Divrei Torah

From the first print issue: fall 2005

The essence of all fairy tales is “Someday my prince will come.” It is an assertion of faith in destiny; the virtuous girl will be rewarded with a worthy prince (AKA best bochur in __) as a mate who attests to her exceptional praiseworthiness.  The princess (or girl) need not do anything (thought it never hurts to be beautiful), secure in the knowledge that there is a handsome prince who will inevitably find his way to her and rescue her from obscurity and loneliness forever.  To help the process, she may take action like wishing upon a star to make her dreams come true.  No matter how enduring the story is in popular culture, reality is not a fairy tale.  The Jewish concept of bashert should not be confused with the fantasy presented by fictional romances.  Yes, there is a bahsert for you; nevertheless, taking very extended naps or wearing unstable footwear is not likely to bring him to you.

 Someday My Bashert Will Come . . .?

          By Rabbi Chaim Brown 

Probably one of the most abused terms in the shidduch world is "bashert".  From the time one comes of age,, the search is on for the one, the bashert.  After all, we are all guaranteed to have one, so the magical meeting of soulmates must be destined to occur.  If one's mate is guaranteed, you may wonder, why should I have to expend so much energy looking for what will inevitably be found anyway?  If it is up to the individual to make the effort to find the bashert, then what practical effect does this enigmatic concept have?

The source for the cryptic concept of bashert is a found in Chazal (Sota 2a).  The Gemara records a teaching of Reish Lakish that a man merits a wife according to the worth of his deeds.   Rashi explains, a tzaddik will marry a mate who is tzanua, modest, and one who is a rasha, will marry a mate who is similarly wicked.  The Gemara then proceeds to challenge the view of Resish Lakish based Rav's teaching that 40 days before a child is born a bas kol, a voice in Heaven, proclaims "bas ploni l'ploni"- the daughter of this one is destined for this child.  That saying indicates that each child has a guaranteed partner, a bashert, that is not dependent on his/her future actions in life!   The Gemara resolves the contradiction by distinguishing "zivug rishon", one's first marriage, from "zivug sheni", a second marriage.  Rashi explains that a first marriage is determined by Heavenly decree of  "bas ploni l'ploni,"  irrespective of the merit of one's deeds in life.  The partner for a person’s second marriage, however, is dependent on one's merits. 

These few lines open a Pandora's box of philosophical dilemmas.  Why does the Gemara see a contradiction between the concept of bashert and the role of one's deeds or character in determining one's mate?   Does that mean that one's bashert is determined in advance on the basis of what that individual's nature will be?  Rashi categorically rejects that premise.  Such predetermination about the nature of what an individual will be, whether tzaddik or rasha  contradicts the fundamental belief of bechira chofshis, free will.

In chapter eight of his Shmoneh Perakim, the Rambam elaborates on the concept of free will, and extends the philosophical problem further.  The Rambam notes that marriage itself is a mitzva.  If one cannot be deprived of free will, then one cannot be forced to perform a mitzva or do an aveira.  How then can one be predestined to find a bashert and marry, perforce predetermining one's performance of a mitzva?  The Rambam further sharpens his argument in a letter to Ovadya the Convert (Iggros haRambam vol. 1 p. 237).  The Torah (Devarim 20:7) allows a dispensation for a newly engaged individual not to have to join in battle lest he die and his neighbor take his betrothed.  If one is destined to marry one's bashert, asks the Rambam, how is it conceivable that the marriage go unfulfilled and this Divine decree not be brought to fruition?

Clearly the concept of bashert is more complex than may have been supposed.  The Rambam forcefully writes that when a statement of Chazal taken literally flies in the face of such a fundamental principle, such as free will, it means that there is obviously a deeper meaning to the their teachings.  Here, suggests the Rambam, Chazal do not mean that one's marriage partner is predetermined in an absolute sense.  What bashert means, rather, is that there is a natural inclination for this potential marriage to occur, but it does not diminish the needs and role of a person's choice as well as for schar v'onesh (reward and punishment) to shape the outcome.  In other words, all things being equal, a person has a certain proclivity to his/her bashert.  Indeed, every person has a natural tendency to be drawn to certain types of people and to be repelled by other types.  Of course, a person can work on habituating their personality to go against its natural tendency.  Likewise, a person can choose to direct their feelings toward someone other than his bashert, or a person may not be zoche to live up to their personal potential that had been set as the match with their bashert's potential.  Consequently, one could end up not marrying the one designated as his bashert. 

The Gemara (Moed Katan) allows for betrothing a woman on chol hamoed lest someone else beats him to it.  The Gemara challenges how such a scenario can take place when the idea of  bashert  seems to ensure a specific mate for each individual?  The Gemara here answers that the powerful effects of tefilos, prayer, can result in one’s potential bashert marrying a different mate.  The idea of this passage would seem to underscore the Rambam's point - bashert is far from a guarantee.  Just as bashert can be affected by one's choice and one's merits, it can also be affected by one's tefilos.   

What are the ramifications of the Rambam's position for your own involvement in  the shidduch scene?  Firstly, be who you are, not someone else - it is your natural personality and proclivity who your bashert is meant for.  Secondly, tefilos, zechuyos, actions, choices, and middos all play a role in finding your bashert .  Your bashert is the one you were matched to before your neshoma faced all the challenges and influences of this world, so the truer one remains to that untainted and unspoiled neshoma, the closer one will be to recognizing one's bashert.  Thirdly, bashert is just a proclivity - a person still has to work hard to make the right choices to find a bashert.  Hashem has endowed each of us with certain potential and tendencies, including the potential to be zoche to a mate that is the perfect match for each personality, but he also has allowed each of us the freedom to choose whether we take advantage of that potential, whether we choose to marry at all, and whom we choose to marry.  The combination of zechuyos, tefilos, and personal effort and choices are what ultimately leads one to his/her bashert. 

Quick Vort by Ariella Brown

The layning of the second day of Rosh Hashana recounts the story of the akeida.  At the end of the story, Avraham is told that his brother had children whose progeny lead up to the birth of his son’s bashert, Rifka.  It’s interesting that a number of people’s names are included in that genealogy, but the name of Lavan, Rifka’s older brother is omitted.  One possible answer is that he need not be mentioned because once the Torah arrives at Bethuel’s name, it can immediately mention the birth of his daughter without listing his other children.  However, there is a deeper answer, as well.  There is a principle advanced in Bava Basra (110A) that one who marries a wife should check out her brother because his character foretells how her sons will turn out.  Rashi quotes this in connection to Vaera 6:23 to explain why the Torah mentions the name of the brother of Aharon’s wife.   In that instance, the brother was a most illustrious character, a propitious choice for the husband.  On the other hand, Rifka’s brother was a notorious rasha.  Consequently, the Torah does not bring him up in connection to Rifka at the point when she is introduced as Yitzchak’s shidduch.    She is to be accepted in Avraham’s family on her own merits, and the defects of her sibling should not be seen as an obstacle to the marriage.   

from the fall 2007 issue  The Metaphysics of Marriage by Rabbi Maroof

A person’s wedding day is perhaps the most significant and memorable day in his or her life. The emotional intensity surrounding the beginnings of marriage can be so great and the process so overwhelmingly rapid that the deeper meaning of the ceremony itself is often lost in the shuffle. The content and purpose of the Sheva Berachot - the seven blessings recited under the huppa at a wedding and then at celebratory meals during the first week of a couple’s marriage – are among those elements of a Jewish wedding that are are accepted as a matter of course but rarelyconsidered in depth.

In fact, these blessings are regarded by the Rabbis as essential prerequisites to married life; the Talmud tells us that a man is not permitted to live with his wife until the Sheva Berachot have been recited. Clearly, if the lessons inherent in them contain the key to the spiritual foundation of a Jewish home, then there is more to the text than  first meets the eye.   The objective of this article is to explore the content of the Sheva Berachot and a few of their applicable halachot, with an eye to developing a clearer understanding of the objective they are meant to serve. I hope that this brief study can offer insights that enable couples and their friends and families to appreciate the beauty of a Jewish wedding on a whole new level..

A quick examination of the Seven Blessings immediately reveals that they revolve around three core topics. The first is Hashem’s creation of the Universe in general and of human beings – male and female - in particular. The second is Hashem’s provision of joy and gladness to a couple united in matrimony. The third is the destruction of the Holy Temple and prayers for its reestablishment in the near future. Of course, the most basic question we must ask is what these three concepts – Creation, celebration, and the rebuilding of the Bet Hamiqdash - have in common. How are they relevant to one another? But before we attempt to explain this, let us first consider a couple of procedural halachot that detail the conditions under which these berachot are to be recited.

The Mishnah in Masechet Megillah tells us that, in order to recite the Sheva Berachot, a quorum of ten men must be in attendance. During the first week of a couple’s marriage, Sheva Berachot can only be recited if, in addition to the presence of ten men, one of the attendees has not participated in any prior Sheva Berachot for the couple. Without panim hadashot – new participants – only the final blessing of Sheva Berachot may be said. According to the Shulhan Aruch, the final blessing can be recited even in the absence of a minyan, provided that there is a zimmun of three people saying Birkat Hamazon together.

In studying these laws, we are confronted with a host of questions. First of all, why is a minyan necessary for Sheva Berachot at all? ? Marriage is fundamentally a private affair, not a prayer service, so it is unclear why it should be dependent upon the presence of a minyan.  While qualified witnesses must be present to render the marriage ceremony legally binding, the questions remains why must there be a minyan at the huppa?

Second, the halacha seems to be ambivalent about Sheva Berachot during the “honeymoon week.” If Sheva Berachot are supposed to be recited the entire week, then what need is there to involve new guests? And if Sheva Berachot are not required during this time, why does the presence of new guests change that?

Third, what exactly is the status of the enigmatic seventh blessing? Logically, we would expect Sheva Berachot to either be recited in their entirety or be omitted. Yet, even when the Sheva Berachot are not said – such as when there are no “new faces” or there is no minyan – somehow, the seventh blessing can still be made. Why is it treated differently from the other berachot?

In order to shed light on this complex subject, we need to explore a more fundamental question – the criteria for the requirement of a minyan in general. Based upon the verse in the Torah, “And I shall be sanctified in the midst of the children of Israel”, the Gemara teaches that any “davar shebiqdusha” (matter related to the sanctification of G-d’s name) can only be carried out “in the midst of the children of Israel”, that is, in the presence of a minyan.

On the surface, however, the definition of a davar shebiqdusha is by no means self-evident. One could argue that every mitzvah we perform is, to some extent, a qiddush Hashem, yet the institution of minyan is not relevant to most of the commandments we fulfill on a daily basis. How did the Rabbis know when to require a quorum and when to dispense with this requirement?

To resolve this difficulty, let us consider the example of Torah reading. Obviously, Torah study occurs on a regular basis in private and in small groups; no minyan is required. One could even read directly from a Torah scroll as a part of personal study, without having to gather ten men first. Yet we know that the mitzvah of Torah Reading that occurs in the synagogue on Mondays, Thursdays, Shabbat and Holidays cannot be executed without a bona fide quorum. What is the difference between these two scenarios?

The answer is that Torah reading possesses a dual significance. On one hand, it is a component of learning Torah, and is thus directly relevant to our individual development as Jews. On the other hand, when the Torah is read in public and blessings are recited before and after it, a totally new quality emerges. Communal Torah reading is more than just an act of decoding or comprehending text – it is a reenactment and reaffirmation of the covenant between the Jewish people and the Holy One, Blessed Be He.

As the Rabbis mention in several places in the Talmud, the manner in which we read from the Torah is supposed to be reminiscent of the Revelation at Sinai. (We see proof for this in the mitzvah of Haqhel, which is modeled after the Sinai experience, as well as in the public Torah readings orchestrated by King Josiah, King Hezeqiah, and Ezra.) In other words, there is something transcendent and supernal about communal Torah reading that distinguishes it from individual readings – it reflects something more universal and profound about the Jewish nation’s relationship with the Creator than any individual’s reading ever could. A particular individual’s act of Torah study cannot serve as a vehicle for this kind of demonstration. Only the unique and eternal community of Israel, duly represented by the quorum of ten men, can transform a concrete performance into a metaphysical manifestation. 

The same phenomenon can be observed in the context of communal prayer. An individual’s tefillah is, of course, deeply meaningful. However, when the community engages in tefillah together, a new quality of prayer is realized – prayer as a reflection of the Jewish people’s status as a mamlechet kohanim vegoy qadosh, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. This transcendent aspect of tefillah cannot be perceived in a solitary Jew’s supplications. It only finds expression in a communal setting, when individual tefillot combine to generate an effect that is greater than the sum of their parts. When this is achieved, we demonstrate it by adding Qaddish, Qedusha and other important prayers to our order of tefillah.

 With this insight in mind, we can approach the issue of Sheva Berachot with increased clarity. Halacha does not see marriage as a purely personal endeavor. On the contrary, when two people commit to one another under the huppa, they are accomplishing something even more significant and monumental than the creation of a particular  household for themselves - and identifying and underscoring the hidden, transcendent element of their actions, the universal embedded in the particular, is the whole aim of the Seven Blessings. What is the eternal spark, the higher principle that is revealed under the bridal canopy?

 Through their descriptions of G-d’s creation of the Universe and the human race, the Sheva Berachot teach us that every marital union represents the further unfolding of Hashem’s act of creation, which began with the very first couple,  Adam and Chava. When we see a hatan and kallah standing under the huppa, we witness a reenactment of the scene described in the first chapters of Beresheet – man and woman, two singular beings united together to fulfill G-d’s design for humanity. This profound symbolism, this moving beyond the “sum of the parts” to a greater whole of tremendous philosophical and spiritual import, is the reason why a minyan is necessary for Sheva Berachot. The blessings  are considered a “davar shebiqdusha” because they draw out the eternal and transcendent aspects of an otherwise personal, temporal and ephemeral act.

  Awareness of this element of the Jewish wedding is a fundamental precondition of married life. The bride and groom must view themselves as vehicles of the Divine will in both the physical and spiritual dimensions of their existence. The joy they experience as they create a home together should go beyond the sentimental pleasure of companionship; it should derive from their new sense of completeness and increased closeness to Hashem. This is why the Sheva Berachot highlight the fact that our joy and gladness are blessings from G-d - gifts that He gives us to help us fulfill our spiritual purpose in life - and tell us that the first man and woman were also supplied with this Heavenly bounty when they found one another. Like Adam and Eve, the task of the “newly created” couple is to study G-d’s wisdom together, deriving inspiration and guidance from it in the management of their joint household as well as their individual lives.

 The benefit of Sheva Berachot, however, is not reserved solely for the bride and groom. Anyone who celebrates together with the hatan and kallah must also reflect upon the transcendent significance of their union. This enriches and deepens the happiness he experiences as he participates in the rejoicing. Indeed, according to the Rambam, the reason why we recite the Seven Blessings when “new faces” dine with the bride and groom is for the sake of the new guests themselves – to grant them the opportunity to hear and to contemplate the message of the Sheva Berachot.

 Once the whole series of blessings has been recited under the huppa, repetition of the seventh blessing alone would be sufficient to help bride and groom keep the key principles in mind. However, the arrival of new guests requires a rehashing of the entire progression of Sheva Berachot all over again. (This is in contradistinction to Tosafot who maintain that the “new faces” add a new element to the joy of the bride and groom, thus necessitating a “redo” of the blessings.)

 In light of these concepts, we can appreciate the reason why the Bet Hamiqdash figures so prominently in the Sheva Berachot and the Jewish wedding in general. Although we are surely glad to witness the establishment of a Bayit Neeman B’Yisrael – a continuation of Hashem’s creative process on Earth – our joy is tempered by our awareness of the unfortunate spiritual state of the Jewish community and of humanity at this time. How much can we celebrate the foundation of a new home in Israel when our national home - the center of communal life, Divine Service, Torah thought and inspiration - lies in ruins? As beautiful as the household may be, it is only one part of a larger social entity and will no doubt suffer at least some of the effects of the currently tragic condition of our people.

 In summary, the purpose of Sheva Berachot is to highlight the transcendent context in which we view the otherwise mundane union of a bride and groom. Because the creation of a new household should be viewed as an event of truly cosmic proportions, a minyan is necessary for the recitation of the Berachot. Not only the significance of marriage as an institution, but even the role of joy and gladness is put in proper spiritual perspective through the blessings; we acknowledge their importance as gifts from Hashem meant to bring us to greater heights in our Torah Study and mitzvah observance.

  In theory, reciting the Seven Blessings under the huppa just once would be sufficient – after all, for the remainder of the week of celebration, the seventh and final blessing is appended to Birkat Hamazon even when neither a minyan nor any new guests are available. This repetition is enough to help those who attended the wedding, including the bride and groom, review and internalize the themes of the Sheva Berachot they have already heard. However, the function of the Berachot is not limited to educating and inspiring the hatan, kallah and their guests – it is relevant to every Jew who chooses to rejoice with them. As such, any time a “new face” joins in the festivities, we are obligated to make all seven of the blessings once again. In this way, they too can partake in the transcendent aspects of the celebration to the fullest extent possible.

   Rabbi Joshua Maroof is the spiritual leader of Magen David Sephardic Congregation in Rockville, Maryland. In addition to semicha, he holds a masters degree in Educational Psychology from the City University of New York. He has written extensively on Torah topics.  His blogs include: http://askrabbimaroof.blogspot.com,%20/ http://vesomsechel.blogspot.com/, http://rambamtorah.blogspot.com/

“Beauty is Truth, truth beauty” Shalom, Emes, and the Chanukah story

“Beauty is Truth, truth beauty” is the declaration of the Grecian urn in John Keats’ famous ode.  Whether or not that statement can be taken at face value is not just the subject of poetry, but underlies the story of Chanukah.  The urn reflects the culture of Greece, the veneration of beauty as an end in itself.  The Hellinists thought that the culture of Greece and the culture of Judaism could live in peace; the underlying conflict of values could be smoothed over and a superficial beauty would replace the inner truth.  But the Hasmonaim saw through the falseness of this position and declared that the fundamental conflict of values could not be smoothed over with an appealing façade.  Supreme beauty can only be found in a peace based on inner truth, as represented by the word shalom. 

Two Elements of Shalom

We usually invoke the concept of shalom after a disagreement has been felt and the two sides seek reconciliation - the personification of shalom bayis is the husband who rushes home with a bouquet of flowers after a disagreement with his wife.  We like to view the world as naturally in a state of harmony where shalom is called on only as a bandage to repair the breaches and gaps of discord.  The Maharal (Nesiv haShalom ch 2), however, suggests that perhaps the contrarian view is true – the world exists in a state of discord and disharmony, and without our constant efforts to create and promote shalom, there would be no peace.  The Midrash (VaYikra Rabbah 25) notes that most mitzvos are expressed in terms of happenstance – “ki yifga”, “ki yirakei”, etc., - when some circumstance occurs, the halacha obligates a certain reaction.  Shalom is the exception to this rule.  The Torah demands “bakesh shalom”, to pursue and create peace, not simply to invoke shalom as a value after the happenstance of machlokes.

The word shalom shares the same root as shelimus, perfection and wholesomeness.  Being whole means not just appreciating one’s own viewpoint and excluding all others, but integrating the “other”s point of view into our own understanding with respect and appreciation.  The husband who responds with flowers only after disagreement appreciates only the first aspect of shalom, but fails to fulfill the charge of bakesh shalom.  Shalom is built before the argument occurs, by creating an environment of sympathetic understanding and unity. 

Shalom and Emes: Ya’akov Avinu

These two levels of shalom underlay the differences in outlook between Ya’akov Avinu and his brother Eisav.  Although Ya’akov is said to personify the trait of emes, truth, there is a value which Ya’akov personified which is yet even greater than truth.   The halacha is that mutar leshanos mipnei hashalom, for the purpose of creating peace a white lie is permitted.  Shalom -- peace --trumps the value of emes  -- truth.  We find repeatedly Ya’akov described as an ish shalom, a man of peace and shleimus.  The Torah describes Ya’akov coming to the city of Shchem “shaleim,” complete and whole, after his battle with the Angel of Eisav (Beraishis 33:18); Ya’akov’s children are called “shleimim” by Chamor and Shchem (34:21); Ya’akov tells Yosef to go seek “shlom achecha v’shlom ha’tzon” (37:14), the peace and welfare of his brothers; Rashi (37:2) writes that “bikesh Ya’akov la’sheves b’shalvah,” Ya’akov desired to live out his days in peace.  Ya’akov did not simply desire relaxation from the travails of life, an end to mending machlokes.  Ya’akov aspired to the higher level of shalom which defines shleimus, perfection and completion of character through incorporating and synthesizing the viewpoint of the “other” into one’s own experience.  On the deepest level, the greatest discord in creation is the breach between the experience and personality of mankind and the will of Hashem.  Perhaps this was the peace that Ya’akov sought after – the realization of an self that was truly one with G-d.

This level of shalom that calls for constant effort stands in sharp contrast to the world of Eisav.  After meeting Ya’akov journeying from Lavan’s house, Eisav tried to convince Ya’akov to continue the journey with him.  Eisav fundamentally did not share any of Ya’akov’s values or outlook, but that in Eisav’s mind did not pose an obstacle so long as overt conflict was averted.  In this regard, shalom is the fullest realization of emes – a false and superficial overlooking of conflict is replaced by a joint search for true shared vales.  Parshas Noach describes the blessing Noach gave his two sons Shem and Yefes, “Yaft Elokim L’Yefes v”yishkon b’ohalei Sheim” – Hashem should give beauty to Yefes, but dwell in the tent of Shem.  Superficial beauty with no inner core, peace that avoids conflict but does not lead to a merging of inner values, is the hallmark of Yefes, the valuing of the aesthetic over the ethical which is the hallmark of Eisav and Edom.  Ya’akov, however, seeks the inner peace of a shared ethic.  R’ Nachman Breslov (Likutei Moharan I:1) contrasts the chein, the beauty of Ya’akov, which results from this inner commitment to shared values of Torah, with the superficial chein presented by Eisav.  The latter represents the beauty that is hollow, with a surface harmony that belies its essence.  Ya’akov tells his brother “chanani Elokim,” Hashem has given me chein.  This can also be read as meaning “my chein stems from Elokim,” a beauty that reflects deep seated values, and not just temporary conflict resolution.

Superficial Beauty vs. Lasting Value

The Greeks shared Eisav’s vision of form without substance, superficial beauty without meaning. The battle of Chanukah between the Chashmonaim and the Greeks parallels the great war between Ya’akov and Eisav.  We find numerous hints to the Chanukah story in Ya’akov’s meeting with his brother Eisav.  Ya’akov crosses the river to retrieve “pachim ketanim” -- small jugs – a hint to the “pach” of oil found to light the menorah.  Ya’akov splits his camp into “machanos,” a word which seperates the letters “m-s” (death) with the letters “chanu”, the root of Chanukah (Tiferes Shlomo).  The word Chanukah itself begins with the letters “chein,” beauty.  The Tiferes Shlomo writes that Ya’akov transported his family across the “nachal,” a river, which is spelled with the same letters as make up the initial letters of the words “L’hadlik Ner Chanukah.”  The Chashmonaim clung to the concept of shalom Ya’akov personified.  

Ya’akov hoped to see his vision of shalom as the source for emes culminate in the relationship between Yosef and his brothers.  Yosef was beautiful; he is described as “mesalsel b’sa’aro,” twirling his hair, reminiscent of Eisav, who was described as an “ish sa’ir” -- a man of hair.  He also attracts the attention of the wife of Potifar.  Yet, unlike Eisav and the Greek model of skin deep beauty, the beauty and chein of Yosef was a result of his personifying the inner shalom Ya’akov cultivated – Eileh toldos Ya’akov, Yosef, the offshoot of Ya’akov was typified by Yosef.  Despite the great hopes of Ya’akov, Yosef and his brothers never did achieve the united shalom and shleimus as a family which Ya’akov as an individual aspired to.  It is no coincidence that the story of Yosef and his brothers is read around the same time of year Chanukah annually occurs – the failure of shalom marked by emes to take root is the source of galus, the source of the ideology of Yavan and the Hellinists, the source of the usurping of the chein of Torah with other false ideologies.

Aharon haKohein – Rodef Shalom and the Menorah

The mitzvah of lighting the menorah in the Mishkan is written immediately after the description of the gifts given by each Nasi for the dedication of the Mishkan.    Even though a zar, one who is not a kohein, is permitted to light the menorah, the mitzvah of menorah is written in the Torah as being part of the role of Aharon.  The Ramban comments that this mitzvah of menorah carried with it a hint to the future dedication of the Mikdash by the Chashmonaim.  Although Ahron did not have the opportunity to give a gift for the Mishkan’s dedication, the Midrash records that he was consoled through the mitzvah of menorah which endures as part of our Chanukah celebration long after we have lost the Mikdash.  Why was Ahron singled out for this mitzvah of menorah?  Perhaps it is only Ahron, known as an ohev shalom v’rodef shalom, one who pursued and sought peace, who could fulfill the chanukas haMishkan through menorah.  While each Nasi’s gift given with individual attention to detail was important, the Mishkan also needed a unifying force to bind the shevatim together – without Ahron, the Mishkan lacked shalom, and hence lacked shleimus, completion.  The Midrash Tanchuma in parshas Shmos teaches that in the merit of Ahron going out to greet his brother and rejoicing in his election he merited to wear the Urim vTumim garments of the kohein gadol.  The lost peace between brothers that Yosef and the shevatim were missing could be restored only by a true lover and pursuer of peace like Ahron haKohein.

The length of time Chanukah candles must burn is defined by the gemara as “ad she’tichleh regel min hashuk”, literally “until the feet [of passers-by] can no longer be found in the marketplace”.  The ARI z”l explains that the odd use of the word regel, hints to the charge of “meraglim atem”, “you are spies”, which Yosef leveled against his brothers.  The Chanukah candles must burn until we have absorbed the lesson of creating true shalom between ourselves and our brothers and removed the misunderstandings and discord that separated Yosef from his brothers.

Shabbos and Chanukah – a Double Dose of Shalom

The focus of much of the halachos of Chanukah is on the mitzvah of lighting the menorah in our homes, a reenactment of the lighting of the menorah of the Mikdash by the Chashmonaim after finding one pure jug of olive oil.  We might have expected the laws of lighting the menorah to appear in the Talmud amidst a discussion of the laws of the Temple or perhaps in a discussion of the oil used in Menachos; surprisingly, though, as R’ Tzadok haKohein (Pri Tzadik Chanukah 1) notes, we find the laws of Chanukah in Tractate Shabbos amidst a discussion of Shabbos candles.  The question is what relationship beyond the act of lighting candles exists between the two?

The completion of the act of Creation brought shleimus and shalom to the world through Shabbos.  We greet each other on Friday night saying “Shabbat Shalom”, we sing Shalom Aleichem to welcome Shabbos, we light Shabbos candles to increase shalom bayis by making the home comfortable and bright to inaugurate Shabbos.  The sanctity of time which we celebrate through Shabbos sees its counterpart in the sanctity of place the Mikdash represented, also inaugurated through the candles of menorah, symbol of shalom.  To return to the question of R’ Tzadok haKoehin, Chazal placed the laws of Chanukah precisely in the context of the laws of Shabbos candles to reflect the common theme of these mitzvos – the element of shalom imbued in Creation through Shabbos and the element of shalom we can introduce to creation through our own efforts at sanctifying the world.  Although we no longer have a Mikdash, the lights of the menorah still burn brightly in our homes.  Especially for the new chosson and kallah, she lighting the Shabbos candles, he lighting the menorah, these two mitzvos on Shabbos Chanukah serve as an act of inauguration of a new bayis ne’eman b’yisrael, filled with both shalom and shleimus, not just of superficial beauty, but of the deep sharing of values that is the true peace of Ya’akov Avinu, Ahron haKohein, and the victorious Chashmonaim.

 Rabbi Chaim Brown's divrei Torah can also be read at divreichaim.blogspot.com 

From the  Winter 2005 issue:

from the summer 2007 issue: Shabbos Chazon:  Seeing is Believing

by Rabbi Chaim Brown

The mourning period of the Three Weeks between 17 Tamuz and 9 Av is marked by three special haftarot that deal with the themes of the destruction of the Bais haMikdash and the punishment of the Jewish people. Known collectively as the gimel d’puranuta, these readings are known by their opening verses – "Divrei Yirmiyahum" "Shimu", and "Chazon." R’ Tzadok haKohen m’Lublin notes that the names of these haftarot correspond to three attributes by which a person can interact and communicate with the world: "Divrei Yirmiyahu" refers to the words spoken by Yirmiyahu haNavi, the aspect of speech; "Shimu" commands the Jewish people to listen, the aspect of hearing; "Chazon" refers to the vision of Yishayhu haNavi, the sense of sight. These three attributes correspond to three different levels understanding – we absorb and communicate ideas through speech, through listening, and by observation. The Three Weeks is a time for introspection, for contemplating the churban as well as the possibility of tshuvah by focusing on how we speak, how we listen, and how we see our environment.

The culmination of these three special haftarot is Chazon, which lends its name to Shabbos Chazon, and commands our attention to the sense of sight. Seeing is almost an automatic process which occurs whenever our eyes are open, but when the Torah uses the term "seeing," it means far more than the observation of superficial detail. The Ishbitzer teaches (Mei haShiloach, P’ VaYakhel) that when the Torah uses the the instruction "re’u," see, it means there is some deeper meaning below what is apparent. When the Torah informs the Jewish people, "Re’eh karasi b’shem Betzalelm," see I have called to Betzalel, it means that if they examine Betzalel they will discover that his appointment was not a whim of Moshe’s, but based on "karasi," that Hashem had called specifically him for the task of building the Mishkan because of his special qualities. Eishes Potifar declares, ‘re’u havi lanu ish ivri l’tzachek banu," see, a Jewish slave [Yosef] has been brought to make fun – here in the negative, she calls on the onlookers to not be "deceived" by Yosef’s outward appearance of innocence and instead see him as a charlatan. Pharoah accuses Moshe, "re’u ki ra’ah neged pneichem," I see beyond your superficial words to the hidden plan of escape you have in mind. It is notable that the word "r’eu" has the same numerical value (gematriya) as the word "raz" secret.

So often we see or hear words and interpret them based on their superficial meaning, but we remain blind to the true wishes of the speaker. The Ishbitzer writes that the ninth pasuk of every parsha is significant and contains some secret (sod) meaning. The ninth pasuk of Parshas Devarim, the parsha associated with Shabbos Chazon, is Moshe’s complaint "lo uchal levadi s’es eschem," he alone could not bear the burden of the Jewish people. The Ishbitzer explains that Moshe Rabeinu sensed that it was Yehoshua who was destined to lead the Jewish people into the Land, yet he deeply wished to be the one to fulfill that mission. A hint to the solution to Moshe’s problem lies in the words of this ninth pasuk – Moshe alone could not cancel the decree terminating his leadership, but had we, the Jewish people, joined him in praying that the decree be cancelled and that he lead us into the Land, the decree might have been broken. The Jewish people heard Moshe’s call, we continue to read the same words every year, yet we failed to truly see what was required. It was not acceptance of substitute judges to lighten his load which is what Moshe really wished for, but rather, he wished we would daven so that he would have been able to continue as our leader. The Jewish people grasped the superficial sense of the words, but lacked the insight, the understanding which marks true "re’iya".

Vision does not always mean seeing more, but sometimes vision is sharpened precisely because a person sees less, filtering out unnecessary data to focus only on what is crucial. One of the criteria for the judges we are commanded in Parshas Devarim to appoint is the quality of being "yedu’im", people who are known. Rashi explains that Moshe said that when a potential judge appeared before him wrapped in his talis, he had no way of knowing the judge’s tribe or place, but the people would be aware of exactly who such a person was, his background, his place, his tribe. At first glance we appreciate Moshe’s deferring to the people’s knowledge of background as a factor in selecting judges, yet, upon further reflection, perhaps this is not so much an instruction as a critique.

Is where someone lives, davens, went to school, manner of dress, or other superficial details really important in how we think of them, or are these just distractions that shift our focus away from how a person thinks and acts, which are the real clues to their personality? When a person came before Moshe wrapped in his talis, Moshe had no cognizance of the outer trappings that consume our perception. The Zohar writes that Moshe could decide a din Torah without proof or witnesses; he simply saw the truth in souls’ of the litigants. Our obsession with superficial detail clouds our judgment rather than enhances it. Our judges as representatives of ourselves require evidence, proof, and judicial process because the truth is obscured precisely because we think we know people so well, when in reality, we just know an outer guise and not an individual’s soul. Once again, the shortcoming is a product of an imperfect sense of vision.

The Talmud describes how when a group of Tanaim saw foxes running in the ruins of the Mokdash (Makos 24) they cried in sorrow, yet R’ Akiva laughed, confident that just as the prophecy of destruction was fulfilled, the prophecy of rebuilding would be as well. Surely the other Tanaim did not doubt the prophecy of eventual geula! – so why did they not laugh as R’ Akiva did?

The Midrash teaches on the pasuk, "V’chol yekar ra’asa eino," that insights which were not seen by Moshe Rabeinu were seen by R’ Akiva (see Menachos 29). R’ Tzadok haKohein teaches that of course the Tanaim all believed in the prophecy of redemption, but their eyes were filled with the desolation which surrounded them. R’ Akiva did not just believe in redemption – he saw it as reality even as his eyes beheld ruins. Shabbos Chazon calls us to perfect our perception, to transform sight into in-sight, to be aware not just of the superficial, but to have a deeper vision into what is beyond the surface. Refocusing our vision will lead to our no longer seeing the chazon of destruction, but seeing the redemption as well, u’re’eh b’tuv yerushalayim v’shalom al Yisrael.

For more Divrei Torah from Rabbi Brown visit http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/

 from the winter 2007 issue        Exceeding  Reason by Rabbi Chaim Brown

The stage is set for the climactic conclusion to the conflict between Yosef and his brothers in Parshas VaYigash: Binyamin faces enslavement; the brothers face returning home with a story that will add to their father’s grief; Yehudah faces the loss of even is share in olam haba.  Yehudah must rally himself to plead on behalf of Binyamin, and so he approaches the Egyptian viceroy and forcefully argues… nothing!  The story he tells does not mention a single mitigating fact or circumstance that we do not already know, does not offer any logical or legal arguments in Binyamin’s favor, yet, despite not really saying anything, when Yehudah is done, Yosef can no longer contain himself and reveals his identity.  What was the secret ingredient in Yehudah’s speech that resolved the conflict between the brothers? 

The story of Yosef and his brothers always coincides with the holiday of Chanukah and perhaps the two share a common theme.  The aim of the Greek oppressors is described in the Al HaNissim prayer which we add to our bentching and Shmoneh Esrei on Chanukah as “l’haskicham Torasecha ul’ha’aviram al chukei retzonecha” – “to cause the Jewish people to forget the Torah and violate the “chukim” of G-d’s will”.  As the Shem M’Shmuel notes, the Greeks had a very specific focus in their attack.  The Greeks were philosophers, logicians, the great minds of the ancient world.  They had respect for many of the legal statutes of the Torah which they understood as to form an ethical and lawful society.  Torah laws like not committing murder, not stealing, etc. appealed to the Greeek sense of reason.  What irked the Greek mind was the Jewish people’s stubborn adherence specifically to “chukim,” laws whose reasons are unfathomable  Why do that which one cannot understand or which makes no sense?  What purpose can law have when it has no reason? 

We not only find in Al HaNissim the focus of the Greek’s attack on Judaism, but we find in it the Jewish response as well.  We refer to “chukei retzonecha,” the “chukim” which are expressions of G-d’s “ratzon,” His will or desire.  The Greeks elevated reason above all and subjugated religion to be its handmaiden.  The Jewish people, however, understood that reason and understanding is but one facet of our relationship with Hashem.  That relationship is ultimately rooted in our obeying Hashem’s will and desire which transcends our understanding.  A desire often cannot be formulated in rational terms, a desire is often so deeply rooted that the reasons behind it remain hidden.   

Before pleading on behalf of Binyamin, Yehudah had to do more than think about what mitigating circumstances or legal arguments he could put forth.   “VaYigash eilav”  [Yehudah drew close to him.] The Sefas Emes explains that the “him” whom Yehudah drew close to may have been himself.  A lawyer argues on behalf of a client not because he wants to win – he argues because he is being paid to advocate on the client’s behalf.  A professional advocate tries to maintain a distance between his/her desires and emotions and the case at hand and use only his rhetorical and logical skill, the tools of Greek wisdom and learning.  Yehudah had to cross the chasm between the world of logic and the world of ratzon and bring out from within his inner desire and want.  Using cool reasoning, Yehudah suggested that the brothers sell Yosef into slavery.  At this point reason was against him, but he could not stand by, even if all appeared lost and out of his hands.  Logically there was no argument he could offer, no rationalization, but the ratzon which transcended intellect still demanded one last plea. 

The Shem M’Shmuel writes that the story of Yehudah and Yosef is the story of the relationship between the mind and the heart, between seichel and ratzon.  But these two leaders among the song of Yaakov cross over into each other’s roles.   Yosef tells over his dreams without calculating the effect they will have on the brothers, but calmly hides his emotions from them in Egypt until those dreams are fulfilled and he is forced to reveal himself. Yehudah ignores his brother’s plea because his mind tells him he must be expelled, but Yehudah himself is the one who rises to plea for Binyamin.  We do pay homage to cool logical reasoning and thought, but at the same time acknowledge a transcendent quality to life which is irreducible to calculation, the quality of “chok.”  It was this special transcendent quality which brought Yehudah to plea for his brother and this special quality which the Chashmonaim recognized as not captured by the laws of logic and reason which the Greek’s sought to impress on them. 

        Split the Difference

        by Rabbi Chaim Brown

The difficulty of finding a shidduch is succinctly captured by Chazal’s statement (Sanhedrin 22) that "Kasheh l'zavgam k'keriyas Yam Suf", the pairing of a couple for marriage is as difficult as the splitting of Yam Suf.  The only other similar statement we find in Chazal, which is perhaps equally perplexing, is “kashim mezonosav shel adam k’keriyas yam suf”, providing daily sustenance is as difficult as the splitting of the sea.  While it is comforting to know that Hashem kavyachol (so to speak) shares our difficulties with the process, the analogy used by Chazal begs for explanation.  Marriage is a bond that we hope lasts a lifetime, yet Chazal compare it specifically to the miracle of rendering asunder the very bonds of nature that hold the sea together.  Chazal, masters of language and nuance, have presented us seemingly with an oxymoron.

The Gemara (Menachos 29) tells us that Hashem used the letter “hey” to create this world, and the letter “yud” to create the next world.  Whatever we make of the use of letters to create worlds (and specifically these letters), it is clear that together the two letters spell G-d’s name “K-ah”, telling us that each world independently does not reflect G-d, but only when taken in unison. 

The goal of the Torah is not ascetic withdrawal from the world, but the use of the world for the purposes of the Torah.  What differentiates man from angel is that an angel is trapped in a static world of holiness; only man has been given the unique ability to take the gross physicality of the world we are in and make it holy (Derech Hashem I:4:4).  The sifrei chassidus go so far as to tell us that the world serves not just an instrumental good, but that within each physical object there are sparks of G-dliness – the use of the world for Torah and mitzvos reveals what is beyond our daily sensory experience, namely, that every physical object is a mask for G-d’s presence that can be revealed when that object is used for good (see Tzava’as haRivash #109; Tanya , Sha’ar HaYichud v’HaEmunah, ch. 6;  Mavo HaShea’arim (Piezezna), ch. 3 & 4).  As long as we see the “yud” of the next world as a separate realm from the “hey” of this world, then we are missing the full picture.  The “yud” of next-worldy G-dliness is inherent in this world, if we seize the opportunity to use it properly. 

The instinctive human response to crisis and tragedy, even for those who are not observant of Torah and mitzvos, is prayer.  The Jewish people stood on the banks of Yam Suf, some staring forward at the raging waters, some staring backwards at the pursuing Egyptians, with no hope in sight.  The tefilos begin with heartfelt cries, and Moshe Rabeinu himself begins to plead with Hashem to intercede yet again and save us.   Abruptly, Moshe is cut short.  Hashem declares: “Mah titzak alei, debeir el Bnei Yisrael v’yisau”, “Why scream to me, tell the Jewish people to travel forward!”  No end of commentary has been offered to try to explain why here, when the natural inclination is to turn to prayer, when the only other option is to rely on a miracle that has not been promised our guaranteed, Hashem is not interested in our tefila and orders Moshe to simply march forward.   

The Telzer Rosh Yeshiva, R’ Yosef Bloch, explains beautifully in the Shiurei Da’as that tefila is an attempt to bridge the gap between the reality that we perceive and what we believe Hashem’s goodness should allow.  It is an attempt to bridge the chasm between the “hey” of this world, with all its defects, and the “yud”, the next world of ultimate goodness and holiness that lies just out of reach.  This almost universal feeling is what Moshe was told he must transcend.  To explain Hashem’s response, the Midrash offers an analogy of the best friend of a king who begins to plead for a favor; the king replies that no begging is needed, the friend simply has to command and the king will see that the wishes are fulfilled.  Moshe’s prayers were out of place; the king stood ready to fulfill his command, and all that remained was action.  For a Moshe Rabeinu the world of “hey” and “yud” are not two separate worlds divided, but are one and the same.  Seeing a physical river as an obstacle to kedusha until somehow G-d chooses to impose his will and change that reality through our prayers is seeing two separate worlds with a gulf between them.  Seeing a river as inherently an expression of G-d’s will which exists only to serve Him and enable the Jewish people to do so is to see the “yud” even within our reality.  Such a river does not need a miracle to bend to G-d’s will, it just needs for us to walk through it.  The song Bnei Yisrael sang when the Yam split is “Azi v’zimras K-ah vayehi li l’yeshua”, the “hey” and “yud” were experienced as one, spelling K-ah, because they realized only then there is no gulf between G-d and the world, between the Jewish people and G-d, and between the laws of nature and the reality of G-d’s presence. 

Chazal chose to compare marriage to keriyas Yam Suf with great care and deliberateness.  The difference between the word ish, man, and the word isha, woman, is one is spelled with a "yud" and one is spelled with a "hey".  As long as the Chassan and Kallah see themselves as two separate elements, as a world of "yud" that lies across a gap from the world of "hey", even if they build bridges across that gap and join in the bond of marriage, there is still something lacking.  The key to revealing Hashem’s presence, “K-ah”, at Yam Suf was coming to the realization which transcended even tefila that there is no gap to bridge between the world of "yud" and the world of "hey", that the physical and spiritual worlds are cut from one and the same cloth.  Through the analogy to keriyas Yam Suf Chazal teach that the key to a successful shidduch is not figuring out how to cross the divide that separates the “I” of chasson from the “I” of kallah, but to realize that the neshoma of the chosson and the neshoma of the kallah are in reality one and the same “I”.  Ish and isha are not two separate parts, but are one united whole, and only with that perspective can they join together to reveal Hashem, “K-ah”, in their world. 

Marital Partners - Compatibility of Missions
by Abraham Moishe Jeger, Ph.D.

 In the context of several discussions on the characteristics and compatibilities of marital mates, the Talmud (Tractate Sotah 2a; Tractate anhedrin 22a) cites the statement of Rabbi Yochanan, "V'koshe I'zovgon 'kriyas yam suf" - that matching appropriate mates is as difficult as slitting the Red Sea. Many commentators have pointed to the apparent diffculty of this passage due to the lack of an obvious connection between arriage and the splitting of the Red Sea. I thought of offering an original xplanation based on the following analysis of the Satmar Rebbe, zt"l (Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum).

In his commentary on "Shir Hashirim" (Song of Songs), the Satmar Rebbe discusses the unique mission of Shlomo Hamelech ( King Solomon). The Satmar ebbe brings to bear the verse, "L'gozer yam suf I'gzorim" (Tehilim 136:13), that the Red Sea was split into multiple components (I'gzorim is plural).The medrash states that the sea was split into 12 paths - one for each of the 12 tribes. Another medrash states that the sea split into 600,000 paths-- one for each family. The famous question is "Why the need for all these different paths; why wasn't one division adequate for the entire nation to pass through?"

The Satmar Rebbe quotes the Talmud in Tractate Brachos (58a) which states that if one encounters a gathering of 600,000 Jews, one must recite a blessing of "Baruch Chochom Harozim" -- Blessed Be He, the Wise of Secrets (i.e., who knows what is in the hearts of all these different people). The Talmud continues to offer the following insight into human nature: "sh'eyn d'atam domeh zeh lozeh, v'eyn partzufayhem domim zeh lozeh" -- meaning, that just as no two people have identical faces, they likewise do not have identical personalities. In other words, every individual is comprised of a unique combination of character traits. Therefore, every person has a distinct mission and purpose in this world -- namely, to serve Hashem in a manner consistent with the origin of one's soul -- a mission which no one else can fulfill.

In a similar vein, the Satmar Rebbe cites the Alshich Hakadosh who explains the prayer "v'tein chelkeinu b'toratecha" - give us "our" share in your Torah. It is well known that the entire Oral Torah as well as every original contribution that a future Torah scholar will articulate was already presented to Moshe at Mount Sinai. However, it remained for the individuals of future generations to reveal certain aspects of the Torah based on their particular mission and roles. Through "our" revelation we are actualizing our unique potential and accomplishing our purpose in this universe. Likewise, the Alshich states that Shir HaShirim was said to have been originally presented by Hashem at Mount Sinai or in conjunction with the splitting of the Red Sea. However, it remained for Shlomo Hamelech to codify it in writing and disseminate it -- since its message was linked to the required mission of his soul, and was a manifestation of his unique essence. Building further on this theme, the Satmar Rebbe refers to the last Mishnah of Tractate Makos (3:16 ) which contains the famous statement of Rabbi Chananyah ben Akashyah: "Hashem wanted to make Israel worthy; therefore, he provided them with an abundant Torah and many commandments, as implied in the verse (Isaiah 42:21), 'Hashem chofetz I'maan tzidko, yagdil Torah V'yaadir' -- that Hashem desired to facilitate righteousness, and, therefore, m made the Torah so great and glorious." The Satmar Rebbe cites the Rambam (Maimonides) in his commentary on this Mishnah, who explains it with a fundamental Judaic principle. If a person observes just "one" of the 613 mitzvos (commandments) with optimal purity and wholeness, without any ulterior motives, and with pure love of Hashem, then that mitzvah becomes his basis (his "ticket") to eternal life in olam habo (the world-to-come). By offering us 613 commandments, the Torah maximizes the opportunity for each person to master the performance of at least one of them with total devotion, and thereby merit eternal existence. This does not imply that one may ignore the other 612 commandments; rather that each individual is likely to form a special affinity to one mitzvah and fulfill it wholeheartedly. 

Getting back to the Red Sea, our sages stated (Mechiltah, Shmos, 15:2) that a lowly maid experienced the divine presence during the splitting of the sea on a higher spiritual level than Ezekiel and other prophets during their visions. This suggests that the miraculous occasion of the sea splitting provided an opportunity for divine revelation and constituted a setting for serving Hashem on a lofty level. Therefore, states the Satmar Rebbe, the sea had to split into 600,000 "private" paths so that all individuals would realize their potential spiritual capacities, according to their unique essence, with no interference from any other person.

It strikes me that the above framework could be applied to shedding light on the linkage between marriage and splitting the Red Sea. Each marriage brings together individuals from different families with different characteristics and missions. We are all part of one of the 600,000 core souls that experienced their own path in the sea and then stood by Mount Sinai to accept the Torah. Only Hashem can create "zivugin," couples, through the merger of individuals from two families whose compatibility is necessary in order to successfully promote a common mission. Just as during the splitting of the sea Hashem formed a path for each family -- to enhance its opportunity for expressing its unique attributes in the service of Hashem --likewise, Hashem as the ultimate "matchmaker," insures a marriage in which the partners can be mutually supportive of their common goals, despite being raised in different families.

Dr. Jeger is Professor of Psychiatry and Assistant Dean at the New York College of Osteopathic Medicine.

This article was previously published by Torah.org, Project Genesis.

Copyright  by Dr. A.M. Jeger and Project Genesis, Torah.org

Original to the website 

  The Menorah:   Then and Now    

                                                                by Rabbi Chaim Brown

 Our yearly celebration of Chanukah recalls the celebration of the miraculous victory of the Maccabim over their formidable foes and the equally miraculous phenomenon of finding a pure cruse of oil that burned for 8 days.  However, the holiday has deeper roots.  It goes all the way back to the time of the leadership of Moshe and Ahron.  To be more precise, it dates to the chanukas hamishkan  in the desert.

 Immediately after the recording of the gifts the leaders of each Sheivet to the Mishkan at close of Parshas Naso, the Torah opens Parshas B'Ha'aloshecha with the instruction to Ahron to light the menorah.   The Midrash records that Ahron was upset to see each sheivet's leader bringing a gift to the Mishkan with Hashem's consent, to the exclusion of his sheivet..  Hashem, therefore, consoled Ahron with the lighting of menorah, a service which the Midrash describes as greater even than the korbanos and gifts offered by any of the other shevatim and which would be more enduring.

  The service of lighting the menorah in the Mishkan, much like other korbanos, lasted only as long as a Mishkan or Mikdash existed.  Nonetheless, writes the Ramban, the idea of menorah endures through the lighting of Ner Chanukah even when there is no longer a kohein, a Mishkan, or a Mikdash. 

 Chanukah is unique in that the obligation is formulated by the Gemara (Shabbos 21) as "ner ish u'beiso", one lighting in each home.  In fact, unlike the common minhag  Ashkenaz, according to Tosfos' opinion when one is lighting mehadrin min hamehadrin and adding a candle each consecutive night, only one person in the home should light on behalf of the entire household. 

 Based on the Ramban, perhaps one could suggest that the enduring nature of the menorah is not the individual obligation to light, but this idea of a "bayis".  While we no longer have a Bais HaMikdash, each of our homes endures as a sanctified "bayis" in which we are still able to perform that original obligation of menorah given to Ahron haKohein.  Indeed, this ceremony reminds us that our homes can become a bayis  of kedusha sanctified by the light of Torah and mitzvos .

 The Pursuit of Shalom:  The Middah of Hod and Chanukah

                                                                by Rabbi Chaim Brown

    The Rambam closes Hil. Chanukah (4:14) with the halacha that light for the home takes precedence over ner Chanukah because ner beiso is needed for shalom, which is of such importance that the Torah allows Hashem’s name to be erased from the parsha of Sotah to restore peace between husband and wife.  Ends the Rambam, “Gadol hashalom shekol hatorah nitna la’asos shalom b’olam, shene’emar, deracheha darcei noam v’kol nisivoseha shalom.” 

The Lubavitcher Rebbe is medayek that the closing line of the Rambam would seem more apropos of Hil. Deyos, as it does not teach us any halacha that is specifically relevant to Hil. Chanukah, While we might suggest that since this halacha comes at the close of a section the Rambam chose to a poetic ending stressing a philosophical idea as he does elsewhere (e.g. see the end of Hil. Temurah), yet the observation is still worthy of reflection.

What is shalom?  There are two possible understandings: 1) the world is naturally in a state of harmony until disrupted by machlokes; shalom means removing the impediment of machlokes so that life may return to its natural state; 2) the world exists in a natural state of disharmony unless we take an activist role in creating and maintaining an environment of shalom.   The husband who brings his wife flowers in a “shalom bayis” effort only after he gets into an argument is practicing the first type of shalom, which is probably how we instinctively think of the concept.  However, the Midrash (VaYikra Rabbah 25, see also MaHaRaL Nesiv haShalom ch 2.) writes that while most mitzvos are formulated in a language of happenstance – “ki yifga”, “ki yirakei”, etc. – only shalom is formulated as an active goal to be pursued – “bakesh shalom”.  Chazal clearly suggest that the nature of shalom reflects that second understanding, that it is a goal that must be actively pursued and strived for.  Shalom is rooted in the same root as shelimus, perfection and wholesomeness.  Shalom means becoming more whole and perfect because we have worked and strived to integrate the “other”s point of view into our own understanding so that we respect, appreciate, and even love it.  The husband bringing flowers after an argument is locked into only the first understanding of shalom, but had he worked harder at the second aspect of shalom to be more shaleim by empathizing and appreciating his wife’s opinions, the argument might never have happened.

The common perception of Ya’akov Avinu is that of an “ish emes” – “titein emes l’Ya’akov”.  Yet, there is a higher middah than emes - the midah of shalom supersedes the middah of  emes, because one is permitted to tell a “white lie” to preserve peace.  Our parsha and the previous week’s parsha reveal that Ya’akov is at his core an “ish shalom”.  Ya’akov comes to the city of Shchem “shaleim” after fighting the malach (Ber 33:18); his children are called “shleimim” by Chamor and Shchem” (34:21); Ya’akov tells Yosef to go seek “shlom achecha v’shlom ha’tzon” (37:14).  Rashi (37:2) cites Chazal that “bikesh Ya’akov la’sheves b’shalvah”.  Many misinterpret Ya’akov’s desire as one for relaxation from the travails of life, but based on the second understanding of shalom, nothing could be further from the truth.  Ya’akov’s desire was to actively pursue and engage in achieving shalom or shleimus, to successfully incorporate within his vision of the world an understanding of how everything in the world was created and reflects kvod shamayim.  When one understands that at the root of everything there is only a nekudah of Elokus that sustains every animate and inanimate object in the world, then everything is one and everything is in harmony.  And when one realizes one has a neshoma tehorah that is also Elokus and connects with everything in the most elemental and perfect way, then one has achieved shalom.  This madreiga requirsd not passivity, but tremendous work and avodah –the bakasha of Ya’akov was the striving to turn the fundamental discord of the world into this vision of unity. 

Reality presents a conflict between the harshness of the physical world and the ideals we dream of as part of a perfected spiritual realm.  Ya’akov knew that although he may not have seemed to be the bechor, though he may have seemed to take the brachos from Eisav duplicitously, though to Lavan’s sons he seemed to be a sheep robber, these are misperceptions because we lack the shalom-shleimus to integrate the spiritual reality with the world around us.  This disconnect that blocks true shalom is personified by Eisav.  “Yaft Elokim L’Yefes v”yishkon b’ohalei Sheim”; superficial beauty with no spiritual core, physical reality as we perceive it is the hallmark of the Eisav/Edom empire.   The great romantic poet Keats writes in his Ode on a Grecian Urn, “Beauty is Truth, truth beauty – that is all ye know on Earth…”  R’ Nachman Breslov (Likutei Moharan I:1) contrasts the chein, the beauty of Ya’akov, which results from shalom and oneness between pnimiyus and our physical existence, with the superficial chein presented by Eisav, the beauty that has no pnimiyus but declares itself to be the only and complete truth that exists.  The battle between Ya’akov and Eisav, which continues to our time is over version of chein, would dominate.  Ya’akov tells his brother “chanani Elokim”, Hashem has given me the chein.

It is perhaps coincidental that Keat’s lines appear in Ode on a Grecian Urn, but it happens to be that the battle of Chanukah parallels the battle of these two visions of reality of Ya’akov and Eisav.  For this reason, we find numerous hints to the Chanukah story in Ya’akov’s meeting with his brother.  Ya’akov crosses the river to retrieve “pachim ketanim”, reminiscent of the “pach” of oil found to light the menorah.  Ya’akov splits his camp into “machanos”, a word which seperates the letters “m-s” (death) with the letters “chanu” (Tiferes Shlomo).  The word Chanukah itself begins with the letters “chein”.  Ya’akov transports his family across the “nachal” which is spelled with the same letters as make up the initial letters of the words “L’hadlik Ner Chanukah”.  The Greek vision was physical form without substance, superficial beauty without meaning, reality as we see it without the baggage of a hidden spirituality.  There world is a world of shalom only in the first sense of preventing any disturbance to the perfected natural beauty of man.  Ya’akov, however, wanted shalom in the second sense, of recognizing that the natural beauty of the world was a kli that we have to work at integrating and making shaleim with the world of Torah.

In any argument one can win in one of two ways: one can crush one’s enemy into submission, or one can present such an attractive alternative to one’s opponent’s position that they have no choice other than to submit.  The first of these middos is referred to as “netzach”, victory; the second is known as “hod”, splendor.  Hod does battle using the middah of chein, but faces the great risk of being too accommodating and eventually being tainted by the evil it combats.  In the typology of Adam Kadmon, the sefiros of netzach and hod correspond to the two legs.  It is not accidental that the Zohar teaches that Ya’akov was struck in the left leg, the leg representing the middah of “hod”, as one must walk a fine line between using the chein as a tool and falling victim to the superficial chein of Eisav.  

Rashi tells us that although Ya’akov was mevakesh shalom, it could not be realized without Yosef.  Yosef was concerned with his external physical beauty, he was “mesalsel b’sa’aro”, twirling his hair, reminiscent of Eisav, who was described as an “ish sa’ir”, a man of hair.  It is noteworthy that the Jewish conception of beauty, at least for females, involves specifically covering the hair, as “kol kvuda bas melech pnima”.  “Sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi – isha yiras Hashem hi tishallal” is explained by meforshim to mean that although sheker hachein v’hevel hayofi, the beauty of that chein and yofi itself is praiseworthy to the one who masters yiras Hashem.  This was the role of Yosef hatzaddik, one who could appear to play the role of the Egyptian viceroy, one who could toy with his hair like an Eisav, yet retain harmony and shalom with the pnimiyus of Ya’akov’s spirituality.  Yet, perhaps because this vision was so lofty, the brothers were suspicious of Yosef’s designs. Instead of shalom, the chein of Yosef was shattered by machlokes and discord.

The length of time Chanukah candles must burn is given by the gemara as “ad she’tichleh regel min hashuk”.  Why does the gemara use the expression “regel” instead of “ish”?  The ARI z”l explains that the gemara is hinting that the role of Chanukah candles is to eliminate the charge of “meraglim atem”, the charge of being spies that Yosef leveled against his brothers.  Before Eisav can be conquered, Ya’akov’s children must learn to create shalom between themselves. 

With this background, we can begin to understand who the mitzvah of lighting the menorah was written as if given specifically to Ahron HaKohen despite the fact that al pi din even a zar is permitted to light the menorah.  The Torah is teaching the light of the spiritual menorah that illuminates our path to battle Eisav stems from the personality of shalom embodied by Ahron, the “ohev shalom v’rodef shalom”.  The holy Radomsker writes that the eight nights of Chanukah correspond to the eight garments of the kohein gadol whose seal closed the oil off from impurity.  The garments of the kohein are the superficial beauty of his position, the chein of the physical world that clothes and envelops pnimiyus.  The Midrash Tanchuma in parshas Shmos teaches that in the merit of Ahron going out to greet his brother and rejoicing in his election as redeemer he merited to wear the Urim vTumim of the kohein gadol.  It was the peace between Ahron and Moshe, the midah of shalom, which made possible Ahron being able to integrate the chein of the physical and spiritual worlds as one.   

Ahron typifies the beauty of chein that is one with the pnimiyus of Torah, which is the perfected middah of hod.  If we count the sefiros, the eighth sefira, corresponding to the eight nights of Chanukah, is this middah of hod.  The crossing of the “nachal” done by Ya’akov not only contains the letters of “Lhadlik Ner Chanukah”, but also contains the letters of the eighth of the thireen middos, “Notzer Chessed L’alafim.  Chanukah was instituted as a holiday of “hallel v’hoda’ah”, once again, hinting at the middah of hod.  

While we add “al hanissim” to the bracha of hoda’ah, we should not overlook that that bracha is immediately followed by shalom.  Hod without pnimiyus is Yavan, Eisav, and downfall.  Only when one has shalom, a vision that sees harmony between reality and pnimiyus, can chein and hod be tools for avodah.  Chazal tell us that one who is careful in ner Chanukah will merit children who are talmidei chachamim.  Perhaps this is middah k’negged middah, as Chanukah is the idea of shalom, and “talmidei chachamim marbim shalom b’olam, she’ne’emar kol banayich limudei Hashem, al tikrei banayich elah bonayich.”  And perhaps for this reason we refer to the Chashmona’im specifically as “bnei binah”. 

We began with the Rambam’s broad declaration of the value of shalom, which seemed strangely out of place in Hil. Chanukah.  Based on our analysis, the Rambam’s intent in his formulation is clear.  The crux of the battle with Eisav, the battle between the Chashmonaim and Yevanim, is the battle of whether the world is a world of beauty being the totality of truth, or a world where we integrate a spiritual framework into the reality of our senses and see that one vision as a harmonious whole – shalom.  Actively pursuing the latter goal is apprehending the true chein of reality by using the middah of hod, and drawing the great chessed of notzer chessed l’alafim though the mitzvah of l’hadlik ner Chanukah.     

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Original to the website Winter 2006