S.A.L.T.  PARASHAT KEDOSHIM  / PESACH

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            One of the approaches taken to explain the symbolism of matza and its contrast to chametz – as Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch develops in several contexts – relates to the theme of human creativity and innovation.  Matza is a crude, undeveloped product of flour and water, whereas chametz is the result of human ingenuity that developed and refined this combination and flour water.  As such, chametz signifies the human being’s capability to build and create, whereas matza represents the absence of human intervention.

            Chametz is therefore strictly forbidden on Pesach, in order to underscore Benei Yisrael’s absolute passivity in the process of the Exodus.  One of the themes of Pesach is the condition of sheer helplessness in which Benei Yisrael found themselves in Egypt, how they were neither capable of alleviating their suffering, nor deserving of God’s intervention to assist them.  This theme is perhaps most starkly developed in Yechezkel’s prophecy (chapter 16) which compares Benei Yisrael in Egypt to an infant girl abandoned at birth.  God graphically depicts the image of a newborn that was not washed, clothed or cared for in any way since the moment she exited the womb.  And then He, the Almighty, came along and adopted the abandoned child, devotedly caring for her and even purchasing the finest clothing and oils when she reached adolescence.  Benei Yisrael’s plight in Egypt was as helpless as that of a child abandoned in an open field in the country on the day of his or her birth.  They had no possibility of caring for themselves, and God came along and in His infinite compassion “adopted” them and cared for them, “raising” them into a strong, powerful nation.

            On Pesach, we commemorate our emergence from a helpless condition, through the matza, which signifies the absence of human ingenuity.  We did not help ourselves on the night of the Exodus.  God commanded us to remain indoors, hidden in our homes, while He did the work for us.  Though the rest of the year we are certainly entitled to bake and eat chametz, to apply our talents and creativity to improve and develop the world, on Pesach we acknowledge our state of sheer helplessness in Egypt, and we therefore avoid any traces of chametz.  (The author of the Haggada expanded this commemoration through the Ve-hi She-ameda hymn, in which we proclaim that throughout our nation’s crises-ridden history, too, we could not possibly survive without God’s ongoing protection.)

            This theme of helplessness may also relate to the concept of “chipazon” which is inherent in the symbolic meaning of the matza.  On one level, the frantic haste with which we left Egypt testifies to the fact that the Exodus was exclusively God’s handiwork.  If we had won our freedom through our own talents, we would have left Egypt triumphantly, in a proud, dignified manner, and not as recklessly-fleeing refugees.  Additionally, however, “chipazon” is divine, not human.  A human being produces and achieves through patience and diligence; we are incapable of accomplishing significant goals instantaneously.  God, however, can overturn empires overnight.  Matza is made hurriedly, before the dough can ferment, signifying the haste with which God can bring about drastic events.  Chametz is the result of a longer, drawn-out process, representing the slow, gradual manner in which human beings achieve.

            Immediately after the celebration of the Exodus on the first day of Pesach, we begin sefirat ha-omer, a process that reflects the antithesis of “chipazon” – a slow, step-by-step progression toward a goal.  And that progression culminates on Shavuot, when we are obligated to bring a chametz offering in the Mikdash (Vayikra 23:17).  Shavuot is the celebration of our acceptance of the Torah – our human endeavor to fulfill God’s will.  Like every human endeavor, our growth in Torah is incremental.  Pesach is the festival of matza, of “chipazon,” whereas Shavuot is the festival of chametz, of sefira.  Pesach celebrates God’s achievement, whereas Shavuot celebrates our achievement – our lifelong, ongoing commitment to spiritual growth.  God’s achievements are represented by the haste of matza, whereas our achievements are represented by chametz, suggesting the gradual, step-by-step process of growth and development.  Pesach is therefore characterized by the matza, the symbol of God’s handiwork, whereas Shavuot is characterized by chametz, the symbol of our devoted efforts to grow and achieve.

Sunday

            Parashat Kedoshim begins with God’s command to Moshe, “Speak to the entire congregation of the Israelites and say to them: You shall be sacred.”  Rashi famously notes the unusual emphasis in this verse on the command to speak to “kol adat Benei Yisrael” – “the entire congregation of the Israelites.”  This emphasis, Rashi explains, indicates that this section of laws was to be presented to an inclusive gathering of the entire nation.

            Numerous different explanations have been offered for why this section, in particular, required a single gathering of all Benei Yisrael.  One insight is suggested by the Pardeis Yosef, who focuses specifically on this section’s opening command – “kedoshim tiheyu” – “you shall be sacred.”  Instinctively, we might have assumed that the ideal of “kedusha,” living a “holy” life, demands that a person live alone, in solitude, where he can avoid the spiritual pitfalls of social life, and the dangers of hostile influences.  When we think of “holiness,” we are often inclined to think of a person who meditates in seclusion, who has little involvement with other people, and lives in a general state of social withdrawal.

            God therefore insisted that Moshe convey this command to “kol adat Benei Yisrael,” to the entire nation assembled in a single setting.  He wanted Moshe to emphasize that kedusha is manifest through social engagement, by being involved with people and with the world, by working to improve society, rather than withdrawing from society.

            The Pardeis Yosef cites in this context the Gemara’s comment in Masekhet Shabbat (14b) that King Shelomo earned special commendation from God when he enacted two laws – the system of eiruv, and the obligation of netilat yadayim.  The Rebbe of Kotzk remarked that this praise was earned because of the unique combination of the symbolic meanings of these two halakhic institutions.  The system of eiruv indicates the merging of different households and blending a community together into a single unit, whereas netilat yadayim (which literally means “raising one’s hands”) means raising oneself above the ordinary, mundane standards of the world.  The combination of eiruvin and netilat yadayim, the Rebbe of Kotzk suggested, represents the delicate balance of involvement in society while maintaining one’s strict personal standards of holiness.  Kedusha must be attained not through withdrawal, but rather through engagement, by working within society and engaging the world.  We must indeed pursue the ideal of purity and holiness signified by netilat yadayim, but only within the institution of “eiruv,” amid our active and intensive engagement with other people.

Monday

            Parashat Kedoshim begins with the famous command of “kedoshim tiheyu” (“You shall be sacred”).  The Rambam, in the introduction to his Sefer Ha-mitzvot (shoresh 4), asserts that this imperative should not be counted as one of the Torah’s 248 affirmative commands.  In his view, “kedoshim tiheyu” should be viewed as a generic admonition, and not as a specific command.  The Rambam writes:

The statement, “You shall be sacred” and “You shall make yourselves sacred and you shall be sacred” are commands to observe the entire Torah, as though it said, “Be sacred by doing all that I have commanded you, and refraining from all that I have forbidden for you.”

In other words, the command of “kedoshim tiheyu” does not add any obligation or prohibition to the Torah’s creed.  It rather reinforces the overriding obligation to observe all the mitzvot.  “You shall be sacred” essentially means, “Ensure to observe all the Torah’s commands.”

Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l (http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/10-sichot/30kdoshim.php) noted the significance of the Rambam’s comments, which indicate that one becomes “sacred” through the observance of mitzvot, without searching for “otherworldly” experiences:

A person becomes sacred by the very fact that he fulfills all the mitzvot and avoids all the prohibitions.  There is no need to run and search for spiritual experiences in other places.  One who withdraws from the matters of this world in search of experiences will not be able to honor his parents [for example].  A person is sacred specifically through his involvement in the matters of this world, and by treating those around him properly.

As Rav Amital noted, the Torah commands, “Kedoshim tiheyu” as an introduction to the mitzvot presented in this parasha, mitzvot which, by and large, relate to one’s basic obligations and restrictions, such as Shabbat, honoring parents, the prohibitions against gossip and revenge, and other basic civil and ritual laws.  “Holiness,” as it emerges from this parasha, is achieved by living in accordance with the Torah’s laws and values, and not by escaping from worldly life in pursuit of spiritual experiences.  We must pursue “kedusha” through our meticulous observance of God’s mitzvot, without looking to other sources of “holiness.”

Tuesday

            Among the laws presented in Parashat Kedoshim is the prohibition of “lo tokhelu al ha-dam” (19:26).  According to the plain reading of the text, this verse likely refers to eating the meat of a slaughtered animal before draining its blood (Saadia Gaon), or to a superstitious ritual involving eating near a pool of blood (Seforno here and to 17:7).

However, the Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (19:26) detects within this verse an allusion to the prohibition against eating before praying in the morning.  The Gemara interprets the phase “lo tokhelu al ha-dam” to mean “lo tokhelu kodem she-titpalelu al dimkhem” – “Do not eat before praying for your blood.”  Halakha forbids eating before one prays to God for the right to continue to live and function.

After citing this verse, the Gemara cites a different verse from Sefer Melakhim I (14:9), which appear in the prophet’s censure of Yerovam ben Nevat: “ve-oti hishlakhta acharei gavekha” (“and you cast Me behind your back”).  The Gemara suggests that this verse, too, refers to eating before prayers.  The word “gavekha,” the Gemara proposes, should be read as “gei’ekha” – “your arrogance.”  The prophet here refers to the arrogance entailed in placing one’s personal interests before his religious responsibilities, as expressed through eating before praying in the morning.

The Rosh (Berakhot 1:10), citing the Re’avya, writes that it is permissible to drink water in the morning before praying, as this does not constitute “arrogance.”  Water is among a person’s elemental physical necessities, and thus drinking water before prayer does not bespeak any disrespect toward God or disregard of one’s religious responsibilities.  This ruling is codified by the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 89:3).

            Rav Moshe Rubenstein, in his Parperet Moshe (Bnei Brak, 5764), notes that there may be a situation in which it would be forbidden to drink water in the morning before prayer even according to this view.   This possibility emerges from a view among the Rishonim cited by the Rama (O.C. 197:4) that the Torah obligation of birkat ha-mazon does not apply if a person ate but did not drink.  The Torah obligation applies only if a person achieved sevi’a – satiation – and, according to this view, one does not enjoy complete “satiation” from his meal if he does not drink, regardless of how much he ate.  Therefore, the Torah obligation applies only if one ate and drank at his meal, though on the level of rabbinic enactment one must recite birkat ha-mazon even if he did not drink.  One possible ramification of this theory concerns a case of one who did not drink during his meal, recited birkat ha-mazon, and then drank immediately after birkat ha-mazon.  According to the view cited by the Rama, it would seem that the individual would now have to repeat birkat ha-mazon.  His initial was recited was required only by force of rabbinic enactment, since he did not drink during the meal and thus did not experience sevi’a, but now that he drank and reached satiation, he bears a Torah obligation to recite birkat ha-mazon.  Therefore, even though he recited birkat ha-mazon just moments ago, before he drank, he would have to recite birkat ha-mazon again.  (For a fuller discussion of this topic, see Piskei Teshuvot, 184:15 and note 86.)

            A similar question might arise, according to this view cited by the Rama, in a case of one who mistakenly eats a meal before praying in the morning, but does not drink anything.  Would this person now be allowed to drink water?  While normally, as mentioned, it is permissible to drink water in the morning before prayer, in this instance, drinking water will have the effect of bringing the person sevi’a.  This drinking will complete his meal and bring satiation, and might therefore constitute “arrogance” by preceding prayers.  We can therefore conceive of a case where, according to this view cited by the Rama, it would be forbidden to drink water before praying in the morning.

Wednesday

            Toward the beginning of Parashat Kedoshim, the Torah briefly presents a halakha relevant to the offering of a sacrifice: “When you bring a shelamim sacrifice to the Lord, you shall sacrifice it as an expression of your own will.  It shall be eaten [only] on the day you sacrifice it, and the next day; anything left over until the third day shall be burned by fire” (19:5-6).  According to the plain reading of the text, the Torah refers here to the prohibition of notar – eating sacrificial meat beyond its deadline, which, in the case of a standard shelamim sacrifice, is the end of the day following the day of the offering of the sacrifice.  Rashi, however, citing Torat Kohanim, explains this verse as introducing the prohibition of pigul, whereby a sacrifice is invalidated if it was slaughtered with the intent that its meat would be consumed beyond its deadline.  If this was the intention with which the animal was slaughtered, the sacrifice is considered pigul and forbidden for consumption.

            Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, in his commentary to these verses, asserts that these two prohibitions – notar and pigul – very closely relate to one another, and reflect two sides of the same theme.  Namely, they underscore the symbolic importance of linking the sacrificial ritual with the consumption of the sacrificial meat.  The prohibition of notar ensures that the meat is not eaten too long after the slaughtering, whereas pigul ensures that the sacrificing is performed from the outset with the offering’s immediate consumption in mind.  Together, the laws of pigul and notar emphasize the close connection that must exist between the ritual offering of a sacrifice and the consumption of its meat.

            The reason these two stages must be demonstratively linked relates to the one of the messages conveyed by the sacrificial order, specifically the shelamim offering, which is eaten by the individual who brings the sacrifice.  The connection between the sacrificing and the eating indicates the sanctification of our earthly engagement, how our eating and festivity can and must be elevated by being used for the higher purpose of serving God.  If a person would partake of the sacrificial meat too long after the sacrificing, it would appear that the act of eating has intrinsic significance independent of the sacrificial ritual, of our obligations to the Almighty – thus undermining one of the fundamental precepts conveyed by the offering.  And if the sacrificing is done without the thought of its prompt consumption, the ritual would appear separate from and unrelated to the eating of the meat.  The sacrifice would then resemble the rituals of the pagans who brought sacrifice in an effort to placate their deities and win their favor through a kind of bribe.  Our conception of a sacrifice is not that of a “bribe,” but rather involves the elevation of one’s physical being through a connection to God and by living as His servants.  It is therefore critical for the sacrifice to be slaughtered with the consumption in mind – to underscore the point that the offering is brought to elevate our physical and worldly endeavors, for the purpose of, in Rav Hirsch’s words, “spiritualizing and penetrating with morality even the enjoyments of our senses, so that even the ordinary table of our joyous and happy family life becomes an altar of God, and even in eating we look up to God…”

Thursday

            The Torah in Parashat Kedoshim (19:23-25) introduces the prohibition of orla, which forbids eating or deriving any sort of benefit from fruits produced by a tree in the first three years after its planting.  The fruits of the fourth year are brought to Jerusalem and eaten there, and only in the fifth year are the fruits permissible without restriction.

The Torah emphasizes that observance of these laws are rewarded with an abundance of produce (“le-hosif lakhem tevu’ato” – 19:25).  Rashi, citing Torat Kohanim, writes, “Rabbi Akiva used to say: The Torah speaks in response to the evil inclination, so that a person should not say, ‘For four years I exert myself over it for naught!’”  A person may be disinclined to observe these restrictions, which require watching the fruits of his labor go to waste.  The Torah responds to the farmer’s frustration by promising reward for observing the laws of orla.

A number of writers have noted that there are many other obligations and restrictions in the Torah that demand financial sacrifice.  The Torah requires sharing one’s hard-earned wealth with the needy, kohanim and the Leviyim, and on several occasions one must offer an animal sacrifice.  Yet, the law of orla evokes especially strong resistance, thus necessitating an explicit promise of reward.  The reason, as several commentators explained, is that when it comes to orla, there is no apparent benefit to anybody, and no apparent purpose served.  Charity and tithes benefit the recipient, and sacrifices are symbolic “gifts” expressing one’s devotion to God.  Orla fruits, however, simply go to waste.  No benefit may be derived from them at all, by anybody.  Indeed, the prohibition of orla is unique among all the Torah’s laws in that something is permanently and unconditionally forbidden for use despite its being perfectly natural, and not having been involved in any improper activity.  Kil’ayim is forbidden for use because it results from the forbidden planting of different species together.  Animals become forbidden for use in situations when they have become an object of sin – such if they are worshipped or used for bestiality – or if they killed a person.  Sacrificial meat becomes forbidden if it is not eaten within the allotted time-frame.  Non-kosher meat may be fed to one’s animals or sold to a gentile.  Chametz becomes permissible – according to Torah law – after Pesach (and, similar to the case of notar, it has the possibility of being consumed before the onset of Pesach).  Orla is likely the only instance where the Torah requires material goods to go to waste, without any possibility of it being salvaged, and without serving any purpose to anyone, despite the fact that it did not involve any forbidden act.

In this sense, orla stands in direct and stark contrast to the only other instance in the Torah where we find a halakha presented with the term “etz ma’akhal” (“fruit tree”).  In Sefer Devarim (20:19-20), the Torah introduces the prohibition against cutting down fruit trees to use its wood as a battery ram, a prohibition that is viewed as the source for the general prohibition of bal tashchit – unnecessarily wasting food.  Bal tashchit expresses the regard that we are to afford to material goods.  Judaism does not look disdainfully upon material objects; to the contrary, we are bidden to treat them with respect, as the indispensable means by which we are to achieve our spiritual goals here on earth.  Indeed, as the Gemara famously comments (Chulin 91), it is characteristic of the righteous to show care for even “pakhim ketanim,” their small, inexpensive utensils.  We are bidden to preserve and care for our property, not to destroy or even neglect it. 

The prohibition of orla, it would seem, serves as the glaring exception that is necessary to keep the rule in check.  There is one situation in which the Torah requires allowing perfectly good produce to go to waste.  The prohibition of orla is perhaps intended to help avoid the obsession over material assets to which people are so vulnerable.  The three years’ worth of wasted fruit is the proverbial “spilled milk” over which we are trained not to cry.  As Rabbi Akiva observed, these three years will naturally prove difficult for a person who invested time, effort and money producing crops that are condemned to oblivion.  But this is precisely the purpose of the orla prohibition – to counterbalance and temper our sense of “pakhim ketanim,” the importance that we should and naturally do accord to our material possessions, with a proper and healthy perspective on worldly assets.  We must exercise care with regard to our possessions, but not obsess over them.  We are to regard them with importance, but not too much importance.  The distressing experience of orla, of watching our fruits grow, fall and then decay, serves to curb the instinctive urge to fret over our money and property.  Together, the prohibitions of orla and bal tashchit provide us with a balanced perspective toward our material possessions, urging us to treat them with care and importance, without making them the center and focal point of our attention and aspirations.

Friday

            The Torah in Parashat Kedoshim (19:14) presents the famous prohibition of “lifnei iver lo titein mikhshol,” which, literally translated, means, “You shall not place a stumbling block before a blind person.”  At first glance, the Torah here introduces a prohibition against taking unfair advantage of one’s visual impairment to cause him harm.  This is, indeed, the interpretation accepted by the Kuttim who rejected the rabbinic interpretation of the Biblical text (Nida 57a, Chulin 3a).

            Chazal, however, famously explained this verse as referring to a different kind of “blindness” and a different kind of “stumbling block.”  Torat Kohanim claims that the Torah here refers to offering misleading information or advice, such as giving poor advice concerning finances, marriage or travel.  “Blind person” according to this view refers to a person who lacks certain information, and the wrong or misleading information given to him serves as a “stumbling block” that causes his downfall.  Additionally, the Gemara (Pesachim 22b, Avoda Zara 6b) famously explains this verse as referring to causing somebody to sin, such as delivering wine to a nazir.

            Several attempts have been made to explain why Chazal found it necessary to deviate from the plain, straightforward reading of the verse.  Why did they reject the possibility that the Torah forbids placing an actual stumbling block before a blind person?  What compelled them to read this verse metaphorically, as referring to causing people to fail, materially or spiritually?

            Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi, in his work on Rashi’s commentary, suggests that the answer lies in the immediately preceding clause, in which the Torah warns, “Do not curse a deaf person.”  Based on a different verse, Chazal concluded that it is in fact forbidden to curse any person, not just the deaf, and they therefore claimed that “deaf” here should not be taken literally.  Necessarily, then, the subsequent clause, which forbids placing a stumbling block before a blind person, must also be understood figuratively.  The parallelism between the two sections of the verse requires us to explain “blind” as a metaphoric reference to any person in a compromised position, and not specifically to a visually impaired individual.

            This explanation, however, does not answer the question of why Chazal went so far as to reinterpret the term “mikhshol” (“stumbling block”).  According to Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi’s theory, the Sages could have explained this verse as forbidding placing a stumbling block before any person – including people with perfect vision – in an attempt to cause him or her to trip.  His theory does not justify approaching the entire phrase metaphorically, as a reference to misleading people or causing them to fail.

            The Maharal of Prague, in his Gur Aryeh, suggested that the answer is found in the verse’s concluding phrase: “you shall fear Your God.”  Rashi, in numerous contexts, claims that this phrase is added in reference to a mitzva or transgression that depends on a person’s intent, where the propriety of a given action depends solely on what the individual was thinking at the time.  These commands require genuine fear of God, because they have the possibility of being violated without other people knowing.  In the case of a stumbling block placed before a blind person, the Maharal claims, such a crime will almost certainly be discovered, and therefore the admonition of “you shall fear your God” is not appropriate to such a warning.  This phrase is suitable only if the Torah deals with offering misleading advice, which one could try to excuse by saying it was an honest mistake.

            One could easily argue, however, that to the contrary, the admonition of “you shall fear your God” is very appropriate for the crime of placing a stumbling block before a blind person.  The reason why one would be tempted to commit such a crime is the high likelihood that he would not be caught, and therefore especially regarding this crime the Torah adds that we must fear the Almighty, who sees our crimes even if the victim cannot.

            Rav Elchanan Samet suggests a much different reason for why Chazal opted for a figurative reading of this verse:

…the literal approach to the verse yields a prohibition against taking unfair advantage against the handicapped. It forbids one from causing harm to a helpless individual by capitalizing on his handicap such that he cannot guard himself or identify the antagonist. Such a warning would be directed to an audience with an inclination towards such sadistic tendencies, generally young children who relish the opportunity to watch others fail. However, the Torah prohibits only those crimes against others that people are led to commit by reasonable motives. One might steal out of desperate poverty or desire for a higher economic standard; a person may kill out of uncontrolled vengeance. The Torah warns against following through on these motives.

Placing a stone before the blind, however, involves sadism for its own sake. Chazal presumed that the Torah would have no need to address such conduct with an explicit prohibition, as this behavior falls far short of the basic moral standards of the audience towards whom the Torah directs itself. They therefore interpreted the prohibition as outlawing the deception of others for personal gain and assisting sinners, even when prompted to do so by understandable social interests. In these instances, where the potential violator may have reasonable interests or concerns at stake, the Torah must explicate a prohibition.

In Rav Samet’s view, the Torah assumes a certain elementary standard of decency when it addresses us.  It speaks to people who could potentially be tempted to steal, or even murder out of vengeance, but not people who would sadistically plot against the handicapped without motive.  Chazal therefore felt compelled to interpret the verse figuratively, and reject the literal interpretation that it forbids placing an actual stumbling block before a visually impaired individual.

David Silverberg