Parashat Devarim

It’s interesting to note how Chodesh Av progresses in a sort of backwards nature to it, for the crux of the month lies in the tragedy stricken nine days, the first days of the month. Instead of mourning over the Churban HaBayis after the Beis HaMikdash was burnt down and the nation entered Galus, we choose to sit Aveilus in anticipation of the looming doom. I believe it is safe to say that the Aveilus we sit for these nine days does not commemorate the loss of our Beis HaMikdash, but rather the cause for this loss, the events that preceded the ultimate destruction. But why this is so remains to be seen.

Chazal say that the cause of Churban Bayis Sheni, the event that spurred us into our current exile is none other than Sinas Chinam, the baseless hatred of one Jew against another.

Lo Sisna Es Achicha BiLvavecha. Hochai’ach Tochee’ach Es Amisecha ViLo Sisa Alav Cheit

Do not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your nation, and do not accept upon them iniquity. (by Onkelos’s translation, Rashi takes a slightly different approach)

VaYikra 19:17

At first glance, it seems a stretch to suggest that this hatred is what brings the foundations of our world to crumble, but, as the Kli Yakar so sagaciously suggests, the connection of this pasuk’s two Mitzvos bears a strong message about the dire crime that is Sinas Chinam.

And since the pasuk states “and do not accept upon him iniquity,” it is apparent that if one who does not reprove his friend will carry the sins of that supposed friend. This is because “Kol Yisrael Areivim Zeh LaZeh,” all Jews are cosigners for one another, so that if one [Jew] cannot fully pay for his sins, [Hashem] can take the remainder payment from his cosigners, [the Jewish nation]. Jews are made each other’s cosigners at the time when one has the ability to protest [another’s] sin and does not; he then takes full responsibility for the other’s ultimate outcome…

And it is juxtaposed to the Mitzvah of “Lo Sisna Es Achicha BiLvavecha,” for when love spreads over Yisrael, each wants what’s best for his friend and therefore rebukes him, so that his friend does not stumble over [an Aveirah]. But when Jews hate one another, nobody rebukes, for each man is content with his friend’s downfall.

This Midah [of hatred] has been the predominant trait of our nation since the destruction of Bayis Sheni. To this day, it has not budged, and the Nega will fester and spread until Hashem cannot stand it any longer and will remove the stony hearts from our midst.

Kli Yakar, VaYikra 19:17

BiMiheirah BiYameinu. These are some of the most powerful and pertinent words one can find in a Mikra’os Gedolos, and they turn our very concept of Sinas Chinam upside down. By the Kli Yakar’s claim, the hate Jews express towards one another stems from widespread acceptance of one another, from a lack of protest. It is the individual who rebukes and chastises his nation who is considered the loving and caring one! The Beis HaMikdash is not destroyed because of Sinas Chinam alone, but rather because of all our Aveiros. However, none of these other Aveiros are avoided because our Sinas Chinam prevents us from aiding one another to Teshuva.

It therefore comes as no surprise that Parashat Devarim, which we invariably read on Shabbat Chazon, opens with this very message of Tochacha. From the very first pasuk, Rashi notes how every word is disguised as a geographic location, but is in truth a reference to a sin of Klal Yisrael’s. We mention the Midbar because they complained for meat in the Midbar. We mention Arvos Moav since that’s where they worshiped Ba’al Pe’or. Mol Suf references their two sins at the Yam. Paran was the location of Cheit HaMiraglim, Tofel ViLavan references the Man they whined about. Chatzeiros is where Korach rebelled, and lastly, Di Zahav alludes to the gold used in Cheit HaEigel.

The rebuke only gets more explicit from there. There is, however, one small caveat to Moshe’s Hochacha; it comes right before his death. Rashi, quoting the Sifri, says we learn from here to only give Hochacha from one’s deathbed. The Sifri gives four reasons: so as not to accidentally rebuke the individual twice for the same thing; so that the two not meet again, and cause the rebuked individual embarrassment; so that the two can depart on peaceful terms; and so that the one rebuked does not bear a grudge – it’s much harder to hate a person on his deathbed.

At first glance, it seems virtually impossible to resolve this Rashi with the comments of the Kli Yakar. How could one possibly be held responsible for chastising his brethren if he can only do so from his deathbed? The Kli Yakar obviously requires one to rebuke while in good health, whereas the Sifri warns against such an approach.

The Sifri is troubling on numerous fronts. Bear in mind that this is not the first time Moshe Rabbeinu admonished the nation. For instance – one of many many examples – there was that time just a week or two ago, in Parashat Mattos, where Moshe accused the Bnei Reuvein ViGad of being Tarbus Anashim Risha’im. So how could the Sifri claim Moshe waited until his death to reprove the nation?

Rashi himself advocates the Kli Yakar’s approach and only ten pasukim after quoting this Sifri!

VaAsimeim, and I will place [judges as leaders over the nation]. [The term VaAsimeim bears a striking similarity to Asham, guilt, suggesting that] the guilt of Yisrael hangs on the heads of its judges, for [these judges] had the ability to protest and redirect [the nation] onto the right path.

Rashi, Devarim 1:13

So the judges are required to correct the wrongdoers, and not only Karov LiMisa! The question really speaks for itself. How can we resolve the clear and present contradiction between Rashi’s two Ha’arahs?

It seems to me that there is really no contradiction at all, but we must first differentiate between the resolution of interpersonal relationships, and the resolution of one’s relationship with G-d. The role these judges play within the protest of their nation’s sins is one based off a hierarchy. The judges are appointed because of their superior Torah knowledge; therefore, the rebuke they offer is grounded in their greater knowledge of what Hashem desires.

However, the Hochacha one gives from his deathbed bears no such established hierarchy, no such stern “I’m right and you’re wrong” approach. Instead, it becomes an emotional plea for resolution and reconstitution. If we look closely at Moshe’s words in our parasha, we find a striking difference between the admonishment of old, and these closing remarks:

And Hashem heard the voice of your words, and angered, and swore, “None of the men of this generation will see the land I promised to their forefathers!...” And Hashem became incensed with he, on account of you, saying, “You too shall not come [to Eretz Yisrael]!”

Devarim 1:35-37

Moshe actually blames Klal Yisrael for Hashem’s refusal to let him into Eretz Yisrael! Surely Moshe is frustrated, but this accusation can’t just be dismissed as an exaggeration. His words must hold some truth. If we want to identify the source of this accusation, we must trace our steps back to the source of this very dissent, where Moshe first inserts himself into his Hochacha:

How can I alone carry all your trouble, burdens, and quarrels?

Devarim 1:12

Burdens. This teaches that the nation disdained their scholars, for if Moshe left court early, they would say “Why did Ben Amram leave early? Maybe he is having marital issues.” And if Moshe left late, they would say, “Why hasn’t Ben Amram left yet? He must be busy plotting against us.”

Rashi, Devarim 1:12

Of course, this is the pasuk that begins with the word “How,” Eicha, and we read it to the tune of Megilas Eicha. But this pasuk is more than just one complaint out of a dozen others. Here Moshe rebukes the people for not letting him rebuke them! They become judgmental of him, thus impeding his ability to set them straight. It is here that Moshe loses the ability to reprove at any stage of his life, for the reasons listed in the Sifri, and so this becomes the opening remark of his Tochacha. And this becomes the pasuk associated with Eicha and Churban, for our inabilities to rebuke and correct are what inevitably – albeit passively – bring about our nation’s corruption. Not the Cheit HaEigel, and not the Cheit HaMiraglim.

When one man sins to [you], do not hate him and hold back… rather, it is a Mitzvah to acknowledge and say to him “Why have you done this to me, why have to sinned to me in this way?” As the pasuk says, “Hochai’ach Tochee’ach Es Amisecha.”

One who sees another sin or head in a wrong path must return him to good and let him know that he has sinned against himself. One who rebukes his brother, whether over a sin between man and fellow, or a sin between man and G-d, must rebuke him between man and himself.

Rambam, Misha Torah, Hilchos Dayos 6:6-7

At the heart of true Hochacha lies the interpersonal relationship between two caring individuals. One says to the other, “it pains me to see you act in such a way, and I wish it would pain you too.” Obviously the goal of this rebuke is to return the sinner to the proper path, but the method of rebuke, in a sense, is as important as this goal. Hashem does not respond to every Aveirah with a lightning bolt, for part Teshuva’s value is to accomplish Ge’ula as a nation.

This interpersonal process begins with Moshe’s words in our parasha, but the parasha also references this process’s first major setback, the appointment of judges, the men who could only protest on the basis of hierarchy. The arduous road to Ge’ula is marred with persecution and pogroms, inquisition and exile, but our most daunting obstacle is each other. And until we can learn to deal with our differences, and to care for one another in a meaningful and constructive fashion, we will continue to mourn over the Sinas Chinam that preceded Churban HaBayis for the nine days that precede Tisha B’Av.

Parashat Masei

The Abarbanel offers a fascinating explanation regarding why a man who murders accidentally must wait for the Kohein Gadol to die before he can leave his Ir Miklat. The reason that the murderer hides in the city is to keep safe from the Go’el HaDam, the vengeful relative of the murderer’s victim. The death of the Kohein Gadol is such a shocking event to the nation that the Go’el would come to reconsider his emotions, calm down, and no longer seek his revenge, leaving the Rotzei’ach free to go home.

The Abarbanel’s explanation is far from convincing. Though we may never have experienced the loss of a Kohein Gadol, it seems a stretch to say that his death would have such an effect on a Go’el HaDam. It is difficult to accept that the Go’el’s impersonal emotional connection to the Kohein Gadol is even as strong as the connection to his own relative, let alone stronger.

In fact, one could even argue that the Kohein Gadol’s death should have the opposite effect on the Go’el’s emotions. Rashi says that the Kohein Gadol’s presence draws the Shchinah to the nation and promotes life, while the killer removes the Shchina and moves people closer to death. It wouldn’t be proper for the two to coexist, and therefore the killer is banished until after the Kohein Gadol’s death. Rashi seems to imply, from the fact that the killer moves the nation closer to death, that he plays a small role in the death of the Kohein Gadol. If this is so, then shouldn’t one feel more ire towards the Rotzei’ach for having caused two deaths? Should one feel sorry for this man and let him live?!

But there is a much more basic difficulty with this Abarbanel. The Abarbanel seems to root the motive of the Go’el HaDam simply in his emotions. His emotions spur him to seek revenge, and the abrupt change of emotion halts his plans. But a Go’el HaDam, contrary to popular belief, does not kill out of revenge! He kills LeSheim Shamayim. The gemara in Makos (12a) discusses whether it may be a Mitzvah for the Go’el to kill the murderer. It may even be a Reshus for everyone else to kill him (Reshus, the gemara implies, does not just mean it’s Muttar BiDiAvad.)

The strongest disproof that revenge is what motivates a Go’el comes from a gemara in Sanhedrin (45b), The gemara says that if the victim leaves behind no Go’el, Beis din will appoint a Go’el to chase the Rotzei’ach. Clearly this third party, this appointed avenger, can’t be seeking revenge like a relative would, yet the same halachos apply to him. The same rule – that he must go home when the Kohein Gadol dies – still applies. So from where does the Go’el summon his anger if not from revenge?

Let’s take a closer look at Rashi. Rashi explains that the Rotzei’ach’s banishment lasts as long as the Kohein Gadol’s life because the two cannot coexist. The Rotzei’ach stands for those things that bring people toward Gehenom, and is therefore the nemesis of the Kohein Gadol, who represents that which draws us closer to Shamayim. This explanation seems to fall short for two simple reasons. Once the Kohein Gadol dies, another Kohein Gadol assumes the position, and the killer has another nemesis. Why should it matter that the Kohein Gadol was in power at the time of the sentencing of this murderer? More to the point, the Mishna in Makos also learns that the Rotzei’ach only goes free upon the death of a properly anointed Kohein Gadol. If the Kohein Gadol had not been anointed properly, or if there there was no Kohein Gadol at all – if there was nobody who stood for the things Rashi says a Kohein Gadol represents – one would assume based on Rashi’s logic that there would be no reason for the Rotzei’ach to live in the Ir Miklat, and there would be no reason for him to wait for a proper time to leave. Yet under such circumstances, the Halacha dictates that one must live and remain in the Ir Miklat, contrary to Rashi’s logic?

It seems to me that the Abarbanel actually comes to answer these questions that Rashi’s pshat faces. Only a properly anointed Kohein Gadol can have an effect of such great magnitudes on the people, and therefore the Abarbanel decides to approach the Rotzei’ach’s freedom from the viewpoint that one’s emotions are altered. But where does emotion play a role in the role of the Go’el?

Rashi talks about how the murderer and Kohein Gadol fall on opposite sides of the spectrum. There is good reason for the entire nation to love their Kohein Gadol because of what he does for them; likewise, it would seem within reason for one to hate a Go’el because of his contribution to the masses. Whether one is the dead man’s relative or simply an appointee, one can certainly recognize the detriment the killer causes to society, and therefore has a Mitzvah to do away with him.

To a Go’el, it seems only proper that the just consequence of murder should be death. It seems only appropriate that the man who draws the nation further from Hashem and shortens their days should bear a shortening of his own days. But if such thoughts were true, then the Kohein Gadol would surely be deserving of long life. And yet even the Kohein Gadol can die, and this reality is what shocks the nation. The Go’el coes to reconsider whether the Rotzei’ach deserves a shorter life, for death does not deserve death, and bloodshed can never truly be solved with more bloodshed.

In truth what one does in one’s lifetime does not so clearly affect the death he incurs (aside from when the Torah explicitly tells us otherwise, of course). The Midrash Rabbah tells over this lesson with examples in the form of some historical examples:

Rabbi Shimon opened [his drasha with a pasuk from Koheles (9:3)]: “HaKol Ka’Asher LaKol, Mikreh Echad,” All things come alike to all [people].

“LaTzadik ViLaRasha,” to the Tzadik, Noach, who when he left his Teivah was mangled by the lion, and to the Rashah, Paroh Necho, who when he attempted to sit on Shlomo HaMelech’s throne was mangled by a lion, and both died lame.

“LaTov ViLaTahor ViLatamei,” to the Tov, Moshe (as the pasuk says, “and she saw for he was ‘Tov’), to the Tahor, Aharon, who dealt with the Tahara of Klal Yisrael, and the Tamei, the Miraglim. These [first two] spoke good of Eretz Yisrael, and these spoke bad, and yet none were permitted into the land.

“LaZovei’ach ViLaAsher Einenu Zovei’ach,” [referring to] Yoshiyahu and Achav respectively. The first brought many Korbanos, while the second cancelled the offerings; yet both were killed by a barrage of arrows.

“KaTov KaChotei,” the good and the sinner, Dovid HaMelech and Nevuchadnetzar. One “built” the Beis HaMikdash, and one destroyed it; yet both ruled a full 40 years.

“HaNishbah, Ka’Asher Shvu’a Yarei,” Tzidkiyahu and Shimshon HaNazir. (The Eitz Yoseif explains that Tzidkiyahu took oaths lightly, and therefore broke his promise to Nevuchadnetzar, whereas Shimshon was only suspicious the Bnei Yehuda would harm him until they swore (Shofetim 15:12)). This one died with his eyes gouged out, and that one died with his eyes gouged out.

VaYikra Rabbah 20:1

This Midrash, somewhat unexpectedly, is the opening remark of Parashat Acharei Mos; somehow, it must connect to the deaths of Nadav and Avihu. Rabbi Shimon proceeds to explain that both the Bnei Aharon and Korach’s assembly suffered similar fates. The first pair sought to draw the nation closer to Hashem, while the other steered them far away (although under a sneaky façade), yet both were burned alive for offering Ketores. And so we clearly see that the reward of the Kohein Gadol does not necessarily manifest itself within this world, nor does the punishment of the accidental killer. The Go’el HaDam learns this most valuable lesson and heads back home, leaving the killer free to exit his Ir Miklat

Parashat Pinchas

The gemara in Kedushin (66b) asks how we know that a Kohein with a mum is Pasul for Avodah. (Rashi notes that although we have a clear pasuk in Emor that pasuls a Kohein Ba’al Mum, a drasha is required to pasul his work even BiDiAvad, after the Kohein has performed the Avodah.) The drasha comes from this week’s parasha. When Hashem offers Pinchas His Bris Kehunas Olam, Hashem introduces it as the “Bris Shalom.” Shmuel, quoted by Rav Yehuda, identifies this as a Bris for those who are ‘Shaleim,’ without blemish, and therefore a Kohein Ba’al Mum is pasul, even BiDiAvad. The gemara asks: but the pasuk says Shalom, not Shaleim? Rav Nachman answers that the Vav in the word Shalom is K’tiya, or ‘broken;’ therefore, the word can be read as ‘Shaleim’ as well, and Rav Yehuda’s drasha stands.

Some have the minhag to write the Vav with a horizontal break in the middle. The Maharsha says that one should not write the letter broken, but rather write the Vav small, so it appears as a Yud almost. The Ritva questions this: “Had the gemara intended a small Vav, it would have called it a Vav Ze’ira.” But this halachic discussion falls outside the scope of this medium, though it is important to note that this gemara is taken very seriously. Many Soferim are accustomed to actually write this letter with a full break across the middle, an act that would render the Sefer Torah pasul if done to any other letter! This Vav is truly unique, as is the storyline of Pinchas’s vengeance.

The drasha itself is also unique, in the sense that it is oxymoronic. After all, we learn out the need for Shleimus, wholeness, from the only letter in the Torah that is not whole! What is the logical basis for this drasha? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to interpret the break as the indication of a lack of Shleimus? Indeed, we find there to be a lack of Shalom within Klal Yisrael immediately after the event.

Pinchas Ben Elazar Ben Aharon HaKohein [why mention his lineage here?]

Since the Shvatim were ridiculing [Pinchas, saying] “Look at this Ben Puti (descendant of Yisro), whose grandfather fattened cows for idol worship, and now he has the gall to kill a Jewish prince?!” Therefore, the pasuk comes to trace his lineage to Aharon instead.

Rashi, BaMidbar 25:11

As Rashi indicates, the Shvatim – and not even just Shevet Shimon – were at Pinchas’s throat for his seemingly brash and heinous act. One can imagine that Hashem’s response, Pinchas Ben Elazar Ben Aharon, could greater justify his actions, but it’s unlikely that a recount of Pinchas’s lineage would sufficiently appease the incensed nation.

This leads us to another question. If Pinchas only achieved a Shalom between Hashem and the nation – namely that Hashem would not destroy them all – then why was he awarded with Kehuna? The Kehuna more strongly reflects the good tidings between 1) the Kohein and the people and 2) Hashem and the Kohein. Since the Kohein must serve as the intermediary between Hashem and the people, there is no Shalom achieved between these two groups without the first two criteria.

Perhaps these questions derive from a much more basic misunderstanding of these pasukim, namely the source of the Shvatim’s dissent for Pinchas. Rashi describes how the Shvatim ridiculed Pinchas because of his dubious lineage. The fact that he came from an idol worshiper weakened his authority to handle others’ iniquities within the realm of Avoda Zara. As the Mizrachi explains, one would normally expect a man’s ancestry to follow a paternal line, but the nation pointed out the shortcomings of his mother’s family, for he was most probably raised by his mother, and she was raised in Yisro’s house. Thus the ideology of Avoda Zara was innate within Pinchas.

The terrible problem with the Mizrachi’s reasoning, however, is that Yisro converted and no longer fattened cows to Avoda Zara. In that case, the house that Pinchas was raised in was one that blatantly rejected Avoda Zara, not one that embraced it! Even Aharon’s family can’t claim such a feat. If anyone’s ideology taught the explicit and adamant rejection of Avoda Zara, it was Yisro’s!

And yet, even Hashem credits Klal Yisrael’s snide, reminding them of Pinchas’s link to Aharon HaKohein. Shouldn’t Hashem simply remind the Shvatim who Yisro was?

But there is one thing we must consider about Yisro’s rejection of Avoda Zara and embrace of Yahadus. Yisro, when he first joins the camp, exclaims “Atta Yadati Ki Gadol Hashem MiKol HaElohim,” now I know that Hashem is greater than all the [other] gods.” Rashi explains that Yisro could compare Hashem to all the other gods because he had tried every form of Avoda Zara there was, and none interested him as much as Judaism. We therefore see that Yisro did not reject Avoda Zara because he felt it was objectively wrong, but rather because it did not interest him. His devotion to Hashem, therefore, was one of subjective value.

When the Shvatim point their fingers at the zealous Ben Puti, they question whether his zeal is truly LiSheim Shamayim, for the family that raised him deplored Avoda Zara on the basis that it was violable and base, not because it was Assur or objectively wrong. If such were the motive behind Pinchas’s actions, the Shvatim would have a strong claim, for what right would Pinchas have to oppose Zimri’s actions? Zimri too is entitled to a subjective stance, and if he likes Avoda Zara more than Avodas Hashem, then he should he be permitted to practice such. By linking Pinchas to his other grandfather, Aharon, the pasuk reveals the Lishma intent behind Pinchas’s action, the very fact that Avoda Zara was objectively wrong in Pinchas’s eyes.

And so with Hashem’s response in the opening of our parasha, the widespread dissent towards Pinchas does not only subside, but is transformed into appreciation. Pinchas proved willing to risk his life for Hashem’s sake, and for the nation’s sake, not for his own sake. Such is the role of the ideal Kohein, the man who establishes a relationship with HaKadosh Baruch Hu through a life led LiSheim Shamayim, the man who establishes a relationship with his nation through their recognition of his selfless concern for them.

It may be true that the Shalom between Kohein and nation was temporarily broken, but ultimately, peace was restored, and in a much stronger form. The strength of a friendship, the strength of peace, can only be measured after it has been tested. If two sides go to war and yet they resolve their differences without just ignoring or downplaying the problems in their past, true peace is formed. That peace is then lasting, and so Pinchas’s Bris Shalom is a Bris Kehuna that lasts Olam. What better letter than the broken Vav to learn out the halachos of Shleimus!

During these days of mourning, the Three Weeks, the lesson of the broken Vav takes on great meaning. The relationship that Klal Yisroel has shared with Hashem has been tested many a time. In the days of the Shoftim, we went rotten and Hashem enslaved us to our bordering nations. We repented and Hashem came back to us. We went bad again and Hashem ignored us again. And so on the cycle went; the casual tie we shared with our Creator was tested again and again in casual fashion.

After the Churban HaBayis, in these past two thousand years of Galus, we have truly been tested, as has been our commitment to Torah, Mitzvos, and a life LiSheim Shamayim. If there was ever a chance for our relationship to fully slip away, these past millennia have certainly been the time. When the Three Weeks come around, we shouldn’t only reflect on how bitter our past has been, or the present may be. We should understand the great potential in our grueling trials, the reward of everlasting and enduring peace formed through only the most rigorous of tests. May we be Zocheh to this ‘Shaleim’ Shalom, and may the K’tiya that ultimately brings this Shleimus come to its completion BiMiheirah BiYameinu Amein.

Parashat Balak

And Hashem came to Bilam and said to him “who are these people with you”

BaMidbar 22:8

Though parshat Balak for the most part discusses the story of Balak, the first few aliyos dedicate themselves to a somewhat tangential story. Messengers are sent from Balak to retrieve Bilam, and they are sent back to Balak empty-handed. Balak sends more messengers, and the second group of messengers is successful. The messengers seem to steal Balak’s spotlight.

But who are these ‘messengers’? First, when they arrive at Bilam’s home, they are the Zikeinim, the Ziknei Midyan and Ziknei Moav. That night, Bilam tells them to stay, and the Sarei Moav stay; so now they are officers, and they are no longer from Midyan. The next morning, Bilam addresses the Sarei Balak. They return to Balak, and Balak sends officers of higher rank. These Sarim are referred to as Avdei Balak when Bilam tells them to stay overnight. Finally, the next morning, Bilam agrees to go with the Sarei Moav, who are called Sarei Balak when Bilam reaches his destination. What a headache! Even Hashem seems uncertain who these people are!

The first transition is the most intriguing. We call the messengers Zikeinim once, and never again refer to them that way. What happened to their title? And furthermore, what happened to the Zikeinim from Midyan?

Rashi answers the second question. The term Zikeinim was first used this week in pasuk 4. Moav, when they made peace, did not consult the armies or the nobles of Midyan; they rather consulted the elders. Moav knew that the Jewish leader Moshe, had spent much of his life looking after his father in law’s sheep in Midyan, and the Midyanites perhaps would know the secret to Moshe’s amazing power. Sure enough, the Midyanite elders were a tremendous help. “His power is only in his mouth” they replied. Moshe was not a strong or influential man. On the contrary, he was a stuttering 80 year old. But Moshe had the power of prayer, to bless and curse, for good and for worse.

The clear response to Moshe was Bilam; Bilam too had this power of prayer and would prove a worthy adversary to Moshe. Maybe with Bilam on Moav’s side, the Jews could be pushed away for good. And so Balak sent these elders from his nation, and elders from Moav, to hire Bilam on behalf of the king.

Before we go any further in to the story, there is a little more background that must be laid out. The first pasuk of the parasha seems totally pointless. Moav and Midyan were warring nations who made peace in order to deal with the Jews. Only in pasuk 4 is Balak, a Midyanite who probably would have been killed for stepping on Moavi soil had it not been for the established truce, crowned king. So why then would anyone care that Balak saw the Jews defeat the Emori; he was a Midyanite prince?!

Rashi answers this question as well. Balak used what he saw in order to play with the emotions of the Moavim. He pointed out how if Sichon and Og could be defeated by the Jews, then Moav would have no chance. Therefore the next pasuk reads “And the Moavim were frightened,” which led to their need to appoint Balak as their king.

The second pasuk is also very troubling. Why do we only discuss Moav’s fear? Shouldn’t Midyan fear the Jews as well? (Ironically, it was Midyan whom the Jews obliterate in Matos and Moav whom the Jews spare.) But Balak’s stirring speech only effected the Moavim because of the Kal ViChomer involved. If Sichon could destroy Moav (as is stated in last week’s parasha, 21:28) and Yisroel could destroy Sichon, then surely Yisroel would annihilate Moav. Midyan, though scared, remained much more rational in their fear. Only Moav became disgusted with their own lives out of the enormous and irrational fright they felt.

Now that we recognize the difference between the mentality of Moav and that of Midyan, we can try to understand why the Midyanite elders didn’t stay overnight like Bilam had asked them to. To a rational mind, the hiring of Bilam was a solution to the apparent problem, the encroachment of the wandering Jewish nation and their awesome leader Moshe. If Bilaam couldn’t prove himself a worthy match for Moshe, than to what good would his blessings or curses be?

The Levush Ha’Orah explains the thought process of the Midyanite elders. By the Maka of Tzfardeyah, Paroh runs to Moshe yelling “Get rid of these frogs!” Moshe responds “when would you like me to pray for the end of this plague?” and Paroh says ‘tomorrow.’ Moshe prays the next day and all the frogs die. Clearly, Moshe would expect Paroh to say ‘get rid of them right now,’ but Moshe wanted to prove that he wasn’t just looking into the stars (like Bilam did) and praying at the moment he could foresee would be the end of the Maka. Moshe had the real gift of prayer; he called the shots and didn’t wait for orders from the heavens. If Bilam, the elders thought, can provide us with an immediate response, then he clearly has the level of prayer that Moshe has. But if he waits overnight for Hashem to address him, if he can’t call his own shots, then he’s no match and we would only be wasting our time hiring him.

Midyan, and correctly so, went on its way, and was saved from tremendous disgrace. They weren’t even cursed by Bilam at the end of the parasha. But Moav was stubborn. Their elders didn’t act much like elders when they decided to stay overnight with Bilam. By remaining stubborn and hoping Bilam could still curse the Jews, their actions no longer reflected their wisdom, and so the pasuk demotes them to their status quo, the level of ‘officers.’

Unlike servants, officers are left in charge of certain affairs. These officers were sent to investigate the possibility of using Bilam’s powers to counter Moshe’s and perhaps negotiate a price. The elders from Midyan turned down the option for the reason explained above, while the officers from Moav were turned down merely because of their lowly rank; Bilam claimed it wasn’t befitting to his honor to travel with them. The second group of messengers, however, were no longer in any control of the situation. They were merely a dispatch, a collection of nobles assigned to retrieve Bilam. As Balak said “Al Na Timana,” don’t turn this offer down. Furthermore, there was no price to be discussed, “Kol Asher Tomar Eilli E’eseh.”

While the first messengers are called Sarei Balak, the second group, a group considered ‘higher ranking from the first’ in pasuk 15, are called Avdei Balak. This now makes perfect sense. The title Eved or Sar is not a reflection of rank, but rather a reflection on the individual’s control of the matter. Since the first group was given full control, they were addressed as officers, but when the second group conveys Balak’s urgent orders, Bilam addresses servants instead. Once the king’s orders have been fulfilled and Bilam agrees to come, they return to their status quo title ‘officer,’ like in pasuk 15.

Only one question remains. Now that we understand the difference between a Zakein and a Sar, a Sar and an Eved, what differentiates between an officer of Balak and an officer of Moav? The elders would certainly represent the nation, I’ve never heard of the king’s elders, Ziknei Balak simply wouldn’t make sense. Avdei Moav may make some sense, but the people, as explained above, were clearly servants to the king’s request. But why are they the rest of the time jumping between titles Sarei Moav and Sarei Balak?

Once again, Rashi answers this question, and chooses to answer it where the question seems strongest. When Bilam leaves home, he leaves with the Sarei Moav, and as he’s walking along the road, after his confrontation with the Satan, he travels with the Sarei Balak. Bilam seems to perform the exact same action, yet something clearly has changed.

Interestingly, both phrases, Sarei Moav and Sarei Balak, are superfluous in their respective locations. Rashi explains by the first, when Bilam saddles his donkey, the pasuk should have only said “he went,’ not whom he went with. Rashi explains “Lebo KiLebam Shaveh,” they departed with the same intent and enthusiasm, which we would not have otherwise known. By the second, pasuk 35, the pasuk again needlessly makes mention of the officers. Rashi therefore explains there “Samei’ach LiKlalam KiMosam” Bilam was happy to soon be cursing the Jewish nation, just as the officers were.

There are two clear problems with this Rashi. The extra words must be coming to teach us something we didn’t already know, but wouldn’t we assume they were both happy to curse the Jews if Lebo KiLibam Shaveh? Why would we ever assume anything changed unless told so? Even stranger about the Rashi is how he completely changes the lashon in pasuk 35 from the lashon used in pasuk 21. Why not just write Lebo KiLebam again?

The question may be a little stronger if we ask it on pasuk 21 instead. The pshat Rashi offers in pasuk 35 seems a little more detailed, so if Lebo KiLebam really meant Samei’ach LiKlalam KiMosam, why would Rashi explain Bilam’s thoughts so vaguely the first time. Rather, the vague lashon of Rashi seems to imply that Lebo KiLebam is really a continuation of the previous Rashi. That morning, Bilam hastily saddled his donkey so he could get as early a start to cursing the Jews as possible. Rashi opens by explaining that Bilam’s hasty actions were out of his hatred towards the Jews. Like the pasuk says about Moav, “VaYakatz Moav,” they too hated the Jews and wished them to be cursed out of hatred. And so Lebo KiLebam out of hatred towards the Jews. But after the encounter with the Satan, Bilam was a little more sedated. It was no longer the rushed morning, and the paced journey provided no spark to fuel anyone’s hatred. Rather, they all felt excited and happy to finally curse the Jews, but not in a hasty irrational manner.

We can now understand the reasons for the parasha’s use of these messengers’ names in their respective locations. First, they are Ziknei Moav. When they decide to stay, though they should have realized that Bilam would be of no useful service to the king, they acted irrationally, like the Moavim, and are therefore called Sarei Moav. In the morning, Bilam addresses the Sarei Balak with a rational excuse that the rational king would accept and react upon. The meesengers, though they had just been brutally insulted by Bilam, were willing to accept the insult. Anything so long as Bilam would curse the Jews as soon as possible. And so the Sarei Moav got up and returned to Balak. Avdei Balak returned, and hastily departed as Sarei Moav in the morning, though they happily traveled back to Moav as Sarei Balak.

One simple question remains. Why does the Torah need to write all this detail about the messengers? Just call them Anashim or Malachim. Anashim and Malachim are terms used to describe them by Hashem and Balak, respectively, but whenever the story views these emissaries from Bilam’s angle, the language keeps flopping back and forth. Why?

Maybe the lesson within the messengers’ names is one that teaches about themselves and their mission but rather a view of the story from Bilam’s eyes, a lesson in the way Bilam approached the world. The gemara teaches that Hashem gets angry at the world for a regah every day, “Ki Regah BiApo.” This regah lasts about six hundredths of a second. Bilam was able to identify this moment and take advantage of it by starting his curse in that short window of time. This was the power Bilam possessed which separated him from any other non-Jewish prophet in history.

What exactly was Bilam’s power? When Hashem resolves to destroy the Bnei Yisroel after the Cheit HaEigel, He says to Moshe “Achaleh Osam KiRaga.” Moshe responds with two arguments. Hashem should remember the past; remember what He promised to the Avos. Also, the nations would say Hashem isn’t as strong as they are if Bnei Yisroel never enter Eretz Yisroel. Rather than forfeit the past and future of His nation, Hashem agrees not to kill the people.

The concept of “Raga” that Moshe battles in this story is one of removal from context. Moshe argues that the Bnei Yisroel may have acted insane for a brief lapse, but that shouldn’t effect Hashem’s view on everything that they have done and will soon accomplish. The people are not deserving of death, just a punishment. On the other hand, Bilam uses this regah to his advantage. For the brief time, when Hashem is mad enough to destroy the world yet doesn’t because of all the potential and all the past accomplishments, the world does actually change its physical state. The gemara says that the red vein in a roosters crest turns white for those six hundredths of a second. Bilam could see that moment, the moment in time removed from context, in the stars and knew that cursing the Jews right then would be enough to convince Hashem to destroy them.

The gemara says that during the days of Bilam, Hashem did us a tremendous favor and never got mad. Hashem, had He been mad, would not have been able to turn down Bilam’s request. Note how the gemara doesn’t say that Hashem held off the Rega in the time of Bilam. Rather, Hashem excluded Himself from the moment that stood out of context.

When Bilam sees these messengers, he always sees them outside the context of their actions. One minute they are Sarei Moav to him. The next minute they are Sarei Balak. Depending on how they appear at the particular moment, Bilam changes his mind over the status of these messengers. Whatever they do at that particular Regah decides their personality. That’s Bilam’s perspective.

Hashem teaches Bilam a tremendous lesson through their short dialogue. Bilam’s nature was about as antithetical to being Dan Adam LiKaf Zechus as a person could behave. When the Zekeinim arrived, Bilam assumed they were Zekeinim, but he soon discovered that Moav’s men were not Zekeinim after all; he had judged them much too quickly. Hashem says to Bilam “Who are these people” and Bilam can’t answer the question directly. The Ohr HaChaim writes about Bilam’s response that he admitted to not knowing who these people were, but he did know that they were sent from Balak and he knew why they were sent. Bilam can answer ‘what’ and ‘why,’ and he can definitely answer ‘when.’ But answering questions that began with ‘who’ was where Bilam constantly faltered.

We should learn from Bilam, just like we learn from all the risha’im of the Torah, exactly how not to act. We should always be Dan LiKaf Zechus and never answer the ‘who’ question too quickly. What we perceive of somebody’s present does not necessarily portray his past and future as well.

Parashat Chukas

On the positive side, virtually every Peirush on the Torah agrees that Moshe and Aharon were not allowed to enter into Eretz Yisrael exclusively because of their failure at Mei Merivah; the pasuk (20:12) is rather clear about this fact. Unfortunately, there isn’t much else agreed upon, and the details of this particular failure remain a mystery amidst the whirlwind of proposed explanations. Was Moshe’s failure that he should have spoken to the rock instead of hitting it (Rashi)? Perhaps he should have only hit it once (Ibn Ezra)? Maybe Moshe shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to the nation (Rambam)? Or maybe he shouldn’t have attributed the miracle to his own capacities (Ramban)?

Ya’an Lo He’emantem Bi, but since you have not believed in Me…

The pasuk [makes mention of Moshe’s sin, instead of fully covering it up, in order to] reveal that Moshe and Aharon would have entered into Eretz Yisrael had it not been for this sin, so that no one should [later] claim that their sin was the same as that of their generation [namely, the Cheit HaMiraglim].

Rashi, BaMidbar 20:12

It’s rather ironic when we consider all the dozens of explanations of Moshe’s error that Rashi is of the opinion that the Torah does not intend to disclose the details of this Cheit! That certainly would explain the source of all this confusion! But make no mistake, even Rashi explicitly accords that Moshe committed some sin in this account, whether a disclosed one or not. Rashi even offers two explanations as to the nature of the sin (and two contradictory explanations at that, as we will soon discover).

Rashi’s account of Moshe’s misdeed is certainly confounding, for one would presume that we have as much to learn from the mistakes of our leaders as we do from their teachings. Why then would the Torah wish to hide Moshe’s Cheit and only reveal enough information to let us know that he did sin, and not how he sinned? Furthermore, if we aren’t supposed to know how Moshe sinned, then why does Rashi, in his very next comments, imply towards the very nature of Moshe’s Cheit?

Surely this [statement of “Shimu Na HaMorim, HaMin HaSelah HaZeh Notzee Lachem Mayim”] cannot be worse than [what Moshe accused Hashem of when he said] “HaTzon U’Vakar YiShacheit, [where can you possibly find enough animals to feed the entire nation?!”] so why is Moshe only punished here? But since [his first offense] occurred in private, Hashem had mercy on him [and did not punish him]. Here, Moshe’s offense occurred in public, and so he was not spared, on account of the Kiddush Hashem [he failed to perform].

The Mizrachi takes note of the comparison between Moshe’s words in our parasha, and those in Bi’Ha’alosicha, when the people shamelessly complain for meat. Just as Moshe doubted Hashem’s capabilities there, somehow assuming Hashem could not create enough animals to feed the nation, so too here Moshe doubts Hashem’s ability to draw water from any rock he speaks to, when in reality Hashem could make water come out of any rock if He so chose. In essence, the Mizrachi blames Moshe for rhetorically asking whether he could get water from “this” rock, meaning from “any” rock, when in fact Moshe could have. It was a greater offense to doubt G-d’s powers in a dialogue with HaKadosh Baruch Hu Himself, but this second offense was performed in public, and so Moshe was not spared.

Rashi is clearly not bashful about proposing explanations of his own as to how Moshe failed. In fact, Rashi immediately offers yet another pshat:

Had [they] spoken to the rock [instead of hitting it] and brought forth [water], then [Hashem’s] name would have been ‘Mekudash’ in the eyes of the people, for they would say “Just as this rock, which cannot speak and cannot hear and relies on no subsistence, performs the word of its Maker, all the more so must we!”

Here, Rashi asserts that Moshe and Aharon failed Hashem not through what they said, but rather through what they did. They should have spoken to the rock, but instead Moshe hit it. This leads to some speculation; according to Rashi, which mistake sealed Moshe’s fate. Did he misspeak, or did he misconduct?

The Mizrachi answers that these two Midrashim pose no contradiction to each other; it is very possible the combination of these two errors was cause for Moshe’s punishment. But this answer is hard to swallow, for we must assume that Moshe would not be punished, even if he did not execute the proper Kiddush Hashem, so long as he had not spoken wrongfully of Hashem. Additionally, the reason why Moshe was punished in our parasha would have nothing to do with the fact that he sinned publicly, since speaking badly of Hashem, even publicly, would not have been grounds for punishment without the failure to perform the Kiddush Hashem.

But the most substantial question on the Mizrachi’s approach comes from the Levush HaOrah, who asks whether Rashi believed Moshe could draw water from any rock, or only from one rock. According to Rashi’s first explanation, Moshe was incorrect in assuming that he could not draw water from any rock. But Rashi also writes that Moshe first tried speaking to the wrong rock and it did not respond, and that’s why he started hitting rocks! There is a clear contradiction between Rashi’s two explanations! How does the Mizrachi overlook this blatant inconsistency?!

The Levush HaOrah answers that there is really no difficulty whatsoever, but one must first understand that Moshe Rabbeinu is only capable of that which he believes himself capable of. If Moshe does not believe he can draw water from any rock, then he simply cannot. According to the Levush HaOrah, talking to even the correct rock would not – and presumably did not – work because Hashem’s very instructions in our parasha require the proper accompanying mindset (as opposed to the process of hitting, for which Moshe did have the proper mindset).

Therefore, Moshe’s statement publicly revealed a certain misguided notion that Hashem couldn’t cause water to come from any rock. And this mindset thus denied Moshe any means of drawing water other than to hit one rock, thus preventing him from teaching the Kal ViChomer and performing the Kiddush Hashem.

Such is the understanding of the Levush HaOrah, and we also can now understand why Hashem remarks “you have not believed in Me.” By our original premise, Moshe’s mistake was committed either through speech or action, but not belief; however, we now recognize that every error committed does stem from this so called ‘lack of Emunah.’ One might wonder why exactly Moshe didn’t believe Hashem could cause water to come out of any rock; such a question is perfectly justified, and will later be addressed, but do note that Rashi elsewhere (BaMidbar 31:21) says that Moshe’s anger led him to hit the rock, so it’s possible that his anger and frustration caused this skewed judgment.

But our work is far from done, and there are still many more complications within Rashi’s pshat, for we have not addressed any of the practical differences between hitting the rock and speaking to it. Why is one method of action, namely speaking, all of a sudden desired in our parasha’s story when until now an alternative method, namely hitting, has sufficed? The Ramban, for one, asks how Moshe would make any more of a Kal ViChomer by speaking to the rock than by hitting it, for both require miraculous feats in spite of the rock’s relative shortcomings (namely its lack of speech, hearing and subsistence).

These questions indicate a gap in our understanding of the Kiddush Hashem Moshe failed to perform, and so it should come as little surprise when we consider that the Kal ViChomer Rashi here describes is actually backwards! Do we really believe one can learn lessons of obedience from the behavior of a rock? The rock does not listen to Hashem in spite of its speaking and hearing deficiencies; on the contrary, the rock flawlessly performs Hashem’s will because of these deficiencies!! How can we, as human beings with the potential to disobey, learn to perform what Hashem wants of us from an inanimate object, with no potential to deviate from its Maker’s desires? Granted, we could try to be more like the rock, but such a lesson derives from no Kal ViChomer!

Perhaps we can understand this Kal ViChomer in a slightly different light. By our current understanding, we must somehow explain how ears and a mouth further enable one to fulfill Hashem’s desire in the first place. But as we see from the rock, it is possible to perform Hashem’s will without these faculties altogether. However, if we view these communicative faculties as the very indication that Hashem wishes us to perform His will, to establish some relationship with Him and affect His world for the better, then the Kal ViChomer fits beautifully.

One would rationally think that the rock’s lack of ears or mouth serves as a clear indication that Hashem desires no service from this rock, and yet when Moshe asks it for water on behalf of Klal Yisrael, it still performs the Ribono Shel Olam’s will! Kal ViChomer people – whose mouths and ears serve as clear indication to their duties to establish the desired relationship with Hashem – must act accordingly, and do so through those very senses, as the pasuk in Beraishis indicates.

…ViKol Eisev BaSadeh Terem Yitzmach Ki Lo Himtir Hashem Elokim Al Ha’Aretz ViAdam Ayin La’Avod Es Ha’Adamah.

Beraishis, 2:5

Rashi explains that vegetation could not grow because it had not rained, and it had not rained because man did not yet exist to pray for rain and appreciate its benefits. The world that Hashem puts before us, Rashi implies, is meant to operate by the potency of our Tefilos and the magnitude of our Hakaras HaTov. These faculties enable life for not only us, but also everything around us. Within the hierarchy of creation, even the rocks and trees respond to HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s instructions, but these instructions come about from our desire for interaction. It therefore becomes incumbent upon us to rely on our G-d given senses – the indication of our lofty position within this hierarchy – in order to positively sustain the world around us.

It now becomes evident why Moshe must speak to the rock instead of hitting it, for this Kal ViChomer can only endure if Moshe does not undermine the value of his own communicative faculties. Granted, the rock can miraculously respond to the strike of a staff, but only via a different mechanism, namely that of Zechus.

Until this time, Klal Yisrael received water by the Zechus of Miryam. No prayer was required and no appreciation was due; Hashem delivered water to the entire nation simply by the merit of one individual. But in our story, Hashem commands Moshe to gather the entire nation around the rock, to demonstrate to them the source of their sustenance, and to establish a sense of appreciation for the water they receive. But instead of delivering water through speech, and establishing this sense of appreciation, the Midrash teaches us that the Bnei Yisrael received water through Moshe’s Zechus, regardless of their Hakaras HaTov. Had Moshe only had enough Emunah in Hashem, he would not have relied on his power of Zechus to draw forth the water, and he probably would have then realized that he could speak to the rock – to any rock, for that matter – for the human potential of Tefilah, as opposed to the potential of Zechus, to affect the world around him is truly limitless.

And now to return to our original question. Why does Rashi imply that our parasha does not intend to disclose the details behind Moshe’s Cheit, when Rashi immediately proceds to elaborate on said Cheit? Perhaps, through the comparison to the statement “HaTzon U’Vakar Yishacheit,” Rashi implies that the Torah does not need to specify Moshe’s Cheit here for we can just as easily learn the same lesson from his statement there. And what was Moshe’s error there, when he seemingly doubts Hashem’s capability to provide enough meat for the wayward nation? Are these two sins truly identical?

The Gur Aryeh startlingly answers that Moshe never doubted Hashem’s inherent capabilities what she stated “HaTzon U’Vakar Yishacheit,” but rather doubted Hashem’s desire to give into the verbal requests of a bunch of sinners. Moshe’s argument was that the nation did not bear the Zechus to deserve such massive quantities of meat, that Hashem would not listen to the pleas and requests of an individual with no merits, and this challenge was delivered directly to Hashem Himself. Likewise, in our story, Moshe responds to the “rebellious wayward nation” by drawing water through his own merits, instead of considering that Hashem would still listen to the requests of the meritless Am, and still desire to establish a relationship with them.

And this is not some new attribute of Moshe’s either; we see this flaw emerge already in the closing lines of Parashat Shemos! Moshe returns to HaKadosh Baruch Hu disgusted, and demands “Lama Harei’osah Es Ha’Am HaZeh, ViLama Zeh Shilachtani, why have you bothered sending me to redeem this nation if You were not really ready to take them out yet? If they are ready for redemption, how then could You think of worsening their situation?!” The answer, of course, is that Hashem desires to free the nation, but not solely on account of their or their ancestors’ merits, but also in hopes of establishing a relationship in the near future. No such relationship can be established until they can appreciate their salvation, and no such appreciation would be possible without their situation first worsening.

Amidst Hashem’s response comes a rather untimely quip, “Ata Tir’eh, now you will see what I do to Mitzrayim, but (as Rashi explains) you will not see what I do to the seven nations of Eretz Yisrael when I bring them into the land.” Rashi, quoting Chazal, seems to imply that Moshe Rabbeinu is already banned from Eretz Yisrael in this earliest stage of his leadership! But if we understand that the very flaw which heralded Moshe’s demise in our parasha is reflected through this earlier account as well, then we can easily explain Hashem’s foreshadowing as a simple threat, that unless Moshe learns to change his personality, to fix his flaw and not to rely so heavily upon Zechus, then he will ultimately not survive the long trek through the Midbar.

On a closing note, if we look at the punishment of Moshe Rabbeinu in our parasha, we find it to be twofold.

Lachain Lo Savee’u, therefore you will not bring [the Bnei Yisrael into the land].

[This punishment is sealed] with an oath, like the pasuk “ViLachain Nishbati LiBeis Eli,” [I have sworn that the decendants of Eli will not live a long life]. [Hashem] hastily took an oath so that [Moshe and Aharon] could not pray for [a reversal of this decree, just as Eli’s curse could not be reversed through Tefilah].

Rashi, BaMidbar 20:12

Not only is Moshe denied entry into Eretz Yisrael, but Hashem seals this Onesh with a Shvua. No longer can Moshe and Aharon pray for a change to their fate (though it doesn’t stop Moshe from trying), for their punishment is a direct result of their reliance upon Zechus instead of the power of Tefilah. Midah K’Neged Midah, Moshe assumed the Bnei Yisrael could not reestablish a relationship to Hashem because of their lowly state, and so Moshe was denied to the ability to repent once labeled a sinner.

Ultimately, we can learn a tremendous lesson from the mistakes of Moshe Rabbenu in our parasha, whether the Cheit’s details are disclosed or not. Most of all, we see the power of our speech and ability to be Makir Tov, how we are not merely given what we currently deserve, but even what we will appreciate. Just as the rock – even with its most limited capabilities – works in accord with Hashem’s desires for a better world, so too we can use our cognitive and communicative gifts for a most productive cause.