Purim: Peeling Back the Mask, With a Little Help From Our Friends

A dichotomy: Purim is a time in which we are acutely aware of the poor. The Mitzvah of Matanot La’evyonim reminds us perhaps more poignantly than at any other time of year that the poor need consideration, attention, and respect. As Mishloach Manot is intended to help us share with our friends in their Seudat Purim, Matanot La’evyonim is designed to give the poor sufficient funds to enjoy a respectable Purim meal.

Yet it is only one month later, at our Pesach Seder, that we actually take the next step of inviting the poor to join us at our table, with the famous call of “כל דכפין ייתי וייכול.” Against that backdrop, Matanot La’evyonim rings hollow: it directs us to find the poor where they are and give them what they need, but not to actually invite them to partake in the very Seudah that we will soon have in our home. What’s the point of Matanot La’evyonim? I’m making a Seudah anyway – why not just invite the poor into my house? In fact, the Halacha states that one should enjoy his Seudat Purim with friends and family, not the poor (see Mishnah Berurah, 695:9).

More questions: Why not call the Mitzvah “Tzedakah” or, mirroring the “Maot Chittim” that we give before Pesach, “Maot Purim?” Why the word “Evyon,” connoting an utterly destitute person, rather than Ani, a nominally poor person? It seems insulting – in order to perform this Mitzvah properly, I must declare to the recipient that he is entirely helpless and that his future is in my hands, and he must accept that designation as he accepts the gift. And speaking of which, why the word gift, Matanah, implying a one-sided transaction with no expectation of ever being reciprocated by the recipient? And finally, Tzedakah is always important, but what does this Mitzvah have so particularly to do with Purim that it was written into the Megillah and established as a central component of the day?

The answers all come down to perspective-taking. Purim is about winners and losers. There is no pretending, because pretending implies that one is insecure about the role Hashem has given him and his ability to shape the world within that role. On Purim the Evyon accepts his role – one which even allows the Ashir to do a Mitzvah that could not be properly performed if there were no Evyon around. On Purim we declare who we are for the world to know, and we recognize that it is not despite that position, but rather because of it, that we can shape the world’s destiny.

Matanot La’evyonim is a central Mitzvah of the day because it mirrors a pivotal conversation between Mordechai and Esther. As Esther hesitated before approaching Achashveirosh to request that he cancel Haman’s plan to destroy the Jews, Mordechai urged her to consider her role in the Jewish story:

אסתר פרק ד
(יג) ויאמר מרדכי להשיב אל אסתר, “אל תדמי בנפשך להמלט בית המלך מכל היהודים. (יד) כי אם החרש תחרישי בעת הזאת, רוח והצלה יעמוד ליהודים ממקום אחר, ואת ובית אביך תאבדו; ומי יודע אם לעת כזאת הגעת למלכות!”

In theory, this is one of the most anti-climactic statements in all of Tanach. From the first Pasuk and a half, it appears that Mordechai is going to tell Esther that if she does not save the Jews, no one will and it will be curtains for the Jewish People. Yet he finishes his thoughts in just the opposite way than we would expect – that if Esther doesn’t save the Jews, someone else will! This is Esther’s role, she the Ashir and the Jews the Evyonim; but by failing to recognize or capitalize on one’s opportunity to live meaningfully, one harms only himself and gives another Ashir the chance to steal the board.

In its encouragement of self-knowledge, Purim acts as an ironic but important precursor to Pesach, when we all pretend to be kings (which we are not) and slaves (which we also are not) and invite the poor to envision himself living in a state of relative comfort (which he does not). Yet we are entitled to pretend because we do so within the context of having already defined and accepted our role one month earlier, on Purim. When we say that we are kings, we mean that as an aspiration beyond what we have already accepted ourselves to be. When we say that we understand slavery, we mean that we can augment the position of life within which we find ourselves with a feeling of empathy for Avadim and an understanding of our own Avdut. We can aspire to understand others who do not have what we have. When we invite the Evyon to join us at our Seder, it is as a character in the Pesach story who understands who he is and who has accepted his role, but who now also aspires for more. But in order to aspire for more, one must first understand who he is – and this is the earlier job of Purim.

The origin of costumes on Purim is shrouded in mystery, but they serve as an ironic supplement to the self-discovery of the day. As a great poet once sang, “We all have a face that we hide away forever, and we take it out and show ourselves when everyone has gone.” Self-knowledge is one of the most difficult tasks we undertake, and we do it with fear of what we might find. We all protect ourselves against the discovery of who we really are with all types of masks – cynicism, denial, bravado, attachment to others whom we respect more than we do ourselves. These are, one might say, “the faces of the stranger, but we love to try them on.” At the end of the day, though, our task on Purim is not truly to wear masks but ultimately to free ourselves of them and see and appreciate who we truly are – warts and all – before the growth of Pesach and Sefirah can begin.

Our task on Purim is to be the Evyon or the Ashir that Hashem wanted us to be. Like two runners side by side on the starting block but worlds apart in their abilities, like two teams on Opening Day of which only one has any reasonable shot at making the Playoffs, we stand before Hashem as equals who are not identical and who would make no claim to be of equal opportunity or caliber. We mask ourselves in the morning because we know the light of self-discovery will be blinding, but we undertake the task anyway as we use wine to shed our outer selves later in the day. And we do it all because it is only based on that self-recognition that we can begin to grow and develop on Pesach and beyond.

Pleasant Journeys, one and all.

(The above essay is based loosely on a Shiur I gave a few years ago, the Sources for which can be found here.)

Posted in Holidays, Pesach, Purim | Leave a comment

‘Till Inclusion Do We Part: A Rejoinder to the Challenge of Orthodox Inclusiveness and Acceptance

I recently read an article by an Orthodox Rabbi whose decision to host a Keshet event at his Shul caused me less anguish than the article he wrote defending that decision. His article can be found here. My response, more or less as I emailed it to him, follows. I share it with the public to solicit responses in defense of either position. Please feel free to comment below.

I recently read your article “Living Inclusion,” which is linked to from JewishLearning.com. While I appreciate your point of view and feel similarly that we need to find appropriate ways to include all Jews in our communities, I wanted to take the time to tell you precisely why I disagree fundamentally with the basic premise of your article.

It seems to me that you have conflated “inclusion” with “acceptance,” “promotion” or  even “celebration.” Orthodox Synagogues, for example, have generally included people who drive on Shabbat, even giving them Aliyot. But we have never promoted the very actions that they do with which we disagree. Would you publicly announce from the pulpit on Shabbat morning how excited we are to see all of those who have arrived here by car? Although I understand that your Synagogue does not use cones or a chain to curtail driving to Shul, driving on Shabbat is certainly not something Orthodoxy promotes or celebrates, and I would not view homosexuality any differently. While thundering sermons against alternative lifestyles may not be appropriate either, and while we may even offer Aliyot or other Kibudim to homosexuals, hosting a program which condones and normalizes such a lifestyle as healthy and acceptable feels to me like a giant step over a thick grey line tantamount to hosting an Adulterers’ Shabbaton or a Polygamists’ Shabbat Lunch. Furthermore, comparing a program condoning homosexuality to English-language sermons is disingenuous; while it is true that there was vehement opposition to that innovation, that opposition was rooted in the mistaken notion that the preservation of Yiddish was critical to the preservation of Judaism in America. Nobody claimed that Yiddish-only sermons was the explicit command of G-d.

Thus on to your statement that “to be inclusive does not mean to forsake one’s values or religious principles.” Granted. But how are those values to be articulated, particularly in an environment in which the inclusion of people whose actions belie those values is made so evident? Have you made any equally robust statements from the pulpit or in writing that, by the way, homosexuality is completely forbidden and labeled as an abomination by G-d? Have you articulated in any of your articles the beauty of marriage as the equal sharing of physiological opposites, something impossible in a homosexual relationship and a misunderstanding typical of our self-centered American culture? Of course you could articulate G-d’s aversion to homosexuality in some other way if you want to, but I would hope that that would be addressed in some way equally public to the Keshet event and your subsequent article, if it is truly important to you to “not forsake one’s values or religious principles.”

Besides explaining the Torah’s view on homosexuality, have you discussed with your congregants, or put into writing, the dangers of inclusion itself, and that we must be cautious not to necessarily accept or promote that which we include? The line between inclusion and acceptance may be too precise for some people to understand without a very clear explanation. Why should a young man or woman in your congregation not engage unashamedly in a homosexual lifestyle if this person is to be fully included anyway? Are you prepared to engage in a serious discussion with this young person, or with your Congregation as a whole, as to why this kind of behavior is entirely unacceptable, or are you leaving that to chance and hoping they don’t ask? One apologetic sentence in your article about preserving our (as yet unstated) values may not be enough in the long run. The question is, where our ability to educate falls short (and that is certainly an important thing to try first), is inclusion always the next best step, or does the risk to our own congregants and families ever make such attempts untenable?

I would also be curious whether inclusion would be equally acceptable were it not to overlap with the latest bastion of liberalism in our host culture. How about if a Satmar group wanted to rent out your Synagogue for an anti-Israel rally? Would you include them in your big tent and then write an article laboriously comparing yourself to Yitzchak Avinu? How about Reform Jews looking for a place to discuss the latest research on biblical authorship or the Sinaitic myth? How about radical Messianic Lubavitchers who wanted a room the size of Fischer Hall to hold a dinner, show a Messianic video and sing and dance to “Yechi HaMelech?” Are there any limits to inclusion, even insofar as we are careful never to personally “forsake our values or religious principles?” I imagine you would agree that there are a lot of wonderful, Holy Jews out there with a lot of confused and misshapen ideas. Should we include them all without reservation?

I can’t help but wonder if, were we more tapped into the eternality of G-d’s Torah, we would find certain actions so objectionable as to be unworthy of inclusion. We may, at that point, even consider the situation analogous to including a known murderer with a loaded gun in his pocket at our dinner table. I think we can both agree that that person has no place being included in our home, and we all draw the line at some later point. But why are we the one drawing the line at all, when G-d has already helped us out with that? Could we perhaps be too quick to include merely because our surrounding culture has deemed homosexuality a matter of equal preference and acceptance of that lifestyle a measure of one’s normality? America tells us to “get with the program,” so we accept homosexuals. If they tell us to accept adulterers in a few years, will that also be something we can accept? We’re getting close – I read an article in the New York Times a month ago arguing that we should forget marriage altogether and accept adultery as a given. And another article I read argues for 20-year marriage contracts from the get-go. Is it time to include these ideas and their innovators in our Shuls and communities?

Anyway, I understand the difficulty and delicacy of this issue and wanted to share my thoughts. Perhaps the old saying that “one must not be so open-minded that his brain falls out” is worthy of inclusion in our consideration of this and similar issues.

With full and abiding respect, if not envy, for your surplus of Ahavat Yisrael,

Leib Zalesch

Posted in Communal Matters | Leave a comment

Hoda’ah and the Meaning of Thanksgiving

I just posted about the Halachic propriety of Thanksgiving, but perhaps a Hashkafic take is in order as well.

I’ve been learning Shemoneh Esrei with my Sixth Graders, and just the other day we got to the final three Berachot, Hoda’ah, giving thanks. On the surface, this part of Shemoneh Esrei should be easily understandable. We praise, we ask, we thank – just the way we would if we wanted something from our parent, spouse, or friend. The problem is that – and this is something that many have observed before us – there is considerably less “thanking” going on in this part of Shemoneh Esrei than there is “praising” or “asking” in the earlier parts. Clearly Modim counts, but what about Ritzei and Sim Shalom? Sim Shalom seems like it should go in the middle part of Shemoneh Esrei, with the other Bakashot, requests. Maybe right between Et Tzemach Dovid Avdicha and Shema Koleinu. Isn’t Sim Shalom the final step of the Geulah process? Or should it come before Teka B’Shofar, as the first step in the Geulah process?

I digress. In any event, the final part of Shemoneh Esrei doesn’t seem to contain very many hoda’ot. And what’s more, we couldn’t thank Hashem for most of what we asked for in the middle part of Shemoneh Esrei even if we wanted to, because many of those requests have not yet been fulfilled! Most of the answers I have seen to these questions are not very satisfying. But just the other day, standing in front of my Sixth Graders and hoping desperately for an epiphany, I got one. (I was told once by a mentor and veteran teacher that there is a certain kind of Siyata Dishmaya (Heavenly assistance) that comes to a teacher when he has invested all reasonable effort into solving a problem, come up empty, and now needs something to say to his students. I think that was what happened to me at that moment.)

Rav Shimon Schwab helped. We use Rav Schwab on Prayer a lot in the classroom. He points out that if Shemoneh Esrei corresponds to the daily Tomid sheep offering, this final part of Shemoneh Esrei corresponds to the מנחה, its vegetarian side-dish – flour, oil, wine, and water. Rav Schwab points out that there is a critical difference between a מנחה and a מתנה. A מתנה (think מתנות לאביונים) is given because the recipient is truly in need and is personally enriched by his receiving it. A מנחה, on the other hand – like a bottle of wine brought by a Shabbat guest – is given not out of need but out of the giver’s desire to foster or strengthen a relationship with the recipient.

If this part of Shemoneh Esrei corresponds with מנחה, the part of the Korban Tomid given not out of obligation or true need but in order to further our relationship with Hashem, that may give us an insight into this Hoda’ah part of Shemoneh Esrei. Everyone searches high and low to find some reference to thanks here, some actual instance of thanking – but they are searching for the wrong thing. Like the מנחה to which it corresponds, Hoda’ah is not a catalog of Thank You’s, but an expression of our desire to engender and improve our relationship with Hashem. It is a gift given not out of duty but out of love. Rather than say Thank You, we show our thanks by sticking around a little longer, fostering a relationship, talking about what is on Hashem’s mind, so to speak. As anyone with kids knows, the best Thank You is not the one muttered quickly while the recipient is bolting to the door, it’s the one in which the recipient shows his or her thanks by sticking around for another minute, asking how you are doing, brings up issues of concern to you. That’s מנחה. And that’s Hoda’ah. You’ve just heard me pour out my litany of requests, Hashem. But how about we discuss some things that are of particular interest to you? How about we work on this relationship, too, not just use You as a vending machine?

[Perhaps that is why יעלה ויבא is in this final part of Shemoneh Esrei. Holidays, too, are about the nurturing of a relationship that comes from the time taken to nurture it as we escape from our daily routine. The “extra” day of Shemini Atzeret in particular is associated with the line קשה עלי פרידתכם – it is so hard for me to say Goodbye – but really all of the Holidays contain this sentiment, one that pertains particularly well to this final Hoda’ah part of Shemoneh Esrei in which we linger a bit longer rather than bolt out the door.]

We are about to enter Thanksgiving, a day of Hoda’ah, but we should remember that Hoda’ah means more than saying Thank You as a token gesture, the way we were taught to do automatically after we receive things. That lesson in gratitude we were taught to do viscerally as kids should lead to the development of an attitude of gratitude, and one that recognizes that the best form of Hoda’ah is the one that is shown, not said; that is a reflection of the מנחה to which Hoda’ah corresponds.

Posted in Classroom Experiences, Holidays, Tefillah, Thanksgiving | Leave a comment

Frum … Or Krum??? – Thanksgiving

Time once again for our not-at-all-weekly segment exploring issues of relative importance to the Jewish community and whether perceptions and attitudes stack up to the rigors of Halachic analysis (Frum) or kneel at the knees of wisdom and reason (Krum). As always, there can be no middle ground.

This Week’s Entry: Thanksgiving. This debate typically follows the model offered to us by these two typically rational, even-keeled posts on the irritatingly right-leaning news website The Yeshiva World:

[First guy, a.k.a. “akuperma:”]

Well, maybe when President Obama proclaims the holiday (that’s short for Holy Day) this year, he’ll be the first president to ignore a reference to a diety (we can just thank the government), thereby eliminating the shailoh of Thanksgiving be ing a day to give thanks to a god (small “g”), which would be of avodah zarah.
Perhaps because most Yidden are familiar with Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churchs with their structured clergy and formal rituals, they don’t realize that Thanksgiving is a religious holiday, albeit one whose origins are in the Protestant religious tradition.
If someone knows of any gedolim who observe the avodah of this yuntuf (eating a Turkey, a bird which was actually considered treff back in the 17th century), please let us know.

[Second guy:]

Akuperma- you make me laugh so hard….
I will be enjoying my turkey dinner with all the trimmings iy”h next Thursday.
I will be sure to read your comment at my table as good pre-purim torah as I munch on a drumstick.

[Jews can turn any issue into a cause for Sinat Chinam, no?]

Discussion: Rav Moshe Feinstein wrote four Teshuvot on the issue of Thanksgiving, which we will explore closely in this post. For those who would like to follow along in the original text, I will make reference to these Teshuvot (in bold) using their source numbers in the attached Mareh Mekomot (sources).

In 1963 (Source 8), Rav Moshe did not deal directly with the question of Thanksgiving per se, but rather with the propriety of marking other occasions, such as a wedding or Bar Mitzvah, on secular holidays. For most of the short Teshuva, he deals with “ימי איד של הנכרים” – presumably Christmas or Halloween. For the purposes of discussion, he divides the possible Jewish occasions into two categories: a סעודה המחוייבת, an occasion whose date cannot be changed or the changing of which would entail significant Halachic leniency – chiefly a Brit or Pidyan Haben. These he feels should be left on their original date, “דאין לאסור בשביל מראית עין.” A Bar Mitzvah or wedding, he says, which can be scheduled on any day one would like, should not be scheduled on a non-Jewish holiday.

Rav Moshe then concludes with this line: ויום ראשון משנה שלהם, וכן טענקס גיווינג, אין לאסור מדינא, אבל בעלי נפש יש להם להחמיר – although one may schedule a wedding or Bar Mitzvah for Thanksgiving or New Year’s, he does not feel that this is the best course of action. We are not told exactly why. What’s to be afraid of? Where’s the מראת עין? That he left for his later Teshuvot on the issue, all of them appearing within a few months’ span in 1981.

In Iyar of 1981 (Source 9), Rav Moshe responded to a direct question about Thanksgiving itself presented to him by Rav Ephraim Greenblatt, the venerable icon of the Memphis Jewish community and a noted student of Rav Moshe. In order to understand Rav Moshe’s response, we must look back at some of his own source material. Tosafot (Source 4), speaking to the Gemara’s discussion of the propriety of burning dead Jewish Kings (Source 3), defines the prohibition against following the ways of the non-Jews – ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו – in two possible ways: אחד שעושין לשם חוק לעבודת כוכבים, ואחד שעושין לשם דעת הבל ושטות שלהם.” Although burning a dead King is not technically חוק עבודה זרה (as we see this practice followed by Jews throughout Tanach), it may nonetheless have attained the status of חוק הבל ושטות – a silly or meaningless practice – by its being practiced flippantly by non-Jews. The Gemara itself (Source 3) uses a different formulation: שריפה לאו חוקה היא, אלא חשיבותא היא – to other faiths, who only burned certain dead Kings, burning a dead King implied a measure of importance for that individual, which in itself shows that that act carries with it a degree of aura for that King, which could be tantamount to Avodah Zarah.

Rav Moshe’s ruling (Source 9) comes on the basis of this Gemara and Tosafot:

אלא שמה שאסור לעשות שמחה לכבוד יום זה הוא מדין “ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו,” אף שאין זה חוק לעבודה זרה, אלא חוק הבל ושטות בעלמא. כדאיתא, שאיכא איסור כזה בתוספות עבודה זרה דף י”א עמוד א, דיבור המתחיל “ואי,” בסופו …

However, Rav Moshe clamps down very hard on any notion that celebrating Thanksgiving is tantamount to committing Avodah Zarah – even though, he admits, the original Thanksgiving celebrants may have made that very connection themselves – because today’s celebration of Thanksgiving is far more innocuous and secular:

ולא משום שאיכא בזה חשש דמיון לשמוח ביום איד של עבודה זרה כנוכרים,שהרי אין יום זה איד שבדו הכומרים, אלא מעצמן עשו שמחה ביום זה. ואף שאז אולי היו הנוכרים שעשו זה עובדי עובדי זרה, ונתנו שם בדבריהם דברי שבח להעבודה זרה, אינו שייך זה לשנים אחרונות, שאחרים התחילו גם כן לקבוע סעודות ביום זה, שהם לא שייכי לאיזו עבודה זרה. וכי כל אדם, אף של נוכרים, עושה דווקא שמחות לעבודה זרה, וגם הרי בזמן הזה רוב שמחות וסעודות שלהם אינם לעבודה זרה. וגם דאין מקריבין קרבנות, וליכא שום תקרובת לעבודה זרה, כמפורש בתוספות ריש עבודה זרה דיבור המתחיל “אסור,” אף בימי האיד שלהם. ואין דברי התיפלה שאומרין בסעודתן, אוסר מלאכול מצד איסור עבודה זרה, אף בנוכרים שעושים זה לכבוד אמונתם.

[Rav Moshe even has a little something for “akuperma:”

ומי שאמר שהוא איסור עבודה זרה, ואיכא על אכילת תרנגול הודו ביום האיד דטענקס – גיווינג חומרא ד”יהרג ואל יעבור,” לא ידע העובדא, ואף אינו יודע דיני ד”יהרג ואל יעבור!”

See there in Source 9 for more on that.]

On the basis of ובחוקותיהם, Rav Moshe further discourages one’s eating turkey on Thanksgiving altogether (Source 9), even coincidentally and without a thoughtful connection to Thanksgiving, although he sees no problem with eating it the rest of the year (Source 9).

Source 10 is the odd-ball in this debate. Less than a month after he wrote that last Teshuva prohibiting Thanksgiving on the basis of ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו, Rav Moshe was asked אם אסור, מצד “בחוקותיהם לא תלכו,” להשתתף בסעודת יום ההודייה שעושים בארצות הברית. While that should have been relatively straightforward at this point, he responded without ever addressing that exact question, instead giving a new reason for not celebrating Thanksgiving: בל תוסיף, the prohibition of adding new rituals or holidays to the calendar. On those grounds, Rav Moshe responded, rather remarkably, that he did not see any problem with celebrating Thanksgiving as a temporary, non-obligatory celebration, even repeatedly over many years:

… מכיוון שבספרי דתם לא הוזכר יום זה לחג, וגם לא שיתחייבו בסעודה, וכיוון שהוא יום זכר לאנשי המדינה, שהוא גם כן שמח בהמדינה שבא לגור לכאן עתה או מכבר, לא מצינו בזה איסור, לאו בעשיית שמחה בסעודה, ולא באכילת תרנגול ההודו (אינדיק)אבל ודאי אסור לקבוע זה לחובה ולמצווה, אלא לשמחת הרשות עתה. ובאופן זה, בלא קביעות חובה ומצווה, יוכל גם לשנה האחרת, גם כן לשמוח, ולעשות בו סעודה (ועי’ עוד בזה להלן סימן י”ב).
אבל אני סובר, דמכל מקום, אסור לעשות יום קבוע בשנה לחוג זה, ורק בשנה ההוא, שכבש ינאי המלך, בזה עשה השמחה, ולא לקביעות. ויש בה גם משום בל תוסיף, עיין מגילה דף ז’ עמוד א, וברמב”ן בפירוש על התורה דברים על פסוק לא תוסיפו (דברים ד’ ב’). ואף שיש לדון לענין הלאו, מכל מקום, איסור ודאי הוא זה.

That astounding conclusion – that the only possible problem with Thanksgiving could be בל תוסיף, and that even that problem could be circumvented relatively easily – raised the eyebrows of Rav Moshe’s grandson, Rabbi Dr. Mordechai Tendler, who wrote to his elderly grandfather two months later, compelling the great Sage to explain himself in a third and final Teshuva (Source 11). Here, after acknowledging the self-contradiction, Rav Moshe gets to work explaining an important distinction within the world of ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו, one caused by an ambiguity in the Rama in Source 5:

שולחן ערוך יורה דעה סימן קעח סעיף א
… וכל זה אינו אסור אלא בדבר שנהגו בו העובדי כוכבים לשום פריצות, כגון שנהגו ללבוש מלבושים אדומים, והוא מלבוש שרים וכדומה לזה ממלבושי הפריצות, או בדבר שנהגו למנהג, ולחוק, ואין טעם בדבר, דאיכא למיחש ביה משום דרכי האמורי, ושיש בו שמץ עבודת כוכבים מאבותיהם.

A close reading of the Rama (Source 5) reveals a critical ambiguity: he says that there is a problem with copying a non-Jewish rite if אין טעם בדבר, there is no rational reason for that practice, because there is concern that such a practice may be דרכי האמורי, a practice with an idolatrous origin. Rav Moshe (Source 11), however, wonders the following:

אבל ברור, שאין כוונת הרמ”א שאין בו טעם כלל, שודאי הוא הדין אף אם יש טעם, אבל אינו טעם שכדאי לחדש בשביל זה איזה מעשים לעשות – שאם כן, זה שעושים איזה דבר לקביעות בשביל זה, הוא דרכי האמורי! ואין כוונת הרמ”א דאיכא למיחש ביה שמא אין עושין זה בשביל הטעם (מאחר שאינו חשוב) אלא משום דיש להם טעם אחר שאינו ידוע לנו, שהוא מענייני כשפים, שהן דרכי האמורי. אלא כוונתו דלקבוע עשיית מעשים בשביל דבר שאינו חשוב לידע ולזכור זה – הוא עצמו דרכי האמורי!

Of course a rite is forbidden if it has no reason whatsoever, but suppose a practice does have some sort of stated reason (hint: I’m eating turkey because it’s Thanksgiving), but one that is disconnected to the day or occasion being celebrated – a stupid reason, if you will. In such a case, posits Rav Moshe, performing such an act might be forbidden not because there might be a deeper, long-forgotten, idolatrous reason, but because the very act of connecting the arbitrary practice with the holiday right here and now ipso facto constitutes דרכי האמורי! Rav Moshe assumes that this could be the case for Thanksgiving:

… וזה איכא בעשיית יום שמחה למעשה זו. שאכלו אותן האנשים בבואן למדינה זו. ואירע שלא היה להם, איזה זמן, מה לאכול, ואכלו תרנגולי הודו – שלא היה זה עניין גדול להתיישבות דאמעריקא

Rav Moshe’s weird American History lesson (Source 11) notwithstanding (the pilgrims had plenty to eat at first, but ran out of food in later years, and were sent boats from Europe carrying turkey), the connection between turkey and Thanksgiving is at best tenuous and at worst Halachically challenging. Making such an arbitrary connection, Rav Moshe argues, is not a problem because it might hark back to some old idolatrous practice, but because making that odd connection in and of itself constitutes דרכי האמורי and thus violates ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו.

Or perhaps, wonders Rav Moshe, the Rama meant to prohibit rituals which have the status of אין טעם בדבר but not those which are entirely disconnected from any religious origin or undertone whatsoever:

אבל אפשר לפרש שלעניין האיסור דלאו “ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו,” אין צורך בהיתרו לטעם שהיה מועיל גם לדינא לנו לעשות שמחה קבועה לזה אם היה אירע זה לישראל. אלא סגי להתיר בטעם שמועיל למנהגא דאינשי אף הנכרים, דכיוון שאין עושין זה בשביל עניני דתיהם, ולא בטעמי דתיהם, אלא הוא לזכר דבר, שלא שייך לדתיהם, שלא נעשה זה על ידי כומרים אלא על ידי אינשי דעלמא שלא היו אדוקין בדתי עבודה זרה שלהן. כיון שאין עושין זה מצד שייכות לדת שום עבודה זרה שבעולם, אין בזה משום “ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו.”

Rav Moshe proceeds to point out that even the Rama permits, for example, doctors wearing blue robes, something entirely disconnected from any Church origin and meant merely to convey a sense of status or respect. Here, too, wonders Rav Moshe, could we permit celebrating Thanksgiving because, while it has no rational reason (אין טען בדבר), and it is arbitrary and meaningless, it is also, however random, a way to honor one’s country, which in and of itself is positive?

Rav Moshe concludes by examining the very next line in the Rama:

שולחן ערוך יורה דעה סימן קעח סעיף א
אבל דבר שנהגו לתועלת, כגון שדרכן שכל מי שהוא רופא מומחה יש לו מלבוש מיוחד, שניכר בו שהוא רופא אומן, מותר ללובשו. וכן שעושין משום כבוד או טעם אחר, מותר (מהרי”ק שורש פ”ח). לכן אמרו: שורפין על המלכים ואין בו משום דרכי האמורי (ר”ן פ”ק דעבודת כוכבים).

In other words, in order to permit a rite celebrated because of a ritual but also logically disconnected from it, that practice cannot have a neutral connection (like Thanksgiving); it must have a תועלת – a positive, useful connection. Because eating turkey on Thanksgiving does not have such a useful, positive function, Rav Moshe concludes by leaning toward the argument that it could possibly be a violation of ובחוקותיהם לא תלכו:

… שכן משמע יותר לשון הרמ”א בסופו בדברים המותרים – שכתב, “אבל דבר שנהגו לתועלת” וכו’, “או טעם אחר, מותר,” ששם, יש יותר לדייק ענין המותר, שהוא דווקא בדבר שיש בו תועלת ממש – מברישא, שנקט ענין האיסור, שכתב שאינו אסור אלא בדבר שנהגו בו “משום פריצות” וכו’ “או בדבר שנהגו למנהג ולחוק, ואין טעם בדבר …”

Verdict: Krum. While Rav Moshe argues repeatedly against any notion that celebrating Thanksgiving is actually עבודה זרה, and while he talks away בל תוסיף as long as one does not create a קביעות out of his observance or attach that much importance to it, and while even the Rama is ambiguous as to whether one may not perform a ritual אשר אין בה טעם only if it is rooted in a religious origin or has religious undertones or whether one may not perform that ritual even if it lacks said religious origin, Rav Moshe does conclude that there is reason to be strict on the basis of the Rama’s needing a definite, defined purpose (תועלת) in order to obfuscate ובחוקותיהם, which purpose does appear to be lacking here.

Let’s keep in mind, though, that even Rav Moshe’s stringent position, which is not necessarily the final word on this topic, applies only to eating turkey, not to getting together with family and expressing gratitude to Hashem for putting us here. Perhaps Rav Moshe’s position on תועלת should make us rethink the way that we celebrate Thanksgiving and try to reconnect with Thanksgiving as a day more meaningful than eating turkey. If Rav Moshe’s position does not speak to us Halachically, how about emotionally? In any event, until someone can perhaps find a meaningful reason to eat turkey specifically on the fourth Thursday in November, perhaps there are other, more meaningful ways to honor, respect, and thank one’s country than by eating turkey, a food which, although Rav Moshe seems to assume is Kosher, many other Poskim have found problems with on the basis of turkey’s lacking a clear Mesorah. But we’ll leave that for another week …

Posted in Communal Matters, Frum ... Or Krum??, Halacha, Holidays, Thanksgiving | Leave a comment

Teens and Tefillah: A Response to Rabbi Jay Goldmintz

Not too long ago I read the fine article “Why Aren’t Our Kids in Shul?” by Rabbi Jay Goldmintz, concerning what many of us increasingly find a losing battle to inspire our teenagers to engage with Tefillah in Shul. I wanted to contribute my own observations, as an educator and as someone who has spent a considerable amount of time working with children of middle and high school age both learning about and practicing Tefillah. It is my hope that Rabbi Goldmintz’s observations spark more debate around, and give needed attention to, this crucial issue. My point here is only to add to what Rabbi Goldmintz said, not to disagree with any points that he made.

A had an epiphany last week, in explaining to my sixth graders as a matter of course the familiar idea that Hashem is not a vending machine and that our goal in Tefillah is to build and strengthen a relationship with Him meaningful enough to stand regardless of immediate (or even long-term) positive, negative, or non-responses to those Tefillot. As I concluded my thoughts and they began to Daven, I reflected in the ensuing quietude about the blank stares I had just received from my students, and something occurred to me rather suddenly. The notion of relationship that I had just been describing, a notion that to me and to most adults is very logical and sensible, is completely foreign to them at this stage in their lives and for the foreseeable future. For adolescents, the notion of relationship is in a state of necessary flux. They are busy breaking away from and redefining the one relationship they have ever known, that with their parents, a relationship seen increasingly as one of rupture and reconstruction as adolescence moves along. The propriety of adolescents’ constantly “redefining” their relationship with Hashem as they are doing with their parents is a difficult comparison and one which might require validation and explication when we talk about Tefillah with teens.

Adding to the trouble, the relationship that teens have had with their parents all through their childhood has functioned more or less like the very vending machine which apparently is supposed to be unlike their relationship with Hashem. As they have grown up, their parents really have been expected to cater to their every whim and desire. This is yet another reason that the common vending machine illustration is imprecise and unhelpful for them. Moreover, teens’ interpersonal relationships are confusing, competitive, and mostly gratuitous and self-serving, thus making their own relationships another poor model for the relationship with Hashem they are supposed to want to perpetuate through Tefillah.

Adolescence is a very bad time for relationships, but their parents’ relationships with each other could be a positive model of the kind of selfless, long-haul relationship that is the sort we want with Hashem. Right? Ideally. But with a high divorce rate in America, and even healthy marriages often marred by the distraction of technology that has invaded our lives in recent years, it is no wonder that teens today often cannot look to their parents as a model for the kind of reciprocal and selfless relationship they would like to build with Hashem. In a world in which even “good” marriages often contain little communication besides a few minutes over an eat-and-run dinner spent staring more at the cell phone than at each other, kids today can’t necessarily be blamed for relating to relationships with a sense of cynicism or hopelessness. On a more practical level, too, if their parents’ relationship can be “nurtured” within the cacophony of distraction, why can’t the relationship with Hashem fostered through Tefillah take place while I talk to my friend, check my phone, or learn Chumash? We are wired to be distracted in the rest of our lives; Tefillah and the concomitant relationship with Hashem that it portends needs, at least in children’s minds and possibly in those of many adults as well, to shape up or ship out.

Besides the need to validate the constantly changing nature of our relationship with Hashem as an extension of teens’ evolving relationships with their parents and with each other, one other implication is in order. Perhaps instead of only teaching teens about Tefillah, what we really need to talk about is relationships. I say that for two reasons. One is that, as I have alluded to throughout this post, Tefillah will be better enhanced through a better appreciation of how relationships are meant to function. But second, perhaps Tefillah and the Divine relationship could ideally have a thing or two to teach us about our human interactions and relationships, and maybe we have thus far underutilized this potential of Tefillah in attempting to repair the human relationships in our lives. Perhaps rather than view Tefillah as an opportunity to mimic our human relationships – which, particularly in the case of teens, have little to teach us about Tefillah – we should seek to renew those human relationships by first rethinking Tefillah and discovering what it has to say about the nature of relationships in more general terms than the single most obvious relationship that it reportedly comes to maintain. And then, with our human relationships thus rethought and renewed, perhaps our Tefillah would not be too far behind.

Posted in Classroom Experiences, Communal Matters, Jewish Education (meta), Tefillah | Leave a comment

My All-Time Favorite Moments in Iggerot Moshe: Sources

For some time now I have delivered intermittent classes for adults on landmark Teshuvot in Iggerot Moshe. I am posting the sources, and in some cases linking to places elsewhere on this site where I have written up notes from the shiur, all for the free public use of anyone out there who may find them to be of interest or usefulness.
The Shiurim generally begin with the background information necessary to understand Rav Moshe’s position; then give Rav Moshe’s Teshuva or Teshuvot; then, when possible, offer arguments to Rav Moshe’s position from other contemporary Halachic personalities.
As the Shiurim were delivered on Shabbatot and holidays, there is no audio to post. If I ever give any of the classes again on weekdays, I will attach the audio at that time.

The Night Time is the Right Time: A Selichot Chronology     |     Notes and Sources

Got Spoiled Milk? – Rav Moshe on Chalav Yisroel     |     Sources

Thanks for Nothing: Rav Moshe on Thanksgiving     |     Notes and Sources

Mechitza, Part 1 – The Great Divide: Background and Basic Requirement     |     Sources

Mechitza, Part 2 – People with Glass Spouses Don’t Throw Tantrums: Explanations, Exceptions, and Extensions     |     Sources

Priorities in Mikvah Building: Shuls, Schools, and Where to Put Those Men     |     Notes and Sources

Posted in Communal Matters, Halacha, Tefillah | Leave a comment

Under the Altar and Dreaming: Sustaining עקידה in a World of Choice

I have been swamped with work lately and unable to post, leaving me with a backlog of ideas for later. Meanwhile, I was thinking over Shabbat about an essay I wrote about ten years ago when I was taking an undergraduate course in YU called “Genesis and Literature.” Given the time of year we are in, I have decided to offer the full essay here for anyone who might find it of interest.

Under the Altar and Dreaming: Sustaining עקידה in a World of Choice

והנה אברהם אבינו בשעת עקידה אחז במדת היראה, במדת יצחק, ולכן אמר “הנני בני,” שעכשיו אני אוחז במדתך. שעד עכשיו הייתי אוחז במדת החסד, ועתה אני אוחז במדתך. ולכן אמר לו השי”ת … “הרבה ארבה את זרעך,” דהיינו, בזה תגרום חיות לזרעך …
לחם רב (ב:לט) בשם ספר אך פרי תבואה

 If Abraham when he stood upon Mount Moriah had doubted … if God had permitted him to offer [the ram] instead of Isaac – then he would have betaken himself home, everything would have been the same … and yet how changed! For his retreat would have been a flight, his salvation an accident, his reward dishonor, his future perhaps perdition. Then he would have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God’s grace, but would have testified only how dreadful it is to march out to Mount Moriah.
Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

As Kierkegaard suggests, stepping off the מזבח and back into reality having been unable to perform the עקידה would have been a destiny-altering experience for the אבות and their descendants. What Kierkegaard fails to recognize is the ensuing impact on a thankful confluence of history even by dint of ה’’s choosing that אברהם not sacrifice his son, a point put powerfully forward by the revered רב of קליינווארדיין in the first source cited above. Kierkegaard, lacking the penetrating, piercing, and all-encompassing vision of חז”ל, fails to recognize that history has been as fundamentally altered by ה’’s eliciting אברהם not to sacrifice his son as much as it would have been by His having commanded him to do so. To חז”ל, on the other hand, the final product of נסיון is less important in determining its overall impact on the Nation as the demonstration of one’s willingness to undergo that act from the outset.

עקידה and the Burgeoning of New Realities [1]

That עקידה so changed the latent spiritual nature of כלל ישראל is the case because whatever its result, ה’’s command and אברהם’s willingness would together represent the loss of pure חסד as the driving force of כלל ישראל’s national existence – a loss particularly hard for אברהם but which was necessary to create a workable paradigm for כלל ישראל’s national history, one which could no longer be sustained on אברהם’s rich abundance of חסד alone. With the loss of חסד came an instant and permanent switch to דין as the new engine pulling the growing Nation. Prior to עקידה, it appeared that אברהם could not have conceived of undergoing a move as drastic as that of sacrificing his own son, but it was the possibility of this very barrenness which הקב”ה saw fit to test.

There were two potential problems at work in the idealistic pre-עקידה theology of אברהם which שטן came to incriminate: 1) אברהם could have seen his possession so much as his own as to be unable to give it back to its original Owner; and 2) He may not have understood the concept of sacrifice, דין in its harshest form, altogether. [2] By showing that he was willing to initiate עקידה, Avraham proved that both of these possibilities did not apply to the צדיק. He showed first that he was willing to return ה’’s object to its true Owner; and he showed afterward, as we have seen, that he now understood the concept of דין which characterized יצחק and which was necessary for the preservation of כלל ישראל as we know it today.

That אברהם could now begin the process of integrating דין with his own trusty storehouse of חסד is only the case because the עקידה, like יצחק and רבקה, was itself a mixture of hard and soft דין – for as the גמרא relates, ‘ה never intended the אבות to complete the נסיון in the first place:

לא עלתה על לבי – זה יצחק בן אברהם. – תענית ד
אף על פי שציויתי לו, מעולם לא עלתה על לבי לשחוט את בנו אלא לנסותו. – רש”י שם

            If the harsh דין of עקידה could mix with the soft דין of עקידה’s having never been meant to be, then a powerful reaction could be undergone which would help כלל ישראל face the test of time. This impact can be compared to that of אברהם’s initial willingness to sacrifice his son and later willingness to sacrifice his purity of חסד. Yet the theological repercussions of the brief גמרא cited above are tremendous and far-reaching:

Were אברהם or יצחק aware of the “farcical” nature of the עקידה? If so, at what stage in the process did they gain this awareness?
What would have been the theoretical consequence of אברהם’s completing an act commanded yet unintended?
How is it that the spiritual life-force of a nation can hinge upon an act’s having been uncommitted when it was never intended to have taken place?

Let us attempt to understand עקידה in light of its having been an apparent historical enigma [3] – perhaps a theological impossibility – from the start.

Seeds, Saplings, and Suitcases

In undertaking his own approach to explaining the עקידה story, רמב”ן posits that the function of נסיון is twofold: 1) להוציא הדבר מן הכח אל הפועל, to actualize latent potential; and 2) להיות לו שכר מעשה טוב, לא שכר לב טוב בלבד, to raise the legitimacy of a person’s actions from a lesser to a greater level of performance. רמבן presents to us a difficult paradigm to translate into modern pedagogy. It would be difficult to convince a child that his time or effort have been well spent dragging suitcases upstairs merely to prove to himself that he is a strong (or strong-willed) worker or that he is now the beneficiary of additional reward on account of his efforts having been for naught. Let us try to understand what would be the purpose of ה’’s utilizing such an approach in guiding His selected few.

In our Tefillah, [4] we compare the נסיון of עקידה to two other pivotal moments: the שבועה to אברהם that his descendants would inherit the Land and the renaming of יעקב as ישראל. Perhaps the connection between the events is one of changed spiritual aspirations. Only once אברהם had been guaranteed the success and legitimacy of his descendants could we aspire to live in a most meaningful way and perform the מצוות; once יעקב had been renamed ישראל, our national destiny had been secured by ה’’s personally designating the Nation as His own.

Changed aspirations, perhaps, but not yet; a closer connection between these three events – עקידה, the שבועה to אברהם, and יעקב’s renaming – is the bestowal of latent potential. In fact, in the absence of ה’’s fulfilling our own potential for us, this is the greatest gift of all – that we be supplied the necessary spiritual nutrients to survive on our own in a seductive and alluring world. This is true חינוך – whether of our children or, by Hashem, of his most precious children in the form of עקידה. It emerges that נסיון, in רמבן’s view, is not the start of a hopeless trajectory through time but rather one part of a carefully planned spiritual package complete with self-esteem (ישראל), hope for the future (שבועה), and עקידה – acquisition of the proper character needed to send us forward on our long spiritual journey. Although the effort could have seemed futile at the moment – Hashem never meant for the עקידה to happen anyway – it was עקידה which created the future: now כלל ישראל could sprout forth and grow. That is why, rather than throwing the knife on the ground and jumping and down in frustration, אברהם appears most excited at the surprising opportunity he has had to shape the future of כלל ישראל even though the immediate result of his journey to הר המוריה would otherwise have seemed “for naught.”

Successful חינוך precludes ensuring that the child remain quiet or even that he remain interested. חינוך is simply guidance, the issuance of a carefully planned package of emotional and psychological stability – preparation, the very root of חינוך. To Ramban, נסיון works in much the same way. At the מזבח, Avraham was given an exactingly calculated, tightly-packaged plan for his descendants’ success in מצרים and beyond. The boy we met earlier who hauls suitcases to build character may be gaining more than he realizes if he can be brought to a stage of true recognition of his own ability through his seemingly pointless act. If not, of course, his efforts are truly for naught. And like that child, אברהם, too, would have undergone the process of עקידה for futility had he not been given a vision of his children’s glorious spiritual destiny in exchange for, and as a result of, his being willing to sacrifice his own son.

Now we can return to our first question regarding the enigmatic non-reality of עקידה. Avraham can be safely assumed to have known with some clarity that the strange command had farther-reaching repercussions than the immediate sacrifice of his son. We see this in the הנני בני attitude which characterized אברהם’s willingness to proceed not as a murderer or even as a martyr but as the spiritual godfather of a People. Because the spiritual forces he was to emit into the physical world would have been bigger than the child so precious to him, אברהם was willing to lose one child in the process of saving many more. [5] אברהם’s knowledge stretched farther down the road than one עקידה. And because the act was one not of futility but of the instilment of potential, אברהם’s own destiny was fulfilled as well.

The sacrifice of עקידה, then, becomes one child for the revealed destiny of a People. This answer intentionally disregards whether אברהם also thought he was to undergo child-sacrifice. [6] For even if he did, he would not have been the victim of futility to have trekked all the way to הר המוריה “just” to find out that the spiritual destiny of כלל ישראל would be one of a דין as harsh and impersonal as עקידה. It doesn’t matter whether or not either of the אבות knew, because the “farcical” nature of the עקידה was not even temporary: the two and their descendants were changed instantly and forever. Their knowledge was bigger than one act, even one fully undergone.

That understanding and ensuing willingness represent an additional layer of sacrifice at work within עקידה: that of the temporary comfortableness of oneself (or one’s son) for the eternal betterment of כלל ישראל. This, too, by no coincidence, is a measure of דין applied to our daily striving, credit due to these heroic אבות for bringing it down to us at the הר.

Given all this, it would sound like אברהם’s having “completed” עקידה would have been an equally satisfactory result. Let’s examine the second of our original questions: what if אברהם had done it?

The Martyr’s Death: עקידה Visited

כיון שראתה, אמרה לו, “בני! מה עשה לך אביך?!” אמר לה, “נטלני אבי, והעלני הרים, והורידני בקעות והעלני לראש הר אחד, ובנה מזבח, וסדר המערכה, והעריך את העצים, ועקד אותי על גבי המזבח, ולקח את הסכין לשחטני. ואלולי שאמר לו הקב”ה ‘אל תשלח ידך אל הנער,’ כבר הייתי נשחט!” לא הספיק לגמור את הדבר עד שיצאה נשמתה.
– תנחומא וירא כג

אל ההרים אשא עיני, כהלל ולא כשמאי.
– זמר של שבת “חי ה‘”

In the תנחומא’s revelation of the events surrounding שרה’s death (cited above), we have a brief glimpse at the would-be post-עקידה reality of יצחק’s death, the מדרש making clear that שרה’s fatality occurred at the point of her still believing that יצחק had been killed. [7] אור החיים  asks an interesting question: why is שרה’s death reported so differently from others’ deaths throughout the תורה – either as “ויחי” or as “?אלה שני” He answers that, after the shocking news of her son’s apparent death, שרה’s own death was a “,מיתה משונה” the first death not connected to a sickness or extended hospital stay. [8] שרה is the first to die what to us is a fairly typical death, לא עלינו – one unaccompanied by an extended illness or much fanfare. She could not call her descendants to her bedside or make provisions for her children’s future. שרה was the first car crash.

שרה’s death, the only event to occur in the brief and fleeting world in which יצחק actually did die, is the one indicator to us of what would have occurred had that world been expanded to include the rest of us – had אברהם killed יצחק in our world as he did in שרה’s. Here we see the first and only full application of דין prior to its being melded with the חסד of non-עקידה as Hashem would have it happen so soon after.

In שרה’s death, which occurred in the enigmatic double world of יצחק’s having been killed and yet not killed, there is a singular application of both worlds: she lives out her years, [9] and yet they are not lived out; for as they end in turmoil and despair, she is forced to die the first death of an unfinished life, standing on her feet – and with her remarkable beauty sustained – until the end. [10] What more gruesome death could there be for an old lady than dying with her beauty retained, having been unable until the end to know her death was imminent by those typical wrinkles and creases, and thereby unable to kiss her loved-ones goodbye? Hers was the first and only death of full spontaneity; for, although she lived a complete life, had יצחק not been killed (in her world) she could have lived so much longer. In the warp of יצחק’s murder, his דין prevented what invariably became a full life from proceeding from its logical end to an even greater future.

שרה faced יצחק’s murder, עקידה completed – the only possibility of דין in its harshest form applied in an earthly way – with the death of the ultimate martyr. She is the old woman frightfully unable to end her life saying goodbye to her singularly beloved child she sees atop an Altar. יצחק’s role in this scenario, however, is harder to understand. The way the מדרש is written, it is hard to escape the notion that, on some esoteric level, יצחק has not gone far enough in preventing his mother’s death. His lines are hard to read: is there fright here (“He wanted to kill me!”) or is this a case of a child “pointing fingers” at one parent to another (“Know what Dad wanted to do to me?!”)? Either way, it appears legitimate to say that it is יצחק’s extra measure of דין which was most detrimental to his mother’s otherwise pristine bill of health. It is not the עקידה which affects her, nor even יצחק’s account of it; her tragic undoing is her inability to reach the end of the story.

שרה remains inexorably trapped in a world in which יצחק’s soon-to-be-outmoded דינא קשיא was able to execute itself almost haphazardly [11] – on his very mother – because it has not yet had the chance to be tempered by the temporary דינא רפיא of the עקידה’s non-completion and, soon after, the permanent דינא רפיא of his marriage to רבקה. In this we see the would-be results of אברהם’s fully realizing the mission on which he has been sent: the דינא קשיא of an עקידה-to-be would then not have mixed with the דינא רפיא of an עקידה which only happened in the brief world of שרה’s vision. In the brief moment in which עקידה was completed, שרה’s life reached an end with an unprecedented level of spontaneity and yet one which, however paradoxically, could not have been prepared for had she lived a lifetime longer; שרה had never aged anyway. Had עקידה happened in our world as well – had אברהם not stopped when he did, had דין been unleashed to us all in similar measure – we would similarly have been trapped in דינא קשיא’s indiscriminating fury just as time would have lost all value but held us forever captive. It took prevention of the עקידה to prevent a world of דינא קשיא, a world in which a ישוב עולם could be fried by the eyes of רבי אלעזר but never healed by רבי שמעון afterward. [12]

What a tremendous ברכה to all mankind that, even with his loyalty to Hashem on the line – דברי הרב ודברי התלמיד, מי שומעין? – Avraham nevertheless stopped short upon recognizing the dire effect that completion of the mission would have had and already had had on the world. This realization parallels his discovery that the world would need a synthesis of חסד and דין to sustain כלל ישראל; that neither one alone would do. Ironically, neither lesson would have been learned by אברהם’s killing his son. Half a mission proved loyalty; the full mission was a recipe for disaster. Apparently, some נסיונות are better left unfulfilled.

We turn at last to our final and very pivotal question: how could our national destiny hinge upon the non-fulfillment of a half-commanded action?

עקידה: The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

וזכר לנו, ה’ אלוקינו, את הברית ואת החסד ואת השבועה אשר נשבעת לאברהם אבינו בהר המוריה ותראה לפניך עקדה שעקד אברהם אבינו את יצחק בנו על גבי המזבח וכבש רחמיו לעשות רצונך בלבב שלם כן יכבשו רחמיך את כעסך מעלינו …
– מוסף דראש השנה

אפילו שם חדש שעתיד הקב”ה לחדש לירושלים ידע אברהם. וזהו שנאמר ושם העיר מיום ה’ שמה.
– בעל הטורים כב:יד בשם ב”ר

As a legacy for his descendants, אברהם’s loyalty to us shines brilliantly forth. He displayed his willingness to sacrifice his son; he exercised flexibility in holding still at the moment of contact; he recognized the need to synthesize מדת יצחק with his own. Because of his sacrifice there, אברהם became Father to a Nation whose תורה, one of sacrifice – and whose עבודה, also one requiring sacrifice – would be realized at that same mountain.

The מדרש cited by the בעל הטורים above speaks of אברהם as the knower par excellence – he knew all of תורה שבכתב, תורה שבעל פה, and even the future name of הר המוריה. The surprise inherent in the מדרש is interesting. Is the מדרש speaking to the startling extent of אברהם’s knowledge, or to the uniqueness of his knowing this particular name? And what is it about this mountain which made it destined to be the מקום אשר יבחר from the time of אדם הראשון?

A פסוק in Divrei Hayamim [13] relates that, when an angel came to destroy ירושלים, he was stopped by Hashem at the point that “.ראה ה’ וינחם” Commenting on this פסוק, the Gemara [14] seeks to discover what it is which Hashem saw which stopped the imminent destruction of ירושלים. A four-way מחלוקת has it that one of four things halted the destruction – כסף יום הכפורים, אפרו של יעקב, Yaakov himself, or the presence of ירושלים. The apparent connection is that each provided atonement for the sins of the Nation. Yet אפרו של יצחק stands out in this list. It is the only item which atoned for sins as yet uncommitted – for יצחק did nothing to “deserve” the עקידה nor אברהם to bring it about. Here is כפרה of a different sort.

עקידה stood in for בני ישראל at a clutch moment not only because it represents the Nation’s eternal willingness to sacrifice all to live for its Creator but because it demonstrates the selflessness of the אבות to sacrifice their own to save their unborn children from an unknown list of as-yet uncommitted sins. Yet because the אבות displayed their readiness to sacrifice for us, our own reliance on this original act of sacrifice depends not upon its completion but upon its element of sacrifice – the will which would have brought it about had Hashem so desired. Moreover, it could not depend on completion; for had it been completed, it would be of little use to us, as the positive notion of אברהם’s being willing to sacrifice would then have been tainted by the negative aspect of his actually doing so.

The difference between would-be sacrifice and actual sacrifice is tremendous – the former, אברהם acting for his children, displays selflessness; the latter, אברהם acting to promote his own image, displays selfishness. What emerges from this גמרא is startling: אברהם did not sacrifice just to pass off another נסיון and become even more beloved in ה’’s eyes. Even the tacit agreement to ה’’s command was not the only thing which drove him. What moved אברהם, a true אב, was the opportunity to sacrifice his most beloved belonging to save generations unborn from being spared a premature loss of the בית המקדש at that very spot.

This may be what the מדרש means in its statement that אברהם “knew” the future name of הר המוריה. Avrham knew the future destiny of this place and the connection between that destiny, those people, and his act of true sacrifice. He knew that his present act was not merely one of personal sacrifice but that, in a much larger sense, he was already sacrificing for the people who would need an act of sacrifice to have happened at that place in order to be spared the immediate agony of גלות before they were ready to undergo such an ordeal. All this, while he was at the same time shedding his beloved חסד for the burgeoning quality of דין, also for the good of the nascent Nation. [15]

That הר served as the site of another similar spectacle. It was there that בני ישראל would take אברהם’s cue in declaring נעשה ונשמע prior to accepting the תורה. Such a declaration should be of little value for it remains disconnected from any concrete positive result. Yet בני ישראל understood the value of will disconnected from action. That commitment is most powerful. It shows such faith in the presumption that the action to come will be of such ultimate value that those involved need not even know the action when making the declaration. אברהם underwent עקידה in a similar fashion, unsure why he was being asked to sacrifice his son. What he found out was startlingly positive news: because of that blind faith, he was to father a nation on the trait he had brought down to earth; similarly, because of their blind faith, בני ישראל were not disappointed in the תורה which would nourish them. Each display of commitment and sacrifice channeled similar spiritual energies because each represented a similar form of blind faith in the eventual will of the Creator to be bestowed in its due time. [16]

The כח of that spot, as the מדרש says, is one of sacrifice – not intrinsically so, but because אברהם underwent one sacrifice to allow many more in its wake. It was he who commissioned the site to be one of sacrifice, and the many which were brought in the thousands of years thereafter lay tribute to his own.

Fulfilling עקידה was never meant to be as important as אברהם’s being willing to do so in the first place. Not only could an uncompleted עקידה stand the test of time, but only a non-completed עקידה could do so – for it is only one of this sort which displays true selflessness and an eye to the future.

In עקידה we see the building blocks of a Nation, one which would be built and build the world around it upon the foundations of potential, will, sacrifice, and דין – the exercise of justice and judgment on earth as challengingly applied from ה’’s own work. To conclude our discussion, then, a few closing parallels.

The Best Laid Plans

In our תפילות on ראש השנה we speak of our coming before ה’ as “,בני מרון” lined up as sheep before a watchful shepherd. The metaphor is apt on many levels – helplessness, dependency, innocence, purity – and another, indicated to us by חז”ל. The גמרא describes the presentation of sheep before the מזבח before the קרבן פסח. Every ten would be counted and marked; if any more or less than ten were counted together, or if some doubt was raised as to the validity of the count, the selection need be redone. Our arrival before Hashem at the ימי הדין works in no less particular a way: each person is considered with absolute precision and with true singularity. The usual notion of “sheep to the slaughter” is not to be found here. Even within the herd of the Jewish People, each sheep retains a startling level of individuality and wholeness of purpose.

עקידה, the prescient first sacrifice, similarly displayed individuality even within its impersonal and apparently ambiguous nature. Here was an act so unambiguous as to define a כלל ישראל but which emerged out of an act which appeared the height of randomness. Here was an act which appeared to strangle progress yet which allowed all the nascent potential the Nation would ever need to progress both in its everyday life (דין) and in its overall mission (עבודה – sacrifice). Here was a command which appeared to make completion the defining element of centrality but which would teach that will and intention, as much as finite action, are vital in charting our progress in Avodat Hashem. Here was a mission which appeared to be one of finality but was truly the beginning of something much greater.

Here, at last, was an ending which reversed every given and questioned every truth. At the height of its significance, עקידה appeared definitely constructed on one basis but was truly designed to teach the opposite: that the givens we construct, the assumptions we make, the notions we pre-conceive in defining our Avodat Hashem are as important to Him as the plans of a silhouetted ant found neatly beneath our soles. עקידה was the ultimate enigma, its greatest lesson to us that not only are מעשה אבות סימן לבנים but their inhibitions and preclusions, too, which define the gold standard for their children’s term in exile and beyond. Our mission before them, the אבות could step down from the מזבח reborn in the image of a Nation great and glorious to come.

To be a תלמיד חכם you need a head. To be a ירא שמים you need a heart … But to be a leader – you need a חוט השדרה, a spine, a backbone.
– Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm, “There is a Prophet in Israel”

It would appear then that the purpose of sacrifices … was to actively proclaim, by the act of surrendering something to Him, that all things are G-d’s. The sacrifice was merely a sign of gratitude to G-d Who permitted man to use all things of creation which, in themselves, as the property of G-d, are vested with a certain degree of sanctity … not because He has need of them but to ensure that the needy and those who are dedicated to His service may also benefit from His possessions.
– Rabbi Dr. Samuel Belkin, In His Image


[1] Many of the ideas throughout this opening section are based on Patterns in Time: Rosh Hashanah (Feldheim), particularly Chapters 4-5. Additionally, the central question forming the backbone of this essay (but not its further discussion) is based on a point made by Weinberg in that book (cf. 6.3, “The Day that Never Was”). Otherwise, the ideas are my own, even if the style is (at best) marginally reflective of his.

[2] That יצחק likewise went too far in his understood of this aspect of דין is demonstrated by his relationship with רבקה and their mixture of דינא קשיא and דינא רפיא. See end of section “The Martyr’s Death,” below.

[3] For one of the numerous מאמרי חז”ל illustrating יצחק’s having indeed been killed, see “The Martyr’s Death: עקידה Visited” (below). See also זבחים סב., an important מקור which I will not get to here.

[4] תפילות לפני התפילה, אחר העקידה. We express a similar idea in our תפילות of ראש השנה (see quote at start of “The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy”).

[5] See דברי הימים א כא:טו, ברכות סב, and the beginning of “The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy” (below).

[6] Technically, only if אברהם had known would the ordeal truly have been farcical. Knowing he was not to have to commit the act would have left us unaware why he truly left home – whether to fulfill an arbitrary but fairly simplistic command or to shape the destiny of the Nation. Yet without his heart wholeheartedly directed to the coming sacrifice, he could not demonstrate any willingness to complete a נסיון not to be fulfilled. But, as we will develop, completion is not even a small part of the story.

[7] The concept presented throughout this section that two realities surround יצחק’s death, שרה’s and ours, is not meant to be any more Kabbalistic than the imagery of a man who died ten minutes before John F. Kennedy was shot – to the fullest extent of that man’s reality, Kennedy was never shot! Similarly, the 80% of the Jews who were blind to the belief in their eventual salvation from Egyptian bondage had this reality confirmed for them as they died during the ninth of the ten plagues, חושך.

[8] The “ליקויטי הערות על אור החיים” is helpful here. In a novel approach, he explains אור החיים as pinning the צער which led to שרה’s death squarely on the shoulders of her not dying in a hospital bed even while, as the פסוק makes abundantly clear, she did live out her years.

We could perhaps have understood the מדרש to imply that it was the צער of her son’s apparent death which led to שרה’s own. In fact, that approach in understanding the מדרש would have been difficult: would the then coincidence that she also lived out her years have needed to be made so clear by the פסוק? More important would have been the connection to her son, but this is not found in these פסוקים. In the revised approach, however, her death occurred at the right time but in a most unusual way – on her feet. The connection to her son is now closer to a “coincidence,” but, as the פסוק makes no mention of his death here, this approach appears more appropriate. It is on the basis of this explanation that we will base our forthcoming comments.

[9] רש”י et al, בראשית כג:א.

[10] Compare this with the difficult idea of שרה’s וסת returning at an atypically old age. Apparently, שרה truly retained until the end of her life every sign of youth and vigor which she had had when she was three years old! She was probably the youngest and oldest to ever have her וסת intact. Yet her candle truly burned at both ends for, as we are developing, she was likewise unable to end her life with the grace of an old lady soliciting farewells with each new wrinkle. But I’ve never been an old lady, maybe this way was better.

[11] Note that, after burying שרה, אברהם immediately initiates the search for יצחק’s wife, the woman who would temper his דינא קשיא. Apparently אברהם understood the importance of tempering יצחק’s temper before its temporary effects would tamper more things!

[12] See שבת לג.. For a discussion of the synthesis as paralleling the integration of the harsher and softer sides of דין, see Rav Weinberg, p. 87.

[13] דברי הימים א כא:טו

[14] ברכות סב:

[15] The importance of the people’s עבודה, when mixed with the sacrifice of the אבות, is a powerful force. See the quote by Rav Belkin which closes this paper.

[16] See שבת פח.. Like אברהם’s commitment, בני ישראל’s did not come immediately, came with great effort, and was considerably more complicated than displayed in the פסוקים.

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Exploring Lecha Dodi, Part 4: Verse #2 – Likrat Shabbat

Other entries in this series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Having explored the Refrain and Verse 1, we move on now to Verse 2 of Lecha Dodi.

לקראת שבת לכו ונלכה
כי היא מקור הברכה
מראש, מקדם, נסוכה
סוף מעשה במחשבה תחילה

To greet Shabbat we will go out and we will come,
For it is the source of the Blessing.
From the start, from earliest days, it was menusach;
The final activity was first in design.

This verse appears to describe the primordial nature of Shabbat, its place in the Creation Narrative. Thus, thematically, this verse could have gone before the last one. On a textual level, as well, this verse would seem to precede Verse 1, with the opening line of this verse mirroring the Refrain. We will have to see why this verse is here rather than earlier.

Also interesting is the apparent redundancy in Line 1: Lechu V’Neilcha – we will go and we will come. There is a tradition that the Ari z”l, who blessed this song written in his days by R’ Shlomo Alkabetz, would go with his followers into a field before Shabbat each week to literally “welcome Shabbat.” This line could allude to that trip – let’s leave this place and go out to physically welcome Shabbat. Netiv Binah (vol. 2, p. 62) adds that outside of Israel, where that was never as prominent a tradition, Shuls were once located outside of the city limits, and people would invite each other to leave their homes and go to Shul to publicly welcome Shabbat together.

To me, the phraseology evokes the cadence and feelings of “Na’aseh V’Nishma,” our famous do-first-ask-later mantra. Shabbat, too, asks of us sometimes to suspend our emotions in favor of a certain measure of a leap of faith. Where there are aspects with which we feel comfortable, good – the Torah contains many “ma’asiot u’middot,” as the Ramban refers to the intuitive parts of Torah. But then there are Chukim, Mishpatim, Torot – aspects of Torah which require a lifetime or more to partially or fully understand, appreciate, or integrate into our psyche. To these, no less, must we be willing to push ourselves to “Lechu” even before we can intellectually “V’Neilcha.” The Na’aseh V’Nishma aspect of the whole Torah, which calls upon us to synch our own intellect with Hashem’s or die trying, finds a localized home in Shabbat, about which there are likewise things we understand and others which we don’t.

The Etz Yosef commentary in Siddur Otzar HaTefillot contains a beautiful explanation of Line 2 of our verse. Etz Yosef and Lechem Rav both quote Ohr Hachaim (to Bereishit 2:3) that the world was created with only a short battery life – six days on a full charge – but Shabbat came along and, as it continues to do every week, “recharged” the world to allow it to exist for another week. Thus, Shabbat was and is the “Mekor HaBeracha,” the source by which the world exists and that which allows the world to “Baruch” – bends its berech, knee, in humility – for the “spark” which Shabbat provides to the week and to the world. The Etz Yosef even goes further, explaining that all of the worlds benefit from Shabbat:

… וביאורו, כי נודע לכל אשר ביום השבת קודש הקב”ה מחדש עולמו, ומאיר ומופיע ומבהיק באורו הרב לכל העולמות – עליונים ותחתונים יתר על כל החגים והזמנים – כי הוא נקרא קודש מעצמו והם אינם נקראים אלא מקרא קודש …

The Etz Yosef’s reasoning here, that Shabbat is already Kadosh while the holidays must be made Kadosh, an idea we have spoken about in the past, provides an interesting contrast to Line 1, which celebrated our active involvement in greeting Shabbat. On the one hand, Shabbat is “Mekor HaBeracha,” that which is Kadosh Mei’eilav and which in that vein is able to provide a spark to the rest of the week which would not be possible if it was subject to the ordinary limitations of being made Kadosh by Mankind. At the same time, we express our involvement in the Kedusha process of Shabbat by our “Lechu V’Neilcha,” greeting Shabbat with excitement, taking it in early (Lechu) and escorting it out late (V’Neilcha). The Kadosh Mei’eilav element which gives Shabbat its added ability to light up the worlds is not an excuse for us to step back and let Shabbat run on auto-pilot but rather an opportunity by which to more greatly grow and enhance our own level of Kedusha.

The word “נסוכה” in Line 3 is a tough one to understand. Here is a sampling of what’s out there:

  • Birnbaum: “It was Ordained;”
  • ArtScroll: “She was honored” (from Etz Yosef – נתכבדה);
  • Iyun Tefillah (in Otzar HaTefillot): Crowned (based on Mishlei 8:23);
  • Anaf Yosef (in Otzar HaTefillot): Anointed. He points out that each letter of “ראש” precedes by one its counterpart letter in “שבת.” On Shabbat, the kingship of “שבת” anoints and thus replaces the “ראש.” Thus: מראש מקדם נסוכה – from the [letters of] ראש which precede it [מקדם], it [שבת] becomes anointed [נסוכה].

Lechem Rav explains the sequence of these lines beautifully: Shabbat not only recharges the week, thus serving as the source by which every week can be blessed and therefore can continue to exist (Line 2), but it even caused the world to exist for the first six days of Creation before the first Shabbat ever happened (Line 3) because although Shabbat did not happen until Day #7, it was included in the master plan of Creation in order to allow Days 1-6 to move forward (Line 4).

Iyun Tefillah explains Line 4 in a way which may connect well to Line 1. I.T. cites a Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 10:9) which compares the advent of Shabbat to a King (of course) who creates and decorates a wedding canopy before the bride actually shows up. Although an onlooker might think he’s crazy for doing all that work, he is obviously aware of the existence of the bride at the time that he is undertaking the labor. Thus, too, although Shabbat may not have appeared until Day #7, Hashem was obviously aware of its conception before He went to work creating the rest of the world. Shabbat was סוף מעשה not as an insult to Shabbat but rather so that it would enter a full, ready, and waiting world. Or conversely, if Shabbat had not been במחשבה תחילה, the rest of the the world would not have been able to greet it with open arms when it arrived סוף מעשה.

And that’s where Verse 2 comes full circle – we are able to לכו ונלכה into the fields because we are in a world which waited impatiently for the סוף מעשה to finally get here already. Remember that ad campaign a few years ago for Monday Night Football which asked, “Is It Monday Yet?” We’re not much more patient – Shabbat is our  מחשבה תחילה as we start out our week by reminding each other, “היום יום ראשון בשבת.” Shabbat is only סוף מעשה so that by the time it gets here, we can be impatient enough to run to it like a kid in a candy store – לקראת שבת לכו ונלכה.

And so we have really answered our first question, about why this verse appears here rather than earlier. Although the description appears on the surface to be of an earlier conception of Shabbat, שבת בראשית, it really describes a constantly-recurring cycle in which we express our excitement for Shabbat (Line 1) because it has returned again to regenerate the world for another six days (Line 2), a cycle which is illustrated and provided for by the historical role that Shabbat played during שבת בראשית (Lines 3-4). Shabbat’s place in the Creation Narrative is presented here not as static but as dynamic, as the force by which the world can continue to exist this very week because of the power with which it was vested during Creation. And it is to that regeneration, and Shabbat’s concomitant role as the מקור הברכה, that we לכו ונלכה each week.

That about covers (or at least scratches the surface of) Verse 2; we will move on to Verse 3 – the first of the Geulah Verses – next week.

Posted in Lecha Dodi, Tefillah | 4 Comments

Weekly Feature: Frum … Or Krum?? – A Cappella Music During the Three Weeks

And now it’s time for our somewhat-weekly exploration of trends and whims in the Jewish community and how they stack up to the rigors of intellectual Halachic analysis.

This Week’s Entry: An email I received last week from a Jewish Music store. The email left no room for ambiguity:

“The 3 weeks are coming, stock up! Choose from any of these 4 great albums perfect for the 3 weeks season. The “3” Weeks are coming stock up “2”day with “1” big a cappella sale TAKE 15% OFF enter code at checkout. While supplies last, not responsible for typographical errors.”

What is the basis for the widespread prohibition against listening to music between Shiva Asar B’Tammuz and Tisha B’Av, an amount of time the marketing geniuses who rule our lives like to constantly remind us is precisely three weeks? (I like “the 3 Weeks Season” in the email above – like “the Holiday Season” in December, the invention of “The Three Weeks” is a ready-made marketing invasion meant to draw in nervous patrons with ready cash on hand before the music-less calamity hits.)

Discussion: The idea of not listening to music between Shiva Asar B’Tammuz and Tisha B’Av is not mentioned in the Shulchan Aruch, Rama, or Mishna Berura (such as in Orach Chaim 551), presumably because less than ten chapters later (see O.C. 560:3) they state explicitly, although to varying degrees of stricture, that music is prohibited year-round anyway. Thus it would have been more surprising if they had mentioned only a limited rule in O.C. 551 and then extended it more generally in O.C. 560.

Nevertheless, we can be somewhat mollified by the fact that Rav Moshe Feinstein, in Iggerot Moshe, seems to begrudgingly accept the fact that, appropriately or not, we people do listen to music year-round, and thus a new Halachic reality needs to be considered. In a letter dated 4 Tammuz 1958, Rav Moshe discusses at length the prohibition surrounding music in our days, concluding as follows:

שו”ת אגרות משה אורח חיים חלק א סימן קסו
ובימי ספירה יש לאסור בזמרא דמנא (with instruments) אף להמתירין. ידידו, משה פיינשטיין.

Please be aware that that was not a Teshuva about Sefirah, and Rav Moshe did not mention Sefirah until that last line. Especially given the fact that the letter was written on 4 Tammuz, less than two weeks before the Three Weeks were to begin, it really would have been perfectly simple for him to add the words “ובימי בין המצרים” if he had felt that that would be a valid additional stringency for those who listen to music year-round. Rav Moshe, of course, was a careful and deliberate writer, especially in the case of his published material.

Nevertheless, the masses of Jewry wanted to accept this additional stringency upon ourselves. That being said, we needed to make a decision: Three Weeks, Nine Days, Shavua She’chal Bo (the week in which Tisha B’Av falls), or only Tisha B’Av itself?

This chart lays out the schedule of restrictions in the days and weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av as understood by the Mechaber (Sefardi), Rama (Ashkenazi), and Mishna Berura (Ashkenazi). (The Chart is presented in the order of the Shulchan Aruch, not chronologically.) A look at the chart shows that the “Three Weeks” concept was not very important to the Mechaber. The only things which the Mechaber proscribes for all three weeks are either tentative on his part (fasting or at least refraining from meat and wine, which the Mechaber admitted could be taken on for less time) or less than consequential (walking alone during certain hours of the day, hitting students). She’hechiyanu is perhaps one exception; we will come back to that in just a moment.

The Be’er Hagolah, usually interested in giving sources for the Mechaber and Rama, in this case supplies us with reasons for the Mechaber’s strict rulings on these issues (perhaps he is surprised that the Mechaber would restrict anything for three weeks):

  • Meat and wine, because the daily Tamid offering and libations were lost on Shiva Asar B’Tammuz;
  • Eating and drinking, either because of Daniel’s three weeks of fasting or to mark the period of the surrounding and destruction of the city [during which historical time righteous people may have fasted];
  • She’hechiyanu because, the Mishna Berura explains, how indeed can we thank Hashem for “bringing us to this time,” one of sorrow and despair? Nevertheless, the Mishna Berura cites the Gra, Taz, and “Harbeh Acharonim” who disagree with this “Chumra Yeteira” altogether, on which basis the Mishna Berura permits the Berachah to be made on Shabbat.

Those are the consequential Three Week customs as given by the Mechaber. In contrast, court cases, business, joyous building and planting, weddings, engagement parties, haircuts, laundering, wearing freshly laundered clothes, wearing new clothes, creating new clothes, and showering are all, according to the Mechaber, to be limited either from Rosh Chodesh or only during the actual week of Tisha B’Av.

Is it possible that, if he hadn’t prohibited music year-round, the Mechaber would have added music to the much shorter list of activities prohibited for three weeks? Maybe so – remember the Be’er Hagolah’s reasoning behind not eating meat or drinking wine during this time period, that the Tamid and libations ended on 17 Tammuz? Perhaps we could say that because the music of the Levi’im also came to an end at this time, it is a worthwhile stringency to limit music during this time. But for that matter, we would have to prohibit a cappella music, too. And standing on platforms. And visiting a petting zoo.

It is really the Rama, writing for Ashkenazim, who put the “Three Weeks” on the map by famously adding weddings to the list of three week-long prohibitions (see end of 551:2). The Rama (middle of 551:3) also stretched many “within week” bans to the Nine Days (haircuts for adults, laundering, wearing freshly laundered clothes, wearing new clothes) and resolved some ambiguities on the side of Nine Days (eating meat, drinking wine, showering), and the Mishna Berura (551:82) extends the haircut ban to the whole Three Weeks period. But the list of “Three Week prohibitions” relevant to contemporary Ashkenazim is still relatively small: Weddings, haircuts for adults, saying She’hechiyanu, walking alone from 4:00-9:00 pm, hitting students, and walking from heat to shade (MB 551:102). (The Mishna Berura also says that we should cry from about 12:30-1:00 pm every day during this period – ibid :103.) Activities in which even contemporary Ashkenazim can safely participate from 17 Tammuz until Rosh Chodesh include court cases, dressing nicely, any business, all types of building, any planting, engagement parties, haircuts for children, laundering, wearing freshly laundered clothes, wearing new clothes, creating new clothes, buying new clothes, selling or giving new clothes, eating meat, drinking wine, and showering. So again, with such a small list, is it really necessary to add music to the list of prohibited activities from 17 Tammuz until Rosh Chodesh? Is that consistent with the general trend in the Rama and Mishna Berura?

Maybe so, because music and weddings are certainly linked in other contexts. See, for example, the debate about the extent of the year-round music ban in 560:3, where the Rama limits the Mechaber’s year-round ban on music (“וכן גזרו שלא לנגן בכלי שיר וכל מיני זמר וכל משמיעי קול של שיר”) to particularly joyous situations: ויש אומרים דוקא מי שרגיל בהם כגון המלכים … או בבית המשתה … וכן לצורך מצוה, כגון בבית חתן וכלה, הכל שרי. The Aruch Hashulchan (551:8), in discussing the Three Weeks, also makes such a link explicitly:

ערוך השולחן אורח חיים סימן תקנא סעיף ח
וכן אין נושאין נשים מראש חודש ואפילו בלא סעודה … ואפילו שמחת מריעות נראה דאסור, והוא הדין שידוכין אצלינו – מותר להתקשר מראש חודש ולהלן, אבל בלא סעודה, וכל שכן בלא ריקודין ומחולות. ואפילו בשבת אסור לעשות סעודה בשביל זה. ואפילו מי”ז בתמוז אסור ריקודין ומחולות, כמו שאנו נוהגין לבלי לעשות נשואין מי”ז בתמוז עד אחר תשעה באב, ולא דמי לסעודת מילה ופדיון הבן שמותר דהזמן גרמא וגם אין בזה שמחה דאין שמחה אלא בענייני זיווגים שעליהם מברכין שהשמחה במעונו ולכן כל השייך לזה האירוסין והקישורי תנאים הוי שמחה ולא מילה ופדה”ב:

The Aruch Hashulchan clearly prohibits “dancing and merrymaking” (“ריקודים ומחולות”) during the whole Three Weeks period, with an exact parallel made to the ban on weddings during this time. Whether background music on ITunes while I am alone in my house infers the same connotation as the Aruch Hashulchan’s “ריקודים ומחולות” is perhaps an open question. Perhaps with the proliferation of music in our days, we should not be so quick to make the most immediately accessible leap from the less common and more joyous music of 100 years ago to the relatively benign and almost unnoticeable music which floods our lives from morning to night.

In any event, if we are to make the wedding-music connection, we need to know how Sefardim rule regarding the extent of the ban on weddings during this time period, which the Mechaber left very open-ended. The ambiguity on this issue even today is perhaps best expressed in this fine article:

Some Sephardic communities, as do virtually all Ashkenazic communities, desist from having weddings and musical functions for the three weeks. Most Sephardic communities, as is the practice in Israel, following Shulhan Arukh, desist for nine days only, beginning Rosh Hodesh Ab. For many decades the Aleppo-derived Brooklyn Syrian community has not held weddings during the three weeks.

(Some+Most=?) If Sefardim cannot make the wedding-music connection, can they at least make the meat-wine-music connection that we proposed earlier (all three were ended on 17 Tammuz)?

Beginning Rosh Hodesh Ab … [w]e refrain from meat, including chicken, and wine during these days. Out of respect for Rosh Hodesh, the Syrian community begins these latter stringencies from the second of the month.

Verdict:Sefardim – Krum. It is difficult to create a reasonable Halachic paradigm for forbidding music for all three weeks which accords with historical Sefardi practice, in which limiting meat and wine from 17 Tammuz until Rosh Chodesh is at best a Chumra which seems never to have gained widespread acceptance and in which weddings are restricted only during the Nine Days. After all, if Sefardim are holding weddings from 17 Tammuz until Rosh Chodesh, would they still not listen to music in their car on the way home from the wedding? Hard to say. Connecting music to She’hechiyanu is a tough one.

This Chumra essentially makes music more of an issue than meat and wine, weddings, and many other items explicitly permitted during this time by the Mechaber, which rewrites the books on whether those items were “correctly” permitted in the first place. While the Mechaber was busy building a neat pile of Halachot, we are throwing on a Chumra which does not match and which distracts from the paradigm he was trying to create. We always have to be careful that our Chumrot are not a patch of neon wallpaper on an otherwise plain grey wall. This Chumra threatens to distract from the uniqueness of the Nine Days and Shavua She’Chal Bo which were important to the Mechaber to impart.

Ashkenazim – Frum. Ashkenazimhave somewhat more to stand on, as the Ashkenazi poskim were at least equally interested in building a paradigm around the Three Weeks as the Nine Days (or certainly Shavua She’Chal Bo). Although we likewise never accepted upon ourselves the Mechaber’s Chumra to limit wine and meat as early as 17 Tammuz, and although a connection to She’hechiyanu or haircuts is hard to make, our practice to restrict weddings from the earlier date may, especially in light of the Aruch Hashulchan’s ban on “ריקודים ומחולות” during the longer time period, be a valid Chumra. Nevertheless, this Chumra should be taken within its proper context. Besides having very little Halachic basis, it similarly calls into question many other practices which are only observed for the Nine Days.

Most importantly, we hope and pray that any effort expended in learning and clarifying these Halachot serve only to hasten the days when they will be no more than a historical relic.

Credit for identification of the Aruch Hashulchan in this article goes to my brother-in-law Yisroel Simcha Abramson and his very thorough Sefer Yismach Yisrael: Likutei Halachot B’Inyan Zemer. See there, especially Chapters 10-11 and Appendix 3:8 for more on some of these matters and other important issues, including attempts at resolution of the Mechaber and Ramas’ year-round rulings with the contemporary stringency during the Nine Days. Also see there (in the Appendix) for an interesting perspective that perhaps, since music is banned year-round anyway, those authorities who mention a specific Three Weeks-related ban mean to prohibit even a cappella music which might, at least in certain situations, be permitted the rest of the year.

Posted in Frum ... Or Krum??, Halacha, Three Weeks and Tisha B'Av | Leave a comment

Exploring Lecha Dodi, Part 3: Verse #1 – Shamor V’Zachor

Other entries in this series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

We left off last week with two questions related to the end of Verse 1:

1) We seem to state that already in the present, ה’ אחד ושמו אחד. Elsewhere in Tefillah, however, we state that as a hope for the future – ביום ההוא יהיה ה’ אחד ושמו אחד. What does this phrase mean altogether, and is this idea something that is already true today, or only in the future?
2) What is the meaning of the last line, and what does it mean that Hashem’s שם is אחד for שם?

It is simultaneously obvious and perplexing that we recite “Mizmor Shir L’Yom HaShabbat,” following Lecha Dodi, to welcome Shabbat. Obvious, because Shabbat is right there in the first line. Perplexing, because nowhere else in that Perek does Shabbat seem to have any mention. Rashi explains:

פירוש רש”י לתהלים פרק צב פסוק א
ליום השבת – שאומרים אותו בשבתות, והוא מדבר בענין העולם הבא שכולו שבת

Mizmor Shir represents more than the onset of Shabbat – by extension, it represents the World to Come. By discussing the World to Come, per force we discuss Shabbat. This is because, as we say in the Zemirot, מעין עולם הבא, יום שבת מנוחה – Shabbat is a weekly taste of the lofty life we may one day live in the World to Come. How is this idea expressed in the Siddur?

Until now we have looked at Lecha Dodi in a vacuum, but this perspective is limited and incomplete. Munk (Heb. Ed., 10-11) explains that the first six Perakim of what we call “Kabbalat Shabbat” were compiled to represent the first six days of Creation, while the seventh and eighth Perakim, particularly Mizmor Shir L’Yom HaShabbat, represent Shabbat. By extension, then, the first six Perakim also represent the first six Millennia of the world’s existence, while Mizmor Shir represents the seventh Millennium and the epoch of Moshiach. In one instant, Lecha Dodi serves as a triumphant welcoming bugle-call to the Perek of Mizor Shir, the day of Shabbat, and the Messianic Era.

Both Lecha Dodi and Mizmor Shir use Messianic-era terminology expressed in contemporary phraseology to evoke the feeling that Shabbat is מעין עולם הבא, a taste of the World to Come. As we reach the top of the ladder with Lecha Dodi and Mizmor Shir, we feel comfortable expressing in Messianic terms that, even now, ה’ אחד ושמו אחד. There are ideas being expressed both in Lecha Dodi and in Mizmor Shir that are not technically true insofar as we know them today, but which are true in the larger, more ephemeral sense that is evoked by Shabbat’s symbiotic relationship with the World to Come.

Thus, this verse has transported us back to Marah and Har Sinai before catapulting us forward to the World to Come. At the same time, it reminds us that Shabbat is more than a day of the week. It is a reminder of the limitedness of our lives if they remain unexamined and the limitlessness of our lives to the extent that we step back one day a week and remember why we live them – for the passage that they offer us to the World to Come. [This idea will become more relevant as we proceed past Verse #2 of Lecha Dodi – Verses 3-8 hardly mention Shabbat and have everything to do with Geulah and Moshiach.]

For another possible answer to how we can express futuristic ideas in the present tense, see the first section of our Pesach Insights, “The Future as Past Experience.” There we develop that sometimes we express future as present because we believe so strongly in that future that we cannot help but experience it already now.

How can we understand the last line of Verse 1? Although Netiv Binah quotes many sources, including R’ S. R. Hirsch, who assume that Line #4 connects to Line #3, the commentary Iyun Tefillah to Siddur Otzar HaTefillot, perhaps picking up on our question of how Hashem’s שם can be אחד for שם, makes the creative suggestion that Line #4 is actually a continuation of Line #2:

פירוש עיון תפילה לסידור אוצר התפילות דף רצט-598
לשם ולתפארת ולתהילה
– מוסב על “השמיענו” וגו’, להיות לנו זה “לשם ולתפארת ולתהילה” – נגדה נא לכל עמי התבל – אשר בחר בנו, ונתן לנו את תורתו. ומיוסד על לשון הכתוב (דברים כו, יט), “ולשמור כל מצותיו וגו’ לתהילה לשם ולתפארת.”

By allowing us to hear “Shamor” and “Zachor” simultaneously – by allowing us to be “God-like” at the very moment that he gave us the Torah and Shabbat – Hashem made us a cause of שם, תפארת, ותהילה among the Nations of the world. Iyun Tefillah points out that the source for this three-word phrase is Devarim 26:19, in which Moshe describes the symbiotic relationship between the Jews and God: you have made God distinguished by following His Laws, and He has made you distinguished among the other Nations “לתהילה לשם ולתפארת.” This seems to support the Iyun Tefillah’s contention that the intention here is to describe ourselves as having been endowed with שם, תפארת, ותהילה.

Thus, the Iyun Tefillah would read the verse as follows:

“Shamor” and “Zachor” in a single word
We were given permission to hear by the singular God –
He who is single and whose reputation is singular –
Such that we would come to be regarded for שם, תפארת, ותהילה.

Notice that the Pasuk (לתהילה לשם ולתפארת) has the words in a different order than Lecha Dodi (לשם לתפארת ולתהילה). We don’t have R’ Alkabetz’s first name to use as an excuse this time, but Netiv Binah (vol. 2, p. 62) pins the change on the need to end every verse with the same guttural sound. If I could offer another possibility: The juxtaposition of Hashem’s שם in Line #3 to the שם that is made for us in Line #4 is much to the point of this verse, particularly as it is understood by the Iyun Tefillah. The verse in its totality is expressing the emotional relationship between Hashem (who is אחד because of his שם) and us (who strive to be אחד in our experience of Shabbat, our understanding of which (השמיענו) causes us to have שם in the world). Thus, Line #3 becomes less a throwaway line than it was a few minutes ago and instead serves as an important introduction to Line #4: the very way in which our השמיענו (Line #2) causes us to be אחד (Line #4) is through our שם (Line #4) – as demonstrated by the fact that שם is also the cause of Hashem’s being אחד (Line #3).

In fact, all three words in this line express the importance of a pristine outward importance for the Jews among the other Nations:

     שם connotes one’s reputation as it is defined by others – the phrase אנשי שם, regularly used in Chumash, carries the meaning that the people under discussion were regarded highly by others.

     תפארת appears again in the Shacharit Shemoneh Esrei: כליל תפארת בראשו נתת לו בעמדו לפניך על הר סיני – a crown of Tiferet You (Hashem) put on his (Moshe’s) head when he stood on Har Sinai. Tiferet is often juxtaposed with the word כליל, which I understand is not a hard, metallic-like crown, but a soft crown of laurels. A crown is a symbol to others of one’s stature or high position, as Moshe’s and the Jews’ elevated position was made known to the other Nations at Har Sinai through the gift of Shabbat and the concomitant way in which we were made God-like (השמיענו) through that experience. (Thus the sudden interpolation of Shabbat in this paragraph of Shemoneh Esrei, when it was just talking a moment ago about the larger Har Sinai experience.)

     תהילה also appears again throughout Shabbat in this familiar line:
הודו על ארץ ושמים/ וירם:קרן לעמו / תהלה לכל חסידיו / לבני ישראל, עם קרובו
[Although] Hashem’s glory is in Heaven / he [nevertheless] shines a ray of light to His People / through his righteous ones – and all of the Jews – having תהלה.
Thus again, תהלה as a means of inspiring or inculcating a reputation among admirers.

Thus we have a three-fold opportunity to use the exalted unification we were provided by having been allowed to hear שמור and זכור simultaneously to inspire the rest of the Nations as we improve ourselves. And to do this, we start with שם – as Hashem Himself is distinguished by שם. An ambitious mission, but Coach says we can do it, so we believe it.

Alrighty – next week we will move on to Verse #2, and there we will need to consider why Shabbat Bereishit comes after Marah and Har Sinai in the song.

Shabbat Shalom.

Posted in Lecha Dodi, Tefillah | 1 Comment