At the end of Parashat Matot we find something that needs a little bit of explanation. The pesukim mention all kinds of cities that were conquered, and at first it’s not so clear why the Torah needs to make a point of mentioning all the cities: Bnei Reuven built Cheshbon, and Elaleh, and Kiryatayim, and Nevo, and Baal Me’on. Even a history book wouldn’t write such a thing, because a person needs to get some interest out of reading it. Here it seems like you just write a deed of a place in the city, to make sure where each person’s real estate is. That’s very strange, because the Torah doesn’t work like that. So why is the Torah mentioning all these things?
Yair and Novach
When I saw the last pesukim, I came up with something that seems very clear in Rashi. The two last pesukim say: וְיָאִיר בֶּן־מְנַשֶּׁה הָלַךְ וַיִּלְכֹּד אֶת־חַוֺּתֵיהֶם וַיִּקְרָא אֶתְהֶן חַוֺּת יָאִיר (Bamidbar 32:41). Yair ben Menashe conquered villages; chavot means villages, as Rashi says, “kafranehon.” And he called them Chavot Yair, the villages of Yair, in his name. He’s not the only one: וְנֹבַח הָלַךְ וַיִּלְכֹּד אֶת־קְנָת וְאֶת־בְּנֹתֶיהָ וַיִּקְרָא לָה נֹבַח בִּשְׁמוֹ (Bamidbar 32:42). Novach also conquered a city called Kenat and the towns around it, and he called it Novach, because that was his name; he wanted his name on those cities.
When we look at the last Rashi in the parasha, he asks why it says “vayikra lah Novach” with a hei that has no dot, no mapik. Normally, with a dot, you read it “lah,” to her; here it’s without a dot. And Rashi brings from Rabbi Moshe HaDarshan: לְפִי שֶׁלֹּא נִתְקַיֵּם לָהּ שֵׁם זֶה לְפִיכָךְ הוּא רָפֶה. Since the name didn’t last, the hei is weak. He called it the city of Novach, but the name didn’t last; eventually the name went away, and it went back to being called Kenat or something else, but not Novach.
And the question is: why? Why did he lose out when he put his name on it? We don’t find the same thing by Yair. Chavot Yair, the name lasted. So why did Chavot Yair, named after Yair ben Menashe, last, and Novach, who called the place in his name, the name was lost and changed?
It could be that the answer is in another Rashi, about Chavot Yair. Why did Yair call the villages he conquered by his own name? לְפִי שֶׁלֹּא הָיוּ לוֹ בָנִים קְרָאַתָם בִּשְׁמוֹ לְזִכָּרוֹן. The reason he called them in his name is because he didn’t have any children, and since he didn’t have any children, he wanted that to be a memory for his name. That is only said about Yair. But Novach apparently did have children; Rashi doesn’t say he didn’t. So since Novach had children, he had a memory for his name. Why does he need to call the city after himself? There’s no need for that, no reason for that. And therefore the name was lost; it didn’t last. Because he had children, he didn’t have to name it after himself; he could have called it something else and not be so involved with his name.
How Will I Be Remembered?
In reality, every person wants his legacy, his name, to continue. Especially when a person gets a little older, he always feels: what did I accomplish in life? How is my name going to continue? How am I going to be remembered? Is it only going to be at the shiva, after I pass away, and then on the yahrzeit, once a year, and that’s it? Or does my legacy continue?
Normally people feel that if they have children, that itself is a continuation of what they made, what they built, the effort they put into this world. That is one way. There are other ways too. Some people want to spread Torah, so they write sefarim, all kinds of sefarim, sifrei kodesh, and that itself is a continuation afterwards: people learn in their sefarim, siftotav dovevot bakever, for generations to come, and his legacy continues. Other people do as Yair did here: they build a big building and call it the Yair Towers, or whatever it is, or shuls, Beit Yair, and they feel that will be a continuation of who they are.
Rabbi Elazar’s Tears
We find such a thing in the Gemara in Berachot (5b). When Rabbi Elazar became very sick and was getting ready to pass away, Rabbi Yochanan came to visit him. He saw that Rabbi Elazar was lying in a dark house. Rabbi Yochanan uncovered his arm, and light came into the house; Rabbi Yochanan used to shine with beauty. He saw Rabbi Elazar crying and asked him: Why are you crying? If it’s because you didn’t learn enough Torah, אֶחָד הַמַּרְבֶּה וְאֶחָד הַמַּמְעִיט, וּבִלְבַד שֶׁיְּכַוֵּין לִבּוֹ לַשָּׁמַיִם. Some people learn more, some people less; as long as you intended your heart for Shamayim, that’s good enough. If it’s because of parnassah, לֹא כׇּל אָדָם זוֹכֶה לִשְׁתֵּי שֻׁלְחָנוֹת; not everybody becomes rich. If it’s because of children, דֵּין גַּרְמָא דַּעֲשִׂירָאָה בִּיר: this is the bone of my tenth son. Rabbi Yochanan had ten children and lost all of them, and the Rishonim explain that the last child fell into a boiling pot of water and died as well, and he took his bone to show other people and give them comfort. When other people were going through sorrow, through a crisis, he showed them: look, I also went through the same thing, and I continue life. So Rabbi Elazar told him: it’s none of these three things. I’m crying for this beauty that is going to decay in the ground. And Rabbi Yochanan told him: עַל דָּא וַדַּאי קָא בָּכֵית, on that you should surely cry. וּבְכוֹ תַּרְוַיְיהו, and both of them cried together.
When I saw this Gemara, I didn’t understand anything, from beginning to end. Rabbi Yochanan wanted to comfort him and make him feel better, so what does he tell him? Maybe you’re crying because you didn’t learn enough Torah; don’t worry about it, some learn more, some learn less. That’s not true! The one thing a person should worry about is learning Torah. If a person doesn’t learn enough Torah, that’s something to cry about. A person is in this world to learn as much as possible, to be marbitz Torah, to be completely involved in every single aspect of Torah. The Midrash says that when a person goes up to Shamayim, there’s going to be a judgment and a reckoning for every part of the Torah he didn’t learn: Midrashim, Zohar, Gemarot, anything a person could have learned and didn’t, he is going to be judged for it. So of course, when he tells him “echad hamarbeh v’echad hamam’it,” that’s a reason to cry! What kind of comfort is that? Imagine you go to the gadol hador and tell him: you think you didn’t learn enough Torah? Not so bad, don’t worry about it. That’s not how you talk to a person like that. Something here needs to be explained.
Secondly, he tells him: maybe you’re crying because you didn’t have enough money, you didn’t live in a mansion, you didn’t ride a beautiful car, you didn’t go on vacations. Not everybody becomes rich, don’t worry about it. Is that what Rabbi Elazar is really concerned about, minutes before he goes to the next world? What happened in the past, how much money he had, that he could have lived a little more of a luxurious life? And that’s what Rabbi Yochanan thinks he’s crying about? Very, very strange. A person doesn’t cry about the past, and definitely Rabbi Elazar isn’t concerned at all about how much money he had.
And then: maybe you’re crying because you don’t have children, and look, I also don’t have children. That is no nechama at all. In Hebrew they say “nechamat rabim,” that a person feels better seeing that others are going through the same sorrow: I’m not the only one with this problem. But that’s wrong, because if other people are suffering, you should feel even worse. It doesn’t make my situation better. So what kind of nechama is it to tell him: I also had ten children and lost them? That’s terrible; he should cry twice, once for himself and once for Rabbi Yochanan. And in the end Rabbi Elazar says: I’m crying because of this beauty that’s going to be buried in the ground. If that’s what Rabbi Elazar cares about in the last moments of his life, beauty and physical things, what’s going on here?
The Legacy Hashem Gives
I was thinking that the idea here is the following. Rabbi Yochanan understands very well that what Rabbi Elazar cares about in the last moments of his life is nothing less than the legacy he will leave for the next generation. What did he leave in this world that he will be remembered by? So he tells him: maybe you feel that you didn’t teach enough Torah, you didn’t leave sefarim, kuntrasim, all kinds of Torah that people could learn from for generations after you pass away. Maybe that’s why you’re crying. Look, that’s what Hashem gave you. Some people have more, some people have less. As long as your heart was l’Shem Shamayim, you couldn’t do more. That’s a nechama: maybe you could have had more, but those are the tools Hashem gave you.
Maybe it’s “mishum mezonei”: you could have had more money. And done what with it? Spent it in the right places, invested it in the right places. Build yeshivot, build mekomot Torah, a makom of chesed, of gemilut chasadim, of tzedakah. Your name would have continued afterwards; people would remember: this is the institution Rabbi Elazar built, this is the yeshiva Rabbi Elazar built, a city of Torah that Rabbi Elazar built. He told him: that’s also not up to you. That’s what Hashem provided you. Some people have more money, some don’t have any money. Lo kol adam zocheh lishtei shulchanot.
And maybe the reason is “mishum banei,” because you don’t have children who would continue your legacy. Then, “dein garma d’asira’ah bir”: I also don’t have children. This is what Hashem provided, and it’s not something we need to cry about, because whatever Hashem provides is the best for us in Hashem’s eyes, and we can’t ask for more than that.
Rabbi Elazar answered him: no, those aren’t the reasons I’m crying. All these things I understand; we can only have what Hashem provides us, and if He didn’t provide it, that’s what it is. I can’t cry over something I don’t have the ability to do more about. But I am crying about one thing: the beauty of the person himself that’s going to be buried in the ground. A person doesn’t have to have an exterior legacy, books that he’ll be remembered by, buildings and synagogues and institutions. He doesn’t even have to have children he’ll be remembered by. It’s a beautiful thing to have all these things, but not everybody has them; sometimes Hashem provides them and sometimes He doesn’t. But every person has the opportunity that the beauty of the person himself should shine forever and ever: his middot, the beauty of the Torah he has, the way he conducted his life, the way he dealt with people, the way he did business, the way he spoke to people, the way he tried to help out, the chesed, everything that the person himself is. That is something to cry about. And Rabbi Yochanan told him: that, I agree, people should cry for. Al da vadai ka bachit, and both of them cried together.
“Why Should Our Father’s Name Be Lost?”
That’s what we find with the story of Bnot Tzelofchad, which actually starts in Pinchas and comes back at the end of Masei, which we’re going to read this Shabbat. They came to Moshe Rabbeinu and told him: our father didn’t have boys, and only boys get land in Eretz Yisrael. Since he didn’t have boys, we’re losing out. Give us land. Moshe Rabbeinu goes to ask Hakadosh Baruch Hu, and Hashem says they are correct.
Rashi says on “ki ein lo ben”: הָא אִם הָיָה לוֹ בֵן, לֹא הָיוּ תוֹבְעוֹת כְּלוּם, מַגִּיד שֶׁחַכְמָנִיּוֹת הָיוּ. If Tzelofchad had had boys, they wouldn’t have asked for anything; this teaches that they were wise. Very strange. What did they say that was so smart? We saw the law is that boys get land and not girls; if our father had boys we wouldn’t ask, but since he only has girls, can you make an exception for us? I don’t hear anything smart here.
Rather, what’s going on? The daughters of Tzelofchad understood that if they came to Moshe Rabbeinu to ask for land for their own benefit, for their own economy, they wouldn’t get it, because they don’t deserve it; boys deserve it, not girls. So they asked in a smart way. They said: our father has no continuation. לָמָּה יִגָּרַע שֵׁם־אָבִינוּ מִתּוֹךְ מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ (Bamidbar 27:4). Why should our father’s name be erased? When Moshe Rabbeinu heard that, he understood: one minute, there’s a serious problem here. Tzelofchad’s name is going to be erased; there won’t be any continuation for that person. That is a claim that deserves going to Hashem Yitbarach Himself to ask what to do. And Hashem says they’re right; a name for a father is a very important thing. On that Rashi says they were wise.
And there is a whole parasha in the Torah about this called yibum. If a person dies without children, his brother goes and marries the widow. Very strange: normally the Torah punishes such a thing with karet. But here the Torah says that since he doesn’t have a child, the brother may take the almanah who was left without children, in order that the brother who died should have children called on his name. The Torah makes a complete exception for such a thing.
Why So Harsh?
The next thing we find in the parasha is that, as Am Yisrael is about to enter the land, two tribes had a very large amount of cattle: וּמִקְנֶה רַב הָיָה לִבְנֵי רְאוּבֵן וְלִבְנֵי־גָד עָצוּם מְאֹד (Bamidbar 32:1), an enormous amount of cattle. So they came to Moshe Rabbeinu and asked him very nicely and politely, in the nicest way: if you like the idea, give us this land. They come privately to Moshe Rabbeinu and tell him: we have a question. If you think it’s a good idea for us to have this land, give it to us. And if you think we have to go with you to Eretz Yisrael and you can’t give us the land on the east side, forget the whole question; consider it never asked, everything’s good, we’re coming with you.
They asked in the nicest way. There’s no sin involved here in any way; there’s no aveirah in the Torah in having land in Ever HaYarden. And Moshe Rabbeinu comes down on them in the harshest way. We need to understand why Moshe Rabbeinu spoke to them so harshly, in a way we don’t find anywhere else in the Torah. We don’t find it at Merivah, we don’t find it at the Egel HaZahav, we don’t find it with Korach and his congregation, and we don’t find it with the Meraglim. Nowhere that Am Yisrael sins do they get such strong treatment from Moshe Rabbeinu.
Moshe Rabbeinu says to them: הַאַחֵיכֶם יָבֹאוּ לַמִּלְחָמָה וְאַתֶּם תֵּשְׁבוּ פֹה (Bamidbar 32:6). וְלָמָּה תְנִיאוּן אֶת־לֵב בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵעֲבֹר אֶל־הָאָרֶץ (32:7); why are you turning the heart of Am Yisrael away from coming to the land? כֹּה עָשׂוּ אֲבֹתֵיכֶם (32:8); this is what your fathers did, and Hashem got so angry at them. And then: וְהִנֵּה קַמְתֶּם תַּחַת אֲבֹתֵיכֶם תַּרְבּוּת אֲנָשִׁים חַטָּאִים לִסְפּוֹת עוֹד עַל חֲרוֹן אַף־ה’ אֶל־יִשְׂרָאֵל (32:14). You sinners, just like your fathers, you’re going to make Hakadosh Baruch Hu even more angry at Am Yisrael. כִּי תְשׁוּבֻן מֵאַחֲרָיו … וְשִׁחַתֶּם לְכׇל־הָעָם הַזֶּה (32:15); you’re turning away from Hakadosh Baruch Hu, you’re destroying the nation.
What’s going on here? What did they do? When I read this parasha, I didn’t understand why Moshe Rabbeinu comes at them so harshly. They asked a simple question. And not only that: afterwards they told Moshe Rabbeinu, one minute, we want to explain. We didn’t mean that we’re going to stay here and not fight the war in Eretz Yisrael. We’re coming with the nation; we’re going to fight, and when we conquer the land, this place is what we need, because we have so much cattle; it’s better for us than other places. Moshe Rabbeinu hears that, calms down, and says: okay, if that’s the case, you can come with us to fight and you can have that place.
So if that’s the case, Moshe Rabbeinu should have been melamed zechut. Didn’t Moshe Rabbeinu himself teach us in the Torah “b’tzedek tishpot amitecha,” judge every person favorably? Give them a chance; at least ask: did you mean you’re going to stay here and not come to fight? He doesn’t ask; he gives it to them right away. Why didn’t he give them the benefit of the doubt and at least try to see whether they meant good?
Fences First, Children After?
Not only that. Later they tell Moshe Rabbeinu: we’re coming with you to fight, but meanwhile, גִּדְרֹת צֹאן נִבְנֶה לְמִקְנֵנוּ פֹּה וְעָרִים לְטַפֵּנוּ (Bamidbar 32:16). We want to build fences for the cattle so they don’t run away, and cities for our children, and then we’ll come with you, first in line to fight in Eretz Yisrael. And here too, Rashi says, Moshe Rabbeinu took it very harshly: חָסִים הָיוּ עַל מָמוֹנָם יוֹתֵר מִבְּנֵיהֶם וּבְנוֹתֵיהֶם, שֶׁהִקְדִּימוּ מִקְנֵיהֶם לְטַפָּם. They cared about their money more than their children, because they first said we’ll build fences for the cattle and then cities. Moshe Rabbeinu told them: you’re wrong. First build for the children, and then for the cattle.
I didn’t understand this either. If you don’t build the fences for such an enormous amount of cattle, mikneh rav atzum me’od, they run away. The whole parnassah runs away; the economy is lost. They don’t need it for themselves; they need it for their children, for their wives, to have something to make a living from. How long does building fences take? It’s not a long procedure. But if you build houses for the children first, meanwhile all the cattle runs away. Why is it so wrong to say: first we take care of the parnassah, make sure everything is fenced and protected, and then we’ll go to the children? They can wait a couple of days; nothing’s going to happen. The women will take care of them; they were in the midbar forty years, they can be taken care of another couple of days until we build the fences. So why didn’t Moshe Rabbeinu see it that way?
All They Saw Was Opportunity
It could be, I thought, that it’s all in the beginning of the story. When Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuven come to Eretz Yazer and Eretz Gilad, they right away see opportunity: וַיִּרְאוּ אֶת־אֶרֶץ יַעְזֵר וְאֶת־אֶרֶץ גִּלְעָד וְהִנֵּה הַמָּקוֹם מְקוֹם מִקְנֶה (Bamidbar 32:1). All they see is opportunity. They come to Moshe Rabbeinu and start talking: עֲטָרוֹת וְדִיבֹן וְיַעְזֵר וְנִמְרָה וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן וְאֶלְעָלֵה וּשְׂבָם וּנְבוֹ וּבְעֹן (32:3). And New York City, and Washington, and Mexico City, and Japan, and China, and everything they see: opportunities, opportunities, opportunities. Give us that place if you think it’s a good idea.
And Moshe Rabbeinu sees that these people are too involved with money; the Midrash says the same thing, they were too involved with money. When a person makes a sin, like at Merivah, like with the Meraglim, he can be adjusted. You tell him: look, it’s wrong, do it this way, not that way. Fine; he did it once, twice, he’ll go back to normal. But when a person’s head, his whole mindset, is involved with money, money, money, he needs to be completely put on the spot. And therefore Moshe Rabbeinu starts screaming at them in the harshest way. There’s no sin here; they didn’t do any aveirot, they didn’t do anything wrong. But the mindset is such that all they see is opportunity and money, and Moshe Rabbeinu says that needs the harshest treatment.
When you want to relocate, to build a house, to find a neighborhood or a city to move to, you need to look not only at parnassah. Parnassah is a very important thing, but it’s not the only thing. You need to make sure the place is good for your children: the right education, the right fence, the right teachers, the right schools. That your wife is going to be happy there. That the community is one you want your children growing up in, that it’s a place you can relate to, religious enough for your level, that the people are nice, that there’s a community and a society and people around you. There are so many things involved; it’s not only about parnassah and money. And when they come to speak to Moshe Rabbeinu, all they see is Eretz Yazer, Eretz Gilad, Atarot and Divon and Yazer and Nimrah and Cheshbon, and so on and so forth. Moshe Rabbeinu says: wait, wait, wait, let me tell you something. You are completely off, and therefore you have to be put on the spot.
And therefore Moshe Rabbeinu later corrects them as well. He tells them: that could have been good for anybody else, but for you, you have to first take care of your children and your wife, and then your parnassah. You have a point that the cattle are going to run away, but since your mindset is such that all you think about is the opportunities and the money and growing the economy, you have to make sure to put things in the right perspective.
Even Atarot and Divon
I was thinking a nice idea, and obviously it’s not the pshat. The Gemara (Berachot 8a–b) says that a person needs to complete the parasha every week, shnayim mikra v’echad targum, וַאֲפִילּוּ ״עֲטָרוֹת וְדִיבֹן״. Even those words that have no translation, because they’re names; the translation is the same word. Why do you need to translate it? It’s the same thing. So the Gemara says that even that a person needs to translate.
And I was thinking: why only these two? There are so many places in the Torah with names, and the Gemara could have mentioned any of them; wherever there’s a name, you don’t need to repeat it in the translation, it’s the same thing. I was thinking that here it’s necessary, because a person might think that since that was their sin, saying “Atarot and Divon,” we like what we see, we like the money, we like the opportunities, we like the cities, then you don’t want to continue that same thing. You’d think: read it once and don’t translate it; better to minimize it. So the halacha says: no. Even so, the halacha requires you to continue and translate it the way it is.
Based on Rabbi Shay Tahan’s class “JRoot Radio – Aug 5, 2016 – Parashat Matot” (Parashat Matot): listen to the class.
