S.A.L.T. – PARASHOT MATOT-MASEI

By Rav David Silverberg

In Loving Memory of Beloved Father and Grandfather, Ya'acov Ben Yitzchak, Fred Stone (A"H)
whose Yahrzeit is 25 Tammuz;
Ellen and Stanley Stone and their children Jacob, Zack, Ezra, Yoni, Eliana and Gabi.

Motzaei

            Parashat Matot begins with the laws relevant to nedarim, voluntary vows that a person takes, forbidding upon himself things which are otherwise permissible.  While nedarim might, at first glance, seem like a laudable undertaking, the Gemara in Masekhet Nedarim (22a) speaks very critically of those who make these kinds of voluntary vows: “Whoever takes a vow is like someone who builds a bama, and one who fulfills the vow is like someone who offers a sacrifice upon it.”  A bama is a private altar, and the Torah strictly forbids offering sacrifices on a bama, as sacrificial offerings must be brought to the Beit Ha-mikdash.  Why does the Gemara liken nedarim to bamot?

            The Ran, in his commentary to Masekhet Nedarim, explains that the comparison between nedarim and bamot lies in its outward appearance as a virtuous undertaking:

It seems to me that for this reason we compare it [taking vows] to constructing a bama – because one who takes a vow thinks that he performs a mitzva, in that the Torah forbade prohibited matters and he also forbids [things] upon himself.  It [the Gemara] says that he is in error, for to the contrary, he is like one who builds a bama.  For while it is true that the Torah commanded to offer sacrifices inside [the Beit Ha-mikdash], it also warned not to add onto it by building a bama and sacrificing outside [the Beit Ha-mikdash].  Similarly, while it is true that the Torah forbade upon him forbidden things, when he adds onto what the Torah forbade, he acts wrongly.

The Torah established an obligatory system of sacrifices, but also commanded that this system be confined specifically to the Beit Ha-mikdash. Similarly, the Gemara teaches, the Torah established a code of issurim, activities that are forbidden, and there is nothing inherently noble or virtuous about expanding this code to include activities which the Torah permits.

            We might add another possible point of comparison between nedarim and bamot.  A person who builds a private bama on his property as a site of sacrificial worship assumes for himself the luxury of “serving” God at his convenience and on his own terms.  He does not have to travel to Jerusalem, he is not dependent on the schedule of the kohanim, and is not bound by the numerous restrictions that apply at the site of the Temple.  The lure of a bama is the opportunity it provides to be “religious” without too much trouble or inconvenience, and without subjecting oneself to a detailed ritual creed.  The Torah forbids sacrificing on bamot, perhaps, to demonstrate that serving God means following His commands, even when this does not accommodate our personal schedules or intuitive sense of religiosity.  If we want to serve the Almighty, we must go to His Mikdash and follow the detailed set of laws and guidelines that apply at His chosen site.  We cannot “sit at home” comfortably and dictate our own terms of avodat Hashem.

            Possibly, Chazal viewed nedarim as similarly reflecting a desire for autonomy in determining the terms and conditions of religious observance.  In a sense, it is easier to comply with one’s self-innovated rules than to submit to somebody else’s authority.  People who find it necessary to accept voluntary nedarim are likely seeking “spiritual fulfillment” outside the framework of standard halakhic observance, in a way that suits their personal feelings and presentiments.  Like the one who sacrifices on a bama, they wish to dictate their own terms in avodat Hashem, rather than serving God by following His commands.  The comparison between nedarim and bamot thus perhaps reminds us that to serve God, we must go to His “Mikdash” and follow His rules.  Avodat Hashem is not performed based on our own, personal whims and inklings, just as offering a sacrifice on an ad hoc bama in one’s backyard is not accepted as a valid sacrificial offering.  We serve the Almighty through effort and hard work, and by subjugating ourselves unconditionally to His will.

Sunday

            The opening section of Parashat Matot outlines some of the basic laws of nedarim, voluntary vows.  The first verse of this section states that Moshe presented these laws to the “rashei ha-matot,” the nation’s leaders and officials.  The Sifrei cites two opinions in explaining why these halakhot were presented specifically to the national leadership.  The first view claims that Moshe conveyed all the mitzvot he received from God to the tribal leaders before teaching them to the rest of the nation.  The Torah specified this system here, with regard to the laws of nedarim, but in truth it was followed with regard to all the mitzvot.  The second view, that of Rabbi Yonatan, explains that Moshe issued these laws to the leaders because hatarat nedarim – the annulment of vows – is performed only by a mumcheh – a scholar who is proficient in the laws of nedarim.  Even the Torah does not explicitly speak of hatarat nedarim in this section (or anywhere else, for that matter), nevertheless, it alludes to the possibility of annulment by informing us that Moshe conveyed the laws of nedarim specifically to the leaders, who are qualified to perform hatarat nedarim.  (Interestingly, Rashi combines both views in his commentary of this verse.)

            The concept of hatarat nedarim, a role entrusted mainly to the nation’s scholars, perhaps conveys an important message regarding leadership.  When a person takes a vow and then regrets it, he approaches the “mumcheh” in search of a “petach,” an “opening,” a way out of his predicament.  Essentially, the individual asks the scholar to help find a solution to a problem which he himself created through his imprudence and impulsivity.  He had not carefully thought through the implications and consequences of his neder, and now he comes to the scholar for a way out.  Intuitively, we might forgive the scholar for saying something to the effect of, “Why should I help you?  You created this problem, so you have to suffer the consequences!”  The Torah instructs that to the contrary, the leader bears the responsibility to help people navigate their way through life’s troubles – even those troubles which they brought upon themselves.  The institution of hatarat nedarim was established out of the recognition that people make mistakes, that we have a tendency to rush into things without thinking through the consequences.  And this halakha teaches us to accept the reality of our peers’ flaws, and to try to help them overcome even the troubles and hardships that they themselves created.  Imperfection is a condition shared by all human beings, and we therefore all bear the responsibility to help one another surmount the obstacles that we so often set before ourselves.

Monday

            The Torah in Parashat Matot tells of the war Benei Yisrael waged against the nation of Midyan to retaliate for Midyan’s role in the tragic events of Ba’al Pe’or.  We read that Pinchas, the one who ended the plague at Ba’al Pe’or by killing two public violators, joined the soldiers in battle.  Rashi (31:6) presents several possible reasons for why Pinchas was sent to the battlefield, including the explanation mentioned in the Gemara (Sota 43a) that Pinchas served the role of kohen mashu’ach milchama.  The concept of a kohen mashu’ach milchama is discussed later in the Torah, in Sefer Devarim (20:1-9).  There the Torah instructs that when Benei Yisrael went out to battle, an especially-assigned kohen would join them and speak to them before combat.  He would urge them not to fear warfare, reminding them that God accompanies them to the battlefield, and then announce exemption for certain soldiers – those who had betrothed a woman but had yet to marry, those who had built home but yet to move in, those who planted a vineyard within the last four years, and those who were afraid.  According to the Gemara, Pinchas joined Benei Yisrael in the battle against Midyan to fulfill this role of the kohen mashu’ach milchama.

            The Gemara’s comment calls into question the view of some Rishonim that the halakha of kohen mashu’ach milchama applies only to a milchemet reshut – an “optional” war.  The Rambam, in his discussion of the kohen mashu’ach milchama in his Sefer Ha-mitzvot (asei 191), writes explicitly that when it comes to a milchemet mitzva, a war obligated by the Torah, there is no requirement for a kohen to address the soldiers before battle.  The reason, it would seem, is that in the case of a milchemet mitzva, there are no exemptions; everyone is required to join in the military effort, and no dispensations are given for the groups of people mentioned earlier.  Therefore, there is no requirement for a kohen to address the soldiers.

            Interestingly, in his Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Melakhim 7:1), the Rambam writes that the halakha of kohen mashu’ach milchama applies to all wars, even wars that the Torah does not obligate us to wage: “Both in a mandatory war and an optional war, a kohen is appointed to speak to the people at the time of battle…and this is the one called the mashu’ach milchama.”  This ruling, of course, gives rise to the question of why a kohen would announce exemptions in a milchemet mitzva, if these exemptions do not apply under such circumstances.  The Ra’avad therefore writes that the Rambam’s position is tenable only if we distinguish between the two parts of the kohen’s address to the soldiers: his introductory words of reassurance, and the announcement of exemptions.  When the Rambam applies the law of kohen mashu’ach milchama to a case of milchemet mitzva, the Ra’avad writes, he must mean that in this situation the kohen accompanies the troops and instructs them not to fear, but not that he exempts the aforementioned groups of soldiers from battle.  From the Ra’avad’s comments it appears that he disagrees with the Rambam’s ruling in Mishneh Torah, and maintains that the institution of kohen mashu’ach milchama is unique to milchemet reshut – as the Rambam writes in Sefer Ha-mitzvot.

            In any event, according to this view, the question arises as to why, as the Gemara indicates, a kohen mashu’ach milchama accompanied the Israelite troops to the battle against Midyan.  Since this war was clearly commanded by God, and thus constituted a milchemet mitzva, there was no purpose served by the participation of a kohen mashu’ach milchama.

            Rav Binyamin Sorotzkin, in his Nachalat Binyamin (Telzstone, 5759), explains that although the campaign against Midyan was indeed commanded by God, and not optional, it differed from other milchamot mitzva in that it did not require the participation of the entire nation.  The Torah explicitly states that only one thousand men from each tribe went to battle against Midyan.  Therefore, it stands to reason that the exemptions for the groups listed above applied to this war, as those receiving an exemption could easily be replaced by others to meet the per-tribe quota of one thousand soldiers.  Thus, according to all view, the mitzva of kohen mashu’ach milchama was in effect during the battle against Midyan, despite its being an obligatory war.

Tuesday

            The Torah in Parashat Masei (chapter 35) introduces the institution of arei miklat, the cities of refuge established in Eretz Yisrael for inadvertent killers.  The very term “arei miklat” (which the Torah itself coined – 35:11) indicates that this halakha was instituted for the benefit of the killer, to protect him from vengeful relatives of the victim.  Later (35:32), however, the Torah issues a warning that seems to point to a different function of the arei miklat – a warning against accepting monetary payment in lieu of relocation in a city of refuge.  An inadvertent killer is not merely invited to seek asylum in an ir miklat – he is under obligation to relocate there.  Indeed, the Gemara commonly refers to relocation in an ir miklat with the term “galut” (“exile”), reflecting the mandatory, punitive aspect of this halakha.  The killer must atone for his accidental crime by relocating to a foreign city until the death of the kohen gadol (35:25).

            Why would a person be punished so severely for accidentally causing a death?

The Sefer Ha-chinukh (409) attributes this law to the unique severity of murder:

The iniquity of murder is exceptionally grave as it entails the destruction of the world, to the point where the Sages said that one who intentionally kills a person is not saved from punishment even if he performed all the mitzvot… It is therefore worthy for one who killed, even inadvertently, since such a grave mishap occurred through him, to endure on account of it the distress of exile, which is almost equal to the distress of death…

According to the Chinukh, the killer must endure exile because “such a grave mishap occurred through him” (“she-ba’at takala gedola ka-zo al yado”).  It seems that regardless of guilt, the killer is subjected to exile, the near equivalent of death, because he was, after the all, the medium through which a life was lost.

            However, it is clear from the halakhot of ir miklat that a killer must relocate only if the act was done with a degree of negligence.  If the death occurred through no fault of his at all, as a result of circumstances beyond his control, then he is not required to go to an ir miklat.  One example of such a case, as the Rambam rules (Hilkhot Rotzei’ach 6:7), is a person who dismantles a wall and throws the debris into a trash area at a time when nobody could be expected to be there.  If somebody happened to be sitting in the area and was killed as a result of the thrown debris, the person who threw the rubble does not have to relocate in an ir miklat, because he bears no guilt at all for the death.  According to the Chinukh’s line of reasoning, it would seem, the individual in this case would need to be exiled to an ir miklat, since “such a grave mishap occurred through him.”

            It would thus appear that the halakha of ir miklat stems from the simple concept of personal responsibility.  Although capital punishment is obviously reserved for intentional murder, accidentally causing someone’s death through irresponsible behavior is deemed a “crime” requiring atonement.  If Halakha determines that an individual bears a degree of guilt for the victim’s death, then the claim of “it was an accident” does not excuse the guilty party from accountability.

            In this period of mourning for the Beit Ha-mikdash, it is customary to study and discuss the famous story (Gittin 55b-56a) of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, two men who lived in Jerusalem at the time of the Second Temple.  An invitation for Kamtza was mistakenly delivered to the home of Bar Kamtza, whom the host despised.  Bar Kamtza arrived at the celebration, and the host had him forcefully removed.  To avenge his humiliation, Bar Kamtza brought false charges about the Jews to the Roman emperor, who proceeded to wage war against Jerusalem and destroy the Mikdash.

The Ben Ish Chai, in his Ben Yehoyada, comments that one of the messages of this story is how small mistakes can yield grave consequences.  A simple, innocent mistake by the delivery boy resulted in a national calamity that is mourned for millennia.  When we think of the guilty parties in this story – the host, Bar Kamtza himself for retaliating against the entire Jewish community, the rabbis who sat silently during the party, and perhaps even Kamtza and the other Jews of Jerusalem who engendered an intolerant, “cliquey” society – we often forget about that delivery boy.  One of the less obvious messages of this story, perhaps, is that innocent mistakes aren’t always so innocent, that we are expected to exercise care and caution in our everyday affairs as part of our basic responsibilities in life.  If a person lifts an axe in the woods, he must first ensure it is tightly screwed to the handle so it doesn’t fall and hurt somebody; if a person drives a car or operates machinery, he must exercise care to ensure he uses it properly and avoids danger.

            This might be the simple message underlying the requirement of galut in the case of inadvertent murder.  If a person wishes to live among other people, he bears the obligation to act safely and responsibly.  If he proves to be a danger to others, then he is told to live elsewhere to atone for his irresponsible conduct, and only then return to his society.

Wednesday

            Parashat Matot begins with the laws of nedarim, vows, emphasizing the obligation to fulfill pledges and promises.  As we noted earlier this week, Moshe conveyed these halakhot specifically to the rashei ha-matot, the nation’s tribal leaders, and different explanations have been offered for why the leadership in particular was taught these laws.  One possibility, as we discussed, is that the leaders bear the responsibility to annul vows under certain circumstances.  Moshe taught these laws to the leadership to indicate to them their obligation to assist the people by finding ways to annul vows that are eligible for hatarat nedarim.  The Ramban suggests that since this section discusses the possibility of a father or husband annulling a woman’s vow, Moshe preferred conveying this information specifically to the nation’s scholars.  The masses, he feared, might conclude on the basis of these provisions that nedarim do not have to be taken seriously.

Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch explains differently, noting that the institution of nedarim and their binding nature “opens the possibility for individuals as well as communities and the nation as a whole to establish permanent rules for ensuring the faithful keeping of the dictates of the Torah.”  One of the roles of the tribal leaders, Rav Hirsch writes, was to help their respective tribes reach their particular goals and maximize their potential according to their unique characteristics.  To that end, it was necessary for the tribal leadership to enact for its tribe its own set of customs and protocols uniquely suited to enable its tribe to fulfill its special role.  Thus, the law establishing the inviolability of vows is presented specifically to the leaders, who bear the responsibility of enacting and enforcing free-willed legislation for their constituencies.

Another answer (mentioned by Rabbi Berel Wein at http://torah.org/learning/rabbiwein/5768/matos.html) might be that Moshe presented these laws to the leaders because they, more so than the ordinary citizens, must be admonished to keep their word.  It is very common for leaders, eager to win the support of their constituents, to make bold commitments to the citizenry, only to renege on those commitments later, once the position of power is secure.  The leaders in particular must be warned, “Lo yachel devaro” (30:3), not to take verbal commitments lightly, because they are notorious for attempting to win support through irresponsible, overambitious promises.

If so, then this admonition to the “rashei ha-matot” should perhaps serve as a warning to all people, leader and layman alike, about the dangers of making promises to win the admiration of our peers.  In our desperate attempts to earn other people’s respect and affection, we occasionally make overambitious promises or offer overly generous favors.  The Torah here teaches us to exercise care with the spoken word, not to make commitments before ascertaining the feasibility of fulfilling them.  It is all too easy to make far-flung promises to impress our peers, without carefully considering if or how we can keep those promises.  Like the “rashei ha-matot,” we must not use reckless promises as an instrument in our quest for acceptance and admiration, and should rather ensure to only make promises that we know we can keep.

Thursday

            The Torah in Parashat Matot (chapter 32) tells of the request made by the tribes of Reuven and Gad to permanently settle in the newly-captured territory east of the Jordan River.  Rather than proceed with the other tribes across the river to conquer the Land of Israel, Reuven and Gad expressed their preference to make the eastern region their permanent area of settlement.  They noted that the lush pastures of the Trans-Jordanian region were uniquely suited for their large flocks.  Moshe initially rejected the petition in the strongest of terms, comparing Reuven and Gad to the spies, who, thirty-nine years earlier, had dissuaded the nation from entering Eretz Yisrael.  It was only after Reuven and Gad promised to join the other tribes in battle against the Canaanites west of the river that Moshe agreed to allow them to permanently settle east of the Jordan.

            A powerful Midrashic passage (Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer, cited in Torah Sheleima to 32:5) claims that Reuven and Gad were driven by noble, altruistic motives in submitting this request, and seeks to explain why they were nevertheless condemned for seeking to settle east of the Jordan:

Rabbi Yehuda says: Machaloket [dissension] is grave – even for the sake of making a fence around mitzvot.  We indeed find that the people of Gad and Reuven said to Moshe, “Let this land be given to us…” – and why did they choose it?  Because they had abundant cattle and sought to distance themselves from theft.  But because they originally separated from Israel, they were exiled first… And if those who separated from their peers in order to distance themselves from theft were punished in this fashion, all the more so will those who separate from their peers out of hatred and contention [be punished].

According to the Midrash, Reuven and Gad sought to establish their territory east of the Jordan not out of greed, not out of fear of the Canaanites, and not out of impatience – but rather to avoid theft by ensuring ample pasture for their herds.  They feared, understandably, that as they and their fellow tribes expand, the rising demand for pasture might cause the less ethical shepherds to bring their herds into private property.  The large, verdant territories east of the Jordan River would help guarantee that Reuven and Gad’s herds would have plenty of pasture without running the risk of grazing on other people’s land.

            And yet, Moshe condemned the initiative.  The Midrash charges that Reuven and Gad were guilty of “machaloket,” of “separating from Israel,” which is unwarranted even “for the sake of making a fence around mitzvot.”  Of course, one is required to separate from evildoers in order to avoid their sphere of influence.  But, the Midrash teaches, it is improper to separate oneself from the community or from the Jewish people for the sake of added measures of piety.  Even if one is sincerely driven by a desire to live piously, this goal must not come at the expense of identifying and participating with Am Yisrael.  Commenting on this passage in the Midrash, Rav Yaakov Filber (in the weekly Be-ahava U-ba’emuna, 5759) writes that Moshe’s reaction stemmed not simply from his opposition to Reuven and Gad’s plan itself, but mainly from its possible long-term implications.  He feared that this initiative would set a dangerous precedent of splinter groups separating from Am Yisrael in order to pursue higher religious goals.  Idealistic individuals or groups of individuals may feel stifled and frustrated by communal life, and seek to isolate themselves from society so they can achieve greater personal piety.  Moshe’s response teaches us that even “making a fence around the mitzvot” does not justify separating oneself from the kelal.  Even if separation is warranted to avoid violating the mitzvot, it is not sanctioned for the sake of voluntary measures of piety, because such measures are not worth the price of turning away from one’s nation and causing friction and disunity.

Friday

            The haftara for the second Shabbat of the “Three Weeks” comes from the second chapter of Sefer Yirmiyahu, in which the prophet conveys God’s lament of Benei Yisrael’s religious deterioration.  God observes that even the nation’s spiritual leaders, who were expected to set an example of fealty to the Torah and resistance to foreign pressures, betrayed Him: “The kohanim did not say, ‘Where is the Lord?’ and the holders of the Torah have not known Me” (Yirmiyahu 2:8).

            Who are the “holders of the Torah” (“tofesei ha-Torah”), and what does it mean that they did not “know” God”?

            Targum Yonatan translates this phrase as referring to the “malfei Orayta” – the teachers of Torah.  These teachers, the Targum explains, failed to “teach to know My fear.”  It seems that the teachers transmitted to their students facts and knowledge, but did not attempt to instill within them a sense of yir’at Shamayim, a sense of commitment and obligation to God.

            The Radak explains similarly, though in his view, the prophet here criticizes not the teachers, but the scholars.  The scholars themselves amassed impressive knowledge of Torah, but did not learn out of a desire to practice the Torah’s laws and ideals.  They studied Torah as strictly theoretical information, without looking to live their lives by its instruction.

            Rashi claims that the “tofesei ha-Torah” are the members of the Sanhedrin, the highest rabbinical court.  What likely led Rashi to this explanation was the fact that this verse lists all the various bodies of national leadership: “The kohanim did not say…and the holders of the Torah…and the shepherds have betrayed Me and the prophets prophesied in the name of Ba’al…”  The prophet speaks here of four groups: the kohanim, the “holders of the Torah,” the shepherds – whom Rashi identifies as the kings – and the prophets.  It seems likely that in this verse the prophet condemns all the various branches of leadership, and it thus stands to reason that the phrase “tofesei ha-Torah” refers to the highest Torah authority in the nation, the Sanhedrin.  This verse would thus include all four areas of leadership: the political leaders (“the shepherds”), the ritual officiators in the Temple (the kohanim), the spiritual leaders (the prophets) and the halakhic decisors (the Sanhedrin).

            Rav Baruch Yitzchak Yissachar Leventhal, in his Birkat Yitzchak (Jerusalem, 5706), suggests a particularly novel interpretation of this phrase.  “Knowing the Lord,” he explains, means understanding the kind of general conduct God expects and demands from us, the qualities of kindness, graciousness, patience and agreeability that the Torah advocates.  The verb t.f.s. is often used in reference to grabbing something unlawfully.  The phrase “tofesei ha-Torah,” then, refers to those who “grab” the Torah and misuse it for their own self-aggrandizing interests, who stir arguments and controversy allegedly in the name of the Torah.  They hijack the Torah and turn it into a camouflage an altruism behind which they wage their self-serving battles.  These “tofesei ha-Torah” failed to understand the message of “its ways are ways of pleasantness and all its paths are peace” (Mishlei 3:17), that the Torah is meant to promote peaceful relations and harmony, and must not be used as a weapon with which to fight against one’s fellow Jews.