QUOTI OF THE DAY

"?אם האדם לא יעורר נפשו, מה יועילוהו המוסרים"

- RBP

From The Devil's Dictionary

Pain, n. An uncomfortable frame of mind that may have a physical basis in something that is being done to the body, or may be purely mental, caused by the good fortune of another.

Ephraim Stulberg on Tish`a B'av, 5765

I wish to discuss a few issues pertaining to the history of Tisha Be-av, which might possibly be of halachic significance.

Following the rebuilding of the Holy Temple, the Jews still residing in Babylon had asked whether they were still obligated to fast “in the fifth month [i.e. Av]” (Zechariah 7:3). Zechariah replied to them, stating that God had expressed to him His ambivalence over the question of their fasting: “Did you fast on My account? Even if you would eat and drink, it would still be for yourselves that you would do so. Were not the words which God expressed through His previous prophets, when Jerusalem was inhabited and peaceful, as well as her surrounding cities, and the south and the lowlands were settled [the real reason for your troubles]?” (7:5-7). The prophet then goes on to mention what the really important things were which caused the First Temple to be destroyed; it is these, not whether or not you fast, that will be crucial to the longevity of the Second Temple.

In the next chapter, Zechariah continues, prophesying the rebuilding of Jerusalem, which will be a peaceful city, free of conflict or strife. He then says that “the fast of the fourth [month], the fast of the fifth [month], the fast of the seventh [month] and the fast of the tenth [month] will all be for Judea [days of] joy and celebration, and good days of ingathering: love truth and peace” (8:19).

The gemara (Rosh Hashana 18b) comments on this final verse, stating: “when there is peace, then the designated fast days are days of celebration; when there is a harsh decree from a foreign government, then they are days of fasting; when there is neither peace nor a harsh decree, then if they wish to fast, they may do so, but it is not obligatory.”

There are three questions which must be asked. First of all, what is the definition of “peace”, and what constitutes a harsh decree? Secondly, to what extent does the halacha allow for regional variation? I.e., if there is a decree in one locale, but not in another, then what is the status of these fast days in both places? And finally, what was the history of these fasts? When, in fact, were they obligatory, when were they days of festivity, and when were they optional?

Before answering these questions, a bit of introduction is needed. The opinion of most Rishonim (Ramban (Toras Ha-adam, Ch. “Aveilus Yeshana”), Ritva (R”H 18b), Ran (ibid.), Tashbatz (2:271)) seems to be that in their initial obligatory form, the fasts were of the same status as Tisha Be-av, carrying with them all of the five restrictions. Once the Temple was rebuilt, they became days of celebration (see Tosafos on Ta’anis 12a, Meiri on R”H 18a). Following its destruction once again, in the periods when the fasts were optional, the Jews accepted upon themselves to keep Tisha Be-av – because of its multiplicity of misfortunes (see Rosh Hashanah 18b) - in its original, restrictive form, while they accepted all the others only with regard to the strictures against eating and drinking.

Regarding the first question, it is clear from the gemara that one of the criteria of “peace” is that the Temple be built. Thus although some Rishonim (e.g. Rashba on Megillah 5b) don’t mention it, it seems unlikely that anything should be made of this omission. Ritva adds that the Jews must also be living in their land; Rashi notes that there must not be a foreign government interfering in political life.

As for regionality, Tashbatz writes that if there is a harsh decree in one place, this does not mean that Jews in another locale are also obligated to observe the five restrictions. (The language of the Tur (O.C. 550) is ambiguous: “If there is no peace – the Temple is destroyed – and there is no decree in any known Jewish place.”) He notes, however, that although technically, Jews who are being persecuted by the government would be obligated to treat all four of the fasts as we now treat Tisha Be-av, practically speaking, it would likely be forbidden for them to fast, since doing so would sap their strength. In which case, one might ask, when were these fasts ever observed in their obligatory sense?

As far as the actual history of these fasts, an interesting issue is the status of the Jews who lived unmolested in Exile during the time that the Second Temple existed, particularly in the period when the Jews in Israel were relatively unencumbered by foreign occupiers. Did they follow the status of their brethren living in Israel, and celebrate during those days? Or did they treat the four days as optional? Allow me to attempt a scholastic approach to this question.

There is an interesting statement found in the commentary of the Rambam on the mishna in Rosh Hashanna (18a). The mishna tells us that during the time when the New Month was established by the testimony of witnesses who had seen the New Moon, the Sanhedrin used to send out messengers to announce the New Month six times a year, one of which was in Av, on account of the need to know precisely which day was to be the fast of Av. Rambam writes that the mishna’s law was applicable even in the time of the Temple. He writes that while the other fast days were non-compulsory during the Temple, the Ninth of Av – though essentially also optional at the time – had already been accepted by the people as mandatory by the time of the writing of the mishna. That is why the emissaries were sent out only in Av, and not for the other months that contained fast days.

Many great scholars have expressed bewilderment at this comment of the Rambam. They state that the mishna simply can’t be discussing the Temple period, since there was no fasting during times of peace. They bring proofs from the gemara. Tashbatz even goes so far as to say that a clerical error must have crept into the manuscripts of the Rambam’s Commentary.

At the risk of going against the grain somewhat, I would suggest that the opinion of Rambam is easily defensible. First of all – and you’ll have to check the mishna to see what I’m talking about – the word “aff” which is printed at the end of the mishna implies clearly that Tisha Be-av was a fast even during the time of the Temple. Turei Even is so troubled by this little word, and its implications, that he erases it; but Rambam clearly had it in his version of the mishna (see Hilchos Kiddush Ha-chodesh 3:9).

As for the argument that during the time of the Temple the Ninth of Av, and all other fast days, were days of celebration, I think Rambam would say that this is true only of the Jews living in Israel. For those who chose to remain in Babylon or elsewhere in exile, however, celebration was not in order, and fasting, though optional, was certainly permissible. It is only in the times of the Messiah, writes Rambam at the end of Hilchos Ta’anis, that all the fast days will become days of festivity.

Incidentally, I think this is what Ritva and Rashba mean when they mention as one of the criteria of "peace" that the Jews must be living in their land. Obviously, if the Temple is built, there must be at least a significant number of Jews living in Israel; their point must be that for any particular Jew to be experiencing "peace" he must be residing in the Holy Land.

I realize that my explanation assumes that messengers would be able to arrive outside of Israel in under nine days – since otherwise their going would be pointless. And although the old dimensions of the Holy Land, 400 x 400 parsa’os (see Tanchuma Sh’lach #7), implied that, even if Jerusalem and the Sanhedrin were in the very centre of the land, it would take no fewer than 20 days to exit the land (see Ritva on R”H 18a), still, we do have on record the observation of Rambam himself (Hilchos Kiddush Ha-chodesh 5:10) that from Jerusalem to Egypt, via Ashkelon, it takes only eight days or less. Obviously this is because Jerusalem is in fact not in the centre of Israel, but towards the south. So the messengers were sent only to places to the south of Israel, where they could get there in time.

(Of course, as we've discussed elsewhere, Israel was never really that big in the first place, so the question is really moot.)

As an aside, we might ask ourselves what would happen in those places in the Exile where the messengers did not arrive. Did they keep two days? Or just the ninth day after the first possible day of the New Moon? Ritva on R”H 18a actually says that they kept the TENTH day (i.e. the equivalent of Yom Tov Sheini), since the tenth was in many ways the main date of the destruction. See also P’sachim (54b). Which raises an interesting question: why don’t we do that?

May we all merit seeing the day when Tisha Be-av is a day of celebration. “Love truth and peace,” says the prophet – though surely the order is suggestive? Until then, have a safe and inspirational fast.

Baseball Quote

"I'm being showcased on the bench. They have me sitting where people can see me."

- Ron Gardenhire

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"He has a badditude."

- DR

From The Devil's Dictionary

Overeat, v. To dine.

Ephraim Stulberg on Devarim, 5766: Where Does the First Aliyya End?

Where does the Kohein aliya end this week? While many Humashim indicate that it ought to end following verse 11, based on my rather limited experience it seems to me that the custom is to halt after verse 10, in order not to begin the Levi aliya with the words “eikha essa levaddi…”. This is a relatively new phenomenon – it appears mainly in newer Humashim, those printed in the past twenty years or so. Older Humashim, such as the Soncino or any of the ones printed in Europe in the earlier part of the twentieth century, will conclude Kohein with verse 11.

How much of a tradition do we have concerning where the various aliya changes are supposed to occur? How much weight ought we to give the breakdown as it appears in our Humashim? For that matter, what exactly are “our Humashim”?

In an article that appeared in the journal Sinai several years back, Ilana Katzenelenbogen attempted to trace the history of these divisions. She checked various manuscripts, minhagim books, and printed Humashim and Tanakhs. She found that the introduction of notations for kohein, levi, shlishi, etc. into the printed Humash occurred sporadically around 400 years ago; it was only around 300 years ago, in the 1700s, that they made a near-universal appearance. While the earlier sources displayed great variation both from one another and from the current custom, the later documents showed more uniformity. Katzenelenbogen concludes on this basis that there was in fact no real tradition as to how to divide the aliyyot, and that modern-day customs are of relatively recent origin.

Concerning the first aliya of P’ D’varim, for instance, the majority of textual witnesses give verse 11 as the prescribed final verse; verse 10 is listed in only a few. It would thus seem that from a historical perspective there is really no advantage to be gained by protesting in favour of either option.

What about the halakhic viewpoint? In his 1936 work Miqraei Qodesh (7:27, n. 41), R. Tzvi Hirsch Grodzinsky of Omaha, Nebraska argues that the two customs are reflected in an argument that appears in the Talmud. The Talmud states that we do not begin an aliya with the reading the Curses; rather, we begin the aliyya three verses prior. There are two opinions regarding why this is so. One view, that of R’ Levi, holds that “it is not right that my sons are cursed while I am blessed”: to recite the blessings over the Torah reading, only to immediately recite the Curses, seems unfair. The other opinion, maintained by R’ Yose son of R’ Bon, dismisses this view, and instead argues for the general importance of commencing and concluding each aliyya with a positive sentence.

R’ Grodzinsky notes that in the Yerushalmi, these two opinions are presented as being in conflict with one another. The reason why the R’ Levi’s opinion is rejected is explained by the Qorban Ha-eida, a commentary on the Yerushalmi: it notes that since the curses are only conditional, there is really nothing so ironic about reciting a blessing over them. There is really no inverse parallelism at play here, since a conditional curse is juxtaposed with an absolute blessing.

Why is the second reason not agreed upon by all? R’ Grodzinsky explains that R’ Yose’s explanation fails that explain why the aliyya containing the Curses begins so close to the actual curses – why not start further upfield? Why specifically that location? Moreover, why is the law given only in reference to the Curses, as opposed to any other melancholy portion of the Torah? R’ Levi must have felt that the more general principle of R’ Yose lacked any basis in the sources, and that his generalization based on this one particular halakha was misplaced.

R’ Grodzinsky continues by suggesting that the two variations on where the Levi aliyya begins in P’ D’varim can be explained along the lines of the disagreement mentioned above. R’ Levi denies the existence of any overarching rule that frowns upon beginning an aliyya on a “downnote”. So long as there is no outright curse, everything is fair game, and there is thus no problem with starting with “eicha essa levaddi”. R’ Yose, of course, would regard this as an improper place to begin, and would prefer to start one verse earlier. He adds that since R’ Yose’s rule is codified by Rema (O.C. 138), we ought to conclude Kohein with verse 10.

Ephraim Stulberg on Devarim, 5765

I have already discussed elsewhere (P’ Korach of last year) the question of whether Divine punishment is delivered for those who sin while between the ages of 13 and 20. The Midrash Rabbah (B’midbar Rabbah 16:23) tells us that even those people under the age of twenty – provided they were at least bar mitzvah age - were punished for the sin of the spies. But whereas those who were over twenty were punished whether they were involved with the smear campaign against the Holy Land, those who were underage were only deemed guilty if they had taken an active role in the anti-Israel attacks.

The source for these two categories, it seems to me, is based upon a discrepancy between the accounts of the Spies in P’ Sh’lach and in P’ D’varim. In P’ Sh’lach, God clearly tells Moshe that it is the men aged twenty and older who are to be punished (B’midbar 14:29). In D’varim, however, Moshe quotes God as having said that only “your infants…and your sons who have not known today either good or bad” will be granted entry to the Promised Land (D’varim 1:39). This seems to imply that only those who were pre-Bar Mitzvah minors at the time of the sin were immune from any penalty; they were the ones who knew not the difference between good and evil. Thus the Midrash reconciles these conflicting verses by differentiating between the two demographic groups.

Ephraim Stulberg on Devarim, 5764

Along the way into the Land of Israel, the Jews passed around three kingdoms: Edom, Mo’av, and Ammon. In each instance, they were commanded not to wage war with those peoples. With Edom, the command reads, “You shall not incite them” (D’varim 2:5); by Mo’av it says, “Do not distress Mo’av, and do not incite war against them” (2:9); and regarding Ammon, “Do not distress them and do not incite them” (2:19). The reason given for these obligations is that the lands held by these peoples had already been promised to others.

What are the parameters of these commandments? What did they actually entail? Were they meant to be eternal, or were they simply temporary decrees? The answers to these questions are not so clear. The gemara (Bava Kamma 38b. See also Midrash Tanchuma (Balak #2)) notes that regarding Mo’av, it is only war which the Torah tells us may not be instigated; other types of conflict are permitted, and the Jews are permitted to subject them to servitude (see Rashi ad loc.). With Ammon, however, things are different, and no sort of provocation is permitted at all. It is unclear what the status of Edom is. On the one hand, since the Torah makes no specific reference to war in the case of Edom, one might assume that no oppressive action is permitted at all, similar to the case of Ammon. Yet Edom is unique among the three countries, perhaps significantly so, in that there is no prohibition against causing it “distress.”

What is the meaning of the prohibition against “distressing” Mo’av and Ammon? The term used by the Torah, “al ta-tzar” actually has the implication of surrounding something, laying siege to it, as R’ Sa’adya explains. Understood this way, the order of the two commandments makes sense: first the siege is laid, and only then does war commence. However, why does this prohibition not apply regarding Edom as well? Perhaps one might suggest the Torah took into account the fact that the tactics of Edom were different from those of the descendants of Lot. Edom waged war with his sword, while Ammon and Mo’av fought a moral battle with the Jews. “Two nations [i.e. Egypt and Edom] confronted Israel with their swords, and two with sin [i.e. Ammon and Moav]…” writes the Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas #3). While no harm would be done to the Jews by placing a siege against Edom, such a length military procedure would surely have disastrous moral effects if it were allowed to be carried out against the immoral children of Lot. It is perhaps for this reason that the Torah allows the Jews to cut down the fruit trees of Ammon and Mo’av if indeed they do have cause to lay siege to their cities (see Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas #3)). Such a drastic measure, usually prohibited (D’varim 20:19), is allowed in order to minimize the amount of time the Jews would have to be associated with such base peoples. According to this understanding, it would seem that certain oppressive measures, such as laying a siege, are permitted against Edom, though waging an actual war of conquest is prohibited.

Were these commandments specific to the particular instance in which the Jews passed near the lands of these three nations on their way into Israel? Or did they apply for a longer period? On the one hand, write Tosafos (Bava Kamma 38a), the gemara seems to imply that the prohibition remained in place even following the war with Midyan – which occurred after the Jews had already passed by Mo’av. Yet the Midrash Rabbah (Be-reishis Rabbah 74:15) recounts that when David sent Yo’av to wage war with Aram Naharayim and Aram Tzova, he encountered hostility from the Edomites and Mo’avites (see T’hillim 60). When the issue of whether he was allowed to wage war with them came up, David consulted with the Sanhedrin, who told him that since Mo’av had instigated against Israel, in the time of Balak, the prohibition was no longer binding from that point on. Tosafos answer that David was merely scoring a rhetorical point, and that in fact the prohibition was still intact up until the time the Mo’av actually waged war with Israel in the time of Eglon (Shoftim 3) and subjugated them.

So Tosafos believe that these commandments were essentially meant to be eternal, so long as circumstances did not change. The opinion of Ramban, in his addenda to the Sefer Ha-mitzvos, is that the commandments refer only to the actual waging of war against those nations, with the intent to deprive them of their patrimony. This is implied in the verses, which explain the reason for the commandment as having to do with the fact that the lands of these nations were already promised to them; non-territorial warfare is okay, however. Ramban dismisses the passage in Be-reishis Rabbah, citing another version which does not imply the same thing. However, I’m not sure what he would do with the Midrash Tanchuma (Chukas #18), which states that the Amalekites disguised themselves as Edomites during their surprise assault against the Jews, “because Israel was prohibited from fighting against the sons of Eisav.” Why should they have prohibited in this case, a defensive battle fought outside of Edomite territory?

The Rambam, in the third of his fourteen principles upon which he decided in laying out his enumeration of the 613 commandments, states that the obligation not to attack Ammon, Mo’av and Edom was a temporary injunction. Indeed, this is suggested by the words of the Torah (D’varim 23:7), which tells us not to seek peace from Ammon and Mo’av. The Sifrei explains that this means that, whereas with other wars of expansion, there is an obligation to propose peace terms beforehand, this does not apply to these two cruel nations. Clearly, the Torah envisaged scenarios in which the Jews would end up fighting wars of aggression with Ammon and Mo’av.

In sum, I submit that against Edom, only actual warfare was banned; the laying of a siege, and certainly any lesser sort of aggression, was permissible. Against Mo’av, laying siege was prohibited, though lesser forms of hostility were not. And against Ammon, no unfriendly action of any sort was allowed. Whether these rules were meant to be effective for all time, or only for a limited period, is debatable; but the prohibition against fighting with Ammon and Mo’av had clearly lapsed following the incident of Pe’or.

Ephraim Stulberg on Matot-Mas`ei, 5766

The Mishnah (Hagigah 1: 8) states that the source for the nullification of vows “flies in the air”, there being only the slightest allusion to this concept in the Written Torah. The Talmud lists a number of rabbinic attempts to find such a hint, and concludes that the most likely candidate is the verse in this week’s first sidra, which reads “he shall not nullify his word; he shall do according to that which leaves his mouth” (Num. 30:3) The verse is taken to imply that while one may not absolve oneself of one’s own vows, no such limitation is placed on others. הוא אינו מיחל אבל אחרים מוחלין לו, as the gemara puts it.

The extent to which this essentially unwritten principle was known in ancient times is open to question. There are several stories in the Bible in which such a mechanism for retraction of vows could have come in handy, and yet was not employed. (I refer, for instance, to the tragic incident involving the daughter of Yiftah; see Tanhuma Behuqosai #5.) Was this true of all halakhos leMoshe miSinai? Did they all have such limited circulation?

Perhaps not. As Ramban points out in his commentary on the Torah, it is perhaps for this reason that Moses informs only the tribal leaders of this halakhic concept of hataras nedarim, “lest they [i.e. the masses] become frivolous in their use of vows”. Sure enough, at various points in Jewish history, the rabbis have employed the loophole of hataras nedarim with great reluctance, allowing it only in times of exceptional need. It has even been speculated that this is why the Gaonic academies did away with the study of the tractates “Nedarim” and “Nazir” altogether, as they provide the main Talmudic sources for the nullification, a procedure which was rarely performed in that time. (See the relevant sources indexed in Levin’s Otzar Ha-geonim, v. XI p. 131.) The controversy over Kol Nidrei, which has sporadically reared its head throughout the course of its long history, most recently as part of the Reform-Orthodox schism of the nineteenth century, would likely not have occurred had that service not been misapplied by the people, and indeed, the Mishnah refers to a Kol Nidrei-like mechanism in the vaguest of terms precisely in order that remain unknown to the superficial reader (see Nedarim 23b).

Ephraim Stulberg on Mas`ei, 5765

After commanding the Jews to conquer and distribute the Land of Canaan, God tells the Moshe: “Command the Children of Israel and say to them: Behold, you are coming to the Land of Canaan. This is the land that shall fall to you as a territorial inheritance, the Land of Canaan according to its boundaries. And the southern boundary shall be…” (B’midbar 34:2-3). What exactly is the nature of this “command”? Where is the imperative mood here; what are the Jews being asked to do? Most commentaries seem to overlook this textual difficulty; but there are at least a couple of approaches to be found.

Rashi appears to understand this commandment as referring to the various mitzvos dependent on the boundaries of the Land, such as the various priestly tithes. Knowledge of Israel’s frontiers is a prerequisite for the fulfillment of other “real” commandments, and is thus demanded of us in the form of an obligation, “tzav”.

The Netziv adds that the word “tzav” is to be taken at its broader understanding, as being a general directive towards vigilance (see Sifra at the beginning of P’ Tzav). Because of the many laws applicable only within the boundaries of Israel, we are obligated to know “with precision” the extent of Israel’s territory.

The Meshech Chochma, in a similar vein, writes that this commandment is providing the details of the obligation of Re’uven and Gad to fight alongside their brethren before returning to their homes in Transjordan. Until the boundaries mentioned in our parasha were secured, they were not free to go home.

Basically, everyone agrees that the commandment is to gain knowledge of Israel’s frontiers. A similar argument could easily be made regarding the 42 stops made by the Jews on their way to Israel, if we accept the oft-cited rationale of the Rambam for this passage: in order to appreciate the magnitude of what happened in the desert, we need to know something of the geography of
these places. So pull out your maps, sit down with your chumashim, and start studying!

Ephraim Stulberg on Matot, 5765

The story of the Jewish war with the Midyanites is disturbing to the modern reader. After the Jewish warriors return from battle, having mercifully spared the women and children, Moshe reacts angrily, and orders them to massacre all but the young girls. Frankly, nowadays this would be called genocide. How are we to relate to this sort of story?

The Midyanites attacked the Jews from all perspectives. They attacked them as a physical menace, a foreign power that had to be subdued; but they also loathed them because of who they were, and because of their relationship with God. Thus the vengeance meted out to the Midyanites is described as being on behalf of both the Jews (31:2) and God (31:3). As the Tanchuma (Mattos #3) states: “Moshe said: “Master of the Universe, if we were heathens or idolaters or deniers of the mitzvos, they would not have hated us or pursued us.” It is instructive that in this war, according to one opinion, there were 12,000 soldiers who fought in battle; but there were also an equal number whose responsibility it was to pray for the downfall of their enemies (ibid.). The war with Midyan was fought on two simultaneous fronts: physical and spiritual.

In a sense, this sort of utter negation of the Jews was similar to that exhibited by Amalek. It is noteworthy that just like the Midyanites, who are called “tzor’rim”, the Amalekite, Haman, is also called “tzorer hay’hudim.” Haman attacked the physical being of the Jews, to be sure; but he also denigrated their “peculiar” national laws (see Megillah 13b). And again, the sort of total war required against Amalek, the obligation to annihilate them as a nation, finds a close parallel when it comes to Midyan: thus we are not to offer them peace terms, and we are not forbidden to chop down their fruit trees and gratuitously destroy their property when we besiege them (Tanchuma Pinchas #3). While I’m not sure how far we should take this analogy, it is surely instructive.

So while it might not seem pleasant, the (purely theoretical!) lesson seems to be that if another nation is so opposed to the existence of the Jews as a people, in any form – religious or secular – and acts upon that notion, then we surely ought not to hesitate to act in kind.

Ephraim Stulberg on Matot-Mas`ei, 5764

One of the recurrent themes in this week’s parshiyos is the family of Menashe. In P’ Mattos, part of the tribe of Menashe asks to inherit its territory on the eastern bank of the Jordan; and at the very end of P’ Mas’ei, the issue of whom the daughters of Tz’laphchad are allowed to marry becomes an issue, lest they intermarry with another tribe and cause the loss of part of the ancestral lands.

If one looks at the descendants of Menashe, listed in P’ Pinchas (26:28-34), we find that he had only one son, Machir, who in turn had a son, Gilad. Gilad, however, had six boys, one of whom was Cheifer, father of Tzlaphchad. Thus when the Torah mentions “Ya’ir ben Menashe” (32:39), it is difficult to say that this is meant to be taken literally. In Divrei Ha-yamim (I 2:22), we find that Chetzron, grandson of Yehuda, married the daughter of Machir, bore him a son named S’guv, who in turn had a son named Ya’ir. Most authorities (Ramban, Ibn Ezra) feel that the two Ya’irs are identical, and while some commentaries on Divrei Ha-yamim (Radak, Metzudas David) feel that the Rabbinic literature suggests that these were two different people, I’m not sure what they’re source for this is. So Ya’ir was in fact a member of the tribe of Yehuda, not Menashe.

The gemara (Bava Basra 113a) cites this verse from Divrei Ha-yamim to prove a certain point regarding the laws of inheritance. The verse reads: “And S’guv sired Ya’ir, and the latter possessed twenty-three cities in the region of Gilad,” seeming to imply that only Ya’ir owned the cities, not S’guv: how could this be, asks the gemara? It posits that perhaps S’guv married a brotherless woman, who died before her father, and suggests that we see from here that the inheritance went directly to Ya’ir, who inherited as a grandson, rather than to S’guv. Ultimately, the gemara provides another proof for this law, saying that the proof from Divrei Ha-yamim is weak: after all, perhaps Ya’ir came into these cities through his own marriage of a brother-less woman.

Now the twenty-three cities owned by Ya’ir are clearly described by the Torah as having been in Gilad, i.e. in the Trans-Jordanian territory of Menashe. Clearly, this implies that Ya’ir, or perhaps his father, married a woman from the tribe of Menashe, and a brother-less woman at that. This is also what Ya’ir’s grandfather, Chetzron, had done, though in that case the woman had a living brother, i.e. Gilad, son of Machir. (In this light, it is interesting to note that in D’varim 3:14, the Torah says that Ya’ir “took” the cities (not “captured”, as in our parasha). The word for marriage is also “to take.” (See also the Targum there.))

In light of this information, we can begin to understand the position of the sons of Gilad – and it is significant that the Torah gives their lineage all the way down to Gilad, coming as it does to exclude the descendants of Gilad’s sister – when they came to speak to Moshe about their fear that their land was likely to pass into the hands of foreigners (36:1). It had already happened, and they were concerned lest it happen again in the future. Only once the descendants of Gilad saw the effect of the newly introduced inheritance legislation did they begin to complain.

According to our understanding, we can also begin to explain a rather peculiar comment of the gemara. In Bava Basra (119b), we are told that the daughters of Tzlaphchad were righteous, for they only married men who were “fit” for them. Rashbam explains that although ultimately the statement of Moshe that they ought to only marry into their own tribe (36:6) was only a piece of non-binding advice (see Bava Basra 120a), nonetheless they chose to marry their cousins because they were good guys.

I find this explanation difficult. First of all, if the only reason they married their cousins was because they were good yeshiva bochurim, then why didn’t they just marry them in the first place? Surely this was a rather safe way to avoid the whole problem, and they need not have worried their tribal elders. Why did they have to wait so long to get married?

Moreover, how does the gemara prove that they were righteous from the fact that they married people who were “fitting” for them? Maybe they and their spouses were both rotten people!

I think a better explanation is that they are described as righteous because they went out of their way to marry people from their tribe, even though they weren’t obligated to. They were really inclined to marry out of the family, just like so many of their relatives had, and perhaps it was their dating habits which alarmed the elders. When Moshe gave them his piece of advice, however, “that they should marry someone befitting them,” as the gemara says – i.e. someone from the tribe – they listened to him, and for that they were praised by the gemara as righteous women. Must have been nice having Moshe Rabbeinu as a shadchan!

(Incidentally, I just realized that now I also understand the Midrash Tanchuma in Pinchas (#7). Look it up!)

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"This one requires much hitting."

- SG, advising EM, re. BB

From The Devil's Dictionary

Out-of-Doors, n. That part of one's environment upon which no government has been able to collect taxes. Chiefly useful to inspire poets.

From The Devil's Dictionary

Outdo, v.t. To make an enemy.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"The old new old O.T.I."

- RBP

From The Devil's Dictionary

Outcome, n. A particular type of disappointment. By the kind of intelligence that sees in an exception a proof of the rule the wisdom of an act is judged by the outcome, the result. This is immortal nonsense; the wisdom of an act is to be judged by the light that the doer had when he performed it.

Well done HWMNBN

Congratulations on getting a link to your blog from the real Dark Lord.

At the bottom of "Charge 2"

Also here on this page, dibur hamaskil (no pun intended) Click here for a more comprehensive list

Talmudic Spontaneous Generation

Must we believe that spontaneous generation of lice occurs, or that it did, at least, during Talmudic times? Many claim we must; not only those who assert Chazal's scientific infallibility, but also others (see, for example, Rabbi Shlomo Fisher, Derashot Beit Yishai, siman #47, fn. dalet) who point to the fact that in this specific instance, there is a drasha (kind of; see Shabbat 107b) that discusses spontaneous generation, and we can't invalidate a drasha. Some (I believe Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, for example) suggest Chazal really meant just that the reproduction of lice is not visible to the naked eye, and therefore is not recognized from a halachic perspective; but that they were not, in fact, contradicting the modern understanding of how a louse forms. I'm uncomfortable with this explanation; how are lice different from other insects in this regard? Also, the fact that the entire ancient (and medieval) world believed in spontaneous generation is quite suggestive.

I think we can preserve the validity of the drasha even if we think that Chazal were wrong about spontaneous generation of lice. The drasha (look at it carefully - Shabbat 107b), according to those who argue with Rabbi Eliezer, says that a species must reproduce, like the eilim me'odamim, in order for killing it to be prohibited on Shabbat. It doesn't specify lice. A Talmudic rabbi who thought that lice didn't reproduce would, indeed, derive from this drasha that killing lice is not prohibited mide'oraita, but the faulty science involved in his conclusion would reside exclusively in his application of the drasha, not in the drasha itself. If the drasha doesn't assume that lice are reproduced spontaneously, then we are not obligated to do so either.

But why would there be a drasha about species that don't reproduce, if all species do reproduce (as per modern science)? Doesn't the drasha, regardless of whether it's really talking about lice, clearly endorse the notion that spontaneous generation of animals does occur? It does seem to, but I don't think that's at all in conflict with modern science; in fact, I think it can be explained using modern science. Modern medicine and biotechnology perform new wonders on a regular basis. There is now very serious talk of growing people extra sets of organs, to be used in case the original needs replacement. Such procedures are already in place for some organs. Animal cloning has been done. Test-tube fertilization has been done. Genetic modification has been done. Biologists can create all sorts of amazing things in today's laboratories. Is it far-fetched to think that one day they will be able to make animals "from scratch" (if, indeed, they can't already do it today)? I think that if science wants to, it will definitely be able to make, let's say, a louse, from a bunch of inanimate matter. Would one be permitted to kill such a louse (or fly, or deer) on Shabbat? Mide'oraisa, yes - that's what it says at Shabbat 107b. It may thus be that the drasha, far from being scientifically backward, is actually forecasting a level of scientific sophistication that man has only recently begun to see as within the realm of the possible.

How to Speed Up Major League Baseball Games

"Hitters get to scratch themselves only once per at-bat."

- Tom Weir

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"If you keep making bad jokes, I'm going to beat the crap out of you, Crapman, and then your name will just be 'man'."

- TS

From The Devil's Dictionary

Ostrich, n. A large bird to which (for its sins, doubtless) nature has denied that hinder toe in which so many pious naturalists have seen a conspicuous evidence of design. The absence of a good working pair of wings is no defect, for, as has been ingeniously pointed out, the ostrich does not fly.

Who says soccer isn't fun?

http://www.theregister.co.uk/2006/07/13/zidane_headbutt_outrage/

My Favorite is the Hannibal Lecter one.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"Bible stories."
"At Monday school."

-HK, MF the Elder, re. Chumash class

From The Devil's Dictionary

Orthography, n. The science of spelling by the eye instead of the ear. Advocated with more heat than light by the outmates of every asylum for the insane. They have had to concede a few things since the time of Chaucer, but are none the less hot in defence of those to be conceded hereafter.

A spelling reformer indicted
For fudge was before the court cicted.
The judge said: "Enough-
His candle we'll snough,
And his sepulchre shall not be whicted."

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"What is 'lambic pentameeter'?"

- SPAG, re. "iambic pentameter" on blackboard

From The Devil's Dictionary

Orphan, n. A living person whom death has deprived of the power of filial ingratitude - a privation appealing with a particular eloquence to all that is sympathetic in human nature. When young the orphan is commonly sent to an asylum, where by careful cultivation of its rudimentary sense of locality it is taught to know its place. It is then instructed in the arts of dependence and servitude and eventually turned loose to prey upon the world as a bootblack or scullery maid.

Zootorah Update

Rabbi Natan Slifkin has revamped and expanded the controversy section of his website, which I know at least a few of you are interested in. I spent some profitable time reading through the new material.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"Listen up, gentlethings."

- RBC

From The Devil's Dictionary

Optimist, n. A proponent of the doctrine that black is white.

A pessimist applied to God for relief.

"Ah, you wish me to restore your hope and cheerfulness," said God.

"No," replied the petitioner, "I wish you to create something that would justify them."

"The world is all created," said God, "but you have overlooked something - the mortality of the optimist."

Ephraim Stulberg on Pinchas, 5766

Following the dramatic actions taken by Pinhas in order to quell the outbreak of yet another plague amidst a sinful Israelite nation, God tells Moshe that Pinhas will consequently be granted “a covenant of eternal priesthood” (Num 25:13).

In the Talmud (Zevahim 101b), we find a disagreement as to when this priesthood actually kicked in. R’ Hanina held that the new status began immediately following Pinhas’ skewering of Zimri; Rav Ashi, however, felt that Pinhas did not achieve actual priesthood until much later, when he was responsible for achieving peace amongst the tribes following the erection of an ostensibly competing altar by the tribes of Reuven and Gad in Transjordan (see Josh. 22). Until that point, the priesthood had remained latent within Pinhas; only following his act of diplomacy did it become activated.

This duality of Pinhas’ character, his role as both peacemaker and religious vigilante, may seem contradictory to some; to others, the compatibility of these traits might appear self-evident - “When Justice is done, then Truth and Peace are also served,” the Yerushalmi tells us (Ta’anis 4:2). If God’s will is to be accomplished then one must employ any means necessary – this, it strikes me, is the usual understanding of the Pinhas episode.

And yet, the Talmud appears to be telling us something a little different. God praises Pinhas not merely for his vengefulness on God’s behalf (“tahas asher kinnei leilokav”), but also – indeed primarily - for the fact that he removed God’s wrath from the Jews, “and I did not terminate the Children of Israel in My jealousy.” Religious zealotry is justifiable only in such cases as it coincides with the national wellbeing. Pinhas’ drastic solution was in essence an act of mediation between a wrathful God and a sinful nation which was in the midst of being severely punished for its rebellion. Upon Zimri’s execution, the plague that had killed some 24,000 Jews was halted.

It was this consideration that motivated Pinhas; however, it seems not unlikely that many would have interpreted his actions so magnanimously. This was certainly not how his grandfather, Aharon, had acted when he was called upon to halt a similar plague! So when the Transjordanian tribes appeared to establish a rival sacrificial altar, they sent Pinhas to lead a delegation to ensure that this truly represented a causus belli. Again, when Pinhas speaks to the tribes, he emphasizes the deleterious effect such a transgression would have on the entire nation, recalling the pox that ravaged the Israelites as a result of the events of Ba’al Pe’or. Only once Pinhas articulated his true concern with the physical health of the nation, alongside his sensitivity to the Divine Will, was he accepted by the people as a true Kohein.

Ephraim Stulberg on Pinchas, 5764

Following the enumeration of the tribes, and the rather cryptic description of how the Land of Israel was to be divided among them (which I had hoped to make the topic of this week’s email, but failed, for want of time), the Torah proceeds to provide us with a brief census of the tribe of Levi as well. Ramban (26:57) is puzzled by this additional information, and cannot account for why it was provided.

Perhaps one might have suggested that the enumeration of the Levites was in order to determine the number of cities to be allocated to them. But this seems somewhat doubtful. The tribe of Shimon, which inherited 17 cities within the boundaries of Yehuda (see Yehoshua 19:1-9), had a population of 22,200 men over the age of twenty, while Levi, who ended up with no less than 48 cities and their environs (Yehoshua 21:39), had a male population of 23,000 people over the age of one month. Clearly this doesn’t work.

What seemed more plausible to me was the possibility that this enumeration was taken for future purposes. When the Jews are ultimately redeemed, the Levites will also take a share in the land: not merely as denizens of unconnected cities, but of a contiguous tract of territory (see Bava Basra 122a). Such a division would be according to the numbers that existed at the time of entry into Israel, as recorded in our parasha. But then I realized that this futuristic division will in fact not be based upon the number of individuals who had entered the land with Yehoshua – for it specifically states (Yechezkel 47:22-23) that even converts would then have a share in the land, while they are specifically excluded from inheriting in Israel during the initial land survey (see Sifrei Pinchas # 132).

Might we say that the division of the 48 Levitic cities among the various families was done according to their respective proportions, and that this was the purpose of the enumeration? This suggestion is made by Chizkuni. Of course, if this were the point, it would have been nice of the Torah to tell us what indeed those numbers were, instead of simply providing us with the overall tally. But what if we rely on the totals from P’ Be-midbar? Does it work out?

Here are the numbers: Gershon = 7,500, K’has = 8,600, M’rari = 6,200, for a total of 22,300, only 700 shy of the total in P’ Pinchas. The allocation of the cities was Gershon = 13, K’has = 23, M’rari = 12. While this does work out in the sense that the family with the most people had the most cities, and so on, the ratios really don’t work out.

Regarding the first census, the midrash (B’midbar Rabbah 1:12) that when Moshe heard that the Levites were to be excluded from the national census, he was distressed. “Perhaps there is something improper in the lineage of my tribe?” he wondered. I suppose we can say here as well that the very brief listing of the Levites in our parasha is to counter such a thought. The lineage of the Levites is explained, highlighting the great individuals who came from that tribe: Moshe, Aharon and Miriam (26:59). Then the real reason why they were not counted with the rest of Israel is given: because they had no physical stake in the land. The fact that they had no share in the land was not because of questionable provenance; rather, it was because their founders had risen to such a level so as to achieve the lofty status of “paladins,” the king’s noblemen (see B’midbar Rabbah 1:12).

Ephraim Stulberg on Pinchas, 5765

The daughters of Tzelophchad are fascinating characters, upon whom the partisan reader might project any number of modern values. Whether to view them as intellectually daring proto-feminists, reacting against a testosterone- fuelled theocracy, or as submissive, uxorial Bais Yaakov-types who ultimately get married and had lots of babies, is really beside the point, for of course they were neither.

And so I’ve decided to concentrate upon another ideology attributed to Tzelophchad’s daughters, namely Zionism (forgive the anachronism). That we ought to consider these women to have been lovers of the Land of Israel is a familiar idea, famously expressed by Rashi in his notes on our parasha (B’midbar 26:64), in which he contrasts the attitude of the doomed men of the Generation of the Desert with that of its women: while the men rejected Israel as uninviting and inhospitable, the women, as exemplified by Tzelophchad’s daughters, yearned for a stake in it.

This seems rather straightforward. But there are other midrashic statements in which a Zionist tendency is detected, and these midrashim are not as easy to comprehend. Consider this Sifrei (Pinchas #133), explaining why the lineage of these women is traced all the way back to their great-great- great-grandfather: “Just as Yosef loved the Land of Israel, so the daughters of Tzelophchad.” Where do we find that Yosef loved Israel?

Or how about this excerpt from the Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas #7), from which Rashi seems to have taken the idea we cited above: “This is why this parasha [of the daughters of Tzelophchad] is written close to the death of Miriam [sic]: for from that point on, the men made a breach [regarding their desire to enter Israel], while the women mended it.” What does the death of Miriam have to do with loving the Land of Israel?

Furthermore, one might ask, as R’ David Pardo does in his commentary on the Sifrei: Where exactly do we see the daughters of Tzelophchad espousing a love of Eretz Yisrael? They wanted a share in the land, it is true; but perhaps that was merely to avoid a life of abject poverty, or to uphold the family name, or some other reason? Perhaps they were merely self-interested opportunists, not Zionists?

The answer to all of these questions, it seems to me, lies in our understanding of a commonly practiced form of Zionism. It is a commonplace that the most popular form of immigration to Israel these days takes place in coffins, and one gets the impression that this is a trend that is looked upon less than favourably. And yet this is clearly a long-standing practice, a form of Zionism, if one may call it that, which dates back to the time of Yaakov Avinu. It certainly seems to have been a fairly common practice in Talmudic times (see Megillah 6a, Moed Katan 25a, Kiddushin 31b, Midrash Tanchuma (Vay’chi #3)).This was the Zionism of Yosef, unable to free himself from his Egyptian responsibilities, until death unburdened his pure soul from an overworked body; this is the tragic fate of Miriam, who died in the desert and was buried on the spot, not allowed to be transported to Israel for burial; and this, it appears, was one of the objectives of the daughters of Tzelophchad, to secure an Israeli burial plot for their father “who died in the desert” (B’mdibar 27:3). This need to be buried in the Holy Land, this is the love of Israel to which our midrashim refer.

The lesson here seems to be that a desire to be buried in Israel is not merely an attempt to avoid the unpleasant, subterranean transport required before the Resurrection of the Dead (K’suvos 111a, Yerushalmi Kilayim 9:3); it is also an expression of Zionism, of the idea that the body and soul of every Jew is metaphysically linked to the Land of Israel.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"Have I changed, Shanon? No. Same funny guy."

- RBP, to SPAG, latter visiting after year-and-a-half absence

From The Devil's Dictionary

Oppose, v. To assist with obstructions and objections.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"It's extremely O.K."

- DR, endeavouring to provide a precise description

From The Devil's Dictionary

Once, adv. Enough.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"Americans, when they think they're behind, they create something new, you know."

- MH, re. football

From The Devil's Dictionary

Omen, n. A sign that something will happen if nothing happens.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"How about when a number increases excrementally?"

- MF the Elder, re. mathematical series

From The Devil's Dictionary

Offensive, adj. Generating disagreeable emotions or sensations, as the advance of an army against its enemy.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"What is my minhag? What difference does it make what a little guy born in Petach Tikva some forty plus years ago does...?"

- RBP, re. making the bracha "Leisheiv basukkah"

From The Devil's Dictionary

Occident, n. The part of the world lying west (or east) of the Orient. It is largely inhabited by Christians, a powerful sub-tribe of the Hypocrites, whose principal industries are murder and cheating, which they are pleased to call "war" and "commerce." These, also, are the principal industries of the Orient.

Improvements to Science of Chazal Post

I have made [what I consider to be] major improvements to the format of my post "Sources Indicating That Chazal Did Not Possess Perfect Scientific Knowledge." Suggestions for further improvements are always appreciated.

On Evolution

In his article entitled "The Myth of Scientific Objectivity" (The Jewish Observer, May 2006), Rabbi Yonoson Rosenblum quotes the following sentence from the brochure for the British Museum of Natural History's 1981 exhibit on Darwin:

Evolution by natural selection is not, strictly speaking, scientific, because it is established by logical deduction rather than empirical demonstration.

I don't know whether natural selection is "scientific" - that's an uninteresting semantic debate. The important, and true, point, in my estimation, is that natural selection is qualitatively different from most other scientific theses. I've tried to express this idea on several occasions; this brochure did it nicely.

Ephraim Stulberg on Balak, 5765

There are many important theological issues embedded in this week’s parasha. One of the more interesting questions raised in P’ Balak is the relationship of non-Jews to God. In their entreaties on behalf of the beleaguered Moabite nation, Balak and Bilam appealed not to their indigenous idols, but to the unitary God of the Jews; and yet, they seem not to have considered Him as the proprietary “Jewish God”, but rather as a more universal God, a God who could, in theory, heed the pleas of a well-intentioned non-Jew even at the expense of His supposedly Chosen People. What are we to make of these efforts of non-Jews to relate to God outside of, or even in antagonism towards, the Jewish viewpoint?

Rav Hirsch has a lovely comment on this element of the parasha. He notes that in previous generations, there had also been individuals who had appreciated the existence of a unitary God, such as Malki Tzedek. He writes:

Altogether the monotheistic truth as opposed to the polytheistic error is not the specials, and certainly not the whole, characteristic of Judaism. That is rather the monotheistic truth with the full realization of what it entails for human living, the identifying One God with one mode of life, by His revealed Law (Commentary on the Torah, B’midbar 22:8).

Bilam may have appreciated God’s omnipotence; but he failed to draw the proper conclusions from it. He advocated a licentious lifestyle, and in his own personal dealings he was a moral failure, a conceitful and avaricious individual obsessed only with himself. His conception of God was of a power that was limited to the upper spheres of the world, unconcerned with worldly matters. This was in stark contrast with the Jewish prophets, who preached morality to all nations (Tanchuma Balak #1).

In other words, while the non-Jewish admission of the unity of God is laudable, it is not the be-all and end-all in matters of religion. While Bilam may have been an intellectually sophisticated theologian, to the extent that he was able to communicate directly with God (see Tanchuma Balak #12), his own moral failings ensured that he would go down in history as nothing more than a cynical mercenary, a trickster and charlatan.

So far we have shown how the majesty of the God of the Jews can only be truly experienced within the framework of His Law. But what of the individual non-Jew who lives a righteous life, and yet attempts to relate to God outside of the Jewish framework? The short answer, I suppose, is that this would be okay, so long as the non-Jew’s aspirations do not impinge on Jewish affairs. It is not coincidental that much of Bilam’s prophecy is devoted to the idea that, in fact, the Jewish people is unique: “It is a people that shall dwell apart, and not reckon itself among the nations” (23:9). While there is room for the non-Jew to communicate with and experience God without becoming Jewish, that relationship will always be a secondary one.

Ephraim Stulberg on Chukat, 5765

This week’s parasha is basically about death. From the Red Heifer to the laws of impurity to the deaths of Miriam and Aharon, every passage seems to remind us of our mortality, and it can be a tad depressing to read. And yet, there are certainly some lessons here on how we ought to relate to death.

One cannot help but note the difference between the elaborate depiction of Aharon’s death and the rather laconic rendering of that of his sister, Miriam. Of the former, we are told why he died, of his ascent to the pinnacle of the mountain, of his transfer of the high priesthood to his son, and of the people’s reaction. Elsewhere (B’midbar 33:38), we are told of the manner of his death, “kissed” by God, unmolested by the Angel of Death (Bava Basra 17a).

Of Miriam’s death, the Torah reveals little. The Torah does allude to the manner of her death; but it is does not make it explicit, for it would be improper to mention details of a woman’s death (Mo’ed Katan 28a). Indeed, it is from the Torah’s description of Miriam’s death (“And Miriam died there, and she was buried there” (B’midbar 20:19)) that we learn that is inappropriate for a woman’s coffin to be on public display during her eulogies (Shulchan Aruch Y.D. 355:1). Though Miriam was one of the leaders of the Jewish people, her death, unlike that of Aharon, was essentially a private affair; and so, the halacha seems to tell us, things ought to be for all women.

The triumphs and failures of men occur in the public eye. Military heroes, daring entrepreneurs, rabbinic geniuses: these all enter into the popular consciousness one way or another, and when they die, the loss is obvious, the expressions of grief often ostentatious.

The lives of great women are not as easily gauged by outsiders. Indeed, it is often only close family members who know of their real accomplishments, their joy and sorrow. Even Miriam, easily the most famous Jewish woman of her time, passed away “unbeknownst to anyone”, as the midrash puts it (B’midbar Rabbah 19:17). Unbeknownst, that is, until the spring which in Miriam’s z’chus had sustained the Jewish people throughout their sojourn went dry.

This is the lesson of the Torah’s description of Miriam’s death. A life lived privately ought not to be eulogized grandiosely; but it must never go unappreciated.

Ephraim Stulberg on Balak, 5764

The Sifrei on this week’s parasha (#131) cites an interesting argument between Rabbi Akiva and Rebbi. Commenting on the juxtaposition of the verse dealing with the separation of Bilam from Balak and the beginning of the incident of Ba’al P’or, Rabbi Akiva explains that there is surely a connection between the two passages. “Any parasha which is juxtaposed to another is related to it in some way, and we can learn something novel from the arrangement,” is what Rabbi Akiva says, to which Rebbi responds that “there are many parshios which are written next to one another, and are as far from one another as East is from West.”

Rebbi goes on to cite several cases illustrative of his point. The first case is an example of “ein mukdam u-m’uchar ba-torah” – there is no chronological order in the Torah. The others are of instances in which consecutive verses appear to have no relation to one another, and whose relationship is revealed only by closer scrutiny.

What is the meaning of this argument? What does Rebbi mean? And what is the relationship between the rule of “ein mukdam u-m’uchar ba-torah” and the rule of “dorshin s’muchin” seemingly implied by Rebbi?

R’ David Pardo explains that, while on the one hand, Rebbi acknowledges the fact that there is no chronological order in the Torah, and that events are not necessarily recorded in the order in which they occurred, this is not to suggest that the Torah was written in a haphazard manner. Verses written next to one another do have significance: we are not “doresh s’muchin” – in that sense he argues with Rabbi Akiva – yet at the same time the order of the Torah is still invested with some significance. The order does not teach us anything we don’t already know intuitively, in the sense implied by Rabbi Akiva (who, according to R’ Pardo, believes the Torah is teaching us that Kazby was in fact Balak’s own daughter) but we can explain it and account for it without invoking any new assumptions or concepts. It is in this sense that Rebbi invokes the rule of “s’muchin” in Sotah 2a, in his well- known analysis of the juxtaposition of the parshios of Sotah and Nazir.

This conceptualization of the relationship between the rules of “ein mukdam u-m’uchar ba-torah” and “dorshin s’muchin” as being fundamentally antagonistic is expressed in the notes of Rabbi B. Ransbourg on Yevamos 4a, where he writes that Rabbi Yehuda is only “doresh s’muchin” in the Book of D’varim, where the rule of “ein mukdam” doesn’t apply. This Sifrei seems to present an excellent proof of such a hypothesis.

The one problem I see with this explanation of the Sifrei is that R’ Pardo seems to contradict himself. In his commentary on the Sifrei (P’ Be- ha’alos’cha (#64)), he writes that Rebbi, as opposed to the “s’tam sifrei” over there, feels that the Torah writes things out of order for no particular reason at all, and that we shouldn’t make too much out of such a decision. Perhaps we might say that while Rebbi believes that the decision to write the Torah in an non-chronological order is somewhat arbitrary, designed more to confuse the reader than to enlighten - see Midrash Tanchuma Tanchuma #8 – the ultimate destination of any misplaced parasha is by no means arbitrary.

I realize that I really haven’t mentioned much about the actual content of this week’s parasha, but you get what you pay for.

Ephraim Stulberg on Chukat, 5764

“And the people saw that Aharon had died, and all of Israel cried for Aharon for thirty days” (B’midbar 20:29). What did they see? Didn’t Aharon die at the top of a mountain? The gemara provides us with an answer: the saw nothing. “Rabbi Abbahu said: do not read it ‘va’yiru’ but rather…” (Rosh Ha’shannah 3a).

How should we actually read the word? The word as it appears in the gemara is spelled vav-yud-yud-reish-aleph-vav (i.e. the same as the word written in the Torah, only spelt with an extra “yud”), and there is an argument among the commentaries as to how it is pronounced. Rashi, says that the word means “and they were revealed” – in other words the passive form of the word “va’yiru.” Indeed, there is a precedent for this sort of a drasha – see Chaggigah 2a. With the passing of Aharon, the Clouds of Glory left the Jews, and they were suddenly visible to their enemies and susceptible to attack.

Tosafos Ha-rosh, however, writes that the word is supposed to be interpreted as meaning “and they feared.” This explanation better accounts for the extra “yud” inserted into the word, since the root for “to fear” is yud- reish-aleph. Once the Clouds disappeared, the Jews became afraid of their vulnerability.

How do we explain this argument? Clearly, both interpretations have something going for them, as we have suggested above. Perhaps we might say that the argument revolves around the definition of the phrase used by R’ Abbahu: “do not read it” (“al tikrei”). According to the Tosafos Ha-rosh, the difference in pronunciation is slight, the only difference being that the new form would have a sh’va na. According to Rashi, however, the words sound very different. Perhaps the minor difference between the sh’va na and the sh’va nach is not enough for us to employ the phrase “al tikrei” according to Rashi.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"You know what that means."

- OTI, looking sinister

From The Devil's Dictionary

Oath, n. In law, a solemn appeal to the Deity, made binding upon the conscience by a penalty for perjury.

Quote

"Baseball is the only game left for people. To play basketball now, you have to be 7'6". To play football, you have to be the same width."

- Bill Veeck

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"My theory is 'principles (-als?) - who needs them'."
"The corporate Mister Kaiserman."

- HK, KA

From The Devil's Dictionary

Nose, n. The extreme outpost of the face. From the circumstance that great conquerors have great noses, Getius, whose writings antedate the age of humor, calls the nose the organ of quell. It has been observed that one's nose is never so happy as when thrust into the affairs of another, from which some physiologists have drawn the inference that the nose is devoid of the sense of smell.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"And no, you may not ask how large."

- SG, re. Vitamin E

From The Devil's Dictionary

Non-Combatant, n. A dead Quaker.

Just noticed new format

I hadn't checked the blog in quite a while so I just noticed the new format. I like it better this way because there are fewer (and maybe smaller) image files to download every time I reload a page over my dial-up connection. Thanks to whoever changed it.

Voldemort the Celebrity

Look at http://hirhurim.blogspot.com/2006/07/afikei-mayim-vi_04.html and examine carefully the links within the post.

Old Quote But a Good Quote

"Good pitching always stops good hitting and vice versa."

- Bob Veale

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"What is this - an antiperspirant commercial?"

- RBC, to class of raised arms

From The Devil's Dictionary

Newtonian, adj. Pertaining to a philosophy of the universe, invented by Newton, who discovered that an apple will fall to the ground, but was unable to say why. His successors and disciples have advanced so far as to be able to say when.

Jon-E Shakka!!!

For those of us who used to go to Sens games years ago, remember there was this crazy guy who used to dance in the aisles? Everyone should remember...his name was Jon-E Shakka. Anyway, I came across his website, and thought I'd share it with you guys. It's...

http://jshakka.tripod.com/soul/index.html

Ephraim Stulberg on Korach, 5766

God tells Aharon (Num. 18:8) that he has entrusted him with the various priestly gifts so that they should be a source of nobility (“le-mosh-ha”, as glossed by Sifrei and Ibn Ezra). This condition of the portions allotted to the kohanim is mentioned explicitly in the Talmud as the source for several laws pertaining to the eating of kodashim; it is also used by the medieval commentaries to explain several other details whose scriptural basis is not immediately apparent. What follows is a preliminary (i.e. Friday afternoon) analysis of the parameters of this requirement that the priestly gifts be “le-mosh-ha”.

The kohanim are allowed to add oil or wine to the remainder of the minha offerings, after the appropriate portions have been burnt; for, as the gemara notes (Sotah 16a), they are meant to be eaten “just as kings would eat.” Likewise, the sacrificial meats are also allowed to be flavoured and cooked in a number of different ways (Zevahim 91a); however, the ideal way to eat it – the way a real king actually would – is to roast it with mustard (Hullin 132b, per Tosafos s.v. ein).

The rishonim employ this idea to explain other halakhot. Thus, the well known mishnaic dictum that “we do not conclude with anything else following the Pesah offering” (Pesahim 86a) is explained by Rashi as being motivated by the concern lest we come to eat the Pesah too ravenously on our empty stomachs. (That Rashi should apply the verse to something which is manifestly not one of the matnot kehuna is noteworthy. That the Yerushalmi gives a different explanation for this halakha is suggestive.)

Elsewhere, the gemara entertains the notion that a High Priest whose recently divorced wife dies might not be allowed to serve in the Temple, lest he come to eat from the sacrifices. Though not technically an onein, he is nonetheless perturbed by the death of his ex-wife, and would perhaps be unable to eat in the regal manner required by the Torah (Yoma 14a, as explained by Rashi). Thus, “le-mosh-ha” describes not merely the way in which the food is prepared, but also the atmosphere in which it is eaten.

This element of “le-mosh-ha” is so important that it overrides prohibitions, such as the ban on bringing non-sacrificial meat into the Temple (Tosafos on Menahos 80b)

While the Torah appears to apply this law to all 24 of the gifts, this is in fact not the case – it only applies to meat, not to produce (Tosafos on Bekhoros 27a). However, elsewhere it appears that Tosafos apply “le-mosh-ha” to teruma as well (see Zevahim 75b), and indeed, the Yerushalmi is quite explicit on that point (Terumos 5:1).

Much more could be written, but the hour is late, so I’ll conclude by wishing everyone

Shabbas Shalom,
Ephraim Stulberg

who is gulbat? i sure must have missed something.

hi ds, long time no speak. not too many people posting, so i decided to drop in, not read anything, but at least say hello : ) [instead of working on my essay] so, when are you coming to TO? gaby has a new place, maybe you should come and visit it. or perhaps it's time that you tried sharon's shabbat cooking. i can think of many people and places to invite you to [without their permission] but instead i'll just say that i hope to see you again soon.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"I didn't understand why the Americans called bathrooms 'restrooms', until I came to New York and realised that that was the only place they ever took a break."

- RBP

From The Devil's Dictionary

Neighbor, n. One whom we are commanded to love as ourselves, and who does all he knows how to make us disobedient.

QUOTI OF THE DAY

"Fyx ptrq wyr inu ynar tur mvrnqw nup ynzl n crusq?"

- OQ, vr. mstztox psnovni ynzl tl n inu, ynzl tl n ftinu

From The Devil's Dictionary

Mythology, n. The body of a primitive people's beliefs concerning its origin, early history, heroes, deities and so forth, as distinguished from the true accounts which it invents later.