SALT | Bamidbar 5785

MOTZAEI

Parashat Bamidbar describes the "pidyon ha-ben" ceremony conducted in the wilderness. As the levi'im assumed the role of Mikdash attendants in place of the firstborn, a redemption process was necessary. As explained in our parasha, each levi came forth to displace a firstborn, effectively "redeeming" the firstborn that had been designated for the sacred service in the Mishkan. However, the firstborn numbered 273 more than did the levi'im. How were these firstborn redeemed? God had them redeem themselves by paying five coins to Moshe, who then transferred the funds to the kohanim (see end of chapter 3).

Two prominent Acharonim, the Vilna Gaon and the Malbim, derive from here an important halakha regarding the general mitzva of pidyon ha-ben. The Rema (Shulchan Arukh Y.D. 305) codifies the ruling of the Rivash that a father may not perform this mitzva of redeeming his firstborn son through an agent; he must personally carry out the ritual. The Shakh and Taz disagree and permit a father to fulfill his obligation by appointing an agent. The Gaon and Malbim draw support for this latter view from our parasha. The Torah (3:48) makes it clear that the 273 "excess" firstborns paid the redemption money to Moshe who then transferred it to the kohanim. Apparently, the use of an agent is a legitimate method of fulfilling this mitzva.

We should, however, note that the Chatam Sofer (257) qualifies this dispute between the Rema and the Shakh/Taz. He explains that these Acharonim argued only regarding the possibility of an agent paying the redemption money to the kohen from his own pocket. Here the Shakh and Taz maintain that the use of an agent does not fulfill the mitzva, as the father does not himself pay the kohen. When, however, the father sends his own money with another to the kohen, then all authorities would agree that the pidyon ha-ben is effective. If so, one cannot bring proof from our context in Parashat Bamidbar, where the firstborns gave of their own money to Moshe, who then transferred those funds to the kohanim.

SUNDAY

Yesterday we looked at the redemption ceremony conducted in the wilderness by which the levi'im replaced the firstborns as the attendants in the Mikdash. Each levi came in place of a firstborn, and the remaining firstborns, who had no corresponding levi to "redeem" them, redeemed themselves by paying five coins to Moshe, who then transferred the money to the kohanim. As we saw, several Acharonim prove from here that a father may perform the mitzva of "pidyon ha-ben" (redeeming his firstborn son) through an agent, just as the firstborns redeemed themselves by paying the kohanim through Moshe.

At first glance, however, this proof seems somewhat problematic (besides the refutation stated yesterday in light of the Chatam Sofer's comments). Can we really derive halakhot about the mitzva of pidyon ha-ben from this ceremony conducted by Moshe in the wilderness? That ritual was a once-in-history event that transferred the privileged status from the firstborn to the levi'im. As we know from Shemot 13, however, the father's obligation to redeem his firstborn involves something entirely different - the commemoration of the Almighty's smiting of the firstborn in Egypt. (Incidentally, the Chatam Sofer writes that although, in his view, halakha permits paying the redemption money to a kohen through an agent, the practice evolved to pay the kohen directly, just as the Almighty smote the Egyptians directly, without any intermediary - as we know from the Haggada.) Can we really learn about this obligation from the "displacement" ceremony of the levi'im?

Surprising as it may perhaps seem, at least two other precedents exist for drawing conclusions about pidyon ha-ben from the ritual described in Parashat Bamidbar. The Rambam (Hilkhot Bikkurim 1:10) reads the verse in our context (3:48) as indicating that the firstborn could give their redemption money only to the male kohanim; kohanim's daughters did not receive the money. The Rambam derives from here that only a male kohen can receive the money for a pidyon ha-ben. Apparently, the Rambam viewed the ceremony in our parasha as characteristic of the classic mitzva of pidyon ha-ben.

A second example appears in a later source, the Tzemach Tzedek (one of the Lubavitcher Rebbes - 128). The Tzemach Tzedek takes note of the fact that all this occurred before the firstborns were circumcised. Sefer Yehoshua (5:5) informs us that those born in the wilderness were not circumcised until Benei Yisrael's arrival in Eretz Yisrael. The Tzemach Tzedek thus concludes that a father may perform a pidyon ha-ben for his firstborn even before the baby's circumcision. Once again, we see the firstborns' redemption in our parasha as establishing guidelines for the standard obligation of pidyon ha-ben.

MONDAY

The familiar chapter of Tehillim (126), "Shir Ha-ma'alot," traditionally sung prior to birkat ha-mazon on Shabbat and festivals, describes the emotion felt "when God restores the fortunes of Zion," the return of the Jewish people to Jerusalem. David writes that at that moment "hayinu ke-cholmim" - we were like dreamers. So surreal an event this is, Benei Yisrael's long-awaited return to its sacred city, that it can be compared only to the products of one's imagination. The Aramaic Targum, however, translates this expression - "hayinu ke-cholmim" - differently, associating it with the Hebrew term for the recovery from illness: "hachlama." (In modern Hebrew, "get well soon" is often expressed as "hachlama mehira.") Meaning, at this momentous occasion in Jewish history, we feel like we have recovered from a long, painful, seemingly terminal illness, the illness of exile.

The "return to Zion" of the 28^th of Iyar, Yom Yerushalayim, 5727, undoubtedly featured both these elements. Standing at the brink of the destruction, the Jewish people experienced a triumph deemed less than possible by virtually any reasonable estimation. We sighed a breath of relief as if having recovered from a prolonged illness, and celebrated a victory and the fulfillment of a two-millennia-old dream that seemed too miraculous to be anything but a dream.

In the second half of this chapter, however, the Psalm undergoes a puzzling shift: "Restore our fortunes, God, like watercourses in the Negev. They who sow in tears shall reap with songs of joy. Though he goes along weeping, carrying the seed-bag, he shall come back with songs of joy, carrying his sheaves.

What happened? Haven't "the fortunes" already been restored? Why do we once again pray for the return to Zion?

Radak explains that here we recount the feelings of longings we felt before the return. The "sowing" spoken of refers to the mitzvot observed throughout the exile under bitterly difficult conditions, which sowed the seeds of the long-awaited redemption.

Many years later, however, Amos Chakham, in his "Da'at Mikra" commentary on Tehillim, offered an interpretation possible only by someone living after the founding of the Jewish State. Even after our return to Eretz Yisrael and Yerushalayim, there remains much for which to pray. Equipped with a knowledge of the 20^th century, we can understand the final verses of this Psalm as referring not to the tearful seeds sown in exile, but to the blood and tears shed over the course of the process of "shivat Tzion." We turn to the Almighty and ask that we will soon reap the benefits of our labor and toil, that the process of redemption will soon reach completion.

Thirty-four years after the reunification of Jerusalem and restoration of Jewish sovereignty over our Biblical territories of Judea and Samaria, we still "go along weeping, carrying the seed-bag." Like the Psalmist centuries ago, we have woken from our dream to the grim reality of the seeds yet to be sowed and the tears waiting to be shed. The two sections of the Psalm combine into a single chapter in Sefer Tehillim; we celebrate and yearn, we offer thanks as well as prayer. May we soon "carry the sheaves" and realize the ultimate fulfillment of our dream, the return of the Shekhina to a safe, secure, and undisputed Yerushalayim.

TUESDAY

In the haftara for Parashat Bamidbar, the prophet Hoshea (2:18) predicts that in the future, Benei Yisrael will change the way they refer to the Almighty. Rather than calling God "ba'ali," "my husband," the nation will say instead, "ishi," yet another term for "my husband." What does the prophet mean?

Rashi there distinguishes between two different attitudes towards God. "Ba'ali" denotes a relationship of intimidation, by which the nation serves its "spouse" purely out of fear. "Ishi," by contrast, connotes a far more loving, intimate connection, one which the prophet urges the people to forge with the Almighty.

The Radak, however, associates the word "ba'ali" with the influential, ancient idol worship bearing the same name. Throughout the period of the Nevi'im, we find Benei Yisrael succumbing to the cultural pressures around them and serving the pagan deity "ba'al." The Radak claims that the prophet here alludes to the weaning process intended to once and for all rid the people of this dangerous idol. To this end, they would never so much as mention the name "ba'al," not even in the context of a reference to the Almighty Himself.

Professor Nechama Leibowitz develops a third interpretation, which, like that of the Radak, builds on the association with the idol "ba'al." Benei Yisrael looked upon the Almighty in a manner resembling the pagans' attitude towards "ba'al." This idol was seen as the god of fertility and agriculture, responsible for the successful functioning of the natural process of growth and vegetation. (Recall the "showdown" between Eliyahu and the prophets of "ba'al" during the devastating drought in Achav's time, surrounding the issue of who would provide the much-needed rain.) The prophet here accuses Benei Yisrael of failing to look beyond the external cycle of nature and see the Almighty providing their needs or withholding it from them. Hoshea declares, "... she [Benei Yisrael] did not know that it was I that have her the grain, the wine and the oil." Even if they didn't call their God by the title "ba'al," their attitude towards the Almighty effectively reduced to the same as the perspective of the pagans. They looked only at the external manifestations before them, failing to appreciate the all-powerful Hand of God governing the entire natural world.

WEDNESDAY

As we know, one who forgot to include "ya'aleh ve-yavo" in his shemoneh esrei prayer on days when it is required must repeat shemoneh esrei (unless this occurred during "ma'ariv" on Rosh Chodesh, in which case the individual need not repeat the prayer). However, in certain instances halakha allows one to "correct" this mistake without repeating the shemoneh esrei. Rashi in Masekhet Berakhot 30b cites the Behag ("Ba'al Halakhot Gedolot") as ruling that a chazan who forgot to recite "ya'aleh ve-yavo" during shacharit should not repeat shemoneh esrei, as this will cause an inappropriate delay to the service ("tircha de-tzibura"). Instead, he fulfills his outstanding requirement through his recitation of mussaf. According to the Behag, the unfulfilled requirement, of mentioning the special day in the context of prayer, can be satisfied through the recitation of mussaf.

Of course, this begs the question as to why halakha allows only a chazan to employ mussaf as a "make-up" opportunity to his missed ya'alo ve-yavo of shacharit. Perhaps anyone who forgot ya'aleh ve-yavo at shacharit should not repeat the prayer, and satisfy his requirement through the recitation of mussaf!

Indeed, the Magev Avraham (126:3) cites a view that one who omitted ya'aleh ve-yavo during shacharit and catches his error only after having recited mussaf need not repeat the shemoneh esrei of shacharit. Ostensibly, this view subscribes to the general principle established by the Behag, that one may fulfill his obligation of ya'aleh ve-yavo through the recitation of mussaf. However, for some reason, this view allows doing so only "be-di'avad" (ex post facto), if he had already recited mussaf. Why?

Rav Chayim Brisker suggested a very novel approach to explain this view. Strictly speaking, one can certainly fulfill his missed obligation regarding shacharit through the recitation of mussaf. However, Chazal allow one in such a situation to recite a "tefilat nedava," a voluntary prayer, and repeat the shemoneh esrei of shacharit to correct his error. Generally speaking, halakha frowns upon voluntary recitations of shemoneh esrei. However, when any need arises whatsoever, such a recitation is permitted. Therefore, since the individual has yet to recite mussaf and hence bears an outstanding obligation, he may - and thus should - repeat the shemoneh esrei as a voluntary prayer. If, however, he caught his mistake only after having recited mussaf, then he no longer bears any obligation as far as ya'aleh va-yavo is concerned and hence does not recite an additional shemoneh esrei.

This explanation yields an important ramification for a situation where one forgets ya'aleh ve-yavo on Shabbat. Halakha forbids the recitation of a "tefilat nedava" on Shabbat (Shulchan Arukh O.C. 107). It this turns out that one who forgets to include ya'aleh ve-yavo on Shabbat Rosh Chodesh or Shabbat Chol Ha-moed may not repeat the shemoneh esrei. He should instead rely on his mussaf prayer to fulfill his obligation.

Please consult a competent halakhic authority for practical guidance.

(Taken from Rav Herschel Shachtar, Eretz Ha-tzvi, p.44.)

THURSDAY

The final section of Parashat Bamidbar deals with the responsibilities of the kohanim towards the levi'im during travel through the wilderness. The levi'im were charged with transporting the sacred items of the mishkan when the nation embarked. Before they would come to take their assigned cargo, the kohanim would first dismantle the mishkan and cover its components according to the specific guidelines outlined in the parasha (chapter 4). From here the Torah proceeds to specify the particular assignments of the various families within the levi'im. It begins with the family of Kehat, who carried the most sacred items of the mishkan. The parasha then concludes with a final commandment concerning the kehatim: "Do this with them, that they may live and not die when they approach the most sacred objects: let Aharon and his sons go in and assign each of them to his duties and to his porterage." Meaning, beyond covering the sacred objects, the kohanim would also manage the kehatim and supervise the division of labor. Why was this so critical? In fact, the final verse of the parasha warns that otherwise the kehatim would look upon the sacred objects and die. Why did such a concern arise?

Though the simple reading of the verses may imply otherwise, some commentators have explained - perhaps on the level of "derush" - that the concern involved the repercussions of internal strife among the kehatim during this process. Without a systematic arrangement and organized structure, the kehatim would likely argue among themselves for the privilege of carrying the aron, the most sacred item. This disunity could potentially lead to disaster as the kehatim transport the sacred items of the mishkan.

Several important lessons emerge from this warning. First, as noted by Rav Moshe Sternbuch ("Ta'am Ve-da'at"), even healthy zeal and enthusiasm for mitzvot must, at times, be tempered for the sake of harmony and goodwill. As we all know all too well, noble intentions, laudable excitement, and sincere motivation on the part of many people can sometimes lead to childish competition, mutual suspicion and one-upmanship. People working together for noble causes must know when to recoil and allow others to step in for the sake of friendship and unity.

Secondly, though clearly along the same lines, it is worth noting that this concern arose specifically in the context of the most sacred items in the mishkan. The gravest danger to sanctity, embodied in the wilderness by the aron, is posed by the threat of disunity. Specifically the most sacred and noble endeavors demand the highest standard of harmony among Benei Yisrael. The Torah never encourages meaningless strife, but a particular concern arises when dealing with the sacred. The Jewish people can never afford social discord, but the problem becomes all the more dangerous, tragic and acute when it surrounds the aron, when it occurs in the context of a Beit Kenesset, yeshiva, or other mitzva enterprise. Countless "derashot" have been given regarding Chazal's famous comment that Benei Yisrael stood around Mount Sinai "as one person, with one heart." Indeed, the Jewish people cannot assemble for such a sacred gathering in any other way. Particularly sacred pursuits require the utmost effort to rise above social friction and establish a genuine and sincere sense of fraternity among Kelal Yisrael.

FRIDAY

As we noted yesterday, towards the end of Parashat Bamidbar we read of the kohanim's preparation of the mishkan for travel before Benei Yisrael would embark on a journey through the wilderness. Among their responsibilities mentioned in Bamidbar chapter 4 is placing the transport poles in the various accessories for carrying. Surprisingly, this commandment appears even regarding the aron (4:6), despite the explicit prohibition against ever removing the transport poles from the aron, even when the mishkan stood at rest (Shemot 25:15). Why would the kohanim have to affix the poles onto the aron's side, if they were never removed?

Several Rishonim addressed this problem, including the Ramban, Chizkuni, Ba'alei Ha-tosafot (in "Moshav Zekeinim") and Tur (in his "peirush ha-arokh) on our parasha, as well as Tosafot Yoma 72a and the Radbaz (Shut Ha-Radbaz, 2190). Two general approaches have been offered. One approach claims that some poles remained in the aron at all times, while others were added for transport. Another position argues that although the poles remained affixed to the aron, at times they would become loose or slightly dislodged. The kohanim were to ensure that the poles were properly fastened to the aron and ready for transport.

As the details of the mishkan are generally seen as symbols of proper Torah life, it perhaps behooves us to uncover the meaning behind these poles, as well. Several sources suggest that the aron's poles represent the supporters of Torah, those who finance or otherwise assist institutions of Jewish education. The permanence of the poles aside the ark symbolize the need for constant support of religious learning. Just as the poles may never be removed from the aron, so must the benefactors of Torah education continue their vital support at all times.

The symbolism of the "placing of the poles" by the kohanim in our parasha, as explained above, can be easily understood by reflecting upon the last century of Jewish history. When centers of Torah must relocate, when Benei Yisrael must "transport" their spiritual centers across deserts, oceans and continents, the indispensable supporters of Torah must rise to the challenge. First, if the grip has loosened, if, for whatever reason, the institutions had been left to function independently during times of stability, then that connection must be strengthened as instability surfaces. Secondly, during turbulent times the community must add more poles to the aron to help ensure its successful relocation. If two poles sufficed as the aron sat peacefully in the kodesh ha-kodashim, then several more must come to its side as it makes its way through the perilous wilderness. When the need arises, all of Kelal Yisrael must join forces to ensure the continuity of Torah and its ongoing growth and dissemination.

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