Shabbat and Teshuva

Parashat Bereishit tells the stories of two men who committed grave sins: Adam ate from the forbidden tree, and Kayin murdered his brother, Hevel. The Yalkut Shimoni on Sefer Tehillim (92:1) relates a seemingly peculiar encounter between the two. After Kayin achieved forgiveness for his sin, Adam met him and inquired as to what happened as a result of his crime. His son replied that he performed teshuva and earned expiation. Adam immediately lamented, "So great is the power of teshuva - and I didn't know!" The Midrash continues that at that point Adam composed the chapter of Tehillim 92, which praises the day of Shabbat - "Mizmor shir le-yom ha-Shabbat."

Wherein lies the connection between Shabbat and repentance?

The Beit Ha-levi suggested that on Shabbat we express our awareness of the fact that the entire universe operates by God's will. By bringing our creative activity to a halt, we proclaim that the world runs because of God, not because of us. This belief entails the notion that every moment of existence is propelled solely by God. Accordingly, time can be severed; since God renews the world, as it were, at each moment, every second has the potential to exist independently of the past. This concept gives rise to teshuva. Given the Almighty's control over every moment of existence, an individual can request a new beginning, whereby all past deeds are forgotten. Thus, Shabbat and repentance express the same general theme.

Others have explained along similar lines only with a slight difference. Shabbat does, indeed, represent the divisibility of time, only not through our testimony of God's power over every moment of existence. Rather, on Shabbat itself the world experiences a renewal of sorts. Like God, we "create" throughout the six weekdays. We complete our work on the sixth day and then celebrate this completion on Shabbat. The next day, we begin anew; Shabbat marks the end of our week-long creation, such that we must begin creating our world once again on Sunday. (Can this explain the dreariness of Monday mornings [or, in countries where people work on Sundays, of Sunday morning]?) In this manner, Shabbat signifies the division of time into independent units, which, as we explained, forms the basis of the institution of teshuva.

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Cain and Hevel: Perspective on Korbanot

Parashat Bereishit records the first offering of sacrifices mentioned in the Torah - those of Kayin and Hevel. (Several Midrashic sources indicate that Adam had offered sacrifices even earlier.) Many writers have pointed to these sacrifices as conclusive evidence against the controversial view of the Rambam concerning the nature of sacrifices according to Jewish theology (see Moreh Nevukhim, 3:46). The Rambam claimed that God required the sacrificial order merely as a necessary concession to the pervading religious concept of sacrificial ritual. Only because Am Yisrael had grown accustomed to the pagan practice of animal sacrifice did the Almighty feel compelled, as it were, to mandate such a system for Benei Yisrael. The notion of sacrificial worship had become so ingrained that God could not expect the nation to adopt a religious system without it. This approach of the Rambam has met the harsh criticism of many later writers, most famously the Ramban, in his commentary to the beginning of Sefer Vayikra (1:8).

Among the more compelling proofs brought against the Rambam's position is the offerings of Kayin and Hevel, who lived before pagan ideas ever surfaced, and hence before the proliferation of the notion of sacrificial worship. The Ramban, and others, therefore argue for the essential value of korbanot, that they possess inherent religious meaning and significance, and are not merely a necessary capitulation to pagan practice.

Many attempts have been made to defend the Rambam's view. The Abarbanel, in his introduction to Sefer Vayikra, does not accept the Rambam's approach but nevertheless advances a possible explanation to respond to the challenges raised against it. He claims that the Rambam accepts the view of the Ramban and others that korbanot possess inherent significance; even before the pagans utilized sacrificial rituals as part of their idolatrous worship, sacrifices were a valuable means of achieving closeness to God.

What troubled the Rambam is why God chose specifically this means of achieving closeness. However one explains the efficacy of sacrifices, there are other ways of reaching the same goal far more effectively - more obviously, through prayer. Why, then, did the Almighty ordain an elaborate and intricate system of korbanot, without instituting a parallel system of prayers? (According to the Rambam, tefila is required by Torah law, but only any brief utterance over the course of a day, as opposed to the specific, liturgical ritual established by Chazal.) It is this question the Rambam seeks to resolve with his theory; once sacrifices had become such an integral part of mankind's perception of religious ritual, it earned a prominent role within the broader system of Torah and mitzvot. (Another, emphatic defense of the Rambam's position is launched by Rav Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, in his "Tosefet Berakha," beginning of Sefer Vayikra.)

In conclusion, we cite here an important observation by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch in his commentary to the story of Kayin and Hevel. He indeed sees the offerings of Kayin and Hevel as conclusive proof against the Rambam's theory (though he does not mention the Rambam by name). He adds, however, that here, in the Torah's first mention of korbanot, we see not only evidence of their inherent value and efficacy, but also that this efficacy is not absolute. Kayin and Hevel both brought offerings, but only one was accepted by God. This, too, reflects a critical point regarding our perspective on the korbanot: ritual offerings to God are effective only insofar as they are accompanied by sincere religious devotion.

Regardless of how one understands why God refused Kayin's offering (Rav Hirsch himself advances an interesting approach), clearly there was something lacking in his sincerity. Thus, the proof to the inherent worth of korbanot also proves the inherent limitation of korbanot - and of all religious ritual. Rituals do not work magic; we must perform them with a genuine desire to serve the Creator, observe His laws, and follow the path of Godliness.

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Not Good for Man to be Alone

The second chapter of Sefer Bereishit tells of the creation of woman, a story which begins with God's pronouncement, "It is not good for man to be alone" (2:18). While instinctively we all readily understand why, indeed, man should not live alone, the question must still be asked, why specifically did God determine that "it is not good for man to be alone"?

The Gemara in Masekhet Yevamot (62b) comments that a man who lives without a wife is lacking "joy, blessing and goodness." The lack of "goodness" is derived from this verse – from the fact that God declared, "It is not good for man to live alone." While it is not entirely clear, at first glance, what the Gemara means by "goodness," and how it relates to "joy" and "blessing," we might understand "goodness" to mean, quite simply, the emotional satisfaction that results from a healthy marriage. Or, "goodness" might refer to a passage one page later in the Gemara (63a), where the Gemara explains the term "eizer ke-negdo" ("a helper alongside him") to mean that a wife assists a man in that she manages the household and cares for his domestic needs. We might similarly explain that having a wife is "good" for man in that she assists him in his day-to-day living. This is indeed the approach taken by Seforno in his commentary to this verse.

Rashi, however, adopts an entirely different interpretation: "So that people do not say that there are two deities: the Almighty is singular in the upper world and has no partner, and this one [man] is singular in the lower world, and has no partner." According to Rashi, the "goodness" which could not be achieved without the creation of man's mate involves the theological repercussions of the existence of only a single human being in the world. Man was created from earth, like the rest of the creatures in the world, but was infused as well with the "image of God," with a divine soul. His job is to unite heaven and earth, to become the meeting point between the mundane world below and the divine, spiritual realm above. If man would not have a mate and reproduce like other creatures, this balance would be disrupted; he would be too close to God, rather than standing at the midway point between God and animal.

While we can understand what Rashi says in explaining this verse, it seems difficult, at first glance, to understand why he resorted to this explanation. It is generally assumed that Rashi prefers the simple, straightforward reading of Biblical text and resorts to Midrashic interpretation only when he felt compelled to do so by some difficulty in the text. Why, then, did Rashi here eschew the Talmud's approach, that a woman is "good" for a man in the simplest and most obvious sense? What compelled Rashi to view the "goodness" mentioned in the verse as a reference to the theological necessity of an equal to man?

Professor Nechama Leibowitz explains that Rashi was troubled by the phraseology of this verse. God did not say, "Lo tov le-adam lihyot levado" - "It is not good for man to be alone," which would imply that God was concerned for Adam's own well being. Instead, He proclaimed, "Lo tov heyot ha-adam levado" - "It is not good for man to be alone," or, perhaps more precisely, "Man's being alone is not good." God here establishes the objective necessity for man's mate, a necessity that relates not to man's own interests, but rather to the needs of the entire universe. The very nature of the world, the purpose for which God created it, necessitated that a balance be maintained between man's worldliness and Godliness, a balance that would be disrupted should there exist only a single human being on earth.

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Did God Regret Creating Humanity?

The end of Parashat Bereishit tells of the spiritual deterioration of mankind, to the point where the Almighty decides to destroy the earth, sparing only Noach and his family. (This story continues, of course, in next week's parasha, Parashat Noach.) The Chumash tells us, "The Lord regretted that He had made man on earth" (6:5). Many commentators note the obvious philosophical difficulty in this statement. How can God do something that He later regrets? The human being, with his inability to foresee the future, can act mistakenly, in a way that he does not realize will turn out to be the wrong decision. But how can we attribute such limitation to God? Many writers add that a verse later in the Torah explicitly denies the possibility that God will do something and then feel remorseful: "God is not man to be capricious, or mortal to change His mind" (Bamidbar 23:19; see also Shemuel I 15:29).

Ibn Ezra easily resolves this difficulty by claiming that God did not, in fact, change His mind. Rather, "The Torah spoke the language of human beings, by which one who destroys what he had made appears to have regretted [the initial creation]." God did not regret making man; He only appeared to have regretted making man by virtue of the fact that He created man and then destroyed him.

Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor tackles this problem differently, by differentiating between three forms of remorse. The first type is sheer fickleness, where an individual simply does not remain firmly devoted to his decisions. Secondly, a person may decide to act a certain way but then find himself unable, rather than unwilling, to carry out this decision. Neither of these two instances of regret, Bekhor Shor writes, can ever be ascribed to the Almighty. He will never change His mind due to His own whimsicality or because of forces beyond His control. There is, however, a third form of remorse, which even the Almighty can experience, so-to-speak. Namely, when someone decides to do something to the benefit or detriment of someone else, he might change his mind due to a sudden change on the part of the other party. A decision to help someone may be retracted if the intended beneficiary suddenly becomes hostile; conversely, a plan to punish might be annulled if the criminal shows signs of change. Similarly, God will change His plans, as it were, should man's conduct dictate such a change. As Bekhor Shor explains, God created mankind for His own honor and glory, for people to serve Him. Once the people on earth did not fulfill this obligation, He naturally decided to destroy them.

A particularly novel approach to this verse is suggested by Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his "Ha-ketav Ve-ha'kabbala." He suggests that the word "va-yinachem" in this verse, which we generally translate to mean "He regretted," should actually be read as, "va-yerachem" – "He had compassion." He cites two instances elsewhere in Tanakh where the Targum translates the verb "n.ch.m." as if it were written "r.ch.m." (Hoshea 11:8, Yona 3:9), and he applies this technique in our verse, as well. According to Rav Mecklenberg, this verse refers to God's decision to delay the flood one hundred and twenty years so as to allow mankind the opportunity to repent and improve. As Nechama Leibowitz notes, however, neither this verse nor those that follow deals with the one hundred and twenty-year reprieve. This section deals only with God's decree of destruction, and thus the interpretation suggested by the Ha-ketav Ve-ha'kabbala seems difficult to accept.

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Bereisheet: The Book of Humankind

The final section of Parashat Bereishit (5:1-6:8) presents a genealogical record of Adam’s descendants through the birth of Noach’s three sons, culminating with a description of the depravity of mankind in Noach’s time. This section begins with the introductory clause, “Zeh sefer toledot Adam” – “This is the book [or, ‘record’] of the history of man” (5:1). Innocuous as this phrase may seem, at least one view in Chazal, as recorded in Torat Kohanim (Kedoshim, 4:12) and the Talmud Yerushalmi (Nedarim 9:4), sees this verse as encapsulating the “kelal gadol ba-Torah” – the greatest principle in the Torah. Responding to Rabbi Akiva’s famous assertion that “Love your fellow as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18) constitutes a “great principle in the Torah,” Ben Azai counters by citing this verse – “This is the book of the history of man” – as an even greater “principle.” What “great principle” is embedded with this very plain and simple phrase, “This is the book of the history of man”?

The Ra’avad, in his commentary to Torat Kohanim, as well as Raboteinu Ba’alei Ha-Tosefot here in Parashat Bereishit, find the answer in the continuation of the verse: “on the day on which God created man, He made him in the image of God.” Without delving into the precise meaning of this concept, the Torah here reiterates the fact that God created man in His own image, so-to-speak, with some sort of resemblance to the Almighty. It is this concept that Ben Azai sought to emphasize in his response to Rabbi Akiva, who championed the importance of the Biblical adage, “Love your fellow as yourself.” Based on this verse alone, we might conclude that a person with little self-respect or dignity, who does not mind subjecting himself to degradation or physical abuse, may treat others with the same standard he accepts with regard to himself. Just as he does not mind insult or injury, so may he inflict emotional or physical pain on others. Ben Azai therefore affords primary importance to this verse in Parashat Bereishit, which establishes the notion that every human being is created in the divine image, and therefore deserves respect and kind treatment even by those who do not insist on such for themselves.

In homiletic writings, many different approaches have been taken to uncover the profound message underlying the phrase, “Zeh sefer toledot Adam.” Rav Dov Weinberger, in his Shemen Ha-tov, suggests that the “great principle” represented by this verse emerges by considering the context in which it appears. The previous section tells of Kayin’s murder of his brother and its aftermath. Despite being punished, Kayin ultimately recovers, settling east of Eden, begetting children and building cities. The Torah’s elaboration on Kayin’s progeny perhaps serves to emphasize his having overcome the mistakes of his past and success in rebuilding his life and his future. This section also tells of the birth of Shet to Adam and Chava, who see their new son as a “replacement” of Hevel, who was killed by his brother.

In this vein, the Shemen Ha-tov suggests, we might understand the phrase “Zeh sefer toledot adam” and its profound importance in Ben Azai’s view. The story of the history of man is the story of downfall and recovery, of failure and success, of tragedy and renewal. The great challenge of life, as can be seen in the lives of the very first generations of people, is that of recovery, to overcome downfalls and begin anew, to respond to setbacks with a firm resolve to move forward. This “story of the history of man” continues in the subsequent chapters, where we read of the deluge and the gradual renewal of human life on earth.

According to Ben Azai, this message constitutes the kelal gadol ba-Torah – the fundamental principle of the Torah. The Torah teaches us to focus our energies and efforts on improving our future, rather than endlessly bemoaning our mistakes of the past. When we experience failure, frustration or sorrow, we look to the “book of the history of man” to remind us of the importance of recovery and renewal, of the need to put the mishaps of the past behind us and work towards a brighter and more successful future.

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Why Cain's Words to Hevel Didn't Matter

Many commentators have noted the ambiguity in the Torah’s description of Hevel’s murder at the hands of his brother: “Kayin said to his brother Hevel, and when they were in the field Kayin rose against his brother Hevel and killed him” (Bereishit 4:8). The Torah tells us that Kayin spoke to his brother, without specifying what he said.

The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 22:16) famously cites three different opinions among the Sages in identifying the content of Kayin’s speech. One view claims that Kayin and Hevel argued over the division of the earth’s assets. They initially decided that one brother would receive the territory and the other would have rights over moveable objects. But once they realized that they both need land and they both need clothing and food, a fight broke out and Kayin murdered his brother. A second view claimed that the brothers fought over the privilege of having the Beit Ha-mikdash constructed in their territory, and according to a third view, they fought over their sister. It is commonly understood that the Midrash here refers to the three reasons why individuals and nations wage war against one another – land/resources, religion, and romance.

Nevertheless, it is significant that the Torah itself makes no mention of any particular argument between the two brothers. Regardless of which position we accept, the fact remains that the Torah is silent in this regard and did not find it important to identify the issue over which Kayin and Hevel fought. And it has been suggested that this is precisely the point the Torah seeks to convey – that it does not matter. Whatever the cause of Kayin’s violent rage, it was not valid. The consequences of his hatred were not worth any purpose Kayin hoped to achieve. The Torah may have omitted the details of Kayin and Havel’s altercation precisely to convey the message that matters we view as vital and worthy of struggle are, more often than not, hardly worth the fight. When friends, neighbors and family members fight with one another, they repeat the mistake of Kayin, allowing envy and ego to cloud reason, and producing results which are assuredly not a price any of us should be willing to pay for the sake of proving ourselves right.

Kayin’s punishment was that of “na va-nad tiheyeh ba-aretz” – he would forever be a wanderer, incapable of permanent settlement in one place. We might suggest a homiletic connection between this curse and Kayin’s crime. A person who stubbornly refuses to yield, who insists on obtaining what he feels he deserves at any cost, and who feels the need to protest even the minor injustices committed against him, will find it difficult to enjoy stability. If we feel impelled to respond to every unkind remark, and to wage a battle for every morsel and every bit of recognition we think we deserve, we will find ourselves in a state of “na va-nad tiheyeh ba-aretz,” of constant struggle for what we feel we need but do not have. The story of Kayin teaches us of the need to accept our imperfect reality and consider yielding for the benefit of ourselves and the people around us. If we want to avoid the situation of “na va-nad,” if we want to enjoy stability and contentment, then we must be prepared to tolerate a degree of adversity. Otherwise, we will be forced to be constantly on the move, and to engage in a never-ending struggle against people and conditions in the futile pursuit of the perfect life.

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רק על העגל לבדו

כשהייתי צעיר הייתי קורא מודעות ירושלמיות. באחת מהן צוטט פסוק מפרקנו נגד מדינת ישראל: "הם הִמליכוּ ולא ממני" (ח', ד); לא ידעתי אז דבר על נבואות הושע, ורק זכרתי שבשיר השירים (ה', ז), "שֹמְרֵי החֹמוֹת" (=נטורי קרתא") הם דווקא הגויים המַכּים ופוצעים את הרַעיה, היא 'כנסת ישראל'.

אחרי שנים גיליתי את דברי התלמוד הירושלמי (הוריות ג', ג), שמלכי ישראל (כולל עמרי ואחאב) היו שקולים כמלכי יהודה (מבית דוד) – עד בית יהוא! אחר כך "בליסטייא היו נוטלין אותה" (=את המלכות); אז הבנתי את הושע – דווקא המלכים האחרונים בשומרון, שתפסו שלטון ברציחות, במלחמת האחים, לא היו לגיטימיים בעיני הנבואה. וכך פסק הרמב"ם (הלכות גזילות סוף פרק ה') שתופסי שלטון בכוח בלי הסכמת העם, נחשבים ליסטים, ואין תוקף לשלטונם.

כששאלתי את מו"ר הרב צבי יהודה קוק על ראשי מדינת ישראל, אמר לי – 'אף אחד מהם לא גרוע כמו אחאב, שאליהו הנביא רץ לפני מרכבתו' (מל"א י"ח, מו). מו"ר הִרבָּה ללמד ספר 'הכוזרי', ובו (מאמר א, צב-צז) מצאתי הגנה מפתיעה על חוטאי העגל, שלא התכוונו להחליף את אמונתם בה' מוציאם ממצרים, אלא שיצרו תמונה אסורה, לעומת 'ארון וכרובים', שעליהם נצטוו.

חשבתי אז, שזו הגנה מאולצת ורחוקה מפשט הכתובים. אחרי שנים, הגעתי למוזיאון ארצות המקרא בירושלים, ושם ראיתי להפתעתי פסל אליל רוכב על פר; אז הבנתי, שאצל בני ישראל באמת היה רק עגל לבדו, בלי פסל.

ריה"ל אכן צדק בדבריו, ואף על פי כן גדול החטא, 'להציב' (חלילה) את 'הבִּלתי נִראֶה' על גבי עגל, ולומר "אלה אלהיך..." (שמות ל"ב, ד), "וְלֹא אֱלֹהִים הוּא, כִּי־שְׁבָבִים יִהְיֶה עֵגֶל שֹׁמְרוֹן" (ח', ו).

באדיבות אתר 929

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אנרכיה במלכות ישראל

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Cain Confronted: Feeling Justified in a Jealous Act

The Torah in Parashat Bereishit tells the famous story of Adam’s sons, Kayin and Hevel, which resulted in Hevel’s murder at the hands of his jealous brother.

The Midrash Tanchuma presents a dialogue between Kayin and God following the murder, one which sheds light on Kayin’s thinking and rationale in deciding to murder his kin:

When the Almighty said to him [Kayin], “Where is your brother, Hevel?” (4:9), he said to Him, “I do not know – am I my brother’s guardian? You are the one who guards all creatures, and You’re asking me about him?” This is comparable to a thief who stole vessels at night and was not caught. In the morning, the guard caught him. He said to him, “Why did you steal the vessels?” He said to him, “I am a thief, and I did not relinquish my craft. But you – your craft is to stand guard at the gate. Why did you relinquish your craft and now say this to me?” Similarly, Kayin said, “I killed him. You created within me an evil inclination. You guard everything, and You allowed me to kill him. You are the one who killed him…for if you had accepted my offering like [You accepted] his, I would not have been envious of him!”

When Kayin experienced the uneasy feelings of envy, jealous of God’s accepting his brother’s offering, he felt justified in acting upon those emotions and killing his brother. The culprit, he figured, would be God, who implanted within him the feelings of envy and rage that brought him to bloodshed.

Kayin subscribed to the belief that people should not be held accountable for their misconduct which results from strong emotions that overtake them. If we feel an instinctive urge to act in a certain way, he felt, then we are perfectly justified in our decision to act upon those feelings.

The Torah, of course, teaches that to the contrary, we are capable of restraining our emotions and acting correctly even when we feel a desire to act otherwise. Indeed, before Kayin’s murderous act, God instructed him, “…it will cling to you, but you can exert control over it” (4:7). Rashi explains this clause as referring to the yetzer ha-ra, and emphasizing the ability we each have to oppose our natural instincts even when they “cling” to us relentlessly.

We cannot dismiss our wrongful conduct as simply the natural result of our ingrained impulses over which we have no control. We are, instead, to constantly work to overpower our instincts and, difficult as it may be, live disciplined lives in strict accordance with God’s will.

(Based on a sicha by HaRav Yehuda Amital, available at http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot67/01-67bereishit.htm)

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נרדמו בשמירה

מכאן עד סוף נבואות הושע (בן בְּאֵרי), מדובר בימי הושע (בן אֵלָה), המלך האחרון בשומרון. אנו יודעים זאת מהזכרת מצרים מול אשור – "מצרים קראו, (נגד) אשור הלכו" (ז', יא; מל"ב י"ז, ג-ו).

פוליטיקה עלובה של מרידות נגד אשור בחסות מצרים היו הסיבה הישירה לחורבן שומרון (ובהמשך גם לחורבן יהודה). שומרון יכלה לשרוד כממלכה קטנה וכנועה – "כְּרָפְאי לישראל" (ז', א), בהשלמה עם אבדן הגליל והגלעד והשרון, ובהמתנה לירידת אשור (ואחריה בבל) מהבמה העולמית, כפי שהציעו הנביאים (מישעיהו עד ירמיהו).
מי שבאמת ציפה לכך, נפל בטעות חמורה.

מותו של תִגלַת פִּלְאֶסֶר (ה-3), הכובש האשורי הגדול, עורר תחושה שהאימפריה האשורית נחלשת, שַלְמַנְאֶסֶר (ה-5) לא נראה כשליט גלובלי, ורבים טעו לחשוב שבהתארגנות חזקה של ממלכות רבות ובסיוע מצרי מסיבי, ישתנה הכל (כך חשבו גם בתחילת ימי סנחריב).

חזקיהו, שעלה אז למלכות יהודה, פעל בדרכו של ישעיהו, ועסק (בשנותיו הראשונות) בתיקון פנימי, מוסרי ודתי, מבלי לנטות אחרי רעיונות המרד. הושע בן אֵלָה לא הצטרף לחזקיהו ונגרר לפוליטיקה המצרית מבלי להבין את האסון הצפוי – "זוֹ לַעְגָם (=אסונם) בארץ מצרים" (ז', טז);

אנו היינו אומרים על המלך ושריו 'נרדמו בשמירה' (וזה מתאים למשל הצופה במגדל ביחזקאל). הושע מתאר את שומרון כמאפייה שהאופה קיים בה משתה שיכורים – העוגות לא נהפכו בתנורים, והמאפייה כולה עלתה באש.

"...כְּמוֹ תנור בֹּעֵרה מֵאֹפֶה,
יִשְבּוֹת מֵעיר (=יפסיק לעבוד), מִלוּש בָּצֵק עד חֻמְצָתוֹ;
(חגיגת) יום מַלכֵּנוּ, הֶחֱלוּ שָׂרים (=הביאו מחלה) חֲמַת מִיין...
כל הלילה יָשֵן אֹפֵהֶם – בֹּקֶר הוא בֹּעֵר כאֵש לֶהָבה;
כֻּלָם יֵחַמוּ כַּתנור ואָכלוּ את שֹפְטֵיהֶם,
כל מַלכֵיהֶם נָפָלוּ, אין קֹרֵא בהם אֵלָי".

באדיבות אתר 929

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Shabbat and Teshuva

Cain and Hevel: Perspective on Korbanot

Not Good for Man to be Alone

Did God Regret Creating Humanity?

Bereisheet: The Book of Humankind

Why Cain's Words to Hevel Didn't Matter

רק על העגל לבדו

אנרכיה במלכות ישראל

Cain Confronted: Feeling Justified in a Jealous Act

נרדמו בשמירה

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