The Torah of the Father and the Torah of the Rav
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We mourn the sudden passing of our dear friend and supporter
Mr. Joshua Mermelstein z"l
and extend our deepest sympathies to his mother,
his wife Beth, and his children Avi, Jesse and Jonah.
May the family know no more sorrow.
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and extend our deepest sympathies to his mother,
his wife Beth, and his children Avi, Jesse and Jonah.
May the family know no more sorrow.
********************************************************************************
In the previous shiur,
we examined the distinction that Manitou draws between the Torah of
Moshe and the Torah of Aharon – or, to put it differently, the teaching
of perfection of the world and the teaching of atonement. In this shiur, we will address another important distinction – between the “Torah of the father" and the “Torah of the Rav."
Manitou dictated
this fragment to one of his students during his illness, three months
before his death, and it was published as an appendix to his book Sod Ha-Ivri.
The fact that he saw fit to dictate this section would seem to indicate
the importance that he attached to it. At the same time, owing to his
condition at the time, this section is not as clear as the rest of his
writings. Excerpts from elsewhere in his works help to shed more light
on it.
The Three Forefathers vs. Moshe
Who
are the "father" and the "Rav"? If we try to identify the concrete
biblical figures represented by these titles, the "father" would seem to
refer to the three forefathers, while the "Rav" refers to Moshe.
We
have already discussed the reason why we have three forefathers and not
just one: The three complement each other, each introducing and
embodying a different attribute, and the harmony among them is what
creates the totality of the Israelite identity. Each of the forefathers
represents the absolute expression of one particular trait, but not the
perfection of wholeness. This is achieved only by the unification of
their attributes.
Moshe
is a single individual. The Torah testifies that he was special and
unique and that no one like him has ever arisen. Nevertheless,
as Manitou points out, we do not refer to God as "the God of Moshe," but
rather "the God of our forefathers – the God of Avraham, the God of
Yitzchak, and the God of Yaakov." Only the Torah is called "the Torah of
Moshe.” What does this tell us?
The
forefathers are our patriarchs, our "parents," who brought the Jewish
People into existence. Moshe is our "teacher"; he brought us the Torah.
The importance of the forefathers for our identity is principally in
their "parental" status; anyone who is descended from them is part of
the Jewish People. With regard to Moshe, on the other hand, a biological
or genetic link to him is irrelevant (unlike, for example, the
dynastic, inherited status of Kohanim
or kings). Our connection is to his Torah. Moshe had sons, but they did
not leave their mark for all future generations. Conversely, the
forefathers had disciples – "the souls that they made in Charan" – but
those disciples had no continuity. The forefathers created the Jewish
People, and Moshe was an individual born to the Jewish People who
brought Torah to his people. The forefathers built the body of the
nation, while Moshe invested it with its soul and spirit; he gave it its
direction. Thus, the identity of Am Yisrael
consists of two layers: the anthropological Israelite identity (by
virtue of the fact that we are descendants of Avraham Ha-Ivri) and the
cultural-religious level (by virtue of the giving of the Torah).
Potential Identity and Actual Identity
The
above might seem to suggest that the forefathers have no connection to
Torah, that they molded only the most basic, physical identity of the
nation. However, we see that there is such a thing as a "teaching of the
forefathers":
What
blessing does one recite: "… Who has sanctified us with His
commandments and has commanded us to kindle Chanuka light.” Where were
we so commanded? R. Avira said: We derive this from the commandment,
“You shall not deviate from their teachings…” R. Nechemia said: [We
derive it from the verse,] “Ask your father and he shall teach you; your
grandfather – and he shall say to you.’" (Shabbat 23a)
The gemara
is seeking the source of rabbinically-ordained commandments (in this
instance, lighting Chanuka candles, which commemorates historical events
that took place long after the biblical period, and thus is obviously
not mentioned anywhere in the Torah). Two different possible answers are
suggested. One is the commandment "you shall not deviate" – the
obligation to obey the teachings and injunctions of the Sages, who
represents the continuation of Moshe. The other possible source is the
verse, "Ask your father and he shall tell you" – the obligation to
remain loyal to the tradition of the forefathers. Torah is transmitted
not only by rabbanim – teachers – but also by parents.
It is perhaps no coincidence that this discussion is recorded in the gemara
in the context of Chanuka, commemorating our victory over the
Syrian-Greeks, who understood that both the Sages and the tradition of
generations were channels for transmitting Jewish identity and values,
and that they therefore would have to attack on both fronts. Moreover,
the fundamental command regarding the transmission of Torah is "and you
shall teach them diligently to your children" – meaning that Torah is
transmitted first and foremost in the family context, from fathers to
sons. The main institution for passing on Torah is parenthood.
Manitou quotes R. Hutner on the difference between the role of the father and that of the rabbi:
"The
God of our forefathers” – We have an inheritance from our forefathers,
the natural mentoring that made us a receptacle to receive the Torah of
Moshe… Through the father, this capacity is created “in potential”;
through the rabbi it is created “in actuality.” The “potential” is
actually more important, and therefore “the mundane conversation of the
servants of the forefathers is preferable to the teachings of their
children."
The
forefathers gave us not only a biological connection, but also our
fundamental attributes. They molded our unique identity. We could not
have arrived at the Revelation at Sinai without all of Sefer Bereishit
and the whole process of the molding of our identity. Once that
identity has been created, it must find practical expression in the
world, in every sphere and in every situation. For this we needed the
Torah of Moshe, and it comes to guide and direct the identity that we
received from the forefathers. Torah represents the path to realization
of our identity and our connection to and encounter with the God of our
forefathers. The Torah that is transmitted from fathers to sons is our
basic identity; the Sages teach us how to implement it and bring it to
realization.
The concept of the “segula of Israel” refers to the basic qualities of Am Yisrael, existing in anyone who is a descendant of the three forefathers. It was on the basis of this “segula” that Am Yisrael received the Torah. One of the innovative aspects of Manitou's teaching in this regard is that the segula
is not merely a static given; rather, it is an identity that is
continually developing. The role of the fathers is to nurture and build
it.
God's choice of Am Yisrael
precedes the choice of the Torah. The nation that receives the Torah is
not a tabula rasa, but rather a nation that was designated for a
special purpose from the start: "Through you shall all the families of
the earth be blessed." This nation receives the Torah in order to be a
"kingdom of priests and a holy nation."
Am Yisrael
by its very makeup has an affinity for the Torah. The Torah is given
because from the time of the forefathers, an identity has gradually been
formed, becoming the nation that is redeemed from Egypt. The Torah is
given by Moshe, but the content and substance of the Torah is a
translation of the attributes of the forefathers into the form of mitzvot.
One of the most prominent expressions of the Torah of the forefathers is the fact that the mitzva
of Torah study appears first as a command to teach Torah, and this
obligation is incumbent first and foremost on the father, rather than
the teacher: "And you shall teach them diligently to your children.”
The Test of the Two Layers – The Sin of the Golden Calf and Christianity
This
principle comes to the fore in the episode of the golden calf. This sin
occurs after the giving of the Torah, in which Moshe was the dominant
figure. He becomes overly significant in the eyes of the people, who
transform him from a "teacher" into a "father.” They perceive him as a
single individual who stands alone as their leader and model – which is
precisely the idea that the model of the three forefathers was meant to
negate. When there is a single, sole leader, the result will be a
blurring of the boundary between him and God, who sent him and in whose
name he acts: "Arise, make us a god that will go before us, for this
Moshe, the man who brought us up from the land of Egypt – we do not know
what has become of him."
There is always a danger that the Sender will be forgotten and only the emissary will remain. In his commentary on the Haggada,
the Vilna Gaon comments on the fact that no mention is made of Moshe.
Concerning the words, "I – and not an emissary," he writes: "Emissary –
this alludes to Moshe Rabbeinu", since there is a danger of
misunderstanding and misinterpretation, leading to the conclusion that
"this Moshe, the man who brought us up from the land of Egypt…" (Shemot 32:1) – i.e., that it was Moshe who brought us out of Egypt, rather than God Himself. (Torat Ha-Av Ve-Torah Ha-Rav, Sod Ha-Ivri I, pp. 209-213)
After the sin, God speaks of annihilating Am Yisrael
and establishing a new nation from Moshe. The intention here is not
that Moshe will be the forefather of the nation, but rather a whole new
conception. Instead of a nation descended from and identified with the
forefathers, there will be a community centered around the Torah that is
learned from the teacher. This community would be based solely on
faithful adherence to Torah; anyone who sinned would be excluded. Moshe
rejects this idea and fights to maintain the framework of Am Yisrael
– an identity that is inclusive of all descendants of the forefathers.
When Moshe descends from Mount Sinai, he fulfills his role in
transmitting the Torah via his disciples, the tribe of Levi, who help
him to halt and eradicate the sin and to restore order. But in his
prayer he makes no mention of this; he does not ask to spare and
continue only with the disciples who follow his teachings. He asks that Am Yisrael
remain as the entire nation that is identified with the forefathers and
that receives the Torah on this basis. When this nation sins, its
connection with God is not broken.
Manitou identifies these two models with Judaism and Christianity. The basis of Am Yisrael is a hereditary, national identity, while the basis of Christianity is a community of believers. Am Yisrael
is not a "congregation of believers in the religion of Moshe" that
includes only the faithful, as in the case of Christianity, in which
belonging is dependent on religious practice (or profession of religious
faith); belonging to Am Yisrael is not dependent on this.
This foundation sheds light on Christianity's rejection of the mitzvot
and confession for atonement. The moment that one adopts the "teacher"
model exclusively, with no preceding anthropological identity prior to
Torah (the "father"), sin causes a person to lose his belonging. Thus,
it becomes necessary to nullify the mitzvot;
otherwise, no one will be able to maintain his standing over time. The
Jewish view, in which there is room even for sinners because they are
part of the nation, allows for the mitzvot to remain in force. It is not by chance that the Torah addresses itself to a nation, a "tzibbur" – tzaddikim, benonim, and resha'im. A religion, on the other hand, has no room for benonim and resha'im.
The
sects and breakaway religions all start by replacing the father with
the teacher. Every religion has a founder, and his disciples are counted
as the believers in that religion. (The most extreme expression of this
is to be found in Catholicism, which frowns on marriage, thereby
cutting off the connection to the father.) Am Yisrael
has its founders, and their descendants are all counted as Jews. The
Torah is a national Torah, given to the descendants of the forefathers,
not to the disciples of the teacher. One of the important ramifications
of this principle is that even someone who does not follow the path of
Torah is still part of the nation and a member of the community.
The
concept that Moshe rejected is one that became the basis for
Christianity. The Christians nullified national identity, the existence
of a nation descended from the forefathers, adopting instead a religious
model in which people choose whether or not to accept the teachings. In
such a format, anyone who sins is cast out. Therefore, the Christians
claimed that Am Yisrael had lost its role.
The Christian approach was raised just once in the history of Am Yisrael
– with the nation's first sin, the sin of the golden calf. At this
point, God, as it were, raised the possibility of nullifying the choice
of Am Yisrael
and replacing them with a religion-based community. This was the
fundamental question that arose after the sin: Would the sin cancel
their identity and their belonging? Would the model of "the Torah of the
father" disappear, leaving only "the Torah of the teacher"? The answer,
ultimately, was that the Torah of the teacher would remain a second
layer over and above the teaching of the father; there could be no
severance from the chain going back to the forefathers. A child, no
matter what, always remains the child of his parents.
In terms of the attribute of justice, what God should have done, Heaven forfend, is to erase Am Yisrael and to establish a religion, since Am Yisrael
had failed. But Moshe understood that God did not wish to discontinue
the connection to the forefathers. And this refutes the teachings of the
Church, which sought to replace Am Yisrael
as a nation with a congregation of believers – a religion. This was the
beginning of their apostasy, for the positioning of a teacher in the
role of the father is called heresy. (ibid.)
There
are other expressions of the relationship between these two layers. One
example is the relationship between Pesach and Shavuot. The Exodus from
Egypt precedes the Giving of the Torah. First there appears the
Israelite identity (via the mitzvot
surrounding the Pesach sacrifice, which is closely bound up with the
home and the family); only afterwards comes the Torah. In the conversion
process as well, the convert first joins Am Yisrael and only afterwards accepts upon himself Torah and mitzvot – first circumcision, which began with Avraham, and afterwards the mitzvot
that we received via Moshe. As Ruth expresses it: "Your nation is my
nation, and your God is my God." It could have been possible that
someone coming from the outside, who is not a descendant of the
forefathers, could only join the "Torah of the teacher," but in the case
of Jewish identity, there can be no separation of the two elements.
Therefore, the convert first assumes membership in the nation and then,
in addition, his commitment and belonging to the Torah of Moshe.
Moshe's Torah and Aharon's Torah
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We mourn the sudden passing of our dear friend and supporter
Mr. Joshua Mermelstein z"l
and extend our deepest sympathies to his mother,
his wife Beth, and his children Avi, Jesse and Jonah.
May the family know no more sorrow.
********************************************************************************
and extend our deepest sympathies to his mother,
his wife Beth, and his children Avi, Jesse and Jonah.
May the family know no more sorrow.
********************************************************************************
We continue our discussion of the mitzvot
and their essential nature and significance according to Manitou. Let
us begin by recalling one of the foundations that we encountered at the
beginning of our journey, concerning the Creation of the world.
According to Manitou, God deliberately created the world deficient so
that man would have the task of completing and perfecting it. The
thought behind Creation is whole and complete – i.e., Creation is
supposed to look a certain way – but there is a gap between this Divine
primal thought and actual Creation. The axis of history is a progression
from reality as it is towards reality as it should be. The world was
deliberately created deficient so that man can exert his own efforts to
bring it to completion; thus, the work and striving for completion and
perfection are integral to man.
Manitou notes
the possibility of a different perspective: One might argue that God
created the world perfect and that man damaged it. Since then, man has
been tasked with fixing that which he corrupted. Manitou explains that
this view is taken to its extreme by Christianity. According to
Christian doctrine, man damaged the world beyond repair, and he is
forever filled with remorse over this. This view causes man to feel
hopeless, as though all is lost. According to Judaism, man's mission is
to repair the world, and this was his task from the outset. This is also
the aim of the Torah: to instruct man how to repair the world and its
deficiencies, which did not start with man. By means of Torah, the world
is elevated from deficiency to perfection. Torah builds an entire
system of repair – between man and his fellow man, between man and God,
and between man and himself. The entire system of mitzvot is aimed at man's relationship with God, with his environment, and with himself, and advances them towards perfection.
Torah of Repair and Torah of Atonement
Over
the lengthy course of the process of repair, mankind also commits
transgressions. This is a natural and unavoidable corollary of man's
mission; only someone who never does anything will never make mistakes.
Man took on a difficult, complex, and lengthy mission, and there will be
some wrong turns and bad decisions along the way: "For there is not a
righteous man upon earth who does good and does not sin" (Kohelet 7:20).
This is not meant as legitimization for sinning – certainly not
intentionally – but it does explain that sin is inescapably part of
man's activity. We have no wish to transgress and we try to avoid
wrongdoing, but we know that it happens. Therefore, the Torah must
necessarily include a dimension of atonement. Atonement is not the
central issue in life – a person is not meant to be always occupied with
his sins – but it is a necessary auxiliary area for achieving man's
real purpose, which is the repair of the world:
Unfortunately,
today we find a tendency among certain rabbis to place the emphasis on
atonement; for them the overall ideal of repair becomes secondary. This
is a dangerous situation, because such approaches are foreign to
Judaism. When one has sinned, one must make atonement, but the world was
not created for the sake of sins and atonement! The world was created
so that man can earn his place in it by perfecting the world, by means
of his labor "which God created to do." When man is engaged in that
mission of perfecting the world, as a servant of God, he will sometimes
stumble and sin, and then he needs atonement – but all of this is of
secondary importance. God did not ask for sin in the first place so that
man will engage in atonement. Rather, He tells man: Obey Me, behave as I
command you, in a moral manner, as is written in the Torah. And if
there is some irregularity, then atonement is necessary. The [ultimate]
purpose is the repair, not the atonement. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot I, p. 254)
This view helps to explain some verses of prophecy that at first glance are difficult to understand:
So
says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Add your burnt-offerings to
your sacrifices, and eat flesh. For I did not speak to your forefathers,
nor command them in the day that I brought them out of the land of
Egypt, concerning burnt-offerings or sacrifices; but this thing I
commanded them, saying: “Obey Me, and I will be your God, and you shall
be My people; and walk in all the way that I command you, that it may be
well with you.” (Yirmiyahu 7:21-23)
On the face of it, these verses tell us that God did not command us to offer sacrifices, which would seem to go against all of Sefer Vayikra.
But what they are actually saying is not that there was never any
commandment concerning sacrifices, but rather that God did not command
sacrifices at the time of the Exodus. The prophet draws our attention to
the fact that neither the Ten Commandments nor Parashat Mishpatim
makes any mention of sacrifice; this appears only after the sin of the
golden calf. At the giving of the Torah on Sinai, God gave Am Yisrael
a mission: to be a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation," to repair
the world. A nation that is busy carrying out its mission is not meant
to transgress, and therefore should not have to devote much time or
attention to repairing sins. However, the episode of the golden calf
shows that the nation is susceptible to sinning.
We
might compare the situation to a commander who sets off with his
soldiers on an important mission, with all his focus on the operational
level. But suddenly he finds himself having to deal with disciplinary
issues. His first reaction might be to abort the mission entirely,
because the unit he has with him is not up to the job. "Now therefore
let Me alone, that My anger may burn against them, and that I may
consume them" (Shemot 32:10)
– not as a punishment, but rather as the drawing of a logical
conclusion: The nation is seemingly not capable of fulfilling its
mission. But then a different resolution appears – the existence of a
dimension of atonement in Am Yisrael through the sacrifices brought to the Temple. This is the essence of Sefer Vayikra – the ways of atoning for sin.
Manitou calls
these two different approaches "the Torah of Moshe" and "the Torah of
Aharon." The Torah of Moshe is the ideal conveyed at the giving of Torah
at Sinai; the Torah of Aharon is the dimension of atonement.
All of this accords with the opinion of Rashi, who maintains that the command to build the Mishkan
was given only after the sin of the golden calf (i.e., that the record
of these events in the Torah does not follow their chronological order).
However, even according to the opinion of Ramban – who argues that the
text reflects the chronological order of events, and the command to
build the Mishkan was given before the episode of the golden calf – it seems that the Mishkan has two different dimensions to it. In Sefer Shemot, the Mishkan is discussed as a resting place for the Divine Presence, while in Sefer Vayikra it functions as a place of atonement. Manitou draws our attention to a teaching of R. Charlap (Mei Marom, Sichot on Sefer Shemot 78), noting that in Parshat Tetzaveh there is no mention of Moshe, while Parashat Teruma makes
no mention of Aharon. This would seem to indicate a differentiation
between the "Torah of Moshe" and the "Torah of Aharon" inherent already
in the parashot commanding the construction of the Mishkan, preceding the account of the golden calf. Even at this early stage, the Torah prepares us for the Mishkan with its two distinct functions.
How is the Torah divided into these two different perspectives? Do all the mitzvot with the exception of those pertaining to sacrifice relate to the task of perfecting the world, or are there other mitzvot which also pertain to atonement? We do find occasional mention of aspects of atonement in other mitzvot, and it is possible that both dimensions exist in all the mitzvot. For instance, both are manifest in the mitzva of tzitzit. On the one hand, tzitzit
has the aspect of a priestly garment that all of Israel are commanded
to wear (recalling, both in its name and in the blue dye, the tzitz worn by the Kohen Gadol); on the other hand, tzitzit
is presented as a way of combatting the temptations of the heart and
the eyes, and it appears in the Torah only after the debacle of the
spies. In the same way, we must seek and understand both of these
aspects in all the mitzvot.
The
main thrust is the Torah of Moshe. It is only after the fact that the
sacrificial service is revealed as a means of atonement; originally, the
sacrifices were meant as a service of thanksgiving. In the time to
come, all the sacrifices will cease, except for the thanksgiving
offering. The main idea is to work on perfection, not atonement. I do
not perceive the religious soul of Judaism as concerning mainly mourning
and atonement. That would be a monstrous world! These elements do not
grasp the joy of performing mitzvot. (ibid.)
Here
Manitou emphasizes that even the sacrifices themselves embody both
dimensions. The sin offering belongs to the dimension of atonement, but
offerings of thanksgiving do not arise from sin or the need to atone for
it.
Translated by Kaeren Fish
The Reason for the Subjugation in Egypt (1)
Having
gained a deeper understanding of the nature and role of the Torah
in Manitou's teachings, and especially the great importance of the
"Torah of the father," the national foundation that characterizes
Judaism is now clear. Other religions have no such dimension; they are
defined exclusively by their religious basis. The Jewish national
identity is the basis upon which the religious layer is built.
This
centrality of the national dimension and the importance of the
processes of its development lead us to address the historical axis
along which the nation's life and growth take place. We have already
discussed the forefathers and the Divine attributes to which they gave
collective expression. We will now broaden our view to include their
descendants – the Jewish nation – which is born through the processes of
the subjugation in Egypt and the Exodus. The first issue we will
address is the reason for this subjugation.
Manitou and Maharal
Manitou's lengthy explanation of the reason for the subjugation in Egypt (set forth in the second volume of Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot) is based mainly on the teachings of Maharal (Gevurot Hashem, chapter 9). This is a good example of the significant place that Manitou awards to the Maharal.
What does Manitou understand as the overall importance of Maharal's approach? In one of his shiurim,
Manitou discusses two different types of Jewish responses to the
surrounding culture, calling them "Alexandria" and "Babylon.”
"Alexandria" is the Greek style – i.e., adoption of the way of thinking
and the intellectual tools provided by Greek philosophy. The substance
is still Jewish, but the discussion is conducted using the tools and
concepts of Greek philosophy – a trend that began with Philo of
Alexandria and continued into the Middle Ages. "Babylon" is the approach
of the Babylonian Talmud – the ongoing development of the internal
Jewish language, without embracing the substance, style, or tools of the
outside culture.
Maharal
presented a third approach: addressing the surrounding culture and the
questions that it raises, offering an authentic response in Jewish
language. This possibility establishes a principle of critical
importance: The Torah, as a broad worldview, has a message for humanity
and the great questions that this world raises. Maharal discusses the
issues and questions raised by the philosophers, but answers them using
the language and tools of Torah. He presents a broad worldview that
offers answers to the universal questions that occupy human
intelligence. Manitou characterizes the approach of his own teacher,
Jacob Gordin, in the same way.
Explanation of the Rishonim for the Exile in Egypt
As
we shall see, Maharal's understanding of the exile in Egypt sheds light
on one of the central themes of Manitou's teachings – the issue of
identity.
The descent of Yaakov's entire family to Egypt is an unexpected twist in the biblical plot. At first it had seemed that Am Yisrael
was supposed to develop in the land of Cana'an. This itself is not
self-evident; Avraham had not started off in Cana'an, but rather was
commanded by God to leave his birthplace and head for Cana'an, where he
was to establish a nation. Nevertheless, once he settles there, our
assumption is that the nation will come into existence in the land
destined for it, just as any normal nation develops in its land. It
therefore comes as a surprise when, after Avraham's children and
grandchildren have already grown up and established themselves in the
land, they are told to leave, in order to return again later on.
Ultimately, Am Yisrael
is formed in Egypt, over the course of their long and difficult
slavery, and they face a struggle to leave Egypt in order to realize
God's original plan. The reason for and role of this period of exile are
therefore a great question, and many commentators have addressed it.
Maharal
cites some of the opinions offered before his time (without mentioning
the commentators by name). First he brings the view – which we find in
the commentary of Abravanel – that the Egyptian exile was a punishment
for the sale of Yosef. The logic leading to this conclusion seems clear:
If we examine the chain of events that led to Yaakov's family going
down to Egypt and look for an improper act that is a link in this chain,
we can identify this act as the cause of the exile. The sale of Yosef
is the most prominent problematic link, and it is also the trigger that
brings the entire story in its wake.
Maharal
rejects this explanation, pointing out that chronologically speaking,
the picture is actually reversed. The Divine decree of subjugation
precedes the sale of Yosef. It is not the sale of Yosef that leads to
the descent to Egypt; rather, since the sons of Yaakov had to go down to
Egypt, the sale of Yosef happened. Of course, this leads to a different
question: Does this mean that the sale of Yosef was a necessary,
predestined event, such that the brothers were not really responsible
for it? The bottom line, for the purposes of the argument, is that Bnei Yisrael
had to go down to Egypt, as borne out by God's words at the Covenant
between the Parts, when He tells Avraham explicitly that his descendants
will be exiled in a different land. The only questions, then, are how
this will come about and where they will be exiled to. Perhaps Am Yisrael
could have ended up in Egypt without the sale of Yosef. In any event,
Maharal tells us, the whole story of the descent to Egypt cannot be
traced to one single sin. It was part of a broader, predestined Divine
plan.
A
different possibility is proposed by Ramban. Commenting on the journey
of Avraham and Sara to Egypt in the wake of the famine in Eretz Cana'an,
Ramban presents numerous and impressive parallels between Avraham's
descent and that of his descendants. These parallels illustrate the
principle that "what happens to the fathers is a sign for the children" –
i.e., the events of the lives of the forefathers represent a
foreshadowing of what will happen later on in history. Avraham himself
experiences something of the Divine decree "your descendants will be
strangers…" even before this prophetic vision is revealed to him
explicitly in the Covenant between the Parts.
Ramban's
explanation here presents the descent to Egypt as part of a Divine plan
that is hinted to in Avraham's experience, the purpose of which is
still unknown. But later on, Ramban takes a different view, presenting
Avraham's journey to Egypt in a negative light. He proposes that the
famine in Cana'an was a test for Avraham and that he was meant to remain
in the land despite the difficulty. Since he failed this test and went
to Egypt, placing Sarah in danger, exile was decreed on his descendants.
It
is not clear what the relationship is between these two parts of
Ramban's commentary – the descent to Egypt as an allusion to God's plan
for Avraham's descendants and the descent as a failure on Avraham's part
– but ultimately the conclusion from his commentary is also that the
exile in Egypt came as a punishment. Maharal rejects this view too,
pointing out that if endangering Sarah at the hands of Pharaoh by
claiming that she was his sister had been a sin, Avraham would not have
repeated this strategy in Gerar, where Sarah was seized by Avimelekh (Bereishit 20).
A
different possibility that Maharal cites is the idea of "afflictions of
love.” Sometimes God brings suffering on a person in order to reward
him afterwards. In principle, Maharal is willing to accept this idea,
but he declares it inapplicable in the case of the Egyptian exile.
"Afflictions of love" can be a possible explanation when the person who
suffers is the same one who receives reward afterwards. But it cannot
explain servitude lasting hundreds of years, when only the descendants
of those who suffered reap the reward and return to their land.
Servitude is Not a Punishment for Some Primordial Sin
After questioning the previous views, Maharal introduces his own interpretation in characteristic fashion – by referring to Chazal. Aside from the specific difficulties that he identifies in each of the other explanations, he emphasizes that Chazal also raised the question and offered various responses. Therefore, answers need not and should not be sought elsewhere.
R.
Abahu said in the name of R. Elazar: Why was Avraham punished with
having his descendants subjugated in Egypt for two hundred and ten
years? Because he drafted Torah scholars to fight, as it is written, “He
led forth his trained men, born to his house.”
Shmuel said: Because he questioned the ways of the Holy One, blessed be He, as it is written, "By what shall I know….”
And
R. Yochanan said: Because he prevented people from entering under the
wings of the Divine Presence, as it is written: "[And the king of Sedom
said to Avram,] Give me the souls, and the spoils take for yourself." (Nedarim 32a)
Three
different answers are given for what misdeed on Avraham's part made it
necessary for his descendants to undergo the servitude in Egypt. The
question alone is enough to show that the Egyptian exile was not
absolutely necessary; had it not been for some unseemly act of Avraham,
it could have been avoided.
Once
again, as with the concept of "afflictions of love," it is not clear
why Avraham lives to old age with great riches, while his descendants
pay the price. Maharal raises this question, finding it especially
problematic in light of an issue that occupies him extensively – Judaism
vs. Christianity. The Christian view is that all of humanity is
punished for a primordial sin. While Chazal
do not state explicitly that Avraham's act (whatever it was) was a
primordial sin that cannot be repaired, the very perception set forth in
the gemara
sounds warning bells for Manitou, and we shall see below how he
addresses it. First, however, let us note that we see here two central
principles in the teachings of Maharal that Manitou adopts: first, a
rejection of the concept of primordial sin, and second, the attempt to
find answers in the teachings of Chazal:
Maharal
rejects three different explanations proposed by previous commentators,
for two main reasons. The first is that their explanations might lead
the reader to the understanding that there was some primordial sin on
the part of Avraham, as a result of which Bnei Yisrael suffer the affliction of exile – because of this sin – for generations …
The second reason for his rejection of the other proposed explanations is that they are built on ideas that do not appear in Chazal's teachings, neither in the Gemara nor in Midrash. It is not for nothing that Chazal
took the trouble to explain, in the Gemara or Midrash, all the issues
relating to the root of our identity as the Jewish People and to our
history. According to Maharal, there is no room to add additional
explanations beyond those given by Chazal.…
The issues pertaining to the root of our faith are not open to some or
other interpretation, because the commentator tends to project his own
private worldview and experience onto the text, and he thereby abandons
the rabbinic tradition – the tradition of the Perushim. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, pp. 143-146)
Now
we encounter a problem, for it would seem at first glance that adopting
the latter principle (adhering to the interpretations offered by Chazal) leads us into trouble regarding the former (the rejection of the idea of primordial sin), since Chazal
seem to be suggesting that a misdeed on Avraham's part brought the
punishment of Egyptian servitude upon his descendants, a conclusion
that Manitou rejects out of hand. Manitou finds the solution to this
seeming contradiction in the words of Maharal.
Repairing the Root of the Israelite Identity
Maharal indeed offers an alternative understanding to that of primordial sin. He expresses the crux of this approach as follows:
There
are three opinions in this regard, all of which point to sin [as the
reason for the exile], and specifically a sin on the part of Avraham,
for we have already explained: Everything develops from the root and the
essence. Thus, if there is some deficiency in the root, the deficiency
will be perpetuated in that which develops from it. (Gevurot Hashem 5:9)
The subjugation of Bnei Yisrael
is not the result of some specific sin of Avraham. Rather, an inherent
deficiency in the Israelite identity was revealed in Avraham, and this
required a process of the subjugation of Bnei Yisrael,
in order to fix this deficiency. Avraham was establishing a nation, and
his qualities are the essence of the national qualities of Am Yisrael.
Thus, if there are imperfections in these qualities, they will appear
first in Avraham himself, and afterwards in his descendants. The stage
of Avraham himself is the stage in which it is possible to identify the
imperfection and correct it.
In Maharal's explanation of Chazal's
words, Manitou finds a new paradigm – the paradigm of identity, which
replaces the paradigm of children being punished for the sins of earlier
generations. "[Maharal's] enormous contribution is the idea that the forefathers are the root of the national identity" (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot
II, p. 144). “The identity of the forefathers in general, and of
Avraham in particular, molds the identity of the nation. What is carried
over to the later generation is not a deed performed by someone of a
previous generation, but rather the result of some tendency of that
identity – which is also the identity of the descendants" (ibid., p.
97). Included in the identity of Am Yisrael are the signs or tendencies that require repair and perfection. So long as Am Yisrael
has not dealt with and overcome these tendencies, the Israelite
identity cannot reach its perfection, nor can history achieve its
ultimate purpose (ibid., p. 107). Manitou adds that the word “sin” is
used to express this idea (ibid., p. 221), but the term is actually
meant in the sense of a "deficiency," requiring growth and perfection.
Manitou is
greatly enamored with the paradigm proposed by Maharal, including the
way he builds up the concept of the identity of Am Yisrael.
However, it should be noted that the understanding of Maharal's
explanation as pertaining to the issue of identity is attributable
mainly to Manitou, who highlights and clarifies this aspect of it.
Now
we must understand what the imperfections detected in Avraham were, how
they are at the same time a manifestation of his virtues, and how the
Egyptian exile repairs them. Our discussion will also lead to an
understanding of the ramifications of these imperfections for the major
challenges facing Am Yisrael today.
The Reason for the Egyptian Exile (2)
As
discussed, the Covenant Between the Parts is a most surprising episode
in the progression of Avraham's life story. God had commanded him to
leave his birthplace and to go to the land (Eretz Canaan) in which he
would become a great nation. This leads us naturally to expect that it
will be in this land that the nation will come into existence. At the
Covenant Between the Parts, we suddenly discover that this coming into
existence will happen somewhere else. If the nation is to be formed in
some other land, why could it not have been in Aram, where Avraham had
started out? Once Avraham has already moved to Eretz Cana'an at God's
command, with the promise that he will become the father of a great
nation, what is the purpose of having his descendants move elsewhere?
There are two ways of resolving this mystery. The more common view is that from the outset the Divine plan had been to lead Bnei Yisrael
to Egypt, but this plan is revealed to us by the text only in the
context of the Covenant Between the Parts. However, there is also
another view among Chazal, as reflected in the gemara cited in the previous shiur, maintaining that there was in fact a change in the plan.
As we have seen, Manitou discusses the reasons proposed by Chazal for the decree of exile in light of Maharal's understanding (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, pp. 199-211). Manitou translates the nature of Maharal's explanation into terms of identity. Chazal could not have meant that Am Yisrael
were subjugated in Egypt only because of a sin committed by Avraham,
for this would represent a great injustice, whereby his descendants were
punished for the sin of their ancestor. Therefore, what Chazal
must be referring to is not a specific "sin," but rather a deficiency
in the Israelite identity that Avraham creates through everything that
he says and does. This deficiency develops as Bnei Yisrael
becomes a nation, requiring some intervention in order to correct it.
The qualities and tendencies that appear in the forefathers and mold the
identity of the nation that emerges from them shed light on what
happens to that nation later on. Manitou emphasizes that the gemara
is not referring to a specific misdeed committed by a single
individual; rather, when we speak of Avraham's "sin," we mean a more
general flaw or weakness. Indeed, the discussion in the gemara makes no mention of the word "sin.”
This
approach sits well with Manitou's general view of the biblical
narrative not as a chain of events concerning individuals, but rather as
the history of the nation. He states this explicitly in his definition
of two exegetical approaches:
There
are two main approaches to biblical exegesis. The first is
homiletical-ethical in nature, focused on the individual and occupied
with the question, What lessons can we learn from the narratives in the
Torah with regard to our own everyday lives, so that we can conduct
ourselves in a moral manner? This approach is certainly legitimate, and
it leads us to consider halakhic questions relating to the Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim and Yoreh De'ah,
or moral and ethical questions on the individual level. The other
option is the historiosophic approach, as my rabbi and teacher, R. Jacob
Gordin, referred to it. This approach aims to reveal the wisdom
relating to the Israelite identity and all that it undergoes over the
course of the history of the Jewish People, so that we can know how to
behave as a nation, as a collective. Maharal regards the forefathers as
the prototype of the Israelite national identity, rather than as a
private family dealing with its particular conflicts and challenges.
Maharal wants to avoid at all costs a reading of the biblical narrative
according to the first approach. (ibid., p. 136)
During our 2,000-year long exile from Eretz Yisrael,
we did not have a national existence, and therefore our exegesis
focused on the forefathers as individuals, with an attempt to learn from
their example how to live moral lives. However, the intention of the
Torah in telling their story is not to recount their life stories as
individuals, although there is certainly much to be learned from them.
Rather, first and foremost, the intent is to recount a national story –
the life story of the Jewish People – in the historiosophic sense.
The Deficiency of an Exclusive Focus on Chesed
Thus, in approaching Chazal’s
teaching about the promise made at the Covenant Between the Parts, we
need to understand what deficiencies existed in the Israelite national
identity as built by Avraham. Here a clarification is in order: We do
not mean, Heaven forfend, that Avraham had some problem in his identity.
Avraham himself clearly models a profound and firm identity. What we
mean is that the identity built by Avraham, specifically because of its
stature and importance, comes at a price and entails certain
deficiencies, and it is these that the exile in Egypt comes to repair.
Avraham's attribute is chesed.
This is the first, most elementary stage in the creation of the nation –
which makes perfect sense in view of Manitou's view of Creation as
being oriented entirely to making place for the other. One might have
suggested that Avraham's attribute of chesed
was somehow lacking, and exile was needed in order to complete it. But
Manitou says the opposite: The problem was, rather, an excess of chesed – the exclusivity of this attribute. When chesed is manifest in absolute, total form, problems will follow.
Let us examine once again the three opinions that Chazal offer concerning Avraham's deficiency:
R.
Abahu said in the name of R. Elazar: why was Avraham punished with
having his descendants subjugated in Egypt for two hundred and ten
years? Because he drafted Torah scholars to fight, as it is written, “He
led forth his trained men, born to his house.”
Shmuel said: Because he questioned the ways of the Holy One, blessed be He, as it is written, “By what shall I know….”
And
R. Yochanan said: Because he prevented people from entering under the
wings of the Divine Presence, as it is written: “[And the king of Sedom
said to Avram,] ‘Give me the souls, and the spoils take for yourself.’” (Nedarim 32a)
Manitou
expands mainly on the second point – "By what shall I know that I shall
inherit it?" – and clarifies the difference between an identity of chesed and an identity of pure justice. A person who is characterized by chesed
will consider everything that he has and that he receives as a gift. A
person of strict justice recognizes giving only if it is justified.
Avraham, as a man of chesed,
does not think that he deserves to inherit the land; there is no
justification for it. As a result, no firm and profound connection will
be formed between Avraham and Eretz Yisrael;
for him, his right to the land will always have a question mark
hovering over it. This is true not for ideological reasons, but simply
because he does not experience the concept of a "right.” The question of
"deserving" has no relevance in the thinking of someone who is defined
by chesed.
The result is a weakness in the faith that the Divine promise of the
land will be fulfilled. Someone who believes with full faith knows that
God's promise will be fulfilled. He has no need for any external proof,
support, or reason.
Likewise,
when Avraham sets off to wage war, he has no certain knowledge that he
will be successful, since he is not sure of his merit. Recognition of a
right in relation to himself is foreign to a person defined by chesed.
Avraham therefore needs the help of others – not to help him in the
physical, military sense (three hundred and eighteen fighters would
still be a very small force in comparison to the armies of the kings),
but rather so that their merit will be added to his own. Avraham wants
to gather as many merits as he can around him, and for this reason he
mobilizes the scholars:
Avraham is “Klal Yisrael”
in potential. He exercises his discretion and chooses between two
alternatives on the basis of his own tendency. God does not tell him
what to do – whether to save Lot or to leave him to his fate. As a man
of true chesed,
Avraham decides that he must save Lot, and to this end he decides to
mobilize additional merit. This finds expression in his recruiting of
the scholars.
Why?
Because he decides that he lacks the requisite level of merit, even
though God has chosen him. At this point, a deficiency of faith becomes
apparent: The Holy One, blessed be He, chose Avraham; He decided that
Avraham would receive the promised blessings unconditionally. God never
hinted that Avraham would be chosen only with some additional merit, to
be expressed in the mobilization of the scholars. God could surely have
found some other way to ensure Avraham's victory and the ultimate birth
of Mashiach
via Ruth. This is the opinion of R. Abahu and Maharal, who detect in
Avraham's conduct the tendency towards a weakness of faith that might be
expressed as the question, "Am I truly Avraham?"
The
third possible deficiency is that Avraham prevented the people of Sedom
from finding their way to monotheism. He could have converted them
after the victory in war, but he passed up the opportunity. Manitou asks
the obvious question: How is it that Avraham, the great teacher of
monotheism, did not convert the people of Sedom? The answer connects
this avoidance with the quality of chesed
as well. Avraham has complete faith and confidence in God that if the
people of Sedom need to be welcomed into the fold, God will make sure
that it happens. But if this is the case, why has Avraham spent so much
effort up until now in teaching people about God? Perhaps the answer is
that until now, the people he has influenced have been those who
approached him out of their own free will. He is unwilling to force a
belief on people. This is not how he sees his mission. If they do not
show and interest and arrive at the conclusion freely and willingly,
Avraham leaves the job to God.
The
answer may sound paradoxical: Avraham believes that God, in His great
mercy, will redeem the other nations. He knows God via the attribute of chesed
and via this attribute alone, and hence he concludes that God will
eventually redeem everyone. Therefore, he makes no effort to convert the
people of Sedom. And because of his excess faith and reliance on God's chesed, he withholds from them what they truly need.
The
next part of our discussion will examine why these deficiencies led to
exile and subjugation and how these experiences could bring about
repair.
Translated by Kaeren Fish
The Forefathers' Tendencies as Reflected in their Descendants
In the previous shiur, we saw how Manitou interprets each of the reasons raised by the Amora’im for the subjugation in Egypt as leading back to the same principle: an excessive tendency towards chesed
on the part of Avraham. This explanation in turn relates to the concept
of identity that Manitou develops on the basis of the Maharal. The
impact of the forefathers' actions on the lives of their descendants is a
product of the identity that is molded by the forefathers and
bequeathed to all future generations.
Following
from Maharal's teaching, Manitou emphasizes that it is specifically
because the issue at stake is the essential national identity that any
imbalance in the root (i.e., in Avraham himself) would produce a most
significant result in the genealogical tree that emerges from it, this
result being referred to by the terms "sin" and “punishment,” which are
not meant in the usual sense. He formulates this idea as follows: "At
the level of the forefathers, even the slightest thing – which one might
regard as trivial – has a tremendous impact" (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, p. 221).
In the previous shiur, we dealt with the problems that arise when the attribute of chesed
stands alone. In practice, the problems become manifest not in Avraham
himself, but rather in his progeny. As an individual, Avraham was in
fact supposed to represent the epitome of chesed.
When it comes to his descendants, however – as we saw in our discussion
of the unification of attributes – the ideal is a combination of the
essential qualities of all three forefathers. It becomes a problem if Am Yisrael follows the path of Avraham exclusively, adopting chesed in extreme and disproportionate measure.
The problem arises because Am Yisrael has an innate tendency specifically towards chesed.
The nation has to overcome this excess and balance it. Failure to do so
– i.e., conducting themselves in a way that reflects excessive,
unbalanced chesed – is considered a fault, a transgression.
In
fact, Avraham himself faced this challenge. The ten tests that God
subjected him to were stations on the road to balancing his attribute of
chesed so that he could produce Yitzchak – the epitome of the attribute of din.
Avram undergoes a long journey to become the full, complete Avraham;
only then can Yitzchak emerge from him. This journey includes the story
of the overthrow of Sedom, where Avraham has to place a boundary on his chesed
towards the people of the city and understand that if there are not
even ten righteous people in it, Sedom is deserving of its fate. Of
course, the climax of the process that Avraham undergoes is the binding
of Yitzchak – the greatest and most difficult challenge to his attribute
of chesed.
The manifestation of chesed in its most concentrated form is an essential stage in the building of Am Yisrael. Thus, the pure and undiluted chesed
of Avraham himself is not a violation of God's truth. However, as
explained, a tendency at the level of the root has far-reaching
ramifications for the trunk and branches that sprout from it. The
question, "How shall I know that I shall inherit it?" is a faithful and
accurate expression of Avraham's inner attribute. The problem arises
when Bnei Yisrael continue to adhere to this way of thinking, failing to recognize their right.
The "Identity" Interpretation and Current Events
At
this point, we must elaborate on another central principle in Manitou's
teachings – the understanding of Torah as relevant to Am Yisrael
at all times and in all situations. Since the Torah's intention is not
merely to tell the stories of individual people, but rather to tell us
about our national identity, whatever is recounted the Torah is relevant
to whatever is happening to the Jewish People in our times as well. The
same stories are happening to us. Therefore, in many places Manitou
goes on to connect his interpretation with current events. Let us see
how he identifies in our contemporary reality the problems noted by Chazal and Maharal.
Manitou
regards the historiosophic-identity exegetical approach that he
identifies in the writings of Maharal as the key to analyzing Am Yisrael's
problems today. This connection also works in the opposite direction:
Today's events help us to understand the significance of the events
recounted in the Torah. This focus occupies a central place in Manitou's
teachings, although we have not addressed it thus far.
The
main thing that we have to understand and internalize is that the root
of the problems, questions, and challenges of today is to be found in
those stories that the Torah tells us, especially in Sefer Bereishit.
The proper approach to these subjects entails, on one hand, the
principle that "the actions of the fathers are a sign for their
descendants." In other words, the identity and the history of the
forefathers serve to explain what happens to their descendants. On the
other hand, we need to understand that the history of the descendants
also explains what happened to the forefathers. In other words, we are
the ones who are living out what the Torah tells us about the
forefathers. The Torah doesn't discuss some virtual or theoretical
nation; it is talking about us and to us. It is, in and of itself, our
identity card. The problem is that we don't learn enough from
experience, from history, and we keep making the same mistakes. We don't
learn the lessons of history. (Ibid. p. 221)
Excessive Chesed in the Contemporary Context
Manitou applies this principle to the three answers proposed by the Amora’im
as possible reasons for the Egyptian servitude. We have seen that
according to one opinion, Avraham's "fault" was expressed in the
question, "By what shall I know that I shall inherit it?" As a man
defined by chesed, he cannot fathom the idea that Eretz Yisrael is given to him outright, as an inheritance. Manitou suggests that this same problem is reflected in the aliya
figures in our times. Jews living in the Diaspora are hesitant to come
to Israel; even Jews living in Israel are unsure about the Jewish right
to the land. Despite all our longing for Eretz Yisrael
throughout the generations, when we finally have the opportunity to
realize our right to the land, we display weakness. This weakness is not
necessarily limited to Jews who have lost the connection to their
national identity; it is manifest even – and perhaps especially – among
those who feel very strongly Jewish:
Today this weakness is manifest when a Jew [in the Diaspora] asks himself whether Eretz Yisrael belongs to us, or whether it is better to remain outside of Israel. Should I remain in exile or live in Eretz Yisrael?
The
problem goes deeper than meets the eye. I think that all Jews living in
the Diaspora who have not assimilated, honestly believe that Eretz Yisrael
is truly theirs, but their conduct in their everyday life indicates the
opposite. Once, in Canada, I visited a community of Moroccan Jews who
had moved to Montreal. They sang, "Le-Shana ha-ba'ah bi-Yerushalayim"
(next year in Jerusalem) with great feeling, and I saw real tears in
their eyes. But when I asked who among them was intending to make aliya, they looked at me in astonishment. We have to understand that their faith in "Le-Shana ha-ba'ah bi-Yerushalayim" is real, and the refusal to move to Israel is just as real. How can this be? The problem is at the level of identity. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, 120-122)
Manitou
argues that the weakness arises not from a lack of seriousness or
faith, but rather from a profound place of difficulty in internalizing
our right to the land. If after maintaining a connection of longing for
the land for so long we display this weakness, the problem goes very
deep and arises from a deficiency in our national identity. Manitou
experienced this phenomenon personally and underwent a lengthy process
before making aliya.
The
deficiency that expressed itself in not bringing the people of Sedom
under the wings of the Divine Presence is likewise relevant today.
Manitou agrees that it is not possible to blindly accept anyone who is
interested in converting, and we should certainly not be too lenient
when it comes to the conversion process. Nevertheless, conversion is a
task that we face. Manitou argues that the souls that Avraham failed to
bring within the fold are the roots of the main forces that have been
hostile towards Am Yisrael
throughout history. For example, he cites the sects from the late
Second Temple period, which were not accepted as Jews and which
eventually gave rise to Christianity. This is admittedly a most complex
issue, but complexity is not a reason to neglect the task altogether.
As
to the third opinion – "that [Avraham] mobilized Torah scholars to
fight" – Manitou suffices with a hint at the contemporary parallel. He
follows in the footsteps of Maharal, insisting that true (!) Torah
scholars are and must be spiritually free; they must be exempt from
engaging in matters of the material world so that they can devote
themselves entirely to Torah. He does not apply this principle
specifically to the issue of army service for yeshiva students in our
times, but he seems to hint to it. Perhaps his view would be that a
Torah scholar who lives his life in a manner that is truly free from
engagement in any of the concerns of this world is worthy of devoting
himself to spiritual pursuit on behalf of all of Israel (in the spirit
of the Rambam's teaching about the tribe of Levi), while other sectors
of the nation are responsible for national security.
Translated by Kaeren Fish
Excessive "Chesed" in Am Yisrael
In this shiur,
we will take the discussion another step forward. We have seen that
Manitou traces a characteristic that exists in Avraham – the attribute
of boundless chesed – throughout the history of Am Yisrael. The issue of excessive chesed
comes up in different forms in his writings. In a certain sense, this
emphasis seems rather surprising. The general impression arising from
our shiurim thus far has been that according to Manitou, chesed
stands at the center of Creation; the entire world rests on the
principle of making room for the other. This is the most primal and
fundamental Divine movement in the creation of the world, and it is the
ultimate purpose needs to attain. Nevertheless, Manitou emphasizes that
excessive chesed
is problematic. This makes sense in light of another principle that we
have seen in his teachings: the unification of attributes. Am Yisrael is not meant to adhere to and practice chesed exclusively, but rather to achieve a balance between it and other attributes. Therefore, Am Yisrael, which is naturally imbued with chesed,
must be taught the necessary boundaries and limits of this attribute,
which has in fact led to many downfalls over the generations.
A well-known midrash
teaches that God originally wanted to create the world with the
attribute of justice, but when He saw that the world would not survive,
He included the attribute of mercy. Manitou describes a similar idea,
but in the opposite direction: Am Yisrael develops with the attribute of chesed,
but it is impossible to exist with this attribute alone, and therefore
the attribute of justice needs to be added to it. Indeed, there is a midrash
that presents both directions simultaneously: "The Holy One, blessed be
He, said: If I create the world with the attribute of mercy, it will be
greatly sinful; [if I create it] with the attribute of justice, how can
it survive? So I will create it with the attribute of justice as well
as the attribute of mercy. May it survive!" (Bereishit Rabba 12:15)
This
principle explains not only the servitude in Egypt, but also a long
list of statements and phenomena that Manitou mentions, viewing them all
as resulting from an excess of chesed. The expression that appears both in Shmuel II and in Tehillim, "im chasid titchased"
("With the righteous You show Yourself to be righteous") is to be
understood as meaning, “specifically with the righteous,” but not with
the wicked. Bnei Yisrael
are "merciful people, the descendants of merciful people," but one who
has mercy on wicked people is ultimately being cruel towards the
merciful – as we see in the case of Shaul’s handling of Amalek.
Radical
"Abrahamism" may exist as an option for singular individuals, but the
prescribed path for the collective, and for deciding Halakha, is built
on the unification of the attributes of chesed and justice, just as a fully functioning sense of hearing requires input from both ears.
Excessive Chesed Towards the Other Nations
Manitou
devotes extensive discussion to one of the expressions of this excess
in history: the emergence of Christianity. He views Christianity as an
extremist form of chesed,
in which every sin is forgiven and "turning the other check" is the
proper response to any attack. This extremism leads to the situation
that Chazal warn about: "Anyone who is merciful towards the cruel will ultimately be cruel towards merciful ones" (Tanchuma, Metzora 1
and elsewhere). The great foe of a person who is merciful towards the
cruel is one who is merciful in limited, careful measure, and therefore
the former will oppose the latter fiercely, to the point of cruelty.
This explains why Christianity fought against Judaism and spilled huge
quantities of Jewish blood.
Manitou
points out that it is not by chance that the foundational mythos of
Christianity is a man who comes to save the world at the cost of his
life. In contrast to Judaism, which aims to perfect the world, the
climax and ideal of Christianity is absolute self-obliteration. It
maintains that morality teaches us to make absolute room for the other –
to the point that the "room-maker" is erased, having no room for
himself. Manitou discusses the mistake inherent in this view at length.
Similarly,
he disagrees with another French Jewish thinker who was his
contemporary – Emanuel Levinas, whose philosophy Manitou likewise
regards as an excessive form of chesed.
He understands Levinas's moral philosophy as a call to justify the
other for no reason except that he is the other. To Manitou's view, this
will encourage criminal and immoral behavior. What the nations of the
world learn from Levinas is not to make room for the Jews, but rather
the opposite; they heap additional demands on the Jews to make room for
themselves:
There
are many people today in Israel who hold “Abrahamic” views. The danger
lies in this tendency being taken to an extreme and being severed from
other attributes. When someone comes and says that the other is right
just because he's the other, that's the beginning of a problem. It opens
the door to justifying any despicable act, any murder. On the
collective level, we dare not accept such views or such positions. It is
a genuine position for an individual, but Halakha demands the
unification of attributes. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, p. 100)
In
his commentary on Avraham's life, Manitou explains inter alia Avraham's
statement that Sara is his sister. If Sara is Avraham's wife, the
Egyptians and Pelishtim are completely and hermetically separated from
her. If Sara is Avraham's sister, then Avraham has a way of influencing
the whole world; everyone has the possibility of connecting with him.
The result of this strategy is quite different from what Avraham
intended; both Pharaoh and Avimelekh take Sara for themselves. This
problem has accompanied Am Yisrael throughout the generations. When Am Yisrael seeks to give, to extend its influence outward, the nations of the world exploit this desire, taking but not giving. Am Yisrael yields – and the other nations dominate. Am Yisrael seeks to share Torah with the world – and Christianity appropriates the Bible as its own. Am Yisrael makes room for the other in Eretz Yisrael – and Islam exploits this, claiming the land as its own.
Over the course of its exiles, Am Yisrael
has taken Torah to every corner of the globe. The Torah has a universal
message for all of humanity, and a special message that is meant
especially and specifically for Am Yisrael. The nations of the world ask Israel: Is the Torah universalistic or particularistic? Is it your sister or your wife? When Am Yisrael answers that Torah is its sister, that it is universalistic, the nations conclude that they can take it and forget about Am Yisrael.
That is what happened to us during the exile. Those nations adopted the Tanakh
and killed the Jews. We have to remember that for two thousand years
Western culture tried to blur the connection between the Jews and the
Bible. In the eyes of the Christians, the Church is the real Israel.
Today they claim that “Palestine” doesn't belong to the Jews; it belongs
to everyone – except for the Jews, of course. When we finally dare to
respond, they say, “But you said she was your sister." (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, p. 110)
None of this comes to negate the attribute of chesed in Am Yisrael. It is important that Am Yisrael display superb chesed; chesed
is our great message. But at the same time, there is something no less
important that must be manifest in the world: the unification of
attributes.
In our previous shiurim,
we reviewed Manitou's interpretation of the story of Kayin and Hevel.
We saw how, to his view, each side is at fault: Kayin was forbidden to
kill, and Hevel was forbidden to give in and allow himself to become a
victim. To some extent, these power relations continue to characterize
the relationship between the nations of the world and Israel, and
indeed, there have been Christian theologians who identified Israel with
Hevel, who brings a moral message but loses his life and existence.
Manitou explains that, in fact, Am Yisrael
should be identified with Shet. Shet represents a sort of combination
of Kayin and Hevel; he (like Kayin) is presented as a "son" (not a
"brother"), but he is capable of fraternity. He builds a city, like
Kayin, but is a shepherd, like Hevel. Hevel is transient; Shet is firmly
established and stable, and Am Yisrael, who will emerge from him, will be indestructible. Am Yisrael will ultimately be chosen to take on the role of educator for mankind and will fulfill this mission throughout history. Am Yisrael is eternal and is destined to display the unification of attributes and caution against excessive chesed.
The Role of Exile and the Test of Redemption
Rav Uriel Eitam
02.05.2021
In the last few shiurim, we have explained the teachings of Chazal and of Maharal concerning the decree of exile, revealed to Avraham in the Covenant Between the Parts, as arising from a "fault" on his part – the tendency towards absolute chesed that is part of his identity.
However, there is a deeper dimension to the exile that arises from a different midrash on the Covenant Between the Parts. This midrash understands the verse, "And behold, terror, a great darkness, fell upon him" (Bereishit 15:12) as alluding to the four kingdoms that Am Yisrael was forced to contend with over the course of history:
“Terror” – this is the kingdom of Babylon; “darkness” – this is the kingdom of Media; “great” – this refers to the kingdom of Greece; “fell” – this is the fourth kingdom, Rome. (Mekhilta De-Rabbi Yishmael)
According to this midrash, in this fourfold sensory prophetic experience God reveals to Avraham the general course of history, dominated by these four kingdoms. Are we now to understand this entire historical progression as the result of Avraham's “sin”? Had Avraham not “sinned,” would these kingdoms not have existed, or would we perhaps have had no need for any encounter with them? Obviously, this is not what Chazal mean when they see these same four kingdoms alluded to in the second verse in the Torah, in the expressions "unformed," "void," "darkness," and "the deep." Why is Am Yisrael's encounter with these four kingdoms engraved in the course of world history from the outset? And if these encounters are necessary regardless, then in what way is the Egyptian exile the result of Avraham's excess of chesed? Was the exile something that was decreed by God from the start and only revealed at the time of the Covenant Between the Parts? Is the whole of history simply an unfolding of a preordained fate, and not the result of free choice, as Manitou argues?
The subject of the four kingdoms connects us to a far broader question: the relationship between Israel and the nations of the world.
Israel's Universal Mission
The very first time that God calls to Avraham, He tells him, "Through you all the families of the earth shall be blessed" (Bereishit 12:3). What this means is that Am Yisrael has a mission vis-à-vis humanity. This mission is reiterated to the nation as a whole specifically at the Revelation at Sinai, when the gap between Israel and the other nations seems to be highlighted in the clearest possible way. (Chazal explain the name "Mount Sinai" as "the mountain upon which the hatred [sin'a] among the nations of the world descended" – Shabbat 89a.) Specifically at that point, Am Yisrael are told, "You shall be for Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation" (Shemot 19:6). This is a fundamental truth: Am Yisrael did not emerge in the world for their own sake, but rather to fulfill a universal mission.
The history of man in this world is the history of the “families of the earth,” the seventy nations, and the Holy One, blessed be He, reveals to Avraham in the Covenant Between the Parts what the general outline of history will be: four kingdoms, four dominant cultures. Over the course of this history, Avraham’s descendants must maintain ties with the nations because they have a mission to accomplish in relation to them; they must serve as a “kingdom of priests.” (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, p. 156)
In view of the above, it turns out that the destiny and purpose of the Jewish People doesn’t start with Avraham. The outline that is revealed to him in the Covenant Between the Parts existed already long before his time. Now we need to clarify the relationship between this covenant and Manitou’s teachings that we have examined thus far, suggesting that history develops in accordance with man’s choices. If everything depends on free choice, how is it possible that the course of history is determined in advance?
Recall Manitou’s fundamental principle of alternatives – i.e., the idea that the Torah is not a path known and dictated in advance. The biblical narrative is not a train, passing through fixed stations, but rather like a car, driving on the open road. Each time a junction is reached, a decision has to be made as to which direction to take. The moment that decision is made, the driver finds himself on the road that he himself took, and he must continue with that road until he reaches the next junction or point of choice.
In accordance with this principle, the path of the four kingdoms was established in advance – but only as one of the possibilities. A different road could have been taken, such that the relations between Israel and the other nations would have been completely different.
Exile Wasn’t Inevitable
The possibilities for the relations between Israel and the nations of the world are defined by Manitou as subjugation and oppression, on the one hand, or honor and glory, on the other. The former possibility entails the exile that we experienced for two thousand years, during which time Jews wandered among the nations, having some measure of impact. The latter possibility would have left Am Yisrael living in Eretz Yisrael, with their light emanating to the nations of the world. This possibility is described in the vision of Yishayahu (2:2-3): “The mountain of the Lord's house shall be firmly established at the top of the mountains… and all the nations shall stream to it. And many peoples shall go, and they shall say, ‘Come, let us go up to the Lord's mount, to the house of the God of Yaakov, and let Him teach us of His ways, and we will walk in His paths’ – for Torah shall emanate from Tzion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.” Manitou suggests additional ways in which this vision could be realized, such as emissaries being sent from Am Yisrael to all the countries of the world. In any event, the point is that it was not necessary for Am Yisrael to influence the nations specifically by being exiled and having to roam among them.
Bnei Yisrael are faced with two alternatives for maintaining this connection [with the nations of the world]: The first is to maintain the connection in ideal conditions, in Eretz Yisrael, with honor and glory, by sending teacher-emissaries for limited periods among the nations. The other alternative is exile-subjugation-oppression. If Am Yisrael are truly Am Yisrael, the connection will be maintained in accordance with the first alternative. But over the course of history, this hasn’t been the case. There is a gap between the ideal Israelite identity, as conceived in God’s mind, and Am Yisrael – meaning, the actual, historical people. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot, ibid.)
These two possibilities faced Am Yisrael at the outset. In order to proceed on the path of “honor and glory,” Am Yisrael had to be worthy of that – including meeting God’s demand that there be a balance of attributes. Here we return to the problem we discussed in previous shiurim: the exaggerated tendency towards chesed. This is a problem that Am Yisrael finds difficult to overcome – both because it is so deeply embedded in the nation’s character, and because it is difficult to place boundaries on a value that is true and correct. In many ways, it is easier to identify evil as evil and to keep away from it. Limiting goodness and kindness, on the other hand, is harder and far more complex. If Am Yisrael had managed to overcome the tendency towards exaggerated chesed, the relations with the nations of the world could have been maintained with honor and glory.
According to this understanding, the Divine decree at the time of the Covenant Between the Parts did not necessarily entail exile in Egypt. History could have developed along the lines of the alternative. While Manitou’s exegesis usually accords with the biblical narrative, in this instance we encounter some difficulty, because the language of the verses of the Covenant sounds decisive and absolute. And while we know that Chazal themselves teach that the decree was not fulfilled in its entirety and the subjugation in Egypt lasted only 210 years instead of 400, the wording – “Know with certainty that your progeny…” – seems to convey finality and certainty. It sounds less like a junction for making choices, and more like notification.
Manitou proposes the following reading: “Your progeny will be strangers – no matter what, because that is what is needed in order to fulfill the mission of being a ‘kingdom of priests.’ And if some misdeed becomes manifest among your progeny, then the state of being ‘strangers’ will become subjugation” (p. 161). In other words, there is a decree; some sort of encounter between Am Yisrael and the nations of the world must take place. Thus, there must be an exile. The question is how long it will last and how it will develop. The descent to Egypt was unavoidable, but the lengthy subjugation was not – just as we see, for example, in the fact that Sefer Bereishit mentions a forecast of four hundred years, while Sefer Shemot speaks of two hundred and ten years of actual exile. Yaakov’s children might have returned from Egypt to Eretz Cana’an after Yaakov’s death or after the death of Yosef, but they did not do so.
The Delay in Returning
Some of the commentators offer local explanations for the failure of Yaakov’s family to return, but Manitou argues that there is a more fundamental issue underlying all the practical reasons. Exile is dangerous first and foremost because Am Yisrael have a tendency to delay their return. This tendency has a positive motivation – the dimension of national mission in our relations with the nations of the world. Manitou views Yaakov’s words, “I have sojourned with Lavan and have remained until now” (Bereishit 32:5) as an expression of sin – the sin of delay. When Yaakov, as per the midrash, explains his fear of Esav with the words “lest sin cause [my downfall],” Manitou suggests that the sin referred to here is the delay in returning to the land. Yaakov should have returned earlier; he did not need to wait twenty years until he saw that Lavan’s attitude towards him was not as it had been in the past. This phenomenon continued among Yaakov’s descendants. After the Babylonian exile, at the beginning of the Second Temple Period, only a small number among Bnei Yisrael returned to the land. Among Spanish Jewry, only a small number (including Ramban) moved to Eretz Yisrael prior to the Expulsion. The same phenomenon repeated itself at the start of the Zionist movement and prior to the Holocaust (a subject to which Manitou devoted extensive attention, but which lies outside the scope of our discussion). The tendency to delay returning means that proper attention is not given to the signs that the time of redemption has arrived. Am Yisrael delays and waits until the episode comes to an end – which means that redemption comes wrapped in catastrophe. Ultimately, Manitou concludes, we responded against our will to God’s call to return to Eretz Yisrael. A large portion of Am Yisrael remains in the Diaspora and is still delaying its return.
I am truly concerned when I observe the naiveté of those Jews who say that they still have a holy mission to fulfill among the nations, and it can be undertaken only in the Diaspora. I ask myself: What is this holy mission? Is it to disseminate the truth of Torah among the nations? There was an attempt of this sort in the nineteenth and early twentieth century in Germany, when the disciples of R. Shimshon Raphael Hirsch presumed to teach the enlightened Germans, as it were. What came out of it? (…) Am Yisrael is not aware that this delay leads only to disaster. We wait until the very end – in other words, until the stage of “if they are not deserving, then ‘in its time’” (Sanhedrin 98a) – and that brings disaster. (Sod Midrash Ha-Toladot II, p. 140).
Delaying the return comes back to the same fundamental problem of an excess of chesed, which, as we have seen, expresses itself in a failure to fully recognize our right to Eretz Yisrael. We do not rush to return. The real test of exile is the choice to leave it. Throughout our exile there were those who left and moved to Eretz Yisrael; in some periods, it was mainly the spiritual leaders who did so, while the masses remained behind. We have to believe that we are worthy of redemption. If we do not believe, then truly we are not yet worthy. The exile goes on and on because it takes so long for us to become persuaded to return.
In conclusion, let us return to the question of the reason for the subjugation in Egypt. How does the subjugation in Egypt in particular, and exile in general, bring repair for the fundamental question of “by what shall I know”? Here Manitou’s answer is surprising in its originality and simplicity. Whoever takes action and leaves the exile shows that he has faith that he will inherit the land – in other words, he thereby demonstrates that he has corrected the weakness that caused his exile in the first place. Just as the one fifth of the nation that was redeemed from Egypt proved its faith in redemption, so it is in our times. The length of the exile reflects the time it takes until Jews realize that they are in foreign lands and must return to their own land. Their act of return to the land is in itself the proof that they have made repair for the sin of “by what shall I know,” which is what led to their exile.
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