SALT | Naso 5785

MOTZAEI

A widespread custom has developed to decorate our homes and Batei Kenesset on Shavuot with flowers, branches and the like, a practice recorded by the Rema in the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 494:3). Although the traditional decoration came under the sharp criticism of the Vilna Gaon, as recorded in the Mishna Berura (494:10), it has nonetheless become generally standard in today's synagogues.  We will present here several reasons offered for this practice, as documented in Rabbi Daniel Sperber's "Minhagei Yisrael," vol. 1 chap. 14.

1. The Levush and Chida associate the custom with the beautiful vegetation that covered the area on and around Mount Sinai during Matan Torah.  In anticipation of the Revelation, God orders Moshe to warn the people against ascending the mountain, adding that even the cattle may not graze on the mountain (Shemot 34:3).  Evidently, the surface of the mountain had become covered with grass and vegetation.

2. Another explanation points to the Midrash's comment in Shir Hashirim Rabba (5:13) that after each declaration of the Almighty during Matan Torah the entire world became filled with fragrant spices.  In commemoration, we adorn our Batei Kenesset, which represent, in a certain sense, Mount Sinai, with fragrant plants.

3. The Magen Avraham adopts an entirely different approach. The mishna in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (1:2) tells us that on Shavuot God judges the fruits for the coming year. The flowers and branches in the Beit Kenesset are meant to encourage the congregants to pray for a favorable judgment.

4. The Midrash in Vayikra Rabba (in Parashat Acharei Mot) likens Benei Yisrael to a rose situated in a large orchard, with the orchard symbolizing the world at large.  Just as a king who considers destroying the orchard quickly changes his mind upon seeing the majestic roses, so do the merits of Benei Yisrael's Torah study save the world from destruction when its misconduct warrant such. Accordingly, suggests the Benei Yissaskhar, we commemorate this great merit of Torah by decorating our homes and synagogues with flowers on the festival of Matan Torah.

5. Finally, Rabbi Sperber suggests a basis for this custom in light of an obscure, recently discovered Midrash that associates the day of Matan Torah with the third day of creation.  God tells Moshe about the momentous occasion three days beforehand, and tells him to prepare the people for "the third day" (Shemot 19:11). The Midrash claims that this "third day" alludes (though does not actually refer) to Tuesday, the third day of creation, on which God created vegetation.  Just as He created the source of man's physical sustenance on the third day, so is He now prepared to give Benei Yisrael the Torah, the source of man's spiritual nourishment.  Rav Sperber thus suggests that we adorn our homes and Batei Kenesset in commemoration of the third day of creation, effectively underscoring Torah's function as the soul provider of all our spiritual needs.

SUNDAY

In his "Hilkhot Talmud Torah" ("Laws Regarding Torah Study"), the Rambam discusses not only the laws regarding the obligation to learn Torah, but also the requirement of "kevod ha-Torah," respecting Torah scholars.  One perhaps would have expected the Rambam to include these laws elsewhere, in "Hilkhot Mamrim," where he discusses rabbinic authority and the laws relevant thereto.  Why would he prefer to combine the issue of respecting Torah scholars with the laws of Torah study, rather than with those concerning obedience to Torah authority?

Rav Soloveitchik explained that respecting Torah scholars involves the same principle as studying Torah; both concepts require a certain attitude towards Torah.  In other words, one cannot adequately fulfill his obligation of Torah study if he does not demonstrate proper honor to its sages. The academic pursuit of Torah learning must be intertwined with a reverent attitude towards its teachings, which necessarily involves respect for its scholars.

In Hilkhot Talmud Torah 4:1, the Rambam cites the well known dictum in the Gemara (Moed Katan 17; Chagiga 15) that one should study Torah from a teacher only if he "resembles an angel."  Whereas Rashi (in his commentary on the Gemara) explains this as a practical, religious concern, that one may be misled by an unscrupulous teacher, the Rambam, the Rav observes, implies otherwise.  In his view, the impropriety of a teacher's conduct undermines the value of the learning itself.  Regardless of any possible concern of emulating misconduct, the experience of learning becomes meaningless - if not harmful - if it relates only to dry content and not the totality of Jewish values.  Just as studying must be accompanied by a general attitude of reverence towards the material, so must the educational pursuit include total devotion to all of the Torah's teachings.

Thus, our annual acceptance of the Torah on Shavuot must naturally encompass both these elements.  We reaffirm our unwavering commitment to intensive Jewish education itself, while at the same time strengthening our desire to inculcate within ourselves the values upon which this education is grounded.

MONDAY

As we know, Benei Yisrael accepted upon themselves every detail of the Torah, all the intricate requirements and prohibitions, even before they ever learned of what all this entails. Interestingly, a parallel agreement between two people would not, at least according to the Rambam, be effective.  In halakha, one who signs a document assuming a specific obligation is bound by the terms of the document.  However, the Rambam rules that one cannot take upon himself a limitless, unspecified obligation.  A signed contract to this effect is considered invalid.  Thus, asks the Beit Ha-levi, how could Benei Yisrael's a priori acceptance of everything and anything God commands be binding upon them?

The Beit Ha-levi answers by distinguishing between an unlimited commitment and a commitment of one's entire self.  For example, halakha recognizes an institution of indentured servitude.  One can "sell" himself into this arrangement and thereby submit himself to his master's wishes.  Although halakha sets certain limits on the extent of the master's "ownership" over his servant, these constitute ethical, rather than inherent, restrictions.  Meaning, the strict terms of the agreement allow for unlimited demands on the part of the master, but the halakhic code of Jewish ethics forbids the master from overworking his servant.  Thus, although one generally cannot accept upon himself an unspecified obligation, one can submit himself to the service of another, effectively assuming the responsibility of fulfilling all his master's requests.

The Beit Ha-levi explains that the agreement of Matan Torah follows this second model.  We did not merely agree to a series of guidelines; we submitted ourselves unconditionally to the service of the Almighty.  We offered ourselves to Him as indentured servants, ready and prepared to meet His every demand.  Hence, this obligation is binding.

Lest this seem too overwhelming a commitment, Jewish tradition has developed for us important reminders of the beauty and splendor associated with this perhaps frightening agreement. While the Torah describes Matan Torah as an intimidating and frightening experience, to the point that, as we read on Shavuot, Benei Yisrael felt that they would die, tradition has us decorate our homes and Batei Kenesset with beautiful flowers and plants.  As we discussed earlier this week, this practice may commemorate the vegetation that covered Har Sinai when the Torah was given thereupon. Concurrent with the awe and fear associated with Matan Torah was a degree of excitement and celebration, an element perpetuated by this time-honored tradition.  As overwhelming the commitment of Matan Torah may appear, we must remember just how fortunate we are to have been granted this beautiful gift of the Torah.

TUESDAY

Among the topics covered in Parashat Naso is that of the "sota," the infidel woman.  The process of determining her innocence or guilt involved the preparation of a special potion for the woman to drink. This potion consisted of, among other "ingredients," some earth from the ground of the mishkan/Mikdash. The Gemara in Masekhet Chullin (88b) writes that this mitzva, of adding dust to the sota's drink, and that of the ashes of red heifer used as part of the process of ritual purification, came as a direct reward to Avraham Avinu.  As he pleaded with the Almighty to spare the wicked city of Sedom, the patriarch begged for permission to proceed with his protest despite his being "earth and ashes."  As reward for this remarkable demonstration of humility, God granted Avraham's offspring with two mitzvot involving these two substances: the earth of the sota waters and the ashes of the red heifer.

What does this mean?

Avraham's recognition that he amounts to nothing more than "earth and ashes" reflects his keen awareness of God's having created all nature.  He, likely the greatest human being alive at his time, afforded himself no more inherent worth than any other component of the natural world, as he, like dust and ashes, was independently powerless.  Anything he had, starting with his very existence, was granted to him by the Almighty.  As such, he stands on par with the dust on his feet and the ashes under his furnace.

This awareness allows such seemingly valueless materials to attain the utmost sanctity through use for a mitzva. Once an individual recognizes that nothing in the world is of more inherent value than any other, as it all emanates from the Hand of God, then nothing can be excluded from religious service. Thus, the dust of the sota waters and ashes of the red heifer come in response to Avraham's perspective on nature. Since it all comes from God, it can all be used for God.

Indeed, among the most remarkable features of halakha is that it is all-encompassing.  No aspect of our lives can escape the mandates of Jewish law; it covers everything.  In this way we reflect our belief in the Almighty as the Creator of everything, such that even the most worthless items on earth can become means towards the ultimate purpose of life, the service of God.

WEDNESDAY

The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (20b) records a enigmatic dialogue, as it were, between the Almighty and the heavenly angels.  The angels noted an apparent contradiction in the Torah.  On the one hand, Moshe claims that God does not exhibit favoritism (Devarim 10), while in the kohanim's blessing, as presented in Parashat Naso (Bemidbar 6:26), God favors Benei Yisrael.  God replies that he must favor the Jewish people because of their preparedness to go beyond the strict letter of the law.  Although the Torah requires one to recite birkat ha-mazon only if he eats an amount that satiates, Benei Yisrael accepted upon themselves the obligation of birkat ha-mazon even for smaller amounts of food (a "ke-zayit" according to Rabbi Meir, and a "ke-beitza" according to Rabbi Yehuda).

What does this mean?

Some have explained that when Chazal instituted a requirement of birkat ha-mazon over smaller amounts, they did not do so merely as an added measure of stringency.  Rather, this halakha reflects our appreciation of the Almighty's kindness to us even as expressed in the "little things in life." Even without experiencing total satiation, we can still recognize God's goodness in every small morsel of food.

"Mida ke-neged mida," or "measure for measure," God relates to us in the same way.  He affords significance to even our "small" amounts of mitzva performance far beyond their strict, proportional value.  So long as we genuinely appreciate even the seemingly minor gifts we receive from the Almighty on a daily basis, He will likewise look generously upon our inadequate observance of the Torah and reward us with disproportionate goodness.

Thus, God does not treat us with favoritism, but rather in the same manner in which we relate to Him.

THURSDAY

The opening of Parashat Naso continues the discussion began in Parashat Bemidbar concerning the division of labor among the tribe of Levi.  Amidst this section, the Torah refers to two categories of work performed by the levi'im: "avodat avoda" and "avodat masa" (4:47).  The first category, "avodat masa," clearly refers to the responsibility of transporting the mishkan during travel, the job elaborated upon at length in this section in Chumash.  (This is according to the simple meaning of the term; see Rabbeinu Bechayei for a homiletic interpretation of "avodat masa.")  However, to what does "avodat avoda," literally, "the work of work" or "service of service," refer?

Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel explains the term to mean the levi'im's guard duty.  They served as watchmen around the mishkan and Mikdash, which apparently helped facilitate the "avoda," the service in the mishkan.  Thus, it was considered "the service of the service."  Rashi, by contrast, understands "avodat avoda" as a reference to the levi'im's musical role in the mishkan.  They were charged with the responsibility of singing and playing musical instruments to accompany the service of the kohanim.  The Torah refers to this job as the "service of the service," the service that accompanies that of the kohanim.

Addressing Rashi's explanation, Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson ("Divrei Shaul," Mahadura Revi'a) questions the applicability of the term "avoda," which generally connotes some arduous, painstaking task, to music.  Could the levi'im's "background entertainment" really qualify as "avoda"?

On one level, perhaps, anyone who has professionally played a musical instrument or sung in a choir can attest to the difficulty involved in maintaining the highest standards of perfection, rendering this art worthy of the title "avoda."  Rav Nathanson, however, offers a deeper insight into this reference to the levi'im's musical responsibilities.  The "avoda" performed by the kohanim symbolizes the actual performance of mitzvot, the often burdensome and time-consuming effort required in the meticulous observance of mitzvot.  The musical accompaniment represents the joy and excitement that must accompany our observance.  However difficult and painstaking, we must perform mitzvot with a genuine sense of enthusiasm.  This, too, is difficult, and this in two ways.  First, true happiness is difficult maintain when dealing with the often grueling, nitty-gritty of halakha.  The possibility arises of becoming too overwhelmed by the technical demands of the mitzva such that its beauty and excitement are lost.  Secondly, as Rav Nathanson writes, in many instances one has an easier time identifying with relatively "easy" mitzvot.  If we compare the mitzva of fasting on Yom Kippur, for example, with that of rejoicing on Yom Tov, we will conclude that although fasting on Yom Kippur poses a greater physical challenge, one can quite easily identify with its religious significance.  While enjoying festive delicacies on Yom Tov, however, one finds it difficult infusing this activity with it proper religious meaning.

Thus, the joyous elements of mitzvot, symbolized by the levi'im's music in the mikdash, indeed constitute an "avoda," a difficult challenge that the Torah presents to each and every one of us.

FRIDAY

Parashat Naso includes the mitzva of birkat kohanim, the blessing administered by the kohanim to the rest of the nation.  At first glance, it would appear that the Torah directs this mitzva exclusively to the kohanim; no obligation rests upon Benei Yisrael in this regard.  However, the Sefer Ha-charedim (12:18) writes, "The Yisraelim who stand face to face before the kohanim quietly and concentrate in their hearts to receive their blessing as God stated - they, too, are included in the mitzva."  Meaning, the Torah not only commands the kohanim to bless Benei Yisrael; it commands Benei Yisrael to be blessed by the kohanim.

This position of the Sefer Ha-charedim aroused much discussion in subsequent halakhic literature.  The Chatam Sofer (O.C. 22) claims that Rav Eliezer of Mitz, author of the Yereim, also takes this position.  However, Rav Yerucham Perlow, in his work on Rav Sa'adya Gaon's list of mitzvot, notes that nowhere in the prevalent text of the Yereim does this position appear.  To the contrary, Rav Perlow demonstrates from the Yereim that he specifically does not hold this view.  Indeed, many Acharonim, including the Torah Temima on our parasha, dispute the notion of an obligation to hear birkat kohanim.

In fact, one authority, Rav Yehuda Assad, was so convinced that no mitzva obligates Benei Yisrael in this regard that he reinterprets the Sefer Ha-charedim's comment cited above.  Rav Assad understood that Benei Yisrael "are included in the mitzva" only in the general sense, in that they help facilitate the kohanim's fulfillment of their obligation.  This does not, however, imply, that the mitzva of birkat kohanim applies to Benei Yisrael just as does to the kohanim.

The Keren Ora on Masekhet Sota (39b) likewise maintains that Benei Yisrael are under no obligation to hear the priestly blessing.  He uses this principle to answer the question raised by many as to why we allow the kohanim to recite the berakha in unison.  Generally, the halakha dictum establishes that "terei koli lo mishtama'i" - one cannot properly hear two simultaneous voices.  Therefore, the public Torah reading and similar recitations cannot be read by more than a single individual.  How, then, can all the kohanim recite birkat kohanim together? The Keren Ora cites some authorities as comparing birkat kohanim in this sense to hallel and Megila.  The Gemara says that given the excitement generally accompanying these two recitations, several people can recite hallel and Megila together on behalf of the congregation, as the audience pays particularly close attention to every word.  (Nowadays, of course, with the easy access to published siddurim, the custom has developed for the entire congregation to recite hallel, rather than having one or several individuals fulfill the obligation on their behalf.) Likewise, some have argued, birkat kohanim generates the same level of enthusiasm and may therefore be recited in unison.  The excitement of receiving the divine blessing will lead the audience to lend a listening ear and make out the words even from the cacophony produced by multiple kohanim.  The Keren Ora, however, strongly disputes this explanation.  The "excitement" of which the Gemara speaks in reference to hallel and Megila evolves from the infrequency of these recitations.  Birkat kohanim, by contrast, is conducted on a daily basis (though custom has evolved in the Diaspora to perform birkat kohanim only on festivals).  Therefore, the "excitement" provision cannot apply in this case to allow the recitation of birkat kohanim by several kohanim together.

The Keren Ora thus answers that no obligation whatsoever applies to the audience regarding birkat kohanim.  Since they are not required, strictly speaking, to listen to the kohanim's blessing, they may hear the muffled sound of a joint recitation by several kohanim in unison.

There is hopefully no need to remind the readers that one must nevertheless pay close attention to the kohanim when they administer their blessing.  Although the mitzva of birkat kohanim per se does not require such, the desired effect of the blessing may very well be dependent upon Benei Yisrael's concentration during the blessing.  In fact, when presenting the mitzva of birkat kohanim, God tells Moshe to instruct the kohanim, "So shall you bless Benei Yisrael: say to them… "  Rav Refael Birdogo understood the seemingly superfluous phrase, "say to them" as ordering the kohanim, the teachers and spiritual mentors of the nation, to urge Benei Yisrael to properly prepare themselves for the blessing. Only sincere concentration and thoughts of introspection can help transform the content of the priestly blessing into reality.

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