TORAH SPARKS
Parshat Tetzaveh Shabbat Zachor
March 4, 2023 | 11 Adar 5783
Torah: Exodus 27:20-30:10 Triennial: Exodus 27:20-28:30
Maftir: Deuteronomy 25:17-19 Haftarah: I Samuel 15:2-34
Ahasuerus in Aaron s Clothes
Bex Stern-Rosenblatt
Parashah
This week is Shabbat Zachor. Just before Purim, we are called to remember what Amalek, from whose tribe Haman descends, did to us. We read, And it shall be, when the LORD your God grants you respite from all your enemies around in the land that the LORD your God is about to give you in estate to take hold of it, you shall wipe out the remembrance of Amalek from under the heavens, you shall not forget. But it is not while firmly planted in the land that we will experience triumph over Amalek. Rather, it is in the exile described in Megillat Esther that we will defeat Amalek s descendants.
There is something very bitter about this. The entirety of the Torah is concerned with getting us into Israel and teaching us how to live there. Yet as readers of the Tanakh, we know that we will not remain in the land for long. We know exile is coming. We know the beautiful systems described in the Torah will have to be adjusted, reinterpreted, to work in an existence outside of being able to exercise full sovereignty in the land.
This week s parashah is replete with hints of the loss to come. Ostensibly, the parashah describes the clothing of priests and how they are to be consecrated. We read vivid descriptions of color and finery. The visuals are overwhelming in their majesty. However, hidden behind nearly every visual is the knowledge that these things and these people will be lost. What should be an eternal institution will be taken away from us.
The parashah opens by listing those who will be consecrated as priests: Aaron and his four sons, Nadav and Avihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. But we know that nearly as soon as the consecration ceremony has ended, Nadav and Avihu will die. Their impending loss changes the feeling of the description of this ceremony. One could read it as we read the Akeda. These sons are not being gussied up to serve God, but rather they are being given their very tools which will lead to their deaths.
The sense of doom underlying pageantry continues in the next verse. We read, And you shall make sacred garments for Aaron your brother for glory and for splendor. These garments will be gold and indigo and purple and crimson. These clothes are a really, really big deal. Medieval commentator Sforno explains that the glory, the kavod, is to give kavod to God. The splendor, the tiferet, is to inspire fear and awe among the Israelites. By wearing these clothes, Aaron embodies and allows for Israel s relationship with God.
Therefore, it is absolutely horrifying what will happen to these clothes. Rabbi Yosei bar Chanina explains (Megillah 12a) that Ahasuerus wore these clothes. He quotes Esther 1:4, describing when Ahasuerus held a feast during which he showed the wealth of his kingdom s kavod and the worth of the tiferet of his greatness. The repetition of these two specific words point us towards understanding that what Ahasuerus displayed was none other than the fine clothes of the high priest. These are clothes that are handed down, father to son, upon the death of the father. To imagine the chain of transmission disrupted so badly that a despicable foreign king ends up parading the symbol of our relationship with God during a bacchanalian feast is disheartening. The kavod we gave to God becomes a celebration of the wealth of Persia.
However, the story does not end there. Later on in Megillat Esther, when Ahasuerus issues the decree reversing Haman s decision and allows Jews to exterminate whoever attacks them, Mordechai also takes action. We read, Mordecai came out before the king in royal garb, indigo and white, and a great golden diadem and a wrap of crimson linen. These clothes, this royal garb appears to be the very clothing of the high priest which Ahasuerus had displayed so disrespectfully. Mordechai wears them now.
All that had been made wrong is made right. Almost. While we take our clothes and our relationship with God back, we do not yet take our sovereignty or our land back. Success comes in exile. The promise of the Torah has not been made real again. We return again to the injunction of what to do about Amalek. In exile, we wipe out Haman, we wipe out the remembrance of Amalek. But we are also commanded not to forget. Perhaps this command points us towards not forgetting what we have lost. We are instructed to recall our original experience of kavod and tiferet, and to strive to return to that state.
Death is Not Always the Worst Option
Vered Hollander-Goldfarb
Haftarah
Spoiler alert: It ends badly.
The Shabbat before Purim is known as Shabbat Zachor for the short passage read reminding us of the commandment to remember ( zachor ) what Amalek did to us when we left Egypt and erase their memory. The story of Purim has been associated with Amalek because Haman was an Agagite. Agag is the name of the king of Amalek that Saul spares when he kills the rest of the Amalek people, as is told in this haftarah.
Samuel the prophet instructs King Saul to kill all of Amalek, and he fulfills the commandment. Almost. While ruthlessly killing the people of Amalek he leaves Agag alive, making us wonder about the logic of such a move. My grandfather believed that leaders are hesitant to demonstrate to their own people that leaders can be killed or removed.
The day following the battle Samuel, who got some insider s information from God, arrives to have a harsh conversation with Saul. Since Saul did not see it fit to kill Agag, the Amalekite king, Samuel orders Agag brought before him. Then Samuel said, Bring Agag king of the Amalekites here to me. So Agag came to him cautiously. And Agag said, Surely the bitterness of death is past. (15:32).
The commentators were conflicted about the meaning of Agag s statement. Did he assume that Samuel would spare him? If that was the case, there was no need to call for him, Saul had already decided not to kill him. Perhaps his referral to the bitterness had a different meaning.
Ralbag is a good representation of those who read Agag s statement as a misunderstanding of the situation that he was in: It would seem that Agag was fearful when he was presented before Samuel but when he saw Samuel, whose form reflected his kindness and mercy, he said indeed, the bitterness of death has passed for I have fallen into the hands of someone who will have mercy on me.
According to Ralbag, Agag was evaluating the situation based on the risk to his life, an understandable concern in a war setting when all those around him had been killed. He misunderstood Samuel s role in the situation and thought that appealing to him would save his life.
But some found it difficult to read the situation this way. Abarbanel and Malbim both thought it was more complicated, noting that Agag was after all a king. The bitterness that Agag is speaking about is not death but rather his current situation as a lowly prisoner. for until now he was given a disgraceful life of slavery rather than death, and this is very difficult in the eyes of great people, more than death. Therefore, he [Agag] spoke of bitterness, for this situation was more bitter than death, and so he was pleased with his death. (Malbim).
Samuel kills Agag before the Lord in Gilgal (15:33). Agag lost his life but may have retained his dignity. Depending on which reading you choose, that might have been a bad, but not the worst, outcome as far as a king was concerned.
The Ner Tamid: Must it Always be Lit?
Joshua Kulp
The Halakhah in the Parashah
Jewish law was designed with a system for ranking the importance of most mitzvot. A mitzvah that is from the Torah (de orayta) takes precedence over a mitzvah that was created by the rabbis (derabanan). A mitzvah usually takes precedence over a custom, and when it does not, this is usually noted. Avoiding transgressions takes precedence over performing a precept. While of course there are many exceptions to these rules, they serve well as rules of thumb.
However, in the popular mind, this is not how Judaism works. Oftentimes there are customs that in people s minds far supersede their technical, halakhic importance. The greatest example of this is Mourner s Kaddish, a custom that does not appear in the Talmud and took quite a long time to fully develop. From a technical, source-oriented, halakhic perspective Kaddish is not particularly important. But of course, in actual practice, for most people the recitation of Kaddish is the most important aspect of mourning.
There is a practice alluded to in this week s parashah that I believe also fits into this category, a practice which is at best alluded to in classical sources, is found in only a few medieval halakhic books, but which plays a prominent role in Jewish lives and probably has for a long time. The first verse of this week s parashah reads, You shall further instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps regularly (ner tamid). On many occasion, someone has come up to me in a synagogue and said, Rabbi, (to which I instinctively reply that I am not a rabbi), the light on the Ner Tamid is out. When they come into the synagogue many Jews are quick to notice the Ner Tamid, and if it s out, someone, usually the rabbi, is going to hear about it.
But where does this custom come from? Does the Ner Tamid have to always be lit? Professor Israel Ta-Shema addresses the history of the Ner Tamid in an article in which he discusses the transfer of Temple law to the synagogue. In Ezekiel 11:16, God says, I have indeed removed them far among the nations and have scattered them among the countries, and I have become to them a lesser sanctuary (mikdash me at) in the countries where they have gone. On Megillah 29a, Rabbi Yitzchak says that this mikdash me at refers to synagogues and study halls. Ta-Shema points out that in classic rabbinic literature the concept of the synagogue as a mini-Temple usually refers to restrictions activities one should not do in a synagogue out of respect for its sanctity. The major exception to this is the lighting of a symbolic lamp in replacement of the lamp found in the Temple. In this one way, Jews have for centuries taken Temple practice and brought it into the synagogue.
The earliest explicit reference to this practice is found in a geniza fragment of a midrash published by Levi Ginsberg, Three sections of the Torah are prefaced by the word tzav [command] because they had been established immediately and for all generations: the sections on lights, As for the section on lights, whether in the Temple, the synagogues, or the academies, Jews are obligated [to light them ritually] since synagogues and academies are similar to the Temple, as it is written: I will be for them a lesser sanctuary [Ezek. 11:16].
Ta-Shema demonstrates that many medieval sources discuss the lighting of a symbolic lamp in the synagogue. For many authorities, these lamps are not simply meant to provide light they, like the Hannukah candles, are symbols, and as such, some authorities held that it is prohibited to derive benefit from the fire. For instance, the 12th century Sefer Hahasidim writes, One who lost his coins in the synagogue at night should not take the lamp that is in front of the Ark to look for his coins. While some of geonim (Babylonian leaders in the 9th-11th centuries) disagreed with this position and do allow for the common use of these lamps, in the popular imagination this lamp was a holy symbol not just simple lighting for the building.
To return to my original framing of this issue the technical status versus the popular imagination, the Ner Tamid never quite made its way into the realm of a firm technical obligation. The Shulkhan Arukh (Orah Hayim, 151:9) writes, It is customary to treat them (synagogues) with honor and it is customary to light lamps in them in order to honor them. The Mishnah Berurah (late 19th century) notes that the custom was to light before people came to pray to symbolize the notion that the Shekhinah (God s presence) arrives before the minyan. Like the Temple lamp which was lit only at night (see Rashi), the Ner Tamid in the synagogue does not seem to have been lit at all times, but mostly at night. Indeed, the Shulkhan Arukh (Orah Hayyim 514:5) refers to lighting the lamp in the synagogue on Yom Tov clearly these lamps were not always lit. With the advent of electricity, and the adoption of the use of an electric light for the Ner Tamid (primarily due to safety) it is not difficult to leave this lamp on at all times. However, there is no halakhic necessity to do so.