שי לתורה
Divrei Torah of lasting value that require some thought. Established Ellul 5766/September 2006
Friday, June 4, 2021
Behaaloscha, Bamidar 8:3. Shleimus, More Than Dveikus.
Thursday, May 20, 2021
Naso, Bamidbar 6:2. Narcissus and Nezirus
In the Greek myth, a young man, Narcissus, was punished by the gods for spurning someone's consuming romantic attraction (innamorato in the Greek version, innamorata in the Roman.) He was guided to a pond and he looked into the water and saw his own reflection. He was awed and entranced by his beauty, and because he could not possibly attain the object of his desire, he died of sorrow (or killed himself) as he gazed at his reflection.
In the Gemara (Nedarim 9b), we have the following story:
In the Greek version, Narcissus' fate was sealed because he displeased the gods by spurning someone who loved, or lusted after, him; his refusal caused the other to suffer the pain of unsatisfied desire. The Greek version does not contemplate the option of asceticism in dealing with sensual urges; His "selfish" refusal to gratify his lover's desire was punished by making him feel what his disconsolate lover felt, and this sealed his doom. In the story of the Nazir, the impulses engendered by his amazement at his beauty were countered by recognizing the infantilism and self-destructiveness of those feelings, with the life-saving antidote of becoming a Nazir. But most importantly, in the Greek story, the tragedy is the unwillingness to satisfy desire, and the punishment came through the creation of a desire that was impossible to satisfy. In the Jewish story, satisfying desire would have been the tragedy, and the triumph was overcoming desire.
Shemini. An Honest Discussion of the Tuma Caused by Nadav and Avihu.
When Nadav and Avihu died, their bodies lay in the Mishkan, according to Rabbi Akiva. The law of Tumas Ohalim should have applied. Therefore, the Keilim in the MIshkan and Mishkan covers themselves should have become tamei.
טומאה בעזרה מנלן א"ר אלעזר כתוב אחד אומר (במדבר יט, יג) את משכן ה' טמא וכתוב אחד אומר (במדבר יט, כ) כי את מקדש ה' טמא (אם אינו ענין לטומאה שבחוץ תנהו ענין לטומאה שבפנים) וקראי מיתרי הא מיצרך צריכי דתניא ר' אלעזר אומר אם נאמר משכן למה נאמר מקדש ואם נאמר מקדש למה נאמר משכן אילו נאמר משכן ולא נאמר מקדש הייתי אומר על משכן יהא חייב שהרי משוח בשמן המשחה ועל מקדש לא יהא חייב ואם נאמר מקדש ולא נאמר משכן הייתי אומר על מקדש יהא חייב שהרי קדושתו קדושת עולם ועל משכן לא יהא חייב לכך נאמר משכן לכך נאמר מקדש
Sunday, May 16, 2021
Was the Mishkan Weighted or Staked? Installment Three
Reb Moshe in the Darash derives important יסודות from the יתדות, a lesson from these alternative methods of keeping the יריעות, the fabric and leather panels that covered the Mishkan, in place.
וכל יסדות החצר נחשת (כז יט)
רש"י מסתפק ביתדות אם כובדן עושה שלא יגביהם הרוח או תקועין בארץ, ונראה דילפינן מזה שצריך כל אדם להשתדל שבכח עצמו מצד ידיעתו והבנתו לא יגביהנו הרוח בכל מקום שיהיה. אבל מתחלה יהיה זה ע"י אחרים היינו ע"י התמדתו בישיבה בין מורים וחברים שישפיעו עליו להתחזק בדרך ה', עד שמזה יבא שיהיה חזק בעצמו שלא יגביהו אותו ויטלטלוהו הרוחות הרעות והכפירה אף כשיהיה לבדו.
Was the Mishkan Weighted or Staked? Installment Two
We brought Rashi's alternative explanations of what kept the Mishkan covers from being blown about by the wind and from sagging into the Mishkan. Either there were weights on the hanging edges, or ropes that attached them to stakes driven into the ground.
The Gemara in Shabbos 27b-28a
וכל היוצא מן העץ אינו מטמא טומאת אהלים, אלא פשתן
Rashi
אינו מטמא טומאת אוהלים - אם עשה מהן אהל והמת תחתיו הוי כשאר בית וא"צ להטביל האהל עצמו דלא קבל טומאה אלא כלים שתחתיו:
אלא פשתן - שאף אהל טמא כדכתיב והזה על האהל ובגמ' יליף דבפשתן משתעי קרא:
(It is not only Pishtan, it is anything that is called "ohel" by the Mishkan, including wool and leather.)
Tosfos holds that this susceptibility to tuma is even if the Ohel is actually attached to the ground. Proof that Tosfos holds like that is because he asks, how can it be that the Ohel is tamei, but we have a rule that something that is mekabel tuma is not a barrier to Tuma, and the Mishna in Ohelos says that an ohel made of "sadinim" are a barrier to Tuma! They shouldn't be, if they are tamei themselves. Tosfos answers that the Mishna is talking about silk, not linen, sadinim that are attached to the ground.
וקשה לר"י דתנן באהלות (פ"ח מ"א) אלו מביאין וחוצצין השידה והתיבה כו' והסדינים שהם עשוים אהלים ואיך חוצצין סדינין של פשתן בפני הטומאה והא כל דבר המקבל טומאה אינו חוצץ בפני הטומאה וי"ל דמיירי בסדינין של משי וקבועין שאינן מטמאים ורשב"א פירש במשניות בע"א:
Obviously, Tosfos holds that everything, even non-linen, is mekabel Tuma if it is merely draped over a frame to function as a shelter, because it would not lose its din keli. What distinguishes linen is that it is mekabel Tuma even if is fully attached to the earth, and it loses its din keli, but it is mekabel tuma as an ohel of pishtan. This opinion is shared by the Ramban, Tos Rid, and the Raavad Tu'M 5:12.
Other Rishonim hold that the din tuma of ohel pishtan is only if it is draped over a frame, but NOT if it is attached to the earth. This is the Tosfos HaRosh, and the Rosh in Keilim 27:1 and the Smag. (and possibly the Rambam in Tu'M 5:12.) The Rashba goes even farther. The Rosh holds that the exclusion of tents from Tumah is only if they were originally manufactured to serve only as tents. The Rashba holds that even pishtan, if it was originally a regular garment or keli, draping it over a frame to serve as a tent would remove its susceptibility to Tumah - even תלוש ואחר כך חיברו. In any case, this group of Rishonim holds that if it is literally attached to the ground, it is never tamei, not even pishtan.
(The Rashba that Tosfos brings just says that the rule of כל המקבל טומאה אינו חוצץ בפני הטומאה does not apply to an ohel.)
It seems clear that this whole machlokes depends on whether the Mishkan itself was weighted or staked. Tosfos ודעמיה hold that the Mishkan was staked, mechubar mamash, and and the gzeira shava that teaches tuma by all such ohalim is that even mechubar mamash of pishtan is mekabel tumah. The Rosh ודעמיה hold that the Mishkan was just weighted. The limud teaches that tents that were made of other materials, even if not attached to the ground, are not mekabeil tumah - they lose their din keli. But pishtan is still mekabel tumah even if it serves as a tent. This does not teach anything about mechubar mamash, and mechubar mamash is never mekabel tumah.
I should have realized this would happen, but I found that the Cousin Rav Yechiel Michel Feinstein says this nekuda also. I guess that even if I'm not the first to realize this, it's nice that the first was the Torah giant Reb Yechiel Michel.
In his Sefer on Chumash, end of Teruma:
ובפירש"י ואיני יודע אם תחובין בארץ או קשורין וכובדן מכביד שיפולי היריעות שלא ינועו ברוח וכו' ונראה דבזה תליא פלוגתת הראשונים בדין טומאת אהלים דמבואר במשנה שבת דף כ"ז ב' דכל היוצא מן העץ אינו מטמא טומאת אהלים אלא פשתן ובגמ' שם דף כ"ח א' ילפינן לה ממשכן דקרוי אהל ונחלקו הראשונים אי מטמאין גם כשהן מחוברין וכן הוא דעת התום שם והראב"ד פ"ה מהלכ' טומאת מת הי"ב אכן דעת הרמב"ם שם נראה דס"ל דאין מטמאין מחוברין אלא דווקא כשעשויין אהלים עי"ש וי"ל דהרמב"ם ס"ל דבמשכן היו היתידות תלושין ולא מחוברין בארץ ומש"ה דווקא אהל שאינו מחובר מיטמא כמו משכן אבל הראב"ד והתוס' ס"ל דהיתידות היו תחובין בארץ ומש"ה איכא טומאת אהלים גם במחובר והארכתי בזה במקום אחר.
Saturday, May 15, 2021
Was the Mishkan Weighted or Staked? Installment One.
What kept the roof of the Mishkan, the יריעות, from sagging in middle, or flapping in the desert wind? Fabric or leather of that great an unsupported span would not remain horizontal. True, the material of the Yerios was quite heavy, but it was as heavy in middle as it was on the sides. Specifically, the middle was ten amos wide, and over the Kerashim and hanging down the sides were a total of eight or nine. If you've ever had a sukkah cover that doesn't rest on the schach, you know that it's going to sag in middle, even without rain. The answer is, the Yerios had copper bars, or pegs, or stakes - יתדות - to keep them in place.
Monday, April 19, 2021
The Importance of Mesibas Preida, Tzeischem L'Shalom, Goodbye Party.
Three parts.
Part One: Sources in Chazal for the idea of marking a person's departure from his home city with a סעודת או מסיבת פרידה, וצאתכם לשלום
Part Two: The story of the Beilis Trial, and how it relates to the idea of a Seudas Preida.
Part Three: An insight into the interconnectedness of all men, and even more so the people in the Jewish community, and the beauty that is hidden in so many people כפלח הרימון, and how important it is to try to understand, and appreciate, and admire our fellow Jews.
Part I
To some extent, you don't need a makor in Chazal for things that are obviously good and true. On the other hand, we do like to cite sources for everything, such as in Gittin 6a,
והא בבל לצפונה דא"י קיימא דכתיב (ירמיהו א, יד) ויאמר ה' אלי מצפון תפתח הרעה
So, is there a source for gathering to wish a friend off when he leaves the community? I have three.
Two are from the stories of Eliahu and Elisha.
The first is in Melachim I 19:19-21.
וַיֵּ֣לֶךְ מִ֠שָּׁם וַיִּמְצָ֞א אֶת־אֱלִישָׁ֤ע בֶּן־שָׁפָט֙ וְה֣וּא חֹרֵ֔שׁ שְׁנֵים־עָשָׂ֤ר צְמָדִים֙ לְפָנָ֔יו וְה֖וּא בִּשְׁנֵ֣ים הֶעָשָׂ֑ר וַיַּעֲבֹ֤ר אֵלִיָּ֙הוּ֙ אֵלָ֔יו וַיַּשְׁלֵ֥ךְ אַדַּרְתּ֖וֹ אֵלָֽיו׃
וַיַּעֲזֹ֣ב אֶת־הַבָּקָ֗ר וַיָּ֙רָץ֙ אַחֲרֵ֣י אֵֽלִיָּ֔הוּ וַיֹּ֗אמֶר אֶשְּׁקָה־נָּא֙ לְאָבִ֣י וּלְאִמִּ֔י וְאֵלְכָ֖ה אַחֲרֶ֑יךָ וַיֹּ֤אמֶר לוֹ֙ לֵ֣ךְ שׁ֔וּב כִּ֥י מֶה־עָשִׂ֖יתִי לָֽךְ׃
וַיָּ֨שָׁב מֵאַחֲרָ֜יו וַיִּקַּ֣ח אֶת־צֶ֧מֶד הַבָּקָ֣ר וַיִּזְבָּחֵ֗הוּ וּבִכְלִ֤י הַבָּקָר֙ בִּשְּׁלָ֣ם הַבָּשָׂ֔ר וַיִּתֵּ֥ן לָעָ֖ם וַיֹּאכֵ֑לוּ וַיָּ֗קָם וַיֵּ֛לֶךְ אַחֲרֵ֥י אֵלִיָּ֖הוּ וַיְשָׁרְתֵֽהוּ׃
The Radak in 21 says
וישב מאחריו. לנשק לאביו ולאמו אף על פי שלא ספר הכתוב ואחר כך שחט הבקר ועשה סעודה באותו השדה לחורשים ולעם אשר באו אחריו ללוותו וזהו שאמר ויתן לעם כי מהעם לא היו אתו בשדה כי אם אחד עשר החורשים אלא זהו פירושו כי הלך לקחת רשות מאביו ומאמו ובאו אחריו מאנשי עירו ללוותו כי הוא נפרד מהם:
The second is in Melachim II 2:9.
וַיְהִ֣י כְעָבְרָ֗ם וְאֵ֨לִיָּ֜הוּ אָמַ֤ר אֶל־אֱלִישָׁע֙ שְׁאַל֙ מָ֣ה אֶֽעֱשֶׂה־לָּ֔ךְ בְּטֶ֖רֶם אֶלָּקַ֣ח מֵעִמָּ֑ךְ וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלִישָׁ֔ע וִֽיהִי־נָ֛א פִּֽי־שְׁנַ֥יִם בְּרוּחֲךָ֖ אֵלָֽי׃
וַיֹּ֖אמֶר הִקְשִׁ֣יתָ לִשְׁא֑וֹל אִם־תִּרְאֶ֨ה אֹתִ֜י לֻקָּ֤ח מֵֽאִתָּךְ֙ יְהִֽי־לְךָ֣ כֵ֔ן וְאִם־אַ֖יִן לֹ֥א יִהְיֶֽה׃
It certainly was a hard request to fulfill! What did Eliahu mean, that the only chance it will come true would be if Elisha saw him taken away?
I believe the idea was that we don't truly understand and certainly do not fully appreciate what we have until the moment before it is taken away from us.
Eliahu told Elisha that to be truly inspired by him, by Eliahu, to the degree that his heart and mind would open up to siyata dishmaya of such great ruach hakodesh and nevuah, he would need to witness Eliahu being taken away from him.
We see that to understand and appreciate our fellows, we need to face the imminent reality of their going away, and that will give each side the opportunity to be inspired by the other's middos tovos.
The third is ... that you don't need a makor for a seudas preida because it is a kal vachomer from halvoyas orchim. As one small example of the importance of levoyas orchim, see Rambam Aveil 14:2
שכר הלויה מרובה מן הכל. (!) והוא החק שחקקו אברהם אבינו ודרך החסד שנהג בה. מאכיל עוברי דרכים ומשקה אותן ומלוה אותן. וגדולה הכנסת אורחים מהקבלת פני שכינה. שנאמר וירא והנה שלשה אנשים. ולוויים יותר מהכנסתן. אמרו חכמים כל שאינו מלוה כאילו שופך דמים:
If being melaveh orchim is so vitally important, that its schar is "Merubah min hakol," that one who does it is keeping him alive, and one who fails to do so is like a rotzei'ach, then kal vachomer that applies to an individual that lived in your community and who is now leaving. If you do it for some tumbleweed orei'ach, how much more so must you do it for a member of the community that is moving away!
Part II
I just had the honor and privilege to make a Kiddush to mark a member of our community leaving Chicago. He was born and raised here, his parents came as infants, and his great grandparents came here in 1912. The Kiddush was on Parshas Tazri'a Metzora. We found a perfect connection of being melaveh our friend with the parsha of Tzaraas, as odd as that may sound.
The Alshich in Vayikra 12:1 asks, the appellation "Adam" for the Metzora seems inappropriate. Adam is the term used for an elevated human being, and here it is used for a hateful despicable person.
ועל פי דרכנו נשית לב אל מלת אדם. כי הוא לפי האמת התואר המשובח שבתוארי המין האנושי כנודע מספר הזוהר ולמה נתייחד באשר שנא ה'.
Rav Galinski answered the question with the story of the Beilis trial in 1911. Harav Galinski says the story his way, but I will tell it as my father did, which is much better.
The prosecutor enlisted an alleged religious expert in Judaic rituals, a notoriously anti Semitic Catholic priest, Justinas Pranaitis. While the defense had emphasized that Judaism famously abhorred the taking of human life, Pranaitis said that this was a lie, and he could prove it from the Talmud. The Talmud says that the Jews consider the Gentiles as not human. True, a Jew would never kill a fellow human being, but the Jews consider Gentiles as animals, and no more care about their lives than they would about a cat, or a chicken. They would kill a Gentile for even the most trivial reason, or for no reason at all. After all, the Talmud says in Yevamos 60b
ניא, וכן היה רשב"י אומר: קברי גוים אינן מטמאין באהל שנאמר: 'ואתן צאני מרעיתי אדם אתם', אתם קרויין אדם ואין הגוים קרויין אדם
Clear. The Jews view the Gentiles as subhuman, and would kill them with absolutely no mercy or pang of conscience.
This accusation struck fear in the Jewish community. Pogroms were being prepared, priests were preaching against the deicide Jew, and a repeat of the Khmelnytsky massacres was imminent.
The defense desperately sent a message to Rav Meir Shapiro. What should we do? How can we answer this accusation??
Rav Shapiro told him exactly what to say, and this was the defense.
The Talmud means something entirely different. The Jews have forever been pacifists who never shed blood.. Only the blindly antisemitic would misunderstand the Gemara, because its meaning is very clear.
When a Gentile looks at the newspaper, and he sees that thousands of people are starving in China, and if he reacts at all he will sigh, and shake his head, and then turn the page. But if a Jew finds out that there is a Jew in China that doesn't have Matza for Pesach, he will be at the Chinese embassy the next morning with a box of Matza. The Gentile may pity the distant stranger, but the Jew feels the pain of a fellow Jew as if it were his own, even though he never met him, and will never meet him.
This is what the Gemara means. We, the Jewish People, are Adam, in the singular. We are not separate individuals with a common religion. We are all like one, all parts of one organism. That is what אתם קרויין אדם ואין הגוים קרויין אדם means. We are all like one.
And if you deny this, I will prove that not only is it true, but that you yourselves know that it to be true.
If you open the newspaper, and there is a story about Ivan, who murdered his neighbor, you will say, "Terrible! Ivan is a murderer." But if you open the paper, and you see a story about Yankel Kohen who murdered his neighbor, you won't say "Yankel Kohen is a murderer." You will say "Terrible! The Jews are murderers!" Why? What's the difference between Ivan the murderer and Yankel the murderer? The answer is that you yourselves know, you yourselves believe in your hearts, that all the Jews are Adam, one person, but the Gentiles, each one is separate from the other.
This response struck like a bolt of lightning. It hit at both the priest's misinterpretation of the Gemara, and also spoke directly to the tens of thousands of Russians that were sharpening their knives, waiting to kill the Jews because of one Menachem Mendel Beilis.
This answers the Alshich's question. A Jewish neshama is not separate from other Jews. We are all one, and we mourn each other's pain and celebrate each other's happiness. If a Jew does not act like that, if he is a ganov and a holeich rachil and az ponim, that means that he is like a limb that is cut off of a body. This spiritual disease manifests itself in Tzaraas, where the person loses his own limbs. Davka because we are Adam, because our neshamos are all interconnected, a man who behaves in the opposite manner has a deadly and mortal spiritual affliction.
When a person is a member of the community, he is not just one person by himself. He is an integral part of everyone else that lives there. When he has the opportunity to do good for others, he takes advantage of the moment. If he has a snow plow, all the neighbors have clear sidewalks. If he has left over from Shabbos, he makes sure it is delivered to someone that might not have enough to eat. When some people came to Chicago from South Africa, he made sure that they would become part of the community, and he shepherded them along until they found their land legs. These are only small chasadim that I happen to know about, but the point is that this person is a vital part of the entire community, or each and every one of us. The connection is mutual and indivisible. On the one hand, that means that with his leaving, we all are losing an important part of our lives, but on the other hand, wherever he goes, he remains part of what and who we are.
Part III
Robert Fulghum
The Barber
Hair grows at the rate of about half an inch a month. I don't know where he got his facts, but Mr. Washington came up with that one when we were comparing barbers. That means that about eight feet of hair had been cut off my head and face in the last sixteen years by my barber.
I hadn't thought much about it until I called to make my usual appointment and found that my barber had left to go into building maintenance. What? How could he do this? My barber. It felt like a death in the family. There was so much more to our relationship than sartorial statistics.
We started out as categories to each other: "barber" and "customer." Then we became "redneck ignorant barber" and "pinko egghead minister." Once a month we reviewed the world and our lives and explored our positions. We sparred over civil rights and Vietnam and lots of elections. We became mirrors, confidants, confessors, therapists, and companions in an odd sort of way. We went through being thirty years old and then forty. We discussed and argued and joked, but always with a certain thoughtful deference.
After all, I was his customer. And he was standing there with his razor in his hand.
I found out that his dad was a country policeman, that he grew up poor in a tiny town and had prejudices about Indians. He found out that I had the same small-town roots and grew up with prejudices about Blacks. Our kids were the same ages, and we suffered through the same stages of parenthood together. We shared wife stories and children stories and car troubles and lawn problems. I found out he gave his day off to giving free haircuts to old men in nursing homes. He found out a few good things about me, too, I suppose.
I never saw him outside the barber shop, never met his wife or children, never sat in his home or ate a meal with him. Yet he became a terribly important fixture in my life. Perhaps a lot more important than if we had been next-door neighbors. The quality of our relationship was partly created by a peculiar distance. There's a real sense of loss in his leaving. I feel like not having my hair cut anymore, though eight feet of hair may seem strange.
Without realizing it, we fill important places in each other's lives. It's that way with a minister and congregation. Or with the guy at the corner grocery, the mechanic at the local garage, the family doctor, teachers, neighbors, co-workers. Good people, who are always "there," who can be relied upon in small, important ways. People who teach us, bless us, encourage us, support us, uplift us in the dailiness of life. We never tell them. I don't know why, but we don't.
And, of course, we fill that role ourselves. There are those who depend on us, watch us, learn from us, take from us. And we never know. Don't sell yourself short. You may never have proof of your importance, but you are more important than you think.
It reminds me of an old Sufi story of a good man who was granted one wish by God. The man said he would like to go about doing good without knowing about it. God granted his wish. And then God decided that it was such a good idea, he would grant that wish to all human beings. And so it has been to this day.
Mr. Fulghum's story strikes me as a very good reminder of the real and true interconnectedness of every member of the Jewish community, of the preciousness of every Jewish soul and its drive to do tzedaka and chesed, and how important it is to remember that it is not the great and feted philanthropists and tzadikim that make us who we are, it is those quiet heroes with shining souls that live next door to us.