By Rabbi Norman Lamm, zt”l
February 1967—Our Sidra of this morning manifests certain stylistic peculiarities that are deserving of our attention. Surprisingly, the name of Moses is not mentioned once in this Sidra. Instead, three times in succession Hashem addresses Moses using the pronoun v’attah, “and thou,” as if to emphasize some special assignment given to Moses by G-d. Thus, we read, v’attah tetzaveh, “and thou shalt command” the Children of Israel to bring olive oil for the Menorah; v’attah hakrev, “and thou shalt draw near” Aaron and his children to dedicate them to the priesthood; and v’attah tedaber, “and thou shalt speak” to all skilled artisans to prepare the vestments of priests and the furnishings of the Temple.
The Zohar too recognized the unusual construction of this passage, and attributed to the repetition of the pronoun v’attah great mystical significance, a raza ilaah, a supernal mystery whereby Moses was able to commune more directly with the Shechinah. In other words, the Zohar acknowledges, in mystical idiom, that we are witnessing here a special assignment given to Moses.
What Divine secrets is the Torah trying to reveal to us? Let us analyze each of these cases briefly and see what the Torah says to us openly, not esoterically.
Let us begin with the last case: v’attah tedaber el kol hakhmei lev, “and thou shall speak to all the wise-hearted” to use their skills in the prescribed manner in order to prepare the vestments and the Temple furnishings. Actually, a modern reader encountering this passage might well be astounded. For truthfully, our Sidra appears to the eyes of the unacquainted with Judaism as little more than a manual for carpenters, weavers, and tailors. Such a person might justifiably ask: What business is it of Moses to instruct the artisans in their work? What business, indeed, is it of religion to deal at all with art and crafts? Let Moses commission the artists, sublet the contract, and not interfere in the creative labors of the hakhmei lev.
Such protests make eminently good sense in the context of modern secularism. Secularism teaches that life and society are to be viewed in segments, by compartmentalization. There is the category of the sacred and the category of the profane, and they should not be confused. On one side we have religion, and on the other side everything else. Secularism does not deny the right of religion to preach its doctrine, nor does it deny to it legitimacy; it does not really care at all. Secularism insists that religion is irrelevant to any activity that is not concerned with the other world. Let religion deal with theology, with heaven and hell, with paradise—but let it not interfere with or pronounce judgment upon society and its varied problems. A secularist, therefore, would concur in a protest against Moses and the Bible in their concern with the hakhmei lev, the artists and artisans.
Yet this is precisely what the Torah wants to tell us: that this whole doctrine is false! Judaism cannot concern itself only with the Other World. In fact, it says precious little about the Other World, except that it exists and that it is a fine place to spend eternity. Our major concern is with this world, with poverty and wealth, peace and war, love and hate, ambition and competition, with the daily grind, and grime, and guts of earthly life. That is why the Torah emphasizes the point: v’attah, “and you,” Specifically you, Moses, who are the embodiment of Torah and revelation, v’attah tedaber el kol hakhmei lev, it is you who must incorporate into the realm of Torah the art of the artist and the skill of the artisan. It is you who must break down all artificial boundaries and declare as limitless the horizons of Torah and the people of Torah. So does the “Kli Yakar” interpret our verse: K’dei she’yekablu atzilut or ha-sekhel mimekha, the very inspiration and skill of the hakhmei lev must derive from the intellectual and spiritual genius of Moses and Torah. It is quite conceivable that Moses himself was not a skilled artist, that he could not even draw a straight line. But in the circle of Moses’ universal interests, his atzilut, he included art and science and commerce and each and every expression of human creativity.
I am therefore disappointed when I hear of Orthodox Jews who prefer to retrench to the comfort and security of the Synagogue or the Shtiebel, or the Yeshiva or the Kollel, and ignore the rest of the world. This is an instance of succumbing to an anti-Jewish view, to the divorce of the v’attah of Moses from the hakhmei lev of the modern world.
I am therefore grieved when American Jews deny to Orthodox thinkers the right to be heard when they express an authentic Jewish view, issuing from the Halakhah, on the great social, ethical, and moral problems of our day, whether on the problems of peace or those of the proposed abortion law. I am both amused and saddened when people on the one hand chastise Orthodoxy for not being involved more in contemporary life, and on the other hand chastise us even more when we attempt to pronounce an authentically Jewish view which may not agree with all their prejudices. Are we, then, to be reduced to the areas of service, Sabbath, and Kashruth exclusively, offering no moral opinions on matters of life and death? Leaving that only to the consensus of the ignorant or the moral authority of the politicians?
I therefore am happy, and delighted, and proud when some consummately obnoxious non-entity accuses Jews of being prejudiced in favor of more education. I plead guilty to the fact that the culture and religion of Judaism are predisposed to encouraging education as a moral necessity for all people. It is true that I am amused and faintly irritated by the astonishment experienced by so many Jews who found their illusion in shambles—illusions that because their Gentile neighbors greeted them politely every morning, this indicated an end to anti-Semitism. But I am happy that Jews stand accused of provoking Jew-hatred because they favor culture and learning. I prefer this to the revealing interview granted by a German Cardinal earlier this week in which, on the eve of accepting a Christian-Jewish Brotherhood award, he blamed Jewish assertiveness in provoking Hitlerian anti-Semitism. The senility of the old Prince of the Church was just sufficient to strip him of his hypocritical veneer of post-conciliar ecumenical euphoria and reveal the ugly inner forces of the legacy of centuries of anti-Semitism, a Jew-hatred which survives even his own earlier attempts to become a civilized human being in the face of Nazi bestiality. If we have to suffer anti-Semitism, then let it be for reasons that enhance the glory of our heritage and our loyalty to it. For we are not a cult, out of mainstream life. Moses and all he stands for, the v’attah that we represent today, includes the aspirations of all hakhmei lev.
The second instance of v’attah is the one that begins our Sidra: v’attah tetzaveh et benei Yisrael ve’yikhu elekha, “and thou shalt command the Children of Israel and they shall take to you” pure, beaten olive oil for illumination in the Temple. Our Rabbis were intrigued by the word elekha, “to you.” They said that Hashem meant this rather specifically: elekha ve’lo li, “to you, Moses, and not for Me,” because lo l’orah ani tzarikh, “I, G-d, do not need their light—but you and they and all mankind do.”
When the Talmud meant to tell us by this is that we must never think we are doing Hashem a favor by observing Judaism. To imagine that through our observance we are fulfilling a divine need is to revert to paganism and primitivism. The true Jew realizes that G-d does not need our gifts—that a religious life is not a question of spiritual trade and religious commercialization.
Unfortunately, this is not always the underlying assumption of our lives. You will not detect this primitive aspect of religion when you ask a person to contribute more of his time and substance and energy to Torah and he responds with annoyance, “Haven’t I already done my share?” As if what he has done so far has been a tribute exacted of him by an avaricious G-d who should have had His appetite satiated by now. When such a person suffers reverses, his question is always, “Didn’t I do my duty?” Why did I deserve this?”
Therefore, the Talmud interprets the words of the Torah clearly: elekha, ve’lo li: The Torah, with all its difficulties, demands, and disciplines, is a gift from G-d to man, but our observance of Torah is no gift by us to G-d. That is why, too, the Torah uses the word ve’yikhu, “and they shall take.” When we perform the genuine religious act, whether it is giving charity or lighting candles, we do not really give; we take. Paradoxically, it is a law of nature and of Torah that when we give, whether it be love, happiness, or charity, we really take; the more we transmit, the more we transcend; the more we do, the greater we become.
The third v’attah tells us of a sublime psychological principle that demanded of Moses that he scale the very heights of ethical and moral perfection. V’attah hakrev et Aharon ahikha v’et banav ito mi-tokh benei Yisrael le’khahano li, Nadav va-Avihu, Elazar v’Itamar, benei Aharon, “and thou shall draw near to thee Aaron thy brother and his children with him from amongst the children of Israel to minister unto Me; Aaron and Nadab and Avihu and Elazar and Ithamar, the children of Aaron.”
How difficult it must have been for Moses to preside at this dedication of Aaron and his sons as the founder of Jewish priesthood. His own children, Gershom and Eliezer, are of no importance in Jewish history. Shortly after their birth, they slip into total obscurity, lost to Scripture and Judaism and Jewry. What a prominent father—and what obscure sons!
At the very beginning of the career of these two brothers, Aaron manifested great heroism. He was the oldest, Moses the youngest in the family. Normally, it would be expected that Aaron be charged with the mission of teacher, leader, and law-given. But it was Moses, the younger, who was chosen. Aaron was to be subordinate to him. Yet, the Torah tells us, with prophetic revelation, that ve’raakha ve’samah be’libo, when Aaron saw Moses after being informed of the Divine mission, he was happy in his heart. Not only did Aaron demonstrate outward satisfaction, but inwardly he experienced simchah, true joy at the greatness that was accorded to his brother. No matter that he was now to be the disciple of Moses, the assistant, secondary to him, Aaron succeeded in restraining his quite natural sibling rivalry towards the youngest of his family. He did not begrudge Moses the greatness to which he might legitimately have laid claim.
Now the tables are turned and Moses is called upon to rise to the occasion and not begrudge his brother the special historic “nachas” that he, Moses, was denied. Hence, v’attah hakrev, “and thou draw near thy brother Aaron and his sons,” it is your opportunity, Moses, to show your greatness, a greatness that transcends even that of Aaron towards you, and bestow eternal priesthood on all his children, on Nadav, Avihu, Elazar, and Itamar, bnei Aharon. Do not allow your personal disappointment in your own children to stand in the way of family joy and pride. Witness and participate in, without any pangs of regret, the special pride that Aaron has now been blessed with.
It was a psychologically impossible task, but Moses was commanded to do it, and he succeeded in this v’attah as well.
No wonder the priestly vestments, the mark of distinction of the children of Aaron, are regarded by our Sidra as le’khavod u-le’tiferet, the signs of honor adornment. Indeed, they were a tiferet, an ornament for the children of Aaron. But they were also the sign of kavod, true sublime honor, for Moses, who was able to preside at this investiture without begrudging this special joy to his brother Aaron.
The Zohar was right: these three principles, summarized in the three pronouns v’attah, serve to bring man into communion with the Shechinah. They allow man to grow intellectually, religiously, and morally. They teach us the comprehensiveness of Torah; that Torah was meant for our good; and that we must erase every taint of selfishness from our hearts and never begrudge another his joys.
May I conclude by exercising some homiletic license. The first verse of our Haftorah begins with the charge of the Almighty to the prophet Ezekiel: Attah ben adam haged et bet Yisrael, “You, O son of man, tell the house of Israel” to proceed with the building of the Temple. Let us reinterpret that: haged et bet Yisrael, tell the House of Israel that if they will remember the attah, the special lessons incorporated in the pronoun “thou” told to their teacher Moses, that they will reach the very limits of humanity, and will rise to the fullness of the stature of ben adam.
To subscribe to receive a weekly sermon from Rabbi Lamm’s extensive archives, please visit yu.edu/about/lamm-heritage, or email Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Sinensky, archives director, at sinensky3@gmail.com.
