Friday, July 10, 2009
Parashat Pinchas -- to be continued...
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Parashat Balak -- There is no sorcery in Jacob
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Thursday, June 25, 2009
Parashat Chukat: They Encamped at Obot
The Mei ha-Shiloah wastes no time in jumping into the heart of the matter. He quotes the well-known Talmudic dictum of R. Natan, that when circumstance necessitates, we must violate the Torah in order to fulfill Hashem's Will. But how do we know when is such a time? How do we know when we are permitted to violate or even obligated to violate? Can we trust our own judgment in such matters? These are the questions that will be addressed in this teaching.
In the example cited here (I Kings, Chapter 18), the prophet Elijah acts of his own volition without the commandment of God. In challenging the Priests of Baal to a "sacrificial duel", he is encouraging them and the people to engage in idol worship, one of the three gravest sins of the Torah, on the same level as murder and adultery. But his purpose is to demonstrate the truth of Hashem's dominion and the folly of Ba'al worship. He violates the law, in order to prove the divinity of the law.
The Ishbitzer frames the problem as one of "rules vs. specifics." The halakhah can only give us the rules to follow. It cannot contextualize those rules into every given circumstance. But to understand what Hashem REALLY wants from us in any given circumstance, we have to be graced with binah, or Divine wisdom. At a time when we are not graced with clear binah, we must rely upon the boundaries imposed upon us by halakhah.
According to the Ishbitzer, by shedding our negi'ot - all the trappings of personal self-interest and ego (and by walking in simplicity and humility, which he mentions in other teachings of the Mei ha-Shiloah) we can attune ourselves to the voice of God that calls upon each of us to fulfill His will. When we do so, we might find that Hashem calls upon us to act in a way that SEEMS to violate halakhah. In such a case, we should not be afraid we are sinning, because that case is exactly what R. Natan meant when he declared "it is a time to act for the LORD."
The Ishbitzer further expounds upon this theme, utilizing the sojourns and the encampments of the Israelites enumerated in Numbers Chapter 21 as the springboard for his exegesis. At the very end of Chapter 20, Aharon the High Priest is laid to rest at Mount Hor. Aharon's death signifies the end of the period when the Clouds of Glory showed the Israelites when and where to journey and when to pitch camp. The clouds are representative of the period when the Israelites were graced with clear binah and could constantly ascertain Hashem's Will without the necessity of halakhic rules. Aharon's death changed all that.
We will examine this amazing teaching, iy"H, on Parashat Ki Tissa.
We have seen in previous teachings of the Mei ha-Shiloah, that the person who strives to purify his/her heart and attune his/her ear to the Will of Hashem is on a higher spiritual level than the one who constantly looks for answers in the Shulhan Arukh.
The Torah makes a point of stating that the Israelites had to travel around the borders of Edom and not to enter into that land which had been given as an inheritance to the descendants of Esav. Regarding the verse in Genesis 33:14, the midrash states (Gen. Rabbah 78:14): "So when will Jacob go to Seir [i.e. Edom]? In the days of the Messiah, as it is said (Obadiah 1:21): “And saviors shall ascend Mt. Zion to judge the mountain of Esav.”
If I'm not mistaken, the Mei ha-Shiloah is saying here that the Israelites (mistakenly) believed that Atarim was part of the Land of Edom, where the rules forbade them to go, and thus they were greatly perplexed. In actuality, Atarim was inhabited by Amalakites.
Because they were able to eliminate their own self-interest, they were privileged to hear the voice of Hashem. The rules no longer applied, as Israel was able to ascertain what Hashem specifically wanted from them in this particular situation.
There is much wordplay going on in this segment, but the key to understanding the meaning of this teaching is in the verb beireru, meaning "they clarified" or "they elucidated." The same exact letters also form the word boreru, meaning "they sifted." We will see in the next segment how the two meanings become conflated in the same word.
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Monday, June 15, 2009
Introduction to the Mei Ha-Shiloah
Here is one version of the story.[1] Reb Tsadok haCohen of Lublin was travelling to various Rabbis in Poland to sign a “heter mea rabbanim,” the consent of a hundred Rabbis in order to divorce his wife. At that time Reb Tsadok, famous as a genius, was one of the most illustrious members of the, “mitnagdim,” the opponents of Hasidism who favored cerebral study to ecstatic devotion as the true form of divine service. Eventually he reached the house of the, “Mei Hashiloach,” Reb Mordechai Yosef in the town of Isbitza.[2] “The Rebbe’s class would begin at midnight by wrestling with revealed matters in a passage of the Talmud. By the morning light the discourse reached the secret of the furnace which powers the universe. In their discussion they arrived at the fundamental point: How does one arrive at the knowledge of the will of G-d through the actions of man, and at the revelation of G-d’s presence through the study of the Torah and the fulfillment of its commandments?”
Reb Tsadok stayed to discuss the lesson with the Rebbe of Isbitza after the class. “The Mei Hashiloach suddenly broke off the discussion of the lesson, turned to Reb Tsadok and said: ‘Here we are, involved in the study of this passage of Talmud according to our own minds and wills, as if the very law that we are discussing is our own wisdom. At the same time we are saying from our own understanding that the Torah is the blessed G-d’s, and hidden within it is His very will, may he be blessed, in a way that through the process of Torah study we may merit to know the will of the blessed G-d at every moment, at every second. Together with this we may then feel the presence of the Shechina which rests everywhere. Our sole objective is to ask: What in our study this evening has shown us the will of the Holy One, blessed be He, and what of it can proclaim the glory of heaven to the world? What of it can we use to fulfill our obligation to sanctify and love the Name of G-d in the world?’ In hearing the words from the mouth of the Mei Hashiloach, dread descended on Reb Tsadok’s heart, and he began to tremble in his entire being. He asked the Rebbe:
So truly, all that we are receiving in this world is coming from the blessed G-d. On the verse, “Mercy and Truth will not abandon you,” (Mishlei, 3:3) the Mei Hashiloach comments, “The verse is not formulated, ‘do not abandon Mercy and Truth,’ for truly the effluence of the blessed G-d descends constantly without interruption. Only man, from his side, needs to refine his heart and stand ready to receive, and not turn his back on this effluence, G-d forbid. But in His goodness the blessed G-d constantly effuses His effluence, and the man who longs for His Mercies shall not forsake them.”
This is as it is said (Yesahya, 11:13), “Efriam shall not be jealous of Yehuda, and Yehuda shall not distress Efriam.” These two tribes were always opposing each other, for the force of life which the blessed G-d gave to Efriam (from Yosef) was of the nature that it always looked to every action regarding its judgement and law, without moving from it. Therefore, when the writings warn Israel against sinning, then the aim of the Torah will be to say (Amos, 5:6), “lest the house of Yosef should prevail like fire,” meaning that they should concern themselves that there should be no opponents to their actions. The root of life for Yehuda, however, is to look to the blessed G-d regarding the course of every action. Even though he sees where the judgment leans, still he looks to the blessed G-d in order to see the depth of the truth of the matter.
So upon understanding this, one must be flexible with the will of G-d, for the vessel only illuminates from that which is shined into it. For the Mei Hashiloach, this is the essence of the commandment concerning the scriptural commandment of temporary vows, as explained in Parshat Mattot:
It occurred (with all of the prophets other than Moshe) in their prophetic spirit that whichever particular word of prophecy they were speaking was enduring for all eternity. Yet truly, there existed changes according to the quality of each generation. On this, “Moshe Rabeynu’s level of prophecy was superior to them all, prophesizing with ‘this is the word.’ ” This means that he understood the prophecy according to its time and place, understanding that a prophecy is only relevant for a particular time, and later G-d may desire something else … Therefore it is said, “this is the word,” for one must understand that the particular action is only temporarily forbidden to him, and that the blessed G-d can give him the power to receive all the good of the world without being disconnected from the service if the Divine.
Then, if G-d’s plans require different processes and limitations for each individual, then this changes the way on will view another’s way of acting in the world. “The blessed G-d allotted to each one goodness and life, and one is not similar to his fellow.” (Parshat Bamidbar) In Parshat Va’etchanan:
As for the meaning behind the commandments, each one feels the unique meaning of a commandment that another does not feel, nor does he have the understanding of his fellow. We find an example of this in the Gemara (Pesachim, 53b), “even though one says to light, and another says not to light, they both had the same intention.”[6]For at first it seemed as if one disagreed with the other, yet truly there was no disagreement for they both intended the same thing. Thus one does not call to question the attributes of his fellow, for he understands that his fellow can only keep the mitsvah in his own way, and not in his way. Therefore it says (in verse 19), “to cast out all your enemies from before you,” which is referring to those involved in fierce disagreements in Israel. Yet the meaning is not that they should be destroyed, G-d forbid, but rather to cast out their kind of service from before you, so as not to disturb you from your own service.
Furthermore, the Isbitser re-evaluates the entire matter of the commandment to rebuke ones neighbor in his interpretation of the verse, “you shall surely rebuke,” in Parshat Behar:
Even thought the blessed G-d commanded man to reprove his neighbor and to try to distance him from all evil as much as is possible, this is only possible in a place where he knows he can help him by bringing him to the good, or through prayer which will arouse compassion upon him to return him to the path of ethical behavior. However, if he can not remove him from his errors, then he must judge him meritoriously, and not accuse him. Thus one can not judge his neighbor as guilty, for perhaps his neighbor’s yetser hara (inclination to evil) is greater than his own. Or, perhaps what he sees as an error or sin is actually permitted to his neighbor, for there are many things that are forbidden to one but permitted to another.
Once one has gone through this process of personal refinement, and refining the way he sees the world, he is capable of experiencing redemption. This is because the nature of exile is really the exile of man’s consciousness, when he can not see the presence of G-d in his life. But if he can remove the veil and see how, “all really is in the hands of heaven,” then no matter what transpires it is all part of the direct involvement of G-d in order to bring about redemption, where the knowledge of G-d is sensed with utmost clarity. The classic example of this is found in Parshat Vayigash, where a simple change of consciousness in a second can bring Yehuda from believing that he is facing a life of incarceration by a foreign king to standing before his lost brother who will save his entire family from famine and be reunited with his father:
For all these verses (at the beginning of the Parsha) are a claim against the blessed G-d, with Yehuda supposing all the while that he was standing before and arguing with a gentile king. Then when the blessed G-d sent them the salvation, then they saw that even in retrospect they were never in danger, for truly they were arguing with their brother. Thus it will be in the future, when the blessed G-d will save us and redeem us, then G-d will show us that we were never in exile, and that a foreign nation never ruled over us, only G-d alone. This is the meaning of the verse (Tehillim, 37:10), “and a little more, and there is no evil one, and you considered his place, and there is nothing there,” meaning that very soon evil will be banished. “And you considered,” meaning the understanding of the heart, for if you want to understand its place, “there is nothing there,” meaning that in it there was no power of governance over you.
In this way, redemption is just a change of consciousness. To do this is a difficult path, requiring constant re-evaluation of how G-d’s will illuminates into each one of us. No matter what I think I understand, I have to go back and look again, for every letter in the Torah is infinite, and, as the Mei Hashiloach tells us, there is a depth far deeper in the words of Torah than the human consciousness can conceive.
Betsalel Philip Edwards, Old City, Jerusalem, 5760 – 2000
[1] This story is taken from, “b’heichal Isbitza – Lublin,” “In the chamber of Isbitza – Lublin,” by S.Z Shragai. Page 8.
[2] In the tradition of Torah scholars, Reb Mordechai Yosef is called in the name of his book, as the, “Mei Hashiloach.”
[3] Shragai, Page 9.
[4] Introduction to Vol. 2 of the Mei Hashiloach. This phrase appears but once all of scripture, Yeshaya {Isaiah} 8:6, "for as much as the the people refuse the waters of Shiloah that flow slowly, and rejoice in R'tsin and the son of Remaliyahu."
[5] I heard this from the mouth of Reb Shlomo Carlebach, Zts’l.
[6] This is discussing whether or not to leave a candle lit on the eve of Yom Kippur. One say that if there is light his is less likely to engage in intimate relations, and another says if it is dark and he does not see his wife, then he will be less likely to succumb. Both opinions are in order to distance one from sin.
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Hitzei Yehonatan on Mei ha-Shiloah - Parashat Korach
Once again, thanks to R. Yehonatan Chipman and his outstanding blog Hitzei Yehonatan...
As we did last week, we shall once again present a Torah from the Izhbitzer Rebbe, who was fascinated with the more paradoxical sides of Torah (for more on the Izhbitzer and his milieu, see HY IV: Mishpatim). And what more suitable Torah portion than that of Korah, the arch-rebel against Moses’ authority and, some say, supreme religious individualist and iconoclast? Mei Shiloah(Korah; Vol. I, p. 154)
“And Korah took…” [Num 16:1]. It says in the midrash [Numbers Rabbah 18.2]: “Why is the chapter of Korah adjacent to that of tzitzit? Because Korah took a tallit that was entirely blue and asked, “Is it exempt or is it required [to have tzitzit]?” The matter here, is that the color blue (tekhelet) signifies fear, and orah argued that the fear of God, may He be blessed, is understood by him with great clarity, and he understands that all is in the hand of Heaven, even fear of God. Hence how can a person come and do anything that is against God’s will, since [human] will and acts are all from Him, may He be blessed? How then can he do anything against His will?
A central concept of Mei Shiloah is that human free will is illusory, and that everything that happens is ultimately predestined. Hence, carried to its logical conclusion, the idea of a person consciously acting out of “fear of God” is logically impossible: whether or not a person will be God-fearing is itself in God’s hands. This, in a nutshell, was Korah’s argument: the blue thread, which symbolizes and is intended to remind people of “fear of God,” is superfluous. Here, the Izhbitzer carries the notion of quietism, found in early Hasidism, to its extreme conclusion.
And for this reason he argued that it is exempt from tzitzit, because tzitzit allude to fear. And in truth, God’s will in this world [potentially?] visible to human eyes. And this is what is stated in the Talmud [Hagiggah 13b], that Ezekiel prayed concerning the face of the ox, and it was turned into a cherub. For the ox alludes to greatly clarified wisdom; for in depth all is in the hands of Heaven, and man’s [free] choice is no thicker than a garlic skin, and is only according to his own perception. For God has hidden His way from human beings, because He seeks man’s service, and if all were revealed to him there could not blossom any service from it.
The aggadic passage alluded to here (which, incidentally, is from that chapter of the Talmud which deals most extensively with esoteric wisdom) tries to resolve a contradiction between the description of the “four faces” of the Divine chariot: in Ezek 1:10 these are described as having the faces of “a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle”; while in Ezek 10:14 they bear the faces of “a cherub, a man, a lion, and an eagle.” The transition from ox to cherub is explained as a result of Ezekiel praying for mercy for him (that is, to turn it into a figure who would intercede to bring mercy upon Israel—thus Rashi). The ox is assumed to symbolize Judgment, perhaps because of his enormous brute strength. In any event, this is interpreted by the Izhbitzer as equivalent to “clarified wisdom”: that is, knowledge of the inner workings of the Divine economy, of the lawfulness and fixity of the cosmic order and of God’s dealings with human beings, leaving no room for transformation, for free will, for teshuvah, or for appeals to love and intimacy between man and God.
In general, the Izhbitzer’s answer to Korah is peculiar: though there is predestination, it is hidden from humankind, and people think that they have free will, so that they can serve God with a feeling of genuine choice. (But if this choice is ultimately unreal, how can God take pleasure from such predetermined “service”? There seems something a bit illogical in this position.) This view, we might add, is a minority one in Jewish thought. For example, in a famous passage about how God could have hardened Pharaoh’s heart, Maimonides struggles to reconcile the principle of Divine omniscience with human free will (Hilkhot Teshuvah 5.5). The notion of predestination seems particularly at odds with a movement like Hasidism, which so much emphasizes man’s inner life and the cultivation of religious emotion and kavannah, service of the heart and not just of the limbs. If it all depends upon God’s arbitrary will, why bother? Moreover, Mei Shiloah here opens a very controversial door, more explicit in some other of his teachings, for providing justification for transgressions. “A person who removes himself from the Evil Urge, and guards himself from sin with all his strength, until he cannot guard himself more than this: when his lust then overcomes him and he performs an act, he may know for certain that this is God’s will” (!!; Pinhas, p. 165). This seems to me an extraordinarily dangerous doctrine. And, some cynics might add, perhaps it is passages such as these that are one of the more problematical and less pure sources for his popularity in this, our anarchistic and undisciplined age.
So why, nevertheless, did the Izhbitzer adopt such positions? After all, we must remember that he was a very pious Jew; it was he, and not the Hiddushei ha-Rim, who abruptly left his beloved rebbe, fleeing as if from fire, after that strange Shabbat when the Kotzker performed a shocking, possibly non-halakhic act. My own reading is that the central axis in the Izhbitzer’s thought is simple, total faith in God. For him, the faith that everything comes from God, and that we are like passive tools in His hands, somehow strengthens faith in God’s greatness, in our dependence upon Him, etc.
And it was concerning this that Ezekiel prayed. And it [the ox] was changed to a cherub, so that the way of God should be hidden, and that it seem to human beings that they have free will. And through this the service [of God] enters into their hearts. And this is the meaning of “the cherub is the small face.” The Talmud’s explanation as to how Ezek 10:14 can include both a cherub and human being alongside one another is that one is “the great face” and “the cherub is the small face.” But the “small face,” in Kabbalistic thought, is also Ze’ir anpin, that Divine configuration which epitomizes “mercy of mercies.”
One Shabbat Korah some years ago, I happened to daven at a rather anti-establishment, bohemian sort of minyan. The rabbi–teacher–preacher began his talk on that occasion with the words: “Korah, you are our brother!” He went on to state that the Hozeh of Lublin —a focal figure in early 19th century Hasidism, who bridged between the tradition of the Maggid and the emergent school of Pshyshcha-Kotzk—used to refer to him as der Zeidey Koirakh, “Grandfather Korah.” He added that anyone with commonsense refrained from taking sides in the great controversy between Moses and Korah; it was only after the Divine verdict was issued, in the dramatic form of the earth swallowing Korah, that it became clear that Moses’ position was correct. What is the meaning of this underground tradition that turns everything most of us have ever learned about Korah upside down? Is there in fact ground for a sympathetic, even positive reading of Korah?
A number of the best-known, almost canonical midrashim (Num. Rab. 18.3) about Korah show him challenging several basic halakhic institutions. Thus, he ridicules the mitzvah of tzitzit, in which one thread suffices to make an entire garment kosher, parading before Moses with 300 followers, all dressed in pure blue robes. He similarly ridicules the mezuzah, the small container with two brief parshiyot from the Torah that is a sine-qua-non upon the door of every Jewish home, by asking whether a house “full of books” still needs a mezuzah. Yet a third midrash relates the story of an unfortunate widow whose meager financial resources are depleted by Moses’ relentless demands: first by the ordinances requiring tithes from field crops and fruits, then by the first-born of the flocks, the first sheering of the sheep, etc., etc. Several contemporary Rabbinic scholars have suggested that these midrashim may have served as an outlet for the Sages’ own doubts and qualms about certain aspects of the legalistic, formalistic mind-frame of the halakhah—safely projected onto Korah, the arch-heretic of early Biblical history.
In seeking an answer to these questions, I turned to the arch-master of paradox in the proto–modern period—the Hasidic teacher R. Mordecai of Izhbitz, author of Mei ha-Shiloah. The Izhbitzer has two interesting things to say about Korah: First, that Korah debunked tzitzit because they symbolize yirat shamayim, whereas Korah held that, in a certain sense, yirat shamyim is immanent in every Jew. That is, a person cannot help but do the will of God, because everything that a person does in life ultimately comes from God—even his own personal will. What Korah overlooked, says the Ishbitzer, is that we are nevertheless given free will, even if no more than the “size of a garlic peel,” because God desires that man serve him with at least the illusion of free will.
At first blush, this doctrine seems perilously close to determinism, emptying of meaning the dictum of Hazal, “Everything is in the hands of Heaven except for the fear of Heaven” (Berakhot 33b). But one expert on Izhbitzer Hasidism explained to me that this does not mean that man has no freedom but that, on the contrary, he has radical freedom: so much so, that at times the “religiously correct” choice is to be found, not through a conventional halakhic-legalist approach, but by seeking “the will of God.” And indeed, when confronting the truly significant choices in life, the crossroads, the major ethical nexuses, the halakhah is inadequate to show the way a person must walk. At times, God may show him the path: if a person looks deep within his own soul, with absolute honesty and integrity, striving to eliminate any ulterior motives or self-interest, he may merit to hear the voice of God.
Second: Korah was a radical democrat. His basic charge against Moses was that “the entire congregation is holy, and God is in their midst; why then do you lift yourselves up above the congregation of the Lord” (Num 16:3). Korah is portrayed by Mei ha-Shiloah as anticipating that great day, portrayed inter alia in the aggadah at the very end of Ta’anit, in which the righteous will dance in a circle, each one pointing with his finger at the Holy One blessed be He, who stands in the center of the circle, saying: “This is the Lord for whom we have waited and who will save us; this is the Lord for whom we have waited, we will rejoice and be glad in His salvation!” (Isa 25:9). Korah’s error, according to the Izhbitzer, was not in assuming radical equality among all people, but in seeing it as something imminent in his own day rather than as an event that would have to wait for the End of Days.
These two issues—determinism vs. free will, and egalitarianism vs. hierarchy— are central issues in the modern world. Many scientists, in studying the functioning of the brain, will argue that most of our rejections and behavior patterns are “hard-wired” into our physical nature, and that our conscious control and choice regarding our response to various situations is far less than we would like to believe.
One concrete example: the controversy regarding homosexuality, viz. same-sex marriage and ordination of homosexuals as rabbis, which recently rocked Conservative Judaism both here and in the United States, is closely related to the widely-accepted assumption that homosexual orientation is in some sense predetermined, involuntary, and thus not subject to free will in any meaningful sense. Yet in the hundreds of pages of discussion by the best minds of the Conservative movement (at least those major positions that I have read), the issue of free-will vs. determinism is barely mentioned, even though shogeg karuv la-anus, the exemption from liability of one who acts through error tantamount to external compulsion, might have served as a more plausible basis for a permissive position, rather than the dubious heter by Dorff et al. for non-penetrative erotic acts, based on a rather cavalier disregard of Rabbinic and, per Rambam, even Torah prohibitions (but more on that another time). It seems to me that the issue of how to deal with people who seem to be forced by their genetic makeup to behave in ways forbidden by the Torah is a basic one, with far-reaching theological implications, deserving of serious discussion.
The second issue raised by the Izhbitzer, invoked by the image of all Israel dancing in a circle, is that of democracy, of the innate equality of all human beings. There is hardly need to elaborate upon the fact that this is a basic element of the contemporary cultural mood or mentalité; the post-modern reluctance to make any unequivocal moral, aesthetic, spiritual or other value judgments may be traced to the feeling that “Who am I to say that my opinion is truer than that of anyone else?” This is diametrically opposed to the traditional view of Judaism, which accepts the obvious differences between human beings in terms of intelligence, learning, talents and abilities of various sorts, and even moral sensibility. Moses is seen as the true teacher and prophet, the exclusive conduit for conveying the divine Torah to Israel, and as the paradigm for the authority of Sages in later generations. And yet, as the Izhbitzer observes, in the End of Days all will be equal in their direct experiencing of the immanent God. Korah’s “only” error was in “jumping the gun.”
I will conclude, very briefly, with a comment on the haftarah. What is implied by the choice of this particular reading (1 Sam 11:14-12:22)? On the face of it, it seems diametrically opposed to the message of the Korah story. Rather than the “populist” tendencies of Korah, here the people had practically begged Samuel to appoint a king, a centralized, authoritarian leader, “like all the other nations” (8:5)—to which Samuel is adamantly opposed, reminding them here that “the Lord your God [alone!] is your king” (12:12). Perhaps this haftarah was chosen for precisely that reason: that they must not give up on the messianic, utopian vision in which all stand directly before God as king; that the ideal of an egalitarian society, expressed davka through the mouth of Korah , is not a bad thing per se.
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Parashat Korach - The Entire Congregation is Holy
One last question before we leave off. Regarding the verse from Proverbs 20:26 brought above -- an obscure verse that is rarely quoted in rabbinic literature -- why did the Ishbitzer choose to hang his discourse on Korach specifically on this unremarkable verse?
The answer is to be found in Numbers, Chapter 17 which is the conclusion of the Korach episode: "And the LORD spoke to Moshe, saying: 'Speak to Elazar the son of Aharon the Kohen, and have him lift up the fire-pans from the inferno, while you scatter ('z'reh') the fire yonder. For they were sanctified, the fire-pans of these sinners [who paid] with their lives, and make them into hammered sheets to overlay the altar, for they were offered before the LORD and became holy."
The linguistic connection between Proverbs 20:26 and Numbers 17:2 becomes suddenly apparent -- both verses make prominent use of the uncommon verb z.r.h. -- to scatter. But now we see how the Ishbitzer's reading of the second verse informs his reading of the first. The wise King of Proverb scatters the fire of Korach not for its wickedness, but precisely because it has become sanctified. That fire, scattered upon the earth, will smolder until the End of Days, when it will once again blaze as bright as the vision Korach has offered us. A vision that is ultimately and utterly holy.
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