#TorahGram

Religious Confidence
Religious Zionism, and Modern Orthodoxy for that matter, often fall into the trap of seeing those to the right of us as “more religious”, and thus has to find ways to justify why it “isn’t as religious,” why it’s ok for us to not be Haredi. Without casting aspersions on the Haredi community, we have to have more self-confidence. We do what we do because we believe in it, and we should be explaining it on that basis, not on apologetics and pragmatic excuses. “Rav Unterman attempted to establish a holiday to commemorate the victory in war, but simultaneously attempted to preserve the mindset of
insignificance of a person who cannot innovate anything. This is an extreme example of the strengthening the Haredi position that characterizes many of the stances in Religious Zionism. This approach is expressed by constantly glancing at the Haredi community, which is taken as revealing authentic Judaism, and by the attempt to refrain from doing anything that would break the halakhic continuity [of the communities]. Practically speaking, such positions accept the Haredi position which sees Zionism as a rebellion against the Torah, and therefore they base the Religious-Zionist approach on pragmatic calculations, rather than on ideology.” ~Rav Shagar, “On That Day”, pg. 290

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Parashat Yitro 5775 – When Judges are Priests: On the place of the Teachers in Relation to the Law

When Judges are Priests: On the place of the Teachers in relation to the Law

Leading up to the Revelation at Har Sinai, the people are commanded not to approach the mountain (Shemot 19:12-13). Bizarrely, right before the ten commandments, perhaps the most pivotal moment of  Sefer Shemot, Moshe is commanded to once again tell the people to stay away from the mountain (19:21-24). While superficially redundant, this second command differs from the first in that it refers not only to “the people” but also to “the priests that approach God” (19:22). This immediately presents a problem as the priests (כהנים) that the Torah normally speaks of, Aharon and his sons, have not been appointed yet, nor has the Mishkan, their place of work, been built yet, nor have the relevant laws even been given yet. Though there are multiple approaches within the traditional commentators when it comes to understanding this phrase, we will focus on the rather unique approach of R’ Hezekiah ben Manoah (more commonly known as the Hizkuni). In order to fully understanding why he chose the approach that he did, we will first look at some of the more common understandings, enabling us to appreciate the unique and powerful message of the Hizkuni’s approach.

The most common understanding of the “priests that approach God” is that they are the firstborns of the Israelite nation. This approach originates in the gemara (Bavli, Zevahim, 115b), and is taken by R’ Avraham Ibn Ezra, Rashi, Rashbam, and Rabbeinu Behaye, as well as being mentioned as a possibility in the Ohr HaHayyim and the more modern Daat Mikra commentary. This interpretation is based on a few factors. First is the dedication of the firstborns to ‘א in Shemot 13, as a consequence of ‘א saving them from the death of the firstborns in Egypt. Perhaps more crucial though is the replacement of the firstborns with the Leviim in Bamidbar 3 (mentioned again in Bamidbar 8). The Leviim are dedicated to the work of ‘א’s Sanctuary, the Mishkan (Bamidbar 18:6). This implies that, before they were replaced by the Leviim, the firstborns were in charge of the work of the mishkan. However, this approach suffers from several problems. First is the understanding of the phrase “that approach God.” Ibn Ezra mentions two understandings of this phrase. The first is that this “approach” is their position during the Revelation at Sinai, that the firstborns will be standing closer to the mountain than the rest of the Israelites, though still beyond the border mentioned in Shemot 19:12-13. The problem with this is that the context of the phrase “that approach God” is the command for the priests to stay beyond the fence, implying that for some reason the firstborn would think they do not need to stay beyond the border. Thus the command has to be in response to something that happened in the past that would give the priests this impression. This is presumably what motivates Ibn Ezra’s second understanding, that the “approach to God” described in this verse is a reference to the priests bringing sacrifices on the altar that Moshe built after the war with Amalek. While this is certainly possible, and the altar was built just two chapters previous to our verse making it somewhat contextual, it suffers from not being explicit in the text. Without any explicit textual mention of sacrifices being brought on the altar, it is more likely that the altar was built as a memorial and as an act of gratitude to ‘א, in the manner of the Avot (cf. Bereishit 12:7-8, 13:18, 33:20, 35:7). However the larger issue with understanding the “priests” as the firstborn is that when the sanctified firstborn are replaced, it is not by the priests, but by the Leviim, so to say that they are priests here in Shemot 19 would be a little strange.

Though mentioned by fewer commentators, there is an approach that avoids this issue. Both Rabbeinu Behaye and the Ohr HaHayyim mention the possibility that the “priests that approach God” of Shemot 19 are the sons of Aharon, who will in the future be appointed as priests. This however suffers from the same lack of precedent as the previous interpretation. Simply put, before Aharon’s sons are explicitly appointed as priests in Sefer Vayikra, they have no reason to think they should stand closer to the mountain than anyone else, and so it is unlikely that they would have to be told not to do so.

This brings us to the comment of the Hizkuni. The Hizkuni actually presents two possibilities. His first suggestion makes use of the initial understanding, that the priests are the firstborns, but changes it in a way that avoids the problematic lack of precedent. Hizkuni says that it was the 70 Elders that were firstborns.[1] This has the advantage of the firstborns approach in that they are sanctified to ‘א, but it also has an explicit textual precedent. In Shemot 18, the chapter immediately prior to the one we’re dealing with, the Elders eat a meal with Yitro and Moshe “before ‘א” (18:12). While the exact meaning of this phrase is unclear, it would seem to indicate a degree of closeness or familiarity with ‘א that would require them to be specifically told that they need to stay back. However, this approach can be understood in one of two ways. The first is that the “Elders” is essentially a subcategory of the “Firstborns.” While this is possible it is also somewhat strange, and not only because it is unlikely that every single one of the Elders was also a firstborn. More importantly, in this understanding the seventy Elders are firstborns, but there were plenty of other firstborns who aren’t in this category. Thus the fact that the Elders are firstborns would be merely coincidental, and it is strange that the Hizkuni would mention it. More likely is the second reading, that the Elders and the Firstborns are two separate but identical categories, both of which contributed to them being called “priests.” Thus both the sanctification to ‘א and the eating before Him are significant. This too however suffers from a strangeness, namely that not only would all of the Elders be firstborns, but that there would only be 70 firstborns in a group with 600,000 men. This is likely what prompted Hizkuni to offer his second, more original, understanding.

Hizkuni’s second suggestion is that the “priests that approach God” of Shemot 19:22 are the Judges and Officers appointed in Shemot 18. While his assigning of the term “priests” to the judges is quite original, this understanding has a certain logic to it, as Hizkuni explains. As support for this approach, Hizkuni quotes Devarim 1:17, “for the judgment is God’s.” Thus their very nature as judges has a certain logic to it. Meanwhile, Sefer Devarim also conflates the priests with the teachers of the Law (31:11, 33:10), a job specifically referenced in context of the appointment of the Judges in Shemot 18 (vss.16, 20). So while the priest would be the teachers once they get into the land, Hizkuni sees the teachers as the priests before the giving of the Torah. Their special positions as teachers and Judges makes them automatically closer to ‘א , not to mention it separates them from the rest of the people who they would have seen as students. This alone might have been reason enough for them to think that they should stand closer to the Revelation at Sinai, but, as Hizkuni points out, there is another reason for them to think that. The Revelation at Sinai is the revelation of the Law, and as those responsible for teaching and adjudicating that law, it is quite natural that they would have thought they should be closer. This would not have been a privilege, but a responsibility, to be as intimately involved in the giving of the law as possible. In this, however, they are rebuffed, as Moshe is specifically sent down to tell them that they are not separate, that the entire people is equal before the law. The only exception is Moshe (Aharon is included only in his capacity as Moshe’s spokesperson), who throughout Bnei Yisrael’s journey in the Wilderness receives the law via prophecy, while the judges in the desert and after Moshe’s death do not (I have written about this here). Thus, while the judges and teachers of the Law are close to ‘א, there is an important distance between them and the revelation of the Law.

The Hizkuni’s comment has an important lesson to teach us about the relationship between the people of Israel, rabbinic authority, and the Torah. We know from Devarim that, “Moses commanded us a law, an inheritance of the congregation of Yaakov” (33:4). The law was not given to its teachers, to the judges, but to the entirety of the people of Israel. Rabbinic authority is not inherent in the rabbis, but comes from their familiarity with the law; not from creating the law but from understanding it. Thus it is incumbent upon all of Israel, each and every one of us, to approach the Torah personally, not to depend upon rabbinic intermediaries. The Torah belongs to all of us, and we each have our own portion in it. It’s not enough to trust that someone knows the law, we have to understand and appreciate it ourselves.

[1] In this he combines Zevahim 115b with מכילתא בחדש פ״ד.

Parashat Toledot – Rivkah’s Oracle and Interpretive Responsibility

וְרַב יַעֲבֹד צָעִיר

Parashat Toledot opens with the story of the childless Rivkah and Yitzhak praying for a child, and then conceiving. Rivkah experiences a tumultuous feeling within her body, and so she goes to inquire of ‘א (Bereishit 25:22). She receives a detailed prophetic response depicting the future of her progeny. “There are two nations in your belly; Two peoples will depart separate from your womb. One people will be stronger than the other, and the elder will serve the younger” (25:23). This seems like a clear and straightforward statement. Rivkah has twins in her womb, each of which will grow to be a great nation, and the older one will serve the younger. However, if Rivkah is presented with this clear message, then understanding the rest of Rivkah’s story (25:19-34; 26:34-28:9) presents us with numerous difficulties, not the least of which is the question of why Rivkah did not simply tell Yitzhak that Esav was destined to be in charge. However, if the oracle is understood as somewhat more ambiguous, then we can learn not only the story, but also about the way we relate to the Word of ‘א.

The first textual difficulty we are presented with is found in 25:24, “And the days of her term were full; and behold, there were twins in her belly.” The second half of this verse repeats information that we have already received not once, but twice before. Not only did it appear in the oracle in the previous verse, but the verse before that specifically references that she has more than one son within her. Thus this verse presents a redundancy that must be explained. Rav Dovid Kimchi (רד״ק) explains that this verse ought to be understood as “And behold, the twins were born.” This understanding is problematic however, as the verse explicitly mentions that the twins were in her womb, something that Radak’s understanding leaves out. Rav Shemuel Ben Meir (רשב״ם) and Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch understand the verse to be speaking from purely Sarah’s perspective, indicating that she was surprised by this fact. This explanation runs into the problem that Sarah already heard in the prophecy of verse 23 that there are two nations in her womb, and therefore there would be no reason for her to be surprised. However, the answer of R’ Hirsch and Rashbam makes a lot more sense if we simply assume that the prophecy is unclear. When Rivkah goes to inquire of ‘א, this is following the Torah mentioning that she is pregnant with multiple children in verse 22. However, the narrative voice of the Torah speaks from an omniscient, divine perspective, wherein it is already known that Rivkah gives birth to twins in just a few verses[1]. We, as readers, are therefore privileged to also know this, but Rivkah is not. Thus when we read the prophecy in verse 23 that says, “There are two nations in your womb,” we think, “Oh, so each of the children mentioned in verse 22 becomes a nation.” Rivkah, however, has no prior knowledge that she is pregnant with more than one child, and thus she might simply understand the prophecy as, “my child, and his descendants after him, will develop into two nations.” She also might consider both possibilities. But only when the children are born in verse 25, does she discover that the oracle really had been referring to twins currently within her womb.

The second, and perhaps more critical, textual difficulty this approach solves is the question of why Rivkah did not tell Yitzhak about the prophecy. Even if one wanted to argue that this would not have changed his mind about loving Esav, doesn’t he deserve to know that one of his sons has received the divine imprimatur, that ‘א has decreed one to be superior. Moreover, while verse 28 makes it clear exactly why it is Yitzhak loves Esav, a reason is never given for why Rivkah loves Yaakov. It is certainly possible, as Rashbam suggests[2], that the reason she loved him was because he was favored by ‘א (this would imply a certain moral superiority that Rivkah may have favored)[3]. Certainly her actions in chapter 27, where she instructs, encourages, and enables her son Yaakov to deceive his father and steal his older brother’s blessing, would seem to be an attempt to bring to fruition the final line of the oracle, “And the elder shall serve the younger.” However, this all once again assumes a privileged reading of the text, where we know that in the end Yaakov received the blessing of the firstborn, and thus we assume that the phrase “וְרַב יַעֲבֹד צָעִיר” really must be understood as “and the elder will serve the younger.”[4] However, the syntax here is ambiguous. It could just as easily mean “and the elder will enslave the younger.”[5] Depending on how you interpret the word “וְרַב,” it could even mean that the younger will do an incredible amount of labor[6]. Thus Rivkah did not necessarily receive a clear message about which child was favored by ‘א, and she really had nothing concrete with which to approach Yitzhak. For all the text tells us she may have told Yitzhak, and the Torah simply didn’t feel it necessary to say so because no concrete course of action could be based off of the oracle.

This immediately raises the issue of why Rivkah preferred Yaakov to Esav (in contrast to Yitzhak), going so far as to plan and execute his stealing the blessing of the firstborn. As mentioned above, it is often assumed that this is due to the final verse of the prophecy indicating that Yaakov was favored by ‘א and was meant to receive the blessing, but as we have shown the prophecy says no such thing, and thus a new explanation must be found. Lacking any special prophetic insight, Rivkah remains the mother of Yaakov and Esav, and thus can be assumed to have a good understanding of their character[7]. The Torah itself does not tell us much about their character, but the Torah is generally very minimal in its exposition, using a minimum of text or a maximum of characterization. What it does tell us then, however minimal, will likely indicate what it was that Rivkah saw that caused her to favor Yaakov.

Towards the end of the story, Esav swears to kill Yaacov, and Rivkah knows this. However there is no indication of any murderous tendencies in the earlier parts of the story. Going back to the beginning, we are told two things each about Yaakov and Esav, besides for their physical state upon birth (25:25-26). We are told that, as they grew up, Esav knew how to hunt and was a farmer[8], while Yaakov was a wholesome man and a shepherd[9] (25:27). While seemingly minimal, this description actually tells us quite a bit. Firstly, the depiction of one brother as a farmer and one as a shepherd is very important. The dichotomy of the farmer and the shepherd is very common in Tanakh and, while the exact reason for this can be debated, it is very clear in the eyes of the Tanakh that being a farmer is something of a moral failure. Some good examples of this are Kayin and Hevel, where Kayin’s only apparent transgression before murdering his brother is being a farmer (4:2-5), or when Yaakov’s family descends to Egypt and must hide that they are shepherds in this new agricultural country (46:31-47:4). Thus the depiction of Esav is a clear indication of moral inferiority on his part. Since the second part of each brother’s description (“farmer” and “shepherd”) are a pair, it’s worth looking at the first part of each description with an eye to whether or not they are a pair as well. At first glance, this approach would not seem to bear fruit. While Esav is “a person who knows how to hunt,” Yaakov is “wholesome.” We don’t usually think of hunting and wholesomeness as necessarily opposed. However, as Ibn Ezra points out (ad loc.), there is something innately deceitful about hunting, as it involves tricking or forcing an animal into a position of weakness in order for you to kill it. Thus Esav’s knowing how to hunt should more likely be seen as a symbol for his deceitful nature, something that is absolutely opposed to being “wholesome.” As the first part of each description is then paired, this can help us understand why Rivkah loved Yaakov, as opposed to Esav. Verse 25:28 records that Yitzhak loved Esav because he gave Yitzhak meat that he had hunted[10], and that Rivkah loved Yaakov. This last phrase is conspicuously missing a reason like the one provided in the first half of the verse. However, as Yitzhak loved Esav because of the first half of his description, that he hunted, so too Rivkah loved Yaakov because of the first half of his description, because he was wholesome[11]. Thus Rivkah did not cause Yaakov to steal the birthright because the Word of ‘א told her that was proper, but because she understood that one of her sons was worthy and the other was not.

Rivkah was confronted with ‘א’s Word in the form of a prophecy regarding the destiny of her children. It comes to us in the form of the Torah. In terms of understanding the text itself, the Torah is not entirely clear. There are often many possible interpretations for a word, or a verse, or a passage. When we try and understand the relevance that the Torah possesses for us today, these difficulties are multiplied a hundredfold. Interpreting the prophecy she received was a dangerous game for Rivkah; it is perhaps more so for us. As both followers and interpreters of the Torah, how we interpret it bears great meaning for our lives and our practice. Moreover, we often share our interpretations, and to do so with a mistaken interpretation can be catastrophic. Possessing ‘א’s Word is an incredible gift; Interpreting it demands of us incredible responsibility. Rivkah did not simply interpret the prophecy as she saw fit, and we cannot bend the Torah to our needs. If Rivkah had thought the prophecy meant that Esav was meant to dominate Yaakov, she still could not have just acted upon that, as it would have been an immoral interpretation. So too, we cannot interpret the Torah in an immoral manner. We have a responsibility to read it with an eye towards the values of ‘א, Life, and Holiness.

[1] Ibn Ezra, ad loc.

[2] In his comment on verse 23.

[3] However, see Rashbam’s comment on verse 28.

[4] This reading also makes certain assumptions about the meaning of the phrase “will serve.” If we take it as referring to who will receive the blessing of their father, certainly not the literal meaning of the phrase, then it would obviously refer to Esav. If it refers to being submissive, then it might very well refer to Yaakov, who spends his last encounter with Esav referring to Esav as his master and to himself as Esav’s servant (Bereishit 33). If it refers to rulership and dominance, then one has to look beyond the scope of the Torah itself, out into the rest of Tanakh and beyond, and it could be referring to either brother (For more see the end of Radak’s comment on Bereishit 25:23).

[5] Radak 25:23.

[6] Hizkuni 25:23. This interpretation is perhaps odd in light of both the way that the word has been interpreted historically and the fact that the immediate context is speaking about both sons, not just one.However, it is worth pointing out that this explanation might actually make the most sense of all, in light of the lack of the hebrew vowel indicating the demonstrative adjective “the” (as in “the elder”) is suspiciously lacking in the phrase in question.

[7] One could argue against this by pointing out that Yitzhak, as their father, ought to be assumed to have the same amount of insight into their character as Rivkah, and yet he loved Esav. However, the Torah itself indicates that Yitzhak did not understand the morality, or lack thereof, his sons were exhibiting, in saying that Yitzhak had become blind (Bereishit 27:1). A similar expression is found in Sefer Shemuel 3:2, wherein the Kohen HaGadol, Eli, was unaware of the immoral actions that his sons had forced upon the populace. Blindness as a metaphor for a lack of understanding in terms of another action is also found in Shemot 23:8, where it is said that taking a bribe “blinds those who can see.” The midrash in Bereishit Rabbah 68:5-7 specifically points to the food that Yitzhak took from Esav as if it were a bribe that he took, that blinded him to Esav’s shortcomings.

[8] For this understanding of the phrase “איש שדה,” see Ibn Ezra and Seforno’s comments ad loc.

[9] For this explanation of the phrase “ישב אהלים,” see Ibn Ezra, Seforno, Hizkuni, and Rashbam ad loc. Also see Bereishit 4:20.

[10] Latching on to the essentially deceitful nature of this characteristic, the midrash understands “כִּי-צַיִד בְּפִיו” not as “because that which Esav hunted was in Yitzhak’s mouth,” but as “for Esav hunted Yitzhak with his mouth,” meaning that Esav would speak before Yitzhak with respect, and thus deceived Yitzhak about his character (Tanhuma Toledot, 8).

[11] Rashbam 25:28.

Parashat VeZot HaBerakhah 5775 – The Written Torah, The Oral Torah, and the Post-Mosaic Void

וְלֹא קָם נָבִיא עוֹד בְּיִשְׂרָאֵל כְּמֹשֶׁה

Parashat VeZot HaBerakhah closes Sefer Devarim, as well the Torah as a whole, with two final passages. The first records Moshe’s final farewell blessings to the Tribes of Israel, and the second depicts his death on Har Nevo. Beyond creating a sense of closure to a Torah that has been in large part marked by Moshe’s presence, the 34th chapter of Sefer Devarim goes out of its way to make it clear just how large the void of Moshe’s absence is. It first does this by stating in no uncertain terms that Moshe was totally and irrevocably gone from the midst of Bnei Yisrael. “So Moshe the servant of the Lord died there, in the Land of Moav, at the command of the Lord. He[1] buried him in the valley in the land of Moav, near Bet-Peor; and no one knows his burial place until this day” (Devarim 34:5-6). More important, however, is what might be considered the Torah’s final epitaph for Moshe Rabbeinu. “Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moshe—whom the Lord singled out, face to face” (34:10). Not only is Moshe gone, but he can never be replaced. This begs the question, in what way will he be missed? What absense is Bnei Yisrael left  with after Moshe’s death that can never be filled? Discovering the answer to this requires exploring a verse that contradicts the final chapter of the Torah, taking a look at some peculiar midrashim, and comparing the functions of prophecy before and after Moshe’s death. All this in turn will point us toward the mean of Moshe and his Torah.

The basic idea of Devarim 34:10 is that there would never again be a prophet “like Moshe.” This would seem to be contradicted by Moshe’s statement that ‘א would raise up a prophet like him. “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet from among your own people, like myself; him you shall heed” (Devarim 17:15). In contradiction to the idea that there will never be a prophet like Moshe, Devarim here seems to be saying that ‘א will specifically raise up a prophet like Moshe. This contradiction can be solved by looking at ‘א’s statement in Bamidbar 12:6-8.

When a prophet of the Lord arises among you, I make Myself known to him in a vision, I speak with him in a dream. Not so with My servant Moshe; he is trusted throughout My household. With him I speak mouth to mouth, plainly and not in riddles, and he beholds the likeness of the Lord.

Devarim 34 seems almost to build on these verses. Both refer to Moshe as ‘א’s servant (Bamidbar 12:7; Devarim 34:5), and where Bamidbar depicts Moshe speaking to ‘א “mouth to mouth” and seeing His “likeness” (12:8), Devarim combines these two as Moshe speaking to ‘א “face to face” (34:10). More importantly, this passage groups Moshe with other prophets while simultaneously distinguishing him from them. While Moshe is a prophet, and therefore other prophets can be said to be “like Moshe,” his prophecy is somehow unique and qualitatively different from that of all other prophets. Unfortunately, these verses are not quite clear regarding the nature of this qualitative difference.

The most obvious and understandable difference stated is that Moshe was able to receive prophecy while awake, where other prophets dreamt their prophecies. Secondarily, Moshe was spoken to by ‘א, “plainly and not in riddles,” implying that other prophets received cryptic messages they then had to interpret, rather than clear instructions. While these differences are clear, they are also most technical, and do not quite seem to be the qualitative difference implied in the verse. Presumably that difference can be found in the last distinction, which is the most striking, and unfortunately also the least clear, which is that Moshe spoke to ‘א face to face. It’s impossible to know for certain what this might mean, all that is really clear is that it is very significant. Ultimately, all these verses can give us is technical differentiation in terms of how the prophecy was conveyed, and the a vague statement that tells us of Moshe’s greatness.

Another route to determining exactly what was different about Moshe’s prophecy would be to compare Moshe’s prophetic behavior in the Torah with that of other prophets throughout Tanakh. This would seem to be a more fruitful approach, as there is one distinction that is immediately obvious: Moshe is a lawgiver, and the other prophets are not. Throughout Tanakh, prophets are sent to Bnei Yisrael when they are breaking the laws of Moshe, but not in order to remind them of the laws, or to bring them new laws, but in order to rebuke and exhort them, to motivate them to be better. Not only did Moshe transmit the commandments to the people, but in cases of doubt, such as Benot Tselophehad (Bamidbar 27:1-11) or the Blasphemer (Bamidbar 24:10-16), Moshe was able to speak to ‘א and to receive the new law. Post-Mosaic prophecy is meant to remind the people of the stakes of their covenantal obligations, not to create new ones. When Bnei Yisrael lost Moshe, Prophetic Law was lost with him.

This loss is expressed profoundly in an aggadah depicting Yehoshuah’s early experiences as leader of Bnei Yisrael[2]. The gemara depicts Yehoshua standing before Moshe in his final days, and Moshe tells Yehoshuah to ask any questions he might have. Yehoshua responds that as he never left Moshe’s service even for a moment, there is nothing he does not know, at which point he promptly forgets 3,000 laws. Fast-forward to the period of mourning for Moshe, when the people approach Yehoshuah and ask him to restore the laws via prophecy, as Moshe would have, to which Yehoshuah responds “It is not in Heaven,” meaning that the time for prophetic law has passed, and therefore he cannot use prophecy to restore the forgotten laws.

Initially, Yehoshuah failed to appreciate the vast chasm separating himself from Moshe. Despite the verses making it clear that ‘א would be with Yehoshuah as he was with Moshe (Yehoshuah 1:5), the one supreme difference between them is that only Moshe could prophesy the law. The midrash represents this failure as 3,000 halakhot being forgotten, caused by misplaced confidence in his ability to prophesy the law when necessary. It is clear from the midrash that Yehoshuah figured out his mistake quite rapidly, as within the thirty days of mourning for Moshe he has already realized that the law “is not in Heaven” anymore.

This is a reference to the famous aggadah of Tanur Shel Akhnai[3], in which the halakhah is decided according to the majority of the sages against not just miracles, but even against a voice calling out from Heaven. After the voice rings out, R’ Yehoshuah stands up and says, “We do not listen to a Heavenly Voice,” and the law is decided like the majority. The reason[4] for this is that the law of the Torah, as laid down by Moshe, is that the halakhah follows the majority[5], and no prophet or heavenly voice thereafter is able to go against it[6]. The Law was sealed with the death of Moshe, and it cannot be changed. It can only be interpreted.

The Written Torah came from Heaven, and now the Oral Torah lives on Earth[7]. The switch from Prophetic Law to earthly law has significant ramifications. the most significant, perhaps, is according to what the law is decided. When Moshe did not know the law, he went to ‘א to ask what the law was (Bamidbar 27:1-11; 24:10-16), and ‘א would relate to the Moshe the Heavenly Truth of the Law. When Moshe asked ‘א about the case of the Daughters of Tselophehad, the midrash said that they had spoken the Law as it was written before ‘א in Heaven, according to the Heavenly Truth. Post-Moshe, in the era of the Oral Torah, a judge must decide the law only according to what his eyes see[8]. The law is not decided according to divine ideals, but in the application of divine law to gritty human reality.

Perhaps the most important difference between prophetic and earthly legislations is the function and purpose of the Law. In a situation where laws not only spring forth from the mouth of the prophet but can be updated, abrogated, and revised by the divine impresario at a moment’s notice, the law functions as a way of responding to or manifesting the will of ‘א. Moshe told the people what ‘א commanded them to do at that moment and they responded by carrying out that command. After Moshe’s death, the law serves a very different function. Instead of representing what ‘א thinks the people should do in that specific case, the law expresses what ‘א thinks should be done by the people in general. The law code becomes a framework for living a life according to godly principles, rather than a specific set of commands fulfilling a specific set of godly purposes. The Torah of Moshe becomes the guiding story through which we interpret, experience, and contextualize our lives.

After Moshe’s death, the Torah went from being a set of immediate divine commands to a legislated framework for Jewish society. We stopped looking to ‘א to see what to do next, and started creating a society. Thus Moshe dies as Bnei Yisrael are about to enter the land of Israel, as a human society in an earthly land requires laws organized around its living reality, not around a divine ideal. Moshe gave Bnei Yisrael a Torah of divine commands, and we have inherited as a communal way of life (Devarim 33:4). This is not to say that the divine ideal is cast aside, but rather that it is applied practically. The laws of the Torah became horizontally oriented, focused on creating a godly society, instead of being vertically oriented, focused on fulfilling the immediate Will of ‘א. Though that change is not necessarily a bad thing, that dynamic connection is what we lost when we lost Moshe.

[1] The Hebrew here allows for a delightful ambiguity wherein the subject of “He buried” could just as easily be Moshe or ‘א, as brought up in the gemara (Talmud Bavli, Masekhet Sotah, 14a), and it is left up to the reader to decide if it is more logical that Moshe buried himself or that he was buried by ‘א. The simplest explanation of the phrases “he buried him,” namely, that a person whose identity was unimportant in context, possibly Yehoshuah or one of the tribal leaders, buried Moshe, is ruled out by the end of the verse, “and no one knows his burial place until this day.”

[2]  Talmud Bavli, Masekhet Temurah 16a.

[3]  Talmud Bavli, Masekhet Baba Metsia, 59b.

[4] Tosafot, Masekhet Hulin, 44a; Rambam, Yesodei HaTorah 9:1; Kesef Mishneh Ad Loc.

[5] The fact that Hazal derived a biblical commandment to follow a majority from a verse that states quite plainly that the majority should not be followed into error is part of a much larger discussion about the relationship of the Written and Oral Torahs and the nature of Midrash, for which this composition is not the place.

[6] The question of a “Time to act for God” (“עת לאשות להשם”) or a “Temporary Instruction” (“הוראת שעה”) wherein a prophet violates a biblical commandment, or instructs others to do so, is a function of what Rambam describes, in Moreh Nevukhim 3:34, as the nature of a generally-applied system. Any system that is created to function on the general scale (for all the individuals of a group, for all moments in time, etc.), will inevitably come across specific points on the scale where it does apply perfectly, as it is intended for the general situation, and thus cannot account for every possible eventuality. In such a case the Prophet can be instructed by ‘א to violate the general law in a specific instance.

[7] The dichotomy depicted in this paragraph is roughly that between Rationalism, which originated in the Greek Theoria (determining via perfection of the mind the nature of the Divine reality, upon which law and behavior could the be based), and Empiricism.

[8] Talmud Bavli, Masekhet Baba Batra, 131a.

Shavuot 5774 – Reason and Revelation: Why does it matter that the Torah is Divine?

Why Does it Matter That the Torah is Divine?

“The streams of reason and revelation either run parallel or in different directions. If they run in different directions, then only one of them leads toward truth, while the other one leads toward error. If they run parallel, why do they need river and sea at the same moment.”[1]

This dilemma, known as the problem of Reason and Revelation, is something that goes all the way back to the Greek philosopher Plato. Plato suggested that if Revelation is reasonable, as it generally seems to be, then it would contain nothing Reason could not produce on its own. Revelation would therefore serve no real purpose, being simply a repetition of Reason. Religious scholars since then have proposed multiple solutions to explain what purpose Revelation would have, what advantage it would possess over Reason. Some of the proposed motives were quantitative, stating that there was no essential difference between Reason and Revelation, but that functionally Revelation added something. Others made qualitative differentiations, stating that Reason and Revelation actually lead to the different conclusions and produce different content. However, all were trying to answer the same basic question: Why is it important that ‘א wrote the Torah?

Eliezer Berkovits book, “God, Man and History”, was devoted to founding a whole theology on his resolution to the Reason/Revelation problem. He resolved it by saying that  while Reason and Revelation do lead to the same content, only Revelation creates Obligation. In order for there to be Law, there must also be a Law-Giver, one who enforces the law. Therefore Revelation, which involves the relationship between the Law-Giver and those who must keep the law, also gives the law binding force. If someone thinks up the law on their own, there’s really no motivation for them to necessarily follow it, as opposed to when you have an external force, in this case ‘א, to enforce the Law, in this case the law of the Torah. Reason can generate laws, but only Revelation can obligate you to keep them.

Rav Saadia Gaon, leader of the Babylonian academies in the 9th-10th centuries, took a slightly different approach. He said that the idea that Reason and Revelation could generate the same information was only mostly true. For the most part Reason can keep up with Revelation, but not quite. For Rav Saadia Gaon, Reason falls short on two levels. Firstly, it doesn’t always get the details. Reason can tell you that stealing is wrong, but it won’t necessarily tell you that borrowing something without asking is tantamount to stealing (for example). More importantly, Reason as an abstract concept is one thing, but on a practical level Reason is something that varies from person to person, and not every person will reason out the same laws. You can’t make a law system in which each person is required to obey different laws. This problem is avoided by having one law-giver who reveals the laws to the society.

Of all the Kabbalists, Ramban is perhaps the most well known and certainly the most well read. This is due to the popularity of his commentary on the Torah. In addition to its sharp, text-oriented comments, Ramban’s commentary also features very mystically oriented comments. Some of these are famously clipped and cryptic,[2] but many go on to explain at length the mystical secrets hidden behind the surface layer of the text. These mystical understandings of the text could never be derived by Reason. As divine secrets, they have to be revealed by the Divine. Thus a revealed law is only partially reasonable; it’s also a godly mystery.

Heschel took a fairly unique approach to this issue. Taking the principle of Divine Authorship very seriously, he proposed a model of the Torah that could not possibly be written by man.

The Bible is primarily not man’s vision of God but God’s vision of man. The Bible is not man’s theology but God’s anthropology, dealing with man and what He asks of him rather than with the nature of God.[3]

Heschel suggested that the Torah contains information that Reason could not possibly conceive, because it requires the Divine perspective. This mean that even if all the information in the Torah were completely reasonable, Reason and Revelation would still not be comparable. The divine perspective means that everything in the Torah is considered to be important by ‘א. While Reason is powerful, perhaps even theoretically unlimited,[4] ‘א’s perspective is something it could never compete with.

These are just a few many resolutions that have been suggested to this problem throughout history, from within the Jewish Tradition and from without. However, the most important part of the discussion is something seen most obviously in the arguments of Heschel and Berkovits. Berkovits emphasizes the part of the “revealer” in Revelation. Heschel focuses on ‘א and His Perspective as the basis of the Torah. The basic idea behind both of these ideas is that what makes Revelation important is that it is the Revelation of ‘א. The Torah is not just a book of laws created by a divine being. It is a book created by the Creator of the World. In the Torah, the Redeemer of Israel reveals His Will. Our God, and the God of our Fathers, placed His Wisdom in a text for us to study, to immerse ourselves in, not just because of the Torah itself, but because it is a way to connect to Him. It matters that the Torah is divine because learning a Divine Torah puts us in relation to the God of Israel. We used to hear His word from the mouth of his prophets; now we hear it from the text of His Torah.

[1] A.J. Heschel, The Quest For Certainty in Saadia’s Philosophy, “Reason and Revelation”, Pg. 50

[2] Ramban’s student, Rabbeinu Bachye, also wrote a commentary on the Torah, and many of his comments explicate the secretive statements of his teacher.

[3] A.J. Heschel, Man is not Alone, 129

[4] Rav Re’em HaKohen, Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Otniel, in a shiur given at Yeshivat Har Etzion.