S.A.L.T - PARASHAT EIKEV

By Rav David Silverberg

MAZAL TOV TO My sister-in-law and brother-in-law, Carol and David Novoseller,
and their children Sara, Rivka, Esther and Tzipora, on their aliya this week from Montreal to Efrat!

Motzaei Shabbat

            The Torah in Parashat Eikev (8:10) presents the mitzva of reciting birkat ha-mazon after eating – “You shall eat and be satiated, and you shall [then] bless the Lord your God…” 

            The Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin (4a) cites a comment of the Tosefta (Berakhot 5:15) establishing that this obligation of birkat ha-mazon applies equally to kohanim, leviyim and ordinary Yisraelim.  (The text of the Tosefta as cited in the Gemara reads “zimun,” referring to the blessing recited before birkat ha-mazon when a group eats together, but the text of the Tosefta reads “birkat ha-mazon.”)  As the Gemara notes, the Tosefta’s ruling seems, at first glance, blatantly obvious.  Why would anyone have thought to distinguish between these groups with regard to the mitzva of birkat ha-mazon?  The Gemara answers that the Tosefta refers to the obligation of kohanim to recite birkat ha-mazon after eating kodashim – sacrificial food.  The food of sacrificial offerings is special, the Gemara explains, because its consumption by the kohanim effectuates atonement for the person who brought the offering.  One might have therefore assumed that this eating does not require birkat ha-mazon like an ordinary meal, and for this reason the Tosefta found it necessary to specify that the consumption of kodashim also requires birkat ha-mazon.

            Why would we have thought to distinguish between kodashim and ordinary food in this regard?  What would be the rationale for excluding sacrificial food from the obligation of birkat ha-mazon?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains the Gemara’s comment by noting the “humbling” effect of birkat ha-mazon.  Immediately after introducing the obligation of birkat ha-mazon, the Torah warns that financial success and material indulgence could lead to arrogance and undermine one’s sense of dependence on the Almighty’s graciousness.  The recitation of birkat ha-mazon serves, at least in part, to humble an individual by reminding him that it was God who enabled him to earn a livelihood and thus satisfy his physical needs.  One might have mistakenly assumed that when one eats a meal in the context of a mitzva, he is free from such dangers.  Since the kohanim partake of sacrifices not merely for their own gratification, but as part of fulfilling their responsibilities toward the rest of the nation, the mitzva quality of this meal might itself function as a barrier to the hubris that could result from satiation.  The Tosefta therefore found it necessary to emphasize that even kohanim partaking of sacrifices must recite birkat ha-mazon; they, too, require protection from the feelings of arrogance and independence that a hearty meal could engender.

            If so, then the Gemara’s discussion serves as a poignant reminder that involvement in a mitzva, and even in sacred enterprises, such as the sacrifices in the Beit Ha-mikdash, does not guarantee protection from common human frailties.  Even “kohanim,” those who devote their lives to holy endeavors, are susceptible to arrogance and other negative qualities.  There is no “magical cure” for natural human weaknesses.  Even the service in the Beit Ha-mikdash cannot automatically extricate the kohanim from common vices.  And therefore even in the Beit Ha-mikdash there is an obligation of “birkat ha-mazon,” to work toward refining one’s character and becoming a better person and better servant of God.

Sunday

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Eikev, Moshe urges Benei Yisrael to remember their period of desert travel after they’ve developed an agricultural industry in Eretz Yisrael and enjoy success and affluence.  At that point, when they enjoy the fruits of their own labors, the products of their work and ingenuity, they must remember their dependence on the Almighty for their success, that, as Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch writes, “your present state of having plenty by means of the ordinary course of nature is quite as much the work of God, and His gift, as was the miraculous feeding in the wilderness.”

            In describing the wilderness experience in this context, Moshe recalls that God “fed you manna in the wilderness…in order to torment you and in order to test you” (8:16).  A number of writers addressed the question of how the daily provision of manna posed a “test” to Benei Yisrael.  In what way were they tested by receiving their daily sustenance in miraculous fashion for forty years?

            Seforno writes, “…if you will fulfill His will when He provides your sustenance without any trouble.”  According to Seforno, receiving a livelihood easily and effortlessly is indeed a “test,” as one might be less inclined to serve the Almighty under such circumstances.

            Why would an effortless, secure livelihood test one’s allegiance to God?  Why might it prove more difficult to serve God when one is free from the burden of making a living than while working for a livelihood?

            Rav Yissacher Frand cites in this context a comment by the Chovot Ha-levavot (Sha’ar Ha-bitachon section) that provides a possible answer.  The Chovot Ha-levavot contends that God specifically arranged that human beings – as opposed to animals – would have to toil for a living in order to – among other reasons – “keep us out of trouble,” so-to-speak.  The daily struggle to earn an adequate living occupies a great deal of people’s time and saps a great deal of their energy, leaving them with limited opportunities for wrongdoing.  And this, perhaps, is why it was a test to receive a package of manna from the heavens each day.  This test was, essentially, the test of leisure time, which can be an invaluable asset or a destructive force, depending on how a person chooses to use it.

            The rigors and challenges of life can truly be a blessing in disguise, as they compel us to devote our time and energy toward building, improving and developing the world, rather than ruining it, helping to ensure that we use our time on earth productively, and not destructively.

Monday

            A famous verse in Parashat Eikev introduces the Torah obligation of birkat ha-mazon: “You shall eat and be satiated, and you shall bless the Lord your God…” (8:10).  The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (48b) establishes that the Torah obligation of birkat ha-mazon requires reciting three berakhot after a meal.  The fourth berakha that we recite in birkat ha-mazon (known as “ha-tov ve-ha’meitiv”), the Gemara comments, is not included in the Torah obligation, and was added by the Sages of Yavneh following the tragic massacre of the Jewish population of Beitar.  The Romans initially refused the Jews of Eretz Yisrael to bury the thousands of victims, but ultimately they released the bodies, and the Jews found that, miraculously, the remains had not decayed.  In commemoration of this event, the Sages of the time instituted the fourth berakha of birkat ha-mazon, in which we give praise to the Almighty for the goodness that He bestows upon us each and every day.

            The institution of this berakha becomes especially remarkable in light of its historical background.  The city of Beitar was the final stronghold of the Bar Kochba revolt.  It is well-known that this revolt, which was at first resoundingly successful, energized the Jews of the time and fueled hopes of sovereignty, even being touted as the onset of the Messianic Era.  The fall of Beitar resulted in not only the deaths of tens of thousands of Jews, as the Gemara describes in Masekhet Gittin (57), but also the shattering of hopes of freedom and of the final redemption.  Worse, it ushered in a period of unrelenting persecution against the Jews, as the emperor Hadrian set out to punish the Jews for the violent revolt.  The period of the fall of Beitar and its aftermath undoubtedly ranks among the darkest eras of Jewish history, a time of bloodshed, disillusionment, frustrated hopes, and despair.

            Incredibly, it was during this period when the Sages enacted that each time we eat, we must recite a blessing to God praising Him as “the good King who deals kindly to all, who, each and every day, has dealt kindly, deals kindly, and will deal kindly with us.”  Amidst the pain and anguish of the Beitar massacre, Chazal found a small spark of light in the form of the burial of the fallen victims.  And our Sages wanted to teach us that even the moments of greatest despair and sorrow, we can and must find that spark, and to give praise to God, to “the good King who deals kindly to all.”  They enacted that when a Jew is able to sit down to a meal, no matter what hardships he faces and what misfortunes have befallen him, he has good reason to recite “ha-tov ve-ha’meitiv,” to praise God for His ongoing goodness.  The fourth berakha of birkat ha-mazon is a powerful message of Jewish optimism, of saying “thank you” for the favors we receive even in periods of crisis and tragedy.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (94a) comments that King Chizkiyahu, who led a nationwide process of teshuva and rededicated the Beit Ha-mikdash after it had been defiled and then shut down by his father, was initially worthy of being the Mashiach.  He forfeited this privilege, the Gemara teaches, because he failed to sing shira, to give praise to God, after the miraculous death of the Assyrian army around the walls of Jerusalem.  The powerful Assyrian army, led by Sancheiriv, threatened to destroy the capital and take its population into exile, but God delivered a deadly plague that killed the entire force.  Chizkiyahu lost his status as the potential messiah because of his failure to give praise to the Almighty for this miracle.  The Gemara does not explain why Chizkiyahu did not sing shira, but we might speculate that the reason relates to the events preceding the miracle.  Before its assault on the Judean kingdom, the Assyrian Empire, led by Shalmanesser, had conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel and brought the ten tribes into exile.  And before besieging Jerusalem, Sancheiriv had captured all the major cities of Judea (Melakhim II 18:13), to the point where the prophet Yeshayahu described Jerusalem as “a hut in a vineyard” – the small, unstable, remnant of development in a vast area of desolation (Yeshayahu 1:8; see Radak).  After Jerusalem was miraculously rescued, Chizkiyahu, while feeling relieved over the salvation he and his people had just experienced, perhaps felt unable to sing shira in light of the devastation and suffering that the Jewish people had just endured.  Jerusalem was indeed spared, but the Northern Kingdom was obliterated and much of the Judean Kingdom was in tatters.  In his view, this was not a time for shira – a decision for which he was denied messianic stature.

            The berakha of “ha-tov ve-ha’meitiv” in a sense rectifies the mistake of Chizkiyahu.  The salvaging of the corpses is reason to give praise to the Almighty even after thousands of courageous Jews were massacred.  The Sages of Yavneh urged us to find a cause for hope, optimism and gratitude even in times of distress.  While grieving for what was lost, we must also feel grateful for what we still have.  Even after the tragic fall of Beitar, we must still recognize God as “the good King who deals kindly with all,” we must still acknowledge all the goodness with which He blesses us, each and every day.

Tuesday

            The Torah in Parashat Eikev extols the virtues of Eretz Yisrael, describing it as “a land of wheat and barley, and vines, figs and pomegranates; a land of oil-bearing olives and [date] nectar” (8:8).  This list is famously known as the “shivat ha-minim,” the seven special species for which the Land of Israel is given praise in the Torah.

            In addition to the agricultural significance of this verse, the Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (41a) points to its halakhic implications.  Each species mentioned in the verse, the Gemara comments, represents a shiur – a measurement with important halakhic applications.  For example, the size of a grain of barley is the minimum required size of bone from a corpse that transmits tum’a through direct contact.  The size of a grogeret, a small fig, is the minimum required size of an object for which one is liable to punishment if he carries it across domains on Shabbat.  Most famously, the volume of an olive – a ke-zayit – is the minimum quantity of food that is required for a halakhic act of “eating.”  Thus, whenever Halakha requires “eating,” this is defined by the volume of a ke-zayit.

            The Chatam Sofer (O.C. 181) raises an intriguing question concerning the measurements to which the Torah alludes in this verse, one which relates to the famous controversy surrounding the calculation of these measurements.  This verse was stated by Moshe Rabbenu in advance of Benei Yisrael’s long-anticipated entry into the Land of Israel.  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (34a) tells that the produce of Eretz Yisrael during the time of Moshe Rabbenu was considerably larger than it is today.  If so, the Chatam Sofer reasons, then when Moshe here in Parashat Eikev speaks of the land’s seven special species, he refers to produce that is much larger than what we have today.  And thus, if, as the Gemara says, this verse establishes the measurements used in Halakha, then we must seemingly follow the sizes of the various species in Moshe’s time.  Meaning, when Halakha requires us to eat something, we must eat the volume of an olive during the Biblical period – which was much larger than today’s olives.  And, one would not desecrate Shabbat by carrying an object the size of today’s grogeret if it is smaller than the figs of Moshe Rabbenu’s time.

This conclusion, of course, poses an insurmountable logistical problem: how can we possibly determine these measurements based on produce that no longer exists?  What purpose does it serve to tell us that halakhic “eating” means consuming the volume of a ke-zayit if we have no way of determining the size of olives during Moshe’s time, when these measurements were established?

            The Chatam Sofer resolves this question by posing a bold theory, namely, that these measurements were established based on the sizes of these species in every generation.  The definition of “eating,” for example, depends upon the size of olives in every day and age.  Even though the olives in Moshe Rabbenu’s time may have been significantly larger than modern-day olives, nevertheless, we can define “eating” based upon the volume of the average olive picked from today’s orchards.

            As mentioned, the Chatam Sofer’s theory yields important ramifications with regard to the well-known controversy regarding the halakhic measurements.  Rav Yechezkel Landau (author of Noda Bi-yehuda), in his Tzelach (Pesachim 116b), famously asserted that the olives and eggs in Chazal’s time were larger than – and, actually, twice the size of – the olives and eggs with which we are familiar.  He proves this from (among other sources) the Gemara’s discussion (in Pesachim 109a) concerning the volume of a revi’it, which is defined as the displacement volume of 1.5 eggs.  The Tzelach found that according to the Gemara’s calculation, which is based upon the average width of a human thumb, a revi’it is the displacement volume of three modern-sized eggs.  He thus concluded that Chazal referred to eggs that are twice the average size of our eggs.  And since Chazal defined a ke-beitza (volume of an egg) as twice the size of a ke-zayit, we must conclude that their olives were twice the size of our olives, as well.  Rav Chayim Naeh famously disputed this theory in a work he composed on this topic, entitled Shiurei Torah.

            However, according to the Chatam Sofer’s theory, the size of olives and eggs in Chazal’s time has no bearing upon our measurements nowadays.  In his view, as discussed, we are to determine halakhic measurements based upon the species that exist in our time, and we need not take into account their sizes in earlier generations.

            Interestingly enough, the Chazon Ish (O.C. 39:6), while famously accepting the conclusions of the Tzelach, acknowledged the argument that measurements should be established based upon the size of the species in each time period.  He even cites a comment that appears in the responsum of one of the Ge’onim claiming that the Torah specifically defined halakhic measurements by identifying species of produce so that these measurements can easily be determined in every generation.  Units of measurement change from one era to the next, and therefore the Torah established the halakhic measurements on the basis of familiar species of produce, so that all generations will have access to this vital halakhic information.  This passage likely serves as an ancient source for the Chatam Sofer’s theory, authorizing us to determine halakhic measurements based on the sizes of today’s fruits, without wondering, questioning or even caring whether these are the same sizes as the fruits in earlier times.

            It should be noted that the Chatam Sofer himself, in responsum composed later in his life (O.C. 127), ruled that one should, indeed, follow the Tzelach’s view and take into account the larger sizes in Talmudic times, seemingly rescinding his theory.  In any event, a comprehensive discussion of this subject clearly lies well beyond the scope of this article.

Wednesday

            Twice in Parashat Eikev, the Torah mentions the requirement to “attach” oneself to the Almighty – “u-vo tidbak” (10:20), “u-l’dovka bo” (11:22).  Rashi (to 11:22), citing from Chazal (in the Sifrei), asks, “Is it possible to attach oneself to the Shekhina?  Is He not a ‘consuming fire’?”  The answer, Rashi explains, is that one “attaches himself” to God by associating with and drawing close to Torah scholars, as contact with sages is tantamount to “attaching oneself” to the Almighty.

            What exactly was Chazal’s initial question?  Did they really consider a literal interpretation of “deveikut” – “attachment” to God?  Isn’t it obvious that the Torah refers to “attachment” in a metaphorical sense?  And why does the Sifrei conclude that this “deveikut” must take the form of association with righteous scholars?

            The term “deveikut” denotes a very personal, emotional identification with God.  As opposed to simply performing mitzvot, a responsibility which is shared by all members of the nation in the generally same fashion, deveikut might refer to charting a personal, individual path toward closeness with God.  “Clinging” to God means not just serving God, but forging a personal relationship with God.

            Chazal thus cautioned in this context that God is a “consuming fire.”  Just as fire must be used the right way, as it could otherwise be destructive, similarly, forging one’s own, individual relationship with the Almighty requires caution.   Chazal here raise the question of how the Torah allows and even requires “deveikut,” personal initiative and individuality in one’s relationship with God.  How do we know if our initiatives are acceptable?  Do we not run the risk of charting a path that leads us away from the goals that God demands of us?  If each individual is entitled to forge his own path, how can we be assured that the path we each take is a proper one?

            The Sifrei thus explains that we must associate with talmidei chakhamim.  The Torah encourages religious initiative and creativity, but only under proper Torah guidance, within the parameters set by our Sages.  Chazal here urge us to “cling” to the Almighty, to develop and nurture our personal relationship with Him, but to ensure that this is done in accordance with authentic Torah tradition, laws and values.  We avoid the “consuming fire,” the risk entailed in personal spiritual initiative, by following the guidance and example of our Torah giants, thereby ensuring that we chart an acceptable and proper path of deveikut.

(Based on Rav Moshe Feinstein in Kol Ram, vol. 1)

Thursday

            Parashat Eikev includes the second paragraph of the shema prayer, which begins, “It shall be, if you obey all my commandments…to love the Lord your God and to serve Him with all your heart…”  The Rambam, in the beginning of Hilkhot Tefila, cites the phrase “and to serve Him with all your heart” (“u-le’ovdo be-khol levavkhem”) as one of the Biblical sources of the daily obligation to pray.  We serve the Almighty “with our hearts” by turning to Him in prayer.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (5b) establishes that while praying, one must ensure that there is nothing in between him and the wall of the room in which he prays.  This halakha is inferred from the description of King Chizkiyahu’s prayer to God during his illness: “He turned his face to the wall and prayed to the Lord…” (Melakhim II 20:2).

            The Mordekhai cites an earlier source explaining this halakha as based upon the concern to avoid distractions.  If a person sees objects in front of him as he prays, it will be difficult to focus his or her attention on prayer, and Halakha therefore requires us to ensure that there is nothing in between us and the wall of the room during prayer.  However, the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 98:4) lists this requirement among the laws that stem from the association between prayer and sacrifices.  Just as the kohanim were to ensure that nothing comes in between sacrifices that utensils in which they are held, similarly, we must not allow any “chatzitza” (“obstruction”) in between us and the wall during prayer.

            These different reasons perhaps underlie the dispute among the Rishonim concerning the status of permanent furnishings with regard to this halakha.  Tosefot, commenting to the Gemara’s ruling, write that permanent furnishings are not included in this halakha, and thus a table would not constitute an obstruction between a person and the wall during prayer.  By contrast, the Beit Yosef (90) cites a responsum of the Rambam in which the Rambam includes permanent furnishings in this halakha, and thus, in his view, one may not allow even a permanent piece of furniture to be in between him and the wall during prayer.  Rav Yitzchak Zev Diskin, in his work Zivchei Tzedek (Jerusalem, 5760), notes that these two views likely reflect the different reasons given for this requirement.  The Rambam likely attributed the halakha to the interest in avoiding distractions, in which case there seems to be little reason to distinguish between different kinds of objects.  Tosefot, perhaps, followed the view that this halakha relates to the resemblance between prayer and sacrifices.  Permanent furnishings do not constitute a formal “chatzitza” because they are considered part of the inherent structure of the building, rather than extraneous objects that “obstruct” between the worshipper and the wall.  Once we view this law as a formal requirement, as opposed to a pragmatic measure to avoid distractions, then we might distinguish between extraneous objects and those which may be considered part of the room.

            Indeed, the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 90:21) codifies Tosefot’s ruling, that permanent furnishings, such as the aron and the table in the synagogue, are not considered “obstructions” with respect to this halakha – likely following consistently his view that this halakha relates to the resemblance to sacrifices.

            The Magen Avraham raises the question of why it was customary (as it still is in many places) to use portable “shtenders” for prayer.  Seemingly, as shtenders are not permanent fixtures, and are made to be moved from one place to the next, it should be forbidden to pray with a shetender in between oneself and the wall.  The Magen Avraham cites a responsum of the Rashba claiming that synagogue furnishings do not constitute a “chatzitza” in between a person and the wall, even those that are not permanent fixtures.  All standard furnishings in the synagogue are considered integral to the building of the synagogue, and therefore, the Magen Avraham writes, it is permissible to pray using a shtender.

Friday

            The opening verses of Parashat Eikev describe the reward that God promises to bestow upon Benei Yisrael for their observance of His laws.  Rashi, commenting on the first words of the parasha, famously cites the Midrash Tanchuma as explaining this section as referring to observance of “the ‘light’ mitzvot which a person tramples upon with his heels.”  According to the Midrash, the Torah here speaks specifically of those mitzvot upon which people are tempted to “trample” upon.

            How might we explain the precise significance of this metaphor – “trampling” on a mitzva with one’s heels?

            We often step on things as we walk because our attention is focused on our destination, such that we ignore the ground we tread upon.  What interests us as we walk is reaching our destination, not the small objects on the ground.  And the faster we walk, the less attention we pay to what we step on.  The more focused we are on our destination, the less we tend to focus on each individual step we must take to get there.

            The Tanchuma perhaps alerts us to the phenomenon of “tramping” on mitzvot over the course of the rat race of life.  In virtually all stages of life, we are “on the run,” in the process of pursuing – often frantically – some important goal.  And in this process, we are prone to “trample” upon valuable “objects” – mitzvot.  Chazal here urge us to “watch our step,” to make sure we do not “trample” on precious opportunities that present themselves to us each and every day.  They were not concerned that we would miss out on the major mitzvot, on Yom Kippur, Pesach, and the like, but they feared that we would overlook the “light” mitzvot that we encounter each day – perhaps a warm, friendly smile or kind word, a few available moments for Torah learning, or small neighborly favors that often are not quite as “small” as we think.  In our frantic race to complete all the things we need and want to accomplish, we can easily trounce on simple, everyday mitzvot.

            The Midrash, then, alerts us to pay close attention to where we step, rather than focusing exclusively on reaching our destination.  There are precious diamonds strewn all along every road we take in life – and we must make every effort to pick them up, rather than “trample” on them.