וְיֵשׁ מֵהֶם שֶׁלֹא הֵבִיאוּ אֶלָּא מִמַּה שֶׁהָיָה מֻנָּח בְּיָדוֹ,

שֶׁכֵּן הוּא אוֹמֵר (שמות לה:כג): וְכָל אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר נִמְצָא אִתּוֹ תְּכֵלֶת וְאַרְגָּמָן,

וְאוֹמֵר (שמות לה:כד): וְכָל אֲשֶׁר נִמְצָא אִתּוֹ עֲצֵי שִׁטִּים.

Said R Tavyomi:

When the time came for our forefather Yaakov to retire from the world,

he called to his sons. He said to them:

Know that G-d will tell your children in the future to build a sanctuary,

and all of its needs should be prepared in your hands” …

Some of them prepared themselves for things,

but some forgot.

When Moshe came and they made the sanctuary,

some brought what they had prepared, and some only brought what was found in their hands,

as it says “every man that was found by him blue and scarlet”

and it says “every one that was found by him acacia trees”

Yaakov is credited here with arranging the availability of the supplies that G-d eventually tells Moshe are needed.  His foresight enables the building of the Mishkan. Yet why didn’t Avraham and Yitzchak charge their children the same way?  Why would the Midrash make this bridge exclusively from Yaakov to the Mishkan?

I suggest that Yaakov, uniquely among the Patriarchs, becomes a symbol of the nation as a whole. This means that promises apparently made to him personally can be fulfilled nationally. For example, Yaakov is the patriarch who brought the Israelites down to Egypt in the first place, and on that occasion, G-d promises him:

 בראשית מ״ו:ד

אָנֹכִ֗י אֵרֵ֤ד עִמְּךָ֙ מִצְרַ֔יְמָה

וְאָנֹכִ֖י אַֽעַלְךָ֣ גַם־עָלֹ֑ה

וְיוֹסֵ֕ף יָשִׁ֥ית יָד֖וֹ עַל־עֵינֶֽיךָ׃

I Myself will go down with you to Egypt,

and I Myself will also bring you back up;

and Joseph’s hand shall close your eyes.”

While Yosef is in fact present at Yaakov’s death, Yaakov dies in Egypt and does not return to Canaan. What became of G-d’s promise? Rashi and Ibn Ezra argue that Yaakov’s burial in Canaan was a sufficient fulfillment. Shemot Rabbah solves the problem by construing the verse as a promise to the whole nation rather than to Yaakov personally:

שמות רבה ג:ג

וָאֵרֵד לְהַצִּילוֹ מִיַּד מִצְרַיִם וגו’ –

אָמַר הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לְמשֶׁה:

אֲנִי אָמַרְתִּי לְיַעֲקֹב אֲבִיהֶם:

אָנֹכִי אֵרֵד עִמְּךָ מִצְרַיְמָה

וְאָנֹכִי אַעַלְךָ וגו‘,

וְעַתָּה יָרַדְתִּי לְכָאן לְהַעֲלוֹת בָּנָיו

כְּמוֹ שֶׁאָמַרְתִּי לְיַעֲקֹב אֲבִיהֶן.

וּלְהֵיכָן אֲנִי מַעֲלָן?

אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִים מִשָּׁם,

אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּעְתִּי לַאֲבוֹתָם

I have come down to rescue him from the Egyptians –

G-d said to Moshe,

I said to Jacob their father:

I Myself will go down with you to Egypt,

and I Myself will also bring you back up,

and now I have come down to here to bring his children up

as I promised Jacob their father, and to where will I bring them up.

To where am I bringing them up?

To the place that I took them out of,

to the land that I promised their forefathers

When Yaakov leaves Canaan in the course of fleeing from Esav, G-d promises him that He will accompany him:

בראשית כ״ח:טו

וְהִנֵּ֨ה

אָנֹכִ֜י עִמָּ֗ךְ

וּשְׁמַרְתִּ֙יךָ֙

בְּכֹ֣ל אֲשֶׁר־תֵּלֵ֔ךְ

וַהֲשִׁ֣בֹתִ֔יךָ

אֶל־הָאֲדָמָ֖ה הַזֹּ֑את

כִּ֚י לֹ֣א

אֶֽעֱזָבְךָ֔

עַ֚ד אֲשֶׁ֣ר אִם־עָשִׂ֔יתִי אֵ֥ת אֲשֶׁר־דִּבַּ֖רְתִּי לָֽךְ׃

Behold I am with you

I will protect you wherever you go

and I will bring you back to this land.

Because I will not leave you

until I have done what I have told you

G-d does return Yaakov to Israel that time.  But perhaps the promise is not truly fulfilled until Yaakov’s descendants return from Egypt. In that light, one can suggest that the midrashim focus on Yaakov because they see the mishkan as a fulfillment of this promise to the whole Jewish people.  The portable mishkan enables G-d to be with them wherever they go, until they return to the Land. 

שמות כה:ח

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ

וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃

let them make Me a sanctuary

that I may dwell among them.

Pnina Grossman is a former Sharon native and a 2012 SBM almuna. She now lives in Israel and works as a Biomedical Engineer.

by Rabbi Aryeh Klapper

What is Justice? Plato wrote many dialogues on the subject. Chazal may have engaged in similar analytic discussions, or not.  Rabbinic literature generally records internal discourse on philosophic themes as volleying verses back and forth. We have no way of knowing whether this reflects the way the discussions were conducted, or whether instead the verses are no-longer-decipherable mnemonics for rigorous analytic moves.

One such record centers on Shemot 26:30:

וַהֲקֵמֹתָ֖ אֶת־הַמִּשְׁכָּ֑ן

כְּמִ֨שְׁפָּט֔וֹ

אֲשֶׁ֥ר הָרְאֵ֖יתָ בָּהָֽר

You must erect the mishkan

in accordance with its mishpat

which you were shown on the mountain.

The Talmud Yerushalmi  (Shabbat 12:3 and Horayot 3:5) cites Rabbi Ammi as asking “What mishpat could there be for wood?” Since there obviously were many laws regarding the architectural details of the mishkan, relating to wood and carpets etc., Rabbi Ammi’s question must understand mishpat here as referring to “justice.” His answer reflects this:

אלא, אי זהו קרש זכה להינתן בצפון – ינתן בצפון; בדרום – ינתן בדרום.

Rather, whichever plank zakhah to be placed in the North (when the mishkan was first erected) – should (always) be placed in the North; in the South – should (always) be placed in the South.

This is a very unsatisfying response. From a textual perspective, the verse plainly describes how the initial erection of the mishkan must follow a prior blueprint, but Rabbi Ammi uses it to argue that all subsequent erections must follow the first. From a substantive perspective, why is this rule sensible if the category “justice” does not apply to planks?

The contextual explanation is that Rabbi Ammi is not interested in planks at all. Rather, he is responding homiletically to a question about human beings.

אילין דר’ הושעיה ודבר פזי הוון שאלין בשלמיה דנשיא בכל יום,

והוון אילין דרבי הושעיה עלין קדמאי ונפקין קדמאי.

אזלין אילין דבר פזי ואיתחתנות בנשיאותא.

אתון בעיין מיעול קדמאי.

The families of Rabbi Hoshayah and Bar Pazi would greet the nasi every day.

The family of Rabbi Hoshayah would enter first and exit first.

The family of Bar Pazi then went and married into the family of the nasi.

They then came and sought to enter first.

Rabbi Ammi uses his claim about “justice for planks” to prescribe a rule for human society. Families that have been zokheh to a relatively higher social status are not demoted when a family under them objectively rises.

The Yerushalmi contrasts Rabbi Ammi’s ruling with that of Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish in a similar case.

תרין זרעיין הוון בציפרין

בולווטיא ופגניא

הוון שאלין בשלמיה דנשייא בכל יום.

והוון בולווטיה עלין קדמיי ונפקין קדמיי,

אזלין פגניא וזכון באוריתא.

אתון בעי מיעול קדמיי.

אישתאלת לרשב”ל.

שאלה רשב”ל לר’ יוחנן

עאל ר’ יוחנן ודרשה בבי מדרשא דרבי בנייה

אפי’ ממזר ת”ח וכהן גדול עם הארץ ממזר ת”ח קודם לכ”ג עם הארץ.

סברין מימר: לפדות ולכסות ולהחיות – הא לישיבה לא

א”ר אבין

אף לישיבה.

מה טעמא?

יקרה היא מפנינים –

אפי’ מזה שהוא נכנס לפני ולפנים.

There were two families in Tziparin

Balvetya and Paganya

that would greet the nasi every day.

Balvetya would enter first and exit first.

Paganya went and were zokheh in Torah

They then came and sought to enter first.

The question was asked to Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish.

Rabbi Shimin ben Lakish asked it to Rabbi Yochanan.

Rabbi Yochanan went into the beit midrash of Rabbi Benayah and taught this:

“Even a mamzer who is a scholar precedes even a High Priest who is an ignoramus.”

They thought this referred to ransoming, clothing, and sustaining, but not to seating arrangements.

Said Rabbi Avin:

It refers even to seating arrangements.

Why?

She (Torah) is more precious than peninim –

more precious even he who goes lifnei velifnim (before G-d and within the Holy of Holies)

Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Avin rule that the merit of Torah justifies social displacement.  It seems likely to me that the merit referred to was acquired via marriage, rather than via study. The specific people seeking to enter the nasi’s reception room first are no different than they were previously – they have only acquired new associations.

The anonymous habitues of the beit midrash knew the Mishnah that Rabbi Yochanan cited. They acknowledged that a scholar mamzer’s claim on public funds is prior to that of an ignoramus High Priest.  But they did not see how this extended to a prior claim on public honor.  Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Avin, by contrast, argue that it extends to public honor; that it applies not only to individuals but to the extended families to which they belong, or which they join; and that it does so even when that requires demoting others.

How can this be squared with Rabbi Ammi’s principle of justice for planks? The word zakhah can mean either “acquired a privilege” or “merited.” Perhaps Rabbi Ammi held that unearned privileges cannot be displaced by (association with) other unearned privileges, but can be displaced by (association with) earned privileges.

All of this begs the question – why is mishpat, or justice, associated with stasis rather than with mobility? Wouldn’t it be more just to ensure that the planks were rotated so that each of them spent the same amount of time on each side?  (This question is affected to some extent by the commentators’ dispute as to whether the sides of the mishkanwere equally or rather unequally holy.)

Michael Walzer argues in Spheres of Justice that it is vital for a society to recognize that there are many kinds of goods. In some societies, there is a dominant good, meaning a good that can be converted into every other kind of good.  For example, in some societies only those with disproportionate amounts of money can obtain comfortable furniture, public office, or adequate health care. Those of us who believe that health, comfort, and the approbation of one’s fellows are necessary for happiness might come to believe that those same people are disproportionately happy, and that the society is therefore unjust.

What if money isn’t necessary for happiness, though? What if having disproportionate wealth causes unhappiness (perhaps it forces one to display one’s wealth by sitting on stylish but uncomfortable chairs, makes one a constant target of abuse by presidential candidates, and subjects one to a constant regimen of invasive medical procedures)? Would a society be just if wealth inequality were naturally balanced with happiness inequality?

Walzer argues that people should have the right to make tradeoffs among individual goods, e.g to eschew lucrative professions for meaningful ones and vice versa. Forcing equality along any particular axis inevitably leads to totalitarianism, because “simple equality” is not congruent with the pluralism of goods inherent to human nature. People naturally value different goods differently. The key is to ensure that those with money or meaning are not thereby given disproportionate access to or control over other goods, i.e. to allow a genuine pluralism of goods.

Social honor is a good that every community distributes among its members.  As with many goods, it cannot be distributed equally, even by force. Some people inevitably attract more of it than others, whether or not they try to do so.  Some people value it a lot more than others do. Some people – perhaps this is pure yetzer hora – value it davka relatively.  For them, social honor is a zero-sum game, where their gains must be matched precisely by other’s losses. An enforcedly egalitarian society leaves them in practice with nothing, like those Epicureans who believe that the best way to maximize the pleasure-to-pain ratio is to eliminate both.

One moral argument for social inertia is that the pain of social demotion greatly outweighs the pleasure of social promotion.  Another is that it provides a check against whatever goods might otherwise dominate the society. If social honor is subject to a strong inertial force, then money is much less likely to be able to buy power, or happiness, at least in the short-term.  The key is to ensure that social honor itself does not become a dominant good, so that the social upper classes also gain the power to distribute wealth, health, and comfort. We might try to prevent this by setting up Torah scholarship as a countervailing good with power over the distribution of other goods.

What if Torah scholarship became the dominant good? Rabbi Avin and Rabbi Yochanan seem at peace with this possibility. I have a lot of sympathy with the anonymous critics in the beit midrash, however. They may have noticed an immediate slippage – the Mishnah refers only to scholars themselves, but Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Avin extend it to the associates of scholars, and this extension is probably inevitable. Money and Torah thus become exchangeable for one another, and this opens the path for money to become the dominant good. It now makes sense for rich families to buy Torah scholars as in-laws, and thus to acquire social honor. Those desirous of social honor will therefore be as likely to pursue wealth as to study Torah. In the long run, the wealthy will probably gain the power to determine who is considered a Torah scholar worthy of public honor.

Some of you may have read this far only because you were expecting a direct discussion of gender and denominationalism. If so, I apologize. But I also suggest that those discussions would often be improved by taking into account the justice advantages of preventing any single good from becoming culturally dominant.

I also note for the record that many halakhists have taken Rabbi Ammi literally, so that there is an extensive literature for example about whether the parts of a sukkah must be labelled to ensure that each element is identically placed the next year.

This week’s alumni Dvar Torah is by Zachary Ottenstein

The first five parshiyot of Sefer Shmot primarily chronicle the relationship between G-d and man.  The relationship is framed narratively, by way of G-d’s redemption of Israel, and concretized ritually in the form of Pesach, Rosh Chodesh, and the Sabbath. Parshat Mishpatim begins a new theme: G-d’s concern for how people interact among themselves. Why is this Parshah placed here?

The late 19^th/early 20^th century commentator R’ David Zvi Hoffman additionally asked a simple but deep question.[1] Just as G-d legislated the contours of His relationship to human beings, why shouldn’t human beings legislate the laws that govern relationships among themselves? This question is all the more relevant today, when most Jews live in democratic countries and theocracies are few and despised.

R. Hoffman answers that by placing interpersonal laws here, the Torah is trying to preempt the idea that mitzvot bein adam lamakom and mitzvot bein adam l’chaveiro are separable categories. Many of the mitzvot traditionally associated with bein adam l’chaveiro in fact have a strong element of G-dliness reinforcing them, and a godless society will be unethical.

G-d’s concern for interpersonal interactions was a Jewish innovation. As pointed out by scholars of the Ancient Near East and great Jewish thinkers such as R’ Umberto Cassutto and R’ Amnon Bazak,[2] the Code of Hammurabi and other Ancient Near Eastern legal codes legislate against similar offenses as the Torah does, but nonetheless a clear difference in outlook is apparent on close examination. For example, Exodus 22:25-26 commands us against holding a garment taken as collateral overnight “because it is his only garment and in what will he sleep? And he will cry out to me and I will hear him because I am merciful,“[3] whereas Law 117 of the Hammurabi Code [4] permits a man to sell himself, his wife or even his children as slaves should he be unable to pay his debt.  In another somewhat ironic example, Leviticus 20:12 prescribes the death penalty for adultery. The Code of Hammurabi also bans adultery, but with a crucial difference (Law 129): the husband may pardon his wife for her offense and allow her to live. This caveat is not found in Jewish law, as adultery is not just an offense toward another person, but an attack on the sanctity of marriage as ordained by G-d.

Interpersonal relations and their divine nature reach a high point when discussing the laws of slavery. While the basic commandments as to how a slave must be treated come from the opening verses of this week’s sedrah (Exodus 21:1-7), a deep insight can be gleaned from Jeremiah 34, which features G-d’s rebuke to the Jewish people for their mistreatment of their slaves. Already in the second verse of the chapter it is known to Jeremiah and King Zedekiah that Jerusalem will not survive war with Nebuchadnezzar and will be delivered into his hands. Six verses later, seemingly out of nowhere, Zedekiah mandates that all of the Judahites set free their Hebrew slaves. While Zedekiah’s record was tarnished by various other activities (Kings II 24:19-20), it is difficult not to admire him for this act of righteousness and moral leadership in a time of chaos. In verse 14, G-d reminds Yirmiyahu of the laws of slaves found in Parshat Mishpatim and chastises the people for retaking their fellow man as a slave after already freeing him. He subsequently tells the prophet that because they failed to extend liberty to their fellow man, that “liberty” will be extended to them to be conquered and destroyed by their enemies.

While the contrast between specific Near Eastern and Jewish laws conveys the fundamental ethical shift that came to the world via Judaism, it is the narrative in Jeremiah that highlights the need of the Jewish people to be uncompromising in their ethics and morals even at times of literal and metaphorical churban. Destruction and exile stared Zedekiah in the face, but he still devoted his energies to fighting the fight of the oppressed even if there was no hope that this would cause a reversal of G-d’s will. Jewish children are taught from infancy that the First Temple was destroyed because of avodah zarah,[5] but it must be stated that the crumbling of human morality that was happening simultaneously angered G-d to a similar degree. Pagan idolatry is no longer a pressing issue for the Jewish people, but there is always room for improvement in our ethics as a community and as individuals. If we are to want and to expect the betterment of our interpersonal behavior, the divine nature of these commandments cannot be overstated enough.

Notes:
[1] Commentary of R’ D.Z Hoffmann to Exodus 21:1. https://mg.alhatorah.org/Full/Shemot/21.1#e0n6

[2] Bazak, Amnon. “Shiur #08b: Tanakh and Literature of the Ancient Near East.” Shiur #08b: Tanakh and Literature of the Ancient Near East, Yeshivat Har Etzion, 1 Dec. 2014, www.etzion.org.il/en/shiur-08b-tanakh-and-literature-ancient-near-east.

[3] All translations of biblical verses are my own in consultation with the 1917 JPS Translation found at www.mechon-mamre.org

[4] All references to the Code of Hammurabi made in consultation with the Marquette University translation. http://mcadams.posc.mu.edu/txt/ah/Assyria/Hammurabi.html#Introduction

[5] BT Yoma 9a
Zachary Ottenstein (SBM ’18) is a sophomore at Yeshiva University majoring in History and Bible.