Table of Contents
- The Silent Cry of the Shofar by Rabbi Moshe N. Abramczyk
- Rosh Hashana Day 1 by Rabbi Shimon Silver
- Rosh Hashana Day 2 by Rabbi Chaim Wasserman
- Haazinu by Rabbi Chaim Wasserman
- Haazinu by Rabbi Moshe Greebel
- Yom Kippur by Rabbi Chaim Komendant
Rosh Hashana
The Silent Cry of the Shofar
Rabbi Moshe N. Abramczyk
The Mishna in Rosh Hashanah 29b rules that when Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbos, we do not blow shofar. Rabbah cites a rabbinic decree, passed in order to prevent transgression of the Shabbos, as the underlying reason for this ruling. This presents a conundrum: Every Jew is required to hear the blowing of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, and there is no commandment against the actual sounding of the shofar on Shabbos; so what is the basis for this ruling?
On the Shabbos, one is prohibited from removing an object from a private area, such as a house or fenced-in yard, to a public thoroughfare, regardless of the distance. Additionally, one is prohibited from transporting an object within the public thoroughfare for a distance of four cubits (approximately six feet).
The Talmud, quoting Rabbah, presents the following unlikely scenario. Let us assume that one unlearned individual, on a Rosh Hashanah that falls on Shabbos, decides to blow shofar himself rather than visit the synagogue to hear it blown. He comes to this decision after Shabbos already has begun. Let us further assume he is not completely familiar with the concomitant laws of shofar-blowing, and so he decides to visit a scholar who can teach him these laws. This person then accidentally transgresses the Shabbos by carrying his shofar along with him through a public domain for a distance exceeding four cubits. The Talmud goes on to tell us that in order to prevent this Shabbos-transgression from occurring, no Jew in the world may blow shofar on Rosh Hashanah that falls on Shabbos.Interestingly, Rabbah does not worry that the man might remove the shofar from a private domain; Rabbah merely is concerned that this individual might carry it in a public area. Tosafos, a medieval Talmudic commentary, posits that Rabbah recognized that a person would be very likely to notice his transition from a private structure or enclosed yard to a public area, whereas – once he already found himself out of the private domain –he might absent-mindedly begin to walk until he has exceeded a distance of four cubits.
The above far-fetched example makes the rabbinic prohibition terribly difficult to comprehend. Do we miss out on an essential component of Rosh Hashanah so as to be considerate of a pious ignoramus who is not planning on going to a synagogue to pray with a quorum and hear a shofar properly blown, who gets a notion to immediately visit a scholar, and who happens to have a shofar lying out in the street (because if it were in his house, he would remember not to take it outside)?
Furthermore, there is a minority Talmudic view -- which may not be exercised upon as a matter of practical halacha, yet is considered legitimate for other purposes; that every time one puts his foot down, he interrupts the accumulation of four cubits, and his next step starts a new four cubits. Consequently, the only way our ignorant friend can transgress the Biblical prohibition of transporting an object four cubits is either to throw it, or to jump four cubits. This poorly misguided Jew, according to this view, must now be so excited about shofar that he is jumping or skipping six feet at a time. And due to concern about this rare occurrence, all the Jews for thousands of years must neglect the obligation and privilege of shofar on Rosh Hashanah, if Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbos.
All the above is notwithstanding the great power accruing to the Jews from the sound of the Shofar. The Talmud quotes Rabbi Yitzchak, who states that a year in which we skip shofar on Rosh Hashanah wreaks suffering and crying for the coming year. Although Tosafos clarifies that this does not refer to a year in which shofar was skipped due to Rosh Hashanah falling on Shabbos, but rather to a year when shofar was missed for another reason, the severity of the consequences of this omission demonstrates the shofar’s immense benefit. September 11, 2001 followed a Rosh Hashanah on Shabbos. Rabbi Yakov Ettlinger, a 19th century commentator (author of Aruch L’ner), points out that the years the two Temples were destroyed were years in which Rosh Hashanah occurred on Shabbos. Yet, the best of years also were years in which Rosh Hashanah was on Shabbos. The year H-shem forgave us for the sin of the golden calf, which also was the year of the erection of the Tabernacle, was a year in which Rosh Hashanah was on Shabbos. So too, was the year we originally entered the land of Israel. How do we understand this phenomenon? What power lies in the shofar that helps determine the fate of the Jews?
The sound of the shofar, explains Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (1843-1926), has great mystical powers to cleanse and elevate a Jew’s soul, regardless of the motivation that brought the Jew to the synagogue. Shofar is not simply a mitzvah with great reward, and the suffering in a year without shofar is not merely a punishment for not adhering to H-shem’s commandments. Just as medicine helps the ill and a skipped dose harms the patient regardless of whether the patient was at fault, shofar helps us succeed at the heavenly judgment.
H-shem rules the world with the ultimate precision of justice and mercy. Thus H-shem will not ignore or overlook sins. So why is leniency accorded to those who merely are present when the shofar is blown?
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (Italian Kabbalist 1707-1746) notes that H-shem behaves towards us in accordance with our behavior. For example, if one does not stand on his pride and does not react negatively to every perceived slight, it is “just and fair” for H-shem to downplay the severity of the man’s sins. Rabbi Meir Simcha takes this concept one step further: By blowing the shofar, we “remind” H-shem of our forefather Abraham’s transcendence of his natural trait of mercy by way of his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac, and of Isaac’s willingness to be sacrificed. The shofar, a ram’s horn, recalls to mind the ram sacrificed in lieu of Isaac. This desperate yet gentle reminder of our national traits of mercy and self-sacrifice must naturally create a “just and fair” reason for H-shem to be significantly more merciful towards us.
A year in which Rosh Hashanah occurs on the Shabbos can provide a similar opportunity. We know that by honoring the Shabbos, we sanctify H-shem’s name by reiterating weekly our belief that He created the world in six days. The Jewish nation, fully aware of the extent of the shofar’s power, displays immense self-sacrifice for the sake of Shabbos by denying themselves the life-saving “medicine” of the shofar in order to save the Shabbos from being desecrated by one unlearned Jew, unlikely as it may be that this Jew ever will be encountered. This altruism of the Jewish nation ensures a good year and seals a positive judgment.
This resolves why “the best of times” have occurred in years that Rosh Hashanah fell on Shabbos. But what about “the worst of times” in those years? Rabbi Yakov Ettlinger explains with a parable:
The king’s minister was charged with a felony, and faced severe justice from his king. He scrambled to find an advocate to represent him at trial, but no other minister dared accept the task. Frustrated and anxious, the minister conferred with his wife. She calmed him and said, “I frequent the king’s palace and am well acquainted with members of his court. I will represent you at your trial.” So it was, and the minister walked away with a merciful sentence.
Shortly thereafter, another minister found himself in a similar situation. Recalling his fellow’s success, the second minister did not bother to look for an attorney. His wife also was well known in the palace of the king, and she agreed to represent him. This minister, however, was an abusive husband, and the evidence of his abuse was readily visible on his wife’s countenance. At the trial, the king questioned her bruises. Although she tried to deny the abuse and protect her husband, the king understood what had been transpiring in their home. “You have the audacity to ask your wife to represent you when you treat her so harshly?” The king pronounced the death sentence.
The Medrash teaches us that all the days of the week can be divided into pairs, except Shabbos. Shabbos is paired with her “mate”, the Jewish nation. So, concludes Rabbi Yakov Ettlinger, when Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbos and we do not have the shofar to advocate for us in the heavenly court, we rely on our mate Shabbos to represent us. If we have been, G-d forbid, abusive or neglectful of our mate, our sentence is dire. If, however, we have been a loving mate, devoted to the sanctity of the Shabbos and careful to adhere to her laws and practices, H-shem, our King, will grant us a joyous outcome.
May we all be mindful of the laws of Shabbos, may we accrue merit via the silence of the shofar on the upcoming Shabbos Rosh Hashanah, and may we enjoy a year of peace, health, and prosperity.
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Rabbi Moshe N. Abramczyk, a musmach of Beth Medrash Govoha, is a graduate of our Rabbinic Training Program and our Pastoral Counseling Program. He is a Rosh Chabura in BMG and serves as a posek and program director of a Bais Horah in Lakewood, NJ.
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Rosh Hashanah, Day 1
1 Tishrei 5770 /September 19, 2009
DAF YOMI: Bava Basra 29
Guest Author:
Rabbi Shimon Silver
Young Israel of Greater Pittsburgh, PA
youngisraelpgh@yahoo.com
When Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbos, we do not blow shofar … Someone might take his shofar to an expert to learn how to blow, and he might carry it in a public domain … (Rosh Hashanah 29b)
In every year that has no tekios at its beginning, there is teruos (fasting due to hardships) at its end. Why? Because the Satan was not confounded. (Rosh Hashanah 16b)
Some say this refers to neglecting the mitzvah of shofar on Rosh Hashanah. One who could not hear it due to oness, uncontrollable circumstances, on Shabbos, need not worry. Others maintain that an oness is also at risk, but refraining from blowing due to Shabbos does not put one at risk.
Why does the advent of Shabbos not put us at risk? After all, the Satan will not be confounded! Why did Chaza’l suspend blowing shofar on Shabbos, and risk losing the chance to confound the Satan?
Rabbi Moshe Schwab zt’l, mashgiach of Gateshead Yeshiva, offers the following approach: Every mitzvah must be performed with zehirus. This is defined as fear that one might not perform it properly. One might even transgress while trying. If this concern was present, and one blew shofar anyway, and he did not carry it, his mitzvah still has mixed into it a lack of zehirus. Chaza’l prefer zehirus over fulfillment of a positive mitzvah.
This shows how crucial is the need for zehirus. Without zehirus, one could mistakenly think that chilul Shabbos is the domain of freethinkers. One who begins studying hilchos Shabbos, will soon see how easy it is to violate even Scriptural prohibitions. Any person, without due zehirus, is at risk of chilul Shabbos.
Another part of the Rosh Hashanah services suspended on Shabbos is Avinu Malkainu. This powerful tefillah is said three times on Rosh Hashanah and on most fast days. Due to its intensity, it is forbidden to recite it at other times so it should not become commonplace. Yet, it is suspended when Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbos, because it mentions pain and worries. We may not mention these on Shabbos. This tefillah accomplishes so much for us, for the entire coming year. Is it not worth mentioning pain just for one Shabbos?
We ask this question because we do not appreciate oneg Shabbos. On the contrary, it is this very oneg Shabbos that will give us the needed zechus this Rosh Hashanah. Oneg Shabbos is the delight of m’ain olam haba. When one feels this, there is simply no room for mentioning pain, no room for worries about parnasah, health and the like. These problems are only apparent with olam hazeh eyes. On a weekday, we have an obligation to daven about them, because we live in olam hazeh. On Shabbos, m’ain olam haba, we do not feel the pain or worry. Shabbos is a day when the entire Creation praises and thanks HaShem, as we say: hakol yoduch, vehakol yeshabechucha. (Maarchei Lev, Moadim I, p. 151)
The Minchas Ani offers another approach, by way of parable: A trusted minister of the king was caught selling sensitive state secrets. High treason is punishable by death. The minister tried all possible avenues for clemency, to no avail. As a last resort, his wife came to court. She explained how loyal her husband had been and how she would suffer without him. She begged for a royal pardon, to allow her beloved husband to live for her sake. The king was duly impressed, and granted a compassionate pardon.
A few months later, another minister was caught in exactly the same predicament. Having heard what happened in the earlier case, this minster’s wife, too, thought she would help. Unfortunately the relationship between this minster and his wife was discordant. Shortly before her crucial court appearance, the couple had a fight. The minister’s wife appeared in court scratched and bruised, with swollen eyes and some hair missing. She began to portray her harmonious marriage, her loving and loyal husband, and how badly off she would be without him. Upon cross-examination, she admited that her scars and wounds resulted from a “small disagreement.” The king looked at her skeptically and said: “You say you need your husband so badly! Your appearance convinces me otherwise. I shall hang your husband, and you will be better off without him!”
We refrain from blowing shofar on Rosh Hashanah because of Shabbos. At the end of the year, the time comes to judge us on our year’s activities. The Satan will have had a year to build his case, unencumbered by the confounding force of the shofar at the beginning of the year. If we are indeed guilty on all counts, Shabbos will come to our defense. She will point to our sacrifice, giving up on the advantages of the shofar, in her honor. If, indeed, we will have spent the year in a harmonious relationship with Shabbos, we will be exonerated. She will describe how we cut out last minute things on Erev Shabbos, how we spent time in shul, in Torah study, at the meals, with family, singing zemiros, speaking about Torah, and our sacrifice on Rosh Hashanah will overcome the Satan.
What if we would have neglected Shabbos? We came into Shabbos breathless, at the last minute, and dashed out of it at the first chance. We spent the day talking politics, sports, lashon hara, criticizing rabbis, poking fun, or arranging business. We shamed Shabbos, and hurt her, and mistreated her. Would HaShem accept her defense of us?
May this year be one of kavod and oneg Shabbos. May we be able to point to our extra zehirus in hilchos Shabbos. The absence of the shofar and avinu malkainu will surely mean much more than a shorter davening. Let us feel how precious the oneg Shabbos is, and refrain from voicing any worry or pain. May the zechus of our appreciating how careful and fearful we need to be about violating Shabbos truly stand by us, for a
כתיבה
וחתימה
טובה
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Rosh Hashanah, Day 2
2 Tishrei 5770 / September 20, 2009DAF YOMI: Bava Basra 30
Guest AuthorRabbi Chaim Wasserman Co-President, Council of YI Rabbis in israelRabbi Emeritus, YI of Pasaaic-Clifton, NJ
Editor, The Rabbis Letter
Was Yitzchak actually slaughtered at the Akeidah about which we read each second day of Rosh haShanah?
Rashi clearly shows from the text that slaughtering Yitzchak was not G-d’s instruction. Furthermore, the literal reading of the text (p’shat) would lead us to conclude that he was not slaughtered since Avraham was stopped from harming Yitzchak by an angel of G-d. Finally, in the subsequent two parshiyot ha-shavua, Chayei Sarah and Toldot, Yitchak’s life unfolds before us. This notwithstanding, the end of the very text of Akeidah gives rise to clear doubts concerning Yitzchak. If he did survive the Akeidah why aren’t we told that he returns together with his father to their home in Be’er Sheva? And why don’t we hear anything about an only child of his mother eulogizing her upon her death as Avraham did at the beginning of Chayei Sarah?
In spite of the dominant assumption that Yitzchak survived the Akeidah there somehow developed persistent midrashic traditions that [a] Yitchak’s blood was shed by his father, [b] that he was resurrected after being killed and [c] that he was consumed by fire on the alter that Avraham built of Har haMoriah, These notions are stated throughout various midrashim and are repeatedly alluded to in the poetic piyutim of Rosh haShanah in addition to the Selichot recited before and after Rosh haShanah. While in these shared lines there isn’t sufficient room to fully discuss what motivated these traditions, suffice it for now to call your attention to several midrashic passages on the matter.
[1] The Akeidah “as if” it happened
There developed from Talmudic times a mystical sort of concept to view the Akeidah “as if” it actually occurred. One of the most prominent amora’im in Eretz Yisrael, Rabbi Abahu, taught: “Why do we blow the shofar of a ram? Because the Holy One, blessed be He, said ‘Blow before Me the ram’s shofar so that I will remember for your sake the Akeidah of Yitzchak, the son of Avraham. I will then consider that, for your sake, as if you had bound yourself before me.” (TB Rosh haShanah 16a) What Avraham did at the moment of the Akeidah, in other words, will accrue to the merit of his descendents as they stand in prayer before HaKadosh Baruch Hu every Rosh haShanah.
Another very telling misdrashic passage comes to us in the name of another of the most prominent of Eretz Yisrael amoraim, Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat, relates “Even though Yitzchak did not die as a result of the Akeidah the intention of the story is to get us to consider the matter as if he did (ke’ilu) and his ashes are gathered upon the altar on which he was bound. For this reason the text says that only Avraham returned unto his two young men with him and they returned unto Be’er Sheva.” (Midrash haGadol 22:19)
If he wasn’t actually slaughtered, Yitzchak, accordingly to another midrash, did die when bound on the altar as he saw the knife in his father’s hand descend closer to his throat. However, when the angelic communication came to Avraham not to touch Yitzchak or to maim him, sometime after that, Yitzchak was revived. At that moment the heavenly angels proclaimed “Baruch ata HaShem mechayei ha-meitim.” Blessed are you, G-d, who revives the dead. (Zohar Chadash Noach) It is for this reason that in every Shmoneh Esrei the opening berachah focuses on Avraham (“…magein Avraham”) while the very next berachah speaks of techiyat ha-meitim, revival of the dead just as Yitzchak experienced it.
One of the several solutions to the question as to how Ezra and Nechemiah knew exactly where to build the alter of the second Beit haMikdash was that the “ashes of Yitzchak”, so to speak, were lying in the very place where the alter was to be built. (TB Zevachim 62a)
Perhaps Rav Kook said it best to justify treating the Akeidah with a fictional construct of “as if”. He noted that the unique experience of the Akeidah comes to teach us that the children of Avraham were endowed with the unyielding power to serve G-d with such resoluteness even to the point of offering their own children unto martyrdom, if necessary, as a loving act of sanctifying His glorious name.
[2] The Akeidah: A Paradigm for Martydom
Already in the time of the Mishnah martyrdom – enduring torture and death in adherence of one’s belief that it is a supreme mitzvah to sanctify the name of G-d – was a widespread occurrence. Over and again such behavior was almost automatically associated with Avraham and Yitzchak at the Akeidah. Consider these two passages:
Commenting on the Aseret haDibrot, the midrash explains that when the Torah states: “…to those who love me” this refers to Avraham Avinu and those like him…Rabbi Natan said: those ‘who love Me and observe My mitzvot’ this refers to the Jews who reside in Eretz Yisrael and offer their lives in observance of the mitzvot. Why are you being taken to be killed? Because I circumcised my son! Why are you being burned alive? Because I was studying Torah! Why are you being crucified? Because I ate matzah on Pesach! Why are you mercilessly being beaten with whips? Because I picked up a lulav!...(Mechilta baChodesh:6) Avraham’s act of readiness to offer up him son to G-d was an act of total love unto G-d. His children, though beaten and tortured, follow in the footsteps of their father as a supreme act of love of G-d.
Then, in a story told with variations is some nine different sources, we learn of the mother of seven children who, perhaps during the Roman Hardrianic oppressions in Eretz Yisrael, was witness to her seven sons each being martyred in her presence for not having abandoned their loyalty to Torah and its principles. She proclaims: “My children, go tell Avraham, your father, not to be proud that he built one alter upon which he placed his son. I built seven alters for my seven sons. How fortunate you are, my children, that you fulfilled the will of your Father in Heaven and you came into this world so you were able to sanctify His great name.” Whereupon, wracked in the pain of her unspeakable horror, she plunged to her death from atop a high roof. (Eliyahu Rabbah 28 and elsewhere with variations)
That Avraham was not oppressed by foreign forces to execute the Akeidah did not prevent those generations faced with martyrdom from associating their plight with what happened at the Akeidah of Yitzchak – a father being ready to willfully slaughter his child as a supreme act of loyalty and love unto G-d. This notion became a central theme of many Selichot recited from immediately after Rosh haShanah through Yom Kippur. These Selicot were especially a reaction to the horrors European Jewish communities sustained in the Crusades and throughout the Middle Ages.
The descriptions in these Selichot, when its poetic allusions are properly understood, are simply outrageous. For instance, “G-d of the universe, do not be quiet over my blood that was shed…Mothers and children made peace with going to their Akeidah…Tears of these and those gushed forth. Fathers and children cry out the sacrificial berachah of Shema Yisrael. Could one believe what went on should they hear it? Can one believe such horror as if parents accompanied their children to their wedding? Will you, dear G-d, keep quiet over this? In times past we relied on the merit of the Akeidah at Har haMoriah to save us in every generation. Now let the merit of these (martyrs) be added so that our harsh decree be ended.” (Selichot for Erev Yom Kippur, Roedelheim edition)
[3] Modern day Akeidah
Fathers and mothers see their children off as these young ones, dressed in their khaki uniforms, carrying laden duffle bags return to their IDF army stations to do their duty. I asked quite a few how they felt as they saw them off. Over and again, in one way or another, the response would be something along the lines of “like Avraham at the Akeidah.” Is this perhaps a contemporary compelling rationale for having included the recitation of the Akeidah in our daily Shacharit in addition to all other explanations offered?
Shana Tova
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Parashas Haazinu
Guest Author:
Rabbi Chaim Wasserman
Co-President, Council of YI Rabbis in Israel Rabbi Emeritus, Young Israel of Passaic-Clifton
Editor, “The Rabbis’ Letter” |
8 Tishrei, 5770
September 26 , 2009
Daf Yomi: Bava Basra 36 |
The points at which we stop in the reading of the Torah each Shabbat are governed by just a few rules that have become a matter of long-standing tradition. The Vilna Gaon, for example, did not regard the precise stops as unilaterally fixed. Rather, we are told, he preferred invoking the rules as he saw them and stop at, what he believed to be, the most appropriate points.
I wish to point out only one such predominant rule as it applies to Parshat Ha’Azinu. The universally accepted practice is to avoid beginning and ending with ominous themes. For example, this rule would preclude us from concluding an aliyah with a phrase such as mot yumat
(that is, “he shall surely be put to death”) or anything relating to the word tamay (impure). Similarly, matters of stern rebuke would be avoided with which to start or end an aliyah.
Nonetheless, throughout most of Ha’Azinu, this rule is circumvented. In fact, from as far back as Talmudic times, the first six aliyot in Ha’Azinu were singularly fixed as to where each was to end ─ despite the fact that some of the p′sukim, at the end or beginning of an aliyah, would not abide by the aforementioned halachah. Why is this? The entire poem of Ha′azinu (called “Shirat Ha′azinu”) contains ominous predictions of natural consequences for the Jewish future, and Moshe Rabbenu felt it was essential for the Jews to hear his messages while he is ready to depart from this world. Thus, the fixing of the aliyah stops was to prevent anyone from complaining that, for him, the baal k′riah concluded at a “bad” point, perhaps intended to heap a curse upon the head of the person honored with the aliyah.
Therefore, early on, chazal established a mnemonic acronym for the initial letters of the six beginning words of each aliyah, commonly known as HaZiV LeCHa, where the letter hey represents the first letter of the opening word, “ha’azinu” and the zayin is the initial letter of z′chor which is the word the second aliyah starts with, and so on for a total of six aliyot.
In truth, there is universal agreement only as to the starting points of the first two aliyot, while for the next four, there are no less than six variations found in the halachic literature which all abide by the acronym of HaZiv LeCHa.
NeTZIV on One Pasuk
In previous generations, elementary yeshivot that followed the philosophy of Ivrit b′Ivrit, would invariably have their students commit to memory four or five well-known poetic segments of Tanach. Moshe Rabbenu′s song “Ha′Azinu” was one of them. Accordingly, many youngsters were familiar with all of Ha′Azinu. Although times have changed in this respect, two or three p′sukim still remain well-known to many because of their use in other contexts.
One such instance, the third pasuk of the first aliyah, is also the opening pasuk of Tzidduk haDin, recited at the cemetery by mourners and those assembled upon the completion of the burial. There we read: HaTzur tamim po′olo, ki chol d′rachav mishpat... tzaddik v′yashar hu; “the deeds of the Mighty One (tzur) are perfect, for all His ways are just. He is a faithful
G-d, never unfair; righteous (tzaddik) and moral (yashar) is He.”
NeTZIV (Rav Naftoli Zvi Yehudah Berlin, immortal rosh yeshivah of Volozhin in the last century) invokes the pasuk to explain, with rare analytical insight, the social character of the generation of tanaim who sustained the destruction of the second Bet HaMikdash. What follows is a partial translation. (This passage is found, not in Ha’azinu, but in the NeTZIV’s preface to his commentary on Chumsh, Ha’amek Davar, at the beginning of B’rayshit. It is my humble opinion, that the complete preface is worthy of translation and annotation so that one day it can take its place alongside other well-known letters of ethical direction sich as “Iggeret haGra,” “Iggeret haRaMBaN,” and “Iggeret Mussar” by Rav Yisroel Salanter.)
HaTzur tamim po′olo... “The deeds of the Mighty One are perfect, for all His ways are just. He is a faithful G-d, never unfair; righteous and moral is He.” Praising G-d as yashar (moral, straight) is a way of accepting the fairness of judgment which He meted out with the destruction of the second Bet HaMikdash. For that generation was “warped and twisted.”
In must be understood that those who lived in that generation were tzaddikim ─ righteous chassidim. They went beyond the call of duty. And amalay Torah ─they worked assiduously at
Torah study. They were not, however, yesharim ─ morally correct in the manner in which they conducted their worldly affairs. Because of the senseless hate (sinat chinam) which resided in their hearts towards one another, they would suspect as a heretic anyone whom they saw acting not in accordance with their own particular manner of yirat HaShem (awe of G-d).
As a result of this, they committed acts tantamount to murder in the most extreme manner and perpetrated all conceivable evils which resulted in the Bet HaMikdash being destroyed. For this they had to recite tzidduk hadin (accepting the judgment that G-d meted out to them as being just). For G-d is yashar (moral, straight) and does not suffer the actions of such tzaddikim who conduct their affairs in such a twisted manner and not in a morally correct way. For, even when their ways are for the sake of heaven, such ways cause devastation to the created world and the destruction of society.
This was the case with Avraham, when he profusely begged for the welfare of Sodom despite the fact that he so despised them and their king for their wickedness. Nonetheless (because they were creatures of G-d) he so desired that they survive. Midrash Rabbah notes this when it comments, “G-d told Avraham: ′You loved righteousness and despised evil.′ This means you loved to argue for justice on behalf of my creatures and you hated to see them condemned.” Avraham indeed was the father to a multitude of nations and he acted just as a father would towards a rebellious son, wanting to see that the son is well and good.
Now you will understand why the book of B’rayshit is known as Sefer haYashar, the Book about those who are moral, straignt.
So the NeTZiv
I, as many others, have wondered how this analysis of Jewish social malaise has eluded us for generations. Why is it that in the name of Torah and yirat shamayim, Jews are prone to disenfranchise other Jews who do not see things the way they do? While cultural differences are understandable separators, even of Jews, why should separation occur when there are legitimate divergent halachic differences? Unless, of course, halachic differences are being used to perpetuate social control or to expand power and economic control over a segment of Jews. I wonder how yashar such a stance of religiosity and tzidkut is in the eyes of G-d.
Clearly, a big part of this problem in recent times is that Jews survived in galut only by being able to maintain their highly insular Torah lifestyle, and especially in the last two centuries by shunning all revisions of what tradition had preserved for them. When the Chasam Sofer uttered his broad-sweeping and ingenious pronouncement that Chadash assur min haTorah ─ “All that is new is prohibited by the Torah” ─ he was clearly speaking about a revolution and a reform of Torah that was to be resisted at the slightest hint. But does that, for all times, justify a generalized reaction of frightful paranoia to be invoked rigidly when something different is presented that is not intended to do violence to tradition? The NeTZIV would seem to tell us that such a blanket policy directly leads to the destruction of a Torah society.
The constant rallying cry for Achdut Yisrael can never come about if, as a precondition to communal unity and social cohesiveness, all issues have got to be “on my terms and my turf.” The insistence upon “having it all my way” because with “my way” there is an assurance of correctness and comfort, may be entirely within the parameters of tzidkut and chasidut. But G-d demands that we rise to the most formidable of challenges: yashrut.
The Art of Listening
1. The difference between the Hebrew forms of l’ha’azin (haazinu) and lishmoa (sh’ma) is that the former always points to a sense of intimacy between the proclaimer and the listener. Moshe Rabbenu, like no other person, was intimate with heaven. He therefore invokes the verb haazinu. Vocal messages can be heard from afar, but Torah messages need an intimate relationship with G-d in order to be fully perceived.
2. Listening is an act by which we express our being human.
Mortimer Adler, educator extraordinaire, philosopher, and editor of Encyclopedia Britannica, said it so well: “Of all the things that human beings do, conversing with one another is the most characteristically human. In the long-run, it may be the only human activity the performance of which will ultimately preserve the radical distinction between humans and brutes, and between men and machines... Shared thoughts and feelings, understood agreements and disagreements, make humans the only animals that genuinely commune with one another. Even though they signal their emotions or impulses to one another, other animals remain shut out from each other. They do not communicate. The human community would not exist without such communion which would not exist without human conversation.”
3. Active involved listening by definition is always an exercise in discovery and learning.
4. Consistent practice of the art of listening may be the single most important feature that can guarantee happiness, contentment and serenity in life amidst all of the stress and pressures that abound and which inevitably everyone must face.
Shabbat Shalom.
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THE WEEKLY SIDRA- HA’AZINU
Rabbi Moshe Greebel
In this week’s Sidra, after Moshe ordained Y’hoshua to lead the nation into Eretz Canaan, we find:
“And Moshe came and spoke all the words of this poem in the ears of the people, he and Hoshea the son of Nun.” (D’varim 32:44)
In truth, this is very odd. Forty years prior, at the sending of the M’raglim (spies) into Eretz Canaan, Moshe altered the name of Hosheah Bin Nun- to Y’hoshua Bin Nun (with the additional letter Yud at the beginning). Here in the Torah, forty years later, after being ordained the new leader of the nation, Y’hoshua had his name changed back to Hosheah (the Yud having been removed).
To complicate matters even more, in the last Sidra of the Torah- V’Zos HaBracha- the name Y’hoshua returns:
“And Y’hoshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom; for Moshe had laid his hands upon him; and the people of Yisroel listened to him, and did as HaShem commanded Moshe.” (ibid. 34:9)
Three explanations to resolve this difficulty will be offered- the first being from the text Maishiv D’varim. If we go back forty years from the period in this week’s Sidra, to the dispatching of the M’raglim (spies sent to scout out Eretz Canaan), when Moshe first made a name altering, we find the following:
“These are the names of the men which Moshe sent to spy out the land, and Moshe called Hoshea the son of Nun, Y’hoshua.” (Bamidbar 13:16)
The Maishiv D’varim cited the Aramaic commentary of Onk’los, who said of the above Passuk (verse):
“And, when Moshe saw his (Y’hoshua’s) humility, he called Hoshea the son of Nun, Y’hoshua, by adding the letter Yud to the beginning of his name.”
That is, because Moshe was so impressed by his disciple’s modesty, which is the act of keeping oneself small in one’s own eyes, he added the smallest letter- a Yud- to the beginning of the disciple’s name, to draw everyone’s attention to Y’hoshua’s magnificent humility.
Yet, in this week’s Sidra, when Moshe ordained his disciple to take over in leading the nation, Moshe was aware that when it came to the leaders of Yisroel, displaying them with a surfeit of modesty was not a good thing. This can be seen from the following Passuk, which speaks of a Melech- a king:
“You shall set him king over you, whom HaShem your G-d shall choose…..” (D’varim 17:15)
Note how the Torah specifically stated that the Melech shall be ‘over you’- his humility is not to be seen. This is as the Gemarah in K’subos 17a, Sotah 41b, Kiddushin 32b, and Sanhedrin 19b, 20b, 22a stated:
“’You shall set him king over you’ means that his awe shall be over you.”
Therefore, concluded the Maishiv D’varim, when Y’hoshua was still a disciple of Moshe, his humility was a thing of beauty, which Moshe wanted to publicize by adding the smallest letter Yud to his name. In our Sidra however, when Y’hoshua had been made into a leader of the nation, Moshe removed the Yud from his name, since too much modesty is not permitted for a leader. We have our first answer.
The text Iturei Torah (page 215), in the name of one Harav Rav Heshel (?), offered a rather fascinating and captivating answer to our difficulty of the name change. A few preliminary details are offered first. In Sefer B’raishis, HaShem changed the name of the wife of Avraham:
“…..As for Sarai (Yud at end) your wife, you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah (minus the Yud at end) shall her name be.” (B’raishis 17:15)
Basically, in LaShon HaKodesh, Sarai would translate as ‘my princess.’ The removal of the Yud at the end of her name, translated her name into the princess of an entire nation. The Midrash B’raishis Rabbah 6-1, stated this:
“…..Where did He put it (the Yud he took from the name of Sarai) back again? ‘And Moshe called Hoshea the son of Nun Y’hoshua (Yud at the beginning).’”
Since no letter of the entire Torah can be indispensible, where was the Yud that HaShem took from the name of Sarai re-instated? It was re-instated into the first letter of Y’hoshua. At this point, Rav Heshel turned to mathematics.
The name change of Sarai took place one year prior to her giving birth to Yitzchak- when she was eighty nine. This can be seen from the following Passuk, when she was first informed of becoming pregnant:
“…..And shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear?” (B’raishis 17:17)
Now then, Sarah passed away at the age of 127 years, which means that for 38 years of her life, she lived under a name change. On the other hand, Y’hoshua underwent his name change the second year after Y’tziyas Mitzrayim (exodus from Egypt). When Moshe perished, 40 years of the generation of the wilderness would have elapsed. Hence, at the end of Moshe’s life, Y’hoshua had also been living under a name change for 38 years. Not wanting to exceed the 38 years of Sarah living under her name change, Moshe changed the name of Y’hoshua back to the original Hosheah. This is our second answer.
Our third and final response is in the form of an incident. It was always said of the illustrious N’tziv (Rav Naphtali Tzvi Y’huda Berlin 1817- 1893) of blessed memory, that he was very careful with the honor of his Talmidim (disciples). His greatest fear was that his young charges never involve themselves in LaShon Hara (evil tongue) and R’chilus (false gossip).
Now, the story is told of one of these Talmidim, who after marrying, was offered the position of Mara D’Asra (Rabbi) in a nearby Jewish town- which he took. Prior to departing for his new settlement, the Talmid approached the N’tziv for a B’racha (blessing) that would keep him protected from involving himself with gossip in his new position.
Hearing this request, the N’tziv replied, “A B’racha to save a Torah leader from LaShon Hara is nothing more than a B’racha in vain!”
The Talmid was shocked at this reply, but the N’tziv explained as follows. As stated earlier, in the second year from Y’tziyas Mitzrayim, Moshe dispatched twelve M’raglim into Eretz Canaan- one of these being Hosheah (as he was initially called), the Talmid of Moshe. So concerned was Moshe that his Talmid Hosheah not be influenced by the LaShon Hara of the other M’raglim, that he added a Yud (representing HaShem) to his Talmid’s name. This can be found in Rashi, who cited the Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah 16-9:
“…..Another exposition: When Moshe saw that the others were wicked men he said to Y’hoshua, ‘May HaShem save you from this generation!’”
Now then, explained the N’tziv, while Y’hoshua was yet his Talmid, there was a definitive need for Moshe to give him a B’racha, with the addition of the Yud, to defend him from the evil sway of the M’raglim, when it came to LaShon Hara concerning Eretz Canaan.
However, it is inconceivable that a true leader would ever consider engaging himself in unethical activities such as LaShon Hara or R’chilus. Forty years later, prior to the passing of Moshe, Y’hoshua concluded his ‘student status’ to become a Torah leader in the place of Moshe. Not being subject anymore to the influences of LaShon Hara or R’chilus, the N’tziv informed us that Moshe removed the Yud from his Talmid’s name. The same is true for one who is not anymore a Talmid, but a full fledged Rav, who requires no B’racha to protect him against LaShon Hara. And so, we have our third answer.
May we soon see the G’ulah Sh’laimah in its complete resplendency- and in our times. Good Shabbos.
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Yom Kippur
10 Tishrei 5770 /September 28, 2009
DAF YOMI: Bava Basra 38
Guest Author:
Rabbi Chaim Komendant
Associate Member, YI Council of Rabbis
Yom Kippur - The day itself sends tremors up my spine as the awe and opportunity of the day presents itself. I remember, as a young child, my grandparents and parents always being anxious but anticipating that things will be good at the end of the day. The house was prepared for Yom Tov, we had finished eating the final meal before the fast, and the numerous Yahrzeit glasses that were prepared to be lit were next to the Yom Tov candles to remember all those that were no longer with us. You see, my father ע“ה was the sole survivor of his family from the Holocaust and having close to 15 candles lit eerily punctuated the day. As I prepare these thoughts tears come to my eyes as I recall the beauty of the Yom HaKodesh - the holy day that was given to us by HaShem, and wish to convey in some small way the innate greatness and chance that we all have.
On Yom Kippur morning we read from Vayikra 16:30
“For on this day you will have an atonement to be purified from all your sins before HaShem, you will be pure.” What is the meaning of this statement that is so prevalent in our prayers? The Torah Temima - Rabbi Baruch Epstein explanation on Chumash-quotes a statement from the Talmud & Yoma 85b - Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah explains –“from all your sins before HaShem you will be purified.” From here, explained Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, sins between man and Hashem - Yom Kippur will atone, and sins between man and his friend, Yom Kippur will not atone until he appeases him. What exactly is the meaning of this statement of the Gemara?
To further understand the purpose of the day, the explanation of the Rambam in Hilchos Teshuva 2:9 gives further insight. The Rambam explains that sins between man and his Creator are, for example, eating something that is not Kosher, or desecrating the Sabbath. However, the examples that the Rambam gives for sins between man and his fellow are: cursing his fellow Jew, stealing from him, causing him hurt whether emotionally or economically. This criteria goes for the unlearned person as well as a great scholar. However, a combination of the two – desecrating HaShem’s name while committing an economic crime, is something for which Yom Kippur may not totally grant atonement.
We live in difficult times; but if one learns from history, there are always periods of time that seem harder than others. However with the proliferation of communication, events are publicized faster than before. The Jewish people today have untold freedoms that previous generations did not have. We may engage freely in commerce, cast votes equally, and rise to positions of power and influence. With those opportunities come responsibilities. There are laws and regulations that are enacted for the benefit of society that apply to all. These are civil regulations, criminal laws and, for professionals, guidelines for the professions in which one practices. The idea that these laws do not apply even if a government official ultimately decides not to apply it, or does apply it, is irrelevant. The law of the land is the law, and we are required to follow these laws. The attitude of some to find a way to circumvent and excuse themselves from following those laws will ultimately cause a Chillel HaShem and hurt his fellow man. Just review the events of the past year and you will understand the gravity of this. How many times have we seen that Jews are at fault for the economic downturn; or recently, a publication libeled Jews saying that we were murdering Arabs for their body parts? As a result of greed and being identified as Jews, the few have caused tremendous harm to the many. It is irrelevant that an anti-Semite does not need any help, but we do not have to help them.
The traditional name of the day is Yom Kippur. However if one looks throughout the tefilos of the day, one sees the name in its plural Yom HaKippurim. If the day is for us to be purified, why is the term interchanged in the plural? Rabbi Yaakov Weil (Mahariv) explains that there are two atonements: one for the living and one for those who are no longer here. We understand our atonement, why do those who are no longer here need an atonement? The answer is that today is not just a day by itself. It is a continuum in the chain of history and, as such, our actions add on to our forbearers merits or they are held accountable for our actions. Our parents were responsible to teach us the correct path, if we choose it they are credited with our merits. If we fail, they are held accountable. Therefore, all the Mizvoth that we do also benefit those who are no longer here. Remember we ask HaShem to remember the covenant of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and recall the binding of Isaac so there is this concept of merit from prior generations.
Finally, Yom Kippur provides for us that opportunity to start fresh. The last Mishna in tractate Yoma teaches that R’ Meir used to say: “Great is repentance, for on account of an individual who repented, the sins of all the world are forgiven, as it is says in Hoshea 14:5 - I will heal their rebelliousness, I will love them freely, for My anger is turned away from him.” It does not say ‘from them’, but ‘from him’. We all have a unique chance, will we grasp it?
G’mar Chasima Tova to all. May we all have a good year and may we see the light of the Geula Sh’leimah.
In memory of Chana Bracha Bas Yoseph Menachem o”bm, niftar 12 Av 5769
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