Etzba Elohim: The Finger of WHICH God?

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Photo: Hubble image of a Bok globule in the Carina Nebula nicknamed "The Finger of God"

Etzba Elohim: The Finger of Which God?

The first miraculous sign that Moshe performed before Paroh was the transformation of Aharon’s staff into a snake. This sign was replicated by Paroh’s sorcerers (Shemos 7:11). The first (ibid. 7:22) and second (ibid. 8:3) of the Ten Plagues were also replicated by the sorcerers, but not the third: “The sorcerers did the same with their magic, to draw forth the lice, but they could not … The sorcerers said to Paroh, ‘It is the finger of God!’ Paroh’s heart was strong, and he did not heed them, as Hashem had spoken” (ibid. 8:15).

The phrase exclaimed by the sorcerers was “etzba Elohim.” This is commonly understood to be a concession on their part, and an acknowledgment that this was from Hashem. Rashi, for instance, interprets their words to mean: “this plague was not done with magic; it is from Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu” (Rashi on Shemos 8:15).

There is a glaring problem with this explanation: the Divine name used by the sorcerers is “Elohim,” but this whole time, Moshe has been speaking in the name of Hashem (i.e. the Tetragrammaton). Indeed, when Moshe first approached Paroh in the name of Hashem, Paroh responded: “Who is Hashem that I should heed His voice to send out Israel? I do not know Hashem, nor will I send out Israel” (ibid. 5:2). But during the second plague, Paroh was already sufficiently familiar with Hashem to the point where he said: “Entreat Hashem that He remove the tzfarde’a from me and my people, and I shall send out the people that they may bring offerings to Hashem” (ibid. 8:4). If the sorcerers intended to admit to Paroh that this was Hashem – the Deity Whom Paroh, himself, had just acknowledged by name in the last plague – why would they say “etzba Elohim”? Why not “etzba Hashem”?

In light of these difficulties, the Ibn Ezra (ibid. 8:15) concludes that “etzba Elohim” was not an acknowledgment on the sorcerers’ part that the plague was sent by Hashem. Rather:

They said to Paroh: “This plague did not come via Aharon on behalf of Israel to send [Israel] forth; rather, it was a plague of Elohim, in accordance with the arrangement of stars over the mazal (Zodiac sign) of Egypt.” I have already explained that Paroh did not deny the Creator, but only [the deity] “Hashem” that Moshe mentioned to him.

Malbim (ibid.) sides with the Ibn Ezra on this matter and explains the pesukim in an even more radical way:

When you look through all these parshiyos you will never find Paroh or the Egyptians calling Hashem by the name “Elokim” but only by the Tetragrammaton. The name “Elohim” was, for them, a reference to the celestial order or to their gods – not to the God of Israel Who was called by the Tetragrammaton. [The only time] they used the name [Elokim] is when they said, “go and offer sacrifices to your Elokim” (ibid. 8:21) – meaning “Elokei Yisrael” (the God of Israel), and not simply “Elohim.” Thus, it is clear that when they said, “etzba Elohim,” they were not referring to the God of Israel, [for if they were,] they should have said “etzba Hashem hu” or “etzba Elokei Yisrael.” Since this plague came without warning, they thought that it didn’t come from the God of Israel for the sake of Israel, because if so, Moshe would have been informed of it [by God] and he would have warned [Paroh] in advance. [Rather,] they said that this plague was sent to them by the God of Egypt, whom they referred to by the unqualified name “Elohim” (lit. “God”) … It is for this reason [that the pasuk subsequently says,] “Paroh’s heart was strong and he did not heed them,” because there was no need to be afraid anymore, for his fear had passed [in light of the sorcerers’ words].

According to this interpretation, there is no indication in the pesukim that any faction of Egypt – neither the sorcerers nor Paroh – acknowledged Hashem’s miraculous intervention until the fourth plague, when Hashem informed Paroh in advance: “I will make a distinction between My people and your people” (ibid. 8:19). It was only after the fourth plague that Paroh said: “Go, bring offerings to your God … entreat for me!” (ibid. 8:24). The fourth plague was Egypt’s first acknowledgment “that I am Hashem in the midst of the land” (ibid. 8:18).

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If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Today’s Torah content is dedicated to the joyous occasion of the marriage of Jon Deutsch and Avigayil Lev. Jon has "graduated" from student, to coworker, to chavrusa and friend. Avigayil, another former student and fellow Slytherin, remains a daily presence in my virtual beis midrash. I am happy for them and I'm excited to see where their life leads them.

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Artwork: Dack Fayden, by Terese Nielsen

On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Seeing the Heart of David

With few exceptions, Tanach tends to eschew descriptions of the physical appearances of its characters. Two of those exceptions can be found in Sefer Shmuel. The first is Shaul: “And [Kish] had a son, whose name was Shaul, young and handsome [1], and there was not among the children of Israel a more handsome person than he: from his shoulders and upward he was taller than any of the people” (I Shmuel 9:2)

The second notable exception is David, about whom it is said: “Now he was ruddy (admoni) with beautiful eyes (yafeh einayim) and a goodly appearance (tov ro’ee)” (ibid. 16:12).

In context it is easy to see why these physical descriptions are relevant to the narrative. Shmuel ha’Navi is sent by Hashem to anoint a new king to replace Shaul. He is told that the new king will be one of the sons of Yishai. He makes the journey to Yishai’s house, and the sons are summoned:

And it was upon their arrival that Shmuel saw Eliav and said: “Surely Hashem’s anointed is before Him.” But Hashem said unto Samuel: “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature, for I have rejected him; for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” (ibid. 16:6-7)

Shmuel then cycles through the rest of Yishai’s sons, before finally settling on David:

Yishai then called Avinadav and brought him before Shmuel, but he said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Then Yishai brought Shammah, but [Shmuel] said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Yishai presented his seven sons before Shmuel, but Shmuel said to Yishai, “Hashem has not chosen these.” Shmuel said, “Are these all the boys?” and he said, “The youngest one is still left; he is tending the sheep now.” So Shmuel said to Yishai: “Send and bring him, for we will not sit [to dine] until he arrives here.” He sent and brought him. He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance. Hashem then said, “Arise and anoint him, for this is he!” (ibid. 16:8-12)

The question is: What was Shmuel’s mistake? The fact that Hashem had to correct him, saying, “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature … for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” implies that Shmuel erroneously focused on David’s outward appearance. How are we to understand Shmuel’s error? Are we to think that such a great prophet as Shmuel got caught up in appearance-based superficialities? And if Shmuel was merely concerned about how the new king would be perceived in the eyes of his people, did he really think that such considerations outweighed the quality of the king’s heart?

The Malbim [2] provides a conceptually and textually sound answer:

“he was ruddy”: Here is shown to us the truth of what was written earlier: “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart.” For David was ruddy, [indicating] that “redness” was dominant in him [3], and he was [therefore] genetically disposed to [commit acts of] bloodshed. At the same time, good qualities were also indicated in him, for he “had beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance,” which indicated that he was analytically sharp-minded and had a healthy constitution …

If Shmuel had only relied on his human perception, he would have concluded that [David] was not worthy [of being king,] but Hashem “sees hearts” and knew that out of his good free-will decisions he would do only justice and righteousness, and that he would use the nature of “redness” implanted within him to wage the wars of Hashem and to annihilate the doers of iniquity from [every] city. This is what is desirable in the eyes of Hashem, that even though a person has a natural inclination towards evil, he should rule over it with righteousness and good free-will decisions. This is [the intent of] that which was written: “Arise and anoint him, for this is he” – [namely, this is the one] who is desirable before Me.

According to the Malbim, Shmuel’s mistake did not stem from a misguided overvaluation of appearances. Rather, he was legitimately concerned that David’s natural disposition towards violence, as indicated by his ruddy appearance, would render him unfit to be king over Israel. Indeed, this was a legitimate concern. This is precisely why Hashem needed to step in and provide assurance from the perspective of Divine omniscience, saying: “It is true that such a disposition could render a man unfit to be king, but this man will harness his aggressive nature and channel it towards the good.” “He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance.” His potentially destructive nature will be actualized, but for the good.

Seeing the Hearts of Our Fellow Human Beings

One of the central ethical mitzvos of the Torah is ve’halachta bi’drachav (“you shall walk in His ways”). The Rambam [4] defines this mitzvah as follows:

We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him (exalted is He) in accordance with our ability, as it is stated: "you shall walk in His ways" (Devarim 28:9). This commandment has been repeated in the statement: "to walk in all of His ways" (ibid. 11:24). The [Oral Torah's] explanation of this matter is as follows:

"Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'merciful,' so shall you be merciful. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'gracious,' so shall you be gracious. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'righteous,' so shall you be righteous. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'kind,' so shall you be kind" (Sifre).

And this commandment has been repeated in different words: "you shall follow after Hashem, your God" (ibid. 13:5), and its explanation is also that we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him (may He be exalted) by way of allegory. May He be exceedingly exalted over everything.

The core of this mitzvah is that we should model our own actions and characteristics after the allegorical descriptions of Hashem’s actions and characteristics. If so, then Hashem’s statement to Shmuel, “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” is not to be understood merely as a particular correction of a particular man’s mistake, but as a universal ethical imperative. Accordingly, we must ask ourselves: What can we do to emulate the Divine attribute of looking past outward appearances of our fellow human beings, and instead, to “see their hearts”?

I recently finished reading Dr. Tara Brach’s book Radical Compassion. In Chapter 9, “Seeing the Goodness,” Tara writes about techniques for remembering to see the basic goodness in all human beings. Rather than attempt to summarize the main ideas of the chapter, which are built upon the previous chapters, I’d like to relate a story the author heard read at a Christmas Eve church service. When combined with the Malbim’s commentary, I believe this provides us with an approach to answering our question:

One Christmas Day, a woman, her husband, and their year-old son had driven a long way before they found an open diner by the side of the road.

It was quiet and almost empty, and they were waiting gratefully for their food when the little boy began waving from his high chair and calling, "Hi there!" to someone behind them. To the mother's dismay, it turned out to be a wreck of a man, unkempt and unwashed, obviously a homeless drunk. Now he was waving back at her boy and calling, "Hi there, baby, hi there, big boy ... I see ya, buster."

The woman and her husband exchanged looks, and the few other people in the diner were shooting disapproving glances their way. And the old guy went on, even after their food came. "Do you know patty-cake? Attaboy ... Do you know peeka boo? Hey, look, he knows peekaboo." The mother tried turning the high chair around, but her son shrieked and twisted to face his new buddy.

Finally, giving up on their meal, her husband got up to pay the bill, and the mother took the baby in her arms, praying that she could quickly get past the old drunk, who was seated by the door. But as they approached, her son reached out with both arms – his pick-me-up signal – and propelled himself into the man's open arms.

But now the mother could see tears in the man's eyes as her son laid his head on his shoulder. He gently held and rocked the boy, and then he looked straight into her eyes. "You take care of this baby," he said firmly. And as he slowly handed him back, "God bless you, ma'am. You've given me my Christmas gift."

She must have mumbled something in return, but as she rushed to the car, tears streaming down her face, she could only think, "My God, my God, forgive me."

This woman underwent a shift in her perspective akin to what Shmuel ha’Navi experienced. At first she could only see this man’s outward appearance. He was homeless. He was drunk. He was dirty. He was what Tara calls “an Unreal Other” – a person who happens to belong to the same species as ourselves, but is somehow “less real” than ourselves and those with whom we identify. And this man’s homelessness, drunkenness, and dirtiness served as evidence to expand his Unreal Otherness by generating a complete past, present, and future of him in her mind. On that basis, whether consciously or unconsciously, this man was written off as being intrinsically worth less than she, her husband, and her baby, and was destined to remain as such.

It was only when she saw the man’s reaction to her baby – to her baby’s natural and unbiased reaction to another human being – that she was able to “see the heart” of this man. And when he looked into her eyes and expressed gratitude, he became a Real Person, just like her.

Now, one might object to this line of reasoning, saying that seeing an Unreal Other as a Real Person has nothing to do with emulating Hashem’s “seeing the heart” mentioned in Sefer Shmuel. After all, according to the Malbim, Hashem’s proclamation of David’s worthiness to be king was predicated on the knowledge that he would make good free will decisions, choosing to channel his natural tendencies to his service of God. Such knowledge can only come from Divine omniscience, which – by definition – is impossible for finite human beings to emulate, and wouldn’t even fall under the purview of ve’halachta bi’drachav.

I disagree. When the Rambam introduces the mitzvah by saying, “We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him … in accordance with our ability,” and “we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him … by way of allegory” he is acknowledging the fact that the Divine attributes are intrinsically different from our human emulations of them. Indeed, the entire first section of the Moreh ha’Nevuchim substantiates this reading. Moreover, as my Rosh ha’Yeshiva pointed out, the Sifre cited by the Rambam bears out this point. Chazal don’t say: “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is merciful, so shall you be merciful” but rather, “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is called merciful, so shall you be merciful.” In other words, Hashem’s mercy is of a fundamentally different nature than human mercy, and there is absolutely no way we can emulate it. Rather, we must study Hashem’s modes of action as presented in Tanach and translate them into human ethical standards.

Such is the approach I am suggesting here. Unlike Hashem, we lack the ability to see into the hearts of our fellow human beings to know what choices they will make. But like Hashem, we can take active steps to look past their outward appearances, to refrain from making definitive judgments and predictions of future behavior on the basis of what our eyes see – as if we were as omniscient as God – and instead, to see them as a fellow tzelem Elokim (“created in with a divine form”), with the same humanity as ourselves.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that we ought to be naïve or unrealistically optimistic in our dealings with other people. If, for example, an actual mugger approaches us on the street, we should take whatever precautions are necessary. But at the same time, we can still see that person as a fellow human being.

Seeing Our Own Hearts

Most importantly, this perspective must be applied to our own hearts. When we look in the mirror, we must see past the misplaced feelings of certainty we have about our “destiny” based on our dispositions and the lot we were dealt in life. There is no such thing as destiny. "See, I have placed before you today the life and the good, and the death and the bad … Choose life, that you and your offspring may live" (Devarim 30:15,19). We cannot choose our genetics or our circumstances, but we can choose what to do with them. By seeing our own heart through Divine eyes, we unlock our ability to “choose life.”

[1] The pasuk uses the phrase “tov” (“goodly”), but the Targum translates this as “shapir” (“beautiful” or “handsome”), and the end of the pasuk supports this translation.

[2] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer I Shmuel 6:12

[3] I don’t fully understand what he means, but my guess is that it reflects some sort of theory of humourism. I don’t think it matters much, as long as we take it as his factual premise and then see how he applies it.

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha’Mitzvos: Mitzvas Aseh #8

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

Mattos/Masei: Leaving an Out for Your Enemy

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Artwork: Assemble the Legion, by Eric Deschamps

Mattos/Masei: Leaving an Out for Your Enemy

Hashem commands Moshe to wage a war of vengeance against Midian: 

Hashem spoke to Moshe saying, “Take vengeance for the Children of Israel against the Midianites. Afterward you shall be gathered to your kin.” Moshe spoke to the people, saying: “Arm men from among yourselves for the army, for them to be against Midian to exact Hashem’s vengeance from Midian …” Moshe sent them out … and they arrayed against Midian, as Hashem had charged Moshe, and they killed every male. (Bamidbar 31:1-7) 

The phrase “as Hashem had charged Moshe” implies that Hashem gave Moshe special instructions, but these instructions are not explicitly stated. The Sages expound on this in Sifre [1]: 

and they arrayed against Midian – [The Tanna Kamma says:] they surrounded it from all four sides. Rebbi Nosson says: he gave them a fourth side [open and unobstructed] so that they could escape. 

According to the Tanna Kamma, Bnei Yisrael were commanded to surround Midian on all four sides. The fact that they were given these specific instructions implies that under ordinary circumstances they would not (or might not) have done so. The Malbim [2] explains the rationale behind this anomaly: 

The Tanna Kamma held that based on what was written [earlier, when Bnei Yisrael were first commanded to go to war with Midian], “Be foes to the Midianites and smite them” (Bamidbar 25:17), the commandment [here to Moshe] was to not leave them any means of escape, as it was explicitly stated, and this was in order to take vengeance from them. 

In other words, in an ordinary war the only objective is victory, and as long is Israel wins, it doesn't matter if the enemy flees. In the war with Midian, however, victory was not enough. The siege had to result in total annihilation of the enemy. Midian had to be completely surrounded in order to make sure that no one escaped.

The second opinion cited in Sifre, that of Rebbi Nosson, stands in direct opposition to the Tanna Kamma’s view: Bnei Yisrael were specifically instructed to leave the Midianites an escape route, so they could flee. The Rambam [3] codifies this view as halacha: 

When laying siege to a city to capture it, we do not surround it on four sides, but only on three, and we leave a place to flee and for one who wants to save himself, as it is stated: “they arrayed against Midian as Hashem commanded Moshe” – from the Oral Tradition we learn that this is what he was commanded. 

The Ramban [4] agrees that we follow Rebbi Nosson’s view, and even goes so far as to count this as one of the 613 mitzvos, which he includes in his list of “mitzvos that the Rambam forgot”: 

When laying siege to a city we are commanded to leave one of the directions without siege so that those who want to flee will have a way to flee through there, because in this we will learn to conduct ourselves with compassion even with our enemies at a time of war. Furthermore, there is an additional benefit in leaving them an opening to flee, so that they do not strengthen themselves to meet us [in war]. It is stated: “they arrayed against Midian as Hashem commanded Moshe,” and [the Sages] expounded in Sifri: “surround it on three sides; Rebbi Nosson says: give them a fourth side so they can flee.” [5] This was not a temporary mitzvah in Midian, but is a mitzvah for all generations in every optional war (i.e. not in obligatory wars), as the Rabbi (i.e. Rambam) wrote in his great composition in the Laws of Kings and their Wars. 

The Ramban mentions two reasons for this mitzvah: (1) to train ourselves to exercise compassion, even towards our enemies, and even during a war in which we are permitted to kill them, and (2) because if we don’t leave the enemy an out, there’s a chance they’ll fight back with even more strength. The Torah Temimah [6] elaborates on this second reason: 

The reason we leave an opening on one of the four sides is because if we don’t leave them any opening, they would all go to war like those who have given up until they deplete the last of their strength, and it would be difficult for Israel to conquer them, but this would not be the case if we left them an out to escape. 

In other words, if the enemy knows that there’s no escape and no hope, they’ll summon up all of their remaining strength and go all out, knowing that they have nothing to lose because the battle has already been lost. Du Mu, the 9th century commentator on Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, refers to this phenomenon as “the courage of despair.” [7]

On the surface, these two reasons appear to be contradictory in character. The first reason is ethical in nature: we leave our enemy an out as an act of compassion, showing our willingness to spare lives. The second reason is tactical: we leave our enemy an out in order to make them easier to vanquish, and to save our own lives. Are these reasons incompatible? 

In my opinion, the two reasons are not incompatible – and that is precisely the point. 

There are certainly cases in which showing compassion is not in one’s own best interests, and will lead to harm. Perhaps one of the most famous cases of this is Shaul’s decision to have compassion on Agag, King of Amalek, concerning which the Sages say: “anyone who is merciful on the cruel will ultimately be cruel to the merciful.” [8]

In this case, however, the Ramban is pointing out that being compassionate is also tactically advantageous. One need not refrain from displaying compassion out of the feeling that this will lead to harm or loss. And if a general or a soldier feels compelled to block the enemy’s path of escape in violation of the halacha, this can only stem from military incompetence or from a misguided impulse of cruelty. 

Although most of us will never find ourselves in a position to implement this halacha, we can still take its lesson to heart and apply it in other areas of life. For example, I once mentioned to my Mishlei rebbi that an atheistically inclined student posed a number of “heretical” objections to a lesson of mine, and I refuted every one of them. My rebbi said: 

“Maybe that was the right move, but sometimes it’s good to let the student ‘score’ a point against his rebbi. If you crush him by taking away all of his 'outs,' he might turn away and close himself off because his ego can’t handle it. It’s important to throw him a bone every once in a while.” 

The same advice applies to many relationships: showing compassion by giving the other person an out is often tactically advantageous to the long-term success of the relationship. 

Footnotes

[1] Sifre Bamidbar 31:7. It should be noted that there are two versions of Sifre. I believe the one cited here is based on the more accurate manuscript. The other version says: “[The Tanna Kamma says:] they surrounded it from all four sides. Rebbi Nosson says: he gave them a fourth side [open] so that they could escape.” In other words, in our version Rebbi Nosson argues with the Tanna Kamma, but in this other version he merely explains his reasoning. 

[2] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 31:7. The Malbim held that our version of the Sifre is correct, and that there is a machlokess between the Tanna Kamma and Rebbi Nosson. 

[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Shoftim, Hilchos Melachim 6:7. There’s a whole to-do about how we can paskin like Rebbi Nosson against the Tanna Kamma. The easy way out is to say that our version of the Sifre is correct, and both the Tanna Kamma and Rebbi Nosson hold that we leave an escape route. If you’re interested in how the other approach is resolved, consult the Nosei Kelim on the Rambam. 

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban / Nachmanides), Critique of the Sefer ha’Mitzvos of the Rambam: Mitzvos Aseh “that the Rambam forgot” #5 

[5] Note that the Ramban had the other version of the Sifre, without the machlokess Tanna Kamma Rebbi Nosson. 

[6] Rav Baruch ha'Levi Epstein, Torah Temimah: Sefer Bamidbar 31:7, footnote 9 

[7] Sun Tzu writes: “When you surround an army, leave an outlet free” (7:32). Whether Sun Tzu’s intent actually corresponds to our halacha is an open question. He might very well mean what the Ramban wrote as his second reason. However, Du Mu writes that “this does not mean that the enemy is to be allowed to escape.” Rather, "[the object is] to make him believe that there is a road to safety, and thus prevent his fighting with the courage of despair … After that, you may crush him." 

[8] Tanchuma, Metzora 1; Yalkut Shimoni I Shmuel 15 (Remez 121)

Pinchas / 17th of Tammuz: The Korban Tamid and its Cessation

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Artwork: Through the Breach, by Randy Vargas

Pinchas / 17th of Tammuz: The Korban Tamid and its Cessation 

Introduction 

Yesterday was the 17th of Tammuz. This Shabbos we read Parashas Pinchas. There is one topic which is common to both: the korban tamid (continual daily offering). The Rambam [1] writes: 

On the 17th of Tammuz five things happened: (1) the tablets were broken, (2) the korban tamid ceased from the First Temple, (3) [the walled city of] Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) was breached in the destruction of the Second [Temple], (4) the wicked Apostomos burned a Torah scroll, and (5) he set up an idol in the Sanctuary. 

Of these five, the one which tends to resonate the least is the cessation of the korban tamid. The breaking of the tablets was a dramatic event, signaling the violation of our covenant with Hashem through the worship of the Golden Calf - one of our worst national transgressions of all time. The breach of Yerushalayim is easy to relate to as as tragedy, since it was the step which directly led to the destruction of the Beis ha’Mikdsah (Holy Temple). The evil deeds of Apostomos may not register on the same scale of national catastrophe as the preceding two events, but the act of burning a sefer Torah and setting up an idol in Mikdash evoke visceral reactions. Compared to these four tragic events, the cessation of the korban tamid seems relatively tame. What, exactly, was so bad about this event? 

The appearance of the korban tamid in Parashas Pinchas is rather jolting. Hashem shows Moshe the Land of Israel and informs him of his own impending death. Moshe pleads with Hashem to choose a successor to lead the people. Hashem instructs him to appoint Yehoshua. The passing of the mantle of leadership takes place in a dramatic public assembly featuring a pageantry rich in the symbolism of transition. And then, without warning, Hashem tells Moshe to command the Children of Israel in the mitzvah of the korban tamid. It is quite the non sequitur. 

The aim of this article is to address both issues: to understand what it is about the cessation of the korban tamid which warrants a national mourning on par with the other four tragedies, and to explain the Torah’s abrupt transition from the narrative of Yehoshua’s succession to the laws of the korban tamid. Lastly, we will take a first step in defining a theme which unites all five of the occurrences we commemorate on the 17th of Tammuz and suggest on that basis a possible avenue for national teshuvah we can engage in this year.

The Maimonidean Function of the Korban Tamid 

The Rambam [2] famously (or infamously) held that the purpose of all korbanos (sacrifices) is to counteract the yetzer ha’ra (evil inclination) for avodah zarah (idolatry). His theory is quite polarizing, to say the least. Some meforshim (commentators) vehemently oppose his view, such as the Ramban [3], who denounces the Rambam’s explanation as “foolish words" which "make the altar of Hashem disgusting.” Others embrace the Rambam’s view in a manner which “is even more Maimonidean than Maimonides,” [4] such as Ibn Kaspi [5], who boldly asserts that “Moshe Rabbeinu was forced and compelled against his will to write [the detailed laws of korbanos in Sefer Vayikra] … but the customs of the non-Jews at that time brought them to this.” 

While the Rambam’s view of korbanos as a whole is a subject of controversy, there is a distinctly Maimonidean dimension to the korban tamid which is undeniable. The Torah’s exposition of the laws of the korban tamid begins as follows: “Command the Children of Israel and say to them: My offering, My food for My fires, My satisfying aroma, you shall safeguard it to offer to Me in its appointed time” (Bamidbar 28:2). From here the Sages derive a universal halacha in korbanos known as muktzeh (lit. “set aside”). If an animal is used in a ceremony of avodah zarah, that animal becomes prohibited to be offered as a korban to Hashem. The Gemara (Temurah 29a) spells out how this halacha is derived from the pasuk: 

“You shall safeguard it to offer to Me in its appointed time” [implies] “to Me” but not to another master. And who is this other [master] to whom one might offer? This is avodah zarah.” 

This Gemara explicitly ties the korban tamid to the rejection of avodah zarah. Some argue that the derivation of the universal law of muktzeh from the korban tamid supports the Rambam’s contention that all korbanos are designed to counteract avodah zarah. This point is debatable, but everyone would agree that the tamid itself embodies this theme – even the Ramban. 

The thematic connection to the rejection of avodah zarah is reinforced by a cryptic Sifri (142): 

“Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying: Command the Children of Israel … My offering, My food …” Why was this said? Because it said: “[May Hashem … appoint a man over the assembly] who shall go out before them and come in before them” (Bamidbar 27:16-17). To what may this be compared? To a king whose wife, before she passed away, charged him regarding her children, saying: “Please take care of my children,” to which the king replied, “Before you charge me regarding my children, charge my children regarding me, so that they do not rebel against me, and so that they do not treat me disgracefully.” So too, Hashem told [Moshe]: “Before you charge Me regarding My children, charge them regarding Me, so that they not treat me disgracefully by exchanging My Glory for foreign gods.” Thus it is said: “For I shall bring them to the Land [… and they shall turn to the foreign gods of the land and serve them etc.”] (Devarim 31:20). Before you charge Me regarding My children, charge them regarding Me. Thus, it is stated: “Command the Children of Israel [in the mitzvah of the korban tamid].” 

What is clear from this Sifri is that the Sages characterized the korban tamid as a safeguard against the pitfall of avodah zarah that would threaten the nation upon entry into the Land of Israel under the leadership of Yehoshua. What is quite unclear is: How? How is the korban tamid a safeguard against avodah zarah? And what does this have to do with Yehoshua?

The answer to this question, and our question about the non sequitur in Parashas Pinchas, is given by the Torah Temimah [6], citing the explanation of the Sifri given by the Malbim [7]: 

The purpose [8] of the tamid is to counteract sun-worship. The idolaters would bow down and worship [the sun] twice each day, upon its rising and its setting. Its morning service would [take place] facing the east, and its afternoon service would [take place facing] the west. [Therefore,] Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu commanded us to offer before Him two daily sacrifices: the slaughtering of the morning [tamid] at the northwest corner [of the altar] and the [slaughtering of] the afternoon [tamid] at the northeast corner, in direct opposition to sun-worship. 

The Sages said that if Moshe had entered the Land [of Israel,] he would have nullified the yetzer for avodah zarah, and the service of the tamid would have been unnecessary. Since he requested, “May Hashem appoint a man over the assembly,” and Yehoshua was appointed to wage wars, and he lacked the power to nullify the yetzer for avodah zarah, therefore Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu instructed Moshe to charge His children to not exchange His Glory for foreign gods and to not worship the sun, as the gentile nations did. And it is for this purpose that the section of the tamid was commanded, namely, as a polemic against avodah zarah. 

According to Sifri, as interpreted by the Torah Temimah and the Malbim, identity of the korban tamid is so essentially tied to the repudiation of avodah zarah that its very structure is designed to be the antithesis of sun-worship, which was popular among the Canaanite nations. When the sun rises in the east, and the sun-worshippers bow eastward, we turn our backs on the sun and offer the morning tamid to Hashem, facing west. When the sun begins to set in the west and the sun-worshippers turn with it, we demonstrate our rejection of their cult and their god by offering the afternoon tamid in the east. 

The placement of this topic in Parashas Pinchas is explained based on the notion that avodah zarah would have been totally eradicated under Moshe Rabbeinu’s leadership, thereby rendering the korban tamid unnecessary. But since Moshe would not enter the Land, and Yehoshua would not be capable of eliminating the drive towards avodah zarah on his own, he would need to wage a continual war against avodah zarah – a war whose constancy was represented by the korban tamid, which also functioned as a weapon in the battle. 

The Tragedy of the Cessation of the Tamid 

In light of this explanation, we are now in a position to understand the tragedy of the cessation of the korban tamid. It is well-known that one of the primary national sins which resulted in the destruction of the first Beis ha’Mikdash was avodah zarah. The first crack in the edifice of the United Kingdom of Israel arose from the introduction of avodah zarah into the Land, chiefly through the idolatrous marriages and alliances of Shlomo ha’Melech. The destruction and exile of the Northern Kingdom of Israel came about from the avodah zarah introduced by the king Yeravam ben Navat via his Golden Calves. The decree of destruction and exile of the Southern Kingdom of Yehudah was sealed by the evil king Menashe, who spread avodah zarah so far and wide that he nearly drove Judaism to utter extinction. All of the prophets who prophesied about the destruction of the Beis ha’Mikdash, from Yeshayahu to Yirmiyahu, routinely rebuked the Jewish people for their attachment to avodah zarah. 

When viewed merely as a “ritual sacrifice,” the korban tamid is the most mundane of them all. But when viewed through the lens of the foregoing analysis, the korban tamid is emblematic of the daily national battle against the yetzer ha’ra for avoadah zarah. The specific form of avodah zarah it is designed to counteract underscores the enormity of this battle. Every morning the sun rises and sets, illuminating the earth and sustaining its life, and humanity faces the question: Will you regard the sun as an independent source of power worthy of veneration and worship, or will you recognize it as an expression of the laws of nature authored by the One Creator of the Heavens and the Earth, and submit yourself to His will by serving Him, as does the sun itself? 

Thus, the cessation of the korban tamid on the 17th of Tammuz represents the collapse of the final bulwark against avodah zarah – the dam that held back the powerful forces of avodah zarah that had been erected by Moshe at the very inception of the Israelite conquest, and had continued to lend their stalwart defenses as the nation sunk further and further into idolatry. But finally, on the 17th of Tammuz, the last vestiges of Moshe’s ward [9] gave way. The korban tamid’s metaphysical fortification was breached just like the walls of Yerushalayim, and the long battle was lost, leaving countless casualties in its wake. 

The Beginnings of a Unified Theory of the 17th of Tammuz 

I haven’t fully worked it out yet, but I do believe that this opens up a path to understanding the unity of the five events we commemorate on the 17th of Tammuz. I would like to propose that the theme of the 17th of Tammuz in the infiltration of avodah zarah into our avodas Hashem (service of God). Let us see how this theme is reflected in each of the five events. 

Why did Moshe break the tablets? Because he saw that the nation he had led out of Egypt was still attached to their avodah zarah ways. For this reason, they were not worthy of receiving the Torah, since their involvement in avodah zarah was tantamount to a rejection of the entire Torah. [10] Despite their witnessing of Hashem’s defeat of the idolatrous Egyptian empire, their redemption through miraculous signs and wonders, and their experiencing of the Divine Revelation at Har Sinai, the insidious lure of avodah zarah still managed to retain its hold, and the original covenant they made with Hashem was rendered null and void. 

The relationship of avodah zarah to the cessation of the korban tamid has been sufficiently explained: the korban tamid was designed to function as an inoculation against avodah zarah, and its cessation represented the culmination of avodah zarah’s conquest of the nation. 

The breach of the walls of Yerushalayim has also been explained: Yerushalayim and Bayis Rishon (the First Temple) were destroyed for the sin of avodah zarah. (And if you’ll object, saying: “Doesn’t the 17th of Tammuz commemorate the breach of the walls of Yerushalayim in Bayis Sheini?” then feel free to read this extensive footnote.[11]) 

Lastly, the two wicked deeds of Apostomos epitomize the infiltration of avodah zarah into our avodas Hashem: (a) he burned the Torah, a system whose essence is to uproot avodah zarah, and (b) Apostomos, who was an idolater himself, literally infiltrated the Beis ha’Mikdash, which is the makom avodas Hashem (place of Divine service) par excellence, and set up an actual idol of avodah zarah there. It is impossible to conceive of something that represents the theme of “infiltration of avodah zarah into our avodas Hashem” greater than that! 

What is the significance of this as the unified theme of the 17th of Tammuz? The answer lies in the purpose of all national fast days, as the Rambam writes: 

There are days on which all of Israel fasts because of the catastrophes that occurred on them, in order to awaken the hearts [of the people] and to open the paths of teshuvah (repentance). This will be a remembrance of our corrupt actions and the corrupt actions of our fathers that were like our actions today, which ultimately reached the point that [these corrupt actions] caused these catastrophes for them and for us. Through the remembrance of these things we will return to do good, as it stated, “they will confess their sins and the sins of their fathers” (Vayikra 26:40). 

All of our fast days revolve around the destruction of the first and second Mikdash, and a recognition that we are still in exile awaiting the ultimate redemption and the building of the third and final Mikdash. Why are we still in exile? Why don’t we have our makom avodas Hashem? Because the yetzer ha’ra for avodah zarah is alive and well. It has infiltrated our ranks and has permeated our avodas Hashem just as it did with our ancestors. The threat of the yetzer avodah zarah looms so large, and is such an obstacle to the rehabilitation necessary to be worthy of the final redemption, that the Sages instituted a day of national teshuvah devoted specifically to this theme. The first step in on the road to our national recovery is to recognize the problem which led to our downfall in the first place, and until we do that, then we shall remain in exile. 

One last question: How is the yetzer ha'ra for avodah zarah still alive and well? Is the korban tamid even relevant anymore? Do people still worship the sun? Do people bow down to it and ascribe supernatural power to it? That is the question which must be answered by each of us when we engage in national teshuvah. There is much to say, but the best kind of teshuvah starts with individual introspection. 

I will end by mentioning one possibility. We are currently in the midst of a unprecedented pandemic. As of the writing of this article there have been 12.3 million confirmed cases and over 557,000 deaths worldwide. We have seen the structures of our society crumbled around us, and scores of individuals, communities, and nations have been pushed to the brink. Many of us have faced a greater degree of insecurity than at any other time in our lives, and the future has never been more uncertain.

We may not worship the sun as an entity of independent power - but how many people have we seen over the course of this pandemic relate to other elements of nature in a similar manner? Have we progressed beyond the primitive mentality of helplessly flailing in a storm of terrifying forces and truly acknowledged that nature and all of its elements operate in accordance with the will and wisdom of the Creator? Have we followed the implications of this realization by recognizing that this same Creator gave us His Torah, and commanded us to keep it? Have we truly accepted the fact the universe He created and the Torah He has given us are good, and that we can partake of this good by aligning ourselves with His will? 

These are the questions we must ask in order to engage in national teshuvah. As long as the worship of the sun, the stars, and the heavenly forces is still practiced among the Jewish people - whether in its original primitive form, or in its sublimated modern form - then the catastrophe of the 17th of Tammuz will continue to ripple through time. May Hashem speedily fulfill what Zechariah prophesied: 

"Thus said Hashem, Master of Legions: The fast of the fourth [month, of Tammuz], the fast of the seventh [month, of Tishrei], and the fast of the tenth [month, of Teves] will be to the House of Yehudah for joy and for gladness and for happy festivals. [Only] love truth and peace!" (Zechariah 8:19)

Footnotes

[1] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Taaniyos 5:2 

[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Moreh ha’Nevuchim 3:32 

[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban / Nachmanides) Commentary on Sefer Vayikra 1:9 

[4] Credit for this phrase goes to my high school principal, who used it in reference to the Ralbag. 

[5] Rabbeinu Yosef ibn Kaspi, Commentary on Vayikra 1:1. The Ibn Kaspi goes even further than that, and refrains from writing commentary on all the sections of Vayikra which deal with korbanos! And yes, I realize that I’ve just committed a “Rishonic hit-and-run,” and I intend to follow this up with its own post at some point in the future. 

[6] Rav Baruch ha'Levi Epstein, Torah Temimah: Sefer Bamidbar 28:2, footnote 2 

[7] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 28:2; the Torah Temimah’s citation of the Malbim is near verbatim, but I’ve decided to use his instead of the Malbim’s because the language is slightly more concise. 

[8] lit. “the tamid came to counteract sun-worship.” I didn’t like this literal translation because it sounds too much like, “Don’t ride a horse on Shabbos because you might come to break off a branch!” 

[9] Get it? “Ward” means “protection” but it also refers to a minor under the care of an adult – a subtle nod to the analogy in the Sifri about charging a parent to protect their children. I felt compelled to point that out. 

[10] See my (unfinished) analysis of Rashi’s interpretation of the breaking of the tablets: https://kolhaseridim.blogspot.com/2016/07/17th-of-tammuz-breaking-of-tablets.html

[11] It is true that the 17th of Tammuz commemorates the breach of Yerushalayim during Bayis Sheini, not Bayis Rishon. In fact, we know when the when the walls of Bayis Rishon were breached because it’s stated openly in the pesukim: “On the 9th of the month [of Tammuz] the famine was strong in the city and there was no bread for the people of the land. The city was breached, and all the men of war [fled] during the night” (II Melachim 25:4; see also Yirmiyahu 52:6-7). 

Why, then, do we fast on the 17th of Tammuz instead of the 9th? Why not commemorate the breach of the walls in Bayis Rishon? The answer, according to some, is that we used to observe this fast day on the 9th of Tammuz, and it was subsequently changed to the 17th after the destruction of Bayis Sheini. The Lechem Mishneh (on Hilchos Taaniyos 5:2) explains: 

Even though the fast in the pasuk, “the fast of the fourth [month],” refers to the 9th [of Tammuz], since the city was breached on the 9th, nevertheless, we now observe it on the 17th because the destruction of Bayis Sheini was worse, and the walls of the city [then] were breached on the 17th. And if you’ll [object] saying that we observe the 10th of Teves because the King of Bavel besieged Yerushalayim during the destruction of Bayis Rishon, but we should have changed it to the day that the city was besieged during Bayis Sheini, since it was worse – the answer is that our case is different, since everything happened on one month and it’s not a big deal to change [the observance of the fast] from the 9th to the 17th, but in there [in the case of the two sieges] the times are spread apart. 

Thus, it turns out that the fast day we observe on the 17th of Tammuz is essentially about the breach of the walls of Yerushalayim per se – not about the breach of the walls during Bayis Sheini specifically, the exclusion of Bayis Rishon. Hence, my comment in the body of the article that the theme of the day is the infiltration of avodah zarah into our avodas Hashem, which is reflected in the destruction of Bayis Rishon on account of avodah zarah. 

[12] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Taaniyos 5:1 

Korach: The Mystery of the Holy Fire-pans

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Korach: The Mystery of the Holy Fire-pans

The Question 

In response to Korach and his rebel alliance of Dasan, Aviram, and the 250 leaders, Moshe sets up a “test” to determine whose claim of the kehunah (priesthood) would prevail: 

[Moshe] spoke to Korach and to all his assembly, saying: “In the morning Hashem will make known who is His, and him who is holy He will bring close to Him, and him whom He chooses He will bring close to Him. [1] Do this: take your fire-pans, Korach and all your assembly, and place fire in them and put incense on them before Hashem tomorrow. And the man whom Hashem chooses, he is the kadosh (holy one). You have too much, sons of Levi!” (Bamidbar 16:5-7) 

The men do as they’re told. Korach [2] and his contingent are swallowed by the earth. As for the men who brought the incense on their fire-pans: “A flame came forth from Hashem and consumed the 250 men who were offering the incense” (ibid. 16:35). 

As soon as the rebellion is crushed, Hashem issues the following set of instructions: 

Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying: “Say to Elazar son of Aharon the Kohen and let him pick up the fire-pans from amid the fire – and he should throw away the flame – for they have become holy. As for the fire-pans of these sinners with their souls – they shall make them hammered-out sheets as a covering for the Altar, for they offered them before Hashem and they became holy; they shall be for a sign to the Children of Israel.” Elazar the Kohen took the copper fire-pans that the consumed ones had offered and hammered them out as a covering for the Altar, as a reminder to the Children of Israel, so that no strange man who is not of the offspring of Aharon shall draw near to bring up the smoke of incense before Hashem, that he not be like Korach and his assembly, as Hashem spoke about him through Moshe (ibid. 17:1-5). 

The two phrases underlined above – in Hebrew, “ki kadeishu” and “vayikdashu” – are the source of much puzzlement. The Abravanel [3] explicitly formulates the central question: 

How could He say: “for they (i.e. the fire-pans) have become kedoshim”? If these fire-pans were from men who sinned with their souls, how could they become kedoshim? 

The nature and origin of this kedushah [4] is a matter of contention among the meforshim (commentators), as we shall now see. 

The Answers 

The simplest explanation is offered by Rashi [5]: since the fire-pans were designated as klei shareis – “service vessels” for use in avodas ha’kodesh (the holy service in the Tabernacle) – they became kedoshim, and were assur b’hanaah (prohibited to derive personal benefit from). [6] The fact that they were used for a sinful purpose doesn’t negate their halachic kedushah. 

Other meforshim follow Rashi’s lead. Sforno [7] writes that the 250 men “sanctified [the fire-pans] as service vessels for use in other services aside from their invalid [incense] service.” In other words, even though the men used their service vessels for “incense of abomination,” their intent was to designate them for general use, and that is why they became kedoshim. 

Likewise, Ralbag [8] maintains that these vessels “became kedoshim even without anointment, [9] merely by placing into them that which would be utilized [in the divine service].” Unlike Sforno, Ralbag holds that these fire-pans took on their kedushah status once they came in contact with the substance of the incense. He then explains that “their service [with the illicit incense] did not sanctify them, because it wasn’t a [legitimate] service.” 

The Ramban [10] rejects this entire approach. After citing Rashi’s view, he writes: 

I don’t know the reason for this prohibition, for they offered a foreign (i.e. illegal) incense offering, and [if] a non-Kohen makes a service vessel in order to bring an offering outside [of the Tabernacle or Temple], it would not become kadosh. 

The Ramban then offers two answers of his own: 

Perhaps one can say that since [these 250 men] acted in accordance with [the instructions of] Moshe, [their fire-pans] became kedoshim, for they sanctified them for heavenly use thinking that God would response to them with [heavenly] fire which, in turn, permanently rendered these fire-pans into service vessels for the Tent of Meeting.  

But the correct [answer] in my eyes is that the pasuk (verse) states: “for they offered them before Hashem and they became kedoshim, and they shall be for a sign to the Children of Israel.” In other words: “I sanctified them from the time they were brought before Me in order that they should be as a sign for the Children of Israel.” 

The Ramban’s first answer is that the mere act of compliance with Moshe’s instructions for the purposes of the “test” of the incense was sufficient to permanently sanctify these fire-pans as service vessels. His second answer is based on the pasuk’s implication that Hashem, Himself, sanctified these vessels in order to subsequently make them into a sign for Bnei Yisrael. 

The Abravanel sharply diverges from the all of the views mentioned above. He answers his own question by boldly asserting – contrary to the straightforward reading of the text – that the vessels didn’t become halachically sanctified at all. He writes: 

[The text] did not say “ki kedoshim heim” or “ki kadosh heim” (two phrases which both mean “because they were sanctified”) but rather “ki kadeishu” (“because they sanctified”), because Korach and his assembly sanctified them for the divine. However, in reality, they didn’t have any kedushah at all, for these fire-pans belonged to men who were “sinners with their souls,” and since their intent was evil and their plot was poisonous, how could it produce kedushah? … [Rather,] the statement “for they were brought before Hashem and sanctified” means that [these men] intended to sanctify them. [Alternatively,] it is possible to explain “ki kadeishu” and “va’yikdashu” in sense of “designation,” [11] in the sense of “heekdeesh keruav” (“He has designated His guests” – Tzephanya 1:7), for they designated [the fire-pans] for this test. 

Like the Ramban, the Abravanel maintains that the evil intent of these men made it impossible for their fire-pans to become sanctified through their incense offerings. He suggests that the term “ki kadeishu” (“because they sanctified”) describes the subjective intent of these men rather than the objective outcome of their actions. Alternatively, he theorizes that the root K.D.SH is not being used here in its primary sense of “to sanctify” but in its secondary usage of “to designate.” Both explanations allow him to read the pesukim in a manner which avoids attributing halachic kedushah to the fire-pans. 

Similarly, the Netziv [12] rejects the notion that these fire-pans became halachically sanctified and proposes an alternative explanation based on a somewhat shocking source: 

“ki kadeishu” is not to be explained in the sense of “sanctity,” because if this is what it meant, it would have needed to say “ki kedoshim heimah” implying that they had already become sanctified on the altar; also, based on precise Hebrew grammar, it should have said “ki nikdashu.” 

Rather, the meaning of “kadeishu” is like “there shall not be a kadeish (male prostitute) among the sons of Israel” (Devarim 23:18), the implication of “kadeish” meaning one whose prominence has been desecrated. Here, the fire of the altar which was sanctified became de-sanctified and desecrated. Therefore, it was neither proper for the altar nor for mundane purposes, just like the kedushah of any physical object which cannot be redeemed once it becomes blemished. 

On the basis of Hebrew grammar, the Netziv rejects the notion that the fire-pans became halachically sanctified. His interpretation relies on the fact that K.D.SH is a contronym – a word that means something and its opposite. K.D.SH can either mean “sanctify” or “de-sanctify.” In the case of a kadeish (male prostitute), it refers to someone who has “de-sanctified” through his debased behavior. In the case of the fire-pans “ki kadeishu” means that they had become “de-sanctified” through the illegitimate offerings of the 250 men. 

To sum it up, there are three basic approaches: 

(1) according to Rashi, Sforno, and Ralbag the fire-pans became halachically sanctified by these men in the usual manner, despite their sinful intentions and actions

(2) according to the Ramban the fire-pans became sanctified in an unusual manner

(3) according to the Abravanel and the Netziv the fire-pans did not become sanctified at all. 

The Significance 

After examining these answers we are left with a very basic question. To put it bluntly: Who cares? So what? Why did the Torah highlight the fact that these fire-pans became sanctified? 

Those who maintain that the vessels actually became halachically sanctified might be tempted to answer that it was necessary for the Torah point this out for “halachic context purposes.” If the Torah hadn’t mentioned this sanctity one might wonder why Hashem commanded Moshe to take these fire-pans, which were associated with sinfulness and rebellion, and make them into a covering for the Altar, which is used for legitimate divine service. Why couldn’t these fire-pans have been destroyed or used for mundane purposes? Accordingly, the Torah explains that since these vessels had become halachically sanctified, they had to be used for some holy purpose. Indeed, this type of explanation is given by the Malbim [13]: 

Since [the fire-pans] were hekdesh (sanctified property), maalin bakodesh v'ein moridin (“we [only] go up in sanctity, and we do not go down”), and since they were once used as accoutrements for the Altar, they became part of the Altar itself. 

There isn’t necessarily any problem with this answer … and yet, I still don’t buy it. If the pesukim only mentioned the sanctity of the fire-pans once? Maybe. But the fact that the pesukim mention this fact twice leads me to believe that the Torah is going out of its way to emphasize that these fire-pans had sanctity for a reason beyond mere halachic justification. 

Intuitively it would seem to make sense that the sanctity of these fire-pans is related to their repurposed function, namely: 

they shall be for a sign to the Children of Israel … a reminder to the Children of Israel, so that no strange man who is not of the offspring of Aharon shall draw near to bring up the smoke of incense before Hashem, that he not be like Korach and his assembly, as Hashem spoke about him through Moshe. 

I would like to suggest the following: since Korach’s rebellion was predicated on a false conception of kedushah, the memorial that would serve as a warning against future rebellions needed to intrinsically embody the true concept of kedushah to refute that false concept. 

Korach challenged the authority of Moshe and Aharon with the famous words: “For all the assembly, they are all kedoshim” (Bamidbar 16:3). Regardless of how one understands this statement, Korach clearly believed that he had the authority to declare who is and isn’t kadosh. In reality, there is only One Being Who has the ability to determine kedushah: Hashem, Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu, Ha’El ha’Kadosh, ha’mavdil bein kodesh l’chol. [14] Indeed, this message was underscored in Moshe’s initial response to Korach in his explanation of the fire-pan test: “the man whom Hashem chooses, he is the kadosh.” This was clearly intended as a direct retort to Korach’s assertion that “they are all kedoshim.” 

In this vein, the kedushah of the fire-pans was intended to reinforce the message that when it comes to kedushah, Hashem is the sole determiner. How so? It depends on the approach: 

According to Rashi, Sforno, and Ralbag, the message was reinforced by the fact that these men, who brought their incense offerings with the intention of asserting themselves as being kedoshim, were burned to death as a punishment for opposing Hashem’s will – and yet, their fire-pans nevertheless became kedoshim precisely because they conformed to the halachos procedures governing the sanctification of service-vessels. What better way to demonstrate that kedushah only comes about as a result of conforming to Hashem’s will! 

According to the Ramban, who rejected the idea that the fire-pans became kedoshim in the usual manner, the message was reinforced specifically by the fact that the fire-pans became kedoshim in an unusual manner. The Ramban explained that Hashem directly sanctified the fire-pans, contravening His own laws of service-vessel sanctification, specifically in order to demonstrate that kedushah is endowed on His terms, as He chooses. 

And according to the Abravanel and the Netziv, who refuse to acknowledge that the fire-pans had any halachic kedushah whatsoever – this fact itself demonstrated Hashem’s absolute authority over kedushah. When these men attempted to usurp the position of kedushah held by the Kohanim, perform a service of kedushah with the incense, and endow their service vessels with kedushah, all of their efforts utterly failed without producing one iota of kedushah. Instead, their bodies were incinerated, their offerings were thrown out like garbage, and the fire-pans they used to bring those offerings were not successfully sanctified by them (as they would have been if brought by the Kohanim ha’kedoshim), but were destroyed and remade into a warning to not attempt to encroach on Hashem’s kedushah authority. 

Thus, the kedushah of the fire-pans was integral to the message they were repurposed to convey. Perhaps this is why the Torah goes out of its way to call attention to this kedushah. 

Footnotes:

[1] I know it looks like that sentence was either poorly translated or grammatically incorrect. I’m pretty sure the grammar is fine, and you can blame the lack of poetry in the translation on Robert Alter. 

[2] Actually, it’s unclear what happened to Korach himself, as I wrote about in my article: What Happened to Korach? 

[3] Don Yitzchak Abravanel, Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:1, Question #1 

[4] I have decided to transliterate much of the terminology having to do with the Hebrew root K.D.SH. rather than committing to specific translations as “holy,” “consecrated,” or “sanctified” – partially because these translations carry connotations which are somewhat at odds with the Torah’s concept of kedushah, and partially because the nature of the kedushah in this context is part of the question that this article aims to answer. 

[5] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:2 

[6] In the world of Mishkan (the Tabernacle) and the Beis ha’Mikdash (Holy Temple), halachic sanctity is synonymous with an issur hanaah – a prohibition to use the sanctified object for mundane purposes. 

[7] Rabbeinu Ovadiah Sforno, Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:3 

[8] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershon (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:2-5 

[9] According to halacha, all of the service vessels that were made by Moshe Rabbeinu in the Wilderness only became sanctified through the shemen ha’mishchah (anointing oil). In contrast, service vessels in the Beis ha’Mikdash became sanctified through their usage in the avodah. See Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Avodah, Hilchos Klei ha’Mikdash ve’ha’Ovdim Bo 1:12. 

[10] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban / Nachmanides), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:2 

[11] “hazmanah” which can also be translated as “invitation” or “preparation.” 

[12] Rav Naftali Tzvi Berlin (Netziv), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:2 

[13] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel Wisser (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 17:3 

[14] Translation: the Holy One, Blessed is He; the Holy God; He Who separates between the holy and the mundane. 

Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

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Artwork: Battle of Wits, by Edward Beard Jr.
Also, depiction of Ibn Ezra vs. the Malbim

Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

The Battleground

In Parashas Vaeschanan, Moshe Rabbeinu reviews the Aseres ha'Devarim (Decalogue) for the generation that will enter the Land after his passing. The Ibn Ezra, in his introduction to the Torah's original presentation of the Aseres ha'Devarim in Parashas Yisro, acknowledges the glaring problem which confronts any student who carefully reads both parshiyos: the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim contain differences in wording! Some of these differences are major, such as:

Shemos 20:8-11 (Yisro): Remember the Shabbos day to sanctify it. Six days shall you work and accomplish all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your animal, and your convert within your gates - for in six days Hashem made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, Hashem blessed the Shabbos day and sanctified it. 

Devarim 5:12-15 (Vaeschanan): Safeguard the Shabbos day to sanctify it, as Hashem, your God, has commanded you. Six days shall you do labor and do all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your ox, your donkey, and your every animal, and your convert within your gates, in order that your slave and your maidservant may rest like you. And you shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and Hashem, your God, has taken you out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm; therefore, Hashem, your God, has commanded you to make the Shabbos day.

In other cases, the differences are more subtle, such as:

Shemos 20:13: You shall not murder; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness against your fellow. 

Devarim 5:17: You shall not murder; and you shall not commit adultery; and you shall not steal; and you shall not bear vain witness against your fellow.

Also subtle:

Shemos 20:14: You shall not covet your fellow's house; you shall not covet your fellow's wife, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow. 

Devarim 5:18: And you shall not covet your fellow's wife; you shall not desire your fellow's house, his field, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow.

The Ibn Ezra notes the difficulties raised by these changes and addresses them. If you are interested in his answers, see his lengthy treatise at the beginning of Shemos Chapter 20. 

I'm not going to present any answers of any meforshim (commentators) to these difficulties in this post. Instead, I'd like to focus on a major methodological divide between the meforshim. I've wanted to write about this for a while, and since the Ibn Ezra states his shitah (position) in his introduction to the Aseres ha'Devarim, I decided to use this blog post as a springboard for the discussion.

Ibn Ezra's View: Meanings Matter Most

The Ibn Ezra [1] introduces his shitah prior to explaining the discrepancies between the Aseres ha'Devarim in Yisro and Vaeschanan:

As a general rule, the masters of the Holy Language will sometimes explain their words very clearly, and other times they will say what is necessary in a few concise words from which the listener can derive their meaning. Know that words are like bodies and meanings are like souls, and the body is like a vessel for the soul. Therefore, the general rule of all chachamim (wise men) in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same. 

In other words (ha! get it?), the words are merely the vessels for conveying meaning, and as long as the meaning is preserved, it doesn't matter if the words change. Therefore, when learning Tanach - even the text of the Torah itself - one need not obsess over the nuanced variations in wording which occur when the Torah repeats material. Instead, just focus on getting the main idea, and don't worry be nitpicky about the words.   

The Ibn Ezra then provides some examples:

Hashem said to Kayin: "You are cursed from the ground ... When you will work the ground, it will no longer give forth its strength to you. You shall become a vagrant and a wanderer upon the earth" (Bereishis 4:11-12). Kayin replied: "Behold! You have driven me out this day from upon the face of the ground!" (ibid. 4:14). Now who is so mindless as to think that the meaning [of these two descriptions of Kayin's punishment] isn't the same on account of the change in words! 

Behold! Eliezer said: "Let me sip, if you please, [a little water from your jug]" (ibid. 24:17). However, he [subsequently] quoted himself as saying: "Please give me a drink" (ibid. 24:45). 

Moshe said: "the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon" (Shemos 12:29). However, it is written earlier: "the firstborn of the maidservant that is behind the mill" (ibid. 11:5).  

In Devarim, Moshe quoted the prayer which he offered on behalf of Israel because of the Golden Calf (Devarim 9:26-29). Now to the person who lacks a mind capable of understanding, this prayer appears totally different from the one recorded in the Torah portion Ki Sisa (Shemos 32:11-14). 

The general rule is: any change in the wording - such as in the dreams of Paroh (Bereishis 41:1-17, 17-24) and Nevuchadnetzar (Daniel 4), and many other things - you will find the meaning to be the same, even if the words are different. 

The Ibn Ezra goes on to mention other types of cases which fall into this category. Sometimes a word will be lengthened or shortened, or a prefix will be added or taken away, or the spelling of the word will change - all without changing the meaning. 

On the basis of this approach, the Ibn Ezra explains - or brushes away - the differences between the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim. According to him, even Moshe Rabbeinu didn't care about changing Hashem's wording in the original Aseres ha'Devarim, so long as he successfully conveyed the Divine intent. (The Ibn Ezra does, however, admit that the radically different presentations of Shabbos requires an actual explanation.)

This approach may seem radical to a student who was raised hearing the standard premise that "there are no extra words in the Torah" and "every letter has a meaning." The Ramban takes the Ibn Ezra to task for his answer here. Apparently, the Maharal devoted an entire chapter of his book, Tiferes Yisrael (chapter 43), to challenging the Ibn Ezra's view. 

On the surface it might seem that Ibn Ezra lacks the reverence for the Torah's use of hebrew. However, one must remember that the Ibn Ezra is considered to be one of the leading authorities in the Hebrew language among the Rishonim, and was an ardent defender of a strictly textual approach to Biblical exegesis. In his introduction to his Torah commentary, [2] he characterizes his approach to Scriptural interpretation as "the grammatical approach," which focuses on the rules of the Hebrew language and the definitions of its words:

The fifth method [of Torah interpretation] is the one upon which I will base my commentary. It appears to me to be correct in the presence of God whom alone I fear. I will not show favoritism to anyone when it comes to interpreting the Torah. I will, to the utmost of my ability, try to understand grammatically every word and then to do my best to explain it. Every word whose meaning the reader desires to know will be found explained the first time the word is encountered. For example, the meaning of "shamayim" will be given in the first verse of Bereishis. This will apply to all terms.

When Ibn Ezra made the statement about "masters of the language" playing fast and loose with their wording, he was speaking as a "master of the language." 

We'll return to the Ibn Ezra's shitah in a moment. For now, let's look at his strongest opposition.

Malbim's View: Words Matter Most

It is safe to say that the Malbim was one of the most creative meforshim in recent times. Like the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim wrote a commentary on almost all of Nach which is grounded in a thorough understanding of the Hebrew language. Unlike the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim is not keen on the idea of glossing over any linguistic nuances in the Torah's repetition of material. Indeed, he holds that the Torah contains no repetitions or synonyms or anything extra whatsoever. 

The clearest summary of the Malbim's approach that I know of can be found in the introduction to his commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu. The Malbim introduces his own method by articulating its three foundational principles:

My commentary rests upon three central pillars: 

(1) Nowhere in the eloquent speech [4] of the neviim is there to be found any repetition of the same idea in different words, nor is there a repetition of ideas, statements, or allegories, nor are there two sentences with the same content, nor are there two mashalim (metaphors) with the same nimshal (interpretation), nor are there even two repeated words.

(2) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim – neither in their simple nor compound sentences – is there to be found words or verbs which are placed by chance without a specific intent, to the extent that all words, nouns, and verbs which constitute every sentence – not only is it necessary that they occur in that sentence, but it would not have been possible for a divine messenger to use another word in its place, for all of the words in the divine eloquent speech have been weighed on the scales of wisdom and knowledge, evaluated, preserved, counted, and recounted by the metric of Supreme Wisdom which alone is sublime enough to utter it.

(3) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim is there to be found a husk without content, a body without a soul, a garment without a wearer, a statement devoid of sublime thought, a statement in which understanding doesn’t dwell – for the living God resides in all statements of the living God, with the breath of life in their nostrils, the spirit of the Dreaded, Mighty, Glorious, and Awesome One.

In short, the Malbim maintains that every sentence, every word, and every nuance in the text of Tanach was chosen to convey a specific meaning. There is no repetition, there are no textual features which are there for purely stylistic reasons, and there is no room for multiple possibilities of what the pesukim could have said. According to the Malbim, every single pasuk had to say exactly what it said, in exactly the manner it said it - otherwise, the meaning would be lost. 

Perhaps the most salient feature of the Malbim's approach is his firm instance that there are no true synonyms in Hebrew. Every word means something different. Any two terms which appear to have the same meaning will, upon careful study of their usage throughout Tanach, reveal that they have different definitions. The Malbim's commentary on Tanach is comprised of two parts. One part of his commentary is a "beur ha'devarim" (commentary on the meaning of the pesukim, in context), and the other part is a "beur ha'milos" (glossary of terms). Even a casual glance through the Malbim's beur ha'milos will reveal that his favorite phrase is: "yesh hevdel bein ____ u'bein ____" (there is a difference between [this word] and [this synonym]), which he uses hundreds of times throughout his commentary to elucidate the definitions of these so-called "synonyms."

The Malbim writes that he labored intensively to figure out the definition of each and every Hebrew word in based on exhaustive research. He criticizes other chachamim who have arrived at speculative distinctions between these apparent synonyms by inferring universal definitions from isolated cases, instead of conducting a thorough analysis of every instance of every word in all of Tanach, as he did:

Before I approached this precious work – the holy work of explaining and elucidating the books of Hashem – I first set out to investigate, to explore, and to search for the definitions of the words and verbs that occur in the holy Scriptures until their essential definitions became clear to me with a clear knowledge … 

This path has been followed by all of the later chachamim, who have expounded and clarified the synonyms, and have been satisfied with themselves if they found one distinction in the entire sentence, and thought that the other different words in the two sentences are for beautifying the poetic speech [of the navi] or came about by happenstance; consequently, even the universal principles which [these chachamim] have produced and the distinctions they have made, they are unable to substantiate with proofs, since their words are nothing but guesswork rooted in imagination. 

I, however, have set a law not to be overstepped, for no words have entered into the counsel of Hashem by way of chance, but only with intelligent choice; therefore, the labor which I have taken upon myself is great and difficult, and I have surpassed the work of all others who have endeavored in this manner …

Here the Malbim warns those who attempt to emulate his approach. Unless one is prepared to undertake a complete survey of Biblical Hebrew, one risks falling into "guesswork rooted in imagination," which will inevitably lead to error and falsehood.

The Malbim also makes it clear that he was not relying on anyone else in developing his approach:

You should also know that even though I have been preceded by many chachamim who have distinguished between synonyms – some of whose books I own, such as Sefer Gan Naul and Sefer Yerios Shelomo – despite all of this, I have not relied upon the words of any man, but I have tested everything myself, whether all pesukim can be explained based on the path that I, myself, have paved. Therefore, [my work] has nothing to do with that of another person: I have neither built nor destroyed the words of anyone other than myself, because I analyzed every rule and universal principle myself and committed my own intuition to writing. And if you find that someone else established a universal principle which accords with my own statement, this is an indicator that anyone who possess intelligence will arrive at the same path regarding any matter which is simple and upright.

Suffice it to say, the Malbim would not - and does not - accept the Ibn Ezra's assertion that "the general rule of all chachamim in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same." The Malbim would certainly never accept the Ibn Ezra's general approach to explaining the differences in the Torah's two statements of the Aseres ha'Devarim. If Moshe reversed "you shall not covet your neighbor's wife" and "you shall not covet your neighbor's house" in his restatement, there must be a reason. If the Torah says "eidus sheker" (false testimony) in Yisro but "eidus shav" (vain testimony) in Vaeschanan, there must be a reason. The same goes for all other changes in wording and textual nuances throughout all of Tanach.

"Team Ibn Ezra" 

I view the Ibn Ezra and Malbim as existing along a spectrum, each at one end. The other meforshim throughout the ages - both Rishonim (medieval) and Achronim (post-medieval) - tend to fall on one side of the spectrum or another in this battle of methodology. 

I would argue that most of the classical Rishonim fall closer to the Ibn Ezra's side in their commentaries. This is indicated by their decision not to take up the types of questions about textual nuances which are the focus of the Malbim's commentary. If you compare the commentary of the Malbim side by side with the traditional meforshim, you'll find that many of the linguistic questions which bother him are completely ignored by them. This suggests that they had a different approach.

Granted, I am aware that absence of evidence doesn't always equal evidence of absence. One could argue that they did hold like the Malbim, but assumed that their audience was familiar enough with Hebrew that such questions didn't need to be addressed in their commentaries. One could also argue that they held like the Malbim, but didn't prioritize this type of explanation in their commentaries for some unstated reason. Personally, I don't buy such arguments. In the Malbim's introduction to Sefer Yeshayahu, he makes it pretty clear that the approach in his commentary is unprecedented among the commentators. That, combined with the drastically different content in their commentaries, has me convinced that most classical commentators did not share the Malbim's views on Biblical interpretation.

Moreover, we see a number of mainstream meforshim take stances which directly oppose the  three pillars of the Malbim's method. For example, when confronted with synonyms or repetitions in the pesukim, many meforshim will simply say: "kafal ha'davar b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same statement in different words) or "kafal ha'inyan b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same idea in different words). One of my favorite meforshim on Nach, the Radak, uses these phrases over 200 times in his Nach commentary. Metzudas David makes recourse to "kafal ha'davar" over 400 times. The Malbim wouldn't accept this even once.

Similarly, when the classical meforshim explain obscure words in the pesukim, they'll do so by making reference to more common synonyms - and they will do so without explaining the differences, suggesting that they believe the terms to be genuinely synonymous, and not just apparently so. In contrast, the Malbim will point out a synonym, and will then go on to explain how the two terms have subtly different meanings. To me this is a clear indication of a divergence in methodology. It would be a stretch to say that these other meforshim hold that there are no synonyms or repetitions in Tanach, but simultaneously feel so comfortable saying "the pasuk is repeating the same idea" or "this word means basically the same thing as this word." If they hold that the terms are different, they should explain how. And if, like the Malbim, they held that this difference in meaning is critical for understanding the main idea of the pasuk, they would be negligent not to give a full explanation.

Another category of opposition to the Malbim's approach can be seen in the classical commentators' treatment of the numerous allegories, parables and instances of figurative speech in Nach. The Malbim explicitly criticized chachamim who explain extra words and  phrases by claiming that these words serve only "in order to beautify the poetic speech" or that "they came about by happenstance," and serve no real purpose. And yet we find many classical meforshim who take precisely this approach. The Rambam [5] goes so far as to make this into an interpretive rule:

Know that the prophetic parables are of two kinds. In some of these parables each word has a meaning, while others the parable as a whole indicates the whole of the intended meaning. In such a parable very many words are to be found, not every one of which adds to the intended meaning. They serve rather to embellish the parable and to render it more coherent or to conceal further the intended meaning; hence, the speech proceeds in such a way as to accord with everything required by the parable's external meaning.

An example of the first kind of prophetic parable is the following text: "And behold - a ladder set up on the earth etc." (Bereishis 28:12-13). In this text, the word "ladder" indicates one subject; the words "set up on the earth" indicate a second subject; the words "and the top of it reached to the heaven" indicate a third subject; the words "and behold the angels of God" indicate a fourth subject; the word "ascending" indicates a fifth subject; the words "and descending" indicate a sixth subject; and the words "and behold - Hashem stood above it" indicate a seventh subject. Thus, every word occurring in this parable refers to an additional subject in the complex of subjects represented by the parable as a whole." 

An example of the second kind of prophetic parable is the following text: For I have looked out from the window of my house through my lattice, and I saw among the fools, I discerned among the youths, a lad who lacked [an understanding] heart passing through the marketplace near her corner, and he strode toward her house, in the twilight, as daylight wanes, in the blackness of night and darkness. Then behold, a woman approached him, bedecked as a harlot and with siege in [her] heart. She coos and she entices, her feet do not dwell at home. Sometimes in the courtyard, sometimes in the streets, she lurks at every corner. She seized him and kissed him; she thrust forth her face and said to him: "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow. That is why I went out toward you, to seek your countenance, and I have found you! I have decked my bed with spreads; carved bed poles are hung with Egyptian linen. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. Come, let us sate ourselves with love until the morning; let us rejoice with acts of love, for [my] husband is not at home; he has gone on a distant journey. He has taken the money-pouch with him; he will come home at the appointed time." She sways him with her abundant sophistication; she thrusts him with the glibness of her lips. He follows her unsuspectingly, like an ox to the slaughter; rushing like a venomous snake to discipline the foolish one, until the arrow splits his liver; he is like a bird hurrying to the trap, unaware that its life will be lost" (Mishlei 7:5-20). The outcome of all this is a warning against the pursuit of bodily pleasures and desires. Accordingly he [Shlomo] likens matter, which is the cause of all these bodily pleasures, to a harlot who is also a married woman. In fact his entire book is based on this allegory. And we shall explain in various chapters of this treatise his wisdom in likening matter to a married harlot, and we shall explain how he concluded this book with a eulogy of the woman who is not a harlot but confines herself to attending to the welfare of her household and husband. For all the hindrances keeping man from his ultimate perfection, every deficiency affecting him and every disobedience, come to him from his matter alone, as we shall explain in this treatise. This is the proposition that can be understood from this parable as a whole. I mean that man should not follow his bestial nature; I mean his matter, for the proximate matter of man is identical with the proximate matter of other living beings. And as I have explained this to you and disclosed the secret of this parable, you should not hope to find some signification corresponding to every subject occurring in this parable] so that you could say: what can be submitted for the words, "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow"? What subject is indicated by the words, "I have decked my bed with spreads"? And what subject is added to this general proposition by the words, "for my husband is not at home"?The same holds good for the other details in this chapter. For all of them only figure in the consistent development of the parable's external meaning, the circumstances described in it being of a kind typical for adulterers. Also the spoken words and other such details are of a kind typical of words spoken among adulterers. Understand this well from what I have said, for it is a great and important principle with regard to matters that I wish to explain.

The Rambam and the Malbim clearly disagree on this point! The Malbim would criticize the Rambam for saying that all of these details were included by Shlomo solely for the purpose of developing the external allegory, and convey no ideational content or significance. The Rambam, in turn, would criticize the Malbim for seeking an interpretation of these details and descriptions when no such interpretation exists. In fact, the Rambam goes on to voice just such a criticism:

When, therefore, you find that in some chapter of this treatise I have explained the meaning of a parable and have drawn your attention to the general proposition signified by it, you should not inquire into all the details occurring in the parable, nor should you wish to find significations corresponding to them. For doing so would lead you into one of two ways: either into turning aside from the parable's intended subject, or into assuming an obligation to interpret things not susceptible to interpretation and that have not been inserted with a view to interpretation. The assumption of such an obligation would result in extravagant fantasies such as are entertained and written about in our time by most of the sects of the world, since each of these sects desires to find certain significations for words whose author in no way had in mind the significations wished by them. Your purpose, rather, should always be to know, regarding most parables, the main idea that was intended to be known. 

Basically, the Rambam is warning us that if we follow the Malbim's approach, looking for deep significance in every detail, we'll end up missing out on major ideas and projecting our own fantasies onto the pesukim which have nothing to do with the meaning that the authors (or Author) intended to convey. 

To my mind it is clear that the Malbim's approach was not shared by many of the classical meforshim among the Rishonim and Achronim. This conclusion is supported by the lack of Malbim-esque explanations in their commentaries, and the abundant interpretations they do provide which violate the three pillars of the Malbim's approach.

"Team Malbim"

And yet, the Malbim is not alone in his methods. First and foremost, his approach - or at least, something like his approach - was shared by none other than Chazal (i.e. the Tannaim and Amoraim). In his book, Ayeles ha'Shachar, the Malbim [6] writes: 

Chazal strove to figure out the essential definitions of all borrowed terms … Similarly, they showed the relationship between homonyms … And each synonym has a unique definition on which they build their many drashos. The same is true of parallel expressions: after much study, [one can understand] when one expression is used and when another is used …

In other words, the approach that Chazal took in their drashos parallels the Malbim's own approach - so much so that the Malbim attempted to fuse the two in Ayeles ha'Shachar, and in his commentary on Torah. Anyone who has learned Gemara and the various collections of midreshei aggadah and midreshei halacha will be able to see that Chazal's approach to Tanach is far more similar to the Malbim's than the Ibn Ezra's. They clearly cared about textual nuances, apparent repetitions, and anomalous words and phrases. They clearly held that every feature of the text was there for a specific reason, to convey specific Torah content. They would never say, "The Torah repeated the same thing in different words" or "this description is just here to develop the allegory, and has no significance beyond that." (Of course, the Rambam would say that they actually held this, but just didn't say it.)

And since Chazal followed this approach, the meforshim who regularly integrate Chazal's explanations can also be included on "Team Malbim." Rashi would definitely be part of the group. So would the Torah Temimah and the Baal ha'Turim. Other commentaries accept this approach, even if they supplement it with other approaches, such as the Ramban, Rabbeinu Bachya, and even the Ralbag, in his own way 

But the Malbim's true kindred spirit was Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who was a contemporary of his. Like the Malbim, Rav Hirsch set out on an ambitious linguistic project to understand all the nuances of Hebrew, based on his own analysis and his own theories on etymology. Rav Hirsch would certainly agree with the Malbim that synonyms should be scrutinized for subtler shades of meaning, and he would also agree that the subtleties in the text are important. When reading Rav Hirsch's commentary one gets the feeling that he and the Malbim would make a great chavrusa (learning pair), having different ideas - owing to the differences in their creativity - but fundamentally sharing the same outlook in their interpretive methodology and linguistic framework.

Another group of people who would be in good company with the Malbim are those who are inclined to apply modern methods of literary analysis to Tanach. Like the Malbim, they strive to be in tune with the textual landscape, in all of its particularity. They also care about intertextuality, parallel phrasing, organizational schemes, and a bunch of other fancy shmancy literary devices - which I imagine the Malbim would appreciate (judging by my experience with his style).

Concluding Thoughts

Obviously I am in no position to decide which approach is “better” or “more correct.” There are advantages and disadvantages to each. 

If I had to choose, though, I would side with the Ibn Ezra. Our priority in learning must be to get the main idea, even if we don’t appreciate all of the details of how that idea is expressed in the pesukim. Furthermore, even the Malbim would admit that we cannot expect to do what he did, and that if we tried, we would be engaging in speculative guesswork. The only way to truly learn Tanach on the level of the Malbim would be to study the text with his commentary as the infallible (for all practical purposes) guide to Biblical Hebrew. The advantage of this approach is that we’d get to see all of the amazing insights that the Malbim’s approach draws out of the text. The disadvantage is that we’d be totally dependent on him for our learning. 

As a teacher, I default to the Ibn Ezra side. However, that doesn’t stop me from sharing with my students the ingenious, creative, nuanced interpretations offered by the Malbim in his monumental commentary.

[1] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Commentary on Sefer Shemos (Long Version) 20:1

[2] ibid. Commentary on Sefer Bereishis: end of Introduction

[3] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu: Introduction

[4] The term used here is "מליצות" which can mean "allegories," "figurative speech, "flowery speech," "poetic speech," "rhetoric," and the like. I've translated it as "eloquent speech," since I believe that the Malbim intends this to cover all the words of the prophets - not just select sections.

[5] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim: Introduction

[6] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Ayeles ha'Shachar 30:248