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“Listen O heavens, and I will speak, and the earth shall hear the words of my mouth…” (Deut. 32:1). These are the opening words of a poetic song uttered by Moshe shortly before his demise. In this passage the word for “listen” is ha’azinu, while the word for “hear” is tishma. A form of the latter word is more famously used in the formula “Hear (Shema) O Israel, Hashem our G-d — Hashem is one” (Deut. 6:4). While some Tosafists actually write that the two words are used interchangeably for poetic effect, most commentators reject the concept of synonyms in the Holy Language, and must therefore explain the words thusly. So, what is the difference between the word shema and ha’azinu? Furthermore, while Moshe uses ha’azinu for the heavens and shema for the earth, the prophet Yishaya uses the exact opposite formulation: “Hear O heavens, and listen O earth, for G-d has spoken” (Isa. 1:2). In this context, Yishaya uses ha’azinu for the earth, and shema for the heavens. Why does Yishaya deviate from the norm already established by Moshe? The Midrash (Sifri to Parshat Ha’azinu) explains that these two terms reflect two types of listening. One type of listening refers to hearing something from afar, while the other type of listening refers to hearing something nearby. When one listens to something from a distance he must be especially attentive to the sound in order to properly concentrate, hear what should be heard, and focus on its meaning. According to the Midrash, shema refers to listening from a distance, while ha’azinu refers to listening from close-range. (Other commentators, such as Chizkuni, Abarbanel, and Rabbi Yitzchak Arama, disagree with the Midrash and actually define the terms in the opposite way, and explain the difference between Moshe and Yishaya accordingly.) Based on this, the Midrash explains that Moshe was closer to the heavens, so he used ha’azinu to refer to the heavens listening to him, while he was farther from the earth, so he used shema when referring to the earth listening to him. Conversely, Yishaya was closer to the earth, so he used ha’azinu for the earth, and only used shema for the heavens. However, this explanation begs the question: Since both Moshe and Yishaya were prophets of G-d, then why is Moshe considered “closer to the heavens” and Yishaya considered “closer to the earth”? The commentators offer several ways of differentiating between Moshe and Yishaya in this context. The first answer argues that because Moshe pronounced his epic song in the days before his death, he was considered “closer to the heavens” simply because his death was approaching and he already had “one foot” in the heavens; whereas the passage from Yishaya was at the start of his prophetic career, well before his death. The second answer explains that although Moshe and Yishaya were two of the most important prophets, the importance of Moshe infinitely exceeds that of Yishaya. Moshe was the “father of all prophets”, and attained a level of clarity in his prophecy unrivaled by any other prophet. As G-d Himself said of Moshe, “Mouth to mouth I speak to him, in a clear vision, and not in riddles…” (Num. 12:8). While Yishaya’s prophecies served to uphold the Torah, only Moshe’s prophecies became the Torah itself. For this reason Moshe’s elevated spiritual existence rendered him closer to the heavens than to the earth. In contrast, Yishaya, for all that he continuously rebuked the Jewish People to keep the Torah, remained closer to the earth like an ordinary human being. Similarly, a third answer suggests that since Moshe was accustomed to ascending to the heavens, as he ascended Mount Sinai multiple times for long stretches, he is considered “closer to the heavens” than anyone else. Other sources point to another distinction between the words ha’azinu and shema. The word ha’azinu is derived from the Hebrew word ozen, which means ear. As such, the verb of listening expressed by the word ha’azinu refers simply to the physiological function of the ear: hearing sound waves and relaying them to the brain. On the other hand, explains the Malbim, the word shema does not refer simply to the physical act of listening; rather it also denotes a certain degree of intellectual or emotional understanding of that which is being heard. Rokeach explains that the word shema refers to hearkening in response to another’s call, while ha’azinu simplyrefers to any type of listening. However, these explanations fail to account for the change in phraseology between the introduction of Moshe’s song and Yishaya’s opening prophecy. Elsewhere, Rokeach writes that shema refers to listening to something which was stated explicitly, while ha’azinu refers to listening and inferring to something only said implicitly. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Parshas וָאֶתְחַנַן A Bridge Over Troubled Waters עָבַר: past עִבְרִי: Hebrew (person) מַעַבַר: bridge, crossing עַבֵירָה: sin, a breach עוּבַּר: fetus/embryo בַּעַבוּר: because of אֶעְבְּרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה אֲשֶׁר בְּעֵבֶר הַיַּרְדֵּן הָהָר הַטּוֹב הַזֶּה וְהַלְּבָנוֹן I will cross over please, and I will see the good land which is across the Jordan, this good mountain the Lebanon. עָבַר: Past עָבַר and “over” in English cross over the language barrier in having the same connotation in both languages. What has passed is over, and what is over is in the past. In this week’s parshah, Moshe implores Hashem with the words אֶעְבְּרָה נָּא/please let me cross over the Jordan River into the Promised Land. In essence, we are all trying to cross over to the other side. עִבְרִי : Hebrew The first one to cross over to the other side was Avraham Avinu. He was the prototype, the trendsetter for the essence of what a Jew is, which is this deep-seated concept of movement, of needing to get somewhere. Avraham was called an Ivri because while the whole ideology of the world in his time was to serve idols, he was able to see though the masquerade and recognize the source of everything — that there is nothing but Hashem, אֵין עוֹד מִלְבַדוֹ. Avraham crossed over the so-called river of reality, leaving the rest of the world to its illusionary beliefs. Being Avraham’s decedents, we have inherited this Hebrew ideology in that just like the Hebrew language crosses both worlds, so too our very nature, as an individual and as a nation, is to bridge different worlds. מַעַבַר: Bridge, Crossing All of the world is a very narrow bridge…a very narrow bridge…a very narrow bridge. But the essential thing to know is there is nothing to fear at all. Chazal compare life to a long sea voyage, where in order to reach our destination, we first have to combat the sometimes very hazardous waters of the high seas. The sea, by its very nature, is a very unsettling place, and since we are open to all the elements, our boat is constantly being tossed around. Hashem gives us the Torah, the navigation tool, which helps us chart the waters safely and steer our way through the ups and downs of life. In essence, the Torah is our bridge over troubled waters, and without it, we would truly be lost at sea. עַבֵירָה: Sin, A Breach Hashem has given us clear guidelines on how best to traverse life, how to steer safely across the sometimes very narrow bridge without falling off into the endless depths of the nether world. An עַבֵירָה is when we step over the mark, when we have not paid sufficient attention to the guidelines that have been carefully set for us, and we are in danger of falling. The period of Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur is designed to help us repair the breaches in our bridges so that they will be strong enough, when the time comes, to carry us over and give us safe passage. עוּבַּר: Fetus/Embryo The fetus is from the same root because its whole existence is to be given birth to, to cross over from one world to the next. The Ohr HaChaim in Parshas Mishpatim discusses the idea of the עֶבֶד עִבְרִי/the Hebrew slave who works for six years and goes free in the seventh, as being a mashal to life, where עִבְרִי signifies עוּבַּר/embryo, in that we serve as an עֶבֶד in this world for six years (where each year represents a decade), and in the seventh year, when we approach our seventies, we go out free. We have in effect served our time and we are now free from the confines of this world. Mashal of the Twins Twins in the womb are having an argument as to whether there is an afterlife. One of the twins is a staunch atheist, who does not entertain the slightest notion of there being anything other than life in the womb. The other twin is always trying to convince the him that there is more to life than just floating around in space, albeit a narrow, restricted space. One day, as they are in the heat of one of their debates, there is suddenly a tremendous movement like a magnitutde ten earthquake. Everything turns upside down. To the atheist twin, it is most definitely the end. He sees his twin brother disappear in a whirlwind tempest, when all of a sudden he hears the elated voices at the other end shouting, “Mazal Tov!” The nimshal is that just like Avraham, the עִבְרִי, stood alone and recognized that this world is powered by one G-d, so too the words עוּבַּר and מַעַבַר teach us that life is a bridge, an opportunity to cross over to a much higher reality, whereas the atheist only sees what he sees, a life devoid of Hashem without any future existence. בַּעַבוּר: Because Of אֲרוּרָה הָאֲדָמָה בַּעֲבוּרֶךָ בְּעִצָּבוֹן תֹּאכֲלֶנָּה כֹּל יְמֵי חַיֶּיךָ Cursed is the earth because of you, with hardship you will eat all the days of your life. “Because of you,” because of something you have done in the past. The earth was cursed because of man. If man had listened to Hashem’s command not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of good and bad, then we would then have entered straight into Shabbos and we would have anyway been permitted to eat from the tree. But because of the עַבֵירָה of man choosing to pass over Hashem’s command, we now have to do a tikkun so that we can get back on track. Contrary to conventional thinking, the curse of the earth and the hardship that man has to toil in it was not a punishment but a correction procedure, all for our benefit. By eating from the Tree of Knowledge of good and bad, the dichotomy of good — which is living with Hashem — and bad — which is living without Hashem — entered into us. In order for us to get back on track, we have to be able to choose between good and bad. In order to facilitate that choice, the earth was cursed, giving man the perfect opportunity to be involved in working for a living. Instead of bread growing on trees, man has to till, sow, and harvest the earth, and is continually involved in all of the processes that finally produce his daily bread. Now man has the perfect choice to look back over the עָבַר/past and recognize that he couldn’t have done it without Hashem, or he could choose to live without Hashem and believe it was all “because of me” and כֹּחִי וְעֹצֶם יָדִי/the strength of my hand. אֶעְבְּרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה אֲשֶׁר בְּעֵבֶר הַיַּרְדֵּן הָהָר הַטּוֹב הַזֶּה וְהַלְּבָנוֹן I will cross over please, and I will see the good land which is across the Jordan, this good mountain the Lebanon. Torah is our bridge over troubled waters, it helps us see life differently and is the medium that enables us to cross over to the other side of the river, בְּעֵבֶר הַיַרְדֵן, and into the Promised Land. Then, like Avraham Avinu, we will each merit to be an עִבְרִי/Hebrew. We will merit being attached to the good,הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה /the good land, andהָהָר הַטּוֹב הַזֶּה וְהַלְּבָנוֹן /this good mountain, the Lebanon, which stands for the Beis HaMikdash and is called לְּבָנוֹן because מְלַבֵּן הָאָדָם מִן הַעַבֵירוֹת/ it whitens man from his transgressions. 1 Ibid.,3:25. 2 Likkutei Moharan 2:48. 3 Bereishis 3:17. 4 Devarim 3:25. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr #ParshatHashavua

The Torah mentions a special prayer which Moshe would say when the Ark of the Covenant would begin to travel (we say this prayer when taking a Torah Scroll out of its holy ark). He would say, “Arise G-d, and let Your enemies (oyvecha) be scattered, and Your enemies (sonecha) shall flee from before You” (Num. 10:35). In this passage the Torah uses two different words to mean enemy: oyev and soneh. As we know, the Hebrew language is intrinsically holy, and each word carries its own nuanced explanation. No two words can mean the exact same thing. What, then, is the difference between these two words which both seem to mean “enemy”? The word oyev denotes an enemy who actively tries to harm his victim — or at least contemplates doing so. The Malbim explains that even if the oyev does not attempt to actively damage the victim of his hatred, he will not withhold his joy if such misfortune would befall him, because he has already at least actively imagined causing such harm to the object of his enmity. The word soneh, on the other hand, is derived from the root sinah, which means “hatred”. Instead of “enemy”, a more accurate translation of soneh can be “a hater”. His hatred remains internal, and is not outwardly expressed. This word appears in another context: “Do not hate (soneh) your brother in your heart” (Lev. 19:17). Even sheer hatred of a fellow Jew is forbidden, whether or not that static hatred turns kinetic. The hater’s attitude cannot be discerned by what he does, rather by what he does not do. Accordingly, when the Mishna (Sanhedrin 3:5) rules that a “hater” is disqualified from giving testimony about someone whom he hates, it defines a “hater” as someone who has not spoken to his friend out of spite for three days. His hatred is manifested outwards by his lack of action, not by a proactive negative deed. Thus, the soneh is an enemy whose hatred remains in the realm of the theoretical, while an oyev is an enemy who tries to act upon his hatred. The Vilna Gaon offers a slightly different approach. He explains that an oyev is an enemy who wishes to hurt his victim’s physical existence (e.g., to physically damage his body or cause him to lose his money), while a soneh is one who wishes to hurt his victim’s spiritual existence (e.g., he wishes to cause his victim to stray from the path of G-d). While it might seem counterintuitive, the Vilna Gaon teaches that the soneh is a more dangerous enemy than an oyev because he poses a risk to one’s spiritual well-being. There is a third word for enemy: tzar. The commentators explain that while an oyev is an enemy who tries to harm his victim, he still attempts to hide his hatred beneath a façade of empathy. So, the oyev, like the soneh, is not an overt enemy, but a clandestine enemy. Conversely, the tzar hates his victim with such great passion that he overtly tries to harm him, and is even willing to sacrifice his own reputation or exhaust his own resources in doing so. For example, Haman, the infamous villain of the book of Esther, is described as a tzorer of the Jews (Est. 9:10). Malbim explains that the oyev of G-d is one who actively denies His existence and opposes His G-dliness. A soneh of G-d, it would seem, does so only in heart, but not in practice. Thus, in his special prayer at the time that the Ark would travel, Moshe would pray that G-d vanquish both types of His enemies, and allow His glory to continue spreading unimpeded. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Article abstract for Parashat Ki Tavo: The word להשכיל (derived from the root שכל) generally means to become wiser, more educated. And yet, in the very last verse in this week's Torah portion, the word has a different meaning according to Onkelus: "success." Indeed, this root bears seemingly unrelated and even opposite meanings in Scripture according to various commentators, i.e. "looking," and "thwarting." This article investigates this mysterious root to determine the core meaning connecting the disparate derivative imports. וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם אֶת דִּבְרֵי הַבְּרִית הַזֹּאת וַעֲשִׂיתֶם אֹתָם לְמַעַן תַּשְׂכִּילוּ אֵת כָּל אֲשֶׁר תַּעֲשׂוּן (דברים כט:ח). You shall keep the words of this covenant, and do them, so that you may תשכילו in all that you do (Deut. 29:8). The above epigraph is, of course, the final verse in this week’s Parashah. At first blush, תשכילו should mean gaining wisdom, as the word is rendered by the Targumim in other places (e.g. Gen. 48:14, Jer. 3:6, 9:23[1]). Indeed, Targum Yerushalmi here does translate it here with a similar term, understanding (התבוננות).[2] But, when it appears in Genesis 3:6, the verb השכל is rendered as אסתכלא,[3] a term generally used interchangeably with לראות, to see/look (at least from Mishnaic times and on, e.g. Eruvin 4:2, referring to looking through a telescope[4]). On the other hand, הסתכלות is not really synonymous with ראייה, simple looking, since אסתכלא is often found in the Targum as an expression of learning / delving (e.g. Deut. 32:7, 29; Is. 41:20, 44:8[5]), and indeed such is its Aramaic meaning in the Book of Daniel (Dan. 7:8).[6] This all seems to point to a meaning related to looking deeply or intense observation, similar to the word בינה, which is related to the word בין (between), in the sense of understanding by way of “reading between the lines.”[7] Thus, the Zohar (2:116b-117a) uses the expression “the mind’s eye” in conjunction with התבוננות (from בינה) when discussing beholding Heavenly beings such as angels and even God Himself.[8] Thus, the Targumic renderings of להשכיל as gaining wisdom and הסתכלות would collectively point to understanding and knowledge. A third term used in the Targum צלח (generally translated as success) could fit this rubric as well, since a wise and understanding person is certainly more likely to succeed than a fool or ignoramus.[9] This is indeed Onkelus’ rendering of our verse (Deut. 29:8[10]), and many other instances of the word להשכיל (e.g. Josh. 1:7, Is. 52:3[11]).[12] Among the occurrences of שכל rendered as wisdom by Onkelus is Jacob’s blessing of Joseph’s sons: Gen. 48:14 - And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon the head of Ephraim, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh’s head, שִׂכֵּל his hands; for Manasseh was the firstborn.[13] While Rashi and most other commentators follow Onkelus’ translation,[14] Abarbanel likens שִׂכֵּל to סכל, suggesting a connection to סַכֵּל in II Sam. 15:31, usually translated as to thwart, and to הִסְכַּלְתָּ in Gen. 31:28, interpreted as acting foolishly by the commentators there![15] Is Abarbanel then suggesting that Jacob was acting foolishly by crossing his hands over to bless Ephraim? The Sages say that he did so by Divine inspiration![16] Likewise, the term סַכֵּל (thwarting) in Samuel is rendered by the Targum as ruining… was then Jacob intending to ruin something? Again, his actions were directed from On High, intended for the betterment of the Israelite People. So how can they be associated with such negative elements like foolishness and ruination? This last point may however be the key to understanding Abarbanel’s intention, because ironically there a common attribute to a wise man and a fool. A fool is in the habit of ruining plans, both his own and other people’s, most often out of thoughtlessness and disregard for consequences. But thwarting plans may be a necessity at times for wise people as well. In fact, one of the hallmarks of wisdom is the recognition that the status quo is not etched in stone - that improvement is always possible. And just like home improvement, the process may include some inconveniences, and some dismantling of old structures in preparation for the future upgrade. In a way, the wise man thwarts his own plans in anticipation of newer, better plans, just like the fool’s ineptness causes him to ruin his own plans. With this in mind, let’s look at Laban’s entire rebuke of Jacob in context: Gen. 31-27-28 - Why did you flee away secretly, and steal away from me; and did not tell me, that I might have sent you away with mirth, and with songs, with tambourine, and with harp? And why did you not let me kiss my sons and my daughters? Now you have done הִסְכַּלְתָּ in so doing.[17] Laban is clearly claiming that he had planned a lavish “going away party” for Jacob’s entire clan, but in fleeing, Jacob ruined all the plans![18] The Midrash[19] records a seemingly subtle dispute between R’ Yuda and R’ Nehemia regarding the aforementioned verse in Gen. 48: “His left hand upon Manasseh’s head, שִׂכֵּל his hands - R’ Yuda says this means נישכלו he faltered[20] when attempting to bless Manasseh. R’ Nehemia says his hands gained wisdom and blessed Ephraim instead.”[21] R’ Yuda appears to parallel Abarbanel’s commentary, namely that שִׂכֵּל means thwarting and ruining, but instead of comparing שִׂכֵּל toסַכֶּל (thwarting), he compares it to[22]שכול (faltering, losing). On the other hand, R’ Nehemia’s understanding seems identical to Onkelus’, who interpreted שִׂכֵּל as an expression of wisdom. However, the Pesikta[23] quotes R’ Nehemia’s opinion somewhat differently: “His hands were השכילו to the Holy Spirit.” Zera Ephraim explain השכילו in the Pesikta to mean כיוון, they were directed in a different bearing. But how isהשכילו connected to direction?[24] To answer this, we turn to the Book of Joshua. After Moses’ death, God told Joshua to always study the Torah and obey its commands, and specified a reward for such observance: Josh. 1:8 - This Book of the Torah shall not depart from your mouth… to do according to all that is written on it; for then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall תַּשְׂכִּיל.[25] For the word תַּשְׂכִּיל in this case, the Targum offers a unique translation: תַּכְשָׁט. What does תַּכְשָׁט mean, and how is it related to תַּשְׂכִּיל? The root כשט in Aramaic is equivalent to the root קשט in Hebrew,[26] the latter appearing twice in Scripture (Ps. 60:6, Prov. 22:1), both times meaning truth.[27] However, Chazal used the word as a synonym for shooting an arrow![28] The connection appears to be that just as truth and straightness are virtual synonyms, so too must an arrow be pointed straight at its intended target in order to succeed (the metaphors match as well: “straight-shooter”; “straight as an arrow”). Indeed, we find קושט (shooting), יריה (also shooting) andמכוון (properly directed) used interchangeably in the Midrashim.[29] In summary, all of a משכיל’s actions are done purposefully and are directed straight to the target, even if he has to thwart his plans that prove unsuccessful. We pray to God that we merit seeing, observing deeply and gaining wisdom and inspiration in His House on Mount Moriah – the place which corresponds to the Holy Temple Above as the Midrash teaches: Gen. Rabba 55:7 - “Go for yourself to the Land of Moriah (Gen. 22:2) - R’ Shimon bar Yochai says: ‘to the worthy place which corresponds to the Holy Temple Above.’” [1] בר' מח:יד - וַיִּשְׁלַח יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת יְמִינוֹ וַיָּשֶׁת עַל רֹאשׁ אֶפְרַיִם וְהוּא הַצָּעִיר... שִׂכֵּל אֶת יָדָיו; ת"א - אחכימינון לידוהי. יר' ט:כג - יִתְהַלֵּל הַמִּתְהַלֵּל הַשְׂכֵּל וְיָדֹעַ אוֹתִי; ת"י - יִשְׁתַּבַּח דְמִשְׁתַּבַּח דְחַכִּים וְאַלִיף לְמִידַע דְחַלְתִּי. יר' ג:ו - וְנָתַתִּי לָכֶם רֹעִים כְּלִבִּי וְרָעוּ אֶתְכֶם דֵּעָה וְהַשְׂכֵּיל; ת"י - עָבְדֵי רְעוּתִי וִיפַרְנְסוּן יַתְכוֹן בְּמַדַע וּבְחוּכְמָא. [2] תר"י - בִּגְלַל דְתִתְבּוֹנְנוּן יַת כָּל מַה דְמִתְעַבְּדִין. [3] בר' ג:ו - וַתֵּרֶא הָאִשָּׁה כִּי טוֹב הָעֵץ לְמַאֲכָל וְכִי תַאֲוָה הוּא לָעֵינַיִם וְנֶחְמָד הָעֵץ לְהַשְׂכִּיל; ת"א - ומרגג אילנא לאסתכלא ביה. [4] עירובין ד:ב - הָיִיתִי מִסְתַּכֵּל, וְהָיִינוּ בְתוֹךְ הַתְּחוּם עַד שֶׁלֹּא חָשֵׁכָה; רע"ב - שכבר הייתי מסתכל - בשפופרת של קנה חלול שהיתה מתוקנת למדת צפיית אלפים אמה. [5] דב' לב:כט - לוּ חָכְמוּ יַשְׂכִּילוּ זֹאת; ת"א - אלו חכימו אסתכלו בדא[5]. ישע' מא:כ - למַעַן יִרְאוּ וְיֵדְעוּ וְיָשִׂימוּ וְיַשְׂכִּילוּ יַחְדָּו; ת"י - בְּדִיל דְיֶחֱזוּן וְיֵדְעוּן וִישַׁווּן דְחַלְתִּי עַל לִבְּהוֹן וְיִסְתַּכְּלוּן כַּחֲדָא. ישע' מד:ח - לֹא יָדְעוּ וְלֹא יָבִינוּ כִּי טַח מֵרְאוֹת עֵינֵיהֶם מֵהַשְׂכִּיל לִבֹּתָם; ת"י - מִסְתַּכְּלִין אֲרֵי מְטַמְטְמָן מִלְמֶחֱזֵי עֵינֵיהוֹן מִלְאִסְתַּכָּלָא בְּלִבְּהוֹן. [6] דנ' ז:ח - מִשְׂתַּכַּל הֲוֵית בְּקַרְנַיָּא; אב"ע - משתכל - מגזרת שכל משתכל ומתבונן בקרנות; מצ"ד - מסתכל - מתבונן הייתי בהקרנות. [7] ובעל ספר אפיקי ים פירש את המלה מלשון 'בֵּין': אפיקי ים שבת קד. (ר' יצחק אייזיק חבר, בעל הפתחי שערים) - ובינה הוא... להבין דבר מתוך דבר ולחלק החכמה לפרטים, ולכן נקראת בינה מל' בין, הבניים (ש"א יז:ד). ונראה שתכונה זו שייכת גם לבנין, היינו בנין סברא איתנה. הרי סברא אמיתית בנויה על היכולת "לקרוא בין השורות" - להבין דבר מתוך דבר, והיא בין השאלות ששואלים לע"ל (שבת לא.). כך במישור הגשמי, כל חוזקו של בנין תלוי על שילוב של טיט וטיח בין הלבנים. השוה את מאמר פ' שמות בענין שרש 'בן', וקישרנו לו גם את "בינה", וכולם קשורים לבנין בגשמי ובמופשט. [8] להלן תורף דברי הזוהר מתורגם לעברית): זוהר (ב:קטז:-קיז. -ת"ד) - אמר רשב"י, אתה לא יכול להסתכל... במלאכים וכ"ש לא בהקב"ה ושכינתו, אבל בעין השכל של לבך אתה רואה בכולם... וכן אמר שלמה, שכתוב בו: וַיֶּחְכַּם מִכָּל הָאָדָם (מ"א ה:יא), וְלִבִּי רָאָה הַרְבֵּה חָכְמָה וָדָעַת (קהלת א:טז). ובעל הספר "דף על הדף" השתמש במושג זה להסביר את המלה "הסתכלות" במספר מקומות שקשה להסבירן כלשון ראייה פשוטה: דף על הדף (מנחות מג:) - נכנס למרחץ ראה עצמו ערום, אמר: אוי לי שאני ערום מן המצות! נסתכל במילה [גירסת הספרי, ואתחנן ל"ו, והשוה למנחות מג,ב.]:, התחיל... השבח, שנאמר: למנצח על השמינית מזמור לדוד ובגמרא הוסיפו הסבר: מנחות מג: - "על מילה שניתנה בשמיני". (תה' יב:א). יש לעיין, דאטו לא הקפיד על זה כנכדו רבינו הקדוש ור' יוסי בן חלפתא (ראה שבת קיח,א.). וי"ל דמש"כ דנסתכל היינו רק במחשבה, וכמאמר עקביא בן מהללאל: הסתכל בג' דברים ואין אתה בא לידי עבירה וכו' (אבות ג:א). וכן... דוד המע"ה הסתכל ביום המיתה ואמר שירה (ברכות י.) - דהוי הסתכלות "בעיני השכל" ולא "בעיני בשר". וזהו אף שכתב בדוד שנסתכל במילה - והיינו בעיני השכל, ולא כפשוטו בעיניו ממש, דודאי הקפיד שלא להסתכל על ערותו. [9] ומעין נימוקו של מצ"צ בספר משלי: משלי א:יב - מַשְׂכִּיל צַדִּיק לְבֵית רָשָׁע; מצ"צ - משכיל - ענין הצלחה, כי המצליח במעשיו נראה להבריות שעושה בהשכל. [10] דב' כט:ח - וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם... לְמַעַן תַּשְׂכִּילוּ אֵת כָּל אֲשֶׁר תַּעֲשׂוּן; ת"א - בְּדִיל דְתַצְלְחוּן יַת כָּל דְתַעַבְדוּן. [11] יהושע א:ז - לִשְׁמֹר לַעֲשׂוֹת כְּכָל הַתּוֹרָה אֲשֶׁר צִוְּךָ מֹשֶׁה... לְמַעַן תַּשְׂכִּיל בְּכֹל אֲשֶׁר תֵּלֵך; ת"י - בדיל דתצלח בְּכָל אֲתַר דִתְהָךְ. ישע' נב:ג - הִנֵּה יַשְׂכִּיל עַבְדִּי; ת"י - הָא יַצְלַח עַבְדִי. [12] דוגמאות נוספות לתרגום זה: ש"א יח:ה, יד; ירמיה י:א, כ:יא, כג:ה. [13] בר' מח:יד - וַיִּשְׁלַח יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת יְמִינוֹ וַיָּשֶׁת עַל רֹאשׁ אֶפְרַיִם וְהוּא הַצָּעִיר וְאֶת שְׂמֹאלוֹ עַל רֹאשׁ מְנַשֶּׁה שִׂכֵּל אֶת יָדָיו כִּי מְנַשֶּׁה הַבְּכוֹר; ת"א - אחכמינון לידוהי. [14] רש"י בר' מח:יד - שכל את ידיו - כתרגומו אחכמינון, בהשכל וחכמה השכיל את ידיו... יודע היה כי מנשה הבכור, ואף על פי כן לא שת ימינו עליו. [15] אברבנאל בר' מח:יד - שִׂכֵּל אֶת יָדָיו כִּי מְנַשֶּׁה הַבְּכוֹר - ברצות ה' שיתברך אפרים יותר... יוסף שמו בימינו לשמאל אביו, ואביו לא חשש להנחתו, אבל שלח ידו על ראש אפרים - עם היותו צעיר - ואת שמאלו על ראש מנשה... ופי' שכל כמו: וַיֹּאמֶר דָּוִד סַכֶּל נָא אֶת עֲצַת אֲחִיתֹפֶל (ש"ב טו:לא), ועַתָּה הִסְכַּלְתָּ עֲשׂוֹ (בר' לא:ח) כי הס' והש' מתחלפים. בר' לא:כח - וְלֹא נְטַשְׁתַּנִי לְנַשֵּׁק לְבָנַי וְלִבְנֹתָי עַתָּה הִסְכַּלְתָּ עֲשׂוֹ; רד"ק - ר"ל אף על פי שאתה חכם, עתה היית סכל בזה הדבר; תוס' השלם - הסכלת סכלות ושטות היה בך. כך פי' גם ר"י בכור שור, אלשיך וחתם סופר (שם פ' כז), ואף מפירוש אברבנאל בעצמו בפ' ויצא משמע כן. [16] ראה במדבר רבה יד:ה וכן פסיקתא רבתי (איש שלום) פיסקא ג שהובא לקמן. [17] בר' לא:כז-כח - לָמָּה נַחְבֵּאתָ לִבְרֹחַ וַתִּגְנֹב אֹתִי וְלֹא הִגַּדְתָּ לִּי וָאֲשַׁלֵּחֲךָ בְּשִׂמְחָה וּבְשִׁרִים בְּתֹף וּבְכִנּוֹר. וְלֹא נְטַשְׁתַּנִי לְנַשֵּׁק לְבָנַי וְלִבְנֹתָי עַתָּה הִסְכַּלְתָּ עֲשׂוֹ. [18] כ"ז כמובן רק טענתו של לבן, אבל יעקב בוודאי עשה בחכמה, כפי שהשיב מיד: כִּי יָרֵאתִי... פֶּן תִּגְזֹל אֶת בְּנוֹתֶיךָ מֵעִמִּי (בר' לא:לא). ולכן יש שפירשו (ראה למשל מגיד תהלות [ר"י ממליץ, פ' ויצא])אף את הביטוי הייחודי "הִסְכַּלְתָּ עֲשׂוֹ" מענין שכל, ומשמים הוציא את הניב הזה שיש לפרשו לכמה פנים. ואולי עפ"ז יש להבין למה רש"י לא פירש את המלה "הִסְכַּלְתָּ" בשום מקום, וגם התרגומים רק העתיקו את המלה מעברית ולא תרגמו, בניגוד לת"י בנביא שרגיל לתרגם שרש 'סכל' כלשון טפשות (ראה ש"א יג:יג, כו:כא, יר' ד:כב, ה:כא, כי היא מלה רבת-משמעויות). [19] בראשית רבה (אלבק) כי"ו צז:יג-יד. [20] מהרז"ו (לפס"ר פיסקא ג) - א"ר שכל - לשון מְשַׁכֵּלָה וַעֲקָרָה (שמ' כג:כו), כדֹב שַׁכּוּל (הושע יג:ח). מנחת יצחק (למ"ר הנ"ל - ת"ד) - נישתכלו ידיו - נראה לפרש שר' יהודה קורא שכל בשי"ן ימנית, והיינו נשמטו ידיו של יעקב מליתן בכורה למנשה, שסירבו לנוח על ראש מנשה. ור' נחמיה מפרש ניתחכמו, וכמו שמתורגם באונקלוס: אחכמינון לידוהי. [21] בראשית רבה (תיאודור-אלבק כתב יד וטיקאן (כי"ו)) צז:יג-יד - שִׂכֵּל אֶת יָדָיו (בר' מח:יד)... ר' יודה אמר נישתכלו ידיו של אבינו יעקב מליתן בכורה למנשה. ר' נחמיה אמ' ניתחכמו ידיו של אבינו יעקב ליתן בכורה לאפרים; פירשו המפרשים את המלה "נישתכלו" מלשון "שכול": מהרז"ו - שכל - לשון מְשַׁכֵּלָה וַעֲקָרָה (שמ' כג:כו), כדֹב שַׁכּוּל (הושע יג:ח). מנחת יצחק (ת"ד) - נישתכלו ידיו - נראה לפרש שר' יהודה קורא שכל בשי"ן ימנית, והיינו נשמטו ידיו של יעקב מליתן בכורה למנשה, שסירבו לנוח על ראש מנשה. ור' נחמיה מפרש ניתחכמו, וכמו שמתורגם באונקלוס: אחכמינון לידוהי. דברי מהרז"ו נמצאים בפירושו לפסיקתא רבתי (איש שלום) פיסקא ג. ושם הגירסא "שכל ידיו של יעקב בבכורתו של מנשה" - לשון הרג וחיסול, כדוגמת: יר' נ:ט - כְּגִבּוֹר מַשְׁכִּיל; מצ"צ - משכיל - מל' שכול והרג, כמו: ומשכלת גוייך היית (יחז' לו). [22] בחילוף אותיות זסשר"ץ. וכן יש להעיר על קירבת שרש 'כשל' וכן 'כסל' בחילוף מיקום אותיות. [23] פס"ר פיסקא ג', והשוה במדבר רבה יד:ה. [24] פסיקתא רבתי (איש שלום) פיסקא ג - ורבי נחמיה אמר, שכל - השכילו ידו של יעקב לרוח הקודש, כמה שכתב: מַשְׂכִּיל לְאֵיתָן הָאֶזְרָחִי (תה' פט:א); "השכילו" לפי זה היא לשון כיוון, כפי שפירש ז"א שם: זרע אפרים - השכילו ידיו כוונו ידי יעקב לרוח הקודש. והשוה במדבר רבה יד:ה. [25] יהושע א:ח - לֹא יָמוּשׁ סֵפֶר הַתּוֹרָה הַזֶּה מִפִּיךָ... אָז תַּצְלִיחַ אֶת דְּרָכֶךָ וְאָז תַּשְׂכִּיל; ת"י - אֲרֵי בְּכֵן תַּצְלַח יַת דַרְכָּךְ וּבְכֵן תַּכְשָׁט. [26] רמב"ן בר' מא:מז, וי' כג:כח. ובענין הקשר בין המשמעויות השונות של 'קשט' ראה: רש"ר הירש תה' ס:ו - מפני קשט – 'קשט', נמצא רק כאן ובמשלי (כב:כא): "קשט אמרי אמת". 'קשט' בארמית פירושו: אמת... בלשון חז"ל משמש 'קשט' גם במובן עטר... במסכת בבא בתרא (ס:) נאמר: "קשוט עצמך ואח"כ קשוט אחרים". קרוב לזה כנראה גם השרש 'כשט' [בל' חז"ל], ממנו תכשיט. מענינת גם הקִרבָה למלה 'קשת', ובארמית הוראת 'קשט' גם על ירית חצים... נראה לי כי הוראת 'קשט' בעברית אינה האמת ההגיונית, אלא האמת המוסרית: כלומר, הכוונת כל האִשיות לקראת המטרות המוסריות המוטלות עליה, הרי זה התכשיט המוסרי... וראה גם במלבי"ם משלי כב:א. [27] תה' ס:ו - נָתַתָּה לִּירֵאֶיךָ נֵּס לְהִתְנוֹסֵס מִפְּנֵי קֹשֶׁט סֶלָה; ר"י חיון - ר"ל אמת. משלי כב:א - לְהוֹדִיעֲךָ קֹשְׁטְ אִמְרֵי אֱמֶת; מלבי"ם - קשט, אמת. קשט תרגומו של אמת. [28] כגון: במד"ר יב:ג - א"ר ברכיה יש מזיק שהוא פורח באויר כעוף וקושט כחץ. [29] פסיקתא רבתי פיסקא מ - דבר אחר מהו המוריה, אמר רשב"י בארץ שהיתה מקושטת כנגד מזבח של מעלה - אוֹ יָרֹה יִיָּרֶה (שמ' יט:יג) ומעין כן מופיע גם ביל"ש שה"ש ד:תתקפח. ובתנחומא מופיעה המלה "מכוון" במקום "מקושטת": תנחומא פ' וירא ס' מה - רשב"י אומר מהו מוריה, מקום מורה מכוון נגד בית המקדש של מעלה, שנאמר: מָכוֹן לְשִׁבְתְּךָ פָּעַלְתָּ ה' מִקְּדָשׁ אֲדֹנָי כּוֹנְנוּ יָדֶיךָ (שמ' טו:יז).

The Torah says, “A judge you shall not curse and a prince/king in your nation shall you not curse” (Ex. 22:27). This passage forbids cursing a judge or king because one might otherwise be tempted to do so if the judge or king does something against one’s own personal interests. In other words, if a judge rules against somebody in court, or a king makes a decree which negatively impacts a given individual, that person might vent his frustrations by “cursing” the relevant authority. In order to offset this attitude the Torah expressly forbids cursing a justice or sovereign. Interestingly, in this context, the Torah uses two different words for “curse”. Regarding the judge the Torah uses the word kelalah to denote cursing, while regarding the king the Torah uses the word arur. Why, in the same verse, does the Torah switch from using one word to using the other? The Vilna Gaon explains that there is a difference between the word kelalah and arur. The word kelalah, while colloquially used to mean “curse”, is literally a diminutive, which one might invoke to belittle another, but is not truly a “curse”. The word kelalah is related to the Hebrew word kal which means “light” or “easy”, as one who offers a kelelah about another essentially dismisses him as someone unimportant. When discussing one’s “cursing” a judge the Torah uses the word kelalah because, in general, the harm a judge can do to an individual is not usually so damaging (especially given that society always strives to appoint upright judges), so his “victim” will merely suffice with disparaging the judge and need not actually curse him. However, when discussing an individual who feels wronged by a king, the Torah uses the word arur because a king’s powers are more overreaching than those of a judge, so he can potentially hurt somebody more than a judge can (especially given that kingship is commonly an inherited position and the king’s moral standing is generally irrelevant). In such a case of grave maltreatment one might be tempted to actually curse the king, not just disparage him. Because of this the Torah uses the more intense word arur when warning one not to curse a king. Rabbi Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg writes that arur is a broad, all-encompassing curse that wishes all sorts of calamities and misfortunes to befall one’s adversary, while a kelalah is the word for a specific type of curse, and cannot be used to stand alone. In other words, one who curses another with an arur can simply declare that an arur shall befall him, while one who offers a kelalah must specify in what way that curse should affect his victim (i.e. he offers a kelalah that…). Furthermore, Rabbi Mecklenburg writes that an arur can apply to something abstract while a kelalah can only apply to something which physically exists. Based on this, Rabbi Mecklenburg explains G-d’s promise to Abraham in which He says (Genesis 12:3), “Whoever curses (kelelah) you, I will curse (arur)”. G-d promises to protect Abraham so much so that whoever curses Abraham with a more specific curse — a kelalah — will receive in return an all-encompassing curse (arur) from Above. There are two more words found in the Bible to mean curse: kavah and allah. How do these words differ from the other words that mean “curse”? Malbim explains that kavah refers to a general curse in which one declares a certain individual and everything pertaining to him “cursed”. Furthermore, Malbim explains that kavah denotes a curse uttered in public in which the name of the cursed is stated explicitly (e.g. see Num. 1:17), while an arur does not have such connotations. On the other hand, arur refers to the practical ramifications of a curse manifested in a specific element of one’s victim (for example, his body or his property). It is related to the Hebrew word mearah which means “decrease” (see Deut. 28:20) and refers to a reduction in the net yield of, for example, his property as a result of a curse. Regarding the curse-word allah, Radak explains that an allah is specifically a type of curse in which one expressly invokes G-d to carry out the misfortune. Rabbi Mecklenburg disagrees with this assessment and instead explains that an allah is a curse with conditions. Meaning, if one imposes a curse with certain stipulations (e.g., “Whoever does such-and-such should be cursed”), that curse is called an allah. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Long before the fidget spinner became the world’s favorite pastime, Jewish children played with spinning tops on the holiday of Chanuka. Such a spinning device is known in Yiddish as a dreidel, while in Modern Hebrew it is called a sevivon. The word sevivon is derived from the Hebrew saviv (“around”), which appears in the Bible. There is, however, another Hebrew word which also means around: haikef. The circumference of a circle is known as its haikef (which is, of course, “Pi” times the diameter), and the traditional circuits around the bimah (almmamar, or “table” upon which the Torah Scroll is read) that are performed during Succot and on Simchat Torah are likewise known as hakafot. So what is the difference between saviv and haifek, and are there any other words which also mean “around”? Rabbi Meir Leibush Weiser (1809-1879), better known as the Malbim, explains that haikef denotes a complete circle, while saviv is not necessarily a complete circuit (though, he notes the phrase saviv saviv indicates a full circle). Rabbi Shlomo Pappenheim of Breslau (1740-1814) also explains that the word saviv does not denote a complete circle, but simply means going around the center in a circular way, which could include a semi-circle or even just an arc. When the Jews circumvented traversing Philistine land by traveling around them (Ex. 13:18), it is described as a sivuv, even though they obviously did not make a full circle. This is because any round-about movement whose purpose may be to avoid a certain point (conceptually, “the center of the circle”) can be called a sivuv. The term saviv can also be used metaphorically, such as when one speaks in a round-about way without saying one’s point explicitly (II Sam. 14:20). Nonetheless, Rabbi Pappenheim writes that saviv or saviv-related words usually refer to complete circles. To this effect, the Hebrew word siv refers to the bast of a palm tree, which is a fibrous material that surrounds the branches. Similarly, a drunkard is called a soveh (see Deut. 21:20, Proverbs 23:20, and Isa. 56:12) because he circulates around the taverns and bars (to taste different types of intoxicating beverages, to avoid being recognized by the bartenders, or because he uses up his credit in one shop and must drink elsewhere). An elderly gentleman is called a sav (Job 15:10) or a “grandfather” — saba — because he is nearing the completion of the circle of his lifecycle. By contrast, the word haikef always refers to a full circuit. The seven circuits around the bimah (mentioned above) are called hakafot (or hakafah in singular) because they ought to be complete circuits. By contrast, the word for a spinner is sevivon because it need not necessarily make any full circles but might stop spinning in the middle of rotating without completing the last circle. Interestingly, Rabbi Pappenheim writes that a frozen or congealed substance is described as kafah/kafui, which is related to the word haikef because it is completely enclosed within the framework of its current state and cannot change shape as easily as a liquid can do so. As the Targumim imply and Radak confirms, the Aramaic equivalent to the Hebrew root-word saviv is sachor, and sachor-related words appear in the Bible in the general meaning of round: a socheirah (mentioned in Ps. 91:4) is a type of round shield, and a merchant is called a socher because he travels around trying to sell his merchandise. Another Hebrew root word related to circles is afef. We say in Hallel, “The pains of death encircled (afefuni) me… and I would call out in the name of G-d, ‘Please G-d, save my soul’” (Ps. 116:3-4). Malbim explains that the encircling denoted by afef always has a negative connotation. Regarding its etymology, Malbim explains that afef is related to the Hebrew word peah “corner” (in plural peyot) because it denotes enveloping someone or something from all possible corners. Rabbi Yom Tov Lipmann Heller (1578-1654) writes that the original meaning of the word chag (“holiday”) is “circle”, which conjures the circles of dance which people enjoy on holidays (Sefer Ha’Aruch and Radak to I Sam. 30:16 offer similar understandings). For this reason, he explains, of all the holidays called a chag in the Torah (i.e., Pesach, Shavout, and Succot), the Mishnah consistently uses the term chag to refer to Succot in particular, because that is the holiday which is the most associated with happiness (see Deut. 16:15), and, thus, with dancing. Rabbi Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg (1785-1865) slightly disagrees with this when he writes that the word chag for “holiday” conjures the celebratory gait with which celebrants would walk on their thrice-yearly pilgrimages to Jerusalem. (Chanuka is never called a chag, and for that reason, the customary greeting on Chanuka is not “Chag Sameach” — “Happy Holiday” — but is something along the lines of the Yiddish expression: A Lichtege Chanuka, “An Illuminating Chanuka”). Relatedly, Radak writes that chug is something that orbits around another body, like a planet. Malbim explains that chug or machug denotes a circle with a focus on the center of the circle. And, as we mentioned in an earlier essay, the word chagorah refers to a “belt” because it encircles a person’s body. Rabbi Wolf Heidenheim (1757-1832) writes that because the letters CHET and AYIN are sometimes interchangeable, the word chag is the same as the word ag, which means circle. Thus, ugah is a circular food (e.g., a cake), agil refers to an earring, and when the Mishnah (Ta’anit 3:4) relates the story of Choni HaMe’agel (Onias the Circlemaker), it says that he was ag ugah (which basically means that he circumscribed himself within a drawn circle). Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Chanukahחַנֻכָּה Chinuch and Chanukah, Walking with Hashem חִנוּךְ: beginning חַנוֹךְ: Chanoch חִנוּךְ: education חַנֻכָּה: Chanukah חִנוּךְ: Beginning וַיִּשְׁמַע אַבְרָם כִּי נִשְׁבָּה אָחִיו וַיָּרֶק אֶת חֲנִיכָיו יְלִידֵי בֵיתוֹ שְׁמֹנָה עָשָׂר וּשְׁלֹשׁ מֵאוֹת וַיִּרְדֹּף עַד דָּן And Avraham heard that his brother (Lot) had been captured. And he armed his חֲנִיכָיו, those who were born to his house, three hundred and eighteen, and they gave pursuit until Dan.1 Rashi interprets the word חֲנִיכָיו as Eliezer, who was chancho l’mitzvos/educated in mitzvos. Rashi defines the word chinuch as “beginning.” The number 318 stands for Eliezer alone, whose name has the same gematria.2 The Kli Yakar says that to rescue Lot and overcome the four kings with so few as 318 men was an impossible task. By natural means, there was no way to be victorious over an enemy that far outnumbered them. Nevertheless, Avraham went out knowing that he could rely on Hashem’s help. So what is the significance of the number 318? As we showed above that 318 was in fact Eliezer, victory came through “Eliezer,” as Rashi says, which really means that Hashem himself did it, since eliezer in Hebrew literally means “with the help of Hashem.” So too the victory over the Greeks at the time of the Chanukah miracle was a victory against all odds. Victory only comes about with Hashem’s help. The war against the Greeks was a physical war, yet the primary war was a spiritual one. We had to do battle with our yetzer hara to overcome the enticing Greek philosophy and their Hellenistic culture. The Gemara in Kiddushin teaches that without Hashem’s help we cannot possibly overcome the yetzer hara.3 חַנוֹךְ: Chanoch Chanoch is the first one in an illustrious line of great people who walked with Hashem. So why is he called חַנוֹךְ? Because the Torah is telling us that the way Hashem wants us to מְחַנֵךְ/educate our children is in the ways of “walking through life” with Hashem. חִנוּךְ: Chinuch חֲנֹךְ לַנַּעַר עַל פִּי דַרְכּוֹ/educate the child according to his way.4The Ibn Ezra connects this to the pasuk brought above, where Avraham arms the men of his house, known as חֲנִיכָיו, with weapons of war. Here too the Torah is teaching that the way to educate your child is to arm him with the weapons of war that are best suited for him. The war is the war of the Torah. The fight to learn the Torah is by no means easy; a kid who is completely dominated by the yetzer hara just wants to have fun. As parents and guardians, we have the great responsibility to equip our children with the right tools for them to conquer their yetzer and educate them in the ways of Hashem. חַנֻכָּה: Chanukah Chanukas HaMizbei’ach and chanukas habayis both refer to the inauguration ceremony, the first-time use of the Mizbei’ach and one’s house, respectively. When we make a chanukas habayis, we have to clarify what it is that we are dedicating our house to. Will our chanukas indeed stem from lashon chinuch, i.e., that our home will be a place of Torah ideals, cultivating growth, and closeness to Hashem? In Tehillim30,מִזְמוֹר שִׁיר חֲנֻכַּת הַבַּיִת לְדָוִד, the bayis referred to therein is the Beis HaMikdash. Our house should be like a Beis HaMikdash, a place of refuge from the street, in which the light shines from the house into the street and not the other way around. We say this everyday on Chanukah because ה’ הֱיֵה עֹזֵר לִי, with Hashem’s help we are able to conquer our enemy the yetzer hara, and in doing so, each one of us becomes a mini Beis HaMikdash, where Hashem’s Shechinah can reside. For this, we forever thank you, ה’ אֱ-לֹהַי לְעוֹלָם אוֹדֶךָּ. The festival of Chanukah centers on the rededication of the Beis HaMikdash after it was defiled by the Greeks. The Menorah in the Temple represented the spiritual wealth and light that comes from a life immersed in Torah. Every year, Chanukah sheds renewed light in the darkest days of winter and symbolizes a rededication to a life of Torah. Only through educating ourselves with Torah do we reach our goal of walking with Hashem. אֶתְהַלֵּךְ לִפְנֵי ה’בְּאַרְצוֹת הַחַיִּים/I will walk with Hashem in the land of the living.5Only when I walk with Hashem am I truly living. 1Bereishis 14:14. 2Nedarim 32a. 3Kiddushin 30b. 4Mishlei 22:6. 5Tehillim 116:9. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

In our Parsha[1] we read of a war between the Four Kings and the Five Kings. The former, in the course of winning the battle, take Abraham’s nephew Lot captive. We read of Abraham’s response in Gen. 14:14: “And Abraham heard that his brother was taken captive, and he armed his disciples, those born in his household, three hundred and eighteen, and he pursued them up to Dan.” Let’s examine the verse phrase by phrase, to see how our Patriarch Avraham dealt with Lot in his hour of need: “And Abraham heard that his brother was taken captive…” Comments the Tanchuma[2]: Was (Lot) then his brother? From here we see Abraham’s outstanding character; despite the dispute between Lot’s shepherds and those of Abraham[3], Abraham still calls Lot his brother. Lot’s shepherds were guilty of nothing less than theft, grazing in the fields of others[4]. The rift between the meticulous Abraham and the lax Lot was thus inevitable, hence their parting of ways. Nonetheless, when the latter was captured, Abraham instantaneously considered him as his flesh and blood—his brother. All other considerations fell by the wayside. “…and he armed his disciples…” Abraham had dedicated his life to the overarching goal of bringing the knowledge of the One G-d to mankind. But when a former disciple—wayward though he may have been—was placed in jeopardy, he dropped everything and gave his charges the greatest education he could: action. “…those born in his household, three hundred and eighteen…” Rabeinu Bachya comments: “this verse comes to teach us that Abraham had no less than 318 charges dependent on his financial support.” Abraham had far more than an average-sized family, but he nonetheless turned his attention to Lot’s straits. In the previous verse (Gen. 14:13) we read: “And the refugee came and told Abraham the Ivri, and he dwelt in Elonei Mamrei…” What is the relevance of telling us of Abraham’s whereabouts at this dramatic juncture? Particularly since in the previous chapter (Gen. 13:18) we had already been duly informed of Abraham’s abode! The subtle message may be that despite Elonei Mamrei/Hevron’s proximity to the site of the rising world power[5], Abraham chose not to flee and save his own tribe from the inevitable conquest of his area nor to lie low and act with political expedience, but on the contrary, to muster his own meager force to save the life of a single recalcitrant soul in danger. There are many historic examples of hopelessly “irreversible” evils in the world. Louis XIV’s France was one example. The Soviet “Evil Empire” was another example of irreversibility more recently. The people of Israel was irreversibly enslaved in Egypt. And Abraham the Ivri was born into a world immutably steeped in idolatry. Luckily, “irreversible” was a word not found in Abraham’s lexicon, and therefore the title “Ivri” () is given him in introduction to his valorous actions on behalf of the captured Lot. As was his wont, Avraham reversed the irreversible. What was the underlying impetus for Abraham’s seemingly illogical determination in the face of so many solid justifications for turning a blind eye? The Midrash Rabba tells us explicitly: Gen. Rabba 43:2 – “And Abraham heard that his brother was taken captive” this is what is meant by the verse: he seals his ears from hearing bloodshed (Is 33). “And he armed his disciples”…R. Yehuda said (Abraham’s disciples) were angry[6] with Abraham and said, five kings were unable to defeat (the four kings); shall we be able to? R. Nehemiah said, Abraham was angry with them and said: I will go and fall in sanctification of G-d’s name. The secret of Abraham’s tenacity in defiance of all apparent reason was the secret of Abraham’s entire existence: the sanctification of G-d’s name. Abandoning a captive -all logic and arguments notwithstanding- amounts to a desecration of G-d’s holy name. To avoid this, one is obliged to sacrifice not only career and livelihood, but indeed one’s very life. Later on in Genesis, Yehuda makes the bold pledge on to his father on behalf of Binyamin: “I shall be a guarantor for him, from my hand shall seek him; if I do not bring him back and return him to you, I shall be considered to have sinned before you all my days.” The Midrash[7] recounts that King David reenacted his ancestor Yehuda’s pledge in taking on the giant Goliath in order to deliver Binyamin’s descendent Saul and Israel from their Philistine foes. David overcame all the odds and defeated the enemy colossus; and in the merit of his self-sacrifice the Temple was built in Yehuda and Binyamin’s portions. May the Almighty hear our prayers and redeem our brother Yehonatan ben Malka, and may the Almighty redeem all of Israel from our sufferings, and rebuild the Beit Hamikdash speedily in our times. [1] Gen. 14:1,2 [2] Tanchuma,  Lech Lecha 16 [3] Gen. 13:7-9 [4] Rashi, Gen. 13:7 [5] I.e., the Four Kings (Gen. 14:1,2) [6] “Horiku panim.” Lit. their faces blanched. [7] Tanhuma Vayigash 8 Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Throughout the Yom Kippur services we repeatedly confess our sins and beg for forgiveness. In doing so, we mimic the confessionals of the Kohen Gadol in the Holy Temple. The Mishnah (Yoma 4:2) relates that when the Kohen Gadolwould confess his sins and the sins of his household, he would specifically admit to three types of sins: chet, avon, and pesha. These three words are not synonymous, but rather refer to different degrees of sin. The Talmud (Yoma36b) explains that chet refers to an inadvertent sin (the state of mind known as shogeg), avon refers to wanton/intentional sins (meizid), and pesha refers to sins of rebellion. Nevertheless, there are other ways of explaining the differences between these three types of sins. When King David was nearing the end of his life, his oldest surviving son, Adonijah, began to proclaim himself as king. Batsheba, the mother of Solomon, came before her husband, King David, and demanded that he fulfill his promise that Solomon would succeed him. She said to him that if Adonijah succeeds in securing the throne, “…then I and my son Solomon will be chataim” (I Kings 1:21). What does the word chataim meanin this context? Rashi explains that chet means “lacking”, and in this case it means that Batsheba and Solomon would be lacking the royal titles due to them. Probably based on Rashi’s comment, the Vilna Gaon (in his commentary to Prov. 1:10; 13:6) writes that chet means a sin through a lacking. In other words, he writes, a chet refers to thefailure to perform a positive commandment. Rabbi Yechezkel Landau (1713-1793) also understands that chet refers to the lack of fulfilling a positive commandment, but synthesizes this with the Talmud’s contention that chet refers to an inadvertent sin by explaining that it refers specifically to the failure to fulfill the commandment of repenting after one has committed an inadvertent sin. Rabbi Moshe Shapiro (1935-2017) defends the classic rabbinic definition of chet as an inadvertent sin, but still draws an important lesson from Rashi associating chet with a “lack”. He explains that a chet is not simply the lack of something, but represents the failure to achieve a goal. A sin is therefore called a chet because the sinner deviates from the goal of mankind, and misses his intended objective. His lack of achievement in that area is called a chet. Similarly, Rabbi Shlomo Pappenheim of Breslau (1740-1814) writes that chetdenotes the sinner’s lack of intentions/mindfulness when committing his sin. By contrast, an avon denotes the sin of one who “thinks too much”. He wrongly concludes that sinning is the proper way to go, and acts accordingly. A pesha refers to the sin of somebody who knows that his forbidden actions are completely wrong and should not be done, but carries them out anyways in order to rebel against G-d. Malbim takes a slightly different approach. He understands that all three wordscouldrefer to an offense committed purposely, but reflect varying motives. A chet refers to a sin committed because a person was swayed by his physical temptations, and purposely indulged in what he knew to be wrong. An avon refers to a sin that a person commits because his intellect had been negatively persuaded, causing him to stray. Finally, a pesha refers to the iniquities of one who shamelessly sins as a way of rebelling against G-d. Peirush HaRokeach also slightly disagrees with the Talmud’s way of differentiating between chet, avon, and pesha. He explains that chet refers to an inadvertent sin, pesha refers to a willful sin, and avon refers specifically to a sin from which one derived physical pleasure or gained some other benefit. The truth is, it’s not so simple. Rabbi Netanel Weil (1687-1769) writes that the differences between the terms chet and avon are only apparent when those terms are juxtaposed to each other. In such contexts, chet means whatever chet means, and avon means whatever avon means. However, when the terms appear on their own, without the other, then each of these terms includes all types of sins, not just the specific type of sin that it otherwise means. Moreover, classifying sins is not so black-and-white. In his Laws of Teshuvah(Repentance), Maimonides codifies the requirement for a penitent to confess his sins by saying, “Chatati (I committed a chet), Aviti (I committed an avon), Pashati (I committed a pesha)” — the same formula that the Kohen Gadol said in the Temple. Rabbi Yosef Babad (1801-1874), in his seminal work Minchat Chinuch, writes that one need not necessarily make all three declarations. Rather, one should confess whatever sins are relevant in each situation. However, Rabbi Elazar Menachem Mann Shach (1899-2001) disagrees with this position, and maintains that Maimonides’ wording implies that in all situations a person should always recite all three declarations. He argues that not only is this because the formula instituted for the confessional includes all three types of sins, but also for another reason: Even though these three words represent three different degrees of sin, Rabbi Shach argues that no sin is so clear-cut that it fully fits into one of these three categories. Rather, every sin has different elements of chet, avon, and pesha. For example, someone may have sinned inadvertently, but that sin also contains elements of wantonness and rebelliousness. Or, conversely, somebody may have sinned rebelliously, but his sin may also have some traces of inadvertency and/or pure wantonness. A fourth term for a “sin” appears in rabbinic sources, but not in the Bible: aveira. Aveira literally means “transgression” or “violation”, and although it once specifically referred to crimes of indecency, it now colloquially serves as a general term for all types of wrongdoings. Rabbi Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg (1785-1865) writes that aveira comes from the root AYIN-BET-REISH, which means “passes” in a physical sense. He explains that the concept of an aveira is that somebody morally “passes over” his thoughts in order to not focus on the nefariousness of his deeds. We might also suggest that he who commits an aveira has crossed a rabbinic red line, and, indeed, the Talmud (Shabbat 40a) maintains that even a person who violates a rabbinic prohibition can be called an avaryan. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

The fifth plague that G-d had wrought upon the Egyptians is known as dever. In English this word is commonly translated as “pestilence”, which is a fatal epidemic disease. In the context of the fifth plague this meant the sudden death of all Egyptian horses, donkeys, camels, cattle, and sheep. The word dever also appears twice in Moshe’s warnings about the tenth plague, which entailed the sudden death of all Egyptian firstborns at exactly midnight on the day of the Exodus. In his first encounter with the Pharaoh, Moshe demands that he release the Jews “lest He (G-d) smite you with a dever or by the sword.” (Exodus 5:3) Before the seventh plague Moshe repeats his warning of an impending dever by saying that G-d could have done so earlier, but chose not to yet. He says, “This time (i.e. when the Plague of the Firstborn will finally come), I will send all of My plagues (mageifotay) against your heart… for now I could have sent My hand and stricken you and your people with dever and you would have been obliterated.” (Exodus 9:14) In this last passage we find two words which refer to plagues: dever and mageifah. What is the difference between these two seemingly synonymous words? When G-d tells Moshe about the second plague (known as tzfardea), He says that He will “smite” (nogef) Egyptian territory. Rashi (to Exodus 7:27) explains that the noun mageifah does not denote death, but rather denotes some form of striking or smiting. The root of mageifah are the letters GIMMEL–PEH(-HAY). Verbs that use this root also denote striking, hitting, or pushing — but not death. Rashi repeats this understanding in multiple places (see his commentaries to Exodus 21:22, 21:35, and Bava Kama 2b). With this, Rashi answered his unspoken question about why the plague of tzfardea (commonly translated as “frogs”) is called a “plague” if frogs do not kill. To answer this question, Rashi explained that the word mageifah does not inherently refer to a plague which brings death, so the entire quandary is moot. (Abarbanel disagrees with Rashi’s assertion that mageifah does not inherently refer to a lethal plague. To answer the aforementioned difficulty, Abarbanel is forced to adopt Rabbeinu Chananel’s view that tzfardea are “crocodiles”, not “frogs”.) According to Rashi we can explain that the word mageifah is a general term that refers to any way of smiting or striking an opponent. Accordingly, while mageifah does not, perforce, refer to a deathly plague, the word dever does denote a plague which brings death. Indeed, in other Semitic languages, words spelled DBR mean “death”. (There is one notable exception to Rashi’s rule about words with the GIMMEL–PEH root: Malbim explains that the word negef (which is mageifah’s “first cousin”) denotes a plague which brings certain death. Indeed, Rashi (to Ex. 30:12) defines negef as dever, which we have explained also denotes death. Conversely, Rabbi Menachem ibn Saruk (920-970) defines dever as negef.) Rabbi Shlomo Pappenheim of Breslau (1740-1814) explains that the word dever is related to the word devorah (“bee”) because dever is a disease that brings lesions upon a person’s body before killing him, and those lesions somewhat resemble the inflammation resulting from an allergic reaction to a bee sting. Rabbi Pappenheim’s understanding of dever seems to be consistent with descriptions of the dreaded bubonic plague — known simply as “The Plague”. The bubonic plague is understood to be responsible for the death of about half of Europe’s population in the fourteenth century outbreak known as “The Black Death”. Amongst other chilling symptoms, the bubonic plague causes one’s infected lymph nodes to become inflamed and turn into black blister-like buboes. With this in mind we can explain that magiefah is just a plague, but dever is an especially deadly plague. Rabbi Yair Chaim Bachrach (1639-1702), the author of the famous Halachic responsa Chavot Yair, offers an enlightening discussion of the difference between the words dever and mageifah. He writes that dever refers to any deadly sickness that is contagious and can easily be transmitted, either from one person to another, or from one family to another. This idea is found in the Mishna (Ta’anit 3:4) which teaches that if there is a dever in a given city, then its population should declare special fasts in order to facilitate repentance. The Mishna continues by defining dever as the deaths of three individuals within three days in a city whose population is five-hundred male adults. The Mishna thus assumes that the deaths of so many people within such a short span of time must be due to the spread of a deadly, infectious disease. (Contrast this with the world death rate per day given by the Ecology Global Network, which stands at 8 deaths per 1,000 people.) Similarly, the Talmud (Bava Kama 60b) advises that when there is a dever in a city, one should stay at home (thereby avoiding contact with infected people). On the other hand, Rabbi Bachrach explains, the word mageifah denotes an infected wound which can wind up spreading like venom and affecting all of one’s limbs and even one’s bloodstream. As we have already explained, the word mageifah is related to other words which use the GIMMEL–PEH root. All of those words are related to hitting or pushing one specific part of the body, and sometimes allowing the malady to spread from there. For this reason the word dever is used to denote the sudden death by pestilence that transpires without the appearance of any visible wounds on a specific part of their body. By contrast, the word mageifah denotes the act that the attacker (in the case of the Ten Plagues, G-d) “does” in bringing such a plague to his victim. Rabbi Bachrach then cites the opinion of an anonymous sage who argued that dever and mageifah both refer to the same type of fatal plague, but that the word mageifah connotes a deadlier plague than does dever. Said sage adduces this view from the Torah’s report that after the Jews sinned at Baal Peor they were punished with a plague “and the deaths in the plague numbered twenty-four thousand.” (Num. 25:9) However, Rabbi Bachrach writes that he disproved this sage’s theory from a different passage in the Bible. When King David conducted an illegal and unnecessary census of the Jewish People, the nation was punished with a plague whose death-toll amounted to seventy-thousand causalities. That plague is described as a dever (II Sam. 24:15), which shows that dever can yield even more deaths than mageifah, so the difference between the two words cannot be in the extent of their impact. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

The Mishnah teaches that on Rosh Hashana all the inhabitants of the world pass before G-d like the animals of a corral, and G-d passes judgement over the entirety of creation. In this way Rosh Hashana is considered the Day of Judgment (Yom ha’Din). However, Yom Kippur is also called the Day of Judgment. This begs the question: What is the difference between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur if they are both called the Day of Judgment? Nachmanides explains that Rosh Hashana is the day of din be’rachamim (judgment in mercy) and Yom Kippur is the day of rachamim be’din (mercy in judgment). This cryptic distinction must be further clarified before we can fully understand how Nachmanides resolves the issue. In this essay we will focus on explaining why Rosh Hashana is the day of din be’rachamim, leaving our discussion about Yom Kippur for a different time. As you probably know, Rosh Hashana (literally, “the Head of the Year”) marks the beginning of the New Year. However, besides serving as the first day of the New Year, Rosh Hashana has another role: It is the beginning of the month of Tishrei; it is like Rosh Chodesh. Rosh Hashana is both the beginning of a moon-related time (a month) and a sun-related time (a year). It is the first day of the year and the first day of the month. In this way Rosh Hashana represents the beginning of two cycles. Thus, it is the nexus of two opposing systems — of the sun and of the moon. The conflict between these two forces is highlighted by the concept of a solar eclipse, whereby the moon can block the light of the sun (a rare phenomenon which Americans experienced this year on Rosh Chodesh Elul). As is well-known, the Jewish calendar is neither solar nor lunar, but is rather a synthesis of both forms of keeping time. The months of the Jewish calendar are lunar-based because they are tied to the appearance of the New Moon, and the years of the Jewish calendar are comprised of twelve or thirteen such months. The year of the Jewish calendar roughly follows a sun-based system because the movement of the sun determines whether the year will have twelve or thirteen months. The purpose of adding a thirteenth month is to synchronize the seasons of the solar year with the lunar months. This intercalated month compensates for the discrepancies between the amount of days in twelve lunar months and the amount of days in one solar year. (Nowadays, we add a thirteenth month at set intervals: In a nineteen-year cycle, years 3, 6, 8, 11, 14, 17, and 19 have thirteen months, while the rest have only twelve.) When we talk about the sun and the moon, there is an interesting dynamic which they represent. The sun and moon represent the concepts of “he who gives” and “he who receives”. The sun represents the idea of giving, as the sun gives off light, while the moon does not radiate from its own light. The moon inherently does not illuminate anything. Rather, the light that comes from the sun, reflects off the moon, and bounces into our eyes. It is really sunlight which appears to be the light of the moon. So the moon is not a giver: the moon is a receiver. Another difference between the sun and the moon is that the sun always appears the same — it always looks like the same circle up in the sky. This is also characteristic of the giver. The giver constantly and reliably gives; there is no fluctuation or instability. In contrast, the moon plays the role of the receiver. Depending on the time of the month, there may sometimes be more of the moon visible, and sometimes less. In the beginning of the new month the new moon is but a small, barely-discernible sliver of white, but as the month progresses the moon waxes and waxes until it reaches its apex at the fifteenth of the Jewish month. At that point, the moon is visible as a full circle. Afterwards, it wanes smaller and smaller until the end of the month, when it finally disappears and restarts its cycle with the advent of the next month. In short, there are two major differences between the sun and the moon. Firstly, while the moon’s image fluctuates throughout the month, the sun’s remains stagnant and consistent. Secondly, the moon epitomizes the concept of the receiver, while the sun represents the giver. In an esoteric way, the relationship between the sun and the moon can be looked at as a parable for understanding two seemingly conflicting methods by which G-dinteracts with the world. There are essentially two basic ways in which He manifests His presence in creation: There is din (justice or judgment) and rachamim (mercy). The Kabbalists may sometimes use other terms to express these ideas: duchra and nukva — male and female, respectively in Aramaic — whereby the male force personifies the giver and the female force, the receiver; mashpia and mekabel (influencer and influencee), and others. But the meaning is always the same. What are these concepts of din and rachamim that G-d uses in running the world? How does He use these two opposing methods to run the world? We can compare this to the case of two philanthropists: Two people donate tremendous amounts of money. The first man does not care to whom he gives money: he simply gives out an indiscriminate amount of cash to all and sundry. The second philanthropist also gives money — perhaps even the same amount or more — but he requires any recipient to undergo a thorough vetting process. They must submit an application, meet with him, and explain to him their cause. Then, depending on how much he believes in their cause and what he feels is appropriate, he will give them a donation. The amount, of course, is based on what he feels the individual coming to him deserves. What is the difference between these two philanthropists? The difference is in their focus: the first philanthropist focuses on the giver (i.e. himself) because it does not really matter to him who the receiver is and what he wants. He is simply giving away donations whether or not the receiver deserves it. With the second philanthropist, the focus is on the receiver: does he deserve a donation or not, exactly how much, et cetra. With this in mind we can understand the difference between din and rachamim: Certainly, every element of creation needs a constant flow of influence from G-d in order to continue to exist, but sometimes G-d might temporarily stop his influence or curtail it. Which way do we want G-d to act with us? Sometimes He acts with what we call rachamim, in which the focus is on the giver (i.e. Himself), and He gives an influx of His good to the world without any questions asked. But when He focuses on the receiver (i.e. us), that is called din, and under that rubric He also gives — but He also examines whether or not the receiver deserves His Divine influence, how much he deserves, when he deserves it, et cetra. As mentioned above, the sun, as the never-changing celestial body that emanates light, represents a focus on the consistent, reliable giver. Conversely, the moon suggests a focus is on the receiver, for when the focus is on him, the flow of goods can fluctuate depending on what the receiver truly deserves, just like the image of the moon fluctuates throughout the month. These two ideas of din and rachmim meet on Rosh Hashana. It is the meeting point of the solar year and the lunar month — the marriage of the sun and the moon, the rachamim and the din. It is truly the best of times and the worst of times. In different places in the Bible we use different words to denote Gd. Sometimes He is known by His four-letter ineffable name (referred to as the Tetragrammaton) — what we might colloquially call “Hashem”, literally “the Name”. And sometimes, we refer to Him as simply Elokim, “G-d”, or ha’Elokim “the G-d”. Tradition tells us that when encounter His four-letter name, it alludes to His mode of acting through rachamim, while the word Elokim refers to God as the Divine judge who metes out din. In fact, the word elohim sometimes appears in the Bible as a word that means a human judge. When we refer to Him as Elokim we mean to conjure His role as the ultimate Judge of creation. The contrast between these two characteristics is accentuated in Psalms 47 — the chapter of Psalms that we read seven times before blowing the shofar (ram’s horn) on Rosh Hashana. That passage discusses the universal recognition of G-d’s sovereignty, and one verse reads, “Elokim ascends with the teruah, Hashem, with the voice of the shofar”. There are two types of sounds that the shofar makes on Rosh Hashana: a tekiah is a simple straight sound, while a teruah, on the other hand, is comprised of multiple short blasts together (there is a halachic uncertainty regarding whether they are 3 longer sounds, 9 shorter sounds, or 3 longer sound followed by 9 shorter sounds). A tekiah is one straight, consistent sound, while a teruah is a composite of several broken-up, fragmented sounds. In this way, the tekiah represents the concept of rachamim, because when the focus is on the giver, there is a consistent stream of giving. The teruah is related to the Aramaic word rauah, which means broken (like the expression that appears in the Talmud sulam rauah, a ladder with broken rungs). It represents din because it is not a constant flow, but is separated and fragmented depending on whether the receiver deserves to receive or not. The teruah focuses on the receiver. We especially associate Elokim with the teruah because Elokimrepresents the din aspect of G-d’s administration of the world, while tekiah is associated with rachamim, so it is linked to the name Hashem. When we blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana every teruah sound has a tekiah sound before and after. The teruah is always sandwiched by a tekiah. The idea behind this is because even though Rosh Hashana has the properties of din and rachamim (for it begins the solar year and lunar month), we strive to “hide” the din of Rosh Hashana. We say in Psalms 81, “Blow the shofar on (the first of) the month, on the hidden part of the holiday.” This alludes to the notion that the Rosh Chodesh aspect of Rosh Hashana is hidden, because we are trying to hide the fact that there is a dinon Rosh Hashana. It is the concealed facet of the holiday. The teruah, which represents din, is something that we want to suppress, so we hide it in between two instances of rachamim — the tekiah before and after. All that is visible from the outside of the sandwich is rachamim, not din. This idea is known in Kabbalah as mesikas ha’din, “sweetening the din”. This is also the underlying principle at work when we dip the apple in honey on Rosh Hashana. Because honey is sweet it too represents rachamim, so we dip the apple in the honey to make the rachamim component of Rosh Hashana its dominant aspect. But how does all of this work? Can we just close our eyes to the din of Rosh Hashana and then it won’t affect us? What are we doing by hiding from the din? Whom do we think we are fooling? The answer, of course, is that we are trying to change ourselves for the better by changing the object of focus. If there is a judgment on us, then we are the object of focus, because G-d looks at us and judges whether or not we deserve His good. We do not want to be the object in focus because then we will almost inevitably be in trouble due to our sins. To resolve this, we do not talk about sins on Rosh Hashana. Instead we focus on G-d and His kingship. Throughout the prayers of Rosh Hashana we continually speak about His greatness, His universal kingship, and how He is so powerful. In doing so we switched the focus from being on the receiver to being on the giver; from being on ourselves to being on G-d. When the focus is on the giver, then the rachamim paradigm is in play, and God will give even without our deserving it. In this way Rosh Hashana is essentially the day of din, but is immersed in rachmim and sweetened on the outside. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr

Sukkot: Gog’s Impervious Roof Versus Israel’s Flimsy Thatched Sukkah (The following is in the main an adaptation of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s commentary on the Pentateuch). Lev. 23:34 – Speak to the people of Israel, saying, the fifteenth day of this seventh month shall be the Feast of Booths for seven days to the Lord. Rabbi S.R. Hirsch (Num. 29:13) notes that the prophetic portions of foretelling apocalyptic wars of Gog and Magog (Ezekiel Ch. 38, 39) are read on the festival of Sukkot. He suggests a connection between the name “Gog” and the root גג –roof. In contrast, the name “Sukkah” signifying a booth is closely linked to the word סכך, the flimsy branch coverings required by Halacha to rest on the Sukkah. Gog would therefore symbolize the utter antithesis of the Sukkah, as follows: whereas the “walls” of the Sukkah are halachically required to be somewhat substantial and steady, the סכך is frail and helpful for little else than protection against direct sunlight; it scarcely avails in the face of heat, much less rain, wind and other weather. Symbolically, the walls teach us that although we must engage in efforts to protect ourselves against the earthly dangers and enemies which surround us, the feeble סכך covering instructs us that vis-à-vis our Heavenly Father above we recognize that all such attempts are futile in view of His Omnipotence. In contrast to the סכך canopy, the גג-roof announces haughtily that we humans absolute masters of our destiny, even to the extent that it can protect us against G-d’s wrath. This is demonstrated in the early history of Mankind (Gen. 11:2-4), when Man decided to build the Tower of Babel, which was nothing short of a frontal war on G-d (see Alshich to Dan. 3:1). Man at his arrogant worst is intoxicated with his technology and creative genius, and cannot abide a Force greater than he – even the Lord Himself. This on-going Kulturkampf is at the root of anti-Semitism as well, the Jews’ סכך loudly proclaiming the Uber-power of G-d over humans, vs. the גג’s defiance against that self-same Lord. The Talmud (Avodah Zara 3a) tells us that the idolaters complain to G-d, as it were, that their lack of Heavenly reward is unfair, since they were never given a chance to fulfill the Divine precepts. G-d agrees to give them the “easy” Mitzvah of Sukkah. Each one then enthusiastically built a Sukkah on his roof – until the weather turned hot, upon which they all contemptuously kicked down their Sukkahs. Apparently, leaving their fate and comfort in the hands of G-d is insufferable – even for a week. That said, a total of seventy sacrifices were offered in the Temple on this holiday – one for each of the emblematic seventy gentile nations. Our tradition has it that following the calamitous wars of Gog and Magog, the entire world will repent and recognize the One G-d of the universe – all on the holiday of Sukkot. Those surviving the cataclysmic carnage will finally grasp that no roof, not of shingles, not of titanium, not even a futuristic electronic force-field can stand up to G-d’s wrath. Those remaining finally realize that “not by military force and not by physical strength, but by My spirit” (Zech. 4:6) does the world exist. Those who embrace and are embraced by the rickety סכך ironically outlive those protected by Man’ most sophisticated defenses. May we merit the blessings of the Redemption of Israel and all of Mankind during this joyous holiday – sans the need for Gog or his גג. Share this: WhatsApp More Telegram Email Print Share on Tumblr #Etymology #Hebrew #Roots #Bible #Chumash #BiblicalHebrewEtymology