Ironically Iron

In the haftorah portion for this week, we read of the resurrection of the Jewish nation at the time of the ultimate redemption. The Navi details the transformation that occurs in the world, in the nation, in Jerusalem, and even in our relationship itself.

What struck me this week is a contradiction between the parsha and the haftorah.
In Ki Tavo, we are given a detailed series of commands on how we are supposed to serve Hashem and, in particular, the laws behind assembling a mizbeach for worship. Similar laws are also held to the construction of the Beit Hamikdash itself - most memorably that the stones for any part of the construction are not to be hewn with any man-made implements. Such tools would naturally be made of iron, and it is considered both an offence and hypocrisy to take a material used for shortening the life of man (iron is the primary component of all weaponry, even today) for the construction of that which binds man to the eternal. In fact, the midrash says that during the building of the first temple, Shlomoh (there should be an 'h' at the end according to most rules of transliterating) used the shamir worm (kind of like the horta from Star Trek) to cleave the rocks for the construction.
Got it? Good.

If we accept the premise that the mere use of iron in the construction of the temple is a massive faux pas, then this haftorah is simply astounding! Hashem promises a pretty substantial 'upgrade' to the temple - replacing brass with gold, wood with brass, and stone with iron! How? What fundamental change in reality must occur that the very nature of the elements (literally) is transformed via spiritual alchemy (heh) and the very walls of the temple themselves are comprised of the foreboding, forbidden iron?

Waning Nostalgic

The other day, I was sitting in a restaurant and I happened to overhear the conversation at the table next to me. (They stuck us I a corner and ignored us, so I had nothing else to do...) The gentleman was lamenting the fact that many frum Jews do what they can to avoid saying Birkat Hamazon while having a meal. This is not necessarily a new sentiment, but I thought it was nice to say we should be more willing to bentsch to Hashem.

But then he took a left turn.
"Technically, if you're having a meal, you should bentsch regardless of what you are. In the times of the Gemara, people always had bread with their meals. Now... etc. etc. etc."

Personally, I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say "When was the last time you opened a Gemara or even a Mishnah?"

What he said was wonderful, it's perfectly in line with the opinion of Rabbi Akiva. Even eating a salad or cooked vegetables, to say nothing of meat, should create the obligation to bentsch. But the halacha doesn't stop there. Chazal roundly reject his opinion and state that the only food that creates the obligation to say Birkat Hamazon is bread. End of story. It has nothing to do with the status of the meal: whether I ate challah Friday night with my seudah or a single slice of bread as my entire meal during the week.

It isn't that the rabbi's "didn't think of the possibility," they flat out rejected the proposal of rabbi Akiva. To say otherwise is nostalgic idiocy inspired by ignorance. The only question to ask is "Why? Why do we allow only bread to inspire the obligation to bentsch?"

Rejoicing in Our Curses

In the short forth Aliyah of this week's parsha, the Torah discusses the procedure for crossing the Jordan river and the resulting ceremony of reaffirming the mitzvot of the Torah. We are commanded to create an altar with specific properties (more on that perhaps later) and inscribe it with the Torah written so that anyone, anywhere, at any time could understand it. Next, the nation brings sacrifices - olot and zevachim - and we are commanded to rejoice in this service in front of Hashem.

There is just one problem: the altar mentioned is that built upon Mount Eival, which, in distinction to Mount Gerizim, is associated in the next Aliyah as the seat of the curses that will befall Israel. How can we possibly be commanded to rejoice when we were pronouncing curses upon our own heads? What message is Hashem conveying through this complex contradiction?

The answer probably lies somewhere in the status of this parsha as one of the Shivah Dinechemtah, a principle I hope we can revisit to answer this question later.

Ki Tavo - Ma'aser Matters

Hashkifah mima'on kodshecha min hashamayim uvarech es amcha es yisroel v'es ha'adamah asher nasatah lanu ka'asher nishbata la'avoseinu eretz zavas chalav udivash.

At the end of the process of vidui ma'aser we have an interesting tefilah that culminates in a trade-off: Rashi interprets this passuk as literally challenging Hashem - we've done what you asked of us, now it's your turn to fulfill your promise. This seems to smack of the famous "aser bishvil shetitasher" - tithing as a means of testing Hashem for wealth. The passuk itself, though, is very elaborate and strange - why the term "hashkifah," which normally has a negative connotation? What is the distinction between "ma'on kodshecha" and shamayim? Similarly, the passuk divides the bracha into three components - amcha, yisroel, and ha'adamah. This last point is borne out clearly by Rashi , who states that the promise to the avos was more than simply the inheritance of the land, and that the status of the land itself as "zavat chalav udivash" is contingent on our fulfillment first.

In this matter, one might have an even greater obstacle to understanding the passuk. Multiple times in the Torah, Hashem reminds klal Yisroel that they are being brought to the land to wipe it out of the evil inhabitants. If such is the case, then how is it possible that the miraglim came back with such a magnificent bounty? Could the land possibly be yielding such bounty to those engaged in abominations - adultery, child immolation, necromancy, and other grotesqueness? And if it was uniquely for the spies, how would the existence of a single large cluster of grapes lead them to characterize the entire land as zavat chalav udivash?

If anyone has an answer, please let me know and I'll update this post to reflect it.

Ki Teitzei - On Marriage and Millstones

At the urging of a number of individuals, I have finally decided to commit Torah thoughts down into a less ephemeral form than words on the wind. I pray that these ideas that so inspire myself find an audience in the souls of others. To be honest, I find myself often with more questions than answers, a predilection which neatly lends itself to the title - most of what I will post will be an explanation of that which I find confounding, most regularly in the Parsha. The laining of Ki Teitzei is full of juxtapositions of unique mitzvos, and Chazal have a field day divining meaning behind them. Of particular note is the introductory aliyah where the gemara famously notes the progression between Eishes Yefas Toar to parental favoritism to adolescent rebelliousness. The week prior, I had posed a question (for which I still lack a concrete answer) - throughout Shoftim, we delineate many layers of mitzvot connected to the procedures of war. What stymied me was why the Rabbis decided to cleave this list in twain - LAST week is the parsha of Ki Teitzei LaMilchamah, so why do we start with that principle this week? Conversely, there is a very confusing juxtaposition later on in the parsha: the first two passukim of the sixth aliyah (24:5-6) are mushed together in a single segment that deals with the principle of shanah rishonah and, alternately, the violation of taking specific objects as collateral. Of particular note is the exact wording of the second passuk.

24:6 Lo yachvol reichaim varechev ki nefesh hu chovel.

Rashi, in explaining pshat, ignores both this juxtaposition and the famous Chazal we mentioned earlier at the beginning of the parsha, and explains that the millstone is used for sustenance - the production of ochel nefesh. This presents a quandary, because of the relative rarity (and immobility) of millstones vis a vis the general population - why not forbid taking pots as collateral, which are ubiquitous and readily loaned? Additionally, if the prohibition is based upon the preservation of sustenance, than it would be more appropriate to use the phrase "ki nafsho hu" - the life of the borrower is bound to the object, which makes Rashi's interpretation both complete and cogent and would obviate the need for the additional "chovel" at the end. Thirdly, why delineate both the top and bottom stones as separate items - if both are forbidden, why not simply state one? All of these are side points to the major quandary: how is this connected at all to the principal of shanah rishonah?

In deviation to the future norm, I would like to suggest a singular solution to these enigmas. While we operate on principle of "ayn hamikra yotzei midei peshuto," the concept of rechaim varechev in this parsha is, in fact, a reference to the marriage itself. Fundamentally, all marriages go through periods of friction, particularly at the start where the two halves are learning to function together. Their communion serves as the mill and their joined experience is the grist that is transformed through their efforts into the nourishment of their collective self - the singular nefesh of the passuk. In removing the chosson from the kallah, we obstruct their ability to adjust to each other, to wear each other smooth through their period of initial friction. If you swap the stones from different mills, they will not sit properly on their bases - they do not understand how to work in unison, to properly fill the needs of their improper partner.

Parshas Shoftim may be properly nicknamed as "Governance." It operates as a compendium of rules for organizing society into an operating, cohesive unit. Among the tasks delineated are those surrounding the conducting of a war. The conquest of the land of Israel is an ultimate expression of the physical nationhood under the leadership of Yehoshua, and thus is a fitting capstone to the discussion of governance.

Ki Teitzei, despite what its opening implies, is devoid of discussion of war per se. It's focus is the concept of "The Struggle" - the process of handling the daily internal conflicts a person might face between his lower and upper selves. Hence, even those mitzvos listed that directly discuss the battlefield address not the waging of war but the tools and methods an individual uses to prevent himself from succumbing to his animal nature. It is in light of this that we forbid the newlywed from attending the front lines - the formative period of his marriage must be dedicated to understanding and being understood by his new zivug so that they might, together, form the partnership necessary for the growth of their collective, unified soul.