Pshat vs. Drash I

Originally posted in January 2012.

Artwork: Foresee, by Ron Spears

Pshat vs. Drash I

The terms "pshat" and "drash" are frequently used, but seldom defined. To my mind, the key to understanding the difference between pshat and drash lies in a principle explained by the Ibn Ezra in his introduction to the Aseres ha'Dibros (Shemos 20:1):

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 to the soul is like a vessel. Therefore, the general rule of all wise men in any language is to preserve the meanings without regard to a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same.

The Ibn Ezra's message is clear: there are words and there are meanings. Words are merely the vehicle through which meanings are conveyed. For this reason, the same meaning can be communicated through different words or different combinations of words.

In light of the Ibn Ezra's distinction, we can now propose a working definition of the difference between pshat and drash: 

• To "give the pshat of a pasuk" is to uncover the meaning of the pasuk as intended by its author (i.e. Hashem, in the case of the Chumash, or the Neviim in the case of Nach).
• To "give a drash on a pasuk" or to "darshin a pasuk" is to use the words of that pasuk as a platform to express an extrinsic idea; by "extrinsic idea" I mean an idea which was not intended by the author, and which may or may not bear any relation to the pshat of the pasuk. 

The Ralbag (Introduction to Shir ha'Shirim) expresses this distinction very clearly in his critique of commentaries which consist largely or exclusively of midrashic material:

[We] have seen that all the commentaries which our predecessors have made upon it and which have reached us adopt the midrashic approach, including interpretations which are the opposite of what was intended by the author of Shir ha'Shirim. These midrashic explanations, even though they are good in and of themselves, ought not to be applied as explanations of the things upon which they are said midrashically. For this reason one who wishes to explain these and similar things ought not to apply to them the midrashic explanations regarding them; rather, he should endeavor to explain them according to their intention.

A simple litmus test can be used to figure out whether a statement of Chazal was intended as pshat or as drash. This litmus test can be expressed in the form of the following question: "Is this idea in the words or on the words?" To say that the idea is "in the words" means that it is a faithful restatement of the meaning intended by the author. To say that the idea is "on the words" means that the darshan (i.e. the originator of the drash) has used the author's words as a springboard for his own idea - an idea which might shed light on the pshat of the pasuk, or might have absolutely nothing to do with the pshat.

Some examples will help to illustrate the difference between pshat and drash. The Radvaz (Shailos u'Teshuvos 3:643) explains that the Torah was written without nekudos (vowels) in order to maximize the potential for drash; the example he cites serves as an excellent model for all drash:

Know that vowelization is like a form and soul to the letters. Therefore, the Sefer Torah is made without vowels, in order that it encompass all of the panim (facets) and deep ways, and all of them can be expounded using each and every letter ... If we were to vowelize the Sefer Torah, it would have a limit and a finite measure, like a material which has been endowed with a particular form, and it would not be possible for it to be expounded except in accordance with the particular vowelization of that word. But because all types of perfections are incorporated and mixed into the Sefer Torah, and each and every word is a hook for thousands upon thousands [of ideas], we do not make it vowelized in order that all of these perfections can be expounded by way of drash.

Therefore, Chazal say, “Do not read such-and-such, rather such-and such” - and if [the vowelization] were specific, we wouldn't be able to say this. Chazal were moved by this in many places by way of superior drash. [For example,] “You shall have a yased (shovel) in addition to your azeinecha (weapons)” (Devarim 23:14). [Chazal expound by way of drash,] “Do not read ‘azeinecha’ (your weapons), but rather ‘oznecha’ (your ears) – this teaches us that if a person hears something inappropriate, he should put his finger in his ear [like a yased (peg)].

In this place, Chazal have indicated to us the secret reason why the Sefer Torah is not vowelized. The midrash (expounding) of this pasuk was given as bran bread for simpletons, and it was given to the wise as nutritional bread - and all from the pshat of the pasuk. The entire Torah follows this method. Therefore, Chazal said: “shivim panim la’Torah.” Understand this.

It is difficult to dispute the example provided by the Radvaz. Devarim 23:14 is undoubtedly talking about shovels and weapons - not fingers and ears. When Chazal said, "Do not read ‘azeinecha’ (your weapons), but rather ‘oznecha’ (your ears)" they were saying this by way of drash, not pshat. If a person were to actually interpret the word in the pasuk to mean oznecha, he would be missing the pshat - the meaning intended by the Author.

The Shiltei ha'Giborim (on Avodah Zarah daf 6 in the dapei ha'Rif) gives another excellent example which reflects the proper understanding of the distinction between pshat and drash:

There is another category of midrashim in which Chazal aimed to expound the pasuk in accordance with every idea they were able to expound. They relied on that which is written, “One thing God has spoken, these two have I heard” (Tehilim 62:12), and on that which is written, “Behold, My word is like fire etc.” (Yirmiyahu 23:29). They learned from here that many meanings can emerge from one pasuk ... Do not be astounded by this, for we see in many cases that even an ordinary person speaks his words with a double meaning [that can be interpreted] in two ways – all the more so the words of the wise, which were stated with ruach ha’kodesh. In this manner, Chazal expound Scripture in every manner that is possible to expound, but they said, “No pasuk can depart from its pshat,” which is the root. Of all these midrashim which are expounded - some of them are essential and close to the pshat, whereas others contain only a small allusion. 

You can see what was expounded by one of the Sages in the first chapter of Taanis, for he said, “Yaakov Avinu didn't die.” One of the other Sages responded, “Did the eulogists eulogize him in vain? Did the embalmers embalm him in vain? Did the gravediggers bury him in vain?” The first Sage answered back, “Mikra ani doresh (I am merely expounding upon a verse).” This means to say, “I, too, know that he died, but my intention is to expound this verse in every manner that is possible to expound, and if it impossible for the midrash to be in accordance with the [simple] meaning, it nevertheless contains an allusion [to another idea]. For one can say, “he didn't die” along the lines of that which was stated, “Tzadikim, even in death, are [considered] alive” (Berachos 18a) for their reputation, their memory, and their deeds last forever.

Unfortunately, the widespread ignorance of this distinction between pshat and drash has led many people to false and harmful conclusions about Chazal and Torah. The Rashba (commentary on Berachos 32b) writes that "some people are confused because they think that the Sages in their aggados are coming to explain the true meanings of the pesukim" when, in truth, they are only expounding on the words themselves, without intending to uncover the intended meaning of the pesukim. The Rashba goes on to write that as a result of this misunderstanding, certain factions of the population "incline towards heresy, due to their [mistaken] belief that the Sages were actually interpreting these pesukim in an erroneous manner; some are led to an even greater error than this, for they conclude that even Chazal erred in their explanations of the Torah and mitzvos as well."

I have seen with my own eyes that the Rashba is correct. Many of my students were never taught to distinguish between pshat and drash. Consequently, they labored under the impression that Chazal's midrashim were intended to convey the actual meaning of the pesukim. When faced with fantastical or far-fetched drashos, the more rationally inclined students rejected these "interpretations" due to their perceived irrationality. This led them to believe that Chazal were stupid and irrational, which in turn, led them to view the Torah itself as stupid and irrational.

In my opinion, students should be taught from an early age to differentiate between pshat and drash, and this distinction should be continually emphasized throughout their education - especially when learning midrashim or midrashic commentaries on Chumash. Once this distinction has been established as a foundation, students can be introduced to the true beauty of midrashim, as intended by their authors. 

Midrashic Betrayal

Originally posted in December 2013.

Two Approaches to Chumash

The way I see it, the meforshim on Chumash can be divided into two distinct camps: those who make heavy use of midrashic literature, and those who focus on the straight pshat are sparing in their use of midrash. "Team Midrash" includes (but is not limited to) Targum Yonasan ben Uzziel, Rashi, Ramban, Chazkuni, and Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher. Among the headliners of "Team Pshat" are Onkelos, Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Bechor Shor, Rabbeinu Avraham ben ha'Rambam, Ralbag, and Sforno. There are also a number of meforshim who regularly offer both types of interpretations, such as Radak (on Sefer Bereishis), Abravanel, and the Baalei Tosafos.

I realize that these teams are not as clear-cut as I'm making them out to be. For example, Ramban and Rashi frequently give "plain pshat" interpretations which do not draw upon homiletic midrashim. Likewise, Ralbag and Avraham ben ha'Rambam occasionally mention ideas from these types of midrashim alongside their "plain pshat" explanations. Even the militantly anti-drash "pashtanim" like Ibn Ezra and Rashbam occasionally give a hat tip to the midrashic literature. Nevertheless, if you split the pshat/drash spectrum down the center, you'll find that most meforshim end up clearly on one side of the divide, even if there is some disagreement about exactly where they fall out.

If you accept this distinction, you will probably also agree that the majority of the Jewish world has embraced the midrashic approach as the preferred way to teach Chumash (or "Chumash with Rashi," as the subject is often called). Personally, my own style of teaching and learning of Chumash is guided by the non-midrashic commentators. 

However, my intent in this post is not to explain or justify my predilection. This post is about an obstacle I've encountered in my own experience as a Chumash teacher - an obstacle which has been fueled by Jewish educators' heavy reliance on the midrashic approach. I refer to this phenomenon as "Midrashic Betrayal." 

Our story begins with an anecdote about the man pictured below ...

How Richard Feynman Was Turned Off to Judaism

Readers of this blog may be aware that I'm a big fan of Richard Feynman - the fun-loving, ever-curious Nobel Prize winning physicist from Far Rockaway. Feynman was born Jewish but he lived out the majority of his life as an avowed atheist. The story of how he became an atheist is recorded in the book, "What Do You Care What Other People Think?": Further Adventures of a Curious Character (2001). It's a tragic story, but it sheds light on the problem that is the subject of this blog post. Here is the story as told by Feynman, with my own emphasis in bold:

I had been brought up in the Jewish religion — my family went to the temple every Friday, I was sent to what we called “Sunday school,” and I even studied Hebrew for a while — but at the same time, my father was telling me about the world. When I would hear the rabbi tell about some miracle such as a bush whose leaves were shaking but there wasn't any wind, I would try to fit the miracle into the real world and explain it in terms of natural phenomena.

Some miracles were harder than others to understand. The one about the leaves was easy. When I was walking to school, I heard a little noise: although the wind was hardly noticeable, the leaves of a bush were wiggling a little bit because they were in just the right position to make a kind of resonance. And I thought, “Aha! This is a good explanation for Elijah's vision of the quaking bush!”

But there were some miracles I never did figure out. For instance, there was a story in which Moses throws down his staff and it turns into a snake. I couldn't figure out what the witnesses saw that made them think his staff was a snake.

If I had thought back to when I was much younger, the Santa Claus story could have provided a clue for me. But it didn't hit me hard enough at the time to produce the possibility that I should doubt the truth of stories that don't fit with nature. When I found out that Santa Claus wasn't real, I wasn't upset; rather, I was relieved that there was a much simpler phenomenon to explain how so many children all over the world got presents on the same night! The story had been getting pretty complicated — it was getting out of hand.

Santa Claus was a particular custom we celebrated in our family, and it wasn't very serious. But the miracles I was hearing about were connected with real things: there was the temple, where people would go every week; there was the Sunday school, where rabbis taught children about miracles; it was much more of a dramatic thing. Santa Claus didn't involve big institutions like the temple, which I knew were real.

So all the time I was going to the Sunday school, I was believing everything and having trouble putting it together. But of course, ultimately, it had to come to a crisis, sooner or later.

The actual crisis came when I was eleven or twelve. The rabbi was telling us a story about the Spanish Inquisition, in which the Jews suffered terrible tortures. He told us about a particular individual whose name was Ruth, exactly what she was supposed to have done, what the arguments were in her favor and against her — the whole thing, as if it had all been documented by a court reporter. And I was just an innocent kid, listening to all this stuff and believing it was a true commentary, because the rabbi had never indicated otherwise.

At the end, the rabbi described how Ruth was dying in prison: “And she thought, while she was dying” — blah, blah.

That was a shock to me. After the lesson was over, I went up to him and said, “How did they know what she thought when she was dying?”

He says, “Well, of course, in order to explain more vividly how the Jews suffered, we made up the story of Ruth. It wasn't a real individual.”

That was too much for me. I felt terribly deceived: I wanted the straight story — not fixed up by somebody else — so I could decide for myself what it meant. But it was difficult for me to argue with adults. All I could do was get tears in my eyes. I started to cry, I was so upset.

He said, “What's the matter?”

I tried to explain. “I've been listening to all these stories, and now I don't know, of all the things you told me, which were true, and which were not true! I don't know what to do with everything that I've learned!” I was trying to explain that I was losing everything at the moment, because I was no longer sure of the data, so to speak. Here I had been struggling to understand all these miracles, and now — well, it solved a lot of miracles, all right! But I was unhappy.

The rabbi said, “If it is so traumatic for you, why do you come to Sunday school?”

“Because my parents make me.”

I never talked to my parents about it, and I never found out whether the rabbi communicated with them or not, but my parents never made me go again. And it was just before I was supposed to get confirmed as a believer.

Anyway, that crisis resolved my difficulty rather rapidly, in favor of the theory that all the miracles were stories made up to help people understand things “more vividly,” even if they conflicted with natural phenomena. But I thought nature itself was so interesting that I didn't want it distorted like that. And so I gradually came to disbelieve the whole religion.

The adults who were in charge of young Feynman's education made a number of horrible mistakes, but the one I'd like to focus on is the one that seems to have bothered him the most: that he was presented with "real data" alongside "fixed up data" without being told which is which. 

Prior to the Ruth debacle, Feynman had been working with the reasonable assumption that everything he was taught by his rabbis represented the "straight story" - the raw facts from which he was to derive his understanding of Judaism. The discovery that he had been fed a mixture of truth and fabrication was too much to bear, and he ended up rejecting everything.

Artwork: Portent of Betrayal, by Daarken

Midrashic Betrayal

Unfortunately, I have witnessed many of my own students undergo an analogous religious disillusionment. Nearly all of my students have been raised on a midrash-heavy Torah diet. From as early as they can remember they were exposed to The Little Midrash Says, to children's songs and books featuring midrashic versions of the narrative portions of Chumash, and to years of Chumash education in which the pesukim are so interwoven with Rashi and midrashim that they can't tell which is which - or even worse, they don't realize that there is a "which is which" determination to be made.

Eventually, they reach a point where they stumble upon the truth: that not everything they were taught is actually contained in the Chumash. They realize that many of the events they believed were stated openly in the pesukim are actually midrashim. To give you an idea of the types of midrashim I'm talking about, here are some examples of midrashic "facts" which many (if not the majority) of my students believe are stated openly in Chumash:

• Yam Suf only parted when Nachshon ben Aminadav walked into the water until it was up to his nose.  
• Avraham was thrown into a fiery furnace by Nimrod and was miraculously saved. 
• Moshe Rabbeinu was 18 feet tall. 
• Rivka was three years old when she married Yitzchak. 
• The Torah was created before the world, and Hashem looked into the Torah to create the world. 
• Bas Paroh's arm became miraculously stretched out so that she could reach baby Moshe. 
• Yocheved was born "between the walls" on the way into Mitzrayim, and was 130 years old when she gave birth to Moshe. 
• The Avos kept Taryag mitzvos. 
• Yaakov's spirit was revived when he saw the wagons sent by Yosef, since the last sugya they learned together was Eglah Arufah. 
• The makah of tzfardea began with one giant frog which kept on splitting into more and more frogs every time the Egyptians hit it. 
• Eisav tried to bite Yaakov's neck - like a vampire - but Yaakov's neck turned into marble. 
• Moshe killed the Egyptian taskmaster by uttering Hashem's Name. 

When my students are informed that these midashic "facts" are not to be treated as factual facts, but are aggadic drashos which weren't necessarily intended to be taken literally, they feel a deep sense of betrayal, confusion, and trauma akin to what Richard Feynman felt when the rabbi told him the truth about Ruth.

Students often react to such "midrashic exposés" by exclaiming, "You mean those midrashim aren't true?!" Whenever they react this way my first instinct is to reassure them that even if these midrashic accounts do not reflect literal, historical fact, they still contain true and beneficial ideas and are worthy of study and analysis. But as soon as I say this, I realize that my words fail to ease their anxieties - just as Feynman wasn't satisfied when the rabbi told explained to him, “Well, of course, in order to explain more vividly how the Jews suffered, we made up the story of Ruth. It wasn't a real individual.” The students still feel that they were deceived by their parents and teachers, and the revelation of this "deception" throws into question everything they've been taught. I've even had students say things like, "Everything they taught us was false!" and "I don't know what to believe anymore!" Even though these are clearly overreactions, they do express the sentiment that the students feel.

(Parenthetically, RAZ/REF posted the following comment on one of my other blog posts:

Medrash creates a interconnected web of stories about people and events that underlie the chumash. Many medrashim of Chazal were said within the context of a shared framework of derived facts. 

Some medrashim are meant to be taken figuratively, and others literally; but often times, they are only referencing the shared medrashic world of Chazal and Rashi.

This explanation - rather, this type of explanation - might be sufficient for a student who is firmly grounded in the world of ideas and learning and can appreciate midrash as an innovative and effective pedagogical tool, but few high school students are on such a level. All they hear is, "Much of what you've been taught as Torah was made up." Le'havdil, if you tell an older child that Santa Claus isn't real, the revelation will probably confirm his suspicions, as it did in Feynman's case. And if he is mature enough, he might even be able to see the Santa farce as a genuine expression of parental affection. But if you tell a very young child that Santa isn't real, all you'll be doing is shattering a cherished belief, and no amount of explanation you provide will take away that grief.)

Artwork: Torchling, by RK Post

Two Mistakes

To my mind, there are really two mistakes at play here: (1) Jewish educators fail to differentiate between pshat and drash when they teach, and (2) they neglect to emphasize the important fact that midrashim are not Torah mi'Sinai in the same category as Torah she'bi'Chsav and Torah she'baal Peh, but reflect the opinions of the individual Sages who authored them.

I suspect that the first mistake often stems from ignorance on the part of the Jewish educators themselves. If you ask a limudei kodesh teacher to explain the difference between pshat and drash, you're likely to receive an answer along the lines of, "Pshat is the simple explanation of the pasuk, and drash is the deeper meaning." These definitions are incorrect and misleading. There is no need for me to reiterate the correct definitions here. I've written about them at length (with some overlap) in Pshat vs. Drash, Pshat vs. Drash II, and The True Meaning of Shivim Panim la'Torah.

The second mistake was first brought to my attention by Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch in his letter on aggadata, in which he rebukes a fellow educator for teaching the view that agados (i.e. homiletic midrashim) were given to Moshe at Sinai. Rav Hirsch writes (according to Yehoshua Leiman's translation, but with my emphasis in bold):

You are of the opinion that the agados were received [by Moshe from God] at Sinai, and that there is no distinction in this respect between them and the halachic statements that were transmitted. As far as my limited mind can grasp, this is a dangerous approach that poses a grave danger for the pupils who grow up believing this concept. For it very nearly opens the gates of heresy before them. 

What should these wretches do if they hear from their teachers today, "Aggadic statements were transmitted at Sinai just like the main body of Torah," and then they discover the declarations of the greatest of our early Talmudic commentators (Rishonim) upon whom all Jewry relies - in which one of them says, "Aggadic statements are not articles of faith but reasonable assumptions," and another says, "They were stated as exaggerations," or "as one man speaks to another, making statements that are not intended to be true but to entertain their listener for a while," or "They narrated what they had dreamed," or "Learn from [Agadah] only things that make sense," and so on? What are these wretches to do when they read these and similar declarations about statements they were taught by their teachers to believe came from Sinai with no difference between them and the main body of Torah? 

They will find themselves in great spiritual danger, ready to reject both equally and to accept only what their little brains comprehend. It would be better for them not to study Torah and mitzvos in depth and simply to keep mitzvos by rote rather than tread this dangerous path! Which is why it is my humble opinion that we are not to budge from the road of life shown us by our Rishonim when they made a major and intrinsic distinction between statements made as transmissions from God to Moshe and statements made as Aggadah. The former were transmitted from master to disciple, and their original source is a human ear hearing from the mouth of Moshe who heard at Sinai. The latter, though transmitted from master to disciple (for many aggadic statements are introduced by a disciple in the name of his master and sometimes even in the name of the master's master), have their origin in what the originating scholar stated as his own opinion in accord with his broad understanding of Tanach and the ways of the world, or as statements of mussar and fear of God to attract his audience to Torah and mitzvos.

Rav Hirsch wisely foresaw the feelings of disillusion that would be felt by little Richard Feynmans who were raised believing that midrashim are on par with Torah she'bi'Chsav and Torah she'baal Peh, and who discovered the truth. For this reason, he urged Jewish educators to make it clear to students from the get-go that although midrashim are extremely valuable and were written by the wisest men, they are not mi'pi ha'Gevurah (from the mouth of the Almighty). Ideally, all Jewish educators would familiarize themselves with the methodological principles of midrashic-usage as spelled out in the classical sources. 

If Jewish educators were disabused of these these two mistaken notions - namely, ignorance of the difference between pshat and drash, and of the nature of midrashic authority - and if they modified their teaching accordingly, then the scourge of midrashic betrayal might be halted. This needs to be done from an early age, when students are first exposed to Chumash. (How this would be done is the topic of another discussion. It all depends on how one plans to teach Chumash in general.)

Unfortunately, these two problems are rooted in a more fundamental (and more difficult-to-deal-with) problem: the dominance of the Rambam's "First Group."

Artwork: Blind Obedience, by Seb McKinnon

The First Group

In his introduction to Perek Chelek (Sanhedrin: Chapter 10), the Rambam divides Klal Yisrael into three different groups, based on how they relate to the midrashim of Chazal. Here is what the Rambam has to say about the First Group:

The first group includes the majority of people I have met and whose books I have seen and about whom I have heard. These people understand the words of Chazal according to their literal meanings without explaining them at all. To them, all impossible things are believed to be necessary. This is due to their stupidity in matters of science and their inexperience with other branches of knowledge. They lack sufficient perfection to be awakened to such wisdom on their own and they have found no one to awaken them. Consequently, they think that the only meaning in the wise words of Chazal is what they, themselves, understand – namely, the literal meaning. They think this, even though the literal meanings contain statements so bizarre that if you were to tell them to an average person, and certainly to an intelligent individual, he would be astounded and exclaim, “How is it possible that there should be anyone in the world who would imagine such things and think that they are true, much less find value in them?”

The unfortunate people in this group (their stupidity warrants mercy) exalt Chazal in their own minds, but in reality, they degrade them to the utmost extent without realizing it. As God Lives, this group destroys the beauty of Torah and darkens its brilliance. These people render the Torah of Hashem the opposite of its intended purpose, for Hashem said about the wisdom of His Torah, “[for it is your wisdom and discernment in the eyes of the nations, who shall hear all these decrees and who shall say,] ‘Surely a wise and discerning people is this great nation!’” (Devarim 4:6). But this group expound from the literal meanings of the words of Chazal notions which, if heard by the gentiles, would cause them to say, “Surely a stupid and disgraceful people is this pathetic nation!”

Many of the men who do this are public speakers who attempt to convey ideas to the people which they, themselves, do not understand. If only they would shut up, since they do not understand – “If only you would be utterly silent, that would be your wisdom” (Iyov 13:5). Or if only they had it in them to say, “We do not know what Chazal intended with these words, nor do we know how to interpret them.” Instead, they think they understand, and they set themselves up as authorities to convey to the people their own understanding - not what Chazal actually said; and they expound to the masses the midrashim in Berachos and Perek Chelek and the like, word for word according to their literal meanings.

I believe that the reason why the two problems I mentioned in the previous section have such a strong hold is because the majority of Jews belong to the First Group, as the Rambam observed even during his own era. I can't quite explain the causal connection, but it's definitely there. Someone who takes midrashim at face value and believes whatever Chazal say, no matter how impossible or implausible it sounds, will find it extremely difficult to regard these interpretations as "non-binding." They will find it nearly impossible to read Chumash in a manner at odds with the "authoritative" midrashic interpretations, and they certainly won't be able to apply Shmuel ha'Nagid's principle of "take from midrashim whatever makes sense to you, and leave the rest."

Artwork: Reborn Hope, by Warren Mahy

The Solution ...

I hope I have managed to present a somewhat coherent picture of the problem and some of its causes. If I am correct, then we at least have the beginnings of a solution. More than that I cannot presently say. I will continue to do my best to combat the three aforementioned errors, and I will do everything I can to diminish my students' feelings of betrayal. But if you have any more concrete ideas for how to solve this problem, I'm all ears.

I will conclude by sharing an amazing excerpt I found in the introduction to R' Avigdor Bonchek's What's Bothering Rashi?: Devarim. This excerpt is from the commentary of R' Yosef Kara (not to be confused with R' Yosef Karo), who, according to Rabbi Bonchek, "was a younger contemporary and personal friend of Rashi, and was certainly influenced by him." The following is Rabbi Bonchek's translation of R' Yosef Kara's commentary on I Shmuel 3:

You should be aware that when the Prophecy was written, it was written complete, with all its solutions, so that future generations should not stumble in it. It lacks nothing in its place [to be fully understood.] There is thus no need to offer proofs from other sources nor from the midrash. For the Torah is complete and complete it was given to us … but the purpose of the midrash of the Sages is to enhance Torah and glorify it. But he who does not know the Simple Meaning, peshuto shel mikra, and turns to the midrash is similar to one who is swept along by the torrents as the depths of the sea overwhelm him and he grasps on to anything that comes to his hand to save himself. But were he to have paid close attention to the word of God he would have investigated and searched for the pshat and he would have found [the solution to his problem]. So it says, “If you seek it like silver and like hidden treasure you search for it, then you will understand the fear of God and you shall find knowledge of God” (Mishlei 2:4).

May we and our students merit to understand the pshat of the dvar Hashem, thereby gaining access to the chochmah of midrash as it was intended to be learned.

Haftaras Parashas Pinchas: How Eliyahu ha’Navi Lost His Job

I initially intended to write this week's dvar Torah blog post on the haftarah of Parashas Pinchas. Since Parashas Pinchas falls out after the 17th of Tammuz this year, the regular haftarah is replaced with the first chapter of Sefer Yirmiyahu. Unfortunately, I am writing this on a plane, and I only have access to meforshim on the regular haftarah of Parashas Pinchas. For this reason, I decided to write about that haftarah instead.

Artwork: Gideon, Champion of Justice
(This is what I imagine a young Eliyahu ha'Navi looked like)

Haftaras Parashas Pinchas: How Eliyahu ha’Navi Lost His Job

In the seventh perek of Shemoneh Perakim, the Rambam writes that ethical perfection (a.k.a. “perfection of middos”) is a prerequisite for nevuah. However, he notes that it is not necessary for the navi to have reached total perfection in all of his or her middos. The Rambam cites several examples of neviim who were still able to receive nevuah, in spite of their ethical imperfections: Shlomo ha’Melech still struggled with his taavah for women; David ha’Melech had problems with cruelty; both Shmuel ha’Navi and Yaakov Avinu were unduly afraid of those who posed a threat to them (i.e. Shaul and Eisav, respectively); and Eliyahu ha’Navi had issues with anger.

In this dvar Torah we will examine an instance of Eliyahu’s anger and its repercussions.

The Haftarah: According to Ralbag

In the perek which precedes our haftarah, Eliyahu manages to convince Bnei Yisrael that “Hashem – He is the God! Hashem – He is the God” (I Melachim 18:39) at the climax of his miraculous demonstration before the priests of Baal. Unfortunately, the success doesn’t last. Bnei Yisrael remain attached to avodah zarah, and regress to their old ways. Moreover, Achav and Eezevel – the evil king and queen of Israel – proceed with their plan to exterminate all neviim. Our haftarah begins with Eliyahu fleeing for his life.

Eliyahu retreats to the desert to minimize his chances of getting caught. After nearly starving to death and begging Hashem to take his life, he is saved by an angel of Hashem who provides him with food and lodging in the wilderness. The angel encourages Eliyahu to continue on his journey. Finally, after 40 days and 40 nights of traveling, Eliyahu arrives at Har Sinai, where he crawls into a cave and goes to sleep.

That night Eliyahu receives a prophetic dream. At the beginning of the dream he is asked, “Why are you here, Eliyahu?” (ibid. 19:9). Although this is clearly a rhetorical question – since Hashem is Omniscient, and knows why Eliyahu is here – it is still a peculiar question to ask, since it doesn’t seem as though Eliyahu initially planned to journey to Har Sinai. Eliyahu answers:

“I have acted with great zeal for Hashem, God of Legions, for the Children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant; they have razed Your altars and have killed Your prophets by the sword, so [that] I alone have remained, and they now seek to take my life” (ibid. 19:10).

According to the Ralbag, Eliyahu was angry at the sin of Israel. In his response to Hashem, Eliyahu was implicitly asking Him to exact vengeance from them. Hashem responds to this request in a cryptic manner:

[The word of God] then said, “Go out [of the cave] and stand on the mountain before Hashem.” And behold, Hashem was passing, and a great, powerful wind, smashing mountains and breaking rocks, went before Hashem. “Hashem is not in the wind!” [Eliyahu was told]. After the wind came an earthquake. “Hashem is not in the earthquake!” After the earthquake came a fire. “Hashem is not in the fire!” After the fire came a still, thin sound (ibid. 19:11-12).

The basic question is: What was the meaning of this prophetic vision? We know that all neviim (except Moshe Rabbeinu) received their prophecies in the form of images, which they must interpret as allegories. In some cases, the pesukim relate both the images and their meaning; in other cases, only the meaning is conveyed, and imagery is omitted; and in other cases – such as this one – only the images are recorded in the pesukim, and the meaning is left for us to decipher.

Ralbag proposes the following theory about the meaning of this vision, and its relationship to the events which preceded and followed it: 

It would seem that Hashem [showed Eliyahu this vision] to prompt him to ask for mercy on behalf of Israel – not to pray for them to be destroyed for their evil ways – for Hashem desires to delay His anger so that they will do teshuvah [and return] to Him. 

Accordingly, Hashem showed him destructive phenomena, such as “a great and powerful wind, smashing mountains and breaking rocks,” and told him that “Hashem is not in the wind” – for the derech of Hashem is to bring harm upon someone only as a means of bringing about good. Since it was clear to Hashem that Israel would not accept His rebuke, He didn’t want to punish them for their sins in the full measure that they deserved, but instead, He waited for them to see whether they would do teshuvah from their evil ways. 

“And after the wind came an earthquake,” which is more harmful than the wind, insofar as it is capable of overturning the earth. And it also mentioned, “Hashem is not in the earthquake!” as it mentioned about the wind. “And after the earthquake came a fire,” which is even more harmful. And it also mentioned, “Hashem is not in the fire!” for the same reason we mentioned. 

It is as though He was explaining through this that such harmful phenomena are not directly intended by Hashem, but rather, He concealed His countenance (i.e. He withdrew His hashgachah pratis) from Israel and abandoned them to the rain of the arrows [of chance] which were ready to befall them. The reason for this is that the [hashgachic] harms which are intended to deliver mussar (rebuke) would not benefit Israel [in this case] … 

But “After the fire came a still, thin sound” – in other words, a very low sound from Hashem, as if it were a composite of sound and silence. Through this [Hashem intended] to convey [the message] that since Israel fell into these evils, and did not sense that it was their own sins which caused them to be abandoned to the vicissitudes of chance, therefore, a special type of mussar would come from Hashem, but it would not be as complete as the manner in which Hashem brought mussar to Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness during the days of Moshe, which they immediately perceived as [being brought about] on account of their sins; rather, this mussar would be like a composite of sound and silence. 

Such was the meaning of Hashem’s prophecy to Eliyahu. To summarize: Hashem sought to show him that Israel did not deserve the full measure of Hashem’s mussar – namely, the type of miraculous “fire and brimstone” hashgachic punishments which Eliyahu, in his anger, requested. Hashem reminded him that He only brings such punishments upon those who would benefit from them, and Israel was already beyond the point where they would benefit from this type of punishment.  

What happens next is interesting: 

It happened that when Eliyahu heard [this], he wrapped his face in his mantle, and he went out and stood by the cave’s entrance; and behold, a voice [spoke] unto him, and said, “Why are you here, Eliyahu?”

Hashem asks Eliyahu the very same question he asked him at the outset of his prophecy. And how does Eliyahu answer?

[Eliyahu] said, “I have acted with great zeal for Hashem, God of legions, for the Children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant; they have razed Your altars and have killed Your prophets by the sword, so [that] I alone have remained, and they now seek to take my life (ibid. 19:14).

Eliyahu responded in exactly the same manner that he the first time! What does this indicate? Why did Hashem ask him the same question twice, and why did Eliyahu give the same answer? Moreover, what are we supposed to learn from the fact that Eliyahu repeated his original answer to Hashem’s question? Ralbag writes:

It would seem that Eliyahu was so angry about the sin of the Jews that he didn’t pay enough attention to comprehend the meaning of Hashem’s prophecy. For this reason, Hashem responded [to Eliyahu’s response] differently than He did the first time.

What was Hashem’s response to Eliyahu the second time around?

Then Hashem said to him, “Go, return on your way, and go to the Wilderness of Damascus. When you arrive, you shall anoint Chazael as king over Aram. And you shell anoint Yehu ben Nimshi as a king over Israel. And you shall anoint Elisha ben Shaphat as a navi in your stead” (ibid. 19:15-16).

That’s right: Eliyahu failed the single-question exam that Hashem set up for him, and lost his job as the navi of Israel, and was instructed to appoint Elisha as his successor. At the end of the section, the Ralbag reiterates and expands upon his theory:

[This incident with Eliyahu was recorded] to teach us that the purpose of the navi’s existence is to supervise the people in whose midst he prophesies. Thus, when the navi utilizes his prophecy for some other purpose, the Divine Wisdom will no longer consent to his being a prophet for that nation. 

For this reason we find it related that when Hashem saw that Eliyahu requested for harm to befall Israel, Hashem [attempted] to guide him to understand that He doesn’t desire to bring harm. It is for this reason that [Eliyahu] saw a prophetic vision of a wind, an earthquake, and a fire [and was told] that Hashem was not in them. Afterwards he was shown Hashem’s glory and was asked a second time, “Why are you here, Eliyahu?” It would seem that because of Eliyahu’s anger over the sin of Israel, he was incapable of deciphering the divine intent of this prophecy that Hashem had shown him. It is for this reason that he answered Hashem again in the same way that he did the first time. 

And when Hashem saw that he was utilizing his prophecy [in an attempt] to bring harm to Israel – which was the opposite of what [Hashem] intended – then He informed him that he was to appoint Elisha as a navi in his place …

In other words, when Hashem rhetorically asked, “Why are you here?” He wasn’t asking about why Eliyahu was here, in this physical location of Har Sinai. Rather, he was asking him, “What is your role here?” He was prompting Eliyahu to recall why he was appointed as navi in the first place, and to examine whether his present request was consistent with that role. Hashem even gave him a hint in the form of the vision about the destructive phenomena and the still, thin sound. But when Hashem asked Eliyahu the same question again, and Eliyahu repeated his wrong answer, that was it. He had missed his one opportunity for teshuvah, and the divine plan had to change.

A Take-away Lesson for Non-neviim

In Hilchos Deos 6:7, the Rambam presents the mitzvah upon every Jew to rebuke his fellow Jew. He walks us through the proper procedure for delivering and accepting rebuke, and cautions us not to violate the Torah-prohibition against embarrassing a fellow Jew – especially in public. However, he adds a qualification to this prohibition:

In which cases does this prohibition apply? In matters between man and man. But in matters of heaven, if a person doesn't return [in teshuvah] in private, we shame him in public, publicize his sin, insult him to his face, and degrade him and curse him until he returns to the good - just as all of the neviim of Israel did.*

There are many of us (myself included) who sometimes find ourselves feeling anger at our fellow Jews for their words, their actions, and their beliefs which we consider to be wrong or evil. We are sometimes prone to shaming, bad-mouthing, insulting, degrading, and cursing those whom we feel “have forsaken the covenant of Hashem,” believing ourselves to be “acting with great zeal for Hashem, God of Legions” – just like Eliyahu ha’Navi.

At times like these, when we feel ourselves in the grip of such righteous zeal, it would behoove us to remember what happened to Eliyahu. He was acting for the sake of Hashem, and he did have Israel’s interests in mind. Nevertheless, his anger affected his role as the guide and shepherd of Israel. Because he allowed his anger to cloud his mind, Hashem removed him from his leadership position.

If this was Hashem’s will in the case of Eliyahu ha’Navi, kal va’chomer for lowly individuals such as ourselves, whose religious zeal is almost entirely a psychological byproduct of our ignorance and our numerous ethical imperfections. If Eliyahu ha’Navi lacked sufficient anger-management skills to prevent his personal feelings from affecting his efforts to better the lot of his Jewish brethren, then certainly we – at least, the vast majority of us – are in no position to express our righteous indignation at those we deem to be wrong.

And if we are compelled to attempt to correct our fellow Jews, we would benefit by remembering that Hashem is not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire – but in the still, thin sound.

* It should be noted that this halacha may or may not apply nowadays. I have heard chachamim say things to the effect of, “Bizman ha’zeh, we don’t know how to give rebuke” and I have likewise been told that bizman ha’zeh, we no longer utilize the method of “public shaming and shunning” as a catalyst for teshuvah, since it is likely to backfire. Although I hope that a person would draw this conclusion from the blog post itself, I nevertheless felt that this point deserved its own footnote.

Angelic Advocates and Accusers

Originally posted in June 2012.

Preface

Sometimes I'll begin writing about a relatively localized idea, but as I write, I suddenly find many other yesodei ha'Torah being dragged along. This is one of those instances. Although it would have been possible to write the "chiddush" of this post in only a few paragraphs, I opted for the more expansive presentation. I found myself making reference to many halachos in the Rambam, and I decided to sacrifice brevity and quote them in full. 

I encourage you to read the entire post, but if you are short on time, read "The Facts" and "Questions and Clues," then skip to the section entitled, "The Main Idea."

The Facts

The first clause of the mishnah in Avos 4:11 states:

Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: He who fulfills one mitzvah acquires for himself a single praklit (advocate), and one who violates one aveirah (transgression) acquires for himself a single kateygor (accuser). 

This begs for an explanation. Unfortunately, the commentators don't give us much to work with. Rambam simply defines the terms and leaves us to work out the rest on our own:

A "praklit" is a man who advocates for the good on behalf of a person in front of the king and intercedes on his behalf, and a "kateygor" is the opposite of this: someone who informs upon a person in front of the king and strives to destroy that person. 

For some, this mishnah immediately brings to mind imagery like this:

Artwork: Seraph of the Dawn, by Todd Lockwood

And perhaps like this:

Artwork: Abyssal Persecutor, by Chippy

Based on an informal survey of friends and students, it seems that this is one of those notions that is planted in the minds of Jewish children at an early age: that the performance of a mitzvah produces a good malach (angel) who intercedes before Hashem on our behalf, whereas the violation of an aveirah produces an "evil" malach who acts as a prosecutor who seeks to destroy us. Indeed, there are Rishonim who seem to learn our mishnah this way, including Rashi, Rashbatz, and R' Ovadyah Bertinoro. They translate "praklit" as "angelic advocate" and "kateygor" as "angelic accuser" and cite a pasuk in Iyov as support: "If there will be for someone but a single defending angel out of a thousand to declare a man's uprightness on his behalf" (33:23). 

On the surface, it would seem that the Rambam does not share this view. He doesn't mention angels in his commentary on the mishnah. Furthermore, when defining the terms "praklit" and "kateygor" he explicitly says "ish ha'meilitz" ("a human advocate"), as if to exclude the standard angelic interpretation. The Rambam seems to maintain that this mishnah is speaking allegorically, and that the allegory has nothing to do with angels. We will proceed on the basis of this assumption for the time being, and we will revisit it at the conclusion of this post.

Questions and Clues

The basic question is: What is the meaning of this metaphor? How do mitzvos and aveiros acquire these advocates and accusers on our behalf? In what manner do they advocate and accuse? Moreover, why should we care? Avos is a collection of teachings on the subjects of ethics and piety - not angelology and metaphysics. Even if we can manage to understand what the mishnah is saying, how are we to utilize its principles in our ethical development? The Rambam provided us with the first step, but he left us to decode the metaphor on our own.

We can start by making a simple observation: whatever Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov seeks to teach us in particular, the general import of his statement is to alter our perspective on mitzvos and aveiros. Had we not learned this mishnah, we would not naturally view mitzvos and aveiros as a means of acquiring advocates and accusers. Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov aims to provide us with a new way of looking the halacha we practice.

In order to understand and fully appreciate this paradigm shift, we must first understand how we are naturally inclined to view mitzvos and aveiros. I would like to suggest that there are three basic frameworks through which people relate to mitzvos and aveiros - all of which are identified and explained by the Rambam in the Mishneh Torah. (Heads up: we will discuss these out of order.)

#1: Yirah (Fear)

The first is the framework of avodah mi'yirah (serving God out of fear). The Rambam introduces this concept in Hilchos Teshuvah 10:1: 

A person should not say, “I will do the mitzvos of the Torah and involve myself in its wisdom in order to receive all of the blessings that are written in it,” or “in order that I will merit life in the World to Come,” and “I will separate myself from the transgressions about which the Torah warns us, in order to escape from the curses written in the Torah” or “so that I will not be cut off from the World to Come.” 

It is not proper to serve Hashem in this manner, for one who serves Hashem in this manner is an oveid mi’yirah (one who serves out of fear). This is neither a virtue of the prophets nor of the wise. The only ones who serve Hashem in this manner are the unlearned men, women, and children, whom we train to serve out of fear until their minds develop and they serve out of love.

According to the Rambam, the majority of Jews are naturally inclined to focus on the rewards of mitzvos and the punishments of aveiros. Their adherence to halacha is fueled by the expectation of some sort of recompense, whether consciously or unconsciously. This is the lowest level of mitzvah-observance.

#3: Ahavah (Love)

The highest level of mitzvah-observance is what is known as avodah me'ahavah (serving God out of love). The Rambam continues in Hilchos Tehsuvah 10:2:

One who is oveid me’ahavah (serves out of love) involves himself in Torah and mitzvos and walks on the paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world - neither out of fear of the bad nor out of a desire to inherit the good. Rather, he does what is true because it is true, and the good will come of its own accord. 

This is a very difficult level to attain, as is evident from the Rambam's description in the same chapter:

10:2 (continued) - This is an exceedingly high level, and not every wise man merits it. It is the level of Avraham Avinu, whom the Holy One, Blessed is He, described as his “beloved,” since he only served out of love. This is the level that the Holy One, Blessed is He, commanded us through Moshe Rabbeinu [to attain], as it is stated, “And you shall love Hashem, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your resources” (Devarim 6:5). And when a person loves Hashem with the proper love, he will immediately do all of the mitzvos out of love.  

10:3 - What is the proper [type of] love? That a person will love Hashem with a great, exceedingly powerful love to such a degree that his soul becomes bound up in love of Hashem, and is constantly immersed in it – like those who are lovesick, whose minds are not free from the love of that woman with whom he is constantly preoccupied: when he lies down and when he rises up, when he eats and when he drinks. Love of Hashem will be even more than this in the heart of those who love Him, and they will immerse themselves in it constantly, as we are commanded, “with all your heart and with all your resources” (Devarim 6:5). This is what Shlomo said by way of metaphor, “For I am lovesick” (Shir ha’Shirim 2:5). All of Shir ha’Shirim is an allegory for this idea.  

10:6 - It is an evident principle that love of the Holy One, Blessed is He, will not be bound in the heart of man unless he immerses himself in it in constantly, in the proper manner, and abandons everything in the world besides it, as He commanded and said, “with all your heart and with all your soul” (Devarim 6:5; 10:12; 30:6) – that is, only with the knowledge with which one knows Him; the love and the knowledge correspond with each other – if one is a little, the other is little, and if one is exceeding, the other is exceeding.  

Therefore, a person must exclusively devote himself to gain insight and comprehension of those sciences which make known to him his Creator, according to man’s capacity for insight and understanding, as we have explained in the Laws of the Foundations of the Torah.

She'lo Lishmah and Lishmah

The two frameworks of yirah and ahavah are also referred to, respectively, as lo lishmah ("not for its own sake") and lishmah ("for its own sake"). The Rambam goes on to describe these two modes of serving Hashem: 

10:4 – The Early Sages said: Perhaps a person will say, “I will learn Torah so that I will become rich,” “so that I will be called rebbi,” “so that I will receive reward in the World to Come” – but the Torah says, “to love Hashem, your God” (Devarim 11:13) - everything you do, you should only do out of love.  

The Sages also said: “he desired His mitzvos greatly” (Tehilim 112:1) – [it says,] “His mitzvos” and not “the reward for His mitzvos.” Likewise, the greatest Sages commanded their most insightful students who contemplated Hashem’s Oneness: “Do not be like servants who serve the master with the intention of receiving good; instead, be like servants who serve the master with the intention not to receive anything – rather, because he is the master, it is fitting to serve him.” In other words, serve Him out of love. 

10:5 – Anyone who involves himself in the Torah in order to receive reward or so that retribution doesn’t befall them – such a person is involved she’lo lishmah. And anyone who involves himself in Torah not out of fear and not in order to receive reward, but because of the love of the Lord of the whole earth Who commanded it – such a person is involved lishmah. The Sages said: “A person should always involve himself in Torah even she’lo lishmah, for from she’lo lishmah he will come to lishmah.” 

Therefore, when we teach the children, women, and general populace of laymen, we should only teach them to serve out of fear and in order to receive reward, until their minds mature and they gain additional wisdom; we should reveal this secret to them bit by bit, and accustom them to this concept with pleasantness, until they apprehend it and know it and serve out of love.

#2: Human Development

The challenge is building a bridge from she'lo lishmah to lishmah. The Rambam provides some guidelines for making the transition - both here, in the last chapter of Hilchos Teshuvah, and in his commentary to Perek Chelek in Sanhedrin - but in practice, this is easier said than done. In truth, this bridge-building a daunting topic, and I do not intend to tackle it here. For now, I am just going to state that the best way that I've seen to build this bridge is through a third and middle way of relating to mitzvos: as developmental tools.

The Rambam establishes the foundations of this approach in the last halacha of Hilchos Meilah. The entire halacha is quite long, but here is an excerpt:

8:8 - It is proper for a person to think into the laws of the Holy Torah and to know their underlying reasons, according to his ability. If he doesn't find a reason and doesn't know a cause of something, it should not be of a lesser stature in his eyes, nor should he break forth to ascend to Hashem lest He burst forth against him, nor should he think of it as a mundane matter … 

The mishpatim are the mitzvos whose benefits in this world are evident, such as the prohibitions of stealing and murder, and honoring one's father and mother. And the chukim are the mitzvos whose reasons are not evident.

The Rambam revisits this in the last halacha of Hilchos Temurah:

4:14 - Even though all of the chukim of the Torah are [Divine] decrees, as we explained at the end of Hilchos Meilah, it is proper to think into them to provide reasons for them wherever you are able to do so. The Early Sages said that Shlomo ha’Melech understood the majority of reasons for all of the chukim of the Torah …  

All of these matters [in Hilchos Temurah] are to subdue man’s inclination and to correct his character traits. And the majority of the laws of the Torah are but counsels from afar, from the Great Counselor, to correct [our] character traits and to make all [of our] actions upright. Likewise, it is written: “Surely, I have written for you extremely noble things, with counsel and knowledge, to teach you the veracity of true words, so that you may answer words of truth to those who send word to you” (Mishlei 22:20-21).

Perhaps the most categorical presentation of this approach can be found in the Guide for the Perplexed 3:31:

The sole objective of the Torah is to benefit us ... every one of the 613 mitzvos serves (a) to inculcate some good idea or to remove some bad idea, (b) to establish a just principle or to remove injustice, (c) to guide us in accordance with a good character trait or to warn against a bad character trait. Everything depends on three things: ideas, morals, and social conduct ... These three principles suffice for assigning a reason for every one of the Divine commandments.

Let us refer to this as "the framework of human development." It stands in an intermediary position (#2) between the lowest level of yirah (#1) and ahavah (#3) and partakes of both, which is why I refer to this approach as a bridge. Those who have embraced this framework will focus on the beneficial effects of the mitzvos and the harmful consequences of the aveiros. Their implicit questions are: "How will this mitzvah contribute to my human development? How will it improve me? How will it affect my development as a tzelem Elokim?" and likewise for aveiros. They are interested in how the mitzvos and aveiros will shape them and affect their way of living.

Back to the Mishnah

Now that we've identified the various modes of mitzvah-observance, we can take another step towards understanding our mishnah. Does Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov's statement fit into any one of these three views?

It is evident that the mishnah is not speaking in the framework of ahavah. The oveid me'ahavah would not be concerned about the benefits and consequences of mitzvos and aveiros; he would keep halacha for its own sake (whatever that means). It is also clear that this is not talking about the framework of yirah. I'm sure there are many who learn it this way, but we must remember that Avos was written for the type of person who is working on becoming a chasid (pious individual), as the Sages teach: "One who wants to become a chasid should fulfill the principles of Avos" (Talmud Bavli, Bava Kama 30a). For this reason, it wouldn't make sense for a mishnah in Avos to be appealing to a base motive of avodas Hashem.

What about the framework of human development? It seems that this doesn't work either. Someone who is operating in the framework of human development would look at a given aveirah and ask, "How does this affect me detrimentally?" Likewise, he would look at a mitzvah and say, "How does this help to develop me?" But in Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov's metaphor, the doer of the mitzvah or aveirah remains in the same condition. The metaphor does not depict the mitzvah as directly improving the doer or the aveirah directly harming him. The only thing that changes is the type of intercessor his mitzvah or aveirah produces - and, consequently, the report that this intercessor brings before the King (as it were).

Thus, we see that Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov's metaphor doesn't fit any of our preexisting frameworks. This confirms our original suspicion: that he is trying to establish an entirely new way of looking at mitzvos and aveiros. We are left with our original question: What is the new perspective he is trying to establish?

The Main Idea

Now we are prepared to understand the new paradigm being proposed by the mishnah. This new framework may be summed up as follows: mitzvos and aveiros are not only tools for development, but tools for self-knowledge.

How so? Every aveirah is a valuable source of feedback about who we are. Every aveirah is the product of the unique and ever-changing amalgam of thoughts, feelings, ideas, values, whims, instincts, urges, desires, fears, fantasies, beliefs, and free will decisions which constitute who we are. That is what Rebbi Eliezer ben Yaakov means when he allegorically compares the aveirah to an accuser who "informs upon a person before the king and strives to destroy him." Each and every aveirah proclaims our imperfections and testifies to our errors before the King. (Obviously, Hashem does not need anyone to "inform" Him of anything. Rather, the metaphor of "before the King" means "from the standpoint of objective truth.")

Likewise, every mitzvah we do is an expression of who we are and provides us an opportunity to know ourselves. Of course, this idea is based on the premise that the same mitzvah can be performed on a number of different levels, as the Rambam describes in the Guide for the Perplexed 3:51:

We must bear in mind that all such religious acts as reading the Torah, praying, and the performance of other mitzvos, serve exclusively as the means of causing us to occupy and fill our mind with the precepts of God, and free it from worldly business; for we are thus, as it were, in communication with God, and undisturbed by any other thing. If we, however, pray with the motion of our lips, and our face toward the wall, but at the same time think of our business; if we read the Torah with our tongue, whilst our heart is occupied with the building of our house, and we do not think of what we are reading; if we perform the commandments only with our limbs, we are then like those who are engaged in digging ditches in the ground, or hewing wood in the forest, without reflecting on the nature of those acts, or by Whom they are commanded, or what is their objective. We must not imagine that [in this way] we attain the highest perfection; on the contrary, we are then like those in reference to whom Scripture says, “You are near in their mouth, and far from their reins” (Yirmiyahu 12:2).

The highly structured nature of halacha allows for a greater opportunity for self-knowledge, since a person will be doing the same mitzvah-action time and again, thereby allowing for side-by-side comparisons of different instances of mitzvah-performance at different points in one's development.

That's the basic idea, though I'm sure it can be developed further. To sum it up: every mitzvah and aveirah acts like an advocate or an accuser on our behalf, and if we listen to what these intercessors are saying, we can gain a tremendous amount of self-knowledge which will aid us in teshuvah and our pursuit of human perfection.

Addendum: Mitzvos as Angels

I'll end off with some food for thought. At the beginning of this post we mentioned that several Rishonim interpret the terms "praklit" and "kateygor" as angelic advocates and accusers. We noted that the Rambam seems to take a different approach, since he doesn't mention anything about angels in his commentary on this mishnah.

Elsewhere, however, the Rambam does use a peculiar phrase which warrants our attention. At the end of Hilchos Mezuzah 6:13, the Rambam writes:

Every person is obligated to be careful with mezuzah, for it is a continual obligation for everyone. Every time a person enters and exits, he encounters the concept of the Oneness of Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu’s Name; he will remember His love, and will wake up from his slumber and his immersion in vain pursuits and recognize that there is nothing that lasts forever and ever except for the knowledge of the Eternal Rock; immediately, he will returns to his mind and walk in the ways of uprightness. The Sages say: Anyone who has tefilin on his head and arm, tzitzis on his garment, and a mezuzah on his door – it is presumed that he will not sin, for he has many reminders, and these reminders are the angels that save him from sinning, as it is stated, “The angel of Hashem encamps around His reverent ones and releases them” (Tehilim 34:8).

Curiously enough, the Rambam refers to mitzvos as "angels" - specifically, the mitzvos of tefilin, tzitzis, and mezuzah as vehicles of zechirah (remembering). To explain how the Rambam can use the term "angel" in this manner would require another post. To explain why the Rambam chooses to portray the mitzvos in this manner here would require an understanding which I do not currently have. For now, let us leave that as an open question.

In light of this halacha, perhaps the Rambam would not disagree with those other Rishonim. Perhaps he just chose to express the idea in a more straightforward metaphor. Either way, the idea itself is true, and if you happen to associate to this idea when you encounter references to angelic advocates and accusers in tefilah, and if your kavanah is enhanced and your teshuvah is facilitated, then perhaps this idea has merit.

Mishlei 13:15 - The Social Repercussions of One's Relationship with Knowledge

משלי יג:טו

שֵׂכֶל טוֹב יִתֶּן חֵן וְדֶרֶךְ בֹּגְדִים אֵיתָן:

Mishlei 13:15
A good intellect bestows grace, but the way of the violent is harsh.

Notes on Translation

• Rashi translates "אֵיתָן" as "קשה" which we understood to mean "harsh." 
• The term "בֹּגְדִים" is difficult to translate, in general. I've seen it translated as "rebels," "traitors," "the faithless," and "the violent." In this context, I think "violent" makes the most sense.
• I usually translate "דֶרֶךְ" as "path," but "way" makes more sense here. 

Major Questions / Difficulties

1. What is meant by "a good intellect"? That is quite a vague description.
2. What type of "grace" is the pasuk talking about?
3. How does a good intellect bestow such grace?
4. What is a "violent [person]" in this context?
5. What does it mean by "the way of the violent"?
6. In what sense is it "harsh"?
7. How are the two halves of the pasuk opposites? "A person with a good intellect" and "the violent" don't seem to correlate. Moreover, why does the first half talk about the quality of the person's intellect, whereas the second half talks about the derech (way)?

Photo Title: The Modern בוגד

Four-sentence Summary of the Main Idea

A “good intellect” is one that seeks knowledge lishmah (for its own sake), and the person who has this orientation towards knowledge will possess a special type of charisma. People will sense that he relates to them as fellow truth-seekers, working together to learn from each other and with each other to increase their understanding of reality. In contrast, a person with a “bad intellect” is someone who views knowledge as a competition, whose goal in discourse is to prevail over others in order to demonstrate his superior intellectual prowess. He will come off as harsh, antagonistic, and violent, always needing to assert his own dominance to convince others that he is right; those who engage in discussion with him will sense that he is either trying to win them over to his side, or defeat them.

Parashas Pinchas: Torah Zealotry

Originally posted in June 2013. I'm posting this old dvar Torah blog post early in the week so that I'll be more motivated to write a new dvar Torah for Friday.

Artwork: Spear of Heliod, by Yeong-Hao Han

Parashas Pinchas: Torah Zealotry

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “zealotry” as “fanatical devotion.” The WordWeb dictionary defines “zealotry” as “excessive intolerance of opposing views.” Dictionary.com defines “zealotry” as “undue or excessive zeal, or fanaticism” and “zealot.” These three definitions reflect the common notion of what “zealotry” means. According to all of these definitions, “zealotry” implies excessiveness, extremism, and a state of heightened emotion.

This week’s parashah opens with Hashem rewarding Pinchas for an act of zealotry. The Torah itself states that Pinchas was rewarded “because he was zealous for his God.” [1] Many divrei Torah have been given about how Pinchas took matters into his own hands and acted based on single-minded devotion to the execution of Hashem’s will, in spite of personal considerations. In this short dvar Torah we will examine whether or not Pinchas’s zealotry is in line with the common notion of "religious zealotry."

We will begin by reviewing the relevant events. At the end of last week’s parashah, Bnei Yisrael are seduced by the daughters of Moav. This leads to a surge of sexual promiscuity and idolatry which results in a plague sent from Hashem. These matters escalate to the point where Zimri ben Salu, prince of the tribe of Shimon, seizes Cozbi bas Tzur, a Moabite princess, and copulates with her in front of Moshe Rabbeinu and the entire nation. It is at this critical moment that Pinchas, grandson of Aharon, stands up and skewers the sinful couple, killing them both on the spot.

It would seem, based on a simple reading of Torah she’bi’Chsav, that Pinchas acted out of spontaneous religious fervor and outrage over the sinful behavior transpiring before his eyes. However, the Torah she’baal Peh sheds a different light on Pinchas’s actions. We have a mesorah that Pinchas was acting based on a halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai [2] which he remembered upon seeing Zimri and Cozbi. This halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai states that if a person sees a Jew and a non-Jew cohabiting in public (i.e. in front of at least ten other Jewish men), then “kanoim pog’im bo techilah” (“zealots may be the first to strike them dead”).

This mesorah is reflected in the Targum Yonasan’s Aramaic translation of the pasuk: “Pinchas … saw this, arose from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand” [3], which he translates as: “Pinchas … saw this and remembered the halacha, etc.”

The Rambam spells out the particulars of this halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai [4]. For our purposes, there are three important details of the halacha that Pinchas remembered: 

1. The zealot is only permitted to kill the transgressors when they are in the midst of the sexual act. If he kills them even a moment beforehand or immediately afterwards, halacha considers him to be a murderer and he is liable for the death penalty.
2. This decision to act zealously must be arrived at independently by the zealot, without any influence from Beis Din. If the zealot asks for permission from Beis Din to kill the transgressors, they do not instruct him to do so. He must act on his own.
3. In general, whenever a person is chasing after someone to kill him, the would-be victim has a right to save his own life, even if it is necessary to kill his pursuer. This case is no different: the transgressor is permitted to save himself, even if this means killing the zealot. If this happens, and the zealot is killed before he kills the transgressor, then the transgressor is exempt from any punishment. 

Suddenly, Pinchas’s decision no long seems so spontaneous! He knew that he only had a specific window of time within which he could act, and that a second too late would make him a murderer. He knew that he couldn't ask Moshe whether this was the right thing to do; he had to act based on his own conviction in his knowledge. Not only that, but he had to act cautiously and strategically, knowing full well that Zimri had the legal right to fight back and kill him in self-defense.

Now we are in a position to appreciate the difference between the “religious zealot” and the Torah zealot. The religious zealot’s actions are dictated by his emotions, whereas the Torah zealot's actions are dictated by his mind, in spite of any emotions which threaten to prevent him from acting in accordance with halacha.

Pinchas was not acting out of unbridled emotional fervor. He remembered these halachos and carefully (but quickly) decided the proper course of action based on his knowledge of halacha. In spite of the risk to his own life, he leapt into action and did what halacha determined ought to be done – regardless of what other people thought, and in spite of his own emotions to the contrary. This is the type of zealotry valued by the Torah. 

[1] Sefer Bamidbar 25:11 

[2] Generally speaking, all Torah-level halachos must have a source in the Torah she’bi’Chsav – whether an explicit source or an allusion which is explained by Torah she’baal Peh. The only exception to this is a special category of halachos known as “halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai.” These halachos are not stated or even alluded to anywhere in the Torah she’bi’Chsav. Some examples are: the structural requirements and color of tefillin, the recipe for the ink used to write a Torah scroll, and the minimum shiurim (halachic measurements). 

[3] Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Sefer Bamidbar 21:7 

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Kedushah, Hilchot Bios Assuros 12:4-5