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.

Parashat Korach

The Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh suggests that Hashem’s consideration to destroy Klal Yisrael by the faults of Korach and his rebellious crowd is not necessarily as dramatically dire a moment as one might initially think. After all, Hashem often warns Moshe of the impending annihilation of his nation, and Moshe – always the successful arbiter – succeeds in dissuading Him out of His plan. So really Hashem’s resolutions are nothing more than an indication to Moshe that this is a good time to pray on the nation’s behalf. Indeed, Moshe and Aharon immediately fall to their faces and make their appeal:

“Keil Elokei HaRuchos LiChol Basar, HaEesh Echad Yechetah, ViAl Kol HaEidah Tiktzof?”

BaMidbar, 16:22

“Keil Elokei HaRuchos, [You are the G-d of all spirits and thereby] Knower of all thoughts. You are nothing like a human king, for when part of a human king’s nation rebels against him, he cannot know who has sinned and who has not; therefore, when he becomes enraged, he punishes all alike. But to You all thoughts are known, and You well know “HaEesh Echad Yechetah” – that only one man (Korach) – has sinned. Why then should You be angry at the rest of the nation?” HaKadosh Baruch Hu replied, “you have spoken well, I do know and I will make known those who have sinned and those who haven’t.”

Rashi, BaMidbar 16:22

As Rashi describes, Hashem at first considers wiping out the entire Am for their association with and support of Korach, as the previous pasuk states VaYakheil Aleihem Korach Es Kol HaEidah, Korach amassed the entire nation. Moshe then reminds Hashem that the people are acting improperly, but not to their own fault; rather, Korach is responsible for both his and the Kahal’s misdeeds.

There is a small incongruity, however, between the Ohr HaChaim’s assessment of our situation and Rashi’s description. Rashi approaches Moshe’s and Aharon’s “tefilla” as an appeal to Halacha. They argue that the people are not themselves rebels but rather victims of a single individual’s – a very charismatic individual at that – rebellion, and so they arrive at a different Din than does Hashem. This is not how we commonly picture tefilla. We normally imagine that Hashem determines the Halacha accurately, and then arrives at a Din, and then our prayers have the power to convert Hashem’s strict judgment into a merciful one.

Normally when Moshe argues on behalf of the nation, he focuses on the effects of a specific punishment. If Hashem were to wipe out the whole nation, what would the Mitzrim say? What would the Cana’anim say? And so on. Our parasha’s appeal is the genuine exception, for Moshe clearly disagrees with the very notion that the Bnei Yisrael are guilty altogether! How then does the Ohr HaChaim understand this “opening,” this opportunity Hashem leaves Moshe to rescue his nation, when the nation should not be in need of a rescue in the first place?!

Rashi lends us all the necessary information to answer these questions. There are a few extra words dropped about his commentary that provide us with some very useful hints. Most obviously, there was no need for Hashem to specify that He both “knows” and “will make known” which individual sinned and which ones did not. Moshe’s appeal lies squarely on the knowledge that Korach alone sinned, why then does Hahsem deem it necessary to inform Moshe that He will make this fact known to everyone else? Shouldn’t Moshe simply care that the Kahal won’t be killed?

There is an even more subtle hint dropped in the use of the term Ko’es, “enraged.” Moshe’s argument focuses on the king’s need to maintain control over his country, but his inability to do so without punishing the sinners. Therefore, whether the king is emotionally unstable or not, he is forced to exert brutal action to ensure control over the masses. Why then does Moshe refer Hashem to the case of the “enraged king” instead of simply “the king who does not read minds?”

Rashi’s employment of the element of Ka’as is certainly not his own idea, for Moshe Rabbeinu himself uses the very same idea in our pasuk, ViAl Kol HaEidah Tiktzof. Moshe doesn’t suggest that Hashem actively seeks to annihilate or even harm the Kahal; rather, Moshe accuses Hashem of getting mad at them, becoming indifferent of them, and leaving them to perish whether they deserve such a fate or not. How so?

Chazal tell us that when Hahsem administers His Midas HaDin, it does not differentiate between Tzadik and Rashah. One might imagine the opposite, that nothing would be more capable of differentiating between the two than pure justice. But perhaps what Chazal mean is that when Hashem lets the Malach HaMaves loose to destroy as a result of His Din, His Malach does not distinguish between the good and bad, and so all are fair game. We can then group the nation into three classes: Resha’im deserving of punishment; Tzadikim deserving of being warned to flee from the site of the impending Onesh; and Beinonim who are not the intended victims of Hashem’s Din yet are equally vulnerable.

This translates well to our parasha. Until the people associated themselves with Korach, there was a strong enough Zechus present to prevent punishment. But once they congregated, their merits vanished and punishment was imminent. Hashem warned Moshe and Aharon (and the few remaining Tzadikim, according to the Ohr HaChaim) to flee the scene for they were deserving of a warning, but Hashem wasted no time dispersing the rest of the crowd for He was mad at them and did not care enough to save them.

In response to Hashem’s disdain, Moshe appeals to the case of the enraged king to illustrate that the only way Man becomes indifferent toward his fellow is through his anger, which is sparked by his lack of knowledge and – in effect – control of a situation. Hashem, therefore, has no right to be indifferent towards His nation, for He has no right to get angry if He knows exactly who sinned and who did not. His knowledge allows Him to control the situation in a professional – and caring – way only He can. And so in response, Hashem acknowledges both that He knows who sinned and also that He should make known who sinned, or in other words that He should warn the rest of Klal Yisrael to avoid the site of Korach’s imminent Onesh.

All along, Hashem never accused Klal Yisrael of having sinned, but they were vulnerable to widespread punishment nonetheless. Moshe’s tefilla, albeit unconventional, does indeed focus on Hashem’s bountiful mercy, not in contrast to the administration of Din, but rather in contrast to His feelings of anger. And while Moshe’s plea is only partly successful – we find the Kahal attacked by widespread plague only a day later – we learn a tremendous deal from this short account about what great havoc our anger can wreak, and what great force our prayers can evoke.