Parashat VaEschanan

“Just watch yourself, and carefully guard your soul, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen… and you shall teach them to your children and your grandchildren. The day upon which you stood before Hashem your G-d at Choreiv…”

Devarim 4:9-10

Parashat Va’Eschanan contains not one, but two accounts of Ma’amad Har Sinai. In this first account, Moshe Rabbeinu focuses on the awe and terror of the spectacle, Asher Yilmidun Li’Yirah Osi… ViEs Bineihem Yilameidun (4:10). We are reminded of the deep darkness and the ceaseless fire, and the imageless presence of G-d. In essence, Moshe reminds the people how frightening the event of Kabalas HaTorah was, and this fear, as the pasukim declare, reinforces our commitment to Shmiras HaMitzvos, Ki Hashem Aish Ochelah Hu (4:25).

The Ramban in fact sees these pasukim as two separate Mitzvos: a Mitzvas Lo Sa’assei to never forget Ma’amad Har Sinai; and a Mitzvas Assei to teach one’s children about it, to pass down the tradition.

“This Mitzvah serves a tremendous purpose, for were the Torah delivered solely through Moshe, although his prophesy is fully accredited, if another prophet or dreamer we to arise in our midst and command us to perform counter to our Torah’s instructions, doubt would rise in many men’s hearts. However, once the Torah reaches us by the Word of the Almighty, and our eyes behold no intermediary, all dissent is weakened, and we will recognize the liar”

Perush HaRamban, Devarim 4:9

The Ramban does not focus on the aspect of fright, but he definitely focuses on the ‘sight’ of the event, in contrast to the Mitzvos transmitted. This fits beautifully with the words of the pasukim. We must safeguard those things we see, and we must teach them to our children. It is no wonder the Ramban takes issue with Rashi’s interpretation of the verse.

“Yom Asher Amadta.” This [pasuk] reflects back on the words above, [as if to say] “Asher Ra’u Einecha Yom Asher Amadta BiChoreiv,” [the day upon which] you saw the Kolos and Lapidim.

Rashi, Devarim 4:10

In stark contrast to the Ramban, Rashi restores the focus of this pasuk to the terror of the moment, the presence of Kolos and Lapidim. Peculiarly, though, Rashi insists that the matter we teach our children is not the “Yom Asher Amadta BiChoreiv,” the spectacle of Har Sinai, or else he wouldn’t have to jumble the order of our pasukim. What then does Rashi think we must teach them?

Just watch yourself… when you do not forget [the aforementioned Chukim and Mishpatim – in pasuk 5 –] and you perform them truthfully, you will be considered wise and understanding people. But if you pervert them through forgetfulness, you will be considered idiots.

Rashi, Devarim 4:9

So according to Rashi, we must safeguard ourselves from forgetting the Mitzvos, and we must teach the Mitzvos to our children. But which Mitzvos? The Chukim and Mishpatim? The Aseres HaDibros? The pasuk is hopelessly vague. On one hand the “Devarim” referenced by Moshe Rabbeinu are the aforementioned Chukim and Mishpatim which we must never forget lest we appear like idiots. On the other hand, the “Devarim” must be those ‘things’ we saw with our eyes, presumably at Har Sinai as the subsequent pasuk states. To complicate matters even further, Rashi makes mention of the Kolos and Lapidim, suggesting the “Devarim Asher Ra’u Einecha” aren’t even Mitzvos altogether, but rather flashes of light and sound!

In order to resolve the apparent contradictions between Rashi’s uses of the term “Devarim,” one could suggest that Rashi never meant for the word Devarim to directly attach to the phrase “Asher Ra’u Einecha” as a single clause. Rather, the pasuk should read, “don’t forget those Chukim and Mishpatim, for after all your eyes beheld… the day you stood at Choreiv.” In this case, the Devarim are indeed all Mitzvos – not just the Dibros. Asher means much more than a simple “that” or “which;” in this context it means “for.”

We are left to wonder, though, why Rashi insists on butchering the flow of Moshe Rabbeinu’s address. It would still be clearer and simpler to identify the Devarim as Kolos and Lapidim; then we would have some idea as to why Moshe immediately segues into the “day we stood at Har Sinai.” Instead, Rashi leaves us with a dangling clause, Asher Ra’u Einecha, that attaches to nothing in its own pasuk and has only tangential pertinence to the topic at hand.

Let us return to our original premise, namely that Moshe Rabbeinu here avoids focusing on the Mitzvos themselves and their transmission, but rather focuses on the terror through which we were forced into acceptance, Asher Yilmidun LiYira Osi. The Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh comments that Hashem’s intent to scare the nation out of their wits was not just some grand fireworks display, appropriate for the occasion but otherwise meaningless; rather, it was the only means by which HaKadosh Baruch Hu could remove the callousness from Klal Yisrael’s hearts and give His Mitzvos a chance to endure. From the time Chavah was coerced by the Nachash in Gan Eiden onward, Man was plagued with a Zuhama, literally a stench, that rendered him incapable of fearing Hahsem. Hashem’s Dibros, the same force that expelled the nation’s souls from their bodies, forced out this Zuhama.

“Here lays the root of our Kedusha,” the Ohr HaChaim’s peirush continues, but such matters lie beyond the scope of this medium. What we can superficially gather from these comments is that our fear of Hashem is requisite for eternal and enduring Shmiras HaMitzvos, but such fear is by no means a precondition. The Maharsha elucidates this point beautifully, and then adds a little more:

“…they say embarrassment is a quality trait in any man, but in terms of learning, we are told an embarrassed man never learns. In fact, the gemara in Beitzah states, “why was the Torah given to Yisrael? For they were stubborn and thereby fit to learn the Torah; no embarrassed man could ever learn Torah.” [In resolution of] these two [ideas,] it is the learning of Torah that weakens one’s stubbornness, Ki Yiras HaTorah Hee Al Peneihem (cf. Shemos 20:17)”

Chidushei Agados HaMaharsha, Mesechet Nedarim, 20a

This is a truly original idea. Not only is fear important for keeping to the right path, but brazenness is equally important for acquiring this path in the first place! This runs counter to what we would expect. Surely one who submits to another’s practices without a fight will have a more likely chance of maintaining these practices than one who stubbornly fights against submission and acceptance! Or perhaps not, perhaps only in the short term. The individual who passively accepts another’s commandments is merely acting by his own choice, and he can someday choose to disregard these commandments as easily as he initially regarded them. The stubborn individual, on the other hand, salvages no such authority; in his futile struggle, he relinquishes all authority by force, and is left with no vision of personal choice or volition. His obedience is thus eternally ensured.

We now understand why the terror of Har Sinai was so necessary, and we see how it directly ties into the ability to “fear Hashem all of our days,” but what does this concept have to do with Chinuch, with our obligation to teach Mitzvos to our children? Perhaps Moshe Rabbeinu is teaching his nation that it is each parent’s responsibility to construct a “model” Mattan Torah for his and her children, not in terms of the flashes of light and sound but in terms of the coercion involved. A parent might think his child best off to discover Mitzvos all on his own; surely the child will appreciate the values of such statutes as “do not kill” and “do not steal” if he is the founder of his own moral guidelines. But such a child is no Eved Hashem, he is merely his own boss and capable of walking away from Yideshkeit as easily as the embarrassed and passive student could. In contrast, the child overwhelmed by his parents’ authority will keep the Mitzvos for the proper reason – not because they are right or moral but because he was told to and forced to and no alternative remains.

Perhaps this is what Moshe Rabbeinu means when he claims that we will appear Chachamim nad Nevonim in the eyes of the other nations when we keep the Chukim U’Mishpatim. One should wonder, why would the Umos HaOlam praise us for our observance of Chukim, senseless laws with no rational foundation? Quite the contrary, shouldn’t they ridicule us? But if we accept that our “wisdom” lies not in our devotion to morality but rather in our devotion to consistency, then it is easy to see what is so praiseworthy about our stance. So long as we don’t doubletalk, and so long as we don’t flip flop, we as individuals serve as ideal models, whether or not we abide by another nation’s code of law.

Everything begins to fall into place. Rashi does not see our parasha as yet another iteration of the need to keep the Mitzvos. Instead, our parasha focuses on a much more specific need. We must keep the Mitzvos for the proper reason. We must serve Hashem because we were forced to. Without this mentality, we may someday succumb to other foreign desires; but as stubborn individuals whose Zuhamos were essentially frightened away, our Avodas Hashem is an eternal surety. In addition, we must provide the same mentality for our children, we must be Michanech them with a forceful authority.

“Just watch yourselves, and guard your souls, lest you forget these Mitzvos.” And what if we ever forget these Mitzvos? Can’t we hope to restore them and their observance? Of course we can, but no longer by force. Once the tradition is broken, anything we choose to keep is not by the command of a higher authority; rather it is by the command of our own authority, and the chain to Sinai is broken. Such are the Devarim, Asher Ra’u Einechah. They are the things – the Mitzvos – we must never even forget, let alone pervert, for our eyes saw frightening things when we received them and – without such sights – they could never be restored to the same degree.

Kabalas Hatorah is more than just an affirmation of Hashem’s Yichidus, and its Mesorah is more than just an accreditation of Moshe’s legitimacy. It stands the pivotal moment when we transformed from a brazen nation into a humble one, and through which became the eternal beacon of truth and consistency for all other nations. Our G-d is always close, and our statutes are always righteous, for we have painstakingly maintained them to the finest detail across countless generations.

Parashat Matos

In response to the “Dvar Ba’al Pe’or,” as it is termed in our parasha, Hashem commands Moshe Rabbeinu to annihilate Midyan. Moshe sends 12,000 warriors, led by Pinchas, and they succeed in killing every adult Midyanite male. But amidst the undertones of this genocide, we do see compassion and care for human life, for Pinchas spared every woman and child – even those women who had actively partaken in the Ma’aseh Pe’or.

Moshe Rabbeinu understandingly scolds Pinchas for his decision. The Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh explains that Pinchas spared these women – in spite of their promiscuous behavior – because of the overbearing pressure their fathers and husbands placed on them to act such. However, Moshe pointed out, these women voluntarily coerced the Jewish men into bowing down to their god, Ba’al Pe’or, and were therefore still worthy of punishment.

“For they themselves were to the Bnei Yisrael – during Bilam’s plot – [a cause] for treachery against Hashem in regard to the matter of Pe’or… and so now you must kill every male child, and each woman [capable of] knowing a man should be killed.”

BaMidbar 31:16-17

These pasukim provide plenty of support for the Ohr HaChaim’s proposal, but we are left with no good understanding as to why the male children should also be killed. To fill in the gaps, the Kli Yakar considers Klal Yisrael’s perspective of the transpiring matter. The nation would see Pinchas and his soldiers return with these captive women. Then, by Moshe’s command, they would execute them all. ‘Why didn’t they execute these women in the field?’ the people might wonder, and they would wrongfully conclude that the soldiers intended to take these women for illicit relationships and were therefore rebuked by Moshe. In order that the nation not cast such aspersions on these righteous soldiers, Moshe ordered them to first execute all the male children, for such action would make no sense had Moshe rebuked them for initiating in illicit relationships.

The Kli Yakar’s approach nicely completes the Ohr HaChaim’s aforementioned perspective, but it leaves us wondering what does and does not warrant murder and genocide. We often pair execution with punishment, as if it must be the consequence of some egregious crime. These Midyanite boys though were guilty of no apparent crime. They were too young to pressure their sisters into promiscuity. They were not present at the battlefield to coerce Jews to worship Pe’or. And if their idol worship at home were sufficient grounds for their woeful fate, then the same should have been true for the youngest Midyanite girls – who were indeed spared.

It seems that these young boys die for no justifiable reason. Rashi, though, subtly hints at a third offense the Midyanim committed:

Why did Pinchas go [to battle] and not Elazar… for he [also] went to avenge his ancestor Yoseif, as the pasuk states, “And the Midyanim sold [Yoseif to Mitzrayim].

Rashi, BaMidbar 31:6

Curiously, Rashi associates Pinchas to the annihilation of the Midyanite nation through a relatively minor occurrence some five centuries earlier. What significance does Yoseif’s sale altogether bear towards the fate of the entire Midyanite nation? In fact, if any nation were to be held responsible for Yoseif’s sale, we would first blame Yosief’s own brothers! We could also blame the Yishmaelim, who first purchased Yoseif and sold him to the Midyanim. What then is so special about the Midyanim’s role within the sale?

Perhaps we can reason that although various nations swapped Yoseif’s custody, they never sold him into outright slavery. They pawned him off as a bargaining chip within their trades, but they never fully demoted him to the lowest state of slavery and subjugation. The Midyanim, however, sold Yoseif to Mitzrayim as a slave for Potiphar, thereby fully striping Yoseif of whatever dignity he had yet retained.

In similar fashion, the Midyanite contemporaries of Pinchas forfeited their daughters and wives for the sake of licentiousness. Like their ancestors who sold Yoseif, they showed no reluctance towards the abasement of another human, even their own kin. Appropriately, Rashi notes, by annihilating the Midyanite nation and their heinous mindset, Pinchas also retaliates against the very motives that prompted Yoseif’s sale to Mitzrayim.

Perhaps then the Midyanites forfeiture of their own kin equally warranted the slaughter of their youngest male children. Just as they degraded their wives and daughters for a shameful purpose, so too Moshe gave Pinchas and his army full right to treat the Midyanite children with equally dehumanizing indifference, Midah K’Neged Midah. In this sense, the male Midyanite children died not for their own sins but rather for the sin of their parents.

One could even imagine Pinchas to have manipulated his situation in order to bring about this result. Had Pinchas killed the guilty Midyanite women before returning to the camp, Moshe would never have valid reason to order the deaths of the Midyanite children. But once the women return, Moshe is forced to kill the children too so as to repel the false aspersions of the Kahal, as the Kli Yakar explains. The children’s deaths cannot even be called martyrdom, for they are merely casualties of a much grander scheme, and dehumanized casualties at that, for their very right to life becomes a mere afterthought in the face of another man’s reputation. And what at first appears as compassion on the part of Pinchas transforms into exactly the opposite, an insensitivity rivaled only by the Midyanim who sold Yoseif to Mitzrayim.

Parashat Pinchas

“LiAzni Mishpachas HaAzni.” I say that the family of Azni is the family of Etzbon, though I do not know why this family is not called by its original name.

Rashi, BaMidbar 26:16

A very curious Rashi. Is there something esoteric about the name Azni that escapes Rashi, something to which he can provide no plausible explanation? Perhaps, but perhaps not. What difficulty does Rashi attempt to resolve here? In Parashat VaYigash, we listed all the 70 families that traveled down to Mitzrayim, and here we recount them, minus a few lost divisions. But the name Azni is nowhere to be found in the original census. Rashi therefore explains that the family Etzbon, a family omitted from our narrative, is really present but with a different name. Granted Rashi would love to provide us with some explanation behind this change of name, but is that really what he’s out to accomplish? Why can’t he simply assert: “Azni, Zu Mishpachas Etzbon,” and leave the rest to our own speculation?

But that’s not what makes this such a curious Rashi.

“…But the [Shimonite] family of Ohad perished, as did five families from Shevet Binyamin… and Etzbon, from Shevet Gad. That makes seven familes. I found in the Talmud Yerushalmi that when Aharon died, the Ananei HaKaod dispersed and the Cana’anim came to battle with Yisrael. The Nation retreated… and the Bnei Levi chased after them to bring them back, and [in the civil skirmish] killed [these] seven families…”

Rashi, BaMidmar 26:14

Now we are told that the family of Etzbon perished in a scuffle with Shevet Levi. Of course, they can’t be renamed Azni and dead at the same time. Rashi’s two comments seem hopelessly irreconcilable. So much for this Yerushalmi that Rashi quotes.

“…and four Levite families [also omitted from our parasha’s census] fell: Shimi; Azi’eli; and from the sons of Yitzhar, only the Bnei Korach are mentioned. As for the fourth family, I do not know who it was.”

Rashi (ibid.)

The Yerushalmi’s already difficult account borders on the inexplicable. Quite simply, counting four dead families is logistically impossible if only three families are omitted from the census. Yet the Agada claims that a fourth family of Levi’s was killed, and not surprisingly fails to support its claim.

The Sefer Zikaron resolves Rashi’s inconsistencies with a redaction. He changes the name Etzbon to Yishveh (from Shevet Asher), another family mysteriously omitted from our parasha’s census. Etzbon is then counted as Azni, Yishveh was killed by Shevet Levi, and the contradiction is resolved. It’s a quick patch. It’s simple, but not entirely satisfying. Let’s see if we can do better.

Rashi elsewhere (pasuk 24) comments that the families Ard and Na’aman (both from Shevet Binyamin) are not the children of Binyamin but rather are his grandchildren – children of Belah – and are named after their uncles. Although they were not among the seventy individuals who descended to Mitzrayim, they presently constitute their own families due to their relative size. The same is true of I’ezer and Cheilek, Yoseif’s great great grandchildren, who certainly weren’t born until long after Ya’akov arrived and yet are counted as their own Mishpachot.

It is therefore possible, the Levush HaOrah speculates, that Azni was a descendant of Etzbon’s whose family had grown large enough to be counted by its own name. The rest of Etzbon’s family was then killed by Shevet Levi, and so the Yerushalmi considers the family of Etzbon to have been wiped out although some of Etzbon’s actual descendants did survive.

Rashi continues, “I do not know why Azni is not called by its [larger] family’s name.” In other words, the Levush HaOrah reasons, one would expect the family of Azni to uphold the legacy of their descendants, Mishpachat Etzbon; yet they do not, and why they do not is unclear. And there is nothing mysterious or obscure about the name Azni.

Now one might question why Rashi scratches his head as to why Azni does not uphold Etzbon’s legacy whereas we have no questions why Korach does not uphold Yitzhar’s family name. However, the Levush HaOrah adds, the Torah elsewhere informs us that Korach is the son of Yitzhar, so our parasha does not need to fill in any details. By telling us Korach’s family is counted, we can easily infer that Yitzhar’s family – or at least a part of it – survived. However, we cannot so definitively infer Etzbon’s survival from Azni’s existence.

Rashi’s comments are curious indeed, but for an entirely different reason. Rashi could have easily explained the presence of Azni’s name in our parasha as the Torah’s terse way of informing us that the rest of Mishpachat Etzbon died out. But alas, the Torah does not count the Jews to tell us who is missing; rather, we count the ones who remain and forget the ones lost.

The Yerushalmi tells us four families from Shevet Levi perished, but we can only ascertain the names of three. Borrowing from the logic of the Levush HaOrah, perhaps what the Yerushalmi means is that one of Levi’s later descendants grew large enough to constitute its own family, and then died out, yet we are left with no method by which to determine which descendant this was.

“Mah SheHaya Haya,” what was no longer is, in the words of the Levush HaOrah. This presents a shocking counterpoint to our parasha’s emphasis on individual deaths, such as Dasan’s and Aviram’s, Eir’s and Onan’s, and Tzelofchad’s. Somehow a few single deaths – of sinners no less – are more noteworthy than a miniature genocide, and this sounds eerily similar to the opening of our parasha, where the Nasi of Shevet Shimon, Zimri ben Salu, is singled out from among 24,000 as the victim of Avodas Ba’al Peor.

But what does this all mean? The Torah seems to distinguish between the legacy of an individual and that of a populous. When the former is punished or killed, his environment does not drastically change, there is no startling shift in culture or perspective, and those who survive him can examine his life, his actions, and his legacy within the same environment he constructed it. U’Vnei Korach Lo Maisu. The latter grants no such luxury. And so Yisrael retains 601,000 men and 65 families, but the identities and perspectives of Ohad and Etzbon and Shimi and Yitzhar are lost forever.

The identity and collective spirit of Klal Yisrael is an ever changing beast. Mistakes are made, families are lost, and legacies change. Hopefully for the better.