The Nozir From the South
`Speak to bnei Yisroel . . . ish oh ishoh ki yafli, a
man or woman who separates [themselves -- wondrously -- from
worldly pleasures], to make a vow to become a nozir,
to be set apart for Hashem's sake' (Bamidbor 6:2).
[The word, yafli, who separates, is understood by the
commentators both in the sense of the nozir's physical
separation from wine, and the separation between his conduct
and that of a majority of people, who are slaves to their
desires, hence the nozir is considered to have done
something distinctive and wondrous.]
The gemora (Nedorim 9) relates the following story:
Shimon Hatzaddik said, "Never in my life did I eat from the
oshom offering of a nozir who had become
tomei, [which necessitates his bringing special
korbonos and shaving off all his hair] except on one
occasion. A certain man [i.e. a nozir who had become
tomei] once came from the South. I saw that he had
beautiful eyes and a becoming appearance and that his hair
was arranged in curling tresses.
"I said to him, `My son, why do you want to destroy your
beautiful hair?'
"He said to me, `I was a working as a shepherd for father in
my town and I went to fill up with water from the well. I saw
my reflection [in the water] and my yetzer hora
pounced upon me and wanted to drive me from the world.
`Wicked one!' I said to him, `Why do you take pride in a
world that is not yours, in one who is destined to be dust,
decay and worms [i.e. the physical appearance]? I promise to
shave you, for the sake of Heaven!'
"I got up straight away and kissed him on his head and said
to him, `My son, may there be many in Yisroel who vow to be
nezirim for reasons like yours. The posuk was
referring to someone like you when it says, `a man . . . who
separates, to make a vow to become a nozir, to be set
apart for Hashem's sake'."
The gemora then continues: Rabbi Mana asked, "Why did
Shimon Hatzaddik only refrain from eating the oshom
offering of a nozir who had become tomei
because it is brought on account of a sin [namely,
insufficient care on the part of the nozir to avoid
tumah]? All other oshom offerings are also
brought because of sins!"
Rabbi Yonah answered . . . "They make the vow to be
nezirim when they are disturbed, then when they become
tomei and the days for which they have to keep to [the
strictures of] being a nozir are increased [for after
becoming tohor, the nozir must start to count
the period of his nezirus from the beginning again],
they regret [ever having entered] the [state of]
nezirus, and [this lack of intention, which weakens
the entire basis of their assumption of nezirus, upon
which the validity of their korbonos depends, means
that] they are thus suspect of offering up mundane animals in
the azarah [instead of properly sanctified
korbonos, a serious aveiro]."
Rashi explains the gemora's words, "when they are
disturbed," to mean "they are afraid, and they undertake the
vow [of nezirus] when they are angry, not doing so for
the sake of Heaven, but out of anger." [Thus when the
difficulty of fulfilling their vows increases as a result of
having become tomei, they regret the whole
undertaking, undermining the validity of their vow.]
Tosafos and the Rosh (in his commentary on the
gemora,) give a different explanation of the words,
"when they are disturbed: they are dismayed at their
punishment and they attribute it to their sins [i.e. they are
conscience stricken] and have pangs of teshuvah and
make a vow [of nezirus.]"
What is most puzzling about this explanation is that if they
are motivated by teshuvah to become nezirim,
they are actually righteous, so why did Shimon Hatzaddik have
doubts about the validity of their nezirus and their
korbonos?
Holiness in Sight
The matter can be explained in the light of another gemora
(Zevochim 118), which says that during the period when
the Mishkon was located in Shilo, before the Beis
Hamikdosh was built, the same halocho that applied
to Yerushalayim when the mikdash stood there, namely,
that it was permitted to eat those korbonos that had a
lower degree of sanctity (kodshim kalim) anywhere that
Yerushalayim was visible from, applied in Shilo.
One of the reasons given by the gemora for equating
Shilo with Yerushalayim is the fact that the posuk
says (Bereishis 49:22), "Ben poros Yosef, Yosef is a
son who finds favor, ben poros alei oyin, a son who
finds favor in the eyes of those who see him . . . " Rashi
explains that the word poros can also be understood in
the sense of expansion and multiplying, as in piryoh
verivyoh. It is in this sense that the gemora
takes this posuk, understanding it to mean that Shilo,
which was situated in the portion of the tribe of Yosef,
expanded and increased its holiness (becoming like
Yerushalayim in that whoever could see it could eat
kodshim kalim where he was).
The gemora goes on to say that the words, alei
oyin are to be understood as giving the reason for this
expansion of the holiness of Shilo: "The eye that did not
want to benefit from that which was not its own -- Rashi
explains that this refers to Yosef, who did not want to gaze
upon Potiphar or the Egyptian daughters -- shall merit that
eating (kodshim kalim) in any place that can see."
The gemora is telling us that Yosef Hatzaddik invested
his portion in Eretz Yisroel for all subsequent generations,
with holiness that is equal to that of Yerushalayim. (This
also happens to be the explanation of the posuk (Tehillim
97:11), "Light is sown for the tzaddik, and for
the upright of heart, joy." Through the holiness which the
tzaddik sows, he bequeaths an upright heart and joy to
all his subsequent generations!)
But there is something strange in the words used by this
gemora. Why does the gemora refer to Yosef
Hatzaddik's eye as "the eye that did not want to benefit from
that which was not its own," instead of "the eye that did not
want to benefit from what was forbidden"?
The words "that which was not its own" actually contain a
great lesson. The Ibn Ezra asks a famous question on the
Torah's commandment not to covet one's friend's house. How is
it possible to command a person not to covet, when this is a
feeling which he experiences in his heart, which it is not in
his power to control? The heart does desire things, and how
can the Torah command a person's heart not to covet?
A World That is Not Mine
The Ibn Ezra answers his question with the parable of a
common villager who saw a princess. Will it enter the
villager's head to try to marry the princess? Of course not!
The villager knows very well that there is no way that a
coarse fellow like himself could marry a princess and he
doesn't even contemplate it. The Torah warns a person, "Don't
covet your friend's house," as if to say, "your friend's
house is not yours and it doesn't belong to your world. It is
his and has nothing to do with you, so don't covet it."
The Beis Halevi sharpens this explanation by comparing
it to a man standing on a frozen river who sees something on
the other side which he desires. He begins crossing the ice
in order to reach it when suddenly, the ice gives way beneath
him and he is about to plunge into the freezing water. At
that moment, he completely forgets his desire; all he can
think of is how to avoid drowning in the river. If a person
is truly afraid of transgressing an aveiro and of
being liable for the punishment which it entails, and if he
fears Hashem, who commanded him not to do it, then that fear
will automatically prevent him from coveting what belongs to
someone else. The Torah thus warns; "Don't covet -- be afraid
of an aveiro!"
In the light of the Ibn Ezra's explanation, the meaning of
the words of the gemora in Zevochim -- "the eye
that did not want to benefit from that which was not its own"
-- now becomes apparent. For Yosef Hatzaddik to gaze upon the
Egyptian daughters for gratification would be for him to
benefit from a world that was not his. In the same way that
he understood that in forbidding something, the Torah places
it as far out of our reach as if it belongs to a different
world, he also realized that the pleasures of this world were
also not a part of the real [spiritual] world that was truly
his own, and that he had no genuine connection to them. By
conducting himself in accordance with this knowledge, Yosef
Hatzaddik invested Mishkan Shilo with such holiness
that the Torah permitted kodshim kalim to be eaten in
any place where Shilo was visible.
With this, we can go back to explain why Shimon Hatzaddik
made only one exception -- in the case of the nozir
from the south -- to his practice of not eating from the
korbon of a nozir who had become tomei.
This nozir told him that he had seen his reflection in
the waters of the well and that his yetzer hora had
pounced upon him. Hadn't the nozir ever seen his own
reflection before? Was he unaware until then that he had a
becoming appearance?
Perhaps, but less us consider which words the nozir
used when remonstrating with his yetzer hora? Not
"Wicked one! Why do you want to make me stumble into
something forbidden!?" but " . . . Why do you take pride in
a world that is not yours!" In other words, the nozir
told himself, "the pleasures of this world and pride in
purely physical things are not yours at all. You have as
little genuine connection with them as you would if they were
on another world," just as Yosef Hatzaddik did.
The Wondrous Individual
This is why Shimon Hatzaddik stood up and kissed the
nozir from the south upon his head, blessing him that
there should be many more nezirim like him, who had
done something genuinely wonderful, as the posuk says,
"a man who does something wondrous . . . " implying that
there is something wonderful and out of the ordinary in
becoming a nozir.
(Incidentally, the Maharsho points out that the
nozir's origin, "from the south" is mentioned in order
to allude to the fact that he was a talmid chochom.
"Whoever wants to become wise should direct himself
southwards," and this was why he merited attaining such a
high level of the holiness of nezirus.)
When all is said and done though, what is so wonderful about
separating oneself from wine for thirty days? The answer lies
in the words of the Ibn Ezra on this posuk, who writes
that all of mankind are slaves of their desires and the
wonder lies in the nozir's breaking the habit that is
common to all men, [willingly restricting himself and
forgoing the freedom of partaking of wine according to his
desires].
This nozir, who had come from the south, revealed that
in his innermost heart, he considered all the pleasures of
the world as belonging to a world that was not his. This was
why Shimon Hatzaddik was so impressed with him, for, as the
gemora quoted earlier explains, this was not common
even among other nezirim.
Although the other nezirim, who made vows of
nezirus either in anger [according to Rashi's
explanation] or in remorse [like the Rosh and Tosafos]
certainly filled their lives with good and worthy things,
Shimon Hatzaddik saw that they nevertheless felt that this
world was their own. Though they did regret their sins and
repent, and they even undertook nezirus, if they
became tomei in the middle, they had misgivings about
the entire nezirus [which would not have happened had
their original vow been prompted by the realization that all
earthly pleasures were actually foreign to them]. This is why
Shimon Hatzaddik did not eat from any korbon oshom of
a nozir tomei save one.
Bearing this in mind, we can appreciate how careful we must
be about avoiding forbidden sights, especially during the
summer months -- may Hashem save us! [We can break the
attraction which the yetzer hora exerts towards such
things by instilling within ourselves the realization that
all such things actually belong to a world that is not ours,
a world to which we have no true connection.]
I will tell you a story about the gaon HaRav Eliyohu
Lopian zt'l, which took place while he was
mashgiach in Yeshivas Knesses Chizikyohu in Kfar
Chassidim. HaRav Lopian was approached by a bochur for
permission to travel to a wedding. Reb Elya asked the
bochur whether the company there would be mixed and
the bochur answered, "My parents and I will be sitting
at our own table and I don't care if there will be mixed
company," R'l!
Reb Elya averted his gaze from the bochur and said,
"As far as I myself am concerned, I have already reached my
eighties and [moreover] I can't see out of one eye . . . and
still, when I go out into the street, I am afraid of
transgressing the command, "Do not stray after your . . .
eyes"! And you . . . a young man, say "I don't care" . .
. !
Reb Elya then walked away from the bochur, snubbing
him.
Avoid the Conflict Altogether!
Dovid Hamelech said, "He does not desire the might of the
horse, nor does He want the thighs of the man," (Tehillim
147:10). What does this mean? What is it about "the
horse's might" and "the man's thighs" that Hashem does not
want? The posuk is speaking about ways of overcoming
the yetzer hora, using the parable of a horse and its
rider. When a horse is trained to carry a man onto the
battlefield, and stay calm, not throwing him off in fright,
it learns that if it bucks, the rider straddles it tightly
with his thighs to maintain his grip, digging his spurs into
it as a sign to calm down and stay under his control.
This practice has its counterpart in the spiritual battle
against the yetzer hora but the posuk tells us
that it is not desirable. The basis of success in spiritual
endeavors and in avoiding sin is to distance oneself from
trials, through the knowledge that all worldly pleasures
belong to "a world that is not our own." There are those who
think that they can indulge themselves and still stand up to
any trials which the yetzer hora puts in their way,
avoiding any actual aveiros.
It is to such people that Dovid Hamelech is referring to
here. Hashem does not want "the horse's might" -- the brute
force of battling the yetzer -- or "the man's thighs" -
- when he holds on for dear life and digs in, so as to remain
in control. Hashem doesn't desire the heroism of standing up
to a trial when it could have been avoided altogether.
"Hashem wants those who fear Him . . . " (posuk 11) .
. . those who are afraid of aveiros, who run away from
them, fulfilling Chazal's admonition (Ovos) "And flee
from an aveiro!"
I will relate a story that I heard from Reb
Chaikel Miletzky zt'l, which contains a message that
relates to what we have just been discussing.
When Reb Chaikel was a fifteen year old bochur, he was
learning in Stutchin. It was during the First World War and
most of the bnei hayeshiva had fled east, deep into
Russia, while Reb Chaikel had remained in Stutchin. On
erev Yom Kippur, a Jewish soldier approached Reb
Chaikel and whispered to him that he needed a favor but that
the matter had to be kept in utter secrecy. "I, and a number
of other Jewish soldiers, are currently stationed near the
town. We have heard from the captain of our brigade that
tomorrow, on Yom Kippur, at seven o'clock, we will be leaving
to go and fight elsewhere. Of course, my friends and I would
like to escape from the army and we want to run away on Yom
Kippur night and spend the night in Stutchin. Naturally, we
can't escape wearing our army uniforms, so I would like to
ask you to obtain suits and hats for us to change into and
also to find us a place in which to hide overnight, until the
brigade has left town, by which time we will be safe."
Reb Chaikel agreed to help and he managed to collect enough
suits from townsfolk. He also found a hiding place, in the
ezras noshim of the town's Beis Haknesses Halevoyas
Hameis. This beis knesses was situated inside the
town's Jewish burial ground and was used for eulogizing the
deceased, which meant that most of the time nobody entered
it. Reb Chaikel cleaned the ezras noshim from the
thick dust that had settled there and prepared it for the
visitors. He finished his work before Yom Kippur began. The
soldiers arrived, minus one of their number whose family
lived in Stutchin and who had therefore gone to his parents'
home. The soldiers asked Reb Chaikel to spend the night in
the beis haknesses with them, for they were afraid to
stay there by themselves.
During the night, the sound of crying was heard coming from
the town. The soldier who had gone to hide in the cellar at
his parents' home had been caught by the Russian soldiers and
had been sentenced to death for deserting. When Reb Chaikel
heard what had happened he grew very frightened. What had he
let the townspeople in for? Wouldn't the other soldiers he
had hidden also be found? And what would the Russian soldiers
do to the people of Stutchin? They might lay the entire
community waste.
He went upstairs to tell the soldiers and they were also very
afraid. They began to discuss whether they should try to make
a run for it right away or not. Reb Chaikel told them not to
give up hope of Hashem's rescuing them, even from such a
dangerous position. What they did have to do something about
right away was their army uniforms, which were still with
them. If they themselves were found, they could masquerade
and invent some alibi to explain their whereabouts but the
uniforms would give them away immediately. Reb Chaikel had an
idea as to what they could do with them. A number of Stutchin
residents had already dug graves for themselves, a practice
which acts as an assurance of longevity. He decided to throw
the uniforms into the open graves! Reb Chaikel made several
trips out to the graveyard, each time taking another uniform
with him to hide.
As he returned from his last excursion, he heard the sound of
horses' hooves and saw mounted Russian soldiers. They too,
spotted Reb Chaikel immediately. To have run away would
arouse even greater suspicion than being found in a graveyard
in the middle of the night, so Reb Chaikel stayed where he
was, standing next to a tree and saying vidui, for it
was Yom Kippur night after all. He heard the soldiers calling
out to him to stand still and he lay down on the ground. Tens
of bullets were then fired at Reb Chaikel, but miraculously,
they did not harm him. The soldiers then grabbed him and took
him to the commander of the regiment.
"You are an enemy spy," the captain declared. "What is a
young man doing outside at three o'clock in the morning? You
must be spying for the enemy!"
"Tonight is the holiest night of the year for us," Reb
Chaikel responded, "and I wouldn't lie to you. Today, a young
man died in front of his parents. (This was quite true. Reb
Chaikel was thinking of the Jewish soldier who had been
executed for deserting.) I had mercy on the boy's mother and
I took him away to bury him. Even though I realized that you
would suspect me, what I'm telling you is still the
truth."
The officer began to rave, calling Reb Chaikel a liar. He
then said, "We are not too far from the graveyard now. Show
me where you buried him." Reb Chaikel agreed, feeling that he
had nothing to lose anyway by so doing. If the officer
decided to actually accompany him, he would have to admit the
truth eventually. He nevertheless felt secure that the fact
that it was Yom Kippur night would provide him with merit
that would protect him.
The two of them walked along together and in the end, the
officer clapped Reb Chaikel on the shoulder and exclaimed,
"You are a hero! It was really courageous of you to go and
bury the boy because you took pity on his mother. You are
free to go." The officer sent an armed guard along with Reb
Chaikel, to escort him to the town. The next day, all the
Russian soldiers left Stutchin and the Jewish soldiers came
out of hiding and joined the townsfolk in the beis
haknesses, amid much rejoicing.
Because of the war, our master and teacher Reb Leib Chasman
zt'l was not in Stutchin. The first time he met Reb
Chaikel again was after they had both reached Eretz Yisroel.
The latter excitedly repeated his tale to Reb Leib, telling
him all the miracles which he had experienced that night. Reb
Leib responded, "Why are you so amazed? The gemora
(Pesochim 8) states explicitly that mitzva emissaries
come to no harm, both on their outward and their return
trips"!
What we ought to learn from this story is the length to which
a fifteen year old boy went in order to help his fellow Jews.
It is about such outstanding behavior that the posuk
says, "Ish ki yafli, a man who does something
wondrous!"
