Bruce Lee: On Lefum Tzaara Agra

Originally published in July 2013.

This picture of Bruce Lee learning Pirkei Avos may or may not be Photoshopped.

Bruce Lee: On Lefum Tzaara Agra

Pirkei Avos concludes with an oft-quoted teaching of Ben Hei Hei: לפום צערא אגרא (lefum tazaara agra). Although some like to translate this as "according to the effort is the reward," a Hebrew speaker will readily note that this is a poor rendition. צערא (tzaara) is the Aramaic translation of the Hebrew word צער (tzaar) which means "pain" or "suffering." A more accurate translation of Bein Hei Hei's statement would be: "according to the pain is the reward" or "according to the suffering is the reward."

I've heard this statement thrown around quite often, usually as a way of saying, "All that matters is how hard you try!" or "No pain, no gain!" (which, funnily enough, the Wikipedia article traces back to our mishnah). While there may be some truth in these common sayings, I don't think this is what Ben Hei Hei was getting at.

My rabbeim taught me that whenever I learn anything, I should always try to arrive at my own understanding first, and only afterwards consult the meforshim (commentaries). In that spirit, I wanted to share my own pre-meforshim understanding of lefum tzaara agra. My idea was inspired by a quotation from my Jeet Kune Do rebbi: Bruce Lee.

Bruce Lee taught: 

People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world. 

We all have habits. The Rambam would call these "deos" or "character dispositions." Collectively, we refer to these habits as "our personality." By and large, these habits dictate our decision-making. When we find ourselves in unfamiliar situations, our habits influence the direction our minds go in deciding how to act. 

In order to perfect ourselves in any area of life, we must be willing to alter these habits. In order to change our habits, we must act contrary to them. Forcing ourselves to go against our habits may be painful and frustrating, but it is absolutely necessary for the sake of our development. The Rambam writes about this at length in the first and second chapters of Hilchos Deos.

The most painful habits to break are the ones which are rooted in what we value most. The more attached we are, the more painful it is to act against our habits. For example: dieting can be torturous for those who are accustomed to eating whatever they want, whenever they want; controlling one's temper can be extremely difficult for someone who is accustomed to unrestrained "venting"; keeping halacha can feel especially oppressive for those who were brought up living a non-halachic life. 

This is where Torah and mitzvos enter the picture. There is no area of our lives about which the Torah has nothing to say, whether in the derech ha'am or the derech ha'yachid. In every area of our lives, the Torah guides us away from our default habits and develops us in accordance with its objectives. 

So far, we have set forth three premises: (1) we are dominated by our habits; (2) acting contrary to our habits is painful; (3) the Torah compels us to act contrary to our habits for the sake of our development. Put it all together and we arrive at the following truth: Every major breakthrough in our Torah development will necessarily be accompanied by pain and frustration.

Think about it: how would it be possible to have a real breakthrough which doesn't run contrary to our habits, emotions, and personality? If someone claims to have had a breakthrough in Torah which is so in line with his or her present way of living and thinking that it doesn't cause any conflict, then I would seriously question the authenticity of this "breakthrough." 

The Rav writes about this phenomenon in "Footnote 4" of Halakhic Man:

Religion is not, at the outset, a refuge of grace and mercy for the despondent and desperate, an enchanted stream for crushed spirits, but a raging clamorous torrent of man’s consciousness with all its crises, pangs, and torments.Yes, it is true that during the third Sabbath meal at dusk, as the day of rest declines and man’s soul yearns for its Creator and is afraid to depart from that realm of holiness whose name is Sabbath, into the dark and frightening, secular workaday week, we sing the psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters” (Ps. 23), etc., etc., and we believe with our entire hearts in the ultimate destination of the religious man, not the path leading to that destination. For the path that eventually will lead to the “green pastures” and to the “still waters” is not the royal road, but a narrow, twisting footway that threads its course along the steep mountain slope, as the terrible abyss yawns at the traveler’s feet.

Let us reexamine this idea in light of the aforementioned statement of Bruce Lee, which I will reiterate here: "People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world." To borrow his terminology: the Torah spreads a 613-part layer of "skillful frustrations" over our lives, but instead of leaving us directionless to "develop our own means and ways of coping with the world" the "skillful frustrations" of Torah guide us towards human perfection in accordance with the wisdom of the Creator. 

This, I believe, is the meaning of lefum tzaara agra. Any* time we experience pain as a result of our progress in Torah, we can rest assured that the Torah regimen is doing its job: breaking our attachment to our detrimental habits and our default, emotional, fantasy-based view of reality and instilling within us beneficial habits while guiding us to a truer view of reality. 

According to this reading of our mishnah in Avos, lefum tzaara agra is not a prescriptive statement, but a descriptive statement. Ben Hei Hei isn't telling us, "You'd better power through the pain, because the more pain you endure, the more reward you'll get!" Rather, he's providing us with a useful perspective for monitoring our own development, saying, "If you are experiencing pain and frustration in your relationship with Torah, this isn't necessarily a bad thing! To the contrary, it is indicative of progress: the more pain you are experiencing, the more progress you are (potentially) making." This perspective can provide a much-needed jolt of motivation during those "spiritual crises, pangs, and torments" of which the Rav spoke.

This is how I imagine Bruce Lee would say, "Nice pshat!"

Well, that was my pre-meforshim interpretation of lefum tzaara agra. Do any meforshim learn this way? ... Not exactly. I have yet to see any meforshim on Avos itself who take even a remotely similar approach. The only leads I have found are the Meiri and the Rambam. The Meiri interprets agra (reward) here not as "reward" (as conventionally understood). Instead, he writes that agra refers to "the outcome [of our involvement in Torah], namely, the apprehension of the truth." Check out the rest of his commentary there. It's possible he's taking a similar approach, but I'm doubtful.

I am more optimistic about the Rambam. The Rambam brings down lefum tzaara agra in the sixth chapter of the Shemoneh Perakim in the context of chasid vs. kovesh es yitzro. Frankly, I don't have enough energy tonight to summarize his views and explain why I think my idea is on the same train of thought as his. Perhaps I'll do that in another post.

For now, let me know what you think of this idea. Specifically, let me know whether you think it is a good pshat, or whether it might be more of a drash, or whether it doesn't amount to either.

* Of course, this assumes that we are keeping Torah in the correct manner. It is certainly possible for a person to experience pain, conflict, and frustration based on a misunderstanding of Torah; this tzaara would not yield agra.

Megilas Rus: Judging the Judges

My chavrusa and I have been delving into Megilas Rus for the first time this year. So far we haven't yet uncovered any fundamental themes or approaches to the sefer - just individual ideas here and there. I'm going to try to write up a few of them before and after Shavuos. Note: I've been sick since Shabbos and have been feeling quite out of it today. Still, I tried finishing this post in time to meet my daily blogging schedule. Pardon me if it's not up to my usual standards. 

Artwork: Council's Judgment, by Kev Walker

Megilas Rus: Judging the Judges

Rus opens with the following pasuk: 

"And it happened in the days when the judges judged that there was a famine in the land, and a man went from Beis-Lechem in Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav  - he, his wife, and his two sons" (Rus 1:1).

According to the plain pshat, this pasuk is establishing the historical context in which the events of the Megilah took place. Rashi fills us in on the details: "And it happened in the days when the judges judged - before the monarchy of King Shaul, during which the generations were governed by the judges; and this was in the days of Ibtzan." 

Chazal are bothered by the seemingly redundant phrase "And it was in the days when the judges judged" (bi'ymei shefot ha'shofetim). The pasuk could have simply said, "And it was in the days of the judges." Why the extra word?

Moreover, we know that whenever a calamity befalls the Jewish community, it is the result of a communal cheit (sin). [1] This was especially true during the period of the Shoftim, when there was a more direct correlation between the hashgachah and righteousness/sinfulness of the people. [2] In light of this we may ask: What was the cheit of this generation? Furthermore, why did this cheit warrant the severe punishment of famine?

The Gemara (Bava Basra 15b) answers both questions in one shot:

R' Yochanan said: What meant by the words, "And it was in the days of shefot ha'shofetim"? - It was a generation which judged its judges. If the judge said to a man, "Take the splinter from between your teeth," he would retort, "Take the beam from between your eyes!" If the judge said, "Your silver is dross," he would retort, "Your liquor is mixed with water!"

By interpreting phrase "shefot ha'shofetim" not as "when the judges judged" but "during the judging of the judges," this midrash identifies the cheit of the generation which caused the famine. But this still needs clarification. What, exactly, was the cheit of "judging the judges"? 

From the examples provided by the Gemara it would seem that the cheit beloged to the judges themselves. Indeed, this is how Rashi interprets our Gemara:

[a generation] which judges its judges - for the judges, themselves, were corrupt; this [corruption] gave the defendant an opening to rebuke his rebuker, for if the judge said to him, "Take the splinter from between your eyes" - remove and separate yourself from the small sin that you have done - he could say back, "Take the beam from between your eyes!" - separate yourself from the major sin that you have done. [3]

The Baalei Tosafos disagree with this interpretation:

a generation which judges its judges - The Ri was astounded by this, for it said in [the first chapter] of Temurah (15b): "All of the 'grape-clusters' (i.e. righteous leaders) who arose for Israel from the time of Moshe until the death of Yosef ben Yoezer were free from the blemish [of sin]." 

The Ri is bothered by Gemara's implication that the judges were corrupt, since Chazal say that the judges were righteous during this time. The Chasam Sofer also rejects Rashi's interpretation, and offers an interpretation of his own:

Heaven forbid that the judge [in the days of Rush] sinned! For we find that Osniel ben Kenaz, Boaz, Eli ha'Kohen, and Shmuel ha'Navi were among them; and even Yiftach and Gideon were "grape-clusters." Heaven forbid that Hashem's spirit would be driven by transgressors! 

Rather, [the meaning of the Gemara is that the judges] didn't watch over Israel in the proper manner, as Chazal said about the Elders who did not rebuke the nobles, and the righteous Eli, who didn't rebuke his sons. This is the meaning of "from between your eyes" - namely, the eyes of the congregation, who were supposed to be watched over.

Personally, I don't know enough about the period of the Shoftim to assess how righteous or corrupt the judges were at that time; I'll leave that argument up to Rashi and Tosafos.

What inclines me to the side of Tosafos is the Gemara's characterization of this problem as a cheit of the generation - not as a cheit of the judges themselves. If the judges were corrupt, the Gemara should have interpreted "shefot ha'shofetim" as "[a generation] in which the judges were judged [by God]" rather than "[a generation] which judged its judges," or something to that effect. Chazal's attribution of the cheit to the people of the generation leads me to believe that the judges were blemish free, as is indicated by the Gemara cited by Tosafos. 

What, then, do we make of the Gemara's examples of the typical dialogue that would take place between the judge and the defendant?

Perhaps we can interpret this dialogue as an expression of the corrupt mindset that plagued the people of that generation. There is a well-known idiom which comes to mind here: "the pot calling the kettle black." The formal name for this is the tu quoque (or "appeal to hypocrisy") fallacy, which Wikipedia defines as "an attempt [to discredit the validity of the opponent's logical argument by asserting the opponent's failure to act consistently in accordance with its conclusion(s)." According to this fallacy, Reuven has no right to point out a flaw in Shimon if Reuven partakes of a similar flaw. While there might be a psychological truth at play here (i.e. people tend not to listen to someone if they view that person as a hypocrite), this way of thinking has little relevance in matters of law, mussar, or practical advice.

For example, if Reuven the Judge convicts Shimon the Defendant of selling dross labeled as "pure silver," Shimon can accuse Reuven all day long for diluting his liquor with water, but that accusation will not change Shimon's liability in a court of law. True, Shimon might be less willing to accept a ruling from a judge whom he feels is also guilty of a crime, but that has no bearing on the reality of what Shimon did, nor does it exempt him from the legal consequences of his actions. This is true even if Reuven were guilty of a crime - and certainly if Reuven is guilt-free, as Tosafos and the Chasam Sofer would say about the Shoftim in our case.

Likewise, if Reuven - a nutritionist who happens to be obese - advises Shimon to cut back on his excessive consumption of sugar and trans fats because they're bad for his health, and Shimon responds, "Oh, look at the pot calling the kettle black!" who is really acting foolishly here? True, Shimon might feel uncomfortable trusting Reuven's health advice if Reuven doesn't live a healthy lifestyle, but that discomfort doesn't in and and of itself undermine the scientific validity of Reuven's advice. Reuven's expert pronouncement stands on its own merit, regardless of Reuven's personal decisions.

It seems that this was the cheit of the generation at the time of Rus: they viewed halacha as the subjective imposition of human will, rather than an objective system of divine law. We maintain that the Torah's laws are objectively true and real - just as real as the laws of nature. It is evident from the examples mentioned in the Gemara that this generation did not regard the Torah's laws as objective reality, nor did they regard the judges as the knowers and adjudicators of that law. Instead, they relegated the judges' verdicts to the realm of human opinion, such that they could be dismissed on the basis of hypocrisy - whether real or imagined.

Perhaps this sheds light on Rav Avigdor Kohen Tzedek's explanation of the famine:

and there was a famine in the land - Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu said to them: "You stood  [in opposition] against your judges, [so] I will set for you a judge against whom you will not be able to stand. Which [judge] is this? - The plague of famine, which is called "judge," as it is stated: "How much more when I send My four terrible judges: sword, famine, ferocious beast, and pestilence" (Yechezkel 14:21).

This was a midah kneged midah punishment: Bnei Yisrael brushed off the judgments of their judges as subjective impositions of human will; in response, Hashem sent forth an objective "judge," whose sentence could not be brushed off so easily. It is easy to dismiss a human judge's verdict as mere opinion, but it is much more difficult to do the same with the verdict of the True Judge.

Rav Avigdor adds that the gematria of "ויהי בימי שפוט" ("and it was in the days of judging") is equivalent to the gematria of "ילדים שפטו" ("children judged"). If we take this gematria in tandem with Rav Avigdor's earlier citation of our Gemara in Bava Basra, we can clerly see how the people at the time of the Shoftim were behaving like children. The response of, "Oh yeah? Remove the beam from between your eyes!" smacks of the infantile reaction of "Oh yeah? You're not the boss of me!" This is a fine way for a child to retort to the bully on the playground, but if a patient responded this way to his doctor's prescription or a contractor used this statement to deflect an architect's counsel, then disaster is sure to follow. The same is true for those who childishly ignore halachic rulings out of a similarly misguided sentiment of, "Who does that rabbi think he is telling me what to do?"

Unfortunately, this same distortion prevails among Jews today. There are many modern Jews who are willing to disregard the rulings of rabbeim as nothing but biased predilections of men, rather than as objective dictates of the Creator. Even worse is the fact that the members of the rabbinate are guilty of this charge, in certain sectors. Unfortunately, there are rabbis who abuse their positions of authority and allow their personal feelings to influence their adjudication of halacha.

As we prepare for the celebration of the Giving of our Torah, it behooves us to assess our own relationship with the law. To what extent do we regard halacha as a regimen for human success, and to what extent do we relate to it as the imposition of an psychological authority figure's whims upon our own will?

The Torah was given to us by God, but how we receive it is up to us.

[1] See Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Taaniyos 1:1-1
[2] See Sefer Shoftim, Chapter 2
[3] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[4] Tosafos, Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[5] Rav Moshe Schreiber (Chasam Sofer), Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[6] Rabbeinu Avigdor ben Eliyahu ha'Kohen, Commentary to Megilas Rus 1:1

My Personal Stance on Kiruv

Originally published in July 2013.

Artwork: Welcome to the Fold, by David Palumbo
(Hint: if your kiruv is perceived like this, then you're doing it wrong.)

My Personal Stance on Kiruv

My dad moved in nextdoor to a lively, comical, rambunctious 89-year-old man named Alan. Alan has lived in the neighborhood for over 40 years, but the two of them only met recently, and they really hit it off. My dad suggested that we all learn Mishlei together this past Shabbos afternoon, and we thought it was a great idea.

On our way over to Alan's apartment, we ran into someone from our shul. Let's call him "Max." The conversation went something like this:

Max: "So, where are you guys heading off to at this hour?"

Me: "We're going to go learn with this 89-year-old guy that my dad recently met."

Max: "Jewish?"

Me: "Yes."

Max: "Religious?"

Me: "No."

Max: :::eyes light up::: "Ah, so you you're going to do kiruv (outreach)! Bringing him on over to our side!" 

Me: :::brief pause::: "No ... we're just going to learn Torah." 

This isn't the first time I've heard a comment like this. In my second year of teaching, I mentioned to a colleague that I enjoy teaching irreligious kids more than I enjoy teaching religious kids. Had he asked me why, I would have answered that the irreligious kids tend to be more open-minded, which (in my experience) enhances the quality of the learning and makes it more enjoyable. But this person didn't ask me any question. Instead, he exclaimed, "Ah, so you're into kiruv! How nice!"

I wanted to respond to him by telling him my personal stance on the matter: I learn and I teach, but I don't do kiruv. But I held my tongue.

Kiruv is for some people, but not for others.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against kiruv per se. There are so many different motivations and approaches to doing kiruv that it would be virtually meaningless to be "pro-kiruv" or "anti-kiruv." I also don't have anything against the people who do kiruv, per se. There are many Jews who are engaged in beneficial kiruv-work who do a lot of good. My family, and many of my friends, would not be involved in Judaism were it not for people who have dedicated their lives to doing kiruv. At the same time, there are many Jews who do harm through kiruv, and would be better off minding their own business.

What irks me is the default assumption that any Torah-learning done with non-religious Jews must be a kiruv-driven agenda. Isn't learning with a fellow Jew - nay, a fellow human being - a valuable endeavor in and of itself? Is kiruv really the only thing that would justify doing this? Can't I just learn Torah with a non-religious person without missionizing?

Of course, if I responded in this manner, the other party would agree. But the immediacy of their reaction was telling, nonetheless. And the comment about "bringing them over to my side" was even more telling.

But I'd go further and argue that even within the framework of kiruv, it isn't always wise to go into learning with the goal of being mekarev someone (i.e. getting them to become religious). One of the things that made me so successful when I taught irreligious kids was the fact that I wasn't trying to "bring them over to my side." They could sense this, and it had a tremendously beneficial impact on our relationship.

This became especially clear to me during my first month of teaching when, in an email exchange with an irreligious student, he asked me point blank why I even bothered following up with his "apikorsus" (heretical) questions. Here is how I answered him:

I try, as hard as I can, to be entirely selfish. The reason why I am interested in discussing philosophy with you is not because I'm trying to "convert" you, to "save your soul," or to make you change your actions in any way. What you do with your life is up to you. The reasons why I want to have philosophical discussions with you are (a) because I enjoy it, (b) because you ask really good questions, and (c) because you challenge my ideas and force me to question my own beliefs and opinion. Like I said, my motives are purely selfish. So if I ever say, "I don't care about your soul," don't take any offense!

His response:

U R THE MANNNNN lol. i dnt think any rabbi would do that. especially say "I dnt care about ur soul." lol

I meant what I said in the email at the time, and the student knew it. From that moment on, the doors to his mind opened up, and our learning skyrocketed. And my learning continued with that student throughout his high school years and beyond.

The same thing happened with many other students. It's only natural for irreligious people to be somewhat suspicious when a religious person expresses an interest in learning with them or teaching them. Once they perceive that the religious person isn't out to "win them over," their tzelem Elokim becomes free to do what it was designed to do: to seek truth, and to enjoy it. And if the tzelem Elokim is nurtured in this manner, it will find its way, as the Rambam writes at the end of Hilchos Teshuvah 6:5:

Furthermore, He implanted within them the capacity to learn and to understand, for this tendency is within every human being, namely, that as long as he is drawn by the ways of chochmah and tzedek, he [continues to] desire them and pursue them. This is what the Sages meant by, “One who comes to be purified will be assisted” – meaning to say, he will find himself assisted in the matter.

I guess this really boils down to a deep conviction of mine which is strengthened with every year of teaching experience: I believe in the resilience of the tzelem Elokim. I have seen so many students whose tzelem Elokim has been dormant, suppressed, frustrated, asleep, beaten down, and otherwise impeded - and yet, once it gets a taste of real learning, it springs back to life. A parched tzelem Elokim will know when its thirst for knowledge is being quenched, and its natural response will be to crave more. When this happens, overt missionary efforts will usually bring more harm than good.

Bottom line: let the tzelem Elokim do its thing. Agenda-less learning (a.k.a. Torah lishmah) is inherently good, inherently enjoyable, and will often accomplish more kiruv than you'd expect.

I'm not one to do kiruv, but if I must, I prefer 100% organic kiruv (a.k.a. agenda-less learning)
over that artificially flavored stuff.

Parashas Bechukosai: Why are Women Worth Less than Men?

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Preface: I struggled with the title of this blog post. I wanted it to be attention-grabbing in the same way as the pesukim themselves are attention-grabbing, but I also wanted a title which will be read in one way by a reactive person (who will likely dismiss it), and in another way by someone who is more open-minded and is willing to investigate before drawing conclusions - since that is one of the major points of this blog post. 

Artwork: Ardent Plea, by Chippy

Parashas Bechukosai: Why are Women Worth Less than Men?

The Facts

The final chapter of Sefer Vayikra begins with the laws of arachim - a type of vow which allows a person to donate the monetary equivalent of the value of one's field, one's house, one's animal, or the value of a human being to the building fund of the Beis ha'Mikdash. 

In the case of a pledged field, house, or animal, the Kohen evaluates the worth of the item on an individual basis. However, when it comes to pledging the value of a human being, the Torah establishes fixed amounts based solely on age and sex. This valuation of human beings doesn't take into account any other qualities: wealth, health, appearance, mental capacity, tribe, or even whether a person is a Jew or a gentile.

The Torah she'bi'Chsav explicitly states the value for each age/sex combination:

The valuation of a male shall be: for someone twenty years to sixty years of age, the valuation shall be fifty silver shekels, of the sacred shekel. If she is female, the valuation shall be thirty shekels. And if from five to twenty years of age, the valuation of a male shall be twenty shekels and of a female ten shekels. And if from one month to five years of age, the valuation shall be five silver shekels; and for a female, the valuation shall be three silver shekels. And if from sixty years and up, if for a male, the valuation shall be fifteen shekels; and for a female, ten shekels (Vayikra 27:3-7)

Here is the same information in the form of a table, incorporating some modifications from Torah she'baal Peh:

The Questions

I presented these facts to some of my students today. As I anticipated, one of them reacted by exclaiming: "WHAT?! HOW CAN THE TORAH SAY THAT MEN ARE WORTH MORE THAN WOMEN? THAT IS INCREDIBLY SEXIST!"  

To this student, and to anyone else who might respond in a likewise fashion, I would say the following: "Clearly, you are bothered by what the Torah says, and you have a legitimate question. Let's see if we can formulate your question in a clearer and more precise fashion."

Thankfully, the Abravanel does an excellent job of articulating the questions. He writes:

1. Why did the Torah establish the values of arachin vows for human beings? It would have been more fitting to entrust [this task] to the Kohen to evaluate each person in accordance with his or her value. For example, there might be a person who is worth 100 [shekels] and another person who isn't even worth 10. Just as the fields, and properties, and animals are evaluated by the Kohen, why aren't people evaluated in the same manner?  

2. Why did the Torah differentiate between the value of a male and the value of a female, seeing as how both of them are human beings, as it is stated, "male and female He created them" (Bereishis 1:27) "and He called their name 'man'" (ibid. 5:4)? In the realm of damages we see, "If the ox shall gore a slave or a maidservant, thirty silver shekels" (Shemos 21:32) - without making a differentiation between male and female. Why is the matter like this in this mitzvah? 

3. Why don't these valuations have a specific and set ratio between the male and the female? Between the ages of 20 and 60 the value of a female is 3/5ths the value of a male. From age 5 to 20 the value of a female is half the value of a male. From one month to 5 years the value of a female is 3/5ths the value of a male. And from 60 years and up the value of a female is 2/3rds the value of a male. It behooves us to investigate why this is the case. 

Let's take a moment to appreciate the difference between my student's initial reaction and the Abravanel's questions. The student was bothered by these facts and immediately jumped to a conclusion that the Torah was being sexist (i.e. discriminating against women out of the belief that they are inferior). In contrast, the Abravanel approached the area with the objective mindset of a scientist, looking for patterns, anomalies, and clues which might lead to deeper insight. This step of formulating the questions is critical. Even if we don't end up finding satisfactory answers, we will still have moved one step forward towards understanding.

An Approach

I would like to present Rav Hirsch's explanation, which answers the Abravanel's questions. His answers might not appeal to everyone, but I believe this is a good example of a valid and fruitful type of approach or method.

Rav Hirsch begins by examining the facts in search of some foothold from which to develop a comprehensive theory. He writes:

The eirech (valuation) of a male in these stages of life is 5, 20, 50, and 15 shekels, respectively. The eirech of a female is 3, 10, 30, and 10 shekels, respectively. These fixed amounts surely were not chosen arbitrarily, without reason. Since they do not take into account the physical, spiritual, moral, and social uniqueness of each nefesh (soul/being), and they vary only according to gender and age, it must be that they represent some common factor that is equal in all the nefashos, and that varies only according to age and gender.

Rav Hirsch's first deduction is a solid one. Unlike other areas of halacha, where we factor in a person's qualities, background, or circumstances, the laws of arachin are only interested in the subject's age and gender. Whatever these numbers represent, they must somehow be tied only to gender and age. Rav Hirsch continues:

Furthermore, since we are dealing here with erkecha nefashos la'Shem, with the national valuation of persons for God and His Sanctuary, it follows that this factor - common to all the nefashos and modified only by age and gender - pertains to the relation of these nefashos to God and to His Sanctuary. If we are not mistaken, then there is no factor that is common to all the nefashos as regards their relation to God and His Sanctuary, and that varies only according to age and gender, other than the task and mission of life that are given to every nefesh. On this basis we can explain the meaning of the numbers given here by Scripture, which rise and fall according to age and gender. 

This is the crux of Rav Hirsch's theory, namely, if we are evaluating eirech nefashos la'Shem ("the value of souls to Hashem"), and if this valuation is determined solely on the basis of age and gender, then these numbers must have something to do with "the task and mission of life that are given to every nefesh" - irrespective of any other personal quality. We will now see how he develops this approach:

Let us compare the numbers fixed for a male, namely, 5, 20, 50, and 15, to the numbers fixed for a female, namely 3, 10, 30, 10. Bear in mind that the full eierch amount for an adult male from the age of 20 to the age of 60 is 50 shekels, whereas the full eirech amount for an adult female is 30 shekels and that both these numbers - 30 and 50 - are 10 times the eirech of an infant girl or boy, whose eirech is 3 or 5. It appears, then, that we are not mistaken in proposing that the key to the whole scale is the numbers 3, 5, and 10. 3 is the signature of the female's life mission; 5 is the signature of the male's life mission; and 10 is a sign of completion and perfection.

Allow me to repeat this last point for emphasis: Rav Hirsch infers that 5 represents man's life mission; 3 represents woman's life mission; 10 signifies completion and perfection. How do these values make any sense? Rav Hirsch explains:

We venture to suggest that the home and the family - man, woman, and child - are represented by the number 3, whereas the society is represented by the number 2, as we often find in the Torah. Accordingly, the family and the society together would be represented by the number 5. The number 3 is the signature of woman's mission, namely, the family and the home, whereas the number 5 is the signature of man's mission, namely, the family and the society.

Rav Hirsch is working with the premise that a woman's life-mission pertains primarily to realm of the home, whereas a man is responsible for his home and his community. The number 3 represents the home, insofar as the smallest family unit is three people (man, woman, and child). I don't know where Rav Hirsch gets the idea from that society is represented by the number 2, but he seems to maintain that this is a recurring theme throughout Torah, and - for the purposes of this blog post - we'll take his word for it. Thus, woman's number is 3 (home) whereas man's number is 5, which is the sum of home (3) + community (2).

Now Rav Hirsch explains how these numbers account for all of the different values at each stage:

The eirech of an infant boy and of an infant girl starts with these two numbers, which signify the mission of man and woman. This eirech remains fixed for them, until they reach a trainable age, at the end of their 5th year.

From the end of the 5th year to the end of the 20th year are the years of training and completion in preparation for their mission. The preparation of the woman is on one level - preparation for the home; and its signature is 10. The preparation of the man is on two levels - preparation for the home and for the society; and its signature is 20. 

From the end of the 20th year to the end of the 60th year are the years of the full attainment of the male and female missions. The signature of this full attainment - as regards the woman's mission - is the product of 10 and 3: 30; whereas as regards the man's mission, it is the product of 10 and 5: 50.

From the end of the 60th year until the end of a person's life are the years of ziknah (old age) - the years of the harvest of life. As regards one's work as an individual, one can look back with satisfaction at the completed edifice of his life. As regards one's work in society, one can look back at least at a substantial contribution to the community. Hence, for the woman, whose work is in the individual realm, the signature of ziknah is a number representing completion: 10; whereas for the man, whose work is in the individual realm and also in the societal realm, the signature of ziknah is a number representing completion, plus partial completion: 10 + 5 = 15.

If one accepts Rav Hirsch's initial interpretation of the key numbers (i.e. 3, 5, and 10), then his interpretation of each of the stages fits quite nicely. To sum it up:

• 1 month to 5 years - pre-training: at this stage, prior to embarking on the preparation for one's life mission, we have the "base value" representing the life-task of each gender: the value of the male (5) and the value of the female (3), without any degree of completion (no 10s)
• 6 to 20 years - training for the mission: since 10 signifies the process of perfection, the woman's value lies in her single track of perfection (i.e. the realm of family) whereas the man's value lies in his dual-track of perfection (i.e. the realm of family and community); therefore, the woman's value at this stage is represented by a single 10, whereas the man's value reflects his dual track, and is a double-10 (i.e. 20). 
• 21 to 60 years - full attainment of mission: the Torah signifies a completed life-task as a product of the number representing completion (10) and the number representing the life-task of that specific gender. Thus, the man's value during this time is 10 x 5 = 50, whereas the woman's is 10 x 3 = 30.
• 61 years and up - the harvest of life: this value reflects what has been accomplished after the prime of one's life; the woman can look back at her contribution as being totally complete; in contrast, the man can only claim total completion in his family life, but only partial completion in the realm of his societal contributions; thus, the woman's value is the number of completion (10) whereas the man's is full completion plus partial completion (10 + 5 = 15).

This answers all three of the Abravanel's questions. 

1. Why did the Torah establish the values and not leave it up to the Kohen? Because the values here signify the life-missions of the age and gender to which the individual belongs - not the particular qualities of that individual, as is the case in the valuation of animals, houses, and land.

2. Why did the Torah differentiate between the valuation of men and women? Because their life-missions lie in different realms: the woman's is in the home, and the man's is in the home and in the community.

3. Why the differing ratios? Because the numbers are significant because of what they represent at each stage of life - not the intrinsic value of each gender. 

Upon hearing Rav Hirsch's explanation, my student said, "But the man is still worth more than the woman!" I responded that Rav Hirsch isn't necessarily learning that the monetary value of the ararchim-vow is an actual appraisal of the worth of the human being in the same way that a price tag indicates the value of the item. Rather, he is learning these arachim-valuations as symbolic - using fixed numbers as symbols to reflect ideas about the respective life-tasks of men and women.

An example of this type of numerical symbolism can be seen in the common Jewish practice of making donations in multiples of 18, which represents the numerical value of חי (chai = life). Imagine if everyone who would have donated $18 would donate $20 instead. From a strictly fiscal standpoint, $20 donations are much better. Nevertheless, people often want the amount they donate to represent something, or to convey a message. Donating $18 might provide less monetary value than donating $20, but it is superior in the message it conveys through the significance of the number 18.

I believe that is how Rav Hirsch regards these arachim-valuations. Yes, it is true that a woman who pledges her eirech will, in fact, be donating less money to the Beis ha'Mikdash than her male counterpart, but I think that it is a mistake to view this as indicative of women being inferior to men. This is especially true considering that this explanation comes from Rav Hirsch, who emphasizes the equality of men and women elsewhere in his Torah commentary.

Guess what? The student who objected ended up saying that she liked Rav Hirsch's explanation, and didn't find it to be sexist. That's great, but even great is the value of the methodology lesson that the student gained: things aren't always as they first appear, and if you take the time to formulate good questions, and approach your analysis in a deliberate and thoughtful manner, perhaps you'll find something you didn't expect.

Afterthought (5/30/19): 

Upon revisiting this post, I thought of another analogy. Women have two X chromosomes in each cell, whereas men have one X and one Y. Imagine if, upon first learning this fact, a student exclaimed, “THAT IS INCREDIBLY SEXIST! Why should a MAN get TWO types of chromosomes and a woman get stuck with just an extra of the same type?” We would all recognize such a question as being immature and misguided – and yet, when a person asks a question like this about the structure of a mitzvah, then it is often treated as a legitimate critique of Torah. 

This double-standard reveals a difference in the way people approach the empirical sciences versus the way they approach the analysis of Torah and mitzvos. This difference can be boiled down to two points: (1) in the sciences, people accept facts as facts, and (2) they recognize that these facts are determined by chochmah (wisdom) – namely, the lawfulness of nature. But when it comes to Torah and mitzvos, (1) people often refuse to even accept the facts as facts, and (2) they attribute the facts to social causes (e.g. “primitive beliefs about the world,” “outdated social norms,” “Old, white, cisgendered rabbis upholding the patriarchy under the guise of religion in order to oppress women and rob them of their power”). 

Ultimately, when analyzing Torah and mitzvos, the question is this: Do you regard the facts of Torah as being authored by the same Creator as the facts of nature? If so, then you should approach them with the same analytical objectivity, letting your investigation be guided by the facts and the nature of the subject matter, unencumbered by preexisting prejudices. If not, then on what basis do you make this distinction? If this latter question cannot be answered, then chances are it stems from some form of emotional prejudice or bias rather than from a genuine analysis of what Torah and mitzvos are.

Mortimer J. Adler's Mussar for Religious Educators

I came across a lecture delivered in San Fransisco on April 19, 1941 by Mortimer J. Adler to the American Catholic Philosophical Association entitled, The Order of Learning. At the beginning of the lecture, Adler announced "I am going to deal with the means of education, not with the ends ... The question I propose to answer is: Given ideally perfect ends, how shall the basic means be ordered?"

At first I dismissed the lecture offhand because it was addressed to Catholic educators, but then I realized that it might be worth reading, since the essay is really about teaching, and might contain insights that could be of use to Jewish educators as well. Lo and behold, Adler didn't let me down. 

Here is an excerpt from the lecture which, in my opinion, should be taken to heart by all Jewish teachers. To minimize cognitive dissonance, I have substituted Catholicism-related terms for their Jewish equivalents. 

Artwork: Academy Elite, by Volkan Baga

The Order of Learning - by Mortimer J. Adler (excerpt)

Now I say that all of these right procedures appear to be radical innovations only because they were forgotten or corrupted by the decadent classical education of the last century, against which progressive education rose in justifiable rebellion. Truly, all these procedures are founded on ancient insights about the order of teaching and learning, insights which every Jewish educator must possess if he understands the nature of man and of human teaching, according to the principles of the philosophy he generally affirms. Let me briefly enumerate some of these points. The Jewish educator knows: 

1. The difference between intellectual habit and sensitive memory. Hence he knows that verbal proficiency, which is a work of sensitive memory, must not be confused with the habit of understanding. 

2. That habits of understanding can be formed only by intellectual acts - acts on the part of the student, not simply acts by the teacher. Hence he knows that the teacher is always a secondary cause of learning, never a primary cause, for the primary cause must always be an act on the part of the learner’s own intellect. 

3. That the intellect depends on sense and imagination, and also that it can be swayed and colored by the motion of the passions. Hence he knows that the discipline of the liberal arts must precede the process of acquiring the speculative virtues, for it is the liberal arts which rectify the intellect in its pursuit of truth — the arts of grammar and logic which protect the intellect against the deceptions of verbal and other symbolization, and all the wayward imagery of sense; the arts of logic and rhetoric, which guard against the incursions of passion, and the coloring of thought by irrelevant emotion. 

4. That the intellectual virtues are always a mean state between vicious extremes of saying too much or saying too little — dogmatic affirmations in excess, or skeptical denials in defect. Hence he knows that truth is always an eminent synthesis of false extremes, a sober resolution of false issues made by extreme positions; he knows that the truth can be genuinely possessed only by a mind which sees the truth always as a correction of manifold and diverse errors, and never by the mind which tries to be alone with the truth in an artificially antiseptic environment. 

The Jewish educator knows all these things, because they are fundamental truths in his philosophy of man. But, unlike his secular colleague, who may not acknowledge these truths at all, or certainly not know them so deeply, but who nevertheless seems to practice according to their meaning, the Jewish educator, who knows them, often violates them in practice by educational methods which: 

1. Put a premium on verbal memory instead of intellectual habit.
2. Proceed as if the teacher were the only active cause of learning, and as if the learner could be entirely passive.
3. Neglect or wrongly subordinate the liberal arts to a supposed mastery of subject-matter.
4. Try to do the impossible — namely, to give the students genuine possession of the truth without ever really perplexing them first by the problems or issues which the truth resolves — and this requires a vital experience of error, for genuine perplexity is usually killed along with the dummy opponents who have been made into straw men for quick demolition. 

Before I proceed now to a brief statement of the order of learning, based upon these truths, let me anticipate one objection I have received from Jewish educators as to means. I am told that Jewish education must give its college graduates a fundamental body of truths for the guidance of their lives. I am told that this necessitates the covering of much ground. You can guess my response. I simply ask what is the point of covering ground, if the students’ feet never touch it, if they never learn through independent exercise to walk by themselves, with head erect and unafraid of all intellectual opposition and difficulty. What is the point of memorizing truths, if they can really guide us only when they are genuinely possessed, if they can protect us from falsehood only to the extent that we understand them as fully refuting errors — real, live errors, not dummy ones concocted for the purposes of an easy victory. I would feel happier about the graduates of yeshivot if they really understood a few truths well — understood them as solving problems which vigorously challenge the mind and perplex it — rather than be able to recite, from merely verbal memory, a whole catechism of philosophical answers to problems they did not really understand or take seriously. I would be happier if they were merely disciplined in the pursuit of truth and in the rejection of error, rather than be, as they now are in so many cases, unable to give an account of what they know because it is known by memory rather than possessed by intellectual habit.

Adler's Footnote: The point I am here making does not deny that it may be useful in some way for Jewish students — or, for that matter, any other students — to be “indoctrinated” with philosophical truths they do not really understand and, therefore, do not really possess. Truths, thus acquired, do not constitute knowledge, subjectively, but only right opinion. If a person, for one reason or another, cannot attain knowledge, it is better that he have right opinion than be ignorant or in error — for right opinion can serve as a guide to action, even if it fails utterly to perfect the intellect. But the utility of right opinion, which may justify the sort of indoctrination that goes on in many Jewish institutions, does not justify the process of indoctrination itself in the sphere of liberal education, aiming specifically at the perfection of the intellect. For, in the first place, the method of indoctrination, if condoned, is likely to result in the imposition of wrong opinions — as Jewish educators are the first to realize when they survey the work of secular institutions; and, in the second place, the method of indoctrination violates the very nature of liberal education by substituting opinion, right or wrong, for knowledge ... certainly if the matters fall within reason’s sphere, and the authority is human, truth so held is mere opinion. But the aim of liberal education is the perfection of the intellect by the genuine possession of the habitus of knowledge. The utility of right opinion for certain practical purposes cannot, therefore, excuse failures in liberal education.

Picking and Choosing in Halacha

Artwork: Fact or Fiction, by Matt Cavotta

Picking and Choosing in Halacha

Many of us have been raised with the notion that one cannot, or should not, "pick and choose" when it comes to halacha l'maaseh (practical halachic rulings). When I first converted to Judaism, I thought that this was an actual law. I thought that a person was halachically obligated to choose one exclusive posek (rabbinic authority who issues practical halachic rulings), and that this posek's rulings were eternally binding, and that it was not permissible to consult other rabbis for piskei halacha (halachic rulings). I have encountered many observant Jews who hold a similar belief. 

But the more I learned about how halacha works, the more I began to question my understanding of this "principle." I learned about the difference between horaah and psak din, and how the verb "paskin" can mean different things in different contexts. I learned about the difference between authentic "Mosaic semichah," which died out sometime around the 4th or 5th century, and the type of "modern day semichah" that is granted today. I learned about the principle of eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim Chayim ("Both these and these are the words of the Living God"), which means that any halachically sound view is considered to be "true" in the eyes of Hashem, even if that view runs contrary to the halacha that was given at Sinai. 

This last point raised the biggest question in my mind. If, in Hashem's eyes (so to speak), the opinions of Rashi and Tosafos are both valid, then why can't I pick and choose? If I choose to follow Tosafos over Rashi or Rashi over Tosafos, are you really going to tell me that I am wrong, or that what I am doing is assur? That seems to fly in the face of eilu v'eilu. 

Eventually it dawned on me that this injunction against "picking and choosing in halacha" cannot, itself, be a halachic principle. At most this must be a meta-halachic principle which governs the way we relate to halacha. I assumed that this principle was legitimate, due to its ubiquity, and because I had never really heard any learned person say that you can just pick and choose whichever shitah (opinion) you want to follow. 

Still, I was bothered by the vague and amorphous nature of this "no picking and choosing" rule, and I wanted to understand its basis and its scope. I gradually began to form my own understanding of this principle, but had never seen it explicitly discussed in the classical sources. 

All of that changed this weekend when I stumbled upon the commentary of the Sforno on a mishnah in Pirkei Avos. I was pleased to see that the Sforno's explanation for why we shouldn't "pick and choose" in halacha corresponds to the conclusions I had arrived at on the matter. 

The mishnah in Avos 1:16 states: 

Rabban Gamliel says: "Make a rav for yourself, and remove yourself from doubt, and do not accustom yourself to tithe by estimation."

The Sforno treats the two clauses of "make a rav for yourself" and "remove yourself from doubt" as two halves of the same dictum. He writes:

Even though [Chazal] said, "One who wishes to act in accordance with the words of Beis Shammai may do so, [and one who wishes to act] in accordance with the words of Beis Hillel may do so" (Eiruvin 6b), on account of eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim Chayim ("these and these are the words of the Living God"), nevertheless, it is fitting for you to make (i.e. appoint) for yourself a designated rav, whose opinion you will always follow, and whose halachic instruction will direct you. Through this, you will remove yourself from the doubt of machlokess such that your heart will not incline you to sometimes act in accordance with one authority and other times in accordance with another, for Chazal say about this: "regarding someone like this the pasuk says, 'the fool walks in darkness' (Koheles 2:14)."

The Sforno directly addresses the question that I had found to be the most problematic: If, in matters of halacha, we say, "eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim Chayim" - namely, that every halachically sound view is considered to be valid - then why can't we pick and choose in halacha? 

The Sforno's answer is clear. From a strictly halachic standpoint, a person is allowed to pick and choose, since eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim Chayim. However, from a meta-halachic standpoint, this is not an advisable practice. Why not? Because picking and choosing leads to the habit of determining halacha based on personal preference. 

Halacha is beneficial on many levels, but if you strip away all of its layers - all of the taamei ha'mitzvos (the reasons for the commandments), all of the philosophy, and all of its other ideational content - you will find, at the core, an objective system of rational law which operates based on principles which are scientific in their conceptual character. Take an uneducated Jew who knows nothing about halacha except for what to do and what not to do. At the very minimum, his life will be a continual exercise in subordinating himself - his desires, his actions, and his will - to an objective legal framework, commanded by the Author of the universe. By keeping his own desires in check and subduing them to the chochmah of halacha, the observant Jew elevates himself above his animal nature, and lives as a tzelem Elokim - albeit on a minimal level. 

But the more a person allows his subjective preferences to dictate his practice of halacha, the more he dilutes this fundamental character of the halachic system. Even if he is choosing between two halachically valid opinions (e.g. Rashi vs. Tosafos), and is acting still within the scope of halachically acceptable views, he has ipso facto undermined the objective quality of the halachic system and subordinated it to his personal whims and desires.

This is why the Sforno says "Nevertheless, it is fitting for you (ראוי לך) to appoint for yourself a designated rav, whose opinion you will always follow, and whose halachic instruction will direct you." There is no halachic obligation to "choose a posek." But by doing so, one ensures that one's subjective emotions will never interfere with the determination of halachic practice. The yetzer ha'ra knows how to operate as a subtle arbiter, and can infiltrate without being detected.

This sheds a new light on the necessity of having a posek. Not only does the posek function to determine correct halachic practice, but he also serves as way to anchor oneself to the underlying objective character of the halachic system, thereby enabling one to reap the maximum benefits of following halacha.

In retrospect, I can see why people treat this "no picking and choosing" principle as an actual halacha. It is so fundamental to the integrity of the halachic system that to neglect it would mean putting all of halacha at risk.

While the Internet has contributed to the development of wonderful tools for advancing and spreading Torah knowledge, it has also given rise to a culture in which people feel more at ease "conducting their own research" and making independent halachic decisions, without consulting an actual posek, and with little or no training in the science of halacha. For this reason, I feel even more compelled, as a teacher, to urge my students to choose a posek and to consult him with any and all of their halachic questions. Thankfully, I can now direct them to Pirkei Avos and to the Sforno as a support for this practice. 

Lessons in Hashgachah for the Four Sons

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Originally published in April 2012.

Artwork: Monastery Mentor, by Magali Villeneuve 

Lessons in Hashgachah for the Four Sons

One of the "classic" questions on the Arbaah Banim (Four Sons) section of the Hagadah is: Why do we use the same pasuk to the rasha (evil son) and the eino yodea li'shol (the son who doesn't know to ask)? The Orchos Chaim [1] offers a bold answer with some interesting implications for chinuch (child education). He writes:

Apparently, the reason [we use the same pasuk] is because it is proper to give the same answer to the rasha and the eino yodea li'shol. The redemption in Egypt was done through miracles that involved changes in nature. Hashem will only changes nature for the sake of the chasidim (eminent individuals) in the generation - either in the merit of their Torah, if they are chachamim (wise individuals), or in the merit of their proper actions and their uprightness, if they walk with Him b'tom levav (wholeheartedly) and are careful in their fulfillment of mitzvos aseh (positive commandments) and in keeping mitzvos lo taaseh (negative commandments). These are the merits of the chacham (wise son) and the tam (wholehearted son).

However, it is well known that the rasha is not worthy [of Divine intervention], nor is the individual who is lax in the actions which he does for the sake of God and who behaves like an animal - namely, the eino yodea li'shol. Without a doubt, such an individual is not on the level where Hashem will change nature on his behalf in order to save him. For this reason, even this individual (i.e. the eino yodea li'shol) falls under the answer of "for the sake of this, Hashem acted on my behalf etc." which means to say, "in my merit, but not in your merit, since you do not contemplate the ways of Hashem and His Torah and His mitzvos."

All of this comes to teach us that a person should tell his son to strengthen his involvement in Torah by day and by night, and to be scrupulous and wholehearted in his observance of mitzvos. Then, and only then, will he be among those for whom Hashem changes nature in order to save them and redeem them. 

According to the Orchos Chaim, the overarching lesson of the Arbaah Banim is to teach children the criteria for meriting hashgachah pratis (individual divine providence). According to the Orchos Chaim, there are two categories of merit: (1) involvement in Torah and chochmah, and (2) scrupulous and wholehearted observance of mitzvos. The chacham and the tam possess this merit, and if they had been in Egypt at the time of the redemption, they would have been saved on account of this merit.

The rasha and the eino yodea li'shol lack these types of merit. The eino yodea li'shol is not careful in his observance of mitzvos and lives "like an animal," and the rasha casts off the yoke of mitzvos altogether (see the Orchos Chaim's commentary). Consequently, if they had been in Egypt at the time of the redemption, their merit would be insufficient to warrant hashgachah pratis, and they would not have been redeemed. This is the intent of the response of "for me - but not for him" in the Hagadah. This response is not a snide retort, but is intended as a lesson in how the hashgachah operates.

According to the Orchos Chaim, the Hagadah is urging us to instill these ideas about the hashgachah at an early age, in order to motivate our children in the pursuit of chochmah and the observance of mitzvos. This might be a lo lishmah (extrinsic motive) for being involved in Torah and mitzvos, but lo lishmah is a necessary precursor to lishmah, as Chazal say: "a person should always involve himself in Torah and mitzvos even she'lo lishmah, for from lo lishmah he will come to lishmah." And what better exemplification of hashgachas Hashem in action than Yetzias Mitzrayim!

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

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.

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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.