Mashiach and Religious Coercion?

Rambam's classic identification of Mashiach, in Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Melachim 11:4, goes:

ואם יעמוד מלך מבית דוד הוגה בתורה ועוסק במצוות כדוד אביו, כפי תורה שבכתב ושבעל פה, ויכוף כל ישראל לילך בה ולחזק בדקה, וילחם מלחמות ד', הרי זה בחזקת שהוא משיח

Which I would translate into English as:

 

Should a king arise from the house of David, who will study Torah and perform mitzvot as did David his ancestor, following the written and spoken Torah, and should he compel all of Israel to walk in its ways and strengthen it, and should he fight the wars of G-d, then it may be assumed that he is Mashiach.

So here is my question: What does "compel" mean? What did it mean for Rambam, and what does it mean for us? What do we expect to happen tomorrow, when Mashiach comes?

We want Mashiach whenever

A thought for Parshat Vayechi...

On his deathbed, the patriarch - son and grandson of men who knew the Almighty intimately, of women whose insight mirrored the Divine plan - pledged to entrust to his children the secrets of the universe. With little strength or time remaining, Yaakov summoned his children and intoned, "Gather, and I will tell you what will befall you in the end of days." Then, abruptly, the ancient sage altered his focus, speaking more neutrally, "Gather, listen, sons of Yaakov, and pay heed to your father Yisrael." (Bereishit 49:1-2) He continued to convey blessings, but spoke no more of the end of days.

Commentators offer a range of approaches to explain why Yaakov changed his plans, but perhaps we might offer our own answer by first asking a fundamental question: Why did Yaakov wish to inform his children of the "end of days", at all? What benefit would there be in telling them of the end of a story not to play out for thousands of years? Indeed, informing them could even be hazardous; might they, or their descendants, abandon the book, knowing that they would never live the last page?

Don Isaac Abarbanel suggested that the eternal question of "When will he come?" is rooted in our desire to escape our current suffering. In his Maayanei haYeshuah (1:2), Abarbanel catalogued the history of the Jewish longing to know when the end will come, noting that such figures as King David (Tehillim 74:10), Yeshayah (Yeshayah 6:11), Chavakuk (Chavakuk 1:2), Zecharyah (Zecharyah 1:12) and Daniel sought to know the date of Mashiach's arrival. He then wrote, "How could they not seek the Divine message, the time when He will come and be seen, in order to find tranquility for their spirits, to rest from their struggle, to flee from their trouble?" However, this does not explain how the sons of Yaakov, who knew no suffering in Egypt, would benefit from knowing the circumstances of Mashiach's arrival.

We might answer our question with a closer look at the Jewish view of history. In his work Zakhor, Professor Yosef Haim Yerushalmi noted that the modern study of history clashes with the traditional Jewish approach to studying history. As he put it, "To the degree that this historiography is indeed "modern" and demands to be taken seriously, it must at least functionally repudiate premises that were basic to all Jewish conceptions of history in the past. In effect, it must stand in sharp opposition to its own subject matter, not on this or that detail, but concerning the vital core: the belief that divine providence is not only an ultimate but an active causal factor in Jewish history, and the related belief in the uniqueness of Jewish history itself." In other words, the modern study of history contends that all events in history occur without an underlying plan or purpose. Traditional Judaism, on the other hand, insists that history is a story written by a Hand, progressing according to a specific plan, and with a particular end in mind.

Perhaps this was the understanding of human events that Yaakov intended to convey to his children, as he passed to them the mantle of leadership. The point was not to have them mark down on some millennia-long calendar that Mashiach would come in Tevet 5773. Perhaps the point was for them to understand, as leaders of the Jewish nation, that there is an "end of days" at all, that the events of their lives are invested with purpose. [Indeed, Yosef tried to tell them this himself, insisting that his sale had been according to a plan. Of course, even Yosef ("G-d sent me here to provide food") didn't realize the scope of that plan ("your children will be slaves in a land not their own").]

Nonetheless, G-d determined that Yaakov would not share this vision with his children, and perhaps this decision was motivated by their own welfare. People who are told that their lives and actions have automatic and inherent historical meaning, irrespective of their personal decisions, might abandon themselves to the determinism of Fate. If Mashiach is going to come in Tevet 5773, and my actions in 2255 will automatically play some butterfly's wing of a role in bringing about that ultimate hurricane regardless of my free will, then why should I value my own decisions and choices? Whatever will be, will be! Knowing how the story plays out could yield generations of Jews who would view themselves not as actors, but as acted upon; not as eventual redeemers, but as eventually redeemed. And so Yaakov's mouth is closed, and so King David, Yeshayah, Chavakuk, Zecharyah and Daniel were turned back, as was Don Isaac Abarbanel.

The information is there. The date is known. For us, though, it would be better that we not read the last page of the book; rather, it would be better that we write it.

The Shofar of Rav Kook

[Below, Rav Kook speaks of sleeping in galus. On that theme, see this at Life in Israel, on kosher hot dogs at Seven Eleven in Monsey. The location "makes sense", the reporter says, for "Kosher Heaven". Oy.]

For me, Elul is timed fortuitously. My last Shabbos in the pulpit was Parshas Eikev, and every year, at this time, I feel the pain that came with leaving it. Three years later, I understand the benefits I now have and I am at peace with the move, but I still miss it... until, not long after Parshas Eikev, along comes Elul, and I remember what Elul meant in the rabbinate. And that makes the decision to leave it much easier.

In any case: A week from Monday night, I will present a "yahrtzeit shiur" in memory of Rav Kook, Gd-willing. [Yes, the yahrtzeit is this Monday night, the third of Elul, but the scheduling did not work out.] I'll be looking at a poem which has obvious Elul resonance, titled "Shofar". It was written in 1912/1913, soon after he made aliyah.

In the poem, he puts the return to Israel in terms associated with the ultimate Resurrection of the Dead, and he calls upon the reader to be moved by the visible effects of our exile and catalyze this redemption.

The poem is not particularly "poetic" in the original Hebrew; there is a rhyme, but only a simple meter with abbreviated lines and spare imagery. I think the focus was more about the message than the aesthetics. (Although with Rav Kook's writing, the aesthetics are never far behind.)

Here is the translation I have drafted, followed by the Hebrew. Footnotes to the English refer to the pesukim I believe were his sources for certain phrases:

Ascend to the top of the mountain
and take up the great shofar,¹
and lift your eyes and see
the suffering of the lowly nation.

And blow the great shofar,
tekiah, teruah, shevarim,
and pound with your foot,²
and so the graves will quake.

And these sounds will ascend through passages,³
to the very roots of the souls,
and those who roll will be set into motion
to build up the ruins.

And those who sleep will be roused,
the descendants of the lions,
who play in streams,
and wander in sprinklings.⁴

And those who sleep will awake
from the slumber of the exile,
and those who stray will be roused,
those of uncircumcised ear.⁵

And they will rise and ascend to the land
in which their forebears did reign,
and they will put an end, an abrupt halt,
to the exile in which they had been dispersed.

אֶל ראשׁ הָהָר עַלֵה
וְֹשוֹפָר גָדוֹל קַח
וְשָׂא עֵינֶיךָ וּרְאֵה
עֶנוּת הָעָם הַדָךְ

ובַֹשוֹפָר הַגָדוֹל תְּקַע
תְּקִיעָה תְּרוּעָה וּשְׁבָרִים
וּבְרַגְלְךָ רְקַע
וְיִרְעַֹשוּ הַקְבָרִים

וְהַקוֹלוֹת יַעַלוּ בְּלוּלִים
עַד שָׁרְֹשֵי הַנְֹשָמוֹת
וְיִתְגַלְגְלוּ הַגִילְגוּלִים
לִבְנוֹת אֶת הַֹשְמָמוֹת

וְיִתְעוֹרְרוּ הַנִרְדָמִים
נִינֵי הָאַרָיוֹת
הַמְשַׂחַקִים בִּזְרָמִים
וְֹשוֹגִים בַּהַזָיוֹת

וְיָקִיצוּ הַיְֹשֵנִים
בְּתַרְדֵמַת הַגוֹלָה
וְיֵעוֹרוּ הַזוֹנִים
בַּעַלֵי הָאוֹזֶן הָעַרֵלָה

וְיָקוּמוּ וְיַעַלוּ לָאָרֶץ
שֶׁהוֹרִים בְּקִרְבָּה מָלָכוּ
וְיָשִׂימוּ קֵץ וְקֶרֶץ
לַגָלוּת שֶׁבָּה הוּדָחוּ

[1] This is likely Yeshayah 18:3, but note Shoftim 3:27.
[2] Yechezkel 6:11
[3] Melachim I 6:8
[4] This is an important verse; he uses Hebrew terms which can refer to streams and sprinklings, but can also refer to ideological streams and errors. Rav Kook is referring to Jews who have naively strayed.
[5] Yirmiyah 6:10

Is "wait 'til next year" a good approach?

This morning I spoke about the kinah of אאדה עד חוג שמים – our pursuit of Gd, our approach to others for assistance, the failure of others to assist, and finally our appeal to Divine mercy. Perhaps the best-known line in the kinah is בכל שנה אומרת היא השנה הזאת, the annual declaration, "This is going to be the year."

We are familiar with the accounts of communities which buried their kinos after Tishah b'Av every year. [I have wanted to do this for the past few years, but we are renting, so we don't have a yard…] We know of great leaders who kept packed suitcases by the door, and who saved their finest clothing for the arrival of Mashiach.

And we train ourselves to say "Wait 'til next year." We sing לשנה הבאה בירושלים ("next year in Jerusalem") after Yom Kippur, at the Seder, and on various other occasions. We recite the Ani Maamin saying that we will wait for Mashiach every day. We consider it quasi-heretical to act as though Mashiach isn't coming imminently.

But I wonder if we aren't harming our chances, to a certain extent. Saying "This is going to be the year" suggests that we are a championship-contending team, bounced in the first or second or third round of the playoffs, perhaps missing one or two key pieces in order to get over the hump. Many teams that think they are just one or two pieces away don't make major moves, don't re-examine their conditioning practices and uproot and re-build their drafting policies. They try to maintain their strengths, and add that one more thing.

The result is that teams trick themselves into thinking they are already contenders and go for years with an aging nucleus, disregarding their many flaws, until they collapse. (I would give specific examples, but this post is going up Motzaei Tishah b'Av and I'm not in the mood for that sort of thing.) Teams need to know when it's time to go into re-building mode.

I wonder if our "Next year in Jerusalem" chants and our "This is going to be the year" confidence don't lead us to believe that we are on the cusp, just about there, and therefore not in need of a major overhaul. We treat our beautiful, booming land of Israel, our schools with their unprecedented enrollments, our shuls with their daf yomi programs, our community kollelim, our beautiful mikvaos, our number of children studying in Israel, our kosher food, our anti-lashon hara programs, as evidence that we are strong. If ony we could just add one piece, a little reduction of that pesky sinas chinam, we'd be great.

We are unreasonably optimistic, and we don't uproot everything. We campaign for money for our institutions without asking whether they need a re-boot. We add minyanim without asking whether we are really davening. We build new mikvaos without looking at the emotional health of our families.

I'm rambling and ranting a bit; I apologize. But I can't shake the feeling that instead of putting out videos and making speeches about the one thing we need to change, the one thing to add so that maybe we'll see Mashiach and this will be the last Tishah b'Av, we - each individual Jew, lay and clergy alike - ought to be making a real list, designing a multi-year or multi-decade rebuilding process as individuals and as members of communities, and getting on with it.

The Diaspora Jew

No, I'm not talking about Yitzhak Baer's Galut, but about the way so many Jews – in Israel and outside – naturally live as though tomorrow will be the same as yesterday, as though Diaspora and distance from Gd is the normal state of the Jew.

I've written before about how hard it is to believe in a mashiach; see here, for example. It is hard.

And the difficulty is reinforced by the fact that our yeshivot learn the 'practical', 'relevant' subjects, not Kodashim and Taharos.

And it's reinforced by the fact that we learn Shulchan Aruch which ignores the korban, and not Rambam who includes it.

And it's reinforced by the rabbis who numbly end speeches "and so we should merit mashiach bimheirah biyameinu amen." (I wonder if they daven that mashiach shouldn't come, lest they be stuck for a closing line for their derashos.)

And it's reinforced by the ritualization of our grief, the printing of Three Weeks manuals and Tishah b'Av kinos, the annual programs on-line and on video from many well-meaning teachers of Torah and inspirers of mitzvos.

My barber told me last week that he was scheduling his vacation for Tuesday, knowing that Jews wouldn't be coming in for the next few weeks. Sam Rezzo has absorbed from the Jews that mashiach isn't coming any time soon.

Have you heard the story about the Rav who was such a believer in mashiach that he put down a non-refundable deposit with a caterer to have his daughter's wedding during the Three Weeks, since he was sure mashiach would come tomorrow?

No, because it hasn't happened. We don't do that, we don't even imagine doing it.

And so rabbis who should know better say, "Of course we can't have visible demonstrations of Gd's existence, that would devalue Emunah (faith)," ignoring the fact that we had centuries of visible miracles when the Beit haMikdash stood, and we will again, Gd-willing.

And so we refer to the Beit haMikdash in the past tense, saying things like, "There was a mitzvah to do X when there was a Beit Mikdash" instead of "There is a mitzvah to do X, although right now there is no Beit haMikdash and so we don't do it."

And so we think of Prophecy as an artifact of history, not a normal part of our relationship with the Divine.

At least for these three weeks – until Tishah b'Av arrives as a day of celebration, I pray – I will work on being מצפה לישועה, anticipating redemption. May my prayers be answered positively.

The Rebbe, the Messiah and the Scandal of Orthodox Infallibility

[Warning: Depressing pre-Tisha b'Av post ahead.]

Remember the poem, Moshiach’s Hat, about how Mashiach arrived and no one would believe that he was Mashiach because he didn’t look like them? He had the wrong type of yarmulka, gartel or no gartel, curled payes or not, and so on?

["He's not the Moshiach!" -- Said one with a grin,
"Just look at his hat, -- At the pinches and brim!"
"That's right!" cried another -- With a grimace and frown,
"Whoever heard of Moshiach, -- With a brim that's turned down?"]

In the past I took that as Hallmark mussar, long on sentiment and short on substance. But lately I’ve been re-thinking it, because it has come to seem spot-on.

Before the last Lubavitcher Rebbe's passing, when I was asked what I thought about the question of his Mashiach-hood, my stock answer was, “He has my vote.” After all, the Rambam defines Mashiach, in part, as someone who leads/compels the Jewish people to follow Torah, and I felt he was doing a good job of it.

Maybe it's because in those days, I didn't have enough of a thought-through ideology to feel that my way was right. I don't know, but in the years since then I’ve changed, I think. Not about a hat, necessarily, but about other matters.

Today, what if I would hear about a Breslover who was doing just that, would I give him my vote? Or would I say, “Great man, but for his shtick of handing out books?”

Or if it was a Yeshivish leader who said secular studies were treif?

Or a political left-winger who wanted to exchange land and create a Palestinian state?

Orthodoxy, by definition, demands that I make the correct decisions, that I use the best information at my disposal and the best talents assigned to me to develop the “right” ideology and practice. But that easily leads me into believing that my approach is, in fact, the right approach, when in fact there is a difference between demanding perfection and guaranteeing perfection.

Over the years, I have come to believe, on some level, in my own Orthodox Infallibility, such that I would have difficulty trusting a Mashiach whose platform did not match mine.

This is wrong, and on Erev Tisha b’Av it does not give me a lot of hope.

It happened this Monday... or not? (Derashah: Chukat 5770)

[I wrote the following article for this week's Toronto Torah, and I liked it enough to post it here. Although it's not written as a derashah, I have labelled it that way because it could certainly serve as a foundation for a derashah.]

Some twenty-five hundred years ago this Monday, on the ninth of Tammuz, the walls of Jerusalem were breached by the Babylonians.

Or not.

Yirmiyahu placed the Babylonian invasion on the ninth of Tammuz, declaring (52:6-7), “In the fourth month, the ninth of the month, the famine strengthened in the city and there was no bread for the population. And the city was breached…” The sages (Taanit 28b) were perplexed, since we fast on the 17th of Tammuz, but Rava replied in the Talmud Bavli, “There is no problem; Yirmiyahu spoke regarding the first Beit haMikdash, whereas in the time of the second Beit haMikdash the city was breached on the 17th of Tammuz.” The Tur and Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 549) cited Rava’s view as law, explaining that we fast for the second breach of Jerusalem because the destruction of the second Beit haMikdash is more severe for us.

Notwithstanding Rava’s explanation, the Talmud Yerushalmi (Taanit 4:5) offers a different version of events. This version addresses the conflict between Yirmiyahu and the tradition of fasting on the 17th of Tammuz, as well as the conflict between an indication by Yechezkel (26:1-2) that the first Beit haMikdash was destroyed on the first of Av and our tradition of commemorating the destruction on the ninth of Av. Clarifying this pair of prophetic passages, Rabbi Tanchum bar Chanilai contends that the calendar had become corrupted.

In brief: Rabbi Tanchum bar Chanilai argues that the Beit haMikdash was destroyed on the ninth of Av, and Yechezkel listed it as the first of the month because of “calendar confusion.” He continues to state that the Jews of Bavel knew that twenty-one days had passed between the invasion of Jerusalem and the fall of the Beit haMikdash. Therefore, with the destruction of the Beit haMikdash set as the first of Av, they considered the invasion as having occurred 21 days earlier, on the ninth of Tammuz.

All of the above leads to a simple question: Granted that the beleaguered population might have been confused, why did Yirmiyahu and Yechezkel record inaccurate dates? Can it be that these texts, canonized as prophecy, are simply inaccurate?

Tosafot [Rosh haShanah 18b] averred that yes, the prophets were handcuffed by popular perception. Chatam Sofer, though, writing on the Yerushalmi, contended that the confusion was actually the product of a proactive decision by those prophets to date the churban as the first of Av.

As Chatam Sofer explained, the destruction of the Beit haMikdash fulfilled Eichah 4:22, “The punishment of your sin is concluded.” Once the building was demolished, we entered a new world of consolation and re-birth, and so Yirmiyahu and Yechezkel dated the destruction as the first day of a new month [thereby necessitating the re-dating of the 21-day invasion as the ninth of Tammuz instead of the 17th of Tammuz], and indeed a new era.

Chatam Sofer’s suggestion is stunning in its presumption. Judaism views the calendar as sacrosanct, the very purpose of the creation of the celestial spheres; “He created the moon for the sake of the appointed times,” King David sang, building on Bereishit 1:14. We set our halachic lives by our days and months. Our first national mitzvah was the system of calculating the lunar month. And yet, Yirmiyahu and Yechezkel felt comfortable re-setting the clock, in clear defiance of the physical moon and the halachically infallible justices of the beit din, for the sake of making a philosophical statement about the new era we had entered!

This bold explanation should highlight for us the importance of new beginnings, a point also underscored by the arrangement of our own Tishah b’Av –centered mourning. Whereas normal mourning following a personal loss consists of consecutive, easing levels of grief, our mourning for the Beit haMikdash consists of intensifying levels, building up to Tishah b'Av. Then, immediately after the 10th of Av’s special commemorations end, the mourning ceases entirely and we being building anew. As the Chatam Sofer put it, “A new month, Menachem, begins.” This is a day deserving of the title, “Day One.”

Should Mashiach fail to arrive, we will soon enter the initial stage of mourning, on the talmudically corrected date of the 17th of Tammuz. May the value of our mourning up through Tishah b'Av, and our efforts at consolation in the new era thereafter, merit the rebuilding of our Beit haMikdash.

[For more on the Yerushalmi, see Yalkut Shimoni Melachim 249 and the explanation of Maharal to Rosh haShanah 18b. See also Tosafot Rosh haShanah 18b on the apparent Bavli/Yerushalmi contradiction and the approach of Gevurot Ari to Taanit 28b. And see Maharsha to Taanit 28b for a unique explanation of the calendar confusion.]

The Nine Days, and the challenge of hoping for mashiach and redemption

The Nine Days of intense mourning begin tonight, leading up to Tisha b’Av. As always, at this time of year I grow depressed. I think about how many times I have observed this period, how many times our nation has observed this period, without seeing the geulah (redemption).

It’s a cruel parody of hope, the way we sing “Next year in a rebuilt Yerushalayim (and while I recognize and value what we have, it is not a re-built Yerushalayim; I'm not doing the Nachem debate right now, I've done that elsewhere),” and the way we say to each other in advance of the Three Weeks, “If mashiach hasn’t come by then.”

Over a decade ago I spent time transcribing tapes of Rav Soloveichik’s Tisha b’Av shiurim, and I can hear his voice talking about how communities in Europe buried their kinot books after each Tisha b’Av, declaring that they wouldn’t need those books the following year. The Rav would point out the line in the kinot (mourning prayers of Tisha b’Av), “בכל שנה אומרת היא השנה הזאת,” “Each year she declares: This is the year!”

It’s all too depressing.

My depression comes from two opposite approaches, clobbering me in the middle:

1) I am wowed by the heights that observant Jewry has reached. I agree with those who say that we have reached a stage at which more Jews, in sheer numbers although not in percentage of the nation, are more learned and more carefully observant and more full of chesed, than at any point since the destruction of the beit hamikdash. We have public shiurim and mitzvah campaigns and outreach efforts, and even if they are not enough, is not our motivation sincere and our effort complete, and do we not view effort, rather than achievement, as the essence?

And so I wonder: What more can we do, to deserve that a mashiach-quality leader be sent for us? If we do all of this and still are not worthy, what more can we possibly do?

2) And then, on the other end, I see how flawed we are, how flawed all of us are, everywhere on the spectrum of religiosity. Even those who are most careful about the kashrut of their meat are guilty of lashon hara (harmful speech), even those who are most careful about learning Torah are guilty of sinat chinam (unfounded animosity toward others), even those who are most benevolent toward others are still spending unearthly sums on luxury and working long hours to fund it instead of dedicating their time to Torah. And more Jews, in sheer numbers as well as in percentage of the nation, are more corrupt or farther from Judaism than at any point since the destruction of the beit hamikdash.

These are terrible things to say, I know; the great Yeshayah was punished for saying “כסדם היינו, We were like Sodom.” So I will not compare us to Sdom, but I will say that in my experience, and certainly based on myself, we are, as a nation, far from where we need to be.

And I wonder: How, then, can we be expected to deserve a mashiach-quality leader, and redemption? Is it at all possible, or are we set up to fail?


Which, perhaps, is one reason why the Rambam demanded that we believe in the arrival of Mashiach, “להאמין ולאמת שיבא – to trust in his arrival and to see it as truth.” Working toward being worthy of mashiach is insufficient, because depression is too tempting; we need to believe that we can bring it, that this world can be worthy. If we cannot believe it, we cannot bring it.

We need to believe; we need to hope. But how can I?

My approach: I won’t deny the huge odds, but I will ignore them. I will focus on the immediate job in front of me – this class, this relationship, this page of gemara, this tefillah (prayer). I will plod away, as Jews have for 1941 years. I will focus not on a mega-goal of mashiach, but on a micro-goal of mitzvah.

And I will hope and trust in redemption, that each successive step will bring us one step closer to defying those odds.

Derashah: Bechukotai - The Beauty and the Beast within ourselves

Polar Bears were declared an Endangered Species this past week, presenting a chance to tell the following story:
A man was arrested and taken to court for shooting an endangered bald eagle.
The judge said the man would be jailed unless he had a VERY good excuse.
The man said he would never have done it, but his children hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks, so he killed the bald eagle to feed them. The judge said he'd let the man go with just a warning if he promised he would never kill an endangered species again. The man agreed.
As the man was leaving, the judge stopped him and asked: “Well, what does a bald eagle taste like?”
The man answered: “Well, something like a cross between a California Condor and an Ivory-billed Woodpecker.”


The dodo is gone, the saber-toothed tiger has disappeared… and, according to our parshah, some day soon we might see many more species go extinct. The parshah predicts that when we follow the Torah, we will have peace and plenty in Israel, and והשבתי חיה רעה מן הארץ, HaShem will eliminate wild animals from the land. So what will HaShem do with all of those animals?

In the midrash, R’ Yehudah says מעבירם מן העולם - HaShem will remove them from the world. The UN’s World Conservation Monitoring Centre will be furious, of course, but on the whole, it’s probably better to let Gd deal with the UN anyway.

R’ Shimon, on the other hand, says משביתן שלא יזוקו, HaShem will prevent them from causing harm.

Note that while R’ Yehudah’s view does fit the pasuk’s language of והשבתי better, R’ Shimon’s view matches Yeshayah’s prediction of וגר זאב עם כבש - that the wolf will lie down with the lamb. Per R’ Yehudah, there will be no wolves to lie down with any lambs!


R’ Yehudah and R’ Shimon are relevant to more than the saber-toothed tiger; their two visions, the eradication of evil and the conversion of evil to good, describe two distinct eschatological views regarding the ultimate end of evil in a Messianic age. R’ Yehudah sees the Messianic era as a time when evil will simply be annihilated. R’ Shimon, on the other hand, anticipates reformation, a popular return to beneficence.



Both views, of course, have ample basis in Tanach’s descriptions of our national fate, and the fates of other nations.

• Our parshah presents a tochachah, a warning of punishment to befall the Jews if they stray from the Torah. A second version of this tochachah appears in Parshat Ki Tavo, but with a major difference. Our parshah’s warning ends with repentance, או אז יכנע לבבם הערל, we will be humbled and return to Gd; this is R’ Shimon’s view. The warning in Ki Tavo, on the other hand, ends with the eradication of evil-doers as they are defeated and sold into slavery, full stop. No teshuvah; that’s R’ Yehudah’s take.

• Fast-forward to the city of Nineveh, in the day of Yonah. Yonah warns the population that HaShem is going to punish them - and they repent, and are forgiven. R’ Shimon’s view. But then, a generation or two later, they fall back into sin and the prophet Nachum comes to tell them that this time, they are going to be destroyed. R’ Yehudah’s view.

• Zecharyah, at the start of the second Beit haMikdash, predicts an ultimate messianic time heralded by an apocalyptic war in which one-third of the population will be killed. R’ Yehudah’s view. But Malachi, a generation later, foretells a possibility of והשיב לב אבות על בנים ולב בנים על אבותם, when those who have strayed will become united in teshuvah and in service of HaShem. R’ Shimon’s view.


But R’ Yehudah vs. R’ Shimon is more than an angels-dancing-on-the-head-of-a-pin dialogue about what Gd will or will not do; we may read this as a debate about the basic character of Gd’s Creations - animals and humans alike:

• The possibility of Annihilation means that Good is not eternal, that there is a point when we declare the Good to be dead, when we say Enough. שובו בנים שובבים חוץ מאחר, repentance is a privilege which may be withdrawn.

• Reformation means that there is always an enduring remnant of Good within every being, that we can always return, that the Divine temper can and will bide its time as long as is necessary for us to act on the good within.

Within this debate, we must always opt for the optimistic view of R’ Shimon.


In dealing with community and family, we must choose the optimistic view. Like Beruriah arguing that we should pray for the wicked to repent rather than to disappear, like the Rambam ruling that we must work with even the most recalcitrant students to bring them to the point where they are suited to learn Torah, we must believe in that ultimate good.

• This means we invite back relatives and guests who don’t know how to share control of a conversation, and we try to sensitize them to polite society.

• This means we associate even with people who are insensitive in their language, and hope to help them become more careful.

• This means we continue to offer children, spouses, siblings, another chance. And another. And another.

Please note: I’m not talking about dangerous situations, about accepting back an abusive spouse or otherwise imperiling personal safety. In those cases, giving another chance is generally a terrible mistake. But where personal safety is not in question, we side with R’ Shimon and believe that no person is irredeemable.

As an anonymous man told R’ Elazar b”R’ Shimon in the gemara, “If you think there is something wrong with me, go tell my Creator that He erred.”So long as we are not in personal danger, we take every step to help others redeem themselves.


And there’s another time when we must opt for R’ Shimon: When assessing ourselves, when evaluating the traits we have trouble controlling, the temptations that chip away at our resolve until we surrender. Rather than give up the beast within ourselves as evil, a la R’ Yehudah, we take the view of R’ Shimon and seek out the good, robbing the beast of its fangs by turning these traits in a positive direction.

• __________ gave a great dvar torah at Seudah Shlishis a while back, arguing that lazy people can use their laziness for good: If we’re drawn to an aveirah, we can contemplate how much time and effort it would involve, how comfortable our bed is, and so on, and procrastinate until the opportunity is gone.

• Hyper-critical people? No problem. We can use that trait to identify our own flaws, and to learn from the weaknesses of others and identify them in ourselves.
• Stingy? We can use that trait to motivate ourselves to avoid self-indulgence and extravagance.

R’ Shimon’s approach of finding the good can help us salvage more than personal ego; it can help us act on the positive potential implanted within us.



The Torah follows up its dramatic Tochachah warning with a dry technical discussion about ערך. An ערך is a personal price, a shekel amount assigned to every human being, based solely on age and gender, not righteousness or wealth or family or wisdom or skills. The Torah describes how a person might choose to donate his or someone else’s ערך-amount to the Beit haMikdash.

Don Isaac Abarbanel explained the Torah’s transition from graphic warning to dry legal code: After all of those dire predictions of punishment, we might question ourselves, our legitimacy in the covenant, our value as human beings and Jews. To this the Torah responds - everybody has an ערך, everybody has a value.

Perhaps, one day, HaShem will take the route of R’ Yehudah and eliminate the animal and the animalistic - but we, within our own capacities, apply R’ Shimon’s idea. משביתן שלא יזוקו, we recognize the good and use it to turn the animal - in our neighbors, in our relatives, and in ourselves - to the best.

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Notes:
1. I started out writing an entirely different derashah, about the Conversion Crisis, but I didn't like the way it was coming out, so I turned to this one. Kind of dry, I have to admit. I am into the core idea, though, and it's 3 PM on Friday afternoon.

2. The midrash with R' Yehudah and R' Shimon is in the Sifra to Bechukotai (1:2).

3. Of course, Avraham does exile Yishmael, but this is at Divine decree, so I consider it a justified exception to the rule.

Derashah Emor 5768: I am TOO a Zionist!

[Go see the Israel at 60 Blog Carnival here!]

I spent several years, through college and graduate school, expecting to make aliyah. I picked my graduate program in computer science specifically to help me make aliyah. I chose ultimately to stay in America because of the good I felt I had to do here, but my heart is still in Israel. It’s all I can really focus on in the news. It’s where a good amount of my tzedakah goes. It’s the only place I travel; I can’t bring myself to go anywhere else for a vacation - if I’m going anywhere, it’s Israel.

Which is why I’m always surprised at this time of year when someone inevitably questions my Religious Zionism, based on the fact that I don’t unequivocally declare the State of Israel to be ראשית צמיחת גאולתנו, the first flowering of our redemption, or based on the fact that I only say Hallel on Yom haAtzmaut without a berachah. Apparently, to some people, one is not a Religious Zionist unless he believes that Mashiach has already arrived.

As I see it, Religious Zionism has come in many forms, over the years - but it’s never been about what we say; rather, it’s been about what we do.


One form of Religious Zionism, that which is promoted in the gemara, is the ideal of having Jews live in Israel. Owning land, not owning land, having a state, not having a state, is irrelevant; just live there. As the gemara puts it, a Jew acquires merit just by walking four אמות in Israel, and even by being buried in Israel.

The Sifri goes even further, dismissing Jewish life outside of Israel, saying that HaShem told the Jews when He exiled us, “Even though I am exiling you from the land to live outside of the land, הוו מצויינים במצוות, be marked in mitzvot, so that when you return to the land they will not be new to you.” In other words, mitzvot performed outside of Israel are, more or less, practice for life in Israel.

This is one form of Religious Zionism - a drive to live in Israel.


A second form of Religious Zionism, promoted by Ramban and others, is centered on acquiring land in Israel. Per Ramban, the goal of ציונות דתית, of Religious Zionism, is to resume our ancestors’ presence in the land. We were instructed, “והורשתם את הארץ וישבתם בה, You shall conquer the land and you shall dwell in it,” and so that is our mitzvah.

R’ Yehudah Alkalai, in the 19th century, saw this mitzvah in the actions of Yaakov Avinu, back in Bereishis. Yaakov camped outside the city of Shechem, and he purchased a field. R’ Alkalai asked: Yaakov never intended to remain in Shechem long-term, he was on his way home to see his father! Why did he purchase a field?

R’ Alkalai explained that this was a case of מעשה אבות סימן לבנים, our ancestors acting out a lesson for us. Yaakov purchased the field in order to teach us about a second form of Religious Zionism: a drive to acquire Israel.


And then there is a third, stronger form of Religious Zionism, which was powerfully promoted by R’ Yehudah Alkalai in the 19th century and R’ Yissachar Techtel in the Warsaw Ghetto during the Holocaust. In this view, Religious Zionism is about laying the groundwork for Mashiach in Israel, by bringing large numbers of Jews to the land.

R’ Yehudah Alkalai argued that this vision of bringing Mashiach by creating communities in Israel is only logical. After all, as he put it, we daven every day ותחזינה עינינו בשובך לציון ברחמים, HaShem, may we see You return mercifully to Tzion, but if Tzion is only rocks and ruins, upon what should HaShem return? We must settle it first!

The Vilna Gaon seemed to hint to this in the 18th century, when he wrote in קול התור that if 600,000 Jews would return to Israel, that would have a major effect on our redemption.
This is a third view of Religious Zionism - a drive to settle Israel en masse as a means of preparing for Mashiach.


All three of these Religious Zionist visions have one theme in common: Action.
These visions are not about slogans, they are about substance.
These visions are not about labelling a Geulah, they are about earning a Geulah.
These visions are not about saying a berachah on Hallel, they are about making the next Hallel possible.


Zecharyah carried this message to the Jews of his day, some 2400 years ago. It was during construction of the 2nd Beis haMikdash, and the Jews asked Zecharyah, “האבכה, Shall we continue to fast for the Babylonian destruction of the First Beis haMikdash? Or has our period of mourning ended?”

Mefarshim explain that this question was born of frustration with the slow pace of redemption from the Babylonian Exile, גלות בבל. The Persian King Cyrus had permitted us to return to Israel and build the Beis haMikdash anew, but the process had been hampered by Samaritan antagonism as well as Jewish poverty. Those who remembered the glory of the first Beis haMikdash were antsy. They wanted to know: Is this what redemption looks like? Is our suffering truly over, or are we simply in another phase of גלות? Have we, yet, arrived at ראשית צמיחת גאולתנו?

And Zecharyah replied: Stop thinking about labels, and whether this is Geulah or not. Instead, he said, work on correcting the aveiros which preceded the destruction of the first Beis haMikdash, remember the exhortations of my predecessors: “Judge truthfully, and act with generosity and mercy toward each other. Do not cheat the widow, the orphan and the stranger, and do not plot evil against your brother in your hearts.”
Action, not labels of גאולה or non-גאולה.


Fast-forward to our own day, and May 2008, as we celebrate Israel’s sixtieth anniversary of modern statehood. When this new incarnation of a Jewish country was first established, just a few years after the Holocaust, many of us looked upon its birth as a Divine nod of approval, the first sproutings of Messianic redemption. We established Yom haAtzmaut, complete with הלל והודאה, special prayers of thanks and great celebrations.

Over the past sixty years, Israel has succeeded in fulfilling a great deal of its messianic promise. Millions of Jews have been saved from persecution in other countries, such as France, Argentina, Yemen, Ethiopia and the former Soviet Union. Torah is studied there in dozens if not hundreds of institutions. Sites barred to Jews by generations of Arab rulers are now open for all to access. A thriving economy, great universities, a society with civil rights for all of its citizens, a democratically elected government and a free press, all of these have been introduced for the first time in many centuries to a land which had been governed by one despot or another for almost two thousand years, since we were evicted by the Roman empire. In many ways, the past sixty years have seen a great, even messianic, Jewish renaissance in Israel.

But, at the same time, the question of Zecharyah’s era resonates with us. We look at constant warfare, internecine squabbles like the major conversion fight of this past week, political corruption and significant poverty among children and the elderly, and we ask the question of our ancestors: “Shall we continue to fast for the destruction of the Beis haMikdash? Or has our period of mourning ended?” Can we now say ראשית צמיחת גאולתנו?

And I, following the path of great Zionists like Rav Aharon Soloveitchik, would like to forget about the labels. To be a Zionist is to work to live in Israel. To be a Zionist is to work to acquire Israel. To be a Zionist is to work to bring Mashiach by preparing communities in Israel for his arrival. All the rest is semantic puffery.


The gemara records the story of a man who was walking through Yerushalayim wearing clothes of mourning, during the period after the destruction of the Beis haMikdash. Jewish police picked him up and arrested him, releasing him only when they found out he was a leading Talmid Chacham.

Rav Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht, my rosh yeshiva, a great Zionist and winner of the Israel Prize for his role in founding and leading the Hesder Yeshivot, explained the story. He said that wearing clothes of mourning is a show; it doesn’t mean we are doing anything to bring back the Beis haMikdash, to bring Mashiach. To broadcast slogans without substance is empty, and unworthy, and the Jews of the period had no patience for it. It was only when they found out the man was a leader, a Talmid Chacham, someone who was doing something to earn the Beis haMikdash back, that they released him.

May we always make sure that our Zionism is more than just a verbal declaration, a tefillah to say after the Haftorah on Shabbos. Whether we take the gemara’s Zionist view of Jews living in Israel, or Ramban’s view of acquiring Israel, or Rav Alkalai’s view of Jews laying the groundwork for Mashiach by creating communities in Israel, may we always make certain that our Zionism is not semantics, but substance, and so usher in ראשית צמיחת גאולתנו, the first flowering of our redemption.

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Note 1: The Sifri I cited is Sifri Devarim 43. It is echoed in Ramban in several places, such as the end of Sefer Vayyikra.
Note 2: Yes, I know this derashah is very long. But I liked it.