Different Kinds of Rushing to Judge

Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The first Brisker Rov, Rabbi Yushe Ber Soloveitchik (for whom the 20th century Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik – his great grandson – was named) asked a simple question. 

 When one studies the narratives of the Torah, there are four times when a case comes before Moshe where he has to turn to God for the halakhic answer*. These times are Pesach Sheni (Bamidbar 9), the daughters of Tzlafchad (Bamidbar 27), the blasphemer (Vayikra 24), and the wood gatherer on Shabbos (Bamidbar 15). It is interesting to note that there is debate as to the chronological order of these events, based on an assumption that the Torah is not automatically presented to us on chronological order and because sometimes tales are presented to us in the narrative thematically, connected to tales that are related to one another in their content, message or theme, but not based on their chronology. 

 Rabbi Soloveitchik asked, how is it that for two of these cases, Moshe essentially turned to God for an immediate answer, and in two of them he waited for a few days until God decided to give him the answer that had been evading him? Shouldn't he be looking for resolution as soon as possible in all cases?

He answers that there are two very different things going on in the cases for which Moshe sought an immediate answer than the ones that ended up following a 3-day waiting period. 

 In the cases of Tzlafchad’s daughters and those looking to bring the Korban Pesach, what drove them was a zeal to fulfill mitzvos. The daughters of Tzlafchad had a desire to live in and love the land of Canaan (Eretz Yisrael), and the Korban Pesach people did not want to miss out on this special mitzvah, which only comes around once a year. In these cases, Moshe was inspired to get an answer for them right away. 

 The other two cases involved someone who had done something against the Torah’s rules, and Moshe knew their repercussion would be death – it was just a question of which form of Misas Beis Din would be applicable. 

 Since in the cases of Tzlafchad’s daighters and Korban Pesach they were zerizin who were trying to be makdimin l’mitzvos, doing what they could to rush to fulfill a mitzvah properly, Moshe felt compelled to get them an answer as soon as possible. In the other two cases, Moshe felt no need to rush since rushing a “punishment” would only hasten their deaths. There is no mitzvah to rush something like that. He was happy to wait until God pronounced the judgment for each case in question. 

 An important lesson can be taken from this teaching as to how we relate to our fellow man. Motivation in actions should compel us to be helpful to others when appropriate and should, in other cases, cause us to wish to delay confrontation. Perhaps the delay may even give us the opportunity to be dan kl’kaf zechus (to judge favorably) if we might not have done so otherwise. 

 In all cases described, Moshe was unsure of the path forward, but he saw what was driving the people when the case came before him, and what seemed to be the most equitable solution. In the cases of Pesach and daughters, seeing them for who they were and what brought them to him (of their own accord) rather than their being brought to him for something they had done surely stood in their favor, as they wanted a particular outcome based on what they were experiencing. In both cases, the solution offered to them was quite equitable, reasonable, and fair. 

 I recall learning portions of Choshen Mishpat with Rabbi Moshe Tendler Z”L, and being rather surprised at some of the ways in which the Shulchan Arukh paints litigants in a court room as being understanding, submissive, following the rules, etc. I noted to Rabbi Tendler something to the effect of “I don’t see people conducting themselves this way, certainly not in a secular court, and in many cases not even when dealing with a Bet Din.” The way the Shulchah Arukh describes judges and the respect people are to have for the judges and their judgment seemed a little out to lunch, since it is rather atypical for someone who “loses” in court to be joyous and not to harbor ill will towards the co-litigant or the judges. And Rabbi Tendler told me, “The Shulchan Arukh assumes that Jewish people want to do the right thing and want to conduct themselves in a manner that is dictated by halakha.” 

There is certainly a lot of truth to that in general, as people are careful to fulfill many aspects of ritual correctly. But I don’t know if it is true in practice when it comes to those who are on the losing side of a financial case in court. Many people may find it very difficult to walk away from losing, b’simcha, seeing the other litigant and the judges in a positive light. 

 And yet this is also the challenge that Moshe is sending us in demonstrating how to conduct oneself when one is unsure. When motivations are pure – seek for resolution ASAP. When motivations are not 100% pure, delay a little. Seek for compromise, seek to find a way that makes everyone happy, or at the very least content that a proper process was gone through to get to resolution. Ultimately, when someone is going to suffer, and suffering is something we’d like to delay as much as possible, we want to be aware of that outcome as a possibility and act with sensitivity to that reality.

May disputes, and clarifications in halakha, be met with proper resolution in a timely fashion, hopefully with all parties walking away feeling that justice was served and the word of God was followed. 

 ___________ 

* There are other times when people point out a law to Moshe that he seems to have forgotten. For example, Aharon notes to Moshe that his sons should not be eating meat before their brothers are buried (Vayikra 10); the Rabbis tell us that Pinchas came along and killed Zimri when Moshe was standing around not knowing what to do (Bamidbar 24).

I Can’t Do It

Parshat Balak

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

The parsha is replete with exchanges and dialogue between Balak, King of Moab, and Bilaam, necromancer. At first they communicate through emissaries, and later on they meet in person, carrying on several conversations aimed at Bilaam doing his best to curse the Jewish people. 

 To Bilaam’s credit (though some will suggest it’s an example of Bilaam showing off), Bilaam does declare that “I can not violate the word of God.” Put more succinctly, as he tells both emissaries and Balak personally, “Even if Balak gives me his entire palace filled silver and gold, I still can not violate the word of God for good or for bad on my own – what God tells me is what I will say.” 

 Balak is understandably upset by all this, particularly after the fact, and he tells Bilaam, “Go home! I said I would honor you, but God has made you unworthy of honor!” (24:11). 

Is Balak really “understandably” upset? After all, Bilaam did tell both sets of Balak’s emissaries and Balak in person that he could only say what God might allow him to say! It could be that Balak didn’t accept this excuse because Bilaam had a reputation that he could say or do whatever he wanted. Of course, that could mean that Bilaam’s reputation was based on how he dealt with other nations. The fact that Israel is a different kind of entity, who benefit from a unique form of Divine Protection, seems to be lost on Balak in his mis-understanding Bilaam’s abilities. 

 But is that really the case? The whole reason why Balak hired Bilaam in the first place is because “Balak saw all that Israel had done to the Emorite” (22:2)! Why was he upset at what Bilaam said he couldn’t do, when that had been made clear to him from the get-go… God is on their side! 

Rabbi Baruch Halevi Epstein (in his Tosefes Bracha) explains that there are two motivations for a person to say “I can’t” do something. 

 One is a physical impossibility. I can’t lift a building with my bare hands. I can’t jump across a river. Examples of this kind of incapability appear in the Torah: the angel saw he couldn’t defeat Yaakov (Bereshis 32:26), the spies felt we can’t defeat the strong armies in Canaan (Bamidbar 13:31), etc. 

The other is not physically impossible, but is impossible because of one’s state of the mind or some other emotional preventative barrier, such as it being a commandment. For example: Yosef’s brothers could not speak with him peaceably (Bereshis 37:4), the Egyptians couldn’t eat with the Israelites (Bereshits 43:32), you can’t eat Maaser Sheni at your home as it needs to be eaten in Jerusalem (Devarim 12:17); you can’t neglect a lost object (Devarim 22:3), etc. 

 In this latter category of “can’t,” a feeling might be that if some other factor is thrown into the mix, the person may be able to “get over” the inability and do that which they feel incapable of doing at this time (unless, obviously, bound by a mitzvah). In the former category, no amount of incentive will help a person do that which a person is physically incapable of doing. Other than Superman, no one, for example, could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Even for all the money in the world. 

 Rabbi Epstein suggests that Balak felt Bilaam’s declared inability of “I can not violate God’s word” was of the latter category. He felt Bilaam was not in the right frame of mind, and all he needed was a different perspective from which to view the Israelites, his intended target, which is why they changed mountaintops over and over, or he needed a promise of great honor or more money. Bilaam had to explain to him that money or honor were meaningless. They couldn’t change what Bilaam was capable of doing. His inability was of the former kind – he was physically incapable of saying words that God would not allow him to say. 

 Rabbi Epstein concludes comparing this situation to what Lavan (who many identify as an ancestor of Bilaam) said to Avraham’s servant: “We are unable to speak to you good or bad.” In Lavan’s case, the power of speech had been taken from him and his father to the point that they couldn’t even say good things. They were limited in the kinds of speech they could aim at Avraham’s servant, as per Yevamos 103b “Even the good of the wicked is bad for the righteous.” That is a cautionary reminder to be careful with whom we engage in dialogue. 

 The following illustration is meant to showcase a relatable example of “I can’t” with respect to non-kosher food, and is not looking to paint anyone in a bad light. My wife and I were recently in a mostly empty Kosher sushi restaurant, and the only other customers in the store were a non-Jewish Indian couple. (How they found a Kosher sushi place? I do not know). They were sitting at the counter in front of the sushi bar and talking with the workers behind the counter, one is Korean, the other an Orthodox Jew. They spoke of food they like, and the Indian gentleman (who came across as a secular Muslim) was talking about a new chain of restaurants opening that has Halal meat. And then he mentioned the best food place he’s ever been to. Demonstrating an awareness of the Jewish worker, he said, “but are you strictly Kosher?” The answer was “Yes.” 

 “Well, if you ever change, you gotta check this place out!” His wife gently indicated to her husband to drop it, “Stop it! He’s not changing! Leave him alone.” The guy was friendly though, and he said, “What? My relatives are Muslims. Some of them keep the rules. And others have changed and have decided that they do whatever they want! Maybe he will one day too!” Again his wife told him to drop it, and he did. But the Jewish worker said, “No. I’m not changing!” 

 He didn’t say “I can’t eat non-kosher” but nonetheless he was demonstrating his inability through fealty to the commandments of God. Certainly anyone can physically eat non-kosher should they choose to. But one can’t if one lives by the rules. 

There are times, however, when we say “I can’t do something,” but it’s not because of a physical incapability. We don’t want to do it. 

We don’t want to set more time for Torah study, we don’t want to turn off our phones when we are in shul or engaged in an activity that requires our undivided attention, we don’t want to be more careful with our diets, we don’t want to exercise, we don’t want to give of ourselves, we don’t want to have difficult conversations or talk to people with whom we disagree, we don’t want to give beyond what we think are our means, we don’t want to give compliments and go out of our way to make people feel comfortable or to make people feel appreciated or special, we don’t want to step out of our comfort zone and be helpful when it’s easier to relax or disappear. 

Bilaam’s excuse was legitimate. He knew his limitation was God-sent, and he was truthful and up-front about it. Balak was like the guy in the restaurant and believed that Bilaam could curse the Israelites if he truly wanted to (Bilaam wanted to!), and he couldn’t fathom that Bilaam’s speech in this regard was actually not in his control. 

 Where things are in our control, may we be blessed to do the things we say we can’t, when the barrier is really just our minds, sometimes laziness, and mostly a lack of desire to challenge ourselves to be and do better. We CAN lift ourselves up and bring more meaning to our existence through rising to the challenge of doing the things we’ve told ourselves we can’t do… because really, we can!

The Death of Aharon

Parshat Chukat

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Towards the end of chapter 20, in the aftermath of the infamous events of Mei Merivah (Waters of Strife – which includes the incident where Moshe hit the rock) in which Moshe and Aharon are fated not to lead the people into the Promised Land, Aharon ascends to the top of Mount Hor and dies. 

Aharon’s death is later reported to us in Parshat Masei at the 7th or 8th to last stop, “They traveled from Kadesh,and camped at Mount Hor. Aharon went up the mountain at God’s instruction and died there in the 40th year since the time of the Exodus. This was on Rosh Chodesh (Av) of the 5th month. Aharon lived to 123 years.” (33:37-29) Following the chronology presented to us in the Torah, this makes sense. 

But Aharon’s death is recorded in Parshat Eikev as well, in a context that meets no criteria – either of chronology or of associating Aharon’s death to Mei Merivah, which is part of the explanation given to him at the actual time of his death in our parsha, in 20:24, when Aharon is told “Aharon will die, for he will not come to the land I have promised to the Bnei Yisrael, on account of your rebelling against My word at Mei Merivah.” 

In Eikev, the death of Aharon is recorded in association with events being reviewed for the benefit of those who will be entering the land, in hopes they will not repeat the errors of their parents’ generation, most specifically the Golden Calf. After recounting that God told him to make an ark of wood and to bring two new tablets for God to inscribe upon them the words of the Tablets Moshe had broken, Moshe describes how, armed with the second set of tablets, “‘I turned and descended from the mountain and placed the Tablets in the ark I had made, and they remained there as God had instructed me.’ And the Children of Israel traveled from Beerot Bnei Yaakan to Mosair: there Aharon died and was buried there, and his son Elazar was made Kohen in his place. From there they traveled to Gudgode, and from there to Yatvat, the land of rivers.” (Devarim 10:5-7) 

Those locations are reported on in Masei (Bamidbar 33:30-33), several verses and several stops before the events we saw (2nd paragraph above) which were recorded in the 40th year. [Rashi in Devarim 1:46 notes that they were in Kadesh for 19 years, so even though there aren’t a lot of stops between Yatvat in 33:33 and Aharon’s death 4 pesukim later, their arrival in Kadesh in 33:36 explains the passage of time.] 

Obviously the mention of Aharon’s death in Eikev in that context requires an explanation. Ibn Ezra rejects the need for an explanation, simply accepting that the locations mentioned are different places, and that the place where Aharon actually died had multiple names – which is not an uncommon feature of the Torah. Most views, however, do not accord with that of Ibn Ezra (though R Yosef B’chor Shor agrees with Ibn Ezra!). 

 Taking a number of narrative pieces from Parshas Chukas, stringing them together to form a larger picture of what was going on in the Israelite encampment, Targum Yonatan describes a battle with Amalek which caused a number of groups to return to Egypt. The tribe of Levi pursued them, and a civil war/battle ensued in which 8 families were killed on the Israelite side, and 4 Levite families fell as well. They asked themselves, what caused this to happen? And they realized it was because they did not heed the teachings of Aharon, to love your fellow, and specifically because they didn’t adequately mourn for him. So they decided to eulogize him on that spot, as if he had died and been buried there. [This is brought down in Yerushalmi Sotah 1:10 (8b)] – some of this is hinted to in Divrei Hayamim in that Yerushalmi passage.] 

Rashi’s presentation explains this a little more clearly. After noting a discrepancy in the order of the travels, and asking about the true location of Aharon’s death, Rashi writes (translation from Sefaria): 

“…Go and count and you will find that there are eight stations from Mosera to Mount Hor! — But really this also is part of the reproof offered by Moses. In effect he said, “This, also, ye did: when Aaron died on Mount Hor at the end of forty years and the clouds of Divine Glory departed, ye feared war with the king of Arad and you appointed a leader that ye might return to Egypt, and ye turned backwards eight stages unto Bene Jaakan and hence to Mosera. There the sons of Levi fought with you, and they slew some of you, and you some of them, until they forced you back on the road along which you had retreated. From there (Mosera) ye returned to Gudgodah, — that is identical with Hor Hagidgod (Numbers 33:32). 

“Moses placed this reproof immediately after the mention of the breaking of the tablets to indicate that the death of the righteous is as grievous before the Holy One, blessed be He, as the day on which the tablets were broken, and to tell you that it was displeasing to Him when they said, (Numbers 14:4) “Let us set up a head (another god; see Rashi on that verse) in order to part from Him, as was the day on which they made the golden calf (Leviticus Rabbah 20:12).”

 This approach suggests that Moshe reported on Aharon’s death, not chronologically, but thematically, to present a message of behavior to the Bnei Yisrael not to fall prey to their yetzer Hara – turning from God in spite, such as with the Golden Calf, such as when clouds of glory depart, such as at a time of war – all brings about negativity which is on par with the loss of a righteous leader (consider that the whole Mei Merivah story seems to be triggered by the death of Miriam, and the inability to mourn properly). 

 Rashbam intimates a subtle hint Moshe is sending to the people. Aharon could have died at the time of the Golden Calf. But he didn’t die at that time on account of the prayers of Moshe (see also Devarim 9:20). [See here for other reasons too!]

 Ramban notes how Rashi’s comment is taken from a different passage in Yerushalmi (Yoma 1:1), as he suggests that Mount Hor was actually a very big mountain spanning many parasang (one need merely look to the east of Israel, to the mountains of Moab, to see how easily this can be true), and that Moshe is referencing various points on the same mountain range – putting Aharon’s death in a particular context. Aharon’s death WAS in the 40th year, and it WAS in Mosair (or Mosera), which is a geographical point in a larger range of mountains known as Mount Hor. The context of mentioning Aharon’s death related to the aftermath of the Golden Calf is because Moshe prayed on his behalf at that time (see Rashbam in the previous paragraph), and Moshe is talking to the people in Eikev about negative outcomes and positive outcomes that are much dependent on behavior and trust in God. 

The implication in the passage of Eikev, therefore (as Chizkuni spells it out) is as if Moshe is saying “Don’t assume or ever claim that Aharon died at the time of the Golden Calf, because he didn’t die at that time! I prayed for him, and we moved on from that time. Aharon died 40 years later, at the location mentioned… not at the bottom of Har Sinai.”

 Kli Yakar combines all of the components of the narrative of Chukas to demonstrate why Aharon’s death is referenced by Moshe in Eikev – noting that the deaths of the righteous are as difficult for God as the breaking of the Tablets, while also noting that the people are supposed to learn that the merit of the righteous carries through to the Children of Israel even after they have passed. But the Children of Israel must demonstrate that they believe that, in order for it to work. 

There are people in our ranks who are the best at expressing this. And there are people in our ranks who forget that while all is in God’s hands, our own choices and behaviors, and heeding of lessons sent to us if we are only paying attention, all play a significant role in the outcomes our people face. 

 For example, we are grateful for the incredible sacrifices, ethic, and dedication of the IDF. At the same time, many have lost their lives. How much do we attribute their successes and failures to their tactical training (which is of course quite important), and how much do we attribute to our own successes and failures (I speak of each of us as individuals, and all of klal Yisrael in general)? Do we – all of Am Yisrael – see our own hand affecting the tides of battle and the successes of our soldiers in their holy task of protecting the people of Israel, and Jews around the world by extension? 

That is part of the message of Aharon’s death being recorded in a chronological context outside of reality – to remind people that the righteous impact the world in ways we can’t comprehend. And therefore it is incumbent upon each of us to dedicate ourselves to achieve higher levels of righteousness. For the sake and safety of Am Yisrael.

On July 4th and American Independence

 This is the note I shared with congregation before Shabbos this week - in honor of July 4th weekend

   There is something special about the celebrations surrounding July 4, which includes the reality that overall, the experience of the Jewish people in the United States of America has been a blessing of history. Since the time George Washington wrote his famous letter to the Touro Synagogue, Jews found a freedom of worship in the United States in America that was second to none in the history of the Diaspora. Yes, there were pockets in time and in different lands where Jews went unbothered, and where there was tremendous growth, freedom, scholarship, and even political advancement. But every nation in Europe also, at least once, expelled the Jews from their land over religious intolerance. The founding President of the United States wrote:

May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants—while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.

May the father of all mercies scatter light, and not darkness, upon our paths, and make us all in our several vocations useful here, and in His own due time and way everlastingly happy.

The Evilness of Machlokes That Is Not For the Sake of Heaven

Parshat Korach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In Pirkei Avos 5:17 (or 19 or 20 – different volumes have different breakdowns) we are introduced to the merits of a Machlokes (dispute) that is for the sake of heaven versus a Machlokes which is not for the sake of heaven. A dispute over understanding of Torah, such as between Hillel and Shammai, is viewed as a dispute which endures, for it has merit. Its purpose is a higher calling – getting to the truth (see Meiri). The other kind of dispute which is considered meritless is the “Machlokes of Korach and his congregation.” 

 Many note that the dispute should be presented as one between Korach and Moshe! After all, against whom did Korach address his complaints and direct his confrontation? 

The simple answer is that the real dispute was among the people who seemed to be united, but who weren’t really united. What kept them together as a group was a seeming common cause, and an argument of “all the nation is holy,” which carries the Orwellian implication that “some are more holy than others” if you’d just give the holy position to the “correct” “some” so we would know where we all stand.