This Mishnah explains the procedure by which coveted tasks were allocated in the Beit HaMikdash. Uncharacteristically, the Mishnah shares the story of a historical episode that caused the procedure to change. The Gemara then shares an even more disturbing story...
(א) בָּרִאשׁוֹנָה כָּל מִי שֶׁרוֹצֶה לִתְרֹם אֶת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ, תּוֹרֵם. וּבִזְמַן שֶׁהֵן מְרֻבִּין, רָצִין וְעוֹלִין בַּכֶּבֶשׁ, וְכָל הַקּוֹדֵם אֶת חֲבֵרוֹ בְאַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת זָכָה. וְאִם הָיוּ שְׁנֵיהֶם שָׁוִין, הַמְמֻנֶּה אוֹמֵר לָהֶם הַצְבִּיעוּ. וּמָה הֵן מוֹצִיאִין, אַחַת אוֹ שְׁתַּיִם, וְאֵין מוֹצִיאִין אֲגֻדָּל בַּמִּקְדָּשׁ:
(ב) מַעֲשֶׂה שֶׁהָיוּ שְׁנֵיהֶם שָׁוִין וְרָצִין וְעוֹלִין בַּכֶּבֶשׁ, וְדָחַף אֶחָד מֵהֶן אֶת חֲבֵרוֹ, וְנָפַל וְנִשְׁבְּרָה רַגְלוֹ. וְכֵיוָן שֶׁרָאוּ בֵית דִּין שֶׁבָּאִין לִידֵי סַכָּנָה, הִתְקִינוּ שֶׁלֹּא יְהוּ תוֹרְמִין אֶת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ אֶלָּא בְפַיִס. אַרְבָּעָה פְיָסוֹת הָיוּ שָׁם, וְזֶה הַפַּיִס הָרִאשׁוֹן:
(1) Initially, the practice among the priests was that whoever wishes to remove the ashes from the altar removes them. And when there are many priests who wish to perform that task, the privilege to do so is determined by a race: The priests run and ascend on the ramp leading to the top of the altar. Any priest who precedes another and reaches within four cubits of the top of the altar first is privileged to remove the ashes. And if both of them were equal and neither preceded the other, the appointed priest says to all the priests: Extend your fingers, and a lottery was performed, as will be explained. And what fingers do they extend for the lottery? They may extend one or two fingers, and the priests do not extend a thumb in the Temple. The reason is that the lottery was conducted by the appointee choosing a number and counting the extended fingers of the priests standing in a circle. As the count progressed, a priest could calculate and manipulate the result in his favor by surreptitiously extending his thumb and an additional finger. Since there is separation between the thumb and the forefinger it could appear as though they belonged to two different priests, skewing the results of the lottery.
(2) Initially, that was the procedure; however, an incident occurred where both of them were equal as they were running and ascending on the ramp, and one of them shoved another and he fell and his leg was broken. And once the court saw that people were coming to potential danger, they instituted that priests would remove ashes from the altar only by means of a lottery. There were four lotteries there, in the Temple, on a daily basis to determine the priests privileged to perform the various services, and this, determining which priest would remove the ashes, was the first lottery.
מַעֲשֶׂה שֶׁהָיוּ שְׁנֵיהֶן שָׁוִין וְרָצִין וְעוֹלִין בַּכֶּבֶשׁ. תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: מַעֲשֶׂה בִּשְׁנֵי כֹהֲנִים שֶׁהָיוּ שְׁנֵיהֶן שָׁוִין, וְרָצִין וְעוֹלִין בַּכֶּבֶשׁ, קָדַם אֶחָד מֵהֶן לְתוֹךְ אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת שֶׁל חֲבֵירוֹ, נָטַל סַכִּין וְתָקַע לוֹ בְּלִבּוֹ.
§ It was taught in the mishna: An incident occurred where both of the priests were equal as they were running and ascending on the ramp, and one of them shoved the other and he fell and his leg was broken. The Sages taught in the Tosefta: An incident occurred where there were two priests who were equal as they were running and ascending the ramp. One of them reached the four cubits before his colleague, who then, out of anger, took a knife and stabbed him in the heart.
How does the story in the Tosefta compare to the story in the Mishnah? What was the motivation for the murder? What was the cause of the murder?
עָמַד רַבִּי צָדוֹק עַל מַעֲלוֹת הָאוּלָם, וְאָמַר: אָחִינוּ בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל שִׁמְעוּ! הֲרֵי הוּא אוֹמֵר ״כִּי יִמָּצֵא חָלָל בָּאֲדָמָה ... וְיָצְאוּ זְקֵנֶיךָ וְשׁוֹפְטֶיךָ״. אָנוּ, עַל מִי לְהָבִיא עֶגְלָה עֲרוּפָה? עַל הָעִיר, אוֹ עַל הָעֲזָרוֹת? גָּעוּ כׇּל הָעָם בִּבְכִיָּה.
The Tosefta continues: Rabbi Tzadok then stood up on the steps of the Entrance Hall of the Sanctuary and said: Hear this, my brothers of the house of Israel. The verse states: “If one be found slain in the land... and it be not known who had smitten him; then your Elders and your judges shall come forth and they shall measure…and it shall be that the city which is nearest to the slain man…shall take a heifer” (Deuteronomy 21:1–3). And the Elders of that city took that heifer and broke its neck in a ritual of atonement. But what of us, in our situation? Upon whom is the obligation to bring the heifer whose neck is broken? Does the obligation fall on the city, Jerusalem, so that its Sages must bring the calf, or does the obligation fall upon the Temple courtyards, so that the priests must bring it? At that point the entire assembly of people burst into tears.
What did Rabbi Tzadok intend to convey by invoking the mitzvah of the eglah arufah? Why did his words have such an emotional impact on the audience?
בָּא אָבִיו שֶׁל תִּינוֹק וּמְצָאוֹ כְּשֶׁהוּא מְפַרְפֵּר. אָמַר: הֲרֵי הוּא כַּפָּרַתְכֶם, וַעֲדַיִין בְּנִי מְפַרְפֵּר, וְלֹא נִטְמְאָה סַכִּין. לְלַמֶּדְךָ שֶׁקָּשָׁה עֲלֵיהֶם טׇהֳרַת כֵּלִים יוֹתֵר מִשְּׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים. וְכֵן הוּא אוֹמֵר: ״וְגַם דָּם נָקִי שָׁפַךְ מְנַשֶּׁה [הַרְבֵּה מְאֹד] עַד אֲשֶׁר מִלֵּא [אֶת] יְרוּשָׁלִַים פֶּה לָפֶה״.
The father of the boy, i.e., the young priest who was stabbed, came and found that he was still convulsing. He said: May my son’s death be an atonement for you. But my son is still convulsing and has not yet died, and as such, the knife, which is in his body, has not become ritually impure through contact with a corpse. If you remove it promptly, it will still be pure for future use. The Tosefta comments: This incident comes to teach you that the ritual purity of utensils was of more concern to them than the shedding of blood. Even the boy’s father voiced more concern over the purity of the knife than over the death of his child. And similarly, it says: “Furthermore, Manasseh spilled innocent blood very much, till he had filled Jerusalem from one end to another” (II Kings 21:16), which shows that in his day as well people paid little attention to bloodshed.
What is added to this story by the father's concern for the knife? Is he displaying a different moral failing or merely another application of the same problem animating the entire story?
הַי מַעֲשֶׂה קָדֵים? אִילֵּימָא דִּשְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים, הַשְׁתָּא אַשְּׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים לָא תַּקִּינוּ פַּיְיסָא, אַנִּשְׁבְּרָה רַגְלוֹ תַּקִּינוּ?! אֶלָּא, דְּנִשְׁבְּרָה רַגְלוֹ קָדֵים.
The Gemara asks: Which incident came first, the one about the broken leg reported in the mishna or the one about the slain priest in the Tosefta? If we say that the incident of bloodshed came first, this raises a problem: Now, if in response to a case of bloodshed they did not establish a lottery but continued with the running competition, can it be that in response to an incident of a priest’s leg being broken they did establish a lottery? Rather, we must say that the case in which the priest’s leg was broken in the course of the race came first, and as the mishna states, the establishment of the lottery was in response to that incident.
The Gemara pivots to understanding the two episodes (the story in the Mishnah about the broken leg and the story in the Tosefta, quoted in the Gemara, about the stabbing). Which story happened first? Think about the narrative arc of the entire period of the Beit HaMikdash if one or the other episode occurred first.
וְכֵיוָן דְּתַקִּינוּ פַּיְיסָא, אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת מַאי עֲבִידְתַּיְיהוּ? אֶלָּא, לְעוֹלָם דִּשְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים קָדֵים, וּמֵעִיקָּרָא סְבוּר אַקְרַאי בְּעָלְמָא הוּא. כֵּיוָן דַּחֲזוֹ אֲפִילּוּ מִמֵּילָא אָתוּ לִידֵי סַכָּנָה — תַּקִּינוּ רַבָּנַן פַּיְיסָא.
The Gemara asks: If the running competition was abolished immediately after the incident of the broken leg and a lottery was instituted to replace it, once they established the lottery, what were they doing still running to within the four cubits in the incident that led to the priest’s murder? Rather, actually, it is necessary to return to the approach suggested earlier, that the case involving bloodshed came first. Initially, the Sages thought that it was merely a random, i.e., isolated, event, and because it was extremely unlikely for a murder to happen again they did not abolish the competition due to that incident. Then, once they saw that in any event the priests were coming to danger, as one of them was pushed and broke his leg, the Sages established a lottery.
The Gemara now returns to Rabbi Tzadok's exclamation. On a literal level, it makes no sense:
עָמַד רַבִּי צָדוֹק עַל מַעֲלוֹת הָאוּלָם וְאָמַר: אַחֵינוּ בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל שִׁמְעוּ! הֲרֵי הוּא אוֹמֵר: ״כִּי יִמָּצֵא חָלָל בָּאֲדָמָה״, אֲנַן, עַל מִי לְהָבִיא? עַל הָעִיר, אוֹ עַל הָעֲזָרוֹת? וִירוּשָׁלַיִם בַּת אֵתוֹיֵי עֶגְלָה עֲרוּפָה הִיא? וְהָתַנְיָא: עֲשָׂרָה דְּבָרִים נֶאֶמְרוּ בִּירוּשָׁלַיִם, וְזוֹ אַחַת מֵהֶן:
The Gemara returns to the incident of the slain priest and discusses several details of it. It was related that Rabbi Tzadok stood up on the steps of the Entrance Hall of the Sanctuary and said: Hear this, my brothers of the house of Israel. The verse states: “If one be found slain in the land, etc.” But what of us, in our situation? Upon whom is the obligation to bring the heifer whose neck is broken? Does the obligation fall upon the city, Jerusalem, or does the obligation fall upon the Temple courtyards? The Gemara asks: Is Jerusalem subject to bringing a heifer whose neck is broken? Wasn’t it taught in a baraita: Ten things were said about Jerusalem to distinguish it from all other cities in Eretz Yisrael, and this is one of them:
אֵינָהּ מְבִיאָה עֶגְלָה עֲרוּפָה: וְעוֹד: ״לֹא נוֹדַע מִי הִכָּהוּ״ כְּתִיב, וְהָא נוֹדַע מִי הִכָּהוּ! אֶלָּא, כְּדֵי לְהַרְבּוֹת בִּבְכִיָּה.
Jerusalem does not bring a heifer whose neck is broken. The reason for this is that the halakha of the heifer whose neck is broken applies only to land that was apportioned to a specific tribe of the Jewish people. Jerusalem alone was not divided among the tribes, but was shared equally by the entire nation. And furthermore, it is written that the heifer whose neck is broken is brought when “it be not known who had smitten him,” and here, in the case of the slain priest, it was well known who had smitten him. Rather, one must conclude that Rabbi Tzadok invoked the halakha of the heifer whose neck is broken not because it actually applied in this case but only in order to arouse the people’s grief and to increase weeping.
The Gemara concludes that Rabbi Tzadok was encouraging tears. Why did he find it necessary to encourage more crying at such a sad moment?
בָּא אָבִיו שֶׁל תִּינוֹק וּמְצָאוֹ כְּשֶׁהוּא מְפַרְפֵּר, אָמַר: הֲרֵי הוּא כַּפָּרַתְכֶם וַעֲדַיִין בְּנִי קַיָּים [כּוּ׳]. לְלַמֶּדְךָ שֶׁקָּשָׁה עֲלֵיהֶם טׇהֳרַת כֵּלִים יוֹתֵר מִשְּׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים. אִיבַּעְיָא לְהוּ: שְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים הוּא דְּזָל, אֲבָל טׇהֳרַת כֵּלִים — כִּדְקָיְימָא קָיְימָא. אוֹ דִילְמָא: שְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים — כִּדְקָיְימָא קָיְימָא, אֲבָל טׇהֳרַת כֵּלִים הִיא דַּחֲמִירָא?
In relating the above incident the Tosefta said: The father of the boy came and found that he was still convulsing. He said: May my son’s death be an atonement for you. But my son is still alive, etc. This incident comes to teach you that the ritual purity of utensils was of more concern to them than the shedding of blood. A dilemma was raised before the Sages: Should one conclude from this comment that bloodshed had become trivialized in their eyes but their concern for purity of utensils remained where it was originally, meaning that while they cared less than they should have about murder, they did not exaggerate the importance of purity of utensils; or perhaps their concern for bloodshed remained where it was originally, but their concern for purity of vessels had become too strict, to the extent that its importance was exaggerated beyond concern for human life?
Whenever two values are not appreciated appropriately, one should ask whether one concern is being valued too much or whether a concern is not being valued enough. Was the murdered kohen's father too strict about the purity of objects or was he insufficiently concerned about the meaning of bloodshed? What response might be different depending on the cause of the skewed values?
תָּא שְׁמַע, מִדְּקָא נָסֵיב לַהּ תַּלְמוּדָא: ״וְגַם דָּם נָקִי שָׁפַךְ מְנַשֶּׁה״, שְׁמַע מִינַּהּ שְׁפִיכוּת דָּמִים הוּא דְּזָל, וְטַהֲרַת כֵּלִים — כִּדְקָיְימָא קָיְימָא.
The Gemara answers: Come and hear an answer to the dilemma: Since the Tosefta adduces a biblical teaching from the verse, “Furthermore, Manasseh spilled innocent blood,” conclude from this that it was bloodshed that had become trivialized, and the importance of purity of utensils remained where it had been.
Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein zt"l: "On the Assassination of Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin z"l"
[On Monday, 20 Cheshvan (November 13, 1995), the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, addressed the Yeshiva. Having been in America during the week of the murder of Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, this was his first opportunity, nine days later, to speak in the beit midrash about this event and its impact on the lives of us all.]
...The gemara in Yoma (23a-b) relates: "It happened once that two Kohanim (priests) were running evenly up the ramp [of the altar in the Temple, in order to be first and thus be the one to perform the sacrificial service of the day.] One of them intruded within the four cubits of the other. He drew a knife and plunged it into his heart. R. Zadok stood on the steps of the Sanctuary and said: My brothers, the House of Israel, pay heed! It is written, 'If one be found slain in the land [and it is not known who the killer is]... your elders and judges shall go out...[and the elders of the town nearest the corpse shall... break a heifer's neck... and wash their hands... and declare: Our hands did not shed this blood...](Deut. 21:1-9).' In our case, who should bring the egla arufa (broken-necked heifer), the city or the azarot (Temple courtyards)? And the people burst out crying. The father of the [slain] youth came and found him in his death-throes. He said, 'May he be your atonement - my son is yet in his death-throes and the knife is not yet defiled!' This teaches us that ritual purity was more serious in their eyes than bloodshed. And thus it is written (2 Kings 21:16), 'And also Menashe spilled very much innocent blood, until Jerusalem was filled from end to end.'"
The gemara proceeds to ask: we know that egla arufa is not brought in Jerusalem, so what room is there for R. Zadok's question? Furthermore, is not egla arufa brought only in a case where we don't know who the murderer is? Here we all know - the deed was done in public! The answer is, R. Zadok said this "in order to increase the weeping." Is the gemara suggesting that R. Zadok distorted the law for emotional effect? No! R. Zadok is making a point. The principle behind egla arufa is collective guilt. When there is a known murderer, then on a technical-legal level, he takes the guilt. If not, it is attached to the whole city, to the community, to the elders. Collective guilt is not established in order to remove or excuse individual responsibility; family, society, upbringing and climate do not remove personal guilt. Jewish tradition insists on personal responsibility. But egla arufa teaches that there is another level - that beyond the individual guilt, there also is a level of collective guilt.
One priest stabbed the other. Do the other priests say, "He was just a wild weed which somehow sprouted in our midst," and return to their everyday pursuits? Do they say, "He was a lone madman," and go home? R. Zadok is saying that this act wasn't DESPITE us; this was, partially, BECAUSE. Did the Kohen kill because he rejected sanctity and opposed the service in the Temple, or rather precisely because of his passion and love for the service of God? God forbid that we should say that his teachers taught him that killing another human being is an acceptable way of expressing devotion to God. But they were undoubtedly responsible for emphasizing one side - the importance of competitiveness, of devotion, of striving and commitment, of zeal and ardor, without sufficiently emphasizing the corresponding importance of brotherhood, love, and respect, which must accompany the honest, pure, good, holy and exalted desire to serve God.
The gemara proceeds to relate that the father of the victim, himself a priest, demanded the removal of the sacrificial knife before his son was completely dead, in order to prevent its ritual defilement. "The purity of the knife was more important to them than murder." The gemara (23b) understands that there is an educational imbalance here and asks - did they overvalue ritual purity or undervalue the sanctity of life? Where was the educational flaw? The conclusion is that it was human life that they failed sufficiently to value, and not that they exaggerated the value of ritual purity.
In any event, and in either case, the youth was dead, and R. Zadok stands and says - we have educated properly for some religious values, but in the end this is murder. Don't fool yourselves into thinking that this is a case of one wild weed, that the murderer is known and bears all responsibility by himself. What has this to do with egla arufa? Even when technically the murderer is known, the principle of egla arufa still applies, because his actions derive from something we taught or failed to teach.
R. Zadok asked, "Who will bring the egla arufa - the city or the azarot (temple courtyards)?" - and the people couldn't answer, but burst out crying. What is the meaning of "city" and "azarot?"
The murderer draws from two environments, two frameworks. One, wide and encompassing, is the city - society as a whole, verbal violence in the Knesset and wife-murder in the home, the lack of tolerance and a sense of arrogance. But R. Zadok was honest and moral enough to know that perhaps we cannot blame only the community at large. Perhaps we must also blame the Temple courtyards, the environment of the priests and Levites, the environs of holiness and sanctity. Why did the people burst out in tears? Not because they didn't know which environment is responsible, but rather because they all knew, instinctively and intuitively, that the real answer is both - and neither can avoid responsibility.
There are many of us for whom it is convenient to sever the connection of the city and the azara. The city is them: television, decadent music, pub-culture, and corruption; the azarot are us. To some extent, this is true. There does exist an element in general culture which is the opposite of Jewish values, which sees itself, today more than ever, as engaged in a campaign to uproot and destroy anything with a glimmer of holiness. But God forbid that we should try, or even want, to detach azara from city. There are some of us who rejoice at every chance to point out the drugs, the prostitution, or the violence in the wider community, so we can say, "Look at the difference between US and THEM" - look at the statistics, look at Dizengoff, look at their family lives. But remember - the people on Dizengoff aren't foreigners; they are our flesh and blood. It is our city and it should hurt; it cannot be a source of joy, of satisfaction, of self-congratulation and gloating. We should cry over the lack of values. And if, indeed, part of what has happened is the result of the culture of the city - and I think this is undoubtedly so - we are also part of the city, and we too must take part in the city's egla arufa.
There is, of course, a difference between the city and the azara. We see ourselves - justly! justly! - as residents specifically of the azara, the keepers of the flame. But that is precisely why we have a special responsibility, because part of the zeal of that Kohen who murdered comes from his also having been a resident of the azara, from his desire to be first to the altar. Therefore, beyond our responsibility to bring an egla arufa as members of the city, we must also bring an egla arufa specifically as members of the azara. It is no wonder, then, that all the people burst out in tears.
One may ask, but what is wrong with our values? We try to educate people to strive for holiness, to love Eretz Yisrael, Am Yisrael, Torat Yisrael - shall we then stop adhering to and teaching these values? Shall we abandon the azara? God forbid! - not the azara, not the ezrat nashim, not the heikhal, surely not the Holy of Holies, not Har haBayit, not one rung of the ten rungs of holiness of Eretz Yisrael. But if we indeed strive for completeness, if we want to adhere to all these values, then we must at all times keep in mind the whole picture, the balance and interplay between these values. Have we done enough to ensure that our approach to each aspect of our sacred values is balanced? Perhaps even if we have indeed taught the evil of bloodshed - we have exaggerated, as that terrible gemara suggests, the value of ritual purity.
There are several points I would suggest as worthy of reflection. First: the self-confidence that arises from commitment and devotion to a world of values and eternal truths - whether in terms of Torat Yisrael or Eretz Yisrael - sometimes has led to frightening levels of self-certainty and ultimately to arrogance. This arrogance has sometimes led us to act without sufficient responsibility towards other people, and at times even without responsibility to other values. "We are good, we have values, and they are worthless" - this attitude has seeped deeper and deeper into our consciousness.
Secondly, at times we have promoted simplicity and shallowness. Pragmatically, this has a greater chance of success than teaching complexity and deliberation. A simple direct message, appealing to one emotion and calling "After me!" will have more followers than the injunction to think, consider, analyze and investigate. Uncomplicated directives excite more passion than a balanced and complex approach, which confronts questions of competing spiritual values and of competing national interests. Because we wanted our youth to strive, to run up the altar, we not only promoted simplistic slogans, but also a simplistic lifestyle. Once, shocked to my core, I walked out of a meeting of religious educators where a teacher said that although we know that the Ramban and the Rambam disagree about the nature of the mitzva to settle the Land of Israel, we must keep this information to ourselves, lest we lower the enthusiasm of our youth and dampen their fervor. Here we aren't delegitimating Dizengoff; we are delegitimating the Rambam!
Third, sometimes we taught our students to belittle and suspect others. One who doesn't agree with us is criminal, not merely mistaken. Any opportunity to credit a public leader with good intention was rejected in order to credit him with alienation, with hostility, with malice - not a suspicion of evil, but a certainty! From this way of thinking, horrible things can result. The Sifre (Shoftim 43) to the verse, "If there be a man who hates his fellow and he ambushed him and rose against him and mortally struck him and he died," states, "Based on this, it is said: If a man transgresses a minor precept, he will eventually transgress a major one... If he transgresses 'You shall love your fellow as yourself,' he will eventually transgress 'You shall not hate' and 'You shall not revenge'...until he finally spills blood." From a sin of the heart, an attitude, from not enough love, Chazal see a straight path to the ultimate sin of murder.
I am not coming to delegitimate our entire educational system or ideology - it certainly contains much that is wonderful. But I do mean to say that we cannot claim that this murderer was a "wild weed;" we must bring an egla arufa on behalf of the azarot as well.
The awesome, difficult question is - And now, what? Should we close the azarot, abandon our values? On my way back to Israel, I met Rav Eichler (a journalist from the Belz Chareidi newspaper). He asked me whether I do not think that what happened - and he is genuinely shocked - is a result of an educational system which teaches that there are things of more value than human life. I answered, we all believe that - it is in the Shulchan Arukh. "Yehareg ve-al ya'avor" (commandments which may not be transgressed even at the cost of one's life) means that there are values greater than human life. The question is what is the balance, what are the halakhic, hashkafic and moral values which enable us to know when and how. In this sense, we need not be ashamed, nor need we erase one letter of our Torah. We will not surrender to any city, nor abandon a single one of our values. Our values are eternal; nothing can be given up or erased. But in terms of balance and application, of seeing the whole picture, of the development of the ability to think profoundly in order to know how to apply the Torah - here undoubtedly we must engage in a renewed and deeper examination. Priorities must be re-examined.
The same gemara in Yoma tells that there was another incident in the Temple which led them to change their procedures. Despite R. Zadok's speech, they hesitated about instituting a different procedure. But after a later incident, where one Kohen knocked another off the ramp, and the second one broke his leg, they realized that something was wrong with the system itself. They no longer said, "An exceptional case cannot change ancient practice." They instituted a new procedure, using a lottery to determine who should perform the Temple service. Why didn't they do this right away, after the murder? The answer is simple. Ideally, which procedure is better - giving the prize to one who runs, strives, and makes the effort due to his commitment to values and to service, or the use of a lottery, without pursuit, without struggle, a simple mechanical system? Clearly, the old system is better, more educational, more imbued with value. But after a murder, "seeing it could lead to danger," Chazal abandoned the method of individual initiative and competition, fully aware of the considerable educational loss, but willing to pay that price. Even things which are better in principle must be sacrificed if that is what is necessary to prevent terrible consequences.
I don't know what is the precise equivalent for us. But the process of examining the azara, of the problems which arise not despite its holiness but because of its holiness - that is clearly mandated. Not our principles, but surely our analysis of public policy and public needs, needs to be re-examined.
[On Monday, 20 Cheshvan (November 13, 1995), the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, addressed the Yeshiva. Having been in America during the week of the murder of Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, this was his first opportunity, nine days later, to speak in the beit midrash about this event and its impact on the lives of us all.]
...The gemara in Yoma (23a-b) relates: "It happened once that two Kohanim (priests) were running evenly up the ramp [of the altar in the Temple, in order to be first and thus be the one to perform the sacrificial service of the day.] One of them intruded within the four cubits of the other. He drew a knife and plunged it into his heart. R. Zadok stood on the steps of the Sanctuary and said: My brothers, the House of Israel, pay heed! It is written, 'If one be found slain in the land [and it is not known who the killer is]... your elders and judges shall go out...[and the elders of the town nearest the corpse shall... break a heifer's neck... and wash their hands... and declare: Our hands did not shed this blood...](Deut. 21:1-9).' In our case, who should bring the egla arufa (broken-necked heifer), the city or the azarot (Temple courtyards)? And the people burst out crying. The father of the [slain] youth came and found him in his death-throes. He said, 'May he be your atonement - my son is yet in his death-throes and the knife is not yet defiled!' This teaches us that ritual purity was more serious in their eyes than bloodshed. And thus it is written (2 Kings 21:16), 'And also Menashe spilled very much innocent blood, until Jerusalem was filled from end to end.'"
The gemara proceeds to ask: we know that egla arufa is not brought in Jerusalem, so what room is there for R. Zadok's question? Furthermore, is not egla arufa brought only in a case where we don't know who the murderer is? Here we all know - the deed was done in public! The answer is, R. Zadok said this "in order to increase the weeping." Is the gemara suggesting that R. Zadok distorted the law for emotional effect? No! R. Zadok is making a point. The principle behind egla arufa is collective guilt. When there is a known murderer, then on a technical-legal level, he takes the guilt. If not, it is attached to the whole city, to the community, to the elders. Collective guilt is not established in order to remove or excuse individual responsibility; family, society, upbringing and climate do not remove personal guilt. Jewish tradition insists on personal responsibility. But egla arufa teaches that there is another level - that beyond the individual guilt, there also is a level of collective guilt.
One priest stabbed the other. Do the other priests say, "He was just a wild weed which somehow sprouted in our midst," and return to their everyday pursuits? Do they say, "He was a lone madman," and go home? R. Zadok is saying that this act wasn't DESPITE us; this was, partially, BECAUSE. Did the Kohen kill because he rejected sanctity and opposed the service in the Temple, or rather precisely because of his passion and love for the service of God? God forbid that we should say that his teachers taught him that killing another human being is an acceptable way of expressing devotion to God. But they were undoubtedly responsible for emphasizing one side - the importance of competitiveness, of devotion, of striving and commitment, of zeal and ardor, without sufficiently emphasizing the corresponding importance of brotherhood, love, and respect, which must accompany the honest, pure, good, holy and exalted desire to serve God.
The gemara proceeds to relate that the father of the victim, himself a priest, demanded the removal of the sacrificial knife before his son was completely dead, in order to prevent its ritual defilement. "The purity of the knife was more important to them than murder." The gemara (23b) understands that there is an educational imbalance here and asks - did they overvalue ritual purity or undervalue the sanctity of life? Where was the educational flaw? The conclusion is that it was human life that they failed sufficiently to value, and not that they exaggerated the value of ritual purity.
In any event, and in either case, the youth was dead, and R. Zadok stands and says - we have educated properly for some religious values, but in the end this is murder. Don't fool yourselves into thinking that this is a case of one wild weed, that the murderer is known and bears all responsibility by himself. What has this to do with egla arufa? Even when technically the murderer is known, the principle of egla arufa still applies, because his actions derive from something we taught or failed to teach.
R. Zadok asked, "Who will bring the egla arufa - the city or the azarot (temple courtyards)?" - and the people couldn't answer, but burst out crying. What is the meaning of "city" and "azarot?"
The murderer draws from two environments, two frameworks. One, wide and encompassing, is the city - society as a whole, verbal violence in the Knesset and wife-murder in the home, the lack of tolerance and a sense of arrogance. But R. Zadok was honest and moral enough to know that perhaps we cannot blame only the community at large. Perhaps we must also blame the Temple courtyards, the environment of the priests and Levites, the environs of holiness and sanctity. Why did the people burst out in tears? Not because they didn't know which environment is responsible, but rather because they all knew, instinctively and intuitively, that the real answer is both - and neither can avoid responsibility.
There are many of us for whom it is convenient to sever the connection of the city and the azara. The city is them: television, decadent music, pub-culture, and corruption; the azarot are us. To some extent, this is true. There does exist an element in general culture which is the opposite of Jewish values, which sees itself, today more than ever, as engaged in a campaign to uproot and destroy anything with a glimmer of holiness. But God forbid that we should try, or even want, to detach azara from city. There are some of us who rejoice at every chance to point out the drugs, the prostitution, or the violence in the wider community, so we can say, "Look at the difference between US and THEM" - look at the statistics, look at Dizengoff, look at their family lives. But remember - the people on Dizengoff aren't foreigners; they are our flesh and blood. It is our city and it should hurt; it cannot be a source of joy, of satisfaction, of self-congratulation and gloating. We should cry over the lack of values. And if, indeed, part of what has happened is the result of the culture of the city - and I think this is undoubtedly so - we are also part of the city, and we too must take part in the city's egla arufa.
There is, of course, a difference between the city and the azara. We see ourselves - justly! justly! - as residents specifically of the azara, the keepers of the flame. But that is precisely why we have a special responsibility, because part of the zeal of that Kohen who murdered comes from his also having been a resident of the azara, from his desire to be first to the altar. Therefore, beyond our responsibility to bring an egla arufa as members of the city, we must also bring an egla arufa specifically as members of the azara. It is no wonder, then, that all the people burst out in tears.
One may ask, but what is wrong with our values? We try to educate people to strive for holiness, to love Eretz Yisrael, Am Yisrael, Torat Yisrael - shall we then stop adhering to and teaching these values? Shall we abandon the azara? God forbid! - not the azara, not the ezrat nashim, not the heikhal, surely not the Holy of Holies, not Har haBayit, not one rung of the ten rungs of holiness of Eretz Yisrael. But if we indeed strive for completeness, if we want to adhere to all these values, then we must at all times keep in mind the whole picture, the balance and interplay between these values. Have we done enough to ensure that our approach to each aspect of our sacred values is balanced? Perhaps even if we have indeed taught the evil of bloodshed - we have exaggerated, as that terrible gemara suggests, the value of ritual purity.
There are several points I would suggest as worthy of reflection. First: the self-confidence that arises from commitment and devotion to a world of values and eternal truths - whether in terms of Torat Yisrael or Eretz Yisrael - sometimes has led to frightening levels of self-certainty and ultimately to arrogance. This arrogance has sometimes led us to act without sufficient responsibility towards other people, and at times even without responsibility to other values. "We are good, we have values, and they are worthless" - this attitude has seeped deeper and deeper into our consciousness.
Secondly, at times we have promoted simplicity and shallowness. Pragmatically, this has a greater chance of success than teaching complexity and deliberation. A simple direct message, appealing to one emotion and calling "After me!" will have more followers than the injunction to think, consider, analyze and investigate. Uncomplicated directives excite more passion than a balanced and complex approach, which confronts questions of competing spiritual values and of competing national interests. Because we wanted our youth to strive, to run up the altar, we not only promoted simplistic slogans, but also a simplistic lifestyle. Once, shocked to my core, I walked out of a meeting of religious educators where a teacher said that although we know that the Ramban and the Rambam disagree about the nature of the mitzva to settle the Land of Israel, we must keep this information to ourselves, lest we lower the enthusiasm of our youth and dampen their fervor. Here we aren't delegitimating Dizengoff; we are delegitimating the Rambam!
Third, sometimes we taught our students to belittle and suspect others. One who doesn't agree with us is criminal, not merely mistaken. Any opportunity to credit a public leader with good intention was rejected in order to credit him with alienation, with hostility, with malice - not a suspicion of evil, but a certainty! From this way of thinking, horrible things can result. The Sifre (Shoftim 43) to the verse, "If there be a man who hates his fellow and he ambushed him and rose against him and mortally struck him and he died," states, "Based on this, it is said: If a man transgresses a minor precept, he will eventually transgress a major one... If he transgresses 'You shall love your fellow as yourself,' he will eventually transgress 'You shall not hate' and 'You shall not revenge'...until he finally spills blood." From a sin of the heart, an attitude, from not enough love, Chazal see a straight path to the ultimate sin of murder.
I am not coming to delegitimate our entire educational system or ideology - it certainly contains much that is wonderful. But I do mean to say that we cannot claim that this murderer was a "wild weed;" we must bring an egla arufa on behalf of the azarot as well.
The awesome, difficult question is - And now, what? Should we close the azarot, abandon our values? On my way back to Israel, I met Rav Eichler (a journalist from the Belz Chareidi newspaper). He asked me whether I do not think that what happened - and he is genuinely shocked - is a result of an educational system which teaches that there are things of more value than human life. I answered, we all believe that - it is in the Shulchan Arukh. "Yehareg ve-al ya'avor" (commandments which may not be transgressed even at the cost of one's life) means that there are values greater than human life. The question is what is the balance, what are the halakhic, hashkafic and moral values which enable us to know when and how. In this sense, we need not be ashamed, nor need we erase one letter of our Torah. We will not surrender to any city, nor abandon a single one of our values. Our values are eternal; nothing can be given up or erased. But in terms of balance and application, of seeing the whole picture, of the development of the ability to think profoundly in order to know how to apply the Torah - here undoubtedly we must engage in a renewed and deeper examination. Priorities must be re-examined.
The same gemara in Yoma tells that there was another incident in the Temple which led them to change their procedures. Despite R. Zadok's speech, they hesitated about instituting a different procedure. But after a later incident, where one Kohen knocked another off the ramp, and the second one broke his leg, they realized that something was wrong with the system itself. They no longer said, "An exceptional case cannot change ancient practice." They instituted a new procedure, using a lottery to determine who should perform the Temple service. Why didn't they do this right away, after the murder? The answer is simple. Ideally, which procedure is better - giving the prize to one who runs, strives, and makes the effort due to his commitment to values and to service, or the use of a lottery, without pursuit, without struggle, a simple mechanical system? Clearly, the old system is better, more educational, more imbued with value. But after a murder, "seeing it could lead to danger," Chazal abandoned the method of individual initiative and competition, fully aware of the considerable educational loss, but willing to pay that price. Even things which are better in principle must be sacrificed if that is what is necessary to prevent terrible consequences.
I don't know what is the precise equivalent for us. But the process of examining the azara, of the problems which arise not despite its holiness but because of its holiness - that is clearly mandated. Not our principles, but surely our analysis of public policy and public needs, needs to be re-examined.
בכי, תשובה וחיזוק - בין מירון לר' עקיבא / שיחת ראש הישיבה הרב משה ליכטנשטיין בעקבות האסון במירון:
לא ניתן בכמה דקות לדבר על כל מערבולת התחושות שקיימות. חלק מהדברים כבר נאמרו, ואני שמח שכך. ככל שהדברים זהים זה אומר שהמציאות זועקת ומחייבת את תגובתנו.
אבלות מחייבת שלושה דברים: בכי, תשובה, וחיזוק.
בראש ובראשונה, בכי. אדם צריך להרגיש שהחיים עומדים מלכת. להרגיש את הזעקה, חז"ל אומרים שאונן פטור מן המצוות, כי יש ימים שאתה מתמקד לא באופטימיות או בעשייה אלא במה שהיה, ובעובדה שכרגע אתה ניצב בפני שבר. כך במידה רבה אנחנו ניצבים היום עם כלל החברה. טרגדיה נוראה. אנשים עולים מתוך שמחת חיים, מתוך רצון להתקרב לקב"ה, לשמוח, ונהרגים. ממש תוך כדי חיפוש אחר קדושה.
ורואים את הפנים. ראיתי הבוקר תמונה בעיתון של אחד הילדים, חיוך שלא יעזוב אותי. חיים שקפאו בזמן. יזכרו אותו גם בעוד 100 שנה עם חיוך של ילד בן 13. והדבר הזה נכון כפול 45. טרגדיה נוראה.
ברמה הציבורית, ככל שהבכי חשוב, צריך גם לזכור שהאבלות בסופו של דבר היא אבל יחיד. בסופו של דבר זה ישתכח מלב הציבור, והמשפחות ישארו עם אבלות. בציבור התשובה והזעקה הם מרכיבים בולטים יותר. תחושה מאוד חריפה אצלי ב48 השעות האחרונות היא מה שמתארת הגמרא בסוכה, עבד שבא למזוג כוס לרבו ורבו שופך לו את הכוס על הפנים. זו התחושה. מאות אלפים רוצים לעלות ולמזוג כוס לרבם, ושופכים להם את זה על הפנים, וזה כולנו כמובן.
הדבר הזה מחייב תשובה. אבא, אחרי אסון הבונים, זעק פה זעקה שמהדהדת באזני תלמידיו עד היום הזה. אסור לאדם לבוא ולהגיד מדוע ולמה. אנחנו לא נביאים, אנחנו לא יכולים לשאול מדוע ולמה. אנחנו כן יכולים לשאול מה אנחנו יכולים לעשות, איך אנחנו יכולים להאיר את דרכינו, באילו נקודות נוכל להשתפר ולהיות טובים יותר. בנקודה זו חשוב להדגיש שאל לאדם להכות על חטא על החזה של חברו, גם אם הוא חושב שהוא יודע שהחבר לא בסדר. כל אחד צריך להתמקד בבעיותיו.
גמרא מצמררת מספרת איך שני כהנים רצו ועלו בכבש המזבח ואחד הרג את חברו. ובא ר' צדוק אחר כך ואמר: "אחינו בית ישראל... כי ימצא חלל... "
הוא לא בא ומאשים את הכהן. יש אשם ברור. אפילו אשם שאפשר לשפוט אותו בבית דין. אבל הוא אומר – אחינו בית ישראל, צריך להביא עגלה ערופה. איך נוצרה אווירה כזו? איך כהן דקר כהן שני? ר' צדוק חושב שהדבר תלוי בציבור, שהיתה אווירה ציבורית מסוימת. כל הציבור כולו אשם בכך שהוא יצר אווירה בה הדברים האלו אפשריים. יש כשלונות, יש בעיות במה שהיה במירון. אבל יש לשאול איך אנחנו שותפים ליצירת אווירה שבה הדברים הללו מתרחשים. מה הנורמות הדרושות תיקון שאפשרנו להן לקרות.
"לעשות משפט עבדו ומשפט עמו ישראל". ברור שגם פה יש אחריות שלטונית, משפט עבדו, המלך. אבל, אנחנו צריכים לעסוק באחריות הציבורית "משפט עמו ישראל". כיצד אנחנו נשפר את עצמנו? כיצד אנחנו יכולים לתקן? יש הרבה לקחים. חלקם נקודתיים, מעשיים. חשוב ביותר שילמדו אותם, וחשוב ביותר שהכל יעשה. אבל, לא לצורך כך התכנסנו בבית המדרש. לצורך כך תהיה וועדה שתתן המלצות מקצועיות. אנחנו התכנסנו ללקחים רוחניים.
אפשר לבוא ולחפש חלק מהלקחים באיזונים הראויים בעבודת ה' בין חוויות שונות. יש דרכים שונות לעבודת ה', יש הרבה דרכים לעבודת ה'. נניח ונאמר לעצמנו שאחד הלקחים זה האיזון שבין קברי צדיקים למקומות קדושים אחרים. אנחנו עדיין צריכים לומר לעצמנו שיש עוצמה רוחנית באנשים שעולים בקברי צדיקים, והם מחפשים שם עוצמה אמונית. ואולי, יותר מדי אנשים עולים למקום אחד כי יש להם חוסר, הם לא מרגישים את זה בשאר השנה במקומות רגילים. אם יש משהו ייחודי, עוצמה מיוחדת, צריך לחשוב איך לוקחים את העוצמות הללו, איך מגיעים לתפילה בשאר הארץ. איך מגיעים לשמחה, איך ניגשים לעבוד את ה' בשמחה ובטוב לבב לא רק במקום אחד.
דבר נוסף - איך תלמידי ר' עקיבא לא נהגו כבוד זה בזה? ר' עקיבא היה גדול עולם, איך התלמידים לא ראו מה קורה? היתה שם מחלוקת אידאולוגית יוקדת. תקופה של מתח מדיני-בטחוני עם קבוצות קבוצות בעם. כל צד היה משוכנע שהצד השני מסכן את הצד האחר.
ר' עקיבא שידר משמעת עצמית מדהימה, כל הזמן. אבל, הוא גם שידר ללכת עד הסוף. שניים עשר אלף זוגין תלמידין. מה זה אומר? שני מחנות, וכל מחנה משוכנע שהמחנה השני מסכן את עם ישראל סכנה מוחשית ומיידית. ואם זו עת סכנה, אם כל אחד משוכנע שהמחנה השני מסכן את עם ישראל, אז מדובר על מלחמת קודש ואתה מרשה לעצמך התנהגויות אותן לא תרשה בימים כבתיקונם. גם בימינו, בהרבה ויכוחים אנשים ראויים מוכנים לומר דברים נוראיים על חבריהם. דווקא האמונה היוקדת, תחושת הסכנה מהצד שכנגד היא זו שיצרה את הבעיה, שפגמה בתחושה שכולנו בני איש אחד אנחנו. מסר מרכזי מימי הספירה הוא שגם בתוך מחלוקת אידאולוגית יוקדת יש קווים אדומים. נדמה לי שגם את המסר הזה צריך לקחת מהסיפור של ר' עקיבא.
נקודה אחרונה, אותה אומר בהיסוס. מתוך תחושה שאני מדבר על עצמי. אני חושב שעם ישראל צריך לתת יותר ביטוי ותחושה לכל הסבל, הטרגדיה והאבדן שהיו בשנה האחרונה. רצנו לחזור לשגרה, לנורמליות, לברוח מאימת המגפה. הבריחה הזו לפעמים משאירה אנשים מאחור. האם בשנה האחרונה עשינו מספיק כדי להנכיח בשיח הציבורי את אלו שהלכו מאיתנו, שעדיין סובלים, שגוררים איתם מחלות? עלינו לעסוק יותר גם באבלות על כל השנה שהייתה.
אחרי זעקה ותשובה, המרכיב האחרון הוא חיזוק. אם יש מסר אחד לל"ג בעומר זה שגם אחרי טרגדיה מתגברים. הגמרא מספרת על ר' עקיבא ותלמידיו במסגרת דיון על כך שאדם צריך תמיד להתגבר מטרגדיה. ר' עקיבא היה הרוס, שבור. 24 אלף תלמידים מתו. עולמו חרב עליו. במקום לשקוע במעמקי הייאוש, במקום להגיד שלא ניתן להמשיך יותר, הוא הפשיל שרוולים, ירד לדרום ועם חמישה תלמידים בנה את העולם. עד היום בכל בתי המדרש שבעולם תורתו ותורתם נשמעת בגאון.
בסופו של דבר, זה אסון קשה. טרגדיה נוראה. חיים שקפאו בזמן ומשאירים אותנו בבכי נורא. ואף על פי כן, ל"ג בעומר נותן לנו פתח ותקווה. המסר של ר' עקיבא אלינו הוא שהקב"ה בעז"ה יאיר לנו פנים אחרי הטרגדיה והבכי. אם נשכיל להפנים ולקחת את הלקחים על עצמנו ולא על אחרים, איך אנחנו מתקנים את עצמנו, אזי בסופו של דבר הקב"ה יקיים בנו שנחזור ונבנה בניינים ועולמות חדשים, גם לעילוי נשמתם. הרבה תורה, הרבה בנייה והרבה עשייה.
לא ניתן בכמה דקות לדבר על כל מערבולת התחושות שקיימות. חלק מהדברים כבר נאמרו, ואני שמח שכך. ככל שהדברים זהים זה אומר שהמציאות זועקת ומחייבת את תגובתנו.
אבלות מחייבת שלושה דברים: בכי, תשובה, וחיזוק.
בראש ובראשונה, בכי. אדם צריך להרגיש שהחיים עומדים מלכת. להרגיש את הזעקה, חז"ל אומרים שאונן פטור מן המצוות, כי יש ימים שאתה מתמקד לא באופטימיות או בעשייה אלא במה שהיה, ובעובדה שכרגע אתה ניצב בפני שבר. כך במידה רבה אנחנו ניצבים היום עם כלל החברה. טרגדיה נוראה. אנשים עולים מתוך שמחת חיים, מתוך רצון להתקרב לקב"ה, לשמוח, ונהרגים. ממש תוך כדי חיפוש אחר קדושה.
ורואים את הפנים. ראיתי הבוקר תמונה בעיתון של אחד הילדים, חיוך שלא יעזוב אותי. חיים שקפאו בזמן. יזכרו אותו גם בעוד 100 שנה עם חיוך של ילד בן 13. והדבר הזה נכון כפול 45. טרגדיה נוראה.
ברמה הציבורית, ככל שהבכי חשוב, צריך גם לזכור שהאבלות בסופו של דבר היא אבל יחיד. בסופו של דבר זה ישתכח מלב הציבור, והמשפחות ישארו עם אבלות. בציבור התשובה והזעקה הם מרכיבים בולטים יותר. תחושה מאוד חריפה אצלי ב48 השעות האחרונות היא מה שמתארת הגמרא בסוכה, עבד שבא למזוג כוס לרבו ורבו שופך לו את הכוס על הפנים. זו התחושה. מאות אלפים רוצים לעלות ולמזוג כוס לרבם, ושופכים להם את זה על הפנים, וזה כולנו כמובן.
הדבר הזה מחייב תשובה. אבא, אחרי אסון הבונים, זעק פה זעקה שמהדהדת באזני תלמידיו עד היום הזה. אסור לאדם לבוא ולהגיד מדוע ולמה. אנחנו לא נביאים, אנחנו לא יכולים לשאול מדוע ולמה. אנחנו כן יכולים לשאול מה אנחנו יכולים לעשות, איך אנחנו יכולים להאיר את דרכינו, באילו נקודות נוכל להשתפר ולהיות טובים יותר. בנקודה זו חשוב להדגיש שאל לאדם להכות על חטא על החזה של חברו, גם אם הוא חושב שהוא יודע שהחבר לא בסדר. כל אחד צריך להתמקד בבעיותיו.
גמרא מצמררת מספרת איך שני כהנים רצו ועלו בכבש המזבח ואחד הרג את חברו. ובא ר' צדוק אחר כך ואמר: "אחינו בית ישראל... כי ימצא חלל... "
הוא לא בא ומאשים את הכהן. יש אשם ברור. אפילו אשם שאפשר לשפוט אותו בבית דין. אבל הוא אומר – אחינו בית ישראל, צריך להביא עגלה ערופה. איך נוצרה אווירה כזו? איך כהן דקר כהן שני? ר' צדוק חושב שהדבר תלוי בציבור, שהיתה אווירה ציבורית מסוימת. כל הציבור כולו אשם בכך שהוא יצר אווירה בה הדברים האלו אפשריים. יש כשלונות, יש בעיות במה שהיה במירון. אבל יש לשאול איך אנחנו שותפים ליצירת אווירה שבה הדברים הללו מתרחשים. מה הנורמות הדרושות תיקון שאפשרנו להן לקרות.
"לעשות משפט עבדו ומשפט עמו ישראל". ברור שגם פה יש אחריות שלטונית, משפט עבדו, המלך. אבל, אנחנו צריכים לעסוק באחריות הציבורית "משפט עמו ישראל". כיצד אנחנו נשפר את עצמנו? כיצד אנחנו יכולים לתקן? יש הרבה לקחים. חלקם נקודתיים, מעשיים. חשוב ביותר שילמדו אותם, וחשוב ביותר שהכל יעשה. אבל, לא לצורך כך התכנסנו בבית המדרש. לצורך כך תהיה וועדה שתתן המלצות מקצועיות. אנחנו התכנסנו ללקחים רוחניים.
אפשר לבוא ולחפש חלק מהלקחים באיזונים הראויים בעבודת ה' בין חוויות שונות. יש דרכים שונות לעבודת ה', יש הרבה דרכים לעבודת ה'. נניח ונאמר לעצמנו שאחד הלקחים זה האיזון שבין קברי צדיקים למקומות קדושים אחרים. אנחנו עדיין צריכים לומר לעצמנו שיש עוצמה רוחנית באנשים שעולים בקברי צדיקים, והם מחפשים שם עוצמה אמונית. ואולי, יותר מדי אנשים עולים למקום אחד כי יש להם חוסר, הם לא מרגישים את זה בשאר השנה במקומות רגילים. אם יש משהו ייחודי, עוצמה מיוחדת, צריך לחשוב איך לוקחים את העוצמות הללו, איך מגיעים לתפילה בשאר הארץ. איך מגיעים לשמחה, איך ניגשים לעבוד את ה' בשמחה ובטוב לבב לא רק במקום אחד.
דבר נוסף - איך תלמידי ר' עקיבא לא נהגו כבוד זה בזה? ר' עקיבא היה גדול עולם, איך התלמידים לא ראו מה קורה? היתה שם מחלוקת אידאולוגית יוקדת. תקופה של מתח מדיני-בטחוני עם קבוצות קבוצות בעם. כל צד היה משוכנע שהצד השני מסכן את הצד האחר.
ר' עקיבא שידר משמעת עצמית מדהימה, כל הזמן. אבל, הוא גם שידר ללכת עד הסוף. שניים עשר אלף זוגין תלמידין. מה זה אומר? שני מחנות, וכל מחנה משוכנע שהמחנה השני מסכן את עם ישראל סכנה מוחשית ומיידית. ואם זו עת סכנה, אם כל אחד משוכנע שהמחנה השני מסכן את עם ישראל, אז מדובר על מלחמת קודש ואתה מרשה לעצמך התנהגויות אותן לא תרשה בימים כבתיקונם. גם בימינו, בהרבה ויכוחים אנשים ראויים מוכנים לומר דברים נוראיים על חבריהם. דווקא האמונה היוקדת, תחושת הסכנה מהצד שכנגד היא זו שיצרה את הבעיה, שפגמה בתחושה שכולנו בני איש אחד אנחנו. מסר מרכזי מימי הספירה הוא שגם בתוך מחלוקת אידאולוגית יוקדת יש קווים אדומים. נדמה לי שגם את המסר הזה צריך לקחת מהסיפור של ר' עקיבא.
נקודה אחרונה, אותה אומר בהיסוס. מתוך תחושה שאני מדבר על עצמי. אני חושב שעם ישראל צריך לתת יותר ביטוי ותחושה לכל הסבל, הטרגדיה והאבדן שהיו בשנה האחרונה. רצנו לחזור לשגרה, לנורמליות, לברוח מאימת המגפה. הבריחה הזו לפעמים משאירה אנשים מאחור. האם בשנה האחרונה עשינו מספיק כדי להנכיח בשיח הציבורי את אלו שהלכו מאיתנו, שעדיין סובלים, שגוררים איתם מחלות? עלינו לעסוק יותר גם באבלות על כל השנה שהייתה.
אחרי זעקה ותשובה, המרכיב האחרון הוא חיזוק. אם יש מסר אחד לל"ג בעומר זה שגם אחרי טרגדיה מתגברים. הגמרא מספרת על ר' עקיבא ותלמידיו במסגרת דיון על כך שאדם צריך תמיד להתגבר מטרגדיה. ר' עקיבא היה הרוס, שבור. 24 אלף תלמידים מתו. עולמו חרב עליו. במקום לשקוע במעמקי הייאוש, במקום להגיד שלא ניתן להמשיך יותר, הוא הפשיל שרוולים, ירד לדרום ועם חמישה תלמידים בנה את העולם. עד היום בכל בתי המדרש שבעולם תורתו ותורתם נשמעת בגאון.
בסופו של דבר, זה אסון קשה. טרגדיה נוראה. חיים שקפאו בזמן ומשאירים אותנו בבכי נורא. ואף על פי כן, ל"ג בעומר נותן לנו פתח ותקווה. המסר של ר' עקיבא אלינו הוא שהקב"ה בעז"ה יאיר לנו פנים אחרי הטרגדיה והבכי. אם נשכיל להפנים ולקחת את הלקחים על עצמנו ולא על אחרים, איך אנחנו מתקנים את עצמנו, אזי בסופו של דבר הקב"ה יקיים בנו שנחזור ונבנה בניינים ועולמות חדשים, גם לעילוי נשמתם. הרבה תורה, הרבה בנייה והרבה עשייה.