Chagim

The five Megillot are read, each at its time, over the course of the year. For the most part, it is easy to understand the connection between the Megilla in question and the time it is read. Eicha, naturally, is read on the 9th of Av, the date of the destruction of the Temple; Esther is read on Purim , the holiday that commemorates the events described in that Megilla. Perhaps somewhat less obviously, Shir HaShirim is read on Pesach. Pesach commemorates the exodus from Egypt, and according to the interpretations of Chazal, Shir HaShirim describes metaphorically the history of the Jewish people and its relationship to God (see Rashi, for example, on Shir HaShirim). In the early summer, on Shavuot, we read Rut, which describes events that occurred at that time of the year (during the barley harvest). In addition, Rut the Moabite takes on a life of Judaism and commitment to Torah, her own personal acceptance of the Torah, which parallels the Jewish people’s collective acceptance of Torah on Shavuot.

The reading of Kohelet on Sukkot, however, seems to be a bit out of place. Sukkot is the ultimate holiday of happiness. ושמחת בחגך… והיית אך שמח (and you shall rejoice on your holiday… and you shall be particularly happy) is a verse stated about Sukkot (Vayikra 16:15). Kohelet, on the other hand, is one of the most depressing, least encouraging works of Tanach. It focuses on the inevitability of death, the temporality of all worldly things, and the lack of ultimate value in any human endeavor. The end of the Megilla seems to find some comfort in a life of fear of God, but this seems to be only partial comfort to those who take the message of the body of the book seriously. Is Kohelet read on Sukkot only because it is the “only one left,” the last Megilla after the other four have been “taken?”

I do not have a complete answer to that question. I am not sure that I can explain the dissonance between the happiness of Sukkot and the despair of Kohelet. But I would like to point out a way in which Kohelet matches another theme of Sukkot. According to the Mishna, during Sukkot a person is to make his sukkah permanent and his house temporary (Sukkah 2:9) . The home which symbolizes permanence and solidity gets treated as something temporary and time-bound. The booth, temporary and time-bound, becomes something permanent and consistent. Similarly, when we left the established civilization of Egypt we were protected in God’s temporary dwellings in the transience of a desert existence (Vayikra 23:43). That is to say, on Sukkot we reflect on the temporality of the things we consider most permanent, by treating the temporary as permanent and vice versa. I suspect that we read Kohelet on Sukkot because we are to focus on the idea that we should not expect concrete walls and elaborate insurance policies to protect us from the temporality of life and inevitability of death. If there is ultimate meaning to be found, it is in the fear of God and the fulfillment of his commandments, for in fact the walls of our houses are really no more permanent than the walls of our Sukkot.

From Rosh Chodesh Elul through the conclusion of Sukkot, our attention is focused on the themes of teshuva and judgement. The final day of this period which is referred to in later Halachic literature as Hashana Raba is actually known in the Mishna by the name of Yom Shevii shel Arava, the seventh day of the willow branch. We conclude this rather intense period with a seemingly esoteric gesture, that of chibut arava, the beating of the willow branches. An exploration of the sources relating to the mitzvah of arava will hopefully shed light on its role in closing the teshuva process.

The Mishna describes the complete ceremony which took place in the Mikdash throughout the holiday of Sukkot.

(ה) מִצְוַת עֲרָבָה כֵּיצַד, מָקוֹם הָיָה לְמַטָּה מִירוּשָׁלַיִם, וְנִקְרָא מוֹצָא. יוֹרְדִין לְשָׁם וּמְלַקְּטִין מִשָּׁם מֻרְבִּיּוֹת שֶׁל עֲרָבָה, וּבָאִין וְזוֹקְפִין אוֹתָן בְּצִדֵּי הַמִּזְבֵּחַ, וְרָאשֵׁיהֶן כְּפוּפִין עַל גַּבֵּי הַמִּזְבֵּחַ. תָּקְעוּ וְהֵרִיעוּ וְתָקְעוּ. בְּכָל יוֹם מַקִּיפִין אֶת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ פַּעַם אַחַת, וְאוֹמְרִים, אָנָּא ה’ הוֹשִׁיעָה נָא, אָנָּא ה’ הַצְלִיחָה נָא. רַבִּי יְהוּדָה אוֹמֵר, אֲנִי וָהוּ הוֹשִׁיעָה נָּא. וְאוֹתוֹ הַיּוֹם מַקִּיפִין אֶת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ שֶׁבַע פְּעָמִים. בִּשְׁעַת פְּטִירָתָן, מָה הֵן אוֹמְרִים, יֹפִי לָךְ מִזְבֵּחַ, יֹפִי לָךְ מִזְבֵּחַ. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר, לְיָהּ וְלָךְ, מִזְבֵּחַ. לְיָהּ וְלָךְ, מִזְבֵּחַ:

In addition to the Mishnaic description of placing the aravot on the side of the mizbeach, the tosefta refers to an obligation of chibut arava.” The term chibut is open to interpretation. Rashi equates it with the expression “nanua”, suggesting that the mitzvah is to wave the arava, apparently just as one waves the lulav. The Rambam, however, clearly uses the terms chibut to indicate “beating” the willow branch rather than waving it.

The Gemara records several explanations of the source of this ritual. According to Abba Shaul, the mitzvah is derived directly from the verse in Vayikra which describes the four species, and refers to the “Arvey Nachal” in plural, indicating a dual mitzvah of arava, one to be taken in conjunction with the other of the 4 species, and the other an independent mitzvah of arava alone. Rabbi Yochanan, on the other hand, maintains that there is no Torah source, but that the mitzvah of arava is derived from Halacha LeMoshe MiSinai. Outside of the Mikdash, the practice of chibut aravot is considered a minhag Neviim, established by Chagai, Zechariya and Malachi, the last of the Neviim and members of the Anshei Knesset Hagdola.

If indeed, the mitzvah of the aravot today is merely a zecher leMikdash, a reminiscence of that which took place when there was a Mizbeach, then why not commemorate the chibut aravot every day of succot, as it took place in the Mikdash. In response to this query, Raba distinguishes between the Mitzvot of lulav and arava. Lulav did have a special relationship with the Mikdash, as it was originally performed every day of Sukkot only in the Mikdash. However, it was not a mitzvah which is uniquely associated with the Mikdash, as the lulav was always taken “bigvulin” (outside of the Mikdash, by all Jews) on the first day of Sukkot. After the churban, it was therefore natural to extend the mitzvah of lulav to be performed every day of sukkot as a zecher lechurban.

In the case of arava, however, we are dealing with a mitzva which is fundamentally about the Mikdash and originally had no role at all in the realm of the gevulin. This unique relationship is highlighted in the mishna’s description of the conclusion of the ceremony:

בִּשְׁעַת פְּטִירָתָן, מָה הֵן אוֹמְרִים, יֹפִי לָךְ מִזְבֵּחַ, יֹפִי לָךְ מִזְבֵּחַ. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר, לְיָהּ וְלָךְ, מִזְבֵּחַ. לְיָהּ וְלָךְ, מִזְבֵּחַ:

The application of the mitzvah of arava outside of the Mikdash seems to be difficult. Because of this tension, according to Raba, we limit ourselves to a symbolic gesture which is limited to the last day of Sukkot. Limited though it might be, this zecher leMikdash still poses a challenge. We are apparently performing a ritual whose goal is to beautify a non-existent Mizbeach!

Rashi explains that the “היופי הזה אנו עושין לך שאתה מכפר עלינו.” We do not beautify the Mizbeach per say, but rather we express our appreciation for the kapara process which the Mizbeach represents. That process is still very much alive today, even in the absence of the Mizbeach, through our Tefillot. In fact, the Rambam points out that we replace the encircling of the Mizbeach with the hakafot around the Teyva, as our tefilot have taken over the role of vehicle to kapara.

Very different imagery, however, appears in the Yerushalmi. R. Aha looks at the symbolism of encircling the Mizbeach once a day for six days, culminating in seven revolutions on the seventh day. He suggests, based on the compelling comparison, that this corresponds to the battle in Yericho, where Bnei Yisrael surrounded the city seven times, also accompanied by shofar blasts. The Maharsha spells out the analogy. He suggests that the gesture of surrounding the Mizbeach is a Tefilla that Hashem will protect us from our enemies as he did in Yericho. A close reading of the analogy, however, is troubling. In the paradigm of Yericho, the enemy itself was encircled, whereas in our case the Mizbeach is being encircled. A very precise reading of the analogy would lead us to suggest that the Mizbeach itself is the enemy!

When we combine R. Aha’s comments with the Mishna’s description, a very complex picture emerges. On the one hand, we are grateful for the existence of the Mizbeach, which allows us each year to restore our relationship with God. On the other hand, the process of Kapara can be wrenching, as suggested perhaps by the Yericho imagery. The Mizbeach, the location of our Korbanot, is indeed the battleground, where we wrestle with our sins, personal and national.

The debate over the meaning of the term chibut perhaps also reflects this ambiguity. The implication of placing the aravot, or waving them above the Mizbeach, seems quite different from the more violent imagery of “beating” the aravot. Is the act of chibut a symbol of celebration or of submission?

Interestingly, when the Rambam describes the Mitzva he does not initially mention the chibut. Only when he describes the minhag bizmenino does he mention “וחובט בה על הקרקע או על הכלי פעמים או שלש .” Perhaps this reflects our changed reality. In the absence of the Mizbeach, the aravot take on a more strident role. Barring the confidence that the Mizbeach afforded us, we are left to merely beating midat hadin into submission, concluding the period of Elul with a gesture which merely reflects the battle component. But as a weapon we still use the aravot, the very same aravot that we hope to use to beautify the Mizbeach in the future. We still express our gratitude that the possibility of kapara, rendered even more challenging by the absence of the Mizbeach nonetheless still exists.

As a kid, the logic used to explain the enigmatic placement of Tzom Gedaliah immediately after Rosh Hashanah was the dire necessity to purge the body after two straight days of too many simanim and four three-course meals. Although obviously humorous, this explanation isn’t all that less satisfying than the one I subsequently learned.

The story recorded in Melakhim II, chapter 25, relates that after the devastating destruction of Eretz Yisrael and its inhabitants by Nebuchadnezzar, Gedaliah was appointed by the Babylonians as governor over the last few Jews who were given permission to remain in the Land. We are then told that Yishmael Ben Netanyah and his men assassinated Gedaliah and his court (in the seventh month – Tishrei), and the entire nation then fled to Egypt for fear of Babylonian retribution. Although dastardly and certainly nationally significant as causing the final stage in the complete exile of the Jews, how can this brief episode (only four pesukim!) concerning these minor characters (outside of this story, we’ll never hear of them again), that occurred sometime during Tishrei, be the impetus for establishing a fast during the powerful aseret yemei teshuva, specifically between the de’orayta holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?!

For the answer we turn to the Book of Yirmiyahu (chapters 40-43), where an extended version of this story is recorded, which ultimately reveals the true significance of this sorrowful event. After Gedaliah is appointed, Yishmael and his men, suspicious of their governor’s ties with the occupying enemy nation, plot to assassinate the puppet official. Yochanan Ben Kareyach warns Gedaliah about the deadly plans but is rebuffed and accused of lying; Yishmael and his men then arrive at Gedaliah’s home and carry through their plans, killing the governor and the other Babylonian officials who are with him. Yochanan then rallies soldiers and kills Yishmael, avenging the cruel, nationally destructive murder.

Frightened of Babylonian retribution, Yochanan, his men, and the entire nation ‘from the young to the old’ approach Yirmiyahu (the prophet of the time), beseeching him to ask God if they should flee to Egypt or can they remain safely in Eretz Yisrael. They say to Yirmiyahu, ‘God will tell us the path for us to follow and the thing that we will do…may God be for us a faithful and truthful witness, [we swear] that we will do everything that God sends word to you for us to do. Whether good or bad, we will heed the voice of God that we have requested from you to receive!’ This recording of their effusive request to Yirmiyahu conveys a deep yearning for God’s truth, a steadfast faith in the rightness of His advice and the unyielding readiness to follow it, no matter what the instruction.

Pleased with their declaration, Yirmiyahu communes with God for ten days and receives the following glorious message which he immediately relates to Yochanan and the rest of the nation:

“So says God, the Lord of Israel: If you remain in this land, I will build houses for you and not destroy them, I will plant and not uproot because I have regretted the evil I have caused you. Do not fear the Babylonians…because I am with you to save you from their hands; and I will grant you mercy and return you to your land!”

Through Yirmiyahu, God relates one of the greatest messages of hope and Divine security ever recorded! As the smoke was still wafting over the charred remains of the Beit Hamikdash, and the deserted houses echoed with the emptiness of the broken Land, God tells these remaining few that the destruction is over! He has regretted the wrath He was ‘forced’ to wreak upon His children and now is ready to rebuild, protect them and invite their return. Surely Yochanan and his frightened followers could only have dreamed of such an answer; not only may they remain, but they should (and need to) because God is offering them a total reversal of their previous misfortunes, promising a Divinely brightened future!

And their response? “And it was when Yirmiyahu finished speaking…that Yochanan Ben Kareyach and all his men said: ‘you are speaking lies! God did not send you the message that we should not go to Egypt, you’re conspiring to give us into the hands of the Babylonians to kill us and exile us to Bavel.’” (The significance of the similarity between their response to Yirmiyahu and that of Gedaliah’s to their warnings (of the truth!) of his immanent murder is certainly not coincidental.) And they immediately depart to Egypt, thus ending the last remaining true presence of Jews in their land.

This is truly the reason for our fasting: there was a distinct moment in our history when our people could have returned to Eretz Yisrael and rebuilt their homes and their lives under guaranteed Divine protection, but unbearably, it was squandered. After pledging their faith to God and the upholding of His word no matter what the instruction, Yochanan and his men, not hearing the answer they were looking for, promptly rejected His message, choosing rather to follow their own path, voluntarily abandoning the final vestiges of hope for the Jewish nation which God had so mercifully offered them.

And this is why we commemorate this terrible episode immediately after Rosh Hashanah, at the beginning of the interim aseret yemei teshuva which culminate with Yom Kippur, the conclusion to this entire teshuva period. For two days, during our tefilla on Rosh Hashanah, we would have been focusing on the horrid corruption of our expected relationship with God throughout the past year and our pledge to mend it according to God’s demands. After this two-day intensive dedication, we are faced with a choice: having ‘heard’ what God requires of us, do we reject His answer in place of what we wanted to hear and follow our own, easier path, or do we accept His instruction, no matter how difficult or humbling, and begin to refurbish our relationship, achieve full repentance on Yom Kippur and then joyously celebrate our newly refurbished, deeply founded relationship with God on the holiday of Sukkot? Tzom Gedaliah is our tragic signpost, dramatically directing us onto the only path to achieving true success.