In preparation and anticipation of the giving of the
Torah, the following is an excerpt from HaRav Meir Tzvi
Bergman's classic work, Sha'arei Orah explaining how
Torah must be transmitted.
Transmitting the Mesorah
In Parshas Bo it is written: G-d said to Moses, "Go to
Pharaoh, for I have made his heart and the heart of his
servants stubborn so that I may demonstrate these miraculous
signs in his midst, and so that you may relate in the ears of
your children and grandchildren how I made a mockery of
Egypt, and how I placed My signs among them" that you may
know that I am G-d." (Shemos 10:2)
Ba"al Haturim explains that the mitzvah of relating the story
of the Exodus from Egypt applies in particular to one's
"children and grandchildren," as opposed to later
generations. And the reason for this, the Ba"al Haturim goes
on to explain, is because this [i.e., two generations]
is the extent of fatherly love.
Ba"al Haturim's comment is difficult to fathom. We first
encounter this concept of two generations being "the extent
of fatherly love" in Midrash Rabbah, in connection
with the verse, "Now swear to me by G-d that you will not
deal falsely with me, nor with my son, nor with my grandson .
. . " (Bereishis 2:12 and Rashi) Here Avimelech and
Fichol his general sought to make a pact with Avrohom
stipulating that neither side would deal treacherously with
the other. Commenting on the fact that Avimelech did not
demand that the pact be extended beyond his grandchildren's
generation, Chazal say, "Because this [i.e. two
generations] is the extent of fatherly love." Within this
context, the idea is perfectly clear. But why does Ba"al
Haturim cite it in relation to this verse in Parshas
Bo? What could fatherly love possibly have to do with the
mitzvah of relating the story of the Exodus from Egypt to
one's descendants?
To reach an understanding we must elaborate upon two verses
in Parshas Voeschanon : "Only take heed and greatly
beware for your soul, so that you do not forget the things
which your eyes saw and that you do not remove them from your
heart all the days of your life. Teach your children and
grandchildren about the day you stood before the L-rd your G-
d at Horeb." (Devorim 4:9"10). The day you stood
before the Lord your G-d at Horeb -- "when you saw the
thunder and the flames. (Rashi on Shemos 20:15)
Not only must we remember the actual laws of the Torah and
teach them to our children, we must also remember -- and what
is more, transmit -- to our children the actual
sensation of standing at the foot of Mount Sinai and
receiving the Torah amidst the sounds of the shofar,
thunder, and flames. Indeed, the Torah continues in the very
next verse, "You approached and stood at the foot of the
mountain, and the mountain was burning with fire to the heart
of heaven, darkness, cloud, and mist" (Devorim 4:11) --
further corroboration of this thesis that we are obligated to
convey to our children the full intensity of our experiences
in receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai, in all its vivid
imagery.
The underlying concept of all this is the very essence of
mesorah. As is well known, the author of Sefer
Hachinuch writes in his introduction that the tradition
handed down from father to son through the generations
comprises the foundation of our belief in Hashem and in the
giving of the Torah.
At first glance, it would seem that not everyone agrees with
the Sefer Hachinuch on this score. We find, for
instance, many great Torah scholars throughout the
generations, Rishonim and Acharonim alike, who
take a different approach: instead of merely citing the
tradition that has been handed down to us by our forefathers,
they go to great lengths to demonstrate the reality of G-d"s
existence by means of concepts and firm proofs.
Indeed, the Torah itself seems to acknowledge the validity of
this approach, as it is written, "Know this day and
ponder it in your heart: G-d is the Lord in heaven
above and on the earth below; there is no other."
(Ibid., 4:39) Rambam and Chovos Halevovos even
go so far as to view striving for and attaining an
intellectual appreciation and understanding of the reality of
G-d's existence as a Torah-ordained positive commandment.
Some suggest that there is no difference of opinion here, and
that both approaches -- that of Sefer Hachinuch and
that of the Rishonim -- are valid. It all depends on
whom we are talking about. Exceptionally wise individuals,
who are capable of independently devising logical proofs of
Hashem's existence, are enjoined to do so and they may
dispense with the oral tradition of our forefathers. Such
tradition, they maintain, is necessary only for individuals
of limited intelligence who are incapable of delving into
philosophical queries.
In truth, however, they are mistaken. Though Rambam and
Chovos Halevovos consider it a mitzvah to logically
prove G-d's existence and the Divine nature of the Torah (as
mandated by the verse cited above, "Know this day and ponder
it in your heart: G-d is the L-rd . . . ") that is only one
aspect of the entire picture. In addition, we must fall back
on the tradition that has been handed down to us by our
forefathers. For besides knowing, we are also enjoined to
"ponder it in your heart" -- to perceive the concept on the
experiential level. And the only way to fulfill this aspect
of the command is by internalizing the generational wisdom
which has been handed down from father to son.
Emotions and feelings are not aroused by intellectual
analysis, but rather emerge from the beliefs which we
absorbed from our parents in our youth. A parent who instills
in his children at a young age the belief that G-d exists and
that the origin of the Torah is Divine, ensures that they
will also feel these concepts in their hearts as adults.
The vital role that tangible, experiential knowledge plays in
the life of a Jew was clearly evident during the giving of
the Torah at Mount Sinai. Hashem did not deem it sufficient
to speak to the Jewish people; in order to heighten the
effect and cause the Jewish people to feel the event, He
created a surrealistic atmosphere consisting of "darkness,
cloud, and mist," (Devorim 4:11) as well as "thunder
and lightning . . . and the very powerful sound of a horn"
(Shemos 19:16).
Man is a corporeal being and hence, intellectual
comprehension alone is not sufficient. If a message is to
remain eternally engraved upon his being, man must have
tangible experiential exposure to that concept. Indeed, we
see that even the words which Hashem spoke to Israel
contained such an aspect: as the Sages note, the souls of the
Jewish people left their bodies from the shock of seeing and
hearing G-d's voice. (Shabbos 88b)
It is this type of experiential awareness that we must
transmit to our children. This is the true intent of the
verse, "That you teach your children and grandchildren about
the day you stood before the Lord your G-d at Horeb." The
Torah is essentially saying to us: "Instill and transmit your
experience to your children and grandchildren, for only in
this manner will they be able to internalize its lessons on
the existential level." Feelings cannot be communicated to
others solely through intellectual analysis and
understanding. Therefore, the only viable method is through
imparting to them the oral tradition which our forefathers
have bequeathed to us throughout the generations.
I have found a strong proof for this concept. The Mishnah
states:
The people would prostrate themselves in the Holy Temple on
thirteen occasions. [However,] the descendants of R. Gamliel
and R. Chananya, the deputy of the priests, would prostrate
themselves fourteen times. Where did they perform this
additional prostration? Opposite the room where the wood was
stored, for they had a tradition from their forefathers that
the Holy Ark was concealed there. (Shekolim 6:1)
The people who did not prostrate themselves opposite the room
where the wood was stored were of the opinion that the Holy
Ark had been seized and taken to Babylonia. (Tosafos Yom
Tov)
The Talmud, however, relates an incident in which a
priest who was inspecting the wood for worms noticed a
particular floor tile that looked slightly different from the
rest. He went to tell his friend, but was struck dead from
Above before he could reveal the tile's exact location. From
that time on, everyone knew without a shadow of a doubt that
the Holy Ark was indeed concealed under the floor of that
storage room. (Yoma 54a) Indeed, the Talmud cites this
incident as proof that the Holy Ark was concealed there.
A question arises: As explained earlier, the difference of
opinion between the descendants of R. Gamliel and R.
Chananya, and the other Cohanim lay in the question of
whether or not the Holy Ark had been seized and taken to
Babylonia. If so, why didn't they start following the example
of R. Gamliel and R. Chananya's descendants and prostrate
themselves in the direction of the storage room after such
conclusive proof of the Ark's presence there?
The answer would seem to be that merely knowing that the Holy
Ark was concealed in the storage room was not sufficient
reason for a person to prostrate himself in that direction --
one also had to feel the holiness of that room. The only
people who sensed this feeling were the descendants of R.
Gamliel and R. Chananya for they had a direct tradition from
their forefathers. The others, who merely knew that this
place was holy from the incident cited above, but who did not
feel the holiness of the room, could not prostrate themselves
in its direction.
@BIG LET BODY = On the night of Passover, the Torah demands
that we do more than transmit to our children an account of
the Exodus as though it were merely a story; we must also
convey to them the feelings that we felt in our hearts. It is
for this reason that the Torah commands us to eat various
types of food which symbolize the Jewish people's condition
in Egypt, and also to recline during the meal, and to feel
and act as though we ourselves are in the process of coming
out of Egypt. Only in this manner can one convey to one's
children these feelings which have been handed down from
father to son ever since.
The story of Gid'on (in sefer Shofetim) provides us
with an inkling of how this works in practice.
"The angel of Hashem came and sat under the terebinth that is
in Ofrah, belonging to Yo'ash the Aviezri, while his son
Gid'on was threshing wheat in the wine press to hide it from
the Midianites. The angel of Hashem appeared to him and said,
`Hashem be with you, mighty hero!' Gid'on said to him, `Your
pardon, sir, but is Hashem with us? Why, then, has all this
come upon us? Where are all His wonders that our fathers have
told us of, saying, "Did Hashem not bring us up out of
Egypt?" But now Hashem has abandoned us and given us into the
hand of Midian.' Then Hashem turned to him and said, `Go with
this strength of yours and deliver Israel from the hand of
Midian; for I have sent you.' " (Shofetim 6:11- 13)
Rashi explains the source of his dissatisfaction and the
nature of his "strength":
"That our fathers have told us of" -- it was Pesach and
Gid'on said to the angel, "Last night Abba read me the
Hallel, and I heard him saying, `When Israel went forth from
Egypt.' (Tehillim 114:1) But now Hashem has forsaken
us! If our fathers were tzaddikim, let Him act for us
for their merit; and if they were wicked men, as He did
wonders for them out of sheer love, so let Him do for us."
Then Hashem -- Himself, as it were -- turned to him.
"With this strength of yours" -- with the strength of this
meritorious deed, that you spoke in defense of My children.
This is how R. Tanchuma explains this passage.
What an amazing thing to say! Had Gid'on never in his life
said Hallel? Had he never heard anyone saying the verse,
"When Israel went forth from Egypt"? Had he never opened a
Chumash and seen written there that Hashem took the
Children of Israel out of Egypt?
The answer is that a human being is capable of reading about
something and knowing all about it, without ever perceiving
it as something real. Hearing or seeing something does not
necessarily make a person take what he hears or sees to
heart; he is always capable of letting knowledge "go in one
ear and out the other." Only when he wakes up and pays real
attention to what is being said -- when he realizes that it
is being said to him -- only then does he take the knowledge
to heart and feel it as something real, concrete.
This is part of the Torah's intent in couching a
melamed's instruction of his students in terms of
"teaching [these words] diligently to your children."
(Devorim 6:7) Rashi, too, (Ad loc.) stresses
that students must always be like one's own children. For
when children sit and listen to their father teaching Torah,
though the father may be speaking only generally, not
directing his talk at any one of them in particular, still
each of them, as he listens, feels that he alone is being
addressed. It is an entirely different experience from
attending a lecture and the effects, too, are quite
different. Since the child feels that the words are directed
towards him alone, they are real for him and he takes them to
heart.
This is what happened to Gid'on that seder night.
"Last night was Pesach," he told the angel, "and Abba read me
the Hallel. And when I heard him saying, `When Israel went
forth from Egypt,' I felt it as a reality, and for the first
time I realized its implications. So now I want to argue with
the Creator on behalf of the Jewish people."
And this is what Baal Haturim intended when he wrote that the
Torah's commandment to "relate in the ears of your children
and grandchildren" applies only to one's children and
grandchildren, but not to later generations, "because this
[i.e. two generations] is the extent of fatherly
love."
Dry facts can be transmitted to anyone, but to convey one's
emotions on an experiential level to another person is a much
greater challenge. This goal can be accomplished only in the
context of a loving and nurturing relationship between
bestower and recipient such as that which exists between a
father and his children and grandchildren. Hence, because two
generations is "the extent of fatherly love," it is also the
extent of the obligation to transmit our forefather's
tradition to our offspring.
HaRav Meir Tzvi Bergman is the rosh yeshiva of
Yeshivas HoRashbi in Bnei Brak.
