Thursday, May 9, 2013

בס"ד vs. בג"ה

It is a fairly widespread practice among Orthodox Jews to write the acronym בס"ד in the upper right-hand corner of their cover pages. בס"ד stands for the Aramaic phrase בסיעתא דשמיא (b'siyata di'shmaya) meaning "with the help of heaven." Another variation is ב"ה which stands for the Hebrew phrase בעזרת השם (b'ezras Hashem) meaning "with Hashem's help."

To my knowledge, there is no halachic source for this specific practice. It's just something that people do to acknowledge Hashem's role in their endeavors (whatever they understand that to mean). Generally speaking, this seems to be a good practice. Philosophically (though probably not halachically), it is fulfillment of the what the Rambam writes in Hilchos Berachos 10:26:
The sum of the matter: a person should always cry out in prayer about the future and ask for mercy, and express gratitude for the past, and give thanks and praise according to his ability. The more a person thanks and praises Hashem continually, the more praiseworthy.

Over the past few years I've become an increasingly big fan of the Ralbag's commentary on Chumash. I began noticing the Ralbag's use of a mysterious acronym: בג"ה. He seemed to use it in the same way that other people use בס"ד, but I couldn't figure out what the letters stood for. Finally, while using an edition of the Ralbag with expanded acronyms, I realized that בג"ה stands for בגזירת הצור (b'gezeiras ha'Tzur) meaning "with the decree of the Rock."

I'll admit right up front that I don't know why the Ralbag prefers בג"ה over בס"ד. I'd venture to guess that his preference for this phrase can be traced back to his metaphysical premises, and I wouldn't be surprised if this decision reflects some controversial view about the relationship between God and the universe of which I am unaware. Frankly, none of that really interests me for the purpose of this post.

The reason I am writing this post is to explain why I prefer בג"ה over בס"ד. It is possible that my reasons apply only to myself, but I want to share them in order to see what others think.

My first reason has to do with the use of the term "gezeirah" (decree) as opposed to "siyata" (assistance). The metaphor of gezeirah brings to mind the idea of Malchus Hashem (God's Kingship). It also highlights the lawful, objective, and just manner of Hashem's governance of His world: "ki kol derachav mishpat" - "for all of His ways are justice" (Devarim 32:4). The term "siyata," on the other hand, caters to a more egocentric way of viewing Hashem's role in our lives. Instead of conceptualizing Hashem as the Melech Whose decree governs the entire universe, of which I am but a small part, the term "siyata" frames Hashem as "The One Who Helps Me." In other words, "gezeirah" emphasizes our acceptance of Hashem's Malchus, whereas "siyata" emphasizes His servicing our needs

(To reiterate: this post expresses my views about why I prefer בג"ה to בס"ד. I'm not claiming that the associations I have to these terms reflect their only meaning, nor am I suggesting that everyone else thinks the same way I do. I'm just telling you what I think about when I encounter these terms. The ideas to which I am referring are objective truths, but the aim of this post is to express my subjective relation to those objective truths.)

My second reason for preferring בג"ה over בס"ד is that to my mind, siyata implies hashgachah pratis specifically, whereas gezeirah includes both hashgachah pratis (individual providence) and hashgachah klalis (general providence - i.e. natural law). In other words, the notions of "help" and "assistance" imply intervention in a natural order. From this perspective, בס"ד focuses on Hashem's role as the One Who intervenes in the natural order. "Gezeirah," on the other hand, refers equally to general decrees of hashgachah klalis - the laws of nature, which Hashem created and maintains - as well as the particular decrees of hashgachah pratis. As such, בג"ה is more all encompassing than בס"ד.

(For the third time, I want to stress the point that I am only speaking about my own subjective thoughts which are triggered by these two acronyms. I feel the need to underscore this point because if I didn't, I know that some reader is going to jump down my throat and accuse me of projecting my own thoughts onto my fellow Jews.)
My final reason for preferring בג"ה over בס"ד is the use of Tzur (Rock) in the former. The Rambam explains the meaning of this mashal in the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 1:16. For the sake of brevity, I have omitted many of the prooftexts cited by the Rambam:
Tzur is an equivocal term. It is a term denoting a mountain. It is also a term denoting a hard stone like flint. It is further a term denoting the quarry from which quarry-stones are hewn. Subsequently, in derivation from the last meaning, the term was used figuratively to designate the root and principle of every thing ... On account of the last meaning, God, may He be exalted, is designated as the Rock, as He is the principle and the efficient cause of all things other than Himself ... The verse, "you may stand firmly on the Rock" (Shemos 33:21) means: rely upon, and be firm in considering, God, may He be exalted, as the first principle. This is the entryway through which you shall come to Him, as we have made clear when speaking of His saying [to Moshe], "Behold, there is a place by Me; [you may stand firmly on the Rock]" (ibid.) 
Thus, when we frame Hashem as Tzur in בג"ה, we remind ourselves that everything that happens is a decree emanating from the Cause of all causes - the Foundation of all existence. In contrast, the phrase בס"ד stops short at shamayim - a reference to Hashem's creation, and not Hashem, Himself. Sure, we imply that we are  really referring to the Creator of shamayim - but why not go the full distance and make explicit reference to Hashem as such? (Incidentally, this is one advantage of using ב"ה over בס"ד).

For these three reasons, I prefer the Ralbag's בג"ה over the conventional בס"ד. While both phrases accomplish their intended goal, בג"ה brings me closer to ahavas Hashem (love of God) and yiras Hashem (fear of God) than בס"ד.

The only catch is that nobody but the Ralbag uses בג"ה! I guess we'll have to see what we can do about changing that.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Don't Believe in Yourself

In Avos 2:4 we are taught in the name of Hillel: "אַל תַּאֲמֵן בְּעַצְמָךְ עַד יוֹם מוֹתָךְ" which means "don't believe in yourself until the day of your death." In order to understand this statement, we must answer three  basic questions:
  1. What does Hillel mean by "don't believe in yourself"? "Believe in yourself" in regards to what? Practically speaking, what is he instructing us not to do?
  2. What does "until the day of your death" add? Hillel could have simply said, "Never believe in yourself" or "Do not believe in yourself" and it would have been understood that this advice applies for the duration of our lives. What is gained by incorporating "until the day of your death" into his formulation?
  3. Why shouldn't we believe in ourselves until the day of our death? Why should I listen to Hillel's advice? What is the consequence of ignoring his admonition?
Rashi doesn't directly explain what Hillel means. Instead, he provides an example:
Don’t believe in yourself until the day of your death – for Yochanan, the Kohen Gadol, served as the Kohen Gadol for 80 years, but ultimately became a Tzeduki
How does this clarify our understanding of Hillel's statement? How is Yochanan becoming a Tzeduki an example of failing to heed Hillel's warning?



The answers to these questions emerge from a careful reading of Hillel's statement. According to Rashi, Hillel meant exactly what he said. "אַל תַּאֲמֵן בְּעַצְמָךְ" means: do not believe in the existence of a "true self" - a permanent, immutable essence which constitutes who you "really" are. In truth, there is no unchanging and authentic "core" of your being. Who you are is in a constant state of flux. You will become whatever kind of person you choose to become. Or whatever you allow yourself to become.

This idea is part and parcel of the fundamental principle of bechirah. In Hilchos Teshuvah 5:2 the Rambam writes:
Each and every person is fit to be a tzadik like Moshe Rabbeinu or a rasha like Yeravam, or wise, or foolish, or merciful, or cruel, or stingy, or generous, and likewise with all other qualities.
If a person feels that his virtuous qualities - such as righteousness, wisdom, mercy, and generosity - are an intrinsic part of "who he is," then he is mistaken. Likewise, if a person believes that he cannot become a rasha like Yeravam, then he is operating under a false idea of what it means to have bechirah

Rashi brings down the example of Yochanan to illustrate this point. Yochanan served as the Kohen Gadol - the paragon of kedushah and avodas Hashem - for 80 years. If you asked someone on the street whether Yochanan could ever become an apikores, you would receive a resounding, "Of course not! What are you, crazy?" And yet, at the end of his life, Yochanan became a Tzeduki. This doesn't necessarily imply that his former righteousness was a façade, but it certainly refutes the notion that commitment to Toras Moshe was an unalterable part of his very being. 

Rashi's example is meant to trigger a certain realization in ourselves. If Yochanan - a tzadik of the highest caliber, who served in the kodesh ha'kodashim for 80 years - could transform into a total apikores, in spite of his superb track record, kal va'chomer people like ourselves! And yet, we manage to convince ourselves otherwise without any hesitation. "I'm not the type of person who would violate Shabbos!" "I wouldn't take revenge; that's just not me." "I would never cheat on my spouse! What kind of a person do you think I am?" All of these types of self-assurances fall into Hillel's category of "believing in oneself."

Hillel's principle supports a notion I've entertained for quite some time. To my mind, it is more accurate to think of oneself not as a human being, but as a human becoming. We humans are never frozen in a permanent state of being. We are always in flux - a state of continual becoming.

Artwork: Flux, by Richard Kane Ferguson

We are now in a position to answer all three of the questions we asked on the mishnah.
  1. What does Hillel mean by "don't believe in yourself"? He takes this statement literally: do not believe in the existence of an incorruptible "true self." His use of the verb תַּאֲמֵן is quite appropriate. The root א.מ.נ. means "firm" and "permanent," as in, "וַיְהִי יָדָיו אֱמוּנָה עַד בֹּא הַשָּׁמֶשׁ" - "And his hands were firm until sunrise" (Shemos 17:12) and "הַאֲמִינוּ בַּה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם וְתֵאָמֵנוּ" - "Have firm conviction in Hashem, your God, and you will be strengthened" (II Divrei ha'Yamim 20:20, as translated by Radak in Sefer ha'Shorashim א.מ.נ.).
  2. What does "until the day of your death" add? The reason why he says, "until the day of your death" is because that is when the process of human becoming ends. Only at that point is it possible to look back and know for certain what we truly were. This is the appropriate place for the concept of a "true self." Your "true self" is what you made of yourself with the entirety of your life.
  3. Why shouldn't we believe in ourselves until the day of our death? It is never wise to take absolute security in anything, and the self is no exception. If I believe that I am immune to corruption, then there is a good chance that I will let down my guard to the agents of change. I might suddenly fall victim to a danger which I was unprepared to face. I might gradually change over time until I have become a different person without even realizing it. I might even rationalize a self-destructive change by faking myself into believing that the change stems from "my true self." In any event, feelings of invulnerability render one vulnerable to the enemy, and in this battle, the stakes are as high as can be.
One final point to consider: Hillel's statement also applies in the opposite direction. Just because a person has lived as a rasha or a chotei for many years does not mean that his way of life reflects his "true self," nor does it mean that change is impossible. As the Rambam wrote: "Each and every person is fit to be a tzadik like Moshe Rabbeinu or a rasha like Yeravam" - the potential for change runs both ways. Perhaps this is what R' Shimon meant when he said: "וְאַל תְהִי רָשָׁע בִּפְנֵי עַצְמָךְ" meaning "do not be wicked in your own eyes." 

At the end of the day, remember: it's not over until the end of the day.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

On Interpreting "Miracle Stories" in the Talmud

The author of the Haggadah quotes the last Mishnah in the first perek of Berachos:
R' Elazar ben Azaryah said: I am like a seventy-year-old man, yet I did not merit [to prove that] the Exodus from Egypt must be mentioned at night until Ben Zoma expounded it [from the verse], as it is stated: “So that you will remember the day of your departure from Mitzrayim all the days of your life” (Devarim 16:3). The days of your life” indicates the days. All the days of your life” indicates the nights. The Sages say: The days of your life” indicates this world. All the days of your life” comes to include the Messianic Era.
R' Elazar ben Azaryah's statement is peculiar. Why does he say, "I am like a seventy-year-old man" and not simply, "I am a seventy-year-old man"?


The Gemara (Berachos 27b-28a) addresses this question. R' Elazar ben Azaryah was being considered as a candidate for the office of nassi, the head of the Sanhedrin. He was hesitant about accepting the position, so he consulted his wife. She expressed her concern about his youthful appearance. The Gemara states: 
She said to him: “You have no white hair.” He was eighteen years old that day, and a miracle was done for him and eighteen rows of hair [on his beard] turned white. That is why R. Elazar ben Azaryah said: “Behold I am like a seventy-year-old man,” and he did not say, "I am a seventy year old man."
Most people take the Gemara's account at face value: a miracle was done for R' Elazar ben Azaryah, and his beard turned white. There doesn't seem to be anything objectionable about the Gemara's explanation.

The Rambam begs to differ. In his commentary on that Mishnah he writes: 
Regarding the statement of R’ Elazar ben Azaryah, “Behold, I am like a seventy-year-old man” He didn’t say, “I am seventy years old” because he wasn’t seventy years old; he was but a young lad. However, he exerted himself in his learning and reading, day and night, until his bodily powers weakened and aged, and he became like a seventy-year-old man. He brought old age upon himself intentionally, as it is stated in the Talmud. For this reason he said, “In spite of my tremendous effort and my learning with other wise men, I did not merit to discover the allusion in the Written Torah for the obligation to read the paragraph of tzitzis at night until Ben Zoma expounded it.”
Not only does the Rambam explain R' Elazar ben Azaryah's elderly appearance in an entirely naturalistic way, but he cites our very Gemara as his source! Even though Chazal go out of their way to ascribe R' Elazar ben Azaryah's transformation to a miracle, the Rambam doesn't see this as a sufficient reason to abandon a naturalistic explanation. 

The question is: How can the Rambam seemingly ignore Chazal's words? It would be one thing if the Gemara merely described a wondrous transformation in R' Elazar ben Azaryah's appearance without explicitly using the term "miracle" - but the Gemara does use the term "miracle"! What gives the Rambam the right to ignore the Gemara's plain meaning?

Artwork: Touch of the Eternal, by Christopher Moeller

This isn't the first time we've seen a Rishon interpret such an event naturalistically in the face of Chazal's assertion that a miracle was involved. Last year I wrote a dvar Torah about Yocheved's age when she gave birth to Moshe. The Gemara (Bava Basra 119b) explicitly states that Yocheved was 130 when she gave birth to Moshe, and that this childbirth involved a miracle. Nevertheless, the Ibn Ezra and Ralbag disregard the Gemara's statement and offer a naturalistic interpretation. They, like the Rambam, seem to ignore Chazal's express statement that a miracle was done for Yocheved. 

Ralbag goes even further than this. He writes that Chazal only said that this was a miracle “for the benefit of the masses, to establish in their hearts the power of Hashem’s ability to do miracles.” In other words, Ralbag maintains that even Chazal didn't believe that Yocheved miraculously gave birth at the age of 130. Nevertheless, Chazal taught that a miracle was done for Yocheved in order to underscore the fundamental belief in miracles. 

Some might object to the Ralbag's statement, saying: "How can the Ralbag maintain that Chazal didn't mean exactly what they said? How can he say that Chazal believed one thing, but taught something else in public? Since when do Chazal conceal their opinions from the masses?" . . . and that's when the objections start to break down. Anyone who is familiar with the way that the Rishonim approach midrashim knows that Chazal always spoke cryptically. There are thousands of midrashim in which Chazal said things which they didn't intend to be taken literally, or said ideas which contain "secret ideas" which were not intended for the masses. 

Indeed, Rabbeinu Avraham ben ha'Rambam enumerates "taking midrashic miracle stories literally" as an example of superficial approaches to the drashos of Chazal: 
[Those who study my essay on midrashim] will be saved from thinking that the [events recorded in midrashim involved] miraculous occurrences are like those which were done for the prophets, and that such miracles are done for every wise and pious person, and that there is no difference between the splitting of the sea for Moshe and the Jews who left Egypt or the parting of the Yarden for Elisha and Eliyahu, and the like. These conclusions are only necessary if you take these drashos literally, or based on a superficial reading.
R' Avraham ben ha'Rambam then goes on at length to demonstrate that Chazal used hyperbole in their midrashic teachings:
There are many incidents that actually happened but were exaggerated in the belief that no reasonable person would mistake their meaning. The Rabbis condoned the use of exaggeration, saying, "The Torah used overstatement, the prophets used overstatement, and the Sages used overstatement. 
The Torah used hyperbole, like in the verse, "Great cities fortified to the skies" (Deuteronomy 1:28). The prophets used hyperbole, like in the verse, "The people were playing flutes and rejoicing with great joy; the ground burst from their noise" (1 Kings 1:40). The Sages exaggerated when they described the heap of ashes on the altar [saying that there were three hundred kor of ashes - an immense quantity -e on the altar]; they exaggerated when they spoke of the golden vine [on which the people used to hang their gifts of gold for the Beis ha'Mikdash, saying that it took three hundred kohanim to collect those gifts]; and they exaggerated when they described the curtain that separated the Kodesh ha'Kodashim from the Sanctuary, [saying that it was so heavy that it took three hundred kohanim to immerse it in a mikveh] (Tamid 29a). 
These are just three examples in the Mishnah, but in the Gemara there are countless cases of exaggeration. To cite one example: Rabbah and R' Zeira had the Purim feast together. They became intoxicated, and Rabbah got up and slew R' Zeira. On the next day Rabbah prayed for R' Zeira and revived him (Megillah 7b). What it means is that Rabbah beat R' Zeira and wounded him so badly that R' Zeira was near death. The Gemara uses the phrase "he slew him" because the wound was life-threatening, or it might have been on the throat. And the word achyei [he revived him] means "he recovered." The term achyei is often used for that meaning. Many similar stories are found in the Talmud.
It is clear from the Rishonim that Chazal didn't intend for everything they wrote in their midrashim to be taken literally, and that they chose to formulate their teachings in this way for a variety of reasons. For instance Rambam states that one of the Sages in the Gemara "responded to his student incorrectly, in accordance with the student's inadequate understanding of the matter, as it is stated, 'Answer a fool according to his foolishness' (Mishlei 26:4)" (Introduction to Perek Chelek). 

Perhaps the most astounding example of this is provided by the Rashba. Rashba writes that these drashos were often given in public. "[The Sages] would go on at length with beneficial, but the people would be sleeping. In order to wake them up, [the Sages] would say crazy things to shock them and rouse them from their sleep" (Rashba on Berachos 54b). 

The upshot of all of this something that most of us have known all along: Chazal didn't intend for their all of their midrashic statements to be taken literally, and made many statements which were not meant to be accepted at face value. What we may not have realized is just how far to extend this principle. We might have thought that when it comes to midrashim like the story of R' Elazar ben Azaryah's beard, which appears to be a problem-free factual account, we should accept it as literal truth. We see from the Rambam that this is not necessarily the case. 



We've established that the Rambam "has a right" to dismiss a literal reading of Chazal's assertion that R' Elazar ben Azaryah's aging was the result of a miracle. One question remains: What prompted the Rambam to deviate from the plain pshat and take this naturalistic approach? 

The best answer to this question was given by the Rambam himself, in his Maamar Techiyas ha'Meisim. The Rambam was faced with the task of defending his belief in the literal truth of techiyas ha'meisim (the resurrection of the dead). As a prelude to his explain, the Rambam provides a beautiful explanation of why he interprets so many other seemingly miraculous accounts in a naturalistic fashion: 
I will explain to you that which brought me to this approach, and that is that our aim and the aim of every intelligent person among the very few is opposite to the aim of the multitude of people. For the most cherished and beloved thing to the multitude of Torah-observant people, because of their ignorance, is to consider the Torah and human intellect to be two opposite poles. Everything which is incomprehensible to the intellect they consider to be a miracle. They flee from explaining something as a natural phenomenon whether it pertains to something recorded in the past, or in regard to something which is discernible at the present time, or whether it relates to something which is written will happen in the future. We, on the other hand, strive to reconcile the Torah with human intellect and regard everything in its natural light wherever possible, unless it is self-evident therefrom that it is of miraculous connotation and cannot be interpreted at all; then we are forced to say it is a miracle.
There you have it. According to the Rambam, the correct approach is to interpret everything as naturalistically as possible unless we are forced to interpret it as a miracle. 

It is reasonable to conclude that this is what led the Rambam to interpret the Gemara about R' Elazar ben Azaryah as he did. There are "miracle stories" in Gemara which we are forced to take literally, but this isn't one of them. The Rambam saw that R' Elazar ben Azaryah's aged appearance could be explained without making recourse to miracles. Since a naturalistic explanation was available to him, that is the explanation he preferred. 

It is also important to note that the Rambam's explanation is harmonious with the subject at hand. The Gemara was discussing R' Elazar ben Azaryah's qualifications for being appointed as nassi and the Mishnah was emphasizing R' Elazar ben Azaryah's superb chochmah. The Rambam's explanation - namely, that R' Elazar ben Azaryah devoted many years to intensive learning - completes the picture that these two sources aimed to paint. (Perhaps this also explains the strange detail added by the Gemara: that R' Elazar ben Azaryah was 18 years old, and 18 rows of hairs on his beard turned white - as if to say that he had fully devoted his number of years on this earth to perfecting his chochmah.

So next time you encounter a "miracle story" in the Talmud or midrashim, be sure to think twice. The words of Chazal are not always what they appear to be on the surface.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Rabbi Fox: Has Modern Orthodoxy Lost is Relevance?

This is the transcript of a speech delivered by Rabbi Bernie Fox at BCMH on February 2, 2013. The link to the transcript can be found on NYHS's blog.

Has Modern Orthodoxy Lost its Relevance? 
- by Rabbi Bernie Fox


The Modern Orthodox movement is facing a crisis.  Empirical observation suggests that the proportion of Orthodox Jews who identify themselves as Modern Orthodox is declining and that this decline is a sustained trend. 
Among the immediate causes of this pattern is the educational choices that families are making for their children.  In large Jewish communities that provide families with a selection of schools for their children, Modern Orthodox options are attracting a shrinking portion of the students.  The appeal of these programs has been supplanted by schools that identify themselves as more authentically Orthodox or yeshivish.  A Modern Orthodox family that enrolls its children in a program that embraces this more yeshivish perspective will within a generation – probably much sooner – abandon its identification with the Modern Orthodox movement.
The same trend applies to synagogue affiliation.  A friend of mine is executive director of one of the country’s largest Young Israel synagogues.  He predicts that his synagogue will slip into oblivion within a generation.  He reports that the members’ grown children who have their own families are not joining their parents’ synagogue.  Instead, they are affiliating with the plethora of right of center synagogues that have sprouted in the area.  My own observations during my visits to the East Coast and reports I hear from other communities confirm that the flight from Modern Orthodox synagogues is widespread. 
However, these are only superficial explanations for Modern Orthodoxy’s decline.  Both the educational choices of families and their choice of synagogue affiliation reflect an underlying dissatisfaction with Modern Orthodoxy.  Understanding the reasons for this disaffection is fundamental to understanding Modern Orthodoxy’s decline. 


Many years ago, while a student in yeshiva, Shirley and I attended a weekend bar mitzvah.  My first cousin – the father of the bar mitzvah – was a graduate of Yeshiva University and had received smicha from Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik.  Over Shabbos and continuing into the Motzai Shabbos melava malka, guests were treated to a non-stop food extravaganza.  And the liquor flowed.  By Motzai Shabbos, some of the participants were feeling very relaxed – including my cousin.  He began to discuss with me his true feelings about Modern Orthodoxy.  I was shocked by the intensity of his criticisms.
I responded, “If you were a Lakewood product and you lived a lifestyle consistent with that outlook, I would understand your comments.  But you are a YU graduate and a talmid of the Rav – Rabbi Soloveitchik.  You work as a professional and you embrace a lifestyle that fully engages the contemporary world. How can you be so critical of the movement which provided you your education and whose values you seem to embrace?”
He responded, “Bernie, you are making a mistake.  You are confusing the compromises I make in my life with my true values.” 
These comments succinctly express a pervasive misunderstanding of Modern Orthodoxy that is the source of much of the disenchantment with the movement. 
Many believe that Torah-true values and the modern world are in irreconcilable conflict. Modern science and its epistemology cannot be reconciled with the Torah’s demand of complete faith in an unseen omnipotent Creator and Ruler.  Contemporary secular humanitarian values threaten to displace or dilute the Torah’s concept of chesed.  Ideally, the Torah-true Jew should reject and insulate oneself from contemporary culture.  Therefore, the Modern Orthodox Jew who engages the contemporary world is compromising Torah-true observance in order to accommodate his participation in contemporary society. 
In a sentence, this popular perspective is that Modern Orthodoxy is a partial abandonment of authentic Torah values in order to accommodate participation in a society that is alien and even hostile to a Torah-true life.  It is this interpretation of Modern Orthodoxy more than any other factor that underlies its demise. 
If Modern Orthodoxy is perceived as a compromise, then we can understand why it has been abandoned by many of its former adherents.  It cannot satisfy their need to feel close to Hashem. Their sense of religious fulfillment is constantly undermined by the self-criticism that their religious commitment is less than complete.  They are existentially caught between two conflicting sets of values.  Even when in the synagogue or at the Shabbos table, they hear the ancient prophet Eliyahu challenging them.
עַד מָתַי אַתֶּם פֹּסְחִים עַל שְׁתֵּי הַסְּעִפִּים אִם יְדֹוָד הָאֱלֹקים לְכוּ אַחֲרָיו וְאִם הַבַּעַל לְכוּ אַחֲרָיו
How long will you continue to skip between the two beliefs?  If Hashem is G-d, then go follow Him. If it is the Ba’al, then go after it.
Plagued by self-doubt and unfulfilled yearnings, this practitioner is in an innately unstable state of faith.  His internal conflict allows for only two resolutions: either an abandonment of observance which he himself does not find fulfilling or replacement of the compromise by a more Torah-true life style. 
So, is there a future for Modern Orthodoxy? Indeed, should it have a future or is Modern Orthodoxy really only a compromised Judaism masquerading as an authentic movement?
The Asseres HaDibros which we read this morning open with the declaration:
אָנֹכִי יְדֹוָד אֱלֹהֶיךָ אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִיךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם מִבֵּית עֲבָדִים:
I am Hashem your G-d who brought you forth from the Land of Egypt from the house of bondage.
Mechilta comments that when Bnai Yisrael heard Hashem pronounce the statements of the Decalogue, His voice came to them from the north, south, east, and west, from the heavens above and from the earth itself.
Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik asked:  Why did Hashem not simply address the people with a single voice emanating from the heavens?  Why, indeed, did Hashem reveal the Torah to Bnai Yisrael through multiple voices emanating from all cardinal points?
Rav Soloveitchik responded that the communication of the Torah from all cardinal points taught an essential lesson.  The Torah’s relevance is both eternal and universal.
The Torah is eternal.  It is not designed for a specific era or place.  Its laws and messages are our constant guide in all the vicissitudes of our journey through history.  The Torah is our way of life in our homeland – the sacred Land of Israel. In the farthest reaches of our exile, it continues to enlighten and direct our lives.
The Torah is universal.  It speaks to the person whose soul is in the heavens, who is innately drawn to the spiritual life and eschews involvement with the material world.  It is also Hashem’s commandment to the person who stands upon this earth fulfilling the mission Hashem assigned to humankind: 
פְּרוּ וּרְבוּ וּמִלְאוּ אֶת הָאָרֶץ וְכִבְשֻׁהָ וּרְדוּ בִּדְגַת הַיָּם וּבְעוֹף הַשָּׁמַיִם וּבְכָל חַיָּה הָרֹמֶשֶׂת עַל הָאָרֶץ:
Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that creeps upon the earth.
The Torah speaks to the tzelem Elokim – the spiritual core – of this individual and provides a lifestyle that endows his material endeavors with spiritual meaning and fulfillment.
The Torah’s message and laws apply to each of us.  It is not reserved for talmid chacham – the erudite scholar who devotes his life to Torah study.  It is equally the guide for the person who is engaged in the material world. It provides the lawyer, doctor, and carpenter with a life of spiritual expression and growth.
Rav Soloveitchik’s comments are a succinct expression of the true doctrine of Modern Orthodoxy. Modern Orthodoxy declares that authentic Torah-true Judaism requires that we confront and engage our contemporary world in every era and in every land.  Our responsibility as Torah Jews is to construct and conduct this engagement on the basis of Torah values, laws, and principles. 
The Torah is not a fragile set of man-made notions and imagined beliefs that must be protected and insulated from our evolving understanding of our world.  The Torah is not an antiquated or provincial world-view which can only survive if insulated from the encroachment of modernity and contemporary culture.  The Modern Orthodox Jew declares that our faith in Torah is firm.  We do not need to protect the Torah from humanity’s expanding knowledge of the universe that Hashem created.  We do not need to construct an artificial, insulated, environment that attempts to preserve the ethos of a bygone time in which the Torah was relevant.  It is as relevant in the contemporary age as it was the day we stood at Sinai.   
In short, the true Modern Orthodox Jew does not compromise between Torah and modern values.  He fully embraces and celebrates eternal Torah values and confidently applies them to the modern or contemporary context.
I will close with comments of Rav Soloveichik published in 1967:
The Jewish religious tradition expresses itself in a fusion of universalism and singularism. On the one hand, Jews are vitally concerned with the problems affecting the common destiny of man. We consider ourselves members of the universal community charged with the responsibility of promoting progress in all fields, economic, social, scientific, and ethical. As such, we are opposed to a philosophy of isolationism or esoterism which would see the Jews living in a culturally closed society.
On the other hand, we are a distinctive faith community with a unique commitment, singular relationship to G-d and a specific way of life.
Thank you and Good Shabbos.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Ki Tisa: How to Be Close to God

This is the dvar Torah I wrote for the school newsletter last week.

Parashat Ki Tisa – How to Be Close to God

“How can I get closer to G-d?” is a question that is on the mind of many Jews. An even more fundamental question is: “What does it mean to be close to G-d”? Both of these questions are answered in this week’s parashah by none other than Moshe Rabbeinu – the human being who reached the highest possible level of closeness to Hashem.

After the Sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe engages in a series of prayers on behalf of Bnei Yisroel. He prefaces his prayers with the following introductory statement: “And now, if I have indeed found favor in Your eyes, make Your ways known to me, that I may know You, so that I may find favor in Your eyes.” [1] Rambam provides us with a clear explanation of this otherwise cryptic pasuk. He writes:

Consider the wondrous ideas contained in [Moshe’s] statement, “make Your ways known to me, that I may know You.” This teaches that Hashem, may He be exalted, is known through the characteristics of His actions (toarav), for if a person were to know His actions, he would know Him. The statement, “so that I may find favor in your eyes” teaches that the one who finds favor in Hashem’s eyes is the one who knows him. Not someone who does nothing but fast and pray, but rather the person who knows Him is accepted by Him and is close to Him, whereas one who has no knowledge of Hashem is the object of His wrath and is distant from Him. Hashem’s acceptance and anger, and closeness to Him and distance from Him, are proportional to the degree of a person’s knowledge or ignorance of Hashem. [2]

According to Rambam, Moshe Rabbeinu’s statement can be distilled into a three-step formula: (1) the greater knowledge we have of Hashem’s ways, the more we will know Him; (2) the greater our knowledge of Him, the more favor we will find in His eyes; (3) the more favorable we are in His eyes, the more knowledge of His ways He will grant us, and so on. “Knowing Hashem’s ways” encompasses the study of both Torah and science. [3] “Hashem’s favor” refers to hashgachah pratis (personal divine providence). Ultimately, our closeness to Hashem is determined by our knowledge of Him. The closer we become, the more of Hashem’s providence we will receive, and the more knowledge He will grant us.

 It is interesting to note the Rambam’s emphasis that a person who “does nothing but fast and pray” but “has no knowledge of Hashem” is “the object of His wrath and is distant from Him.” Why such a harsh condemnation? If a person devotes himself or herself to davening and fasting, doesn’t this demonstrate a genuine desire to become closer to Hashem?

The answer to this question reveals a fundamental premise of Judaism. It is tempting to place a premium on the desire to become closer to G-d per se. In Judaism, the desire to become closer to Hashem is an important first step, but it doesn’t represent the entire picture. Rather, the desire to draw near to Hashem is valuable to the extent that it is aligned with a quest for knowledge of Hashem.

Davening and fasting can serve as tremendous vehicles for becoming closer to G-d, but only insofar as they are founded on knowledge of Hashem, and are employed as a means of seeking knowledge of Hashem. This truth is reflected in Chazal’s famous statement prominently displayed in shuls around the world: “Know before Whom you stand.” [4] Similarly, David ha’Melech instructed his son, Shlomo ha’Melech: “Know the G-d of your father and serve Him” [5]. Radak explains: “First you must know Him, and only afterwards can you serve Him – for if you do not know the way of His Oneness, then Whom are you serving?” [6] Shlomo himself expresses the flipside of this idea: “If a person turns his ear away from hearing Torah, then even his prayer is an abomination.” [7] The Rambam writes that it is a mitzvah to run to shul [8] and cites the following pasuk as his proof text: “Let us know, let us chase after knowledge of Hashem.” [9] The clear implication is that running to shul to daven is a form of “chasing after knowledge of Hashem.” These are but a few of the countless sources which indicate that according to Judaism, davening is inextricably tied to seeking knowledge of Hashem. The same is true for fasting, which is only valuable insofar as it is founded on and used as a means of pursuing knowledge of Hashem [10].

We are currently between Purim and Pesach. Tis the season of geulah (redemption). May we all merit to know Hashem’s ways, that we may know Him, so that we may find favor in His eyes!

[1] Sefer Shemot 33:13
[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Guide for the Perplexed 1:54
[3] cf. Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha’Mitzvot, Aseh #3; Mishneh Torah: Sefer Ha’Mada, Hilchot Yesodei ha’Torah 2:1-2, 4:12; Guide for the Perplexed 1:53,54,59
[4] Talmud Bavli, Masechet Berachot 28b
[5] Sefer Divrei ha’Yamim I 28:9
[6] Rabbeinu David Kimchi (Radak), Commentary on Sefer Hoshea 6:3
[7] Sefer Mishlei 28:9; cf. commentary of Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershon (Ralbag / Gersonides)
[8] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Ahavah, Hilchot Tefilah u’Birkat Kohanim 8:2
[9] Sefer Hoshea 6:3
[10] Unfortunately, my self-imposed 800-word limit prevents me from citing proofs here. If you are interested, I recommend Rabbeinu Bachye ben Asher’s Kad ha’Kemach, under the entry of “taanit.”

Sunday, September 23, 2012

What is Kaparah? (Repost)

Over the past few weeks, several people have told me that they've read or reread my post on kaparah from earlier this year. Initially I intended to revisit this idea to reassess it and see if I can gain any new insights. I can't promise that I'll be able to do that before Yom ha'Kippurim this year, but I thought it would be worthwhile to repost it (with slight edits), in case anyone would like to contribute their own insights, questions, comments, and problems. 

Introduction

Every year - usually around Rosh ha'Shanah and Yom ha'Kippurim - I find myself bothered by the question: "What is kaparah?" According to the Radak, the word "kaparah" in this context refers to the removal of sin (see the Sefer ha'Shorashim, כ.פ.ר.). But what, exactly, does this mean? Does it refer to some mystical notion of "erasing our sins" from Hashem's "record"? Does kaparah pertain to the state of our souls in Olam ha'Ba? Is kaparah a type of hashgachah that aids us somehow in Olam ha'Zeh? We have an obligation and responsibility to engage in certain actions which are said to effectuate kaparah, and yet, we often speak of kaparah as though it must be "granted" to us - as though our role in obtaining kaparah is passive. How does that work? And what is the relationship between kaparah and teshuvah? If a person does complete teshuvah, why does he still require kaparah? What more is there left for him to do?

Needless to say, this is a massive topic, and it would be unrealistic to expect any theory to answer all questions and to remove all doubts. That being said, our objective in this post will be to propose one theory of kaparah based on several sources in the Ralbag and the Rambam. If this theory makes sense here then perhaps we will be able to apply it to other instances of the term kaparah throughout the Torah system.

Smichah al ha'Korban

Our journey begins with the first instance of the term kaparah in Sefer Vayikra, which occurs within the first several pesukim:

He called to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the Children and say to them: When a man among you brings a sacrifice to Hashem: from animals - from the cattle or from the flock shall you bring your sacrifice. If one's offering is a burnt-sacrifice from the cattle, he shall sacrifice an unblemished male; he shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, voluntarily, before Hashem. He shall lean his hands upon the head of the burnt-sacrifice; and he shall attain favor through it, to provide kaparah (atonement) for him. He shall slaughter the bull before Hashem; the sons of Aharon, the Kohanim, shall bring the blood and throw the blood on the Altar, all around - which is at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting (Vayikra 1:1-5).

The pesukim imply that the act of smichah is a component of the kaparah that is attained through the korban. This implication is confirmed by Torah she'baal Peh. The Rambam writes in Hilchos Maaseh ha'Korbanos 3:12 (based on a Gemara in Yoma 5a):
We slaughter the animal in the same location as the smichah, and the shechitah (slaughtering) takes place immediately after the smichah. If one did smichah in another location or delayed [between the smichah and the shechitah], his shechitah is still valid. Smichah is an incremental aspect of the mitzvah. Therefore, if one did not do smichah, his korban still effectuates kaparah, and does not jeopardize his fulfillment of the mitzvah. Nevertheless, it is considered as if his korban did not effectuate kaparah.
This is a strange halacha. Apparently, if a person does not do smichah, his korban still fulfills the halachic requirements of kaparah - and yet, his kaparah is considered to be lacking in another sense (see Ritva on Yoma 5a). In what sense is it considered as if he did not achieve kaparah? And why not? What makes smichah such an integral part of the kaparah process?

Ralbag's Explanation

The Ralbag answers this question, and in doing so, provides a fundamental insight into the purpose of korbanos and lays the groundwork for a theory of kaparah. In his commentary on the parshah (1:4) the Ralbag writes:
He shall lean his hands upon the head of the burnt-sacrifice. Since this smichah is a sort of kaparah-device in the same manner as the burnt-sacrifice itself provides kaparah, the sinner therefore confesses his avonos (iniquities) at the time of smichah. We learn this from what was said in Parshas Acharei Mos: “Aharon shall lean his two hands upon the head of the living he-goat and confess upon it all the avonos of the Children of Israel, [and all their rebellious sins among all their sins, and place them upon the head of the he-goat, and send it with a designated man to the desert]” (Vayikra 16:21). The smichah was for this very reason: to demonstrate [that it is] as if he removed those avonos from himself and transferred them to the head of that animal, in order to reassure him in his heart that his avonos have already been removed. This provides a tremendous benefit, for if a person does not think that his sins are removed when he does teshuvah to Hashem (exalted is He), then a person who committed terrible sins will think that he is utterly doomed, and he will continue to sin even more, for he thinks that there is no benefit in doing teshuvah to Hashem, since is already doomed by his sins [in his own mind]. This is the general benefit in all of the korbanos which are brought for sins; they will not bring kaparah without teshuvah.
Ralbag elaborates on this in the toeles section of his commentary:
[This parshah] guides men towards perfection by teaching that when they sin, they should return in teshuvah to Hashem (exalted is He) and He will provide kaparah of their avonos for them. The reason for this is that “there is no righteous person on earth who does only good and does not sin” (Koheles 7:20). If those who committed certain sins believed that their avon would be a permanent stain before Hashem (exalted is He), they would continue to sin, since they would believe that they are already doomed on account of their sin, and they would miss out on the benefits of guarding against sinning in the future. If, however, they know that by doing teshuvah from their evil path and returning to the paths of Hashem (exalted is He) that He will remove their avonos for them, then they will be careful not to sin in the future, and they will do teshuvah to Hashem so that He will have mercy on them and provide kaparah for their sin. Hashem wanted teshuvah to be accompanied by the bringing of a korban in order to reassure the sinner that his sin has already received kaparah. The reason for this is that to the masses it is inconceivable that a man can be wicked and subsequently be cleansed of his wickedness through doing teshuvah in his heart, without any action whatsoever. It is for this reason that Hashem (exalted is He) commanded us to do these korbanos in the revered sanctuary, which houses His shechinah, through the kohen who is set aside for avodas Hashem – in order to complete the kaparah for the sinner along with teshuvah. For this reason there is a mitzvah [for the sinner] to lean with his two hands on the head of his korban and to confess all of his iniquities upon it, in order that his heart may be reassured that it is as if those sins have been removed from him and placed onto the head of that animal. By doing the korbanos in this manner in the order specified in the Torah, man is guided along the path of perfection to avodas Hashem and is distanced from following his yetzer ha’ra
Ralbag's explanation can be summarized as follows. Kaparah cannot occur without teshuvah. However, even teshuvah is insufficient, for the sinner will still feel that his avon is "a permanent stain before God," and that he is forever tainted by his avonos. This line of thinking is dangerous, for unless a person believes that teshuvah can completely eradicate his avonos, he is prone to give up on teshuvah altogether and to persist in or increase his avonos. To overcome this psychological roadblock, Hashem commands the sinner to complete his teshuvah process by engaging in symbolic actions - actions which appeal to the imagination and speak to the psyche in its own terms - in order to "reassure his heart" that his avonos have been completely removed, and that no trace of them remains. These symbolic actions include the bringing of a korban in the Beis ha'Mikdash, performing smichah on that korban, and verbalizing a vidui (confession) on that korban - as if one is transferring one's avonos to the head of the animal - whereupon the animal will immediately undergo shechitah (slaughtering) and hakravah on the mizbach kaparah (altar of atonement).

This is the manner in which teshuvah, combined with the bringing of a korban - complete with smichah, vidui, and shechitah - effectuates full kaparah (i.e. complete removal of the avon). Full kaparah cannot occur until one has completely abandoned the avon, not only in one's actions, but even from one's psyche. This psychological dimension of the kaparah is difficult to achieve through teshuvah alone. Man requires an symbolic action to impress upon his psyche that his slate is clean and his sin has been erased.

I believe that this is meaning of the halacha that if one fails to do smichah, his korban still effectuates halachic kaparah, but "it is considered as if his korban did not effectuate kaparah." In other words, the korban itself received the requisite "processing" in Mikdash to satisfy the requirements for kaparah, but the gavra - the individual who sinned - will not receive full kaparah since his psyche did not undergo the catharsis which the smichah was designed to facilitate.



Rambam's Explanation

The Rambam seems to agree with this idea as well. In the taamei ha'mitzvos section of the Moreh ha'Nevuchim, the Rambam divides all 613 mitzvos into fourteen categories and attempts to identify the reasons and/or benefits for each and every mitzvah. The first category is that of yesodei ha'Torah: mitzvos which are designed to teach and strengthen our conviction in the foundational principles of Torah. The Rambam (3:36) concludes his exposition on this category by discussing the mitzvah of teshuvah:
It is obvious that teshuvah is likewise included in this category; that is to say, it is one of the doctrines which are indispensable in maintaining the existence of Torah adherents, for it is impossible for any man not to err and sin – either because he mistakenly adopts a wrongful doctrine or character trait, or else he is overcome by desire or anger – and if man were convinced that he could never make his crooked ways straight, he would forever continue in his errors, and maybe even increase his disobedience if he believed there was no alternative. But with the belief in teshuvah, he will come back to the good and will return to an even more perfected state – even more perfected than he was before he sinned. For this reason, [the Torah commands us] in many actions which strengthen our belief in this very beneficial principle: for example, the confessions, and the korbanos for sins committed unknowingly – and in some cases even for sins committed intentionally – and the fasts. The general principle behind teshuvah from any sin is the complete removal of sin, and this is the purpose of this doctrine. 
The Rambam is clearly talking about the same phenomenon as the Ralbag, namely, the sinner's feeling that he is "doomed by his sins." Like the Ralbag, the Rambam maintains that the institutions of vidui and the korbanos are designed to strengthen one's conviction in the efficacy of teshuvah. Moreover, the Rambam implies that the sinner is prone to fall into this type of despair both before and after he engages in teshuvah. We see this from the fact that taaniyos (fast days) and chatzotzros (the sounding of the trumpets, which accompany every taanis) are designed to stimulate and initiate teshuvah whereas vidui and korban occur at the very end of the teshuvah process - and yet, the Rambam states that the purpose of all of these mitzvos is "to strengthen our belief" in the efficacy of teshuvah.


Does the Rambam agree with the Ralbag's idea that the Torah commands us in symbolic actions which are designed to speak to the psyche in its own language? It seems so. In his explanation of the reasons behind the korbanos, the Rambam (3:46) writes:
But the intent behind the burning of these chataos (sin-offerings) is that the memory of the sin [for which the offering is brought] has already been erased and no longer exists, just as the body that is being burnt no longer exists, and no trace will be left of that [sinful] action, just as no trace is left of this chatas, which is utterly destroyed by fire . . . And since the seir ha’mishtaleach (the goat that is "cast off" on Yom ha’Kippurim) served as the ultimate kaparah for all major transgressions, more than any other communal-chatas, therefore we do not slaughter it or burn it or bringing it to the altar at all; rather, we remove it as far as possible and cast it off to a desolate, uninhabited land. There is no man who will doubt the fact that sins are not actually an entity that can be transferred from the back of one being onto another. Rather, these are all symbolic actions which impart an impression to the soul in order to arouse it to teshuvah – as if to say, “We have cleansed ourselves from all of our previous deeds, and we have cast them behind our backs and rejected them with the utmost degree of rejection.”
Here the Rambam explicitly acknowledges the symbolic character of these korbanos which are intended to have a psychological affect (התפעלות - in both the Qafih and Ibn Tibbon translations) on the sinner to spur him to do teshuvah and to strengthen his belief in its efficacy. Although the Rambam does not discuss the specific reason for smichah on korbanos, it is reasonable to interpret it in the same vein as the other aspects of the korban-chatas which he spelled out in the excerpts cited here.

Conclusion

As we stated at the outset, there still remain numerous questions that have yet to be answered. For instance, the Rambam devotes the bulk of Hilchos Teshuvah, Perek 1 to explaining how and when kaparah is attained for various types of transgressions. This hierarchy begs for an explanation. Likewise, our tefilos are filled with requests for Hashem to grant us kaparah. What do all of these requests mean? And what does it mean to ask Hashem for kaparah anyway?

B'gzeiras ha'Tzur, we will take up these questions in the future. In the meantime, I would love to hear any thoughts, questions, and critiques on this idea of kaparah.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Eved Yitzro vs. Eved Yotzro

This morning, at selichos on Erev Rosh ha'Shanah, I was happy to stumble upon what is perhaps my favorite stanza in all of selichos, which can be found in selichah #28. I'll include the English translation, according to my understanding, but be sure to read it in Hebrew as well, so as not to miss out on the poetic language:


עוֹבֵד שְׁנֵי אֲדוֹנִים כְּפִי שָׁנָיו,
עֲשׂוֹת לְיוֹצְרוֹ וּלְיִצְרוֹ כִּרְצוֹנָיו,
וְטוֹב הִדָּבֵק לְבוֹרְאוֹ כָּל זְמַנָּיו,
וְעֶבֶד חָפְשִׁי מֵאֲדוֹנָיו.

[Man,] who serves two masters throughout his years,
doing for his Maker or for his inclination, according to his own will;
it is good for him to cling to his Creator all his days,
and [to be] a servant free from his [evil] master.



This little excerpt is jam packed with ideas, but my time is short, and I will just write a small part of what I understand from this stanza.

Man, by nature, is an eved (slave). He has no choice in that matter. But unlike the average slave, who is subservient to a single master, the human being has two masters whom he serves throughout his years. One of these masters is Yotzro (his Creator). The other master is yitzro (his inclination). Which master he serves is left up to his choice - his free choice. In other words, man's nature is to be a slave, but in one realm, he is a master: the choice of whom (or Whom) he will serve.

What is the difference, for man, between being an eved l'Yotzro and an eved l'yitrzo? The author of this selichah answers this question in one word: tov. It is tov for man to subordinate himself to the Will of his Creator, since his Creator is the Source of all good. The eved Hashem will live a good life, and will prosper and flourish. The eved of the yetzer, on the other hand, will meet with harm and destruction. The yetzer has its own set of priorities, rooted in fantasy and the pursuit of immediate pleasure, and cares nothing about the fate of the person whom it enslaves. It is a cruel taskmaster.

The last line I find to be the most fascinating. It states that by clinging to one's Creator, one can actually liberate oneself from the slavery of the yetzer. What, exactly, does this mean? That is something we shall have to think about over the Yom Tov, and the Aseres Ymei Teshuvah.

כתיבה וחתימה טובה!

May you be written and sealed for the good!

יעלו זכרוניכם לפניו לטובה!
May your remembrance ascend before Him for the good!