“And Betzaleil Ben Uri… did all that Hashem commanded to Moshe.”
It does not write here “that which Moshe commanded him,” but rather “that which Hashem commanded Moshe,” [implying] even things that his teacher Moshe did not instruct. [Betzaleil] determined that which was said to Moshe on Sinai. Moshe told him to first build the Keilim of the Mishkan and then build the building, and Betzaleil replied “But it is customary in this world to first construct the building and then place the Keilim inside of it? Shouldn’t I build the Mishkan first?” [Moshe] said to him, “Such did I hear from Hashem; you obviously must be standing in G-d’s shadow [to have determined this ruling all on your own]!” And so [Betzaleil] made the Mishkan first and then he made the Keilim.
Rashi, Pekudei 38:22
Rashi here describes Betzaleil’s claim to fame, the accomplishment for which he was named. As the leader of the Mishkan’s construction, Betzaleil was the genius who could build the most complex structures from scratch. He had the mental clarity to explain anything to anyone, to make the most difficult instructions look simple. Here, he corrects his teacher Moshe, and is Mechavein to the words of Hakadosh Baruch Hu all on his own.
But what was so special about Betzaleil’s correction in the first place? He receives a command from his teacher and he appeals based on the customs of the world! It would be one thing if Moshe would respond “Oops, my mistake,” but what makes Betzaleil’s simple correction so incredible that Moshe responds “Shema BiTzeil Keil Hayeesa.” Furthermore, didn’t it ever occur to Betzaleil that perhaps the construction the Mishkan might transcend the customs of the world? Why would he ever think Moshe reversed the instructions?
Lastly, we must wonder what Moshe meant when he replied “Such did I hear from Hashem.” If Moshe heard Betzaleil’s instructions from Hashem, why wouldn’t he explain it correctly to Betzaleil. One could speculate perhaps Moshe forgot what he was instructed, as the Gur Aryeh does. One could also speculate that Moshe meant, “Hashem instructed me to build the Keilim first, but I like your way more,” as the Mizrachi does. But both ways seem lacking. The Levush HaOrah emphatically rejects both the Mizrachi’s and the Gur Aryeh’s interpretations of Rashi here. “How could it be that Moshe forgot that which Hashem taught him,” the Levush HaOrah writes. “Chas Vishalom one would ever suggest that of even the smallest Navi, Kal ViChomer Moshe Rabbeinu! And would Moshe ever accept his students reasoning above the command of a King? Of course not!” Therefore, the Levush HaOrah offers an alternative solution.
The biggest problem with the Mizrachi’s and Gur Aryeh’s explanations is that if we look in Parashat VaYakheil, we do find Moshe instructing the construction in the proper order, Es Mishkan Es Ahalo ViEs Michseihu. It is only in Parashat Terumah where Moshe mentions the Aron and the Shulchan and the Menorah etc. and then the pillars and covers. Therefore, when Rashi says Moshe didn’t instruct Betzaleil, what he really means is that Moshe didn’t instruct Betzaleil clearly or explicitly. He delivered instructions to the nation twice, changed the order between the two times, and left it to Betzaleil to figure out which of his instructions correctly detailed the process’s proper order and which instruction did not. Betzaleil therefore approached Moshe with the obvious question, which order is the correct order. Betzaleil also added in his question, “Perhaps I should build the Oheil first and the Keilim second because that is the standard order we follow in this world. Is my guess correct?” And Moshe responded “Such did I hear from Hashem, your guess is 100% correct.”
What the Levush HaOrah fails to explain, however, is why Betzaleil’s question should warrant such praise from his rebbe. Especially now that we see Betzaleil had a 50/50 chance of guessing correctly, what was so impressive about his input? He didn’t even win an argument over his rebbe anymore; he just applied common sense.
Apparantly, there must be something more than common sense to Betzaleil’s inference. But if Betzaleil didn’t just apply common sense, how did he come to the correct solution? How could Betzaleil tell which of Moshe’s instructions was in the proper order and which one served an alternate purpose? Let’s take a look at Betzaleil two options. Either the Aron was to be built first and the Oheil was listed first in VaYakheil for a separate reason, or the Oheil was to be built first and the Aron was listed first in Terumah for a separate reason. This “separate reason,” one would speculate, should be the reason why the Mishkan is being built in the first place, which is “ViShachanti BiSocham,” to establish a closer relationship with Hashem even after the distancing caused by the Cheit HaEigel. Therefore, Betzaleil had to discern which of these objects, the Oheil or the Aron, would facilitate closeness between the Bnei Yisrael and Hashem.
The correct choice is not so obvious. In fact, we need a Kasuv Shlishi, in Parashat Naso (7:89), to break up a contradiction between two pasukim in the Torah, one pasuk in Terumah (25:22) that implies that the voice came from above the Kapores upon the Aron, and a different pasuk in VaYikra (1:1) that implies that the voice came from the Ohiel. Betzaleil’s reasoning now becomes a real accomplishment, for not even Chazal could figure out from where the Shechina’s voice eminated without a drasha in the Torah. What then was Betzaleil’s incredible chidush?
The Cheit HaEigel was a result of the Bnei Yisrael’s feelings of distance from HaKadosh Baruch Hu; it refelcted their need for a physical intermediary. The Mishkan served as a solution to the Eigel because it served as a way the nation could physically feel Hashem’s presence within their midst. Therefore, before Hashem could communicate to the nation, His presence would have to be recognizable; only then would the Shechina reside in the camp’s midst. Between the Aron and the Oheil, the item that best facilitated this feeling of presence was the Oheil.
Betzaleil reasoned, “Common sense dictates that before one can recognize the physical presence of Hashem in this world, He should have a physical resting spot. The way of the world is that one first defines a space, and then fills it; one must always define a set environment before one can begin to discuss the notion of ‘presence.’ Presence can only be defined within a limited window of space and time, and only the Oheil allows for Hashem to have presence, not vice versa.”
Were the purpose of Binyan HaMishkan been for Hashem to simply speak to us, then the Aron would be considered the first item in the order of the construction because the Aron would be the Kli which would enable Hashem to speak from the Oheil. Without an Aron, there would be no place for the Shchina to dwell, and then the Oheil wouldn’t serve any purpose without an inhabitant. But Betzaeil wisely recognized there was more to the Mishkan than its purpose as a meeting place; it was a designated and defined meeting place.
This was the great Chidush of Betzaleil Ben Uri. And when Moshe heard how he reasoned the purpose for the Mishkan and understood exactly why it was being built, Moshe understood just how special Betzaleil was. He didn’t just make complex instructions sound simple, he could analyze an object, break down its components, and conclude what purpose it served from his analysis of those individual components. Betzaleil understood the interworkings of the not just the Keilim of the Mishkan, but of even their individual components, the gold silver copper etc. Perhaps this is what Rashi means to teach us when he introduces Fikudei as “the parasha that lists each metal as a component, pieces it together into Keilim and then constructs an interwoven Avodas HaYom out of those Keilim.”
While the parasha may seem like a total repeat of everything we described in Terumah, Titzaveh, Ki Tisa, and VaYakheil, Fikudei does much more. It is the parasha that overviews the entire construction process, from the little half bits of silver until the setting of whole loaves of bread. It is the parasha that recognizes the incredible detail accounted for within every grand process, that even a process as grand as Binyan HaMishkan is made up of nothing more than the design of this physical realm.
11.3.05
2.3.05
Parashat VaYakheil
Within his argument to Iyov’s three advisors, Elifaz Tzofar and Bildad, Elihu questions their right to accuse Hashem of mistreating their friend. Elihu remarks, “HaAmor LaMelech Bliya’al, Rashah El Nidivim?!” Would you ever call a king or nobles by derogatory names [despite the fact that they show unjust favoritism]?! Of course not! Elihu then draws a Kal ViChomer: “Asher Lo Nasa P’nei Sarim, ViLo Nikar Sho’a Lifnei Dal, Ki Ma’asei Yadav Kulam.” Then to Hashem, Who doesn’t raise the faces of officers [above others’] and doesn’t recognize an officer above a pauper, for they are all the work of His hands, [surely you would not blasphemy!] (Iyov 34:18-19).
It’s a very simple philosophy, but it bears a very simple flaw. Perhaps the reason one doesn’t call the king derogatory names is because the king shows favoritism. If one gets on the king’s bad side, then the king won’t unjustly favor him over other people. But perhaps one would naturally blasphemy Hashem; after all, He doesn’t favor one person over another, like a human king does. And even if there were consequences to blaspheming both a regular king and the Melech Malchei Melachim, Elihu still couldn’t draw a Kal ViChomer?
It’s quite likely that we are grossly misinterpreting Elihu’s advice, especially after we see the way Rashi uses these pasukim within his peirush on this week’s parasha. Rashi comments on the appointment of Ahaliav Ben Achisamach, from the lowly tribe of Dan, that Hashem intentionally equated this lowly man to Betzaleil Ben Uri, a man of noble lineage from the royal family of Yehuda. Why? In order to fulfill that which it says in the pasuk: “ViLo Nikar Sho’a Lifnei Dal.” In other words, Hashem’s appointment of Ahaliav, despite his lowly status, proves Elihu’s point in these pasukim, that Hashem does not favor the nobles over the paupers.
What a strange pasuk for Rashi to suggest as proof to Elihu’s point! Many great men came from lowly tribes, like Shimshon from Dan or Barak from Naftali; what makes Ahaliav any different? Furthermore, all those other people were outright leaders, chosen above all the other tribes to steer the nation in the right direction, but Ahaliav is equated to Betzaleil. If Hashem really wants to show that He does not favor the nobles over the paupers, why wouldn’t He appoint Ahaliav alone?
There is another, much more basic, question to be asked on this Rashi. Why is it written in Parashat VaYakheil? Why not mention this fact last week, by the introduction of Betzaleil and Ahaliav? This is the question of the Levush HaOrah, and he extends this question to another Rashi in our parasha. Just four pasukim earlier, Rashi comments that Chur is the son of Miriam. What is this doing in our parasha? Again, the Levush HaOrah asks why Rashi would inform us here instead of Ki Tisa, but in truth, one could really wonder why Rashi didn’t just tell us this back in BiShalach who Chur was back when he held up Moshe’s hands during the Bnei Yisrael’s battle against Amaleik.
The Levush HaOrah offers a possible answer to his challenge. If we look in Ki Tisa, we are not surprised to see Hashem introduce His appointment of Betzaleil with the Lashon of “Ri’eih,” as if to beseech Moshe’s approval. It is Hashem’s nature to act humbly and always consult those closest to him, like by the creation of Adam HaRishon. But when Moshe addresses the nation, he too declares “Re’eih Kara Hashem BiSheim Bitzaleil…” Why does Moshe require the approval of the nation? If Hashem were to command the Bnei Yisrael whom to appoint, they would surely listen!
Perhaps Moshe doesn’t require the nation’s approval to appoint Bitzaleil, but says “Re’eih” in order to appease them and reason with them why Betzaleil was appointed. Because Betzaleil is the great-grandson of Miriam, he is a relative of Moshe’s, and the people may begin to suspect Moshe of favoritism. They would claim that the appointment of Betzaleil was not by Hashem’s word but rather by Moshe’s own instruction. In anticipation, therefore, Moshe appeals to the nation’s common sense: “See for yourselves that Betzaleil was designated for this job by Hashem, for he is both a master artisan and a superb instructor. He clearly has the Ruach Elokim, and therefore he is right for the job.” Thus did Moshe prevent the people from suspecting him of favoritism.
The Levush HaOrah draws an interesting inference from this understanding of Rashi. Based on the pasukim of Ki Tisa alone, one would presume Betzaleil’s position was special, but not the most coveted job amongst the entire nation. But from Moshe’s appeal, it becomes clear just how great his concerns were, and just how great this position truly was. Because we don’t discover how coveted this job was until this week’s parasha, we can now understand why Rashi waits until here to equate Ahaliav to Betzaleil. Thus concludes the Levush HaOrah.
But we are left with a question; why appoint both? Why not only Ahaliav? Let’s back up a step. Part of the reason the Bnei Yisrael would come to covet this position is because of the lofty status of the person appointed to it. If they see a relative of Moshe’s – and a member of royalty too – assume the position, they would conclude that the position is obviously of very high esteem. Moshe would never let a man as special as Betzaleil assume a lowly job. But if Moshe would only appoint Ahaliav, what then would the people think? Would they still assume the job is worth their envy? Why would they ever envy a lowly member of Shevet Dan? In fact, the lowly lineage of Ahaliav would serve as an immediate remedy for any hostile feelings they might bear.
By equating Ahaliav to Betzaleil, Moshe forces the people to recognize that Ahaliav was designated for a position of high esteem. Because he is paired with a noble, we learn that no service to Hashem is considered too high for any individual (though some certain individuals were zocheh lofty positions based on their deeds).
And now we can make sense of Elihu’s Kal ViChomer. Elihu wasn’t just addressing any individual; he was specifically addressing the lowly individual. A lowly individual, like the devastated Iyov, would never receive anything of honor from any human king or any noble, and yet he would never consider speaking harshly to that king, though he never would expect to get anything in return for good grace. How much more so by Hashem, Who is willing to honor even the lowliest of individuals, should one never consider degrading His name or speaking bad of Him, for who knows what rewards await an unconditional allegiance to Him.
Elihu leaves us with a much more positive message. We do not merely believe that we are created equal; instead, we believe “Ki Ma’asei Yadav Kulam,” we are each carefully crafted by His hands to serve Him. We were each created with a special purpose, and a special potential to reach heights no human king or noble would ever permit, just like Ahaliav did.
Good Shabbos.
It’s a very simple philosophy, but it bears a very simple flaw. Perhaps the reason one doesn’t call the king derogatory names is because the king shows favoritism. If one gets on the king’s bad side, then the king won’t unjustly favor him over other people. But perhaps one would naturally blasphemy Hashem; after all, He doesn’t favor one person over another, like a human king does. And even if there were consequences to blaspheming both a regular king and the Melech Malchei Melachim, Elihu still couldn’t draw a Kal ViChomer?
It’s quite likely that we are grossly misinterpreting Elihu’s advice, especially after we see the way Rashi uses these pasukim within his peirush on this week’s parasha. Rashi comments on the appointment of Ahaliav Ben Achisamach, from the lowly tribe of Dan, that Hashem intentionally equated this lowly man to Betzaleil Ben Uri, a man of noble lineage from the royal family of Yehuda. Why? In order to fulfill that which it says in the pasuk: “ViLo Nikar Sho’a Lifnei Dal.” In other words, Hashem’s appointment of Ahaliav, despite his lowly status, proves Elihu’s point in these pasukim, that Hashem does not favor the nobles over the paupers.
What a strange pasuk for Rashi to suggest as proof to Elihu’s point! Many great men came from lowly tribes, like Shimshon from Dan or Barak from Naftali; what makes Ahaliav any different? Furthermore, all those other people were outright leaders, chosen above all the other tribes to steer the nation in the right direction, but Ahaliav is equated to Betzaleil. If Hashem really wants to show that He does not favor the nobles over the paupers, why wouldn’t He appoint Ahaliav alone?
There is another, much more basic, question to be asked on this Rashi. Why is it written in Parashat VaYakheil? Why not mention this fact last week, by the introduction of Betzaleil and Ahaliav? This is the question of the Levush HaOrah, and he extends this question to another Rashi in our parasha. Just four pasukim earlier, Rashi comments that Chur is the son of Miriam. What is this doing in our parasha? Again, the Levush HaOrah asks why Rashi would inform us here instead of Ki Tisa, but in truth, one could really wonder why Rashi didn’t just tell us this back in BiShalach who Chur was back when he held up Moshe’s hands during the Bnei Yisrael’s battle against Amaleik.
The Levush HaOrah offers a possible answer to his challenge. If we look in Ki Tisa, we are not surprised to see Hashem introduce His appointment of Betzaleil with the Lashon of “Ri’eih,” as if to beseech Moshe’s approval. It is Hashem’s nature to act humbly and always consult those closest to him, like by the creation of Adam HaRishon. But when Moshe addresses the nation, he too declares “Re’eih Kara Hashem BiSheim Bitzaleil…” Why does Moshe require the approval of the nation? If Hashem were to command the Bnei Yisrael whom to appoint, they would surely listen!
Perhaps Moshe doesn’t require the nation’s approval to appoint Bitzaleil, but says “Re’eih” in order to appease them and reason with them why Betzaleil was appointed. Because Betzaleil is the great-grandson of Miriam, he is a relative of Moshe’s, and the people may begin to suspect Moshe of favoritism. They would claim that the appointment of Betzaleil was not by Hashem’s word but rather by Moshe’s own instruction. In anticipation, therefore, Moshe appeals to the nation’s common sense: “See for yourselves that Betzaleil was designated for this job by Hashem, for he is both a master artisan and a superb instructor. He clearly has the Ruach Elokim, and therefore he is right for the job.” Thus did Moshe prevent the people from suspecting him of favoritism.
The Levush HaOrah draws an interesting inference from this understanding of Rashi. Based on the pasukim of Ki Tisa alone, one would presume Betzaleil’s position was special, but not the most coveted job amongst the entire nation. But from Moshe’s appeal, it becomes clear just how great his concerns were, and just how great this position truly was. Because we don’t discover how coveted this job was until this week’s parasha, we can now understand why Rashi waits until here to equate Ahaliav to Betzaleil. Thus concludes the Levush HaOrah.
But we are left with a question; why appoint both? Why not only Ahaliav? Let’s back up a step. Part of the reason the Bnei Yisrael would come to covet this position is because of the lofty status of the person appointed to it. If they see a relative of Moshe’s – and a member of royalty too – assume the position, they would conclude that the position is obviously of very high esteem. Moshe would never let a man as special as Betzaleil assume a lowly job. But if Moshe would only appoint Ahaliav, what then would the people think? Would they still assume the job is worth their envy? Why would they ever envy a lowly member of Shevet Dan? In fact, the lowly lineage of Ahaliav would serve as an immediate remedy for any hostile feelings they might bear.
By equating Ahaliav to Betzaleil, Moshe forces the people to recognize that Ahaliav was designated for a position of high esteem. Because he is paired with a noble, we learn that no service to Hashem is considered too high for any individual (though some certain individuals were zocheh lofty positions based on their deeds).
And now we can make sense of Elihu’s Kal ViChomer. Elihu wasn’t just addressing any individual; he was specifically addressing the lowly individual. A lowly individual, like the devastated Iyov, would never receive anything of honor from any human king or any noble, and yet he would never consider speaking harshly to that king, though he never would expect to get anything in return for good grace. How much more so by Hashem, Who is willing to honor even the lowliest of individuals, should one never consider degrading His name or speaking bad of Him, for who knows what rewards await an unconditional allegiance to Him.
Elihu leaves us with a much more positive message. We do not merely believe that we are created equal; instead, we believe “Ki Ma’asei Yadav Kulam,” we are each carefully crafted by His hands to serve Him. We were each created with a special purpose, and a special potential to reach heights no human king or noble would ever permit, just like Ahaliav did.
Good Shabbos.
25.2.05
Parashat Ki Tisa
One of Purim’s many colorful traditions is to dress in costume; these disguises serve a reminder that one cannot conceal his true identity forever. Such was true of Haman, who conspired with Achashveirosh to vanquish the kingdom of its worthless rebels, the Jews. Haman is eventually unveiled as the foe of an innocent nation and the usurper of the king’s power. The same is true of the Jews, who were beginning to lose faith in Hashem, as was demonstrated by their attendance at Achashveirosh’s feast. By the end of the Megilah, however, the nation does Teshuva and are well on their way to rebuilding the Beis HaMikdash within a few short years.
Lastly, we see this trait within Hashem Himself. His name does not appear once in the entire Megilah, but by the end of the incredible story, it becomes apparent just how large a role He plays within every detail of the unfolding plot. Thus does Hester Panim, the hiding of one’s face, become an underlying theme within the Megilah. It’s no coincidence then that the only mask we ever see mentioned in the Torah, Moshe’s Masveh, should be mentioned in a parasha that invariably coincides with the month of Adar.
Parashat Ki Tisa closes on a rather odd note, detailing the precise function of Moshe’s mask. The Torah never tells us where Moshe got this mask from; as soon as he finishes talking to the nation, he puts it on. Out of nowhere. Then it carefully describes exactly when Moshe would put it on and take it off; the procedure was to take it off upon entering the Ohel Mo’eid, to speak to Hashem, and to not put it back on until after having transmitted Hashem’s message to the people.
A hasty reading of these pasukim suggests that Moshe wore the mask to keep the people from being frightened of him. The first time they saw him, they refused to approach; Aharon first crept out to greet Moshe, then his sons, then the Zikeinim, and then the rest of the nation. But if Moshe decided to wear a mask in order not to startle the nation, why wouldn’t he wear it while relating Hashem’s message to them? A possible answer is that Moshe wanted to scare the people into listening to Hashem while addressing them, but didn’t want them to live in fear of him at all times; therefore, he wore the mask when he did not need to scare the nation into keeping the Mitzvos. However, this answer does not rest well, for Shmiras HaMitzvos is by no means a seasonal obligation, and if Moshe thought wearing the mask would help strike Morei Shamayim into the hearts of the nation, he would have no incentive to ever wear a Masveh in the first place.
The term Masveh itself suggests that the mask was for Moshe’s sake and not for the people’s. If the Hebrew term meant something like “shield” or “mask,” one could presume that the purpose it served was for those shielded from Moshe’s radiant face. But instead, Rashi notes, the Samech-Vav-Hey shoresh means “Habata,” gazing. It was the mask that allowed Moshe to look around because it had two slits for his eyes. This definition almost takes for granted the fact that Moshe had to wear a mask, implying that there was an obvious necessity to shielding Moshe’s face, a necessity much more urgent than calming the Jews. Indeed, Rashi says the Masveh served to protect the Kavod of Moshe’s Karnayim.
But Rashi’s Ha’arah – no pun intended – creates another question. From where did Moshe acquire these Karnayim in the first place that they should possess some certain subjective Kavod that Moshe must protect? We assume that the Karnayim were a gift to Moshe, a physical display of the holiness or splendor he possessed; but instead, we are now forced to claim that they were splendorous on their own right. What then did these Karnayim represent?
“And from where did Moshe receive these Karnei HaHod? Rav Yehuda Bar Nachman says in Reish Lakish’s name that when Moshe wrote the words instructed [by Hashem in pasuk 27], he left over extra [ink], and Hashem passed [that ink] over Moshe’s head, thus giving him Karnei Hahod. Therefore, the pasuk says, “And Moshe did not know his face was glowing…”
Tanchuma Ki Tisa, 37
What a strange pasuk to cite as proof! The Midrash offers more than one explanation for the Karnayim’s source, like when Hashem covered Moshe’s face with His hand (when He placed Moshe in the Nikras HaTzur and passed His Kavod by), the contact left this residual radiance. Since the pasuk says explicitly that Moshe didn’t know his face was glowing, even this opinion must conclude that Moshe was not aware that his contact with Hashem’s hand left any physical change to his face. So why would Reish Lakish use this pasuk to prove his opinion if every other explanation suggests that Moshe remained unaware afterward? Furthermore, at least the alternate opinion cited above explains why the Karnayim were not merely a reflection of Moshe’s own Kavod; they came directly from Hashem’s hand. But if they are the product of Moshe’s leftover ink, then Reish Lakish hasn’t even addressed the most vital aspect of the Midrash’s question!
The Eitz Yoseif answers that Reish Lakish’s proof actually comes from the continuation of the pasuk. The pasuk first states that Moshe decended with the Luchot, and then it mentions that he did not know his face was glowing, “Lo Yadah Ki Karan Or Panav BiDabiro Ito,” when he spoke with Hashem. The ending of the pasuk creates a dissonance in chronology, and therefore Reish Lakish comes to explain the meaning of these last two words. Because of their juxtaposition to Moshe’s glowing features, we attribute these words as the source of his Karnayim.
In order to understand the significance of Moshe’s leftover ink, we must first understand the importance of Moshe’s writing down Hashem’s words on Har Sinai (pasuk 27). If we examine the pesuchos and stumos of the parasha, we actually find that the final paragraph of this week’s sedrah begins with these instructions and ends with the Karnei HaHod, so there must be some connection between the two topics. Hashem commands, “K’sav Licha Es HaDivarim HaEileh,” which Chazal identify as exclusively the words of the Torah SheBiChtav. Hashem says to write them, implying that Torah SheBiAl Peh is not to be written. The pasuk clearly stresses the significance of Torah SheBiChtav. The gemara even states that the Mattan Torah of the Midbar was incomplete because the Bnei Yisrael only accepted Torah SheBiChtav, and Torah SheBiAl Peh was not NiKabeil until the time of Purim. This suggests that Hashem’s Bris did not obligate us to follow the Torah SheBiAl Peh.
It should therefore come as total shock that the “Devarim HaEileh” in the continuation of the pasuk, “…Ki Al Pi HaDivarim HaEileh Karati Iticha Bris ViEs Yisrael,” are labeled as Torah SheBiAl Peh by Chazal! What purpose does Torah SheBiAl Peh serve if the gemara clearly frees the nation from their obligations to the Unwritten Law until after the days of Mordechai and Ester? The Midrash Rabbah in this week’s parasha (47:4) offers an answer. “You shall not replace the words of Torah SheBiAl Peh with the words of Torah SheBiChtav, nor vice versa, for if you do, you will have violated this Bris.” Normally, we consider the treatment of a Mitzvah DiRabbanan as if it were a DiOreisa to be a violation of Ba’al Toseif, but a violation of our Bris with Hashem?!
Perhaps this Bris that the Midrash speaks of concerns a time prior to our Kabalas HaTorah SheBiAl Peh, before Purim. Until the Bnei Yisrael were truly ready to accept the endless Torah SheBiAl Peh (endless, as the pasuk in Koheles (12:12) says: “Asos Seforim Ein Keitz”), their only obligation was not to observe it, but only to recognize its infinite depth. In order to facilitate this recognition, Moshe spent his final forty days on Har Sinai learning the Torah SheBiAl Peh to the best of his ability and understanding (see Ba’al HaTurim to pasuk 28). When he left Har Sinai and returned to the nation, he possessed a large, though partial, understanding of Oral Law, enough for Bnei Yisrael to recognize the Torah’s tremendous depth, even if they weren’t meant to practice Halacha accordingly.
This is why Reish Lakish’s drasha comes from the words BiDabiro Ito. Reish Lakish held that the source of these Karnayim was the splendor and depth of the Torah SheBiAl Peh, and its radiance was the product of Moshe’s understanding (it’s no coincidence that at the time of Kimu ViKiblu in Migilas Ester, we say LaYehudim Hayisa Orah). And because Moshe was forbidden from writing down the Torah SheBiAl Peh, we attribute the source of these Karnayim to the leftover ink.
We also now recognize that the Karnei HaHod did in fact bear their own Kavod. Moshe’s mask did not shield the nation from seeing the light; rather, the mask shielded the light from shining into the aspects of this world where they did not belong, namely anything other than the transmission of Torah from Hashem to the Bnei Yisrael. Moshe wanted the people to see his Karnayim, he wanted them to recognize the Hod and depth within Hashem’s Torah SheBiChtav. At first they were scared that he would try to force Torah SheBiAl Peh on them as well, but those fears soon subsided.
Why the Torah SheBiAl Peh was a necessary element within our reestablished Bris with Hashem is a separate topic, one that deeply connects to the problems with the Bnei Yisrael’s worship of an Eigel Maseicha. Let us explore it very briefly. The Eigel was a solution to our lack of connection to Hashem. In Moshe’s absence, the people panicked and sought a more direct connection to their G-d; the Eigel was not intended as an alternative deity, but rather as an intermediary to Hashem. But what the Eigel lacked, unlike Torah SheBial Peh, was excruciating complexity. Maseicha, it should be noted, is a play on words, for while its simple meaning within the pasuk is “metal,” the word can also mean “mask.” The Eigel, above all, masked the greatness and splendor of Hashem and His Torah, and so the Bris established afterwards needed to address a much different facet of our relationship to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
We think of Torah SheBiAl Peh – the Mishnayos, Gemara, and myriad of later Peirushim – as an addendum to the Torah SheBiChtav; we think of it as an explanation of what was left vague and interpretable in the Tanach. But we rarely ever consider the values of these books’ drawn out methods of exegesis, the values of their lengthy conversations over oxen and eggs. We rarely consider how close a generation like Rabbi Akiva’s was able to come to Hashem, though they lived over a thousand years after Mattan Torah. Today, now two thousand years later, we should realize and recognize that as hard as we find it to reconnect with the generations of the Mishnayos or of Mattan Torah, there is one advantage we do possess – two thousand years of Amoraim, Ge’onim, Rishonim, and Achronim, all masterfully prepared to teach us how little we truly understand about Hashem and His Torah SheBiChtav.
Good Shabbos, and a Mazel Tov to the thousands of individuals who will be completing the Shisha Sidrei Talmud this upcoming Tuesday.
Lastly, we see this trait within Hashem Himself. His name does not appear once in the entire Megilah, but by the end of the incredible story, it becomes apparent just how large a role He plays within every detail of the unfolding plot. Thus does Hester Panim, the hiding of one’s face, become an underlying theme within the Megilah. It’s no coincidence then that the only mask we ever see mentioned in the Torah, Moshe’s Masveh, should be mentioned in a parasha that invariably coincides with the month of Adar.
Parashat Ki Tisa closes on a rather odd note, detailing the precise function of Moshe’s mask. The Torah never tells us where Moshe got this mask from; as soon as he finishes talking to the nation, he puts it on. Out of nowhere. Then it carefully describes exactly when Moshe would put it on and take it off; the procedure was to take it off upon entering the Ohel Mo’eid, to speak to Hashem, and to not put it back on until after having transmitted Hashem’s message to the people.
A hasty reading of these pasukim suggests that Moshe wore the mask to keep the people from being frightened of him. The first time they saw him, they refused to approach; Aharon first crept out to greet Moshe, then his sons, then the Zikeinim, and then the rest of the nation. But if Moshe decided to wear a mask in order not to startle the nation, why wouldn’t he wear it while relating Hashem’s message to them? A possible answer is that Moshe wanted to scare the people into listening to Hashem while addressing them, but didn’t want them to live in fear of him at all times; therefore, he wore the mask when he did not need to scare the nation into keeping the Mitzvos. However, this answer does not rest well, for Shmiras HaMitzvos is by no means a seasonal obligation, and if Moshe thought wearing the mask would help strike Morei Shamayim into the hearts of the nation, he would have no incentive to ever wear a Masveh in the first place.
The term Masveh itself suggests that the mask was for Moshe’s sake and not for the people’s. If the Hebrew term meant something like “shield” or “mask,” one could presume that the purpose it served was for those shielded from Moshe’s radiant face. But instead, Rashi notes, the Samech-Vav-Hey shoresh means “Habata,” gazing. It was the mask that allowed Moshe to look around because it had two slits for his eyes. This definition almost takes for granted the fact that Moshe had to wear a mask, implying that there was an obvious necessity to shielding Moshe’s face, a necessity much more urgent than calming the Jews. Indeed, Rashi says the Masveh served to protect the Kavod of Moshe’s Karnayim.
But Rashi’s Ha’arah – no pun intended – creates another question. From where did Moshe acquire these Karnayim in the first place that they should possess some certain subjective Kavod that Moshe must protect? We assume that the Karnayim were a gift to Moshe, a physical display of the holiness or splendor he possessed; but instead, we are now forced to claim that they were splendorous on their own right. What then did these Karnayim represent?
“And from where did Moshe receive these Karnei HaHod? Rav Yehuda Bar Nachman says in Reish Lakish’s name that when Moshe wrote the words instructed [by Hashem in pasuk 27], he left over extra [ink], and Hashem passed [that ink] over Moshe’s head, thus giving him Karnei Hahod. Therefore, the pasuk says, “And Moshe did not know his face was glowing…”
Tanchuma Ki Tisa, 37
What a strange pasuk to cite as proof! The Midrash offers more than one explanation for the Karnayim’s source, like when Hashem covered Moshe’s face with His hand (when He placed Moshe in the Nikras HaTzur and passed His Kavod by), the contact left this residual radiance. Since the pasuk says explicitly that Moshe didn’t know his face was glowing, even this opinion must conclude that Moshe was not aware that his contact with Hashem’s hand left any physical change to his face. So why would Reish Lakish use this pasuk to prove his opinion if every other explanation suggests that Moshe remained unaware afterward? Furthermore, at least the alternate opinion cited above explains why the Karnayim were not merely a reflection of Moshe’s own Kavod; they came directly from Hashem’s hand. But if they are the product of Moshe’s leftover ink, then Reish Lakish hasn’t even addressed the most vital aspect of the Midrash’s question!
The Eitz Yoseif answers that Reish Lakish’s proof actually comes from the continuation of the pasuk. The pasuk first states that Moshe decended with the Luchot, and then it mentions that he did not know his face was glowing, “Lo Yadah Ki Karan Or Panav BiDabiro Ito,” when he spoke with Hashem. The ending of the pasuk creates a dissonance in chronology, and therefore Reish Lakish comes to explain the meaning of these last two words. Because of their juxtaposition to Moshe’s glowing features, we attribute these words as the source of his Karnayim.
In order to understand the significance of Moshe’s leftover ink, we must first understand the importance of Moshe’s writing down Hashem’s words on Har Sinai (pasuk 27). If we examine the pesuchos and stumos of the parasha, we actually find that the final paragraph of this week’s sedrah begins with these instructions and ends with the Karnei HaHod, so there must be some connection between the two topics. Hashem commands, “K’sav Licha Es HaDivarim HaEileh,” which Chazal identify as exclusively the words of the Torah SheBiChtav. Hashem says to write them, implying that Torah SheBiAl Peh is not to be written. The pasuk clearly stresses the significance of Torah SheBiChtav. The gemara even states that the Mattan Torah of the Midbar was incomplete because the Bnei Yisrael only accepted Torah SheBiChtav, and Torah SheBiAl Peh was not NiKabeil until the time of Purim. This suggests that Hashem’s Bris did not obligate us to follow the Torah SheBiAl Peh.
It should therefore come as total shock that the “Devarim HaEileh” in the continuation of the pasuk, “…Ki Al Pi HaDivarim HaEileh Karati Iticha Bris ViEs Yisrael,” are labeled as Torah SheBiAl Peh by Chazal! What purpose does Torah SheBiAl Peh serve if the gemara clearly frees the nation from their obligations to the Unwritten Law until after the days of Mordechai and Ester? The Midrash Rabbah in this week’s parasha (47:4) offers an answer. “You shall not replace the words of Torah SheBiAl Peh with the words of Torah SheBiChtav, nor vice versa, for if you do, you will have violated this Bris.” Normally, we consider the treatment of a Mitzvah DiRabbanan as if it were a DiOreisa to be a violation of Ba’al Toseif, but a violation of our Bris with Hashem?!
Perhaps this Bris that the Midrash speaks of concerns a time prior to our Kabalas HaTorah SheBiAl Peh, before Purim. Until the Bnei Yisrael were truly ready to accept the endless Torah SheBiAl Peh (endless, as the pasuk in Koheles (12:12) says: “Asos Seforim Ein Keitz”), their only obligation was not to observe it, but only to recognize its infinite depth. In order to facilitate this recognition, Moshe spent his final forty days on Har Sinai learning the Torah SheBiAl Peh to the best of his ability and understanding (see Ba’al HaTurim to pasuk 28). When he left Har Sinai and returned to the nation, he possessed a large, though partial, understanding of Oral Law, enough for Bnei Yisrael to recognize the Torah’s tremendous depth, even if they weren’t meant to practice Halacha accordingly.
This is why Reish Lakish’s drasha comes from the words BiDabiro Ito. Reish Lakish held that the source of these Karnayim was the splendor and depth of the Torah SheBiAl Peh, and its radiance was the product of Moshe’s understanding (it’s no coincidence that at the time of Kimu ViKiblu in Migilas Ester, we say LaYehudim Hayisa Orah). And because Moshe was forbidden from writing down the Torah SheBiAl Peh, we attribute the source of these Karnayim to the leftover ink.
We also now recognize that the Karnei HaHod did in fact bear their own Kavod. Moshe’s mask did not shield the nation from seeing the light; rather, the mask shielded the light from shining into the aspects of this world where they did not belong, namely anything other than the transmission of Torah from Hashem to the Bnei Yisrael. Moshe wanted the people to see his Karnayim, he wanted them to recognize the Hod and depth within Hashem’s Torah SheBiChtav. At first they were scared that he would try to force Torah SheBiAl Peh on them as well, but those fears soon subsided.
Why the Torah SheBiAl Peh was a necessary element within our reestablished Bris with Hashem is a separate topic, one that deeply connects to the problems with the Bnei Yisrael’s worship of an Eigel Maseicha. Let us explore it very briefly. The Eigel was a solution to our lack of connection to Hashem. In Moshe’s absence, the people panicked and sought a more direct connection to their G-d; the Eigel was not intended as an alternative deity, but rather as an intermediary to Hashem. But what the Eigel lacked, unlike Torah SheBial Peh, was excruciating complexity. Maseicha, it should be noted, is a play on words, for while its simple meaning within the pasuk is “metal,” the word can also mean “mask.” The Eigel, above all, masked the greatness and splendor of Hashem and His Torah, and so the Bris established afterwards needed to address a much different facet of our relationship to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
We think of Torah SheBiAl Peh – the Mishnayos, Gemara, and myriad of later Peirushim – as an addendum to the Torah SheBiChtav; we think of it as an explanation of what was left vague and interpretable in the Tanach. But we rarely ever consider the values of these books’ drawn out methods of exegesis, the values of their lengthy conversations over oxen and eggs. We rarely consider how close a generation like Rabbi Akiva’s was able to come to Hashem, though they lived over a thousand years after Mattan Torah. Today, now two thousand years later, we should realize and recognize that as hard as we find it to reconnect with the generations of the Mishnayos or of Mattan Torah, there is one advantage we do possess – two thousand years of Amoraim, Ge’onim, Rishonim, and Achronim, all masterfully prepared to teach us how little we truly understand about Hashem and His Torah SheBiChtav.
Good Shabbos, and a Mazel Tov to the thousands of individuals who will be completing the Shisha Sidrei Talmud this upcoming Tuesday.
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