Parashat B’shalah

Rav Haim Lifshitz

Essays and Articles:

Go to Hebrew site

Law and Reality: Permanence and Change

 Translated from Hebrew by S. NAthan

l'ilui nishmat Esther bat mordechai

Basic to the theory of relativity is the relationship between permanence and change. The law controlling the dynamics that rule creation is a combination of cycles within cycles, and units upon units. These are composed of a permanent element that comprises the nucleus, while around it, elements revolve like planets. There is a permanent factor, surrounded by changing factors. A unit is thus formed, by a permanent element combined with changing elements; together they form the complete unit.

This unit, complete in itself, also constitutes the changing orbit around another fixed nucleus. Thus new units are formed. It is important to note that it is the permanent element that mainly determines the nature of the changing element. In the relationship between permanent and changing, reciprocal relations form, within the framework of permanence's influence upon change, which is the factor that enables the unit to preserve its character over the course of time.

So it is with the earth, as it revolves around the sun, so it is with the study of physics, that deals with the dynamics that are created by this relationship between the permanent and the changing, and so it is with the reality of physics itself, which passes from a condition of permanence to a condition of change, where what was permanent turns into changing and back again – within a structure of chaotic processes which contains more of change than of permanence.

The perception of the Godly is built upon permanence: "The Holy one is the universe's own place." The Creator is the Permanent, the Eternal, while the creation is what is changing. However, from here on, the many miscellaneous perceptions of the Godly diverge to go their separate ways: The anthropocentric perception views man as permanent and the surround as changing. The theocentric perception views man as changing within a creation that changes according to the permanence of the Godly.

As regards the nature of creation, the law is what is permanent, and everything subject to the law is what is changing. Nature's law is the permanent in a system of intermediate rotations, to use the term of the medieval thinkers. The miracle is what is changing. But here the road splits into many paths: After all the miracle, which is what is changing, is not determined by nature which is permanent, but rather by the Creator Who changes and alters nature to suit the unique needs of man. Here we can say that the miracle changes according to man. Here man becomes the permanent, able to determine the character of nature, which is normally the permanent.

A double scheme presents itself to us: We find man-nature and man-God. According to the first scheme, the permanent is nature and man is what is changing, by fitting his behavior to his needs which belong to nature. It is not man who determines his own needs. Rather it is the needs that determine human needs. It is not man who invents and rules over his body's needs. Rather they belong to nature. All of this is as regards man in his relationship to nature.

Suddenly everything changes, when man decides to relate to his Creator. He attaches himself – as the changing – to the absolutely Permanent. It is then that man passes from a posture of relating to the creation to a posture of relating to the Creator, simultaneously freeing himself from subjection to the laws of nature. There is a revolution, suddenly, and nature becomes subject to the tsadik. The tsadik becomes permanent, and the laws of nature become changeable. In the cycle of the tsadik, it is the miracle that is permanent and nature that is changing. It is as such that we may understand the laws that govern the Holy Land, for they are determined by the Creator Himself bichvodo uv'atsmo: "A land – that the eyes of God your Lord are upon, from year's beginning to year's end." This permanence changes in correlation to the behavior of God's servant. Thus man turns into the permanent, and the Holy One into the Changing, for He changes the laws of nature according to man, as in "the tsadik decrees and the Holy One fulfills his decree," and "the tsadik is the foundation [the permanent] of the world."

Thus too on the spiritual plane, which works according to the laws of the sacred, i.e. those laws that directly express the eternal Permanent, the Creator Himself: Here the sacred determines the secular. The pure determines the impure, insofar as the pure is the permanent and the impure is the changing.

Shabat determines the secular days of the week. "Today is the first day in the Shabat. Today is the second say in the Shabat." The secular lacks continuity – it is a meaningless collection of units, without content or goal. The days of the week anxiously await the Shabat, to receive content and goals and meanings, to be united by Shabat into a unit of meaning, where the changing is determined by the permanent, by values, by the spiritual – by the Shabat: "Whoever toils before Shabat, will eat on Shabat."

For this reason, the Creator gave those leaving Egypt a meaning that would determine them and consolidate them, that would attend them to the splitting of the Reed Sea: Shahm sahm lo Hok/I> umishpat… "'There He put to him a law and a ruling, and there He tried him.' In Mara He gave them a few parshiot of the Torah, that they should occupy themselves with them [that they should consolidate themselves with them]: Shabat and para aduma and dinim ." (Rashi)

dinim – the law. You might say, the law is self-evident. It is "among those well-known conventions that do not require proof." The law is meant to consolidate a society. A lawless society eventually disintegrates and is no more. The law is meant to set boundaries. To impose order: The fear of the ruler, "for without fear of it, a man would devour his fellow alive." Fixing the boundaries; separating the forbidden from the permissible. The law defines what is off limits, but it does not deal with what is inside the limits.

Thus the law is attached to punishment, and does not deal with reward. Cross the street outside of the crosswalk and you incur a penalty. The law does not promise a reward to whoever obeys and crosses inside the crosswalk. The law's interest is not in the person but the situation. Law as a framework requires content. This is where justice comes in, and morality, and values –nourished by the dimension of height. "God's statutes are truth, doing justice when joined."

The dimension of height is katuv hashlishi that has the power to unite the statute with justice and with charity. It has the power to endow the legal framework with the human content of morality and justice. These are the noble midot. They shape the personality of man according to Divine content. They create the process by which man evolves from a creature that is changing – among all the others – to a being that is Godly, and permanent, and a determiner of others.

Morality is the yardstick that separates the tsadik from the naval birshut haTorah – "the degenerate with the Torah's permission." The legal system itself, the mishpat, the statutes per se`, are inadequate to shape and consolidate man as a determiner, unless he has the dimension of height. Therefore he gave them the Shabat – to shelter over them, to imbue them with its spiritual qualities, with its ideal, with the yearning to cleave to a truth that is beyond reality.

Why para aduma? Lest man view himself as the source of forbidding and permitting, as obligated and charged with the duty of creating the supreme values himself, as being his own source of authority: b'ain hazon, yipara ahm. "When there is no vision is not, the nation grows wild." Therefore, God attached a Hok/I>, an absolute law, to the Shabat and to the dinim , that he had given b'nei Yisrael. God gave them para aduma "with which to occupy themselves."

G'zerat hakatuv, the scriptural decree, is the dimension of the absolute: "It is a decree before Me. Accept it." It is the same category as "He forced the mountain upon them..." Hok/I> – the absolute and inscrutable law of the red heifer, which sets the boundaries of purity and impurity – expresses the values that directly express the dimension of height, pure and distilled. They are unmixed with human moral values, untouched by man's logic or understanding. For it is fitting for man that he bend himself in surrender – as a creature that is changing – before the Divine Hok/I>. In spite of his potential to be "the tsadik [who] is the foundation of the world" to fill the role of the permanent – the determiner, where all must be subject to him and must change with regard to him, nevertheless let the red heifer stand forth as the factor that determines him, by authority of the Divine Hok/I> of purity and impurity.

****************************************************************************************

The Miracle is the Permanent, and the Situation is what is Changing:

"Then Miriam the prophetess…took the tambourine in her hand:" See Kli Yakar who quotes Hazal: "Anyone for whom a miracle was done, and he says shira, praise-song, it is a known fact that they forgive him all his sins." Recall too another Hazal: "The owner of the miracle does not recognize his miracle." Here we see zeh l'umat zeh asa – ha'adam. We behold spiritual opposites: One person says shira, praise-song, in the presence of a miracle, recognizing his own miracle, knowing the supreme source to which his miracle must be traced, and calling upon heaven and earth to hearken to his testimony.

Another, quite simply, denies the miracle. Not only does he deny that good was done him, but he denies that anything unusual has taken place. He does not see the phenomenon of the miracle as a deviation from nature's ways. Furthermore, he does not himself as belonging to a framework of supreme law that is above nature's ways.

In contrast, one who says shira is proclaiming before all and sundry that he recognizes the supreme rule, and knows that all his good has come to him through it. With this recognition, he has acquired a whole new set of perceptions. He sees himself born anew, into a new system, which contains a personal connection with the One "Who spoke and then there was a world." "They forgive him all his sins," because he is like a new-born child who has never sinned. Here we arrive at a new understanding of the reality of the microcosm: It is a reality shaped by human quality.

"Then Miriam the prophetess, Aharon's sister, took the tambourine in her hand, and all the women came forth after her with tambourines and with dances. And Miriam rejoined to them: 'Sing to God…" The mefarshim labor to justify the title 'prophetess' that the Torah ascribes to her. "Where did she prophesize," asks Rashi. "When she was Aharon's sister, before Moshe was born, she said: 'My mother shall in future bear a son,' etc. as described in Sota 12." The Ramban relates it to her brother Aharon, meaning that he would become a prophet like she was.

Kli Yakar: "It is now that she was made a prophetess, because in this gathering, the women too were privileged to see the face of the Shechina…as Hazal said: 'A maidservant on the sea saw what not even Yehezkel ben Buzi saw in ma'aseh merkava.' And all the women merited prophecy." (On a one-time basis apparently.)
A woman merits siyata dishmaya, heavenly assistance, in bringing down and connecting the world of ideas to the world of reality. Thus the Gemara's interprets "everything that Sara your wife tells you, obey her." We find that it is fitting and proper for every man to obey his wife. "For she is a prophetess." As I am wont to say, she is a prophetess for her husband's sake, "for giving him counsel in mili d'alma, worldly matters and mili d'inshi, human affairs." A woman occupies the category of prophetess, in human affairs, and in real-world issues, with regard to her husband.

Miriam the prophetess and the women who followed in her footsteps understood that a revolution had taken place in creation by the act of yetsiat mitsrayim. They understood that nature's systems had been pushed aside, their place taken over by Divine law through direct hashgaha. In the face of the miracle, they said shira.

Human reality, mainly, is the bearer of the miraculous revolution. Man is the one who bears the Godly presence, who embodies it in his personality and in his behavior and in his relationship to reality. He is the microcosm; all the powers of creation meet in him. He is the encounter between spirit and matter, between heaven and earth. Within the human microcosm all the dimensions of existence and of creation run about, to and fro, moving from the material, to the human, passing through and beyond to the heavenly dimension of the spiritual.
Of what is human reality composed?
Matter, as the natural structure and law in man, comprises the permanent element. The needs that derive from the structure of matter comprise the changing elements. On this plane, at the very basis of existence, one belongs to time and to space. One's belonging to space is what is permanent, and one's belonging to time is what is changing.
Relating to time allows much more flexibility than relating to space. It is easier to change one's daily schedule than one's place of dwelling or one's place of work. Similarly, of these two places, it is easier to change one's work place (time) than to change one's dwelling place.

On the human plane, the mind is permanent as opposed to emotion which is changing. The mind requires fixed clear-cut approaches, as well as permanent and defined rules. The mind requires plans, and connections between past, present and future. It requires expectations and hopes. Emotion only accompanies the mind, and fits itself to the rules of the game as they are set down by the mind. Woe to the man who is lead by emotion. It is of emotion leading the way that is said: "The fool jumps forward." Such a man is afflicted with instability. Unpredictable, irresponsible, unreliable: In lacking stability, he lacks permanence.
Personal character, one's uniquely original personality, is what is permanent. One's relationship to the outside – including the stimulations of the immediate situation that is necessarily ever-changing – is what is changing. Thus a person of inward-focused character tends more toward permanence than an outward-focused personality, whose behavioral responses are dependent on the stimulations of a changing environment. Among the elemental behavioral pairs – Duty/pleasure: Duty is permanent and pleasure is changing. Belonging/freedom: Belonging is permanent and freedom is changing.

On the interpersonal plane, among couples, one person is the permanent one, the stable one, the solid one, while the other is lighter, more flexible, more tending to relate and to initiate the connection with the partner who is the more fixed. In-depth examination of this dynamic process can shed light on the nature of their relationship and on the root of problems that may come between them.
On the spiritual plane, the sacred is the permanent. The secular is what is changing. The secular is composed of units of time that have no connection with one another other than the material element which grants them continuity. These time parts require the dimension of height – of values – to grant them meaning and purpose. The secular days of the week require Shabat Kodesh, as mentioned, in order to receive meaning, continuity, and purpose. The pure is permanent. Impurity is changing. The Divine is permanent, the creation is changing.

"The Holy One is the world's own place." Miracle is permanent. The situation is changing. A rule characterizes the sacred: Kodesh/I> determines hol. Therefore, it can happen that the permanence of Kodesh/I> turns something that is changing of the hol into something permanent, while what is permanent of the hol can be turned into something changing.
In other words, the values of Kodesh/I> determine that something permanent in the secular realm shall be turned into something changing, and that something changing shall be turned into something permanent. Thus miracle acquires permanence, in that its source is in the Divine, which is the permanent: "The Holy One is the world's own place." Whereas the objective situation, which is considered on the material plane of existence to be what is real, and therefore permanent, turns into something changing. Hence "t'shuva, ut'fila uts'daka ma'avirin et ro'a hag'zera. "Return, and prayer, and charity cause the evil of the decree to pass." Yet also, and in contrast, "the decree is true [permanent] and [material] effort is false [changing]." (Ramban)

Half a Measure in Quality The revolution that takes place in the relationship between the permanent and the changing, in the context of man's dynamic relationship to the realities of his existence, can be demonstrated by the idea of half a measure in quality.
"If one ate half a k'zayit on Yom Kippur…" The Gemara in Yuma brings a debate between Rabi Yohanan and Resh Lakish. Rabi Yohanan sees eating half a k'zayit on Yom Kippur as an isur d'orayta. The relationship with the forbidden, for Rabi Yohanan, reflects a man (gavra) connecting to a prohibited thing. Therefore it makes no difference what quantity a man eats. In the eating of a prohibited thing there is malevolent intent.

My son Rav Yitshak, shlita, calls this 'half a shiur in quality:' Half or whole becomes irrelevant when a qualitative element is involved, similar to the Rambam's psak that kol hayotsai min hatameh, tameh. "Everything that comes forth from the impure is impure," no matter how small, even to half a shiur (less than the minimum quantity). Similarly here, the prohibition devolves upon a human being. The quantity of prohibited matter consumed is irrelevant.
Resh Lakish says eating half a shi'ur is only an isur d'rabanan, because he views it as an isur of heftsa – of the object. In such a case, it would depend upon the quantity consumed and not upon the intent of the one who ate.
It seems to me that this concept, half a shiur in quality, addresses man's basic relationship to Emuna.

Half a shiur in Emuna
How shall a man overcome his yetser, asks the Gemara, and answers, let him pull it to the Bet Hamidrash. "If he still has not overcome it, let him remind it of the day of death." The Gemara intends to arrange a confrontation between two fundamental urges: The urge for pleasure, detached from duty and from responsibility – meaning the enticement of the yetser – versus the urge for survival. The instinct of existence, which appears immediately at the moment of birth, and survives until the moment of one's passing: The threat of the day of death is stronger than any other urge. If the one pursuing lust would remember that it will bring him down unto the grave – the more this reminder is tangibly real, the more it will overpower the pull of the yetser.

Thus a compulsive smoker imprisoned in the physio-neurological trap of smoking's addictive poisons can suddenly cease when comes Shabat Kodesh, to abstain for over twenty four hours in a state of complete rest that is not disturbed by the naggings of nicotine screaming for satisfaction. With the departure of Shabat, the mighty need for smoking's poisons is on him again. There is no explanation for this peculiar phenomenon, other than the prohibition of "those who desecrate [the Shabat] shall surely die" – the severe prohibition that accompanies desecration of Shabat. We have before us a prime example of the revolution that takes place in the relationship between the permanent and the changing:
The body's needs express the needs of matter, which is the permanent factor, given to control by the rules of matter. The need for nicotine is a physical need. Behold as a permanent need of the laws of matter is rejected in favor of the spiritual need to observe Shabat. Except that we can interpret the prohibition against hilul Shabat as the archetype of the existential threat, for desecration of Shabat is prohibited on pain of death, which threatens the most primary existential need, and hence its power to push aside every other physical need.

Suddenly the wheel turns on the plane of belief. Convention considers spiritual needs to be the secondary (changing) needs, and physical needs (which represent the permanent) to be the primary needs. Yet we find occurring on the spiritual plane, a phenomenon of devotion and dvaikut to the ideal that reaches even to the extent of willingness to sacrifice one's own life. We are the witnesses of Jewish history, drenched with the blood of the sanctifiers of God's name, from the distant past to our present moment daily reality.
This devotion of self-sacrifice on the part of "amcha", the simple people of the nation of Israel, defies conventional understanding, for they laugh in the face of death, in merit of their sacred ideal, their devotion to kedusha, of the Torah and of the land.

Here we see how the sacred overturns the relationship between the permanent and the changing. Before our eyes a phenomenon appears: Perfect quantity in quality: A perfect faith, paved with the justice of one's path, a faith capable of rejecting, with contempt, all existential dangers and fears, a faith that bestows serenity and the joy of living and doing upon people who believe with perfect faith. Thus the existential threat turns into something changing, and the spiritual principle turns into something permanent.
However, life's track is mostly paved with intermediate situations: Actions bound to reward and punishment meet behaviors that are entangled in good and evil. Reward and punishment as an existential threat mix with moral distinctions, born of conscience, and this distinction comes out flawed because it has been confused by the threat of reward and punishment, as in oy li mi'yitsri v'oy li mi'yotsri.

Indeed this condition of confusion among the yotsrot is the most common condition. Rare are the crystal-clear situations that belong obviously to one tendency or another. Confusion results from half a shiur of Emuna. That is, confusion's source is partial faith, as in the joke about the mother who went to ask the tsadik to pray for her sick son. On the way she met a priest, and asked him too to pray for his son, saying to herself that two are better than one and who knows which one's prayer will be accepted in heaven.
Similar are all those who believe in superstitions, together with and alongside their belief in heaven. Fear of the evil eye, curses, and all other ills and devils: They are believed to have the power to hinder one, to cause one to falter in one's determination to do a mitsva.

There are people who devote themselves to the sacred task of hinuch – and there is no more sacred mitsva than this – yet simultaneously fear the curse of the "tsadik" from the competing school, where hinuch is flawed. One such educator became seriously ill, and began to fear that he had been hit by that one's curse. Where does he derive this notion? From half a shiur in Emuna. Less than a minimal shiur of idolatrous belief in other powers is comparable to a whole shiur – the quantity of the forbidden object becomes irrelevant. Who says his illness is caused by his involvement in hinuch. Were his faith whole, he would be viewing his involvement in the mitsva of hinuch as a cause of potential healing rather than a cause of illness. Who knows if heaven had not sent that mitsva his way so that he could accumulate the merit with which to be healed, rather than the opposite?

Emuna that travels half the journey means trouble from both directions. "Better a live dog than a dead lion." Had the educator been devoid of faith, and utterly imprisoned by rationality, he would have felt no fear of the cursing clown. It was only his openness to faith that exposed him to the gamut of superstitions passing his way, never-ending and never beginning.

It is worth remembering that the escape to rationalism does not really work for anyone, either, for it thrives only under conditions of routine. In life-threatening situations, it is gone with the wind. The fear of a supreme power takes its place, and cannot be reconciled with half a shiur of faith. It demands perfect faith.

Only in merit of perfect faith can man deal with the sterility of the rational mind and with its invasion by superstitions, and by the fears and dreads evoked by every fluttering leaf.

Gnosticism and mysticism are born of the fear of the unknown, for they rule the vague and shifting region of the twilight hours – that belong to neither day or night, that exude lack of clarity, and whispering dangers of all sorts that have not been brought under the light-radiating rule of the whole shiur of emuna , i.e. permanent faith in the Permanent One. This is the minefield that lies in wait, for the vast majority of believers.

Go To Top