Parashat Tzav

On a daily basis, the Kohein scooped the ashes off the Mizbei’ach and stored them in a small crevice next to the ramp. On those days when the ashes filled the crevice, the Kohein would remove the regular clothing he wore for Avoda, dressed in less expensive clothing, and carried the ashes outside of the Mishkan. The gemara in Yoma (23b) infers from the Torah’s explicit requirement that the Kohein remove his regular clothing, a superfluous command since the pasuk only needed to say “put on less expensive clothing,” that the less expensive clothing was comparable to the regular clothing, namely were fit for the Avoda.

Of course, one might then wonder why the Kohein had to change his clothes altogether if he was just going to change into more Bigdei Kehuna. Rashi provides an explanation:

“U’Fashat Es Bigadav,” he should undress, this is not obligatory but rather Derech Eretz, so that he not dirty his [regular clothing] while carrying out the ashes, for he would serve in these clothes regularly. Clothes [a servant wears when he] cooks a pot for his master should not [be worn] when he pours his master a cup. Therefore, he dresses in less expensive clothing.

Rashi, VaYikra 6:4

Rashi answers that the Kohein does not have to change his clothing; after all, he is only changing into more Bigdei Kehuna. Rather, it is polite that he reserves the fancier clothing for the service he performs in front of his master Hashem, and dons the plain Begadim so as to protect the fancy clothes.

The Gur Aryeh explains that Rashi may in fact believe that the Torah requires any Kohein with dirty Begadim to change. However, the change of clothes in this pasuk precedes the Hotza’as HaDeshen and therefore cannot be a matter of obligation. This indeed is implicit from the gemara’s parable of the attendant who may not serve his master in clothes he used to cook a pot. In other words, the gemara acknowledges that the Kohein cannot work with dirty clothes, but this alone does not explain why the Kohein must change before getting dirty. Instead, the Kohein must have one nice pair of clothes and not want to dirty it; therefore, he changes so as not to dirty his usual Begadim, and then they will be fresh for the real service.

But by the Gur Aryeh’s understanding, does the second pair of clothes have to be of lesser value? If both changes are of equal value, has the Kohein fulfilled the task described in this pasuk? If one looks closely at Rashi’s words, he will see that there are two considerations within this pasuk. The first consideration is that the Kohein change his clothes, so as not to dirty his regular Begadim. The second consideration is that he dress in less expensive clothing when removing the ashes. By Rashi’s understanding, the need for less expensive clothing must be a matter of practicality, not a matter of obligation or of Derech Eretz. For instance, if the Kohanim were rich and owned several changes of clothing, they could presumably do away with the need for Begadim Pechusim. But this is problematic, for if the pasuk’s requirement were conditional, one would expect Rashi to tell us so. Clearly all Kohanim must be subject to this expression of Derech Eretz equally.

Looking deeper into Rashi’s words, we see that the reason the Kohein must wear less expensive clothing when performing the Hotza’as HaDeshen is because a servant wears nicer clothing when he serves his master. In other words, Rashi has two concerns. Rashi’s first concern is that the Kohein might dirty his nice pair of clothes. Therefore, the Kohein, if he has only one nice pair of clothes, must change into a less expensive pair. However, if the Kohein has several nice pairs of Begadim, then Rashi informs us that he need not change. Rashi’s use of the (seemingly unnecessary) word “Tamid,” regularly, suggests that this first concern applies only to those Kohanim that have a single change of Begadim, a change they must ear on a regular basis. But there is another concern. Rashi’s second concern is that the Kohein should wear nicer garment for the more dignifying services he performs. Even if he owns several changes of nice clothing, he still should establish some differentiation between the services he performs in front of his Master and those he performs in the background. Therefore, by this second concern, even the Kohein with multiple changes of expensive Begadim must change and must own a less expensive pair of Begadim for the more menial tasks.

The Derech Eretz of our pasuk is twofold. On a simple level, one must show Derech Eretz to others; if a master gives a servant two changes of clothes, a nice pair and a dull pair, then the servant should take care to keep the nicer one as clean as possible. But even a servant with several nice pairs should show Derech Erretz to himself and behave in a disciplined manner even behind closed doors. No master would ever know whether his servant wears fancy clothes when cooking a pot, so it is impossible to say that the servant shows respect to his master by changing into less expensive clothes. Rather, the servant changes to express reverence to the jobs he performs in front of his master, thereby affecting his own perspective of the jobs he performs. It is a Derech Eretz he performs for himself, a matter of discipline that he differentiate between those instances he stands in the kitchen and those instances he stands in front of his master.

With this short introduction, I would like to resolve a glaring contradiction created by the medrashim on Megilas Esteir. The gemara in Meseches Megila (16a) says that after Haman HaRashah rode Mordechai around on the King’s horse, Mordechai returned to the palace gate in his sackcloth and continued fasting. The problem is that the Megila stated earlier (4:2) that when Mordechai first donned sackcloth, he stopped in front of the palace gates for one could not enter the gates dressed in such a fashion. Why all of a sudden did Mordechai disregard the decree?

The Malbim proposes that when Mordechai returned from his horse ride, it is obvious that he did not enter the gates. The pasuk uses a vague lashon (as opposed to the earlier pasuk) and leaves us to figure out the rest. Other mefarshim suggest that Haman dressed Mordechai with the royal garb on top of his sackcloth, so when Mordechai returned to the gate, he was wearing both the fancy clothes and the sackcloth underneath; therefore, there was no issue of entering the gate. Rashi takes an alternative and rather fascinating approach:

For one could not enter, [meaning,] it is not Derech Eretz to enter the palace gates donning sackcloth.

Rashi, Esteir 4:2

Rashi’s use of Derech Eretz in this context implies that there existed no such decree against entering the gate with sackcloth. The Alshich explains that Mordechai refused to enter because he wanted Klal Yisrael to take action at this time and not count on him to save them. The Jews were counting on him to inform Esteir of the tragedy, but when they saw him standing outside the gate in sack, royal decree or not, they immediately assumed he refused to enter and speak with Esteir, at which point they began to fast and pray themselves (which is the topic of the very next pasuk, 4:3).

This in turn explains why we find Mordechai sitting in the gateway as early as when Haman leaves Esteirs first party (5:9), for after Esteir invites Haman to her party, Klal Yisrael assumed that she was not on their side anyhow (see Meseches Megila 13b), in which case it made no difference whether Mordechai wished to speak with her or not.

All in all, we find that the Derech Eretz Mordechai expresses by sitting outside the royal gates is in no way an outright respect to the King, for Achashveirosh would never notice what Mordechai was wearing on any given day. Rather, the act of wearing the appropriate clothing was a matter of discipline, that the clothes in which one cooks a pot are not the clothes in which he serves his master (nor attends his master’s gate). However, Mordechai’s Derech Eretz was really just a façade, a Masui Panim, for the true reverence he showed was towards the Melech Malchei HaMlachim.

Purim '08

A man once married a woman with only one hand, and he did not notice her disability until after her death. Rav exclaimed, “Behold how tzanua this woman was, for [she obviously dressed so modestly that] her husband never once noticed her [missing hand]!” Rabbi Chiya expressed an alternative amazement. “Any woman with no hand would hide this imperfection from her husband,” Rabbi Chiya challenged, “but behold how tzanua this man is for never once noticing his wife[‘s missing hand]!”

Meseches Shabbos, 53b

This short dialogue between Rabbi Chiya and Rav forms the foundation to a working model of tznius, modesty. First, Rav directly associates proper dress code (even in front of one’s spouse) to modesty. Rabbi Chiya modifies this association, acknowledging that the motivation for proper dress must stem from some source other than a fear of personal exploitation. In other words, Rabbi Chiya’s model of tznius transcends objective fact, namely that the woman is clothed, and instead focuses on one’s subjective mentality

Rabbi Chiya, however, fails to identify what aspect of the husband’s mentality conforms to the guidelines of tznius, especially if his wife has sincerely devoted herself to hiding her imperfection from him. By Rabbi Chiya’s assessment of the wife’s cunning, the husband could take no credit for having not noticed his wife’s missing hand. And if Rabbi Chiya believed that no woman was cunning enough to hide her hand from her husband for an entire lifetime, then Rabbi Chiya would be forced to recognize her as the tzanua one anyhow!

This gemara provides us with little if any didactic benefit. It acknowledges an inherent value to tznius, yet fails to qualify this value. Granted, we cannot call the husband or wife tzanua if we can instead call them cunning, but the given scope of even subjective modesty apparently ends there. And this definition leaves us largely unsatisfied, scratching our heads as to whether one is somehow lacking in his being when he looks at his spouse’s hand.

The gemara in Meseches Megila (13b) furthers our confusion. The gemara identifies three of the most tzanua individuals in biblical history, remarks how they descend from one another, and thereby concludes that each descendant’s tznius was a reward for the similar qualities of his or her ancestors. Rachel Imeinu’s modesty earned her a descendant like Shaul, and Shaul’s modesty in turn earned him a descendant like Esteir.

In short, the gemara asserts one plain fact: Esteir reflects the qualities of tznius through her unwillingness to disclose her identity – Ein Esteir Magedes Moladta ViEs Ama. This hidden identity consists of two interrelated data: her nationality; and her lineage. It is difficult to determine exactly why Esteir denied the King this information, especially when she obliged to every other whim of Achashveirosh’s. Maybe Achashveirosh hates the Jews and her affiliation will reflect poorly on her. Maybe this affiliation will reflect positively on the Jews. Maybe Esteir’s linage is her most valuable credential, for she is of royal descent. Maybe it warrants her execution, for Vashti was killed for asserting her royal authority over Achashveirosh. There is simply no way to tell.

In light of these uncertainties, what makes this gemara so blatantly troubling is the blind declaration of Esteir as a modest individual, par excellance no less. On the surface, it is impossible to evaluate Esteir’s modesty if we cannot evaluate her thoughts and intent. As Rabbi Chiya explains in Meseches Shabbos, tznius transcends the objective concealment of identity, assesses the potential gains and setbacks of said concealment, and reserves its label for the deserved few. In fact, when we consider the potential gain of Esteir’s supposed modesty, when we consider each potential rationale for her defiance, we are forced to conclude that Esteir is more cunning than she is modest, much like the woman with no hand. On one hand, Esteir may have deemed the disclosure of her identity to her disadvantage, in which case she was wise not to unveil her identity, but by no means modest. On the other hand, Esteir may have seen some potential benefit in her Jewish background and her royal lineage. This consideration is in fact strongly evident from Esteir’s actions later in the story, when she reveals her identity in order to plead for her life. In other words, Esteir recognizes the breathtaking affect her revelation can momentarily provide, and the gamut of emotions it can thereby exploit. In such case, Esteir’s unwillingness to disclose her identity when she is initially crowned queen is still not an exhibition of modesty, but rather one of cunning.

And so we are back where we began. Esteir is quiet and “hidden” (as hinted by her name) and perhaps even clever, but she is by no stretch of our imagination the archetypical tzanua. How then can we reconcile the message of the gemara in Megila with that of the gemara in Shabbos? How can we imbue the trait of tznius with any inherent value if the tzanua responds primarily to the prospect of personal gain?

Perhaps we should begin where the gemara itself begins, namely with an analysis of Rachel Imeinu’s tznius. Chazal identify both the actions and thoughts of Rachel, making this example a fitting case to study. They explain how she organized secret signals with Yaakov to prevent Lavan from replacing her with another woman on the night of her wedding. When Lavan switched her with Leah, Rachel was overwhelmed with pity for her older sister and divulged the signals to prevent Leah’s embarrassment. The compassion is evident, but where is the modesty?

“She handed over [the signals]” to Leah, and this [exemplifies] her tznius for she did not publicize the matter that [Yaakov] gave her signals.

Rashi, Meseches Megila, 13b

Rashi interestingly shifts the focus of this account back around to Rachel and her sensitivity towards her own embarrassment. What then does Rashi think of Leah’s feelings? The gemara explicitly focuses on Leah’s embarrassment, yet Rashi neglects this point!

Of course, one should wonder what embarrassment Rachel prevented Leah by handing over the signals anyhow, for Yaakov the very next morning scolded Lavan for marrying off the wrong sister. Leah’s embarrassment is then inevitable; what difference would it make whether she was exposed at night or the following morning?

In order to resolve these difficulties, we must first recognize that there are two ways of interpreting Yaakov’s complaint to Lavan. The innocent bystander could surmise that Yaakov felt cheated because Lavan breached his longstanding seven-year contract at the last moment, not because Yaakov preferred to marry one girl over the other and Lavan denied him his lover. On the other hand, if Leah cannot reciprocate to Yaakov’s signals, then everyone would discover that Yaakov arranged signals with Rachel and would realize how much more Yaakov loved one sister than the other. In other words, by sharing Yaakov’s signals with her older sister, Rachel ensured that nobody would discover how much more Yaakov loved her than Leah, and Leah would not be personally embarrassed.

In summation, Rachel has two ways of relating to the love she feels for Yaakov. On one hand, she can justify Leah’s embarrassment on the basis that Yaakov loves her more than he loves Leah. Conversely, she can treat this love exclusively as the means by which she relates to Yaakov. Ultimately, the value Rachel perceives within her relationship prompts her actions. Does Rachel value herself more than her love for Yaakov, in which case she would expose her own love in return for personal gain, and embarrass her sister? Or does Rachel esteem the inherent value of the relationship itself, in which case she gives over the signs? Rachel’s unwillingness to publicly distinguish between her and Leah’s relationship with Yaakov beautifully expresses her trait of tznius.

Shaul possessed this same trait. As a tzanua, Shaul saw a quality within himself that distinguished him from the rest of the nation, namely his future royal stature, and he refused to disclose this matter to his father. Shaul could easily exploit this information for his own personal gain; his father would have certainly given him preferential treatment. But Shaul understood that his royalty was not a bargaining chip and that the Navi’s words were not a means for personal gain. Instead, Shaul valued his stature on a much more personal level.

The Kings of Yisrael are not unconditionally born into their roles. Indeed, when Shmuel HaNavi sets out to find Shaul’s successor, Hashem rejects Dovid HaMelech’s brother Avinadav, “Ki Mi’astihu,” for I am disgusted by him (Shmuel Aleph, 16:7). The gemara in Meseches Pesachim (66b) infers from Hashem’s “disgust” that at some point in history Hashem desired Avinadav to succeed Shaul, but later changed His mind. Dovid therefore never destined to rule; rather, Hashem chose Dovid on account of his merits. Likewise, Shaul’s ascension to the Melucha was not a matter of destiny; rather, it reflected Hashem’s love for him and his reciprocal love for Hashem.

And Shmuel took a flask of oil and poured it on Shaul’s head, and he kissed him.

Shmuel Aleph, 10:1

The tznius of Shaul, like the tznius of Rachel, manifests itself within Shaul’s unwillingness to publicize this love. Even after Shmuel publicly announces Shaul’s appointment, Shaul still attempts to flee the scene, to hide under the baggage and avoid the publicity. Much like Yaakov’s actions on the night of his wedding, Shaul knows that his actions can be construed in two ways. If Shaul willingly accepts the kingship, then he would publicize the mutual love that he and Hashem bear for one another. Hashem graciously chooses Shaul, and Shaul graciously obliges. But, Shaul reasons, if he hides under the baggage, then his appointment to the kingship will appear more as a matter of forced consequence. The populous will perceive him merely as the destined beneficiary of Hashem’s obligation to appoint a king, but not as G-d’s beloved.

Tznius characterizes much more than the mere disclosure of personal information. Instead, a tzanua must hold the intimacy of a mutual love with utmost regard, regardless of the consequences. In Rachel’s case, her tznius resulted in an undesired consequence, and she ultimately shared her beloved husband with three rival wives. In Shaul’s case, his tznius had no effect; the nation’s ignorance of his relationship with Hashem certainly had no directly negative consequences, but it yielded no constructive affect either. And in Esteir’s case, her tznius resulted in one of the most fortunate outcomes in the history of Klal Yisrael. But the benefits of Esteir’s secrecy do not detract from her tznius, for her intent was nonetheless pure.

From the commoner’s perspective, Esteir’s ascension to royalty was the mundane outcome of her immense beauty and Achashveirosh’s unquenchable desire. Esteir withheld two facets of her identity from public knowledge, her nationality and her lineage, because each of these facets hinted towards a much grander scheme.

1) Esteir’s nationality: Nevuchadnetzar exiled Esteir’s nation to Bavel and dismantled their kingship seventy-four years earlier. By no small coincidence, Esteir replaced Vashti, the last remnant of Nevuchadnetzar’s descent, as Achashveirosh’s queen, signifying the downfall of Nevuchadnetzar’s legacy.

2) Esteir’s lineage: When Shaul disappointed Hashem by not annihilating Amaleik, Shmuel declared, “Hashem has torn the kingship of Yirsael from you and given it to your friend who is better than you.” Again, by no small coincidence, when Achashveirosh decrees Vashti’s death, he writes in his law book that “her kingship be given to her friend who is better than her,” and Shaul’s descendent Esteir just happens to assume Vashti’s position.

Esteir recognized immediately that Hashem desired her to replace Vashti as Achashveirosh’s queen, and she graciously seized the opportunity. However, Esteir also understood that her ascension to royalty was not a public matter, not a bargaining chip for her personal gain. Even after Achashveirosh lifted taxes and threw parties in her honor, Esteir never considered disclosing her identity, even if it would bring her nation tremendous honor and wealth. Although those potential benefits would affect not only Esteir but the entire Klal Yisrael, Esteir nonetheless refused to manipulate her predicament for any gain whatsoever.

Perhaps we can apply our definition of tznius to the woman with no hand. If this woman is truly a tzanua, then the love she harbors for her husband should overwhelm any inclination to manipulate her situation, even for her own personal gain. Do we really expect such a woman to stealthily conceal her blemish? Would she really care whether her husband notices? And if this man is a tzanua, then the love he harbors for his wife should likewise overwhelm any concern he would have over whether his wife is missing a hand or not. So again, why would the wife need to hide her hand?

We are therefore forced to concede that this woman actually did not stealthily conceal her missing hand, for there was absolutely no need for her to do so. The love she and her husband had for one another transcended the other lesser aspects of their relationship to the extent that the husband never even noticed that his wife was missing a hand until after she died! Rav exclaimed, “behold how tzanua this woman was, for her love was so strong and her relationship was so carefree that her husband never even noticed her missing hand!” Rabbi Chiya replied, “this is not necessarily so, perhaps she did not fall so madly in love as to overlook her missing hand, but her husband certainly did. Behold how tzanua he is!”

One of the most beautiful products of Rav and Rabbi Chiya’s dialogue is the indeterminacy over who the tzanua member of this relationship was. Perhaps it was the husband, perhaps it was the wife. Perhaps they were both tzanua. No matter what, the love they shared was between them and them alone, and they never disclosed the intimacy and intensity of their relationship. Behold how tzanua they both were!

And so Esteir, Shaul, Rachel and this woman with no hand (and her husband) all exemplify tznius to the purest degree. They forgo all personal gain and ignore all potential setback, and they pursue a relationship far more meaningful than their respective petty desires. They withhold the details of their relationship because these details mean far more to them than to the public. And their relationships provide all the satisfaction they could ever desire.

However, halfway through the Megila, Esteir breaks away from this mold. Mordechai orders that she reveal her identity in order to save her nation, and she does exactly as ordered! According to the gemara (Meseches Megila, 16a), Esteir even discloses her royal ancestry, at which point Achashveirosh resolves to speak directly to her without any intermediary. Clearly Esteir intends to use her identity for a personal gain. She wishes to save Am Yisrael, and to save her own life.

At first glance, one could justify Esteir’s actions in light of her mortally dire predicament. After all, Esteir is in the unique position to save her nation. Her situation seems as clear an indication as she will ever receive that she must reveal her nationality to Achashveirosh! But then does Esteir really need to divulge her lineage? Come to think of it, does she really need to reveal that she herself is a Jewess in order to influence Achashveirosh to spare the Jews? Why can’t she just ask for a favor? After all, if Esteir is so certain that she must save Klal Yisrael, then anything she does (or doesn’t do for that matter) will have very little effect anyhow. It seems that the more Esteir convinces herself she is destined to save Klal Yisrael from the evil grasp of Haman HaRashah, the less important it becomes to reveal all this personal information, for her efforts will obviously prove fortuitous anyhow!

Mordechai said [to Hasach] to reply to Esteir, “Do not consider your life to escape the palace from among all the Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, salvation will arrive for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish.”

Esteir 4:13,14

“Al Tidami BiNafsheich, do not consider your life.” [Al Tidami means] don’t think about, like Ka’Asher Dimisi, “And as I thought about” (BaMidbar 33:56). Do not consider fleeing on the day of the murder [by hiding] in the palace, for you do not even wish to risk yourself now when you might [be killed] for approaching the king without permission.

Rashi, Esteir 4:13

Modechai rebukes Esteir for her unwillingness to approach Achashveirosh and save her nation. As Rashi explains, the word “Tidami” refers to Esteir’s mindset, that her thoughts were focused on saving her own life, and that she should not bear such thoughts. Normally, a tzanua harbors deeply personal information and therefore refuses to disclose it, even for personal gain. In Esteir’s case, however, the very withholding of this information was itself a self-centered gain. Esteir hoped by remaining silent that she could avoid the “day of murder.” But Mordechai, in one sentence of rebuke, points out to Esteir that her tznius stems from her selfless regard for her unique role within a universally grand scheme. Therefore, the moment she selfishly abandons this role, she can be certain Hashem will abandon His use for her within His plan. “Salvation will arrive from another place,” Mordechai warns Esteir, “and you and your father’s house will perish.” Yes, it’s a tremendous coincidence that a Jewess should assume Vashti’s royal throne, and a descendant of Shaul HaMelech no less, but is it really necessary that Yisrael’s salvation come from that Jewess? Nothing is necessary, Mordechai reminds Esteir, except for the utter and selfless devotion of one’s life and deeds towards the fulfillment of Hashem’s Ratzon.

Esteir has no idea how she will ever convince Achashveirosh to spare her nation, let alone her. She invites Haman to her party; if Achashveirosh gets mad for even for a second, perhaps she will have a chance to turn the tables on Haman. Or maybe Achashveirosh will suspect that both she and Haman are plotting against him and order their execution, thereby negating Haman’s decrees. Or maybe some other unprecedented miracle will occur. All Esteir knows for certain is that she must disclose her identity and let go of the silly thought that she can manipulate her situation to her advantage.

“If I have found favor in the King’s eyes… the King and Haman should come to the party I will make for them [tomorrow], and tomorrow I will fulfill the King’s word.”

Esteir 5:8

“I will fulfill the King’s word,” what you asked of me all these years, to reveal my nation and lineage to you.

Rashi, Esteir 5:8

Not only does Esteir reveal her identity, but she commits to doing so a day in advance! If Esteir doesn’t even have a plan, if she has no idea how she will overturn Haman’s decree or how long it might take to do so, why does she commit herself to disclosing her nationality and lineage? Perhaps this commitment expresses how little Esteir truly deemed herself capable of controlling her predicament. Esteir knew her actions would work out for the best, but she could not imagine how. She planted a few minor obstacles for Haman to trip over but ultimately relied on Hashem’s oversight of the situation, and therefore relinquished control of her only security, the secrecy of her identity.

At the heart of tznius lies the obliteration of all personal agendas in lieu of a much more meaningful existence. We are each blessed with incredible qualities, but sometimes we cannot even recognize these qualities as gifts, for we cannot accept that they are bestowed to us by Hashem. Rachel shared her husband’s love with three other wives. Shaul relinquished his crown. Esteir forfeited her relationship to Mordechai and her commitment to a Jewish family by willingly sleeping with Achashveirosh. All three could have easily and almost justifiably rued their blessings. But none did, for they understood the grand role they played within an even grander scheme of events, and that no matter how their nation arrives at a Geula Shleimah, they will have played a just and meaningful part.

Esteir’s efforts propelled her nation towards this Geulah Shleimah, but Klal Yisrael’s mission, even two thousand years later, is far from complete, and the struggle of Purim is not only commemorated in each generation, but also relived. Hashem bestows every individual of every generation, us included, with unique qualities and the capacity to change the world around him for the better. May we recognize the incredible gifts Hashem provides for us, use them for a greater purpose than our own personal exploits, and bring a Geulah Shleimah soon and in our days.

Parashat VaYikra

“And [the Korban Oleh] will appease on [its owner’s] behalf.” On what [transgression] does it appease? If you say on [transgressions that incur] Kares, Misas Beis Din, Misah Bidei Shamayim, or Malkos, [this Korban cannot be their remedy for] their punishments are explicit[ly stated in the Torah]. This [Korban] must appease [exclusively for the transgression of] a Mitzvas Assei and a Lav that can be rectified with an Assei [for these transgressions have no explicit remedies].

Rashi, VaYikra 1:4

The Ramban questions Rashi’s deduction. The Torah only specifies punishments for intentional transgressions, but if one sins accidentally, he does not get Kares, Misah, or Malkos. Why then, the Ramban wonders, can’t the Olah appease for those accidental sins as well?

In Rashi’s defense, the Ramban suggests that the Torah would have specified the punishment for the Aveira BiShogeig had there been a punishment. The Torah’s silence on the matter is itself a proof that one owes no appeasement for an accidental sin. This is implicit from Rashi’s blanket statement, “their punishments are explicit,” suggesting that all existent consequences for such actions are already stated in the Torah.

A lot of confusion stems from the blending of two ideas, punishment and appeasement. To illustrate the confusion at hand, consider the Ramban’s hypothetical outlook on the purpose of a Korban Olah. The pasuk states that the Olah appeases G-d, and Rashi questions for what it appeases. However, one does not attempt to appease in cases where he has already incurred a punishment; were this so, one could have brought an Olah to avoid or allay Chivei Kares and Chivei Misah. Additionally, one does not attempt to appease in cases where he has not incurred a punishment; were this so, one could have brought an Olah for Aveiros BiShogeig. According to the Ramban, then, when does one attempt to appease G-d?

According to the Ramban, the window for appeasement over an Aveirah exists only when Hashem does not explicitly commit towards meting a certain punishment within the Torah. In other words, Hashem punishes man for violating Mitzvos Assei, but Hashem does not explicitly commit to the punishment; therefore, if one attempts appeasement for such an Aveirah, Hashem would accept his appeasement and forgo his due punishment.

Note closely that the Olah is itself not considered a punishment, nor is its offering a consequence of the owner’s misdeeds. Rather, one who brings an Olah attains a closeness to Hashem that indirectly saves him from due Onesh. Rashi expresses this notion within his opening comments to the Korban Olah.

“When a man brings from you,” The pasuk speaks of a donated offering.

Rashi, VaYikra 1:2

The Levush HaOrah explains Rashi’s inference. The pasuk sounds as if it singles out an individual from among the crowd as the owner of this Korban; however, “when a man from [among] you brings” would be more grammatically accurate. The attachment of “from you” to the act of bringing expresses the inspiration behind this offering, that the individual inspires himself to come closer to Hashem and is not influenced by external sources. Therefore, if one brings an Olah out of obligation or any feeling of necessity, it cannot accomplish the appeasement discussed in our parasha. Furthermore, the Olah does not necessarily directly accomplish any appeasement.

Rava said, “The Korban Olah is [merely] a gift [and cannot atone for any sin]. If he has not yet done Teshuva, then ‘a sacrifice of the wicked is abominable’ (Mishlei 21:27). And if he has done Teshuva, then the Breissa says his atonement [for the violation of a Mitzvas Assei] depends on Mechila [and not a Korban]. Rather, it must be a gift.

Meseches Zevachim, 7b

At first glance, Rava’s stance blatantly contradicts Rashi’s assessment of the Olah. This is more of a difficulty for Rava than it is for Rashi, since Rashi’s opinion is really that of the Tanna Rabbi Akiva (see Meseches Yoma, 36a). However, if one accepts that the Korban is itself not the atonement but rather an appeasement of Hashem’s anger, then the Korban can itself encourage the necessary Mechila. Rava therefore agrees that the Korban does more than just transfer one’s property to Hashem’s possession; the Korban, by virtue of its status as a gift, encourages the Mechila necessary for Kapara.

Parashat Fikudei

If it is good to the King, [he should] write to destroy [the Jews] and I will pay 10,000 Kikar of silver by the hands of the laborers to the King’s treasury.

Megilas Esteir, 3:9

Haman wasn’t the only anti-Semite of his generation. In fact, the Malbim explains, the populous hated the Jews so much they would pay money to kill a Jew! Haman assessed a certain price per Jewish head, added up the values, charged the nations this value, estimated the total monetary gain at 10,000 Kikar, and promised this money to the King. The language Haman uses to describe the agents of this genocide, Osei HaMelacha, hints back at a different event in history, the construction of the Mishkan:

Said Reish Lakish: It was known before the One Who spoke “Let the World be” that Haman would pay Shekalim for Yisrael; therefore, He preceded their [obligation to bring] Shekalim before his.

Meseches Megila, 13b

I heard that 10,000 Kikar of silver corresponds to a half-Shekel from each Jew (who were 600,000 when they left Mitzrayim) and [Haman] said to give to Achashveirosh their entire Pidyon. Check this yourself and you will see.

Tosafos, Megila 16a

Tosafos completes the striking parallel that Chazal outlined centuries earlier. Hashem commands that Klal Yisrael pay for their own lives years before Haman places a price on their heads. When Haman finally comes to power, Hashem considers the Jews to have already bought themselves, thus guaranteeing their salvation.

If only it were that simple. Unfortunately, 600,000 half-Shekels does not equal 10,000 Kikar after all. According to the pasuk in Parashat Fikudei (38:27), the 603,550 half-Shekels donated amounted to about 100 Kikar (plus another 1775/3000 Shekalim, to be precise). To make matters simpler and the numbers rounder, Tosafos approximates the total to 600,000 half-Shekalim, bringing the total quantity of collected silver to exactly 100 Kikar, 9,900 Kikar short of Haman’s estimate.

As for Tosafos’s approximation, there are two possible ways to justify the oversight of the extra 1775 Shekalim. The pasuk also states that 100 Kikar of silver was used to cast the 100 Adanim of the Ohel Mo’eid (48 Krashim, two Adanim per Keresh, and 4 Amudim holding up the Paroches, one Oden per Amud). The rest of the silver was used to hold up the Klayim, the curtains around the Chatzer (by means of hooks and belts). It is therefore possible that Tosafos focuses only on the significance of the silver used in making the Ohel Mo’eid. Secondly, Tosafos doesn’t say that only 600,000 donated half-Shekalim but rather that 600,000 people ascended from Mitzrayim, which happened the year before the collection of Shekalim. In other words, Tosafos might possibly only focus on the Shekalim of the Yotzei Mitzrayim, the Jews above the age of twenty when the nation was initially redeemed. Regardless of Tosafos’s intent, there are certainly enough Midrashim that refer to Klal Yisrael as 60 myriad strong to justify this approximation; this difficulty therefore does not fall upon Tosafos’s shoulders but rather upon those of the Midrashim.

As for Tosafos’s miscalculation, there are again two possible ways to assess the disparity in Shekel values. The Shekalim of Haman’s era were worth exactly half that of a Shekel Kodesh; therefore, whether one presumes that Haman’s 10,000 Kikar were Kikar Kodesh or Kikar Chol will affect the math. If one assumes he charged Kikar Kodesh, then Haman promised Achashveirosh exactly 100 times the value of Yisrael’s Shekalim. If one assumes he charged Kikar Chol, then Haman pledged only 50 times more.

The Chizkuni takes the latter approach. He explains that Klal Yisrael gave half-Shekalim on a yearly basis. Each Jew begins donating at the age of 20 and lives, on average, to the age of 70, thereby donating 50 half-Shekalim along the course of his life. Haman’s Shekalim, therefore, correspond to the cumulative donations of the 600,000 Yotzei Mitzrayim.

The Chizkuni’s proposal is by far the most popular resolution to Tosafos’s comments; the Ba”Ch, Maharsha, and Rabbeinu Bachya all take this stance. However, the calculation does little to explain a third difficulty within Tosafos, namely the placement of this esoteric comment. Presumably, Tosafos should compare Yisrael’s Shekalim to Haman’s where the gemara says that Hashem preceded their obligation before Haman’s. Instead, Tosafos comments on a completely different incident:

Haman arrived to ride Mordechai on the King’s horse, and saw him teaching the Rabanan the laws of Kemitza… he asked [the Rabanan,] “what were you discussing?” They replied to him, “when the Beis HaMikdash stood, one who promised a Mincha would bring a Kometz of fine wheat flour, and this would atone for him.” [Haman] replied, “along came your Kometz of flour and wiped away my 10,000 silver Shekalim!”

Meseches Megila, 16a

Tosafos’s comments look like an aside, an alternative means by which Klal Yisrael pushed away the Shekalim of Haman. Perhaps one could say Tosafos even contradicts the gemara at hand! Why then should these comments appear in regard to the conversation between Haman and the Rabanan? Why not comment where Reish Lakish discusses the Shekalim of Yisrael?

Perhaps Tosafos’s comments don’t really contradict this gemara but rather provide a resolution between Reish Lakish’s statement and Haman’s gesture, somehow connecting the significance of the Kometz to that of Yisrael’s Shekalim.

The Aruch LaNeir favors the former approach, the notion that Haman paid in Kikar Kodesh. By this count, Haman offered one hundred times the donation of Klal Yisrael. Taking note of Tosafos’s use of the Lashon “Pidyon,” the Aruch LaNeir reasons that the Pidyon (Erech, as detailed in Parashat BeChukosai) of an average male, one between the age of 20 and 60, is 50 Shekel Kodesh. Each member of Klal Yisrael, therefore, donated a hundredth of his essential value towards the building and upkeep of the Mishkan. The Torah’s concept of Terumah is to donate a hundredth the value of one’s possessions (for the only MiDi’oraissa Terumah is Terumas Ma’aseir); therefore, Hashem made each Jew bring a Terumah of his Erech, as the pasuk says, “Machatzis HaShekel Terumah LaHashem” (Shemos 30:13). Haman, on the other hand, donated their entire value, Kol Pidyonam.

By the Aruch LaNeir’s measure, the money Haman paid and the money Yisrael donated were indeed not equal. In fact, this was exactly Haman’s intent, to outweigh Klal Yisrael’s measly donations and buy out each individual. Haman set his price at fifty Shekel per Jewish head; any Goi could simply pay this Erech for the right to kill a Jew.

But Haman’s calculation was for naught, for he misunderstood the very essence of a Terumah. The notion of offering only a hundredth of one’s possessions to Hashem is not an act of stinginess; rather, the retention of the other ninety-nine hundredths acknowledges that the goods and benefits Hashem gives to Man in this world are meant to be enjoyed, to be appreciated, and to bring him closer to a true love for his Maker. Of course, the offering of Terumah reminds him where the other ninety-nine percent comes from, thereby allowing him to appreciate and love Hashem as the source of all good.

In Hashem’s eyes, Haman’s 50 Shekel bounty was a relatively meaningless gesture. The gesture of Terumah has enduring properties, for it not only increases the donor’s awareness of Hashem’s presence at the time of the donation but also every time he partakes of the leftover ninety-nine percent. The Erech bears no such effect. Once he donor pays off his obligation, he can proceed with his life without ever again considering his donation, withot ever considering Hashem’s presence.

In this sense, the Kometz plays a very similar role in combating Haman’s Shekalim. A Korban Mincha consists of a large quantity of flour, usually some oil, and some Levonah. The Kohein removes a fraction of this Mincha and burns it on the Mizbei’ach to Hashem, in turn permitting the rest of the flour for the Kohanim’s consumption. How little flour is donated to Hashem and how much flour is enjoyed by the Kohanim! Yet with that miniscule Azkarah, the Mincha becomes Kodesh Kadashim MeiIshei Hashem (VaYikra 2:3), worthy to be enjoyed by Man through his recognition of Hashem.

Rashi comments that Mordechai was teaching the Rabbanan about Kemitza that morning because the topic pertained to the matters of that day, namely the 16^th of Nissan. When the Beis HaMikdash stood, this was the day that Klal Yisrael would bring the Korban Omer.

The Maharsha takes serious issue with this conjecture. Granted the Omer required a Kemitza, but the Rabbanan clearly state to Haman that Mordechai was teaching about the Kometz of fine wheat flour, and the Korban Omer is brought of barley! This, however, is no question at all, for Rashi never said that Mordechai instructed regarding the details of the Korban Omer, but rather regarding the Inyan, the essence of these laws. Before the Korban Omer is brought, a Jew may only use Kemach Yashan, grain harvested in the previous year. But after the Korban, one can use even the new grain, the Kemach Chadash. In this sense, the Korban Omer is exactly like the Azkarah of the Kemitza. Man, with just the smallest donation of barley to Hashem, a donation one would hardly consider fit for human consumption, can enjoy his entire year’s produce.

With these words, Mordechai offered Chizuk to the Rabbanan, promising them that no matter how little of themselves they could offer to Hashem, so long as they remain aware of His presence and committed to His service, they should never doubt their share in this world and should never question whether Hashem would come to their rescue. May we be Zocheh to the same in our days, to give of what we have and in turn appreciate and love Hashem through our enjoyment of the rest. May the good we intend towards G-d and towards one another precede the bad our enemies intend towards us, as the Shiklei Yisrael preceded the Shiklei Haman and gave Hashem what to cherish about His nation. And may we bring a Geula Shleimah BaAgalah, return to offering the Kometz Minchah, and achieve a full and sincere Kapara.