הפסוקים שצורפו למזמור

ערוך השולחן אורח חיים הלכות ברכות השחר סימן נא

ואמרו (ברכות דף ד ע"ב): "כל האומר 'תהלה לדוד' (תהילים קמ"ה) ג' פעמים בכל יום, מובטח לו שהוא בן עולם הבא". מפני שהוא על סדר א"ב ו[גם] אית ביה [=יש בו] קרא ד"פותח את ידיך" (שם, טז).

והקדימו לזה שני פסוקי 'אשרי': "אשרי יושבי ביתך" (תהילים פ"ד, ה); "אשרי העם שככה לו" (תהילים קמ"ד, טו)... והטעם מפני שמפסוק "אשרי יושבי ביתך" למדנו שצריך לשהות מעט קודם התפלה [ברכות דף לב ע"ב] והכי [=וכך] פירושו: אשרי יושבי ביתך ואחר כך עוד יהללוך סלה. ואגב הסמיכו גם "אשרי העם וגו'" מפני שהוא שבח גדול לישראל כמובן.

ובסוף "תהלה לדוד" הוסיפו קרא ד"ואנחנו נברך וגו' הללויה" (תהילים קט"ו, יח) כדי לשלשולי הללויה בתר [=אחרי] הללויה [טור], משום דכולהו [=שכל] מזמורים אלו מסיימים בהללויה ופותחים בהללויה ותהלה לדוד אינו מסיים בהללויה לכן הסמיכו לו מקרא זה כדי שגם הוא יסיים בהללויה.

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The Nazir Must Bring a Sin Offering - is Naziritehood Ideal?

As mentioned yesterday, the Torah in Parashat Naso devotes a section to the laws of a nazir – a man or woman who vows to abide by the nazirite code, which requires abstaining from wine, refraining from haircutting, and avoiding contact with human corpses.

One might inquire as to the common thread that is shared by these three restrictions. The term “nazir” is generally interpreted to mean “abstention” or “separation,” and a nazir is thus somebody who has chosen to “abstain.” Interestingly, however, his “abstention” relates only to wine, haircutting and tum’at meit (the ritual impurity caused by contact with a human corpse). The Torah imposes no special restrictions upon a nazir with regard to common areas of physical activity such as food, drinks (other than wine), marital relations, fine clothing, and so on. The “abstention” of nezirut differs starkly from the observance of Yom Kippur, for example, when we are called upon to eliminate physical comforts and pleasures. Why, then, does the Torah refer to the nazir as “one who abstains,” if he must only abstain from three very specific – and seemingly unrelated – activities?

We might suggest that the three restrictions imposed upon the nazir represent three areas of life that pose spiritual danger to a person: festivity, tragedy, and social pressure. Excessive festivity can lead a person to reckless, uncalculated behavior, and to focus his attention on enjoyment and indulgence rather than on personal responsibility. On the opposite side of the spectrum, the experience of tragedy and loss of life could cause one to question divine justice, and to despair from pursuing a rich, meaningful life. Finally, the quest for social acceptance and the admiration of one’s peers often blinds a person’s judgment, as he determines his courses of action based on what pleases other people rather than his objective reasoning and deeply held values.

Perhaps, then, nezirut means abstaining from life’s religious challenges by avoiding these three areas. The prohibition against drinking wine requires the nazir to avoid festive celebrations, and he must likewise avoid funerals due to the prohibition of tum’at meit. Finally, he is barred from grooming himself and tending to his appearance, and must appear unkempt and disheveled. By avoiding situations of festivity and tragedy and ignoring socially acceptable standards of appearance, the nazir temporarily protects himself from these three areas of religious challenge.

Among the sacrifices required of a nazir upon completing his term of nezirut is a female sheep brought as a sin offering (6:14), and several different approaches have been taken to explain why the nazir would require atonement. The Meshekh Chokhma suggests that although a nazir acted nobly by undertaking these strict measures which he deemed temporarily necessary, he must atone for the mitzvot that he forfeited as a result. He was unable, for example, to attend funerals, even upon the passing of relatives, and could not recite kiddush or havdala over a cup of wine. We might also add the fact that his disheveled appearance likely erected certain social barriers which prevented his involvement in important communal affairs and meaningful social functions. Therefore, even if his undertaking was justifiable in light of his sensing the need for spiritual fortification, it came at the expense of several important mitzvot, a price for which he must atone through a sin offering.

The ambivalence expressed by Chazal toward the nazir thus reflects the tension that exists between protecting oneself from the complexities of the world and the value in confronting them. The period of nezirut creates a temporary safe haven of sorts, but also denies the nazir a number of valuable opportunities. The fact that the Torah sanctioned the institution of nezirut, but at the same time required a sin offering, likely signifies the ambivalence with which we should approach this tension between isolation and engagement. Ideally, the Torah bids us to confront the world, even with its lurking dangers, in an effort to build and improve it. On some occasions, however, it may become necessary to withdraw in the interest of self-protection. But even when such measures are warranted, one must remain aware of the sacrifices entailed, and the need to “atone” for the valuable opportunities forfeited by his decision to withdraw.

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Nazir - Kehuna for Everyone?

Parashat Naso explains that a nazir is bound by three restrictions. He may not drink wine, come in contact with a dead body (including relatives), or cut his hair.

Interestingly, the first two of these prohibitions are familiar to us from what seems to be a much different context: the kohanim, or, particularly, the kohen gadol. Towards the beginning of Parashat Emor, the Torah explicitly prohibits a kohen from coming in contact with ritual impurity (see Vayikra 21:1). However, while kohanim in general are permitted to contract ritual impurity when tending to the needs of their immediate relatives (Vayikra 21:2-3), the kohen gadol is forbidden from contact even with family members (Vayikra 21:11). In this respect, the nazir resembles the high priest; he may not come in contact with even deceased relatives (see Bemidbar 6:6-7).

The second prohibition mentioned also brings to mind the kohanim. Though no general prohibition against alcohol applies to the kohanim, in Parashat Shemini (Vayikra 10:9) the Torah forbids the kohanim from drinking before entering the Mishkan to perform the service.

We may reasonably conclude, therefore, that the institution of nezirut is meant to afford the non-kohen a unique opportunity to experience the sanctity of priesthood in the Mishkan. Even those living far from the sacred chamber and who may not perform the rituals reserved for the kohanim are granted the opportunity of attaining this level of sanctity.

We must, of course, address the third prohibition, which the kohen does not share with the nazir. Besides the fact that kohanim may cut their hair, the Torah specifically forbids the kohen gadol from growing his hair long in response to personal tragedy (see Vayikra 21:10). Does this prohibition of the nazir also involve his status as a "quasi-kohen," or does it point to a different feature of the nazir?

A careful reading of the verses both here in Parashat Naso and in Parashat Emor reveals that indeed the hair growth, too, relates to this parallel between the nazir and the kohen gadol. The Torah offers the following reason for the prohibition against the nazir's coming in contact with the dead, including relatives: "ki nezer Elo-hav al rosho" - "for his Lord's crown is upon his head" (Bemidbar 6:7). Sure enough, a similar expression is used in reference to the law forbidding the kohen gadol from leaving the Mishkan to mourn for a deceased relativ: "He shall not go outside the sanctuary… for the crown of the anointing oil of his God is upon him… " (Vayikra 21:12; see Rashi there who explains this verse as referring to mourning). Both the nazir and the kohen gadol wear crowns: the kohen gadol's crown is the anointing oil poured over his head at his appointment to the post, whereas the nazir's crown is his uncut hair.

How does this distinction relate to the association we have drawn between the nazir and the kohen gadol?

The anointing oil was used not only for the consecration of the kohen gadol, but for the consecration of all the other accessories of the Mishkan, as well (see Shemot 30:22-30). Consecration with the anointing oil designates the given object (we refer here to the kohanim as "objects," too) as exclusively dedicated to God. It bestows upon the object a status of objective sanctity, by which it is consecrated entirely for the service of the Almighty. A nazir clearly cannot be anointed with this oil, for such a status cannot be attained voluntarily, nor can it apply on a temporary basis. Instead, the nazir symbolizes his aspirations for this total sanctity by donning his own crown, the symbolic expression of his withdrawal from mundane pursuits and his intensive spiritual yearnings.

In any event, the institution of nezirut demonstrates that kedusha is not reserved for those serving formally in the capacity of spiritual leadership. One need not work in the Mishkan to experience the sanctity of the Mishkan. By setting limits on one's involvement in the mundane world and focusing on more spiritual pursuits, one can indeed turn himself into a "kohen" of sorts, and bring the sacred aura of the Mishkan into his home and every facet of daily life.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

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The "Gap" in the Torah's Description of Shavuot

Many writers have noted the anomaly latent within the Torah’s description of the festival of Shavuot. Although we celebrate this occasion as primarily Zeman Matan Torateinu, the anniversary of our receiving the Torah, the Torah itself makes no mention of this aspect of Shavuot. Instead, the Torah focuses exclusively on the agricultural theme of Shavuot, as the celebration of the wheat harvest. Sefer Shemot (23:16, 34:22) describes Shavuot as the harvest festival, and in Sefer Vayikra (23:9-22) speaks of this day as the culmination of the fifty-day period that began with the omer offering on the second day of Pesach. Shavuot thus appears in the Torah as strictly an agricultural festival, without any historical or commemorative component. It seems odd, at first glance, that the role of Shavuot as celebrating the seminal event of Matan Torah would earn no mention in the Torah.

Rav Yaakov Ariel, in his Mei-aholei Torah, explains how this anomaly may convey an important message regarding the nature of Torah and Torah observance:

The festival of Shavuot is the festival of the harvest of the first wheat in the Land of Israel. It is not the festival of the giving of the Torah as an abstract, intangible concept; it comes to commemorate the prosaic life in the Land of Israel, the life of hard work and creativity, which reaches its peak at the harvest. Just then, at the most grueling moments of backbreaking labor, in the glorious moments of gratification when a person fills with pride over his achievements – specifically at these moments comes the test of Torah life in the land.

The festival of Matan Torah is described in the Torah as the festival of the harvest in order to emphasize the relevance and applicability of Torah as a practical guide for real-life experiences. Torah life is most vividly expressed specifically in the harvest, when engaging in the pursuit of one’s livelihood, struggling with nature to harness its forces for the benefit of oneself and mankind. It is here where the Torah calls upon a person to recognize his responsibilities to the Almighty, and where it imposes its obligations and restrictions. Rav Ariel adds that for this reason the Torah concludes the section dealing with Shavuot (in Vayikra 23:22) with a reiteration of the farmer’s charity obligations: “And when you reap the harvest of your land, do not completely eliminate the corner of your field, and do not collect the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the foreigner.” In the context of Zeman Matan Torateinu, the Torah emphasizes that Torah observance is expressed most manifestly in the harvest, when the farmer denies himself a percentage of his hard-earned produce and leaves it for the poor as the Torah demands.

Thus, the Torah deliberately omitted any reference to the historical background of Shavuot to focus our attention on the day-to-day implementation of the Torah’s laws and ideals, rather than confining them to the realm of the abstract. We received the Torah for the purpose of establishing ourselves as a nation in our ancestral homeland that strictly observes its laws and exemplifies its values. The Torah therefore describes Shavuot in strictly agricultural terms, thereby emphasizing the importance of implementing Torah in daily life, rather than perceiving it as only an abstract spiritual entity.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

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The Thief Who Swore Falsely

Since the Torah is the word of God, we believe that no part of it is superfluous. Therefore, when a halachic issue reappears in the Torah, after it has already been taught, our Rabbis took pains to discover why it required repetition. Such is the case, in this weeks Parasha, with a group of verses that deal with the law concerning a thief that when caught swore falsely. When he finally chooses to repent, and admits his sin, he must bring a sacrifice to atone for his wrongdoing, and must add to the original value stolen, an additional fifth. Because this case includes the bringing of a sacrifice, it was already taught within that context at the end of Parashat Vayikra (Vayikra 5:20-26). Its reiteration in Parashat Naso (Bamidbar 5:5-10) seems both superfluous and out of place.

Our Rabbis point to two issues, which were not included in Parashat Vayikra, but are taught in the version which appears in Parashat Naso. Firstly, this halacha only applies to one who admitted his wrongdoing of his own accord. If, however, it is proven in court that he actually stole, and the defendant did not admit his guilt, he is not obligated to pay the additional fifth, or bring a sacrifice. Secondly, we are taught the halacha concerning the case of one that steals from a convert that has no children. When someone that has been harmed financially passes away before justice has been done, the guilty party must pay the person's inheritors, that is, his relatives. Therefore, since halachikally, one that converts is completely new to his surroundings, and his biological family does not inherit him, his is the only case where it is impossible to return the money to inheritors. The Torah teaches us (verse 8) that in such a case, the money must be given to the Kohanim (plural of Kohen) that are then serving in the Temple. This is an extremely exceptional law, from which we may learn many things.

We are accustomed to different types of laws within the Halacha. Those that relate to monetary disputes and cases of criminality, and those that relate to ritualistic aspects of religion. It is therefore surprising to see the Kohen made use of in this context, as one that receives the payment for a theft, where no inheritor exists. The verse says that the payment given to God is for the Kohen (verse 8). This means that God gives it to the Kohen. In effect, the thief owes this money to God. Similarly, the previous law learnt, that the person has to own up in order to be obligated, is out of the ordinary. Generally speaking, one that is indicted in court, takes the full measure of punishment irrelevant of whether he admits his guilt. If anything, owning up may lessen the punishment (the law of kefel). It is therefore interesting that in this case the thief must admit that he stole and swore untruthfully in order to be obligated to pay the extra fifth and bring the sacrifice.

Concerning this last point, the fact that here the obligation to bring a sacrifice is connected to the false oath, connects the issue of ritual even to the additional payment of a fifth. A sacrifice is brought out of one's free will. The sacrifice relates to a false oath. This is not only a monetary issue, but the use of God's name in vain. Due to the ritualistic nature of this sin and the repentive nature of the sacrifice, it is necessary to admit the sin. This is not like any other case of being accused in court.

This does not suffice to explain why one must pay the Kohen, in a case where the convert that one stole from has no inheritor. Here we appreciate that the boundary between ritual and monetary issues is generally overly stressed. Whenever one steals, one sins against God. The obligation to compensate is not only due to the violation of the rights of the other, but also because of the fact that a crime has been committed for which the perpetrator must be held accountable. You are responsible for your actions irrelevant of whether any human being is able to present a claim against you. In a case where there is no claimant, God insists that one offer the compensation to Him. In effect, the monetary compensation can be viewed as an obligation before God, which, whenever possible, is collected by the harmed party. But it is not dependent on the legal claim of that party for compensation. In any case, God expects one that has harmed another to understand that he must do something to mend the situation. This may be the difference between an ethic of rights, and one of obligations and responsibility.

There may be another issue here, which may explain why these laws are taught in the context of Parashat Naso. God takes responsibility for those members of society that are weak and vulnerable. The convert, that has left his family, is alone. Therefore, one that steals from him has affronted God, who has taken the convert into His protection.

Parashat Naso begins with the final touches of the arrangement of the camps. We are then commanded to make sure lepers are not left to move within the camp (Bamidbar 5:1-4). Later we deal with the sotah (Bamidbar 5:11-31) and the nazir (Bamidbar 6:1-21), both of which can be understood as cases of people that, either in a negative or positive way, are unable to fit into their social context (an idea for which I am indebted to my mother). Within this context we are told that, one who steals from a convert, who does not necessarily have sufficient social protection, is held responsible by God. He pays reparations to the priest in the temple because it is God that demands it of him.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

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The Strange Laws of the Nazir

In Parashat Naso we are taught the laws of the nazir. We are told that if either a man or a woman wishes to become a nazir, he or she must abstain from wine and strong drink, cutting of hair, and exposure to dead bodies. One who behaves so is considered "holy". It is interesting that we are given no positive description of what a nazir actually does, or explanation why such a code of behavior should be followed. There is a detailed description of the ritual performed in the temple at the conclusion of the period of being a nazir, but there is no ritual performed during the time that he or she is considered holy!

The laws of a nazir are very stringent. Anything that is processed from a grape is forbidden (not just wine). As opposed to the laws concerning a Kohen, under no circumstances whatsoever may the nazir become impure by coming in contact with dead. Why are these laws so stringent? Another awkward aspect is the form in which these laws are related to us. The whole relation of these laws takes up a total of twenty-one verses. The first eight teach the basic laws, which are all negative. The last nine describe the ritual upon conclusion. In the middle, four verses discuss the laws pertaining to a nazir who, even for no fault of his own, became impure in the middle of the period of time he accepted upon himself to be a nazir. He must bring certain sacrifices, and then start again. This is awkward. Why, even before finishing the description of the normal case of a nazir, must we study the case of a nazir who does not finish successfully? Furthermore, why is the law so stringent, and presented as such in such a demonstrative manner?

We may add another question. At the conclusion of the description of the sacrificial ritual we are told that so the nazir must do, besides any additions he accepts upon himself, beyond the official rule of a nazir. The Sifri, and later, Rashi, explain that these two clauses teach us that if he accepts upon himself more sacrifices, he must bring them, however, he may not bring less. This seems obvious and unnecessary. Nowhere are we told that one may add to, but not subtract from, a specific ritual.

All these questions can be answered by a deeper consideration of the idea of a nazir. Perhaps the answer why no positive content is specified in the Torah for what a nazir does, or is, lies in the very nature of the subject. A nazir is an individual who wants to go beyond, a man or woman who wants to do something which makes him or her holy. The Torah relates to, and actually gives a structure for, the individual who finds the usual system of Halacha insufficient for his or her spiritual drive. This is a special structure for one who wants to go beyond. For this reason no positive content is given. The individual becomes a nazir because he has an urge to do something extra to, and outside of, the confines of the halachik system. Making a new system for one who wishes to go beyond would miss the point.

Instead, the Torah creates a structure. Legitimization is given, and we are told what form this spiritual expression must not take. We are told what a nazir must not do. These are not simply technical commands; these negative commandments are highly formative. A nazir must keep very far away from anything to do with strong drink - an ancient equivalent of modern-day drugs. He must have nothing whatsoever to do with the dead. We are aware today how central the idea of death was in ancient cult behavior. If these precautions are met, the nazir, who does not cut his hair, is considered holy. We are taught a very explicit ritual that the nazir must perform at the conclusion of the period of time. He may add all he wishes, but under no circumstances may he deviate by subtracting from the set structure, even in the concluding ritual. These are but guidelines. Within them, the good intentioned individual may serve God in whatever manner he or she finds fit (as long as no Halacha is broken). However, these guidelines are extremely stringent. Central to the description of the idea of a nazir is that if in any way he comes in contact with dead, he must start all over again. The Torah gives the individual, yearning for non-systemized holiness, a structure, the content of which he or she may develop, but on the condition that certain indispensable guidelines are kept with the utmost precaution.

Courtesy of Yeshivat Har Etzion - www.etzion.org.il

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Primordial Wisdom

The Torah existed prior to the world. In the eighth chapter of Mishlei, "wisdom", which may be identified as "Torah", speaks of itself as being 'there' before physical reality. However, it is not directly obvious what the form or the content of this wisdom is. It seems likely that the form is not identical to that which we were given at Sinai, on Shavuot. What was the content of this "wisdom"?

We find an insight into the content of this 'wisdom' in a medrash in Bereishit Raba (17:5). The medrash draws analogies between various temporal and spiritual phenomena. Three pairs of parallel phenomena are mentioned: death and sleep, prophesy and dreams, and the world to come and Shabbat. Then, another two pairs are added: the relationship between heavenly light and the sun, and between heavenly wisdom and the Torah. The medrash says that in all these cases the latter is like an unripe fruit in relation to the former. In order to understand what this means, for any one of the cases, we should compare it to the others.

Death, prophesy and the world to come, are ultimate spiritual categories, of which sleep, dreams and the Shabbat are temporal, "unripe", versions. These pairs may be compared. Shabbat is similar to the spiritual existence of the world to come, in the same way that sleep is similar to death, or dreams may be compared to prophesy. In the second group of pairs we saw comparisons between the heavenly light and the sun, and between heavenly wisdom and the Torah. This group is harder to understand, since we do not know what heavenly light and heavenly wisdom are. However, we can deduce that, whatever is meant, there is a relationship between them and their pairs which is similar to the relationship we saw above, between, for example, prophesy and dreams. The light of the sun is an earthly version of the heavenly light, which we can only understand by an appreciation of the comparison. In the same manner that there is a spiritual and ultimate version of dreams: prophesy, there is a spiritual and ultimate version of the light of the sun: heavenly light. If we now move on to the last pair, heavenly wisdom and the Torah, we understand that the medrash is teaching us that there is an absolutely spiritual and ultimate form of the Torah. Heavenly wisdom seems to be an absolutely spiritual wisdom, to which the Torah that God gave us is like an unripe fruit. What does this mean?

The Zohar (Bamidbar 152a) teaches that behind the obvious meaning of the Torah lies a hidden, absolutely spiritual, meaning. The Zohar compares this to how angels, which are actually spiritual beings, are seen to possess physical bodies when sent into our physical world. Similarly, the Torah, becoming revealed in our physical reality, needed to be translated by God into physical terms. Otherwise the world would not be able to withstand its spiritual power. We now appreciate the meaning of heavenly wisdom, and wisdom which existed before the world was created. The Torah is a physical translation of ultimate spiritual wisdom, which we, as mortals, are unable to experience. However, in its physical clothing, we may not just appreciate but take part in it. These are the mitzvot.

Mitzvot are physical actions with spiritual meaning. Some of these meanings are readily accessible, some we are unable to appreciate. It is wrong to try and escape this relationship to the physical. God gave us a physical translation of the ultimate spiritual wisdom precisely because we, as physical beings, would be unable to deal with the original. This translation is precisely what we need, as mortals, to come close to God, and live an immortal life. When God gave us the Torah on Shavuot, there was not just a revelation, but a translation. We commemorate this by both studying Torah, and celebrating in a physical manner. On Shavuot we receive the Torah as human beings. Every year we accept the mitzvot again. We reassert our awareness of our goal in life as physical beings that, through this temporal world, must strive forward, into an immortal existence.

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Ruth and Boaz: Models of Commitment

Undoubtedly the most famous and stirring passage in Megilat Rut is Rut’s resolute response to Naomi when she tried to dissuade her daughter-in-law from returning with her to Eretz Yisrael: “Do not implore me to leave you, to turn away from you, for where you go I will go; where you sleep I will sleep; your nation is my nation and your God is my God. Where you die I will die, and there shall I be interred…” (1:16-17). In these verses, Rut expresses unbridled and unconditional commitment to her mother-in-law. She proclaims that her conversion to the Israelite faith and entry into Naomi’s family, which had taken place years earlier when she married Naomi’s son, would endure regardless of the situation or circumstance. Although her husband is now dead, as is her father-in-law, leaving her mother-in-law penniless and without any reasonable hope of regaining financial stability, she would nevertheless remain by Naomi’s side regardless of what this might entail. In this story, Rut shows what it means to follow through on a commitment, to remain loyal despite the personal sacrifices that this loyalty demands.

Boaz displays a similar quality later, toward the end of the Megila. He approaches Elimelekh’s relative, who was first in line to buy back Elimelekh’s property, and the relative expresses his willingness to make the acquisition. Then, Boaz informs him that the reclamation of Elimelekh’s lands includes as well the levirate obligation to Rut, and upon hearing this part of the deal the relative withdraws. It is then Boaz, of course, who accepts the responsibility to reclaim Elimelekh’s property and to perpetuate his memory by marrying Rut. The unnamed relative was prepared to follow through on his familial commitment to his kin – but only to a point. Boaz, by contrast, displayed unlimited and unshakable devotion, fulfilling his commitments to their very fullest, regardless of what this may entail.

This theme is perhaps one point of connection between Megilat Rut and the celebration of Matan Torah. The commitment exhibited by Rut and Boaz establishes a model that we must follow in our kabbalat ha-Torah, in our commitment to the study and observance of Torah. Our commitment cannot go only half way. We cannot follow through only when it is convenient and straightforward, and when the demands are low. Our devotion to the word of God must remain steadfast through thick and thin, under all circumstances and conditions, following the inspiring example of Rut’s steadfast devotion to Naomi and Boaz’s steadfast devotion to Elimelekh.

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תפילתו של נח

"כשהיה נח בתיבה, היה מתפלל תמיד "הוציאה ממסגר נפשי" (תהילים קמ"ב, ח)" (מדרש תנחומא נח, יא).

תפילתו זו של נח מבטאת טראגיות, הן שלו עצמו והן של דורו. בזוהר נאמר כי בשעה שיצא נח מן התיבה וראה את החורבן הגדול, פתח ואמר: רבונו של עולם, אתה קרוי רחום וחנון, וכי זו היא רחמנותך? עונה לו הקב"ה בלשון תוכחה: בשעה שאמרתי לך "קץ כל בשר בא לפני", "והנני משחיתם את הארץ", "ואני הנני מביא את המבול", מה עשית? במקום שתתפלל על בני דורך שיינצלו, עסקת בבניית תיבה להצלת נפשך ובני ביתך, ועכשיו תמה אתה על החורבן?!

הזוהר מבטא איפוא את התוכחה שהופנתה כלפי נח על שלא התפלל על דורו. אדם יכול להתפלל כשחש הוא צורך לעשות כן. אדם יכול להתפלל על הציבור רק אם הוא מרגיש את עצמו כחלק ממנו, וחש את כאבו. אם נח אינו מרגיש זיקה לציבור בתוכו הוא שרוי, כיצד יתפלל עליו?

נח היה בודד במועדיו, נבדל משכניו. רק משנכנס לתיבה החל לחוש את החומרה שבכך. עם סגירתו של מכסה התיבה הכיר לפתע במחיצה שהבדילה בינו לבין בני הדור, אלא שמחיצה זו כבר סגרה עליו ויצרה חייץ בינו לבינם.

באותה שעה החל מתפלל וזועק בקול: "הוציאה ממסגר נפשי" (ח). לא רק מסגר חיצוני-פיזי, של קירות התיבה, אלא מסגר נפשי הכובל את הצדיק ומבדיל בינו לבין שכניו מסביב.

נערך ע"י צוות אתר התנ"ך

לקריאת המאמר המלא באדיבות אתר VBM של ישיבת הר עציון

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Shavuot: Messianic Origins

“And these are the generations of Peretz…. Shalmon begot Boaz…and Yishai begot David" (Rut 4:18-22). So ends the Book of Rut, read on Shavuot, detailing the link from Peretz to David, the forerunner of the Mashiach. The birth of Peretz himself is described in sefer Breisheet, and what an unholy birth it was. Tamar, the daughter-in-law of Yehudah, who lost two husbands and found herself in limbo waiting for a third, “took off her widow’s garb and covered herself with a veil” (Breisheet 38:14). She was mistaken by Yehudah for a prostitute and he cohabited with her, and Tamar gave birth to twins, Zerach and his older brother, Peretz.

Not only was King David’s ancestor born in sin, the story is situated in the middle of the story detailing the sale of Yosef by his brothers. Our Sages lay the blame for this cruelty squarely on the shoulders of Yehudah, who as leader of the brothers did little to prevent the tragedy. It was the sale of Yosef that initiated a chain of events leading to exile, slavery and death. The continuation of the sin of sinaat chinam led to the loss of our Temple and subsequent exile, and this sin continues to plague us today, preventing the onset of the Messianic Era. Why end the book of Rut with the genealogy of Peretz?

The giving of the Torah is the defining moment in human history. The Torah ushered in a paradigm shift in thinking. Paganism, relativistic values, human sacrifice and vicarious punishment were to be replaced by monotheism, absolute morality, prayer and individual responsibility. The world was, and in many cases still is, unwilling to accept these notions. Our Sages (Shabbat 89a) tell us that the Hebrew word Sinai can also be read as Sina’ah (hate), symbolizing the hatred of the nations towards us that emanated at Sinai. Nobody likes being told that his or her values are wrong.

Torah has as its ultimate goal the redemption of humanity. Without moral guidelines man is truly no better than an animal. With proper implementation of Torah, man rises above the angels and becomes G-d’s partner in the ongoing process of creation. Often those of us raised in observant homes lose sight of this “bigger picture” of Torah, performing mitzvoth almost by rote. For those who come to Torah by choice—whether they are Jews who embrace Torah after their formative years, or those who convert—it is often the vision of Torah that attracts them. They are usually unaware of the myriad details that must be mastered in order to properly observe the thousands of mitzvoth incumbent upon Jews.

“Where you walk I will walk, where you sleep I shall sleep, your nation is my nation and your G-d is my G-d” (Rut 1:16). Rut understood that conversion to Judaism means forging a new identity, a new way of thinking, and even a break with the past as we strive to ensure that the future is better for all.

Bringing about the redemption requires a paradigm shift in thinking. The old ways of infighting, jealousy and apathy must give way to radical new ways of thinking. Keeping an open mind, being willing to admit we were wrong, putting the benefit of the community above personal concerns and even getting along well with people who have different ideas than your own—these must be the order of the day.

If we are to bring about the Messianic Era, we must remember our origins and the results of our earlier mistakes. Brotherly love must replace hatred. Leadership requires great moral strength, strength which is so often lacking. The tragic story of Yehudah and Tamar does, in the end, lay the groundwork for the birth of Mashiach. Tamar was willing to die a fiery death rather than publicly embarrass Yehudah; and Yehudah, recognizing his sin, was bold enough to admit it. These are the seeds of Mashiach. It is up to us to nurture these seeds and bring forward the fruit of the Messianic age.

Courtesy of Torah in Motion - www.torahinmotion.org

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הפסוקים שצורפו למזמור

The Nazir Must Bring a Sin Offering - is Naziritehood Ideal?

Nazir - Kehuna for Everyone?

The "Gap" in the Torah's Description of Shavuot

The Thief Who Swore Falsely

The Strange Laws of the Nazir

Primordial Wisdom

Ruth and Boaz: Models of Commitment

תפילתו של נח

Shavuot: Messianic Origins

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