It should be in these books. The 15th volume? Yes. Gittin (a tractate of the Talmud), nun heh, nun heh. Maybe the Ben Ish Chai (a work by Yosef Chaim of Baghdad). Let’s open the Ben Ish Chai too. Let’s see: Ben Ish Chai, one second. Ben Ish Chai, Gittin. Ben Yehoyada (a commentary by the Ben Ish Chai). Let’s see: Ben Yehoyada, Gittin. Ben Yehoyada: Nedarim (a tractate of the Talmud), Nazir (a tractate of the Talmud), Sotah (a tractate of the Talmud), Kiddushin (a tractate of the Talmud). No Gittin? We’ve got Ben Yehoyada. Beautiful. Gittin, beautiful. Okay, rabotai (my teachers), let’s do the Gemara here with the Ben Ish Chai.
Amar Rabbi Yochanan (Rabbi Yochanan said): mai dechtiv (what is written), “Ashrei adam mefached tamid umaksheh libo yipol bera’ah” (Fortunate is one who is always fearful; the hardhearted will fall into misfortune). “Ashrei adam mefached tamid”—Rashi says, “do’eg lirot et hanolad,” so he worries to see the future, “shelo te’era takalah bekach,” “im e’eseh zot.” He’s always making calculations. He’s forecasting: “If I do this, what’s going to be the result?” That’s the pachad (fear) we’re talking about here: “do’eg lirot et hanolad.”
The Gemara says, “Umaksheh libo yipol bera’ah.” “Umaksheh libo”—someone who is stubborn—“yipol bera’ah.” “A-Kamtza u-var Kamtza charov Yerushalayim.” That was the destruction of Yerushalayim: Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. “A-tarnegola ve-tarnegolta charov Tur Malka.” That’s the story of Tur Malka, which we’ll see. “A-shaka di-rispek.” Rashi says, “dofen shel merkevet nashim”—the door of the ladies’ wagon—“charov Beitar” (an ancient Jewish city).
Let’s see the Kamtza story first: “A-Kamtza u-var Kamtza charov Yerushalayim.” Rashi says, “kach shem shenei Yehudim”: Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. It says, “dehahu gavra derachameih Kamtza,” “ohavo.” Rashi says, “hayah shemo Kamtza”—his friend’s name was Kamtza—“u-ve’il devaveih Bar Kamtza”—his enemy was Bar Kamtza. “Avad se’udata.” “Amar leih leshama’eih”—he told his shaliach, a servant, “Zil aitei li Kamtza.” The servant went and brought him Bar Kamtza. “Ata, ashkecheih dehavah yativ.” He saw him sitting at the wedding. “Amar leih,” “machdi hahu gavra ba’al devava dehahu gavra,” “mai, mai ba’it hacha?” What are you doing here? “Kum puk.” Get up and go.
“Amar leih ho’il ve’atai shevakan”—I’m already here; let me stay. “Veyahivna lach damei ma de’achilna veshatina”—I’ll give you the cost of what I eat and drink. “Amar leih lo.” Rashi says, “lo ashvikanach”: I’m not going to let you stay. “Amar leih yahivna lach damei palga dese’udatach”—I’ll give you half the cost of your meal. “Amar leih lo.” “Amar leih yahivna lach damei kulah se’udatach”—I’ll give you the cost of the whole meal. “Amar leih lo.” He said no. “Nakteih biyedeih ve’ukmeih,” they physically picked him up and sent him out. They pushed him out: “ve’afkeih.”
“Amar ho’il vahavu yatvei Rabbanan (the rabbis) velo michu beih”—the rabbis were sitting there and didn’t protest—“shema mina ka nicha lehu.” So it must be that they agreed with this. “Eizil eichol behu kurtza bei malka.” Rashi says, “kurtza”—informing against someone. What did he do? “Azal amar leih leKeisar (Roman emperor), mardu bach Yehuda’ei”: The Jews have rebelled. “Amar leih mi yeimar?” Who said so? “Amar leih shadar lehu korban”: Send them a korban, “vechazit ei mekarvin leih”: See if they bring it or not.
He sent them an egla tilta, a calf. On the way, “shada beih muma,” he placed a mum, a blemish, “biniv sefatayim,” in the lip. Alternatively, they say, it was “bidukin sheba’ayin,” in the cataract in the eye. In a place where it is considered a blemish for us, it is not a blemish for them. The rabbis thought, “We’ll bring the offering because of shelom malchut”—peace with the government.
Rebbi Zechariah ben Avkulas said to them, “Yomeru ba’alei mumin (blemished offering) kereivin legabei mizbe’ach (altar)?” Will people say that ba’alei mumin can be brought on the altar? The rabbis thought, “We’ll kill Bar Kamtza, the servant, so he can’t go back and tell the Caesar that we didn’t bring the offering.” Rebbi Zechariah said, “Yomeru metil mum bekodashim (consecrated offerings) yeHareg?” Will people think that whoever puts a blemish in a consecrated offering gets the death penalty? That is not the halachah (Jewish law).
Rashi says that people would think they killed him because he put a blemish in a consecrated offering, transgressing “lo yihyeh,” and that there is a death penalty for it. There is no death penalty. “Amar Rebbi Yochanan, anvetanuto shel Rebbi Zechariah ben Avkulas hecherivah et beiteinu vesarfah et heichaleinu vehiglitanu me’artzenu.” They blamed the destruction of our house, the burning of our Sanctuary, and our exile from our land on Rebbi Zechariah’s anvetanuto (humility). Rashi says, “savlanuto,” that he tolerated this and did not kill him. It’s a Yiddish expression: a savlan, his patience or tolerance. He tolerated the man and let him stay. Good.
Let’s open the Maharsha (a Talmudic commentary) first and see his analysis of this Gemara. Maharsha on daf nun heh.
“Amar Rebbi Yochanan, ashrei adam mefached tamid aKamtza.” Rashi explained, “do’eg vero’eh et hanolad”—he worries and sees what will happen. He means that one should consider what happened to the earlier generations, namely, in Yerushalayim (Jerusalem). They did not worry about what would happen to them. Before the Beit HaMikdash was destroyed, they should have seen it coming and anticipated it. It wasn’t the only story. As the Gemara says later, “veha dahavu tzaddikei kulei hai lamah ne’enshu?” Why were all those righteous people punished? “Mishum dela avelu al Yerushalayim”—because they did not mourn for Jerusalem. The main part of the verse, he says, is its second part: “umaksheh libo yipol bera’ah.”
Someone stubborn, with a heart of stone, will fall into misfortune, as it says about Pharaoh. After he saw many plagues, “hikshah libo”—he hardened his heart. So too, the people of Tur Malka hardened their hearts and did not worry about what might happen after seeing the calamity of Jerusalem. That is the next case. The first group saw what happened to Jerusalem; the people of the second city should have learned the lesson, but they didn’t. Beitar was destroyed after both of them. They should have seen what happened. The Maharsha understands “umaksheh libo yipol bera’ah” as referring to the second two cases, Tur Malka and Beitar. They should have learned from what happened to Jerusalem, which fell first.
The Maharsha adds some perspective to the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. He says that this story tells us that the beginning of the destruction was because of sin’at chinam (baseless hatred), as we saw in Yoma (a tractate of the Talmud). The second question is, “Mipnei mah charav?” Why was it destroyed? “Mipnei shehayah bah sin’at chinam.”
Here’s the story: “amar azil eitei leih Bar Kamtza.” Perhaps, in the name of the Shach, they were father and son. That’s why the servant made a mistake. How could you mistake Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, two different men? Maybe they were a father and son. Also, why did Bar Kamtza come, even though he knew the host was his enemy? The Maharsha asks why he showed up. He thought: “Achar she’aviv ohavo, bevaddai mevakesh gam ahavato, vela’asot shalom immo.” He figured that since the host was his father’s best friend, surely he wanted to be friends with him too and make peace. He thought, “This is my father’s best friend; he’s inviting me to the wedding. He must want to make up.”
We learned in Eruvin (a tractate of the Talmud), “Kol hamitpateh beyeno yesh bo mida’at kono.” If a person hates someone because that person did something wrong to him, but he makes peace with him on his own—by inviting him to a wine feast he has made—that is the right thing to do. “Yesh bo mida’at kono”: It’s the way of God. The Kadosh Baruch Hu (the Holy One, blessed be He) makes peace with a person who has sinned against Him. When a person sins, Hashem still feeds him. “Bamah shehu shelo shekol ha’olam hu shelo”—the whole world belongs to Him. You see that Hashem reconciles with people He is angry at. It would have been a nice thing to do.
But this host did not have the understanding of Hashem. Even after Bar Kamtza came to the meal by mistake, the host said, “machdi hahu gavra ba’al devava”—“How could you think that I invited you?” Bar Kamtza thought he had been invited in peace, and said, “What are you talking about? You’re my enemy.” The host replied, “Keivan she’atah son’i,” and ignored all his pleas to appease him, until he grabbed him and threw him out.
“Ve’amar, ho’il veyatvei rabbanan velo mechu.” Bar Kamtza asked why the rabbis did not protest. “Mipnei shelo hayah beyadam limchot”—they were unable to protest. Perhaps they acted that way because flattery was powerful in that generation, as we learned in Sotah. Which daf was it? Mem—no, earlier. Agrippas. Mem gimmel? Mem bet? Mem gimmel, right? Mem alef. With Agrippas, right? He said, “dehainu attah.”
So why did the Caesar send an egla tilta? He hinted to them that the accusation of the calf, on the day of reckoning, was still in their hands. That is a hint connected to the golden calf, as in the destruction of the First Temple. Perhaps he sent an egla tilta to refer to three calves, as it says, “Yerov’am chata be’egel echad vezeh begimmel agalim.” I think there are other sins involved as well.
He put a blemish in the lip, “biniv sefatayim.” The Maharsha says this hinted that the people of that generation were guilty of harmful speech: a blemish in the lips. He put the blemish in the eye because they were also tightfisted. Where do we see that in Sotah lamed chet? “Tov ayin, tov ayin yevorach, tzar ayin, kamtzan.” Do we have that in Sotah lamed chet? Yes. “Tov ayin hu yevorach, tzar ayin.” He showed a blemish in the eye because they were tightfisted. The eye’s blemish is visible in the story: the host did not want his enemy to benefit from the meal. That is tightfistedness. He also humiliated him verbally, which relates to the lips. So the blemish was put precisely where it belonged.
What did Rebbi Zechariah say? “Yomeru ba’alei mumim kereivin”—and for what reason? Here, blemished animals would be brought because of peace with the government. What’s the question? It’s a pikuach nefesh (saving a life) here. What’s the problem? He says, “Vedilma yomru ba’alei mumim ka’elu kereivin gam bemakom acher shelo mishum shelom malchut.” Perhaps people would think that blemished animals can be brought elsewhere too, not just because of peace with the government.
Rebbi Yochanan said that because Rebbi Zechariah did not allow the government’s offering to be brought, he destroyed our house. But we said the exile was decreed because of baseless hatred. How can we blame Rebbi Zechariah? Perhaps the Temple would not have been destroyed. The government would have cared about it once its offering was brought. But since the offering was not brought, the government became angry with the Temple and said there was no need for it. We know the Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred, but perhaps the exile would have happened because of that while the Temple itself could have been spared. Once the government saw that its offerings had no value to them—that they would not even bring its offering—what value did the Temple have? That is the story of Rebbi Zechariah ben Avkulas.
I saw a nice piece to discuss here about Rebbi Zechariah. The Masechet (tractate) Gittin relates the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, the best-known Gemara source related to the destruction, for sure. The Sugyah (Talmudic discussion) begins with Rebbi Yochanan: “Ashrei adam mefached tamid umaksheh libo yipol bera’ah.” The Gemara explains that this verse refers to three specific instances: Jerusalem was destroyed due to Kamtza and Bar Kamtza; Tur Malka was destroyed because of a rooster and a hen; and Beitar was destroyed as a result of the shaft of a chariot. Although the Gemara gives details of each occurrence, we will study the first, which pertains to Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.
Bar Kamtza’s humiliation at being cast out was compounded by the fact that numerous rabbinical leaders at the party had witnessed his being shamed and disgraced, and not one came to his defense. He felt that their silence implied complicity. The Maharsha points out that this conclusion was erroneous. In fact, the host was an extremely powerful man with vast influence, and the sages who were there were unable to argue with him. Bar Kamtza then made his way to the Caesar and informed him that the Jews had rebelled. Bar Kamtza was given a calf to take as an offering. As he transported the animal, he inflicted a wound in the calf’s upper lip, or a blemish in its eye.
Halachah: non-Jews can bring offerings to Hashem anywhere they want. Anywhere they want. If they bring one in their own yard, the animal has to be missing an entire limb to be considered unfit as an offering. The animal could, however, have a blemish. But if a non-Jew wants to have his animal sacrificed in the Beit HaMikdash, even the slightest blemish would render it unfit for an offering. The blemish Bar Kamtza inflicted therefore made the animal unfit to be brought as an offering in the Beit HaMikdash, but it could have been brought elsewhere.
In an effort to maintain peace with the government, the Rabbanan wanted to overlook the disqualification of the animal and allow it to be brought. Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas discouraged them. He was concerned that if people witnessed the offering of a blemished animal in the Beit HaMikdash, they would come to the erroneous conclusion that it is permissible to bring a blemished animal there. The sages therefore rejected the animal. Realizing that this might prompt Bar Kamtza to report them to the Caesar, thereby endangering Jewish lives, they considered killing Bar Kamtza. Once again, Rav Zechariah said to abandon that course of action. He was worried that ending Bar Kamtza’s life would send a message to all the Yidn that inflicting a blemish in an animal was a capital offense. This is not true. The sages again deferred to Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas.
Yochanan had said that the excessive humility of Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulas destroyed our Temple, burned our Sanctuary, and exiled us from the land. Rabbi Yochanan’s scathing criticism really lays the blame for the destruction at Rav Zechariah’s feet. But who was right? Would it have been acceptable under these circumstances to bring a blemished animal as an offering? Was Rabbi Yochanan right that in extreme circumstances, such as when the Caesar sends animals to be sacrificed, one could bring it? Furthermore, when Rabbi Yochanan mentioned Rabbi Zechariah’s humility, what was he referring to?
Rashi points out, “anvanuto,” “anvetanuto,” “savlanuto,” “saval et zeh velo harago”: the exemplary patience of tolerating Bar Kamtza by not killing him. Clearly, Rashi is of the opinion that Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas was wrong and that his actions ultimately led to the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. The Gemara does not provide a dissenting opinion. It would seem that this is the conclusion: Zechariah ben Avkulas’s humility and patience were misplaced, and he should have allowed the injured animal to be brought as an offering.
The sages’ initial consideration of bringing the offering was correct, in order to maintain peace with the government and thereby save Jewish lives. It would have been completely permissible to bring the blemished animal as a korban. Keeping the peace and saving lives would have allowed violating the issur de’oraita (Torah-level prohibition) against offering an animal that has a mum. After all, bringing an offering that is a blemished offering is not one of the three cardinal sins for which one must let himself be killed rather than transgress. Additionally, when they realized that Bar Kamtza might report their actions to the Caesar, the sages were also right to consider having him killed. We could classify him as a pursuer. You can kill a pursuer.
What, then, was Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas’s reasoning? Why was he concerned that people might say it is permissible to bring a blemished animal? Saving a life overrides Shabbat.
Bava Kamma (a tractate of the Talmud) relates that the Roman government sent two officers to the sages to learn Torah. Let me find it. Yod-zayin? Wait, where do you see in Bava Kamma that the Persians were worse than the Romans? Yod-zayin? He’s yod-zayin. Gittin yod-zayin? Bava Kamma? Gittin? Right, Gittin? The Gemara relates that the Roman government sent two officers to the sages to learn Torah.
Oh, he’s talking about the question of whether one can teach non-Jews. The Chachamim complied with the request and taught them. They reviewed the Torah with them twice. Tosafot (medieval Talmudic commentary) quotes Chagigah (a tractate of the Talmud), which says that teaching Torah to a non-Jew violates a biblical mandate. How, then, could the sages teach Torah to these two Roman officers?
Tosafot offers two answers. First, the prohibition against teaching Torah to a non-Jew can be waived when the government instructs them to do so. It would have been treasonous to ignore or disobey the command of the Roman emperor, and the sages were not obligated to risk their lives. Fine. Tosafot then offers a second answer: the officers presented themselves as converts, not as non-Jews employed by the government. Thinking they were gerim, the Chachamim had no reason not to teach them Torah. Fine. I’ll continue.
When the two Romans were taking leave of the sages, they said that after investigating and exploring the entirety of Torah, they were convinced—oh, this is the case where they said they didn’t understand why, if a Jew damages a non-Jew, he doesn’t have to pay. Kaf-zayin, lamed-chet? 28? No, lamed-chet. 38th? Kaf-zayin, yes. Ready? “Amad vayater goyim,” “hitir mamonam.” There was one ruling with which they disagreed.
The halachah is that if an ox owned by a Jew gores an ox belonging to a non-Jew, the Jewish owner is not obligated to pay for any of the damages. In the reverse case, where the non-Jew’s ox gores the Jew’s ox, the owner is liable for the full extent of the damages. Regardless of whether the offending animal had the status of a tam (an innocuous ox) or a mu’ad (an ox known to gore), the non-Jew was required to pay the full amount.
The Roman soldiers explained their confusion with this halachah. The Torah applies the laws of damage to an ox that belongs to re’ehu (his fellow), “shor re’ehu.” If that means the laws apply only to Jews, then, just as a Jew is exempt from paying the non-Jew who suffered a loss because of his animal, the non-Jew should not have to pay when his animal causes a loss. But if a non-Jew is included in the laws of damages, then “re’ehu” is not exclusionary. Just as a non-Jew must pay for damages his property causes, he ought to be compensated when he is the victim. Make up your mind: Why is there a double standard? That was the Romans’ question.
Working with Tosafot’s first answer, the Yam Shel Shlomo (a halachic work) wonders why the Chachamim (sages) felt it necessary to include this halachah of damages when teaching Roman emissaries. Wouldn’t it have been better simply to leave it out? Why get involved in this mess and explain it all? It’s not politically correct, that’s for sure. Skip the halachah, skip the entire subject, rather than expose themselves to all these questions about inequality in the halachah.
Further, the Roman government was no friend of the Jews. Surely the sages realized that teaching the Romans that the Jew is patur (exempt) and the non-Jew chayav (liable) would cause anger and animosity, potentially endangering Jewish lives. What must have happened, says the Yam Shel Shlomo, is that the Romans specifically asked about these precise laws. They asked, and the sages could not avoid giving them the information.
However, why didn’t the sages alter the halachah? Why not tell them a different halachah? Couldn’t they simply have said that the halachah is the same in both cases? They could have taught that the owner of an ox that gores is liable either way, regardless of whether the parties are Jews or non-Jews, or that the owner is never liable either way. Say they are always liable, or always not liable. Why give them a double standard? It is permissible to lie to save lives. Why didn’t the sages teach the Romans a version of the halachah that would not jeopardize Jewish lives?
Parenthetically, when Talmai commissioned the 72 scholars to translate the Torah, each one made identical changes. Why didn’t the sages use the same tactic here?
The Yam Shel Shlomo derives from the Gemara that it is prohibited to alter the words of the Torah even if doing so could lead to sakanah, a situation in which lives are endangered. The halachah can never be distorted, even if that could lead to the loss of Jewish lives. One is obligated to sacrifice his life to protect the accuracy and precision of halachah. Amazing. A man must be willing to give up his life al kiddush Hashem (for the sanctification of God’s name) rather than change a single halachah. Altering a single halachah is equivalent to becoming a kofer (heretic), to denying the veracity of the Torah. Since distorting any single halachah is kefirah (heresy), a man must avoid it at all costs; it falls under the umbrella of avodah zarah (idolatry). It is a cardinal sin. When the sages were asked about the halachah of the goring ox, they had to answer accurately. They had no choice but to give answers that correctly convey the true halachah. Any misrepresentation would be considered idolatry.
The Yam Shel Shlomo points out that there were two fundamental differences in the situation when the 70 translations were given to Talmai (Ptolemy), allowing the translators to amend the text. The zekenim (elders) whom Talmai (Ptolemy) recruited received ruach hakodesh (divine inspiration) about what to translate accurately and what to change. Their alterations were therefore identical, even though they were conceived independently. Furthermore, although they changed some words and sentence structures, they did not distort or misrepresent any halachot. Changing the halachah from exempt to liable, or vice versa, would be considered heresy.
This perhaps could explain Rabbi Zecharyah ben Avkulas’s position. One would not have to sacrifice his life to offer an offering with a blemish. Yet, since the halachah might have been misinterpreted by allowing the animal to be sacrificed, perhaps this could be included in what the Yam Shel Shlomo said: one has to give up his life. However, upon further analysis, this does not adequately explain why Rabbi Zecharyah ben Avkulas would not allow an offering with a blemish to be brought. The Yam Shel Shlomo’s principle surely holds true: the sages cannot alter the halachah one iota. A halachic authority would never be permitted to issue a ruling that changes halachah. But in the incident of Bar Kamtza, the sages were not issuing a ruling against halachah. Their concern was that someone who saw their action might think it was permissible to offer an animal with a blemish. The sages were not actively teaching this or instructing anyone to do it. Surely taking extra-legal measures to save lives is permissible. Afterward, they could publicly teach the halachah as it should be taught: an offering must be unblemished.
Our minhag (custom) is to perform kiddushin, the first part of the marriage ceremony, with a shaveh kesef, something of monetary value—a ring or coin. A chatan (groom) gives the kallah (bride) a ring, and the marriage is effected through the ring, with shaveh kesef. Vav zayin? Where is that?
Rav Moshe Feinstein was asked whether a dual-ring ceremony is permissible. The chatan places the ring on the kallah’s finger and says, “Harei at mekudeshet li kedat Moshe veYisrael” (Behold, you are consecrated to me according to the law of Moses and Israel). Is the kallah then permitted to place a ring on the chatan’s finger and recite similar words? Rav Moshe’s response was that performing a ceremony of “natan hu venatnah hi” (he gave, and she gave)—“natnah hi,” “venatan hu.” Yafeh. Hei ba, hei ba. “Natan hu ve’amar hi,” “amar hu.” Rav Moshe’s response was that performing this type of ceremony is biblically prohibited.
It is customary for non-Jews to marry with a dual-ring ceremony, but for a Jew to perform a similar service would violate “uvechukoteihem lo telechu,” you shall not follow their customs. Even though the dual-ring ceremony is not rooted in religion or a specific faith and therefore cannot be construed as avodah zarah (idolatry), it would still fall under the prohibition. Rav Moshe states that, aside from the prohibition against emulating non-Jews, it would still be forbidden to perform a dual-ring ceremony.
He bases his position on a Gemara in Masechet Shabbat, which relates that when people had to tovel (immerses) in dirty, grimy bodies of water, they would emerge soiled and then shower to remove the residue. People unfamiliar with the laws of tevilah (ritual immersion) observed this practice and concluded that the shower, rather than the mikveh (ritual bath) or river, made a person pure. They began omitting immersion in the river altogether and just took a shower. The sages then instituted a gezerah (rabbinic decree) prohibiting a shower after going to the mikveh. Today, the custom is not to take a shower before the… That’s where that led. The decree was so that no one would think the shower had any power to metaher (purify).
Rav Moshe extended this concern to the dual-ring ceremony. People witnessing a wedding in which the bride and groom exchange rings might mistakenly conclude that both rings are necessary for marriage sanctification and that the couple is not married until both rings have been exchanged. Prohibiting a dual-ring ceremony is therefore not a new, modern rule, but a direct extension of the same rabbinic decree that prohibited showering after immersion. You can’t say, “Hey, Rav Moshe, you can’t make new decrees.” That’s an old decree; it’s the same decree.
Rav Moshe then invokes the Yam Shel Shlomo, citing what we discussed above as another reason one should absolutely not perform a dual-ring ceremony. One must be willing to give up his life rather than misrepresent the halachah. Even in situations involving the saving of a life, it is forbidden to do so, because it is considered heresy.
Furthermore, the halachah the sages would have changed—ruling that the Jewish owner of an ox that gored a non-Jew’s animal is liable—would not have resulted in the violation of any Torah prohibition. For the sake of peace, the sages could easily have advised that the damages be paid. Who can say whether he has to pay? Unless you say that he is not allowed to pay it—that he doesn’t have to pay and shouldn’t pay it. The effects of this ruling, erroneous as it might be, would be negligible. It is absolutely forbidden, since misrepresenting any halachah is an appalling infraction, regardless of the consequences.
Similarly, if one were to permit a dual-ring ceremony, bystanders might mistakenly think both rings are part of the halachic requirement. That could have devastating consequences. As the Yam Shel Shlomo taught us, misrepresenting halachah is akin to heresy. Rav Moshe is clearly interpreting the Yam Shel Shlomo to mean that it is prohibited not only to teach halachah incorrectly, but also to create a mar’it ayin (misleading appearance). No one was teaching it in the ceremony; it is what the people might say. So now we can say that Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas was acting like Rav Moshe. What would people say?
We can now understand Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas’s position. The sages would not have taught any halachah incorrectly if they had allowed the Caesar’s blemished animal to be sacrificed. However, onlookers might have been misled about the actual halachah. We have discussed Rav Zechariah ben Avkulas’s position. Let us now study Rav Yochanan’s view, which tells us that Zechariah ben Avkulas was in error because he was influenced by misplaced humility.
The Noda BiYehudah (a responsa work) wrote a halachic response about this situation: A city was under siege by non-Jews who planned to murder all the Jewish citizens. A Jewish woman left the city and seduced the general leading the invading army. While she was with him, the other Jews in the city took the opportunity to escape. The Noda BiYehudah was asked whether the woman had acted correctly. After all, her actions saved the lives of everyone in the city. It seems identical to Queen Esther’s actions in marrying Achashverosh. Yael? Huh? Yael and Sisera.
The Noda BiYehudah’s response was that the woman in the besieged city should not have acted as she did. When one is faced with one of the cardinal sins, an aveirah (transgression), “yehareg ve’al ya’avor” (let him be killed rather than transgress), it is forbidden to commit the sin for any reason, regardless of how many Jewish lives might be saved as a result. The situation with Queen Esther was different: her actions saved the entire Jewish people. When it comes to saving individual lives, violating a cardinal sin is not allowed. But to save the entire Jewish nation—that is the Noda BiYehudah’s chiluk (distinction).
Where did he get this distinction? In the Yam Shel Shlomo case, when Roman emissaries questioned the law of damages, Jewish lives were at stake, but it did not seem to be a situation in which the entire Jewish people were in mortal danger. Therefore, the halachah could not be altered. When Bar Kamtza presented the blemished animal to the priests, their refusal to bring it as an offering put many Jewish people at risk, but again, not the entire nation. Rav Zechariah’s opinion should have been correct.
Basically, so far we have Chaim… Correct according to the Noda BiYehudah: you could transgress—you can change the law—if it is going to affect all of the Jewish people. That would be the case the Noda BiYehudah was discussing with Queen Esther. But in an ordinary case, where not everybody is affected, you cannot transgress the law, break the law, or change the law.
The Chida was once asked whether the Jews of a city that had been saved were allowed to recite Hallel (praise prayer) in celebration of their salvation. The Chida advised them that Hallel is reserved for instances in which all of Klal Yisrael (the entire Jewish people) were saved from impending doom. Since this involved only one city, they could not recite Hallel.
The Tzitz Eliezer (a halachic responsa work) wonders: How can we recite Hallel on Chanukah (the Festival of Lights)? The Greeks did not want to eradicate the entire Jewish population. Therefore, according to the Chida’s reasoning, Hallel should not be recited. The Tzitz Eliezer presents a novel idea: Whenever the Beit HaMikdash is in jeopardy, it is considered as though the entire Jewish nation is at risk. Rescuing the Beit HaMikdash is tantamount to saving all of the Jewish people. That is why Hallel is recited on Chanukah.
We can apply this principle to explain the position of the sages who disagreed with Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulas. The incident of Bar Kamtza placed the Beit HaMikdash at risk. There was concern that if they did not offer the animal, the Romans might destroy the Beit HaMikdash. This would be like putting the entire Jewish people at risk. Therefore, according to the Tzitz Eliezer’s explanation, the sages should have been allowed to alter the halachah. They would have been allowed to bring a blemished offering.
Presenting this exception to the rule—allowing a change in halachah in a situation that jeopardizes the Beit HaMikdash—requires someone with authority. Someone in a leadership position would have to advance this ruling and explain why it is permitted as a temporary ruling. But Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulas’s humility did not allow him to state this novel halachah. He did not think he had the status required to distinguish this incident from the cases in Bava Kamma. Thus, Rabbi Yochanan said that this was Rabbi Zechariah’s humility. Had he taken responsibility for issuing this ruling, perhaps the destruction could have been averted. Rabbi Yochanan thought Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulas should have told the priests that saving the Beit HaMikdash was the one time when it was permissible to modify the ruling. He did not capitalize on that opportunity.
While saving the Beit HaMikdash is the exception to the rule, the Yam Shel Shlomo teaches that normative halachah requires that Torah law never be altered in any way, for any reason—not for the sake of peace, and not for the sake of saving Jewish lives. Our dedication even to the minutiae of Torah law requires that we be willing to give up our lives for it.
As it comes out according to the way we’re learning now, Rabbi Yochanan held—and Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulas held—“Well, you’re right, you can’t change the Torah. But not everybody is in danger; it’s only the Beit HaMikdash.” He wasn’t ready to make that ruling like the Noda BiYehudah, or whatever, as they’re saying: the Beit HaMikdash, according to the Tzitz Eliezer, is considered to affect all of the Jewish people. Ultimately, it would be considered a situation in which all of the Jewish people were in danger. As Rabbi Yochanan said, that is why they blamed Rabbi Zechariah. Interesting.
Now let’s see whether the Ben Ish Chai says anything. He says here, “al anavtanuto shel Rabbi Zecharyah,” “ayein peirush Rashi zal,” “vezeh dochak.” “Venireh li besi’ata dishmaya ki Rabbi Zecharyah hayah kohen,” and he was standing in the Beit HaMikdash with his fellow priests. The priests wanted to bring the offering because of peace with the government, and Rabbi Zechariah said, “Yomeru ba’alei mumim kreivin al gabei hamizbe’ach.” Therefore, this ruling should not be made because, according to their reasoning, it is permitted for the sake of peace with the government; rather, it should be made with the agreement of the Sanhedrin, lest they permit the matter.
That means: Let’s go ask the Sanhedrin. What, you want to take this ruling into your own hands, you priests? We have the Sanhedrin. Go ask the rabbis, and whatever they tell us we can do, we’ll do. “Velachen amru lazeh sheyelech veyish’al min haSanhedrin,” “ve’al pihem yakum davar.” The priest’s view is that he left the courtyard with the calf in his hand, I guess to take it to the rabbis. He handed it over to the king’s servants who were standing outside, saying they did not want to bring it. The king’s servants saw the man come out of the Beit HaMikdash with the calf to take to the Sanhedrin. When they saw that they were not bringing it, the servant said, “They took the calf and went to the king.” Even when they were told, “Bring the calf and we’ll offer it,” they did not listen. Since they had already refused the king’s command a second time, it was too late. There was no remedy.
“Uvisibat anavah shelo shelo ratzah ladun davar zeh al pi savrato ela al pi Sanhedrin garmah kol zeh.” Wow, a different explanation. According to the Ben Ish Chai, Rabbi Zechariah was not making a ruling. He was saying, “Listen, we can’t decide this; we have to ask the Sanhedrin. It’s a major question; we can’t just decide on our own.” So he said, “Bring the animal to the Sanhedrin.” On the way out, the government’s men were standing there. “What are you doing?” “We’re taking it to ask a question.” “A question? That’s it, we’re going back to Rome.” “Okay, we’ll bring it, we’ll bring it.” “Too late.” His humility, his unwillingness to make the ruling and his desire to rely on the Sanhedrin, is what destroyed the Beit HaMikdash. Interesting Ben Ish Chai.
“Kashah harav be’Ein Yaakov (a collection of Talmudic aggadah).” The Gemara says Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. Ein Yaakov asks, “Kamtza lo avid midi”—Kamtza didn’t do anything. What do you want from Kamtza? It should have said, “abar Kamtza charav Yerushalayim.” The author also says that anyone who could have protested and did not is included in the matter under his name. He could have stopped it. Later, when Bar Kamtza came in, Kamtza was sitting there, the host’s friend, and he could have prevented this by stopping Bar Kamtza from being thrown out. Since he did not stop it, he became a shutaf (partner) in the whole damage.
Especially according to the Maharsha, who says they were father and son. Could it be that the son was also sitting there that Shabbat? Kamtza surely knew there was great hatred between the host and his son, Bar Kamtza. He was obligated to make peace between them from the beginning. Since he did not make peace between them, he was involved in what happened. Therefore, they put him first.
Why didn’t Rashi explain this as the Maharsha did, as father and son? Rashi just says these are two names of Jews. If so, it should have said, “aKamtzah uvreih charav Yerushalayim.” The author says, with God’s help, that the intention of the Gemara’s wording, “aKamtzah uvar Kamtza,” is to say that the listener did not pay careful attention or notice the difference between the word Kamtza and the word Bar Kamtza. I guess the messenger, when told, “Go invite me Kamtza,” did not pay close attention to the difference between Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. That caused the destruction of Jerusalem.
The author comes to teach us that a person must be careful with his words, as the sages said, “hizahero bedivreichem.” The listener, too, must pay attention to what is said. Sometimes, because of one small word that someone did not notice, destruction results. The difference between Kamtza and Bar Kamtza is one word. Basically, the whole Beit HaMikdash was destroyed because of the word “bar.” The listener did not pay careful attention, and Jerusalem was destroyed. They did not listen; someone did not pay attention to the instructions, so… That could be it; perhaps we can say that this was the whole cause of the destruction.
The Zohar HaKadosh (the Holy Zohar) says that the mitzvah (commandment) of tefillin (phylacteries)—whoever puts on tefillin—the Zohar HaKadosh says, confirms the mitzvah, “ve’asu li mikdash veshachanti betocham.” We explained this because the Rambam (Maimonides) writes that in the tefillin there are 21 shemot (divine names) in the shel yad (the hand tefillin) and 21 in the rosh (head). It’s interesting that the Rambam brings down in the halachah how many names there are. Altogether, that is 42 names. If you wear both tefillin together, you have 84, which is peh-dalet.
We once explained how wearing tefillin fulfills the idea of the Beit HaMikdash. The word “betocham” has a bet as its first letter and a mem as its last letter: bet-mem, which is 42. In the middle is “toch”—“toch mem-beit.” So the hint in “veshachanti betocham” is really the 42 names; it is as if one has built a Beit HaMikdash. On the day of the Ari z”l’s yahrtzeit (anniversary of a death), he said, “My big…” He has a whole sermon on why tefillin are considered like fulfilling “ve’asu li mikdash veshachanti betocham.” There are different interpretations. According to this, we can understand it beautifully.
What do we call the ceremony when a boy puts on tefillin for the first time? Bar mitzvah (son of the commandment). It is repairing the “bar.” It is repairing the “bar” of Bar Kamtza. That was the whole difference: Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. He didn’t hear the “bar,” and because he didn’t hear it, the whole destruction happened. So at a bar mitzvah, we turn the bar into a bar mitzvah. Bar Kamtza becomes a bar mitzvah. We put tefillin on the boy, which is “ve’asu li mikdash veshachanti betocham,” and that brings about the tikkun (repair). That’s a sermon on bar mitzvah and Bar Kamtza. That’s nice.
Anyway, what did he say? He said the rabbis were there and didn’t say anything. The Ben Ish Chai defends the rabbis. He says, “vadai hem lo hirgishu b’davar zeh”—they didn’t notice what was going on. “Shelo ra’u denakteih bideih de…” They didn’t see that the man was being manhandled. Only the one who sinned did not protest.
We thought “azil eichol beih kurtza.” What does “kurtza” mean? It is like saying he’s going to inform against them. The Ben Ish Chai says, “venir’eh li b’siyata d’shmaya vezeh bishmo diber,” “ki lefi da’at Rashi,” his name was Bar Kamtza. According to the Maharsha, we don’t know what his name was. Maybe he was Kamtza’s son; his name could have been George. We don’t know his name—Bar Kamtza. “Vehashta min otiyot shemo yitzrof zeh” bam kartza. Bar Kamtza, bam kartza. So you see that he lived up to—or lived down to—his name. “Vezeh amar eichol bo kartza,” precise in the letters of his name, which spell bam kartza.
He had an egla tilta. The Ben Ish Chai says it seems to him that it was providence from Heaven that the Caesar did not send a sheep, an ox, or another animal, but a calf. It was to hint to them that the time had come for the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash and the exile of Israel, because they had a share in the sin of the calf. As the sages said, no reckoning comes without some share of the sin of the calf, as it says, “uveyom pokdi ufakadti aleihem chatatam.”
Why did he put a blemish between the lips? It was harmful speech. The eyes? He hinted that the rule of Esav, who is Edom, had arrived, and that its shell is an evil eye. Four hundred and four hundred men were with him; four hundred is the gematria (numerical value of letters) of “ra ayin.” Therefore, the author of Megaleh Amukot wrote, “harotzeh laharog chazir yesamei et einav.” That is how you kill a pig: you blind it, because a pig corresponds to Esav. Interesting.
“Ba’u lemiktleih.” When he came, they wanted to kill him. How could they kill him? Didn’t he come with an entourage from the king? The Ben Ish Chai asks whether, while he was still on the way, he had sent men with him from among his servants. He would not have trusted this alone; how could they kill him in front of them? The Ben Ish Chai says that the king’s servants were standing outside the Beit HaMikdash; they could not enter. They only let Bar Kamtza in with the animal. They came to kill him using the Shem HaMeforash (explicit divine name). They were going to kill him after he left and went to the king’s servants, by causing him to die later. They thought he would die suddenly, but they had already set a delay on his death. It’s like these guys are in Israel. The king’s servants would take the calf from his hand and think they had humiliated him. Those are catch—wow. Okay, let’s see one more story.
The Gemara continues with more stories, with Nero. What happened with Nero? “Shadar alaveih Niron Keisar.” They sent Nero Caesar to Jerusalem. “Ki ata, shada gira le-mizrach.” He sent an arrow east, his arrow, east. Where is “gira dileih”? At the end of Bava Metzia. We had it—hey, kaf-heh. Yes, just now, kaf-vav, kaf-zayin, the third. We had it at the end of Bava Metzia, “gira dileih,” the water in the—oh, yes, 117, bayit ve-aliyah, right at the end of Bava Metzia.
“Shadar alaveih Niron Keisar. Ki ata, shada gira le-mizrach.” He sent an arrow east. It landed in Jerusalem. He shot west, and it landed in Jerusalem. In all four directions of the heavens, wherever he shot, like a boomerang, it always landed in Jerusalem. They understood something from this. Rashi says he was performing a magic trick, “liksom kesem,” some kind of trick to see if he would be successful. It sounded as though he would be successful, because the arrow always ended up in Jerusalem.
Nero Caesar said to the child, “pesok li pesukecha”—tell me your verse. The child said, “Ve-natati nikmati be-Edom be-yad ami Yisrael” (I will take vengeance on Edom through My people Israel). He understood: “Kudsha Berich Hu ba’ei le-charuvei beiteih”—the Holy One, blessed be He, wants to destroy His Temple, for sure. He saw this from the arrow. “U-va’ei le-chaporei yadeih be-hahu gavra”—He wants to wash His hands with me. That means that after He finishes destroying the Beit HaMikdash, He will punish me. He wants to use me as the messenger, “be-hahu gavra.” So what did he do? He ran away. “Azal igayer”—he converted. “Ve-nefak mineih Rebbi Meir”—and Rebbi Meir came from him. Rebbi Meir came from a family of converts. Let’s look at the Maharsha for a second.
The Maharsha says, “Ki shada gira le-mizrach asah kein derech kesem”—he performed a magic trick. Rashi says he was near the city. It seems from the context that he stood in one of four places around the city, facing the four directions. If so, one of the four directions was toward Jerusalem, so what was remarkable about the arrow landing there? But perhaps he was near Jerusalem, but not so near that he could see the city; the wind carried the arrow toward the city. “Amar leih, ‘Ve-natati nikmati be-Edom.’” The vengeance for destroying the Temple of the Holy One, blessed be He, in the Second Temple period would come through His people Israel. It was unlike the First Temple, when vengeance did not come through Israel but through the Persian government, which went to war against the Babylonian government. For the First Temple, the vengeance came from Persia; for the Second Temple, it would come from Israel. In the future, “ve’alu moshi’im behar Tziyon.” “Moshi’im behar Tziyon” will be us. Okay, Nero Caesar ran away and became Jewish. Amazing. Rabbi Meir came from him.
The Ben Ish Chai says it is obvious that the king of Rome was called Caesar; he means the emperor. The officials descended from the royal family were called by various titles. Authors joined the title Caesar to each person’s name, as in Niron Keisar, Aspasyanos Keisar, just as one says the emperor’s official, the emperor’s treasurer, the emperor’s adviser. Therefore, when we say Niron Keisar, it does not mean Nero was the Caesar, but that Nero worked for the Caesar. It is a title for someone who worked with the Caesar. Similarly, in the Persian government, there were officials descended from the royal family who had various titles. The king’s son was called the Shah, just as in Europe the king’s son is called a prince. Different names.
“Sheda giri lemizrach.” What did he do? He performed a magic trick with the arrow and not with something else. From Heaven, it was made known to show that their sin was harmful speech, which is compared to an arrow, as it says, “Chetz shachut leshonam.” He shot east to see whether the merit of the Torah, whose light comes from the east, would stand for them. He also checked the merit of the descendants of the House of David, who come from Judah, corresponding to the east: “dechonim kedmah mizrachah, shevet Yehudah.” The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses, “mizrach, shemimenu or yotzeh la’olam.” Who said this? “Yehi kenegdo Yehudah,” who has kingship. So he went east first to see whether the Torah would protect them.
He shot east first because light comes from there, to see whether the merit of the Torah, which is the light of the world, would stand for them: Torah is light. Issachar is also in the east, as is the merit of David, who is Judah, in the east. The Ben Ish Chai continues: “Uveni yedidi keharar Ya’akov,” he shot east to see whether the merit of Moses our teacher would stand for them, since he is associated with the sun: Moses’ face was like the sun. It is written, “Az yavdil Moshe shalosh arim mizrachah shemesh.” So he shot east because of the merit of Moses. Then he went west to see the merit of King David, because he built the Western Wall. Then he went to all four corners. Fine.
“Arak ve’azal ve’itgayer”—he ran away and converted. Rabbi Meir came from him. With God’s help, he honored the Torah by asking, “pesok li pesukach.” He relied on the verse. When the child told him the verse, he did not dismiss it; he accepted it. Therefore Rabbi Meir came from him, and Rabbi Meir illuminated the eyes of the sages in halachah. That is why he was called Meir. He also did not destroy the Beit HaMikdash, which was the light of the world, as Bava ben Buta said to Hordos. Daf… daf daled. Right, Bava Batra, daf daled. Therefore Rabbi Meir came from him. Nice. Bava ben Buta told Hordos that the Beit HaMikdash is called “oro shel olam.” Also, perhaps he was impressed by the miracle that was made known to him through the arrows. Therefore Rabbi Meir Ba’al HaNes came from him. He was impressed by the miracles that happened, and so Rabbi Meir Ba’al HaNes came from him.
“Uvezeh yitba’er li” gives a third explanation of what Rabbi Meir said, “Rimon matza, tocho achal, kelipato zarak” (He found a pomegranate, ate its inside, and discarded its peel), as we learn in Masechet Chagigah. Rabbi Meir was sitting with a rabbi called Acher. How could he learn with Acher? He said, “No, rimon matza”—he ate the fruit and threw out the shell. The man’s name was Niron, and it is known that in the alef-bet, nun can be exchanged with mem. So the letters of Niron are the letters of rimon. Niron, rimon—there you go.
Although rimon is written without a yod, when read, it is read with a yod: the chirik is a yod, so you can put a yod there. “Vezeh she’amar, ‘rimon matza,’ zeh Niron.” How? “Tocho achal, kelipato zarak.” This man had a bad part to his outer shell, but within him was a good soul. Rabbi Meir came from the good part, which is the fruit, and not from the bad part, which is the shell. Rabbi Meir was therefore the son of converts, and his teacher, Rabbi Akiva, was also the son of converts. They were all from the school of converts. They brought forth pleasant, good fruit, luminaries. These came from non-Jews; the greatest rabbis came from non-Jews.
I said on Shabbat, “Ve’al titmah, bo ure’eh, shtei peredot tovot” that came from Amon and Moav. Mashiach comes from Amon and Moav, from whom the House of David came: Melech HaMashiach (the Messiah). That’s right. So here you see how—Okay, I’ll continue. One second. Let’s see what he says about this Gemara, if he has anything. Yes.
He says here that they want to know whether we have the merit of the Western Wall. Shir HaShirim (Song of Songs): “Domeh dodi litzvi o le’ofer ha’ayalim, hinei zeh omed achar kotlenu” (My beloved is like a gazelle or young stag; behold, he stands behind our wall). He is standing behind the wall. The Midrash (rabbinic exposition) writes, “Hinei zeh omed achar kotlenu,” behind the Kotel HaMa’aravi, the Western Wall. The Midrash explains, “shenishba lo HaKadosh Baruch Hu she’eino charev le’olam”—the Holy One, blessed be He, swore that it would never be destroyed. We have a novel point: the Western Wall will never be destroyed. That is a guarantee, a promise.
The promise defies all logic. How can it be guaranteed that a specific stone wall would never be knocked down? All the other walls of the Beit HaMikdash were built of the same material, with identical structure and from the same period. They were destroyed. How could the permanence of the Kotel be guaranteed? Fact: The prophet Michah predicted that the rest of Jerusalem would be completely demolished, as it says, “Lachen biglalchem Tziyon sadeh techareish viYerushalayim iyim tihyeh vehar habayit lebamot ya’ar.” They predicted Jerusalem would be utterly devastated, and that prediction came to pass. However, the Midrash carves out an exception: one wall will last forever. Everything else, every other wall of every other building, will be completely destroyed. The Kotel HaMa’aravi will stand.
The prophecy is even more astounding when you consider that over the last 2,000 years Jerusalem has been conquered 18 times and destroyed and rebuilt numerous times. Jerusalem was even hit by an earthquake, yet after 2,000 years the Kotel HaMa’aravi still stands. Study the history of Jerusalem. “Bechol zot”—despite all this, it serves as an eternal monument, “shekotev alav emet vatzedek”: Hashem’s words are true and righteous. Each and every promise that the Master of the Universe made comes to pass.
Now we raise a very important point: The Kotel HaMa’aravi is not the Western Wall of the actual Beit HaMikdash. It was not a wall of the Temple itself. The Kotel that remains standing today is actually the western retaining wall of the Temple Mount. It is the supporting wall of the Har HaBayit (Temple Mount), not the Beit HaMikdash.
The Tzitz Eliezer writes, “benoge’a laKotel HaMa’aravi”—regarding the Kotel—“keivan demuvan lechulanu she’einenu miKotel Ha’Azarah,” it is not the wall of the courtyard, “ki im Kotel Har HaBayit”: it is a supporting wall of the Temple Mount. This is the unanimous view of all the sages of the Jewish people. All the poskim (halachic decisors) agree that the Kotel HaMa’aravi we have today is not a remnant of the actual Temple, but rather a remnant of the wall around Har HaBayit. How, then, can we say that Hashem’s promise has come to fruition? Did the Midrash not state unequivocally that the Western Wall of the actual Beit HaMikdash would never be destroyed? Our Kotel HaMa’aravi is not the wall of the actual Beit HaMikdash, and therefore it does not seem to manifest Hashem’s blessing. Wow. Problem.
In the Oral Torah, when they use the term Beit HaMikdash, it refers to the entire Temple compound. For example, the first Mishnah of Masechet Middot (a tractate describing the Temple) says, “bishloshah mekomot haKohanim shomerim beBeit HaMikdash”—the priests guard three places in the Beit HaMikdash. In Middot 2:1, “chamesh me’ot al chamesh me’ot shezeh Har HaBayit.” Clearly, the Temple Mount, Har HaBayit, is included as a subcategory of the general area called Beit HaMikdash. Therefore, the fact that the Kotel HaMa’aravi stands today is certainly the fulfillment of the prediction. You can call the Temple Mount the Beit HaMikdash.
We conclude with a Midrash that gives us a glimpse into Hashem’s control of history, ensuring that His words are fulfilled. The Midrash tells us that when the Roman emperor Vespasian (Roman emperor) conquered Jerusalem, he divided the task of destroying the Temple Mount’s four walls among four of his military commanders. The assignment of destroying the Western Wall fell to Pangar, the Arabic commander. While the other three destroyed their walls as instructed, Pangar did not.
When Vespasian heard that the Kotel had not been destroyed, he summoned Pangar in a fury and challenged him to explain why he had left the wall standing. Pangar told the emperor that he had left the wall standing to honor Vespasian and bring glory to his kingdom. If he had completed his assignment and destroyed the wall, nothing would have been left of the Temple. The world would never have been able to recognize and understand what Vespasian had destroyed. Leaving one wall standing displayed the awesomeness of the structure that Vespasian had so mightily destroyed. Everyone who saw the wall would recognize Vespasian’s great power.
Vespasian was pleased with the explanation. “You did well. However, because you violated my orders and ignored my direct command, you must climb onto the roof and throw yourself off. If you survive, good. If not, not.” Pangar climbed to the roof, jumped off, and died in the fall. Surprise. Our mortal enemy was assigned to demolish the Kotel, and mysteriously had the strange notion to disobey a direct command. His explanation was so convincing to Vespasian that he never tried to destroy the wall afterward.
Today, 2,000 years after the destruction of the Second Temple, the Kotel stands against all odds as clear testimony that “devar Hashem yakum le’olam”—the word of Hashem is eternal. As we mourn the loss of the Beit HaMikdash and Jerusalem during the Three Weeks, we are comforted and strengthened by the thought that, just as Hashem’s promise that the Kotel would not be destroyed came to pass, so too all the prophecies about the Yemot HaMashiach (the days of the Messiah) and the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash will come to pass. Amen. That’s a good story. All right, let’s continue a little more.
The Gemara continues: “Shadar ileiveih l’Aspasyanos Keisar.” They sent Vespasian, because Nero became Jewish, and therefore they had to send someone else. So they sent Aspasyanos Keisar. The Ben Ish Chai said that Vespasian was not yet Caesar, but they nicknamed him Caesar because he worked for Caesar. He came to Jerusalem. “Tzar alah telat shanei”—he put a blockade around Jerusalem for three years.
There were three wealthy Jews in Jerusalem at the time: Nakdimon ben Guryon (a wealthy Jerusalemite), Ben Kalba Savua (a wealthy Jerusalemite), and Ben Tzitzit HaKessat (a wealthy Jerusalemite). Why did they call him Nakdimon ben Guryon? “Shenakdah lo chamah ba’avuro”—the sun stopped for his sake, a story in Gemara Ta’anit (a tractate of the Talmud). Kalba Savua: “kol hanichnas lebeito keshehu ra’ev kechelev,” anyone who entered his house hungry like a dog “yotze keshehu save’a”—came out satiated. “U-Ben Tzitzit HaKessat,” “shehayetah tzitzito nigreret al gabei kessatot”: his tzitzit would trail over silk or comfortable couches. Some say his chair was placed among the Roman nobility. Tzitzit HaKessat—his chair was in the Roman government.
Each one then had to figure out how to support the Jewish people during the blockade, when food could not get in. One said, “I’ll provide them with wheat and barley.” Another said, “I’ll supply them with wine and salt,” and oil. The third said, “I’ll give them wood.” The rabbis praised the one who supplied the wood the most. Rav Chisda said that he gave all the keys to his warehouses to his servants, except the wood. Wood was expensive. Rav Chisda said that to fuel a warehouse of wheat, you need 60 warehouses of wood. So his donation was the most significant.
They had enough food and supplies to withstand the blockade for 21 years. They could have lived like that for 21 years. And then we know the famous principle: what the enemies can’t do to us, we do to ourselves.
What happened? The Gemara says there were biryonei (violent men), the bullies. They were Jewish vigilantes. The rabbis said to them, “Let’s go out and make peace with them.” The rabbis didn’t think they could conquer the Romans, so they wanted to make peace. The vigilantes did not let them. They would not let the rabbis leave the city to make peace. They said, “Let’s go out and fight them.” The rabbis said, “We will not succeed.” The rabbis were against the war. The vigilantes got up and burned down all the storage houses of wheat and barley. The Jews burned their own storage houses. What were they trying to do? Force a war, force a fight. There was now a famine in the city.
Marta bat Baitos (a wealthy Jerusalemite woman)—Marta, the daughter of Baitos—was one of Jerusalem’s wealthiest women. “Shedarateih lishlucha”: she sent her servant out to buy food. She said, “Go get me semida,” the expensive flour. By the time he got to the store—remember, there was a famine—it was all sold out. He came back to Marta, his boss, and said, “There’s no semida, but there’s white flour.” She said, “Go get me that.” By the time he got there, it was sold out too. He came back and told her there was no white flour, but there was gushkara, flour with some chaff in it, whatever it was. Pumpernickel, whole wheat—worse. She said, “Go get it.” By the time he got there, it was sold out. He thought the servant would be smart enough just to buy something. What was he doing? He kept coming back to say they had run out. Buy something else!
He came back and said there was no gushkara, but they had barley flour. She said, “Go get it.” By the time he got there, it was sold out too. Basically, nothing.
“Shalfa mesanah”: she put on her shoes and said, “I’ll go out and see if I can find anything to eat.” She was starving to death. This woman was the richest woman in Jerusalem and had nothing to eat. “Yativ lah parta bekare’ah,” and she died. What happened was that she stepped in animal dung. She had never left the house before; she had servants. She was so refined, finicky, and fragile that, from the disgust of stepping into it, she died.
Rabbi Yochanan cited the curses: “Harakah bacha veha’anugah asher lo nistah caf raglah”—the delicate woman who had never put her foot on the ground put her foot on the ground and died. Some say she ate a date pit that Rabbi Tzadok had sucked on.
Rabbi Tzadok fasted for 40 years so that Jerusalem would not be destroyed. Whenever he ate something, they could see it going down his body. His body was so skeletal that you could see the food going down. When he was trying to get healthy again after all those fasts, maiti leh grogerot, he could not eat anything, so he could only suck on a date and take a little at a time. Mayetz mineih, he would suck the juice out of the date and then throw the pit away. Marta found one of those pits on the ground. It smelled so bad and was so disgusting that when she put it in her mouth, she died.
When she was about to die, she took all her gold and silver and threw it into the streets. She threw it into the marketplace and said, “What do I need all this for?” What good is all that money? You can’t eat money. The verse says, “kaspam bechutzot yashlichu”: the verse predicted a time when people would throw their money into the streets. She died a wealthy woman, but she died of starvation.
Let’s see the Maharsha. He says that Eichah Rabbati (a midrash on Lamentations) tells the same story. It lists Nakdimon ben Guryon second, and says there were four wealthy men. It counts Nakdimon, “shenakdah lo chamah.” The explanation is based on what he wrote in the first chapter of Yoma: in the Second Temple period, they were engaged in Torah and commandments. This is why he says that even their wealthy people were men of good deeds. Nakdimon was important; the sun stopped for him because he prayed. He was a righteous man.
Ben Kalba Savua gave food to anyone who came into his house. The Maharsha gives a different explanation for Tzitzit: he was careful with the mitzvah (commandment) of tzitzit, “lema’an tizkeru et kol mitzvotai.” Some say his chair was in the Roman parliament and he could have saved the Jewish people; he was influential.
But the vigilantes did not want negotiations. Those vigilantes we mentioned really destroyed the Beit HaMikdash. They did not want to submit to the Romans. They did not learn from Ya’akov Avinu (Jacob our forefather), who submitted to Esav. You have to learn from that.
Anyway, Marta bat Baitos was rich. The Maharsha says this is not the same Marta bat Baitos who married Yehoshua ben Gamla (a Jewish high priest). Yehoshua ben Gamla? 21? 21, that’s our rabbi. It is in the chapter “Haba Al Yevimto” in Yevamot (a tractate of the Talmud). That was in the time of Yanai HaMelech (King Yannai). It was a different time.
“Semida leika.” This story needs analysis. She says, “Go get me semida”; there is no semida. Go get me white flour; there is no white. Go get me black flour. The Maharsha says there are four types of bread mentioned here, corresponding to four types of bread in thanksgiving offerings. When the Temple stood, they would offer thanksgiving loaves. There are four types of bread in the thanksgiving offering. I guess you have to say—let’s see what the Ben Ish Chai says about the story. Why didn’t the servant just pick up anything?
The Ben Ish Chai says that Vespasian came and put a siege around Jerusalem for three years. Besides that, he says that in the Second Temple period they spoke lashon hara (harmful speech) about each other. That corresponds to the three sins. The sin of lashon hara (harmful speech) is in the mouth, and that is why there was a famine: Middah keneged middah (measure for measure), the mouth. Three years for lashon hara. Why? Because lashon hara affects three people: the person who says it, the person who hears it, and the person they speak about.
There were three wealthy people there, corresponding to the three dots of the Hebrew vowel mark segol (a Hebrew vowel mark). The segol has three dots: one, two, three. That is the dot of chesed (kindness). When the three were together, they were able to perform acts of chesed.
Then what happened? The rabbis told the vigilantes they would not succeed. Why? Their intention was that they trusted in Torah study, which was abundant in that generation, and relied on Isaac our forefather’s words: “Hakol kol Ya’akov ve’ein hayadayim yedei Esav” (The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are Esau’s hands). They were confident: “We are learning, we are learning, we’re fine; nothing to worry about.” They thought that because there was so much Torah in their generation, the descendants of Esav could not rule over them.
The rabbis told them, “In this generation, we will not succeed.” The vigilantes said there was so much Torah in the generation that they could rely on the Torah and win the war. The rabbis replied that even though the voice is Jacob’s voice, there is harmful speech, a sin of the tongue. The Torah study of the tongue will not help… That’s a nice point from the Ben Ish Chai, worthy of a speech on its own. The rabbis were saying: We have a lot of Torah, “hakol kol Ya’akov,” but we also have a lot of harmful speech. Therefore, the voice of Torah will not overcome the Romans.
There is something about our generation: we have so much Torah, and you can become overconfident and say there hasn’t been this much Torah since who knows when. But you have to know there is a lot of harmful speech as well. All the texting and the different bad things people send about each other—if you wonder how, with all this Torah, we still have so many problems when you go to the Land of Israel and see all the yeshivot today, it is because there is still harmful speech among us. People talk about each other, belittle each other, and say things about each other. That’s a good Ben Ish Chai.
Anyway, what did they do? They burned all the storage houses. The Ben Ish Chai asks, “vekasheh,” how do we know they burned the wood storage houses too? It would have been enough to burn the wheat and barley. Why did they have to burn the wood? Once there is no food, you don’t need the wood anyway. He answers that they used the wood to burn the other stores, because you cannot burn wheat that quickly. They used the wood to burn everything else. The warehouses were near each other, so they set fire to the wood, and the fire then burned everything else. They could not save any food, because it became an inferno.
The wood made a huge fire reaching up to the heavens, so Rashi had to explain that they burned the wood too. Otherwise, why does Rashi mention the wood? The Ben Ish Chai is making a point from Rashi: “kullehu havah dehanach ambarei,” the warehouses of straw and wood. Now we know why Rashi mentions the wood.
I guess you have to say that the servant didn’t bring back the other food because he never expected her to eat it. She had only ever eaten semida. So when there was no semida, he didn’t think to bring back anything else. It’s like Queen Elizabeth asks for caviar, and there’s no caviar. You’re not going to bring her a can of StarKist tuna. You wouldn’t think, “There’s no caviar, so bring her Bumble Bee tuna fish.” You wouldn’t bring it; you wouldn’t expect her to eat it. So he came back and said there was no more caviar. “Okay, is there at least tuna fish?” “You’ll eat it? Wow, beggars can’t be choosers.” So he went back. By the time he got there, it was gone.
You also have to say that everything happened suddenly. Nobody expected it. There was still food on the shelves, but it disappeared quickly. Going there and coming back must have taken a few hours. She didn’t live right on top of a Key Food; she lived in a palace somewhere.
When I was in Europe last summer, we visited some different concentration camps and other places. One of the women told us that she survived the Holocaust. She said she was in her house in Hungary, or wherever they were in Europe, and she was a child, 12 years old. She told her mother, “I’m going to go on my bicycle.” She rode around the neighborhood and came back about 25 minutes later. Nobody was there. That’s how fast it happened. When she got back, her parents were gone and the house had been taken over. She went for a bicycle ride and came back; the war had already come. You couldn’t imagine how fast the occupation happened. Nobody saw it coming, or they didn’t expect it.
It was the same here with the famine of Marta bat Baitos. Nobody expected it. They thought it was a little problem with the economy, but nobody thought it would become so devastating. The next day, she was in the street looking for food. It happened very quickly.
All right, rabotai, we’ll stop here. For the merit of Benhamou Tzion, we’re learning today, baruch Hashem, le’ilui nishmat… The ge’ulah (redemption) will happen just as quickly. Be’ezrat Hashem, the ge’ulah will happen just as quickly. Baruch Hashem.