The Privilege of Pinchas (Pinchas #1)

For his great act of zealotry, Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aaron the Kohain was rewarded with both a bris shalom (covenant of peace) and inheritable kahuna (he and his offspring were now part of the priesthood). Pinchas was the only descendant of Aaron that was born before Aaron and his sons were anointed as kohanim, thus making him the only Aaronite who was not a kohain. Reviewing this parsha and this commentary in particular led me to a question: Would the reward have been the same if Pinchas had not been a descendant of Aaron?

To understand the question, let me first present a brief review of the priesthood. Initially, the firstborn of Israel were meant to form the priesthood. However, one of the repercussions of the incident of the Golden Calf was that the firstborn lost that mandate. It was given, instead, to the Levites, who not only refrained from participating in the Golden Calf but who zealously responded when Moshe declared “Whosoever is on God’s side, let him come to me” (Exodus 32:26). Later, God specified the kahuna to Aaron and his sons and all that would be born to them.

Zealotry, passion, seems to be a necessary factor in attaining the priesthood, at least in the original generations. Yet one must ask, could Pinchas have been given a place in the priesthood if he had been a zealous man from any tribe other than a Levi and if he hadn’t been a descendant of Aaron?

It must have been hard growing up as the one Aaronite who wasn’t going to be a kohain. First there was all the fanfare around the dedication of the priests and then there was the necessarily detailed training of the upcoming generation. By the time Pinchas’ father took over the role of Kohain Gadol, were some of Pinchas’ young cousins already starting to serve in the Mishkan? How must Pinchas have felt during Korach’s rebellion, when so much of the argument seemed to revolve around the “special treatment” of his family?

These reflections on Pinchas’ state of mind are significant because it makes it easy to understand why his intentions might have been misunderstood - why anyone could have dared to have thought “Have you seen this grandson of Puti, the father of whose mother used to fatten calves for idolatry (referring to his other grandfather, Yitro!), and he has dared to slay a prince of one of Israel’s tribes!” (Rashi, citing Sanhedrin 82b).  The commentaries explain that God’s statement that “Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aaron Hakohain has turned back My wrath from the Israelites by displaying among them his passion for Me…” was a Divine intervention to make certain that no one doubted the purity of Pinchas’ zealotry.

What else could they have thought? With a background like Pinchas, they could easily have suspected him of being a man out to prove his worth. He could very well have been misunderstood as an outcast who had no definite place. Nechama Leibowitz noted that the sages were ready to excommunicate him, as she cites from the Torah Temimah (Rabbi Baruch Epstein):

“Such a deed must be animated by a genuine, unadulterated spirit of zeal to advance the glory of God. In this case, who can tell whether the perpetrator is not really prompted by some selfish motive, maintaining that he is doing it for the sake of God, when he has actually committed murder? That was why the Sages wished to excommunicate Pinchas, had not the Holy Spirit testified that his zeal for God was genuine. “

One could say Pinchas came by his passionate nature honestly. After all, this was a known character trait of his great-great grandfather, Levi. Some commentaries even suggest that this is one reason for the Torah mentioning that Zimri, the man whom Pinchas slew, was a prince of the tribe of Shimon. Shimon and Levi started out as a pair of zealous brothers willing to decimate Shechem after the immoral treatment of their sister Dinah. Levi, however, took that fire and passion and, over time, transformed it into a zealotry for God. The tribe of Shimon, thousands of whom died for their sins at Baal Peor, remained passionate people who never fully channelled that energy in the right direction. (Idea from the Tzena U’rena).

The factors of Pinchas’ life – being born before the kahuna, being born with the passion of a Levite, being a student and nephew of Moshe, and, even, perhaps, being just a tad bit of an outsider – were all important factors in Pinchas’ ability to be a true zealot.

It is written in the commentary of Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch:

Until now, Pinchas did not bear the character of a priest. But just like the tribe of Levi by their coming to the fore at the Golden Calf attained the rank of “Levites,” which made them worthy of their then being expressly chosen, so did Pinchas by his rescuing deed…truly act as a kohain, showing the way, and achieved the atoning devotion which the avodah of the priests in the Sanctuary symbolically performed.”

One further interesting note. In this week’s parsha, Pinchas is also granted a Bris Shalom, about which Nechama Leibowitz quotes the Netziv:

In reward for turning away the wrath of the Holy One, blessed be He, He blessed him with the attribute of peace, that he should not be quick tempered or angry. Since It was only natural that such a deed as Pinchas’ should leave in his heart an intense emotional unrest afterward, the Divine blessing was designed to cope with this situation and promised peace and tranquility of soul.

Had someone else other than Pinchas done such a deed they would probably have received a different reward. But as that is true, it must also be stated that the very factors that made it the right reward for him are the factors that led him to be the man that he was. 

No Cuddles with Cozbi (Pinchas #2)

The Torah in this week’s parsha (Pinchas) seems to go out of its way, after the conclusion of the story of Pinchas, to go back and name the man and the woman who were slain by Pinchas for their immoral behavior. Zimri, we are told by Rashi, deserves to be named because “Wherever it gives the genealogy of a good man in his praise, it gives the genealogy of a bad man mentioned in the same story to disparage him” (Midrash Tanchuma, Pinchas 2).

But what of “Cozbi bat Zur, the tribal head of an ancestral house in Midian”? So few women are mentioned by name in the Torah, one must wonder why she merits to have her name included. Most commentators stress that this is significant because she was a princess, and this informs us that the Midianites were even willing to push their princesses into lascivious behavior.

Cozbi is actually an interesting name. Perhaps, that there is more to know about her through her name, at least through the name used for her in the parsha, since the sages note that “Her name was not Cozbi, but Shvileni. Why was she called Cozbi? Because she was false to her father”

Jewish tradition loves word play, so what happens when one begins playing with the name Cozbi - כזבי Isn’t it interesting how similar, especially in script, the word כזבי is to the word כלבי C’lavi, like my heart. Cozbi came and made overtures at the Israelite men, offering them intimacy without heart. It was therefore more interesting when I realized that the central part of Cozbi’s name is zav, a word that refers to a state of ritual impurity arising from abnormal male discharge.

When I first started this line of thought, my brain was seen the zayin vais and thinking zev, wolf (which is really zayin-aleph-vais). That was Cozbi, a “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” a shockingly beautiful woman who came to lead men on with no involvement of her heart. 

Bad Choice Warning System (Balak)

I had a not very profound thought as I was reading this week’s parsha, Parashat Balak. Here it is: I want a donkey like Balaam’s donkey!

Ok I don’t really want a donkey – I don’t think Outremont, my municipality within Montreal, would allow that sort of pet. But I would certainly love an app like Balaam’s donkey. It could be known as a bad choice early warning detection system. Let’s be honest, most of us spend at least some time in our lives thinking about whether certain events are meant to be a message. Late for that flight that seemed critical ... maybe it's a message that God doesn’t want me at that meeting or maybe it’s a sign that I need to learn better time management…hmmm. But really, what most people want is for a direct sign, something obvious and in-your-face. Like Balaam’s talking donkey.

It is easy to read the parsha and wonder why Balaam was so oblivious? (It’s so good to be the reader and know things he doesn’t know!) God had made it pretty clear that He wasn’t terribly supportive of Balaam’s new employer and the job for which he was hired. When the donkey strayed from her path not once, but multiple times, perhaps something should have clicked in Balaam’s mind. But really, it is human nature to ignore things we don’t want to be true, to turn away from things that appear to be leading us away from our self-defined goals.

Balaam’s talking donkey has always been a rather perplexing set of verses. Blasphemous as it may sound, it reads like a children’s story since, duh, animals don’t talk. The snake in Bereishis ... ok, that was way back at the beginning of the world, but by Balaam’s time the distinction between talking humans and animals was pretty clear. And since God is omniscient, why would He want this little section recorded in this way, knowing, as He must, that such fable-like verses could be used to scorn the Torah in an age where faith is often under fire?

Since there must be a lesson to take from the inclusion of Balaam’s talking donkey, perhaps what we can learn here are two sides of the same coin. Don’t be a Balaam and get angry at the messenger rather than absorb the message. And, at the same time, be a donkey and try to say something if you worry that a friend is involved in something that is certain to lead to their inevitable downfall.

For all that Balaam refused to turn away from the task of cursing Bnei Yisrael, even when Divine deterants were thrown at him, he failed in his mission. The path that God wants will always prevail, it just becomes a question of the cost to those who go with His flow or those who go with their own.

Death, The Ultimate Chok (Chukas)

When discussing this week’s pasha, Parshas Chukas, most people focus on the idea of a chok – a mitzvah that is beyond our ability to reason out – and, specifically, the actual chok of the para aduma, the pure red heifer sacrificed and burned so that its ashes can be used in the ritual of purification for anyone who has been in contact with a corpse. The human relationship to death is a funny thing, and that might really be one of the essential messages of this week’s parsha. 

Although the parsha begins with a detailed description of the para aduma, it is not until the 11^th verse of the first chapter that the use of the heifer’s ashes begins to be revealed: “He that touches a dead body of any human soul becomes impure (the common, not so great, translation of tamei) for seven days” (Bamidbar 19:11). It is not just touching a dead body that renders one impure, but, as the continuing verses explain:  “When a person dies in a tent, all that comes into the tent and all that is in the tent, shall be impure for seven days…and every thing that touches one that is slain with a sword in the open fields, or a dead body,  or a human bone, or a grave, shall be unfit for seven days” (19:14 and 16).

The seven days it takes to regain purity are days in which a person comes to terms with the reality of mortality, just as the seven days of shiva are days when a mourner is given time to begin dealing with the emotions of loss. Most people are familiar with concept that there are different stages of mourning, or, perhaps, different ways in which people mourn. Parshas Chukas goes on to demonstrate that.

The most obvious emotion in dealing with death is grief. One expects tears to be shed after the announcement of a passing, and so it was for the Children of Israel when they were told of Aaron’s death. “And when all the congregation saw that Aaron was dead, they wept for 30 days, the whole house of Israel” (20:29).

The reaction of the Israelites to the death of Aaron seems expected, until one compares it to the description of the death of Miriam at the beginning of the very same chapter. “The Children of Israel, the whole congregation, came into the Desert of Zin in the first month, and the people settled down in Kadesh. And Miriam died there and was buried there. And there was no water for the congregation, and they gathered themselves against Moshe and Aaron” (20:1-2). It seems the people mourned Miriam with anger, one of the emotions commonly noted as an early stage of mourning.

One might assume that the recording of the tears shed for Aaron demonstrates that the people were more distressed at his loss than they were when Miriam died. More accurately, they were differently distressed. As the High Priests and the brother of Moshe, Aaron was a very public figure. He was also known as a leader who went out among the people and actively sought to bring peace between those who were in strife. The people could articulate what it was that they lost when Aaron passed away. (Also, whereas Miriam’s death appears to be natural, Aaron was called forth one day, taken to a mountain with his son and successor and with Moshe, and did not return.)

“Rav Zalman Sorotzkin (1881-1966) explains that the pasuk immediately following Miriam’s death that ‘…there was no water for the congregation’ (20:2) hints at the fact that not only was there no water to drink, but there was also no water in the eyes of Bnei Yisrael; there was no shedding of tears.*”

Miriam’s impact on the lives of the Israelites was far less tangible than Aaron’s was. It was in Miriam’s merit that they had potable water, but the well represented something far greater, the importance of the subtle person in the background looking out for the greater good. Miriam was, even as she aged, the strong-hearted lass who stood hidden in the reeds to make certain her baby brother was safe but had the courage to approach an Egyptian princess to ensure that he would be properly cared for. Like the miraculous water that flowed from the rock, Miriam was a source of constant, steady, and understated leadership. Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch refers to it as her “quiet, unobtrusive work for the moral future of the people.” Perhaps that is one of her connections to water, which has no flavor but is essential to life. Because Miriam was a public figure only when necessary, her death did not bring on the collective, cathartic mourning as did Aaron’s passing. Instead, it led to anxiety, which drove the people to gather themselves against Moshe and Aaron. The people needed an outlet for the grief they may not even have known they felt, and they expressed their sense of loss and confusion by complaining.

Rav Hirsch notes within his commentary on 20:1 that “probably it is not for nothing that this chapter, which records so curtly and simply, the deaths of Miriam and Aaron, is preceded by the great para aduma chapter…” So what is the connection? Perhaps it goes back to the very concept of a chok, a law for which no one can not truly provide a reason. Perhaps Parshas Chukas focuses on the method for purifying those made impure by the presence of death because, in reality, the human mind cannot truly understand death. People will always question the mortal fate of those closest to them or those they see as innocents, and, unless they are incredible tzaddikim, they will react with sadness, or anxiety, or anger. In the end, however, a person leaves olam hazeh for one reason, the same reason that the kohanim incur impurity in order to mix and sprinkle the ashes of the para aduma – because that is the decree of the One Who rules the World.

* https://www.shortvort.com/2733/

Watch Out For The Politics of “Fair” (Korach)

Over the course of the last several Presidencies, there have been ongoing discussions about the divided state of America’s political system. Commentators from both sides of the political spectrum bemoan the severe split of partisan politics. It is truly troubling how one feels forced to choose the right or the left, since the moderate middle seems muted in the race for public opinion – a problem that feels like it is troubling democracies around the world. And here we go again…on the precipice of another election year…the cycle of which has already begun far in advance as the politicians are already taking the stands.

Believing politicians is a recipe for disappointment, and there is a warning for this alluded to in the Torah. This is the modern-day message of the story of Korach. In quick summary: Korach the Levite, cousin of Moshe and Aaron, instigated a protest against their leadership. He was joined by two known troublemakers, Datham and Aviram, and their fellow tribesman, On. Eventually, Korach came against Moshe with 250 followers. The protestors declared that Moshe and Aaron “take too much for yourselves, for the whole community, every one of them, is holy and God is in their midst. Why do you raise yourselves above the congregation of God?” (16:3). Moshe tells these men to return the next morning to offer incense and to see what God’s response to their protest would be. In the meantime, Korach tried to rally more people to his side, while Moshe tried to get them to desist from their actions. In the morning, the earth swallowed Korach, Datham, and Aviram and all that was theirs; a fire consumed the 250 men who had remained with Korach. The subtext of the story, as explained by the oral tradition, is that Korach was upset that he had not been appointed High Priest. He spoke of equality in holiness and fairness among all people to persuade others to protest the leadership of Moshe and Aaron. There are a few verses at the beginning of the parsha that seemed interesting to me, particularly in light of the current political climate. Most significant of all was the very first sentence…Vayikach Korach, which most literally translates to, “And Korach the son of Izhar, the son of Kahath, the son of Levi, TOOK Dathan and Aviram, the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, sons of Reuben” (16:1). To take is a very active verb. He wasn’t casually mentioning his issues to them and they empathized. There is an implication here that he went to them to bring them on to his cause. Korach knew their reputation and he sought them out anyway. 16:2 says, in English, “And they got up in front of Moshe, and 250 men from Bnei Israel” … In the grammar of the verse these are two separate phrases. Korach and his colleagues got themselves up in front of the national leader, making themselves particularly noticeable and lending credence to their leadership so that they gained the support of these 250 men. 16:3 V’y’kahalu ahl Moshe v’ahl Aaron…. And they gathered themselves together against Moshe and against Aaron. V’y’kahalu implies a level of connection among the protestors. They were no longer an assorted rabble but had decided to stand as a united community. But the kehillah was united under the false premise that their leader wanted fairness. Really, he wanted something unattainable: fair equality. Why is this unattainable? Because fair equality is not a Torah concept in the modern understanding. God commanded a system of “castes” so to speak. He said these shall be the priests, and these shall be their assistants. The leadership was ordained to be from the Tribe of Yehuda, etc. God told Moses to appoint Aaron and his sons as High Priest, for Aaron had acted in this role since the days in Egypt. Fair is a human measurement. Hashem designed the world with judgement and mercy, not fairness. If everyone were equally endowed no one would succeed because no one would be able to stand out in their own fields. Yet Korach made it a point to stress that God had declared every member of Bnei Yisrael holy. If Korach truly believed in a Divine appointment of kedusha, his ego should have no trouble accepting God’s appointment of Moshe and Aaron to their leadership roles.

And Moshe demonstrated his leadership in an exemplary manner. Had he been a man in a role of leadership for his own glorification, he might have gotten angry. Instead, his reaction recorded in the Torah is that he listened. He got frustrated with their argument, but he listened. Indeed, his reaction is almost of shock and indignation as he points out that Korach already had an elevated role as a leader of a Levite clan. Moshe even tried to talk to Dathan and Aviram separately, to try to understand why they were rising up. Their response is informative: “We will not come up. Is it not enough that you brought us from a land flowing with milk and honey to have us die in the wilderness, that you would also lord it over us? Even if you had brought us to a land flowing with milk and honey, and given us possession of fields and vineyards, should you gouge out those men’s eyes? We will not come!” (16:12-14). Moshe wanted to hear what the real problem was, and instead he was fed the same rally of complaints he had heard at each difficulty in the wilderness. These men were willing to join in any protest. Korach’s goals were for himself, not for the general people. Datham and Aviram were, in today’s lingo, professional agitators. When God came to pass judgement, He told Moshe to tell the rest of the people who had gathered to “Get yourselves up from about the dwelling place of Korach, Dathan, and Aviram.” (16:25). Then the terrible consequences of their actions were made clear. We do not live in an age of open miracles. No parcel of land is going to open up and swallow the leaders who speak from both sides of their mouths. And so we must work hard, particularly in this impending period before an election, to understand the true motivations of the people who make grand statements of fairness and equality. Look deep, think hard, and try to find the real leaders in the land.