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S.A.L.T. - PARASHAT ACHAREI-MOT
By Rav David Silverberg
Please pray for a refuah sheleimah for Refael Daniel Aryeh ben Tamar,
Motzaei Shabbat
Parashat Acharei-Mot begins by outlining the procedure of
avodat
Yom Ha-kippurim,
the special rituals that were performed in the
Beit
Ha-mikdash
each year on Yom Kippur. Among the
more mysterious components of the Yom Kippur service is the
sa’ir
la-azazel,
the goat which was sent into the deserts east of
The Ramban (to 16:8), based upon earlier sources, offers a surprising,
perhaps even alarming, explanation of the
sa’ir la’azazel ritual. He
claims that God commanded us to send an offering each year on Yom Kippur to the
“angel that governs in places of desolation,” the spiritual forces of evil and
destruction. The Torah generally
forbids offering sacrifices to any force in the universe other than the
Almighty, but on Yom Kippur, God Himself ordered that we offer this sacrifice to
the angel of destruction, as a kind of “bribe” to ensure that he comes to our
defense. The Ramban draws an analogy
to a king who is hosted for a feast and asks his host to give a portion of food
to his servant, so that the servant will speak kindly about him. God wants even the evil angel in the
heavens to come to
Benei Yisrael’s defense on Yom Kippur, and He therefore commands us
to send that angel a “portion” in the form of the
sa’ir
la-azazel.
How might we explain this notion of “bribing” the angel of destruction on
Yom Kippur?
Rav Shmuel Goldin (in Yeshiva University’s publication Mitokh Ha-ohel, 2010)
suggested that the sa’ir la-azazel, as described by the Ramban, conveys a
critical message relevant to the process of
teshuva which we undergo on Yom Kippur.
Namely, we must recognize the power of the “enemy,” of the sinful forces that
exist in the world and within us.
Successful repentance is impossible without acknowledging the insidious and
unrelenting “forces of destruction,” the
yetzer ha-ra within each
person. As part of the process of
teshuva, we must “bribe” these forces and win them over to our side. Rav Goldin explains:
…through this symbolic act, a powerful, personal message is conveyed to all
present:
Do not let
this holiest of days pass without attaining a healthy respect for the
potentially destructive forces that inhabit your world. Above all, recognize the strength of
your own personal yetzer ha-ra, your evil inclination, and its unerring ability
to undermine your valiant attempts at self-betterment. Denial of its existence has not
worked for you in the past and will not work for you in the future…
Adopt,
therefore, a different tactic.
Acknowledge your “adversary;” respect its strength; then turn that strength to
your benefit. Channel the energy
that could lead you astray and direct it towards good.
The
sa’ir
la-azazel thus reminds us during the moments of inspiration and sincere religious
commitment on Yom Kippur that we cannot delude ourselves into thinking that the
“forces of evil” have now disappeared, that we have now, once and for all,
driven away our vices and negative tendencies.
On this day which we spend in an aura of sanctity and even mimic the
heavenly angels, God tells us to give a tribute to the
Satan,
to the forces of evil, as a sober reminder that these forces are not going away. We will constantly have to struggle
mightily to retain our commitment, and we must therefore adopt the strategy of
properly channeling those impulses rather than suppressing them, that we will
have to find a way to use them in our service of the Almighty, rather than fool
ourselves into thinking that we can just ignore them. This, perhaps, is the meaning of
“bribing” the forces of destruction.
We accept the reality that these forces will always have to be contended with,
and we must therefore try to turn them into our ally, rather than our foe, by
utilizing even the potentially negative aspects of our beings for the service of
God.
Sunday
Yesterday we noted the Ramban’s startling comments explaining the meaning
of the
sa’ir
la-azazel, the goat sent into the deserts east of
We might suggest a simple explanation for the meaning of the Ramban’s
depiction of the
sa’ir
la-azazel as an offering to the angel of destruction.
What precisely is this “gift” that we present to the angel? The Torah instructs that before the
kohen gadol sends the goat out to the desert, he places his hands
on its head and confesses the sins of all
Benei
Yisrael. The result of this ritual, the Torah
writes, is that “he places them upon the head of the goat” (16:21). The
sa’ir
la-azazel
symbolically carries the nation’s misdeeds with it out into the wilderness – and
this is the “gift” that we offer to the spiritual forces of destruction, as the
Ramban described.
The message of this ritual, then, is that sin is a gift to the harmful
forces in the world. These forces
are emboldened through our wrongdoing.
Temptation makes sin appear as something beneficial and desirable, and
part of the process of repentance is changing this perspective on wrongdoing.
Teshuva
requires us to reprogram our attitude toward sinful behavior, to look upon it as
something destructive rather than something beneficial. Repentance entails breaking through
the attractive veneer of sin and recognizing its destructive nature. According to the Ramban, perhaps,
this is the purpose of the
sa’ir
la-azazel. We symbolically offer our
transgressions as an offering to the
Satan,
to the forces of evil and destruction, as a vivid reminder that sin strengthens
these forces, thus helping to create an intuitive association in our minds
between transgressing the Torah and the forces of evil in the world. It puts sin squarely on the side of
evil, well outside the realm of acceptable and desirable behavior.
If so, then the ritual of the
sa’ir
la-azazel
serves as part of the effort to alter our perspective on wrongdoing, to program
our minds to perceive sin as a cause of harm and destruction, rather than
something desirable and beneficial.
Monday
We read in Parashat Acharei-Mot of the prohibition of
shechutei
chutz,
offering sacrifices outside the
Beit
Ha-mikdash. The Torah treats this prohibition
with particular severity, assigning it the punishment of
karet
(eternal excision from the Jewish people).
In the context of this discussion, the Torah appears to provide the reason
underlying the prohibition of
shechutei
chutz: “They [Benei
Yisrael] shall no longer offer their sacrifices to the demons to which they
are led astray” (17:7). If we had
been allowed to offer sacrifices to God anywhere we wished, many people would
offer sacrifices to “demons,” to foreign deities or natural forces. The establishment of an exclusive
site for sacrificial worship helps ensure that this worship will always be
directed toward God. Rituals
performed in varying locations would, almost inevitably, result in rituals
performed for varying deities. The
Torah insisted on sacrificing only in the
Mikdash in order to ensure that we sacrifice only to God. By denying us the choice of where to
offer sacrifices, the Torah effectively denies us the choice of to whom to offer
sacrifices.
When viewed from this perspective, the prohibition of shechutei chutz
seeks to preserve the integrity of our
avodat Hashem,
to ensure that our service of God does not “mix” with the service of foreign
deities. It forces us to direct our
religious devotion and spirituality solely to the Almighty, and not to anything
else.
Interestingly enough, we find this theme also in the other two major topics in
Parashat Acharei-Mot – the Yom Kippur service outlined in the beginning of the
parasha, and the prohibitions of sexual immorality which appear toward
the end of the
parasha.
Among the primary features of the Yom Kippur service are the two se’irim (goats), one
of which is designated by lottery as a sacrifice to God, and the other to be
sent into the wilderness, symbolically transporting the sins of Benei Yisrael.
One of the messages conveyed by this ritual is that we have only two
options: to devote ourselves entirely to God, or to condemn ourselves “la’azazel” (which, as we discussed in our previous editions of S.A.L.T., is
associated with the forces of evil).
The ritual of the goats vividly depicts the mutual exclusivity of the two
distinct paths that we can choose in life.
It instructs that we must choose between God and “azazel,”
and we cannot be committed to some combination of both. Like the prohibition of shechutei
chutz, which signifies our exclusive devotion to God, the Yom Kippur service
reminds us that anything short of full, unconditional commitment to God amounts
to “azazel,” full commitment to the forces of evil and impurity.
The Torah
introduces the final section of Parashat Acharei-Mot by exhorting, “You shall
not follow the practices of the land of Egypt in which you resided, and you
shall not follow the practices of the land of Canaan to which I am bringing you,
and you shall not abide by their statutes.
You shall follow My laws and observe My statutes…” (18:3-4). In no uncertain terms, the Torah
admonishes us to reject one lifestyle and embrace the other. Commitment to God is incompatible
with commitment to a different set of laws and values. We must make a firm decision to
devote ourselves to God, rather than “azazel.”
The two cannot coexist.
Our devotion to God must not be casual, on a whim, or incidental. We cannot devote ourselves to Torah
when we feel so inclined, and devote ourselves to something else when we feel so
inclined.
Avodat
Hashem
is, by definition, to the exclusion of any other “avoda,” any other
spiritual commitment. We must make a
firm, definitive choice between God and “azazel,” between sacrificing to
God and sacrificing to the “demons,” between leading a Torah lifestyle and
leading the lifestyle of the Egyptians or Canaanites. And we must follow through on that
commitment throughout our lives, regardless of our mood or inclination, with
firm conviction and unwavering devotion to the Almighty.
Tuesday
Parashat Acharei-Mot begins with the description of the annual Yom
Kippur service in the Mikdash, and the Torah concludes this section by
writing, “He [Aharon] did as the Lord commanded Moshe” (16:34). Rashi,
citing Torat Kohanim, explains, “When Yom Kippur arrived, he performed
this service, and [this is written] to give praise to Aharon that he did not
wear them for his aggrandizement [li-gdulato], but rather to fulfill the
royal decree.” According to Chazal, this verse gives credit to
Aharon for wearing the special Yom Kippur vestments purely for the sake of
fulfilling God’s command, and not to enjoy the grandeur and stature associated
with these garments.
One might
wonder why the Torah gives Aharon such a compliment specifically with regard to
the Yom Kippur garments. The Talmud refers to the kohen gadol’s Yom
Kippur vestments as “bigdei lavan” – “white garments” – because they were
plain white, as opposed to the “bigdei zahav,” the elaborate golden
clothing worn throughout the year. Granted, the bigdei zahav were
also worn on Yom Kippur, when the kohen gadol performed the standard
rituals, as the bigdei lavan were reserved solely for the rituals that
were unique to Yom Kippur. Clearly, however, if Chazal interpret
this verse – which concludes the section of the Yom Kippur service – as
complimenting Aharon for his attitude toward his garments, they clearly refer to
the special Yom Kippur garments. The question thus arises, why was Aharon
deserving of such praise for his sincerity in wearing the plain, white garments
on Yom Kippur? What kind of self-glorification and aggrandizement could he
have sought through plain white clothing?
Rav Shimon Schwab, in his Ma’ayan Beit Ha-sho’eiva, cleverly suggests
that Torat Kohanim refers here to the pitfall of phony humility.
Aharon did not relish the opportunity to don simple garments to show his humble
character. He did not approach the Yom Kippur service as an occasion to
appear simple and ordinary. Rather, he approached it as an occasion to
serve the Almighty, without any intention of putting on any sort of display.
Humility,
when worn insincerely, is simply another form of arrogance. Torat
Kohanim here teaches us to don both our “bigdei zahav” and our “bigdei
lavan” with sincerity. Whether we assume roles associated with honor
and distinction, or those that are deemed more ordinary and humbling, our
intention must be to do the right thing, and not to earn the respect of other
people. Even when we act humbly, we must ensure that it is genuine, and
not just another opportunity to impress the people around us.
Rav David
Silverberg
Wednesday
We read in Parashat Acharei-Mot of the
se’ir
ha-mishtalei’ach,
the goat that the
kohen gadol would send out into the wilderness during the Yom
Kippur service in the
A number of
Acharonim point to this confession of the
kohen gadol as a possible source for the concept of “vidui al
yedei shali’ach”
– confessing through the medium of an agent.
If the kohen gadol is able to
confess all of Benei Yisrael’s sins on their behalf, then, seemingly, we must conclude that one can
fulfill the Torah obligation of
vidui – confessing a sin – through an agent.
And, we might also be inclined to extrapolate from this situation – of a
person who prefers assigning the responsibility of vidui to an agent – to
other situations of assigning somebody to make a declaration on his behalf.
The Maharit (vol. 1, siman 127) addresses the question of somebody
who wishes to perform hakdasha – meaning, he seeks to formally consecrate
an animal as a sacrifice – and asks somebody else to make the hakdasha
declaration for him. Generally
speaking, one may assign an agent to perform an action that affects the status
of a person or object, such as to betroth a woman, or to make a purchase or a
sale. When it comes to consecrating
an animal, however, no action is required; the effect is achieved solely through
a verbal declaration. The Maharit
claims that this kind of halakhic mechanism cannot be assigned to a shali’ach
(agent). In cases where a status
change requires only verbalization, a person must make the declaration
personally, and cannot assign an agent to make this declaration his behalf.
The Minchat Chinukh (364:8) challenges the Maharit’s ruling on the
basis of the kohen gadol’s confession on Yom Kippur. As noted, the Torah authorizes the
kohen gadol to confess on behalf of the entire nation, seemingly indicating
that confession can be made through an agent.
The declaration of hakdasha, the Minchat Chinukh contends, should be no different than
vidui, and just as the kohen gadol can
confess on behalf of the entire nation, similarly, a person can ask somebody
else to declare an animal hekdesh on his behalf.
The Minchat Chinukh’s argument can
be refuted in several ways. Firstly,
the Meiri, in his Chibur Ha-teshuva (2:13), writes that the
kohen gadol’s confession was intended to inspire the
people to confess. He did not
actually confess on the people’s behalf.
Rather, he confessed their sins as a means of arousing them to confess
and repent. According to the Meiri,
then, the kohen gadol’s confession on Yom Kippur has nothing at
all to do with the concept of shelichut (“agency”).
Furthermore, Rav Chayim of Brisk reportedly understood the
kohen gadol’s confession as a “vidui tzibur” – meaning, a confession made for
Am Yisrael as a collective
unit. His confession did not absolve
each individual from the need to confess and repent for his or her
transgressions. Rather, the
kohen gadol confessed on behalf
of Am Yisrael as a nation, serving as their joint
representative. As Rav Soloveitchik
(Rav Chayim’s grandson) developed at length, there are two levels of repentance
that are required on Yom Kippur – the individual and the collective. The
kohen gadol’s service in the
Mikdash served to atone for Am Yisrael
as a nation, but individuals were still required to repent for their misdeeds. Thus, the kohen gadol’s
confession does not involve any form of shelichut, the personal
designation of an individual to achieve a certain goal on one’s behalf. (For a more comprehensive discussion,
see Rav Chayim Leib Eizenstein’s Peninim
Mi-bei Midresha (
Interestingly, a somewhat similar discussion arises concerning bittul
chametz – the declaration made before Pesach formally renouncing one’s
ownership over any chametz in his possession. The
Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 434:4)
rules that it is possible to perform
bittul through the agency of a
shali’ach, and the
Mishna Berura comments that
bittul is an exceptional case where this type
of “agency” is effective. Normally,
to renounce one’s ownership over an item in his possession, one must personally
make a declaration to this effect, and he cannot appoint somebody to make the
declaration on his behalf. When it
comes to chametz, however,
Halakha requires only “gilui da’at” – a clear demonstration of
one’s intent to renounce his ownership.
The reason is that chametz automatically leaves one’s possession
once Pesach begins, given the fact that it becomes forbidden for any kind of
benefit, but the Torah nevertheless considers it in a person’s possession with
respect to the prohibition against owning chametz. To stop this from happening, it
suffices to make a clear indication of one’s disinterest in his chametz, and therefore the
bittul declaration may be made through a
shali’ach. In this particular instance, where,
strictly speaking, only a demonstration of intent is required, one may assign
somebody else to make the verbal declaration.
David Silverberg
Thursday
The Torah in Parashat Acharei-Mot (17:13) introduces the
mitzva
of
kisui ha-dam, which requires covering the blood that spills during the slaughtering of a
chaya
(non-domesticated animal) or a bird.
The Shulchan Arukh (Y.D. 28:2),
based on the Tur, writes that before performing the act
of kisui, one recites the berakha, “Barukh Ata… asher kideshanu
be-mitzvotav ve-tzivanu al kisui dam be-afar.”
The Taz raises the question of why we add the word “be-afar”
(“with earth”) in the text of this berakha. When we recite a berakha
before performing a mitzva, the text of the berakha generally
mentions only the essential command, without specifying any details about how
that command is fulfilled. It would
seem that the obligation to cover blood specifically with
afar, and not with some other
material, is a mere detail of the
mitzva, and not part of its
essential definition. Why, then, did
the Tur require mentioning “be-afar” in the text of the
berakha recited over kisui ha-dam?
The Taz suggests that this word is added because the mitzva of
kisui ha-dam actually incorporates two
mitzva acts. The Gemara in Masekhet
Chulin (83b) establishes that before one slaughters a
chaya or bird, he must first place earth on the ground so that the blood will
fall on top of the earth, and not directly on the ground. The blood must be covered both on top
and on bottom, and the Gemara therefore rules that one should place some earth
on the ground before slaughtering, in addition to the earth that is placed over
the blood after slaughtering. The
Taz asserts that in light of the “double mitzva” entailed in
kisui ha-dam, the text of the berakha
must indicate that the recitation refers to both aspects of the
mitzva. We therefore add the word “be-afar” – the word used by the Torah in formulating this
mitzva (“ve-khisahu be-afar”) and which the Sages interpreted as
referring to a double layer of earth.
This term is included in the
berakha to emphasize that the berakha speaks of both aspects of the
mitzva – the layer of earth beneath
the blood, and the layer of earth that covers the blood.
The Taz’s analysis is predicated on several questionable assumptions,
including the assumption that the first layer of earth constitutes part of the
mitzva.
As Rav Asher Zelig Weiss discusses in his Minchat Asher,
one could argue that the mitzva requires covering the blood after it is
spilt, and the first layer placed before slaughtering is only a condition on
which the mitzva hinges. Thus, for
example, Tosefot (there in Chulin) write that one does not have to specifically
designate earth for the lower layer; it suffices to slaughter over dirt that
happens to already be present on the ground.
This seems to indicate that in Tosefot’s view, the lower layer is not
part of the mitzva of covering.
The mitzva takes effect only if
the blood is spilled on a layer of earth so that it could then be covered both
on top and on bottom, but there is no requirement to place earth on the ground
before slaughtering.
The Taz, however, clearly assumes that the mitzva requires placing
two layers of covering. Rav Weiss
notes that this seems to have been the perspective of Rashi, who claimed that
one must, indeed, specifically designate the earth used as the lower level of
covering.
Rav Weiss adds that this issue may hinge on a more general question
surrounding the mitzva of kisui
ha-dam, namely, the relationship between this obligation and the
mitzva of shechita (slaughtering).
Should we view the mitzva
of kisui ha-dam as part of the act of shechita, or are
these two separate mitzva acts, that happen to
apply at the same setting? The Rosh
(Chulin 6:6), for example, in explaining a certain ruling of the Behag,
described covering the blood as “siyum
ha-mitzva” – the conclusion of the
mitzva of slaughtering. It is not an
independent mitzva, but rather
part of the halakhically required process of slaughtering of animal. According to this perspective, the
slaughtering and covering of the blood are both part of the same process. If so, then we can perhaps envision a
requirement to place earth on the ground before slaughtering as part of the
obligation of kisui ha-dam, which actually begins already with the
slaughtering of the animal. However,
if we view the shechita and the kisui as two distinct mitzvot, then we might feel more inclined to
assume that the obligation of kisui takes effect only after the
slaughtering is concluded. If so,
then it would be difficult to accept the Taz’s premise that the first layer of
earth is required as part of the mitzva of kisui ha-dam. Since the mitzva of kisui
ha-dam begins only after the slaughtering, we cannot view the placement of
earth on the ground before the act of
shechita as part of the
mitzva.
David
Silverberg
Friday
The Torah in Parashat Acharei-Mot introduces the prohibition of
shechutei chutz – offering sacrifices outside the area of the
Mishkan.
This prohibition appears again later in the Torah, in Sefer Devarim
(12:13), in reference to the permanent Beit Ha-mikdash.
Rav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a (http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/update_views.php?num=7304&file=/vbm/archive/15-sichot/27achareimotkedoshim.rtf)
noted that although in these two contexts the Torah speaks of the same
prohibition, it approaches this halakha
from a much different angle in each instance.
Here, in Parashat Acharei-Mot, the Torah writes that Benei Yisrael
must bring their sacrifices to the Mishkan in order to avoid sacrificial offerings to the “se’irim” (17:7),
interpreted by many as a reference to demons or other imaginary spiritual
powers. As
Benei Yisrael traveled through the wilderness, a setting which naturally lends itself to
spirituality, the danger arose that they would search for spirituality in the
wrong places. Especially off the
backdrop of their prolonged exposure to Egyptian paganism,
Benei Yisrael were likely tempted to
offer sacrifices to imaginary spirits of one sort or another in the wilderness. It thus became necessary to direct
their spiritual attention and interests exclusively toward the Mishkan, toward the Almighty.
In Sefer Devarim, however, Moshe speaks to Benei Yisrael just
prior to their entry into Canaan, where they would build, cultivate and develop
the country. In Eretz Yisrael, the opposite problem arose – that their
preoccupation with the development of their country would not leave them any
time or concern for spirituality.
Here, the danger was not that of erratic, indiscriminate spirituality, but
rather that of a suffocation of spirituality by materialism and industry. The manifestation of this squelching
of spiritual interest would be indifference to the
Beit Ha-mikdash. In the event that a person would be
required or interested in offering a sacrifice, he would see no need to make a
special trip to the sacred site of the Mikdash, and prefer instead
to remain in the comfort of his hometown and perform the ritual there at his
leisure.
These two sections of the Torah thus warn against the two different risks
posed to the Torah Jew: the lure of undiscerning spirituality, and the lure of
avoiding it entirely. Some
contemporary religious cultures today attract followers through the lure of the
“se’irim,” alleged mystical powers and forces of all different kinds. On the opposite end of the spectrum,
we face the threat of Sefer Devarim, that the excitement and demands of
industrial, cosmopolitan life will divert one’s attention from any spiritual
quest.
The Torah
instructs us to search for spirituality – but only in the right places, in the
Mikdash, in our ancient Torah tradition.
We cannot allow ourselves to search for spiritual fulfillment among the “se’irim,”
but nor can we allow our professional aspirations to supplant the natural quest
and desire for spiritual meaning.
David
Silverberg
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