Revisiting Tzlafchad

Titled "Revisiting" because we've been down this road before

Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

 This idea was born out of a learning session I had with my daughter, Aliza. She gets a lot of credit for the direction into which this thought developed. 

 The tale of the daughters of Tzlafchad is shrouded in mystery surrounding the death of their father.

 Five years ago, I raised the suggestion of the Zohar that Tzlafchad was the lone victim of the snakes in Bamidbar 21. 

 But a new reading of the account lends to a new interpretation that perhaps his so-called “sin” wasn’t really a sin at all.

 “Our father died in the desert. He was not among the members of Korach's party who protested against God, but he died [in/of] his own sin without leaving any sons.” (27:3) 

 The daughters of Tzlafchad ask Moshe for their father’s portion in the land because they feel his desert-death should not prevent his family inheriting a portion of land.

 If their father’s death was relatively innocent, why compare it to Korach’s rebels? Were they really saying that he died because of a sin? How would they know that the sin was the reason for his death?

 Abravanel raises a number of points that can help us answer these questions.

 They compared their father to Korach to make it clear to Moshe that Tzlafchad never challenged him personally. This might help Moshe be more receptive to their request. Tzlafchad was not a controversial figure.

 Their saying “He died in his sin” (‘b’chet’o met) makes any suggestion of his having died at the hands of man (such as the woodcutter in Bamidbar 15:32-36, or in any battle in Bamidbar 14) to be impossible.

 But maybe that expression introduces us to what his “sin” was, namely that he did not have any sons.

 Before we continue, let us make a couple of things clear. Not having sons is not a sin. People who have only daughters, or people who do not have children at all, have not sinned. It is in God’s hand to grant people children, and whatever cards He deals determines to what degree we have fulfilled our mitzvah to procreate. The Talmud tells us there are three partners in creation (Kiddushin 30b, Niddah 31a) (though modern science can perhaps be counted as a “fourth” partner in Creation for those struggling with infertility), but as one of my teachers once pointed out, the Talmudic passage in Shabbat 31a that lists the questions one will face at the Heavenly Court includes “Did you attempt to procreate?” The question is not whether you were successful or how many children you had, but whether you tried.

Tzlafchad had five daughters. But they are the ones who mention that “he died in his sin and he did not have sons.”

 There is only one other place in the Torah when the idea of “not having sons” is mentioned: in a passage that describes how Nadav and Avihu, Aharon’s older sons, had died. Bamidbar 3:4 tells us “Nadav and Avihu died before God when they offered unauthorized fire to God in the Sinai Desert, and they had no sons.” 

Trying to pinpoint why Nadav and Avihu died is a longer conversation, with many viewpoints and suggestions offered by the commentaries. But the Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 20) utilizes this verse to make a strange suggestion in the name of Rabbi Levi, that one of the reasons Nadav and Avihu died was because “They did not have sons.” (Bamidbar 3:4). While not having sons is not inherently a sin, it could be viewed in Torah language as a “chet” – a sin. (The Talmud Yevamot 64a suggests it may actually be a sin, but the Torah Temimah explains how it’s not a real sin) Seforno and others suggest that if Nadav and Avihu had sons, those sons would have been kohanim even before Elazar and Itamar. Not having produced these children, they missed out on bringing the next generation of kohanim into the world.

 Perhaps, in using a similar language, Tzlafchad’s daughters were saying to Moshe, “Our father died leaving only daughters. In his own way, following the teaching we learned about Nadav and Avihu, his death was in a state of personal ‘sin’ because there were no sons. But, unlike Nadav and Avihu, who had no children, he left behind five daughters. We should get his portion so that our father’s name will not be forgotten.”

 This may have actually been a brilliant ploy because Moshe viewed his nephews Nadav and Avihu as very holy (Vayikra 10:3). Perhaps Tzlafchad’s daughters’ appeals to Moshe (and his feelings about his nephews), explaining their circumstance in similar terms, helped Moshe come to the conclusion that of course they should inherit because it is unfair for their father’s circumstance to be compared to Nadav and Avihu. Particularly if Moshe looked past Nadav and Avihu’s lack of children, he would see that Tzlafchad’s daughters were all that their father could have wished for and more.

 Certainly having daughters is a great blessing. And maybe, after this tale, the concept of the “sin” of not having sons was laid to rest forever. Because raising children is not about gender. It is about teaching the next generation how to be good people, and good Jews. And certainly in that respect, Tzlafchad was anything but a failure or sinner. He was quite successful!

The Sin of Doing One Mitzvah

Parshat VAYIKRa

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There’s a strange phrase that repeats itself several times in the parsha. “If a person sins… and does one of the commandments of God that one is [instructed] not to do” then a consequence follows. The consequence might be elaborated upon over several verses, or, as in the case, of 4:27, the consequence is preceded by the word, “v’ashem,” which means “and he is guilty.”

 Wouldn’t the verse make more sense if it said “If a person sins and violates a commandment…” or just leave it at “If a person sins…” and then list the consequence? It almost sounds like the Torah is saying that if a person sins through doing a mitzvah, then there is a consequence! How could a person sin through doing a mitzvah?!

 Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev was known to look at the good of every Jew. One tale finds Reb Levi Yitzchak encountering a Jew who was smoking on Shabbos. The sinner refuted each benefit the rabbi ascribed to him. “You probably didn’t know it was Shabbos.” The man knew. “You probably didn’t know smoking is prohibited on Shabbos.” The man knew. “You must be smoking for health reasons.” No – that’s not the case.

 Reb Levi Yitzchak turned heavenward and said, “Even when your children commit sins, they tell the truth!”

 And yet, Reb Levi Yitzchak did not hold back in criticizing the Jew who is satisfied with a minimal connection with God. In his Kedushas Levi, Reb Levi Yitzchak looked at our verse in question and creatively explained the way the Torah depicts the sin of the individual. The more a person sincerely serves God, the more the person appreciates the tremendous disparity that exists between the great and Almighty God and the tiny human being.

 But, as in our verse, when a person does one mitzvah and thinks this is an adequate form of serving God, even the one mitzvah is inconsequential. To put it more succinctly – there are mitzvot which people categorize as mitzvot “that I don’t do.” I have the mitzvot that I do, the ones I am comfortable with, the ones that work for me. But there are mitzvot that fall out of my comfort zone, so I never do them. Or, perhaps, I may do it once in a while.

 Reb Levi Yitzchak said that the sin is not the doing of the mitzvah – though he questions whether the occasional trek into mitzvah-doing is worth anything, as opposed to a total commitment to mitzvoth. The sin is in having the attitude that “I have mitzvot that I don’t do” while still feeling that this incompleteness is a proper form of serving God.

 Reb Levi Yitzchak lived in a different time. And while I don’t think his entire message is apropos today – it is certainly not applicable to Jews who know very little about Judaism – there is much introspection demanded of Jews who do know better, who claim to believe in God and who live observant lifestyles, but who opt out of certain mitzvot because “I don’t do those” or who focus on one mitzvah that does work (while ignoring many others) who still think, “I am serving God properly as a Jew.”

 We live in a cynical society where the loudest people are anti-religion. Ironically, the religious population of the United States of America is one of the highest percentages in the world. For people who identify as religious Jews, it behooves us to never be satisfied with our personal status quo, and to continue to challenge ourselves to take more obligations upon ourselves, and to humbly add to our service of God, as we become increasingly aware of that disparity between ourselves and our Creator.
The sin Reb Levi Yitzchak reads into this verse is a sin of arrogance, a sin of minimal obligation and responsibility, and a sin of checking out of mitzvot based on external criteria.

 Let us embrace our responsibilities and obligations, let us be humble, and let us increasingly get closer to God so that the verses in question need not apply to our own Jewish experiences.

Only One True TZADDIK in His Generation

Parshat Noach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

When we are introduced to Noach at the beginning of the parsha, Rashi notes that his being called a “tzaddik” (righteous man) – “in his generation” could be interpreted either positively or negatively. Positively, had Noach lived in another generation, he’d have been even greater. Negatively, only because he was compared to such terrible people was Noach considered great in his day.

                

But honestly, I don’t understand the question. The Torah does say in the first verse of Chapter 7, “And God said to Noach, ‘Come with your family to the Ark, because I see you to be a tzaddik before Me in this generation.’”

                

Perhaps this verse can also be read both ways, but I think the more correct reading is “You are unique in your time.” But not in a different generation.

                

Why is this language used?

                

The Or HaChaim explains that Noach needed to be reminded that he was the tzaddik in comparison to the people of his generation, because maybe Noach would think to bring a whole bunch of people on board – people he felt were not deserving of punishment, when indeed they were not innocent.

                

Don’t we all have friends we’d want to save if we were making a boat big enough to hold dozens of people, if not more?

This is why, Or HaChaim suggests, Noach needed to be told to bring his family. Even they were unworthy of being saved. They were only brought on board because they were his family. “Because you are the (only) tzaddik I see in this generation.”

                

The midrash (which Rashi also quotes) goes in a different direction when it claims this is a demonstration of God not saying Noach’s complete praise in front of him (earlier he was called a “tzaddik tamim” – a perfect righteous man – when the Torah introduced him, but he was not being personally addressed).

                

Kli Yakar raises a different possibility, that two events transpired which brought God to say this to Noach. Firstly, after 120 years of Ark construction, it was apparent that no one was repenting. Secondly, there had been one other righteous person, Noach’s grandfather Metushelach (Methuselah), who passed away right before God’s declaration to Noach that he is the only righteous person alive today. Kli Yakar even suggests the declaration came after Noach’s 7 days of mourning (his father had died 5 years earlier, leaving him as the sole mourner for his grandfather), because there was a thought that people who witnessed the death and mourning over the righteous Metushelach would be inspired to return to God. Of course, this didn’t happen.

                

Kli Yakar returns to his interpretation from the end of Chapter 6, that Noach was immune to the temptation of robbery, which is what the Torah claims brought about the flood.

                

And while this is certainly an admirable trait of Noach – perhaps even a divine trait in his day – this is the type of thing that is no outstanding accomplishment in a world where people understand that what is mine is mine and what is your is yours until currency and therefore ownership exchanges hands.

                

It is certainly possible that had Noach lived in another time he would have been an amazing man. But the focus in our verse (7:1) seems to pinpoint his specific generation. And if indeed he had no friends worthy of being saved, and not even his family to save were it not for his own merit, then he was unique in his own time.

                

Was there ever a time when there were bad people when there were not good people as well? Was there ever a time when there was only one person who lived in a moral high ground?

                

God has the right to judge all the persons of the world. He made them. They owe their lives to him. But we who all sin through the year, who all experience Yom Kippur, are not Noachs, not in our generation nor in any generation.

                

Kohelet (7:20) said, “There is no human tzaddik in the land who does good but does not sin.” It seems in this sense, that Noach was very unique. We have the benefit of thousands of years of distance, tradition, and commentary to look at Noach however we want to. We can read the verses one way and say he never sinned. We can read them another way and say he was nothing to write home about.

                

In our generation, obviously, sins, in the eyes of man, are by degree. Some are the type people shrug off, some merely raise eyebrows, and some are viewed as heinous and despicable. Opinions are always going to be formed about the actions of others. But before we publish our opinions or scream from the top of the mountain, we need to ask ourselves how self-righteous we really are.

                

“I may not be perfect but I’m better than that person.” I don’t defend sins of a religious nature, and certainly not of a criminal nature. But I wonder how many people who rush to defame sinners would stand the Noach test – Noach who had not a single friend or family member who merited to be saved from the flood, were it not for his merit in his generation.

Moshe's Destiny: To Never Enter the Land

Parshat Shmot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Commentaries have a field day trying to pinpoint what was Moshe's sin that sealed his fate not to bring the people to the Promised Land. Even the language of the Torah is inconclusive, because when the episode of Mei Merivah (Bamidbar Chapter 20 – the "Rock incident") took place, Moshe and Aharon are informed they will not "bring" the people to the land. It is only later that they are told they too will not "enter" the land (Bamidbar 20:24, Devarim 1:37 and 4:21 (referring to Bamibar 14:30?), Devarim 32:52).

In Moshe's case, he pleads to at least merit to be buried in the Land, a request which is summarily denied. There are reasons suggested for why he needed to be buried in the Mountains of Moav, and why his gravesite needed to overlook the area where the sin of Ba'al Peor took place (Bamidbar 25).

            

Regardless, when one looks at the sources, it seems plainly clear that Moshe's non-entry into the Land has nothing to do with the Rock incident. The flaw there, as described in the Torah, is one of leadership. He may have wanted to go in to the land, even as a private citizen. Alas, one can argue that being informed at that time that he will not be bringing the people in to the land, is more likely a nice way of saying what has been known all along. "You can't lead them, because you won't be going in. At all. Ever."

            

In the beginning of Devarim, Moshe pins the reason on the event of the spies (1:37), which predates the Rock incident. This "reason" for not entering the land is advanced by Abravanel. But is the spies incident the real first indicator that Moshe will not enter the land?

            

According to the Gemara Sanhedrin (17a), Eldad and Meidad (Bamidbar 11) prophesied that Moshe would die and Yehoshua would lead the people into the land. This episode predates the spies.

            

The Chizkuni offers two interpretations on Bamidbar 10:29, when Moshe says to his father-in-law, "We are traveling to the land. Come with us!" Either Moshe was tying his fate to everyone else to keep their spirits up; they should not think they are not entering the land, just because their leader will not be entering. Or, perhaps Moshe was saying that to convince Yisro to come along; he would otherwise think that if Moshe is not entering the land, how could he enter the land? [See Rashi there, where he strangely brings up the question of Moshe's entry, claiming it predates any decree. If this announcement predates any decree, Rashi, then why bring it the not-yet-existent decree?]

            

This approach follows Rashi's thought from our parsha, which I'll get to in a moment. But the interpretation of Chizkuni indicates Moshe knew, as he was encouraging everyone to go to the land, that he would not be entering. This predates Eldad and Meidad.

            

One of Rashi's last comments on our parsha (Shmot 6:1) quotes a passage from Sanhedrin 111a in which Moshe is told by God, "Now you'll see what I am going to do to Egypt, but you will not see what I am going to do the kings of Canaan." This predates the Exodus and the plagues.

            

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch comments on the strange hotel incident of 4:23-25, where Rashi says God sought Moshe's death for not having circumcised Eliezer: "God's plans are dependent on no man… No man – not even Moses – is indispensable to God." In other words, even Moshe might have died at that point – before he even got to Egypt.

            

Commentaries focus on Moshe's objection to becoming the leader in 4:13, where Rashi explains Moshe's complaint to mean, "Send in the hands of the one who will bring them to the land, because it is not my destiny to bring them."

            

Rabbi Obadiah Bartenura notes the nuance in Rashi's words as he explains, "How could it be suggested that Moshe knew the decree that he would not enter the land? One could suggest he thought he would enter the land, but he knew he would not be the leader at that time. 'It is not my destiny to bring them in to the land' is not the same as 'It is not my destiny to enter the land.' He thought he would enter, just as leader emeritus." [This notion is contradictory because it suggests he will not lead - which is first told to him in Bamidbar 20...]

            

The other indicator is implied from a midrash in Devarim Rabba on Vayelech in which a "measure for measure" punishment is associated with a parallel word utilized by Moshe and by God. When Moshe is told he will die, God says to him, "Hen karvu yamekha lamut" (הן קרבו ימיך למות) – indeed your days are numbered until your death. Moshe had said about the Israelites, in 4:1, "V'hen lo ya'aminu li" (והן לא יאמינו לי) – indeed they will not believe me, that You sent me. The similar use of the word "Hen" (הן) – Moshe speaking ill of the Israelites, and God speaking ill of Moshe's destiny (that he'll die and no longer lead) may indicate a measure for measure punishment, that Moshe is not worthy to be the leader until the end.

            

While the question of Moshe leading versus entering the land alone seems to have not been clarified until later, the indications are that from the get-go, Moshe was not going to see the job through to the end.

            

It is a little deflating. But it is also a very powerful message, that not every person needs to finish everything in a lifetime. When our time is up, hopefully we will have lived a life in which that which we built can be continued by others. We may have picked up from those who came before us as well. But if the project is set in motion and can be finished by a capable successor, we have done pretty well.

            

We know what Moshe's job was, and now we know that he wasn't a failure who didn't bring his job to its conclusion. His job was to get as far as he got. And while he may have wanted to go further, his not making it further is no indication of failure. On the contrary, he fulfilled his destiny to the utmost.

            

May we all be so lucky!

The Crouching Sin

Parshat Bereshit

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The stage is set. The first two sons of Man have brought their offerings to their God, and He has favored the younger's dedication. The older brother is disheartened, and it shows on his face.

Says God, "What are you so frustrated? Why has your face fallen? If you do good, you will lift up! But if not, then sin lies crouching at the door. It desires to get you, but you can rule over it." (4:6-7)

            

In the next verse Kayin kills his brother.

The story is incomplete. Why Kayin killed Hevel is unclear. Was he provoked? Was it self defense? Did he even understand that his act could be fatal? Was the murder premeditated? Or an error? There are a myriad of interpretations hinged on the question of what the "sin crouching at the door" might be. As God's statement was the last thing Kayin heard before he committed murder, one can argue it was the trigger that unleashed his rage. But what did God mean?

In a lecture on repentance delivered in 1987, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein explained the "sin that crouches at the door" as the most blatant obstacle to proper observance of the Law and commitment to God which plagues a particular hashkafic (philosophical) community.

"…[It] is not the same sin at every door. Each door, each domicile, each community has its particular sin, a specific spiritual danger indigenous to it, endemic to that group or that individual." Quoting the Chafetz Chaim, he notes that different generations have different pitfalls. Some "succumb to idolatry, others to desecration of Shabbat, some to sins between man and his Maker, and others to interpersonal sins."

At the same time that he declared the sin plaguing the Religious Zionist community (ie "Modern Orthodox" community in the United States) to be one of "shikhecha," forgetting God, or "lacking the immanent sense of God felt so deeply, keenly and pervasively in other parts of the halakhically committed Jewish world" (which is indeed a problem), he defined "avodah zara" – beyond idolatry – as "superstition and misguided conceptions of God."

Rabbi Lichtenstein does not need my stamp of approval. His assessment of our community is spot on. But I think his definition of avodah zara is also quite noteworthy.

Looking to rabbis (people) as role models is wonderful. Idolizing them and turning them into flawless human beings is idolatry. Many rabbis exhibit excellent judgment all the time. Some make mistakes. The real Gedolim acknowledge their mistakes.

Kosher laws are quite special. Making an obsession about invisible parasites – and thus declaring water, lettuce, broccoli and strawberries unkosher – is idolatry. (No one is interested in eating infested vegetables. Remind people that bugs are not kosher, but don't wage war on fruits and vegetables!)

Modesty is one of the most important Jewish traits. But making a religion solely about personal definitions of such – when the law is somewhat flexible, and in some cases changes based on the standards of the general society – is idolatry! Modesty is not just about length of clothing and size of head coverings.

A chupah is a public event that declares a man and woman united in marriage. This allows them to be seen together in public, and to sit together at a wedding or any simcha other than their own wedding. Who has separate seating at their family Shabbat table?

Why do advertisements for communities and retirement homes in magazines only feature males in the photographs? Is it such a crime to see a photograph of a little girl, a mother in modest dress, or an elderly woman in a wheelchair? This is our world. This is life.

           

Mandating to others how to live, and judging their "frumkeit" based on externals (not calling a Kohen or Levi to the Torah or not counting a bar mitzvah for a minyan on account of a T-shirt or their not being from "your crowd") is not only the most disgusting form of sinat chinam (baseless hatred), but is also a form of idolatry. 

I received the following email in response to a debate about metzitzah that I posted on my blog, in which a pro Metzitzah b'Peh person told me that he cares not about Jews or people (or babies) in general, but only about "God and Halacha": "The 'pious' Jew who only cares about 'God' and His rulebook is clearly off the derech… whatever he is worshipping it is not God. He [has] invented a God to worship and [has] created an imaginary rule book… to replace the much more challenging reality [of what it means to be an observant Jew]."

Kayin could not overcome his crouching sin, perhaps his passion, and it caused him to kill his brother.

           

For some Jewish people, worship of the "avodah zara" I have described is their crouching sin. On account of it Judaism is ultimately denigrated, the shouting matches which ensue, and the negative feelings exacerbated through criticizing others all come at the expense of the, perhaps unanticipated, desecration of God's name which appears in television, newspapers and blogs fueled by misinformation, yes, but also improperly presented information which depicts Orthodox Jews as being hopelessly stubborn or blinded by their own faith.

            

In Kayin's case, his sin lay in his inabilities: to discern the flaw in his gift to God, to learn from his mistakes, and to see that he could live in harmony with his brother, despite their differences, and that each had a unique way of relating to God. If they could only respect the other approach – live and let live and stop telling the other what to do in the most intolerant of ways – they could have lived in harmony.

The saga of brother versus brother need have never unfolded so tragically.