The Threat of the Sword

Originally published in April 2012. This is an addendum to my earlier post about makkas cherev. I recommend reading that one first.

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Artwork: Sword of Light and Shadow, by Chris Rahn

The Threat of the Sword

The Rashbatz offers an alternative interpretation of makkas cherev which compliments the explanation from the Orchos Chaim. [1] He writes:

This teaches us that the term "outstretched" refers to the sword - yet, we do not find any mention of a sword in the makkos Mitzrayim. Apparently, this is a reference to what was said to Paroh: "lest He strike us with the plague or the sword" (5:3). Moshe Rabbeinu should have said "let He strike you (i.e. Paroh)," but he said "lest he strike us" instead, out of respect for the kingship. Thus, we find that Hashem terrorized them during the makkos Mitzrayim by [threatening] to bring the sword upon them. 

Here is the pasuk cited by the Rashbatz in its context:

Afterwards Moshe and Aharon came and said to Paroh, "So said Hashem, the God of Israel, 'Send out My people that they may celebrate for Me in the Wilderness.'" Paroh replied, "Who is Hashem that I should heed His voice to send out Israel? I do not know Hashem, nor will I send out Israel!" So they said, "The God of the Hebrews happened upon us. Let us now go for a three-day journey in the Wilderness and we shall bring offerings to Hashem, our God, lest He strike us dead with the plague or the sword." The king of Egypt said to them, "Moshe and Aharon, why do you disturb the people from its work? Go to your own burdens." And Paroh said, "Behold! the people of the land are now numerous, and you would have them cease from their burdens!" (ibid. 5:1-5)

According to the Rashbatz, the sword mentioned in the Haggadah refers not to an actual makkah, but to the threat of a makkah that was intended to instill fear in the Egyptians. If so, then why do we mention this in our sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim? Are we obligated to discuss "potential makkos" as much as the actual makkos?

Perhaps the answer is that the significance of makkas cherev doesn't lie in the makkah itself, but in what it reveals about the makkos in general. We tend to focus on the impact of the makkos themselves: the water turning to blood, the swarms of frogs, and so on. We imagine what it must have been like to live in Egypt during this turbulent time. However, we tend to overlook one important feature of the makkos: the terror that gripped Egypt in anticipation of the makkos.

According to the Torah's narrative, Moshe Rabbeinu was instructed to warn Paroh prior to many of the makkos: blood (#1), frogs (#2), wild animals (#4), livestock disease (#5), hail (#7), locusts (#8), and the death of the firstborn (#10). The first one or two warnings might have been met with skepticism, but soon thereafter, it would have become undeniably clear to the Egyptians that the God of the Hebrews meant business, and that everything spoken by His prophet would come true. Once this realization set in, the Egyptians would have lived in fear in anticipation of the next attack, in the same way that any besieged nation would fear the enemy's next assault.

The pesukim and midrashim give us small glimpses into the fearful reactions of Egypt when Moshe "threatened" to bring more makkos upon Egypt. For instance, when Moshe warned Paroh about the locusts and Paroh stubbornly refused to listen, Paroh's servants reacted with trepidation, saying: "Don't you know that Egypt is lost?" (Shemos 10:7). And this was the reaction from Paroh's inner circle. Imagine the unrestrained panic on the streets of Egypt, after months and months of the makkos and their aftermath.

In every other makkah, the element of fear was overshadowed by the effects of the makkah itself. For this reason, in order to highlight the theme of terror, we need a makkah in which terror was the essence. Which makkah fits the bill? Makkas cherev - the makkah that was purely a threat. Unlike the other makkos which actually transpired, Moshe threatened Paroh and Egypt with makkas cherev for the sole reason of instilling terror. By discussing makkas cherev, we encounter the theme of terror, and by discussing this theme, we come to recognize that the element of terror was present in all of the makkos.


[1] Rabbeinu Shimon ben Tzemach Duran, Commentary on the Hagadah shel Pesach

The Plague of the Sword

Originally published in April 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Platinum Angel, by Gerard Brom

The Plague of the Sword

One of the most mystifying drashos (homiletic interpretations) in the Arami Oved Avi section of the Haggadah pertains to the phrase "and with an outstretched arm":

And with an outstretched arm – this refers to the sword, as it is stated: “And his drawn sword in his hand, outstretched over Jerusalem” (Divrei Ha'Yamim I 21:16).

The questions here are quite straightforward: 

1. What sword? There isn't any mention of a sword among the makkos, and none of the makkos seem to fit the description of "sword" - at least, not on the surface. The actual term "sword" does appear twice in the Torah's account, but only as references to threats, rather than an actual events (see Shemos 5:3 and 5:21). Either way, the Haggadah doesn't cite either of these pesukim in the drashah, so it's a moot point. This brings us to our second question:
2. What does the pasuk in Divrei ha'Yamim have to do with Yetzias Mitzrayim? The pasuk cited by the Haggadah refers not to Egypt, but to Yerushalayim, hundreds of years later. The context of that pasuk is Hashem's punishment of David ha'Melech for taking a census of Bnei Yisrael. Hashem responded by giving David a choice of punishments, and David chose "three days of the sword of Hashem, a pestilence in the land, with an angel of God bringing destruction throughout all the borders of Israel" (Divrei ha'Yamim I 21:12). The pasuk cited by the Haggadah refers to the moment when David confronted this angel, whose hand was stayed by Hashem's command: "David raised his eyes and saw the angel of Hashem standing between the earth and heaven, with his sword drawn in his hand, stretched out over Yerushalayim, and David and the elders, who were covered in sackcloth, fell on their faces" (ibid. 21:16).
3. What essential idea of Yetzias Mitzrayim does this drashah express? The Rambam maintains that these drashos are our vehicle of sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim (telling the account of the Exodus from Egypt). [1] As such, they presumably teach ideas which are integral to the account of Yetzias Mitzrayim. What fundamental concept does this drashah convey? 

The Orchos Chaim [2] answers our first question by citing a famous midrash:

This refers to the sword used by the firstborns to kill their fathers, as we find in a drash: All of the firstborns went to their fathers when they heard that Paroh was warned about makkas bechoros. They said to them: "Since Moshe said that every firstborn will die, and everything he has said about this nation has come true, let us go and release these slaves from our midst, for unless we do this, our nation will die." Their fathers responded: "We shall allow [even] ten sons to die for every Egyptian, but we will not allow even one of [the Jews] to stand up and protect himself." 

The firstborns said [to themselves], "The cure for this plague is to go to Paroh, who is a firstborn. Perhaps he will have mercy on his own soul and let these slaves go." They went to Paroh and said, "Since Moshe said that every firstborn will die, and everything he has said about this nation has come true, let us go and release these slaves from our midst, for unless we do this, our nation will die." 

Paroh said to his servants, "Remove them (i.e. these firstborns) and break their knees, for I declared that it is either my life or the lives of these Hebrews, and you say thus?" Immediately, the firstborns went out and killed their fathers. Six hundred thousand [were killed]." 

This is what was written: "To He Who smites Egypt with their firstborns" (Tehilim 136:10). It does not say, "To He Who smites the firstborns of Egypt" but "To He Who smites Egypt with its firstborns" - since the firstborns are the ones who killed them. This is the "makkas cherev" (Plague of the Sword) that happened in Egypt. [3]

The Orchos Chaim answers our first question. What sword is the Haggadah referring to? The answer is: the sword used by the firstborns to kill their fathers prior to makkas bechoros, in retaliation for not letting Bnei Yisrael free.

The answer to the second question is very simple. What does the pasuk have to do with Yetzias Mitzrayim? The answer is: nothing. The only purpose of the pasuk is to demonstrate that the expression "outstretched" alludes to a makkah involving a sword, but the sword actually mentioned in the pasuk from Divrei ha'Yamim has nothing to do with the sword that played a role in the events of Yetzias Mitzrayim.

The only remaining question is: What does this teach us about Yetzias Mitzrayim? Levi (my chavrusa) proposed an answer based on the Orchos Chaim's commentary. Before I present his idea, let us conduct a little thought experiment. Imagine yourself as an Egyptian firstborn. You've just been informed of the impending makkas bechoros. Where do you turn for help? To the bedrock of security: your father. Imagine the psychological trauma that would ensue when your father says, "I will not save you. I'd rather let you die than let the Jewish slaves go free." 

After recovering from the shock, where do you turn next? To Paroh, who is not only the head of the government - another place where people turn for security - but who is, himself, a firstborn, and is therefore someone with whom you identify. And what does Paroh do? He orders his servants to break your knees for insubordination. 

So you and your fellow firstborns decide to take matters into your own hands by staging an uprising. You kill thousands of Egyptians, including your own fathers, thereby adding to the mass panic that had already plagued Egypt since the first makkah.

Now for Levi's idea. Makkas cherev brought about a total breakdown of psychological security in Egypt. This breach of security occurred at all levels of society: family (sons vs. fathers), government (citizens vs. Paroh), fellow citizens (i.e. firstborns vs. Egyptians), religion (i.e. Hashem's makkos targeting the Egyptian gods, culminating in korban Pesach) - not to mention the multiple blows dealt to the Egyptian psyche with each of the preceding makkos.

Perhaps this is the reason why our sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim must include makkas cherev. Our understanding and appreciation of the makkos would be incomplete if we did not recognize the psychological dimension of Hashem's strategic siege on Egypt.

[1] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Chametz u'Matzah 7:4

[2] Rabbeinu Aharon ben Yaakov ha'Kohen, Orchos Chaim: Seder Leil ha'Pesach

[3] Tosafos (Shabbos 87b) brings down a slightly different version of the same midrash in his explanation of Shabbos ha'Gadol:

When the Jews took [the animals designated for] their Pesachim on that Shabbos [on the 10th of Nisan in Egypt], the non-Jewish firstborns went to the Jews and asked them why they were doing this, they said, "This is a Pesach-sacrifice to Hashem, Who will kill the Egyptian firstborns." The firstborns went to Paroh to ask him to send the Jews out, but he didn't want to. The firstborns waged war and killed many of the Egyptians. This is what was written: "To He Who smites Egypt with their firstborns."

The Bitterness of Maror

Originally posted in March 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Ego Erasure, by Steven Belledin

The Bitterness of Maror

Every year on the night of the 15th of Nisan we read Rabban Gamliel’s explanation of maror in the Hagadah: "Why do we eat this maror? Because the Egyptians embittered the lives of our fathers in Egypt." This raises two very basic questions: 

1. What was this "bitterness"? There are many types of bitterness, and "bitter" can mean different things to different people. What, exactly, does the Torah mean by "bitter"? What is the nature of this emotional experience?
2. Why is "bitterness" the quality of the Egyptian servitude that Hashem chose to memorialize in one of the central mitzvos of Pesach? After all, there are many aspects of the Egyptian servitude which could have been chosen, such as "oppression," "pain," "suffering," "agony," etc. "Bitter" seems to be rather tame compared to these other qualities. Why, then, do we focus so much on the bitterness?

The pesukim cited by the Hagadah provide a clue. Here are the pesukim in context, with one important term left untranslated: 

The Egyptians enslaved the Children of Israel b’farech. They embittered their lives with harsh labor, with mortar and bricks, and with all labor of the field – all of their labors with which they enslaved them b’farech. [1]

It is clear from these pesukim that the bitterness arose from one dimension of the Egyptian servitude in particular, namely, the avodas parech. The question is: What is avodas parech?

The conventional translation follows Rashi, who renders "avodas parech" as "backbreaking labor." But there is another definition - a halachic definition, established by Torah she'baal Peh (the Oral Torah). When detailing the laws regarding the treatment of an eved ivri (Hebrew slave), the Torah says: “you shall not subjugate him b’farech.” [2]  As it so happens, there is an actual mitzvas lo taaseh (Biblical prohibition) against forcing an eved ivri to do avodas parech. [3] 

The Rambam explains that there are two types of avodas parech: a task which has no prescribed limit (e.g. commanding an eved to dig a hole without specifying its dimensions or providing a time frame for completing the task) and a task which has no real purpose (e.g. commanding an eved to dig a hole and then fill it up again immediately thereafter, or to boil water for no reason). [4] 

In other words, avodas parech refers to a task which cannot be accomplished. Either the task cannot be accomplished by virtue of its requirements (i.e. the activity itself is undefined or unlimited) or it cannot be accomplished by virtue of its very nature (i.e. there is nothing to accomplish because the task is purposeless). [5] 

In light of this definition of avodas parech, we can now answer our first question: What, exactly, is was the "bitterness" of the avodas parech in Egypt? I believe the answer is as follows: avodas parech is ego-breaking labor, and the "bitterness" is the experience of ego-depletion – the sense of utter worthlessness and meaninglessness which results from involvement in futile work. 

In order to feel that one’s life has value, one must be involved in something real; one must be involved in a craft which produces an actual good, not a vague or meaningless activity which yields no real benefit. It is for this reason that avodas parech is experienced as the most oppressive type of slavery. To be a slave is degrading enough, but at least a slave can take pride in his work. But by forcing a slave to engage in avodas parech, he is stripped of this last shred of human dignity.

Now we are in a position to answer our second question: Why did Hashem choose to memorialize the bitterness of the Egyptian slavery, above all other qualities? Because the avodas parech represents the height of the Egyptian cruelty and the depth of Bnei Yisrael's suffering. It shows that the Egyptians did not enslave Bnei Yisrael out of mere self-defense or self-interest, as they claimed was their motive ("Come, let us outsmart [the nation of Israel] lest it become numerous, and it may be that if a war will occur, it, too, may join our enemies, and wage war against us and go up from the land” [6]). Their intent was to torment us, even to the point where they were willing to waste valuable resources by forcing their slave population to do busywork. That is why their punishment at the hands of Hashem was so harsh.

Now that we've answered our major questions, I would like to suggest one more idea, which is more on the speculative side. (Please pardon me for straying into the realm of drush from this point until the end.)

I will preface this with a premise I heard from my Rosh ha'Yeshiva. [7] Yetzias Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) was our nation's first encounter with mitzvos. As such, the mitzvos of Pesach, Matzah, and Maror were uniquely designed to serve as an introduction to avodas Hashem. It is for this reason that their philosophical reasons were embedded in their halachos in such an uncharacteristically overt manner. Historically, these "inaugural mitzvos" served as an induction of Bnei Yisrael into the Torah regimen. This mitzvah-inauguration is repeated every year, on "the night of the mesorah," in which fathers introduce their children to their Torah inheritance, and all Jews have the opportunity to rekindle their relationship with mitzvos.

In light of this premise, my question is as follows: What fundamental idea does the mitzvah of maror teach us about avodas Hashem? I can understand the centrality of the Korban Pesach (the Passover sacrifice) to the mitzvah-system. The korban Pesach was a rejection of avodah zarah (idolatry), and the purpose of the entire Torah is to uproot avodah zarah. [8] Matzah is also fundamental, insofar as it embodies the idea of geulah, which is both the starting point and the ultimate destination of our national trajectory. But what about maror? What foundational role does the bitterness of the avodas parech play in our first lesson of avodas Hashem?

Perhaps we can say as follows. Pesach is not only about our physical/bodily servitude and freedom. Pesach is about our metaphysical/spiritual slavery and redemption as well. This is reflected in the conclusion of the blessing at the end of the Maggid section, in which we praise Hashem “al geulaseinu ve’al pedus nafsheinu” (“for our redemption and for the redeeming of our souls”). 

As a high school teacher, I have encountered many teenagers who relate to avodas Hashem as avodas parech. They view halacha as a hodgepodge of vague, meaningless activities which serve no real purpose in their lives. Consequently, they experience the life of mitzvos as a toilsome burden. Unfortunately, there are also many adults who share this view.

In reality, avodas Hashem is the antithesis of avodas parech. Whereas avodas parech is meaningless, frustrating, and yields no benefit or sense of accomplishment, avodas Hashem is where we tap into real meaning, ultimate fulfillment, and true success as a human being.

By focusing on the "bitterness" of avodas parech through the mitzvah of maror, we are prompted to reflect on our lives and ask ourselves, “Do I relate to avodas Hashem as avodas parech?” If so, then there is only one path to redemption: to strive for a clear understanding of what we are doing and why we are doing it. Only by pursuing knowledge of halacha and taamei ha’mitzvos (the reasons for the commandments) can we redeem ourselves from “avodas parech mode” of mitzvah observance and truly appreciate the life of freedom afforded by avodas Hashem, as Chazal teach: “Ein lecha ben chorin ela mi she’oseik b’Talmud Torah” (“The only person who is truly free is one who involves oneself in learning Torah”). This is the type of freedom we ought to bring to mind when contemplating the bitter slavery represented by the maror.

This year we are slaves; next year, may we be truly free. 

[1] Sefer Shemos 1:13-14

[2] Sefer Vayikra 25:43
[3] see Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha'Mitzvos: Lo Taaseh #259; Sefer ha'Chinuch: Mitzvah #346

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Kinyan, Hilchos Avadim 8:6
[5] I've heard that there's a midrash to the effect that the Egyptians forced Bnei Yisrael to build foundations on quicksand, so the more layers they built, the more the building would sink. This would definitely qualify as avodas parech, and would support the explanation I am giving here. I wasn't able to track down this midrash, but if anyone does, please let me know and I'll add it to the post.
[6] Sefer Shemos 1:10
[7] This shiur took place a while ago, so it's possible that this idea is not exactly what he said. If it is, then I'm saying this b'shem omro. If it isn't, then treat it as a product of my own understanding.
[8] see Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer ha'Mada, Hilchos Avodah Zarah 2:4; Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban / Nachmanides), Commentary on Sefer Devarim 4:3; Sefer ha'Chinuch Mitzvah #26

Karpas and the Masorah of Intellectual Courage

Originally published in March 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Karpas and the Masorah of Intellectual Courage

The Rambam’s instructions for the mitzvah de’rabbanan (Rabbinic commandment) of karpas are as follows: 

[The leader of the seder] should take a green vegetable, dip it in charoses, and eat a kazayis (the equivalent of an olive's volume) – he and all those present with him, no less than a kazayis; afterwards, they should remove the tray-table from before the reader of the Hagadah alone. [1] 

According to the Rambam, the mitzvah of karpas is a three-step procedure: (1) dipping the karpas in the charoses, (2) eating a kazayis of the karpas, and (3) akiras ha’shulchan (taking away the tray-table). 

We are familiar with the first two steps, but the last step seems strange. What role does akiras ha’shulchan play in the mitzvah of karpas?

The halachic answer to this question can be found in the previous chapter. The Rambam writes:

One must introduce shinuyim (changes) on this night so that the children will see and ask and exclaim, "How is this night different from other nights?" and he will respond by telling them what happened. What would be an example of such changes? He should give them roasted kernels and nuts (i.e. give them dessert before dinner); he should take the tray-table away from in front of them before they begin eating; they should snatch matzos from each other’s hands; and so on. [2]

According to the Rambam, a father is obligated to introduce his own shinuyim on the night of the seder in order to stimulate the curiosity of the children. These shinuyim include anything that catches the attention of the children, whether or not the shinui is related to the themes of Pesach. For instance, it is said that Rav Chaim Soloveitchik zt”l once did a shinui of wearing a pot on his head at the beginning of the seder. 

We can now answer our original question. According to the Rambam, Chazal instituted the mitzvah of karpas as a mandatory shinui to arouse the curiosity of the children. Ideally, the father is supposed to come up with his own shinuyim, but Chazal instituted the mitzvah of karpas as a uniform obligation in order to ensure that every seder includes at least one shinui. 

Now that we understand the “What?” of karpas (i.e. the halachic role it plays in the seder), we are now in a position to understand the “Why?” of karpas. Why did Chazal obligate us to begin our seder with the shinui of karpas in order to awaken the curiosity of the children?

On a basic level, the reason for karpas is that the mitzvah of sipur yetzias mitzrayim (recounting the Exodus from Egypt) must be in the form of sh’eilah u’tshuvah (question and answer). Ideally, these questions should not be rehearsed or contrived, but should spring from genuine wonder and curiosity. The mitzvah of karpas is designed to facilitate this mode of sipur, which is why it precedes the reading of the Hagadah.

But there is a deeper level of significance to this mitzvah as well – one which stems from the underlying theme of the night. Indeed, the seder night is the only mitzvah-event of the year devoted primarily to the transmission of the masorah (the Oral Tradition of Torah teachings) to our children. Not only do we focus on teaching our children the halachos and ideas of Pesach, but strive to initiate them into the entire Weltanschauung of Torah. The Rav zt”l provides a beautiful description of this motif: 

Passover is the night of masorah, of handing down, transmitting the knowledge, the ancient tradition, our world outlook, commitments, aspirations, and visions to all kinds of children – bright and dull, obedient and rebellious, engaged and indifferent. The meal is thus turned into a “symposium,” a rendezvous with Torah, with the logos. The meal becomes the vehicle of hesed (kindness) in its highest form: teaching and enlightening. [3]

In this same essay, the Rav expounded on the theme of cheirus (freedom):

The slave lives in fear. He is afraid not only of those who are stronger than he or of those who have jurisdiction over him; the slave is afraid of contradicting anyone, of antagonizing even a stranger. This is the reason, in my opinion, why the Sages introduced haseivah (reclining) ... Haseivah symbolizes the throwing-off of the mental shackles depriving man of freedom of movement. Haseivah is the reverse of erect posture, which demonstrates obedient and submissiveness. Soldiers standing erect symbolize the readiness to obey. Haseivah is indicative of disobedience, of a courageous stand, of refusing to take orders, of rejecting the authority of man. Haseivah means defiance. That is why Chazal said that if one’s teacher is present, the student is relieved – indeed, enjoined – from haseivah.

In light of the Rambam’s halachos and the Rav’s explanation, we can appreciate an additional dimension of karpas. The mitzvah of karpas is designed to instill the Jewish trait of intellectual courage in the next generation of the masorah. In other religions, intellectual subservience is paramount. The habits of independent thinking, questioning, and challenging of religious authority are a regarded as taboo. Not so in Judaism. We maintain that Hashem endowed us with a tzelem Elokim (intellect), and we must utilize that intellect in every sphere of our lives – including, and especially, in our adherence to Torah. 

The greatest role model for this trait is none other than Avraham Avinu, our founding father. Avraham was raised among idolaters in the primitive and superstitious culture of Ur Kasdim, as we recount in the Hagadah. Against all odds, he used his mind to search out the truth. He questioned the beliefs and rituals of Terach, his father, and he challenged the leaders of his society. This searching and questioning eventually led him to discover the truth of Hashem’s Existence and His Oneness, and it is in the merit of that discovery that Hashem promised to make Avraham’s descendants into a great nation – a nation devoted to sanctifying His Name and perpetuating the teachings of their forefather.

Thus, it is fitting that we inaugurate this “night of masorah” by providing our children with an opportunity to follow in the footsteps of Avraham Avinu. Every father is obligated to go out of his way to invent a strange “ritual” to commence the seder. Every Jewish child is goaded to take an intellectually courageous stand - to pursue his curiosity to the point where he questions the religious authority of his father. In the house of the idolater, such questioning would be met with the harshest censure. But in the households of the offspring of Avraham, such intellectual courage is lauded, celebrated, and nurtured. 

In this manner, the mitzvah of karpas initiates the next generation of Bnei Yisrael into the chain of our masorah and instills within them the spirit of wonder, curiosity, and intellectual courage which constitutes the very lifeblood of our Torah.

[1] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Chametz u'Matzah 8:2

[2] ibid. 7:3

[3] Rav Yosef Dov ha'Levi Soloveitchik, Festival of Freedom: Essays on Pesach and the Haggadah (posthumously published from manuscripts)

Parashas Yisro: The Mitzvah of Emunah

Originally posted in January 2014. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Sacred Foundry, by Noah Bradley

Parashas Yisro: The Mitzvah of Emunah

The first of the Aseres ha’Dibros (Ten Commandments) says: “I am Hashem, your God, Who took you out from the land of Egypt, from the house of slaves, to be your God” (Shemos 20:2; Devarim 5:6). According to the Rambam [1] this pasuk is the source for the fundamental mitzvah known as "Anochi Hashem Elokecha," or just "Anochi." In this dvar Torah we will take up a very basic question: What does this mitzvah obligate us to do? 

The Rambam’s first formulation of this mitzvah can be found in his Sefer ha’Mitzvos. There he writes: “The first mitzvah is the commandment regarding belief (emunah) in the Divinity, namely, to believe (le’haamin) in the existence of the Cause and Prime Mover, Who causes all other existences.”  [2]. In the Mishneh Torah, however, the Rambam presents us with a different formulation: “The first mitzvah is to know (leyda) that God exists.” [3] On the surface, this would appear to be a contradiction: are we commanded to believe in God’s Existence or to know that He Exists? 

This apparent contradiction is fairly easy to resolve if we just take a closer look at the sources. The Rambam originally wrote the Sefer ha’Mitzvos in Arabic. In his formulation of the mitzvah the Rambam used the Arabic word "itiqad" which was subsequently translated into Hebrew by R' Moshe ibn Tibbon as "emunah." 

While this is an important first step, it is just a first step. What does the Rambam mean by emunah/itiqad? Why did he formulate the mitzvah differently in each of his books? 

Thankfully, the Rambam devotes an entire chapter of the Moreh ha’Nevuchim to defining the term emunah/itiqad. He sums up his definition as follows:

Emunah/itiqad is only possible after comprehension; it consists in the conviction that the notion apprehended by the mind has its existence outside of the mind [in reality] exactly as it is conceived in the mind. [4]

In other words, emunah refers to conviction in one’s knowledge. To “have emunah” means to have such a clear and thorough knowledge of something that it becomes real to the mind. [5] 

According to the Rambam's definition, “belief” is a rather poor and misleading English translation of the emunah which the Torah obligates us to have. Even worse is the common translation of emunah as “faith,” which is really the opposite of emunah. “Faith” refers to conviction without, or in spite of, one’s knowledge, whereas emunah refers to conviction based on one’s knowledge. It would be more accurate to translate emunah as “rational conviction.” 

The resolution to our apparent contradiction is now clear. In the Mishneh Torah, where the Rambam formulates the mitzvah as “to know,” he was referring to the maaseh ha’mitzvah (the act we are commanded to do), that is, to obtain knowledge of Hashem's Existence. But in the Sefer ha’Mitzvos, where he formulates the mitzvah as “to have emunah,” he was referring to the kiyum h'amitzvah (the objective, or fulfillment, of the mitzvah). According to the Rambam, we cannot discharge our obligation after obtaining enough knowledge to determine that Hashem exists. Rather, the mitzvah of Anochi demands that we seek knowledge until we reach the level of emunah - that is, to the point where the truth of Hashem’s Existence registers in our minds as a reality, and not merely as a theoretical construct or a pure abstraction. 

Unfortunately, this view of the mitzvah of emunah is often characterized as “the Maimonidean view” - as though it is a daas yachid (minority opinion). In truth, the Rambam’s interpretation of Anochi as demanding knowledge, as opposed to belief or faith, is held by many of the mainstream Rishonim (medieval commentators). For example, the Ramban writes: 

This first statement [of the Ten Commandments] is a positive commandment. He said Anochi Hashem, which instructs and commands them to know and become convinced that Hashem exists, that He is their God, that His Existence is eternal, that everything came from Him by [His] desire and ability, and that He is their God and they are obligated to serve Him. [6]

Similarly, the Baalei Tosafos write:

What is this statement [of Anochi Hashem]? What commandment and what prohibition does it contain? The answer is as follows: “I am Hashem, your God, and I command you to know with a clear knowledge that I am the Creator, and that I am the One Who commands all of the mitzvos, and I am trustworthy to pay back the good and the bad.” The knowledge of Hashem in which a person is obligated is to know that he is the Creator (may He be blessed and exalted). [7]

Ibn Ezra writes at length about how the mitzvah of Anochi demands that each person seek knowledge of Hashem in accordance with the level of his or her intellect. [8] Ralbag explains that Anochi is important not only because it is the foundation of Torah, but because it is the foundation of chochmah (science). [9] Sforno writes that Hashem expects us to establish our emunah with the utmost intellectual rigor, to the point where we “rationally investigate and know every argument to the contrary, then take to heart the true [arguments] therefrom.” [10] The Rashba identifies this standard of emunah as the hallmark of the Jewish people:

This is the true sign of our nation, the Nation of Hashem: that we do not allow ourselves to be taken in by any belief until after we have arrived at its truth by way of intensive, complete analysis. [11]

But what about those individuals who are not on the level to establish their emunah on the basis of rigorous knowledge and investigation? The Sefer ha'Chinuch addresses this question in his treatment of the mitzvah of Anochi. He writes:

The substance of this emunah is that a person should establish in his soul that this is the truth, and that it is impossible to modify this [truth] in any way. And if [his emunah] is questioned, he should answer every questioner that this is what his mind believes and he will never exchange this belief for anything else, even if others threaten to kill him. All of this strengthens and establishes his mind’s belief by transforming the matter from potential to actual – that is, when he affirms with the words of his mouth what he has resolved in his mind. 

And if he merits to rise in levels of wisdom so that his heart understands and his eyes see by clear-cut proof that this emunah he holds is clearly true and cannot be otherwise, then he will have fulfilled this mitzvah in the ideal way (mitzvah min ha’muvchar). [12]

According to the Sefer ha’Chinuch, the minimal level of emunah required by Torah is to believe that Hashem exists, even if that belief isn't supported by knowledge and proof. However, even the Sefer ha’Chinuch maintains that the ideal fulfillment of the mitzvah is to reach the level where one’s emunah is rooted in knowledge. Rabbeinu Bachya Ibn Paquda (Introduction to Chovos ha’Levavos) concurs:

[Relying on tradition] is acceptable only in the case of uneducated women, children, and men who, because of limited perception and comprehension, cannot reason on their own. But whoever has the intellectual capacity to verify what he receives [from tradition] and yet is prevented from doing so by his own laziness, or because he takes lightly God’s commandments and Torah – he will be punished for this and held accountable for negligence. [13] 

These Rishonic definitions of emunah highlight the uniqueness of Judaism. Unlike other religions, which are based on belief and faith, Judaism demands that our relationship to Hashem be built upon a foundation of knowledge, for - as the Ibn Ezra states - "the intellect is the intermediary between man and his Creator." [14]

[1] The Rambam’s view that Anochi is one of the 613 mitzvos is shared by a number of prominent Rishonim, but is not unanimous. Other Rishonim maintain that Anochi precedes the 613 mitzvos, but is not a mitzvah in its own right.

[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha'Mitzvos, Mitzvas Aseh #1

[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah, Sefer ha'Mada, Hilchos Yesodei ha'Torah: Koseres

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 1:50

[5] An excellent example of the difference between "mere knowledge" and emunah can be found in the career of Albert Einstein. Timothy Ferris, in Coming of Age in the Milky Way (1988), records an anecdote which illustrates Einstein's emunah in the theory of general relativity (p.204, footnote): 

Einstein once astonished Ernst Straus by saying of Max Planck, the father of quantum physics, "He was one of the finest people I have ever known and one of my best friends; but, you know, he didn't really understand physics." When Straus asked what he meant, Einstein replied, "During the eclipse of 1919, Planck stayed up all night to see if it would confirm the bending of light by the gravitational field of the sun. If he had really understood the way the general relativity explains the equivalence of inertial and gravitational mass, he would have gone to bed the way I did."

[6] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban / Nachmanides), Commentary on Sefer Shemos 20:2

[7] Daas Zekeinim mi'Baalei ha'Tosafos, Commentary on Sefer Shemos 20:2

[8] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Commentary on Sefer Shemos 20:2

[9] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Shemos 20:2

[10] Rabbeinu Ovadiah Sforno, Commentary on Sefer Devarim 4:39

[11] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Aderet (Rashba), Shailos u'Tshuvos 1:548

[12] Sefer ha'Chinuch, Parashas Yisro: Mitzvah #25

[13] Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda, Chovos ha'Levavos: Hakdamah

[14] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Introduction to Torah

Parashas Beshalach: Singing Fetuses

Originally posted in January 2014.

Artwork: Abstract Pregnant Woman
(Yes, it's difficult to find artwork for this topic which is in line with the standards of tznius.)

Parashas Beshalach: Singing Fetuses

The central event of Parashas Beshalach is Krias Yam Suf (the Splitting of the Sea of Reeds). Although the Chumash itself highlights the miracle of the sea splitting, we have a mesorah (tradition) that Hashem performed additional miracles at this time. The mishnah in Pirkei Avos (5:4) teaches: “Ten miracles were performed for our forefathers in Egypt, and ten at the sea.” The author of the Hagadah shel Pesach brings down a machlokes (disagreement) among the Sages as to the number of additional plagues that struck the Egyptians at the sea, whether it was 50, 200, or 250. The identity of these additional miracles and plagues is not entirely clear, but there was definitely more going on than the pesukim seem to indicate.

The midrashic literature attempts to fill in the gaps. Here is one such midrash from Berachos 50a: 

Rebbi Meir says: From where do we know that even fetuses in their mothers’ wombs said [the] shirah (i.e. the song of praise at Yam Suf)? As it is stated, “In assemblies bless God; [bless] God, O you who stem from the fountain (mekor) of Israel” (Tehilim 68:27). 

“Mekor” is an equivocal term which means “fountain” in the context of the pasuk, but can also mean “womb.” Rebbi Meir expounds on this dual-meaning to teach that the fetuses in the wombs of the Jewish mothers at Yam Suf sang shirah, along with the rest of Bnei Yisrael.

There are obvious problems with taking this midrash literally. Fetuses in their mothers’ wombs wouldn't have been aware of the miracle, nor would they be able to comprehend it, nor would they be able to sing shirah. The question is: What does this midrash mean? What idea are we supposed to gain from this?

The Rashba – one of the the most prolific Rishonim (medieval Rabbinic authorities) of the 13th century – wrote a commentary on the midrashim of the Talmud. Here is how he explains our midrash [1]: 

It is a well-known fact that pregnant women are prone to miscarry when they undergo frightening and traumatic experiences. When the Jews stood at Yam Suf, with the Egyptians were chasing after them to kill them, they were very scared. And when the sea was split for them and they needed to pass through its breaches, nature would dictate that the pregnant women among them would miscarry, were it not for the miracle He performed for them by strengthening their hearts, thereby saving all of the fetuses so that not a single one of them died, even though the nation was more than 600,000 men strong. This is the shirah that the fetuses said. In other words, it would have been appropriate for them to say shirah and to [sing] praise before Him for their salvation. 

This, in my opinion, is a great example of interpreting a midrash in a manner that is rational, conservative, and in line with the pasuk on which the midrash is based. The Rashba doesn’t interpret the whole thing as an allegory. He only makes one move: instead of saying that the fetuses actually said shirah, he explains that it would have been appropriate for them to say shirah. He then infers what type of miracle would warrant such a shirah, and in doing so, brings out an easy-to-overlook aspect of the geulah which warrants our recognition and appreciation. Not only did Hashem miraculously save the adults and children of Bnei Yisrael from death at the hands of the Egyptians, but He also spared the Jewish women from undue distress, thereby saving the about-to-be-born generation by means of an additional miracle. 

[1] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Aderet (Rashba), Chidushei ha’Rashba al ha’Shas: Peirushei ha’Hagados, Berachos 50a

Parashas Bo: The Undogly Miracle

Here is another "newsletter" Dvar Torah, originally published in January 2014. As you'll see, I took a risk in what I wrote. I hope it paid off! 

Artwork: Watchwolf, by Kev Walker

Parashas Bo: The Undogly Miracle

Let us examine an often overlooked aspect of makkas bechoros (the plague of the firstborn), namely, the Miracle of the Quiet Dogs: 

Moshe said: Thus said Hashem, “At around midnight I shall go out in the midst of Mitzrayim. Every firstborn in the land of Mitzrayim shall die, from the firstborn of Paroh who sits on his throne to the firstborn of the maidservant who is behind the millstone, and all the firstborn of beast. There shall be a great outcry in the entire land of Mitzrayim, such as there has never been and such as there shall never be again. But against all of Bnei Yisrael, no dog shall whet its tongue (i.e. bark), against neither man nor beast, so that you shall know that Hashem will have differentiated between Mitzrayim and Yisrael” (Shemos 11:4-7). 

This “silencing of the dogs” was clearly a miracle. When people are dropping dead, the entire society is in a panic, and the slaves are escaping, the dogs tend to bark.

The question is: What was the purpose of this miracle? The pasuk seems to indicates that this miracle was intended to show that Hashem differentiates between Mitzrayim and Yisrael – but wasn't makkas bechoros, itself, a sufficient demonstration of this point? Was it really necessary for Hashem to kill every Egyptian firstborn and put their dogs on mute?

In Parashas Mishpatim we encounter another pasuk involving dogs. The pasuk says: “People of holiness shall you be to Me; you shall not eat flesh of an animal that was torn (treifah) in the field; to the dog shall you throw it” (ibid. 22:30). Halachically, this pasuk is the source of the Torah prohibition against eating treifah. Although the word “treifah” in the vernacular has come to refer to any non-kosher food, the halachic term “treifah” refers to meat from an animal which suffers a life-threatening physical defect, such as a mortal wound or a terminal illness. Even if such an animal receives a kosher shechitah (slaughter), its meat is considered “treifah” and is prohibited by Torah law. This pasuk teaches us that the Torah only prohibits us from eating the meat. We are permitted to derive other types of hanaah (benefit) from it. For this reason, the pasuk says that we are allowed to benefit from treifah by using it as dog food.

The question is: Why does the pasuk explicitly tell us to throw our treifah to the dogs? Halachically, we are permitted to dispose of our treifah in any number of other ways: by feeding it to other animals, selling it for profit, giving it to our non-Jewish neighbors, etc. Why dog food, specifically?

According to the plain pshat, this was the most common way to dispose of treifah. Rashi [1], however, cites a midrash which links the pasuk in Mishpatim to our pasuk in Bo: 

This teaches us that Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu doesn't withhold reward from any creature, as it is stated: “But against all of Bnei Yisrael, no dog shall whet its tongue.” Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu said, “Give [the dog] its reward.”

If we take this midrash at face value, we are confronted with a number of problems. First of all, there is no concept of sachar v’onesh (reward and punishment) in the animal kingdom [2]. Only a creature with a tzelem Elokim is subject to sachar v’onesh. That being said, how are we to understand the notion of Hashem “rewarding” the dogs with treifah? Secondly, the whole concept of sachar v’onesh only makes sense when dealing with beings who possess free will, and dogs don’t have free will! The dogs in Egypt didn't choose not to bark. Hashem miraculously stopped them from barking! Moreover, the dogs that get this “reward” of treifah aren't even the same dogs that obeyed Hashem in Mitzrayim! In fact, we didn't even receive the halachos of treifah until after Yetziat Mitzrayim! Last, but not least, this “reward” isn't very dependable in its structure. There isn't any halachic obligation to feed our treifah to the dogs – only a halachic suggestion.

The answer to all of these questions is ... I have no idea! That’s right: no answers this time. 

I’ll bet you thought that the purpose of this dvar Torah was to give you an idea on the parshah. In truth, the purpose of this dvar Torah was to teach an important lesson in Torah methodology, and that lesson is: you can’t always solve all of the problems the first time you learn through a sugya (topic of study).

We will conclude with some advice from the Rambam [3] on dealing with situations like this:

When you encounter a statement of Chazal which seems to conflict with reason, you will pause, consider it, and realize that this utterance must be a riddle or a parable. You will sleep on it, trying anxiously to grasp its logic and its expression, so that you may find its genuine intellectual intention and lay hold of a genuine concept. 

What else can a person do if the answers are not forthcoming? The Rambam writes [4]: 

If Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu removes the veil from the mind of the one whom He desires, the one who has toiled in his study, such a person will understand [the secrets of Torah] according to the strength of his intellect. Regarding the study of Torah and one’s endeavors therein, a person must direct his heart to Hashem and to pray before Him, and to supplicate that He grant him knowledge and help him and reveal to him the mysteries hidden in the holy writings. Such do we find by David ha'Melech, who did so when he said: “Uncover my eyes and I will behold wonders from Your Torah!" (Tehilim 119:18).

May Hashem grant us the insight to answer these questions and appreciate His infinite wisdom! And if any of you are zocheh (meritorious) to answer these questions, please email me your ideas!

[1] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Shemot 22:30

[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Guide for the Perplexed 1:2 and 3:16.

[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Commentary on the Mishnah: Sanhedrin, Perek Chelek

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Introduction to the Commentary on the Mishnah

Parashas Vaeira: Do You Believe in Magic?

Originally posted in December 2013.

Artwork: Jace the Mind Sculptor, by Jason Chan

Parashas Vaeira: Do You Believe in Magic?

In Parashas Vaeira the Torah recounts the first of the many miracles performed by Moshe in Egypt:

Moshe came with Aharon to Paroh and they did so, as Hashem had commanded; Aharon cast down his staff before Paroh and before his servants, and it became a snake. Paroh, too, summoned his wise men and sorcerers, and they, too - the necromancers of Egypt - did so with their magic. Each one cast down his staff and they became snakes; and the staff of Aharon swallowed their staffs. The heart of Paroh was strong and he did not heed them, as Hashem had spoken. (Shemos 7:10-13)

The question is: Did Paroh's sorcerers do real magic? The answer to this question is a machlokes Rishonim (a disagreement between medieval authorities). 

Some Rishonim, such as the Rambam, Ibn Ezra, and Radak, maintain that there is no such thing as “real magic.” All instances of magic, sorcery, and occult practices mentioned by the Torah were nothing but illusions and trickery, whether by sleight of hand or by sleight of mind. For the sake of simplicity, we will refer to this position as “the Rambam’s view,” [1] since he was more vocal about his position on this matter than many of the other Rishonim.

Other Rishonim, such as the Ramban, Sefer ha’Chinuch, and Rashi, maintain that magic – at least, some forms of magic – are real, and involve tremendous chochmah (wisdom). Of course, they do not believe that magic involve powers other than Hashem. Rather, they conceive of magic as a method of manipulating natural phenomena in “unnatural” ways. This may be compared to the act of “hacking” a computer program: the program was designed to be used in a certain way, but the potential for the other uses exists within its code, and if one knows programming language, he can change the program to be used in an “unnatural” manner – that is, in a manner contrary to the intent of the program’s original designer. We will refer to this position as “the Ramban’s view,” since he was one of the most vocal opponents of the Rambam’s view.

Last but not least, there are Rishonim who are in doubt. They acknowledge both sides of the issue, but admit that they don’t know which side is correct. One of these Rishonim is the Ralbag [2], who writes:

I maintain that these “wise men [of Egypt]” were the men who were knowledgeable in the chochmas Mitzrayim (Egyptian wisdom). This chochmah enabled its practitioners to produce acts of sorcery to bring about strange and unnatural phenomena. They either (a) perform illusions which cause people to think they are doing what they are not actually doing; or (b) they devise natural mechanisms to produce strange phenomena that appear to be acts of sorcery; or (c) they did these strange actions by means of actual sorcery – that is, assuming these things are possibly by way of actual sorcery. Today, however, we lack knowledge of the nature and character of this [Egyptian] “sorcery,” and so we have not seen fit to discuss it.

Whenever I present this machlokes between the Rambam and the Ramban to my students, I am inevitably asked two questions: “How do we know which view is correct?” and “What do you believe?”

My answer to the first question is: analyze each of the theories in depth, evaluate their relative strengths and weaknesses, and arrive at a conclusion with your own mind. If you are unable to conduct a full investigation or are unable to arrive at a conclusion, the most intellectually honest position to hold is that of the Ralbag, who said, “I don’t know.” Do not be intellectually irresponsible and adopt whichever belief you find most emotionally pleasing or the most stimulating to your imagination and fantasy.

My answer to the second question, “What do you believe?” is a bit more nuanced than the two basic Rishonic positions outlined above. I will say, without hesitation, that I believe the Rambam’s view to be correct. I do not believe that there is or ever was such a thing as “real magic,” and anything that appears to be real magic is the product of trickery, imagination, and/or ignorance. Not only that, but I maintain that if the Ramban were alive today, he would agree with the Rambam. There would be no machlokes.

In order to understand why this is the case, we need to understand why the Ramban believed in magic in the first place. The answer is not simply “Because the Torah talks about people doing magic, and prohibits magic, so magic must be real!” After all, the Rambam and other Rishonim were also aware of the references to magic in the Torah, and they still maintained that magic is fake.

The Ramban’s clearest statement of his reasons for believing in occult practices (such as magic, astrology, omen-reading, etc.) can be found in his commentary on Devarim 18:9. He writes that we ought to believe in these phenomena because “we cannot deny things [that] have been done publicly in the sight of witnesses” which are based on “empirically verified science” – that is to say, they have been confirmed by observation and experience. Scientists [3] at the time of the Ramban believed in these occult phenomena, and the Ramban relied on their conclusions. To deny magic would be to reject science and sense observation [4], which is the basis of everything – including our acceptance of Torah.

The Ramban’s true position is now clear. Just as he relied on the empirical conclusions of the scientists in his times, so too, if he were alive today, he would embrace the empirical conclusions of modern day scientists. To my knowledge, there is absolutely no scientific evidence to support a belief in magic and the occult. Scientists today hold by the view expressed by the Rambam over 800 years ago:

Anyone who believes in these and similar things and, in his heart, holds that they are true and scientific but forbidden by the Torah, is nothing but a fool with a deficient mind, who belongs to the same class with others whose intellects are immature. Intelligent people, however, whose rationality is intact, know by clear proofs that all these practices which the Torah prohibited have no scientific basis but are senseless and empty; and that only those with deficient minds are attracted by these follies and, for their sake, leave the ways of truth.

In the Ramban’s time, the evidence wasn't so clear. To deny magic was to take a stance on what was regarded as a two-sided scientific dispute. Today, however, there are no two sides. In this day and age, to believe in magic is to reject science and to deny sense observation. That, we can be sure, is a stance that the Ramban would never take, and would never advocate. 

[1] See Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Hilchos Avodah Zarah 11:16; Commentary on the Mishnah, Maseches Avodah Zarah 4:6; Letter to the Rabbis of Montepellier

[2] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Shemos 7:11 (Beur ha’Milos)

[3] There wasn’t any “science” in Ramban’s time. They called it “natural philosophy.” I’m speaking in the vernacular.

[4] This isn't the only instance of the Ramban basing his interpretation of Chumash on empirical evidence. In our dvar Torah on Parashas Noach we saw that the Ramban relied on the explanation of rainbows given by the Greek scientists, even when their words undermined the plain pshat of the pesukim. The Ramban wrote: “We are compelled to believe the words of the Greek [scientists] that rainbows are a natural phenomenon resulting from the sun’s rays passing through moist air, etc.”

Parashas Shemos: Seventy Souls and Seventy Perspectives

Originally written as a "newsletter dvar Torah" for the general populace, and posted in January 2012.

Seventy Souls and Seventy Perspectives

The second chapter of Sefer Shemos begins with the birth of Moshe Rabbeinu: “A man went from the house of Levi and he took a daughter of Levi. The woman conceived and gave birth to a son.” [1] This woman is subsequently identified as Yocheved. [2] 

The birth of Yocheved poses a difficulty in light of an earlier pasuk: “All the people of Yaakov’s household who came to Egypt were seventy.” [3] The Gemara notes the difficulty that the Chumash only lists 69 individuals. The Gemara answers by identifying the 70th individual as Yocheved, explaining that her name was omitted from the list because she “came to Egypt” in her mother’s womb and was “born between the walls” as Bnei Yisrael entered Egypt. [4] 

This Gemara leads us to an astounding conclusion. Based on the timeline in the Chumash, it turns out that Yocheved was 130 years old when she gave birth to Moshe! [5]

Rashi and Ramban take this Gemara at face value, as literal fact. [6] They maintain that the birth of Moshe to the 130-year-old Yocheved was a miracle. Indeed, the Gemara itself refers to her birth as a miracle. [7] Ibn Ezra and Ralbag disagree. They argue that that if the Torah went out of its way to mention the miraculous birth of Yitzchak to the 90-year-old Sarah, then it certainly would have mentioned the miraculous birth of Moshe to a 130-year-old Yocheved. [8] Ralbag adds that the Torah’s makes it a point to publicize miracles by mentioning them explicitly, since miracles are a cornerstone of our belief in God. [9]

How, then, do Ibn Ezra and Ralbag explain the aforementioned Gemara, which openly states that Moshe’s birth was a miracle? Their answer is simple: they interpret this Gemara as a non-literal midrash. Ralbag theorizes that the midrash was written “for the benefit of the masses, to establish in their hearts the power of Hashem’s ability to do miracles.” How do they explain the fact that the Chumash asserts that 70 souls went down to Egypt, but the pesukim only list 69 names? – Their answer is simple: by including Yaakov himself in the total of 70. And what about Yocheved’s Age? – Ralbag explains that if we assume Yocheved was born at the end of Levi’s life, then she would have only been 58 years old when she gave birth to Moshe; while this might be a late age to have a child, it would not require us to posit a miracle.

This machlokes provides us with the opportunity for a valuable methodology lesson. People often invoke the principle of “shivim panim l’Torah” ("there are seventy faces/perspectives to the Torah") [10] when confronted by divergent views. Unfortunately, the application of this principle is often misunderstood. Some people use “shivim panim l’Torah” as a way of saying, “All views are equally valid.” In my opinion, this represents an incorrect understanding of the principle. Rather, “shivim panim l’Torah” means that it is possible to have multiple valid theories to explain a certain set of facts. In some subjects – such as halacha, and certain areas of ethics and politics – conflicting theories can be equally true. But in other subjects – such as science, philosophy, metaphysics, and history – there is only one truth, since there is only one reality.

Our machlokes serves as an example of the latter. Does “shivim panim l’Torah” mean that the opposing views of these Rishonim are both true? No. That would be impossible. Either Yocheved was 130 years old when she gave birth to Moshe, or she 58. Both cannot be true. Rather, “shivim panim l’Torah” means that both views are based on sound theories. Both theories are logical, both are supported by solid evidence and reasoning, and both offer valuable insights into Torah. It is in that sense that we can invoke “shivim panim la’Torah.” 

[1] Sefer Shemos 2:1-2
[2] ibid. 6:20; Bamidbar 26:59
[3] Sefer Bereishis 46:27
[4] Talmud Bavli: Maseches Bava Basra 123b
[5] Given that the Jews lived in Egypt for 210 years, and Moshe was 80 years old when he spoke to Paroh, he must have been born 130 after the arrival of Bnei Yisrael in Egypt. Thus, if Yocheved was born “between the walls” as Bnei Yisrael entered Egypt, she must have been 130 years old when she gave birth to Moshe.
[6] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Shemos 2:1; Commentary on Sefer Bereishis 46:15, 26
[7] Talmud Bavli: Maseches Bava Basra 119b-120a
[8] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Commentary on Sefer Bereishis 46:27
[9] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Shemos 1:7

Plans for Winter 2016

Dear readers, 

January 2016 is right around the corner. While I still do not have time to fully commit to regular blogging, I would like to at least make an effort to resume my endeavor to edit and transfer blog posts from the old blog to the new one. I'm going to start with the realistic goal of transferring the weekly divrei Torah posts, and establish that as my new routine for 2016. If that should happen to lead me to edit and transfer other old posts - great! And if my renewed involvement in the blog should happen to lead me to actually write an occasional new post - even better! 

No promises. But if you're a fan, then keep your eye on the blog.

- Kol ha'Seridim

Artwork: Enduring Renewal, by Harold McNeill