A Thought on Parshas Nitavim

"...v'atah tashuv..." "...and you will return to HaShem..." (30:8) As we have seen in the last few parshios, ibn Shu'aib has taken a far more homiletic approach as we near the close of Sefer Devarim. He makes note of this as he references the upcoming Days of Repentance and the New Year season. The concept of teshuva is an important one. It is hinted at in a few places within our Torah reading, and it is a topic which requires analysis and understanding. It is relevant to us, and is also of conceptual complexity as a theological and a psychological process. How is it that people err, regret, repent and then seem to propel themselves in an inspired direction to make spiritual and interpersonal changes? How does that work? What are the internal dynamics as well as the cosmic mechanisms that allow motivated change to reverse Divine decrees and alter personal status? ibn Shu'aib addresses a number of these matters, and we will explore one of his ideas. He cites the adage made familiar by Chazal, "in the place where the penitent stands, the thoroughly righteous cannot stand." (Brachos 34b). Generally, this is interpreted as meaning that the ba'al teshuva can attain heights which even those who have led a lifetime of loyal devotion can never reach. However, we have other sources which depict the value of, say, the prayers of the life-long observant as exceeding those of the recently-returned Jew. ibn Shu'aib reviews some different views about this adage, some of which he finds in the writings of the Rambam. He asserts that there are two major approaches, that of the philosophers, and that of the Sages. He suggests that one can find scriptural support for both views. The philosophers contend that righteous people are of a different breed. By dedicating themselves to a life of piety for the sake of serving HaShem, they integrate their human urges and conflicts within their spiritual character and are no longer plagued by "the yetzer" which challenges the average person. These philosophers disagree with the adage and believe that the highest spiritual attainment is made by the life-long pious, not by the struggling penitent who is haunted by the temptation of past experience and lurking passion. The Sages, who coined the adage, view this very differently. They posit that the more one struggles, and emerges victorious, the greater is his or her reward. The more victorious one is, the more he must struggle with "yetzer." Hence, the yetzer grows in concert with our victories, and the struggles of the successful penitent increase with each stride. This is in contrast with the pious-for-life who may have much less passion because they have tasted far less temptation. Hence, the growth-bound ba'al teshuva surpasses the "sheltered" ones by virtue of his exponential rewards and accomplishments. ibn Shu'aib notes that the Rambam has written that of the two approaches, he actually favors the mechanistic view of the philosophers. The greatest people are those who have avoided sin, and their attainments are far beyond those who have not led fuller lives of spiritual fulfillment. So, what did our Sages mean about "the place where the penitent stands is beyond that of the fully righteous"? ibn Shu'aib explains that the adage is not about the penitent himself; a tzadik's spiritual achievements are loftier than those of the ba'al teshuva. The adage is about "the place." A ba'al teshuva may have subdued his yetzer, but above, there are accounts to be settled because of his prior misdeeds and errors. He has "spiritual adversaries" whose plan is to take his soul to task for the things which he committed before "becoming religious." From the standpoint of "middas ha'din" - the Divine attribute of Justice, he is really in trouble! So what happens to the ba'al teshuva? What is his fate? ibn Shu'aib writes that the middas ha'rachamim, the Divine attribute of Mercy, protects this person's soul by beckoning him to the very Kisae HaKavod - the Throne of Glory. It is as if he is a commoner who once defied the king. The palace guards and the king's servants despise the person, and are actually out to get him. He runs to the king, admitting his error, pledges his loyalty henceforth, and moves so close to the throne that no one can get him, and no one will make a move against him in that he is positioning himself so close to the king. This is what our Sages intend when they observe that "the place" where the penitent stands is out of reach when the pious ones look at his past with judgmental disapproval. They are not necessarily wrong in this stance. But, they cannot condemn him once HaShem Himself has accepted the person's teshuva. May the coming Shabbos and the Days of Din, and Teshuva, beckon to us and welcome our decision to return. D Fox

A Thought on Parshas Shoftim

"...el nachal eisan..." "...to a harsh valley..." "...to a rushing stream..." (21:4) The Torah introduces the ritual of Egla Arufa - the red heifer - which is brought in the aftermath of discovering a human corpse but having no suspect or culprit. After a number of steps, the heifer is killed in the harsh valley (or rushing stream). You may have noticed that I have offered two English translations for the expression nachal eisan. In the Holy Tongue of Hebrew, a nachal can be either a valley, or a stream. The adjective eisan usually means something strong, so if it is modifying the noun "valley", it becomes 'harsh valley', since the term strong valley would not make much sense. If it is modifying the noun stream, then a 'strong' stream would be a 'rushing stream'. There is actually a disagreement among the Rishonim as to what this Biblical nachal eisan was. Rashi and virtually all of the other Rishonim view it as a harsh valley where nothing flourishes. That is where the heifer is axed and placed. However, the Rambam stands alone among almost everyone else and translates the term "a mighty or rushing stream." It is quite intriguing that they argue about a historical fact, albeit one which has been obscured over the many centuries. Other than philological grounds, what might be the basis for this significant debate? The first image is one of a dry, barren plot of land, whereas the second image is one of a wet, wild river. ibn Shu'aib helps us here. He suggests that both approaches actually agree to a degree, namely, that this is a valley, or arroyo, which at times has a stream coursing through it. We do know that once the egla arufa is killed in that place, the area may no longer be used for anything. It cannot be farmed or settled. It becomes an off-limits memorial to the tragedy which happened nearby. Now, we understand from our Sages that the Torah orders the entire surrounding community to prepare for the egla arufa ceremony, in the hope that everyone who might know facts will come forth and help find the killer (and thus avoid having to do the ritual). Part of the motivation to help find that killer is to protect that valley from becoming off limits. Now, if it is a harsh, barren area, per Rashi, it cannot be used for anything anyway, so what kind of motivation is there to save it? The answer is that sometimes that valley is flooded by a rushing river (which we know can happen in dry desert gullies), at which point the valley becomes a temporary water source to help irrigate local farms. So, nobody wants to risk loosing a potential reservoir, so they will all come forth to hunt for the killer and spare the valley. The failure to do so means that the ritual will go ahead, the area will be taboo, and the message will be driven home that the potential of leading a good life was forever taken from the victim, just as the potential to ever use this area has now been ruined. This is the deeper meaning of doing the ritual in a dry valley close to a river. ibn Shu'aib then suggests that the Rambam views the deeper meaning here not from the standpoint of the valley, but from the standpoint of the actual river that sometimes flows through it. The egla arufa is axed not in the ground of the valley, but in the water flowing nearby. This way, there will be no trace left of the atoning ritual, as the waters sweep the remains away. ibn Shu'aib suggests that a reason for this is to show that those people who sought symbolic atonement for the death of that unknown stranger, who had passed through their midst, needed to feel that whatever error of negligence might have led to his murder would now be corrected forevermore. No more would they overlook the lonesome stranger and no more would they become implicated in tragic wrongdoings. An earlier example of this, writes ibn Shu'aib, is when Moshe (Shmos 32:20) pulverized the egel ha'zahav and then scattered its remains over the waters - al panei ha'mayim. When that episode is reviewed in Devarim (9:20), instead of using the word "mayim", Moshe says nachal, just as does our verse. This supports the view of the Rambam that the nachal eisan is the rushing stream. Water is a medium for removing filth and refuse. So, according to the "valley" approach, the death of the stranger will be remembered forever as we avoid using the land. According to the "stream" approach, our erroneous ways will be forgotten, as the waters wash away all trace of past iniquity Good Shabbos. D Fox