S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT KI-TISA

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa presents the instructions for producing the ketoret, the incense that was burned twice each day inside the Mishkan.  The ketoret was a blend of several different spices, including chelbena (galbanum), which, as Chazal famously noted, generally emitted a foul odor.  It was only when it merged with the other spices of the ketoret that the chelbena contributed a pleasing scent to the aroma of the ketoret.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Keritut (6b) comments that the inclusion of the chelbena in the ketoret serves as a model for the inclusion of sinners in public religious events: “Any fast day that does not include the sinners of Israel is not a fast day.”  When a community observes a public fast day in response to a threat or calamity, it must include the “sinners of Israel.”  As we come before the Almighty as a collective group, all members of Am Yisrael must be represented.  Even the posh’ei Yisrael, the nation’s sinners, have a vital role to play in our appeals to God, and they must therefore be included in a community’s observance of a day of prayer and repentance.

            The Ba’al Shem Tov is cited as sharpening the message of the Gemara’s comment by suggesting a bold and novel reading of this remark.  One might wonder, how are we to include the posh’ei Yisrael in a day of fasting?  Why would a sinner want to join in this kind of religious observance?  The Ba’al Shem Tov suggested that this is precisely the Gemara’s message.  If the righteous members of the community fail to persuade the sinners to join in the public fast day, if the posh’ei Yisrael have been disenchanted to the point where they separate from the community even in times of communal crisis, this serves as a harsh indictment against the righteous community members.  It is their responsibility to draw the posh’ei Yisrael back, and if this does not happen, then the fast day is inherently deficient, because even the righteous members are not so righteous.  If they were truly pious, then they would have succeeded in drawing the posh’ei Yisrael to participate in communal religious functions.

            This reading of the Gemara’s comment may be somewhere exaggerated (and it is likely that the Ba’al Shem Tov intended it as an exaggeration), as it is difficult to accept the premise that every instance of alienation from the religious community is the fault of that community.  Still, the Ba’al Shem Tov’s insight alerts us to the fact that insincerity can often serve as a powerful repellant.  When the “sinners of Israel” detect a lack of genuineness in our religious devotion, they are less likely to join our ranks.  The chelbena can emit a pleasing aroma only if it mixes with spices that are truly pleasing.  The more sincere and genuine our Torah observance, the more likely we are to inspire others, and transform Am Yisrael into the magnificent “ketoret” that we are meant to be, that will emit the pleasing “aroma” of Godliness and spirituality throughout the world.

Sunday

            The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa tells the tragic story of cheit ha-eigel, the golden calf.  We read that after Benei Yisrael fashioned the golden calf and offerd sacrifices to it, “the nation sat to eat and drink, and they [then] got up to revel” (32:6).

            The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 41) takes note of the word “va-yeishev” (“sat”) used by the Torah in this context.  While this term is itself innocuous, and there is nothing surprising about its usage in this narrative, the Midrash observes a pattern of the use of this term in Biblical narratives involving grave sins.  The story of Migdal Bavel began when the people “settled” (“va-yeishvu”) in the Shinar Valley (Bereishit 11:2).  Likewise, in the story of mekhirat Yosef, we read that the brothers “sat to eat bread” (“va-yeishvu le-ekhol lechem” – Bereishit 37:25) just before they sold Yosef as a slave.  And the Torah introduces the tragic story of Ba’al Pe’or – where Benei Yisrael engage ritually and sexually with the women of Moav – with the words, “Va-yeishev Yisrael ba-Shittim” (“Israel settled in Shittim” – Bamidbar 25:1).  Here, too, in the context of the golden calf, we find the perpetrators “sitting to eat” – “va-yeishev ha-am le-ekhol” (“the nation sat to eat”).  The Midrash thus concludes, “Wherever you find ‘sitting,’ you find an offense [takala].”

            How might we explain the association between the term “va-yeishev” and sinful behavior?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, explains that the Sages detected within this term a connotation of complacency and comfort.  Beyond the word’s narrow definition of a sitting position or settlement in a certain geographic location, the verb “y.sh.v.” also alludes to a general sense of ease and contentment with oneself.  The Midrash warns that feeling too content with one’s achievements and spiritual condition can often lead to wrongful behavior.  Religious devotion requires a certain degree of restlessness and unease, constant ambition and an insatiable desire for growth and advancement.  The Sages saw within the pattern of “va-yeishev” a warning against feeling too comfortable with oneself.  While we must certainly take pride and satisfaction in what we’ve achieved, we must also be concerned about what we’ve yet to achieve.  If we fall into the trap of “va-yeishev,” of staying comfortably in place without looking to grow and improve further, then we are prone to fall.  We must constantly be working to improve, and never experience a sense of “va-yeishev,” feeling complacent and content with who we are.

Monday

            We read in Parashat Ki-Tisa that after Benei Yisrael fashioned the eigel ha-zahav (golden calf), they declared, “Eileh elohekha Yisrael asher he’elukha mei-eretz Mitzrayim” (“This is your god, O Israel, who took you out of the land of Egypt” – 32:4).

            The Gemara in Masekhet Sanhedrin (63a) notes the plural form used in this declaration (“he’elukha”), and comments that the use of the plural form saved Benei Yisrael from destruction.  The fact that they spoke of “gods” taking them from Egypt implies that they did not deny the Almighty’s existence, but they simply acknowledged another deity who worked alongside Him.  Thus, although they certainly committed a grave transgression, their worship of the eigel was less severe than pure idolatry, and on this account they were given the opportunity to repent and earn atonement.

            The Gemara then proceeds to cite Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai as objecting to this analysis of cheit ha-eigel.  Rabbi Shimon argues that “shituf” – worshipping a foreign deity and God together – also qualifies as pure idolatry, and thus this sort of combined worship would not have rendered Benei Yisrael any less deserving of condemnation than the exclusive worship of the calf.  Rather, Rabbi Shimon adds, the plural form of “he’elukha” means something else: “she-ivu elohot harbei” – “they desired many gods.”  The people referred here not to God and the golden calf, but rather the golden calf and many other deities, all of whom they “desired” to worship.

            A number of writers raised the question of what Rabbi Shimon intended to contribute to the discussion through his interpretation of the verse.  He disagreed with the first tanna’s assertion that the sin of the calf was mitigated by the fact that the people worshipped both God and the eigel.  But what does he add through his alternate interpretation of “Eileh elohekha…asher he’elukha”?  Does he suggest that the sin is mitigated by the fact that “they desired many gods”?  Why would the severity be lessened by their having worshipped multiple pagan deities, rather than just the calf, or than just the calf and God?

            The Maharsha explains Rabbi Shimon’s comment to mean that Benei Yisrael did not regard the calf as a deity at all.  As the Rambam emphasizes in several contexts, paganism began with the belief that people should worship natural forces since they are God’s “underlings” whom He has given control over certain aspects of His creation.  The original idolaters did not deny the existence of a single Creator; rather, they mistakenly thought that He wants us to worship the natural forces.  Rabbi Shimon, according to the Maharsha, attributed this mistake to the worshippers of the eigel ha-zahav.  They acknowledged God’s existence, but thought that He dissociated Himself from the world and entrusted it to the various natural forces.  They worshipped the calf as the symbol of one of the forces of nature.  And this was the mitigating factor – the fact that they did not mistake the calf for God, or equate the calf with God, but rather worshipped it as one of “elohot harbei,” numerous forces empowered by the Almighty.

            We might also suggest a different possible interpretation.  According to Rabbi Shimon, perhaps, Benei Yisrael did not exchange their ideology and belief for an alternative ideology and belief.  Rather, they exchanged the worship of the true God for the freedom to worship any deity they desired.  “They desired many gods” might mean that they did not want to commit themselves to a certain belief and creed.  They desired the freedom to choose their religion at whim, rather than being locked in and confined to a particular system.  Rabbi Shimon inferred from the plural form of “he’elukha” that Benei Yisrael did not commit themselves to the golden calf; to the contrary, their desire was “elohot harbei,” to break free from a single system and choose deities as they wished.  The people did not pledge allegiance to the golden calf instead of to God; rather, their intent was not to pledge allegiance to any deity, to have all options open so they can choose at whim based on what they feel at any given moment or stage.

            According to many sources (Midrash Tanchuma, Rashi and Seforno, to name just a few), the command of the Mishkan was a direct response to the sin of the golden calf.  Among the unique features of the Mishkan was that the foundation was made from the mandatory machatzit ha-shekel tax given by every member of the nation, whereas the rest came from voluntary donations.  The foundation of Torah life is the basic obligations charged upon each member of the nation equally, the halakhic restrictions and requirements that each and every one of us must obey and follow, without exception.  Beyond the strict obligations, however, the Torah provides ample room for each individual to chart his or her own course, to innovate and find one’s special niche within the large “Sanctuary” of religious life.  The Mishkan must be constructed according to certain specifications, but the people were given the freedom to choose how they would contribute to this effort.  After giving the mandatory machatzit ha-shekel tax, Benei Yisrael were invited and encouraged to contribute “asher yidevenu libo” (25:2), according to their individual skills and natural affinities.

            In response to the golden calf, which expressed the people’s desire for greater freedom to innovate and choose their preferred religious system, they were assigned the mitzva of the Mishkan, which reflects the combination between strict obedience and originality in the service of the Almighty.  Even within the confines of Torah, we are given room to choose and innovate, provided that this is done upon the foundation of loyal obedience to God’s laws.  We are, indeed, confined to a strict system, but we are also urged to tap into our creative powers and individual skill-sets to contribute “asher yidevenu libo,” each doing his or her part in the construction of the magnificent and sacred Mishkan and bring the divine presence to our nation’s midst.

Tuesday

            The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tisa reiterates the mitzva of Shabbat observance.  God introduces the command of Shabbat to Moshe with the words, “akh et Shabbetotai tishmoru” (“Nevertheless, you shall observe My Sabbaths” – 31:13).

            A number of writers addressed the question of why the Torah here speaks of Shabbat in the plural form – “Shabbetotai” (“My Sabbaths”).  The Ramban writes that the plural form is used, quite simply, in reference to the weekly observance.  The term “Shabbetotai” refers to all the days of Shabbat observed throughout the year.  This is also the view followed by Ibn Ezra (Peirush Ha-arokh), after he cites and appears to reject a different explanation, that the plural form alludes to other forms of “Shabbat,” such as the septennial shemita observance.

            The Ramban then proceeds to offer a different interpretation of the word “Shabbetotai,” which he claims follows the “derekh ha-emet” (“true approach,” generally a reference to Kabbalistic thought).  Without elaborating, the Ramban writes that the two observances alluded to by this term correspond to the two commands of “zakhor” and “shamor.”  In the first account of the Ten Commandments, the mitzva of Shabbat is presented with the term “zakhor” (literally, “remember”), whereas in the second account, the term “shamor” (“guard”) is used.  These two terms express different aspects of Shabbat observance, and the Torah refers to this dual nature of Shabbat through the plural form of “Shabbetotai.”

            While it is true that the Ramban alludes here to deeper, mystical themes underlying the mitzva of Shabbat, on one level, it seems clear that he understood the plural form of “Shabbetotai” as referring to the “do’s” and the “don’ts” of Shabbat.  The term “shamor” is generally taken to mean observing the Shabbat prohibitions, refraining from the numerous forms of activity that the Torah forbids on Shabbat.  “Zakhor,” by contrast, refers to what we must do on Shabbat, rather than we must not do.  In the narrow, strictly halakhic sense, it refers to the obligation of kiddush, but more generally, it expresses the requirement to observe Shabbat as a markedly special and distinct day, a day of heightened spiritual awareness and devotion to Torah study and prayer.  Thus, according to the Ramban, the expression “Shabbatotai” refers to both aspects of Shabbat observance – refraining from forbidden activity, and making the day special through additional focus on spiritual pursuits.  This is, indeed, the interpretation offered by Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala, where he describes these two aspects of Shabbat with the terms “shevitat ha-guf” (“resting the body”) and “yishuv ha-nefesh” (“calming the soul” so it could be nourished through spiritual engagement).

            In light of this interpretation, we should perhaps take note of the emphasis in this verse on the fact that Shabbat is “God’s” (“My Shabbatot”).  God underscores the fact that both Shabbatot – the forbidden activities, and the spiritual focus – are both “His,” they must both be observed according to His dictates.  The detailed technicalities of what constitutes “melakha” (forbidden activity), as outlined in the halakhic codes, are prescribed by the Torah (and developed through Rabbinic enactment), and clearly nobody can decide for himself or herself based on instinct and intuition which activities should be forbidden or permissible on Shabbat.  But while the halakhically-trained individual immediately understands that the aspect of “shamor” originates only from our tradition, the divine origin of “zakhor” may be less intuitive.  When it comes to the broader ideals of spirituality, sanctity and religious expression, regarding which the definitions are far less precise, the danger arises that people may chart their course based on their intuitive feelings and instincts, or foreign influences, rather than our Torah tradition.  God therefore emphasizes that we must observe “Shabbetotai,” His Shabbatot.  Both aspects of Shabbat must be observed in the manner He prescribed.  We rely on our Torah tradition to determine both the details of the Shabbat prohibitions, as well as the proper means of making Shabbat into a day of sanctity of spirituality.

            According to the Ramban and many others, the sin of the golden calf, which the Torah relates in this parasha immediately following the command regarding Shabbat, did not entail actual idolatry.  The people sought a replacement not for God, but rather for Moshe, their intermediary and representative of God.  Benei Yisrael did not sin by creating an idol, but rather by creating their own, innovative means of serving the Almighty.  Their mistake was the failure to follow the message of “Shabbetotai,” that we must follow God’s rules when seeking spirituality.  Our relationship with the Almighty must be developed and nurtured by doing what He wants, not by doing what we want.  Kedusha is found not in creative innovations, but rather in our tradition.  With regard to both halakhic minutiae and the broader quest for spirituality, we must act in accordance with the teachings of our tradition, rather than seek to chart our own course and develop innovate methods for connecting with our Creator.

(See Rav Binyamin Yudin’s “Holy Cow! You’re Only Human” at http://torahweb.org/torah/2006/parsha/ryud_kisisa.html)

Wednesday

            In the beginning of Parashat Ki-Tisa, God completes His final instructions to Moshe concerning the construction of the Mishkan, and then tells Moshe to remind Benei Yisrael of the command to observe Shabbat.  Curiously, God begins His command regarding Shabbat with the word “akh” (“however,” or “nevertheless” – 31:13).  Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, applies the exegetical rule mentioned in the Talmud (Yerushalmi, Berakhot 9:5) that the words “akh” and “rak” imply a “mi’ut,” meaning, a limitation to the precept under discussion.  In this instance, Rashi writes, the word “akh” serves to impose a limit on the preceding discussion, which presented the commands regarding the Mishkan.  It instructs that notwithstanding the importance of building a Mishkan, this project must come to a halt each week when Shabbat begins.

            Indeed, there are numerous sources that explain the reiteration of Shabbat observance in this context as intended to dispel the misconception that the construction of the Mishkan should override the Shabbat prohibitions.  However, nowhere – except in this comment by Rashi – do we find the inference from the word “akh.”  The Sages inferred the suspension of building on Shabbat from the inclusion of the command of Shabbat in the context of the Mishkan, but not from the particular word “akh.”  Moreover, as the Ramban notes, Rashi here seems to misapply the exegetical rule of “akh” and “rak.”  When the Sages spoke of these terms as indicating a “mi’ut,” they meant that they impose a restriction on the subject currently under discussion.  Rashi, however, claims that “akh” in this verse imposes a restriction on the subject discussed previously, namely, the command to build a Mishkan.  According to the rule of “akh” and “rak,” the Ramban notes, the word “akh” in this verse should limit the scope of the command to observe Shabbat, not the command to build a Mishkan.  Indeed, as the Ramban cites, the Talmud Yerushalmi (Yoma 8:5) points to the word “akh” in this verse as the source for the famous halakha allowing Shabbat desecration to avoid possible danger to life.  Following the standard rule of “akh” and “rak,” the Talmud Yerushalmi understood “akh” in this context as restricting the scope of the command to observe Shabbat, and thus inferred the suspension of the Shabbat prohibitions in situations of potentially fatal risk.  Rashi, however, appears to misapply the rule of “akh” and “rak,” claiming that “akh” restricts the previous discussion regarding the Mishkan.

            The Tzeida La-derekh (a work on Rashi’s Torah commentary) claims that Rashi in truth did not apply the rule of “akh” and “rak” to this verse.  He notes that in older manuscripts of Rashi’s commentary, the citation of this rule (“kol akhin ve-rakin mi’utin”) does not appear in Rashi’s comments to this verse.  It was, apparently, added later by a copy editor who erroneously assumed that Rashi had this rule in mind when explaining the command of Shabbat in this context as intended to forbid work on the Mishkan during Shabbat.  Rashi actually referred to the simple fact that God reiterated the command of Shabbat after presenting the laws of the Mishkan, and did not have in mind the rule of “akh” and “rak” at all.

            Others, however, defended the application of the “akh” and “rak” rule to this verse, as suggested by the prevalent editions of Rashi’s commentary.  Abarbanel, for example, claims that “akh” and “rak” can occasionally serve to impose a restriction on the immediately preceding topic.  He cites as an example God’s instructions to Noach after the flood, in which He allowed the consumption of animal meat, and then added, “Akh basar be-nafsho damo lo tokheilu” (Bereishit 9:4), forbidding the consumption of meat taken from a live animal.  Here, the word “akh” clearly serves to limit the scope of the law introduced in the immediately preceding passage.  After God issues the law permitting meat, He then immediately limits this permission by forbidding the consumption of meat from a live animal.  Similarly, Abarbanel claims, it is perfectly valid to interpret the word “akh” in this verse in Parashat Ki-Tisa as restricting the command to build the Mishkan by forbidding construction on Shabbat.

            Interestingly, Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala, objects to Rashi’s application of the “akh” and “rak” rule for an entirely different reason.  He claims that the words “akh” and “rak” signify two different types of distinctions.  The word “rak” serves to distinguish between two items that have little or nothing to do with one another.  For example, toward the beginning of Sefer Iyov (1:12), God tells Satan that he may destroy Iyov’s possessions, but not his self – “rak eilav al tishlach yadekha.”  The word “rak” sets apart Iyov’s body from his material possessions, which are already two fundamentally different entities.  “Akh,” however, according to Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala, distinguishes between two entities that bear close resemblance or association to one another, such that one may have been inclined to include both in the issue under discussion.  Thus, in the verse cited by Abarbanel, God allows eating animal meat, but makes an exception for meat taken from an animal during its lifetime.  The distinction is not necessarily obvious, and hence the word “akh” used to signify the distinction.

            Returning to Parashat Ki-Tisa, Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala notes that the word “akh” with which God introduces the mitzva of Shabbat must serve to set apart two things which we would have otherwise have included together.  According to Rashi, however, it serves to set Shabbat apart from the building of the Mishkan – two entities that are fundamentally different from one another.  Shabbat is a day of abstaining from constructive activity, whereas the building of the Mishkan involved constructive activity.  It is therefore implausible that the word “akh” serves to set Shabbat apart from the project of building the Mishkan.

            One could easily respond to this objection by noting that in truth, according to Rashi, the word “akh” distinguishes not between Shabbat and building the Mishkan, but rather between building the Mishkan on Shabbat and building the Mishkan on other days.  These two “entities” are not different from one another at all, and thus Rashi’s interpretation is perfectly consistent with the general connotation of the word “akh.”

Thursday

            The Gemara in Masekhet Bava Batra (10b), amidst its discussion of the mitzva of charity, tells that Moshe posed the question to the Almighty, “Be-ma trum keren Yisrael” – “Through what can the banner of Israel be raised?”  Moshe wanted to know the means by which Benei Yisrael can distinguish themselves from the other nations, the source of their national pride and glory.  God answered Moshe by citing the first verse of Parashat Ki-Tisa, “Ki tisa et rosh Benei Yisrael” (literally, “When you count the Israelites…”).

            The straightforward reading of the Gemara’s comment, it seems – especially in light of the context, amidst the Gemara’s discussion of charity – is that Am Yisrael distinguishes itself through its generous giving.  The verse cited by the Gemara introduces the obligation of machatzit ha-shekel, the annual half-shekel tax that every member of the nation was required to give to the Temple treasury.  The Torah commands, “When you ‘raise the head of’ [count] the Israelites, each person shall give a ransom for his soul….”  God responds to Moshe that Am Yisrael is “raised” when “each person gives a ransom for his soul,” through charitable giving.

            The obvious question arises as to why it is specifically through this area of religious life that Am Yisrael distinguishes itself.  If anything, this is an area which is hardly unique to the Jewish people.  Do not all nations have benevolent and charitable people?

            The answer appears to lie in a later discussion there in Masekhet Bava Batra, where the Gemara cites different comments from various sages explaining why Am Yisrael’s charitable giving differs from that of other nations.  They point to the fact that other nations involve themselves in charity for insincere motives, such as self-aggrandizement, stabilizing governmental rule, self-adulation, pride, or as a basis for belittling and denigrating Am Yisrael.  We distinguish ourselves through charity because our charitable giving is sincere, and not driven or fueled by self-serving interests.

Rav Yitzchak Stollman, in his Minchat Yitzchak (Detroit, 1941), explains this otherwise perplexing comment as intended to teach us the proper perspective on charity.  The Gemara is not claiming that only Am Yisrael, and no other nation, gives charity for the right reasons.  Rather, it instructs that we distinguish ourselves through “ki tisa et rosh” – literally, “raising the head.”  Charity distinguishes a person when it is given out of a sense of genuine respect and regard for the recipient, when it expresses the “raising” of the individual in need.  People give for all kinds of reasons, such as their reputation, feeling a sense of accomplishment, easing pangs of conscience, and compassion.  Governments dispense charity to help ensure stability and the populace’s loyalty, and to earn the respect of other nations.  But the most genuine form of charity is that which stems from feelings of “ki tisa,” high regard for the recipient, a recognition of his or her personal stature by virtue of being a human being and a bearer of a God-given soul.  Even if one gives out of pity, this is usually done with a sense of superiority.  The Gemara instructs us to give and assist others out of respect, not just concern, that we not just empathize with the plight of the needy, but also admire them and hold them in high esteem.  We help them because they are important people who deserve our assistance.  This is the way in which we “raise the banner of Israel,” and bring pride to ourselves and to our nation.

Friday

            We read in Parashat Ki-Tisa that in the wake of cheit ha-eigel (the sin of the golden calf), Moshe moved his tent outside the Israelite camp, a considerable distance from the camp (33:7).  Several verses later (verse 11), we read that God would speak to Moshe in his tent, and after receiving God’s instructions, Moshe would return to the camp to convey the message to the people.  Rashi clarifies that this system was followed only until the Mishkan was completed, at which point God spoke to Moshe from the Mishkan, which, of course, was situated in the middle of the Israelite camp.

            The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (63b) discusses these verses, and presents a surprising reading of the Torah’s account of the events.  As mentioned, the Torah writes that after hearing God’s commands, Moshe returned to the camp (“ve-shav el ha-machaneh”), presumably, to relay the commands to the people.  The Gemara (citing Rabbi Abahu), however, explains the phrase “and he would return to the camp” to mean that Moshe brought his tent back into the camp.  According to the Gemara’s reading, God reprimanded Moshe for moving the tent outside the camp, and commanded him to return it.  As the Gemara writes:

The Almighty said to Moshe: “Now they will say, ‘The Master is angry, and the student is [also] angry.  What will be with Israel?’  If you return the tent to its place – good; if not, your student Yehoshua bin Nun will serve in your place!”

Moshe accepted God’s admonition, and promptly moved his tent back inside the camp.

            The Gemara’s account is perhaps intended to warn against what is often the intuitive response to the sinners among the nation.  Witnessing the drastic and jarring fall of Benei Yisrael, Moshe’s instinctive reaction was to move away from them, to withdraw, to set himself apart.  He naturally felt that if God is angry at the people, then he, too, should respond with anger, which he delicately expressed by separating his tent from the Israelite camp.  God, however, instructed that to the contrary, in periods of spiritual decline, when the people’s relationship with God is strained, it is even more critical for Moshe to be with them, to help them, to guide them, to console them, to work with them to get through this difficult period.  If “the Master is angry,” then the “student” must not be angry.  Moshe instinctively felt inclined to withdraw from the people just as God withdrew His presence from the people, but God told him that this response is incorrect.  When God is angry at Benei Yisrael, the spiritual leaders must be even more sensitive, compassionate and involved. 

            Often, after a parent scolds a child, the other parent will make a point of giving the child extra affection and support, to help him or her overcome the difficult emotions of being reprimanded or punished.  The Gemara teaches that the leaders of Am Yisrael must play that role of the “other parent” when the Almighty is angry at His nation.  Periods of spiritual crisis require the leaders to position themselves “in the camp,” to increase their involvement with the people, to lead the effort to help the people and work toward repairing their strained relationship with God.