Chametz - Why So Serious?

This is essentially a walk-through of the famous Ramban at the end of Parashas Bo. Originally published in April 2014.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: The Basket of Bread, by Salvador Dali

Chametz - Why So Serious?

“Why can’t we eat chametz on Pesach?” “Why aren't we permitted to own chametz on Pesach?” “Why do we have to search our homes for chametz on Erev Pesach?” These are among the most common questions I receive from my students at this time of the year. However, the most important questions that my students ask me year-round are: “How do we know that God exists?” and “How do we know that Judaism is true?” As it so happens, the answers to both sets of questions are more related than one might think.

The mitzvos associated with chametz are inherently tied to the mitzvah to remember Yetzias Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt): 

Remember this day that you went forth from Egypt, from the house of slaves, for with a strong hand Hashem took you out from there, and you shall not eat chametz … For a seven-day period you shall eat matzos, and on the seventh day there shall be a festival to Hashem. Matzos shall be eaten throughout the seven-day period; no chametz may be seen in your possession, nor may leaven be seen in your possession in all your borders. And you shall tell your son on that day, saying, “It is because of this that Hashem acted on my behalf when I left Egypt.” And it shall be for you a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes – so that Hashem’s Torah may be in your mouth – for with a strong hand Hashem removed you from Egypt (Shemos 13:3-9).

According to the plain pshat, there is one central reason for the mitzvos of chametz and matzah: to remind us of the events of Yetzias Mitzrayim. This raises a number of additional questions. Why does the Torah take such extreme measures to remind us of Yetzias Mitzrayim? Why force us to go through all the trouble to distance ourselves from chametz? Why impose the harsh penalty of kareis (spiritual excision) for eating chametz on Pesach? Moreover, why are there so many mitzvos which serve this same purpose? Shabbos, tefillin, mezuzah, tzitzis, Shema, Sukkos – there are dozens of mitzvos that commemorate Yetzias Mitzrayim! Why the redundancy?

The Ramban (ibid. 13:16) answers these questions in detail. He begins by stating that ever since the time of Enosh there have been people who have denied or doubted the reality of Hashem’s hashgachah (providence), His omniscience, and even His Existence. How can these doubts be removed? Ramban explains:

When God favors a congregation or an individual and does a miracle which deviates from the pattern of the world and its nature, the refutation of all these [false] beliefs is clear to all. Such a wondrous miracle indicates (a) that the universe has a God, (b) Who brought it into existence, (c) Who has knowledge of particulars, (d) Who providentially supervises [mankind], and (e) Who is Omnipotent; (f) and when this miracle is declared beforehand by a prophet, the reality of prophecy is also proven, namely, that God speaks with man and reveals His secrets to His servants, the prophets. Through this the entire Torah becomes firmly established.

Hashem orchestrated the miraculous Exodus from Egypt in order to demonstrate these fundamental truths to mankind. Moshe Rabbeinu repeatedly emphasizes the educational character of the makkos: “In order that you should know that I am Hashem in the midst of the earth” (ibid. 8:18); “In order that you should know that the earth belongs to God,” (ibid. 9:12); “In order that you should know that there is none like Me in all the earth” (ibid. 9:14) and so on. Ramban explains that “the Egyptians either denied or were in doubt about all of these things. Thus, the great signs and wonders are trustworthy witnesses to the reality of the Creator and the entire Torah.”

How do these miracles which occurred thousands of years ago accomplish their goals today? Ramban explains:

Since God will not perform a sign and wonder in every generation for the eyes of every evildoer or heretic, He commanded us to make continual reminders of that which we witnessed with our eyes, and to transmit the matter to our children and our children’s children unto the last generation. He was exceedingly stringent regarding this matter, to the extent that He instituted the liability of kareis for eating chametz and neglecting the Pesach-sacrifice, and required us to write about the entire matter of the signs and wonders, which we witnessed, on our arms and between our eyes, and also to write them on the doorposts of our houses, and to mention it verbally in the morning and the evening and to make a sukkah every year, and many other mitzvos in remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt – all for the sake of serving as testimonial of the wonders for all generations so that we do not forget them and so that there shouldn't be any room for the mouths of heretics to deny the true ideas of God. 

Miracles verify the fundamentals of Torah. In order to establish these truths once and for all, Yetzias Miztrayim was carried out in an impressively miraculous manner in the eyes of multitudes. To ensure that these miracles wouldn't be forgotten, Hashem commemorated them in a variety of mitzvos. These mitzvos are called “eidos” (lit. “testimonies”) because they “bear witness” to the events which prove the foundational principles of Torah. Ramban concludes with a dramatic example of how a little mitzvah can be utilized to achieve such a lofty goal:

Thus, if a person buys a mezuzah for a penny, affixes it do his doorpost, and contemplates its content, he has ipso facto affirmed [belief in] the creation of the world and the omniscience and providence of the Creator, as well as prophecy, and has conviction in all of the fundamentals of the Torah, and all of this in addition to acknowledging the exceedingly great kindness of the Creator toward those who fulfill His will, that He took us out of slavery to freedom, which is a great honor to the merit of our forefathers who desired to be in awe of His name. Therefore, the Sages said: “Be as careful with a light mitzvah as with a strict mitzvah,” for all of them are exceedingly desirable and beloved, for at all times a person will acknowledge God through them.

Now we can understand the severity of the prohibitions of chametz. To put it simply: Hashem created the commemorative mitzvos of Pesach to have an impact, since their “testimonial” objectives are only achieved when we contemplate them. Although we have mitzvos to remind us of Yetzias Mitzrayim throughout the entire year, Pesach is the time of year when this theme takes center stage and becomes the focus of our learning. The prohibitions of chametz are designed to be as “in your face” (for lack of a better term) as mitzvos can get. They necessitate major changes in our day-to-day routines before, during, and after Pesach. It is impossible for any halacha-observant Jew to be oblivious to the prohibitions associated with chametz. The reason for all of this is to make sure that we think about and discuss the philosophical implications of the miraculous events which these mitzvos commemorate, thereby strengthening our conviction in Hashem and His Torah. 

Were it not for the demanding strictures of chametz, the reality of the national memory of Yetzias Mitzrayim would continually diminish over the centuries and millennia, and the fundamental proofs would be lost along with them.

The Eleventh Plague

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

Artwork: Necrotic Plague, by Jaime Jones

The Eleventh Plague

Towards the end of the Arami Oved Avi section of the Hagadah, we encounter a somewhat puzzling drashah:

With a strong hand – this refers to the dever (pestilence), as it is stated: “Behold! – the hand of Hashem shall strike your cattle which are in the field, the horses, the donkeys, the camels, the herds, and the flocks – a very severe pestilence” (Shemos 9:3).

According to the plain pshat, as seemingly indicated by the pasuk cited in the Hagadah, this is a reference to makkas dever: the plague of pestilence that killed the Egyptian livestock, which was the fifth of the ten makkos.

In this post we would like to take up two questions: 

1. Why does the Hagadah single out dever from among the other makkos? There are only two other drashos which mention specific makkos: the first drashah in this set, which references makkas bechoros (the death of the firstborns), and the last drashah in this set, which references makkas dahm (blood). We but why does the Hagadah then backtrack to dever, which was a "lesser" makkah and chronologically preceded makkas bechoros?
2. What essential idea of Yetzias Mitzrayim does this drashah express? I am working with the premise that since we are telling our sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim (the account of the Exodus from Egypt) through these drashos, then each of these drashahos must convey an essential idea about Yetzias Mitzrayim. What fundamental idea is expressed here? 

The most intriguing explanation I've encountered from the Rishonim is that of the Orchos Chayim, in his commentary on the Hagadah:

The explanation of this is as follows: this refers not only to the livestock disease, but to the human epidemic as well, for there wasn't a single one of the makkos that was not accompanied by an epidemic, as it is stated, "Behold, I will smite all of your borders" (Shemos 7:27); "Only this death" (ibid. 10:17); "all of My plagues" (ibid. 9:14). This was expressed through the term "hand," as it is written: "Behold, the hand of Hashem is upon etc."

According to the Orchos Chayim, the drashah in the Haggadah does not refer exclusively to livestock disease, which was but one of the ten makkos. Rather, it refers to the human epidemic which accompanied all of the other makkos. This makkah is only alluded to in the pesukim, never discussed openly (which is one of the reasons why you may never have heard of it). Other midrashim make reference to this dever as well. For instance, Shemos Rabbah 10:2 says:

R' Yehoshua ben Levi said: [in] every makkah that was visited upon the Egyptians, a contagion crept along with it, as it is said, "Behold, I will smite" - and the word "behold" refers to the epidemic, as it says: "Behold, the hand of Hashem is upon your cattle."

This answers our first question: Why does the Hagadah single out dever from among the other makkos? The answer is: It doesn't! The Hagadah is not referring to the makkah of dever per se, but to the "background makkah" of human disease. 

This raises a new question: What was the purpose of this human epidemic? Weren't the ten makkos enough? Furthermore, the Torah itself seems to support the idea that the other makkos were primary, since the narrative explicitly recounts the ten makkos but only alludes to the "background dever." Also, we still haven't answered our second original question: What essential idea of Yetzias Mitzrayim does this drashah teach us?

I believe the clue which will allow us to answer these questions is contained in the first chapters of Sefer Iyov. The story of Iyov begins with a description of Iyov as "wholesome and upright, he feared God and shunned evil." He had a large and happy family and was "the wealthiest man of all the people in the east." One day, the satan posed a challenge to Hashem, saying:

"Is it for nothing that Iyov fears God? Have You not set a protective wall about him, about his household, and about everything he owns from all around? You have blessed his handiwork, and his livestock have spread throughout the land. But send forth Your hand and touch everything that is his, [and see] if he does not blaspheme You to Your face" (Iyov 1:9-11).

Hashem accepts the challenge (so to speak) and grants the satan dominion over all of Iyov's property on the one condition: "do not send forth your hand against his [person]!" (ibid. 12). The satan goes forth and, in a single day, destroys Iyov's wealth, servants, and children. In spite of all the loss, Iyov remains steadfast in his acceptance of Hashem's decree. Hashem points this out to the satan, but the satan replies:

"Skin for the sake of skin! Whatever a man has he would give up for his life! But send forth Your hand and touch his bone and his flesh, and surely he will blaspheme You to Your face!" (ibid. 2:4-5).

Hashem grants the satan permission to afflict Iyov's body:

The Satan departed from the presence of Hashem and afflicted Iyov with severe boils, from the soles of his feat to the top of his head. He took a potsherd to scratch himself with, and he sat amid the ashes (ibid. 2:7-8).

At first, Iyov didn't give in - at least, not in his outward speech or actions. "Despite everything, Iyov did not sin with his lips" (ibid. 10) - though, as Chazal teach, he did sin in his heart, even though he didn't express it. Finally, when his friends come to visit him, after sitting in silence for seven days and seven nights, "Iyov opened his mouth and cursed his day" (ibid. 14).

Without going into the whole psychology of Iyov, one thing is clear: his bodily afflictions pushed him over the edge, to the point where questioned his metaphysical premises. He was able to maintain a certain view of hashgachas Hashem (Divine providence) in spite of the destruction of his property and the loss of his children, but once Hashem afflicted his body, Iyov could not longer uphold his original beliefs. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was able to admit to himself what he truly thought and felt about Hashem and His Divine justice. Only then was Iyov able to commence his inquiry into Hashem's justice.

The ten makkos were not merely a means of liberating Bnei Yisrael from Egypt. Rather, the makkos were designed to teach the Egyptians a set of core ideas about Hashem. The pesukim emphasize the educational character of the makkos again and again: 

• "and Egypt will know that I am Hashem" (Shemos 7:5) 
• "with this shall you know that I am Hashem" (ibid. 7:17) 
• "in order that you shall know that there is none like Hashem, our God" (ibid. 8:6) 
• "in order that you shall know that I am Hashem, in the midst of the land" (ibid. 8:18) 
• "so that you shall know that there is none like Me in all the land" (ibid. 9:14)
• "in order to show you My power, and in order that My Name will be proclaimed throughout the entire land" (ibid. 9:16) 
• "in order that you shall know that the earth is Hashem's" (ibid. 9:29) 
• "so that you shall tell in the ears of your son and your grandson . . . and they shall know that I am Hashem" (ibid. 10:2) 

The purpose of the makkos was to uproot the entire belief system of Egypt and to establish the revolutionary new worldview of Malchus Hashem. But no matter how miraculous, terrifying, and life-disrupting the makkos were, it would still be possible for an Egyptian to uphold his inner resistances and to deflect the lessons that the makkos were designed to instill. Just as Iyov remained staunch in his beliefs in spite of the Divinely ordained destruction of everything he held dear, so too, it would have been possible for the Egyptians to cling to their beliefs, even as Egypt was destroyed all around them.

Herein lies the purpose of the "other dever," perhaps. Each one of the ten makkos was accompanied by a human epidemic. This dever dealt a blow to the physical well-being of the Egyptians, thereby rendering them receptive to the curriculum of the makkos. Iyov was able to persist in his stubbornness, but as soon as his very flesh was attacked, his mind became free to question and contemplate the implications of his suffering. Ultimately, this investigation brought him to a true understanding of Hashem's relationship with mankind. Likewise, the presence of this human epidemic with each and every makkah effectively broke down the Egyptians' resistances to pondering the makkos and enabled the ideas to penetrate their minds.

Perhaps this idea is essential to sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim because it shows a fundamental idea about Hashem's punishments, namely, that they are not vindictive, but are for the good of humanity. "Do I desire at all the death of the wicked - the word of Hashem/Elokim? Is it not rather his return from his ways, that he may live?" (Yechezkel 18:23). In the case of Yetzias Mitzrayim, it is true that Hashem orchestrated the makkos in order to redeem Bnei Yisrael, as He promised to Avraham Avinu. Nevertheless, the makkos were also designed to enlighten the dark society of Egypt and to help them do teshuvah from their moral waywardness and metaphysical errors. The fact that Hashem provided a human epidemic to accompany the makkos in order to facilitate this teshuvah. Thus, by focusing on the human epidemic, we are recognizing yet another dimension of chesed Hashem - His kindness towards all of His creations.

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.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

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.”