S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT ACHAREI-MOT – KEDOSHIM

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            Parashat Acharei-Mot begins with a description of the avodat Yom Ha-kippurim, the special service performed by the kohen gadol in the Mikdash on Yom Kippur.  The Torah requires the kohen gadol to wear during this service, among other things, his mitznefet (turban): “mitznefet bad yitznof” (16:4).  The verb used in this verse to describe the kohen gadol’s donning the turban is yitznof, which quite obviously has the same root as the word mitznefet (tz.n.f.).

            Targum Onkelos translates this word with the Aramaic term “yacheit,” which, as Rashi explains, means simply “place.”  It appears that according to Targum Onkelos, the verb tz.n.f. is the verb used in reference to placing a turban on one’s hand.  This verb essentially means the same thing as the familiar Hebrew word “le’hani’ach” (“to place”), but this special term is used in the context of donning a turban.

            The Ramban questions Onkelos’ translation of “yitznof.”  In his view, this verb refers to the action of wrapping the cloth around one’s head to form the turban.  When the Torah instructs the kohen gadol to don the mitznefet for the Yom Kippur service, according to the Ramban, it requires him to wrap the cloth, not to simply place the previously-formed turban upon his head.  The Ramban speculates that Onkelos may have agreed with this reading, but was compelled to translate “yitznof” as “yacheit” because there is no Aramaic verb for wrapping a turban, as there is in Hebrew.  According to this theory, even Onkelos understood that the Torah refers here to wrapping the cloth around the head, and not simply placing the turban on the head.

            Rav Moshe Leib Shachor, in his Avnei Shoham, suggests a different theory, noting a possible halakhic reason for Onkelos’ translation of this word.  Wrapping a cloth to form a turban might be forbidden on Shabbat (and thus, by extension, on Yom Kippur), due to the prohibition of “metakein mana,” completing the formation of a usable utensil or garment.  A person who transforms a cloth into a turban essentially forms a garment, and would thus be forbidden on Yom Kippur.  For this reason, perhaps, Onkelos could not interpret “yitznof” to mean that on Yom Kippur the kohen gadol would form the turban by wrapping the cloth around his head.  He therefore explained that the turban was formed already before Yom Kippur, and “yitznof” means simply that the kohen gadol placed the turban on his head on Yom Kippur before beginning the service.

Sunday

            In Parashat Kedoshim, the Torah introduces the obligation of “Mikdashi tira’u,” which requires one to treat the area of the Beit Ha-mikdash with reverence and respect.  The Rambam, in his codification of this mitzva (Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira 7:6), includes in this context the prohibition against sitting in the area of the azara (the Temple courtyard).  All people in the azara were required to stand the entire time spent there as an expression of reverence, with the exception of kings from the Davidic dynasty (“ein yeshiva ba-azara ela le-malkhei beit David bilvad’).

            This halakha appears in several contexts in the Gemara, including in Masekhet Sota (40b), where the Gemara infers from a comment in the Mishna that the kohen gadol sat (at least at one point) during the Yom Kippur service.  The Gemara raises the question of how the kohen gadol could sit in the azara, and it responds that the kohen gadol sat not in the azara, but rather in the ezrat nashim, an area beyond the azara.  The obvious implication of the Gemara’s comments, and of the Rambam’s ruling, is that this prohibition applies even to the kohen gadol.  The only one permitted to sit in the azara is a king; the kohen gadol, like all others, is included under the prohibition.

            Tosefot, however, cite a passage from Midrash Shocher Tov that disagrees with the Gemara’s understanding of this prohibition.  The Midrash, citing Rabbi Ami, writes that kings are not permitted to sit in the azara, but a kohen gadol may sit in the azara.  Rabbi Ami drew proof to his position from the famous story told in the beginning of Sefer Shemuel of Chana’s prayer in the courtyard of the Mishkan.  The kohen gadol, we are told (Shemuel I 1:9), sat by the doorway to the heichal (sanctuary), seemingly implying that he sat in the courtyard, and observed Chana praying.  If Eli sat in the azara, the Midrash reasons, then we must conclude that a kohen gadol is permitted to sit in the azara.  The Ra’avad, in his commentary to Masekhet Tamid (30a), cites this view in the name of the Talmud Yerushalmi.

            As mentioned, the Talmud Bavli in Masekhet Sota clearly worked off the assumption that the kohen gadol was not permitted to sit in the azara.  The question then arises, how would the Gemara refute the Midrash’s proof from Sefer Shemuel?  How was Eli permitted to sit “al mezuzat heikhal Hashem” – near the doorway to the heikhal, in the azara?

            One possible answer emerges from Tosefot’s discussion in Masekhet Yoma (25a), where Tosefot cite a view permitting kohanim to sit in the azara while partaking of sacrificial meat.  Tosefot suggest two different reasons for this exception.  First, it is possible that the prohibition against sitting in the azara does not apply in the context of the avoda, during the performance of the Temple rituals.  Eating the meat of the sacrifices has the status of an avoda, insofar as it is an integral part of the sacrificial process and necessary for the sacrifice to have its desired effect of atonement.  As such, Tosefot suggest, the kohanim are perhaps allowed to sit down in the azara as they eat the meat of the sacrifices.  Alternatively, Tosefot add, since Halakha requires partaking of sacrifices in a dignified and even regal manner (a law known as “le-moshcha li-gdula”), and certain sacrifices (kodashei kodashim) must be eaten specifically in the azara, it was necessary for the kohanim to sit while eating the sacrifices.

            If so, then the story of Chana and Eli does not necessarily prove that a kohen gadol is excluded from the prohibition of sitting in the azara.  Eli may have possibly been eating sacrificial meat at the time, and was thus allowed during those particular moments to sit.  His sitting while observing Chana’s prayer thus provides no proof regarding the permissibility of a kohen gadol to sit in the azara generally.

Monday

            Yesterday, we noted the Gemara’s discussion in Masekhet Sota (40b) concerning the Yom Kippur service in the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The Mishna (there in Sota) relates that at one point in service, the kohen gadol would rise and read from the Torah scroll, clearly indicating that he had been previously sitting.  The Gemara raises the question of how the kohen gadol could sit, given the prohibition against sitting in the azara, in the courtyard of the Temple.  To answer this question, the Gemara interprets the Mishna to mean that the kohen gadol was not, at that point, in the azara, but rather in an area beyond the azara.  Tosefot, however, as we saw, cite a different view from the Midrash Shocher Tov, which claimed that a kohen gadol is not bound by the prohibition against sitting in the azara.  The Midrash drew proof to this position from the story told in Sefer Shemuel I (1:9) of the kohen gadol, Eli, who sat while observing Chana pray at the site of the Mishkan in Shilo, seemingly implying that a kohen gadol may sit in the azara.  We raised the question of how the Talmud, which included the kohen gadol in the prohibition against sitting in the azara, would refute this proof.

            This question is discussed at length by Rav Yehoshua Yosef Ha-kohen, in his Ateret Kohanim commentary to Masekhet Midot (first published in Warsaw, 5633).  He cites the Yefeh Mareh commentary to the Talmud Yerushami (Pesachim, chapter 5) as suggesting that Eli perhaps was not positioned in the azara at the time when Chana prayed at the site.  Eli is described as sitting “al mezuzat heikhal Hashem,” which, at least according to the Yefeh Mareh, could be understood as referring to the gate to the azara, rather than the entranceway to the Mishkan itself.  If so, then Eli could have perhaps been sitting just outside the azara, in the area of the ezrat nashim (literally, “women’s courtyard”), where sitting is allowed, and not in the azara.

            The Ateret Kohanim noted that this reading of the verse would also answer a different question – how Chana was permitted in the azara.  The area beyond the azara, as mentioned, was called the “ezrat nashim,” and Rashi, in his commentary to Masekhet Kiddushin (52b), explains that women were forbidden from proceeding past this area to the actual azara.  Tosefot (there in Kiddushin) disagree, noting that the Talmud makes no mention of such a prohibition, and that to the contrary, there are instances when women would in fact be required to enter the azara.  In any event, according to Rashi, one might wonder how Chana was permitted to enter the azara when she prayed, and this may be another reason to assume that Eli’s encounter with Chana took place in the ezrat nashim, as the Yefeh Mareh suggested.

            However, as the Ateret Kohanim notes, there are other ways to explain the story of Chana and Eli according to Rashi’s position, even if we assume that they met in the azara of the Mishkan.  Firstly, although Rashi indicates that women were forbidden from proceeding past the azara, this law was likely an enactment introduced during the times of the Beit Ha-mikdash, and not a Torah prohibition.  If so, then Chana was certainly not bound by such a provision.  Furthermore, we need not necessarily assume that the area around the Mishkan in Shilo was divided into the same sections that were designated in the area around the permanent Temple.  It is entirely possible that women were allowed in the azara around the Mishkan in Shilo, even if, as Rashi maintained, women were not allowed into the azara section of the courtyard around the Beit Ha-mikdash in Jerusalem.

Tuesday

            In our last two editions of S.A.L.T., we discussed the halakha recorded in the Gemara (Sota 40b and elsewhere) forbidding sitting in the azara, the courtyard outside the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The Rambam (Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira 7:6) incorporates this halakha in his discussion of the mitzva of mora Mikdash – treating the site of the Temple with reverence – which the Torah introduces in Parashat Kedoshim (19:30).

As we saw, there appear to be different opinions among Chazal as to whether or not this prohibition applies to the kohen gadol.  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota writes that the kohen gadol is bound by this prohibition, and the only person who is allowed to sit in the azara is the king.  Tosefot, however, cite a passage from the Midrash Shocher Tov claiming that kings are forbidden from sitting in the azara, but kohanim gedolim are allowed to sit in the hallowed area.  The Midrash draws proof to its position from the story of Eli, the kohen gadol who is described as sitting “near the doorway to the sanctuary of the Lord” – seemingly referring to the azara – while observing Chana’s prayer (Shemuel I 1:9).

            The Or Samei’ach (Hilkhot Melakhim, 2) suggested reconciling these two positions of the Gemara and the Midrash (at least as they concern the kohen gadol; they still disagree with respect to the king).  He claimed that when the Midrash allows a kohen gadol to sit in the azara, it refers only to situations where the kohen gadol wore the special eight garments of the high priesthood, including the tzitz (frontlet), which bore the Name of God.  While the kohen gadol wore his garments, he was permitted to sit in the azara due to the presence of God’s Name on his forehead.  The Gemara, the Or Samei’ach asserted, accepted this premise.  The context of the Gemara’s discussion is the kohen gadol’s reading of the Torah (from Parashat Acharei Mot) as part of the Yom Kippur service in the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The Mishna in Masekhet Sota describes how the kohen gadol would rise, receive the Torah scroll, and then read, clearly indicating that he had previously been sitting.  The Gemara thus questioned how the kohen gadol was permitted to sit, in light of the prohibition against sitting in the azara, and the Gemara answered that this took place outside the azara, in the area known as the “ezrat nashim.”  The Or Samei’ach draws our attention to the Mishna in Masekhet Yoma (68b), which states explicitly that the kohen gadol did not wear the special eight garments while reading the Torah on Yom Kippur.  He had the option of wearing either the bigdei lavan – the white garments worn during the Yom Kippur service – or a special tunic.  He was not, however, permitted to wear the garments normally worn by the kohen gadol while performing the rituals in the Mikdash, because reading the Torah did not constitute a formal avoda (Temple ritual).

            For this reason, the Or Samei’ach explained, the Gemara raised the question of why the kohen gadol was allowed to sit.  Even though the Gemara accepts the Midrash’s premise that a kohen gadol is permitted to sit in the azara, this applies only while he wears the tzitz.  And since he did not wear the tzitz – or any of his usual priestly garments – at this point during the Yom Kippur service, as the Mishna in Masekhet Yoma clearly establishes, it was forbidden for him to sit in the azara during this stage.  The Gemara therefore explained that the kohen gadol at this point was situated in the ezrat nashim, where sitting is allowed, and not in the actual azara.

Wednesday

            Parashat Kedoshim presents the famous command of “ve-ahavta le-rei’akha kamokha” (“you shall love your fellow as yourself” – 19:18), the mitzva which is the subject of Rabbi Akiva’s famous remark (recorded in Torat Kohanim), “Zeh kelal gadol ba-Torah” (“This is a great principle of the Torah”).

            Some have suggested approaching Rabbi Akiva’s comment in light of some of the famous episodes told of Rabbi Akiva in the Talmud.  Toward the end of Masekhet Berakhot (60b), Rabbi Akiva is cited as both preaching and practicing the well-known proverb, “All that the Almighty does – He does for the best.”  The Gemara proceeds to relate that Rabbi Akiva was once traveling and, unable to find lodging in the city, was forced to spend the night in the forest.  Wild animals ate his chicken and donkey, and a gust of wind extinguished his only lamp, but at every stage he insisted that it was all for the best.  Sure enough, in the morning he discovered that pillagers had ransacked the city and killed its inhabitants.  Rabbi Akiva’s life was spared as a result of the townspeople’s refusal to offer him lodging, and by the loss of his light and animals.

            Rabbi Akiva’s legendary optimism resurfaces later in the Talmud, in the final passage of Masekhet Makot, where we read of a group of sages, including Rabbi Akiva, who passed by the ruins of the Temple and witnessed a jackal scurrying about at the sacred site.  While Rabbi Akiva’s colleagues wept, he smiled, noting how the fulfillment of the prophecies warning of Jerusalem’s destruction confirmed the ultimate fulfillment of the prophecies foreseeing its restoration.  Once again, when placed in a situation that would ordinarily evoke feelings of anguish and despair, Rabbi Akiva responded with hope, optimism, confidence and serenity.

            The most striking example of Rabbi Akiva’s unparalleled optimism is perhaps the Gemara’s account of his final breaths of life, as a Roman executioner tore his flesh off his body with iron rakes (Berakhot 61b).  During those moments of unfathomable suffering, Rabbi Akiva described to his students how privileged he felt to be able to finally fulfill the obligation to love God “with all your life.”  Even in his dying moments, and even in the face of inhumane brutality and as the future of Torah was in question, Rabbi Akiva could not be broken.  He found the silver lining in the darkest, thickest cloud of all, experiencing and expressing his love for God amid deadly torture.

            This quality is also what likely fueled Rabbi Akiva’s determination to rebuild Torah scholarship after the death of his students, as the Gemara tells in Masekhet Yevamot (62b).  Rather than despairing, Rabbi Akiva found five talented students whom he taught and trained to become the next generation of Torah leaders and the pillars of the halakhic oral tradition.

            While it is not entirely clear what Rabbi Akiva meant when he designated “ve-ahavta le-rei’akha kamokha” as a “great principle of the Torah,” it is hardly surprising that this mitzva would be associated specifically with Rabbi Akiva.  How does a person “love his fellow as himself”?  The answer, perhaps, is that we must view people the way Rabbi Akiva viewed every situation in life – which is the way people generally view themselves.  All people have brighter and darker sides of their characters, but we are able to “love” ourselves by tolerating our imperfections and focusing on our finer qualities.  Just as Rabbi Akiva was able to find the hopeful, encouraging aspects of even the most dreadful circumstances, similarly, we must identify the positive, admirable qualities of even those who do not immediately present a positive, admirable image.  This, perhaps, is the “great principle of the Torah” – viewing the world’s people and events from a positive angle, approaching life with our eyes focused on all that is good rather than dwelling on the bad.

Thursday

            We find in Parashat Acharei-Mot the prohibition against the molekh ritual.  The Torah writes (18:21), “And do not give of your offspring to be passed over to molekh.”  According to many commentators – and, as the Ramban notes, this appears to be the majority view – the molekh ritual entailed the killing of one’s children.  A person would hand his child over to the molekh priest who then burned the child as an offering, as it were, to the pagan deity.  Others, including the Rambam (Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 6:3) and Rashi (Sanhedrin 64b), held that the molekh ritual entailed merely the symbolic passage of a child through fire, and the child did not die during this process.

            A number of commentators noted the peculiar context in which this prohibition is introduced.  The Torah inserts the prohibition of molekh amidst its discussion of the arayot – forbidden sexual relationships.  Specifically, the molekh prohibition appears immediately following the prohibition against relations with another man’s wife, and just before the prohibitions against homosexual relations and bestiality.  What connection could there be between the ritual of molekh and the Torah’s sexual code?

            Abarbanel addresses this question and offers two possible answers.  First, he notes that this section is introduced (18:3) with God’s warning to Benei Yisrael to avoid the practices that were common in Egypt – where they had spent the previous two centuries – and Canaan – the land which they were supposed to be imminently entering.  And, we might add, it emerges from the conclusion of this section (18:24-30) that the prohibitions enumerated here involve especially contemptible acts which cause the land to “expel” its inhabitants.  Thus, although this section deals mainly with sexual misconduct, its basic theme is more general – abominable conduct that would cause Benei Yisrael’s banishment from their land.  It therefore should not surprise us, Abarbanel writes, that the Torah includes in this section contemptible acts that do not involve sexual impropriety, such as the molekh ritual.

            Secondly, Abarbanel explains, the sin of sacrificing one’s children does, indeed, resemble certain sexual offenses.  Particularly in the cases of homosexuality and bestiality, the offense entails the misuse – or wasteful use – of one’s reproductive capabilities.  If we broaden the concept of reproduction to include not only begetting children, but also raising children, then we can easily understand why the Torah would include its ban on the molekh rite in this section.  Violators of the aforementioned offenses act in a manner that opposes the goal of populating the earth; they direct their reproductive impulses toward “infertile” behavior, utilizing them in a way that cannot result in propagation.  Similarly, a parent who engages in the molekh ritual negates the second stage of the reproductive process, which is building the next generation.  He destroys his seed, rather than planting it for the future – just like violators of certain arayot offenses.

            The work Ke-motzei Shalal Rav cites yet a third explanation in the name of Rav David Shelomo Slushtz of Odessa.  He speculated that the molekh ritual may have been practiced specifically in instances of illegitimate children.  Parents of such children would have them killed as a means of ritually cleansing themselves of their sin, or, at least, as an attempt to spare themselves further humiliation.  Specifically in the context of arayot, then, the Torah notes that despite the severity of these offenses, the products of forbidden unions are full-fledged human beings and Jews, and must be treated as such.  The Torah adds the prohibition of molekh as a warning against attempts to eliminate illegitimate children as was common in the ancient world.

It should be noted that this prohibition appears immediately after the final prohibition concerning a relationship between a man and a woman.  As mentioned, after issuing the warning against molekh the Torah proceeds to forbid homosexuality and bestiality, both of which cannot result in conception.  Quite possibly, after completing the list of forbidden male-female relationships, the Torah adds the prohibition of molekh as a warning against the practice of killing children resulting from illicit relations.

Friday

            Yesterday, we noted the question raised by several commentators concerning the context in which the Torah mentions the prohibition against the pagan molekh ritual, which, according to most opinions, entailed the sacrifice of one’s child.  The Torah (18:21) introduces this prohibition amidst its discussion of the arayot – forbidden sexual relations.  The obvious question arises as to why the Torah found it appropriate to include the prohibition of molekh in the section dealing with arayot.

            Rabbenu Bechayei suggested that the prohibition of molekh appears in this section because of its connection to the immediately preceding verse, which presents the prohibition of eishet ish – relations with a woman who is married to another man.  The Torah inserts the law of molekh at this point to indicate that God views idolatrous worship as a form of betrayal and infidelity, similar to the feeling of a husband who has been betrayed by his wife.  Worshipping foreign deities constitutes a fundamental breach of our relationship with the Almighty, just as adultery constitutes a breach in a wife’s basic contract and agreement with her husband.

            Rabbenu Bechayei’s comments give rise to the question of why specifically molekh is singled out as an example of this kind of betrayal.  Needless to say, the worship of any foreign deity constitutes a breach in one’s relationship with God.  If, as Rabbenu Bechayei asserts, the Torah here seeks to establish a parallel between a wife’s infidelity and a Jew’s betrayal of God, why does it point specifically to the molekh ritual?

            Rav Aharon Yeshaya Roter, in his Sha’arei Aharon (Bnei Brak, 5745), suggested that molekh is singled out because it entails a far more “costly” sacrifice than a person would ever bring to the true God.  Offering one’s child to molekh is a particularly grave act of betrayal because no such sacrifice is possible in the service of the Almighty, as the Torah never demands or even allows sacrificing one’s child, a parent’s most valuable and dearest possession, to the Almighty.  God feels especially betrayed, so-to-speak, when a person goes to greater lengths in the worship of false gods than he ever would in his service of the one, true God.

            If so, then the molekh prohibition perhaps offers a lesson that applies well beyond the specific framework of this or other pagan rituals.  Namely, we must ensure that we do not extend ourselves in the pursuit of vanity to a greater extent that we are prepared to do in our service of God.  If we devote the bulk of our limited resources of time, energy and funds to unnecessary luxuries and recreation, at the expense of our devotion to Torah and mitzvot, then we in effect “betray” God.  Our covenant with the Almighty demands that we prioritize our obligations to Him over other, far less important pursuits.

David Silverberg