Tag Archives: Halakha

One, Two, or Three Calebs? In Search of the Primordial Torah

‘The Spies With The Grapes Of The Promised Land’ by Nicolas Poussin (1664)

This week’s parasha, Shlach, is famous for the incident of the spies. The Israelites send a representative from each of the Twelve Tribes to scout the Holy Land. Of the twelve spies, ten return with negative reports, faithlessly arguing that the nation will be unable to settle the Holy Land. Only two spies, Joshua from the tribe of Ephraim and Caleb (or Kalev) from the tribe of Judah, present positive reports. This is one reason why, in the future, it will be the tribes of Judah and Ephraim in particular that dominate the land of Israel, each becoming synonymous with its own kingdom—Judah in the south and Ephraim in the north. While the identity of Joshua is relatively clear, the identity of Caleb is quite murky.

The Torah actually speaks of two Calebs. The first is introduced in this week’s parasha: “For the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Yefuneh.” (Numbers 13:6) The second, Caleb the son of Hetzron, appears later in I Chronicles 2:18. The genealogy of the latter Caleb is made explicitly clear: he is a son of Hetzron, the son of Peretz, the son of Judah (through Tamar). The genealogy of the first Caleb, though, is not clear at all. For one, we do not see anyone named Yefuneh from the tribe of Judah. (We do see a person named Yefuneh in I Chronicles 7:38, among a list of descendants of Asher.)

Later, in Numbers 32:12, Caleb is called “Caleb ben Yefuneh HaKenizi [the Kenizzite].” This is how he is referred to several more times in the Tanakh. At first glance, the title is problematic, since the Kenizzites were one of the peoples living in Canaan (or Edom) before Abraham arrived, as we read in Genesis 15:18-21. Caleb is not a Kenizzite in this sense, but rather a descendent of a person named Kenaz. Indeed, we read of Kenaz from the tribe of Judah in I Chronicles 4:13. How Kenaz is descended from Judah is not exactly evident. Kenaz had two sons: Othniel and Seraiah. Yet, we read in the book of Judges (1:13) that Othniel is a brother of Caleb! Two verses later in Chronicles, the text suddenly speaks of “Caleb ben Yefuneh”. Rashi is troubled by this, too, and cites the Talmud (Temurah 16a):

But was Caleb the son of Kenaz? Was he not the son of Yefuneh? The meaning of the word Yefuneh is that he turned [panah] from the counsel of the spies. Still, was [Caleb] the son of Kenaz? Was he not the son of Hetzron, as it says: And Caleb the son of Hetzron begat Azubah? (I Chronicles 2:18) Said Raba: [Caleb] was a stepson of Kenaz. [This can also be proved, since it says: Caleb the son of Yefuneh the Kenezzite, but does not say the son of Kenaz.] A Tanna taught: Othniel is the same as Yabetz. He was called “Othniel” because God answered him [‘ana El], and “Yabetz” because he counselled [ya’atz] and fostered Torah in Israel.

‘Othniel’ by James Tissot. Othniel was the first Judge of Israel following Joshua.

So, either Caleb was really the son of a person named Yefuneh, but was adopted and raised by Kenaz (hence his title of Kenizzite), or there was no such person as Yefuneh at all (since we see no mention of such a Judahite) and this title was given to him because he “turned away” from the other spies. In that case, Caleb would be the biological son of Kenaz. Perhaps we can identify him with Seraiah, which would fit neatly with the statement that Othniel and Caleb are brothers.

The final possibility presented by the Talmud is that Caleb is the same as that other Caleb, ben Hetzron, of I Chronicles 2:18. There, we read that Caleb married a woman named Azuvah, and when she died, took a new wife called Efrat. Caleb’s son with Efrat was Hur, whose son was Uri, whose son was the famous Betzalel, craftsman of the Mishkan.

Where it takes an interesting turn is that our Sages say (see for example Shemot Rabbah 1:17 and Sotah 12a) that Azuvah and Efrat are one and the same person. In fact, “Azuvah” and “Efrat” were two nicknames for Miriam, the sister of Moses! She was initially called Azuvah (“abandoned”) since no one wanted to marry her, perhaps because she wasn’t physically attractive. Caleb decided to marry her not for her exterior beauty, but for her holiness and her great family. As soon as he married her, she miraculously became exceedingly beautiful. Thus, people ceased to call her Azuvah, and instead called her Efrat (“beautiful”).

One or Two Calebs?

Can Caleb ben Yefuneh really be the same person as Caleb ben Hetzron? Did Moses appoint his brother-in-law as one of the spies? The possibility is intriguing. Yet, taking this approach results in multiple issues. The first is chronology.

Caleb ben Hetzron was the fifth generation from Jacob (Jacob-Judah-Peretz-Hetzron-Caleb), like Moses and Miriam (Jacob-Levi-Kohath-Amram-Miriam/Moses). It is therefore very apt that he would be Miriam’s husband. That would make him at least 80 years old at the time of the Exodus (just as Moses was 80 and Miriam was 86). Keep in mind that Betzalel is a great-grandson of Caleb ben Hetzron. At the time of the Exodus then, this Caleb would have had to be old enough to sire three more adult generations after him.

‘Caleb before Joshua’

As we saw above, the spy Caleb lived far longer into the future, well into the period of Judges. If he was Caleb ben Hetzron, it would make his lifespan impossibly long (at least for that time period). Caleb ben Yefunah, on the other hand, is listed in Chronicles among much later descendants of Judah, which would make him a young man when sent as a spy. Joshua 14:7 confirms this, with Caleb stating that he was forty years old when Moses sent him to spy out the land. This would easily allow him to live throughout the forty years in the Wilderness and the many years of conquest that followed into the period of Judges.

Maintaining that these were two different Calebs also solves the difficulty of the two different genealogies in Chronicles. In I Chronicles 2, Caleb ben Hetzron fathers Yesher, Shovav, Ardon, and Hur. In I Chronicles 4, Caleb ben Yefuneh fathers Iru, Elah, and Na’am. These are clearly two separate people. And so, of the various Talmudic opinions presented, the correct one must be that the spy Caleb was really the son (or stepson) of Kenaz. It may be best to identify Caleb with Seraiah, one of the two sons of Kenaz. It is possible that just as Yabetz was called Othniel because “God answered him”, Caleb was called Seraiah because he was seen as a righteous emissary or “prince of God” (שר-יה, sar-Yah).

Despite all this, Rashi, following Sanhedrin 69a, still wants to maintain that there is only one Caleb. The result is an absolutely bizarre, legally problematic, morally disturbing—and biologically impossible—explanation that Caleb had his first child when he was eight years old, and each generation on had their first child before eight years! (See his commentary on I Chronicles 2:20.) The reason Rashi resorts to this conclusion is because of a troubling verse suggesting that, in fact, there is a third Caleb.

A Third Caleb?

In I Chronicles, we read how Hetzron later took another concubine, and had more children with her. The firstborn was named Jerahmeel, and then we are told that “…the sons of Caleb, the brother of Jerahmeel, were Mesha, his firstborn, and the father of Zif…” (I Chronicles 2:42) Here we apparently have another Caleb altogether, with a different set of progeny. It is very possible that Hetzron had two children named Caleb. This may be what I Chronicles 2:24 means when it mysteriously mentions Kalev Efrata, ie. it is referring to that Caleb whose wife was Efrat, and not the Caleb whose concubines were Eifa and Maacah (I Chronicles 2:45, 48).

The big problem is that we then read how this third Caleb, apparently, was the father of Hur and Achsah (v. 49-50). That means he was the Caleb ben Hetzron who fathered Hur, as well as the Caleb ben Yefuneh whose daughter was Achsah and whose brother was Othniel! (Judges 1:12-13) It makes no sense! It is probably because of these troubling verses that Rashi and Sanhedrin 69a want to insist there is just one Caleb after all.

Of course, the simplest (but most unpalatable) conclusion is that these couple of verses in Chronicles are just plain wrong. Perhaps some kind of scribal error crept in over the millennia. A scribe who didn’t know how to reconcile the three Calebs tried to unify them, and in so doing opened up a whole new set of issues. Although today we are generally quick to defend all Scripture as being immaculate, with a perfect transmission from generation to generation ever since Sinai, our Sages of old were not so adamant about the text’s exact accuracy.

One example is the case of Chapter 21 of the Book of Joshua. In some versions, there are two extra verses that don’t appear in other versions. The Radak (Rabbi David Kimchi, 1160-1235) writes in his commentary on Joshua 21:7 about these two verses that “I have not seen these two verses included in any ancient and authentic manuscript, rather they have been added to a small number of texts.” A lesser example is Isaiah 27:3 where our current text has pen yifkod, while Rashi comments that his text has pen efkod. Rashi’s disciple, the Mahari Kara (Rabbi Yosef Kara, 1065-1135), notes in his commentary that Sephardis and Ashkenazis have different versions of the word, and “only God knows which is the proper version.”

Even the Chumash isn’t safe. Today, the Yemenite Torah has nine one-letter differences compared to the Ashkenazi Torah. The research of J.S. Penkower shows that the Yemenite Torah is essentially the exact same one used by the Rambam, and the only one considered by him to be the authoritative text. (For a detailed analysis, see Marc B. Shapiro’s The Limits of Orthodox Theology, ch. 7.) Meanwhile, Rav Amnon Bazak of Yeshivat Har Etzion notes that there are some 100 minor variants today between the different Torah texts across the Jewish world. In his essay “Fundamental Issues in the Study of Tanakh, he also cites J.S. Penkower, who found some 65 differences between Rashi’s Torah text and today’s Torah text. For example, Exodus 20:5 in Rashi’s text has the word notzer in place of the current oseh, and Rashi’s Exodus 24:17 has kol Israel in place of the current bnei Israel.

These issues go way back in time. The Midrash (Tanchuma on Beshalach 16) admits that even the Knesset HaGedolah, the “Great Assembly” of the 5th and 4th centuries BCE, had to make modifications to the Torah. Another Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 6:5) provides an example, saying how the ancient scribes added a verse to Genesis (18:22) so that people wouldn’t confuse the angels that visited Abraham with God Himself. A third Midrash (Beresheet Rabbati, 209-212) speaks of a variant “Severus scroll” that “came out of Jerusalem in captivity and went to Rome and was stored in the synagogue of Severus”. The Talmud (Yerushalmi, Ta’anit 4:2), too, provides an account of how three slightly different Torahs were once found in the Temple, so the Sages produced a new text by comparing the previous three and seeing where they agree with each other. The Radak explains in his introduction to the Nevi’im that

…during the First Exile, the texts were lost, the scholars were dispersed, and the Torah sages died. The men of the Great Assembly who restored the Torah to its former state found differences in the texts and followed the reading of those which they believed to be in the majority…

Chatam Sofer

All of this has practical, halachic ramifications. For example, the Sha’agat Aryeh (Rabbi Aryeh Leib Gunzberg, 1695-1785) states in his work of that name (siman 36) that there is no longer a mitzvah to write a Torah scroll, since we are unsure of the exact text. The Chatam Sofer (Rabbi Moshe Schreiber, 1762-1839) adds that this is why we do not say a blessing before writing a new Torah scroll (see his She’elot v’Teshuvot on Orach Chaim, siman 52 and 54) while the Rama (Rabbi Moshe Isserles, 1530-1572) holds for this reason that we do not need to take out another Torah scroll if we suddenly discover that the one we are publicly reading from is defective (see his comments on Orach Chaim 143:4).

It is important to stress, of course, that the variations are slight. We are not talking about major differences spanning whole passages. The vast majority of the variances are only in singular letters which do not even change the meaning of the word or verse. Occasionally, there is a substitution of a word (again, not necessarily changing the meaning of the verse), and in only a few places there is an extra or missing verse or two. The overall integrity of the text is undoubtedly preserved. One should not at all lose faith in the Torah’s authenticity, or its message.

Having said that, all of the deeper mystical sources speak of a “primordial Torah”, a perfect Torah, or the original Torah of Creation whose return we await. The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni, Isaiah 429) states that Mashiach will bring a “new Torah” and (Kohelet Rabbah 11:12) that our current Torah will be “vain” compared to the new one. The Zohar attests to the same, and Rabbi Isaac of Radavil (1750-1835) comments in his Ohr Yitzchak (on Pekudei):

Regarding that which is stated in the Zohar Hadash that in the future God will give us a new Torah in the days of the redeemer, may he come speedily and in our days, it is not the Torah which is currently in our possession, and also not the Torah which was given on Mt. Sinai. Not this shall God give us, but a new Torah which was in existence two thousand years before the creation of the world. The Torah which God will give us in the future is hidden in the Torah currently in our possession…

A classic example of the Torah written in “black fire on white fire”: Within the “black fire” letter Pei, we see an inner “white fire” letter Beit.

Deeply encrypted within our current Torah is that original Torah. And so, one who digs deep enough will discover a perfect Torah within today’s seemingly imperfect one—as the Mishnah says: “Turn it over and turn it over, for everything is within it.” This may be tied to the classic idea that the Torah is “black fire on white fire”. Gershom Scholem (Kabbalah, pg. 174) cites a number of mystical texts which say that the Torah of White Fire is the authentic, primordial Torah, while the Torah of Black Fire is only its outward expression, or perhaps a “commentary” on the White Fire. Here we read how the primordial Torah was beheld by Adam in the Garden of Eden, but because of his sin, the Torah was jumbled—its letters rearranged, more prohibitions added, and mystical secrets removed. Mashiach will restore the world to a state of Eden, and with that reveal the original Torah of Creation, the Torah of White Fire.

May we merit to see it soon.

Pig Gelatin and Synthetic Pork: Kosher?

This week’s Torah reading (in the diaspora) is Shemini, famous for its list of kashrut laws. One of the things explicitly prohibited is, of course, pork meat (Leviticus 11:7). In recent times, a number of articles have circulated making a variety of different claims, such as that lab-grown pork might be kosher, or that pig gelatin is kosher, or even that all pork meat is actually kosher! Is there any validity to these claims? And why is pork forbidden to begin with?

Did the Torah Mean to Forbid Pork for Everyone?

Last year, an article made headlines arguing that the prohibition of consuming pork was only meant for Israelite priests, not the general public. This is based on the old idea that the entire Book of Leviticus was meant only for Levites. The argument is silly, for although Leviticus does have many laws intended only for priests, it also has a great many laws that obviously apply to all of Israel, including the well-known “love your fellow as yourself”. One simply has to look at how the laws are introduced to know whether they apply solely to priests or to the whole nation. When it comes to kashrut, the Torah states: “And Hashem spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying to them: Speak to the children of Israel, saying: ‘These are the creatures that you may eat among all the animals on earth…’” (Leviticus 11:2) Clearly, God commanded all of Israel when it comes to dietary laws.

Coffin Texts from the Middle Kingdom Period

Besides, abstaining from pork was actually common in other places across the Middle East. The Greek scholar Strabo (c. 63 BCE – 24 CE) noted that the ancient Phoenicians also abstained from pork, as did those who dwelled in the Arabian Peninsula, and their Muslim descendants to this day. Some believe this is because raising pigs requires a lot of water compared to raising other livestock—a precious commodity in the dry Middle East. Even the ancient Egyptians appear to have avoided pork meat at times. Perhaps the oldest reference is in the Coffin Texts that date as far back as the First Intermediate Period (2181-2055 BCE). Here, the evil god Set takes the form of a black pig, and is ultimately slain by the god Horus, to whom “the pig is an abomination”. Whatever the case, it is well-known that archaeologists working in Israel can easily differentiate an ancient Israelite site from a Philistine one by the conspicuous absence of pig bones in the former compared to the latter. There is no doubt that all ancient Israelites abstained from pork.

In his Guide for the Perplexed, where he sought to give logical explanation for the mitzvot, the Rambam (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, 1135-1204 CE) notes that one of the reasons pork is forbidden is because it is unhealthy (III, 48). Indeed, pork meat is the most likely to be contaminated with trichinosis and other parasites. Pigs are, by their very nature, quite unclean. They are omnivores and scavengers, and will eat absolutely anything, including dead animals (the consumption of which is prohibited by the Torah as well). Some also claim that pork meat has more toxins because pigs digest food extremely quickly and absorb just about everything into their bloodstream. Moreover, they have very few sweat glands, meaning they are less likely to clear those toxins from their system. While the idea of sweating as detoxification is controversial and often rejected by science, studies show that sweat does excrete a small amount of toxic waste, including heavy metals and compounds like BPA. Either way, the 13th century Sefer HaChinukh (on Mitzvah 73) already grappled with this issue and concluded that although secular society may argue pork meat is perfectly fine from a health perspective, “the true Healer that warns us against them is smarter than us, and smarter than the doctors.”

Meanwhile, Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo ben Itzchak, 1040-1105 CE) holds that the prohibition of pork is a chok, a divine law with no human rationale, just like the laws of the Red Cow or the prohibition of shaatnez, the wearing of wool and linen together in one garment (see his commentary on Leviticus 18:4). There are spiritual things at play that we simply cannot understand. More mystical texts do try to explain those spiritual mechanics: for one, it is said that a person absorbs the qualities of the animals they eat. This is why we do not eat predators or filthy animals, as we do not want to take on their aggressive or impure qualities. The kosher animals are essentially all herbivorous and docile, and it is those peaceful and calm traits that we want.

The Arizal (Sha’ar HaMitzvot on Ekev) further explains that kosher animals are those whose souls we are able to elevate. The act of slaughtering the animal in a kosher manner, reciting a proper blessing before eating it, and ingesting it into a holy human vessel allows those special spiritual sparks trapped within the animal to ascend to Heaven. The emphasis here is on holy human vessel, for if a person is unrefined and not righteous, with no connection to Heaven, they are unable to elevate any sparks at all. This is why, the Arizal explains, the Talmud states that an ‘am ha’aretz (an unlearned person or one who does not keep the mitzvot) shouldn’t eat any meat whatsoever! The Arizal notes that even a righteous, Torah-observant Jew should only eat meat on Shabbat and holidays, when a Jew is said to receive an additional soul. Without this extra spiritual power, it is nearly impossible to “rectify” the meat.

Is Pig Gelatin Kosher?

While it is clear that consuming pork is absolutely forbidden, what about pork by-products like gelatin? Gelatin is made by boiling and processing the bones, skins, and sinews of pigs (or cows, or fish) to produce the jelly substance used widely in the food industry. It is typically reduced to a powder that can be mixed with water. The powder itself gives no indication that it came from a pig, and certainly no longer has any taste of pork flesh. Is it still not kosher?

In Jewish law, a food that has been processed so thoroughly that it becomes tasteless (or inedibly bitter) is not considered to be “food” anymore. If one cannot enjoy from the flavour of the substance at all, then it is permitted, even if derived from a non-kosher animal (see Mishneh Torah, Yesodei haTorah 5:8). Such a substance is treated like an artificial chemical as opposed to an actual food. Similarly, something that is so putrid that even a dog would not eat it is no longer considered food.

In the case of pig gelatin, it is tasteless, and it is unlikely that a dog would consume raw gelatin powder. Even when mixed with water, many forms of raw gelatin have a horrible taste. This puts gelatin in the category of a chemical, rather than a food. Thus, using it as an additive would be permitted. Many authorities have ruled this way, including Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzinski (1863-1940) and Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank (1873-1960). Still, some modern authorities forbid pig gelatin, which is understandable considering the great aversion to all things pig in Jewish culture. Today, when there are alternatives like fish gelatin, or even carrageenan (derived from seaweed), there is no great necessity to consume products with pig gelatin.

Some medications are encased in gelatin capsules, and are fine for use.

Insulin that is derived from pigs falls under the same category. It would unarguably be permitted since it has a life-saving necessity for diabetics. Having said that, today most insulin is actually derived from genetically-modified bacteria, and recently scientists have even developed genetically-modified plants that grow human insulin!

Lab-Grown Pork in the Garden of Eden

In recent years, artificially lab-grown meat has become a reality. This type of meat is cultured in a lab from the stem cells of an animal. The meat is produced synthetically, without any need for raising or slaughtering animals. The potential benefits are tremendous, since lab-grown meat allows for only the very best tissues to be grown, and tweaked to have a perfect combination of nutrients. It prevents the need for large ranches and slaughterhouses, for the great amount of farmland used to raise food for the livestock, and all of the pollution that this entails. (Altogether, animal agriculture accounts for about half of all greenhouse gas emissions, and countless tons of sewage and toxic waste.) Scientists have successfully created lab-grown hamburgers, and an Israeli company (SuperMeat) is close to bringing cultured chicken to the market. Their chicken is healthier, uses 99% less farmland, 90% less water, and releases 96% less pollution. It appears that lab-grown meat is poised to take over in the coming decades. Is it kosher?

The first cultured hamburger by Dr. Mark Post of Maastricht University (August 2013)

While the halachic issues are complex and remain to be settled by halachic authorities, some have already stated there shouldn’t be any problem with lab-grown meat. In fact, since it does not come from an animal, and requires no slaughter, it wouldn’t even be considered “meat” to begin with, and would likely be parve. This has been suggested by Rabbi Shlomo Aviner, the rosh yeshiva of Ateret Yerushalayim, as well as Rabbi Menachem Genack of the Orthodox Union. Thus, kosher cheeseburgers may yet be on the way.

More recently, Rabbi Yuval Cherlow (of Israel’s Tzohar Rabbinical Organization) stated that even lab-grown pork should be kosher. Once again, this is not an actual pig, but simply flesh cultured from a few pig stem cells. Such pork meat would never contain any blood, which the Torah states is what holds the animal’s nefesh (Leviticus 17:11), nor would it come from a living animal at all. From a Kabbalistic perspective, then, there would be no spiritual sparks to elevate. It seems lab-grown pork should be kosher.

Amazingly, Jewish texts long ago stated that a day will come when pork will be kosher. For example, the Ritba (Rabbi Yom Tov of Seville, c. 1260-1320 CE) writes in his commentary (on Kiddushin 49b) that the pig is called chazir in Hebrew because in the future God will hachziro, “return” it to Israel! While we have discussed in the past that certain Torah mitzvot will be abrogated in the Messianic Era, it seems unthinkable that pork should become kosher.

More problematic still, if the Messianic Era is a return to the Garden of Eden—as prophesied—than how can there be consumption of any meat at all? There was no death of any kind in the Garden of Eden, and consumption of meat was forbidden. It was only ten generations later that God permitted Noah to eat animal flesh. It should seem that the Messianic Era would be an entirely vegetarian one, like in Eden. At the same time, though, Eden is said to have contained all the pleasures of the world—so how can it miss the pleasure associated with eating meat? (Scientific studies confirm that eating meat boosts mood and happiness, and vegetarianism has been linked with higher rates of depression.) The World to Come should certainly be entirely pleasurable!

Perhaps lab-grown meat is the answer, for it beautifully solves all of the above issues. Lab-grown meat requires no animals to die, and allows everyone to consume every kind of taste—with the added bonus of being healthier for both body and planet. We can safely return to Eden without worrying about killing animals, without worrying about destroying the environment, and without worrying about giving up the foods we delight in.

Why Immerse Dishes in a Mikveh?

This week’s parasha is the double portion of Matot-Massei. We read how the Israelites struck back against the Midianites, with a twelve-thousand strong army led by Pinchas that absolutely decimated the enemy. After the battle, Moses instructed that all the warriors must undergo purification (as they had come in contact with corpses), and so too do “all garments, leather items, goat products, and wooden vessels” (Numbers 31:20). Following this, the kohen gadol Elazar proclaimed:

This is the statute that Hashem has commanded Moses: “Only the gold, the silver, the copper, the iron, the tin, and the lead—whatever is used in fire—you shall pass through fire and then it will be pure; it must also be cleansed with sprinkling water. And whatever is not used in fire you shall pass through water. You shall wash your garments on the seventh day and become pure; afterwards, you may enter the camp.”

This is the source for the mitzvah of tevilat kelim, the immersion in a mikveh of vessels used for food. Metal dishes, cutlery, and the like that were previously owned by a non-Jew must be purified before a Jew can use them. Although the Torah mentions gold, silver, copper, iron, tin, and lead specifically, the prohibition was extended to all metals, as well as glass, since glass can also be melted and reformed like metal. Wood and earthenware do not require immersion.

What is the reason for this mitzvah?

Searching for Answers

What exactly do the non-Jewish vessels need to be purified from? The first thing that comes to mind is that non-kosher food was eaten with those vessels, so they need to be made kosher. However, this is already accomplished when the Torah says to put these vessels “through fire”. As is well known from diligent Passover cleaning, vessels are made kosher through the way they are used, so for instance, vessels used with hot food must be koshered with boiling water, etc. This does not require a mikveh. A mikveh is not for physical purification but for spiritual purification.

Some say that the non-Jewish vessels need to be cleansed of the impurity of idolatry. Perhaps they were used in idolatrous ceremonies, or made by a pagan with idolatrous intentions. This makes sense, except that the halakha states (Yoreh De’ah 120:8) that a Jew is actually allowed to borrow dishes from an idol worshipper and use them without immersing in a mikveh!

Others say the vessels need to be purified from the greatest of tumah: death. Indeed, this is the context of the original Torah verses, where Moses and Elazar command the returning warriors to be purified from their contact with corpses, and to purify all the captured belongings as well. The Torah states that the vessels must be “cleansed with sprinkling water”, referring to the sprinkling done with the waters of parah adumah, the red cow. So, immersion might make sense for vessels captured in warfare, but little sense for new dishes purchased from a store. Regardless, the tumah of death cannot be removed in our days anyway since we have no red cow waters.

Complications & Loopholes

The most common explanation for tevilat kelim today is simply that when non-Jewish dishes become Jewish, they must be spiritually purified, much like a non-Jew who converts to Judaism requires immersion. Ironically, though, some halakhic opinions state that a convert does not need to immerse their old vessels! The bigger problem here is that this type of logic can be applied to anything—why stop at dishes and cutlery? Maybe we should immerse our clothes in a mikveh as well? After all, this is precisely what Moses commanded the returning warriors when he said to purify “all garments, leather items” and so on.

And what about vessels that cannot be immersed? Toasters and hot plates, for example, touch food directly, but obviously cannot be submerged in water because they are electrical. Some state that these should be immersed as much as possible, without getting the electrical components wet. Of course, that’s not overly effective since mikveh requires total immersion. This is why others creatively state that such appliances should be “gifted” to a non-Jew and then “borrowed” back permanently!

Speaking of loopholes, anyone who “sells” their chametz dishes on Passover to a non-Jew would theoretically have to take these dishes to the mikveh again! There is even a problem of drinking a beverage from a metal or glass container. Can of pop? Bottle of Snapple? These are non-Jewish vessels! Some ingenious loopholes were created in such cases, including that one should have in mind while purchasing to only buy the contents inside, not the container! (Others maintain it is forbidden, and the liquid must be poured into a kosher cup first.)

Making Sense of the Torah

One can argue that there is no logic to tevilat kelim because it is a chok, traditionally interpreted as a law inexplicable to human reasoning. Indeed, the Torah introduces this command by stating zot chukat haTorah, a preface that only appears two other times: with the red cow, and with the Pesach offering. (In total, the term “chok” is used twenty times in the Torah.) In reality, there is no need to draw such a conclusion. The entire dilemma can be avoided by properly reading the Torah, in context.

Moses told twelve thousand warriors to purify their belongings following a battle. First of all, this was not a mitzvah directed at the entire nation, but to a contingent of soldiers and their loot. Secondly, the command was to purify all things, not just vessels for food. Elazar haKohen clarified what Moses commanded by stating that metal things should be purified with fire, while things that cannot be put through a flame—like wood and leather—should be purified with water. Today, we do not pass newly acquired vessels through fire, nor do we purify wood or leather in a mikveh. Why do we still immerse metal and glass food vessels?

Perhaps the answer requires an entirely different approach. The Baal Shem Tov taught that “God transforms spirituality into physicality; the Jew makes physical things spiritual.” In this light, there is certainly beauty, and meaning, in uplifting our newly-purchased physical vessels, and making spiritual what is otherwise something quite mundane.

 

Why You Really (Really!) Shouldn’t Do Kapparot (Even With Money)

Tuesday evening marks the holy day of Yom Kippur. In the early morning hours before this, many Jews will seek to perform the custom of kapparot, which involves taking a live rooster (or chicken), swinging it over one’s head, and then having it slaughtered. In the process, the person states how the rooster will be their “atonement”, and while the rooster will die, the person will go on to live a good life. The rooster’s meat is typically donated. Others swing money over their heads instead of a rooster, and then donate the money to charity. Of course, this strange-sounding custom is not mentioned anywhere in the Torah or Talmud. In fact, throughout history many Jewish Sages tried hard to extinguish this custom, for a number of important reasons.

19th Century Lithograph of Kapparot

19th Century Lithograph of Kapparot

First of all, kapparot sounds much too similar to a korban, a sacrificial offering. In the days of the Temple, the kohanim sacrificed animals in order to atone for the people. The kapparot ritual explicitly states that the rooster serves as atonement, and the rooster is then killed. Despite some people’s claims that kapparot is not a true sacrifice, it clearly mimics the Temple’s sacrificial procedures, and intends to accomplish the same goal. The Mishnah Berurah (605:2) openly admits this, saying that kapparot is basically like a sacrifice. Indeed, an outsider would hardly be able to tell the difference. The problem is that the Torah forbids bringing sacrifices anywhere other than the place that God specifically designates (Deut. 12:5-6), which was the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. The Torah also commands that only kohanim are allowed to oversee sacrificial procedures. From this perspective alone, kapparot is contrary to the Torah.

Thirteen Years of Pain

Secondly, kapparot fits squarely under the category of unnecessary cruelty to animals. Commenting on the verse in Psalms (145:9) which states that God has mercy and compassion upon all of His creations, Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch wrote:

Here you are faced with God’s teaching which obliges you not only to refrain from inflicting unnecessary pain on any animal, but to help and, when you can, to lessen the pain whenever you see an animal suffering, even through no fault of yours.
(Horeb, Chapter 60, Section 416)

The Jewish Sages have always been concerned about animal welfare. The Talmud considers it a Torah mitzvah to treat animals with respect and prevent any harm to them (Bava Metzia 32b), so much so that one is allowed to violate various Shabbat prohibitions to help a suffering animal (Shabbat 128b). Let us not forget the story of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, who suffered excruciating pains for thirteen years. Why was he afflicted with such pain?

A calf was being taken to the slaughter when it broke away, hid its head under [Rabbi Yehuda’s] clothes, and lowed [in terror]. “Go”, he said, “for this you were created.” Thereupon it was said [in Heaven], “Since he has no pity, let us bring suffering upon him.”
(Bava Metzia 85a)

The great Rabbi Yehuda – the compiler of the Mishnah – made one uncompassionate remark to a fearful calf that was about to be slaughtered. For this, Heaven rained upon him tremendous pain – six years of kidney stones, and seven of scurvy, so unbearable that his cries could be heard over three miles away. When did his suffering end?

One day [Rabbi Yehuda’s] maidservant was sweeping the house; [seeing] some young weasels lying there, she made to sweep them away. “Let them be,” he said to her; “It is written, ‘And his tender mercies are over all his works.’” It was said [in Heaven], “Since he is compassionate, let us be compassionate to him.”

Rabbi Yehuda quotes the same verse (Psalms 145:9) that Rav Hirsch expounded upon, and has mercy on the young animals in his home. For this, his suffering is finally taken away. If even one little remark to an animal is worth thirteen years of suffering, how much more so if an animal is swung around wildly, then slaughtered needlessly – which is precisely what happens with kapparot. (It has also been pointed out that chickens used in kapparot are usually starving and thirsty, and often have their limbs dislocated or bones broken during the procedure.)

Idolatrous Practices

Lastly, kapparot appears to be connected with various idolatrous practices and non-Jewish customs. The Ramban, among others, considered it darkei emori, the way of idolaters. The Shulchan Arukh, the central halachic text of Judaism, is also staunchly opposed to kapparot, and its author, Rabbi Yosef Karo, called it a “foolish custom”.

Many modern-day authorities, too, from across the Torah-observant world, have been vocally against kapparot. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and the entire Brisker rabbinic lineage before him opposed the custom, considering it irrational. The rabbi of Beit El and rosh yeshiva of Ateret Yerushalaim, Shlomo Chaim Aviner, a prominent authority within the Dati Leumi community, has described it as a “superstition”. And the former Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, Chaim David HaLevy, beautifully wrote in his Aseh Lekha Rav:

Why should we, specifically on the eve of the holy day of Yom Kippur, be cruel to animals for no reason, and slaughter them without mercy, just as we are about to request compassion for ourselves from the living God?

Kapparot with Money

While it is clearly evident that one should completely avoid kapparot with chickens, some might argue that it is still worth doing kapparot with money. The problem is that the procedure and text are still the same: waving coins or bills over one’s head, stating that the money serves as an atonement, and that donating it will save one’s life.

The truth is that there is no need to do this at all, since any giving to charity automatically fulfils a mitzvah, assists in one’s repentance and atonement, and is said to be life-saving. The Talmud famously tells us (Bava Batra 10a) that charity is the greatest of all forces, and quotes the verse in Proverbs that “charity saves from death” (10:2).

Thus, any charitable contribution, at any time of the year, already does what kapparot claims to do. And so, awkwardly waving money around one’s head and reciting the kapparot verses is nothing more than a funny-looking waste of time, associated with a cruel, idolatrous, nonsensical, and nonJewish custom.

In his list of the 613 Torah mitzvot, the Rambam (who was also opposed to kapparot) lists the 185th positive commandment of the Torah as eradicating any traces of idolatry from Israel. Since many great Sages held the view that kapparot is associated with idolatrous ways, including the Ramban, Rashba, and the authoritative Shulchan Arukh, it is undoubtedly a mitzvah to not only avoid kapparot, but to encourage others to abandon this practice, and to expunge it from Judaism.

Wishing you a fulfilling and uplifting Yom Kippur. Gmar Chatima Tova!

Are More Restrictions Good for Judaism?

This week’s parasha is Nasso, the longest portion in the Torah. Among many other things, Nasso relates various laws pertaining to the nazir, commonly (and loosely) translated as a “monk”. Nazirite status was typically conferred on a person temporarily, for a minimum of 30 days. During this time, the nazir abstained from wine and grape products (and likely anything else that might have put them under the influence), from being contaminated by the impurity of death (and therefore avoiding contact with corpses or visits to a cemetery), and desisted from cutting their hair. At the end of the term, the nazir would immerse in a mikveh and bring a series of offerings in the Temple.

The Torah describes a person who has undergone the nazirite process “holy”. At the same time, the Torah instructs this person to bring a sin offering. As such, the Jewish Sages debate whether becoming a nazir is something commendable, or actually sinful! The most likely possibility is that a person who felt a great deal of guilt over some sin they had done would take on the nazirite vow as a form of expiation or spiritual purification. A person could even take on the nazirite vow for life.

Rabbi Elazar HaKappar taught (Taanit 11a) that a nazirite is likened to a sinner for practicing such abstinence, and the sage Shmuel taught that anyone who fasts voluntary for self-affliction is a sinner, too. Separating one’s self from the joys of this world and taking on more and more restrictions is not a path to spiritual enlightenment. The Jewish way has always been about finding balance. It is not about separating from this physical world, but properly engaging in it. And more than just restrictions, the Jewish way focuses on positive actions.

It is said that this was Abraham’s revolution: What the first Jew did was introduce people to spirituality not by way of abstinence from the physical, but rather, spirituality by way of elevating the physical. Abraham did not invent negative mitzvot, but presented the right way to do positive mitzvot. This is hinted to by his name, for the numerical value of Abraham (אברהם) is 248, which is the number of positive mitzvot in the Torah. Meanwhile, Moses brought down the complete Torah, balancing the positive and the negative – both deeds and restrictions – in 613 mitzvot, also hinted to by his name and title Moshe Rabbeinu (משה רבינו), which equals 613.

Dealing with Stringencies

If taking on more and more stringencies and restrictions is not the proper path, how do we deal with the ever-increasing expanse of halachic prohibitions and “fences”? The Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbat 1:4) writes how the more stringent Beit Shammai once took hold of the Sanhedrin and enacted 18 restrictions, among them rules like chalav yisrael and pat yisrael. This day is described as being as tragic for Israel as the day of the Golden Calf! While Rabbi Eliezer said that on that day the scholars “filled the measure” (ie. did a good thing), Rabbi Yehoshua said that they completely erased the measure!

Rabbi Lazer Gurkow explains that Rabbi Yehoshua believed more restrictions would end up destroying Judaism in the long run. While it may be different for the serious scholar, the average person is unable to keep taking on more and more restrictions, and will only be frustrated by the ever-increasing stringencies. Soon enough, these people will cast off the yoke of Torah completely.

It appears that Rabbi Yehoshua’s words were prophetic, for this is precisely what has happened in the Jewish world. Today, Orthodox Judaism has so many fences that the average Jew wants nothing to do with the religion, and fears taking on even a little more observance. Non-observant Jews often critique (and rightly so) that the restrictions have gone so far that they bear little resemblance to what the Torah initially instructed! It therefore isn’t surprising that the vast majority of Jews today are completely secular.

On the other hand, repealing fences can also be dangerous. The thinking is that once people start taking things out, there will be no end to it. This is what happened in Reform Judaism, which started out fairly innocent, but quickly became just about completely secular. Where is the line to be drawn?

Finding the Right Balance

The above issue is possibly the central challenge of modern-day Judaism: How do we return to a logical, spiritual, uplifting Judaism, without destroying its fundamental base? To continue adding more and more fences does not work, nor does forcing people into observance through guilt and fear. On the other hand, how do we avoid being ensnared by the descending spiral that plagues the Reform and Conservative world?

At present, it appears we are unable to remove any stringencies at all for the masses, and it is highly doubtful that any great halachic figure alive today feels they have the authority to do so. Perhaps, then, the secret to success lies solely within the individual. There were 600,000 Jewish souls at Mt. Sinai, and the Arizal taught that every one of them received their own unique explanation of the Torah. Each person needs to find their own unique path within the vast world of Torah and halacha. Every individual must continue learning, digging deeper, and getting to the bottom of why they are practicing what they are.

What is the origin of the halacha in question? Does it have a Biblical or Talmudic basis, or is it simply a long-outdated local custom? Do all rabbinic authorities agree on its necessity, or do major authorities hold against it? Is there a good, logical reason to keep certain fences? Do particular restrictions enhance one’s religious experience, or constrain it? And most importantly, does a person feel like they are growing closer to God through their chosen path of halacha, and becoming holier and more righteous, or do they feel like they are actually falling backwards because of it?

These are vital questions that each person should be asking. We must never simply submit unquestioningly to the words of a wise man or a charismatic leader, whether a rabbi or anyone else. It is a central tenet of Judaism to always ask questions, and find good answers to them. If the answers don’t satisfy us, we must prod further. And if there is still no answer, we must seriously reconsider what we are doing. This is all the more significant in our generation, in the footsteps of Mashiach, which the Talmud (Sotah 49b) describes as a period where “the meeting place of scholars will be used for immorality… the wisdom of the learned will degenerate… and the truth will be missing…”

May Hashem give us all the strength and wisdom to see the truth and find the proper Godly path.