Book announcement: Roots and Rituals: Insights into Hebrew, Holidays, and History

By Eliezer Brodt

The Seforim Blog is proud to announce the publication of our contributor Mitchell First’s newest bookRoots and Rituals: Insighats into Hebrew, Holidays, and History (Kodesh Press, 2018.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mitchell First’s 62 short articles address interesting questions about the Hebrew language, liturgy, Jewish history, the calendar and holidays. For example: On Jewish Liturgy: the origin of the Haftarah, the origin of the blessing “Who Has Not Made Me A Woman,” and the origin of our prayer for the government. On Jewish Holidays and Calendar: the origin of the count from creation, the meaning of Yom Teruah, the meaning of “Maccabee,” identifying Achashverosh and Esther in secular sources, and the original three questions in the Mah Nishtannah. On Hebrew Language: the origin of the words brit, boker, hefker, chalom, chatan, kesef, midbar, navi, olam, she’ol, and seraphim. Also, is there a connection between זכר meaning “male” and זכר meaning “memory”? Is there a connection between לחם and מלחמה?

He also has articles on words that appear only once in Tanakh, biblical words of Egyptian origin, wordplay in Tanakh, and interesting words in the daily Amidah.

This book also includes two longer articles: “The Meaning of the Word Hitpallel (התפלל)” (which appeared on the Seforim Blog here) and “The Root of the Word מבול: A Flood of Possibilities (which appeared on the Seforim Blog here).”

The book can be ordered here.

For some reviews of the book see here, here and here.

Here are the Table of Contents:

“The signature of the Chief Rabbi of Pressburg [on the letter you showed me] is well known to me, and I recognize it at sight. Since he praises you in his letter… I too agree to write a letter on your behalf.”[12]  See here:

 

The Gaon’s Impact on the Interpretation of both Primary Sugyot in Zemanim

By William Gewirtz

Unquestionably, almost all ḥiddushim in the understanding of the vast literature on zemanim have halakhic implications. My intent is not to influence what has become minhag Yisroel; my focus is on establishing more precise halakhic definitions and theoretical innovations in sugyot that are central to the study of zemanim. Competent poskim can implement any changes in halakhic practice, which they determine that these innovations support.[1]

Two areas dominate the study of zemanim:

• How to determine precise delimiters for the day of the week, which concludes at the end of the period of bein ha-shemashot.[2]
• How to calculate the hours of the daytime period, which according to all opinions begins at alot hashaḥar.

Interestingly, in both Hebrew and English, the words yom and day denote both the daytime period and the day of the week. Our focus is on:

• the Gaon’s impact on the interpretation of two key aspects of Shabbat 34a-35b, which examines the transition between days of the week, and
• a key aspect of the Gaon’s clarification of Pesaḥim 94a focused on the daytime period.

The approach to the above sugyot were radically changed by the Gaon’s observations.[3] However, only the impact on the former sugyah in Pesaḥim is usually recognized.

As I strongly indicated in a paper on errors in halakhic reasoning, I do not believe that attempts to deal with the critique of Rabbeinu Tam’s position by the Gaon have ever been fully effective. In this paper, however, the focus is not on the extensive halakhic literature written primarily in the period of the aḥaronim, but on the text of the gemara itself and its interpretation by rishonim. The conclusions reached are very different.[4]

The first two sections address areas in the gemara beginning on Shabbat 34a where a significant modification to an earlier reading of the gemara, often associated with rishonim aligned with Rabbeinu Tam, is strongly preferred, but only when assuming a slight modification to the presumed opinion of the geonim / Gaon.[5] In a similar vein we suggest a modification to how the bein hashemashot interval is to be used, something I believe to be independent of the positions of Rabbeinu Tam and the Gaon.

The third section addresses the Gaon’s innovative reading of the gemara in Pesaḥim 94a, a reading that is strongly supported by both elementary logic and astronomy. Included in the Gaon’s reading is a concept that was never made explicit in rabbinic literature prior to the Gaon, to the best of my knowledge. As will become clear, that observation forms the basis for the Gaon’s challenge to the opinion of Rabbeinu Tam.

My observations are not intended to be judged as controversial, although concluding a sugyah may not have been correctly understood (or at the very least properly explained) until the 18^th century might be jarring.  It is beyond my focus or competence to deal with the implications of that observation; observations addressing that point would be welcomed.

Section 1: The endpoints of the period of bein ha-shemashot

The dispute between the geonim / Gaon and Rabbeinu Tam revolves around the placement of the interval of bein ha-shemashot, within the interval between sunset and tzait (kol) ha-kokhavim, whose length is (almost always) assumed to be the time needed to walk 4 milin.[6] The length of the bein ha-shemashot period is universally assumed to be the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil. It is normally assumed that

• the opinion of the geonim / Gaon places the bein ha-shemashot period at the start of that interval, while
• Rabbeinu Tam places it at its end.

Those two alternatives represent opposite extremes.  Two adjustments seem reasonable.

• First, separate the dispute between the geonim / Gaon and Rabbeinu Tam into two distinct components:
  • The first concerns the beginning and the second the end of the bein ha-shemashot period, subject to a constraint that the length of the bein ha-shemashot interval must equal the time to walk ¾ of a mil.
• Second, assume that there are multiple hybrid / intermediate positions, situated between the two generally assumed alternatives.^[7]

This allows for

• an interpretation of the gemara in Shabbat similar (or according to some identical) to the overwhelmingly compelling position of the geonim / Gaon relative to the end of the bein ha-shemashot period,
• while defining the beginning of the bein ha-shemashot period using the textual approaches of many rishonim, albeit employing a significantly earlier point in time, much closer to sunset.

While I have not seen this conceptualization explicitly formulated^[8] in the classic halakhic literature, practice and several pragmatic opinions are supportive of this approach.  More importantly, the challenges raised to the opinions of both Rabbeinu Tam and the Gaon are, without exception, directed at the late ending of the Shabbat according to the opinion of Rabbeinu Tam and at the early beginning of the Shabbat according to the opinion of the Gaon.[9] This approach sidesteps the challenges to both opinions. Additionally, this approach absolutely disputes the view that

• Anyone who rejects the start of Shabbat precisely at or even a few minutes after sunset must embrace the approach of Rabbeinu Tam,

an assumption that does not follow logically, though it is occasionally found in the halakhic literature.[10]

There are numerous arguments in support for this position. We cite several of the strongest:

1. The term mi-she-tishkeh ha-ḥamah: Ramban in Torat Ha-Adam[11] and the many ḥakhemai sforad who adopted his position stress that the meaning of the term mi-she-tishkehha-ḥamah unquestionably implies not sunset but a point after A simpler phrase shikiat ha–ḥamah would denote precisely sunset. Of course, mi-she-tishkehha-ḥamah does not imply any specific time but only that the time follows sunset by some number of minutes. The only change required is to assume that mi-she-tishkeh ha-ḥamah is referring to a point much closer to sunset, something that appears more reasonable than a point over 50 minutes later according to the (theoretical) view of Rabbeinu Tam. In other respects, the gemara is read like the numerous rishonim who assumed that mi-she-tishkeh ha-ḥamah cannot refer to sunset proper.
2. Tosefet Shabbat:[12] Ramban argues that tosefet Shabbat could only begin after sunset during an interval that is still a part of the daytime period. Ramban does not consider tosefet Shabbat prior to sunset as meaningful, equating it to the value of illumination from a candle during daylight.
3. The sugyah in Shabbat applies year-round, not only during a specific season or seasons: The gemara in Pesaḥim 94a, which equates the time needed to walk 40 milin with the daytime period, must assume an average day around either the spring or the fall equinox. In the Middle East, during a winter day of approximately 10 hours or a summer day of approximately 14 hours, the distance covered in one day would vary considerably. However, unlike the gemara in Pesaḥim 94a that can only apply to a 12-hour daytime period, the gemara in Shabbat, defines the end of Shabbat using terms like ḥashekhah, hiḥsif ha-elyon ve-hishveh le-taḥton and the appearance of three stars, all of which apply (nearly) uniformly throughout the year.^[13]

At both the fall and spring equinox, the sun appears in the same place over the equator and you might expect Shabbat to begin and end at the identical time.  Certainly, regardless of how one measures darkness, it is equivalently dark any number of minutes after sunset at those two times.  However, in Jerusalem and other parts of the Middle East, unrelated to the degree of darkness, stars first appear a number of minutes later (after sunset) in the fall than they do in the spring.[14]Advantaged by the early appearance of Sirius and Canopus in the spring but not the fall, the Gaon restricts the focus of the gemara to the spring only.

Note that:

1. All rishonim who choose to comment on the sugyah in Pesaḥim 94a state that the day in question occurs only around the spring (or fall) equinox.
2. Not a single rishon makes an analogous comment, restricting the gemara beginning on Shabbat 34b to any specific time of year.

4. Shmuel’s unchallenged statement:[15]With Prof. Levi’s table (provided in the appendix) as background, examine Shmuel’s unchallenged statement on Shabbat 35a, according to the position of the geonim / Gaon.[16] After discussing the appearance of the horizon and the length of the bein ha-shemashot period, the gemara states the opinion of R. Yehudah in the name of Shmuel who asserts: “one star – daytime, two stars – bein ha-shemashot, and three stars – night.”[17] This is followed by the opinion of Yosi (bar Adin) asserting that the stars in question are neither stars that appear in the day (i. e., large stars[18] or planets) nor small stars that only appear well after the time of tzait ha-kokhavim, but medium stars. How might Shmuel’s statement be reconciled with the previous discussion in the gemara?

• First, exclude the implausible suggestion that R. Yosi bar Adin’s assertion that Shmuel’s statement is referring to medium stars applies only to the third part (or second and third parts) of the text. Under this interpretation, the first part of Shmuel’s statement concerning one star, includes not only medium stars but also large stars or planets that are on occasion visible before sunset.  Were that the case, the statement would be informing us that the appearance of a planet before sunset does not indicate that the bein ha-shemashot period has begun. In addition to being forced to argue that the different parts of Shmuel’s statement refer to different types of stars, such an assertion would hardly be necessary; the gemara gives no hint that the bein ha-shemashot period begins before sunset.[19]
• Second, because R. Yosef begins bein ha-shemashot at the time walk 1/12^th of a mil later than R. Yehudah, some[20] align Shmuel’s statement and even pasken like R. Yosef, assuming that R. Yehudah start to bein ha-shemashot precisely at sunset, cannot be reconciled with Shmuel’s statement. Prof. Levi’s chart challenges that approach, since a delay of at most 2 minutes[21] (after sunset) provides no benefit; the first medium star cannot be seen until at least 6 minutes after sunset.
• Third, there are other (implausible) solutions that align Shmuel with Rabi Yosi only, some going so far as identifying the amora Yosi (bar Adin) as the tanna Rabi Yosi. To follow a sugyah focused on Rabi Yehudah, with an uncontested statement that accords only with Rabi Yosi is dubious, at best. Furthermore, Shmuel’s statement, which refers to the non-instantaneous, successive appearance of stars, is difficult to align with an opinion that the bein ha-shemashot interval is instantaneous.

The most plausible suggestion, like the view of R. Ḥaim Volozhin below, is that the bein hashemashot begins at least 6 minutes after sunset.[22]

5. Seeing stars so early (even if only in the spring) is practically impossible:

If the start of the period of bein ha-shemashot for the geonim / Gaon is precisely sunset, there has been considerable effort^[23] to align the appearance of three stars within the time it takes to walk ¾ of a mil after sunset. The only solution provided is to assume that the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil applies only around the spring equinox[24] ^[25] and, even then, to make yet further assumptions to arrive at so short an interval.  Particularly if the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil is 13.5 minutes and even if it is a bit under 17 minutes, three stars can rarely be seen so soon after sunset and then

• only with great difficulty,
• by experts, perhaps aided by telescopes, and
• in a pristine environment absent urban sources of light, like the Judean desert.

Under no circumstances, is 13.5 minutes possible, and 16.85 minutes is almost equally unreasonable.^[26]

6. Multiple opinions that begin bein ha-shemashot slightly after sunset:

• 4 to 5 minutes: The minimum time reported as the custom of Jerusalem^[27] as well as the opinion of R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi,^[28] the point when the sun is no longer visible even from the highest elevations around Jerusalem.^[29]
• Greater than 6 minutes: The opinion of R. Ḥaim Volozhin based on Shmuel’s statement concerning the appearance of a single star that is visible in the spring to an expert observer at that time.[30] The fact that R. Ḥaim Volozhin disagrees with his Rebbe, strongly suggests that the Gaon’s position that Shabbat starts at precisely sunset was only promulgated le’migdar miltah.
• 7 to 15 minutes: These views are supported by a variety of sources mentioned previously including R. Kapach’s view of Rambam and R. Posen’s view of the opinion of the geonim. A time around 10 minutes is implied by many Sephardi poskim who mention that until the call of the Moslem mugrab for their fourth prayer service, it is still day thus allowing for the performance of a brit on that day for a baby born in those few minutes after sunset on that same day one week earlier.

When linked to the times given in Prof. Levi’s charts, various alternatives from 6 – 16 minutes after sunset can be plausibly suggested.  The next section on how the bein hashemashot interval was intended to be used will shed further light in determining how many minutes after sunset might still be considered daytime.

Section 2.  Before or after

One aspect of the Gaon’s interpretation of Shabbat 34b, often assumed without further examination, is that bein hashemashot is calculated by adding its length to the beginning of the beginning of bein hashemashot period.  That assumption will now be challenged.  Though not conclusive as to how the sugyah should be read, some seforim of near contemporaries[31] of the Gaon assume the opposite approach, subtracting the length of the bein hashemashot interval from the end of Shabbat. The arguments below attempt to demonstrate that this approach may have been standard before the writings of the Gaon proliferated years later in the middle of the 19^th century.[32] While some may argue that counting forward from sunset versus backward from nightfall is somehow tied to the fundamental makhloket of the geonim / Gaon and Rabbeinu Tam, there does not appear to be any logical, textual or halakhic basis for such an assertion.

The fundamental question is:

What possible value could there be in introducing (especially in an era before clocks) a time-based approximation that is a lower bound, season dependent, rarely applicable, and then only under rare, idealized conditions, at best? In what context would such information be useful?

Thus, I propose that the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil should be interpreted differently than the Gaon proposed and instead we will attempt to demonstrate that

• The time to walk ¾ of a mil is to be subtracted from the end of the bein ha-shemashot period as opposed to being added to its beginning.
• The period is not a minimum (that occurs only around the spring equinox), but a maximum (that occurs around the summer solstice). Thus, the entire sugyah is applicable year-round providing a conservative upper-bound to the length of the bein ha-shemashot

The arguments for both assertions are interrelated and are presented concurrently.[33]

1. The gemara in Shabbat is primarily focused on Friday night and determining when the bein ha-shemashot period begins, as opposed to when it ends. The gemara assumes that the end to the period of bein ha-shemashot is known; each of the disputants are addressing when the period of bein ha-shemashot begins on Friday night. However, if the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil were meant to be added to the time of sunset, it would be addressing the end of the bein ha-shemashot period and not the beginning.
2. The three fractions (each expressed as the time needed to walk a part (1/2, 2/3 and ¾) of a mil,) given as alternatives for the length of the period of bein ha-shemashot would then all have identical semantics; each of the three fractions (of the time to walk a mil) is counting back from the assumed point of ḥashekhah, to calculate the beginning of the bein ha-shemashot Given Prof. Levi’s chart, under no circumstances could anyone imagine that the time to walk either ½ of a mil after sunset could be the point at which Shabbat ends. The amoraim, R. Yehudah and R. Yosi, are quantifying the opinion of Rabi Yehudah in contrast to Rabi Nehemiah’s interval, whose period of bein ha-shemashot is only the time needed to walk ½ of a mil.
3. If someone were countering the position of Rabi Yosi, who says the period of bein ha-shemashot is instantaneous, it is more likely that he would say that it can be “as long as” opposed to “as short ”
4. The significant issue raised previously of never seeing stars as early as at the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil after sunset becomes entirely moot.
5. The period of bein ha-shemashot has some practical consequence providing a potentially useable, conservative upper bound as opposed to a purely theoretical lower bound, which is of limited to no use.

6. As noted earlier, rishonim, who limit the gemara in Pesaḥim to the equinox periods in the fall and spring, make no such assertion with respect to the gemara in Shabbat. One might presume from the lack of commentary that rishonim assumed that the sugyah applies year-round.

Treating the gemara in Shabbat like the gemara in Pesaḥim as referring only to days around the spring (but not the fall) equinox^[34] is unnecessary when thinking of the interval as a practical upper bound.  All the other descriptions in the gemara, either the appearance of the sky / horizon or the visibility of three stars, apply year-round.

Now examine the three elements in combination:

• The various opinions of rishonim on the time to walk ¾ of a mil – 13.5, 16.85 and 18 minutes.
• Levi’s chart indicating that 3 stars are visible to a careful observer 30[35] minutes after sunset in the summer.
• The two suggested interpretations that
• delay the beginning of bein hashemashot to a point slightly after sunset, and
• view the sugyah as subtracting the length of bein hashemashot from its end to find its beginning.

We can then assume that Shabbat begins from 12 (subtracting 18 from 30) to 16.5 (subtracting 13.5 from 30) minutes after sunset.[36]  However, given

• very natural and expected stringency that occurs even today but certainly are to expected in an era before (widely available and accurate) clocks, and
• the need for tosefet Shabbat

practiced times for starting Shabbat between 5 and 10 minutes after sunset ought not be surprising.

Section 3. The Gaon’s approach to Pesaḥim 94a.

The Gaon’s approach to Pesaḥim 94a is premised on an incontrovertible astronomic and logical fact. Assuming that alot hashaḥar approximates the first light of the day, then its evening counterpart, tzait ha-kokhavim, must occur when the sun’s illumination has (next to) no remaining effect.^[37]  At both of those times, all stars that are in position to be seen are not obscured by illumination from the sun. As a result, the Gaon adds the word kol to differentiate tzait ha-kokhavim, which throughout the Talmudic literature refers to the appearance of 3 stars, from tzait kol ha-kokhavim, the appearance of “all the (potentially visible) stars.” Of course, this point demolishes^[38] Rabbeinu Tam’s interpretation that is predicated on the assumption that the meaning of the term tzait ha-kokhavim occurring in both Pesaḥim 94a and Shabbat 35a is the same. Slightly reformulated the Gaon asks how could the time of the appearance of only three stars and the time of alot hashaḥar, when (almost) all the stars are still visible, be separated by intervals of identical length from sunset and sunrise respectively?  The pre-dawn counter point to the time after sunset when (only) three stars are first visible cannot be alot hashaḥar when (almost) all stars are still visible.^[39]

This ḥiddush is not unexpected, even though the gemara in Pesaḥim is the primary sugyah used throughout halakhic history to provide a source for determining the time of alot hashaḥar.  Despite that halakhic application, the sugyah is focused primarily on geography and astronomy. Thus, harmonious use of the term tzait ha-kokhavim with its use elsewhere in Talmudic literature, which Rabbeinu Tam assumed, need not be presumed.

Since the notion of tzait kol ha-kokhavim is new, it is also not surprising that the Gaon did not specify, to the best of my knowledge, any halakhic uses for the notion of tzait kol ha-kokhavim. Of course, those who followed Rabbeinu Tam’s position had no reason to even consider a point in the evening after tzait ha-kokhavim.

However, that changed with the arrival of what we colloquially call the Brisker methodology. Talmudists of that school have produced potential halakhic implications. For example, it is not difficult to differentiate between:

• halakhot tied to a specific day or those that are to be performed every day,
• from those that have no connection to any specific day but are restricted to being performed only during the daytime period.

Presumably, the construction of the Beit HaMikdash is a straightforward example. While there is a daytime requirement,^[40] there is no constraint on which day of the week that construction should take place. Another example, which does not comport with the above ḥiluk, has been proposed by R. Moshe Soloveitchik. He suggested the use of tzait kol ha-kokhavim as a delimiter for tosefet Shabbat according to those following the Gaon.  While Shabbat ends at the time of tzait ha-kokhavim, R. Soloveitchik proposed that tosefet Shabbat is meaningful only until tzait kol ha-kokhavim.

While these examples^[41] are noteworthy, the lomdus of a yartzeit shiur by R. Joseph Soloveitchik was astonishing. Effectively, but not explicitly, R. Soloveitchik disregarded both historic interpretation and practice when he transformed Rabbeinu Tam into an early supporter of the notion of tzait kol ha-kokhavim.^[42]  As presented in that shiur, though expressed slightly differently, the dispute between the Gaon and Rabbeinu Tam revolves around whether Shabbat ends at tzait ha-kokhavim or tzait kol ha-kokhavim.^[43]

In R. Soloveitchik’s formulation, the Gaon defined a critical point along a continuum beginning at the point of sunset, when there is almost complete exposure to the sun’s illumination, and ending at the point of tzait kol ha-kokhavim when no noticeable impact from the sun’s illumination can still be detected. That critical point occurs roughly when 3 medium stars first become visible and marks the transition point between days of the week according to the geonim / Gaon.  Rabbeinu Tam, however, according to R. Soloveitchik’s formulation, defined the transition between days of the week at the point when the sun’s impact has ended entirely, a point corresponding to the end of the continuum, at tzait kol ha-kokhavim.^[44]

A possible approach that R. Soloveitchik did not employ is that the Gaon and Rabbeinu Tam decided differently based on two conflicting sugyot in Shabbat and Pesaḥim, respectively. Of course, that would be at variance with Rabbeinu Tam’s normal methodology for resolving conflicting sugyot.  Rabbeinu Tam tends to distinguish between sugyot, something he does explicitly with respect to these sugyot, as opposed to declaring sugyot in conflict and deciding between them. The principal motivation for even raising such a possibility is R. Soloveitchik’s complete avoidance of any mention of the challenges to Rabbeinu Tam’s position from the sugyah in Shabbat. This leads me to wonder if in R. Soloveitchik’s ahistorical reformulation of Rabbeinu Tam, and for reasons entirely unstated, R. Soloveitchik gave the sugyah in Pesaḥim prominence and preference over the sugyah in Shabbat according to Rabbeinu Tam.

Conclusions:

It is not at all usual to treat a ruling of the Gaon as le’migdar miltah.  However, three things increase my confidence that I am correct in this instance.

1. The reality as described in the epistle of the Ba’al ha’Tanya referenced earlier, who lived at the same time and in the same general area, clearly describes people working beyond 30 minutes after sunset, something that the Gaon would be motivated to prevent as resolutely as possible.
2. The opinion of R. Ḥaim Volozhin, in open disagreement with the Gaon’s stated position, demands a reconciliation of views.
3. The textual arguments made by rishonim, the halakhic writings and positions of noted aḥaronim, and the various arguments that I have formulated appear convincing.

What should be noted is the Gaon’s interesting ability to impact not just pesak, but the way we (perhaps even unconsciously) approach the study of sugyot.

Appendix

                     

Prof. Levi’s Table

The three times listed in each cell of the table correspond to how difficult it is to see a star.

• The shortest time noted is when an expert who knows exactly where to look can observe a star.
• The intermediate time noted is when a star can be seen with great difficulty.
• The third time noted is when a careful observer can see a star.

The time when stars are visible to a casual observer, is yet later.

[1] My assumption is that poskim may find the innovations useful in exceptional situations as opposed to more typical ones.
[2] According to the vast majority of rishonim, the day ends when bein ha-shemashot ends or at most 2 minutes later.
[3] Familiarity with both sugyot is assumed to fully assess this essay.
[4] See my article in Hakirah spring 2019 for more detail on the Gaon’s convincing attack on Rabbeinu Tam’s position.
[5] A version of that reading is presented in Ohr Meir as the opinion of the geonim, who R. Posen seeks to demonstrate conflict with that of the Gaon.  What the Gaon felt mei ikar ha’din can be disputed as will be illustrated.  Even if one were to reject any variation of the Gaon’s stated position, this paper can also be considered to apply to the less specific view of the geonim.
[6] Both 72 or 90 minutes are increasingly assumed to apply only in the Middle East around both equinoxes and require adjustment (using depression angles) to account for variation by season and latitude.
[7] These positions are more properly characterized as variants of the position of the geonim / Gaon as they are all much closer to their normally assumed period of bein ha-shemashot.
[8] Throughout R. Kapach’s commentary on Mishnah Torah, however, he asserts that this is the position of Rambam. See R. Posen’s view as well, mentioned in footnote 5.
[9] This seminal point was made explicitly by R. Chaim Sonnenfeld in teshuvah 33 (an approbation to a sefer on zemanim) in a recently published volume of his teshuvot.  His reaction, as might be expected, was to be maḥmir, and fulfill the stringencies of both opinions. I argue that the strengths of both opinions lead to the opposite and more probable conceptual position, adopting the leniencies of both positions.
[10] See Vol. 2 of HaZemanim BeHalakha by R. Ḥaim Benish, page 360, especially footnote 58.
[11] Pages 251 – 252, Chavel edition, Mossad Ha-Rav Kook.
[12] This argument is included due to its ancient provenance; it is easily challenged given that it is normally assumed that tosefet Shabbat can begin at plag ha’minḥah, which precedes sunset.
[13] Note as well, that the gemara in Pesaḥim 94a applies to

• a day of average length,
• which occurs around both the spring and fall equinox.

However, the days that would be referred to in Shabbat 34b would be

• a minimum, as opposed to an average, and
• restricted to those days when the appearance of three stars occurs within the time needed to walk ¾ of a mil after sunset. For astronomic reasons such days occur only in the spring and not in the fall.

While neither of these two differences is itself convincing, both lend further support to the thesis developed.
[14] See the chart by Prof. Levi provided in the attachment.
[15] A more extensive analysis of Shmuel’s statement will appear in a future issue of the Torah u’Maddah journal.
[16] This section assumes detailed familiarity with the sugyah on Shabbat 34b-35b.
[17] Prepositions have been omitted from the statement in order not to bias the semantics.
[18] Large stars are defined as kokhavei lekhet, moving stars, currently called planets. Other approaches to dividing stars into categories are much less likely and not considered.
[19] The isolated opinion of R. Eliezer mi’Mitz, who begins the bein ha-shemashot period before sunset, is difficult to reconcile with Shmuel’s statement, in any case.
[20] See the last two paragraphs on page 358 and especially footnote 50 in Vol. 2 of HaZemanim BeHalakha.
[21] The time to walk 1/12 of a mil is between 1.5 and 2 minutes.
[22] While normally I would assume Prof. Levi’s third entry matches Shmuel’s assertion, since this statement might mean seeing a star does not mean bein ha-shemashot has necessarily begun, it might mean just an accidental sighting, which may occur at the earliest time possible when normally only an expert, knowing exactly where to look, can locate a star.
[23] R. Benish, R. Willig, Prof. Levi among many others struggle with this issue.
[24] In the spring Sirius and Canopus can both be seen around 15 minutes after sunset.
[25] Having seen no earlier discussion of this issue anywhere in the halakhic literature, I believe this interpretation originated with the Gaon in O. Ḥ. 261. The alternative under discussion, delaying the start of bein ha-shemashot by some small number of minutes after sunset, eliminating the hypothesis that bein ha-shemashot begins precisely at sunset, which leads to such questions.
[26] Perhaps one can assume some worsening of atmospheric conditions, as a result of pollution, slightly decreasing visibility.  I spoke with a chemist in my synagogue, Dr. Irwin Goldblatt, who verified this as a possibility.  I have no basis to determine how accurate this observation might be, but it is hard to imagine that it is consequential.
[27] See Minhagei Eretz Yisrael by R. Gliss, pages 102 and 282.
[28] Seder Hakhnosat Shabbat, found towards the end of every Ḥabad siddur, specifies 4 minutes. He reverses the position he took in Shulḥan Arukh HaRav, which supported Rabbeinu Tam.
[29]See Zemanim Ke’hilkhatam by R. Boorstyn, chapter 2, section 3, where he summarizes different 19^th and 20^th century posekim in the Middle East who supported times beyond 4 to 5 minutes and up to approximately 10 minutes after sunset.  The rationale he and many of these posekim used is varied often relying on the notion of sea level and / or visibility from higher elevations, a topic of continued debate.
[30] See the addition to Maaseh Rav section 19.  Six minutes is expressed as 1/10^th of an hour to be applied in both the morning and evening, although Shmuel’s assertion of “one star – daytime” is given as the reason for the slight delay after sunset. How R. Ḥaim Volozhin determined this precise time that equals the time at which an expert can see Sirius remains a mystery.
[31] R. Adler, R. Loerberbaum, and R. Sofer all subtract the length of the bein hashemashot interval from the end of Shabbat, see my article, Zemannim: On the Introduction of New Concepts in Halakhah, in the TuMJ 2013.
[32] It goes without saying that the instantaneous communication that characterizes of our current environment cannot be anachronistically assumed in a prior period. This impacts the assumptions made about when some of these sources are read / known, a topic not pursued further.
[33] A set of arguments based on the statement of Shmuel about 1, 2 and 3 stars are not included and will be incorporated in a future paper examining both Shmuel statement and Rambam in multiple sections of Mishnah Torah, based on their mastery of astronomy as it was known in their times.
[34] First suggested by the Gaon in O. Ḥ. 261, this approach is widely assumed in recent halakhic literature. Note that the gemara in Pesaḥim assumes an average day, which occurs in both the spring and fall around the equinox.  However, the Gaon’s argument assumes, not an average interval, but a minimum interval and one that occurs only in the spring, but not in the fall; stars are not visible as early in the fall as in the spring.  On the other hand, as suggested, a maximum would apply year-round.
[35] Prof. Levi uses a depression angle normalization to spring, which we will not explain.  His use of 28 is in fact closer to 30 minutes, as normally defined by clock-time.
[36] 12 – 13 minutes is consistent with the many rishonim supporting a time to walk a mil of 22.5 minutes.
[37] There is no reason to debate whether the underlying science favors either of the two most common halakhic definitions, which sandwich current technology’s identification of the point at which the first light of the sun is visible. Expressed as depression angles the 72- and 90-minute intervals equate to depression angles of approximately 16 and 20 degrees, respectively. With the best available equipment, light from the sun can be observed at a depression angle of approximately 18 degrees. One can then argue that 16 degrees is when the amount of light is visible to humans, while 20 degrees is when one arises in anticipation of emerging light. Both are reasonable positions for defining alot hashaḥar.
[38] So strong a word is intentional given the “bombe” kasha of the Gaon; see immediately below.
[39] R. Moshe Sofer might be trying to deal with this point about a symmetric point to the appearance of three stars in his commentary on Shabbat 34.
[40] See Rambam, Hilkhot Beit Ha’Beḥirah (1:12). Rambam’s formulation is originally stated in the negative, which raises possible questions that might be analyzed in this context.
[41] Other possible examples include the operation of a beit din, the laws of aveilut, particularly the first day, etc.
[42] The philosophical underpinnings that would enable such ahistorical ḥiddushim is beyond the scope of this article. Despite an accusation of partiality, one cannot dismiss the assumption that R. Soloveitchik was aware of the various challenges to his ḥiddush. Despite bringing support from the period of the rishonim, I believe the Rav was establishing what he knew to be a restatement of Rabbeinu Tam’s position, based on the undeniable accuracy and correctness of the Gaon’s notion of tzait kol ha-kokhavim. In my own mind, I have played out a long and imagined conversation with R. Soloveitchik on this subject.
[43] For any number of reasons, it is difficult to imagine the perspective presented was that of Rabbeinu Tam. Rather, it might represent Rabbeinu Tam’s position updated and enhanced by what is now known scientifically.
[44] What I also do not understand is why R. Soloveitchik referred to the mathematical notion of continuity as opposed to any astronomical knowledge, which I think would have been more relevant.

Sinful Thoughts: Comments on Sin, Failure, Free Will, and Related Topics Based on David Bashevkin’s new book Sin•a•gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2019)

By Rabbi Yitzchok Oratz

A Bashevkin-inspired Bio Blurb:[1] Rabbi Yitzchok Oratz is Rabbi of the Monmouth Torah Links community in Marlboro, NJ. His writings can be found in various rabbinic and popular journals, including Hakira, Ohr Yisroel, Nehoroy, Nitay Ne’emanim, and on Aish, Times of Israel, Torah Links, Seforim Blog, and elsewhere. His writings are rejected as often as they are accepted, and the four books he is currently working on will likely never see the light of day.

“I’d rather laugh[2] with the sinners than cry with the saints; the sinners are much more fun.”[3]

Fortunate is the man who follows not the advice of the wicked, nor stood in the path of the sinners, nor sat in the session of the scorners.

(Psalms 1:1)

One who hopes is always happy [and] without pain . . . hope keeps one alive . . . even one who has minimal good deeds . . . has hope . . . one who hopes, even if he enters Hell, he will be taken out . . . his hope is his purity, literally the Mikvah [4] of Yisroel . . . and this is the secret of repentance . . .

(Ramchal, Derush ha-Kivuy) [5]

Rabbi David Bashevkin is a man deeply steeped in sin.

The study of sin, that is.

His recent book, Sin•a•gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought, is his second foray into the murky waters of sin, the first being his Hebrew B-Rogez Rahem Tizkor, which appeared in 2015. Throughout the book he ably serves as a “choti umachti,” as he walks us along the paths of sinners and allows us to listen in to their scorn sessions, plumbs their thoughts and analyzes their intentions, all with goal of detecting the sometimes deeply concealed sweet smell and seeds of holiness that can be found even among the sinners of Israel.[6]

As sin and failure are topics with which I am all too familiar, I took the opportunity to offer a review of sorts of the Hebrew book for readers of the Seforim Blog. The ensuing years have only honed my expertise, bringing me back to offer some comments on themes discussed in the new book.[7] While the topics of the two books are fundamentally the same, the new volume does include a great deal of entirely new material; the same will be true of this review. Furthermore, the change of language, in both the book and the review, demands a new style and structure for even the repeated material, and opens up the discussion to those who do not feel entirely at home in traditional rabbinic language and literature.

An Open Discussion of Sin

Overall, I found the book to be enjoyable, informative, thought-provoking,[8] and even inspiring at times. But should this discussion of sin be taking place at all?

From a traditional Jewish perspective, the answer is far from simple. The most controversial idea in the book (chapter 4), is the radical theology of the Hasidic court of Izbica in general, and Reb Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin in particular,[9], that sin is sometimes inevitable and always the will of God.[10] This concept does not apply only to someone who is sick (p. 42), coerced (p. 39), or in a compromising situation (note 124), nor is it the case only for someone who is faced with the necessity of choosing the lesser of two evils (p. 41); all this is standard Talmudic discussion. Rather, Izbica theology teaches that the seemingly free-willed choice to sin, motivated solely by one’s internal desires, is also the will of God – “All is in the hands of heaven, including the fear of heaven.”[11] This, of course, seems to be in direct contradiction to the concept of free will, the “fundamental concept and pillar” that is the underpinning of the totality of the Torah (Rambam, Hilchos Teshuva 5:3).

But is this really a problem? Long before the radical statements of Izbica, Rambam (Hilchos Teshuva 5:5) noted that our free will is seemingly contradicted by the existence of an all-knowing God, and Chovos Halevavos[12] raised the problem of free will being controverted by the many verses that indicate that God is in complete control of every action that takes place.[13] Neither source offers a resolution, demanding that we live with this paradox. Why, then, can’t we deal with Izbicean though similarly, why is it considered uniquely controversial? [14]

The obvious answer is that both before and after noting the paradox between predetermination and free will, Rambam hammers home the idea that, resolution or not, free will is real:

However, this is known without any doubt: That man’s actions are in his own hands and The Holy One, blessed be He, does not lead him in a particular direction or decree that he do anything. This matter is known, not only as a tradition of faith, but also, through clear proofs from the words of wisdom (Hilchos Teshuva 5:5).

Chovos Halevavos, too, stresses that the proper path requires us to act with confidence in our freedom to make our own choices.

And because free will is real, sin, with all its consequences, is very real as well:

Accordingly, it is the sinner, himself, who causes his own loss. Therefore, it is proper for a person to cry and mourn for his sins and for what he has done to his soul . . . since free choice is in our hands and with our own decision we committed all these wrongs, it is proper for us to repent (Hilchos Teshuva 5:2). “Consequently, the prophets taught that a person is judged for his deeds, according to his deeds – whether good or bad. This is a fundamental principle on which is dependent all the words of prophecy.” (5:5) And as long as one has not repented he is “hated by God, disgusting, far removed, and abominable . . . separated from God, the Lord of Israel . . .” (7:6 – 7) .

Compare this with the Izbica/Rav Tzadok attitude toward sin as (correctly) presented in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book; the Izbica approach recognizes “the powerful religious energy present in sins and the potential to challenge such energy into greatness, ultimately result[ing] in the redemption” (p. 102, based on Divrei Halomot # 3). In the Izbica worldview, sinning doesn’t make one “hated, disgusting, and far removed” from God, because “wherever a Jew may fall, he falls into the lap of God” (p. 48, from Pri Tzadik, Naso 15). Rambam’s message to sinners is to “cry and mourn,” and hope that their misdeeds do not prevent them from ever returning (6:4), while Rav Tzadok urges sinners never to despair “in any circumstance” (p. 100, from Divrei Sofrim 16). The contrast couldn’t be starker.

Based on the above, the real challenge of Izbica is neither philosophical (determinism vs. free will), nor historical (“How did the adherents of Izbica prevent their deterministic notion of sin from developing into an antinomian concept of Judaism?” [p. 47]). Instead, the question is practical: How do we go about “incorporating the theologically and oftentimes radical aspects of Izbica Hasidut into the contemporary Jewish community” without “under[mining] the ideals that we are working towards” (p. 48)?

In truth, the real question is not how we go about incorporating aspects of Izbica, but whether we need to reassess or fine-tune the aspects that have already been absorbed into our modern theology. The relatively recent phenomenon of neo-Chassidus (of which Rabbi Bashevkin is described as an avid follower is not primarily influenced by Izbica, [15] but its understanding of sin and failure certainly have Izbician overtones.[16]

Every discussion of the neo-Chassidus movement, pro and against, raises some form of the question of whether it leads to “perver[sion] of Chassidic concepts of joy, prayer . . . to the detriment of halachic observance,” and whether the idea that one always “falls into the lap of God” is mere “sugarcoating” the reality that our connection and relationship to Him can be broken “through destructive habits and the like,” no matter how deeply spiritual one “feels.” [17]

In other words, while historically Izbica theology was not detrimental to the strict halachic observance of Izbica Chasidim, [18] the jury is still out on whether the same can be said regarding its contemporary application. [19]

Rabbi Bashevkin himself clearly understands that Izbica thought is frequently misunderstood, misinterpreted and misapplied, and has a fascinating discussion on where and why its application goes wrong (pp. 50 – 52). The proper application of Izbica theology, according to Bashevkin, has us look at religious life as having a floor and a ceiling, the floor being the way “we deal with failure and those still mired in sin,” and the ceiling being the “ideals and values we reach towards.” Izbician theology can offer a message of “comfort and optimism,” helping to cushion the floor of Jewish life for those still mired in sin, without altering the ultimate ideals – “The floor was carpeted, but the ceiling remained in place” (pp. 46 – 50 and here.

While this certainly does seem to be a proper application of Izbician thought, it leaves plenty of room for the devil in the details. How comfortable should the cushions be? If every time a Jew sins he falls onto the lush carpet of the Bashevkian Izbician floor, what incentive is there ever to get up, or not to fall again? Maybe the floor needs to be carpeted, but how much more plush than commercial grade is called for?[20]

An even more fundamental question is if Bashevkin himself does justice in applying his principle. He approvingly quotes (p. 49) the work of Dr. Jennie Rosenfeld as “a fine example of the contemporary application of Izbica-Lublin theology.” Writing on the Wexner Foundation blog, Dr. Rosenfeld[21] describes her work as “focused on singles and on the need to create a sexual ethic which can speak to Orthodox singles today even when they may violate the halakhah.” Even assuming that Rabbi Bashevkin did not see her comments on the Wexner blog[22], and without casting aspersions on Dr. Rosenfeld’s important body of work, I question if a work titled “Toward a Modern Orthodox Sexual Ethic” can claim to be a faithful contemporary rendering of Izbica thought. There never was an “Izbician sexual ethic,” only “comfort and optimism” for those who had fallen (always a large segment of the community [23]) to get up off the floor and move on.

Later in that same chapter, Rabbi Bashevkin writes: ““Our collective imperfection is not cause for collective allowance . . . Sin and failure, no matter how common, can never be communally condoned or publicly institutionalized” (p. 53). This would seem to disallow creating “a sexual ethic which can speak to Orthodox singles” that might violate halacha.  That was true in the community of Izbica, in the community of Rabbi Yitzhak of Arama (p. 53), and would seem no less so in the Modern Orthodox [24] community today.

The Audacity of Hope

The above discussion highlights the sensitive nature of any public discussion of sin.[25] But every generation has its challenges in handling delicate issues. Ours may the one where the overwhelmingly forgiving tone of Izbica (and Breslov) theology is most potentially dangerous, [26] but it also may be the one where it is most needed. [27]

Support for this idea may come from a surprising place.

In chapter thirteen of Bashevkin’s book, he discusses the fascinating personal correspondence of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky (the Steipler), and correctly notes (p. 143) that the theme of “[p]roductivity, patience, and optimism return again and again” throughout his letters. But hidden in his message of optimism is another subtle, but important, point that should not be overlooked. Speaking to yeshiva students struggling with “the known sin,” the Steipler acknowledges that the message of optimism he offers was deliberately downplayed in previous generations.

“The holy books intentionally wrote with great clarity [about the devastating nature of this sin] in order to keep people from sinning,” but were “very sparse” in explaining the other side of things, how one can draw a tremendous “light of holiness upon himself and throughout worlds” each time he controls his burning desires and refrains from sin. Even if one continues to fall,  says the Steipler, each time he does successfully control himself is a source of great merit and enables him to achieve levels of  “unfathomable holiness,” which will eventually permit him to leave sin completely behind. It is “fundamentally important not to feel sad, and not to think of the past [sins] at all” until one has the maturity to deal with them properly. “[N]ever despair, God forbid, for one must always hope for God’s assistance . . . “ [28]

Take careful note of what he is saying:  In today’s world we need the audacity to speak of hope even when mired in sin, the clarity to acknowledge that the strict and unforgiving messages of the previous generations would be counterproductive today. Harsh warnings are a thing of the past; strident calls for change do not suffice. “Hope and change” are the language of our times. [29]

Crying with the Sinners, Laughing with the Sages

While our generation may require a message of optimism and hope, and it is appropriate to look for sources in the rabbinic literature that reinforce that approach, it is equally important that we do not overplay our hand and interpret every source in an unreservedly sanguine way.

In chapter eight, Bashevkin insightfully analyzes the various versions of the tragic story of the great Talmudic sage Elisha ben Avuyah, and his spiritual descent to become Aher, the Other. In Bashevkin’s rendering, Aher is the foil to Rabbi Akiva, a Bizarro Rabbi Akiva, of sorts. Aher enters the pardes (“orchard” of mystical knowledge) and goes off the Torah path; Rabbi Akiva enters and emerges complete. Aher begins as a scholar and ends as a heretic. Akiva, by contrast, begins his life antagonistic to rabbinic authority and ends his life as a scholar. Rabbi Akiva’s outlook is portrayed as optimistic – his “exegetical perspective suggests indefatigable opportunity”; even in face of destruction, Rabbi Akiva “found reason for laughter.” Aher, on the other hand, is an “unrelenting pessimist” who “saw closed doors even when there was still hope of an entrance.” (pp. 94 – 95).

At the risk of being regarded as an unrelenting pessimist myself, I will note that while fascinating and certainly not without merit, there are limits to this interpretation.

Firstly, it does not seem that Rabbi Akiva’s “exegetical perspective suggests indefatigable opportunity” in all cases.  In the Babylonian Talmud version of the story (Chagigah 15a-b), the second exegetical conversation, Rabbi Akiva’s statement that “even what is broken can be fixed” does indeed suggest a great deal of optimism. However, the first one is much more ambiguous. The concept that “the wicked take their share and the share of their friend in Gehinom” has undeniable pessimistic overtones. Furthermore, the version in the Jerusalem Talmud (cited on pp. 91 – 92), where Rabbi Akiva teaches that blessing at the end [of life] is due to good deeds at the beginning, is explicitly understood as a message of doom for Aher, as the good deeds of his beginning were not done for the sake of Heaven. [30]

More fundamentally, while Rabbi Akiva did indeed find reason for laughter as others were crying, when he would study Torah verses that indicate the severity of sin, he was brought to tears [31] (not of joy) – “When Rabbi Akiva came to this verse he would cry.” [32] Only when surrounded by his colleagues who were deeply cognizant of the severity and bleak results of sin – because of our sins we were exiled from our land – did he offer a message of hope and consolation.  But sin itself is never a laughing matter (link) [34].

The Ba’al Shem Tov and (lihavdil [34]) Christine Todd Whitman:  Guilty but not Charged?

Over twenty years ago, I received a ticket for having an expired New Jersey state inspection sticker on my car. I knew it was expired, but was hoping I wouldn’t get caught until I’d had a chance to get the car inspected. No such luck. Guilty as charged, I paid the ticket and moved on.

Later that week, I heard on the radio that Christine Todd Whitman, then Governor of the State of New Jersey, had extended the inspection deadline for all cars by thirty days. As I had already paid the ticket, I sent off a protest letter (yes, an actual letter) to the Governor, and was pleasantly surprised when I received a very apologetic reply, stating that I was one-hundred-percent correct, but it was the responsibility of the local township to return the funds. Armed with the letter, I went down to the town hall, where they also apologized profusely, refunded my fine, and expunged this nefarious crime from my permanent record. I wasn’t guilty after all. [35]

Or was I?

In his Hebrew work (p. 40), Rabbi Bashevkin cites a parable from the Ba’al Shem Tov about a man who tests his wife by pretending to be another, and seduces her to sin. When she later brokenheartedly admits her sin, he consoles her by telling her that he had been masquerading as the seducer all along, and therefore she never really sinned.

Christine Todd Whitman might agree, but for Rabbi Akiva this would be nothing more than hollow consolation. As discussed in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book (pp. 33 – 36) it was these types of scenarios that brought Rabbi Akiva to tears, and Rabbi Hiyya bar Ashi to a life of repentance and a death in misery. The very fact that one intended to sin was reason for tears and repentance; that no actual sin occurred as no source of consolation.

But the Ba’al Shem Tov was not the first to offer such consolation; Yosef offered similar solace to his brothers. Which is it? Are such scenarios causes for comfort or for crying?  Bashevkin offers a number of possible resolutions (pp. 35 – 36).

Besides those he offers, others are given; [36] I would like to offer my own.

Every sin has two components: the rebellion against God and the actual damage done. In these scenarios, the consolation is only that no damage was done (either because no sin was committed or the act turned out to be for the best). But the rebellion against God’s authority still exists, and is a cause for tears.[37] In the case of Yosef’s brothers, since they had already genuinely repented (see Genesis 42:21 with Sha’arey Aharon), no new tears were needed. Only because their sincere repentance had been accepted could their negative plans be viewed as a source of blessing. [38]

First there are tears and repentance, only afterwards is the consolation meaningful.

A Flag as White as Snow [39]

Both in the text and the notes, I have touched on some of the thought-provoking topics raised in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book, touching on some of the topics (and there are many more [40]), that are ripe for discussion, challenge, debate and clarification  k’darko shel Torah (see Chagigah 3b). Indeed, a strong point of the book is that it covers many fundamentally important topics in a way that is relatable to scholar and layman alike.

Besides being provocative, discussion of sin can also be inspiring. In chapter six, Bashevkin offers a touching rereading of Richard Pindell’s famous story, “Somebody’s Son,” that would be good material for any rabbi’s Yom Kippur derasha.[41] The chapter starts off with the theologically challenging question (based on Gemara Chullin 60b), “Does God Repent?”

But theology aside, the very idea that God is hoping – waiting, so to speak – to see if He will be allowed into our lives, is one that deeply resonates.[42]

For seven years straight I had the privilege of davening on Yom Kippur in Beth Medrash Govoha’s Bais Eliyahu Bais Medrash. All of those years, the revered Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yeruchem Olshin, shlit”a, led the davening for Neilah and spoke beforehand, and for seven years straight he said, with great emotion, the same exact thing:[43]

Yom Kippur is a great thing; there is nothing better than it . . . if we only would take advantage . . . A parable: A king made a feast to show his love for his subjects . . . four hours went by, five hours went by and no one came . . . finally towards evening people started trickling in . . . the king ran over to them and said with great emotion “I owe you a great favor! If not for you the entire feast that I made would have to be fed to the dogs.”

Yom Kippur is not only about us returning to favor in God’s eyes.  It is also about His hope (kaviyachol) that we take the opportunity to let Him into our lives. Ultimately, this is what Rabbi Bashevkin’s book is about – finding a way to let God in, to allow His spark to uplift our very human, often sinful, lives.

If you extract the precious from the worthless, you shall be as my mouth . . .

(Jeremiah 15:19)

Es Va’heiv B’Sofa

(Kidushin 30b)

Notes:

[1] See Sin•a•gogue, pp. xv – xvi, and R’ Bashevkin’s earlier comments here.  The idea that one should have a bio that includes failure may be the reason why the Torah includes the sins of the ancient greats. See the commentary of Rabbeinu Asher on Beraishis 38:16.
[2] See Sin•a•gogue, p. 95, and our discussion below.
[3] I start with this line from Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young” to highlight a striking feature of Bashevkin’s book. The chapters all begin with epigraphs that run the gamut of sources, ranging from John Milton (Paradise Lost) to Bob Dylan (“Absolutely Sweet Marie,” which Bashevkin misspells as Mary) to an HBO crime drama (True Detective). The common denominator is that there is not a Jewish source among them. Indeed, throughout the book there are seemingly more obscure pop-culture references than desultory Talmudic discussions (see p. 195). This style is common in the outreach world that he (and I) work in, and popular among certain segments of the Orthodox community. Through Bashevkin’s creative pen, these sources make the book a lighter, more enjoyable read, palatable to a wider audience, without diminishing the seriousness of the topics he discusses. Of course, for some Torah scholars, this approach would be considered misguided (if not blasphemous), and their concern should not be discounted. In his Foreword to the book (p. x), Shaul Magid writes that it is “precisely Bashevkin’s point” to level the playing field by comparing a comment by George Orwell to the Hazon Ish. I have my doubts if that really is his point. In any case, while it is certainly true that sin and failure are universal concerns, and, for example, a “preacher’s kid” may have struggles similar to those of a rabbi’s son (see note 309), this book is specifically about sin and failure in Jewish thought. By emphasizing similarities we sometimes gloss over fundamental differences.  See the comments of Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein in Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration?, ed. Jacob J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ, 1997), p.  278. See also his “The Future of Centrist Orthodoxy,” Leaves of Faith. vol. 2 [Jersey City: Ktav, 2004], p. 323, where he writes, “Does a universalist concern require that youngsters – and hence most adults as well – know a good deal about the Rolling Stones but nothing of the Avnei Nezer? “ To apply his point to one of the topics in the book under discussion – I know many more people who know about the question of determinism vs. free will from The Adjustment Bureau than those who have spent time studying the sacred sources of our tradition. See also the comments of Rabbi Zion Baoron, in his michtav beracha (point # 3) to Rabbi David Stav’s Bein HaZemanim (Yedioth Acharonoth books, Tel Aviv 2012).
[4] Mikvah has the same root as tikvah – hope.
[5] A new edition of this work, with commentary, was recently put out by R’ Mordechai Elbaz of Kollel Sha’arey Tzion. Reading the Hebrew, I found it shocking how much the theme, and even the words, are reminiscent of the teachings of Rav Nachman of Breslov. I subsequently found that others agreed (see here).
[6] See Gemara Chagigah 15b and 27a (I am not sure how this fits with Chagigah 14a), Beraishis Rabba 65:22, Rav Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin (Likutey Ma’amarim #8, 12, and 16, and Machshavos Charutz # 8), Rav Nachman of Breslov (Likutey Mohoran # 178), and Rav Nosson of Breslov (Likutey Tefilos 2:10).
[7] The earlier review was far easier to write, as it was during the month of Elul when sin and repentance are timely topics, and the roar of Elul from my yeshiva days was still ringing in my ears. But maybe this shouldn’t be the case. Maharsha (end of Megilah) writes that there is no specific mitzvah to expound on the laws of teshuva thirty days prior to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, as teshuva is a year-round undertaking. Furthermore, some commentaries explain that we begin reciting Pirkey Avos during the spring, as this season renders us particularly susceptible to sin (see Piskey Teshuvos 292 # 9).
[8] One especially thoughtful and thought-provoking topic is Bashevkin’s extremely powerful discussion of the challenges facing rabbis’ children and the challenge of balancing love of Torah and love of family (chapter 10). This issue is not new – see Gemara Bava Metzia, 85a. Some important sources on this topic include Rav Matisyahu Solomon’s commentary on Rav Moshe Cordevaro’s Tomar Devorah (on the middah of L’She’airis Nachalaso), as well as his commentary of the last verses in Megilas Esther. Rav Matisyahu writes that in order to give meaning to God’s directive that we treat the entire Jewish people as family, we must first treat our actual family kindly (Rav Matisyahu is in favor of nepotism). Praying that God have mercy “like a father has mercy on his children,” is worse than meaningless if we don’t have mercy on our actual children.  It is not clear, however, if all the ba’aley mussar agree. See Rav Yitzchok Blazer’s comments in Kochvei Ohr (regarding Rav Yisroel Salanter) and Tenuas HaMussar (volume 4, pp. 173 and 271 – 272) about the Alter of Novardok’s disregard and seeming cruelty to his family. See also Gemara Gittin 6b, Eruvin 22a, Ta’anis 23b – 24a. I hope to discuss this topic in detail in an upcoming article (and book).

On this topic, a must-read is the powerful poem by Rabbi Samuel Adelman, and the beautiful letter by his daughter, Roz Duman, which can be found in Jewish Action (Fall 2017, p. 3). One can only hope all rabbis would be so sensitive to their children’s plight, and a daughter so understanding and appreciative of her father, as this parent and child. Speaking of rabbis’ children, see here where the Klausenberger Rebbe zt”l, is quoted as questioning a father’s qualifications based on how his son turns out as an adult. However, see there where Professor Marc B. Shapiro correctly points out that “there are many examples of pious people whose children ended up very differently.”  Considering whom some of these fathers were (see the book under discussion, p. 78), the Klausenberger Rebbe’s point is very difficult to understand.
[9] It should be noted, that the seforim of Rav Tzadok were understood to explain and moderate some of the more problematic statements of Izbica. See Sefer Yam Ha-Chochma (5779, p. 450 – 451).
[10] These are two related, but distinct, concepts. See my review of the Hebrew edition in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here.
[11] See the sources in the book (note 131) and in my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 16.
[12] Sha’ar Avodas Hashem # 8.
[13] Rambam raises a similar question, but doesn’t leave this one unanswered — see Hilchos Teshuva 5:5 and 6:5.  Lechem Mishneh (6:5) assumes that the two questions are one and the same, but this is strongly challenged by Ohr Sameach (6:5) and Arba Turey Even (brought down in Sefer ha-Likkutim in the Frankel Rambam, 6:5).
[14] Indeed, maybe the answer here too is that it remains a paradox. See Tzidkas HaTzadik # 40 and my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 18.
[15] Neo-Chassidus is influenced by many streams of classical Chasidus. Indeed, part of its charm is that it is not limited to any one school of thought or practice. That being said, I have heard its influences described with an acronym that spells out the name of the prophet Chabakuk – standing for Chabad, Breslov, (R’ Shlomo) Carlebach and (Rav) Kook. Throw in a little Komarno, Berditchev and Rav Tzadok, and I do think it is a workable description.
[16] We are not discussing Izbica ideology per se, but rather its effect on our attitude toward sin. It is likely that the neo-Chassidic attitude toward failure and sin may be more influenced by Breslov than by Izbica, but both play a role. While Breslov does not share the Izbica theology of free will (see Likutey Mohoran, Tinyana 110), they share much in common regarding the proper response to sin and religious failure (see pp. 284 – 285).  Whatever the exact influence, the questions, discussion and challenges that follow still apply.
[17] The first quote is from R’ Joey Rosenfeld (a strong supporter) in the Jewish Article article on neo- Chassidus, the second from Rabbi Noach Shafran (a harsh critic) in a Mishpacha magazine conversation in response to their earlier article on the subject.  Rabbi Shafran’s comments brought a firm, but calm, response from Rav Moshe Weinberger (rav of Congregation Aish Kodesh in Woodmere, New York, and the undisputed spiritual leader of neo-Chassidus in America) in print, but a far harsher one in two public shiurim he gave shortly after the printed response came out. (The shiurim used to be available here, but seem to have been taken down, possibly because Rabbi Weinberger felt he had been too harsh. The sources to “Hashem’s Unbreakable Love For Every Jew” are still available here. The greatest share of Rabbi Weinberger’s barely concealed ire was directed at the idea that a Jew can have his connection to Hashem broken.
[18] “[N]o one, scholar or Hasid, disputes the halakhic nature of Izbica life.” “The Izbica community and its associated communities in Radzyn and Lublin were quite halakhic.” – see here. See also and my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 35.
[19] To clarify, and not to be accused of disparaging a large group of yeraim v’shlaimim, I am speaking about a relatively small percentage of the group. As a whole, it certainly seems to be a force for enhanced avodas Hashem. I, too, have gained much from the seforim of Rav Yitzchok Meir Morgenstern and Rav Avraham Tzvi Kluger (among others), and from the shiurim of Rav Weinberger and Rav Meilech Biderman,  and very much look forward to my annual pilgrimage to Aish Kodesh for Lag Ba’omer (see here). But as opposed to Izbica theology having no known negative effect on its original adherents (for reasons explained by Bashevkin on pp. 50 – 52), the same cannot necessarily be said about neo-Chassidus today. In Rabbi Weinberger’s written response he rhetorically asks, “Can it be that there is a holy reason why every passing year sees more and more people gravitating to places like Uman or Lizhensk?” No doubt. But as anyone who has been to Uman or Lizhensk (and now Kerestir) can testify, there can also be non-holy or unholy reasons, as well.
[20] In Rabbi Weinberger’s above-mentioned lectures, he says he was challenged to reconcile his teaching of “God’s unbreakable love for every Jew” (see also Zohar, Shemos 5b) with the words of the Rambam that speak of the sinner being “hated by God, disgusting, far removed and abominable.” Rabbi Weinberger’s response (oversimplified here) is that on the deepest level the love always remains. But the question remains — whatever the answer, Rambam did write the words “hated, etc.” Doesn’t that indicate that, on some level, the sinner is supposed to feel hated etc.? Is the sinner justified, upon seeing those words, to run straight to the teachings of Rav Nachman and Izbica for comfort? How does Rabbi Weinberger know that when Rabbi Shafran speaks of the broken relationship, he isn’t simply reiterating  the concepts expressed by Rambam? Should there be some degree of discomfort, even feeling of God’s (dare I say) hate after sinning? Or is the carpet so thick that we never even feel the fall?

It could be argued that the Rambam himself never tells the sinner that he is hated. Only once he repents does Rambam tell him how fortunate he is to have overcome his prior state. And the Breslov response is likely that any harsh message (like that of Reishis Chochma) is always intended to come with a concomitant sense of God’s love (see the sources in Rav Avraham Tzvi Kluger’s Yichud HaShabbos (volume 2, p. 32).  But I still think the matter needs much more clarification then it has received.
[21] Dr. Rosenfeld has another title – “manhiga ruchanit,” – and another she does not seem to have – “rabbi” (see here). The question of the appropriateness of both these titles may be related to Izbica as well – see here and here. See also the recent review by Dr. Rosenfeld of Sin•a•gogue at the Lehrhaus blog.
[22] It may have been too painful for Rabbi Bashevkin to go to the Wexner blog, as he was ‘rejected from the Wexner Graduate Fellowship. Twice.’ (here) (This would be the appropriate place to put a “JK” or smiley emoji, but I don’t want to be known as a pioneer in using text slang or emojis in rabbinic or academic writing. Although being that among the thousands of seforim online at HebrewBooks Dot Org, Bashevkin’s is likely the only one that includes the author’s Twitter handle (see here), maybe this review would be an appropriate place to introduce some 21st-century lingua franca. But I resist.)
[23] See Raishis Chochma, Sha’ar HaTeshuva 3:10, who writes that no one in his day was free of the sin of hotza’as zera livatala.
[24] This is the true regardless of whether the word “modern” is a qualifier or not.
[25] This is especially the case regarding sexual matters, see Chagigah 11b, and especially when presented to a popular, as opposed to scholarly, audience. See Iggeros Moshe (EH 1:64, and 3:14). This highlights a fundamental difference between Rabbi Bashevkin’s Hebrew and English books. Both are fine works, both cover similar sensitive and controversial topics, but even the most traditional reader would not find Rabbi Bashevkin’s Hebrew sefer problematic, not the case with the English one. Aside from the fact that he is far more cautious in the Hebrew work (see my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 4), style (see note 3 above) and audience matter. To use Bashevkin’s terminology (from the introduction to Mei ha-Shlioah), Hebrew readers are more likely to be “Intimates who understand [its] true value” (p. 50).
[26] See B-Rogez Rahem Tizkor, page 42) for a fascinating explanation (from Rav Hutner) of why free will is under attack, especially in our days.
[27] See my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here at end of note 4).
[28] See letters 11 – 15 in volume 1 of Kreina d-Igrassa (Bashevkin’s spelling. No one in history has ever pronounced it like that, including, I am willing to bet, the Steipler himself.)
[29] Despite these words of encouragement, some of the points raised above still need to be clarified. The Steipler was speaking to yeshiva students in despair, offering hope to those who already felt the pain of the fall and the extreme discomfort of the “floor.” His words of hope to them (and thousands of yeshiva students who subsequently read his words) was lifesaving. Furthermore, even to them, he does mention the fear of punishment as a tool to refrain from sin. (See, for example, letter # 14).
[30] I find it fascinating, yet tragic, that the one teaching in the Mishna recorded in the name of Elisha ben Avuya (Avos 4:20) is how a child is a clean slate. Yet, at the end of his life he claimed that from the very beginning his slate wasn’t clean.
[31] And sometimes he cried and laughed – see Gemara Avoda Zara 20a. (The laughter there does seem to indicate optimism, but the tears do seem to me somewhat pessimistic, seeing something good and already thinking that all good must come to an end.)
[32] Kiddushin 81b.
[33] It should be noted that that even contemplating the severity of sin permitted Rabbi Akiva to find a spark of hope. When Rabbi Akiva recognized the severe consequences of any involvement with sinful behavior, he realized that this must indicate an even greater reward for those who have any involvement in good deeds. See Rashi on Vayikra 5:17.
[34] The term “lihavdil” is not meant, God forbid, to disparage Whitman. See Senator Joe Lieberman’s The Gift of Rest (Howard Books, New York, 2011, p. 198).
[35] As noted in the book (p. 32), the idea that one cannot be held responsible for an attempt to commit crimes that were never actually possible to execute raises questions regarding the legality of certain sting operations. .

Bashevkin also discusses culpability for an attempt when, if successful, an actual crime would have occurred.   He concludes that a “conceptual category of attempt . . . does not seem to exist in Jewish law . . .  attempted murder . . . is not found in the Talmud” (p. 32 -33).   Bashevkin’s conclusion takes for granted that the concepts of being permitted to kill a rodef (a pursuer) and ba b’machteres (a burglar who tunnels/breaks into a home) are forms of preemptive strike to save the victim, not punishment for the attempted murderer. This is not remotely clear, as there is a large body of Talmudic debate on the topic. For some discussion, see the language used in Rambam, Sefer HaMitzvos (positive mitzvos # 239 and 247 and negative mitzvah # 293), Shiurey Rav Dovid (Povarsky, Bava Basra 7b), Shiurey Rav Shmuel (Rozovsky, Sanhedrin 72b, note 309), Noda B’Yehuda, Tinyana, CM # 60, and Aruch Laner (Sanhedrin 73a).

Even more questionable is why eidim zomimin (conspiring/falsified witnesses) are not an example of criminal attempted sins, as they are punished for thought only, but not when action takes place, See Rashi to Devarim 19:19. See also Chidushey Rabbenu Chaim HaLevi, Hilchod Edus chapter 20, and the comments of Rav Yechezkal Abramsky (Melech B’Yafyo, p. 301).  For a more kabbalistic approach, see Sefer Yam Ha-Chochma (5778, p. 152 – 153, based on Maharal, Be’er HaGolah chapter 2).
[36] See also Rabbi Yehoshua Oshinsky, Sefer Shalmey Levi (Modi’in Ilit, 5770), p. 58 – 60).
[37] This is likely the intent of the parable of the Ba’al Shem Tov (mentioned above); there, too, the consolation comes only after repentance. See Peri Tzadik, Roch Chodesh Menachem Av # 1.
[38] See my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 2.
[39] On p. 3, Bashevkin writes that 19th-century anthropologist Frank Boas’s assertion that the Eskimos have numerous words for snow is “not entirely discredited,” but on p. 13 writes that it has “long been discredited.” I guess it took a long time two write those ten pages, but not long enough to correct the name to Franz (see note 22 above, and apply here). In any case, the earlier assertion seems correct (see here).
[40] Some additional, random comments on the book: 1) On the first page of the Foreword there is a typo on the third-to-bottom line (“or” instead of “our”). 2) Page xii – regarding sanitized storytelling – see my comments in The Torah U-Madda Journal (Volume 8, pp. 331 – 333). I was subsequently quite surprised to see that Prof. Kimmy Caplan wrote an entire article in Kimmy Caplan, “‘Absolutely Intellectually Honest’: A Case Study of American Jewish Modern Orthodox Historiography,” in Rachel Elior and Peter Schäfer, eds., Creation and Re–Creation in Jewish Thought: Festschrift in Honor of Joseph Dan on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 339-361 available online here, addressing one of my points, and especially pleased with his conclusion (p. 361): “Rabbi Oratz was correct in observing that Modern Orthodox historiographers are similar in nature to Haredi historiographers.” 3) Regarding the value of “Half Repentance” (p. 127), it should be noted that not all agree. See the first “Likkut” on Hilchos Teshuva in the Sefer HaLikuttim of the Frankel Rambam. 4) Regarding outward coercion bringing out inner desire (p. 129), see  Sefer Darkey Moshe (Rabbi Shachna Mendel Scheiner, 5778, p. 329) where Rav Moshe Feinstein is quoted as positing the radical idea that based on this there can almost never be a mitzvah done shelo lishma, as any external influence just represents inner desire!
[41] I plan on using it. Please don’t tell my community.
[42] Related to this idea, see the powerful story told by Shlomo Zalman Shragai, cited in Rabbi Norman Lamm’s “The Shema” [The Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 2000, p. 118 – 119.]
[43] In Yiddish, of course.  This derasha, highly based on the Yom Kippur derasha of Rav Aharon Kotler, zt”l, can be found (with sources) in Rav Olshin’s Sefer Yareach L’Moadim on Yom Kippur (Ma’amar # 83). The version in print differs slightly from the version I heard each year.

Musings on the Piyut היום הרת עולם

By Joseph Wertzberger

The following post is based in part on a lecture by Rabbi Ben Greenfield, newly installed Rabbi of the Greenpoint Shul, and several of its key ideas are his.

*  *  *

The poem היום הרת עולם is a very early piyut by an unknown author, appearing in writing as early as Siddur Rav Amram Ga’on, and is very widely recited after each of the sets of Tekiyot during the Shemonei Esrei of Mussaf on Rosh Hashana.  The poem is an elegy eloquently expressing the sense of fear, awe and dread in the uncertainty of judgement that the world experiences each year on the birthday of its creation.

היום הרת עולם

היום יעמיד במשפט

 כל יצורי עולמים

אם כבנים

אם כעבדים

אם כבנים רחמנו

כרחם אב על בנים

ואם כעבדים

 עינינו לך תלויות

 עד שתחננו

 ותוציא כאור משפטנו

איום קדוש

I’d like to help shed light on some of the wide-ranging, poetic meanings and allusions of the piyut, by examining the meanings of the words, phrases and concepts that appear, as well as their sources in Tanach and Chazal.  As we examine more closely the sources of these very short, alliterative phrases and ideas; alternate and variant layers of meaning present themselves to be revealed.

היום הרת עולם

The word הרת is commonly translated as birth, conception or (probably more accurately) gestation – from the root הָרָה, as in האנכי הריתי את כל העם הזה in במדבר יא.  The first line of the poem, in its simplest reading, announces very plainly: “Today is the birth of the world”.

The source of the phrase הרת עולם is in ירמיהו כ, where Jeremiah says “Cursed is the day in which I was born, the day in which my mother birthed me; let it not be blessed. Cursed is the man… who did not kill me from the womb. If only my mother were my tomb – ורחמה הרת עולם – and her womb an everlasting pregnancy.” (ארור היום אשר ילדתי בו יום אשר ילדתני אמי אל יהי ברוך.  ארור האיש אשר בשר את אבי לאמר ילד לך בן זכר שמח שמחהו.  והיה האיש ההוא כערים אשר הפך ה’ ולא נחם ושמע זעקה בבקר ותרועה בעת צהרים.  אשר לא מותתני מרחם ותהי לי אמי קברי ורחמה הרת עולם. למה זה מרחם יצאתי לראות עמל ויגון ויכלו בבשת ימי.)

Disconcertingly, the passuk is harshly negative, with a tone and meaning very different from the piyut.  Not only that, but the word עולם is used with a completely different meaning (world/forever).

Curiously, however, if we reread the piyut translating עולם as ever, the phrase הרת עולם suddenly switches to mean an everlasting birth, like it does in the passuk.  The piyut is refocused into pronouncing, “Today is an everlasting birth.”  In other words, the birth of the world that began the first Rosh Hashana is everlasting through history on this day. And the reason for that is because:

היום יעמיד במשפט

The source of the phrase is in משלי כט ,מלך במשפט יעמיד ארץ. “A king with justice raises up (alternatively: sets right) the world.”  G-d, as king and judge of the world is מעמיד the world, so to speak, through the power of Mishpat.  רבן שמעון בן גמליאל אומר, על שלשה דברים העולם קיים, על הדין… שנאמר אמת ומשפט שלום שפטו בשעריכם. אבות א יח

Which means that while we can initially read the first two lines of the poem as, “Today is the birth of the universe, all the world’s creatures are presented to judgement”, we can also read it at a second level as, “Today is an everlasting birth; today G-d raises, through Justice, all creatures of the universe”.  Rosh Hashana is the continual rebirth of the world, because the world is repeatedly raised up through Justice on this day – the original purpose of the world’s creation repeated each year as Justice is manifest into the world.  (Thank you again to Rabbi Ben Greenfield for this most wonderful and key idea.)

Even more deeply, the two readings mirror and are extensions of each other.  An abstract truth and idea such as Justice, that we perceive in G-d, becomes real – that is it is expressed, instantiated and concretized, and its realization occurs – by its enactment in the universe, much as a king’s rule is only realized through the existence of his subjects (a common concept in Chabad Chassidic writings, אין מלך בלא עם, based initially on Tanya ch. 7, with its earliest source appearing in כד הקמח, ראש השנה ב, and elsewhere in the writings of Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher, student of the Rashba).  G-d’s משפט isn’t manifest until he expresses it in something, and by judging us he expresses Justice; we might even say he ‘creates’ it.

A third reading of the poem’s introductory lines is that היום הרת עולם, today, Rosh Hashana, is an everlasting, recurring gestation, because each year is pregnant and gestates on its Rosh Hashana when יעמיד במשפט כל יצורי עולמים, Judgement is implanted into the world, for it to become realized, expressed and carried out later on, during and throughout the year.

אם כבנים אם כעבדים

The simplest reading of our dual presentation as sons and slaves in the poem, and its initially apparent meaning on a first pass through the poem, is that while our relationship with G-d is in one sense as a son to his father, and in another as a slave to his master – either way, we beseech you G-d, judge us favorably today.

A second layer of meaning, though, sits just beneath the surface, waiting to be revealed as we reread the poem more closely.  And that is that whether we’ll be judged as children or as slaves is also hanging in the balance:  אתם קרוים בנים וקרוין עבדים. בזמן שאתם עושין רצונו של מקום אתם קרוין בנים, ובזמן שאין אתם עושין רצונו של מקום אתם קרוין עבדים (Bava Basra 10A, and see also Kidushin 36A).  We are also judged on whether to be judged as a son or as a slave.  The poem alludes to this again later on: ואם כעבדים – whether or not we are as slaves, עינינו לך תלויות – this too hangs in the balance.

A third reading of אם כבנים אם כעבדים and its dichotomy is based on the passuk in Malachi 1, בן יכבד אב ועבד אדניו. ואם אב אני איה כבודי, ואם אדונים אני איה מוראי – whether we are children and whether we are slaves – in either case we may be judged for transgressing G-d’s will.  Either way, we should have respected or feared G-d, and we now tremble to be judged for not having done so.

But nevertheless:

רחום וחנון

The interplay of כרחם אב for בנים on the one hand, and עד שתחננו for עבדים, on the other, is an obvious parallel to רחום and חנון, two primary attributes that G-d exhibits in judgement (שמות לד).  In the beautiful words of the Rambam in Chapter 54 of the Guide:

הנה נתבאר כי הדרכים אשר ביקש משה רבנו ידיעתן… הם הפעולות הבאות מאתו יתעלה, וחכמים קוראים אותם מידות ואומרים שלוש עשרה מידות. ואין העניין כאן שהוא בעל מידות, אלא עושה פעולות הדומות לפעולות הנעשות על ידינו כתוצאה ממידות… כל פעולה שנשיג מפעולותיו, נתארו יתעלה בתואר שאותה הפעולה יוצאת ממנו, ונקראהו בשם הנגזר מאותה הפעולה.  המשל בכך, כאשר הושגה עדינות ניהולו בהתהוות עוברי בעלי החיים, והמצאת כוחות בו ובמגדליו לאחר לידתו המונעים ממנו את המוות והאובדן, ושומרים עליו מן הנזקים, ועוזרים לו בצרכיו החיוניים, וכעין פעולה זו לא תיעשה מצדנו כי אם לאחר התפעלות והתרגשותו והוא עניין הרחמנות, לכך נאמר עליו יתעלה רחום כדרך שנאמר כרחם אב על בנים… לא שהוא יתעלה מתפעל ומתרגש, אלא כאותה הפעולה הבאה מצד האב כלפי הבן שהיא תוצאה של רגישות וחמלה והתפעלות בהחלט, תבוא מצדו יתעלה כלפי חסידיו. וכשם שכאשר אנו נותנים דבר למי שאין לו עלינו חובה נקרא זה בלשוננו חנינה… והוא יתעלה ממציא ומנהל את מי שאין לו עליו חוב בהמצאתו והנהלתו ולפיכך

 נקרא חנון

G-d can be said to act as a רחום in situations similar to where a human would behave as a רחום, for example as a human to its child, where the nature of the familial relationship emotively drives, and filially obligates, a behavior of רחמים.  G-d also acts as a חנון, providing bounty completely undeserved, in situations where nothing is deserved at all.

The dynamic is two-fold, and bi-directional.  Just as in our world favor is shown by the parent to the child both because it’s in the nature of the parent to provide (parents simply well up with רחמים for their children), and because the child also deserves, and has a right and a claim to, the parent’s favor by virtue of being their child (האנכי הריתי את כל העם הזה אם אנכי ילדתיהו כי תאמר אלי שאהו בחיקך, in במדבר יא); similarly, G-d acts as a רחום relative to creations with which he exhibits a father-son relationship, that is he exhibits mercy and compassion as an expression of the relationship – that’s simply what fathers do; but it’s also true that if we are his children we have a claim to his mercy –  he owes it to us – as a child has a claim to their parent’s effort and favor, and we have a right to ask for it.

A slave on the other hand is owed nothing, and can’t ask for mercy by right.  A slave can only hope for grace, מתנת חינם.

Thus, as G-d’s children, conceived in הרת עולם and created for the purpose of receiving his bounteous good (אמונות ודעות סוף מאמר א וריש מאמר ג, מורה ג כה, דרך השם ב, ועוד הרבה), we ask for G-d’s mercy.  As your children, you must have mercy on us like a father.  And G-d accedes to our request, he is רחם אב על בנים, as the passuk tells us in Tehilim 103, the phrase’s original source: לא כחטאינו עשה לנו ולא כעונתינו גמל עלינו… כרחם אב על בנים רחם ה’ על יראיו.

But we are also G-d’s slaves, in a manner יצורי עולמים, existing simply as of the universe he created למענו יתברך, at his whim and for his sake alone, because he willed it so and for purposes unfathomable (אמונות ודעות סוף מאמר א, מורה א יג, ועוד).  As slaves we don’t get to say ואם כעבדים חננו (the parallel of אם כבנים רחמנו) because we have no right to ask or expect it.  Notice also how the son’s רחמנו is immediate while the slave’s עד שתחננו is delayed and future oriented (until you will grace us).  In our presentation as slaves, we can ask for nothing, because nothing is deserved and we have nothing coming to us.  Our embarrassed gaze simply hangs towards G-d, in shame and with no claim, until he provides us his undeserved grace. אליך נשאתי את עיני… הנה, כעיני עבדים אל יד אדוניהם, כעיני שפחה אל יד גברתה, כן עינינו אל ה’ אלהינו עד שיחננו (Tehilim 123).

We are both your child and your creation.  The case of the child is hopeful, looking towards his father’s mercy, while the case of the slave is hopeless, with nothing to confidently depend upon, except to beseech the master.

אם כבנים רחמנו כרחם אב על בנים, ואם כעבדים עינינו לך תלויות… עד שתחננו

ותוציא כאור משפטנו

In its simplest reading (and particularly in נוסח ספרד, which reads ותוציא לאור משפטנו), the phrase means, “Present for us a positive judgement”, or “judge us favorably”.  The wording has its source in Tehilim 37 והוציא כאור צדקך ומשפטך כצהרים – “He will express as light your righteousness, and your [good] judgement as the mid-day”.  The sentence is Tehilim, when read in the context of its surrounding verses, says that, firstly, when you follow G-d’s ways, that path will enable your positive behavior and attributes to be expressed to the world, and secondly, they will express themselves through G-d in a way that will benefit you positively. (The surrounding verses, for full context, read, אל תתחר במרעים אל תקנא בעשי עולה. כי כחציר מהרה ימלו וכירק דשא יבולון. בטח בה ועשה טוב שכן ארץ ורעה אמונה. והתענג על ה’ ויתן לך משאלות לבך. גול על ה’ דרכך ובטח עליו והוא יעשה. והוציא כאור צדקך ומשפטך כצהרים.  דום לה’ והתחולל לו.)

Turning that back around to the piyut we find ourselves asking G-d, not only to simply judge us positively, but more deeply to express and reveal the good that is within us, the righteous משפט that we ourselves express all year – let G-d reveal it and express it back to us on Rosh Hashana, and bring our righteousness and justice to light, and see and express the good that is within us.

A third reading of ותוציא כאור משפטנו, based on the same set of verses in Tehilim 37, is that since as slaves we have no right or claim to G-d’s good judgement, and all we can do is simply hang our eyes and look to G-d and hope – when we do that, that is sufficient to have G-d bring to light our righteous judgement, גול על ה’ דרכך ובטח עליו והוא יעשה. והוציא כאור צדקך ומשפטך כצהרים – by the act of hanging onto G-d and throwing our lot and entrusting our judgement to him, we bring about his good judgement onto us – עינינו לך תלויות עד שתחננו ותוציא כאור משפטנו – we look to you as a servant to their master – and for that alone, תחננו ותוציא כאור משפטנו, bring to light our judgement.

איום קדוש

How awesome, great and holy!

עלי שיר: Poetic Allusions, Alliterations and Constructs

Some additional points relating to the poetic aspects and expressions of the piyut:

1. It immediately brings into focus, on the very first two lines, the two main themes of the day – creation and judgement.
2. The word הרת also brings to mind the words רתת ,הרס and הס – the latter as in וה’ בהיכל קדשו הס מפניו כל הארץ in חבקוק ב – all of which serve alliteratively to impress upon our mind the awe and dread of the day.
3. The repetition of the word אִם, אִם, אִם brings to mind cries of אֵם, אֵם, אֵם – mother, mother; and together with רחמנו and כרחם (in addition of course to the lead-in הרת) representing רֶחֶם, give voice to maternal instincts of רחמים.
4. Most wonderfully, if you read the poem with the pronunciation and meter of ancient Hebrew, the way it would have likely been chanted by early congregations, you’ll notice that the meter of the verse lilts and lulls quite rhythmically and evenly until hitting the word תלויות , at which point the meter is chopped off, sounding at an uneven kilter and creating a break in the meter flow, almost as if hitting a cliff – and then the original meter returns for the rest of the poem through the ending. Now, once you notice this, read and listen again even more closely, and you’ll hear a similar, but smaller and less prominent break, at the words אם כבנים אם כעבדים.
5. Lovers of ancient piyut will no doubt know that many piyutim (and even parts of Tanach) were written with geometric configurations, with parts of the poem setting off or mirroring other parts in structural patterns. היום הרת is no exception, and is entirely marvelous:

היום הרת עולם                                                                                                               איום קדוש

היום יעמיד במשפט                                                                              ותוציא לאור משפטנו

כל יצורי עולמים                                                                     עד שתחננו

אם כבנים אם כעבדים                                       עינינו לך תלויות

אם כבנים                       ואם כעבדים

רחמנו כרחם אב על בנים

The top line at both ends represents the awesome day.  (Notice the juxtaposition of the very similar words היום and איום – there are also old versions of the piyut that read היום קדוש – see המנהיג and שבלי הלקט).  We descend and enter into the poem with the awareness of the day’s awesome moment, and then the poem itself impresses upon us G-d’s and day’s awesome holiness, and we leave with that impression imprinted upon us.

The second line on both sides is the concept of justice, descending into and standing facing justice, and then emerging with justice.

The third line represents G-d’s free-flowing grace, in creation and in granting us today his goodness.

The fourth line presents the tension and uncertainty of אם כבנים אם כעבדים on the one hand, and עינינו לך תלויות on the other (Note also above the second explanation above of אם כבנים אם כעבדים, עינינו לך תלויות – we are also תלוי as to whether a בן or an עבד).

The fifth line is the juxtaposition of sons and slaves, a central theme of the entire poem.

And finally, the sixth line fills with the central role of G-d’s mercy.

6. An alternative configuration of the middle section into a precise mirror image is:

אם כעבדים                                      ואם כעבדים

אם כבנים                    אב על בנים

רחמנו        כרחם

Using this arrangement for the middle requires us to arrange the rest of the piyut differently, potentially as follows:

קדוש

היום                              היום

            הרת עולם                      ותוציא לאור משפטנו

היום יעמיד במשפט         עד שתחננו

כל יצורי עולמים              תלויות

אם כבנים                      עינינו לך

I excluded קדוש from this arrangement because it’s the lead-out from the piyut and also because it refers to G-d in this reading (“and bring to favorable light our judgement today, Holy G-d”), and I utilized early versions of the piyut where היום is referenced at the end instead of איום (see for example שבלי הלקט).  The middle portions on either side are not mirror images now, but complement each other with respect to meaning.

7. Lastly, עינינו לך תלויות, ותוציא לאור משפטנו: At the time of creation, just prior to יצירת עולם, creation is hanging (תולה ארץ על בלימה), and G-d exists alone, and then G-d brings forth אור.  This parallels “our eyes are תולה to You, until You bring forth like אור our judgement…” (I admit this one is a stretch!)

So many ideas and layers of meaning, and so much beauty – all in only 32 words!