S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT TZAV - PURIM

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            The Torah in Parashat Tzav describes the week-long process of the milu’im, whereby Aharon and his sons were formally consecrated as kohanim.  They offered a series of special sacrifices on each of the seven days, and Moshe – serving as the “interim kohen,” so-to-speak – performed the rituals.

            Three sacrifices were offered each day during the milu’im process: a bull as a sin-offering, a ram as an ola offering, and another ram which was, essentially, a shelamim offering.  The procedure for the sin-offering resembled that of other public sin-offerings, in that the fats were placed upon the altar and the rest of the meat was burned outside the camp (as opposed to private sin-offerings, whose meat was eaten by the kohanim).  Similarly, the ram offered as an ola resembled standard ola sacrifices, in that the entire animal was burned on the altar.  The final sacrifice, which the Torah calls the “eil ha-milu’im,” resembled a shelamim sacrifice, as the fats were placed upon the altar, most of the meat was given to Aharon and sons for eating, and a portion was given to Moshe, who functioned as the kohen.  The milu’im offering also included loaves of bread and matza, and in this sense it resembled a toda (thanksgiving offering), which is a special kind of shelamim sacrifice which includes an offering of bread in addition to the animal.

            A special feature of the “eil ha-milu’im” was that part of the sacrificial blood was placed on the ears, thumbs and big toes of Aharon and his sons (8:23-24).  As part of their formal consecration, part of the blood of their consecration offering had to be placed upon their bodies to signify their designation as God’s special servants in the Mikdash.

            Rav Menachem Bentzion Zaks, in his Menachem Tziyon, notes the symbolic significance of the special designation of the “eil ha-milu’im” in this regard.  Of all the three sacrifices offered during this ceremony, God commanded that specifically the blood of this sacrifice be placed upon the bodies of the kohanim.  The reason, Rav Zaks suggests, is because the “eil ha-milu’im” functioned as a shelamim offering, which is distributed among the altar, the kohen and the individual offering the sacrifice.  The Sages famously explained the term “shelamim” as a derivative of the word “shalom,” referring to the “peace” established between all the parties involved, as each receives a share of the sacrifice (see Rashi to 3:1).  The blood placed upon the kohanim was that of the shelamim offering in order to indicate to the kohanim that they, too, must fairly “distribute” their attention among these three parties – themselves, God, and the people.  They have been assigned this role not for their own aggrandizement and benefit, but rather to serve the Almighty and tend to the needs of the people.  The shelamim offering, in particular, more so than the other sacrifices, exemplifies the role of the kohanim.  Alongside their concern for their own needs, they must also be devoted to the special service of God, represented by the fats offered upon the altar, and to serving the people, as symbolized by the meat given to the person bringing the sacrifice.  It is specifically the blood of the “eil ha-milu’im” that was placed upon the bodies of the kohanim, because specifically this korban reflects the ideal religious leader, who knows how to properly distribute his time, energy, talents and attention among his personal needs, the needs of the people under his charge, and the devoted service of the Almighty.

Sunday

            Amidst its discussion of the laws relevant to the korban chatat (sin offering), the Torah in Parashat Tzav specifies procedures that must be followed to clean the utensils in which the sacrificial meat had been cooked.  It states that an earthenware utensil used for this purpose must be destroyed, whereas metal utensils require merika u-shtifa – rinsing with hot, and then cold, water (6:21).  The conventional understanding of this halakha is that the taste of food absorbed in earthenware utensils can never be completely extracted from the utensil.  The taste of sacrificial meat absorbed in a metal utensil during the cooking process can be extracted through rinsing, but when it comes to an earthenware utensil, the taste remains permanently in its walls.  Sacrificial meat becomes forbidden for consumption the morning or two mornings after the offering was brought, and a famous halakhic principle establishes that the taste of forbidden food has the same status as the forbidden food itself (“ta’am ke-ikar”).  By necessity, then, earthenware utensils used for cooking sacrificial meat must be broken, as they have no possibility of ever becoming permissible for use again.  By contrast, metal utensils may be rinsed so that the taste of the sacrificial meat is extracted.

            As many writers have noted, the Rambam appears to have understood this halakha much differently.  In Hilkhot Ma’aseh Ha-korbanot (8:14), the Rambam rules that the Torah establishes this rule concerning earthenware utensils only with regard to a korban chatat.  In his view, only earthenware utensils used for cooking the meat of a chatat must be broken.  Earthenware utensils used for the meat of other sacrifices do not require breaking, and may be rinsed with hot water and then cold water, just like metal utensils.  Evidently, the Rambam viewed the requirement to break an earthenware utensil in this context as a gezeirat ha-katuv, a law whose reasoning we do not understand.  If it had to with the natural properties of earthenware, then it would quite obviously apply to all kinds of sacrificial meat, and not merely to the meat of a chatat.

            Many scholars observed that the Rambam’s view appears to run in direct opposition to a famous passage in the Gemara.  In Masekhet Pesachim (30b) and elsewhere, the Gemara comments, “The Torah testified about an earthenware utensil that [taste] does not ever leave its wall.”  It seems clear that the Gemara understood the Torah’s special treatment of earthenware as indicative of its natural properties, the fact that taste cannot be completely extracted from its walls.  Indeed, the Gemara there in Pesachim applies this principle to Pesach, requiring that earthenware utensils used for cooking chametz be broken before Pesach.  Similarly, in Masekhet Avoda Zara (34a), the Gemara applies this rule to forbid the use of earthenware utensils that had absorbed the taste of gentile wine.

            Numerous different theories have been proposed to defend the Rambam’s view.  The Marcheshet (vol. 1, 6:1) suggested that the Rambam understood that the requirement to break an earthenware utensil used for a chatat relates to the mitzva of bi’ur notar – destroying leftover sacrificial meat.  The Torah obligates burning sacrificial meat that remains after the final time for its consumption, and, according to the Rambam, this obligation also requires destroying the earthenware utensils used for cooking meat of a chatat.  When it comes to other sacrifices, the Torah does not go so far as to require destroying utensils that contain the taste of leftover sacrificial meat which cannot be extracted.  But when it comes to the chatat, the Torah imposed a unique stringent measure requiring that earthenware utensils be destroyed.  With regard to this sacrifice, the Torah was especially insistent on eradicating any remnant of the sacrificial meat and it demanded breaking earthenware utensils used for cooking the meat, since they do and will always contain the taste of the sacrifice.

            It thus emerges that even according to the Rambam, “The Torah testified about an earthenware utensil that [taste] does not ever leave its wall.”  The reason why the Torah requires breaking an earthenware utensil is precisely because the taste of the meat remains in its walls, though only in the case of chatat was the Torah so adamant about destroying the remnants of the sacrificial meat.

            A different explanation of the Rambam’s view is offered by the Tzon Kodashim commentary to Masekhet Zevachim (95b).  He claims that according to the Rambam, even taste absorbed in an earthenware utensil can be expunged through rinsing in hot water, as is the case with metal utensils.  However, earthenware differs from metal in that a small amount of taste will invariably remain.  The Rambam restricted the requirement of breaking earthenware to the case of chatat because he felt that when it comes to other sacrificial meat, the Torah allows reusing the utensil despite the small amount of taste from the sacrificial meat that will enter the food.  Generally, this taste is not significant enough to render the food forbidden.  When it comes to the chatat, however, the Torah forbade even the slightest degree of taste, and it is for this reason that it required breaking an earthenware utensil used for cooking meat of a chatat.

            This explains why the Gemara applied this principle in the cases of chametz on Pesach and the wine of gentiles.  These prohibitions are unique in that they are not subject to bittul; meaning, if they mix with other food, they render the mixture forbidden even if they constitute a negligible minority.  The Gemara noted that just as earthenware utensils used for a chatat must be broken, because a small amount of taste will always remain and even a slight taste of a chatat is forbidden, similarly, earthenware used with chametz and gentile wine must be broken, because of the slight taste that is absorbed in the walls.

Monday

            Yesterday, we discussed the verse in Parashat Tzav (6:21) requiring that an earthenware utensil used for cooking sacrificial meat be destroyed.  (According to the Rambam, as we saw, this applies only to the meat of a chatat offering.)  The Gemara (Pesachim 30b and elsewhere), presumably on the basis of this verse, comments, “The Torah testified about an earthenware utensil that [taste] does not ever leave its wall.”  The Torah requires destroying the earthenware utensil because there is no possibility of completely extracting the taste of sacrificial food from such a utensil.  The utensil will always remain forbidden, and the Torah therefore requires destroying it.  (As we noted, however, the Rambam appears to have understood the Gemara’s comment differently.)  The Gemara thus establishes that an earthenware utensil that had absorbed the taste of forbidden food cannot ever again be rendered permissible for use, since taste can never be fully extracted from such a utensil.  Therefore, for example, earthenware utensils that had been used with chametz food cannot be used for Pesach, and there is no possibility of “kashering” them for Pesach use.

            The Taz (Y.D. 93:1) asserts that this halakha established by the Gemara applies only on the level of mi-de’rabbanan – by force of Rabbinic enactment.  As far as Torah law is concerned, he contends, the special status of earthenware is limited to kodashim – sacrificial food.  Only when dealing with this area of Halakha do we say that taste can never be extracted from earthenware utensils.  When it comes to other forms of forbidden food, however, earthenware utensils used for such foods may be “kashered” on the level of Torah law.  The Sages, however, enacted a provision applying the standards of kodashim to other areas, and determined that earthenware utensils that had absorbed any kind of forbidden taste may never be used again.  (The Taz posited this theory to explain a ruling of the Ba’al Ha-ittur.)

            At first glance, the Taz’s claim seems untenable.  After all, the principle established by the Gemara concerning the unique status of a keli cheres (earthenware utensil) relates to the physical properties of earthenware, the fact that the taste of foods cooked in such utensils can never be fully eliminated.  Clearly, this quality of earthenware cannot possibly depend upon the nature of the prohibition entailed, whether the food is kodashim or forbidden for a different reason.  How, then, can the Taz draw such a distinction?  How can the Torah determine that the taste of kodashim cannot be expelled from earthenware, but the taste of ordinary food can?

            Evidently, the Taz maintained that when the Gemara says, “The Torah testified about an earthenware utensil that [taste] does not ever leave its wall,” it does not mean that taste cannot be expelled at all from the walls of an earthenware utensil.  Rather (as we cited yesterday from the Tzon Kodashim commentary to Masekhet Zevachim), it means that the taste cannot be completely removed from the utensil.  Absorbed taste leaves the walls of the utensil each time it is used, but some will invariably remain, no matter how many times it is used.  Generally speaking, according to the Taz, the slight taste that remains in the walls of the utensil is not significant enough to forbid using the utensil.  Its impact upon the food subsequently cooked in the utensil is negligible, and therefore, according to Torah law, the food remains permissible.  It is only with regard to kodashim, an area which the Torah generally treats with greater stringency, that the Torah affords significance to the slight taste that is imparted from the walls of an earthenware utensil.  The Sages later extended this provision beyond the narrow context of kodashim, and applied it to other forbidden foods, as well.  On the level of Torah law, however, according to the Taz, this unique status of earthenware is relevant only in the area of kodashim.

Tuesday

            The Torah in Parashat Tzav tells of the milu’im, the seven-day ceremony during which Aharon and his four sons were consecrated as kohanim.  The Sages (Yerushalmi, Yoma 1:1, Bamidbar Rabba 12:15, and elsewhere) relate that Moshe dismantled and reassembled the Mishkan on each day during the week of the milu’im.

A number of Acharonim raised the question of how to reconcile this tradition with Moshe’s instructions to Aharon and his sons concerning the food from the milu’im sacrifices.  Moshe commanded them that each day, after eating that day’s sacrifices, they must burn any meat or bread that was left over (8:32), as is generally required for notar – sacrificial food that was not eaten by the final time for its consumption.  However, the Gemara in Masekhet Keritut (14) establishes that sacrificial food that became disqualified for consumption due to other factors does not obtain the status of notar if it is left over past the final time for its consumption.  The law of notar applies only to sacrificial food that is permissible for consumption, but was left over beyond the final time by which it may be eaten.  If, indeed, Moshe disassembled the Mishkan each day during the milu’im, then the sacrificial meat was each day rendered disqualified because of the law of yotzei, which invalidates sacrificial food taken outside the area within which it must be eaten.  Once the Mishkan was disassembled, the sacrificial food could no longer be considered to be situated within the courtyard of the Mishkan – as the Mishkan and its courtyard were no longer standing.  The food thus became disqualified as yotzei, and, as such, it was not subject to the status of notar.  Why, then, were Aharon and his sons required to treat the leftovers as notar, if they had already become disqualified as yotzei?

One answer emerges from a controversial theory posed by the Tzelach (Pesachim 28), claiming that even disqualified sacrificial meat obtains the status of notar.  If sacrificial meat becomes disqualified for consumption, it must be burned immediately (as we will discuss later), and if it is left over past what would have been its final time for consumption, then its owner has violated the prohibition of notar.  The food would then be forbidden both because of its original prohibited status, and because of notar.  When the Gemara says that disqualified meat does become notar, the Tzelach claims (and he elaborates in his Noda Bi-yehuda – Tanina, Y.D. 53), it refers only to the punishment of karet generally associated with notar.  If sacrificial meat is already forbidden for consumption on the level of a karet prohibition, one who eats the meat past the final time is not liable for an additional karet violation due to the meat’s status as notar.  Although he has transgressed this prohibition, he is not liable to karet.

If so, then we readily understand why Moshe instructed Aharon and his sons to burn the leftover food from the milu’im sacrifices, for even though they had already been disqualified as yotzei, they could still become notar if they are left over.

Another answer emerges from Tosafot’s discussion in Masekhet Avoda Zara (34a).  Citing Rabbenu Yaakov of Orleans, Tosafot comment that since the Mishkan was disassembled each day during the week of milu’im, during that week the Mishkan had the status of a bama – a temporary, private altar.  Tosafot cite this theory to explain the Gemara’s comment that when Moshe functioned as a kohen during the week of the milu’im, he did not wear the bigdei kehuna (priestly vestments), which are not required when performing sacrificial rituals at a bama.  The disqualification of yotzei similarly does not apply to a bama (because there is no especially designated sacred site), as established by the Gemara in several contexts (Menachot 25 and elsewhere).  Therefore, the sacrificial foods during the milu’im period did not obtain the status of yotzei despite the Mishkan’s disassembly, and hence they obtained the status of notar.

It is also possible that Moshe’s instructions to Aharon and his sons had nothing to do at all with the status of notar.  The Mishna in Masekhet Temura (33b) establishes that all sacrificial foods that become disqualified – regardless of the reason – must be burned.  Beyond the requirement to burn sacrificial food that was left over beyond the final time for its consumption, there is also an obligation to promptly burn any food that became disqualified.  Thus, when Moshe tells Aharon and his sons to burn the leftover food, he perhaps meant that the food that is left over after the Mishkan’s disassembly must be burned because it has become disqualified as yotzei.  He required burning the food not because it was notar, but rather because it was yotzei.

It should be noted, however, that the Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (82b) mentions that there is no Biblical source for the requirement to burn disqualified sacrificial foods (except notar, which the Torah explicitly requires burning, in several contexts).  This law was taught through oral tradition, and does not appear in the Torah.  If we explain Moshe’s instructions to Aharon and his sons to burn the leftover sacrificial food as based on the prohibition of yotzei, then this verse should, presumably, serve as a Biblical source for this requirement to burn disqualified meat.  As the Gemara states that no such source exists, we must, seemingly, conclude that Moshe refers here to the status of notar, and not to the status of yotzei.

(Based in part on Rav Tzvi Zarkowski’s Beit Shemuel to Masekhet Avoda Zara 34a)

Wednesday

            The story of Amalek’s assault on Benei Yisrael, which we remember on Shabbat Zakhor, is told in the final section of Parashat Beshalach (Shemot 17:8-16), just after the Torah tells of Benei Yisrael’s encampment in Refidim.  The Midrash Tanchuma famously notes the significance of the name “Refidim” in this context, claiming that it alludes to the fact that “rafu yedeihem min ha-Torah” – Benei Yisrael were “weak” with regard to Torah learning.  It is due to this laxity in Torah study, the Midrash adds, that Benei Yisrael were deserving of coming under attack by Amalek.

            How might we explain this connection between Amalek and laxity in Torah learning?

            Amalek is often associated with “mikriyut” – happenstance and coincidence, an association that has been developed in several different ways.  In our S.A.L.T. series last year, we cited Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l’s explanation (based on the writings of the Maharal) that Amalek represents the absence of principles and values, a directionless existence where anything is permissible and acceptable as per the spontaneous whims of the individual.  In describing Amalek’s assault, the Torah (Devarim 25:17-18) emphasizes that this occurred while Benei Yisrael were “ba-derekh” (“along the way”), and Amalek “chanced upon” them as they made their way (“karekha ba-derekh”).  Benei Yisrael travel “ba-derekh,” in a specific direction, according to a set of principles and with certain goals and objectives, whereas Amalek “chances upon,” doing whatever happens to suit them at any given moment without a specified direction or charted course of action.  We are to live with a sense of purpose and direction, whereas Amalek lives spontaneously, for the moment, at whim, without pursuing preset goals or a particular destination.  (See 10-sichot/24zachor.php.)

            It is perhaps significant that the Midrash describes Benei Yisrael not as neglecting Torah study altogether, but rather as approaching it with a degree of lethargy and dispassion.  This depiction is consistent with the Torah’s portrayal of Benei Yisrael at the time of Amalek’s invasion as “ayeif ve-yagei’a” (“tired and weary” – Devarim 25:18).  While according to the plain meaning this phrase certainly refers to physical fatigue, it may also allude to a kind of spiritual stupor.  Benei Yisrael collectively entered a period that we all experience at various occasions, when we find it difficult to muster the energy, concentration and emotional fuel to set and pursue ambitious goals.   They did not avoid Torah learning altogether, but rather “rafu yedeihem” – they studied in a casual manner, without the energy and passion that such a lofty and critical pursuit demands.

            Amalek, unlike other spiritual foes of Am Yisrael, did not vigorously pursue an evil agenda.  Rather, it embraced a casual, non-committal attitude toward life and toward the world.  This is an attitude of doing what one sees fit at the present, without long-term goals and without any sense of duty or obligation.  Amalek invades when we experience “rifyon yadayim,” when our commitment to Torah becomes casual, relaxed, and solely spontaneous.  We must learn and study Torah because of its importance, not because of a spur-of-the-moment decision, a sudden, spontaneous rush of spiritual zeal, or a coincidental opportunity that happened to present itself.  Our relationship to Torah must be characterized by “ba-derekh,” a resolute decision and lifelong commitment to follow the path of Torah, regardless of our mood or external circumstances.  We cannot involve ourselves with Torah on a casual, as-we-feel-like-it basis, or with a “let’s-wait-and-see” attitude of seizing opportunities that arise without ever pursuing them.  We must fully commit ourselves to devote time and effort to Torah each and every day, through thick and thin, in all situations and under all circumstances, as lifelong goal to which we are unconditionally devoted.

Thursday

Much has been written about the practice of indulging in wine on Purim, which is based upon the Gemara’s enigmatic comment in Masekhet Megila (7b), “A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’.”  Generally, Chazal strongly condemn intoxication.  “Excessive wine brings a person to sin, grave troubles, and financial ruin… It is a great evil to drink wine in excess” (Midrash Tanchuma, Parashat Shemini 11).  Intoxication neutralizes the intellect, reducing the individual to not much more than an animal.  How could the Gemara encourage and even require drinking wine on Purim to the point where it affects one’s intellectual capabilities?  Even if we make the reasonable assumption that the Gemara refers to a state of mild disorientation, and not outright intoxication, the question arises as to why Chazal would encourage acting on Purim in a manner that is generally deemed abhorrent and antithetical to Torah life.

            One of the reasons why the Sages condemned indulging excessively in wine is because intoxication essentially means escaping from the complex realities of life, rather than confronting them.  An inebriated individual is temporarily freed from the frustrations and challenges of the world, having brought himself into a different emotional plane where his problems and worries do not exist.  “The laws [of God] and the Torah are not like the joy of wine.  When wine leaves one’s body, anguish enters his heart; this one departs, and the other arrives.  But Torah and mitzvot are [a source of] delight and joy in this world and the next” (Midrash Tanchuma, ibid.).  Intoxication brings a person a fleeting sensation of joy and contentment, but that feeling soon fades and is replaced by “anguish,” by greater anxiety and distress than one had experienced before his drunken stupor.  The joy of Torah and mitzvot, by contrast, the gratification achieved through investing effort in meaningful pursuits and endeavors, is everlasting.  Struggling to accomplish meaningful and constructive goals results in genuine, permanent contentment, whereas escaping to inebriation has the effect of merely delaying the unavoidable confrontation with life’s challenges, thus leaving one feeling even more anxious and less fulfilled.  The Sages abhorred intoxication because we are to engage the world, not escape from it; we are to responsibly confront the complexities of life and work to solve the problems that arise, rather than blithely ignore them.

            And this might be precisely why the Sages required drinking (in moderation) on Purim.  One of the prominent themes of the Megila and the Purim celebration is the contrast between appearance and reality, the fact that there is a lot happening beneath the surface that we cannot see.  Behind the lavish, decadent feasts in Shushan, Vashti’s defiance of Achashverosh, and the ascension of a young Jewish girl to the Persian throne by virtue of her physical appearance and nothing else, there is a divine plan unfolding.  We see a drunken, gluttonous king, a selfish, megalomaniacal vizier, and an innocent young girl who happened to be too attractive for her own good, but in reality they are all a reflection of the Hand of God working to rescue and protect His people.  We see a world beset by crises and hardships, but behind it all there is a loving God who orchestrates and guides all the world’s events, harsh as they may seem.

            One day a year, we are encouraged to escape from the reality around us, rather than confront it.  On this day, we rejoice in the knowledge that there is a different reality, a truer reality – the reality that everything that happens has been willed by God and is thus to our ultimate benefit.  The world and our lives are filled with problems and complexities that demand our attention and hard work, but we must remember and draw encouragement from the fact that all that happens is the manifestation of God’s will.  To that end, there is one day a year when we are told to escape, rather than confront.  Just as there is one day a year (“Yom Ke-PURIM”) when the kohen gadol goes beyond the curtain into the inner sanctum of the Temple, into God’s “private domain,” similarly, on Purim we go beyond the “curtain” of our earthly reality into God’s reality, as it were, the realm in which everything in the world is perfect and ideal.  Throughout the rest of the year, we must carefully distinguish between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordekhai”; we are charged with the responsibility of identifying the world’s problems, the “Haman’s” that threaten us, and work toward solving them.  But on Purim, we make no distinction between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordekhai.”  Escaping into the blissful realm of the “kodesh ha-kodashim,” to the perspective of the Almighty, we rejoice without any concerns or worries.  On Purim, the day when we remind ourselves that everything has been ordained by the will of God, everything is good – both the “Haman” and the “Mordekhai.”  Like the drunkard, we have no worries.  We blissfully ignore life’s challenges because we look at them from the perspective of a different sphere, from which everything is good.

            As mentioned, this state of “intoxication” is required only one day a year.  The rest of the time, we are to soberly and seriously struggle, confront and engage the world, in all its complexities and difficulty.  But the experience of Purim reminds us of what lies beyond the “curtain,” that as cruel, harsh and unfair the world often seems, it is governed and ruled by God who wishes only for the ultimate wellbeing of mankind.  It is thus the “intoxication” of Purim that injects us with the confidence and optimism we need throughout the rest of the year, and fortifies us against the threat of cynicism and negativity that might result from our day-to-day struggles and frustrations.  The reminder that there is ultimately no difference between “Haman” and “Mordechai” helps us maintain perspective and confidence as we confront “Haman” in all his manifestations, and work to make a very difficult world just a little bit better.

Friday

            Yesterday, we mentioned and discussed the puzzling statement which the Gemara in Masekhet Megila (7b) cites in the name of Rava: “A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’.”  There is considerable discussion among the halakhic authorities regarding the practical application of this comment, as to whether – and to what extent – one is required to drink to the point of intoxication on Purim.  Several Rishonim raised the question of how the Sages could impose a requirement to act in a manner that is generally discouraged in the strongest of terms, and various approaches have been taken in this regard.  A particularly fascinating theory is advanced by Rabbenu Efrayim (cited by the Ran to Maskehet Megila), who claims that Halakha does not follow Rava’s view, and this statement of “A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim…” is not accepted as the final halakhic ruling.  Rabbenu Efrayim notes that after citing Rava’s comment, the Gemara tells the bizarre incident where Rava became inebriated on Purim and killed (and subsequent resuscitated) Rabbi Zeira.  According to Rabbenu Efrayim, this story is told to demonstrate the dangers of intoxication and to thus establish that drinking in excess is as forbidden on Purim as at any other time.

Other Rishonim, however, accept Rava’s ruling, but explain that he does not refer to actual intoxication.  The Orchot Chayim (Hilkhot Megila U’Purim, 38; cited by the Beit Yosef O.C. 695), among others, interprets the Gemara’s comment as an exaggerated way of instructing that one should drink more than he is accustomed to.  He writes, “Intoxication is an outright prohibition, and there is no sin greater than this, for it leads to immorality, murder and several other sins.”  According to the Orchot Chayim, the grievous prohibition against intoxication applies on Purim just like every other day of the year.  One should drink more than he normally does, but certainly should not get intoxicated.

The Rama, in his Darkhei Moshe (O.C. 695:1), cites Mahari Brin as claiming that the Rambam followed the view of the Orchot Chayim, that this requirement refers to drinking more than usual, but not intoxication.  In Hilkhot Megila (2:15), the Rambam writes that one should drink on Purim until he falls asleep – implying that there is no mitzva to actually become inebriated.  The Rama cites this opinion in his glosses to the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 695:2).

Rav Efrayim Zalman Margoliyot, in his Yad Efrayim commentary to the Shulchan Arukh, attests to having been taught in a nocturnal vision that the Gemara did not refer to complete intoxication.  Rather, the comment “until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordekhai’” should be understood to mean that one must stop drinking before he reaches that point (“ad ve-lo ad bi-khlal”).  The Gemara certainly does not require inebriating oneself to the point where he cannot make clear distinctions; instead, it requires drinking in healthy moderation as part of the Purim festivities.

The Nimukei Yosef commentary to Masekhet Megila (cited in Piskei Teshuvot, siman 695 note 22) offers an especially novel reading of the Gemara.  He claims that the Gemara requires acting in a playful, humorous manner, as is customary on Purim, such that one gives the appearance of being drunk.  Certainly, however, one should not actually become intoxicated.

The Chafetz Chayim, commenting on this halakha, cites in his Bei’ur Halakha an important passage from the Meiri’s commentary to the Gemara:

We are not commanded to become drunk and compromise ourselves as a result of the celebration, for we were not commanded with regard to joy of frivolity and nonsense, but rather joy of delight through which we reach love of God and thanksgiving for the miracles He performed for us.

It was obvious to the Meiri that the Gemara would not require, or even sanction, outright intoxication and silly merrymaking.  The festive and joyous Purim celebration is to lead a person to “love of God and thanksgiving for the miracles He performed for us,” and is not intended as a yearly break from the ordinary standards of dignified conduct that we must follow.

            The Bei’ur Halakha further cites the warning of the Chayei Adam that drinking on Purim must not lead to even the slightest halakhic or moral breach:

One who knows about himself that [if he becomes intoxicated] he will neglect any of the mitzvot, such as hand washing, berakhot or birkat ha-mazon, or that he will not recite mincha or ma’ariv, or he will act frivolously – it is preferable that he does not become intoxicated.

If there is any concern that intoxication may cause a person to neglect even a single halakhic requirement, then it must be avoided.

            The Chayei Adam concludes, “And all one’s actions shall be for the sake of Heaven.”  The Purim celebration must be approached with a sincere desire to perform the mitzva and express gratitude to the Almighty.  It must not be abused as an opportunity to break down our cherished barriers of refined conduct.  On Purim, no less than at any other time, we must conduct ourselves as loyal servants of God scrupulously committed to the laws, ideals, spirit and values of the Torah.