TORAH SPARKS
Parashat Tetzaveh
February 12, 2022, 11 Adar I 5782
Torah: Exodus 27:20-30:10; Triennial 29:19-30:10
Haftarah: Haftarah: Ezekiel 43:10-27
Nothing But Radish Oil
Ilana Kurshan
This week s parashah opens with God s instructions to Moshe concerning the oil used for lighting the Menorah in the Mishkan: You shall instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps regularly (27:20). The rabbis of the Mishnah (Menachot 8:4) explain that it was necessary to kindle the Menorah in the tabernacle using oil of the highest quality, taken from the olives that grew at the very tops of the trees, which were crushed and put into baskets so that the oil might collect in a vessel below. Why was it necessary to use such high-grade oil? The Talmudic rabbis, in explaining this mitzvah, enter into a discussion about wealth, poverty, and the way we honor God, shedding light on their value system as well as our own.
The rabbis consider the nature of this oil in Tractate Menachot (86b), which is about grain offerings in the Temple. Nearly all grain offerings were made of a mixture of fine flour, frankincense, and oil, and the Talmud asks whether the oil used in the menachot offerings, too, had to be the same highest-quality oil required for kindling the Menorah. They respond that no, the menachot offerings did not need to be made from such high-quality oil. Their response is based on a close reading of the first verse in our parashah, where the oil of beaten olives is specifically for lighting, and not for any other purpose. Thus the rabbis conclude that such oil is required for the Menorah, but is optional when it comes to the grain offerings.
Why require oil of the highest quality for the Menorah but not for the menachot? Rabbi Elazar explains that the reason is because such oil is very expensive, and the Torah is sparing of the money of the Jewish people. Rashi clarifies that the Menorah did not require very much oil, and was kindled only once a day, unlike the grain offerings, which were brought frequently. Furthermore, grain offerings were often brought as a poor man s alternative to the more expensive animal sacrifices; to require high-quality oil would defeat the purpose of this more affordable option.
It is for this reason, too, that the rabbis permit lighting Shabbat candles using all sorts of oils; not everyone can afford high-quality olive oil. When the wealthy Rabbi Tarfon ruled that only olive oil was acceptable (Mishnah Shabbat 2:2), he was met with significant backlash. The midrash explains that Rabbi Yohanan ben Nuri stood up to Rabbi Tarfon, insisting: What will the people of Babylon do, who have nothing but sesame oil? What will the people of Media do, who have nothing but nut oil? What will the people of Alexandria do, who have nothing but radish oil? (Tanchuma Behaalotcha 1). Rabbi Tarfon s insistence on olive oil would impose significant financial hardship for communities where such oil was not readily available.
The notion that the Torah is sparing of the money of the Jewish people comes up at several points throughout the Talmud and midrash, where it is often pitted against the contrasting principle that there should be no poverty in a place of wealth. On the one hand, the Torah does not wish to place an undue financial burden on us; on the other hand, one s actions should not be motivated by a concern for financial cost in a sacred structure like the Mishkan or the Temple.
The Talmud (Menachot 89a) cites both principles in a discussion of how the priests figured out how much oil was necessary to keep the Menorah burning all night long. According to one opinion, the priests initially used far more oil than was necessary to burn throughout the night, and then they decreased the quantity by a small amount each night until the oil lasted only until dawn. But according to a second opinion, they initially used a small amount of oil, and then they gradually increased that quantity until the Menorah remained lit all night. Those who hold by the first opinion maintain that there should be no poverty in a place of wealth, and thus it s better to waste some extra oil rather than stingily trying to use every last drop. Those who hold by the second opinion argue that the Torah is sparing of the money of the Jewish people, and thus the priests tried to minimize the expense of their experimentation.
The Torah Temimah (Rabbi Baruch Epstein, 1902), in his commentary on our parashah, attempts to reconcile these two principles. He explains that when it came to communal contributions like the oil for the Menorah, the goal was to give lavishly and generously, using the highest quality oil as befits a place of wealth like the Mishkan. But when it came to private contributions like the grain offerings brought by individuals, the Torah did not want to tax anyone financially, and thus lower quality oil was perfectly acceptable.
In our own day, too, we aspire for our public religious institutions to be as beautiful as possible, and those who can contribute towards an adorned synagogue ark or a magnificent ark cover are encouraged to do so. But when it comes to the religious objects in our private homes, we need not feel obligated to spend in excess, especially when doing so might embarrass those of lesser means. Not everyone has the fanciest Shabbat candlesticks, but if the light of our communal institutions burns clearly and brightly, it will illuminate all of our homes and hearts.
Whose Light Is It?
Vered Hollander-Goldfarb
Text: Shemot 27:20-21
20 And you shall command the children of Israel that they bring you pure oil of pressed olives for the light, to cause the lamp/Menorah to burn continually. 21In the tabernacle of meeting, outside the curtain which is over the Testimony, Aaron and his sons shall lay it out from evening until morning before the Lord. It shall be a statute forever to their generations on behalf of the children of Israel.
● This parashah opens with a commandment to bring oil for the lamp, while the building materials were voluntary contributions. Why do you think that this is by command but the building materials for the Tabernacle were brought on a voluntary basis?
● Most of the work in the Mishkan (Tabernacle) was done at daytime. Why, then, do you think that we are commanded to bring oil so that there will be light in the Mishkan at night?
● Why do you think that all the people, forever, are commanded to bring the oil, instead of just including it in general maintenance costs?
Commentary: Hizkuni Shemot 27:20
And you shall command – After He completed giving all the instructions for the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), He explained to him how to construct light in it. Similarly, we find in the Genesis story that after all the aspects of the Earth were made, He constructed light for it. But the main instruction of the Mitzvah [for lighting the Menorah in the Mishkan] will come only in Parashat Beha alotcha (in the book of Bemidbar). So, what is meant here by you shall command? for the future, when the Mishkan will be built and then they shall bring you oil.
They bring you for your needs. So that you can see where you are going into and coming out of; and not for Me, for I do not need light. And there is proof of this: outside the curtain which is over the Testimony he shall lay it out. But earlier it says, they shall take Me a contribution (Shemot 25:2) in My name, so it shall be for My name.
● According to Hizkuni why is the mitzvah of bringing the oil not mentioned in the request for building materials in the beginning of the previous parashah?
● Hizkuni see the order in the building of the Mishkan as mirroring that of the creation of the world. What does this idea teach us about the Mishkan? How does it frame what we are told regarding the creation of the world?
● How does the location of the lamp prove that it is for human, not Godly, need? How does Hizkuni understand God s place in they shall take Me a contribution ?
Mortality and the Generations
Bex Stern Rosenblatt
While there has never been another prophet like Moses, Ezekiel is rather similar to him. Both of them serve God and Israel outside of the land of Israel. In this week s parashah and haftarah, both Moses and Ezekiel provide detailed descriptions of how to sanctify a dwelling place for God. Moses is describing the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, which will accompany the Israelites on their way to the land of Israel. Ezekiel is describing the Bet Hamikdash, the Temple to be rebuilt when the people return from exile. The First Temple has been destroyed and he describes the Temple which will replace it. Even more so, just as God traveled with the Israelites out of Egypt, God has traveled with us into exile. Earlier in the Book of Ezekiel, God explains that because the people have been scattered through the nations, God will be for us a mikdash me’at, a little temple or a temple for a little while.
Neither Ezekiel nor Moses ever get to Israel. Moses leads the people there but does not enter. Ezekiel, having been exiled, never returns. Indeed, the way God addresses Ezekiel throughout the entire book emphasizes this fragility. God calls him ben adam. This translates literally as son of man. Many modern translations say mortal. The Targum Jonathan, an early Aramaic translation of Nevi’im, translates it as son of Adam. As Abarbanel notes, all of the prophets were sons of men, all of the prophets were mortal. Yet it is only Ezekiel who is constantly referred to using this title. The term does appear in the Book of Isaiah. There we read, as translated by Robert Alter:
I, I am He Who comforts you. What troubles you that you should fear man who dies and the son of man who is no more than grass, and you forget the LORD your Maker, who stretches out the heavens and founds the earth.
The rendering of the term as mortal makes sense in this context. Human transience is contrasted with the might and eternity of God. So, what is it about Ezekiel that he should be constantly reminded of his own mortality? Why, even as he is relaying messages of hope and renewal for Israel, is he made aware that he will not see the Temple rebuilt?
Perhaps it is only through an acceptance of his mortality that Ezekiel is able to deliver such a message. In order to imagine a better future, a time of near perfection, it is necessary for Ezekiel to remove his ego from the equation. Rather than focusing on his own experience as located in a particular time and space, Ezekiel is free to be conduit for the totality of the Jewish people, which is not mortal, which does not have an end date.