On chassidic stories

Sometimes in shul, my glance to fall across a parsha sheet that's lying around. In my current Anglo-friendly shul, there is usually just one such sheet. It is focused on inspirational and chassidic stories, including this one, which I read recently, and (from what I've seen) seems to be representative of other chassidic stories.

After reading this story, it crossed my mind how similar it was to the stories of the Avot in Breishit. It concerned individuals, not the nation. The individuals go about their lives, year after year, struggling to make a living while upholding their religious principles. They are alternatively successful and failing, and this is a reflection of God's reward and punishment, as well as God's plans for each of them. There are virtually no open miracles, but occasionally a religious command is conveyed to them in a dream.

These similarities brings into focus the main difference between the Avot and the story's characters. The Avot (particularly Avraham) were unique individuals, chosen by God to father the chosen people due to their exceptional spiritual level. But what of the characters in the chassidic story? They are normal people - some of them rebbes (though often not uniquely special rebbes in their generation, much less all of history), and some of them completely unremarkable people like innkeepers.

Why does the chassidic story grant the same attributes to the ordinary Joe that the Torah only grants to some of its greatest heroes? This seems to be a case of the chassidic belief that normal people, not only rabbinic elites, are capable of obtaining holiness, and should be reassured that their lives are just as full of spiritual meaning as anyone else's.

Of course, I'm not the first to describe chassidut that way. The more interesting thing is probably what I was wondering about before starting the article, namely: how often do miracles occur? Are the "rationalists" correct and miracles are virtually nonexistent, or are the mystics correct that miracles are nearly constant? If normal people's lives seem to follow laws of nature, should we nevertheless expect that extremely holy people, or people at crucial moments in history, will witness miracles? The Avot, whom we'd presumably put in the "extremely holy" category, are a very interesting data point. While God clearly oversees their lives, essentially never does an open miracle help them out of one of their many crises. And they do receive Divine revelation and guidance - but generally through dreams rather than outright miracles. One might conclude that this is the highest level of miraculous intervention that a person can achieve through their merits (though higher levels can occur at defining historical moments like the Exodus). And this is exactly the level - no higher and no lower - which the chassidic stories assign to their characters.

Moreh Nevuchim

I recently finished reading Moreh Nevuchim. Here are my notes, organized by page number in the Friedlander translation. If you want to look up an issue, which is not directly referred to in Friedlander's chapter titles, this may be a useful guide.

44 Revelation is an inferior way of communicating what those who are capable should learn through philosophy (also 394)
78 Change implies imperfection either before or after. God as perfect being cannot have changed. Thus can only act on others, not be acted upon
84 Whenever you prove God doesn't have a certain quality, you become more perfect. The more qualities, the higher level you are relative to other people
95 YKVK=existence
99 One can use an interpretation which solves a problem, even if it violates certain grammar rules
104 God is the (Platonic) form of forms
130 Earth is round (also 277)
139 Omnipotence doesn't mean that God can do impossibilities
155 Purpose of the book
178 No-proof is better than a wrong proof
184 Proof from design and diversity (also 291)
195 Being moral helps you reason correctly
196 Directed to a specific person?
198 Aristotle's system is correct refarding the earth, but not the sky/spheres
199 Eternal universe contradicts Tanach less than does incorporeality and other important ideas
210 Miracles built into nature
212 Time created as part of creation
216 Secrets
218 Language is conventional, not natural
228 Intellect leads to logic and imagination. Prophet=both. Intellect vs senses. Teaching is better than learning
232 Torah is not painful, but seems cruel to the carnal
239 Anagrams in Tanach
248 Long lives in Breishit
250 Providence and free will
257 Disagrees with Onkelus re Yehezkel
261 Yetzer hatov <= platonic forms. Yetzer hara <= physical substance
264 Hebrew doesn't have words for bodily functions
265 Physicality = wall between us and God
266 Evil = absence of good. (Its cause: absence of wisdom)
297 Interpretation of Job excites Rambam
310 Only difference between philosophers and us is eternal universe
353 Midrash
356 Belief in God, angels, prophecy, law in that order
375 Torah, like nature, is only partly comprehensible - but that part is sufficient to give us a sense of wonder
385 True worship of God means thinking deeply about the idea of God
386 love of God=knowledge of God
387 intellectual worship of God, not "hollow emotions"
392 Loving God comes from theology, fear from mitzvah performance

Mutual love

The second blessing before kriyat Shema focuses on Torah study and observance. In the morning, we mention the Patriarchs to whom God "taught the laws of life", and then we ask that God "lead our hearts to understand, perceive, listen, learn, teach, guard, perform, and uphold all the words of this Torah". In the evening, we express our desire to "rejoice in the words of Your Torah and Your commandments forever, for they are our life and the length of our days, and we shall study them day and night." Virtually the entire blessing is on this topic, in both the morning and the evening.

The topic is a logical one. The Shema is one of the main sources for the mitzvah of Torah study; its reading is itself a performance of Torah study; and it is one of the most memorable passages on the topics of mitzvah observance and reward and punishment. Some sources suggest that this blessing functions as the usual blessing said before performance of a mitzvah (and therefore one should not speak between them and the Shema) - in which case they certainly must be on the same topic as the Shema.

But there is one main deviation from this topic - at the beginning and end of each blessing. There, rather than Torah study, the topic is love. The blessing starts by mentioning the "great love" or "eternal love" God has shown us, and ends by blessing God who "chooses Israel in love", or "loves His people Israel". Why mention love here?

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I think the answer lies in the second line of the Shema. "You shall love Hashem your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." The first line of the Shema is a basic declaration of loyalty to God. Once that is accomplished, we list the things we must do for God - and the first of those to love.

The remaining things, of course, are all about Torah study - keeping the Torah in mind, reciting it, teaching it, speaking of it, placing reminders of it on our body and houses. The overall structure closely echoes the blessing recited before the Shema - there, too, the introduction is about love, and the body of the paragraph is about Torah study.

Of course, rather than the Shema echoing the blessing, it is the blessing which echoes the Shema, since the blessing was composed to accompany the Shema rather than vice versa.

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There is one difference though. The blessing talks Torah study plus about God's love for Israel. The Shema talks about Torah study plus Israel's love for God. Each contains love, but the direction of the love is reversed.

Here is one possible explanation of this difference. Tanach repeatedly likens the relationship between God and Israel to that between a husband and wife. Just as a successful marriage must involve mutual expression of love and commitment from both sides, so must God's relationship/covenant with the Jewish people. God showed us love in giving us the Torah; we show love by keeping it. In the Shema (which is God's words) He provides us with commandments through which we can merit reward and closeness to God; in the blessing (which is our words) we thank God for these commandments and express our wish that nothing ever prevent us from keeping them. Each party in the relationship mentions the love the other party shows them, and through this, the relationship between them is mutually strengthened.

Holidays and the Temple

Jewish holidays are generally distinguished by their focus on the Temple. Pesach, Sukkot, and Shavuot are occasions of obligatory pilgrimage and sacrifice, while Yom Kippur focuses on the day's special Temple service. Each holiday has special communal sacrifices, and on these days we are commanded to blow trumpets in the Temple. The holiday prayer "yaale veyavo" is recited only in those blessings - Retzeh (prayer) and Boneh Yerushalayim (birkat hamazon) - whose subject is the Temple. And so on and so on.

What, then, are we to do these days, when the Temple is destroyed? Instead of being occasions of celebration, should not holidays become days of pain, when we are directly confronted with what we have lost? Tisha Beav - now a day of mourning - will turn into a festive day once the Temple is rebuilt; wouldn't it be appropriate for holidays to be commemorated the same way?

My answer to this is no, and the explanation comes in two parts. First, to explain what the purpose of holidays is, beyond the particular rituals we can no longer perform. And second, to explain how that purpose is still fulfilled today.

First: Holidays were an opportunity for closeness with God. Of course, God is "found" in every place, and there are many opportunities for closeness unrelated to Temple. But the atmosphere of holidays, the prohibition on work, the physical closeness to "God's house", and the special rituals and celebrations, made holidays especially good opportunities for individuals to approach God. Moreover, as the entire nation celebrated together, holidays became occasions of national closeness to God.

Second: Despite the loss of the Temple, I believe we can still achieve this special holiday closeness. In the Temple, Divine closeness was achieved through certain rituals, like the Yom Kippur sacrifice with precipitated the forgiveness of our sins. Those rituals were a commandment, and the resulting closeness was the reward. We (the religious community) still want to perform these rituals, but we are prevented by circumstances from doing so. Halachically, this situation is defined as a situation of "oness". In such a situation, having done everything we are capable of doing, we are still entitled to the reward.

One may argue that this is not a situation of complete "oness", since the Temple's destruction is caused by our sins, and by repenting we could cause it to be rebuilt. This is true on one level, but false on another. The process of returning to Israel, appointing a king, rebuilding the Temple, and offering sacrifices takes a certain amount of time. We mourn all year for the Temple, because we have this time yet are not using it appropriately in order to speed up redemption. But once the holiday has begun, it is no longer possible to do all the tasks needed to rebuild the Temple. Regarding that particular holiday, we are truly in a state of "oness". We still perform whatever rituals we are capable of, and God still rewards us with His closeness as if we had performed all the other rituals as well.

No conversations in shul

Many synagogues have a sign saying "No talking in shul", or some variation thereof.

But really, the fact is you are required to talk in shul! The signs should really say "No conversations in shul, except with God".

Perhaps people would refrain from talking to their neighbors, if they realized the impoliteness of repeatedly interrupting one conversation in order to engage in others.

Bears and Avos

Yes, the debate over this video ended long ago, but I wanted to say something about it anyway.

From the video: "Is it your mesorah to pick only the most fantastical, irrational sources from the vastness of Jewish tradition and call anything else kefirah?"

I do think there is a tendency in the charedi world to see things this way. And the logic behind this approach is easy to understand.

In the last couple hundred years, Western civilization has accomplished a great deal by use of reason. At the same time, one cannot help noticing, religion has retreated in many different realms. Understandably, one can see this as a zero-sum game. Many charedim believe they are choosing religion at the inevitable expense of reason. Thus, all other things being equal, they tend to prefer the irrational and anti-humanistic over the rational and humanistic. They feel that the further an idea is from rationality, the further it is likely to be from rational atheism.

It is sometimes hard to determine what the Torah desires from you – particularly, which of the diverse and occasionally mutually exclusive approaches in the sources you should follow. When there is no other way of deciding between the sources, an understandable first step is to eliminate those which are associated – even if you can't fully clarify how – with atheism.

The frog midrash

In this post, "Parshablog" notes the great similarity between several midrashim on frogs and verses in Shemot which describe the Israelite's experience in Egypt. As one possible explanation, he suggests that the rabbis in the midrash wanted us to see the plague of frogs as punishment for the oppression of Israel. Thus, they told various additional stories about the plague, which were not historically accurate, but serve to highlight the thematic connection they were drawing.

But where else do we see midrashim intended as literary parables, in which the authors make clear that the events in them did not actually happen? My impression is that's rare to nonexistent, much as it would make understanding midrash easier for lazy people like me.

Rather, let us note the pshat basis for saying that the frogs were punishment for earlier sins. The Egyptians tried to prevent being overrun by the Israelites' growth ("vayishretzu"), and they were punished by being overrun by frogs ("vesharatz"). They tried to throw the swarming Israelites into the Nile, and as punishment frogs swarmed out of the Nile and overwhelmed them. On a pshat level, the Egyptians were likely supposed to look at the content of the plague, and realize that it was a measure-for-measure punishment.

If so, then all the midrash adds is the assumption that the measure-for-measure-ness was complete and exact. With that assumption, it takes every available piece of information about Israel's experience, and concludes that the exact same thing must have happened regarding the frogs.

Why make this assumption?

Both modern and medieval Jews are often forced into a corner somewhat regarding our religious beliefs. The Rambam, based on his understanding of philosophy, was forced to say that many stories in the Torah (i.e. Bilaam's donkey talking) were allegorical. We are forced to say that the world was not actually created in six days. Pashtanim in general are forced to say that sometimes Tanach was grammatically irregular or imprecise. In all these cases, outside factors override what seemed to be the Torah's position, but we are willing to compromise since we believe that enough of the "core" issues remain unaffected.

Perhaps the distinguishing characteristic of midrash is that it is never willing to make such a compromise.* It is never willing to admit that a verse (or letter) of the Torah cannot be understood and thus is invalid as a source for halacha. Similarly, it is never willing to limit the number of miracles in a story based on considerations of reasonableness. Thus, once it decides upon an interpretation such as "the plague of frogs was a punishment for the attempts at population control, and the punishment should fit the crime", it proceeds to insert every single detail of the crime into the punishment. Once we have decided that the Torah's message is that the crime and punishment are related, how can any external factors impede or limit what the Torah is trying to convey?
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*By the way, I think it's too simplistic to say that charedim today follow this approach. It might be more accurate to say that Chazal claimed to know everything, we claim to know something, and charedim claim to know nothing and thus repeat the Chazal's statements without presuming to fully understand them.

Astrology

"Ein mazal leyisrael" – "There is no constellation determining the fate of Israel" (Shabbat 156a)

This quote implies that the destinies of non-Jews ARE in fact determined by alignments of the stars and planets. This is just one of many places where Chazal display a belief in astrology. This belief carried on to many of the later rabbis – not only those who insisted on taking every word of aggadta as scientific truth, but also many of those who did not (for one example, see Ibn Ezra on Devarim 4:19). Rambam is a conspicuous exception (see here), but he is the exception that proves the rule.

The question arises: how are we supposed to respect religious authorities who believed something which is so clearly illogical, superstitious, and compatible with idolatry and rejection of Divine providence?

I think the answer is to argue that astrology was unsuccessful science, not pseudo-science. Astrology started with correct observation of some situations, and extrapolated to other, similar, situations. The data and conclusions were lacking, but the method was correct even by modern standards.

For the fact is that certain heavenly bodies do strongly influence events on earth. The best example is the sun. On a daily basis the sun's position determines the temperature and the amount of light we see. Over the course of months, as the sun's position in the ecliptic varies, other changes take place. Not only is weather affected, but in particular seasons plants grow, flower, and bear fruit, and in springtime most animals give birth. The moon affects the world as well, through the tides. Given all this evidence, can we not extrapolate and say that other, smaller heavenly bodies should have more subtle effects on earthly events? Particularly as those bodies (planets) have complicated and non-regular (as seen from earth) orbits, which correspond to the irregularity of life as we experience it?

Of course, modern science has found more precise theories to explain those situations. The sun releases radiation due to its high temperature, which warms air and water to create weather, and various life forms have adapted their life cycle to the regular changes in sunlight and weather. And any sufficiently large body has the power to create tides: if "Yo Mama" (the technical term for an extremely overweight person) were to go to the beach, the tide would rush up to meet her. Modern science allows that Jupiter and the Great Dipper have some influence on us, due to their gravity and radiation. But of course, practically speaking, that influence is completely negligible.

Nowadays, since we possess better scientific explanations, astrology is taken seriously only by idiots and frauds. But it's not fair to say the same about people who lived before the time of Isaac Newton, more or less. Until then, astrology provided the only plausible explanation for many natural phenomena, and there is nothing strange about its being almost universally believed and accepted.

Chazal, science, and daas torah

The sages of Israel say: By day the sun travels below the heaven, and by night above the heaven. The sages of the nations of the world say: By day the sun travels below the heaven, and by night below the earth. Rebbi said: Their words seem more logical than ours, since by day springs are cool, and by night [they are] warm. (Pesachim 94b)

In recent years there has been a debate, most publicly regarding R' Natan Slifkin's books, regarding what degree of scientific knowledge was possessed by the ancient Jewish sages. We see from the above quote that Chazal themselves did not think they possessed the perfect scientific knowledge that some people nowadays credit them with. Rebbi, the author of the mishna, rejected the scientific opinion of the Jewish sages (חכמי ישראל) because the scientific evidence seemed to be against it.

Why do the charedim insist on holding a position about Chazal that is against the above gemara, as well as against common sense?

Perhaps the answer is as follows. The "Chazal knew science" school is often associated with belief in "daas torah", or the infallibility of the greatest modern rabbis. It seems to me that saying Chazal erred about science is a threat to the belief in daas torah. If Chazal could err, then so can modern rabbis, who are clearly not as great as Chazal. And if modern rabbis can err, then statements of theirs may be rejected if not accompanied by a sufficiently persuasive justification. For the charedim, at least, that is unacceptable. Due to the perceived social need for daas torah, they are forced into a corner when it comes to discussing Chazal's knowledge as well.

R' Nachman and doubt

"When a Jew falls away from his faith, heaven forbid, there certainly remains some 'dot' of faith within him. The very fact that he feels pain at having fallen away from faith, and seeks good advice on how to restore and strengthen his faith, this in itself is an act of faith. For in the innermost parts of his heart, he truly believes in God and in the holy zaddikim. However, he does not feel this faith openly and fully, for to him faith is in the category of smallness and brokenness. That is why advice will be effective for him, because as soon as he is offered a good suggestion for the enhancement of his faith, he grabs hold of it as if it were a precious stone, for a bit of faith still exists deep within him, and he truly yearns to perfect and elevate his fallen, broken faith. Therefore he can gather several good bits from the broken fragments of his faith and thereby make it whole. This is the equivalent of 'the tablets and the broken remnants of the tablets lay together in the ark' (Brachot 8b). By the very fact that he sees his broken faith as corresponding to the category of the broken tablets, by this alone is it restored."
-R' Nachman of Breslov, Emet Vatzedek, Emunah #40, quoted in N. Lamm, "The religious thought of Hasidism: text and commentary", p. 93.

According to R' Nachman, someone with religious doubts is like an ark containing "broken" or "cracked" tablets from Sinai. This damaged faith is certainly is not as good as unblemished faith, but is still holy. And under the right circumstances, it may someday be mended into the "whole tablets" of complete faith once again. In fact, by simply recognizing that a person's partial faith is real and valuable even if not complete, it can become a sufficient basis for much of his religious life.

(This is certainly not the only passage in which R' Nachman speaks about religious doubt, but it was new to me...)

The name Hava

Adam called the name of his wife Hava, for she was the mother of all the living. (Breishit 3:20)

Two observations on this.

1) One instinctively connects the name Hava (חוה) to the last word of the verse (חי). The problem with this is clear: Hava is not all living beings, she is simply the MOTHER of all living beings (well, the human ones). Shouldn't her name suggest that she's the mother, rather than implying that she's simply one of those living things herself?

For this reason, I think her name must come from a different source. It is a derivation not of חי, but of חיה. Haya is a similar-looking word with a different meaning (though clearly, they are related). As explained by the Rashbam on Breishit 18:10 (any guesses who I'm doing for shnaim mikra this year?) חיה refers to a woman who has recently given birth, similar to יולדת.

If so, then the verse is much more easily understood: “Adam called the name of his wife 'Birthing Mother', for she was the mother of all the living.”

2) Why then is her name Hava, not Haya?

The name Hava sounds a lot like a more familiar name – that of God, YKVK. By examining that name, we can understand Hava's as well.

The meaning of YKVK is best explained through another name of God – “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh” (Shemot 3:14). I once heard a suggestion that this name is of the form “Bond, James Bond” and it proves that God's first name is Asher! But more seriously, Ibn Ezra (3:14) explains that “Ehyeh” is God's name (thus the introduction “Ehyeh sent me to you” that appears later in the verse), and “Asher Ehyeh” is an attached explanation (“Who is always existing/present*”). Of course, the Hebrew word Ehyeh is in the first person – appropriate for when God is talking about himself. When humans talk about God in the third person, the appropriate form would be Yihyeh. This is almost the same as the well-known name YKVK, and Rashbam and Hizkuni (3:15) argues that this is how the name YKVK was formed.

The only difference between Yihyeh and YKVK is that the yud in the middle is replaced with a vav. Thus the word no longer takes a grammatically correct form, and it is clear that it represents a unique name, rather than just being a verb. I suspect that God's name is not the only name with this yud-to-vav transformation. It seems to have also occurred in the formation of Hava's name, transforming it from the dictionary word חיה to the name חוה.

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* For a full discussion of the verb "lihyot", its primary meaning of "appearance" rather than "being", and the implications regarding God's name and role in Tanach, see R' Yoel Bin Nun, "Active and existential being in the Bible: a linguistic interpretation of the name Hashem", Megadim 5:7-23. As an aside, I once heard or read R' Yaakov Medan discuss the implications of this meaning for our relationship with God: it is encouraging that we are guaranteed Divine presence in the world, but also more threatening, in the event that we sin.

Tzimtzum

God contracted [tzimtzem] His pure light, as it were, just as a father diminishes [metzamtzem] his intelligence and prattles for the sake of his young son. All sorts of other childish qualities are generated in the father, who loves these childish qualities, so that the son may enjoy them, and this is a source of joy to him.

-The Maggid of Mezrich, "Maggid devarav leyaakov" no.1, quoted in N. Lamm, "The religious thought of Hasidism: text and commentary", p. 44.

R' Lamm says the "prattling" refers to prophetic revelation. I thought it meant the simple fact of existing in and experiencing a physical world.

Moshe's view

Last year in September I flew from the US to Israel. For some reason, the plane took an unusual flight path, which let me see a huge part of Israel from "above". Unable to photograph the view, I later recreated it in Google Earth.

This experience reminded me of several verses (Devarim 34:1-4) in parshat Vezot Habracha:

Moshe went up from the plains of Moav to Mount Nevo, the top of the peak which is above Jericho, and Hashem showed him the whole land: the Gilead up to Dan; all of Naftali; the land of Efraim and Menashe; all the land of Yehudah, up to the Mediterranean Sea; the Negev; and the plain, the valley of Jericho, the city of palms, up to Tzoar. Hashem said to him: "This is the land I promised to Avraham Yitzchak and Yaakov saying 'To your offspring I shall give it'; I have shown it to your eye, but you shall not go there."

The areas listed here trace a rough counterclockwise circle, tracing the mountains which surround the Jordan River valley:

It is as if Moshe was scanning his eyes across the incredible view from Mount Nevo, trying to imprint it all into his mind in this last opportunity before he died.

It is the same thing I did from the airplane. The difference being that shortly afterwards, I landed in Israel and have been here ever since. It should be humbling to realize that while I was shown the land just like Moshe was, unlike Moshe I had the opportunity to enter it.

The flight also brought me to more philosophical thinking. From the airplane, I could see everything that happened in Israel, limited only by roofs and the focusing ability of my eyes. And a person on the ground, unless armed with modern weaponry, could not do anything to harm me. It seemed clear to me that the common idea of God being "above" us, in the “heavens”, is in large part a visualization of the ideas of omniscience and omnipotence.

Of course, there was one difference between my "omniscience", in the airplane, and God's. There are skyscrapers in Tel Aviv that when you see them from the ground, even from a distance, they never fail to impress you. From the plane, though, the same skyscrapers barely stood out from their surroundings. This seems like an inherent problem with such "omniscience": the more I saw, the less I was able to examine each thing I saw. God, being infinite, has no such limitation to his omniscience. God is no more impressed by the skyscrapers than I was, but having better "eyesight", is still capable of discerning all of their details.

Ata bechartanu

1. Introduction

You chose us from the all nations; you loved us and were satisfied [ratzita] by us; you elevated us [romamtanu] from all the peoples; you sanctified us [kidashtanu] with your commandments; you brought us close [keravtanu] to your service...

This prayer, recited on every holiday mentioned in the Torah, troubles some people because of its seeming "we're so great" message. It seems imply that we Jews are better than other human beings, and therefore deserve everything and are responsible for nothing.

But our unease with that idea should disappear when we look more closely and see that the passage is in fact troublesome due to quite the opposite idea.

Most of the verbs in the above passage are well known from the Temple service:
ratzita - ritzui, God's acceptance of a sacrifice
romamtanu - terumah, a gift of part of something to the Temple or priests
kidashtanu - hekdesh, property which has been donated to the Temple
keravtanu - korban, a sacrifice

This series of allusions implicitly compares the Jewish nation to a Temple sacrifice.

Taken literally, this seems like a troubling glorification of death as a religious experience. It reminds one the deviant theology which says that the Holocaust had positive value, because it was mankind's special opportunity to offer a "sacrifice" to God in the form of the Jewish people. (The very word "holocaust", which originally meant an animal sacrifice, reflects this interpretation.)

In fact, I think Ata Bechartanu's comparison of Israel to a sacrifice means no such thing. The concept of "korban", i.e. "sacrifice", does not necessarily imply death or suffering at all. Here is why.

2. Sacrifice

I think the basic conception of "sacrifice" (in Tanach and Jewish tradition) is not that the object of sacrifice is killed, but simply that the object is committed and transferred to God. The word "sacrifice" is in fact somewhat inappropriate; the equivalent Hebrew words "korban" and "lehakriv" literally meant "to bring close". Once the object has been transferred to God's domain, the act of sacrifice is over; what happens next depends on what the object is best suited for. If the object is an animal, then it is killed (the word “hikriv” in the Torah is often followed by “shachat”). If the object is a person, then the person becomes committed to serving in the Temple.

Therefore, what we call "human sacrifice" is problematic, not because of the "korban" aspect, but because AFTER the "korban" the person is killed instead of performing one of the meaningful tasks that people are capable of performing. It is an example of giving a gift, which is good, but then using the gift in a way the recipient would not like.

This understanding is evident in the following commandment, one of the first in the Torah regarding sacrifices:

"You shall give your firstborn sons to Me. Thus you shall also do to your ox and sheep: seven days it shall be with its mother; on the eighth day you shall give it to Me." (Shemot 22:28-9)

Thus the firstborns are "given" to God. Given the context (the animals in the next verse are killed as sacrifices), you might think this means the firstborns become human sacrifices. Whatever its meaning, the command is later overridden, as the firstborns are replaced by Levites:

"Behold, I have taken the Levites from the children of Israel - in place of the firstborn of each womb among the children of Israel - and the Levites are now Mine." (Bamidbar 3:12)

What is the fate of the Levites? Will they now become human sacrifices in place of the firstborn? The answer appears shortly afterwards:

"God spoke to Moshe saying: ... 'Aharon shall offer the Levites before Hashem as a wave-offering from the children of Israel, that they may be in the service of Hashem.' ... Aharon waved [the Levites] as a wave-offering ... Afterwards the Levites entered to perform their service in the Tent of Meeting before Aharon." (Bamidbar 8:1-22)

So the Levites DO become "sacrifices", but not in the expected sense of the term. They are called a "wave-offering" (elsewhere in the Torah "wave-offering" refers to ceremonially lifting a just-sacrificed animal) even though they aren't actually killed, just consecrated to their future task. Evidently, this was the original intention with regard to the firstborns, and this is what was meant by "giving" them to God.

We see the same meaning in Shmuel 1:1:11, where Hannah prays that "If You give Your servant a male child, I will give him to Hashem all the day of his life". Her words resemble and perhaps intentionally allude to Shemot 22:28 ("You shall give your firstborn sons to Me"). And when her firstborn son Shmuel is born, "giving" him to God does not mean killing him. Rather, once he is old enough he serves in the Mishkan, and eventually he becomes an important prophet and religious leader.

Probably the clearest example of this understanding appears in the Torah verses discussing the actual appointment of priests and Levites:
"You shall hakrev to you Aharon your brother and his sons with him, from among the children of Israel, to be priests to me." (Shemot 28:1)
"Hakrev the tribe of Levi, and have him stand before Aharon the priest, and serve him." (Bamidbar 3:6)

In all these verses we see that consistently, the language is that of sacrifices, but the action is that of consecration for Temple service.

3. Ata Bechartanu and the priesthood

According to this theory, when a person is brought as an “offering” to God, it in fact means that they are committed to service of God in the Temple. Let us apply this to Ata Bechartanu, which speaks of the people as a whole as if they were sacrifices. The implication is that they must all serve in a priestly role. This role, of course, is well known and most clearly indicated by Shemot 19:6, which describes the Jewish people as a "kingdom of priests, a holy people".

We can see how apt this description is by looking broadly at Torah's guidelines for kohanim, Israelites, and non-Jews. All human beings must behave morally, but Jews must additionally observe a number of rituals and prohibitions. Similarly, all Jews must keep the Torah, but kohanim must observe several rituals and prohibitions unique to them. Kohanim have the additional task of teaching and inspiring the people of Israel (see Devarim 33:10), and in the broad picture, Jews have the same task when it comes to non-Jews. Jews truly are the priests of the human race – with the tasks, status, and material sacrifices that that role entails.

On Shalosh Regalim, all Jews come to the Temple and directly act out their role as priests. It is no accident that on these days we recite Ata Bechartanu, the prayer that most directly alludes to our priestly role.

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* Ask your rabbi regarding practical applications of this.

Love, fear, and Tishrei

1. Two kinds of repentance

The gemara (Yoma 86) tells us that there are two types of repentance – from love and from fear. It further explains that the effect of repentance from love is greater than repentance from fear: through repentance from love, intentional sins are transformed into merits, not just into unintentional sins.

While this source is well known, it is not so clear what it actually means. Does repentance from fear mean from fear of punishment, or from awe at God's greatness (“yirat haromemut”)? Does repentance from love mean from enjoying the performance of mitzvot, or from recognizing them as intrinsically worth doing? And what is the link between these terms and the repentance's resulting effect on your sin? And which explanation actually corresponds to what you experience while repenting?

Literally, teshuva means to “return” - to move from one place to a certain other place (where one has previously been). The “places” in this context refer to states of moral behavior. You start out as a person who commits a certain sin, and hopefully end up in a different state, of being a person who does not commit that sin. The process of teshuva is therefore that of becoming a person who will not commit the sin.

There are two ways, I think, in which this may be accomplished. You may decide not to commit the sin, and through constant self-control prevent the sin from repeating itself. Or else, you may lose the motivation to commit the sin. In my opinion, “repentance from fear” refers to the first type of change, and “repentance from love” to the second.

Based on this explanation, the gemara in Yoma 86 is easy to understand. A person is judged based on their character at the time of judgment. According to our explanation, if you repent out of “fear”, then the part of your mind which decided to sin no longer exists. So you are judged as if you sinned without deciding to sin: “intentional sins are transformed to unintentional sins”. But if you repent out of “love”, the original desire or urge which led you to sin no longer exists. Your character is that of a person who does good, and you are judged based on this: “intentional sins are transformed into merits”.

2. Two parts of Tishrei

This explanation of repentance may help us to answer several questions which arise regarding the holidays in Tishrei.

1. Of the two kinds of repentance (from love and from fear), which of them are we doing in Tishrei? Which type of repentance is the atmosphere of Yom Kippur, for example, designed to encourage?

2. The holidays in the Torah fall into two categories: 1) The pilgrimage holidays: Pesach, Sukkot, and Shavuot. 2) The holidays of Tishrei: Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, and Shemini Atzeret. These three are each one day long, are spaced about 10 days apart from each other, and all have the same set of musaf offerings, which is not offered on any other day of the year. These technical similarities suggest that the three Tishrei holidays (as well as Sukkot, which may be viewed as belonging to BOTH the categories of pilgrimage and Tishrei holidays) share a common purpose. But what is it? The commonalities between RH and YK are obvious. But what do Shemini Atzeret and Sukkot have in common with them?

3. The Mishna (Rosh Hashana 1:2) says we are judged regarding water on Sukkot. Thus Hoshana Rabbah is considered to be a solemn day of judgment, and we say special, very solemn prayers for rain on Shemini Atzeret. But doesn't all this solemnity contradict the idea that Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret are “zman simchatenu”?

Let us now try to answer these questions.

1,2. I think that in Tishrei we do both types of repentance – from love and fear – but on different days. On RH and YK and during selichot, the theme is repentance “from fear”. As explained previously, this means we make the decision not to sin. We search for negative character traits in ourselves, which manifest themselves in certain situations. We resolve to avoid those situations when they can be avoided, and restrain ourselves through self-control and increased motivation when they cannot. The major factors motivating this resolve include fear of punishment (and other fears, such as of not having lived a meaningful life, or of losing one's Jewish identity) – which is why this is called “repentance from fear”.

On Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret we also repent – but “from love”, not fear. Having just gone through RH and YK, we now have an exceptional degree of self-control and are avoiding many our the sins from the past year. But human nature is weak. We developed this self-control in response to the crisis of YK. But once the crisis passes, we very often relax and revert somewhat to our previous behavior. (For this reason, many people question the value of the repentance they do around YK – how can it be real repentance if the next year they'll be trying to repent for exactly the same thing?) To avoid this regression, on Sukkot we must “repent out of love” – that is, develop the good character traits which ensure that even in our “lazy” state we have no desire to sin.

The main tool we use for this is positive reinforcement. Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret are described in the prayers (unlike any other holidays) as “zman simchatenu”, and the celebration of Simchat Torah is scheduled for these days. Just after Yom Kippur, before our behavior has declined too much from its peak, we provide ourselves with as many happy experiences as possible. The goal is that we begin to associate our new, good behavior with these positive experiences. If we succeed at this, then our natural urge will be to do what is moral and correct, because it makes us happy. Even if our discipline level slips during the remainder of the year, we will still manage to avoid sin, because we no longer desire it.

This change can be illustrated with a metaphor. Behavioral decisions are like paths through high grass. If one path is commonly taken, it becomes worn down and more convenient to take in the future. To start on a new path, you must be willing to leave the old path and fight your way through the bushes. But each time you take the new path it becomes easier, and as you neglect the old path it becomes overgrown again. After Yom Kippur, having chosen a new path, we take these first few difficult trips through the bushes. The encouraging atmosphere of Sukkot gives us strength to continue with this, until the new path becomes more worn-down and convenient than the old one.

This “repentance through love”, through positive reinforcement, can only be performed after Yom Kippur. If we began the special repentance period with the happiness of Sukkot, then we would never get around to fully repenting. Certain necessary parts of the repentance process – for example, confession – are just not fun to do. Once we have gone through a traumatic period in which we take these steps and make these changes, we can take more pleasant steps which ensure that the changes become permanent.

3. The above analysis suggests that Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret are days of “repentance from love”, days of happiness, “zman simchatenu”. But this is not incompatible with their being days of judgment.

We normally associate judgment with beating one's chest, crying, and other unpleasant experiences. This is because judgment implies a deadline, before which we must make ourselves worthy of a positive judgment. Thus there is urgency and crisis. Unhappiness is a great stimulator of change, and with judgment approaching, we need change immediately.

But on Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret, we take a different approach to judgment. Yom Kippur is so recent that we (hopefully) are still on a spiritual high. In the short term, we cannot realistically hope to improve ourselves much more than we did in Yom Kippur. So the best strategy is not to begin an ambitious new repentance program, but to continue the path we decided for ourselves on Yom Kippur. And the most effective way to do this is to be happy, not sad.

Of course, judgment is still a time for seriousness, not frivolity. But a thoughtful person with self-control is capable of being both serious and happy simultaneously. (See
here for an argument that the difference between desirable happiness [“simcha”] and undesirable frivolity [“schok”] is the presence of composure and self-control.) By the end of Yom Kippur we have hopefully developed the qualities of thoughtfulness and self-control. In these circumstances, happiness on Sukkot contributes to our worthiness in judgment, rather than detracting from it.

At first glance the Shemini Atzeret prayer for rain, with its Yamim Noraim tune, appears not just serious but mournful. This fits so badly with the happiness of Sukkot that I suspect most of us either tune the prayer out, or pretend for a minute that it's Yom Kippur again. But if we see the prayers as both serious and happy simultaneously, there is no need for this cognitive dissonance. The prayer for rain is the moment at which we most directly confront the purpose of Sukkot (see Zechariah 14:16-17). If we are truly happy on Sukkot and not just frivolous, we should not see the prayer's serious tune (or content) as inappropriate for the emotions of the day.

3. One more implication

At the end of Musaf on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, in the middle of the Sim Shalom blessing, we sing an alphabetical song which goes "Hayom ta'amtzenu, Hayom tevarchenu..." and so on, with an "amen" said after each phrase.

The first line of this song seems out of place to me. Translated, it means something like "May You give us courage/strength today". Why are we asking for this at the END of Musaf? The climax of the prayer service has passed and we are about to either eat lunch or take a two-hour snooze, depending on the day. Is this the moment at which we need courage and strength? Wouldn't this request be more intelligible at the beginning of Musaf, say, along with the chazzan's prayer before Kaddish?

This question arises from the assumption that when we finish RH and YK, we are finished with repentance. My suggestion is that at this point, we are only finished with ONE TYPE of repentance. As we finish this type, we begin another type. Along with a sense of accomplishment at having committed ourselves to a better way of life, we must understand the challenge of implementing our decision and making sure we live up to it. As we begin this equally large task, we ask God for help. The decisions we make ourselves; the implementation is mostly likely to succeed if God creates the correct circumstances for it.

A nice aggadta in Taanit

...Rav Berachya said: The Jewish people, also, made an inappropriate request, and God answered them appropriately. The verse says, "Let us know, let us strive to know God; His going forth is as sure as dawn, and He will come to us like rain." God said to them: "My daughter, you ask for something [rain] which is sometimes desirable and sometimes undesirable. But I will be for you something which is always desirable." As the verse says: "I will be like dew to Israel."
[The Jewish people] made another inappropriate request. They said before him: "Master of the world, 'Place me like a seal on your heart, like a seal on your arm.' " He said to them: "My daughter, you ask for something which is sometimes seen and sometimes not seen. But I will make you into something which is always seen, as the verse says, 'Behold, I have engraved you on [my] hands.' "
(Taanit 4a)

I think there are two deep metaphors in this passage, well beyond the word game (building a story around minor differences between Biblical verses) which superficially looks like its basis.

About the first half of the passage:
One cannot help noting that while dew is always a good thing, unlike rain, dew is much LESS of a good thing than rain can be. Rain is the usual means of growing crops, and it is hard to impossible for crops to survive based on dew alone. I think the metaphor is that we asked for God's presence to be obvious, but God preferred that it be subtle. We wanted continous large-scale miracles through which God would provide for our material needs, like rain does. But as the Torah and Neviim Rishonim show, this method does not always produce good results. Instead, God preferred to reveal Himself to us in a manner more like dew. God is always present, but in a subtle manner, easy to miss, and not providing miracles to guarantee that our food and material needs are always met.

About the second half of the passage:
Many people, especially in recent decades, take a "buffet" style approach to religion. They are happy to perform the rituals they enjoy or find meaning in. But when it comes to something uncomfortable, or which they don't understand, they ignore the religious requirement and revert to a secular lifestyle. Their religiousness is sometimes seen, sometimes not, like a seal on one's arm. This approach is clearly enticing, and it's no wonder the Jewish people requested it. But God did not allow this. If there is to be a connection between man and God, it must be permanent. We cannot take off our kippot and become secular whenever we get the temptation to momentarily break halacha. Our religiousness must be "on God's hands", always visible, with no conditionality or opportunity for abandonment.

Rav Berachya, I just have to say, you are brilliant.

Torah and science

"Our restricted minds see two realms, natural laws and man-made laws, the universe of physics and the universe of morals. But to God there is no distinction and both universes are one, because creation is an expression of divine chessed, an ethical performance. Since the world was created to share His existence with others, in essence a moral activity, the laws governing the cosmic processes are not just neutral laws; they rather express the absolute moral law. To deny this, and postulate two realms, would cause the whole monotheistic structure to crumble." -R' Soloveitchik, "The Rav Thinking Aloud", 87-88.

If asked, I would have said almost the opposite of this quote. But it makes a certain sense. It looks like I need to think more deeply about the subject.

Another interesting quote from the book:

"If you want to know what lashon hara is, whatever you enjoy when you talk about someone: that is lashon hara."

Husband, wife, and shechina

"Husband and wife – if they merit, God's presence is found between them." (Sota 17a)

I can recall my parents occasionally having arguments, sometimes bitter, with each other when I was growing up. But personally, I almost never get into arguments with anyone. How is this? Am I really a better person than they are?

The more I learn about life, the clearer it is that the answer is not a quick and satisfying “yes”. The reason I do not argue is simple, and reflects my circumstances more than my character.

It is often hard to know what a single person is thinking. People have many reasons to keep their thoughts private. But in a marriage, much more so than any other relationship between individuals, thoughts do not remain private. They are shared verbally with one's partner.

The arguments which I occasionally witnessed in my family, and which are probably present in every family, are the result of frustration and anger. I certainly do experience these emotions sometimes. But I generally keep them to myself. If I were married, things would be different. I would much more readily express negative emotions to my wife than to other people. She might respond negatively, again more readily, and I might reciprocate. And just like that, we would get into a fight. The negative character traits which caused this fight were always part of each of us. But only when we were together would they express themselves in words and actions, immediately visible to anyone around us. Right now, I do easily not get into arguments and fights. But once I'm married (or in a sufficiently serious relationship), I can expect to do so more often.

What is true for negative character traits, like selfishness and cruelty, is also true for positive ones. With one's spouse, these positive traits too will be expressed more openly, and visibly to people other than the married couple.

In my opinion, this is the basis of the gemara saying that God's presence dwells between the husband and wife.

Apparently there is some set of Godly actions and attitudes – love, generosity, kindness, and so on – that wherever they are present, we say that the Divine presence is there as well. Each person, living by themselves, may possess these character traits, and thus we call them a holy or Godly person. But this Divine presence is private, as the character traits generally are. When husband and wife with these character traits are together, the traits are most strongly and visibly expressed, and the holiness become shared and evident between them.

There is a famous Romantic poem entitled “She walks in beauty”. It is not obvious whether a woman's beauty is part of her, or part of the mind of the man gazing at her. Either way, surely the beauty is present whenever he sees her. Therefore, he may speak of her walking “in” the beauty, it being part of the fabric of the situation in which they meet. We may speak the same way of God's presence dwelling between a married couple. When they interact with each other, treating each other with kindness and respect, the situation is one of Divine attributes and Divine presence. We cannot say that God is physically located anywhere, but when husband and wife treat each other this way, Godliness is surely an element of their interaction.

Communication

To send a message to someone, you must often speak twice.

The first time, you open their heart, making them receptive to what you are saying. Only after can you successfully communicate to them the content of your message.

-R' Amital

Two Yudim

Last shabbat I heard the following dvar torah (from Y.C., age approx. 12), apparently in connection to the mitzva in last week's parsha of "veahavta lereacha kamocha".

A certain chasidic rebbe told the story of how he learned to read when he was a kid. In his school, or "cheder", they taught him to read from a chumash. He read correctly until he came to two letters yud, one next to the other. He pronounced this literally - at which point the teacher corrected him. "Whenever there are two yuds like that, it means to say the name of God." The kid did so, and kept reading.

Then, he got to the end of a verse. It was punctuated with a colon - two vertical dots, which looked like yuds. So he said the name of God again. And the teacher corrected him. "No, that's not the name of God. That's the end of the verse."

From this exchange, the kid learned a moral lesson. Whenever there are two yudim (=Yehudim) on the same level as each other, God's name is present in the world. Whenever there are two yudim, one above the other, it is like the end.