SALT | Tetzaveh 5784 - 2024

MOTZAEI

         Among the bigdei kehuna (priestly garments) described in Parashat Tetzaveh is the "me'il," the robe of the kohen gadol. The Torah requires that bells be placed along the bottom of the robe so that Aharon's entry into and departure from the Sanctuary will produce sound (see 28:35).  What is the meaning behind this feature?  As the Ramban notes, unlike the other properties of the bigdei kehuna, these bells do not appear to parallel any conventional expression of honor and glory.  Why, then, would the Torah require the kohen to wear bells along the bottom of his robe?

         We present here just several of the answers that have been suggested.

         The Ramban, based on earlier sources, explains that the bells are meant to symbolize "knocking," the kohen gadol's requesting permission to enter the Sanctuary.  In this sense, the bells do, indeed, represent respect and honor, the fact that the kohen gadol cannot simply barge into the Almighty's chamber, but must first ask permission.  (In a "S.A.L.T." a number of years ago, we discussed why, according to this approach, the verse affords significance to the bells' sound when the kohen departs the Sanctuary, as well.)

         In the same passage, the Ramban appears to point to a different, more mystical interpretation.  The Talmud Yerushalmi (Yoma 1:5) writes that when the kohen gadol would enter the innermost Sanctuary on Yom Kippur, not even the ministering angels were allowed to be there.  The sounding of the bells served as a call for everyone - including the angels - to depart the Sanctuary.  The bells thus expressed the unique closeness between the kohen gadol and the Almighty as He entered the kodesh ha-kodashim (innermost sanctum), that no one else - not even the angels - was allowed to remain during this communion.  (Towards the end of this piece, the Ramban briefly addresses the obvious question raised by this approach - that when entering the kodesh ha-kodashim on Yom Kippur the kohen gadol actually did not wear the me'il!)

         Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his classic work, "Ha-ketav Ve-ha'kabbala," suggests a much different explanation, comparing this requirement to the mitzva of tzitzit.  As the Torah indicates (end of Parashat Shelach), tzitzit are worn as a reminder; by seeing one's tzitzit, he recalls God and His mitzvot and will hopefully avoid sinning as a result.  The bells accomplish through the sense of hearing what the tzitzit do through the sense of sight.  The kohen gadol's stature requires a higher standard and stricter measures to help avoid mistakes that could result from a lapse in concentration.  The Torah therefore added the bells of the me'il as yet another reminder to the kohen gadol to properly obey and observe all of God's commandments.

         Rav Aharon Lewin, in his "Ha-derash Ve-ha'iyun," views the bells as teaching an important lesson regarding leadership.  As important a quality as humility is, a leader, at times, must loudly sound his voice and express himself.  He cannot allow himself to hide in a corner and humbly refuse to voice his positions. The noise sounded by the kohen gadol as he walked represents the need for a Jewish leader to make his voice heard when the need arises, rather than sitting quietly and passively.

         Finally, Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," draws a different association between the bells and religious leadership.  The kohen gadol must always remember that every step he takes produces sound; everything he does, every decision he makes, every word he utters, is observed by others.  The bells remind him to exercise extreme care in every area of conduct, for people are constantly watching and listening to his every move.

SUNDAY

         Parashat Tetzaveh begins with the command concerning the oil used for lighting the menorah.  In his comments on the parasha's opening verse, Rashi notes that this oil had to be of the very highest quality.  In fact, only the very first drop produced from the olive could be used for the menorah lighting.  This stringency did not apply to the other area in the Temple service requiring oil, the menachot - the meal offerings that were generally mixed with oil.  For the menachot, even lower-quality oil sufficed.

         Commenting on this distinction between the menorah lighting and the menachot, the Yalkut Shimoni (378) remarks: "Normally, a person who has poor-quality oil uses it for lighting his candle, and the high-quality oil he puts in his food.  In the Temple, however, they would not do so.  Rather, the pure olive oil went towards the lighting, while the second [grade oil went towards] the menachot." What exactly are we to learn from this distinction between the normal practice in one's home and the regulations in the Temple in this regard?

         Perhaps the Yalkut Shimoni here seeks to teach the simple lesson of prioritization.  Working off the familiar association between light and spirituality, or, more specifically, between the light of the menorah and Torah, the Yalkut emphasizes the need to prioritize our spiritual concerns over our physical concerns.  The common practice of saving the choicest oil for cooking and using the lower-quality oil for candles is perhaps symbolic of our natural tendency to channel our best resources towards mundane pursuits.  Normally, we exert the bulk of our energy and the majority of our time and money on worldly endeavors.  The Bet Ha-mikdash symbolizes the ideal envisioned by the Torah towards which we must strive.  In this idyllic world, the best oil is used for the menorah, for spiritual pursuits. Optimally, we should save the lower-quality oil for our mundane and physical needs, symbolized by the meal-offerings, which were eaten by the kohanim.  Even if, practically speaking, we do not live in the Temple, we cannot always establish our priorities in this manner, this is nevertheless the ideal towards which we should strive.  If we are compelled to invest most of our time, energy and money in material pursuits, we must nevertheless maintain the proper, Temple-oriented perspective, whereby our primary concern is Torah and mitzvot, and everything else is secondary.

MONDAY

         The first half of Parashat Tetzaveh describes the bigdei kehuna, the special garments worn by the kohanim in the Mishkan and, later, in the Bet Ha-mikdash.  Four garments were worn by all kohanim, whereas the kohen gadol (high priest) wore four unique garments in addition to the standard apparel of all kohanim.

         The Rambam, in his Hilkhot Kelei Ha-mikdash (8:5-6), draws a halakhic distinction between these two sets of garments, with regard to what we do with bigdei kehuna that have worn out and are no longer wearable.  Based on several passages in the Talmud, the Rambam rules that worn-out bigdei kehuna of regular kohanim were used to make wicks for the lights in the Temple - specifically, the menorah, and the torches of the Simchat Beit Ha-sho'eiva celebration on Sukkot.  The begadim of the kohen gadol, however, could never be used for any other purpose. Once they become worn out, they must be buried.

         The Acharonim discuss the origin and nature of this second halakha, that the special garments of the kohen gadol are buried rather than used for a different Temple-related function.  The Mishneh Le-melekh, in Hilkhot Me'ila (5:14), claims that the Rambam derived this halakha from a similar rule related to the Yom Kippur service.  During the Temple service on Yom Kippur, the kohen gadol wore his usual eight garments for those rituals which were performed everyday and not unique to Yom Kippur, and wore special garments, called "bigdei lavan," when performing the service unique to Yom Kippur.  Amidst its description of the Yom Kippur service in Parashat Acharei-Mot, the Torah tells that after removing the special bigdei lavan, "ve-hinicham sham" - the kohen "places them there" (Vayikra 16:23).  Chazal interpret this clause to mean that the bigdei lavan worn on Yom Kippur require burial after the Yom Kippur service; they are never used again, even for a future Yom Kippur service.  The Mishneh Le-melekh suggests that the Rambam extended this principle to the kohen gadol's regular eight garments, as well, that they, too, require burial.  Only unlike the bigdei lavan, which are buried immediately after their first use, the other eight garments require burial only once they become no longer usable. As the originally stated halakha relates only to the garments of the kohen gadol, we cannot apply this provision to the garments of regular kohanim; therefore, their garments do not require burial.

         Reb Velvele Soloveitchik, however, as recorded in Kitvei Ha-Griz to Masekhet Keritut (5), explained differently.  He claimed that the kohen gadol's garments had a status of kelei ha-mikdash - the vessels or accessories used in the Temple. A keli of the Mikdash which becomes physically unsuitable for use in the Temple service requires burial.  By extension, then, the kohen gadol's garments must likewise be buried once they become unusable.

         At first glance, however, Reb Velvele's approach does not justify the distinction drawn between the garments of standard kohanim and those of the high priest.  Why do the begadim of the kohen gadol enjoy this status of kelei ha-mikdash, while those of other kohanim do not?

         Rav Yitzchak Zev Diskin, in his "Zivchei Tzedek" (Parashat Tetzaveh), offers an explanation based on another distinction drawn by the Rambam between the kohen gadol and other kohanim with regard to their garments.  In several places (Hilkhot Kelei Ha-mikdash 5:7; Sefer Ha-mitzvot, asei 33), the Rambam mentions that the kohen gadol would wear his special garments at all times, even when not actually engaged in the Temple service.  This would appear to reflect a special status unique to the priestly garments of the kohen gadol.  The other kohanim wore their bigdei kehuna only while performing the avoda; their garments served merely as a prerequisite for their involvement in the service.  The kohen gadol's garments, by contrast, were meant as fixtures in the Temple, similar to the altars, the menorah, etc.  They served not only as a condition for the valid performance of the Temple service, but rather to enhance the honor and glory of God's Temple, to add to the general aura of grandeur in the Mikdash.  Quite understandably, then, the kohen gadol's garments have the same status of the kelei ha-mikdash, and must therefore be buried once they become no longer usable.

Tuesday

         As we discussed earlier this week, at the beginning of Parashat Tetzaveh God commands Benei Yisrael to provide olive oil for the lighting of the menorah in the Mishkan.  Several Midrashic passages note the apparent difficulty of this candle-lighting ritual, as it gives the impression that we must provide light for the Almighty, Heaven forbid, that somehow He needs us to bring light into His Temple.  Shemot Rabba (36) explains God's command as follows: "Not that I need you [to provide light for Me], but rather you shall make light for Me just as I provide light for you… This is analogous to a seeing man and a blind man who walked together. The seeing man said to the blind man, 'Come, and I will lead you,' and the blind man walked [with him].  When they entered the home, the seeing man said to the blind man, 'Go ahead and light the lamp for me so that you won't feel indebted to me that I escorted you'." 

         Thus, God needs our light no more than a seeing man needs a blind man to turn on the light switch for him.  But He requests that we light candles in His Temple as a gesture of sorts, so that we need not feel indebted to Him for illuminating the earth for us.

         At first glance, this Midrash is very difficult to understand.  Aren't we supposed to feel indebted to the Almighty?  Do we not devote several paragraphs in our daily prayers to thanking the Almighty for the me'orot - the luminaries?  How can the Midrash compare our relationship to God with that of the blind man and the seeing man?

         Apparently, this Midrash must be read and interpreted on a deeper level.  Rav Yitzchak Stollman, in his "Minchat Yitzchak," explains that the Midrash here works with the common analogy between the light of the menorah and Torah study.  (Scores of passages in the Midrash and commentaries view the menorah as symbolic of the "light" of the Torah.)  The command that we light the menorah for God, the Midrash explains, represents the need for our participation in the process of Torah, namely, our role in the development of Torah she-be'al peh, the oral tradition. God wanted not only to give us the Torah to study, but for us to help build the Torah, which we do through the in-depth, intricate analysis of the oral law and even arriving at our own "chiddushim" - novel explanations.  Whereas the written law is for us to simply preserve in its original form, the oral tradition is for us to build upon.  This is the light that we shine to "complement" - to whatever extent possible - the light shone for us by the Almighty with the written Torah.  By exerting ourselves intellectually in the continued development of the rich tradition of halakhic thought and analysis, we establish and sustain a unique partnership between us and the Almighty.  Clearly, as the Midrash notes, God does not need our input in the understanding of Torah; He could have just as easily handed us a clear, concise "Shulchan Arukh" that wouldn't have required dozens of generations of Talmudic scholarship to precede it or thousands of works afterward to try to explain it.  But He granted us the opportunity to acquire Torah as our own, for us to become one and the same with Torah, as we develop it with our own rational thinking and analysis.

         We should perhaps conclude with the obvious disclaimer that the notion of human intellectual involvement in developing Torah she-be'al peh does not invite the innovation and personal decisions of anyone who happens to study Torah.  Like any field of study, halakhic analysis has its own set of rules, guidelines and boundaries within which - and only within which - the art of "chiddush" may be implemented.  A famous Talmudic passage (which Rabbi Stollman actually cites in this piece) in Masekhet Avoda Zara (19a) comments that first the Torah is called "God's"; afterwards, it is called the individual's Torah.  This Gemara means that by investing one's intellectual and creative powers in understanding Torah, he earns a degree of ownership over it. Significantly, however, this Gemara also points to an initial stage, at which the Torah is still "God's," so-to-speak.  Only after achieving a degree of mastery and scholarship can one then proceed to the second stage, at which he can transform Torah into his own, personal acquisition.

WEDNESDAY

         In Parashat Tetzaveh, God commands Moshe to appoint his brother, Aharon, to the priesthood along with his children: "You shall bring forward your brother Aharon with his sons from among the Israelites to serve Me as priests" (28:1).  The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 37:4) tells that Moshe felt despondent upon hearing this command.  The Almighty then said to him, "The Torah was Mine and I have given it to you!" 

         At first glance, this Midrash seems to tell that Moshe felt slighted by Aharon's designation for the kehuna, and the Almighty consoled him by reminding him that he had received the Torah.  This distinction of Moshe apparently superseded the prestige involved in the kehuna, thus soothing Moshe's anguish at seeing the kehuna go to his brother.

         This straightforward reading, however, gives rise to several difficulties.  Most obviously, it is somewhat hard to imagine Moshe Rabbenu, the most humble of all men, feeling uneasy over losing the kehuna to his brother.  Secondly, what did God's response tell him that he had not known beforehand?  Had Moshe forgotten that he ascended Mount Sinai to receive the Torah from the Almighty, and that no one else, including his brother, was permitted to go with him? Finally, why does God emphasize, "the Torah was Mine"?  How does this contribute to His response to Moshe?

         Rav Yaakov David Willowski, in his Nimukei Ha-ridbaz, offers an entirely different interpretation of this Midrash.  Moshe felt perfectly at ease with his brother's position as kohen gadol.  What troubled him was a different aspect of the command he received from God: "You shall bring forward your brother Aharon WITH HIS SONS."  Aharon earned not only the privilege of the high priesthood, but also the ultimate joy and satisfaction of knowing that he passes this position on to his offspring for all time.  Of this Moshe was jealous.  Whereas Aharon's stature was passed down biologically, Moshe's leadership position was not.  This troubled Moshe.

         God responds by explaining to Moshe precisely why this is the case: Aharon's position involved avoda, service, while Moshe's role had to with Torah, its study and teaching.  This is why Moshe could not pass down his position through inheritance.  For one bequeaths to his heirs only that which is external to his self; one can leave his children money and possessions, but not his values, his personality, his wisdom, and certainly not his body.  The inheritance, which passes to one's heirs automatically, without any investment of effort on their part, does not include all these parts of the person, which one can acquire only through hard work and effort.  "The Torah was Mine, and I have given it to you," God tells Moshe. As we saw yesterday, through the intensive study of Torah one acquires it as his own.  "God's Torah" becomes, so-to-speak, the individual's own Torah.  The Nimukei Ha-ridbaz takes this one step further: the Torah becomes part of one's very being.  It is more than a possession; it is an intrinsic quality.  This Moshe could not bequeath to his children, and thus God explains to Moshe why his children will not succeed him as Torah leader, while Aharon's position does, in fact, pass through inheritance.

THURSDAY

         Parashat Tetzaveh begins with the mitzva of the shemen zayit, the pure olive oil Benei Yisrael were to donate for the lighting of the menorah in the Mishkan.  As we have seen, the Midrashim view the light of the menorah as symbolic of Torah study. The Midrash towards the beginning of this parasha (Shemot Rabba 36) elaborates a bit on this symbolism: "See how the words of Torah shine for a person while he involves himself with them, and whoever does not involve himself and does not know, stumbles. This may be compared to one who stands in darkness.  When he starts to walk, he comes upon a stone and stumbles upon it; he comes upon a sewer and falls into it.  He thrusts his face into the ground.  Why? Because he did not carry a candle." Similarly, the Midrash continues, one who does not study Torah is bound to fall and stumble, to transgress the laws of the Torah.  By contrast, one who does study is comparable to one who walks at night with a lamp, who sees the stones and sewers and can thus avoid them.

         While the message of this Midrash is abundantly clear and straightforward, one subtle nuance deserves our attention.  In the analogy drawn, the individual walking without a lamp stumbles twice: on a stone, and on a sewer.  Granted, the double stumbling could perhaps serve no purpose other than sheer dramatic effect.  On the other hand, however, the message of the Midrash could have been conveyed with just as much force and clarity if the individual in the analogy had fallen only once.  What significance could there be in the two instances of stumbling depicted in the Midrash?

         Very often, protrusions and depressions in the ground (particularly mountains and valleys) are used as symbols of a person's self-image - pride and arrogance on the one hand, humiliation and lowliness on the other.  Here, too, the Midrash may refer to two specific kinds of stumbling blocks that one normally encounters through life.  We all enjoy moments of great achievement and pride, as well as suffer defeat and failure.  The way we view our life naturally swings along the same pendulum as life itself. In moments of triumph, we feel confident and self-satisfied; when we fall, we feel unworthy and insignificant. It is these two stumbling blocks to which the Midrash refers.  If we walk without the light of Torah, we run the risk of stumbling upon a "stone," an elevation in the ground, symbolic of an elevated ego and sense of self confidence.  We begin attributing our successes and victories solely to our own efforts and talents, we lose sight of our limits and overlook our submission to God.  At the opposite extreme, we are in danger of falling into the "sewers" - the depression that naturally results from failure, despair, shattered dreams, and disappointment.

         The light of Torah, and specifically the "involvement in Torah" as mentioned in the Midrash, helps us avoid both these pitfalls.  On the one hand, it serves as a constant reminder of our humble status as servants of God, that we are at His mercy and command, that only He guides us and determines our fate.  At the other end, Torah grants us an invaluable sense of mission and self-worth. It lets us know at all times that no matter what we do or don't do, regardless of our situation, we bear the sacred responsibilities of the Torah, and ultimately, that is all that should matter to us.

(Based on the comments of Rav Barukh Yitzchak Yissakhar Halevi, in his "Birkat Yitzchak")

FRIDAY

         Parashat Tetzaveh describes the "choshen," the breastplate worn by the high priest which contained the Urim V'tumim, a sacred script of sorts which would miraculously provide answers to questions of national concern posed to the kohen gadol.  (Chazal explain that the letters spelling out the response to a given inquiry would light up and then be deciphered by the kohen gadol.)  The choshen was firmly attached to the efod - the kohen gadol's apron, and the Torah forbids detaching the choshen from the efod (see 28:28).  The Rambam lists this prohibition as one of the six hundred and thirteen mitzvot in the Torah.  (In a S.A.L.T. a number of years ago, we discussed the philosophical significance behind this prohibition.)

         The Sefer Ha-chinukh, in his presentation of this mitzva (mitzva 100), imposes a significant restriction on the prohibition, claiming that it applies only during the avoda (Temple service).  At any other time, there is no prohibition against detaching the choshen from the efod.  The Minchat Chinukh (a super-commentary on the Sefer Ha-chinukh) questions this thesis.  On what is this based?  From where did the Sefer Ha-chinukh derive this principle, which appears nowhere in Talmudic literature?

         Rav Avraham Yitzchak Sorotzkin, in his "Gevurat Yitzchak," finds a source for the Chinukh's position - if we slightly adjust the straightforward reading of the Chinukh's comment.  The Yerei'im (a work written by Rabbi Eliezer of Metz, one of the Tosafists), in chapter 317, presents a slightly different restriction on this prohibition, that it applies only while the kohen gadol wears his garments.  There is no prohibition against removing the choshen from the efod while the kohen gadol is not wearing them.  Rav Sorotzkin argues that the Chinukh adopted this position, with one modification. For the prohibition to apply, the kohen gadol must not only be wearing his special garments, but he must be wearing them in a halakhically meaningful way.  To understand what this means, Rav Sorotzkin invokes a different halakha relevant to the bigdei kehuna, and that is the issue of sha'atnez.  Generally, the Torah forbids wearing a garment containing both wool and linen fabric.  However, the Torah nevertheless permitted the kohanim (and actually required them) to wear the priestly garments, which in fact contained both wool and linen.  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Kil'ayim (10), restricts this provision to the time of avoda, while the kohen is involved in the service.  Rav Chayim of Brisk explained that in essence, the Torah suspends the prohibition of sha'atnez whenever the bigdei kehuna are worn.  However, according to the Rambam, when the avoda is not in progress, the bigdei kehuna cannot be said to be "worn" in the halakhic sense. Since they serve no purpose at that time, they are worn as regular clothing, and not as priestly garments. Consequently, the suspension of the sha'atnez prohibition automatically disappears.  Only when the bigdei kehuna are worn in the formal, halakhic sense does the Torah suspend the prohibition of sha'atnez.

         Rav Sorotzkin applies this same notion to explain the Sefer Ha-chinukh's position in our context.  The prohibition against dislodging the choshen from the efod applies only when the garments are worn in the formal sense, which occurs only while the avoda is in progress.

         Rav Sorotzkin employs this idea to resolve a more specific difficulty raised by the Minchat Chinukh against the Sefer Ha-chinukh's position.  The Gemara in Masekhet Makkot (22a) envisions a scenario of one violating this prohibition of detaching the choshen while working out in the field.  (A full discussion of the Gemara's context lies beyond the scope of our discussion.)  Obviously, one who plows his field is not performing the avoda!! How, then, can we resolve this Gemara with the Sefer Ha-chinukh's stance?  Rav Sorotzkin suggests an explanation based on the aforementioned analysis and a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi, towards the beginning of Masekhet Yoma.  The Yerushalmi there establishes that the kohen mashuach milchama - the kohen who would join the Jewish army when they went out to battle (see Devarim 20:1-9) - had the power to consult the Urim V'tumim even outside the Bet Ha-mikdash.  At first glance, this seems difficult to understand.  In order to consult the Urim V'tumim, the kohen gadol had to wear the bigdei kehuna, which was forbidden outside the Bet Ha-mikdash.  How could the kohen mashuach milchama consult the Urim V'tumim outside the Temple, if he cannot wear the priestly garments outside the Temple?  Apparently, as Rav Chayim of Brisk comments, we have here a unique provision allowing the kohen mashuach milchama to wear these garments outside the Temple grounds. What more, this wearing attains the formal, halakhic status of bigdei kehuna required to consult with the Urim V'tumim.  Thus, we have an extraordinary situation whereby a kohen can wear the bigdei kehuna in a halakhically meaningful way even outside the Mikdash.  Perhaps, according to the Sefer Ha-chinukh, it was to this situation that the Gemara in Makkot refers.  When it spoke of a violation of this prohibition during agricultural activity, it perhaps referred to a kohen mashuach milchama, who has permission to wear the bigdei kehuna for purposes of consulting the Urim V'tumim, even outside the Mikdash.