Parshas Acharei Mos
Fences of Holiness
Do not imitate the practice of the land of Egypt in which you dwelled; and do not imitate the practice of the land of Canaan to which I bring you, and do not follow their traditions (Vayikra 18:3).
The common theme running through Acharei Mos, Kedoshim and Emor is the kedushah (holiness) of Klal Yisroel and the need for its preservation and protection. In Acharei Mos, we are enjoined not to behave in the depraved manner of the Egyptians and Canaanites (Vayikra 18:3). The question is asked: Why did the Torah command us only with respect to the extreme depravity of the Egyptians and Canaanites? Part of the answer lies in the verse that concludes this parashah and sums it up: “And you shall guard My observances” (Vayikra 18:30). Chazal (Yevamos 21a) derive from this verse the need to make fences around the Torah.
Those fences include general rabbinic decrees designed to distance one from transgressing Torah law and the specific protective measures each individual must implement in his own life to protect himself in areas of personal vulnerability. The Torah is not merely exhorting us not to lead immorally depraved lives, but warning us that if we do not implement safety measures to prevent us from such depravity, we will sink to the lowest level, that of the Canaanites and Egyptians.
Often we hear those who do not understand the true nature of rabbinic legislation complain that the Rabbis made observance much more difficult, complicating our lives with extra prohibitions and restrictions. The following analogy demonstrates the fallacy of this argument. A group of people are situated on a mountaintop which ends in a sheer cliff and a drop of several thousand feet. One civic-minded member of the group erects on his own initiative a safety fence to prevent anyone from venturing too close to the edge of the cliff and falling off inadvertently. Would anyone complain that the fence limited his freedom of movement by making it less likely that he plummet off the mountain to his death?
One who appreciates the seriousness of transgressing a Torah law – the devastating effects of such transgressions on one’s neshamah, one’s eternal life and the world in general – surely feels more secure knowing that safety fences have been erected to make it more difficult for him to inadvertently transgress.
Thus, the first function of rabbinic “fences” is to prevent one from transgressing Torah prohibitions inadvertently. For instance, the prohibition on handling certain objects associated with prohibited activities on Shabbos. The danger of inadvertently striking a match on Shabbos is drastically reduced if one never touches matches. Similarly, the rabbinic prohibition on trapping any animal on Shabbos reduces the chance of confusing animals that we are permitted to capture and those which we may not according to Torah law.
Nevertheless, there are rabbinic prohibitions that seem excessively far-fetched as protective enactments. Sometimes this is because we lack Chazal’s sensitivity to the potency of forces that may drive one to sin.
A congregant once asked me about allowing a sick old uncle to stay in an apartment usually occupied by his two teenage daughters. When I told him that his daughters could not remain there alone with their great uncle due to the prohibition of yichud (members of the opposite sex being alone together), he complained at the seeming absurdity of worrying in this case.
I was reminded of a story involving Rabbi Elya Lopian. A young bachur sought his permission to attend a relative’s wedding. Reb Elya inquired if the women would be dressed modestly. The bachur replied that there would be non-religious people there, but, Baruch Hashem, he had reached a level where immodest dress no longer made an impression. Reb Elya gave him permission to attend the wedding, but only after he contacted one of Reb Elya’s friends. The young man took the phone number and returned a few hours later to tell Reb Elya that he must have made a mistake because the number was a doctor’s office.
“No,” Reb Elya told him, “there was no mistake. I am a man in my late eighties, blind in one eye, and these things still affect me, but if they don’t affect you, then I fear something is physically wrong with you and would like you to go see a doctor.”
Hashem created us with extremely strong and potent physical desires, all of them intended to be used for important and holy purposes. But if not channeled properly, these desires can lead to the greatest impurity and defilement. Recognizing how potent these drives are, necessitates extreme caution and strong protective measures. Complaining of the stringency of Chazal’s protections is like complaining about the protective lead-lined clothing one wears in a nuclear plant. If one understands how dangerous the radioactivity- ity is, such protective measures are not viewed as excessive.
Chazal had a much surer sense than we of the power of these natural desires. I doubt there is any communal rabbi who does not know from his personal experience of people who were confident of their ability to restrain themselves without observing rabbinic- proscriptions and whose confidence proved badly misplaced.’
Other times, rabbinic rules work indirectly by instilling attitudes that reduce temptations to sin. The Rabbis, for instance, prohibited drinking wine touched by a non-Jew or eating food cooked by a non-Jew as a fence against intermarriage. On the surface, it seems ludicrous that drinking wine in the confines of one’s home that has been touched by a non-Jew, or eating food cooked by a gentile and bought in a store could in any way make it more likely that one would marry a gentile.
That response, however, fails to comprehend the purpose of the rabbinic enactment, which is not designed to protect one against intermarriage with any particular non-Jew, but rather to create an all-pervasive attitude that is in itself a protective measure. The prohibition against eating food cooked by non-Jews and from drinking wine touched by non-Jews has effectively created an attitude of an absolute chasm between Jew and non-Jew. The mere knowledge that the food cooked by a non-Jew is forbidden engenders a feeling of separateness that makes the thought of intermarriage even more remote.
Similarly, the rabbinic strictures regarding chametz on Pesach have created a mind-set which makes it extremely unlikely that we will have any contact with chametz, though it is not something from which we naturally separate ourselves.
There is yet another aspect to rabbinic legislation. The Torah commands us to be a nation of priests, a holy nation. An aura of holiness must surround us, not just an absence of external sin. True, being alone with the old sick uncle may not lead to immorality, but allowing a situation where immorality is even remotely possible is not holiness. Holiness demands removing oneself totally from any taint of anything that can be associated with immodesty. Rabbinic fences enclose us in an environment that reflects holiness and cordons off all that opens into unhappiness.
Thus, the observance of Rabbinic prohibitions reflects our holiness even more than observance of Torah prohibitions. Rabbeinu Yonah (to Pirkei Avos 1:1) writes:
It is very great and praiseworthy to make a fence to the Torah’s mitzvos so that one who fears and respects God’s word will not stumble into transgressing the mitzvah. One who observes the rabbinic laws that form the fences around the Torah shows more fear of God than one who fulfills the mitzvah itself. Performance of the mitzvah does not imply fear and respect as much as observance of the fences by one who is careful not to even come close to inadvertent transgression.
Thus rabbinic fences, besides protecting us from inadvertent transgressions, create an attitude of yiras shamayim and an environment of kedushah that enhances the performance of each and every mitzvah.
The Individual and the Group
The Gemara (Sotah 14a) instructs us in the mitzvah of imitating Hashem in all His way!,. Just as He clothes the naked, visits the sick, comforts mourners and buries the dead, so should you emulate His example. Rambam (Hilchos Availus, Chapter 14:1) mentions all the above mitzvos, but gives another source: the Torah commandment to “love your friend as yourself.”
Why the twofold source for the mitzvah of performing acts of kindness? The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 24:7) relates:
R’ Akiva said, “Love your neighbor as yourself – this is a great rule in Torah.” Ben Azzai said, “This is the book of the generations of man … in the image of God was man fashioned” is a greater rule, for one should not say, ‘,since I was shamed, so, too, should my friend be shamed with me. Since I was cursed, so, too, let my friend be cursed with me.”
R’ Akiva, as Hillel before him, saw in the commandment “Love your friend as yourself” the foundation of the entire Torah. The purpose of the entire Torah, Rambam says (Hilchos Chanukah 4:14), is to bring peace and harmony to the world, and in order to achieve this, one must conduct himself so that those things which are hateful and repulsive to him are not done to his friend.
Ben Azzai, however, feared rooting a person’s conduct towards others in his own subjective feelings and making what is hateful to him the standard for his conduct towards others. There is always a danger that a person might become hardened or insensitive to being shamed or cursed after repeated instances, and thus less sensitive to the need not to humiliate or curse others. Therefore, said Ben Azzai, “in the image of God was man fashioned,” is a more all-encompassing source for our duties to our fellow men.
Although both verses seem to apply exclusively to relationships between man and his fellow, Rashi in Shabbos (31a) points out that Hashem is also referred to as “your friend,” and one must also relate to Him in peace and harmony. In addition, the relationship between one’s soul and body must be harmonious. “Love your friend as yourself” thus applies equally to all relationships: between man and God, between man and man, and between man and himself. It thus encompasses the entire Torah. see footnote 1.
There are two reasons for the derech eretz the Torah requires us to show others. One is communal; the other focuses on the individual. The first arises out of the desire to bring peace and harmony to the world; the second because each human being intrinsically deserves the respect and honor befitting one created in the Divine Image. On the one hand, the Torah is concerned with the individual and the development of the Divine Image within him; on the other hand the Torah is concerned with the community, with the social interactions between people.
At times, these two concerns are harmonious: what is good for the individual is good for the klal and vice versa. But there are times when these concerns are in conflict, and the individual’s needs conflict with those of the community. Sometimes the community must yield to the individual, and sometimes the individual must sacrifice for the community. This balance between individual and community is crucial to a proper observance of the Torah and a development toward perfection.
In Parashas Kedoshim, there are a series of mitzvos which highlight the importance of the individual, while at the same time not losing sight of the importance of the individual as a part of the klal. On the one hand, the klal does not become the supreme value, robbing the individual of his intrinsic importance. At the same time, the individual must recognize that he does not exist in a vacuum, that he is a member of society whose actions profoundly affect others.
The Torah exhorts us, “Do not spread gossip.” Respect the privacy of the individual. And likewise, “Do not stand by with respect to your friend’s blood” – be willing to exert efforts to save the life of a fellow Jew, for every Jew is an entire world.
At the same time, do not lose sight of the equal importance for unity and interaction. Thus, “Do not despise your brother and distance yourself from him by harboring negative feelings in your heart, thereby causing division in the common soul that binds all Jews. Likewise, the Torah continues with a command to recognize our responsibility to others by reproving them when necessary. Do not say: I’ll mind my own business; live and let live. Your fellow Jew is your business.
The command, “Do not take revenge” also forces us to recognize the communal nature of the Jewish people. The Yerushalmi compares taking revenge on a fellow Jew to one who accidentally strikes his left hand while hammering and then takes the hammer into his bruised left hand and strikes his right hand.
Now, we can understand the necessity for two sources in the Torah for deeds of loving kindness. On the one hand, one must do kindness out of a recognition of the intrinsic value of his fellow Jew, who is a reflection of the Divine Image. And, in addition, one must also consider the ramifications of his actions on society, and do kindness to promote peace and harmony on a communal level.
Both of these aspects are fundamental and crucial to the proper service of Torah. The students of R’ Akiva – despite learning from their teacher that loving one another as themselves is the basis of the entire Torah – failed to adequately honor the Divine Image in each other or acknowledge one another as partners in developing society.
Our mourning over their deaths during this period reinforces our recognition of respect for our fellow man as the basis of our relationship with Hashem. We must appreciate our own individual worth as human beings created in Cod’s image, as well as the intrinsic worth of all our fellow Jews. At the same time, we must also recognize the equal importance of the Klal and our need to unite peacefully and harmoniously into a cohesive community.
1. R’ Akiva agreed with Ben Azzai that an appreciation of the intrinsic worth of the individual is crucial, but felt it was implied in the words “as yourself.” A person must first have a proper understanding of his own intrinsic self-worth in order to fulfill the mitzvah to relate to his friend in a similar fashion.