Parashat Tzav

Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil MiBissar Zevach Shlamav BaYom HaShilishi Lo Yeiratzeh HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv Lo Pigul Yihiyeh VaHanefesh HaOcheles Mimenu Avonah Tisa. VaYikra 7:18

Among many things, this pasuk details the violation of eating pigul, a sacrifice that has been left over past its allotted window of time to be eaten. The pasuk appears within the context of the Neder-based Shlamim, which has an allotted window of two days and one night to be eaten; therefore, after the second day, one violates this commandment by eating the leftover meat. The pasuk also seems to detail the effects of this violation. If the owner were to eat from the meat after the second day, then Lo Yeiratzeh, it would no longer count as a proper atonement (retroactively, like by a Zav or Zavah). Additionally, HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv, the act of bringing the Korban will not be considered to have accomplished anything.

Rashi, however, has a different take on the meaning of this pasuk.

“Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil…” The pasuk refers to [a Kohein] who thinks at the time of Shchita to eat [the Korban] on the third day. One may think that the pasuk teaches us that the violation retroactively nullifies [the owner’s] atomement; therefore, the pasuk states “HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv,” the [pasuk refers to a] Korban [that] is invalidated at the time of offering, not on the third day. So did [Chazal] explain [this pasuk], ‘don’t think such a thought [during the offering of the Korban,] and if one does think such, the Korban is indeed invalidated.’

Not only does Rashi reinterpret the pasuk based on the teachings of Chazal, he even rejects the pasuk’s simple understanding! And on what grounds?! HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv is clearly able to be interpreted in multiple ways, so why should Chazal come along, interpret it one way, and say that their understanding comes to exclude anyone else’s?! Even Rashi’s grandson, the Rashbam, was very bothered by his grandfather’s approach to this pasuk:

“HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv” The Sages uproot the simple meaning of this pasuk and reinterpret it as such: [the pasuk refers to a Kohein] who thinks – during any one of the four actions of sacrifice: Shchita, Kabalah, Hiluch, and Zerikah – to eat the Korban on the third day.

It seems that both Rashi and the Rashbam have their backs up against a wall. On one hand, the pasuk makes clear mention of eating and only perhaps makes mention of thinking at the very end, depending on how you interpret the word Yeichasheiv. Yet on the other hand, if the lashon of Yeichasheiv did not refer to Machshava but rather to Chashivus, the pasuk’s retroactive invalidation would be redundant. More to the point, the Rashbam faces heat for arguing with the Chazal. Yet the Drasha as explained by Rashi does nothing to explain the first half of the pasuk; at the very least, in no way does it justify the choppy nature of the pasuk for Rashi to consider this the pasuk’s simple understnading (note how instead of opening with the words “Kach Pershu Rabboseinu, Rashi first explains pshat, and then continues that Chazal were Doreish the pasuk similarly).

There is one difficulty, however, that neither understanding of this pasuk can seem to resolve. The pasuk opens Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil MiBissar Zevach Shlamav, and if some of the meat from his Shlamim is eaten. Who’s Shlamim? The Korban belongs to the owner, so one would expect the pasuk to be referring to the owner. But why would the pasuk limit its law to the scenario where the owner eats from it? Anybody is allowed to eat from the Korban (provided he is Tahor). In fact, in pasukim 20 and 21, the Korban is referred to as Zevach HaShlamim. In pasuk 15, by the owner’s personal obligation to eat from his Korban, the pasuk writes Zevach Shlamav. So why refer to this as “his Korban” by the general law of Pigul?

Perhaps the pasuk is written similarly to pasuk 13, which also uses the lashon of Shlamav when looking from the perspective of the Kohein towards the owner. In fact, perhaps we can totally reinterpret the perspective of the first half of this pasuk; instead of it refering to a general rule, lets analyze its meaning as if it narrates the thoughts of the Kohein. And as we’ll soon see, all our difficulties with the pasuk’s syntax and redundancy and overall ambiguity melt away:

“[the thought] ‘and what if some of the meat from his Shlamim offereing were to be eaten on the third day…’ results in the future inability for the Korban to bring atonement; therefore, don’t think such thoughts; it will turn his Korban into Pigul, and then anyone who eats from it at any time, [even before the third day,] will carry this sin.”

What a wonderful understanding of the pasuk! It’s a wonder the Rashbam had such problem’s with Rashi’s and Chazal’s interpretation. But perhaps even the Rashbam understood this pasuk this way; perhaps something else about his grandfather’s peirush inspired his startling comments. And indeed there is a very simple problem with Rashi’s take on the pasuk, for if the simple understanding of the pasuk is as Rashi explains, then why does the gemara need to be Doreish from the word “HaMakriv” that the present tense of the word Makriv comes to exclude one’s ability to retroactively invalidate Korbanos?

The Rashbam therefore explains that this difficulty with Rashi is no problem at all, that Chazal do in fact uproot the pasuk from its simple meaning. We have no logical reason to think that the pasuk would exclude the retroactive ineffectiveness of the Korban if the owner were to eat from it after it proper time; as aforementioned, Korbanos can be effected retroactively, so why shouldn’t this one? Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer insists in his drasha (Meseches Zevachim 29a) “Kaf Oznechah Lishmo’ah. This pasuk is phrased very strangely since it should have just written “Lo Yeichasheiv” at the beginning. Therefore, it is possible for one to consider that the pasuk refers to retroactive invalidation though the violation of Pigul. Talmud Lomar, Hamakriv Oso Lo Yeiratzeh, it is only invalidated at the time of Hakravah and not on the third day.” And so Chazal exclude the scenario of “Nefesh HaOcheles” from the effects of “Lo Yeiratzeh.” Ultimately we see that neither Rashi nor the Rashbam, nor Chazal, argue over anything at all regarding this pasuk’s understanding. We instead should just read the pasuk exactly as we would expect Sefer VaYikra to read, as Hashem’s direct instructions to the Kohanim regarding their Avoda.

Purim 5765

The gemara in Mesechet Megilah remarks how the Hasaras HaTaba’at did more for Klal Yisrael than 48 Nevi’im ever could, for whenever the Navi would tell the nation to do Teshuva, hardly anyone would listen. The story of Purim truly was a pivotal moment in our history; a special place in time and space where the randomness and chance of the nation’s fate was never more openly evident. And while Mordechai, Esteir, and Haman may have played the primary roles in this historic episode, it is still King Achashveirosh who highlights both the opening and closing parashiot of the Megilah. A king who once killed his wife by the advice of his friend and then killed that friend by the advice of his wife, who could be bribed into overlooking genocide, who could hold neither his sobriety nor his temper, Achashveirosh was perhaps the most dangerously unpredictable king in the history of the world, perhaps the only capable of ever facilitating such a dramatic reversal of fortune.

And yet, Achashveirosh doesn’t really seem to fill the lead role. Haman is the Rashah because he tries to kill the Jews and Mordechai and Esteir are the Tzadik and Tzadekes, but Achashveirosh doesn’t seem to fit into our orderly categorization. Neither hero nor villain, friend nor foe, is Achashveirosh to be labeled an anomaly? Is he to be remembered as HaMelech, nothing more than the tool through which Hashem staged the hidden miracle of Purim? Chazal suggest otherwise, as is indicated by the numerous times they refer to him as Oso HaRashah. The gemara goes so far as to explain the repetition of his name in the opening pasuk of the Megilah to indicate “”he was a Rashah throughout, from beginning to end.” But how can it be? How can a king who saves the entire Jewish nation, whose actions seem no more than the product of his insobriety, be held on a platform no higher than Haman’s or Nevuchadnetzar’s?

For all the certainty Chazal seem to have regarding his Rishus, they cannot seem to reach an agreement regarding his intelligence. Was Achashveirosh a Shoteh or a Pikeiach, stupid or smart, the gemara wonders. His decision to make a party for the faraway states before inviting Shushan becomes the crux of this debate. Normally, a king would be wise to appease the farther nations in order to suppress their contemplations of rebellion, but Achashveirosh’s case may have been different. Rav and Shmuel argue over the meaning of the opening pasuk’s words “Hodu ViAd Kush.” One amora explains the pasuk to describe the vast stretch of Achashveirosh’s kingdom; therefore, Hodu and Kush were countries far away from the capital, Shushan. The other explains that we already know how vast Achashveirosh’s kingdom was since the pasuk says “127 Midinah;” instead, Hodu and Kush were close to Shushan and signify how Achashveirosh had an equally strong control over the faraway states as he did over the neighboring Hodu and Kush. In such a case, Achashveirosh’s greatest concern should have been to appease his capital, for if they ever rebel, he would be left with nothing, and a rebellion was as likely there as it was 127 countries away. Over the duration of the Megilah’s ten-perek tale, one would expect to discover the truth behind Achashveirosh’s intelligence, or lack thereof, yet these amoraim’s ability to argue even in retrospect suggests otherwise! How can Chazal even think to call this man a Rashah if they can’t even decide whether his actions bear any semblance of rationale?!

It seems King Achashveirosh is so hopelessly unpredictable, we can’t tell whether he’s smart or dumb! Nor can we tell whether he loves or hates the Jews. One minute he’s buying them a party with Kosher food, the next minute he’s buying into their genocide. Many mefarshim resolve these self-contradictory actions by taking note of Haman’s 10,000 shekel bribe; perhaps it was worth a little Kosher food to Achashveirosh to make the Jews like him, but it was also worth 10,000 shekalim to give up on them. The problem with this understanding, however, is that it assumes Achashveirosh accepted Haman’s bribe, yet Achashveirosh says quite clearly “HaKesef Nasun Lach ViHa’Am La’Asos Bo KaTov BiEinecha,” keep your money, just get rid of the nation. The gemara explains: What compares to this [dialogue]? Haman and Achashveirosh are like two men, one with a mound of dirt and one with a ditch. The man with the ditch wonders who would sell him a mound, and the one with the mound wonders who would sell him a ditch. In time, they meet, and the ditch owner says, “Sell me your mound of dirt,” to which the mound owner replies, “Please! Take it for free!”

The gemara makes good sense of this pasuk, but before we hastily conclude Achashveirosh must have hated the Jews, let’s consider the story’s progression. Mordechai urgently asks Esteir to entreat the king, “LiHischanein Lo U’Livakeish MiLifanav Al Amah,” but if Achashveirosh hated the Jews as much as Haman, why would Mordechai have any luck appealing to him? Three days later, Achashveirosh is invited to Esteir’s second party, and when she informs him that she and her nation face extermination, he becomes enraged and erupts “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu!!!” Was Esteir’s love really worth 10,000 shekalim to Achashveirosh? Perhaps it was, considering that he expresses how much he loves her by lifting the taxes. However, the plot suggests otherwise, for if Achashveirosh’s love for Esteir would have simply outweighed Haman’s money and influence, she could have asked for what she wanted in a very plain manner; instead, the she focuses her plea on the evil of Haman, “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech.”

The questions thus complete their circle, for if Achashveirosh conspired with Haman to exterminate the Jews, why would Esteir try to spring this fact on the King as if it was news to him? Apparently it was news to him! Why else would he ask “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu?” Was Achashveirosh so stupid that he forgot having given up 10,000 shekalim just three days earlier to permit the annihilation of the Jews?

The Megilas Starrim speculates that perhaps Achashveirosh wasn’t entirely informed of Haman’s plans after all. The Megilah uses three different lishonos to describe the annihilation of the Jews: LiHashmid, LaHarog, and LiAbeid. When the Pas’shegen is dispatched, the orders contain all three lishonos, yet when Haman first approaches Achashveirosh, he only uses the word “LiAbidam.” The Megilas Starrim therefore asks why Haman didn’t use the other two lashonos as well within his proposition to the King? Could Haman have possibly been plotting behind Achashveirosh’s back?

If we look at the lashon used when Haman’s rage first inspires him to destroy the nation, the only lashon used is “LiHashmid;” both LaHarog and LiAbeid are curiously absent. If Haman wrote all three lashonos in the Pas’shegen, why did he only think of one from the outset? The Migilas Starrim answers that the Vav in the phrase “LiHashmid, LaHarog U’LiAbeid Es Kol HaYehudim” is a “Vav HaMachlekes” (in other words, it means “or,” not “and”) and that the last two terms of destruction, “LaHarog” and “LiAbeid,” are a description of the two ways of performing “LiHashmid.” Therefore, when Haman thinks “LiHashmid” the Jews, he’s really thinking of all three terms.

The Megilah describes all three words within the Pas’shegen in order to emphasize the kingdom’s option of dealing with the Jews either through Hariga or Aveida. This clarifies Haman’s misinformation of his plan to the King, for the King only knew of the option “LiAbeid.” But what exactly is this option “LiAbeid?” Let’s take another look at Haman’s speech to Achashveirosh, and this time we’ll keep in mind that Haman hides his plans “LaHarog” the Jews: “There is a nation that is spread out among all the other nations, yet they are not assimilating! Why? They are following their own rules and not the King’s. There is no reason or value for the King to tolerate this behavior, so for 10,000 shekalim, I suggest that we establish an expensive campaign with parties and pleasures to ensure that every Jew assimilates into our modern Persian culture. I’ll sponsor the campaign, I have the money.” So Aveida is conversion or assimilation, and when Achashveirosh hears this plan, he is elated. The gemara says that all the Jews attended Achashveirosh’s first party despite Mordechai’s warnings, so Achashveirosh surely believed Haman’s plan would be a complete success, worth every shekel of its cost.

Haman, however, did not have plans for a suggestive campaign. His proposal of a 10,000 shekel sponsorship was only a diversion to convince the King of his good-natured intentions. Instead Haman was planning a much more forceful operation, one that left each Jew with only two choices. “LaHarog,” to die, or “LiAbeid,” to convert; those were the only options.

Thus does the Megilas Starrim explain Mordechai’s urgent message to Esteir. Mordechai tells Hasach about both the Pas’Shegen and the Parashat HaKesef. One would expect him to only talk about the Pas’Shegen, but it was Haman’s proposal of a hefty sponsorship that effectively proved the king was not fully on Haman’s side. Mordechai knew that Achashveirosh was simply misinformed of what was truly written in the Pas’Shegen, and therefore the easiest way to defeat Haman would be to expose his insubordination. That’s why Esteir confronts the King with talks of “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech,” and that’s why the astonished King responds “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu.”

Achashveirosh may have disliked the Jews, but he never actually intended to murder them. Such behavior was beneath him; he was much more interested in making everyone happy, in treating everyone fairly and not forcing his mandate upon anyone. That’s why every letter was sent out “El Midinah U’Midinah KiChsava ViEl Am VaAm KiLshono.” That’s why no person was forced to drink at his party, and why wine and foods from every country were supplied so everyone could find something he liked. In fact, everything Achashveirosh did was “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”

We can now begin to see some consistency within Achashveirosh’s behavior; every action he takes is for the sake of fulfilling each man’s Ratzon. When Vashti doesn’t perform his Ratzon, he becomes enraged, but he certainly doesn’t consider killing her; such action would be incomprehensible to the King. However, Memuchan provides a strong argument. “If Vashti is spared,” he reasons, “then each officer’s wife will stop fulfilling her husband’s Ratzon, which will make each officer displeased, thus creating much more BiZayon and Katzef than already exists.” Memuchan’s larger scale perspective called for Vashti’s immediate execution and a decree “LeHios Kol Eesh Soreir BiVeiso;” naturally, Achashveirosh wasn’t very comfortable with this decision – what greater encroachment on his kingdom could there be than a potential death penalty – so he ends his decree with the instructions “U’Midabeir KiLshon Amo,” as if to say “you still have your freedom.”

The rest of the story progresses quite smoothly, as the King agrees to the expensive assimilation of the Jews, whom “Es Dasei HaMelech Einam Osim,” they don’t fulfill the King’s Ratzon. Ironically, he later discovers that Haman is plotting behind his back and not doing his Ratzon to a far worse degree than the Jews. Like Vashti, the people who promote these Ratzon-endangering edicts are to be put to death. Unlike Vashti, though, Haman consulted his friends instead of acting on his own, and so many people were held responsible for this offense.

Achashveirosh makes significant progress in the Megilah’s story, at first only willing to kill his rebellious wife and two scheming servants, Bigsan and Seresh, but later willing to slay five hundred men in his own capital! It seems his non-violent mentality somehow backfires to the point that he approves of genocide (of Amaleik) in order to maintain peace! It is not necessarily a foolish mentality; Achashveirosh consistently makes the appropriate immediate decision, but he never looks far enough into the future to wonder if he can truly maintain his utopian kingdom. And within a year of the story of Purim, his reign comes to an abrupt end, and the second King Koresh takes over. We come to recognize that Achashveirosh was not that unpredictable after all, nor was he incredibly stupid, nor was he incredibly smart. He just wanted to do “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”

“KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh” requires the fulfillment of two distinct desires. Everyone wants equal treatment, to be no worse than the next person, to be held no lower. Yet everyone wants choice as well, the desire for his own voice to be heard above others’. And as hard as Achashveirosh tried to grant his subjects these two distinct desires, ultimately, he could not. From the very start of his reign, Achashveirosh had to decide how to divvy his control over his kingdom; he could either attempt to rule alone, or he could assign his most loyal officers to each of his 127 countries to maintain order. The former approach, however, encroached upon the equality of his nation, leaving the farther countries more distant from their ruler, more out of touch, more likely to rebel. All of a sudden, parties would be necessary to keep them happy. The latter approach was just as problematic, for the most loyal officers would be selected not by the people, but by the King, thus limiting his subjects’ freedom, the kingdom’s democracy.

Like Rav and Shmuel teach us, it is indeterminable which approach Achashveirosh chose. Neither choice was a stupid choice, nor was either choice a smart choice. Perhaps the 180 day party was a careful calculation, in which case “BaChatzar Geenas Beesan HaMelech” would most likely mean that Achashveirsoh prepared several gardens, intending that every attendant feel comfortable in the environment of his choice. Perhaps the party was a stupid idea, thought up on a whim, in which case “Geenas Beesan HaMelech” reflects Achashveirosh’s poor planning, that he invited everyone into his Chatzeir, and when it overcrowded, he opened up the Geenah, and then the Beesan. Persistently, Achashveirosh tries as hard as he can to do KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh, to let each write and speak KiChsavah and KiLshono, to judge between KaDas and Lo KaDas, to treat his women KiDas HaNashim, and to deal with the Jews KaTov BiEinav; nonetheless, his actions cannot be perfect. They are only “like” perfect actions because as correct as his choices may have been at the immediate moment with the given information, his perspective of any matter was always severely limited.

KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh. (Why “Eesh VaEesh,” why not “KiRtzon Kulam”?) HaKadosh Baruch Hu said to [Achashveirosh], “I do not deviate from the nature of My creation, and you want to fulfill every man’s will?! If two men wish to marry the same woman, can she marry both of them? Alas, she can only marry one. Similarly, if two boats leave a dock, one hoping for a northern wind and one hoping for a southern wind, can the wind blow them both in their respective desired directions? Alas, it can only carry one. Tomorrow, two men will approach you, one man an Eesh Yihudi and one man an Eesh Tzar ViOyeiv, each with a request, and we shall see if you can fulfill both their desires. Alas, you will elevate one but hang the other.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14

The Midrash doesn’t call Achashveirosh a Chacham or a Tipeish, but it suggests that he infuriated Hakadosh Baruch Hu with his party. Achashveirosh’s pursuit for equality and freedom wasn’t only a futile waste of energy; it undermined the very notion that the world could operate on a more objective Ratzon than his own. And what Ratzon, one might ask, is more objective than man’s? Hashem’s Ratzon, of course. It is His Ratzon that we pursue, and His Das that we follow, and we perform that which is Tov BiEinav. All the while, we recognize that while we are granted free choice, we must still operate within the context of our Torah’s restrictions. We recognize that we are not treated equally but rather tested differently, that each individual is created to fulfill a unique piece of Hashem’s ultimate plan, and that one’s unique experiences and unique challenges are to be viewed as the reflection of Hashem’s Ratzon to provide us with opportunities to achieve our Geulah.

There is one “Kaf” in the Megilah that perhaps stands out as the strangest of all the seemingly out of place “Kaf”s. Mordechai, in a moment of dire urgency, persuades Esteir to take action and approach Achashveirosh. He says to her, “U’Mi Yodei’ah Im LaEis KaZos Hi’Ga’at LaMalchus,” who knows if a moment like this is why you have ascended to royalty. If Mordechai is so certain that Esteir should risk her life to speak with the King, he should pronounce “Im LaEis HaZos!” Yet Morchai very carefully chooses his words; had he said “HaZos,” his instructions would imply that he knew Esteir’s purpose as queen was to approach the King at this time. But Mordechai can’t know what Hashem’s true intentions are; he can only speculate with his relatively limited perspective. Instead, Mordechai teaches Esteir a much deeper lesson. “There is no one moment that the Jews can be saved,” Mordechai explains, “there are many moments. But if you do not recognize how this moment might be your opportunity to save the Jews, then you are not searching for Hashem’s Ratzon; you’re only selfishly searching for your own Ratzon, and you will surely not be given another opportunity.”

Purim is all too often remembered as the holiday of Gilui Panim, the time in history when extraordinary coincidences like Esteir’s ascension to royalty, Achashveirosh’s short temper, and other various timely miracles, were just enough to reverse the Jews’ fortune. But how apparent were all these miracles? In reality, they only stood as clear indicators of Hashem’s presence after the nation’s salvation. Perhaps the story of Purim only furthers us into Hesteir Panim, the concealment of Hashem’s presence within every mundane activity, as opposed to the vastly uncommon one-in-a-million coincidences.

Nonetheless, we must struggle to recognize that the lessons of Purim are not only true in times of miraculous coincidence, but even in our modern times. We must strain to accept that the Ratzon of Hashem isn’t always highlighted by incredible circumstance, but rather must be sought after. And if we realize this potential for fulfilling the Ratzon Hashem, then BiMiheirah BiYameinu we will be Zocheh to experience that which is described in the continuation of the same Midrash:

Rav Huna said in the name of Rav Binyamin Bar Levi: In this world, when the northern winds blow, the southern winds cannot. And when the southern winds blow, the northern winds cannot. But in the World To Come, when Hashem gathers His nation from exile, He will bring a supernatural wind that blows in both directions, as the pasuk states “Omeir LiTzafon T’ni, U’LiTeiman Al Tachla’ee. Hevi’i Banai MeiRachok U’B’nosai MiKitzei HaAretz.”

Who can perform the will of all those who fear Him? It is HaKadosh Baruch Hu, as the pasuk says “Ritzon Yirei’av Ya’aseh ViEs Sha’avasam Yishma ViYoshi’eim.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14

Parashat VaYikra

Rabbi Yishmael says: There are thirteen rules [which one must follow] when being Doreish the words of the Torah:
13) Two pasukim that contradict either other, until a third pasuk comes along to choose between [the two pasukim.]

This final rule to the Shlosh Esrei Midos is rather puzzling. The rule seems to imply that when we find pasukim that argue with each other, we should look for a third pasuk to explain which of the first two verses is correct and which is incorrect. But could this Drasha be implying that a pasuk in the Torah is incorrect or not accurate? Of course not! But if both pasukim are true, then what does the third pasuk accomplish? Perhaps it comes to resolve how there isn’t any contradiction between those first two pasukim. But if this is the only purpose the third pasuk serves, why do we consider it a Drasha? Isn’t it nothing more than a logical resolution?

In the first pasuk of this week’s parasha, we are told “VaYidabeir Eilav Hashem MeiOhel Mo’eid Leimor,” Hashem spoke to Moshe from the Ohel Mo’eid. However, this fact isn’t so simple, since the pasuk in Parashat Terumah says Hashem spoke to Moshe from on top of the Kapores, which is on the Aron. Which pasuk is correct, the Sifri asks. The answer comes from a Kasuv Shlishi, a pasuk in Parashat Naso that states, “when Moshe came to the Ohel Mo’eid to speak to [Hashem], he heard the voice from atop the Kapores…” Therefore, we see that the voice came from the Kapores and not the Ohel. What then can we say about the pasuk in this week’s parasha and its claim that Hashem’s voice came from the Ohel?

Perhaps the real question we should ask is why do we need a Drasha in the first place. The Kapores is inside of the Ohel Mo’eid, so if one pasuk says that Hashem spoke from the Kapores, then it implies that He spoke from inside the Ohel. Isn’t that a rational explanation of the pasuk in this week’s parasha? In fact, this seems to be exactly what the pasuk in Naso describes. The pasuk begins by explaining that Moshe heard Hashem’s voice come from the Kapores after he entered the Ohel, so before he entered, the voice must have sounded like it was coming from the Ohel. Why then do we consider this a Kasuv Shilshi that breaks up the contradiction; if anything it resolves the contradiction and does so without anything more than common sense?!

Maybe there’s something more to this Drasha that we are overlooking. If we look closely at the words in Rabbi Yishael’s statement, we notice there is a missing verb. Had the statement said, “two pasukim are contradictory until…” the grammar would make sense; but instead, the words read “two pasukim that are contradictory until...” This implies that the nature of these contradictory verses changes after we find a Kasuv Shlishi. But what could change upon the discovery of the Kasuv Shlishi?

Perhaps the point of the Drasha is to teach us that the Kasuv Shlishi is what chooses between the two contradictory pasukim, and not us. Chazal were perfectly capable of resolving contradictory verses in the Torah, but if they found an extra pasuk like the one in Naso, then they would be forced to use it to resolve the argument. And what argument does the pasuk resolve? As we pointed out earlier, the two pasukim aren’t even necessarily contradictory!

However, two pasukim do say Hashem spoke from the Kapores and only one pasuk says Hashem spoke from the Ohel, and the pasukim themselves provide no resolution. Therefore, we are forced to accept not just that the voice came from the Kapores but also that it did not come from the Ohel, nor can we presume that the pasuk in VaYikra comes to suggest that Moshe heard the voice while he was outside the Ohel. In fact, this is what Rashi teaches us on the very words Mei’Ohel Mo’eid:

“Mei’Ohel Mo’eid. This teaches us that the voice was cut off and did not leave the Ohel. One might think this was smply because Hashem’s voice was soft, therefore the pasuk in Naso states Kol. This is the powerful Kol that we speak of in Psalms 29.”

Of course, it would make perfect sense for Rashi to explain “Mei’Ohel Mo’eid” to mean that the voice did leave the Ohel; after all, the pasuk doesn’t say LiOhel. This would also help Rashi explain the voice to be loud and powerful. But because of the Kasuv Shlishi, he is forced to explain it this way. We now see how a Kasuv Shlishi is a Drasha and not just a reflection of common sense. It doesn’t only determine for us what pasuk is correct and what must be expounded upon, it even tells us when we may not simply resolve two pasukim by logic.

Alternatively, the Kasuv Shlishi can force us to resolve through logic. For instance, the pasuk in Naso clearly establishes that Moshe entered the Ohel Mo’eid to speak with Hashem, but the pasuk in parashat Fidukei says “and Moshe did not enter into the Mishkan.” That pasuk, however, continues with an explanation “because the cloud rested on [the Ohel].” Therefore, Chazal establish this explanation as a Kasuv Shlishi that forces us to explain the two pasukim by the logic expressed in the pasuk. The logical resolution forces Chazal to accept that both pasukim are true, that neither is open for Drasha (as opposed to Rashi’s explanation of Mei’Ohel Mo’eid). And if both pasukim are true, then we must recognize that one possible resolution is that one pasuk (the one in Fikudei) held true on the day of Chanukas HaMishkan, and the other pasuk (the one in Naso, which is stated after the twelve days of Korbanos from the Nissi’im) held true at other times. But the Kasuv Shlishi teaches us that the deciding factor was not HaKamas HaMishkan or Chanukas HaMishkan, but rather the presence of Hashem’s Anan.

Ultimately, we come to see that even the most obvious Drashos are not as obvious as one may expect them to be. Rabbi Yishmael’s rules really do provide strict regulations over our interpretations of Torah’s words. Good Shabbos.

Parashat Fikudei

“And Betzaleil Ben Uri… did all that Hashem commanded to Moshe.”
It does not write here “that which Moshe commanded him,” but rather “that which Hashem commanded Moshe,” [implying] even things that his teacher Moshe did not instruct. [Betzaleil] determined that which was said to Moshe on Sinai. Moshe told him to first build the Keilim of the Mishkan and then build the building, and Betzaleil replied “But it is customary in this world to first construct the building and then place the Keilim inside of it? Shouldn’t I build the Mishkan first?” [Moshe] said to him, “Such did I hear from Hashem; you obviously must be standing in G-d’s shadow [to have determined this ruling all on your own]!” And so [Betzaleil] made the Mishkan first and then he made the Keilim.
Rashi, Pekudei 38:22

Rashi here describes Betzaleil’s claim to fame, the accomplishment for which he was named. As the leader of the Mishkan’s construction, Betzaleil was the genius who could build the most complex structures from scratch. He had the mental clarity to explain anything to anyone, to make the most difficult instructions look simple. Here, he corrects his teacher Moshe, and is Mechavein to the words of Hakadosh Baruch Hu all on his own.

But what was so special about Betzaleil’s correction in the first place? He receives a command from his teacher and he appeals based on the customs of the world! It would be one thing if Moshe would respond “Oops, my mistake,” but what makes Betzaleil’s simple correction so incredible that Moshe responds “Shema BiTzeil Keil Hayeesa.” Furthermore, didn’t it ever occur to Betzaleil that perhaps the construction the Mishkan might transcend the customs of the world? Why would he ever think Moshe reversed the instructions?

Lastly, we must wonder what Moshe meant when he replied “Such did I hear from Hashem.” If Moshe heard Betzaleil’s instructions from Hashem, why wouldn’t he explain it correctly to Betzaleil. One could speculate perhaps Moshe forgot what he was instructed, as the Gur Aryeh does. One could also speculate that Moshe meant, “Hashem instructed me to build the Keilim first, but I like your way more,” as the Mizrachi does. But both ways seem lacking. The Levush HaOrah emphatically rejects both the Mizrachi’s and the Gur Aryeh’s interpretations of Rashi here. “How could it be that Moshe forgot that which Hashem taught him,” the Levush HaOrah writes. “Chas Vishalom one would ever suggest that of even the smallest Navi, Kal ViChomer Moshe Rabbeinu! And would Moshe ever accept his students reasoning above the command of a King? Of course not!” Therefore, the Levush HaOrah offers an alternative solution.

The biggest problem with the Mizrachi’s and Gur Aryeh’s explanations is that if we look in Parashat VaYakheil, we do find Moshe instructing the construction in the proper order, Es Mishkan Es Ahalo ViEs Michseihu. It is only in Parashat Terumah where Moshe mentions the Aron and the Shulchan and the Menorah etc. and then the pillars and covers. Therefore, when Rashi says Moshe didn’t instruct Betzaleil, what he really means is that Moshe didn’t instruct Betzaleil clearly or explicitly. He delivered instructions to the nation twice, changed the order between the two times, and left it to Betzaleil to figure out which of his instructions correctly detailed the process’s proper order and which instruction did not. Betzaleil therefore approached Moshe with the obvious question, which order is the correct order. Betzaleil also added in his question, “Perhaps I should build the Oheil first and the Keilim second because that is the standard order we follow in this world. Is my guess correct?” And Moshe responded “Such did I hear from Hashem, your guess is 100% correct.”

What the Levush HaOrah fails to explain, however, is why Betzaleil’s question should warrant such praise from his rebbe. Especially now that we see Betzaleil had a 50/50 chance of guessing correctly, what was so impressive about his input? He didn’t even win an argument over his rebbe anymore; he just applied common sense.

Apparantly, there must be something more than common sense to Betzaleil’s inference. But if Betzaleil didn’t just apply common sense, how did he come to the correct solution? How could Betzaleil tell which of Moshe’s instructions was in the proper order and which one served an alternate purpose? Let’s take a look at Betzaleil two options. Either the Aron was to be built first and the Oheil was listed first in VaYakheil for a separate reason, or the Oheil was to be built first and the Aron was listed first in Terumah for a separate reason. This “separate reason,” one would speculate, should be the reason why the Mishkan is being built in the first place, which is “ViShachanti BiSocham,” to establish a closer relationship with Hashem even after the distancing caused by the Cheit HaEigel. Therefore, Betzaleil had to discern which of these objects, the Oheil or the Aron, would facilitate closeness between the Bnei Yisrael and Hashem.

The correct choice is not so obvious. In fact, we need a Kasuv Shlishi, in Parashat Naso (7:89), to break up a contradiction between two pasukim in the Torah, one pasuk in Terumah (25:22) that implies that the voice came from above the Kapores upon the Aron, and a different pasuk in VaYikra (1:1) that implies that the voice came from the Ohiel. Betzaleil’s reasoning now becomes a real accomplishment, for not even Chazal could figure out from where the Shechina’s voice eminated without a drasha in the Torah. What then was Betzaleil’s incredible chidush?

The Cheit HaEigel was a result of the Bnei Yisrael’s feelings of distance from HaKadosh Baruch Hu; it refelcted their need for a physical intermediary. The Mishkan served as a solution to the Eigel because it served as a way the nation could physically feel Hashem’s presence within their midst. Therefore, before Hashem could communicate to the nation, His presence would have to be recognizable; only then would the Shechina reside in the camp’s midst. Between the Aron and the Oheil, the item that best facilitated this feeling of presence was the Oheil.

Betzaleil reasoned, “Common sense dictates that before one can recognize the physical presence of Hashem in this world, He should have a physical resting spot. The way of the world is that one first defines a space, and then fills it; one must always define a set environment before one can begin to discuss the notion of ‘presence.’ Presence can only be defined within a limited window of space and time, and only the Oheil allows for Hashem to have presence, not vice versa.”

Were the purpose of Binyan HaMishkan been for Hashem to simply speak to us, then the Aron would be considered the first item in the order of the construction because the Aron would be the Kli which would enable Hashem to speak from the Oheil. Without an Aron, there would be no place for the Shchina to dwell, and then the Oheil wouldn’t serve any purpose without an inhabitant. But Betzaeil wisely recognized there was more to the Mishkan than its purpose as a meeting place; it was a designated and defined meeting place.

This was the great Chidush of Betzaleil Ben Uri. And when Moshe heard how he reasoned the purpose for the Mishkan and understood exactly why it was being built, Moshe understood just how special Betzaleil was. He didn’t just make complex instructions sound simple, he could analyze an object, break down its components, and conclude what purpose it served from his analysis of those individual components. Betzaleil understood the interworkings of the not just the Keilim of the Mishkan, but of even their individual components, the gold silver copper etc. Perhaps this is what Rashi means to teach us when he introduces Fikudei as “the parasha that lists each metal as a component, pieces it together into Keilim and then constructs an interwoven Avodas HaYom out of those Keilim.”
While the parasha may seem like a total repeat of everything we described in Terumah, Titzaveh, Ki Tisa, and VaYakheil, Fikudei does much more. It is the parasha that overviews the entire construction process, from the little half bits of silver until the setting of whole loaves of bread. It is the parasha that recognizes the incredible detail accounted for within every grand process, that even a process as grand as Binyan HaMishkan is made up of nothing more than the design of this physical realm.

Parashat VaYakheil

Within his argument to Iyov’s three advisors, Elifaz Tzofar and Bildad, Elihu questions their right to accuse Hashem of mistreating their friend. Elihu remarks, “HaAmor LaMelech Bliya’al, Rashah El Nidivim?!” Would you ever call a king or nobles by derogatory names [despite the fact that they show unjust favoritism]?! Of course not! Elihu then draws a Kal ViChomer: “Asher Lo Nasa P’nei Sarim, ViLo Nikar Sho’a Lifnei Dal, Ki Ma’asei Yadav Kulam.” Then to Hashem, Who doesn’t raise the faces of officers [above others’] and doesn’t recognize an officer above a pauper, for they are all the work of His hands, [surely you would not blasphemy!] (Iyov 34:18-19).

It’s a very simple philosophy, but it bears a very simple flaw. Perhaps the reason one doesn’t call the king derogatory names is because the king shows favoritism. If one gets on the king’s bad side, then the king won’t unjustly favor him over other people. But perhaps one would naturally blasphemy Hashem; after all, He doesn’t favor one person over another, like a human king does. And even if there were consequences to blaspheming both a regular king and the Melech Malchei Melachim, Elihu still couldn’t draw a Kal ViChomer?

It’s quite likely that we are grossly misinterpreting Elihu’s advice, especially after we see the way Rashi uses these pasukim within his peirush on this week’s parasha. Rashi comments on the appointment of Ahaliav Ben Achisamach, from the lowly tribe of Dan, that Hashem intentionally equated this lowly man to Betzaleil Ben Uri, a man of noble lineage from the royal family of Yehuda. Why? In order to fulfill that which it says in the pasuk: “ViLo Nikar Sho’a Lifnei Dal.” In other words, Hashem’s appointment of Ahaliav, despite his lowly status, proves Elihu’s point in these pasukim, that Hashem does not favor the nobles over the paupers.

What a strange pasuk for Rashi to suggest as proof to Elihu’s point! Many great men came from lowly tribes, like Shimshon from Dan or Barak from Naftali; what makes Ahaliav any different? Furthermore, all those other people were outright leaders, chosen above all the other tribes to steer the nation in the right direction, but Ahaliav is equated to Betzaleil. If Hashem really wants to show that He does not favor the nobles over the paupers, why wouldn’t He appoint Ahaliav alone?

There is another, much more basic, question to be asked on this Rashi. Why is it written in Parashat VaYakheil? Why not mention this fact last week, by the introduction of Betzaleil and Ahaliav? This is the question of the Levush HaOrah, and he extends this question to another Rashi in our parasha. Just four pasukim earlier, Rashi comments that Chur is the son of Miriam. What is this doing in our parasha? Again, the Levush HaOrah asks why Rashi would inform us here instead of Ki Tisa, but in truth, one could really wonder why Rashi didn’t just tell us this back in BiShalach who Chur was back when he held up Moshe’s hands during the Bnei Yisrael’s battle against Amaleik.

The Levush HaOrah offers a possible answer to his challenge. If we look in Ki Tisa, we are not surprised to see Hashem introduce His appointment of Betzaleil with the Lashon of “Ri’eih,” as if to beseech Moshe’s approval. It is Hashem’s nature to act humbly and always consult those closest to him, like by the creation of Adam HaRishon. But when Moshe addresses the nation, he too declares “Re’eih Kara Hashem BiSheim Bitzaleil…” Why does Moshe require the approval of the nation? If Hashem were to command the Bnei Yisrael whom to appoint, they would surely listen!

Perhaps Moshe doesn’t require the nation’s approval to appoint Bitzaleil, but says “Re’eih” in order to appease them and reason with them why Betzaleil was appointed. Because Betzaleil is the great-grandson of Miriam, he is a relative of Moshe’s, and the people may begin to suspect Moshe of favoritism. They would claim that the appointment of Betzaleil was not by Hashem’s word but rather by Moshe’s own instruction. In anticipation, therefore, Moshe appeals to the nation’s common sense: “See for yourselves that Betzaleil was designated for this job by Hashem, for he is both a master artisan and a superb instructor. He clearly has the Ruach Elokim, and therefore he is right for the job.” Thus did Moshe prevent the people from suspecting him of favoritism.

The Levush HaOrah draws an interesting inference from this understanding of Rashi. Based on the pasukim of Ki Tisa alone, one would presume Betzaleil’s position was special, but not the most coveted job amongst the entire nation. But from Moshe’s appeal, it becomes clear just how great his concerns were, and just how great this position truly was. Because we don’t discover how coveted this job was until this week’s parasha, we can now understand why Rashi waits until here to equate Ahaliav to Betzaleil. Thus concludes the Levush HaOrah.

But we are left with a question; why appoint both? Why not only Ahaliav? Let’s back up a step. Part of the reason the Bnei Yisrael would come to covet this position is because of the lofty status of the person appointed to it. If they see a relative of Moshe’s – and a member of royalty too – assume the position, they would conclude that the position is obviously of very high esteem. Moshe would never let a man as special as Betzaleil assume a lowly job. But if Moshe would only appoint Ahaliav, what then would the people think? Would they still assume the job is worth their envy? Why would they ever envy a lowly member of Shevet Dan? In fact, the lowly lineage of Ahaliav would serve as an immediate remedy for any hostile feelings they might bear.

By equating Ahaliav to Betzaleil, Moshe forces the people to recognize that Ahaliav was designated for a position of high esteem. Because he is paired with a noble, we learn that no service to Hashem is considered too high for any individual (though some certain individuals were zocheh lofty positions based on their deeds).

And now we can make sense of Elihu’s Kal ViChomer. Elihu wasn’t just addressing any individual; he was specifically addressing the lowly individual. A lowly individual, like the devastated Iyov, would never receive anything of honor from any human king or any noble, and yet he would never consider speaking harshly to that king, though he never would expect to get anything in return for good grace. How much more so by Hashem, Who is willing to honor even the lowliest of individuals, should one never consider degrading His name or speaking bad of Him, for who knows what rewards await an unconditional allegiance to Him.

Elihu leaves us with a much more positive message. We do not merely believe that we are created equal; instead, we believe “Ki Ma’asei Yadav Kulam,” we are each carefully crafted by His hands to serve Him. We were each created with a special purpose, and a special potential to reach heights no human king or noble would ever permit, just like Ahaliav did.

Good Shabbos.