Haftaras Masei: Yirmiyahu's Rebuke of Chachamim

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Artwork: Cast Into Darkness, by Clint Cearley

Haftaras Masei: The Navi's Rebuke of Talmidei Chachamim

This week's haftarah is the second of the three special haftaros that we read during the Three Weeks between the 17th of Tammuz and Tishah b'Av. It is the first of Yirmiyahu ha'Navi's many prophecies of rebuke directed towards the errant Jews in the period immediately preceding the destruction of the first Beis ha'Mikdash. 

Towards this prophecy Yirmiyahu singles out four classes of leaders in Klal Yisrael and identifies a cheit (sin) for each one:

The Kohanim did not say, "Where is Hashem?"; those who grasp the Torah did not know Me; the shepherds rebelled against Me; the prophets prophesied by the Baal, and they went after that which do not yield benefit (Yirmiyahu 2:8).

The main question on this pasuk is simple: What, exactly, was the fault of each of these groups? The navi expresses each group's cheit in a concise manner. Our job is to "unpack" these terse statements and understand the nature of each problem. 

Originally I had planned to write this post about all four groups. However, after I started writing, I found my thoughts drawn to the second group: "those who grasp the Torah." Although I am not audacious enough to include myself in this category, my role as an educator most closely matches this societal class, and I have seen in myself the flaws that Yirmiyahu points out in these people. For this reason, I have chosen to make them the focus of this blog post. [1] 

We will examine three meforshim (commentators): the Malbim [2] and the Abravanel [3], both of whom take a similar approach, and the Radak [4], who takes a second approach. All three meforshim agree that "those who grasp the Torah" refers to talmidei chachamim (Torah scholars), but they differ in their understanding of the flaw that Yirmiyahu is highlighting.

Approach #1: Malbim and Abravanel

In the beur ha'milos (glossary) section of his commentary, the Malbim elucidates the nuances of Yirmiyahu's phraseology. He explains that the verb T.F.S. (ת.פ.שׂ.) in the term "tofsei ha'Torah" (תֹּפְשֵׂי הַתּוֹרָה) implies "grasping with the palm [of the hand]." It would seem that the best English translation would be "wield," based on the four examples provided by the Malbim: "tofes cherev" ("those who wield the sword"), "tofes keshes" ("those who wield a bow [and arrow]"), "tofes magal" ("those who wield a scythe"), "tofes kinor v'ugav" ("those who wield a harp and a pipe"). The Malbim holds that this terminology is being used here in reference to the talmidei chachamim "in a degrading manner ... as if the Torah, to them, is like a profession, and like a hatchet to chop with." 

In the main portion of his commentary, the Malbim focuses on a different quality. He writes: 

It would be proper for those who grasp the Torah to know Hashem, for this is the purpose of learning, but they did not know Me.

If we consider the two parts of his commentary together, it would appear that the Malbim learns as follows: because the talmidei chachamim relate to learning as a profession, or as a means of securing benefit, therefore their learning does not bring them to yedias Hashem (knowledge of God), which is the true purpose of learning.

The Abravanel takes a similar approach: 

Those who grasp the Torah are the wise men; they didn’t learn lishmah, but rather, they learned by rote or to profit from of the Crown [of Torah]; it is as if “they do not know Me.”

Both the Malbim and the Abravanel fault "those who grasp the Torah" for relating to their learning in an improper manner. The Malbim holds that they regarded learning "as a profession," but he doesn't elaborate on what he means by this. The Abravanel suggests that these chachamim "learned by rote" or "learned for [material] profit." 

Both the Malbim and the Abravanel hold that this type of learning would be considered "not knowing Me." The Malbim seems to maintain that their learning actually did not lead to yedias Hashem, whereas the Abravanel holds that their learning was "as if" they did not know Hashem.

The question is: How does learning "as if it were a profession" or "by rote" preclude learning as a means to "knowing Hashem"? We will return to this question after we examine the Radak's approach.

Approach #2: Radak

The Radak writes:

those who grasp the Torah – these are the wise men who learn Torah; they “did not know Me,” for they didn’t learn Torah lishmah (for its own saike) to fulfill what is written in it; rather, they learned [only] with their mouths and a divided heart; this is what it means by “they did not know Me,” because good thought and good actions constitute [real] “knowledge” – not learning [alone without action].

According to the Radak, the chachamim of the time compartmentalized their learning. They may have accumulated vast amounts of Torah knowledge, but this knowledge didn't culminate in action. This is what the Radak means by learning "with a divided heart": with one part of their heart they learned, but their actions stemmed from another part of their heart which was untouched by their learning.

This is what Yirmiyahu meant by "they did not know Me" - not that they lacked the ability to recite and explain the yesodei ha'Torah (the fundamental principles of Torah), but that this "knowledge" didn't affect the way they lived. 

The Radak's interpretation of Yirmiyahu's rebuke here is reminiscent of the Rambam's interpretation of another statement of Yirmiyahu: 

Thus says Hashem: "Let not the wise man glorify himself with his wisdom, nor let the mighty man glorify himself with his strength, nor let the rich man glorify himself in his wealth; but let him that glorify himself glory in this: understanding and knowing Me, that I am Hashem, Who does chesed (kindness), mishpat (justice), and tzedakah (righteousness) on earth, for in these is My desire" - the word of Hashem (Yirmiyahu 9:22-24).

Rambam [5] concludes the Moreh ha'Nevuchim by explaining the implications of Yirmiyahu's words:

The prophet does not content himself with explaining that the knowledge of God is the highest kind of perfection: for if this only had been his intention, he would have said, "for only with this may one glorify himself - contemplating and knowing Me," and would have stopped there; or he would have said, "that he understand and know Me that I Am One,” or, "that I have not any likeness," or, "that there is none like Me," or a similar phrase. He says, however, that man can only glory in the knowledge of God and in the knowledge of His ways and attributes, which are His actions ...

The prophet thus, in conclusion, says, "for in these is My desire - the word of Hashem," i.e., My object [in saying this] is that you shall practice chesed, mishpat, and tzedakah on earth. In a similar manner we have shown (1:54) that the purpose of the enumeration of God's thirteen attributes is the lesson that we should acquire similar attributes and act accordingly. The objective of the above passage is therefore to declare, that the perfection, in which man can truly glory, is attained by him when he has acquired – as far as this is possible for man – the knowledge of God, the knowledge of His providence, and of the manner in which it influences His creatures in their production and continued existence. Having acquired this knowledge he will then be determined always to seek chesed, mishpat, and tzedakah, and thus to imitate the ways of God.

True learning - and true knowledge of Hashem - naturally leads to emulation of His ways. If a person's learning does not affect his or her actions, then it is lacking. 

According to the Radak - and, by extension, the Rambam - the question is: In what sense is learning which doesn't culminate in action not considered "real" knowledge? It is easy to understand why this type of learning is inferior to learning which does culminate in action, but why is this learning considered to be worthy of tochachah (rebuke)? Doesn't it say in Pirkei Avos: "One who learns Torah in order to teach is granted the means to learn and to teach, but one who learns in order to do is granted the means to learn, to teach, to keep, and to do" (Avos 4:8)? Doesn't this imply that learning without the intent "to do," though not on the highest level, is at least worthy of "being granted the means to learn and to teach"? Moreover, don't Chazal teach us: "a person should always be involved in Torah and mitzvos even she'lo lishmah (not for its own sake), because from she'lo lishmah one comes to lishmah" (Pesachim 50b). These chachamim might not have been learning lishmah, but is their learning she'lo lishmah really that condemnable? 

If so, how can Yirmiyahu - according to the Radak - condemn the talmidei chachamim of that generation for learning without the intention to fulfill their learning in action, she'lo lishmah? How can he say that such learning doesn't qualify as "knowledge"? 

Conclusion of This Post

We concluded our summary of each approach with a question. Without answering these questions, we cannot fully understand the cheit of the tofsei ha'Torah. Without understanding the cheit of the tofsei ha'Torah, we - as a nation - cannot do teshuvah for that cheit, which still persists today. 

For this reason, I am not going to attempt to answer these questions here. I think that it would be more conducive to our national teshuvah to contemplate these faults on our own, to see how we and the talmidei chachamim in our society partake of them, and to use this knowledge to do teshuvah.

I would love to discuss possible answers in the comments of this blog post, or on Facebook. But for now, I think that it would be best to leave off with these questions. 

[1] As I mentioned, I initially set out to write about all four groups. Midway through writing I decided that I wanted to devote this post exclusively to the category of talmidei chachamim. But since I had already started writing the part about Kohanim, I decided to relegate it to this footnote. 

Radak explains:

We have explained this [as follows:] the Kohanim who are before Hashem (i.e. in the Beis ha’Mikdash) all day, [and who] bring sacrifices before Him, should have said to the nation that worships Baal, “Where is Hashem, such that you worship someone other than Him?”

Just as the bankers on Wall Street should have foreseen and warned people about the collapse of the U.S. housing bubble, and the engineers should have foreseen and taken measures to correct the inadequate preparations for Hurricane Katrina which resulted in nearly 2,000 deaths, so too, the Kohanim - the spiritual overseers of Bnei Yisrael who work at the spiritual center of the nation - should have recognized the extent to which avodah zarah had taken hold of their brethren and used their influence to return them to Hashem. 

The Abravanel offers a different reason for why the Kohanim were held culpable:

“the Kohanim didn’t say, ‘Where is Hashem?’” In other words, they didn’t pay attention to the miracles that were done in the Beis ha’Mikdash and it wasn't proper for them to refrain from rebuking the nation over this, saying, “Where is Hashem? for we no longer have miracles as in the early days.”

Chazal teach us that "ten miracles were done for our forefathers in the Beis ha'Midkash" (Avos 5:4). These miracles ceased prior to the destruction of the first Beis ha'Mikdash. Since many of these miracles were easily discernible, and since the Kohanim spent their days in the Mikdash, surely they noticed this cessation. They should have immediately recognized that this withdrawal of the shechinah (divine presence) was a sign that things had gone awry within the nation, and they should have pointed this fact out to the rest of Bnei Yisrael, who wouldn't necessarily have noticed this phenomenon. Yet, the Kohanim didn't do this. They just carried on with business as usual.

[2] Ha'Rav Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Yirmiyahu 2:8

[3] Don Yitzchak Abravanel, Commentary on Sefer Yirmiyahu 2:8

[4] Rabbeinu David Kimchi (Radak), Commentary on Sefer Yirmiyahu 2:8

[5] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:54

Bruce Lee: The Instinct to Follow and Imitate

This post is the first (I hope) of a series of commentary-posts on the section of Bruce Lee's Tao of Jeet Kune Do entitled "Organized Despair" - the entirety of which may be viewed here. My plan is to write a paragraph-by-paragraph commentary on the whole thing. 

Note that this will not be a "pure" commentary, in which I merely elucidate Bruce Lee's words. Instead, my goal is to explain his teachings and share some examples of how they have influenced my life as a teacher, a learner, and a gamer. 

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Bruce Lee: The Instinct to Follow and Imitate

- Organized Despair: Paragraph #1

Bruce Lee begins with an introduction to the problem which is the subject of the entire section:

In the long history of martial arts, the instinct to follow and imitate seems to be inherent in most martial artists, instructors and students alike. This is partly due to human tendency and partly because of the steep traditions behind multiple patterns of styles. Consequently, to find a refreshing, original, master teacher is a rarity. The need for a “pointer of the way” echoes.

The two key terms here are "the instinct to follow and imitate" and "a pointer of the way." The former is a disease. The latter is the doctor who holds the cure. 

I should clarify what I mean when I refer to this as a "disease." The instinct to follow and imitate is present in every human being. It is absolutely necessary for our survival and development, and there is nothing intrinsically wrong with that. However, there comes a point in the development of every craftsman when this instinct outlives its benefit. Imitation gives way to stagnation rather than growth. That is the disease.

There are many reasons why we follow and imitate, and I'm sure we can speculate about these reasons at length. However, since our aim here is to gain from the insights of Bruce Lee, it would behoove us to see what he has to say on the subject. Elsewhere in The Tao of Jeet Kune Do he writes: 

There is a powerful craving in most of us to see ourselves as instruments in the hands of others and, thus, free ourselves from responsibility for acts which are prompted by our own questionable inclinations and impulses. Both the strong and the weak grasp at this alibi. The latter hide their malevolence under the virtue of obedience. The strong, too, claim absolution by proclaiming themselves the chosen instruments of a higher power - God, history, fate, nation, or humanity. 

Similarly, we have more faith in what we imitate than in what we originate. We cannot derive a sense of absolute certitude from anything which has its roots in us. The more poignant sense of insecurity comes from standing alone and we are not alone when we imitate. 

In Bruce Lee's opinion, there are three reasons why we desire to surrender ourselves to the instinct to follow and imitate: (1) we believe this will free us from taking responsibility for our actions - particularly, those which are prompted by "our own questionable inclinations and impulses"; (2) it helps us to bolster our self-image in the short run, since "the virtue of obedience" makes an effective cover for the parts of ourselves we wish to deny; (3) we feel that it will provide us with security and certitude, since - according to Bruce Lee - we tend to be insecure and lack faith in whatever we originate. (Why this is the case is a very good question. Something we need to think about.)

I can definitely relate to this experience in my own craft. When I first started teaching I came to class armed with arsenal of classroom management techniques and tricks which I gleaned from several sources: some I had learned in graduate school, others I read in books on classroom teaching, and many I gained from watching my own teachers. When I was faced with my very first class, I desperately clung to those techniques. I placed my trust in them and naively believed they would guarantee my success. And when one set of techniques failed, I fell back on another. My plan A, plan B, and plan C were all based on imitation. 

Of course, I soon realized that I was wrong in my approach. Even worse, since I had taken so much stock in those techniques and blamed them when they failed me, it took me that much longer to face the fact that I was powerless to manage my own class. The image of the Master Teacher I sought to imitate blinded me from recognizing how ineffective I really was. Had I not eventually confronted and accepted my own inadequacies, my development would have been severely stunted. I would have remained in a deadlock of futile imitation and frustration.

How does one escape this craving to follow and imitate? The odds of breaking out on one's own are very slim. Most of us require a teacher to act as a guide. But how can such a teacher help us without becoming yet another authority figure whom we follow and imitate? 

That is the role of the ideal teacher - or, as Bruce Lee calls such a teacher, a "pointer of the way":

A teacher, a good teacher that is, functions as a pointer to truth, but not a giver of truth. He employs a minimum of form to lead his student to the formless. Furthermore, he points out the importance of being able to enter a mold without being imprisoned by it, or to follow the principles without being bound by them.

Similarly:

A teacher is never a giver of truth – he is a guide, a pointer to the truth that each student must find for himself. A good teacher is merely a catalyst.

To the extent that the teacher embodies this ideal, the student will gradually be able to liberate himself from his need to follow and imitate. His teacher will set him on the path of self-knowledge and self-actualization and guide him in discovering the truth of his craft on his own. It was for this reason that Bruce Lee constantly reminded his students: "Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it." 

Thankfully, I met just such a "pointer of the way" in graduate school: a humble and gifted educator by the name of Rabbi Dr. Chaim Feuerman. Dr. Feuerman always encouraged me to think outside of the box and to follow and develop my own intuition. And then I "met" Bruce Lee - the "pointer of the way" par excellence. Together, with the help of my living mentor and the living words of my late mentor, I was able to develop my own style of teaching and classroom management, and find success.

At graduation, in my speech, I ended with words of gratitude for both of them:

Lastly, I would like to thank my teachers – all of them – for showing me what it means to be a teacher. I would like to give a special thanks to Dr. Feuerman, for acting as my mentor during my time at Azrieli while simultaneously letting me take charge of my own learning. Dr. Feuerman always encouraged me to follow my intuition and to think outside of the box. His contribution to my development as a teacher can be summed up in the words of my other mentor, Bruce Lee, who said: “Absorb what is useful, reject what is useless, and add what is specifically your own.” Thank you, Bruce Lee; and thank you, Dr. Feuerman.

Bruce Lee's entire style of Jeet Kune Do can be summed up in the quotation I chose. This will become evident as we proceed through the rest of Organized Despair, בג"ה. 

Mishlei 16:1 - The Illusion of Communication Control

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Mishlei 16:1 - The Illusion of Communication Control

משלי טז:א

לְאָדָם מַעַרְכֵי לֵב, וּמֵיְיָ מַעֲנֵה לָשׁוֹן:

Mishlei 16:1
To man belong the arrangements of [thoughts in] the heart, but from Hashem comes the tongue’s reply.

The questions on this pasuk are as follows:

(1) What does it mean by "the arrangements of [thoughts in] the heart"? What is included in this category? The description is both strange and vague - especially due to the use of the ambiguous term "heart," which can mean "mind" or "emotions."

(2) What does it mean that "the arrangement [of thoughts in] the heart" belong to man? Thoughts aren't a physical object that can be possessed, nor do they constitute an entity with monetary value that can be owned (ignoring, for the moment, modern intellectual property laws). 

(3) What does Mishlei mean by "from Hashem comes the tongue's reply"? On the surface, this sounds like a denial of free will - that Hashem controls what we say. Obviously this cannot be what the pasuk means. In addition to being intrinsically problematic, it would render all of the speech-related mitzvos in the Torah moot. For example, how can we be held responsible for lashon ha'ra if the statement comes from Hashem? How can we be rewarded for the mitzvah of tefilah if Hashem is making us speak? How can we be held accountable for nedarim (vows) if we're not the ones who caused them to be uttered?

(4) Why does the pasuk say "reply"? Why not something broader, like "the speech of the tongue" or "the words of the mouth"? The pasuk starts off speaking in universals, but "reply" is a very specific type of speech. 

[This is where you may pause to think before reading on.]

It might come as no surprise to you that yesterday's Mishlei methodology post was a lead-in to today's idea. Here is my four-sentence summary of the main idea:

We tend to (or would like to) feel that we are completely in control of our ability to communicate, but in truth, we are not. All we can control is our thoughts and feelings, but when we try to express our thoughts to another person, we often do not succeed in the manner we envisioned. Even when we manage to clearly formulate and express our thoughts, our words can be misheard, misunderstood, and distorted due to factors beyond our control. Thus, the wise man will bear in mind how little control he has over the success of his attempts at communication; he will take the necessary precautions to ensure maximum communicative efficacy, and he will follow up his attempts at communication to make sure he was successful.

This is a great example of yesterday's interpretive principle: "from Hashem comes the tongue's reply" means "the tongue's reply can be influenced by numerous factors that are outside of our control." I don't know whether Shlomo ha'Melech is using this phrase in the general sense described by the Meiri ("all things that come about through nature are ascribed to Him") or in the specific sense described by the Rambam (i.e. the fact that our pasuk makes it sound like Hashem is speaking for us, and "speech" is one of the Rambam's five terms - though in this case, the pasuk doesn't actually say that Hashem is speaking). Either way, I am convinced that this is a valid interpretation of the pasuk.

Although we all must contend with the problem of having our words misconstrued, I suspect that we teachers are keenly aware of this phenomenon to a greater degree than many other professionals, since we continually and deliberately assess our students to check for understanding. I can tell you that in my teaching experience there have been plenty of cases in which I was perfectly clear in what I taught, but a student walked away with exactly the opposite conclusion that I intended. Sometimes this is due to mistakes on my part, and sometimes it is due to factors totally beyond my control. 

For example, we once had a student who didn't tell ANYONE in the school that she had a hearing impairment. How was I to know that my words were being misheard? Then there's the classic case where a student thinks that a certain well-known Hebrew word or phrase - which we expected her to have known since grade school - means something TOTALLY different from what it actually means. How was I to know that the student had an anomalous gap in her elementary school education?

As for the question about "reply," I think that Shlomo ha'Melech used this term because it implies communication. In other words, "reply" points to two parties - the speaker and the listener - whereas a more general term, like "speech" doesn't. 

Acts of Hashem in Mishlei

Originally published on my (now defunct) Mishlei blog in August 2012. I will note that my understanding of hashgachah pratis has evolved significantly since then - mostly due to the influence of Sefer Iyov. Nevertheless, I have chosen not to "update" the frame of reference in this blog post. 

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Acts of Hashem in Mishlei

Introduction

This is intended to serve as a peremptory methodology post on a point that is bound to come up in future Mishlei posts. Rather than explain myself in each individual post, I'd rather be able to link to a full treatment of the subject. 

The methodology principle may be stated as follows: When Shlomo ha'Melech uses the term "Hashem" in Mishlei, he is usually referring to the laws of nature - not hashgachah pratis (individual providence or divine intervention).

I will now expand upon the basis for this principle and cite support from two Rishonim. 

The Purpose and Scope of Mishlei

Different meforshim have different views as to what Mishlei is about. According to Rashi [1] the purpose of Mishlei is "to teach people that they should toil in Torah." Consequently, Rashi interprets many pesukim to be about learning Torah and keeping mitzvos. Ralbag [2] holds that the purpose of Mishlei is "to guide man to intellectual and social success." Therefore, he interprets the pesukim as teaching strategies towards those two ends. The Vilna Gaon [3] learns that Mishlei is essentially a strategy guide on how to wage war against the yetzer ha'ra.

My own approach to Mishlei follows that of Saadia Gaon, as set forth in the introduction to his commentary on Mishlei (and as I explained in my translation and commentary on the first section of that introduction). According to Saadia Gaon Mishlei is a book about how to make intelligent decisions in everyday life - decisions which yield the greatest long-term pleasure with the least long-term pain. 

Since, according to this view, Mishlei is about everyday decision-making, it follows that the overwhelming focus of the sefer will be on how to obtain benefits and avoid harmful consequences within the laws of nature - as opposed to the benefits and consequences which emanate from hashgachah pratis (e.g. berachos and klalos, nissim and hashgachic onesh, tefilah, nevuah etc.). Although these areas of hashgachah pratis are certainly important to learn about, they are too far removed from the everyday decision-making of most people to be included in a practical book like Mishlei. The treatment of these subjects can be found in Sefer Tehilim, Sefer Iyov, and most of the other books of Nach.

This does not mean that Mishlei never talks about hashgachah pratis. On occasion, Shlomo ha'Melech deals with such topics, but only in order to teach practical ideas about decision-making in everyday life.

Acts of Hashem in Mishlei

When we see a pasuk which ascribes a certain act to Hashem in other contexts, our first inclination is often to assume it is talking about an act of hashgachah pratis. For instance, "I am Hashem, your God, Who has taken you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of slavery" (Shemos 20:2) is referring to the miracles and wonders of the Exodus from Egypt. "The meat was still between their teeth, not yet chewed, when the wrath of Hashem flared against the people, and Hashem struck a very mighty blow against the people" (Bamidbar 11:33) refers to Hashem miraculously smiting those who complained about the mahn. "The Lord consumed without pity all the dwellings of Jacob; in His anger He razed the fortresses of the daughter of Yehudah to the ground" (Eichah 2:2) refers to the destruction of Yerushalayim wrought by Hashem as a result of our iniquities. And so on.

There are a number of instances in Mishlei in which Hashem is described as acting to benefit the chacham or tzadik and to bring harm upon the fool or rasha. For instance: "Hashem will not starve the soul of the righteous, but the destructiveness of the wicked will batter them" (10:3), "Hashem will uproot the house of the arrogant, but He upholds the boundary of a widow" (15:25), "Like streams of water is the heart of a king in the hand of Hashem; wherever He wishes, so He directs it" (21:1). Instances of this sort aren't super prevalent in Mishlei, but they occur frequently enough not to be regarded as an anomaly.

If, according to Saadia Gaon, Mishlei is about practical decision-making based on natural consequences, how are we to understand these "acts of God pesukim" which would seem to imply Divine intervention?

This is why, based on Saadia Gaon's approach, it would make sense to interpret these pesukim as referring to cause-and-effect within the laws of nature - that is, Hashem's actions in the middas ha'din (strict justice mode) of the Boreh Olam (Creator of the universe), rather than the middas ha'rachamim (merciful mode) of the Mashgiach ha'Pratim (Supervisor of individuals).

This was how my Mishlei rebbi interpreted references to Hashem in Mishlei. When I was first learning his derech I didn't really question this premise. It wasn't until later that I began to wonder whether there was any precedent in the meforshim for this approach. The more I saw how often the other meforshim explained pesukim like these to be referring to hashgachah pratis, the more

Then I found the Meiri.

Meiri: Non-hashgachic Interpretation of a Seemingly Hashgachic Pasuk

The Meiri's commentary was the first place I saw this methodology principle stated in explicit terms. As noted above, the pasuk: "Hashem will not starve the soul of the righteous, but the destructiveness of the wicked will batter them" (Mishlei 10:3) seems to be referring to hashgachah pratis. It is reminiscent of the pasuk we recite after the Birkas ha'Mazon: "I have been a youth and also aged, but I have not seen a tzadik forsaken, nor his children begging for bread" (Tehilim 37:25). Pesukim like these would seem to imply that there is a special hashgachah on the tzadik, and that Hashem will protect him from starvation.

The Meiri takes a different approach. He interprets the pasuk in an entirely naturalistic manner. According to the Meiri, the subject of the pasuk is the difference between the eating habits of tzadikim and reshaim. He explains that the tzadik eats in moderation, based on his physical and psychological needs. Consequently, his chomer (material body and psyche) will be more receptive to the development of his tzurah (intellect). In contrast, the rasha eats in quantities which are either excessive or insufficient. This leads to a physical and psychological imbalance, which in turn, has a detrimental effect not only on his intellectual development, but on his capacity for psychological satisfaction.

Upon reading the Meiri's naturalistic interpretation, one might object, saying: "Then what does the pasuk mean when it says, 'Hashem will not starve the soul of the tzadik'? Doesn't this imply hashgachah pratis - that Hashem intervenes to prevent the tzadik from starving?" The Meiri [4] answers this question in his commentary:

This matter is ascribed to Hashem, for all things that come about through nature are ascribed to Him, blessed is He. It is as if it the pasuk said, “The tzadik will not be in a state of starvation,” and the rasha will be the opposite, and will never be satisfied, as it is stated, “the belly of the wicked will lack” (Mishlei 13:25).

Simple as that. According to the Meiri, any effect which is brought about by the laws of nature can be described as being brought about by Hashem. The Meiri learns that the tzadik's non-starvation is the result of his own actions, based on the design of the human body. Nevertheless, the pasuk ascribes this result to Hashem - as though it were directly caused by Him. The Meiri even goes so far as to suggest that the pasuk could have omitted mention of Hashem entirely, without losing anything from the main idea.

Rambam: Hashem Guides Sinners on the Path

The first time I noticed the application of this principle in the works of the Rambam was in the section of Hilchos Teshuvah which deals with free will. Chapter 5 of Hilchos Teshuvah is about the fundamental principle of free will, and Chapter 6 is devoted to addressing pesukim in Tanach which appear to undermine that principle.

The Rambam [5] cites the following two pesukim from Tehilim as examples of statements which seem to imply that Hashem interferes with free will: "Good and upright is Hashem; therefore He guides sinners on the path. He leads the humble with justice and teaches His way to the humble" (Tehilim 25:7-8). What does it mean that Hashem "guides sinners on the way" and "leads the humble with justice etc."? Does this imply that Hashem interferes with their free will? Nope. The Rambam explains:

This means that Hashem has sent prophets to them, who teach them the ways of Hashem and help them to return in teshuvah. Moreover, He instilled within them the capacity to learn and to understand - for this tendency is present in every man, that the more he is drawn after the ways of chochmah (wisdom) and tzedek (righteousness), the more he desires them and pursues them. This is what the Sages meant by "ha'ba l'taher, mesayin oso" ("one who comes to be purified is assisted") - in other words, he will find himself assisted in the matter [by the aforementioned natural tendency].

Here again we have a pasuk which, on the surface, appears to be describing a direct interaction between Hashem and human beings - and yet, the Rambam interprets this as referring to natural phenomena (i.e. the nature of man). Even more shocking is the Rambam's treatment of that well-known statement of Chazal. Contrary to appearances, "ha'ba l'taher, mesayin oso" is not referring to hashgachic assistance. It is referring to the way that Hashem designed man, that the more he pursues chochmah and tzedek, the more he is drawn to them.

But all of this is nothing compared to the most eye-opening source yet: the Rambam, in the Guide for the Perplexed.

Rambam: On Ascribing Actions to Hashem

In the final chapter of Book II of the Moreh ha'Nevuchim, the Rambam [6] provides a key which unlocks a whole new level of understanding of maasei Hashem (Divine actions) in Tanach. I will quote the chapter in full, with my underlining for emphasis:

It is clear that everything that is produced must have an immediate cause which produced it, and that cause must have a cause, and so on, until the First Cause – namely, the will and desire of God – is reached. Therefore, the prophets sometimes omit mention of the intermediate causes and ascribe the production of a particular thing directly to God, saying that God has made it [or did it]. This is well-known and we, as well as other men of truth, have already explained it; it is the belief of all adherents of our Torah.

After having heard this remark, listen to what I will explain in this chapter; direct your special attention to it more than you have done to the other chapters of this part. It is this:

Know that regarding the immediate causes of things produced, it makes no difference whether these causes are natural and essential, or of free will, or of chance; by “free will” I mean that of man, or even in the will of another living creature. In all of these cases the prophets ascribe the production directly to God and use such phrases as God has made [or done] it, commanded it, or said it. In all such cases the verbs “to say,” “to speak,” “to command,” “to call” and “to send” are employed. This is what I desired to state in this chapter is this, namely, that according to the hypothesis and theory accepted, it is God Who caused that will to arise in that dumb animal, and He is the One Who necessitated free will for the human being, and He is the One Who guided natural things in accordance with their patterns; and as chance occurrences are part of the good in the natural [order], as has been explained [by Aristotle], and are mostly the result of the combined action of nature, free will, and desire, it can consequently be said of everything which is produced by any of these causes, that God commanded that it should be made [or done], or said that it should be so. I will give you instances, and they will guide you in the interpretation of passages which I do not mention.

As regards phenomena produced regularly by natural causes, such as the melting of the snow when the atmosphere becomes warm and the roaring of the sea when a storm rages [I quote the following passages:] “He issues His command it melts them” (Tehilim 147:18); “He spoke and raised the stormy wind and lifted its waves” (ibid. 107:25); in reference to the rain we read: “I will command the clouds that they shall not rain etc.” (Yeshaya 5:6). 

Events caused by man’s free will, such as war, the dominion of one nation over another, the attempt of one person to hurt another, or to curse him, [are ascribed to God as well;] in reference to the dominion of Nebuchadnezzar and his host: “I have commended my holy ones, also I have called my heroes for my anger” (ibid. 13:3) and “I will send him against a hypocrite nation” (ibid. 10:6); in reference to Shimi ben Gera: “For God said to him, ‘Curse David’” (Shmuel II 16:10); in reference to the deliverance of the righteous Yosef from prison: “He sent a king who released him” (Tehilim 105:20); in reference to the victory of the Persians over the Chaldeans: “I shall send foreigners to Bavel, who will scatter it and empty it” (Yirmiyahu 51:2); in reference to the providing of food to Eliyahu: “Behold, I have commanded a widow to sustain you there” (Melachim I 17:5); and the righteous Yosef said: “It was not you who sent me here, but God” (Bereishis 45:8). 

[The attribution to God of] that which is caused by the will of an animal or its movement towards its needs [may be illustrated by the following instance]: “Then Hashem spoke to the fish [and it spewed out Jonah onto dry land]” (Yonah 2:11); the act is ascribed to God because He gave the fish the will, and not because He made it a prophet or showed it a prophetic vision. Similarly it is said of the locusts that appeared in the days of Yoel ben Petuel: “for those who carry out His word are mighty” (Yoel 2:11); or of the beasts that took possession of the land of Edom when destroyed in the days of Sancheriv: “He cast lots for them, and His hand has distributed [the land] for them with a [measuring] wire” (Yeshaya 34:17). Although here the verbs “to say,” “to command,” “to send” are not used, the meaning is evidently the same, and you must explain all passages that are analogous to it in a similar manner.

This must also be said with regards to events which evidently occur by chance, for example, in reference to Rivka, “and let her be a wife to your master’s son as Hashem has spoken” (Bereishis 24:51); in reference to David and Yehonasan: “go, for Hashem has sent you away” (Shmuel I 20:22); in reference to Yosef: “God sent me before you” (Bereishis 45:7). 

You see clearly that the providing of a cause, in whatever manner this may take place – by nature, chance, free will, or will – is always expressed by one of the five terms: commanding, saying, speaking, sending, or calling. Note this, and apply it everywhere according to the context. Many difficulties will thereby be removed, and passages apparently containing things far from truth will prove to be true.

There you have it. Anything that is produced by nature, chance, free will, or animal will - and certainly, anything brought about by hashgachah pratis - will be described in Tanach as though it was directly caused by Hashem. [7]

Philosophically speaking, this makes perfect sense, insofar as Hashem is the First Cause. What I found to be so shocking was the far-reaching implications of this interpretive principle, as the Rambam himself alluded to by saying that by applying this principle, "many difficulties will thereby be removed, and passages apparently containing things far from the truth will prove to be true."

We see from the Rambam's interpretation of "ha'ba l'taher mesayin oso" that Chazal's statements may be understood in this way as well. This confirms what I already suspected (and employed in my learning for years).

Conclusion

This post was intended to be about how to learn pesukim in Mishlei which refer to Hashem's actions, but ended up taking us far beyond that. I hope that at the very least I have adequately shown the basis of my general approach to such pesukim in Mishlei.

[1] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Mishlei 1:2
[2] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershoom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Mishlei: Introduction (note: the Ralbag's introduction is not typically found in the published Mikraos Gedolos)
[3] HaRav Eliyahu Kramer (Vilna Gaon), Commentary on Sefer Mishlei (I don't remember where and I currently do not know where my edition of the Vilna Gaon's commentary on Mishlei is hiding)
[4] Rabbeinu Menachem ha'Meiri, Commentary on Sefer Mishlei 10:3
[5] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Ha'Mada, Hilchos Teshuvah 6:4
[6] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 2:48
[7] I am bothered by the fact that the Rambam concludes by saying that there are five terms which indicate this idea: commanding, saying, speaking, sending, or calling - yet, it seems that this principle is applied to other cases in which actions are ascribed to Hashem without using these five terms. 

Krishnamurti: On Listening

Originally posted in January 2012, and expanded here. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Daze, by Richard Wright

Krishnamurti: On Listening

The ability to listen well is a hallmark of a chochmah (wisdom). The Sages list "listening of the ear" as one of the 48 qualities that are necessary to acquire Torah (Avos 6:6). It is not an easy thing to listen - to listen fully, attentively, objectively, and accurately - yet, the question of how to become a good listener is rarely discussed. 

I was recently reviewing some of the writings of Jiddu Krishnamurti on this topic. I would not have encountered these writings in the natural course of my learning. I only looked into Krishnamurti on the recommendation of the best listener I know. And I was not disappointed. I can see how these ideas helped this person become such a genuine, deep, and sensitive listener, and when I watch videos of conversations between Krishnamurti and his students, I can see that he practices what he preaches.

I would like to share with you several passages that stood out to me, with minimal commentary on my part. I recommend trying to read - to "listen" to - these excerpts with a completely open mind, and allowing each one to influence your receptiveness to the next (or, depending on how you look at it, to NOT allow each one to influence your receptiveness to the next).

The first excerpt (Collected Writings Vol. VII, p. 213) is, I believe, a good introduction to Krishnamurti's view on this topic: 

How do you listen? Do you listen with your projections, through your projection, through your ambitions, desires, fears, anxieties, through hearing only what you want to hear, only what will be satisfactory, what will gratify, what will give comfort, what will for the moment alleviate your suffering? If you listen through the screen of your desires, then you obviously listen to your own voice; you are listening to your own desires. And is there any other form of listening? Is it not important to find out how to listen not only to what is being said but to everything? ... Listening has importance only when one is not projecting one's own desires through which one listens. Can one put aside all these screens through which we listen, and really listen? 

Elsewhere (Vol. XV 61, Choiceless Awareness) Krishnamurti emphasizes the necessity of listening in an all-encompassing manner:

The beauty of listening lies in being highly sensitive to everything about you: to the ugliness, to the dirt, to the squalor, to the poverty about you, and also to the dirt, to the disorder, to the poverty of one's own being. When you are aware of both, then there is no effort, that is, when there is an awareness which is without choice, then there is no effort.

Elsewhere (Vol. X. Action) he discusses the type of "partial listening" that most of us engage in:

[Listening] itself is quite an art. Most of us never really listen, therefore we hear only partially. We hear the words that are spoken, but our minds are elsewhere; or our minds respond only to the meaning of the words, and this immediate response prevents us from hearing that which lies beyond the words. So listening is an art; but if you can listen totally to what is being said, then in that very listening you will find there is a liberation, because such listening is unpremeditated, uncalculated; it is an action of truth because your whole mind is there, your total attention is being given. If you listen without interpreting, without remembering a quotation from some old book, or comparing all this with what you have read, then you will find that your own mind has undergone a really radical change.

Elsewhere (Bombay, March 1st 1964) he elaborates on the obstacles to listening, and contrasts this with the sense of liberation that comes when we really manage to listen - and the independence of mind that is necessary to do so:

We do not listen. There are too many noises about us; inside us, there is too much talk, too much questioning, too much demanding, too many urges, compulsions. We have so many things and we never listen to any one of them completely, totally, to the very end. And if you would kindly so listen, you will see that, in spite of yourself, the mutation, that emptiness, that transformation, the perception of what is true, comes into being. You don't have to do a thing, because what you do will interfere, because you are greedy, you are envious, you are full of hate, ambition, and all the mischief that thought can make. So if you can listen happily, effortlessly, then perhaps in the quiet, deep, silence you will know what is truth. And it is only that truth that liberates, and nothing else. That is why you must stand completely alone. You cannot listen through another; you cannot see with the eyes of another; you cannot think with the thoughts of others. But yet you listen through others, see through the activities, through the saints, through the dictum of others. So if you can put away all these secondary things, the activities of others, and be simple, quiet, and listen, then you will find out.

Krishnamurti maintains that this type of listening is necessary in order to apprehend the truth (Talks in India, 1953)

It is important to know how to listen, not only to me particularly, but to anybody. It is important to know how to listen because if we know how to listen truly, something extraordinary happens to us, because then without any bias, without any prejudice, we can go to the root of the matter immediately. But if we throw up a lot of arguments, concoct devices or contradictions to see who is correct and who is not correct and carry on with our own particular idiosyncrasies and ideas, then we will not discover the truth of the matter at all. We shall only be concerned with our own particular conclusions, with our own point of view. So if I may suggest, it is important that we should listen truly because if we can know how to listen, the truth will reveal itself. We do not have to explore the problem, but if we know how to listen to the song of a bird, to the voice of another, if we can listen as to music without any interpretation or translation, it definitely clarifies the mind; so similarly, if it is possible, let us listen with that intention - not to confute or to conform, but to directly find out the truth for ourselves.

Likewise, here is an excerpt (The Book of Life) on the relationship between learning and listening:

It seems to me that learning is astonishingly difficult, as is listening also. We never actually listen to anything because our mind is not free; our ears are stuffed up with those things that we already know, so listening becomes extraordinarily difficult. I think, or rather, it is a fact that if one can listen to something with all of one's being, with vigor, with vitality, then the very act of listening is a liberative factor, but unfortunately you never do listen, as you have never learned about it. After all, you only learn when you give your whole being to something. When you give your whole being to mathematics, you learn; but when you are in a state of contradiction, when you do not want to learn but are forced to learn, then it becomes merely a process of accumulation. To learn is like reading a novel with innumerable characters; it requires your full attention, not contradictory attention. If you want to learn about a leaf - a leaf of the spring or a leaf of the summer - you must really look at it, see the symmetry of it, the texture of it, the quality of the living leaf. There is beauty, there is vigor, there is vitality in a single leaf. So to learn about the leaf, the flower, the cloud, the sunset, or a human being, you must look with all intensity.

And here is another excerpt (ibid.) on the relationship between listening and freedom:

When you make an effort to listen, are you listening? Is not that very effort a distraction that prevents listening? Do you make an effort when you listen to something that gives you delight? ... You are not aware of the truth, nor do you see the false as the false, as long as your mind is occupied in any way with effort, with comparison, with justification or condemnation ... 

Listening itself is a complete act; the very act of listening brings its own freedom. But are you really concerned with listening, or with altering the turmoil within? If you would listen ... in the sense of being aware of your conflicts and contradictions without forcing them into any particular pattern of thought, perhaps they might altogether cease. You see, we are constantly trying to be this or that, to achieve a particular state, to capture one kind of experience and avoid another, so the mind is everlastingly occupied with something; it is never still to listen to the noise of its own struggles and pains. Be simple ... and don't try to become something or to capture some experience.

Lastly, here is an excerpt (Beyond Violence pp.37-38) on how listening to someone else can enable a person to listen to himself or herself:

You know, there are two ways of listening: to listen casually, to hear a series of ideas, agreeing or disagreeing with them; or there is another way of listening, which is not only to listen to the words and the meaning of those words, but also to listen to what is actually taking place in yourself. If you listen in this way, then what the speaker says is related to what you are listening to in yourself; then you are not merely listening to the speaker - which is irrelevant - but to the whole content of your being. And if you are listening in that way with intensity, at the same time and at the same level, then we are both of us partaking, sharing together, in what is actually taking place. Then you have the passion which is going to transform that which is. 

Does Krishnamurti's approach to listening correspond to what Chazal were referring to when they listed "the listening of the ear" as one of the prerequisites for Torah? Frankly, it doesn't matter to me. In fact, I admit that there is some tension between Krishnamurti's paradigm of listening and the type of Torah-learning we are accustomed to do - especially the part about suspending questions, analysis, and judgment. 

Nevertheless, I see - and have experienced - the value in being able to listen in the manner described by Krishnamurti. I know that if I can learn to listen like this, I will be a better teacher, a better learner, and a better friend. And if I can figure out how to integrate the principles of listening elucidated by Krishnamurti into the methodology of Torah learning in which I have been trained, then that would be truly wonderful.

Parashas Pinchas: Making Meaning of Mussafim

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Parashas Pinchas: Making Meaning of Mussafim

The final topic in Parashas Pinchas (Bamidbar Chapters 28-29) is the mussafim (additional offerings) which were brought in the Beis ha’Mikdash (Holy Temple) on the moadim (holidays). These korbanos (offerings) are described as “mussafim” (additional) because they are considered to be additions to the korban tamid (continual offering) which was brought twice each day: once in the morning and once in the afternoon. 

In the present day, when the Beis ha’Mikdash has not been rebuilt, the average Jew encounters these mussafim in two primary ways: (a) the krias ha’Torah (public Torah readings) on the moadim, in which we read the pesukim (verses) from our parashah corresponding to the mussaf of that day, and (b) the tefilas mussaf (additional prayer), which was instituted to parallel the korban mussaf, and in which the prevailing custom is to recite the contents of each mussaf during the middle berachah (blessing). 

Although I have not taken a survey, I suspect that the vast majority of Jews hear and recite these pesukim do so mindlessly, without giving any thought as to the number or type of animal offered in each korban and without thinking about why each mussaf is offered on each day. It is difficult enough to relate to the idea of korbanos in general, and even more difficult to derive any meaning or value from reciting the particular requirements for these holiday offerings.

I, too, suffered from this “mussafic apathy” from the day I learned to daven (pray) right up until this past Pesach. I was davening my tefilas mussaf like any other Yom Tov (holiday), and when I read the pesukim which describe the mussaf of Pesach, I had an epiphany. I realized that the the mussaf of Pesach was exactly the same as the mussaf of Rosh Chodesh (the New Month). Then I took a look at the mussaf for Shavuos and noticed that it was also exactly the same. 

“Huh,” I though to myself, “That’s interesting.” On a whim, I decided to look up the other mussafim – and that’s when the gears started turning. As you can imagine, the facts were incredibly detailed. Since it was Yom Tov, and I couldn’t write, I made a visual representation of all the mussafim using Magic: the Gathering tokens and dice (see below) so that I could more easily spot any patterns and anomalies. After finding these patterns and anomalies, I was able to formulate specific questions. These questions led to answers which yielded insight into the different moadim and their interrelationship. 

You can figure out the key by comparing it to the chart above. There is one error, though: there are supposed to be seven lambs for Shemini Atzeres - not just one. 

Here is a list of most (if not all) of these questions – many of which I subsequently discovered were noted by the Abravanel [1] in his commentary on Bamidbar:

1) Why do we offer a single lamb for the korban tamid? Or, if you prefer, why do we bring a lamb for the tamid once in the morning and once in the afternoon? 

2) Why is the tamid included here at all, considering the fact (a) that it isn’t a mussaf, and (b) the Torah already dealt with the tamid way back in Parashas Tetzaveh (Shemos 29:38-46)? 

3) Why are these four species of animal – and only these four species – used as mussafim?  

4) Why do the mussafim of all the moadim involve all four species (bull, ram, lamb, he-goat) whereas the mussaf of Shabbos only involves lambs? Or, if you prefer, why do the daily tamid and the mussaf of Shabbos only involve lambs, whereas the mussafim of all the other moadim involve all four species? 

5) Why are the mussafim of Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, and Shavuos exactly the same? 

6) Why do we offer 2 bulls for Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, and Shavuos, but only 1 bull for Rosh ha’Shanah, Yom ha’Kippurim, and Shemini Atzeres? Alternatively, why are the mussafim of Rosh ha’Shanah and Shemini Atzeres – and Yom ha’Kippurim, if you do’t count the additional he-goat – exactly the same?  

7) Why is the “default number” of rams one? (“Default” in the sense that all mussafim that have rams have only 1, with the exception of Sukkos.) 

8) Why is the “default number” of lambs seven? (“Default” in the sense that all mussafim that have lambs have 7, with the exception of Sukkos.) 

9) Why do we bring 2 rams on Sukkos? Do we understand this to be “a requirement of 2” or “double the requirement of the usual 1”? 

10) Why do we bring 14 lambs on Sukkos? Do we understand this to be “a requirement of 14” or “double the requirement of the usual 7”? 

11) Why, on Sukkos, do we bring 13 bulls on Day 1, 12 on Day 2, 11 on Day 3, etc.? In other words, why do the bulls diminish at all, and why do we start with 13 and end with 7? 

12) Why do we bring a sin-offering with each of the mussafim except for Shabbos? What does this sin-offering atone for? And why a he-goat? 

13) Why, on Yom ha’Kippurim, do we bring an extra he-goat as a sin-offering? 

14) Why, on Shavuos, do we bring a special korban mussaf in addition to the regular one? What accounts for the unique composition of this mussaf, which contains features we don’t see elsewhere – that is, two loaves of bread, seven more lambs in addition to the seven lambs of the regular mussaf, another he-goat as a sin offering in addition to the he-goat sin offering of the regular mussaf, and two more lambs brought as shlamim (peace-offerings)? And if this is really a mussaf, why isn’t it mentioned in Parashas Pinchas?   

15) Why are the bulls, rams, and lambs of the mussafim offered as olah (burnt-offerings), but the he-goat offered chatas (sin-offerings)? 

Now before you get too excited, I am sorry to inform you that we will not be answering all of these questions in this blog post – not even close. Most of the meforshim (commentators) only offer answers to a few of these questions and not others, and their answers are too localized for me to be able to extrapolate their overall approach to the extent that I would be able to reliably guess how they might answer the other questions. The only two meforshim I found who attempted to provide reasons for ALL the details of ALL the mussafim were the Ralbag and the Abravanel. Unfortunately, I did not find their answers compelling enough to write here – though I will cite a few examples from each of them below.

Instead of answering these questions I would like to focus on methodology. I will outline the four different approaches taken by the meforshim in their efforts to answer these questions. I will then offer several examples of each approach. Lastly, I will note the major advantages and disadvantages of each approach. 

Approach #1 – Structural: Personally, my favorite approach to questions like this is the minimalist “structural” approach. According to this approach, the mussafim are not symbolic. Rather, the patterns and anomalies in the mussafim reflect ideas about the moadim on which they are brought. By examining these discrepancies in light of all the information provided by Torah she’bi’Chsav (the Written Torah) and Torah she’baal Peh (the Oral Torah), one can arrive at a deeper understanding of the moadim. For example:

The daily tamid consists of one lamb, whereas the mussaf of Shabbos consists of two lambs. This structural pattern conveys the idea that Shabbos is “double” the weekday, in some sense. What does this mean? The mussafim themselves do not answer this question. To answer this question we must contemplate what we know about Shabbos in relation to the weekdays. We might draw a comparison from the fact that the Torah states, “and God blessed the 7th day and sanctified it” (Bereishis 2:3), which Chazal interpret to foreshadow the fact that Hashem gave Bnei Yisrael a double portion of mahn (manna) on Friday for the sake of Shabbos. Alternatively, perhaps the idea has to do with the fact that the freedom of melachah on Shabbos affords us double the opportunity to perfect ourselves in comparison to the weekday. Or maybe the idea has to do with the fact that we have a neshamah yeseirah (“extra soul”) on Shabbos (Taanis 27b), or that the mitzvah of oneg (enjoyment) results in double the enjoyment, or the fact that the weekday is primarily devoted to the needs of Olam ha’Zeh (This World), whereas on Shabbos we get to enjoy Olam ha’Zeh and Olam ha’Ba (The World to Come).  

Another example has to do with our initial observation: that the mussafim of Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, and Shavuos are exactly the same. This suggests that there is a common theme which unites these three moadim. Again, there are a number of directions we can proceed from there. Perhaps these reflect the three stages of Yetzias Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt): Rosh Chodesh is the moed which represents the preparation stage while Bnei Yisrael were still enslaved in Mitzrayim (since this is when they were commanded in the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh); Pesach is the moed about the Geulas Mitzrayim (Redemption from Egypt); Shavuos (according to some) is the moed about Matan Torah (the Giving of the Torah), which was the purpose and culmination of Yetzias Mitzrayim.  

A third example comes from the Bechor Shor’s [2] explanation of the mussaf of Shemini Atzeres. He notes that compared to the mussafim of the first seven days of Sukkos (e.g. 31 animals on Day 1, 30 on Day 2, etc.), Shemini Atzeres has relatively few (i.e. only 11). Why should that be? He answers that the term "atzeres" means "to detain" or "hold back." The idea of the holiday is that once Sukkos ends we won't have any more moadim until Pesach, Hashem wants to "hold us back" for one more day of rejoicing. In order to show us that He is doing this because of His love for us, and in order to demonstrate that He is not holding us back to obtain more korbanos, He therefore required the absolute minimum amount of korbanos: one bull, one ram, and the standard amount of lambs. 

The chief advantage of the structural approach is that it is extremely conservative. We simply note the small differences in the mussafim and make small moves based on our prior knowledge to derive small new insights into the moadim. But the minimalism of this approach is a double-edged sword: since we are given very little information from the korbanos themselves, and are forced to draw upon prior knowledge, this approach lends itself to a high degree of speculation. The first example illustrates this point: yes, we see that Shabbos is “double” the weekday, but see how many different ways there are to make sense of this! 

Approach #2 – Torah-Symbolic: This approach is a favorite among the more midrashically inclined meforshim, such as Rashi, the Ramban, and (of course) Chazal themselves, who authored the midrashim. The Abravanel takes this approach all the way, explaining every single detail of every korban in accordance with its Torah-based symbolism. However, he doesn’t maintain that the symbolism is uniform (i.e. bulls don’t always symbolize the same thing; the number 7 also doesn’t always symbolize the same thing). He also doesn’t always use the same “mode” of symbolism: some of his symbolism is based on textual evidence and allusions in Torah she’bi’Chsav, some is based on the physical qualities of the animals, and some of it is based on wordplay. Lastly, the Abravanel does not seem to think that this approach lends itself to absolute certainty, as indicated by the fact that he offers several different interpretations for many of the details. 

Here are a few examples to give you taste of this approach:

The two lambs of the korban tamid represent the two pivotal events in Jewish history, whose memory is “always” with us: the tamid shel shachar (morning continual offering) symbolizes Yetzias Mitzrayim, which was chronologically the first event; the tamid shel bein ha’arbayim (afternoon continual offering) symbolizes Matan Torah, which was chronologically later. The lamb (כבש) was chosen for these offerings to teach that are we subordinate (נכבשים) to Hashem. 

The Abravanel, citing Chazal, explains that the four species involved in all the mussafim (except for Shabbos) represent the three Avos (forefathers) plus the Shvatim (Twelve Tribes). Avraham is represented by the bull, as it is stated: “And Avraham ran to the cattle” (Bereishis 18:7). Yitzchak is represented by the ram, as it is stated: “Behold! – there was a ram behind him” (ibid. 22:13). Yaakov is represented by the lamb: “and Yaakov separated the lambs” (ibid. 30:40). The Shvatim are represented by the he-goat, as it is stated: “and they slaughtered a he-goat” (ibid. 37:31). 

The Abravanel offers his own explanation for the mussaf of Rosh Chodesh which differs from Chazal. He holds that the mussaf of Rosh Chodesh was designed to remind us of how Bnei Yisrael were commanded in the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh – our very first mitzvah – in Mitzrayim. The two bulls (פרים) represent Moshe and Aharon, through whom the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh was given, and who caused Torah to be fruitful (פרים) in Israel. The one ram (איל) represents (lehavdil) Hashem, the all-powerful (בעל האילות), Who commanded Bnei Yisrael in the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh. The seven lambs represent the seven tzadikim (righteous people) from whom Moshe and Aharon descended: (1) Noach, (2) Avraham, (3) Yitzchak, (4) Yaakov, (5) Levi, (6) Kehas, (7) Amram. The merit of these seven tzadikim stand by us, and protect us from the harmful occurrences that were set in motion with the beginning of the month. Alternatively, the two bulls (פרים) represent the sun and the moon, whose cyclical motion is responsible not only for our calendar, but for all of the fruits (פירות) of the world. The one ram alludes to the fact that we were given the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh in the month of Nisan – the same month in which we offer the Korban Pesach (Pesach offering), which is brought from the same species as a ram. (Perhaps the Abravanel is also referring to the fact that the constellation of Nisan is the ram.) We bring seven lambs corresponding to the seven days of the Chag ha’Matzos (Festival of Matzah). 

As for the mussaf of Sukkos, the Abravanel quotes Chazal for the first part of his explanation and offers his original interpretations for the rest. The 70 bulls (13+12+11+10+9+8+7) represent the 70 nations of the world, or the 70 “angelic officers” appointed over them; their gradual diminution symbolizes the fact that they will ultimately be gradually diminished in the time leading up to Yemos ha’Moshiach (the Messianic Era). The two rams (אילים) represent the two most powerful nations alluded to in: “” (Devarim 32:14). The fourteen lambs represent the fourteen children of Yaakov: the twelve tribes – with Yosef being split into Ephraim and Menashe – plus Dinah. 

As you can see, there are major advantages and disadvantages within this approach. The advantage is that the use of a highly flexible symbolic language allows these korbanos to reflect a wide variety of concepts. Each mussaf becomes a dazzling allegorical ritual rich with meaning. The disadvantage is that an approach like this is highly speculative – as I wrote about in my post about the perils of metaphor – and lends itself to forced interpretations. Personally, I would accept this approach in the spirit of drash, but not as pshat. 

Approach #3 – Scientifically Symbolic: This, by far, is the most ambitious approach, and is spearheaded by the Ralbag. [3] The Ralbag maintains that the Beis ha’Mikdash and the avodas ha’korbanos (Divine service of the sacrificial order) was designed to teach us fundamental principles of science and metaphysics. Each and every detail of the avodah symbolizes a fact or a concept which helps us to understand the universe, and which ultimately brings us to knowledge and love of Hashem. Here are a few examples:

The Ralbag maintains that the seven lambs offered on the Shalosh Regalim (Three Pilgrimage Festivals) represent the seven levels of existences – or “forms” – in the universe: (1) elements, (2) minerals, (3) plant life, (4) animal life, (5) human life, (6) angels, and (7) Hashem.  

He explains that the mussaf of Rosh Chodesh was designed to teach us about the motion of the moon, which is the basis of our calendar: the seven lambs symbolize the seven causes of motion which move the seven planets; the one ram represents the mover of the Celestial Sphere which encompasses the seven planets; the two bulls represent the two movers of the Celestial Sphere – namely, the Active Intellect and Hashem (lehavdil). 

Similarly, he explains the mussafim of Rosh ha’Shanah and Yom ha’Kippurim as symbolically reflecting other ideas about the motions of the heavenly bodies: the one bull corresponds to the Active Intellect; the one ram corresponds to the Celestial Sphere which causes the motion of the planets; the seven lambs represent the seven planets; these animals add up to nine olah-offerings – not ten – because Hashem is the Prime Mover, and it would be inappropriate to include Him in the count (though the Ralbag also explains that this idea is alluded to in the fact that the time period between Rosh ha’Shanah and Yom ha’Kippurim is ten days). 

To me, this approach – if it were correct – would be the most impressive and significant. It gives me the chills to think about what it would be like if all of the laws of nature were modeled by the halachos which govern the avodah (service) in the Beis ha’Mikdash. The Mikdash would then truly be “a miniature universe.” 

Unfortunately, all of the Ralbag’s explanations were based on Aristotelian physics, which means that it is entirely invalid. I’m sure it was great while it lasted, though. 

To my knowledge, nobody in the modern age has attempted to follow the Ralbag’s approach according to our modern understanding of science. Furthermore, I have a feeling that if the Ralbag were alive today, and if he were aware of the rapid progress that science has made over the past few centuries, perhaps he would agree that it would be folly to suggest that the the fixed laws of the korbanos reflect our ever-changing scientific understanding of the universe. 

Approach #4 – No Explanation: Last but not least, there is the approach of the Rambam. In his discourse on the reasons for mitzvos in the Moreh ha’Nevuchim, [4] the Rambam writes about korbanos “we cannot say why one korban should be a lamb whilst another is a ram, and why a fixed number of them should be brought.” He adds that:

Those who trouble themselves to find reasons for any of these details are chasing after a huge delusion - one which not only fails to remove any difficulties, but increases them. Anyone who believes that these [details of the laws] have a purpose is as far from the truth as one who assumes that the entire mitzvah is without any real purpose. 

I have written about this at length in a previous blog post this summer, in which I attempted to demonstrate that the Rambam’s view is far more nuanced than it would appear at first glance. Nevertheless, it would seem that the Rambam would hold that at least some – if not all – of the questions we asked are a waste of time, because there are simply no answers. The details are arbitrary. 

The advantage of this approach is that it is entirely immune to speculation. It is impossible to be wrong about what the details of the korbanos teach us if one holds that they don’t teach us anything. The disadvantage of this approach is that it is extremely difficult to accept. Would the Rambam really look at the glaring patterns and anomalies in the mussafim and the questions we asked and conclude that these details are arbitrary? I find that hard to believe, especially since the Rambam does offer reasons for some of these details in the Moreh ha’Nevuchim. 

Still, I am including this in my list of approaches because the Rambam would definitely say that some details here are arbitrary. For example, he explicitly stated that if a person asks, “Why seven lambs and not eight?” then there is no answer; this detail is arbitrary. From this example alone we see a marked difference between the Rambam and many other meforshim. 

Roll safe, Rambam.

In conclusion, I hope this post can serve as something like a “starter kit” for exploring the topic of mussafim. I have provided a chart which summarizes the relevant facts, a list of questions for investigation, and a summary of the four approaches I’ve seen in the meforshim. “The rest,” as they say, “is commentary; go forth and learn.”

[1] Don Yitzchak Abravanel, Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar Chapter 28

[2] Rabbeinu Yosef Bechor Shor, Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 29:35

[3] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar: Parashas Pinchas (Toalos)

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:26