Upsherin

 Upsherin may not be the most venerable minhag in Yiddishkeit, and neither I nor my wife had it from our families. Nevertheless, we chose to adopt it for our sons. I would like to share a little of what it symbolizes to us. This will be a double post, as I encountered a midrash while reviewing for publication that required a different approach to the one I originally formulated nearly a year ago. 

One source that is brought down is the mitzvah of 'orlah. Famously, Devarim 20:19 includes the phrase, "ki ha-adam eitz ha-sadeh," which various midrashim take homiletically, as "man is like a tree of the field". As with many symbolic teachings, we can give it greater weight by concretizing it through an action, and so we leave three years' growth of hair uncut to recall a mitzvah that distinguishes trees; we do not take the fruit of a newly planted tree in its first three years, in its fourth year the fruit is sanctified, thereafter it is fit for typical use. Let us explore this mitzvah, as applied symbolically to a child.

The verse that contains this prohibition, Vayikra 19:23, uses three variations on the root of 'orlah: "va-'araltem", "'orlaso", "'areilim". The Sifra brings that the excess verbiage comes to teach that the prohibition is not just to use for food, as explicit in the verse, but also to dye with its color or to burn with its oil. Just as we are cautioned against three 'orlahs in a tree, there are three parts of the human body that are described with 'orlah in the Chumash; most commonly, 'orlah refers straightforwardly to the foreskin, but we see also Moshe Rabbeinu refers to himself twice as 'aral sefasayim (uncircumcised lips), and in parshas ha-yirah he instructs us, "u-maltem es 'orlas levavchem" (circumcise the foreskin of your heart). Each of these organs has a dual nature, for extraordinary good and for the three cardinal 'aveiros that we are called to die rather than transgress. The first mitzvah given in the Torah, piryah ve-rivya, to be fruitful and multiply, is the closest we come to participating in yesh me-'ayin, creation ex nihilo; the marital union is an image of the deveikus between Hashem and klal Yisroel. However, the same organ, misused, is giluy 'arayos, sexual transgression. The mouth is given to speak divrei Torah. Misused, lashon ha-ra' and halbanas panim, gossip and embarrassment, are both compared to murder. The gemara at the beginning of Ta'anis teaches, "mah hi 'avodah she-hi be-lev? Zo tefilah." (What is the service which is in the heart? Prayer). Of course, tefilah misused is 'avodah zarah, idolatry.

These three line up nicely with the uses described in the Sifra. Food and sexuality are both bodily appetites, often paired and compared. Between the red of spilled blood and the white of an embarrassed face, color seems to have a special emphasis in that class of transgressions; in general, there is a powerful connection to draw between visual imagery and the power of speech to activate the imaginative faculty. Kitur (burning) is in the category of actions deemed intrinsically worshipful, alongside bowing, sacrificing, and pouring libations. So, when we cut off the first three years growth of hair, we have in mind to discard the propensity to use these abilities for harm, and dedicate the new growth to sanctity, that our son should grow to build a bayis neeman be-Yisroel, a house of Torah and 'avodah.

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That said, while reviewing these thoughts for publication, I encountered a midrash that required an alternative approach.

Brought down in several places, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Yishmo'el discuss the four 'orlahs of a man: the three I had identified from chumash, and a verse I had neglected in Yermiyahu that declares, "hinei, 'areilah oznam" (behold, their ears are uncircumcised). 

So, if I want to preserve the parallel to the triple 'orlah of trees, which of these is not like the others? It occurs to me that 'orlas ha-guf should not be symbolically removed at the age of three; it has already been literally removed at the age of eight days. Further, the ears, the heart, and the mouth form a natural unit, a flow that can be blocked by obstruction at any of these three junctures. Language in general and Torah in particular comes in through the ears, is understood in the heart, and given over by way of the mouth. As far as the Sifra mentioned above, eating is to take in from without, like the ears; dyeing is to incorporate and be given form, like the heart; burning is to radiate outward, like speech. Alternatively, there is another opinion in the Sifra that the triple language comes to include every stage of development of the fruit, which would fit this metaphor where we consider a single flow of transmission and development of an idea.

There is a dual aspect of our special relationship with Hashem, established once at the time of the Avos as a family, then reestablished at the time of yetzias Mitzrayim and Matan Torah as a nation. The former is associated with bris milah, the covenant of circumcision, and so the latter is sometimes given the corresponding label of bris ha-lashon, the covenant of language, bringing out a major theme of that narrative and its associated mitzvos and yomim tovim. 

For those who have a particular rav from whom they receive their foundation in Torah learning, the relationship is compared in many ways to a father. Both father and rav are, in some sense, extending themselves by participating in the formation of the next generation in a deeply personal way. Ideally, a father should be his sons' first rav. The two relationships clearly correspond to the two covenants. So, at the time of bris milah, I bring the son of my body into the covenant of the body. At the age of three, whereupon children typically reach the linguistic and emotional development to begin a Torah education, I bring the son of my teaching into the covenant of Torah learning. In both cases, we discard the 'orlahs that represent blockage of the flow from one generation to the next. A father's physical input in forming his son is governed by a single organ, but the spiritual and intellectual input requires a three-fold path through ears, heart, and mouth. After he was shorn, we immediately gave our son honey to lick from the aleph-beis, to taste the sweetness of Torah, and then took him to the beis midrash to learn a pasuk with me, that the first fruits of the new growth should be dedicated to sanctity. 'Eitz chayim hi, the Torah is a tree of life. 

Thanksgiving

 Adapted from remarks at the seudas hodaah, meal of thanksgiving, held after my son was released from the NICU.

In a Shabbos ha-Gadol drasha, the Maharal explains much of the symbolism of parshas Tzav. Regarding the korban todah, the offering of thanksgiving, he claims that the four types of bread that accompany the offering correspond to the four types of danger from which deliverance imposes an obligation to give thanks. Those four are brought in Brakhos 54B by Rav Yehuda in the name of Rav as those who go to sea, those who traverse a wilderness, those who recover from illness, and those who are released from prison, based on Tehillim 107. The Maharal takes those as archetypes of general categories of danger: the wilderness represents being cut off from sustenance, the sea represents violent force, the sickness represents subversion from within, and prison combines the other three with an added level of human agency and free will. Thus, the three varieties of matzoh correspond to the first three, and the chometz -- equal in weight to the other three combined, and with leaven classically symbolizing the yetzer hara' -- corresponding to incarceration. 

A curious point arises from this. I might have imagined, if each circumstance is tied to a single type of bread, that the one bringing the sacrifice should specifically bring the type of bread that symbolizes his own salvation. However, the Mishnah in Menachos 3:6 teaches that the four breads are me'akvin zeh es zeh; should the owner fail to bring all four, not only is the offering lacking those that are missing, but even those that were brought are invalidated. I think that this point combines with the Maharal's reading to bring out a profound insight into the nature of thanksgiving. When we experience a personal salvation, it is meant to give us the means to relate more deeply to Hashem as a savior. If we can accomplish that, that relationship transcends the particulars of our own experience. The same Hashem who saved my son from sickness is the architect of every deliverance, and part of giving thanks for his recovery is recognizing that commonality.

Both halves are necessary. Without the particular experience, we are left with an abstraction that cannot affect us deeply enough to transform our relationship to Hashem. The Maharal criticizes those who would bench gomel (the brokha that fulfills this requirement in the absence of a Beis ha-Mikdosh where we could bring the korban todah) without having an experience from the four categories, those whose danger is minor or imagined, saying that this is the sort of addition that subtracts. Without the generalization, we are left with gross materialism, a symbol cut off from its referent. 

If I may beg forgiveness for possible overreach, I would like to posit that this is a highly generalizable solution to various tensions between particularism and universalism, and between the concrete and the abstract. Consider love: love of all mankind that is not grounded in the personal experience of love for one's own family, friends, and community will naturally tend to be insubstantial, unworthy of the name. Conversely, love that stays confined only to one's own intimates reveals that it has failed to penetrate to the tzelem Elokim, the image of Hashem, and is thus lacking even toward those intimates. Or consider teachings through allegory, metaphor, and analogy: there is one temptation to take fantastic stories or arcane rituals at face value and move on, perhaps entertained but certainly unaffected. There is another temptation to flatter ourselves for having the sophistication not to take such things at face value, and use that excuse to dismiss the details, imagining that we become entitled to skip to the deeper meaning without engaging with the plain meaning. Both temptations make a mockery of the whole method of symbolism, obviously. In these cases, and many more, what appears as tension is really complementarity. 

As a matter of practical application, what follows? We don't achieve balance by dividing our energies in a particular proportion, any more than we would balance the energies we direct toward a path against its destination. The particular and concrete ought to absorb the bulk of our efforts, but always with hearts and eyes open to the way that those efforts can facilitate the natural development of the universal and abstract. 

As an addendum, I have found the Maharal's framework fruitful in drawing many comparisons beyond what he gives explicitly. Not exactly germane to the above vort, so I present only a brief synopsis here, but happy to engage if it sparks questions or feedback:

	Tzrichin hodaah	Malchuyos, Kingdoms	Ta’anis, Minor Fasts	Av Nezikin, Damages	Misos Beis Din	Yesod, Element	Hashem’s Regrets
Deprivation	Midbar, Wilderness	Bavel, Babylon	10 Teves, Besiegement	Bor, Pit	Chenek, Strangulation	Avir, Air	Galus, Exile
Violent Force	Yam, Sea	Paras, Persia	17 Tammuz, Walls Breached	Shor, Ox	Cherev, Sword	Mayim, Water	Kasdim, Imperialism
Internal Subversion	Choli, Sickness	Yavan, Greece	Tzom Gedalia, Civil Strife	Eish, Fire	Sreifa, Burning	Eish, Fire	Yishmaelim, Nomadism
All, with agency	Beis ha-asurim, Prison	Edom, Rome	9 Av, Total Destruction	Adam ha-Mazik, human	Skila, Stoning	Afar, Earth	Yetzer ha-Ra’, Evil Inclination

 

Gedalya Tzadok

Hodu la-Shem ki tov, ki le'olam chasdo. Happy first birthday to Gedalya Tzadok.

Gedalya is an interesting name to translate, allowing it to be read as, "Hashem is great," or as, "Hashem makes great." We thought to lean into that ambiguity, and to have in mind the intention that Hashem should help Gedalya grow to be great in some way informed by the greatness of Hashem. It may sound presumptuous, but we do have a general principle of halakhta bi-drakhav, imitatio dei, and every midah that we strive to emulate would be equally presumptuous if we fail to hold firmly to the recognition that we are translating it to a human level. However, that does immediately raise the question, "What do we really mean when we say that Hashem is great?"

The gemara in Yuma 69b asks that question on the pasuk Nechemia 8:6, where Ezra ha-Sofer describes Hashem as ha-gadol. There are two versions brought describing the dispute over the answer. Both have one opinion that Ezra uttered the Shem ha-meforash, the tetragrammaton, and one opinion that a takana was made to alter the liturgy. I understand these two versions as bringing out two aspects of that name. In the first version, the takana is to answer "Barukh Hashem Elokei Yisroel min ha-'olam ve-'ad ha-'olam" (blessed be Hashem, God of Yisroel, from eternity to eternity) in lieu of "amen" when in the mikdash. This emphasizes the sense of Shem Havayah as a juxtaposition of 'haya', 'hoveh', and 'yihyeh' ('was', 'is', and 'will be'), expressing our understanding of Hashem as the uniquely true, eternal, necessary existence. For a human-level parallel, I would understand gadlus representing becoming so much oneself as to transcend proximate causes and present as an independent existence. I think that that intuitively fits many of the ways that we use the term for people: a koton becomes a gadol when he achieves a certain independence from his father, a gadol be-Torah is one who has achieved a certain independence from his rav. 

In the second version, the takana is the restoration of the complete phrase "ha-Kel ha-gadol ha-gibor veha-nora," (the great, mighty, and awesome God), for which Ezra's beis din earned the appellation Anshei Knesses Ha-Gedolah (men of the great assembly). The Gr"a on the siddur notes the three-by-three parallel structure of the beginning of the first brokha of shmoneh 'esrei, with 'ha-gadol' corresponding to 'Elokei Avraham' (God of Avraham, paragon of human chesed) before it and 'gomel chasadim tovim' (who bestows good chesed) after it, and comments that ha-gadol itself should be read simply as chesed. Thus, I would read the second version as emphasizing Shem Havayah as the name of chesed.

Rav Hutner's kuntres ha-chesed at the beginning of Pachad Yitzchok Rosh Hashanah has several pieces that are relevant here, and most of the balance of this vort will be drawn from that source. Existence and chesed are not truly different aspects of Shem Havayah, they are ultimately the same thing; while every other midah we ascribe to Hashem is involved in shaping and directing creation, existence itself is underwritten solely by pure chesed. So, too, on the human level, we build our personal, inner world on the foundation of our own chesed. In order to be a proper foundation for growth, though, we must distinguish between two levels of chesed. The first level, characterizing the twenty-six generations from Adam until Matan Torah, was continual, free-flowing chesed, sustaining an existence of complete dependence. The higher level of chesed introduced at Matan Torah granted a framework through which creation could begin to earn and justify its own continuation. With this responsibility comes a level of dominion that enables accumulation, breaking the world out of its extended present and allowing each moment to build on the past and build toward the future, and so Rav Hutner identifies this level specifically as the subject of the phrase from Tehillim, "'olam chesed yibaneh" (chesed builds the world). 

This concept clearly parallels Rambam's formulation of the highest tzedakah as providing the means to become self-sufficient. Indeed, it seems clear to me that this is the primary denotation of the word 'tzedakah', a system of justice and obligation that remains nevertheless pure chesed. As the pasuk in Mishlei teaches, "tzadik yesod 'olam" (the tzadik is the foundation of the world). Our family are kohanim, and this midah feels particularly relevant to us, as it says in Tehillim, "kohanekha yilbshu tzedek" (your kohanim will clothe themselves in tzedek). While the other shevatim are given to act in the world, to shape and direct it, the kohanim are primarily tasked with the sustenance of the world. Avos 1:2 teaches that the world stands on three pillars: Torah, avodah, and acts of chesed. The particular role of the kohanim in avodah is obvious. For Torah, Toras chesed is brought down as Torah to be taught, and the kohanim are meant to be teachers and disseminators of Torah, as we see in parshas Shoftim, where the kohen is named alongside the judge in the mitzvos of the sanhedrin. For gemilus chasadim, Aharon ha-kohen was famously chosen for his role due to his 'ayin tovah (good eye), and his nature as an ohev shalom ve-rodef shalom, ohev es ha-brios u-mekarvan la-Torah (lover of peace, pursuer of peace, lover of humanity who brings them close to Torah, Avos 1:12). I think that this explains why the name 'Tzadok' has been so deeply associated with kohanim: in Vayikra Raba, Tzadok is given as a name of Aharon; Tzadok was the kohen gadol at the building of the first Beis ha-Mikdosh; Rabbi Tzadok represented keser kehuna (the crown of priesthood) among Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai's three requests from Vespasian at the destruction of Bayis Sheini, bookending the era of the Temples. We daven that, like these three namesakes, Gedalya Tzadok should embody this midah and be a true kohen tzedek.

Speaking of namesakes, I would be remiss not to mention that we chose this name also for Rav Gedalya Schorr and for Rav Tzadok ha-kohen Rabinowitz of Lublin. Their teachings and seforim have been especially formative for my wife, and we both continue to turn to them. Rav Schorr came from a chassidishe background, and became Rosh Yeshiva of Torah Vodaas; Rav Tzadok came from a litvishe background, and became a principal talmid of the Izhbitzer Rebbe. May Gedalya Tzadok, like these namesakes, integrate chassidish imagination with litvish rigor to find true depth, and in general take the best of all that he encounters until he becomes a chakhom ha-lomed mi-kol adam (the wise learn from everyone, Avos 4:1).

Gedalya was born layl Shabbos Va-era, whose opening passage contains the essence of this vort. The Shem Havayah could not be fully known, even to the Avos, until Hashem upheld His covenant and brought Klal Yisroel to Har Sinai to receive the Torah. Gedalya's name also fits his birthday, 25 Teves. Following the order of the camp in the wilderness, Teves marks the year moving into the northern camp, Degel Dan. The north is associated with darkness, and Teves is indeed the month with least daylight in the northern hemisphere. However, the holiest sacrifices are required to be brought on the northern side of the courtyard, "lifnei Hashem" (before Hashem). The Ohr Gedalyahu explains that the special sanctity of the north stems from its darkness, which imparts a fundamental association with our free will, the essential ingredient in our ability to take responsibility for our own sustenance. The number 25 is written in Hebrew as khaf-heh, spelling 'koh' (thus). This word is beloved of ba'alei medrash, who identify it as key to many momentous passages in Torah, from the Bris Bein ha-Besarim, "koh yihyeh zarekha" (thus shall be your descendants); to the 'Akeida, "ani veha-na'ar neilkha 'ad koh" (I and the lad shall go thus far); to Matan Torah, "koh somar le-veis Ya'akov, ve-saged li-vnei Yisroel" (thus shall you say to the house of Ya'akov, and tell to the children of Yisroel); to Birkas Kohanim, "koh sevorakhu es benei Yisroel" (thus shall you bless the children of Yisroel). 'Koh amar' (thus says) as a language of prophecy is contrasted with 'zeh ha-davar' (this is the word), a level of absolute clarity that only Moshe experienced. As with the darkness of Teves, limited clarity can be the necessary precondition for our independence and our ability to participate in relationship to Hashem. I think that this may be seen as a unifying strand throughout the disparate portions just quoted. We pray that Gedalya Tzadok should encounter the space created by uncertainty as a field for growth and self-realization until he can inhabit it fully as a true adom gadol ve-tzedek.