Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking A Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“And Moshe wrote (put on parchment) this Torah, and he gave it to the Kohanim, the sons of Levi, the carriers of the ark of G-d’s covenant, and to all of the elders of Israel” (Devarim 31:9). “On the day that Moshe died, he wrote 13 Torah scrolls; 12 of them he gave to the 12 Tribes (one scroll for each Tribe), and one that was placed in (or by) the ark, so that if they want to alter it, they will not be able to (i.e. the 13th scroll would be a reference to ensure that the text remained intact).” This Chazal (Midrash Tehillim 90) is echoed throughout Rabbinic literature. After I gave my weekly Chumash shiur last Thursday night (which had nothing to do with this Chazal), I was asked how it was physically possible for Moshe to write 13 complete Torah scrolls in one day. To be honest, not only had this question never occurred to me, but even after it was asked, it didn’t really seem (to me) to be a big problem. After all, we’re talking about Moshe Rabbeinu, in a situation where it was of primary importance to get this done; having it done miraculously would just be “par for the course.” (My father had the same reaction when I shared the question with him.) Nevertheless, I said I would, bli neder, look into it. (Hopefully he’ll come to this week’s shiur, as it will be a large part of what I hope to cover!)

Sure enough, Eitz Yosef (Devarim Rabbah 9:9; 9:4 in most editions that carry his commentary) writes, “there is no doubt that this happened miraculously, for who is able to write even one Sefer Torah (Torah scroll) in one day.” Tzror Hamor (Devarim 31:24) elaborates on this, telling us that “holy things are done by themselves, without human help.” He brings several examples of verses that speak in a passive form, with things being done, not someone doing them, such as creation (Beraishis 2:1 and Tehillim 33:6), the Mishkan (Shemos 39:32) and the Temple (Melachim I 6:7). Here too (by Moshe’s Torah scrolls), the verse says, “until they were finished” (as opposed to “until he finished [writing] them”), because these 13 Torah scrolls were written “by themselves,” i.e. miraculously. Alshich explains that they had to be written miraculously so that everyone would realize that the whole Torah came from G-d, not just the 10 Commandments (which had also been written miraculously). This echoes the thoughts of the Rokayach (31:26), who wrote, “in order that they will not say that only the [10 Commandments] which G-d [Himself] spoke, are primary, but not the [whole] Torah, therefore the Torah was placed at the side of the ark (next to the Luchos).” In short, these sources clearly indicate that the 13 Torah scrolls being written in one day was miraculous, and had to be.

Others are not as sure. In his comments on Midrash Tehillim, Rabbi Shlomo Buber suggests that perhaps the Midrash really meant that Moshe handed the Torah scrolls over on his last day, not that they were written on that last day. In fact, many of the sources that discuss these 13 Torah scrolls, such as Pesikta D’Rav Kahana (32), Midrash HaGadol (Devarim 31:9), Sifre (in a manuscript quoted in the notes in the Finkelstein edition at the beginning of Devarim), and Rambam (Introduction to the Mishnah), make no mention of the scrolls being written on Moshe’s last day. Additionally, one of the reasons given for saying “Tzidkasecha” at Mincha on Shabbos is based on Moshe dying on Shabbos (see Sefer Chasidim 356); since writing is one of the 39 categories of work forbidden to do on Shabbos, how could he have written anything, much less 13 Torah scrolls, on Shabbos? However, many answers are given to this question (see Bach, O”C 292), and several (see Or Zarua, Hilchos Motza’i Shabbos 92 and Mordecai (Pesachim 105b) prove that Moshe died on a Friday, taking for granted that the 13 Torah scrolls were written on Moshe’s last day. [As a side note, Mordecai quotes Sifre as the source of Moshe writing 13 Torah scrolls on his last day, and there is some discussion as to what he meant by “Sifre” since this is not in our editions. Finkelstein assumes that the manuscript he quotes is what Mordecai had, but even that manuscript makes no mention of it being on Moshe’s last day. Either Mordecai meant to reference a different Midrashic source (as Maharitz Chiyos suggests, see Buber’s notes on Midrash Tehillim and Pesikta D’Rav Kehana), or if the version of the Sifre he had didn’t mention it explicitly, Mordecai understood from the context of the day’s activities that Moshe must have written the Torah scrolls on his last day.]

Numerous sources (besides Midrash Tehillim) mention specifically that Moshe wrote these scrolls on his last day (e.g. Tosfos on Devarim 31:26), with the context of several necessitating that it be on that last day. Devarim Rabbah (9:9) says that one of the things Moshe hoped to accomplish by writing 13 scrolls was to be involved in holy activities the whole day and thus prevent the Angel of death from being able to kill him on the day destined to be his day of death (similar to King David having to be distracted from learning Torah by the Angel of Death). If so, the writing of the scrolls had to have been done on that last day, not just his handing them over to the nation. Interestingly, the Midrash says that the sun refused to set until Moshe finished (whereby he could die, and do so on the day he was supposed to), indicating that Moshe’s last day lasted for far more than 24 hours, giving him more than a “day” to write the scrolls.

Maharzo suggests that most of the text had been written previously, as Moshe had written each part down (on 13 different scrolls) as he was taught them by G-d. It was the final parts (and, I would add, the narrative that connects the parts) that were written on that last day, making them full, complete scrolls. (Since Maharzo is commenting on Midrash Rabbah, he must be of the opinion that there was still enough left to be written that it would take up the whole day, or Moshe’s attempt at warding off death could not work.) However, Rashi had told us (Devarim 29:3) “he heard” that Moshe originally gave a Torah only to the Tribe of Levi, at which point the other tribes insisted that they get one too. This happened on Moshe’s last day, which means Moshe wouldn’t have written parts of the other 12 scrolls until then; all he would have thought would be necessary was one scroll. [Interestingly, several versions (see Yalkut Shimoni 941 and Rabbeinu Efrayim on Devarim 31:9) have Moshe writing 12 scrolls on his last day, which makes sense if it were only the 12 scrolls requested by the other Tribes on that day that Moshe had to write at the last moment.]

Although by saying “he heard” Rashi is indicating that it was not from a Midrashic source, it is likely that Moshe being asked on that last day to provide a Torah to each Tribe was suggested to answer why Moshe waited until the last day to write the 13 scrolls. Nevertheless, recent editions of Rashi have tried to give his comment a Midrashic source, and point out that it is similar to something quoted in Yalkut Shimoni (938, pg. 662 in the standard edition). There are several differences between the Midrash and Rashi; the one most relevant to our discussion is who approached whom. Whereas Rashi says that the nation approached Moshe demanding that they get a copy of the Torah too, the Midrash has Moshe asking the nation if they also want access to it. Nevertheless, this doesn’t necessarily mean these are two separate versions of what happened.

“Moshe said to them, ‘do you want a covenant to be enacted with you that anyone who seeks to study Torah will not be denied?’ They responded to him, ‘yes.” They stood, and they swore that no one will be held back from reading the Torah, as it says (Devarim 27:9), ‘to all of Israel, saying, ’Moshe said to them (ibid), ‘today you have become a people.” Describing this as a “covenant” has many ramifications. For one thing, since it was a covenant, it’s possible that the nation first approached Moshe about having access to the Torah, to which Moshe responded by asking if they wanted to make it a (or to include it in the) covenant. Secondly, Chazal tell us (see Tanchuma Netzavim 3 and Soteh 37b) that there were three covenants: at Mt. Sinai, in the Mishkan, and at Arvos Moav (some add one at Mt. Grizim/Mt. Aival). There is much discussion regarding what the nature of each of the covenants were, and this Midrash indicates that the one at Arvos Moav gave access to the Torah to everybody, not just to the Tribe of Levi. Additionally, it informs us of what might have been had this covenant not been made, as only the teachers, the Tribe of Levi, would have been involved in deep Torah study; everybody else would only study practical law, and would have to ask a Levi any question they had (as they would have been denied access to the source texts to figure out the basis of the law).

Think about it: The only sages that would have (or could have) been quoted in the Mishnah, Talmud or Midrashim would be those that were Kohanim or Levi’im. The same is true of our Yeshivos and Batei Midrashim; only those with proof that they were from the Tribe of Levi would be allowed in. The only thing the rest of us could study would be Mishnah Berurah, Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, or something similar. (“V’dibarta bam” would, for us, refer to this type of study.) However, since we agreed to this covenant at Arvos Moav, even I, a non-Levi, am allowed to try to write this piece and research any other issue that I want to understand more fully. Only after the covenant was enacted did we become a full nation, with a “heart to know, eyes to see and ears to hear” (Devarim 29:3). If it was only enacted because the nation first approached Moshe, we can understand why Moshe had to realize what they wanted before they could become such a nation (see Rashi there). (Even without the covenant aspect, it was only because Moshe realized what they wanted that he was able to give them more than he otherwise would have given over to them.)

Let’s take it from the other perspective. What if Moshe’s offer of this covenant wasn’t a response to the nation’s request? What if he would have offered it anyway, or was hoping they would request it? A nation that consisted of primarily halacha learners (and observers) would not need full Torah scrolls (only the teachers would). They would study the parts of the Torah they had already been taught by Moshe, but wouldn’t need to see how the parts were connected, which “lesson” was attached to another “lesson.” All they would need were individual scrolls that contained each separate lesson; there would be no reason to write these “lesson scrolls” in a way that they could be easily attached (after the connecting narratives were added) to become one cohesive scroll. However, if Moshe was hoping all along that they would request such a scroll, and/or would agree to such a covenant, then he likely would have written each lesson down in a way that they could more easily be connected to become a full Torah scroll.

Putting this possibility together with several others, it doesn’t seem as difficult for Moshe to have “written” all 13 scrolls in one day. Bear in mind that at the covenant at Sinai, Moshe gave them scrolls with all of Beraishis, a large part of Shemos, and perhaps even part of Vayikra (see Rashi on Shemos 24:4 and Chizkuni on 24:7). If Moshe was planning on offering them full access to the Torah (or hoping they would ask), he would have written down everything they would have to study anyway in a way that could easily be incorporated into a Torah scroll. All that was left to do after they agreed to this covenant was to add the connecting narratives and G-d’s final additions. This would still take plenty of time, and Moshe was hoping it would take too long to finish in one day, thus preventing the Angel of Death from taking his life. However, G-d hinted to the sun that it should stay up longer, and Moshe was able to finish everything before the day ended. He was able to take the parts of 13 (or 12) Torah scrolls he had already written, add what needed to be added, and put them together in one day. Which is still pretty miraculous in its own way.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking A Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“Even those that do not refrain [from eating] bread baked by non-Jews [all year long] must refrain [from eating it] during the Ten Days of Repentance.” Rabbi Yosef Cairo included only two laws regarding the Ten Days of Repentance in the Shulchan Aruch (O”C 6:02-603), this being the second one. (The first is that we say additional prayers and supplications during these days; Rama adds additional details and laws.) The notion that we should do things (or refrain from things) during these days of judgment even if we have no intent of continuing after Yom Kippur seems rather strange. Are we trying to fool G-d? Doesn’t He know that we intend on reverting to our old behavior shortly after Yom Kippur ends? What’s the point of keeping a law temporarily if it does not bring about any permanent change?

Additionally, why is this particular law (or “chumra”) the one chosen, as opposed to any other? Why not “Cholov Yisrael” or “Chudush/Yushun?” If I get hungry at work next week, and would have considered buying Entenmanns’s rich frosted donuts, there are three possible reasons why I shouldn’t (four if you count the requirement to be healthy): (1) It has non-Cholov Yisroel ingredients, and eating it may violate the rabbinic decree against ingesting milk that did not have Jewish supervision from the time it was milked; (2) Since wheat harvested last month has already entered the market in fresh-baked products, there is a real possibility that it contains grains that are biblically forbidden to be eaten until after Pesach; and (3) it falls under the category of “Pas Palter,” a rabbinic decree against eating baked goods that were not baked by Jews. Yet, the reason the Shulchan Aruch tells me not to eat it is the latter issue, not the other two. There are “heterim” (leniencies) for all three aspects (see Shu”T Chasam Sofer Y”D II 107 and Shu”t Igros Moshe Y”D I 47-49 regarding Cholov Yisroel, Aruch HaShulchan Y”D 293 1-28 and Mishneh Berurah/Bayur Halacha on O”C 489:10 regarding Chudush/Yushun, and Y”D 112 regarding Pas Palter), yet Pas Akum is the one the Halachic Decisors focus on. Why?

Pas Palter is unique among the three in that despite the rabbinic decree, it was never universally accepted. Those places that did accept it follow the restrictions all year long, but the places that never accepted it when it was first introduced are not required to keep it now either. It is these places that the Shulchan Aruch says must keep this restriction during the Ten Days of Repentance; the other places must already do so all year long. Aruch Hashulchan says that this is precisely why this halacha was chosen, as if there was a real reason to keep it the rest of the year, doing so during these ten days would create an obligation to do so even after Yom Kippur. Therefore, a halacha such as Chudush/Yushun is not recommended to be kept just for these ten days, because once started, it would need to be kept all year. According to Aruch HaShulchan, it is the lack of a real reason to keep it the rest of the year (for those that don’t) that allows it to be kept for this short time. The question remains, though, what the point of keeping it temporarily is.

Levush doesn’t position avoiding Pas Akum/Palter as a requirement, but as a custom. The reason for this custom is “so that a person will conduct himself in purity during these days, and remember that they (these days) are different in that they are on a higher level than the rest of the days of the year.” This is consistent with the source of the custom/law (see Tur); Rebbe Chiya having instructed Rav to eat everything in purity (even “chulin,” which can be eaten if ritually impure) during this week. If the goal is “purity” and Pas Akum affects this, it is understandable why Pas Akum (and Pas Palter) should be avoided during this “pure” week, even if it is permitted the rest of the year. Other halachic issues, which do not affect “purity,” are therefore not included in this law/custom. [This fits very nicely with how the Torah describes Yom Kippur: “For on this day G-d will bring atonement upon you, to purify you, from all your sins before G-d, you will be purified” (Vayikra 16:30). If “purification” is a major theme of Yom Kippur, it makes sense for us to engage in acts of purification, and avoid things that negatively affect it, in the days leading up to it.]

Chayei Udum (143:1), after describing how we should prepare for our judgment on Yom Kippur - by repenting and being involved in more mitzvos, good deeds, Torah study and charity than the rest of the year - adds, “and therefore it is appropriate for a person to conduct himself during the Ten Days of Repentance with [additional] manners and stringencies, even if he does not keep them all year, for the Holy One, Blessed is He, also acts with extra benevolence with His creations. And those who eat Pas Palter all year, during these days it is appropriate not to eat anything but Pas Yisroel, and so it is with all matters.” The two things I found relevant to our discussion are that the notion of doing something extra is not necessarily limited to Pas Palter, and that taking this extra stringency temporarily is a means of remembering to do more in other, more primary areas (good deeds, mitzvos, Torah study and charity). If the purpose is to help us remember to do more during these days, it is understandable that the prescribed way to do so is through baked goods, a staple of the human diet.

The Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (130:2) focusing on the last part of the Chayei Udum’s formulation, writes: “During these days it is appropriate for a person to keep even stringencies that he doesn’t keep the rest of the year, for we are also asking G-d to act with us with benevolence. And one who eats Pas Palter all year should not eat, during these days, anything but Pas Yisroel, and so to with things similar to this.” Again, Pas Palter is not seen as the only halacha that fits into this category of “things to keep only during the Ten Days of Repentance. However, whereas the Chayai Udum puts these extra stringencies in the same category as doing other extra things and adds a comparison to G-d doing extra for us during this time, the Kitzur says that the reason to keep extra stringencies is to make our request that G-d do more for us more reasonable.

The High Holiday season is of primary importance because it causes us to examine our lives, reassess where we are, what we should be doing and where we should be headed, and it focuses our attention on correcting what needs to be corrected. This “forced” introspection can have varying levels of success. It can slow a process of descent, it can recalibrate those who may have started to veer off course, it can reverse a trend by redirecting the ebb and flow of spiritual growth back towards G-d, or it can help increase the rate of that growth. There are always ups and downs in life, but one of the keys to long-term success is making sure things are generally moving in an upward direction, so that the “lows” are not as low as they once were (and may even be the equivalent of previous highs) and the “highs” exceed previous highs. Along with reassessing how we’ve handled our day-to-day (and moment-to-moment) battles (and figuring out how to do better the next time a similar battle is upon us), it is important to examine the long term prospective as well. Where are we this year compared to last year? Are we trending upwards, or are we at the same basic place we were last year at this time (and two years ago, and three years ago)?

Being judged on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur forces us to take a closer look at how we did on a micro level (how we did at each point of confrontation between good and bad, between truth and falsehood) as well as on a macro level. Minimizing a move away from G-d (chas v’shalom) is an important accomplishment of this process, as is helping stay the course (from a year-to-year perspective) rather than ending up further away than had there been no process. Ideally, though, we should come away from the process in a better position than we were after last year’s process, growing from year to year so that we can accomplish that much more in our lifetime.

Assessing our lives on a macro level takes more than just looking backwards, seeing where we are now compared to where we were in past years at this time. It also means looking forwards, to what we hope to accomplish in the future, whether it be this coming year or in the years after that. However, it is very difficult to look forward and recognize where we should be in the future (distant or otherwise) while not being there yet. If I know I should be doing something a year from now, even if am not ready to do it just yet, how can I accept not doing it right now? For the most part, we can only know about things we can and should be doing once those things are “within range.” Nevertheless, “looking forward” means recognizing that there are things I am not ready to do to at this point in time, that I will, with G-d’s help, be ready to do at some future time. What those “things” are may be impossible to know ahead of time (as once we become aware of what we should be doing it is usually within reach), but it is important to recognize that there are things I am not doing now that I will hopefully be doing at some point down the line.

Perhaps this is why we avoid Pas Palter (or similar things) during the Ten Days of Repentance even though we have no intent of continuing after Yom Kippur. Sure there are things that I should have done, or should have avoided, that the “wake up call” of the Shofar reminded me to start or stop doing (and to try to maintain throughout the year). But there are also things that I will hopefully be ready for in the future that I am not ready for just yet. By taking upon myself an extra “stringency” temporarily, I am reminded that the introspection taking place this week is not limited to individual courses of action, things that I must be doing (or avoiding) right away, but includes making sure that I am heading in the right direction and working towards reaching those new levels that I cannot yet (permanently) commit to.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

Although our Parasha is referred to as “Ki Savo” (or sometimes just “Savo”), the first word of the Parasha is “v’haya,” meaning “and it will be” (Devarim 26:1). The Sifre’s comment on this word has led to much discussion, including whether the Sifre actually commented on this word. The Sifre’s second comment (or first, if there was no comment on “v’haya”) has also led to much discussion, with some using the latter to explain the former. Let’s take a closer look at this Sifre.

The Parasha starts by teaching us the mitzvah of “Bikurim,” bringing the first fruits to the Temple, a mitzvah that didn’t apply until we entered the Promised Land, conquered it, and divided it up by assigning specific portions to each Tribe and to each family within the Tribe (see Rashi on 26:1). It is therefore seems quite puzzling that the Sifre starts off by telling us that the word “v’haya” always means “immediately.” How could the Sifre tell us that the mitzvah of “Bikurim” applied “immediately” if it didn’t apply until 14 years later? For this reason, several commentators insist that these words were never really part of the Sifre. And, in fact, if you look at the way the Sfre is quoted by Yalkut Shimoni, these words are put in parenthesis, indicating that they do not really belong. The same is true of the Sifre printed with Malbim’s commentary, although Malbim acknowledges that it is in older manuscripts of the Sifre. Last year (5769), Raavad’s commentary on the Sifre was published. Since he comments on these words, he obviously had them in his version of the Sifre. Midrash Hagadol and Midrash Lekach Tov, which are compilations of Midrashim made by Rishonim (early commentators), both include this explanation of the word “v’haya,” so they must have had this comment in their versions of the Sifre as well. This led Rabbi Dovid Pardo (Sifre D’vei Rav) to say that despite the difficulty with this comment, it would still be difficult to just erase these words from the Sifre.

The Sifre’s second comment is also puzzling, as it tells us that by using the opening words “and it will be when you come to the land” to teach us this mitzvah, Moshe was telling the nation to “do the mitzvah that is discussed here, for as its reward you will enter the land.” How can the reward (being able to enter the Promised Land) come years before the mitzvah that it is a reward for can be done?

As I mentioned, these issues are addressed by numerous commentators, and some of their approaches (or aspects of their approach) are incorporated below. For those interested in seeing the sources I used (or was “mechaven” to), as well as others that address one or both of these issues, please see Raavad, Haga’os U’Biurim L’Chacham Kadmon Sefardi, Toldos Udum, Sifre D’vei Rav, Malbim, Meir Ayin, Otzer Hamidrashim, and Sefer Sarasi.

Sifre D’vei Rav says that the usual way of saying that the mitzvah currently being discussed brings about the reward just mentioned is “do this mitzvah,” not “do the mitzvah discussed here.” By telling us that the mitzvah to be done is “what is discussed here” (and not just “this one,” the Sifre is alluding to the previously discussed mitzvah, not the one that is about to be discussed. In this case, the previously discussed mitzvah was remembering that Amelek did everything they possibly could to prevent us from carrying out G-d’s mission, and because they would always keep trying, to wipe them out. We had to wait until after we were in a position to carry out the last part (which would be after appointing a king), but the “remembering “ part, which was a prerequisite to carrying out the rest of the mitzvah, had to be done right away (and be done consistently). It makes sense that being able to enter the Promised Land would result from fulfilling this mitzvah, as if we start the process of avenging “G-d’s war” (see Shemos 17:16), He will give us the tools necessary to finish it, which includes getting the land and settling it.

Sifre D’vei Rav brings a similar example from the Sifre’s comments regarding appointing a king (Devarim 17:14). Moshe also prefaces that mitzvah with “when you enter the land” (although there is no “v’haya” there), upon which the Sifre says, “do the mitzvah discussed here, for as its reward you will enter the land.” Sound familiar? The same issue we had on the Sifre’s second comment in our Parasha applies here. However, if the Sifre is referring to the mitzvah discussed right before this one (making sure we have a judicial system that has a central authority, with the same laws applying to everybody, see www.rabbidmk.posterous.com/parashas-shoftim-5770), it makes sense. Moshe is telling us that if we put things into place now, at Arvos Moav when everyone is together, we can cross the Jordan River and spread out without being concerned that each locale will have its own set of laws. If the mitzvah we must start to keep in order to enter the Promised Land can be done before we cross into it, this second issue is resolved.

There is one slight problem with Sifr D’vei Rav’s approach. The Sifre never uses the expression “do this mitzvah,” so the expression “do the mitzvah discussed here” doesn’t necessarily mean “the mitzvah just discussed;” this could be the way the Sifre says “do the following mitzvah.” As a matter of fact, the Sifre uses the expression “do the mitzvah that is discussed here” seven times (all in Devarim). Nevertheless, the same issue of being rewarded before the mitzvah can be done would apply to the other five as well.

The first (Devarim 12:20) is rather straight-forward, as the reward of widened boundaries (and an allowance for eating meat outside the Temple compound) comes if we follow the previously described mitzvah of eating all the offerings by the Temple. The reward of G-d “cutting down the nations [in Canaan] from before us” (12:29) comes for “doing one mitzvah discussed here” (the only instance where the word “one” is added), which implies either one of the mitzvos discussed previously (not eating blood and bringing all of your offerings to the Temple) or one of the mitzvos about to be discussed (not worshipping the deities the nations worshipped and not worshipping G-d using the forms of worship they used for their deities). Since the ones described afterwards include the expression “after they have been destroyed from before you” (12:30), it would be kind of difficult for the reward for doing something after they were destroyed to be getting rid of them. Therefore, here too, it must be doing a mitzvah previously discussed that brings about this reward. The next one (18:9) is a bit trickier, as the mitzvah described before the reward of entering the land is either allowing Kohanim to perform services in the Temple even when it is not their turn (see Rashi on 18:7) or not “learning to do the abominations of these nations.” If we can assume these things (i.e. “Molech” and black magic) were known about even before they crossed the Jordan River, it would be at least as likely that “being completely faithful to Hashem, your G-d” (18:13) would be the mitzvah referred to. However, here the Sifre adds the word “bisecharcha” (“as your reward”) to end its comment, separating the reward (and what turns out to be its cause) from the next mitzvah. Here too, we see the expression “discussed here” to be referring to the previously discussed mitzvah. Similarly, (18:14) is to drive out the nations living there after having crossed into the land rather than the reward being to cross over in the first place; if we don’t mimic their ways after we cross, we will be able to drive them out. (The mitzvah discussed after this one being a continuation of what was discussed before it, and that one being the one after the previous “reward,” makes it impossible for the expression to mean “the next mitzvah.”) The fifth (19:8) discusses the cities of refuge, as we will be rewarded with wider boundaries, necessitating additional cities of refuge, if we set up the cities of refuge properly in our original boundaries. In this case, it is the same mitzvah, so the Sifre must be referring to setting up the first cities of refuge in order to merit needing to set up additional ones. Therefore, although one of Sifre D’vei Rav’s main arguments for his approach (that the Sifre would use a different expression) falls away, I think the approach itself is valid, and is pretty much implied in some the seven cases.

We are still left with our first question, how the Sifre could say that “v’haya” means immediately if the mitzvah of “Bikurim” won’t start until years after entering the land. However, the verse (26:1) doesn’t just mention “entering the land,” it also mentions “inheriting it and dwelling in it,” i.e. conquering it and dividing it up, and the mitzvah of “Bikurim” does start immediately after that. The question becomes why we would think otherwise, necessitating the Torah to tell us that it starts immediately after everyone is settled, and/or why the Sifre had to point it out to us.

Once we’ve established that “v’haya” doesn’t mean “right this second,” but “right after certain conditions have been met” (i.e. right after the land was conquered and divided up), everything falls into place. When the prophet (Micha 4:1) tells us that “it will be at the end of days,” the “v’haya” teaches us that it will occur right away, at the beginning of the “end of days,” not well after they have started. Although the mitzvah of remembering what Amalek did started right away, the mitzvah to wipe them out didn’t start until after there was a king. Nevertheless, since it started right after the first king was appointed, Moshe used the word “v’haya.” Appointing the king, though, was not required right away (and if anything, should have been delayed more), so there is no “v’haya” there. In order to contrast the “coming to the land” regarding appointing a king and the “coming to the land” regarding “Bikurim,” Moshe had to add “v’haya” by the latter and leave it out by the former. Additionally, as the Malbim points out, the mitzvah of separating “Chalah” from dough did not apply to dough that was already kneaded, only to dough that was kneaded after the land was conquered and divided up. Similarly, the prohibition against “Urlah” (fruit from the first three years) didn’t apply to trees that had already been planted, only to those that were planted after the land was conquered and divided up. “Bikurim,” on the other hand, applied even to something that had been planted before the land was conquered. Therefore, Moshe told them that “Bikurim” applied “immediately.” Not “immediately” after they entered the Promised Land, but “immediately” after it was conquered and divided up.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“For Hashem your G-d is repulsed by all who do these things.” Although I have translated the word “to’aiva” as “repulsive,” the most commonly used translation is “abomination.” This term is used by the Torah to describe numerous things, indicating that they are more than just “wrong,” but “repulsive.” The section of the verse quoted above actually appears twice in our Parasha. The first time (Devarim 22:5) it is used to describe G-d being “repulsed” by cross-dressing, i.e. men wearing women’s clothing or women wearing men’s clothing. The second time (25:16), it describes G-d being repulsed by dishonest business practices. However, when discussing how detestable cheating others is, besides saying “all who do these things” the Torah adds, “all who are involved in deception.” Why does the Torah use two phrases, rather than just one? What does the second phrase teach us that we wouldn’t know if there were only one phrase?
On one level, this added phrase indicates that dishonesty is considered worse than other “abominations.” It is interesting to note that while stealing is not called an “abomination,” stealing via deception is. Does it really matter how one cheats (or is cheated)? Why is taking something from others through misrepresentation worse than taking it behind their back, or by force? Why is G-d super-repulsed by those who cheat others through deception more than other forms of cheating and stealing?
Numerous suggestions have been given to explain the Torah using two phrases (e.g. Midrash Hagadol, Or Hachayim, Kli Yakar and Netziv). The context of the verses, which discuss having deceptive weights and measurements without any mention of actually using them, indicates that the “abomination” refers to “those who do these things,” i.e. have the tools with which to deceive others, even if they never use them. Merely owning an inaccurate scale, weight or measure is an “abomination,” let alone using it. The verse may therefore be telling us that it is an abomination to have the means of deceiving others, and an additional abomination to actual deceive others (a “double abomination”). Owning the tools to deceive is worse than just stealing because it is then much easier to become a repeat offender. The institutionalization of deception is therefore more of an abomination. Nevertheless, the second phrase, which refers to the deception itself rather than the institutionalization of deception, teaches us that stealing via deception (even if it’s not “institutionalized”) is an abomination. We would still need to explain why stealing via deception is more “repulsive” than other theft.
In Mishlay (Proverbs), Sh’lomo HaMelech (King Solomon) refers to the “repulsiveness” of deception several times. However, whereas one verse that mentions non-standard weights and measures being an “abomination” (20:10) is set in a context of kindness and honesty (20:6), innocence (20:7 and 20:9), and purity and being straight/just (20:11), the verse that speaks of “deceitful scales” being an “abomination” (11:1) appears in a context of righteousness and wickedness (10:30-32) and sin and modesty (11:2). Because the context here is “dayos” (how we mentally approach things) rather than action, the Ralbag understand it to be referring to thinking straight (not crooked) rather acting straight (not crooked). “For G-d is repulsed by those who weigh their thoughts with deceitful scales, meaning [those] who don’t know to be careful during contemplation from things that mislead, as this is among [the things] that bring one to making great (i.e. large) wrong arguments which will bring about a great amount of heavy destruction. However, [G-d’s] will is that they (the ideas being contemplated) be weighed with a ‘perfect stone’ that doesn’t have anything extra nor anything missing, and this is [accomplished] by watching the ways and the orders that straighten a person out by guarding from making mistakes in the thought process.”
Rabbeinu Yonah (Mishlay 20:10) says that Sh’lomo would not just repeat the commandments of the Torah, so each of the three mentions of deceitful weights, measures and scales much be teaching us an added dimension. According to Rabbeinu Yonah, the first mention in Mishlay of deceit being an “abomination” (11:1) refers to lying (even if the untruth doesn’t bring monetary gain), the second (20:10) refers to a “deceitful heart” (similar to the Ralbag’s explanation of the first mention), and the third (20:23) refers to taking back compensation from someone who cheated you through deceit; even if money was stolen from you, deceitful tactics can’t employed to get the money back since deceit is always an “abomination.”
It can therefore be suggested that reason the Torah added the second phrase of “all those who act deceitfully” in our Parasha is to include not just making (and using) deceitful weights and measures, but any kind of deceit, whether it be lying to others, or lying to oneself by being less than objective during contemplation.
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 92a) equates lying, or more specifically, misrepresenting things through words, with idol worship. The Maharsha says that this comparison is made because truth is the basis for the Torah, whereas other belief systems are built on falsehood. Therefore, dealing in falsehood is tantamount to giving credence to false beliefs. As the Talmud says in numerous places (e.g. Shabbos 55a), “the seal of G-d is ‘truth.”
If what separates the Torah (and worshipping the One True Creator) from everything else is its truth, deceit undermines its value and authority. Acting deceitfully either means not subscribing to the same value system as the Torah, or not believing it to be true. Either way, a supposedly Torah-observant person who acts deceitfully creates the biggest kind of “chillul Hashem,” profaning of G-d’s name, as the message it sends is that the G-d of the Torah is not truthful, and/or is not true. Stealing is bad enough, but when done through deceit, it is a complete “abomination,” and extremely repulsive to the One True G-d.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking A Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)


“When a matter of judgment becomes hidden from you, between blood [and] blood, between court case [and] court case, and between affliction [and] affliction, words of disagreement within your gates, and you shall get up and you shall go up to the place that Hashem your G-d has chosen” (Devarim 17:18). Unlike our secular courts, where the lower courts issue rulings that determine the law unless or until it is overturned by a higher court, Jewish law is determined at the top. Either it was taught to Moshe by G-d, who taught it to Yehoshua, etc, or it was determined by the Jewish Supreme Court, the Sanhedrin. If there was ever a doubt as to what the law was, or if a disagreement ever arose between courts as to what the law was, the case was brought before the higher courts to see if they knew what the law was, and it kept being “kicked” up to a higher court until either it came before a court that knew the law, or the Sanhedrin deliberated and determined the law (Rambam, Hilchos Mamrim 1:4). It would seem, though, that this could have been stated in a much more concise manner; “If a question about the law ever arises, get ye to the Sanhedrin!” Why were these three categories (blood, court cases and afflictions) delineated?

Maharal suggests that these categories represent three areas of life, the self (afflictions, i.e. “tzoraas”), the household (represented by the wife, i.e. her emissions of “blood”), and society (court cases, both civil and criminal). The implication is that in all areas of life, the law is determined through the “Halachic System,” with the law either being passed down from a previous generation or determined by the halachic authority (the Sanhedrin). Even so, mentioning the categories should have sufficed; mentioning each category twice, using the expression “between blood/case/affliction and blood/case/affliction,” needs to be explained. Why didn’t the Torah just say, “When a matter of judgment regarding blood, court cases or afflictions becomes hidden from you, you shall go up to the place that G-d has chosen?”

The Tosefta (Horiyos 1:5) uses these words to prove that the procedure followed (i.e. which offerings to bring to atone for the mistake) if the Sanhedrin issues an incorrect ruling only applies when a law within a category is disregarded, not when a whole category is disregarded (“between blood and blood,” not when there are no laws regarding blood). Nevertheless, in order to learn this concept we would only need the extra words by one category, not by all three.

Rashi explains this extra verbiage as the question arising “between blood that is tamay (ritually impure) [and] blood that is tahor (ritually pure), between a verdict of innocence [and] a verdict of guilt (or obligation), and between an affliction that is tamay [and] an affliction that is tahor.” In other words, the Torah is laying out for us what the doubt is about; is the blood tamay or not, is the defendant off the hook or not, and is the affliction tamay or not. However, this would seem obvious too, as what other options are there? Even though Rashi helps us read the words, he doesn’t seem to help us understand why those “extra” words are there.

Rashi’s explanation is difficult for another reason as well. Not just because the Talmud (Sanhedrin 87a and Nidah 19a, see also Yerushalmi Sanhedrin 11:3) and Sifray (152) explain the verse differently, but because the Talmud (Nidah 19a) rejects the explanation that Rashi uses. The Mishna discusses which colors of blood are tamay, implying that there are some colors of blood that are not. The Talmud asks how we know that there is any blood that is not tamay; maybe all blood is tamay, no matter what color it is. The first answer given is based on our verse, that the extra words indicate that there is blood that is tamay and blood that is tahor, and a doubt arose as to which is which. The Talmud then proves that this can’t be what the verse means, as the third category would then be distinguishing between afflictions that are tamay and afflictions that are tahor, and there are no “afflictions” that are tahor. The term “affliction” (“nega”) only applies if it is tamay; if it is tahor, a different term is used. The Talmud then gives us the “real” explanation of the extra verbiage, that the Torah is referring to sub-categories, which match (or almost exactly match) the sub-categories the Talmud gives in Sanhedrin and the Sifray gives on our verse (the blood of a “nidah,” “yoledes” and “zavah,; a criminal case that involves a capital offense, other criminal cases, and cases that involve monetary issues; and afflictions of the body, of a house and of a garment). Finally, the Talmud proves that there must be blood that is tahor, as if all blood was tamay, a question about it couldn’t have arisen that would need the Sanhedrin for clarification. (The Talmud explains why the Sanhedrin may have to get involved with inflictions even if they are all tamay, detailing what they might need to clarify.) Why didn’t Rashi use Chazal’s approach to explain the verse? How could Rashi use an explanation that the Talmud rejects?

Tzaidah LaDerech offers two possible explanations for Rashi. First he suggests that Rashi didn’t really mean “afflictions that are tahor,” since none exist. Rather, he meant conditions that are tahor and therefore not really afflictions. However, being that Rashi is trying to explain why the Torah uses the word “nega” twice, this possibility is a bit difficult to accept. Tzaidah LaDerech’s second approach is based on the fact that Rashi’s purpose in his commentary is to offer the simplest, most straightforward explanation of the words. Rashi will therefore sometimes choose explanations that the Talmud rejects, if it is the most straightforward way to explain them. Although Tzaidah LaDerech does enumerate several cases where Rashi chooses a minority opinion (or an opinion that is not consistent with the Talmud’s conclusion), using an opinion that is rejected outright seems to be taking this a step further. Even though we do find Chazal using this explanation for the words relating to “blood” (besides Nidah 19a, see Berachos 63b and Yerushalmi Nidah 2:6), and we should try to understand this explanation given its rejection (on Nidah 19a), nowhere is Rashi’s explanation of the words relating to “affliction” given; without a source for this explanation, and given it being rejected by the Talmud, how could Rashi use it?

At first glance, the Talmud’s initial question of how we know that any blood is tahor seems strange. After all, the Torah says explicitly (Vayikra 12:4-5) that a “yoledes” (one who gives birth) has a long stretch where any blood she sees is tahor. However, the Talmud is discussing colors, and asking how we know that there are certain colors of blood that are tahor; the blood of a “yoledes” is tahor even if it is a color that is normally tamay. The Talmud finally proves that there must be some colors that are always tahor because otherwise how would a doubt about whether she is tamay arise. This is not such a simple “proof,” though, as elsewhere (Sanhedrin 87b) the Talmud gives examples for each of the sub-categories of what kind of doubt could arise. For the sub-category of a “yoledes,” the example is whether or not there must be a break between the bleeding after childbirth and the bleeding that is not tamay. This has nothing to do with the color of the blood, so the category of “blood” that must be settled by the Sanhedrin does not really require that there be a color of blood that is tahor. Similarly, the example of the sub-category of a “zavah” has nothing to do with the color of the blood. It is only the sub-category of a “nidah” that revolves around the color of the blood. The Talmud using this sub-category to prove that some colors are tahor indicates that the extra words by each category are understood to be teaching us each of these sub-categories, and since each sub-category must have the possibility of needing clarification by the Sanhedrin, we know that there must be some color (or colors) of blood that are not tamay.

This explains why we need sub-categories by blood. What about the other two categories? Does the Torah point to their sub-categories only to remain consistent, or do we learn something from them as well? If the only sub-categories hinted to by the Torah’s extra words were under the blood category, then the possibility exists that rather than being sub-categories of cases that may need clarification by the Sanhedrin, the Sanhedrin may only be needed to distinguish between these categories, to determine where a certain type of bleeding is considered that of a “nidah, yoledes or zavah.” However, since we have sub-categories of afflictions as well, we know that this can’t be how to read the verse, as there is no way anyone can be confused as to whether the affliction is on a “person, house or garment.” The extra words that tell us that there are sub-categories by afflictions teach us that the Sanhedrin may have to clarify details within each category, not just to help us distinguish between them. It could be suggested that once we need sub-categories by two of the categories, the Torah kept the language consistent and referred to sub-categories of court cases as well. It is also possible that the Torah wants to teach us that all court cases, whether they involve financial issues, more serious crimes/sins, or less serious crimes/sins, must be clarified by the Sanhedrin; there cannot be one set of laws for one city or one Tribe and another set elsewhere, even if those differences are mutually agreed upon in each locale or by each group. There may be a division of federal, state and city law in our secular society, but by teaching us these sub-categories, the Torah is telling us that there must be one set of laws for all of Israel.

Once we’ve established that on the “d’rash” (exegetical) level the Torah is teaching us things about each category (and sub-category), we can return to how Rashi explains the verse on the “p’shat” level (its plain meaning). We can’t learn that there is such a thing as tahor blood by reading the extra words as “between blood that is tamay and blood that is tahor,” but once we’ve learned that through the “d’rasha,” it is now a viable way to read it as “p’shat.” The Talmud only rejected the “p’shat” reading as a source for the law, not as a way to read the verse once we know the law. The problem that remains is how Rashi could say that this is the “p’shat” by afflictions if there are no “afflictions” that are tahor.

But are there really no afflictions that are tahor? Previously (www.RabbiDMK.posterous.com/Parashas-TazriyaMetzora-5770) I have discussed the fact that an affliction does not become tamay until the Kohain declares it to be tamay. Whereas for blood the poseik (halachic decisor) tells us what its status was even before it was examined, the house (or garment or person) does not become tamay until after the Kohain’s declaration. This creates several anomalies, including the existence of a real affliction, one that will become tamay once the Kohain says it is an affliction, that is not yet tamay. It is an “affliction” that is “tahor” (see Shabbos 132b). When it comes to determining the status of an affliction, there is no such thing as an affliction that should be declared tahor. Therefore, when operating in the realm of determining status, the Talmud rejects the possibility of there being an affliction that is (i.e. should be declared) tahor. However, Rashi, operating on the “p’shat” level, is not reading the verse to determine its status, but to determine which kinds of cases to bring to the Sanhedrin for clarification; until it is clarified and declared to be an affliction, it is tahor.

Nevertheless, this “p’shat” is still problematic, as until there is clarification there would be no afflictions that are tamay, and reading the verse as “clarifying between afflictions that should be declared tamay and those that should be declared tahor” brings us back to the same problem of there not being any afflictions that shouldn’t be declared tamay. However, if we re-categorize the types of cases, this difficulty disappears.

As noted earlier, every Jewish law (when there was a Sanhedrin) was determined from the top. I have discussed why the Torah lists these three categories of law on the “d’rash” level (and why the sub-categories were necessary); what about on the “p’shat” level? Why didn’t the Torah just say that all laws must be clarified by the Sanhedrin? Would we think that any laws wouldn’t need to be brought to the Sanhedrin for clarification?

Let’s start with blood. If we are unsure whether the blood is tamay or not, we have two options. We can either try to clarify the situation, or be “machmir” (stringent), and just treat it as if it’s tamay. By including the category of blood, the Torah is telling us that we should clarify the law, not just avoid having to by acting stringently. Although the laws of ritual purity cannot vary from city to city (as either something is tamay or it isn’t), contractual law can, as each party is agreeing to the specific stipulations of the contract. Can a society determine which laws should govern the commerce done within its borders? What about how it deals with those that violate the law? By including the category of court cases, the Torah is telling us that the same standards and rules must apply to everyone, and if a doubt arises about any law detail, it can’t be decided locally (even if all agree to such “arbitration”). Civil laws, criminal laws and ritual laws must be brought to the central authority, even if all agree to abide by the decisions of the local authority, and to be “machmir” if ritual laws come into doubt. What about ritual laws that don’t apply until the determination is made? Must they be brought to the Sanhedrin too, or can we put their determination on hold, much like we do when we remove the items from the house before the Kohain looks at it, or delay showing the Kohain a potential affliction until after Yom Tov? The Torah includes this category too, telling us that we must go to the Sanhedrin to determine whether blood is tamay or tahor (we can’t just be “machmir”), decide innocence or guilt in a court case (we can’t have different societal laws), and declare the status of afflictions, as we can’t leave any afflictions tahor if they really are afflictions and should be declared tamay. Rather, in all these cases, “you shall get up and go up” to the Sanhedrin for clarification.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

Throughout Sefer Devarim, Moshe speaks to the Children of Israel about their imminent entry into the Promised Land. This land is sometimes described as “being given” (present tense), i.e. it wasn't ours until now but is about to be given to us. Other times, it is described as land that “was given to us” (past tense) or that was “given to our forefathers” (obviously also past tense).

These different tenses appear in very close proximity in our Parasha, with Moshe telling the nation that they are about to cross the Jordan River “to inherit the land that Hashem your G-d is giving you” (Devarim 11:31), followed shortly thereafter by Moshe telling them which commandments they should be careful to follow “in the land that Hashem the G-d of your forefathers gave to you” (12:1). The Chasam Sofer points out another anomaly, as the first set of verses is accompanied (11:32) by the need to keep all of the commandments, while the second is only accompanied by the commandment to remove all of the idols that were worshiped by the previous inhabitants (12:2).

In order to address both of these differences, the Chasam Sofer references the Ramban's approach to a different issue (quoted in the commentary originally attributed to the Ritva on Shabbos 88a). The Talmud says that the nation being put “under the mountain” (Shemos 19:17) refers to G-d threatening to kill them if they don't accept the Torah. Lest this be used an excuse not to keep the Torah (since we were “forced” to accept it), the Talmud says that this excuse was nullified in the days of Achashveirosh (after the Jewish nation was saved from Haman's decree to wipe them out) when the nation accepted the Torah willingly. The Ramban asks how, if the excuse wasn't nullified until after the Purim miracle (which occurred after the destruction of the first Temple), could the nation have been punished - prior to their accepting the Torah willingly - by being sent into exile? Although there are numerous approaches to answer this question, the Ramban suggests that even though (until the Purim miracle) they had been forced to accept the Torah, being given the Promised Land was conditional. As long as they observed G-d's commandments they could live on it, but if they didn't, they would lose it. Therefore, after they stopped keeping the Torah, G-d took the land away from them, and sent them into exile. This, the Chasam Sofer suggests, is what the first set of verses is referring to. G-d is (present tense) giving you the land on the condition that you keep all of His commandments.

Normally, if a non-Jew used something for idol-worship, it does not need to be destroyed; the misuse needs to be disavowed and the items nullified. Nevertheless, the Torah commanded the nation to destroy the items used for idol-worship, despite that worship having been done by the non-Jewish inhabitants of the land. The Chasam Sofer suggests that when the Children of Israel worshiped the golden calf, it gave implicit approval to the idol-worshiping going on in Canaan. In essence (he says) they were doing it on our behalf, which necessitated destroying those items. However, if we first got the land when we entered it, there would be no connection between our worshiping the golden calf and their worshiping idols. It is only because G-d had already given (via His promise) the land to our forefathers that this connection was made, as they were living on land that had already been given to us, and it was as if those items already belonged to us. Therefore, when commanding us to completely destroy those things used for idol-worship, the fact that it had already been given (past tense) to us (through our forefathers) is mentioned.

This provides a local explanation for the change from present to past tense; an explanation would still be necessary for each time the land being given to us is mentioned in either tense. Aside from the complexity involved in considering the idols“ours” before we ever entered the land, the most straight-forward reading of the verses is that the necessity to destroy them stems from the need to remove them so that we do not serve them too. I would therefore like to suggest a different reason for the tense changes, as well as why the commandments referred to switch from all of them to just the removal/destruction of the idols.

Several years ago (www.aishdas.org/ta/5765/eikev.pdf) I discussed how we become connected to our forefathers by following in their footsteps and continuing their mission. This manifests itself by keeping the Torah, thus allowing us to tap into the promises G-d made to them. G-d had promised He would give them the land of Canaan, not by giving it to them directly, but by giving it to their descendants. First, though, there had to be 400 years of “living in a land that did not belong to them,” which included the years Yitzchok spent in Gerar, Yaakov spent in Aram and Egypt, and the Children of Israel lived in Egypt. Had the generation of the exodus been worthy, they would have been able to enter the Promised Land right away, since the 400 (430 from the “Beris Bein Ha'besarim”) had already passed. Yet, Yitzchok didn't live in Gerar all of his life, and Yaakov lived in Canaan for a number of years as well. These years “counted” because the land wasn't really theirs yet (as evidenced by Avraham having to buy the plot to bury Sara). It was “promised” to them, and G-d's promise is as good as if it were given, but the land wasn't actually given yet.

The land wasn't “given” to us until four decades after the 400 years of “living in a land that wasn't theirs” had passed, because we weren't worthy yet. If the next generation wasn't worthy, they wouldn't have been given the land either. This is what Moshe was afraid might happen if Reuvein and Gad's request to keep the land on the east side of the Jordan affected the nation the way the report of the spies had affected them. There was no guarantee which generation would get the land, only that, eventually, the descendants of our forefathers would get it. Moshe was therefore telling them that if they want to be the generation that gets it (present tense), the have to keep the Torah and its commandments.

However, they didn't deserve to get the land on their own merit, but because it had been promised to their forefathers and were continuing their mission. This was emphasized in last week's Parasha (Devarim 9:4-6), when Moshe told them that they would not be able to conquer the land because of their own righteousness, but because of the sins of the nations that lived there coupled with the promise made to the forefathers. (The wickedness of the other nations is mentioned with both sides of the equation to make sure that they know that righteousness is not relative, and even if they are more righteous than the other nations they are only getting the land because of their forefathers.) In order to be reminded that even though they are being given (present tense) the land now, Moshe adds that it is only because it had been promised/given (past tense) to their forefathers.
Keeping the Torah is incumbent upon every generation. There is one specific commandment, though, that is directed at the generation the land is actually given to: destroying the idols that were there. (If this was done properly, it couldn't apply to any other generation.) Nevertheless, to make sure that they understood that despite fulfilling this commandment, which (ideally) only applied to them, the land was really given to them because of their connection with their forefathers (through their Torah observance), Moshe used the past tense; “you are getting the land now because it was promised to them.”

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“And you shall remember all of the way (i.e. road) that Hashem your G-d made you travel these forty years in the desert, in order to afflict you, to test you, to know what is in your heart, whether you will keep His commandments or not” (Devarim 8:2). The above translation follows the “k'ri,” the wording as it read; had I translated it according to the way it is written instead, the “k'siv,” there would be one slight difference: Instead of being His “commandments” (plural) that we are supposed to follow, it would be His “commandment” (singular), as the third to last word in the verse has no letter “yud,” but we “pretend” that there are six letters in the word instead of five, adding a “yud” before the last letter.

I could try suggesting a reason for this discrepancy. For example, even though the test is whether we will keep all of G-d's commandments (not just one), hence the added “yud,” since Rashi tells us that the crux of the test is whether we will do so without complaining, it is in essence this one commandment (not to complain) that is the focus of the verse. In order to teach us that we are being commanded (singular commandment) not to complain while keeping all of the commandments (plural), the Torah embedded both the singular and the plural forms into the same word.

However, rather than taking a closer look, this week I'd like to take a broader look, and discuss the very nature of “k'ri/k'siv.” Why are there words in the Torah (and throughout Tanach) that are written one way but are supposed to be read a different way? There are even instances where there is no word at all yet our tradition says to pretend a specific word is there and read the verse as if it contains that word, and instances where the text contains a word that our tradition says to skip when reading the verse. Why is this so, and how did these “discrepancies” get there?

As I alluded to above, it can be suggested that each version (the version we read and the version in the text) has something to add. The Malbim (Ayeles HaShachar #247) says that the way things are read (the “k'ri”) represents the plain meaning of the word/verse while the way it is written (the “k'siv”) represents its exegetical meaning. The Vilna Gaon (in his commentary to Mishlay 16:19) says that the “k'ri” usually reflects the “revealed” meaning while the “k'siv” reflects its “hidden” meaning. This approach can be applied to narrative as well. For example, Sefer Devarim is primarily the words Moshe spoke to the nation shortly before his death. When Moshe said these words, he either said commandment (singular) or commandments (plural), but could not have said both. Nevertheless, when G-d told Moshe to write down the words he (Moshe) spoke to the nation and include them in the Torah, He (G-d) could easily have told him to write the word in its singular form but pronounce it as if it's written in the plural form. And this is what the Talmud (Nedarim 37b) seems to say happened, as “[words] read but not written and [words] written but not read are “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai,” laws taught to Moshe at Sinai.

However, this is problematic, as these words were said by Moshe at Arvos Moav, 38+ years after the nation left Sinai; how could G-d tell Moshe at Sinai to write them down if they weren't said yet? (This issue applies to all of the narrative that occurred after they left Mt. Sinai.) But even if we want to “translate” the word “Sinai” liberally, and include any direct communication between G-d and Moshe (since there is no practical difference whether this communication took place atop Mt. Sinai, in the Mishkan while at Sinai, in the Mishkan at any of the stops along way, or in the Mishkan at Arvos Moav), calling it “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” is still problematic. The examples the Talmud gives are from the books of Shemuel, Yirmiyah and Rus, all of which were written well after Moshe died! How could any “k'ri/k'siv” contained in them have been taught to Moshe?

Ben Yehoyada drives this point home (without discussing it) by saying that there was never a change in the text, as all of it, including how it should be written and how it should be read, was said to Moshe at Sinai, “and so it was with the verses of Nevi'im (Prophets) and Kesuvim (Writings); this was how it was revealed to us (i.e. with both the “k'ri” and the “k'siv”) by the prophets that wrote them.” How this qualifies as “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” is not explained.

The Rosh (Hilchos Mikva'os 1, after Meseches Nidah) explains “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” in a very non-literal way, understanding it to mean a law that is as clear (uncontested) as a law told directly to Moshe at Sinai. In this context, when the Talmud uses the expression “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” regarding how the text of Tanach is written, it would mean that these aspects (the three categories included by the Talmud) are not later additions, but were part of the original text (and how it should be read). Nevertheless, there is much written to explain what “k'ri” and “k'siv” represent, including how those in Nach (Nevi'im/Kesuvim) can be classified as “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai.”

Radak (in his introduction to Sefer Yehoshua and on Shemuel II 15:21), gives his take on “k'ri” and “k'siv:” “It seems [to me] that during the first exile (after the first Temple was destroyed) the books (containing the Biblical text) were lost and moved, and the sages that knew the text died. And the Men of the Great Assembly, who returned the Torah to its original state, found discrepancies in the texts that were available, and (when reconstructing the authoritative text) followed (for each discrepancy) the majority, based on their opinion/knowledge. And in place[s] that their knowledge/opinion did not reach a point of full clarity (i.e. they were not completely confident that they had restored the text to its original form), they wrote one [version] but did not vocalize it, or they wrote it outside (the margins) but not inside (the body of the text), or wrote one [version] outside and one inside.” Radak is not the only one to suggest this, although it seems that the others who do so are following his lead (i.e. Meiri, in his introduction to Kiryas Sefer, who quotes Radak's language).

We can not apply the Rosh's understanding of “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” to the Radak's explanation, and it would be difficult to suggest that Radak is disagreeing with the Talmud's understanding of the origin of “k'ri” and “k'siv” (especially since Meiri repeats it in his explanation of the Talmud, which also precludes the possibility that “k'ri” and “k'siv” being “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” is only a minority opinion). I would therefore suggest something similar to what I wrote regarding the Talmud's assertion that Esther was given at Sinai and that the Aggadic literature was given at Sinai (see http://rabbidmk.posterous.com/shuvuos-5770); Moshe was taught the system to reconstruct the Biblical text (when necessary) at Sinai, including what to do if unsure exactly what the original text stated.

Abarbanel (in his introduction to Sefer Yirmiyah) rejects Radak's approach, for several reasons. For one thing, if a Sefer Torah is missing even one letter it is invalid, and if “k'ri” and “k'siv” are based on discrepancies that were unresolved, all of our Sifri Torah would likely be invalid. I'm not sure why this would be so; as long as we follow the proscribed procedure for writing/fixing the text, the halacha (law) would be that it is a valid Sefer Torah.

Abarbanel's next issue with Radak's approach is that there is a “guarantee” that the Torah would always be with us, which Abarbanel understands to mean with no doubts about what the original text was. Included in this concept (Abarbanel continues) is the comforting thought of the consistency of the Torah (its text) no matter how harsh the trials and tribulations we are forced to withstand are (keep in mind that Abarbanel had been a royal officer and had to flee Spain during the Inquisition, an upheaval that affected him greatly, including his having to rewrite much of his commentary due to the loss of his original manuscripts). This is why (according to Abarbanel) one of the fundamentals of our faith (referring to Rambam's 8^th principal) is that the text we have now is the exact same text that was given to Moshe. A close reading of Rambam's 8^th principal, however (see Igros Moshe, Yoreh Daya 3:114), indicates that Rambam did not mean (or at least focus on) whether the text we have is the exact same text given to Moshe, but whether any part of the text was written (or added) by Moshe on his own, without having been dictated to him (or to Yehoshua, according to the opinion that the last eight verses of the Torah were written down by Moshe, see Bava Basra 15a). Rambam does not mean that no textual doubt will ever arise, but that nothing in the text was purposely added; it all came directly from G-d. Reconstructing the text is not the issue, since the reconstruction is an attempt to determine what G-d had dictated, not a suggestion that the original came from another source. (Whether anyone disagrees with Rambam regarding this being a fundamental is a separate issue; I am only trying to clarify Rambam's opinion, since this is what Abarbanel is basing himself on and what the traditional community has accepted.)

The notion that we will always have the exact text that was dictated to Moshe is difficult to sustain. Aside from Radak (et al), Chikuni (Beraishis 15:5) says that the dots over certain letters or words in the Torah were added by Ezra to indicate which letters he was unsure were in Moshe's original text. (Although some attribute Avos d”Rav Nosson 34:4 as being Chizkuni's source, the context makes it clear that Avos d'Rav Nosson understands the dots to be a means of conveying additional messages from the text, not an indication of not being sure whether that part of the text really belonged.) Conceptually, the Chizkuni is very similar to Radak; Chizkuni uses the concept to explain the dots while Radak uses it to explain “k'ri” and “k'siv.” In addition, there are numerous places where the text used by the Talmud and Midrashim does not exactly match our text (see Ran on Sanhedrin 4a). Rashba (Responsa Attributed to Ramban 232) acknowledges that there are differences between the sages that excelled at exegesis and those that excelled at maintaining the text, and between “the sages in the east and the sages in the west” (which I understand to mean those in Bavel and those in Israel) regarding what the text actually is, making it impossible to say that we will always know what the exact text was. [The differences in the text are very few, and very minor, and almost always have no practical difference. In almost all cases, the exegesis involved did affects Jewish law, only Aggadic interpretation. Since the point of these interpretations is the message they carry, and the message was carried via Chazal, we can trust the message to be a valid one. The one instance where the difference between the texts affects Jewish law (and is only relevant to a rare circumstance, one that may never have occurred, as part of the service in the Temple in Jerusalem), is the subject of Rashba's Responsa. Conceptually, this is not really in issue either, and can be compared to different communities having different customs, or following the decision of their local Poskim (decisors of Jewish law); when it comes to maintaining the text, we follow the decisions of those whose expertise is in maintaining the text, and when it come to laws deduced through exegesis, we follow the decision of those who are experts in that area. Besides, at the time this “difference” could have been relevant, there was a Sanhedrin available to make the final determination.] Chazal (Meseches Sofrim 6:4, Yerushalmi Taanis 4:2, Sifri on Devarim 33:27) tell us that there were three Sifray Torah found in the Temple that had (slightly) different texts, and (in order to reconstruct the correct text) they used the concept of “majority rules” (Shemos 23:2), with the final text not being exactly the same as any of the three they had started with. This is not the same as Radak or Chizkuni, as once the text was reconstructed there was no indication included in the finished product that there had ever been a doubt, but it does show that discrepancies can arise, and at least until the reconstruction process is completed there could be doubts about exactly what Moshe's original text was.

It is unfair to mandate to others what should provide comfort, and practically speaking it is impossible. Nevertheless, I don't take any less comfort in knowing that we have a system in place (with divine approval) to reconstruct the text than if we had a guarantee that we would never have any doubts about what Moshe's text was, exactly, to the letter.

Another issue Abarbanel has with Radak's approach is determining which version to include in the body of the text (the “k'siv”) and which to put in the margin or the vocalization (the “k'ri”). It would seem, though, that even if Ezra and the Men of the Great Assembly weren't confident enough in one version to totally disregard the other, they could still choose which version they thought was more likely to be correct. In any case, what their “doubt” was needs to be explored, as if there was a majority of manuscripts that indicated one way, why didn't they just go with the majority (as stated in Meseches Sofrim, et al)? Did Radak think that there were exactly the same number of manuscripts for both possibilities for every “k'ri” and “k'siv?” That is rather unlikely. Quite possibly, there were reasons why they thought certain manuscripts were less reliable, and even though, when all the manuscripts were counted, there was a majority indicating one version over the other, since these less-reliable manuscripts created the “majority,” they didn't want to disregard the version contained in the reliable manuscripts. Whatever the situation was, it does not seem strange that they would prefer one version over the other, and indicate as much by making one the “k'siv” and the other the “k'ri.” [It should be noted that this discussion is not necessarily affected by the Talmud's discussion (Sanhedrin 4a) regarding whether the way things are written is primary (“yesh aim l'moseres”) or the way they are read is (“yesh aim l'mikra”), as in those cases the differences are not between the “k'ri” and the “k'siv,” but between how it could be written based on how we read it vs. how it could be read based on how it is written.]

The final issue Abarbanel challenges Radak with is the strongest. Many of the differences between the “k'ri” and the “k'siv” occur numerous times with the same word (although, ironically enough considering Abarbanel's take on the possibility of differences in the text arising, if you compare his examples with our text, they don't add up). If the “k'ri” vs. “k'siv” differences are the result of copyist errors, how likely is it that the same exact error happened almost every time a word was written. (Even though one version of the Chazal relating the three Sifray Torah found in the Temple has the third discrepancy occurring numerous times, it seems more likely that this is an inaccurate version of the Chazal rather than the same error being made so often.)

After rejecting Radak's approach, Abarbanel reiterates that the “k'siv” was never in doubt, and says that Ezra added a “commentary” to those words that would not have been understood properly (usually because the way it was written has hidden meanings) in the form of a way to read the word that brings out its simple, straightforward meaning. (This is consistent with the Malbim and Gra quoted above.) Although Abarbanel does not directly address how the Talmud can say this was “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai,” he does say that Ezra being able to explain the text this way was “without a doubt received from the prophets and the sages of the generation that preceded him.” If we take it back further, and say that the authorization to clarify the text this way was given to Moshe at Sinai, the approach of the Abarbanel can fit with the Talmud as well.

Maharal (Tiferes Yisroel 66) takes very strong issue with both Radak and Abarbanel's approaches, with one of the main reasons being that they go against Chazal telling us that “k'ri” and “k'siv” are “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai.” (As we have discussed, this is not necessarily the case.) According to Maharal, the text as written contains the deep wisdom appropriate for divine works, while the way it is read reflects its plain meaning. Maharal does address how “k'ri” and “k'siv” can be “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” if they appear throughout Tanach, with the “halacha” being to hint to the deeper meaning in the written text but to read it in a way that the plain meaning is understood.

That the “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” is the system of using “k'ri” and “k'siv” rather than how each individual word should be written/read is evident from the Talmud itself. Aside from the fact that the examples given are from books written after Moshe had died, one of the other categories said to be “halacha l'Moshe mi'Sinai” is reading “eretz” as “uretz” (changing the vowel under the first letter from a “segol” to a “kumatz”) when it is the last word of a verse (or verse segment). This occurs for proper names as well (such as “Lemech” becoming “Lumech,” see Beraishis 4:18 and 5:25). If the Talmud is saying that Moshe was taught how to pronounce the specific word (“eretz/uretz”), it would be no different than his being taught how to pronounce every other word in the Torah as G-d dictated it to him (see Ritz, quoted by Shita Mekubetzes). If however, the Talmud means that Moshe was taught the rule of how to vocalize these types of words in these types of situations (the “rule” rather than each word by itself), we can understand which “halacha” Moshe was taught independent of being taught the entire text. And just as the “halacha” regarding “mikre sofrim” refers to the rule, not the specific words the rule applies to, the “halacha” regarding “k'ri/k'siv” refers to the rule, not how to write/read each specific word.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“And I prayed before G-d at that time” (Devarim 3:23). At which time? “After I conquered the land of Sichon and Og” (Rashi). What did conquering that land, on the eastern side of the Jordan River, have to do with Moshe's request to cross over and see the land on the western side? “I thought that perhaps the vow (not allowing me to get to the Promised Land) had been undone (ibid). Most understand Moshe's hope that G-d would now allow him to cross the Jordan to be based on his giving the Tribes of Reuvein and Gad (and half of Menashe) their portion on the eastern side, thereby bestowing the land with the status of “Eretz Yisrael” (the Land of Israel). Once Moshe was already inside “Israel,” he hoped to be able to cross further into Israel. However, the wording of Rashi (and the parable used in the Sifri, which is Rashi's source) strongly indicate that it was not assigning the land to specific Tribes that led Moshe to think that he might be able to cross the Jordan, but the fact that he had conquered the land on the eastern side.

Even had he not conquered the lands of Sichon and Og, Moshe would apparently have still been able to enter the land on the eastern side of the Jordan. He had asked Edom permission to pass through the northwestern corner of their land to get to Moav, and asked Moav permission to pass through their land to get to the Plains of Moav (“Arvos Moav”), from where the nation would enter the Promised Land. When Edom (and Moav) refused to give passage rights, the Children of Israel traveled around Edom until they reached the land of Sichon, whereupon Moshe asked Sichon permission to pass through this land. Had Edom (and Moav) or Sichon granted them permission, Moshe would have led his nation to Arvos Moav, bid them farewell, and ascended Mt. Nevo. Getting to Arvos Moav doesn't seem to have been an issue had it still belonged to Moav or Sichon; it was only after conquering it that Moshe thought that perhaps he could go farther and cross the Jordan. This is borne out by Rashi saying that Moshe thought the vow had been rescinded after he had “conquered” Sichon and Og, not after he “entered” it. Besides, if entering the land that would eventually become part of Eretz Yisroel was the trigger, entering the land that had been occupied by Sichon should have been enough; there would be no reason to include Og's land as part of why Moshe thought things might have changed.

What was it about conquering the lands of Sichon and Og that led Moshe to believe that he might be able to cross the Jordan River? And why was it only after conquering both Sichon and Og (and not just Sichon) that Moshe thought he might be able to do so?

The conversation between Moshe and the Tribes of Reuvein and Gad, and the implementation of their request, raises several issues as well. Their initial “request” (Bamidbar 32:1-4), was not really a request, but a relaying of information; they had a lot of cattle, and the land they had conquered was perfect for cattle. They didn't ask for it explicitly, but seemed to hope that upon being informed of the “match” between their needs and that land, Moshe, Elazar and the Tribal Chiefs would realize on their own that the land should be given to them (and would offer it to them). But they didn't. Instead, the paragraph describing the first communication ends.

Then, in a new paragraph (Bamidbar 32:5-15), they bring up the subject a second time, asking for the land to be given to them as their inheritance. Why didn't Moshe (et al) respond the first time the topic was brought up?

Rashi (32:24) explains the back and forth between Moshe and Reuvein/Gad to include fighting at the front lines until the land on the west side of the Jordan is conquered, and waiting to return until after the land has been divided and the other Tribes know which portions they are getting. Why was waiting for the land to be divided so important, and why is doing so described as being “for G-d?” This issue becomes even more puzzling when we take into account Rashi's comments regarding the division of the land (Bamidbar 26:54, which parallel Rashbam's comments on Bava Basra 122a, see also Ramban on 26:55 and Rashi on 33:54), describing the “lottery” which affirmed the division of the land made via the Urim v'Tumim. We would have expected only 10 Tribes to need the lottery to determine which land they would inherit, but instead there were slips with the names of all 12 Tribes and another 12 slips upon which the 12 areas were written. Since Reuvein and Gad already received their portions of land, why were their names/portions included in the lottery? Additionally, why, if only Reuvein and Gad had requested that their portion of the land be on the eastern side, did Moshe include, seemingly out of nowhere, half the Tribe of Menashe, and also give them their portion on the eastern side of the Jordan?

What would have happened had Reuvein and Gad not asked for the land on the eastern side? Would they have received a portion on the western side, with everybody else? What would have been done with the land on eastern side? (I have previously suggested that had the Eirav Rav survived, perhaps they would have received this land. Even if this were true, since they don't seem to have survived, what would have been done with it had Reuvein and Gad not asked for it?) Would each Tribe get a portion of it? How would they deal with having some land on the east side, unconnected with their land on the west side? Would it become their vacation spots? Some understand the Ramban (Bamidbar 21:21) to mean that this land would remain desolate, but it is clear from the context that this would only be until the land on the western side of the Jordan was conquered. It is unclear what would have happened to the land of Sichon and Og had Reuvein and Gad not asked for it as their inheritance. I am going to suggest the possibility that even had they not asked, Reuvein and Gad would have received the exact same land. Even though only the land on the western side is considered the “land flowing with milk and honey” (as we shall discuss shortly), there are advantages to the land that was conquered by Moshe (not Yehoshua), where Moshe taught them Torah, and where the manna fell (see www.aishdas.org/ta/5766/sukkos.pdf). If the advantages of the land on the eastern side related better to Reuvein and Gad than those of the eastern side, it would not be as if they were being shortchanged by getting “Eiver HaYarden” (“the other side of the Jordan”), and the lottery would make it clear that their land was as appropriate for them as the other portions were for the other Tribes. After being on the land that was going to be theirs, Reuvein and Gad could feel the connection between themselves and the land. Not just because it served their needs by being able to sustain their large amounts of cattle, but because this was really their land and they could sense that.

From this perspective, let's reexamine the conversation between Reuvein/Gad and Moshe (et al). Moshe knows that the land just conquered will eventually be given to Reuvein and Gad (and half of Menashe). Had they not conquered it, everybody (besides Moshe) would cross the Jordan, conquer the seven nations on the western side, and then conquer the land on the eastern side that did not belong to Edom, Amon or Moav. At that point, Yehoshua and Elazar would conduct the lottery (etc.), and each Tribe would be given their appropriate portion. However, now that it was conquered, Moshe is faced with a dilemma. If he gives the land just conquered to the Tribes that will eventually get them anyway, it's not fair to the other Tribes, who have to wait to get their land, and will have to fight against the nations in Canaan while Reuvein and Gad are already settling their land. On the other hand, if he doesn't give Reuvein and Gad (and half of Menashe) their land now, that means that they will have to shlep their families and all of their belongings over the Jordan (see Bamidbar 32:5), live in temporary dwellings until the land is conquered and divided up, and then shlep everything back over the Jordan to their permanent homes. There is another factor to be taken into account as well.

Rambam (Hilchos Terumos 1:2-3) describes the difference between land conquered by individuals (“kibush yachid”) and land conquered by the nation (“kibush rabim”), and what qualifies for each category. Even land on the western side of the Jordan would not be fully considered “Eretz Yisroel” if conquered by individuals rather than by the whole nation. Yehoshua, knowing the land wouldn't be fully conquered in his lifetime, therefore divided it up before he died (even before it was fully conquered). This way, when each Tribe conquered their own territory after he died, it would be based on the nation's will, not just the Tribe's, and would qualify as being “Eretz Yisroel” in every regard. Land that is not officially part of Eretz Yisroel can become Eretz Yisroel, provided it was conquered by the nation after Eretz Yisroel was fully conquered and divided/settled (see Hilchos Melachim 5:6). Based on this, Rabbi Peretz Steinberg, shlita (Pri Eitz Hachayim on Bamidbar 32:1-2, published in 5766) suggests that had Reuvein and Gad returned before the rest of the land was divided (even if it were after the western side of the Jordan was conquered), their land would not be considered Eretz Yisroel (for mitzvos such as terumah and maaser). This would be another reason not to give the land to Reuvein and Gad before everyone else gets theirs.

When Reuvein/Gad asked for the land, there was no offer of fighting on the western side (and therefore no indication of waiting until after the land was divided). The first time they brought it up, Moshe didn't respond, hoping they would think things through, and offer to fight on the western side (etc.). But they didn't, even when they brought it up the second time. It would be bad enough if the other Tribes would have to fight Canaan without the help of all 12 Tribes, especially if the two Tribes that wouldn't fight were the ones with the best warriors. If the two Tribes that didn't join them had requested not to fight (by asking for the land on the eastern side), it would be that much worse. Therefore, Moshe laces into them, comparing the damage done if they don't fight to the damage done by the spies. Reuvein and Gad get the message, and offer not only to join the fight on the western side, but to lead it. And they promise not to return “home” until the rest of land is divided, so that their land will be considered Eretz Yisroel. Moshe tells them that their leading the war was necessary if they want to keep the land on the eastern side (the “tenai kaful”), but asks them to keep the other part of their promise too, not to return until the land is divided (see Rashi on 32:24). This won't affect keeping the land, but will affect its status regarding mitzvos, and is therefore worth keeping “for G-d.”

Once Moshe was willing to give Reuvein and Gad their portions, he was faced with another dilemma. Can he give Reuvein and Gad their land now, but not give Menashe theirs? Menashe must have also felt a connection to their land, with Menashe's son Machir even naming his son Gilad (Bamidbr 26:29), the name of the land they felt connected with. (Gilad was the name the area was known by since Yaakov and Lavan built the pile (“gal”) of stones that was witness (“eid”) to their covenant, and was where the caravan that brought Yosef to Egypt originated from.) Menashe may not have been as bold as Reuvein and Gad to ask for their portion now, but that doesn't mean they didn't want it now too. How could Moshe make half the Tribe of Menashe shlep their families and possessions across the Jordan to live in Gilgal until the land is divided, and then shlep everyone and everything back, if Reuvein and Gad didn't have to? Therefore, when Moshe allowed Reuvein and Gad to stay on what would become their land anyway and start building its infrastructure, he also gave Menashe the land that they were going to get on the eastern side.

Before the land was divided, the laws of Shemita didn't apply even to the land on the western side of the Jordan (see Sifri on Vayikra 25:2). This is learned from the wording of the verses, which tells us that Shmita laws won't start until “you come to the land that I am giving you” (25:2) and you work on “your field” and “your vineyard” (25:3), i.e. the one assigned to you. The Sifri (here and on 23:10 regarding the Omer offering) explains the words “the land” to mean “the special land,” i.e. the land that flows with milk and honey, and the words “that I am giving you” to exclude the portions of Reuvein and Gad, which wasn't “given to them” but they asked for. This difference may have practical implications regarding Bikurim (first fruits), as according one one opinion in the Yerushalmi (Bikurim 1:8), Bikurim can be brought from Menashe's portion on the eastern side of the Jordan, but not from Reuvein and Gad's portions. The topic of which land-based laws apply where and when is a very complex one, but the points to take from them that are relevant to us are that the laws aren't necessarily the same for all of the land on the eastern side of the Jordan, non of the land-based laws applied there before the land (on the western side) was divided, none would have applied there had Reuvein/Gad not waited to return until after the division, and not all of them applied to the western side before the division took place.

Had permission been granted to get to Arvos Moav without having to conquer any land first, Moshe would not have thought that his being able to enter land that will eventually become Eretz Yisroel meant he could cross the Jordan. Even after the land of Sichon was conquered, since this became necessary in order to get to Arvos Moav, there was no indication that anything had changed. (This may be why Moshe “feared” Og, as his land wasn't necessary for access to the Promised Land.) However, once Og's land was conquered too, Moshe thought that things might have changed, as now he was standing on land that would become Eretz Yisroel, and was conquered for that purpose. Even though there is a difference between the land on the eastern side of the Jordan and the western side, those differences would be minimized after the land was divided, and not all of the mitzvos applied on the western side either until then.

Therefore, after conquering both Sichon and Og, Moshe asked if he could cross over to the western side of the Jordan. Not necessarily to stay there forever, but at least before the land was divided and all the mitzvos applied there, he should be allowed to “cross over and see it” (Devarim 3:25). After all, he was already standing on land that would become Eretz Yisroel once the land was divided.

Rabbi Dov Kramer on the Parsha

Taking a Closer Look (Rabbi Dov Kramer)

“And you dwelled in Kadeish for many years” (Devarim 1:46). Rashi , based on Seder Olam Rabbah (8), tells us that of the 40 years spent in the wilderness, 19 of them were spent living in Kadeish. This works out to be the same amount of years as their “wandering,” i.e. traveling just to fill out the full 40 years decreed upon them (Bamidbar 14:33-34). The decree was made after their “crying” on Tisha B’Av, the fifth month of the second year, and much of the 40^th year was spent traveling around Edom, past Moav, conquering Sichon/Og, and reviewing the Torah with Moshe at Arvos Moav, leaving 38 years of “wandering” just for the sake of “wandering.” Dwelling in Kadeish for 19 years means there were “only” 19 years of true “wandering.”

Which years were spent “wandering” and which years were spent “dwelling in Kadeish” depends on a number of factors, including which “Kadeish” these 19 years were spent at. This issue was raised several years ago by Rabbi Menachem Leibtag (www.Tanach.org), and despite also working on a deadline, I would like to expand upon some of his thoughts.

The context of the verse indicating that the Children of Israel stayed at Kadeish “the same amount of days that you dwelled” during the rest of the wanderings (see Rashi on Devarim 1:46) indicates that this occurred before the wandering started, as it comes immediately after Moshe reminds them of the sin of the spies (1:22-45) and before they “turned and traveled to the desert by way of the Sea of Reeds (2:1) and, after being told they’ve wandered enough (2:3), going north past Eisav (2:-3-8) and Moav (2:8-18), and conquering Sichon (2:24-36). However, there are other indications that they left right after the decree, and didn’t hang around for years after the decree was made.

The Torah tells us explicitly (2:14) that it took 38 years from the time they traveled from Kadeish Barnaya (the “Kadeish” that the spies were sent from) until they crossed the Zered Stream (east of Moav, almost parallel to the bottom of the Dead Sea). If the 38 years started from when they “traveled from Kaseh Barneya,” they obviously must have left right away, not 19 years later. Nevertheless, the Chizkuni addresses this issue by telling us that “it doesn’t means only [years of] travel, but [the years it took] between [both] standing (i.e. staying put) and traveling.” Once the decree was made and they knew that they wouldn’t be able to enter the Promised Land for more than 38 years (and wouldn’t enter from where they were, but would have to travel to a different point of entry), the fact that they hadn’t physically left yet didn’t change the fact that they hadn’t yet reached their final destination, and it was considered as if they were “traveling” for the whole 38 years.

After telling them that they weren’t going to enter the Promised Land now, G-d told them they would have to travel away from there (the original point of entry, Kadeish Barneya) “tomorrow” (Bamidbar 14:25). It would seem difficult to say that they stayed in Kadeish Barneya for 19 years if G-d told them to leave “tomorrow.” However, several commentators (i.e. Chizkuni) point out that “tomorrow” doesn’t have to mean literally “the next day;” it sometimes means “some time in the future.” The Netziv and the Panim Yafos (in Devarim) suggest that originally they were going to have to “wander” for the full 38 years (starting “tomorrow”), but their prayers not to have to “wander” helped cut that part of the decree in half, so they only had to “wander” for 19 years, and the “tomorrow” part was nullified. (It could be suggested that this addresses the previous issue as well, as since their prayers nullified 19 years of the “wandering,” it was still considered as if they “traveled” for all 38 years.)

Although Rashi does tell us (Bamidbar 32:8) that there were two cities with the name “Kadeish,” the implication (see Gur Aryeh) is that the place the spies were sent from is referred to as “Kadeish Barneya,” while the city “by the edge of the border of Edom” (Bamidbar 20:16), where Miryam died and Moshe hit the rock, is referred to as just plain “Kadeish.” If so, it was not at Kadeish Barneya that they stayed for 19 years, but at Kadeish. Nevertheless, the overwhelming majority of commentators understand it to be Kadeish Barneya where they stayed for 19 years, before the “wandering” started, perhaps because the spies did return “to Moshe and to Aharon and to the entire congregation of the Children of Israel to the Paran Desert, at Kadeish” (13:26).

Despite saying explicitly in Devarim that the Kadeish they stayed at for a long time was Kadeish Barneya, in Bamidbar (20:1) Ibn Ezra says that it was at the Kadeish where Miryam died that they stayed for a long time. However, Ibn Ezra doesn’t follow Chazal’s approach that the “long time” was 19 (or 18, see Midrash HaGadol) years, as he says explicitly that they arrived at Kadeish, where they stayed for a long time, in the 40^th year. Rabbeinu Bachye also says (in Bamidbar) that it was the Kadeish where Miryam died that they stayed for a long time, but in Devarim he follows Chazal and says that the “long time” was in fact 19 years. This would explain why the Torah doesn’t tell us that they arrived at Kadeish in the 40^th year, as they really arrived in the 21st year. [Even though the Torah doesn’t tell us that Miryam died in the 40^th year either, Rabbeinu Bachye does say it was in the 40^th year, with all three of the generation’s leaders (Miryam, Aharon and Moshe, at the ages of 127, 123 and 120 respectively) passing away in that final year before the nation entered the Promised land. That Miryam died in the 40^th year seems to be accepted by all; see Seder Olam Rabbah 9.] According to Rabbeinu Bachye they did leave right away (“tomorrow”) from Kadeish Barneya, and it took 38 years (even if they stayed for 19 of them in Kadeish) until they crossed The Zered Stream. The only real difficulty in the verses is the one we started with, as the context indicates that the long stay in “Kadeish” occurred right after the decree, before they left the place where the decree was issued. Based on the Netziv and Panim Yafos, it could be suggested that since the initial decree was that they couldn’t enter the Promised Land for 39 more years and that they would “wander” for 38 of them, and it was their prayers that allowed them to stay in one place for 19 of those years, Moshe mentioned the 19 year stay here because having to wait those 19 years was still part of the decree, as “G-d did not answer your cries” to reverse the decree (Devarim 1:45), although he did cut the years of “wandering” in half, “enabling you to stay in Kadeish,” 19 years later, for 19 years.

It is interesting to note that one of the differences between the way Rashi quotes Seder Olam Rabbah and the way our version reads relates directly to whether the 19 years in Kadeish occurred right after the decree or 19 years after the decree; Rashi has the 38 years as “19 of them in Kadeish and 19 years traveling and being harried,” while our version has the 19 years traveling and being harried first. Rather than ascribing each version to the two opinions cited above, however, both versions are problematic. Our version of Seder Olam Rabbah is problematic because the 19 years were spent at “Kadeish Barneya,” not at “Kadeish;” if the 19 years of staying in one place occurred after the 19 years of “wandering,” they had to have been at “Kadeish, “ not at “Kadeish Barneya.” Rashi’s version adds one additional thought, “and they returned to Kadeish,” strongly implying that they returned to the same place they had stayed for 19 years after their 19 years of wandering. Yet, Rashi had told us (Bamidbar 32:8) that there were two different places called “Kadeish,” so how could he say that “Kadeish Barneya” and “Kadeish” were the same place?

Sefer Eileh Masay (pgs. 94-96; published in 2000 by Dun Schwartz) suggests that the two words that add this thought (“v’chuzru l’Kadeish”) must be a mistake (even though he cites a manuscript that includes them, and acknowledges that the Raavad had this version of Seder Olam Rabbah). Midrash Esfa (Batei Midrashos I, pg. 213, quoted by Torah Shelaimah, Bamidbar 20:9) says that the nation was thrilled to return to Kadeish, the same place they had dwelled peacefully for 19 years, after having wandered for 19 years. Therefore, no matter how we address the contradiction in Rashi (and it’s clear from his commentary on Bamidbar 34:4 that he had in inaccurate map of the area, with “Kadeish” being south of Edom rather than on the eastern side close to the north), we have to address a third opinion, that “Kadeish Barneya” and “Kadeish” are really one and the same (see Mizrachi on Beraishis 14:7, also see Or Hachayim on Bamidbar 13:26).

Although there are numerous “deserts” that the Children of Israel traveled through (or near), such as the Paran Desert (from where the spies were sent), the Tzin Desert (where the southern border of Israel passes through, and where “Kadeish” is) and the Sinai Desert, the Talmud (Shabbos 89a) indicates that they are all one desert. Tosfos (ibid) explains that it is one very large desert that encompasses the Sinai Peninsula (although, like Rashi, Tosfos didn’t realize it was a peninsula, which is why they said that the nation didn’t “cross” the split sea leaving Egypt, but came out on the same side they came in) and goes all the way up north (on the eastern side of the peninsula) until just below the Dead Sea. A similar thought is put forth by the Maharal (Gur Aryeh on Bereishis 14:7). It is therefore not problematic if “Kadeish Barneya” is described as being in the Paran Desert while “Kadeish” is in the Tzin Desert, as they are really the same (large) desert. (Atlas Daas Mikre, in its map on pg. 101, has the two deserts overlapping, with the two names criss-crossing each other!) Although from the maps I’ve seen “Kadesh Barneya” and “Kadeish” are over 100km apart from each other, it should be noted that the nation never (or probably never) camped at either location. Kadeish Barneya is mentioned when the southern border of Israel is described (Bamidbar 34:4), but the border is south of it, meaning that Kadeish Barneya is inside the Land of Israel. Since Moshe never stepped foot into Israel (nor did the rest of the nation, except the spies), they must not have camped at Kadeish Barneya, but near it (see Sefornu on Bamidbar 13:26). Similarly, Kadeish, if it was a “city,” was within the borders of Edom (which is how most maps have it); how could Moshe have asked permission to pass through Edom if they were already there? The Israelite camp was quite large, and likely couldn’t fit in any already inhabited city; it is much more likely that they camped near Kadeish, not in Kadeish, and that Moshe was telling Edom that we are near one of your northern-most cities, and won’t need to pass through much of your land. (See Gittin 6a, where Rekem, the Aramaic translation of Kadeish, is considered the border of Israel but not part of Israel.) It is therefore possible that both times, before sending out the spies and before asking Edom permission to pass through to Moav (if they wanted to go into Israel from there, Edom is in the wrong direction), they camped in the same area, southeast of Kadeish Barneya and southwest of Kadeish. When they were planning to enter Israel from the south, the nearby location of Kadeish Barneya is mentioned; when asking permission from Edom, the nearby city of Kadeish is mentioned. They are two different locations, but the nation returned to the same basic area 19 years after having left it. There would therefore be no problem if Moshe called it “Kadeish,” not “Kadeish Barneya” even when discussing events that occurred right after the spies were sent.