SALT | Matot-Masei 5784 -2024

Dedicated in memory of Myriam bat Yitele z”l 
whose yahrzeit is Rosh Chodesh Av, by family Rueff

MOTZAEI

Parashat Matot begins with Moshe' presentation of the laws of nedarim (vows) to the tribal leaders.  He opens his remarks by declaring, "Zeh ha-davar asher tziva Hashem" – "This is the matter that God commanded… "  Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, cites from Chazal (Sifrei, Masekhet Nedarim 77b) that this expression, "zeh ha-davar," is unique to Moshe. Other prophets introduce their prophecies with the phrase, "Ko amar Hashem" ("So says the Lord… "). Moshe, too, occasionally employs this terminology, but, as a mark of his unique prophetic stature, would, on other occasions, begin by saying "Zeh ha-davar."

The distinction between "ko amar Hashem" and "zeh ha-davar" appears to relate to a well-known theory established by Rashi in several places throughout his commentary (see especially Shemot 15:2 & 30:13; Bamidbar 8:4) regarding the Hebrew word "zeh" ("this"). According to this theory, "zeh" in Biblical Hebrew refers to something visible; one says "zeh" about a given item only when it is actually visualized.  Presumably, Rashi has this principle in mind as he cites from Chazal this distinction between "zeh ha-davar" and "ko amar Hashem."  Unlike other prophets, Moshe clearly "visualized" his prophecies. As the Almighty Himself testifies in Bamidbar 12:5-7, Moshe beheld his prophecy "visually, rather than in riddles," as opposed to other prophets to whom God spoke through dreams and the like.  Seemingly, herein lies the distinction between "ko amar Hashem" and "zeh ha-davar."

While this point seems clear, there is much that remains to be explained. Particularly, if, indeed, "ko amar" and "zeh ha-davar" reflect the different levels of prophecy of Moshe and other prophets, then why does Moshe occasionally convey his prophecies with the introduction of "ko amar Hashem"? If he received God's word on the level expressed by "zeh ha-davar," why does he sometimes speak of his prophecies as having come to him on the inferior level of "ko amar"?

Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi, in his work on Rashi's commentary, suggests that Moshe employed the expression "ko amar Hashem" only at the beginning of his prophetic career, before he earned his distinct, singular level of prophecy. That is why we sometimes find him introducing his prophecy with "ko amar."  Later, however, his prophecies came to him on the level of "zeh ha-davar."

The Taz, however, argues (in his "Divrei David Turei Zahav") that this is simply not the case.  In Parashat Beshalach, Moshe conveys to Benei Yisrael God's instructions to store a commemorative sample of manna and begins, "Zeh ha-davar asher tziva Hashem" (Shemot 16:32).  Already at this stage, then, according to Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi's theory, Moshe earned his unique prophetic stature.  And yet, later, in Parashat Ki-Tisa, in response to the incident of the golden calf, Moshe announces God's instructions and declares, "Ko amar Hashem" (Shemot 32:27).  This would appear to refute the position of Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi, who argued that Moshe employed "ko amar Hashem" only until the point where he reached the unique level of "zeh ha-davar."

We may, however, very easily resolve Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi's explanation. Rashi himself, in his commentary in Parashat Beshalach (16:33), comments that when Moshe tells Aharon to place the sample of manna "before the Lord," he refers to the aron, the ark in the Mishkan.  Now obviously, the Mishkan had yet to exist at this point in Sefer Shemot.  Rashi thus concludes that Moshe issued this order later, after the Mishkan's instruction, and it appears in Parashat Beshalach out of chronological sequence.  It is unclear, however, to what precisely Rashi refers.  He might refer specifically to this verse, where Moshe instructs his brother, Aharon.  The previous verse, however, where Moshe addresses the entire nation and begins "zeh ha-davar," might appear in proper chronological order. This is the position of the Rashbam. Ibn Ezra, however, writes explicitly that this entire section dealing with the storage of a sample of manna, including Moshe's instruction beginning with "zeh ha-davar," appears out of chronological sequence.  Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi undoubtedly attributed this view to Rashi, as well.  It turns out, then, that this instruction, which Moshe introduces with the words "zeh ha-davar," occurred later, after the incident of the golden calf, where we find Moshe employing the term "ko amar Hashem" – thus resolving the difficulty raised by the Taz.    

The Taz challenges Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi's view on a different basis, as well, arguing that "certainly there is no change in Moshe's prophecy from beginning to end." Without citing any proof, the Taz assumes that Moshe's level of prophecy remained consistent from the time he first beheld the word of God until the end of his life.  It is hard to know what compelled the Taz to make such a presumption. Without concrete evidence to the contrary, there seems to be no reason to reject Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi's contention that Moshe's prophetic stature developed over the course of his life.

Tomorrow we will iy"H discuss the Taz's view concerning the distinction between "ko amar" and "zeh ha-davar."

SUNDAY

Yesterday we began discussing the Midrash cited by Rashi towards the beginning of Parashat Matot, distinguishing between two expressions used by prophets in introducing their prophecies.  Most prophets would employ the phrase, "ko amar Hashem" ("Thus says the Lord"); Moshe, however, was unique in that although he occasionally used this expression, at other times he would begin with, "Zeh ha-davar asher tziva Hashem" – "This is the matter that the Lord has commanded."  For example, here in Parashat Matot, Moshe begins his presentation of the laws of vows by saying, "Zeh ha-davar asher tziva Hashem" (30:2).  Yesterday, we showed why "zeh ha-davar" would indeed reflect a higher prophetic level than "ko amar Hashem," but we raised the question as to why Moshe employed both expressions.  If his prophetic stature was one of "zeh ha-davar," then why would he occasionally introduce prophecies by saying "ko amar Hashem"?

The Taz, in his "Divrei David," offers the following explanation. Throughout the vast majority of the Torah, Moshe Rabbenu works not so much as a prophet, but rather as a conduit conveying God's word directly to Benei Yisrael.  Prophecy is much less direct than the function served by Moshe; God would not appear to the prophet and give specific instructions to say to the people such-and-such, as He did to Moshe.  Rather, He indirectly revealed the relevant information to the prophet, through a dream or clouded vision, and the prophet understood that this information must be conveyed to the people.  Most of the Torah's laws were commanded to Moshe with the explicit instruction to then teach it to Benei Yisrael.  On some, rare occasions, however, Moshe speaks as a regular prophet; meaning, he does not receive an explicit command to tell Benei Yisrael such-and-such, but rather learns of some hidden information and understands that he must transmit it to Benei Yisrael.  On these occasions, Moshe introduces his prophecy with either "zeh ha-davar" (such as at the beginning of Parashat Matot), whereas at other times he employs the more standard formulation of "ko amar Hashem."  Indeed, a survey of all instances in the Chumash of "zeh ha-davar" and "ko amar" reveals whenever Moshe employs one of these expressions, we do not find an explicit record of God having instructed him to convey this information.

The one question that remains, however, is what determines which expression Moshe uses in any given instance of "standard" prophecy?  Why at times does he say "zeh ha-davar" while in other instances he uses "ko amar"?

In most instances where Moshe employs the less common phrase of "zeh ha-davar," halakhic literature explains the phrase as a "mi'ut," as setting a limit onto the scope of the given law transmitted.  According to our oral tradition of halakhic exegesis, "zeh ha-davar" restricts the law presented to a specific category or situation. Thus, for example, towards the very end of Parashat Masei (36:6), Moshe, employing the introduction of "zeh ha-davar," teaches that whenever a daughter inherits her father's estate (due to the absence of sons), she must marry within her tribe (to prevent the transfer of property from one tribe to the next).  Chazal (Masekhet Bava Batra 120a) comment that the limitation imposed on this halakha by the introductory phrase, "zeh ha-davar" restricts its application to that generation.  The Taz demonstrates that in virtually every instance of "zeh ha-davar," the oral tradition interprets the clause as setting a limitation onto its scope of application.  The one exception is our instance, in Parashat Matot.  Here, our tradition does not limit the application of these laws of nedarim (vows) on the basis of the phrase "zeh ha-davar." For this reason, the Taz explains, the Midrash views "zeh ha-davar" in this case as an indication of Moshe's unique prophetic stature.  Since it does not serve to set a limitation on the relevance of the laws presented, as this phrase normally does, it must serve a different function: to reflect Moshe's singular level of prophecy.  Even when Moshe acts like a normal prophet, his prophecy is far from normal. Even when he is not instructed by God directly and explicitly, but rather through prophetic vision, he sees his prophecy with the clarity implied by the term "zeh" (as we explained yesterday), rather than with the more ambiguous expression of "ko."

This explains why at times Moshe introduces prophecies with "ko amar," whereas in other instances he does so with "zeh ha-davar." Generally, when functioning as a normal prophet, he should begin "ko amar Hashem" as prophets normally do. When he introduces his prophecy with "zeh ha-davar," he does so generally to set a restriction on the given law's application.  The one exception is the opening verse of Parashat Matot, where "zeh ha-davar" demonstrates the unique clarity of Moshe's prophecy, that even when he receives a standard prophetic vision, as opposed to a direct, explicit revelation from God, he perceives it with a clarity that far exceeds the prophetic comprehension of other prophets.

MONDAY         

Over the last two days, we have discussed different approaches to the Midrashic passage cited by Rashi towards the beginning of Parashat Matot, distinguishing between two introductory phrases used by the prophets.  Chazal see as indicative of Moshe Rabbenu's unique prophetic stature the fact that only he, as opposed to other prophets, would introduce some prophecies with the phrase, "zeh ha-davar asher tziva Hashem" ("This is the matter that the Lord has commanded").  This phrase reflects a clarity of prophetic perception that exceeded that of other prophets, who introduced their prophecies with the expression, "ko amar Hashem" ("Thus says the Lord"), which reflects a lower level of comprehension.

Today we will address a different question raised on this comment of Chazal, namely, that this is simply not the case; Moshe is in fact not the only prophet to employ the introductory phrase, "Zeh ha-davar."  The prophet Yeshayahu, in foretelling the ultimate fall of the kingdom of Moav, declares, "Zeh ha-davar asher diber Hashem el Moav" ("This is the matter that the Lord spoke about Moav" – Yeshayahu 16:13).  How, then, could Chazal make the claim that only Moshe possessed a prophetic stature worthy of the expression, "zeh ha-davar"?

Rav Vidal Ha-tzorfati, in his "Tzuf Devash," offers two resolutions to this problem.  We present first his second answer, before returning to and elaborating upon his first suggestion.  In his second answer, Rav Vidal points to the Midrash cited by Rashi in his commentary there in Yeshayahu.  This verse ends with the word "mei-az," or "since long ago," implying that God had issued His decree against Moav long before this prophecy to Yeshayahu.  According to one view cited by Rashi, this means that God decreed Moav's destruction from the moment Balak, the nation's king, hired Bilam to place a curse upon Benei Yisrael.  Rav Vidal Ha-tzorfati boldly suggests that since this occurred during the time of Moshe Rabbenu, it stands to reason that God had actually conveyed the information to Moshe regarding the future destruction of Moav.  Therefore, Yeshayahu's prophecy merely rehashes an old prophecy conveyed to Moshe Rabbenu, and it therefore understandably begins with the introduction unique to Moshe, "zeh ha-davar."

Rav Vidal poses an even bolder theory in his first approach, which he bases upon a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Sanhedrin 10:2).  The Yerushalmi discusses a verse in Sefer Melakhim II (21:16) that describes the extent of the innocent blood shed by the wicked king Menasheh: "Menasheh put so many innocent persons to death that he filled Jerusalem [with blood] 'peh la-peh' [from end to end; literally, 'from mouth to mouth']."  The Yerushalmi contends that we cannot possibly understand this verse literally; Menasheh could not have killed so many innocents to fill the city wall-to-wall with blood.  Rather, the Yerushalmi explains, the verse refers to Menasheh's having executed the prophet Yeshayahu, who was equal to Moshe, about whom it is written "I speak to him 'peh el peh' [directly, face-to-face – Bamidbar 12:8]."  It emerges from this passage that on some level, the prophet Yeshayahu held equal prophetic stature as Moshe Rabbenu.  Rav Vidal thus suggests that perhaps Yeshayahu, too, as an equal of Moshe Rabbenu, prophesied at the unique level reflected by the phrase "zeh ha-davar."  His use of this expression in his prophecy thus does not contradict Chazal's assertion, that Moshe alone employed this phrase, since he attained a prophetic level equal to that of Moshe.

Needless to say, that another human being shared Moshe's prophetic stature is a difficult pill to swallow.  After all, the singularity of Moshe's prophecy constitutes one of the tenets of the Jewish faith, and we believe that no prophet ever achieved the prophetic quality with which God spoke to him (see Devarim 34:10).  What more, several sources explicitly distinguish between Moshe and Yeshayahu, emphasizing the inferiority of the latter.  The Sifrei and Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel at the beginning of Parashat Ha'azinu write that Moshe stood "near the heavens, distant from the earth," as opposed to Yeshayahu, who stood "near the earth, distant from the heavens."  These sources explain on this basis why these two prophets both summon heaven and earth to hear their teaching, but employ different verbs to describe heaven and hearth "listening" to their words.  Moshe uses the term "ha'azinu," which means listening from up close, with reference to the heavens, and "shim'u," which denotes hearing from afar, when describing the earth; Yeshayahu does just the opposite (compare Devarim 32:1 with Yeshayahu 1:2).  In fact, the Sefer Ha-ikarim (3:17) develops at length the fundamental distinction between Yeshayahu's prophetic quality and that of Moshe Rabbenu.

On the other hand, as noted, Rav Vidal Ha-tzarfati's contention is firmly grounded in a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi.  To this we should add another very suggestive source – the Yalkut Shimoni to Tehillim (841): "All the prophets would prophesy without knowing what they prophesy, whereas Moshe and Yeshayahu knew what they prophesied." It is hard to know precisely what this passage means, but it certainly elevates Yeshayahu above other prophets to a stature equal to that of Moshe Rabbenu.

Perhaps the explanation to all of this lies in the theory developed by the Taz, which we presented yesterday.  According to the Taz, when Chazal distinguish between Moshe and other prophets, it does so strictly within the realm of prophecy in the limited sense of the term. Most of what Moshe conveyed is not, technically speaking, what we would consider "prophecy." Generally, God spoke to him "as a man speaks with his friend" (Shemot 33:11) and instructed him to convey the information to Benei Yisrael.  Prophecy, by contrast, was indirectly transmitted to the prophet, who understood, even without explicit instruction, that he must relay that information to Benei Yisrael.  Only in several instances did Moshe Rabbenu receive information in this "prophetic" manner; in these cases, the Torah records Moshe's transmission of these prophecies to Benei Yisrael without having previously recorded God's initial revelation of these prophecies to Moshe.  It is regarding these cases that Chazal emphasize the distinctiveness and singularity of Moshe's prophecy.  Generally, however, Moshe's stature far exceeded that of a prophet, as he was actually the mouthpiece by which God conveyed His Torah to Benei Yisrael.

Correspondingly, perhaps, when Chazal equate Moshe with Yeshayahu, they do so on this level of standard prophecy.  It goes without saying that Yeshayahu never attained the stature of God's conduit as Moshe had.  Chazal likened Yeshayahu's prophecy to Moshe's prophecy, to those instances when Moshe spoke as a prophet, rather than a direct messenger.  Yeshayahu beheld his visions with a unique clarity on par with the comprehension achieved by Moshe Rabbenu when he received God's word indirectly, through a vision, rather than through direct instruction.  Undoubtedly, however, Yeshayahu was on earth while Moshe was in the heavens; Moshe, and only Moshe, served as an extension of God's voice, His personal messenger, and only on rare occasions did he "descend" to the status of prophet.

TUESDAY

Parashat Matot tells of Benei Yisrael's war against Midyan in revenge for that nation's role in orchestrating the calamity of Ba'al Pe'or.  Upon the soldiers' triumphant return from battle, Elazar, the kohen gadol, introduces and outlines the laws of hag'alat keilim, commonly known today as "kashering."  In short, all utensils that had been used in the preparation of non-kosher food must undergo the kashering process before food prepared in them may be considered kosher.

The necessity for studying these halakhot at this point, after the battle with Midyan, is clear.  The warriors brought with them a huge collection of spoils, which included cooking utensils.  Benei Yisrael thus had to be informed of the procedures required to permit the use of these utensils in their kitchens. 

However, the Ramban (commenting to 31:23) raises a famous question concerning the timing of this presentation of halakhot.  This is not the first time Benei Yisrael seized the utensils of an enemy nation.  Just several chapters earlier, in the final section of Parashat Chukat, the Torah tells of Benei Yisrael's victory over the two kingdoms of Sichon and Og, whose territory and belongings they inherited.  Why, then, was it not necessary for them to learn the halakhot of kashering after that battle?

The Ramban answers by drawing a fundamental distinction between these two wars – the battle against Sichon and Og, and the attack on Midyan.  Unlike Midyan, Sichon and Og were from the nation of Emori, which is included among the seven nations whose land God promised to Benei Yisrael.  Therefore, that war constituted the first phase of kibush ha-aretz – the capture of Eretz Yisrael.  Now the Gemara, in Masekhet Chulin (17a), establishes that during the initial capture of Eretz Yisrael, a special provision, known as "katli de-chaziri," allowed Benei Yisrael to partake of the non-kosher foods of the land's inhabitants.  According to the Ramban, this extraordinary provision meant that during this period, the Canaanites' foods had kosher status.  Consequently, Benei Yisrael had no need to kasher the utensils seized during battle against Sichon and Og.  Since this conflict was part of kibush ha-aretz, the food of these nations was not forbidden in the first place.  The kashering laws were therefore not practically relevant until after the war with Midyan, whose land Benei Yisrael were never intended to capture.  Their food remained forbidden even battle, and their utensils thus required kashering.

This explanation of the Ramban presumes a certain perspective on the halakha allowing the Canaanites' food during kibush ha-aretz.  To understand this underlying presumption, let us consider the opposing view, that of the Rambam.  In Hilkhot Melakhim (8:1), the Rambam writes that halakha permits the Israelite soldiers to partake of the non-kosher foods they come across during battle "when they are hungry and cannot find other food to eat." According to the Rambam, this halakha does not transform the Canaanites' food from issur (forbidden food) to heter (permissible food).  Rather, it temporarily suspends the kashrut prohibitions in very specific situations of need, in the interest of maintaining the soldier's strength and stamina. Undoubtedly, the Rambam would not allow the soldiers to take home with them their defeated enemies' soup pots and use them without kashering.  In the Rambam's view, this provision applied only during actual fighting as a means of avoiding battle fatigue.  In his commentary to Parashat Vaetchanan (Devarim 5:10), the Ramban cites and takes issue with the Rambam's position and argues that the Torah issued a blanket "heter" permitting the Canaanites' foods for consumption. Accordingly, in our context, the Ramban claims that the laws of kashering were unnecessary after the battle of Sichon and Og, since their food was never forbidden in the first place.

The Rambam, however, would clearly not accept such an explanation.  Since he limits this halakha to dire instances during the heat of battle, he would, indeed, require kashering the utensils seized during the war against the Emori.  Why, then, did Elazar present these laws only after the battle with Midyan? How would the Rambam resolve the difficulty raised by the Ramban?

This will iy"H be the topic of tomorrow's discussion.

WEDNESDAY

Today we will continue yesterday's discussion of the question posed by the Ramban in Parashat Matot, as to why the laws of hag'alat keilim, "kashering" utensils, are presented only in this parasha, after the battle with Midyan. Earlier, Benei Yisrael had captured spoils of war from the Emorite nations of Sichon and Og, which, presumably, also required kashering.  The Ramban answered based on the halakha known as "katli de-chaziri" (Chulin 17a), which permitted the consumption of the non-kosher foods of the Canaanites during the kibush ha-aretz (capture of the land).  Since the war against Sichon and Og began the process of kibush ha-aretz, their foods were permissible, and their utensils therefore did not require kashering.

The Rambam, however, as we saw, limits the "katli de-chaziri" provision to very specific circumstances where soldiers desperately need food during battle and must therefore partake of the non-kosher foods.  He obviously could not accept the Ramban's explanation, since in his view, the Canaanites' utensils used later, after battle, undoubtedly required kashering.  How, then, can the Rambam resolve the question raised by the Ramban?

The Noda Bi-yehuda is cited in the work "Or Chadash" on Masekhet Pesachim (44a) as suggesting the following explanation.  In Masekhet Avoda Zara (25a), the Gemara relates that during the battle of Sichon and Og, the sun stood for Moshe just as it did later for Yehoshua, during his battle against the five central kingdoms of Canaan (Yehoshua 10).  The Gemara cites different views regarding the duration of the period for which the sun remained still in the sky, and concludes that it stood for a full twenty-four hours.  This meant that by the time the battle was completed, at least twenty-four hours had passed since the last time these utensils had been used with non-kosher food. Now a famous halakha dictates that after twenty-four hours, food particles embedded within the walls of a utensil become spoiled; when food is then cooked in these pots, any taste it absorbs from the particles in the walls has an adverse effect on the food's overall taste.  The Gemara in several places cites a dispute as to whether or not "notein ta'am li-fgam assur" – whether taste of forbidden food can render a mixture forbidden if it has an adverse effect on the mixture's overall taste.  According to the Noda Bi-yehuda, the Ramban's question as to why Benei Yisrael were not taught the laws of kashering after the battle of Sichon and Og, applies only if embedded food particles render the food forbidden even if it spoils the taste.  According to the other view, that a spoiled taste does not forbid the food into which it is mixed, the question never gets off the ground.  Since the battle took at least twenty-four hours, all food particles in the Emorites' utensils were spoiled by the time they came into Benei Yisrael's kitchens, and kashering was thus unnecessary.

As the Noda Bi-yehuda notes, the Rambam elsewhere maintains "notein ta'am li-fgam mutar," that as far as Torah law is concerned (before rabbinic enactment), particles after twenty-four hours cannot render a food forbidden if it mixes with it.  Therefore, the Rambam has an easy response to the Ramban's question as to why the kashering laws were not taught after the battle of Sichon and Og.  Since Benei Yisrael received the utensils only after twenty-four hours, they did not require hag'ala.

The Noda Bi-yehuda's grandson, in a piece printed in the Noda Bi-yehuda's work "Tzelach" (on Chulin 17a), disagrees with his grandfather's explanation. He writes: "Even during the war of Sichon and Og, they had to cook for women and children, and it should have been necessary to tell them the law of hag'ala for 'ben yomo' utensils [utensils used earlier that day with non-kosher food] that were found among the spoils."  The writer appears to assume that even before the battle's end, spoils were collected and used to feed the non-combatants among Benei Yisrael.  Therefore, regardless of the duration of the war, there were Emorite utensils seized by Benei Yisrael and used on the same day of their last use with non-kosher food, thus warranting a session in the laws of hag'ala.  In his view, then, his grandfather's answer is not satisfactory.

Tomorrow, we will iy"H discuss the answer suggested by the Noda Bi-yehuda's grandson to resolve the difficulty raised by the Ramban.

THURSDAY

As we've discussed in the last two days, the Ramban in Parashat Matot (31:23) asks why, as told in this parasha, Benei Yisrael are instructed with the laws of "kashering" utensils for the first time after the battle with Midyan.  Seemingly, these laws should have applied even earlier, after their successful campaign against the kingdoms of Sichon and Og, where Benei Yisrael likewise seized their enemies' spoils.  The Ramban responds that during that war with Sichon and Og, which began the process of capturing the land, the special halakha of "katli de-chaziri," which rendered the Canaanites' food permissible for consumption during the period of the land's conquest, applied.  Since the food was permissible, the Canaanites' utensils did not require kashering.  The Rambam, however, limits the "katli de-chaziri" principle to extraordinary situations where the Israelite soldiers need food and have no kosher food available.  He therefore would not accept the Ramban's premise, that the Canaanites' food was permissible for everyone throughout the period of conquest, and he seemingly would apply the kashering laws even to the battle of Sichon and Og.  How, then, would the Rambam resolve the difficulty raised by the Ramban?

The grandson of the Noda Bi-yehuda, in an essay printed in his grandfather's famous work, "Tzelach" (Chulin 17a, as cited yesterday), answers based on a dispute between Rabbi Akiva and the Chakhamim recorded in Masekhet Pesachim (44a).  Rabbi Akiva and the Chakhamim argue as to the fundamental nature of the prohibition of "gi'ulei nokhrim" – preparing food in utensils previously used for the preparation of non-kosher food.  According to Rabbi Akiva, this prohibition runs perfectly consistent with the familiar rules of kashrut.  In fact, he views this prohibition, taught to Benei Yisrael after their battle with Midyan, as the source of the halakhic axiom, "ta'am ke-ikar" – that a forbidden food's taste is forbidden like the food itself.  During cooking or baking, taste absorbed in the walls of utensils is extracted into the currently cooked food, rendering it forbidden.

The Chakhamim, by contrast, view this entire institution of "gi'ulei nokhrim" as a "chiddush," an extraordinary halakhic provision that marks an exception to standard principles.  They claim that any taste embedded within the walls of a utensil has an adverse effect on the food cooked in this utensil subsequently.  As we saw yesterday, according to most views, forbidden taste that produces a negative effect on food into which it is mixed does not render it forbidden.  Therefore, according to the Chakhamim, the requirement to kasher these utensils before using them constitutes a "chiddush," and we cannot derive any general halakhic principles from it. 

The Noda Bi-yehuda's grandson compellingly argues that according to the Chakhamim's view, the Ramban's question, as to why the kashering laws were not introduced after the battle with Sichon and Og, need not be asked at all. If, indeed, we view the entire kashering requirement as a "chiddush," a unique halakha that does not work according to conventional principles, then we cannot ask why God decided to begin its application when He did.  Since the entire halakha is extraordinary to begin with, we have no reason to expect the time of its initial implementation to follow any familiar rules and guidelines, either.

Thus, we can easily resolve the Rambam's view by assuming that he followed the Chakhamim's position.  Once we consider the concept of "gi'ulei nokhrim" a "chiddush," we need not be troubled by the timing of its initial introduction.  (The Noda Bi-yehuda's grandson does not, however, demonstrate from the Rambam's writings that he indeed follows the Chakhamim's position, but merely assumes this to be the case.)        

FRIDAY

The final verses of Parashat Matot describe the distribution of the territory of the East Bank of the Jordan River, which Benei Yisrael had captured from the kingdoms of Sichon and Og, among the tribes of Reuven and Gad, and half the tribe of Menasheh.  In the parasha's final verse, we read that a man named Novach, from the tribe of Menasheh, captured the city of Kenat and its environs, and renamed the area "Novach" after himself.  Rashi notes a grammatical peculiarity in this verse, namely, that the word "la" ("it," in the phrase, "va-yikra la" – "he named it") appears without a "mapik hei."  Normally, the word "la" features a dagesh (dot, indicating emphasis) in the letter "hei," such that the word is read with an emphatic "h" sound at the end ("lahh"). Here, however, the dagesh is absent, such that in pronouncing the word "la" in this verse, the final "hei" is silent. 

Rashi cites an explanation for this deviation from the writings of Rabbi Moshe Ha-darshan.  The dagesh was dropped because this name "Novach" did not remain; ultimately, it was no longer known by this name.  The Torah alluded to this by writing the word "lah" in a manner by which its pronunciation resembles the word "lo" – no, or not. The Torah subtly hints to the fact that although Novach gave the city his name, his efforts were hardly successful over the long term.

The obvious question arises, why does the Torah bother telling us all this? What difference does it make whether or not the city of Novach kept that name?

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch explains that powerful leaders often try to ensure their place in history by constructing large buildings in their own honor.  From the Torah's perspective, however, one establishes his legacy not through wood and stone, but rather through his efforts on behalf of the world and mankind. The story of Novach serves as a clear reminder that artificial attempts to ensure one's legacy will fail.  Novach had hoped to secure his place in history by capturing a city; the Torah subtly informs us that his efforts did not succeed, and the city's name was soon changed again.

Rav Shemuel Altar, in his "Likutei Batar Likutei," cites this explanation of Rav Hirsch and adds that in a similar vein we may understand the comment in the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 82:10; Yerushalmi, Shekalim 2:5), "We do not make monuments for the righteous; their words are their commemoration."  This does not mean, Rav Altar explains, that halakha forbids erecting monuments in memory of great, righteous people.  Rather, it forbids turning the physical monument into the primary commemoration of the tzadik.  As we see from the story of Novach, buildings and cities do not properly serve this function. We continue the legacy of great people by recalling their actions and their teachings, and extracting and living by the lessons that may be learned from their lives.

It is perhaps appropriate to conclude this devar Torah with the famous poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley (England-Italy, 1792-1822):

I met a traveler from an antique land,

Who said – "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert…. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

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