Covenantal Accountability and Free Will

 

 

              “It is not with you alone that I am making this sworn covenant,   but with whoever is standing here with us today before the Lord our G-d, and with whoever is not here with us today” (Deuteronomy 29:13-14).

              “Life and death I have set before you, blessing and curse. And you shall choose life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)

  

On his final day, Moshe gathers Am Yisrael for the purpose of renewing their Brit (Covenant) with G-d. The name of the parashah, “Nitzavin,” hints at the solemnity of the occasion. “Nitzav” means “standing” in Hebrew. However, as commentators like Rash”i and Sforno suggest, it means more than just “standing.” It carries the sense of standing firmly, uprightly, with presence, and resolve to honour this important milestone in Jewish history

Parashat Nitzavim includes some of the most fundamental principles of the Jewish faith. This essay will focus on two of them.

The first stresses collective accountability, as the words “whoever is not with us today,” in the first quote above (Deuteronomy 29:13-14) alludes to. The Torah, it tells us, applies to every Jew at all times and is binding on every Jew even those not born yet. All members of Am Yisrael are original covenant partners. In other words, Our Covenant with G-d is not just historical but eternal.

“The phrase, ‘whoever is not here,’ explains Lord Rabbi Sacks, “cannot refer to Yisraelites alive at the time who happened to be somewhere else……since the entire nation was assembled there. Moshe can only mean ‘generations not yet born’…..By agreeing to be G-d’s People,” concludes Sacks, “subject to G-d’s laws, our ancestors obligated us all.”

Midrash Tanchuma (Nitzavim 3) and Talmud (Shavuot 39a) interpret the phrase, which has been central in Jewish thought, “all Jewish souls, past, present, and future, were spiritually present.” 

Ramba”n (Nachmanides) goes even further and asserts that this phrase also includes gerim (further converts to Judaism). Even those who would one day join Yisrael were foreseen and included (proving that Torah’s reach is beyond biological descent).

Sforno highlights the  responsibility and solidarity facet of our Jewish faith suggesting that the covenant is binding on every individual because Yisrael functions as a community where all are responsible for one another.

What these verses establish is that Judaism is a timeless, transgenerational commitment.

The second paramount principle of the parashah that this article wishes to address is Free Will. It is reflected in the second verse above (Deuteronomy 30:19).  There, Moshe, in a stirring declaration, calls upon the People to “choose life,” a declaration that is often cited as the clearest statement of human Free Will.

It seems that at the heart of Parashat Nitzavim lies a profound tension between destiny and free will. It stems from the paradox it echoes. On the one hand, how can unborn generations be forced into a covenant that they never chose, if individuals truly have free will? On the other hand, if a nation as a whole is accountable for each member’s conduct, does that diminish the individual’s authority?

This tension did not escape Jewish thinkers and commentators who were trying to reconcile the two conflicting themes.

Ramba”n and Abrabanel teach us that just as any child is born into a family without choosing it, so too, every Jew is born into the Covenant. The Covenant in their view is a national identity contract which defines our Peoplehood. Ramba”m (Hilchot Teshuvah 5) stresses that though the Covenant is permanent, every human being is fully free to choose obedience or disobedience. How one lives in that Covenant is left to each person’s free choice.

Midrash (Shabbat 88a) contends that though the Covenant binds us objectively, every generation must subjectively re-embrace it by choice.

Modern Jewish thinkers also address this tension between the binding covenant and free choice in Nitzavim.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (1903-1993) distinguishes between Covenant of Fate (Brit Goral) which “coerced”  future generations into a Covenant of Fate since they were born into it and Covenant of Destiny (Brit Yi’ud) in which every individual must freely choose to live out the covenant of destiny (Kol Dodi Dofek...The Lonely Man of Faith).

In Covenant and Conversation on Nitzavim, Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that Covenant is not tyranny but rather a partnership. G-d gives people freedom to choose how to respond, including the possibility of failure, exile and redemption. For Sacks, the phrase “choose life” demonstrates that while we inherit the Covenant, its fulfillment depends on moral freedom.

Rav Kook (1865-1935) asserts that the eternal Covenant means that every Jew, even if they reject it consciously, retains a spark of connection. The manner in which that spark of connection is expressed is left to the individual’s free will.

The lesson that Parashat Nitzavim teaches us is that the Covenant is inescapable as collective identity. Every Jew past, present or future is born into it. However, within that, it points out that every person retains absolute Free Will in how to live, respond, or rebel. The Covenant gives the framework, Free Will determines the journey.

"Mishneh Torah" (Deuteronomy) - Ethics Precede Historical Narratives

 

“Deuteronomy is in essence a programme for the creation of a moral society in which righteousness is the responsibility of all.” - Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Last week’s Parashah, Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19, was Ki Teize (“When you go out to war….”). Ramba"m (Maimonides) notes that it is an extraordinarily mitzvah-rich parashah. It lists around 76 out of the 613 Torah commandments thus marking the Torah’s central practical section. It covers diverse topics including laws of war, family laws, interpersonal ethics, civil and commercial regulations as well as agricultural laws.

This week’s Parashah, Ki Tavo (“When you enter the land…”), begins with two mitzvot (Bikkurim and the declaration over tithes) that serve as culmination rituals, celebrating the conclusion of Torah life in the Land.

In his book “Deuteronomy 1-11,” the Yisraeli Biblical scholar, Moshe Weinfeld comments that both the Greek appellation of the book, deuteronomion and the Hebrew appellation "Mishneh Torah" means “repeated law” or “second law” and alludes to the fact that Deuteronomy is a (revised) repetition of a large part of the law and history of the Tetrateuch (the first four books). Unlike Genesis, Exodus, Numbers and Joshua  which narrate Yisrael’s journey and events, Deuteronomy retells history selectively. According to him, Deuteronomy is the “national constitution" defining the covenantal relationship and governing principles.

Earlier Torah books, as many of us have witnessed, chronicle events, consecutively and as they happen: the story of creation, the patriarchal stories, Exodus and Numbers, Sinai and wilderness wanderings. Though Mosaic speeches appear in them, the former are generally embedded in the larger historical narrative.

Ramba”n (1194-1270) similarly asserts that Moshe’s purpose in “Mishneh Torah” (Deuteronomy) was not to recount history but rather empahsize the laws of ethics and those laws that will be relevant once Am Yisrael settles the Land.

Abrabanel (1437-1508) agrees with Ramba"n. He stresses that unlike the earlier Torah books, Deuteronomy is Moshe’s farewell address. His purpose, therefore, is not retelling history but exhortation which is aimed at stirring the people to ethical awareness before his death. The echoing of past events such as the spies, the Golden Calf, the wars with Sihon and Og is didactic. It is not used for historical reasons. Their recitation is used as ethical lessons with the goal of teaching Am Yisrael what happens when they fail to trust G-d and what blessings follow obedience. 

A number of modern Biblical scholars such as Nahum Sarna, Daniel J. Elazar, Jeffrey Tigay and others frame Deuteronomy as closer to a “Covenantal Constitution,” a book of law, a fundamental charter for Yisrael’s political, social and religious life (and other Biblically rooted constitutional traditions) rather than a historical chronicle. In other words, they believe that Deuteronomy’s narrative is often just the framework for moral and covenantal teaching. 

Dear readers, at this point, a little confession is begging to be made. When I sat down to write this essay, the titular name was not my intended topic. The decision to approach the issue, from the angle that was introduced above, ripened when I delved deeper into the text of the last two parashot, Ki Teize and Ki Tavo, successively, beyond the mere desire to refresh my memory of the text.

On the surface, the names of these two parashot suggest that Ki Tavo (“When you enter the Land….”) should logically and chronologically come before parashat Ki Teitze (“When you go out to war…”) since one would assume that Am Yisrael must first “enter” the Land before they need to “go out to war” to defend it.

It was then that I decided to embark on the ride which produced this essay. Evidently, the sequence of these two parashot has engaged the attention of Biblical commentators.

Many of them suggest that the Torah deliberately places Ki Teize before Ki Tavo. They base it on the fact that since Ki Teize is a mitzvah-packed parashah, it was necessary to list them before Am Yisrael settles in the Land.

Rabbi Obadia Sforno (1475-1550), for instance, notes that Am Yisrael would have to face battle immediately upon entry to the Land, both defensive and offensive. The laws of war, as mentioned in Ki Teize, would be needed before the “settling rituals” of Ki Tavo. He further asserts that Ki Teize is a natural continuation from Parashat Shoftim, where the Torah describes how judges and officers must guide Yisrael’s conduct in war.

Ohr Ha'Chayim has an interesting commentary about parashat Ki Teize. According to him, the battle is not just military but a lifelong war against the yetzer hara (evil inclination).Only after the inner ethical and spiritual struggles are addressed can the people truly “enter the Land” in a covenantal sense.

Rash”i and Ramba”n point out that, in Deuteronomy, Moshe is re-telling events selectively and not necessarily in a chronological order. His emphasis is on ethical lessons, not pure history.

Midrash Tanchuma also stresses that Deuteronomy’s repeated phrasing (“Take heed,” “Remember,” “Do not forget”) shows the priority of ethics and faithfulness over historical facts.

Earlier Torah books (Genesis-Numbers), as we have learned, contain a lot of narrative: the patriarch, the Exodus, the wilderness journeys with laws interwoven into the story. Deuteronomy, on the other hand, retells history intermittently and uses it mainly as a teaching tool for forming an ethical and just society under G-d’s sovereignty. Whereas the Tetrateuch focuses on what happened in the past, Deuteronomy has its eyes on the future and emphasizes what should be done. Shabbat Shalom

Cities of Refuge

“You shall designate cities for yourselves; they shall be Cities of Refuge for you, and a murderer who killed a person unintentionally shall flee there” Bamidbar  (Numbers) 35:11

As Am Yisrael is about to enter the Promised Land, Moshe is instructed to designate six “cities of refuge,” three on each side of the Jordan river, to which anyone who accidentally kills a person can escape.  The purpose of such cities is to provide refuge, where the killer will be safe from being killed by a blood relative of the dead.

 

The vengeance of blood (or blood revenge) was a central concept in justice systems across the Ancient Near East. It refers to the right or duty of a family member to avenge the killing of a relative—usually through killing the murderer. This practice shaped legal codes, tribal customs, and religious thought in many ancient cultures. 

The Code of Hammurabi (18th century BCE), for instance, includes provisions for blood vengeance. In case someone kills another, the victim’s family could put that person to death. Retribution, in this Code, was based on lex talionis, “an eye for an eye.” Blood vengeance was also present in Hittite, Ugarit and Canaanite as well as in the ancient Hebrew laws.

However, as Lord Rabbi Sacks explains, in early societies, where blood vengeance was practiced, “there was a concern that people would take the law into their own hands,” which “would begin a cycle of vengeance and retaliation,” where, “one revenge-killing leading to another and another, until the community had been decimated.” 

In order to prevent unjust violence, it was, therefore, important to distinguish between murder, a deliberate killing and manslaughter, unintentional death. 

Over time, Ancient Near Eastern Societies, such as those mentioned above, moved toward a centralized legal system which distinguished between these two forms of killings. It gradually restricted blood vengeance as well as allowing kings and temples to assume more authority in criminal justice. Additionally, legal codes ( e.g.,Hammurabi, Mosaic law) attempted to channel vengeance through regulated procedures or sanctuary laws and permitted compensation in the form of monetary payment in place of blood revenge. 

While the notion of sanctuary or places of refuge which are one of the themes in this week’s Parasha, Masei, also existed in Mesopotamian societies, these were mostly confined to religious sites. The formalized, legalistic system of the Mosaic Cities of Refuge, though, is a distinct development. They did not have solely religious and legal importance; they also had moral and symbolic significance. 

Firstly, these cities did not only provide protection from vengeance, mostly for the accidental killer from the blood avenger who could seek retribution. They also prevented further bloodshed and more killings. 

Secondly, legally, the Mosaic concept provided due process. Although the main purpose of cities of refuge was to protect the accidental killer, in practice, murderers who killed intentionally went there as well (Talmud, Makkot 9b and 12a). Upon arriving in the City of Refuge, the court sent messengers to escort that person while, also, acting as his bodyguards and bring him in for a hearing. If the judges decreed that the murder was intentional, the verdict would be accordingly. However, if the judges ruled that his act of killing was unintentional, the messengers would accompany him back to the city of refuge for a mandatory stay. So long as the killers remained within the city limits, they were protected by law. They had to remain there until the death of the High Priest.

The mandatory stay in the City of Refuge is aimed at teaching a symbolic and spiritual lesson. The symbolic exile to a City of Refuge suggests a form of penance and moral reflection. It is aimed to tell us that even unintentional death is serious and requires atonement and rehabilitation. According to Ramba”n, it is a means to carry out Divine justice.Taking a life, he suggests, whether intentional or not, upsets the moral balance of the world.

The spirtual lesson relates to the revered status of the High Priest who represented the collective soul of the People. His death, which provided communal atonement and allowed the killer to leave the city, stressed the High Priest’s spiritual role for the nation. 

Midrash takes the importance of the role of the City of Refuge even one step higher. It explicitly compares the City of Refuge to Torah. “Just as the Cities of Refuge save lives, so, too, does Torah.”Midrash Tanhuma Buber (Appendix to Va’Etchanan,4).  In other words, just as someone, who accidentally killed someone, could find safety in a City of Refuge, engaging with Torah provides spiritual refuge, protection and healing.

It is noteworthy to mention that to ensure the clear and open access to justice, Talmud stresses the importance of precise and well marked signage to cities of refuge. “The roads to the Cities of Refuge were to be well-maintained and signposted….” (Makkot, 9b-10a). Likewise, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Rotzeach u’Shmirat Nefesh (law of Murder and Protection of Life) where Ramba”m codifies the laws of the cities of refuge, he writes: “The court must prepare and repair the roads leading to the Cities of Refuge…They must build bridges, remove obstacles, and post signs: ‘Miklat (refuge)! Miklat!’ so that no one errs on the way. (Hilchot Rotzeach 8:5).

The sanctity of life is of utmost importance in the Torah and Jewish tradition. The Cities of Refuge reflect this value. They highlight the Torah’s underlying view of justice, combining accountability, compassion and restorative principles. They offer a deeply humane approach to dealing with bloodshed, tragedy, moral responsibility, spiritual growth and societal healing.

The Balance Sheet of Moshe's Sin and Its Punishment

 

“.........therefore, you will not bring this congregation into the land that I have given them.” – Numbers 20:12

Over three decades ago, I visited Jordan for the first time. One of the points of our tour was the site of the Biblical Mount Nevo, part of the Abarim mountain range. As I was standing there, inhaling the breathtaking view of “The Promised Land,” I could not help but think of Moshe, the greatest leader of Am Yisrael. The words of G-d’s decree to him, as expressed in Deuteronomy 32:52, “For from afar you will see the land, but you will not come there, to the land I am giving the children of Yisrael” were echoing against my Jewish essence and aching my heart. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Moshe standing there seeing his life’s goal his dissolving into dust. G-d delivered the punishment He had decreed, as stated in the verse above from this week’s Parasha, Chukat.

Many Jewish scholars have deliberated and discussed the incident related to the verse above. There are two questions concerning Moshe’s action and its ensuing punishment that I would like to address here.

The first focuses on the sin itself. The Parasha tells us that Bnei Yisrael are thirsty. G-d commands Moshe and Aharon to speak to the rock so that water will come forth. Instead, Moshe hits the rock, twice. The question that is begging to be asked is, if the directive given by G-d mentions speaking to the rock, why would hitting it turn Moshe's act from what might be regarded a minor form of disobedience into a sin, especially in light of past experience where G-d orders him to hit a rock, at Horev, in order to draw water (Exodus 17:1-7)?  

Rash”i bases his answer on Midrash. He believes that speaking would have been a greater Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d’s name), indicating that even a rock obeys G-d’s word.

Ramba”m suggests that Moshe’s sin was losing his temper and calling the people “rebels.” It was a failure of leadership by displaying anger thus setting a poor example.

I would like to take Ramba"m’s interpretation one step further, one that is not a traditional theological one. I would suggest a psychological perspective where the act of hitting the rock might be perceived as “projection.” In psychoanalytical terms, “projection” is a defense mechanism where  internal frustration, anger or impatience, in this case with Am Yisrael, manifests itself physically by hitting the rock instead of speaking to it.

The second question has, likewise, been preoccupying our sages over time. It centers on balancing between the sin and its punishment.

Jewish tradition emphasizes that sin has consequences. The Babylonian Talmud clarifies that punishment should be proportionate. It was Rabbi Shmuel Bar Nachmani, speaking for Rabbi Yonatan, who coined the Hebrew phrase, “Mida Keneged Mida” meaning “measure for measure.” (Sanhedrin, p.90, column a). The phrase refers to the concept of Divine retribution, where deeds are met with a corresponding consequence, negative or positive, suggesting that G-d’s judgment is not arbitrary but rather reflects the nature of the action performed.

Moreover, the Talmud clarifies that warnings are necessary before melting out punitive action. “Ein onshin elah im kein mazhirim” is a Talmudic dictum which means that a punitive action is not meted out for the transgression of a prohibition unless there is a prior scriptural warning. (Makkot 17b).

It is obvious that Moshe was not forewarned about any consequences that his actions might carry. However, the more important part of this question, as crystallized by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, is what "offence could warrant so great a punishment as not to be privileged to see the conclusion of the mission he had been set by G-d?" A just question. Sacks is not the only one who addresses the disproportionality between Moshe's sin and its punishment.

The commentaries and debates on this issue are as numerous as those who dwelled on it in search of an answer.

In his commentary on the Torah, Rabbi Don Isaac Abravanel (15th-century Spanish-Portuguese commentator) suggests that Moshe's and Aaron's punishment for not entering the Promised Land was not solely due to the incident of striking the rock instead of speaking to it.  Abravanel proposes that their actions were the proximate cause and not the sole cause for their exclusion. 

According to Abravanel, their punishment is the result of past transgressions. Moshe's punishment was connected to his role in the Sin of the Spies, resulting in forty years of wandering. Aaron's punishment, on the other hand, was attributed, by Abravanel, to his participation in the Golden Calf incident. 

Abravanel argues that to protect their honour, these previous sins were not explicitly stated as the reason for their punishment in the biblical text. Their failure to enter the Promised Land was not the consequence of that single mishap but rather a culmination of earlier transgressions. It merely served as the trigger, allowing G-d to administer the punishment for those earlier, more significant sins (Perush Abravanel al HaTorah)

Today, thirty-some years after my visit to Mount Nevo, my heart still throbs at the recollection of the experience. Perhaps G-d held him to a stricter standard, I often wander and he was, therefore, decreed to die in the wilderness, I keep repeating to myself. 

There is no doubt, though, that Moshe was a great leader and a supreme teacher. If not for his great leadership, we would have never left Egypt. His leadership, as we know, was short-lived. His legacy as a teacher, on the other hand, has lasted for over several millennia, and will forever continue to light the path not only for our Jewish People but for humanity as a whole.

From Scouts to Spies

 

“The Evil Inclination appears at first like a guest, then like a master.”                       Bereisheet Rabbah 9:9

This week’s Parasha, Shelach Lecha, begins with G-d’s directive to Moshe, “Send for yourself some men, and let them tour (vayaturu) the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Yisraelites. From each ancestral tribe send one of its leaders” (Bamidbar 13:2).

The men leave on their expedition. It lasts forty days.

When they come back, they show Moshe, Aharon and the community the fruit of the land which they describe as “flowing with milk and honey” (Bamidbar 13:27). “However,” they resume their report, “the people who inhabit the land are mighty; the cities are fortified and huge; and we even saw there the sons of the giant. The Amalekites dwell in the south land; the Hittites, the Jebusites, and the Amorites dwell in the mountainous region; and the Canaanites dwell on the coast and alongside the Jordan River” (Bamidbar 13:28-29). The experience results in their loss of faith in G-d and distrust in their leaders.  Worst of all, though, they have committed a great sin for they have libelled and spoken ill the land that G-d promised their ancestors.

The punishment for that transgression will be forty years of wandering in the desert. This sin is what has come to be known as “The Sin of the Spies.” The men that partook in this episode are referred to as meraglim (spies) at least from the time of the Mishnah (Sanhedrin 10:3).

Oddly enough, the Parasha never refers to them as “spies”.  Neither is their mission described as “spying.” Rather, the Torah uses the verb latour, which means “to tour” or “to scout, to explore,”  which is often used in a more neutral or positive context.  “To spy” – leragel, on the other hand, is generally used with negative connotations, involving secrecy, deception or betrayal.

The question that is, therefore, begging to be asked is, why are these twelve men commonly referred to as “spies” and their affair, as the “Episode of the Spies” in Jewish tradition?

Rabbi Ibn Ezra (1092-1167) suggests that they “produced bad reports,” that is, something that never happened. The “bad reports,” according to him, were not just bad, they were false. Rabbi Obadia Sforno (1470-1580) agrees with Ibn Ezra and emphasizes that the scouts were framing their reports in a way that discouraged the community. They added subjective, fear inducing interpretations, devoid of spiritual trust which revealed their lack of faith in G-d.

 Such deceptive reports tainted their reputation and turned them from scouts into spies. Their act which is truly a sinful act warrants a severe punishment. Am Yisrael is doomed to wander in the desert for forty years.

 It is important to note, at this stage, that there is another version of the same event which is recounted in Deuteronomy 1:22-23. There, Moshe says to Am Yisrael, “Then all of you came to me and said, ‘Let us send men ahead to spy out the land for us and bring back a report about the route we are to take and the towns we will come to.’ The idea seemed good to me; so I selected twelve of you, one man from each tribe.”

Jewish scholars have tried to reconcile apparent contradictions between the two versions. Rash”i  (1040-1105) is one of them. His suggestion of harmonizing the texts is that while in Numbers, G-d initiates the idea of sending people to Canaan, in Deuteronomy, it comes from Am Yisrael and G-d merely grants His Divine permission to their wish. In other words, as Rabbi Sacks interprets Rash”i’s suggestion, “G-d does not stop people from a course of action on which they are intent, even though He knows it may end in tragedy. Such is the nature of the freedom G-d has given to us. It includes the freedom to make mistakes.”

Rabbi Sacks elaborates on the essence of granting “Divine permission.” In his brilliant essay, entitled, Freedom and Practice, Sacks asserts that G-d “wants human beings to construct a society of Freedom. Sacks further explains that “it takes more than a few days or weeks to turn a population of slaves into a nation capable of handling the responsibilities of freedom.” Sacks bases his claim on Ramba”m (1138-1204) who contends that it is irrelevant who sent the men nor the verdict of this episode. What is important, states Ramba”m, is that “another generation rose during the wanderings that had not been accustomed to degradation and slavery” (Guide for the Perplexed III:32). To teach Am Yisrael the meaning of freedom, “G-d had to deprive them of the very freedom He wanted them to create,” in Sacks’s words.

Ramba”n  (1194-1270), likewise, claims that G-d granted and allowed a tour of the land. However, Ramba”n believes that G-d never intended for those who toured or scouted Canaan to return with a negative, verging on evil, report.

The sin, so it seems, originated from those “scouts” who turned into “spies” and not from the act of sending them on the mission. This is the consequence of human nature, as the quote from Bereisheet Rabbah, above, states. When the “evil inclination” abuses the free will awarded to former slaves, it drives them to the illusion of control, of being the masters.

Judaism offers many deep insights into the idea that something initially positive can become negative, depending on intent, misuse, or moral failure. It can convert an innocent "scout" to a sinful "spy" with an ensuing severe punishment. Fortunately, this episode turns into a hard yet great and hopeful lesson. This is the central theme of the episode of “The Spies.” It tells us that the tragedy of the generation that left Egypt was that they were not yet ready to be free and master their own fate. “But their children,” concludes Sacks “would be. That was their consolation.”

Shabbat Shalom

Kedoshim - The Equality of Holiness

 

“Speak to the Whole Yisraelite Community. Say: ‘Be holy, for I am holy; I, the Lord your G-d,’” Leviticus 19:1-2

 

These verses which open Kedoshim, this week’s Torah portion, convey an unequivocal directive which states that all members of Am Yisrael belong to the level of holiness. Every member of the community can equally reach it, if only they wish.

“What we witness here asserts Rabbi Sacks, ZT”L, is the radical democratization of holiness. Priesthood, in the ancient world, was not exclusive to Am Yisrael, as the Torah shares with us on several occasions. Whereas in other societies, it was reserved to the elite, in this parashah, according to Sacks, “for the first time, we find a code of holiness directed to the People as a whole.” Religion is no longer hierarchical as was prevalent in the idolatrous ancient world.

The designation of Am Yisrael as a “holy nation” was mentioned by G-d already in Exodus 19:5-6. There He says, “And now, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, then you will be a special possession among the peoples, even among all earth.”  In Kedoshim, however, that proclamation has become an order. Each member of the community is formally sanctioned and commanded to “be holy,” to fulfill the vocation that G-d destined for them in Exodus.

What follows this directive is a long list of laws and rituals which include some of those chronicled in the Ten Commandments. These, naturally, are aimed at guiding and helping every Yisraelite live a life of holiness.

Our sages differ on the course of reaching “holiness.”  While Ramba”m and Rash”i believe that it can be achieved only by performing the mitzvot (commandments), Ramba”n asserts that it can be obtained by abstaining from an opulent way of life. According to Ohr Ha’Chaim, the only way to attain it is through enduring harsh experiences. Whatever the means all three sources (and many others) suggest, they are all based on the same premise of “holiness” that is expected of Am Yisrael.

Rebbi Berel Wein offers a different perspective at viewing this parashah. According to him,  “Kedoshim is not exclusively meant to represent holiness in the common usage of the word.” Those who are well versed in the Hebrew language would know that the root K,D,SH could also suggest dedication or devotion, in this case, to G-d and to the covenant that was entered between Him and Am Yisrael at Mount Sinai.

As our sages point out, some of the mitzvot which constitute that covenant are what Rabbi Sacks terms as “chok, ‘a statute,’ often understood as a law that has no reason, or at least none that we can understand.”  Adhering to and performing such commandments is a confirmation of our devotion and ongoing faith in G-d. “This is a cardinal principle in the relationship between G-d and us,” explains Rabbi Mendi Kaminker. “We must perform Mitzvot out of devotion and obedience to G-d even if we do not grasp them because this is His will.” He further elaborates that when it comes to mitzvot which we do understand, we should not observe merely because we know their underlying reason, but rather aspire to reach the G-dly, the holy component which is above our rationale.

 

Rabbi Berel Wein further suggests that in G-d’s relations with Am Yisrael, His dedication and devotion is reciprocal. “The Lord, Himself,” proposes Wein, “so to speak, describes His own Being as being not only holy but also being dedicated - dedicated to fulfill His Will,” to educate the world and teach His values system and code of ethics, “through the People of Yisrael, their behavior, events and destiny.”

Chaz”l, also comment on these verses. Their interpretation stems from the words, “for I am holy: I, the Lord, your G-d.” Since the purpose of performing the mitzvot, they believe, is to purge and sanctify us, we, in turn, sanctify G-d. What Chaza”l are teaching us is that, apparently, G-d’s holiness depends on that of Am Yisrael (Torat Ha’Kohanim Kedoshim, 1).

Whichever way we understand these verses, they all lead, in my view, to the conclusion and the lesson that is derived from Rabbi Sacks’s lucid essay on the parashah. His commentary brings to light the revolutionary notion that holiness is not reserved to a selected few, as was the custom in the ancient world. Each member of Am Yisrael, not only has the potential to be holy but, also, has the duty to strive to achieve holiness. As representatives of the one and only G-d, their holiness will directly affect the presence of His level of holiness in the world.

The Evolvement of the Practice of Korbanot – One Reason for the Survival of Judaism

 

 

                                                   “Judaism is an ongoing moral revolution.” –                                                                                                                      Rabbi  Jonathan Sack ZT”L

This week’s Parashah, Tzav, addresses the subject of Korbanot (sacrifices), an important service, first performed in the Mishkan (Tabernacle) in the desert and later in Beit Hamikdash (Holy Temple) in Yerushalayim. The term korbanot is derived from the root K,R,B which means to draw closer. The purpose of the Korban was to bring people closer to G-d.

As I mentioned in an article that I wrote several weeks ago, sacrifices were a means to gain Teshuvah (repentance). As I also stressed there, animal sacrifices or the blood sprinkled on the altar were not then, before and after the existence of either the Tabernacle or the Temple, the only means to reach atonement or becoming one with G-d.                                           (https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2022/02/the-currency-of-teshuvah.html)

The ritual of animal sacrifices, just like some of our other tenets, is not a Jewish one by origin. These practices were prevalent in the pagan societies of the ancient near eastern world, the world in which our forefathers resided and reared and were, as a result, steeped in them. In those societies, human sacrifices were part of the practice.

Why, then, one may ask, did we adopt it and why does the sacrificial system make up such a large part of our Torah?

       In his book, Guide for the Perplexed, Ramba”m explains that the Torah’s main purpose for including the ritual of sacrifices was to expunge the notion of paganism. According to him, the Torah instituted this system to help wane idolatrous practices. He further claims that human nature dictates that customs practiced over time become ingrained in them and cannot be easily  uprooted (3:30,3:32).

      Naturally, as Ramba”m suggests, the transition from one extreme to another, the disposing of old and well rooted customs that, over time, become part of human nature, cannot occur over night. The course needs time to acclimate. However, when we delve into the details of the practice as presented to Am Yisrael, in the Torah, we will discover the fascinating transformation of that pagan habit into what can be considered a brilliant move towards individual enrichment and the continued survival of a nascent nation.

Whereas in their surrounding antiquated cultures, such as in Egypt, where the hieroglyphics and the secrets of temple rituals, including the sacrificial ones, were under the exclusive authority of the priestly class, performed by them and known to them only, in the Torah, according to Professor Yonatan Grossman, the sacrificial directives in this Parashah are meant for the People as a whole. In his book, Torat Ha’Korbanot (The Torah of Sacrifices), Grossman claims that each Yisraelite who wishes to offer the sacrifice is the owner of the sacrifice and the Priest is merely their messenger. This message is resonated in the early verses of Viykra (Leviticus). It addresses every individual among Bnei Yisrael, “Speak to the Yisraelites and say to them: ‘When anyone among you brings an offering to the Lord, bring as your offering an animal from either the herd or the flock” (1:2). This verse, suggests Grossman, is to reveal to all members of Am Yisrael the secrets of the Mishkan and its practices. Its aim, he believes, is to induce the Divine Spirit among the People to attain and implement the sense of partnership between Man and G-d.

Considering the sacrificial practices that were prevalent in the region in those days, according to Grossman, this directive was revolutionary. It is not another esoteric secret literature like the ones that existed in the surrounding cultures. Rather, he asserts, it was a public one which should be shared with each member of Am Yisrael.

It is this kind of an ongoing evolution, adaptation to new realities, and the introduction of new concepts that have prevented Judaism from becoming extinct, according to Rabbi Sacks. In his essay entitled “Why Civilizations Die,” Sacks refers to Rebecca Costa’s Book, The Watchman’s Rattle, which provides her account of how civilizations like the Mayan or the Khmre die. “Societies,” writes Sacks, “reach what she calls a cognitive threshold. They simply can’t chart a path from the present to the future.”

Costa believes that it can happen to any civilization. The breakdown, she asserts, is identifiable through two signs. The first is gridlock where instead of dealing with clearly recognized problems, “these problems are passed to the next generation.” The second one is the retreat into irrationality. Religious consolation replaces their inability to cope with facts. “Archeologists,” Sacks recounts, “have uncovered gruesome evidence of human sacrifice on a vast scale….” of the Mayans and Khmre civilizations whose members sought such consolation and “focused on placating gods by manically making offerings to them.”

Despite facing two centuries of Roman oppression, the destruction of the Temple which brought about the cessation of the practice of sacrifices, Jewish sages did not focus on how to atone without sacrifice. Instead, they focused on finding substitutes for sacrifice. These included engaging in good deeds, studying Torah and prayer.

Judaism is indeed an “ongoing moral revolution,” as Sacks suggests. Though we have not obsessively clung on to our past, we have not forgotten nor abandoned it. We followed it while “thinking through the future,” by revolutionizing ancient concepts for the purpose of adjusting, surviving, and eventually also thriving in new and unfamiliar terrain.

Am Yisrael Chai