Telling a Na From a Nach

How to tell a sheva na from a sheva nach?

Where the leading letter of a word is punctuated with a sheva, it is a sheva na.

Where two letters punctuated with a sheva occur in immediate succession, the second sheva is a sheva na and the first a sheva nach.

Where the occurrence of a letter is immediately followed by another occurrence of itself and is punctuated with a sheva, the sheva is a sheva na.

A sheva punctuating a letter that occurs right after a letter punctuated by a big vowel is, provided that this latter letter is not accentuated (i.e., does not head an accentuated syllable), a sheva na. But if the latter letter is accentuated, then the sheva of this sheva-punctuated letter is a sheva nach.

A sheva punctuating a strongly modulated letter (bearing a dagesh chazak) is a sheva na.

The sheva of the trailing letter of a word is a sheva nach (if two of them occur in succession, both are a sheva nach).

Recall: there are big vowels and small ones. A letter punctuated by a sheva that occurs right after a letter punctuated by a small vowel has a sheva that is a sheva nach. However, this applies only where the small vowel in question has not been truncated. If it has been truncated, then the sheva in question is a sheva na. Furthermore, if the letter bearing a small vowel has received a strong modulation, then the sheva of the ensuing letter is, likewise, a sheva na.

The sheva of a letter that comes right after an occurrence of the vav-of-attachment (vav hachibur) is reckoned a sheva nach (as if it had followed a small vowel).

The sheva of a letter that follows the occurrence of a letter punctuated with a big vowel is, if the letter punctuated with a big vowel is (also) accentuated, a sheva nach.

Nach and Na

Last time we touched on words, letters, and vowels, focusing on the sheva. We characterized the sheva as neutral in comparison with the other vowels, which represent distinct enunciations. We noted that there were two senses in which the sheva might represent neutrality. In one, it represents the absence of vowel enunciation; and in the other it stands for an enunciation that is tame in comparison with the enunciations represented by the other vowels. We now want to point out that the former is called a sheva nach and the latter a sheva na. The nach in sheva nach connotes resting; the na in sheva na connotes moving. Another way of looking at it is to say that a sheva na is used to designate receptivity, while a sheva nach is used to suggest conveyance.  When a sheva nach occurs, the affected letter does not initiate an enunciation at all. It merely receives the enunciation conveyed by the letter that precedes it, according to its vowel-indicated enunciation. That is, some letters – most – are enunciated from, as it were, the bottom; but others, as is the case with a letter inflected by a sheva na, are enunciated from the top. It is rather as if the enunciation of the vowel precedes the articulation of the affected letter – and not the other way around. A sheva na, by contrast, operates comparably to the various other vowels. The sound it represents is enunciated after the letter itself has already been articulated – or, if you will, it modifies the articulation of this letter. As a consequence of this difference, the sheva nach will be understood to necessarily occur at the close of a syllable; while a sheva na will be seen as commencing a new syllable.

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Letters are like Yidden. Take the members of a shul. Each is a soul unto himself. But taken by himself, he can’t do anything. He can’t express himself. He has got a sound to make, but he can’t vent it. So he takes a job and finds his place. Now he has a voice. Now he can make himself heard. He speaks as an occupant of the job role he performs. The role enables him to make his inner self be heard. The role per se has nothing to say. But it equips its holder with a medium through which to express himself. It not only gives him a voice; it also assigns him a position in a social structure. As a result, he is brought into relations with occupants of various positions – his own and others – in this structure. The position he occupies determines the relations he enjoys with co-members. Relations with co-occupants of the role are particularly strong. But relations with occupants of adjacent roles need not be too weak either. And sometimes these latter relations mushroom into indirect relations with occupants of non-adjacent roles. And on and on it goes. Not only that, the position itself is affected and modified as a result of its composition in occupants. They help define its very essence. In turn, the occupants are brought into relations with new sets of people. For as a result of their impact on the role they occupy, they have caused this role form relations with roles hitherto unavailable. And when roles interrelate and grow interdependent, so do the occupants of those roles. It is an ever spiraling process.           

All of this impacts dramatically on the capacity of the member to express himslf and make himself heard.

Letters and Vowels

There are words, syllables, letters, and vowels. Words are comprised of syllables, and syllables are comprised of letters. Letters are strung together to form syllables, which form words. Letters strung together do not, of themselves, determine the enunciation of a word. Letters hardly admit of enunciation at all, without supplementation by vowels. Vowels therefore hold the key to the enunciation of a word, conceived of as already consisting of a particular string of letters.

At the same time though, vowels are not integral components of words, as letters are. They merely make manifest the intended interpretation of a word’s letters. They indicate the patterns into which the component letters of a word enter (or fall). Of course, I’m not referring to the vowels per se. They are mere symbols. They symbolize the underlying sounds-enunciations. It is the sounds represented by the vowels that do the work of demarcating the syllabic structure of a word.

Syllables are of two kinds, open and closed. With an open syllable, the sound of a vowel trails; with a closed one, that of letter (consonant) does. However, even a syllable having a trailing vowel may be closed, if it is directly succeeded by an accentuated letter. In that case, the preceding vowel closes the syllable (to which it belongs) off.

Vowels are of ten kinds. Five of them are big; the remaining five are small. Apart from these, there is an eleventh vowel: the sheva. Whereas the ten basic vowels each define another form of enunciation (which is a modification of the enunciation of a letter), the sheva occurs where distinctive enunciation is intended as being bypassed. In other words, the occurrence of a sheva indicates something of a neutral enunciation, one that does not render the affected letter’s enunciation distinct.

We have just been told that the sheva represents a neutral enunciation. However, we have not been told what this means. As it transpires, an enunciation, as indicated by a sheva, may be neutral in either of two senses, varying with the context (situation). It may be neutral in the sense of being minimal, showing no articulation beyond the basic requirements of enunciability. On the other hand, a sheva’s enunciation may be neutral in the sense of standing for a null sound-value. Here there is no enunciation to be discerned at all. Each of these has its legitimate uses.

However, for the moment, we shall want to close on this note.

Western Philosophy, First Installment

Philosophy begins with Plato, a Greek from Athens. He founded a school, regarded as the precursor of the modern university. Situated in Athens, it was called the Academy. In it he taught philosophy and other subjects as well. Politics comes especially to mind. He was especially keen on the study of mathematics, which he saw as importantly linked to philosophy. Plato flourished in substantially the 400s and early 300s b.c.e. This was the time when, shortly after the time of Pericles (the military general and statesman, famous for leading Athens to ascendency through victory in the Persian wars), Athens was occupied in the Peloponnesian wars, in which it met with defeat, having been overwhelmed by Sparta. Culturally/intellectually speaking, Athens was heir to the great literary tradition represented most notably by the works of Homer, the Odyssey and the Iliad. There wasn’t any philosophy in those works; but they did vividly portray the moral outlook (centered on honor and heroism) of the Greek culture. Apart from Homer, there is also the literary work of Hesiod, and of others, to bear in mind. However, here we shall blithely pass over all of these. We’ll conclude this paragraph by mentioning that Greek city-states, Athens in particular, were run politically as democracies in the direct sense – meaning that issues were decided by popular vote, taken in the Assemblies (with various strictures as to who was qualified to belong to the franchise). Now, as promised, to the next paragraph.

We began by noting that Plato inaugurates philosophy. But this is, of course, an inaccuracy. Plato was immediately preceded by his rightfully famous philosophy-teacher, Socrates. And as I shall point out in a moment (actually, in another post, G-d willing), Socrates in turn was preceded by yet others. Why, then, claim that Plato was the original Western philosopher? The answer is that there is something to be said for basing a narrative like the one I am developing on the notion that, to qualify as a historically significant philosopher, a figure has got to be known substantially through his writings. Socrates did not write; and though some of Socrates’ precursors did write, they are not substantially known through their writings, as their writings have been lost to us. Plato, on the other hand, famously wrote dialogues, which – judging by the consensus of opinion – stand at the foundation of all subsequent philosophical theorizing. So the choice of Plato is amply justified.

From Likutei Ma-harich On Rising in the Morning

In the Gemara of Berachos, at the conclusion of Perek Haro-eh, we encounter the following: When he wakens he recites elokai neshama shenasata bi tehora...(My G-d, the soul that You have put in me is pure...). This is a blessing of thanks for G-d’s having returned to him his soul. However, it is not our custom to recite any beracha (blessing) before performing netilas yadayim – washing the hands. For the reason for our departure from the unqualified statement of the Gemara, see Rabeinu Yona’s comments to this passage in the Gemara, in which he explains that in the Talmudic era people were saturated with holiness. Consequently, they were punctilious about maintaining their sanctity, once having washed their hands. (In other words, they would wash their hands before retiring for the night and maintain their pure state throughout the night, by scrupulously refraining from touching themselves in places touching which would compromise their cleanliness.) We, on the other hand, who are incapable of steadily maintaining our cleanliness in a comparable manner, ought not to recite a blessing until having washed our hands. Consult this source for further details.

The Seder Olam states (and the Magein Avraham cites his statement at the conclusion of section 4) that one should offer praise and thanks to the Al-mighty, may His name be blessed, and enunciate immediately upon getting up [in the morning]: modeh ani lefanecha melech chai vekayam shehechezarta bi nishmasi bechemla raba emunasecha (I give thanks to You, the live, eternal Sovereign, for mercifully returning to me my soul. Immense is Your trustworthiness.) (One should pause briefly between the words bechemla and raba emunasecha. See the Yad Efrayim for more on this.) Reciting this does not require washing one’s hands, as neither a name nor an epithet is mentioned in this recitation-formula. See the Seder Olam for more on this. In regard to the intention behind the word bechemla, see what the Tola-as Yakov says in connection with the Elokai Neshama prayer, the gist of which is as follows. When the soul ascends at night On High to give an accounting of its actions, justice dictates that, if it should be found guilty, it should no longer be returned. See the Tola-as Yakov’s elaboration. The source of this assertion is the Zohar Hakadosh (Va-eschanan 269), where it said that, upon rising in the morning, the individual should offer praise to the Al-mighty for returning him his soul. It is an act of immense kindness on His part to have done so, considering that it is blemished with guilt in various ways and known to Him to be so. This notwithstanding, the Al-mighty restores his soul to his body. Consult this passage in the Zohar for further insight.

Now, the phrase raba emunasecha is to be understood in accord with the Midrash, cited by the Tur (46), which, citing the verse chadashim labekarim raba emunasecha, offers a simile: A man deposits one of his belongings to his friend for safekeeping, and this trustee returns it to him in a decrepit, ruined state. In contrast, when a man deposits his soul in a weary state to his Creator at night, He returns it to him in a renewed and much rejuvenated condition. This, then, is intimated by the phrase raba emunasecha (immense is Your trustworthiness). See the Midrash for further elaboration.

A Platonic Diversion

A number of followers have been asking me to say something about Plato’s Republic – perhaps his best-known dialogue – or at least to give over its gist. In what follows, I don’t venture any original thoughts about it, but I make a sheepish attempt at giving over the gist of some of the Republic’s thrust.

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The main thesis of the dialogue is that the perfect state is one governed by philosophers kings. Philosopher kings are steeped in knowledge and have insight into the truth of things. They feel a sense of duty to go out and serve the state by providing guidance and direction, informed by their immense understanding of reality. But how does one become a philosopher king?

This forms the brunt of the story. To be a philosopher king, one has to have intelligibly apprehended the form of the good – in its myriad relations. And to master the form of the good, one needs to intellectually contemplate the various forms in their totality. For binding them together and standing at their apex is the form of the good. Having met with the form of the good, the philosopher is inevitably driven to exemplifying moral rectitude in his own conduct.

How, then, does one go about in apprehending the forms? The answer is through engaging in dialectic, a form of metaphysical study. Yes, but what sets dialectic apart from other forms of study? It is distinguished by the fact that it pays no attention at all to things as they are perceptibly manifest. It focuses entirely on the true natures of things, that is to say, their abstract forms. It reasons them out purely intellectually, without having recourse to concrete, this-worldly examples. Good; but how does one gain the capability of engaging in this kind of study? After all, it seems so remote and detached.

Plato’s answer: by undergoing a proper education, one with a focus on mathematical subjects. Pure mathematics is empirically detached, meaning that it deals exclusively in abstractions. It might on the periphery draw on tangible instances of the forms it seeks to understand; but it nevertheless engages the mind in a good deal of abstract contemplation. Its study goes a long way toward preparing the mind to dabble purely in the essences, or forms, themselves. In this way, it helps liberate the mind from the gravitational pull of sensory encounters. And insofar forth, it is an integral component of a would-be philosopher’s education. (It is by no means the sole component; but its intense study is what immediately precedes taking up the study of dialectic.)

With a contemplation of forms and an apprehension of the good, backed by ample drill in mathematics, having been achieved, the philosopher is ready to rule. Yet the public at large resists rule by philosophers. Why would this be? It is owing to the fact that philosophers exhibit an aloofness that causes them incur the ire of the uninitiated. The public is simply incapable of properly assessing their value. Plato employs the image of a cavern to illustrate the point about the philosopher’s flight to the world of intelligibles.

He says to imagine a situation in which prisoners, facing a wall, are chained to the ground, so that they cannot move about or look to the side or to the rear. Behind them, extending over the entire length of the wall they face, runs an elevated passageway, sealed at the front by a low-standing divider. The prisoners’ backs are turned to this passageway; and behind this passageway there burns, in turn, a blistering fire. A winding path leads from this point out unto the exterior of the cavern.

Now, on the passageway lying to the rear of where the prisoners are standing a procession occurs, in which puppet figures of various sorts are found carrying things over their heads and running to and fro. Owing to the fire burning in the background, an image of these goings about is projected onto the wall that the prisoners are facing – in the form of shadows. The shadows of the passing figures and objects are thus cast upon the wall for the prisoners to see. Over time, the prisoners have become accustomed to them, and have developed avid interests in the variegated courses of action that these shadowy images (seem to) take and in the fluctuations they undergo. This is no different than the way people in the real world are captivated by events pervading life in the actual community.

Bear in mind, now, that these prisoners have been chained to the wall since infancy and have never witnessed the light of day. They have never had occasion to experience things in the real: not even the objects moving in the passageway or, for that matter, the fire burning behind them. What this means is that, for them, the shadowy scene on the wall is the totality of reality.

This much is background. At this point, Plato says to imagine that someone comes along and unchains one of the prisoners. The prisoner is now free to look behind him and behold the sight of the figures and objects moving about in the background, the images of which are projected onto the wall that the prisoners face. He is now free, also, to view the fire, which is the source of the light by means of which the prisoners gain a view of the shadowy figures jumping about in front of them. Yet, this prisoner resists taking in these various sights, being, as he is, blinded by the sudden onslaught of light emanating from the fire. He is, moreover, bewildered by the entire scene and reluctant to venture out for fear of what the situation might hold in store. To him, it appears so very unreal.

He is, however, nudged by his liberator to take incremental steps and make his way out of cave. He slowly and unsteadily hazards the trek, passing the various bodies and artifices along the way. Finally he finds himself on the path leading to the exterior of the cavern. As he approaches the opening, he experience his first whiff of light’s illumination, coming from the outside. Soon he has exited the cave and been thrust into the light of day, illuminated by the sun’s rays.

Once again, he is overwhelmed by the the shining bright light and seeks escape by casting his gaze downward. He finds himself looking into a pond of water, in which are reflected images – such as his body – from above. The sight of these images is all he can muster at first. But then he looks up somewhat and begins to catch glimpses of the various objects populating the surroundings. These are the very objects at whose watery images he looked at just a moment earlier, and whose visibility is owing to the light carried by the sun’s beaming rays. As he becomes increasingly acclimated to them, he casts his gaze further upward and is met with a view of the sun itself, providing the light through whose agency the things he sees around him are made capable of being seen. At that point, he is, however, taken back into the cave.

As he enters, he finds himself fumbling about,owing to the dungeon-like darkness that prevails. He only awkwardly makes his way around, missing his steps here and there. It is rather like he can hardly abide the experience. In any event, he chances to encounter his erstwhile comrades, who heap on him the meanest kind of derision. Noticing his shaky gait, they hasten to treat him as someone who has succumbed to utter deliriousness. Just the same, he approaches them and tells them of the amazing sights he has blissfully witnessed.

He tries to persuade them of their sorry sordid state that is entirely permeated by fancifulness. They laugh at him, thinking loudly that he knows not a thing whereof he speaks. They accuse him of having stepped out into a netherworld, totally devoid of reality. He, in turn, tries his level best to impress upon them the baselessness of what their misty experience affords them and to convince them of its source in a far more imposing reality.

The moral of the story is an analogy: The world of perceptible experience is to the intelligible world of forms as the shadowy images of the cave are to sun-illuminated objects of the outside world. Just as in the tangible world objects receive their visibility through the light emanating from the sun, so too in the intelligible world the form of the good provides a driving axle to the myriad forms that are systematically interrelated. And just as in the tangible world sensory experience affords access to physical phenomena, so too in the intelligible world contemplation offers insight into abstract forms. The non-philosophical public at large is, however, resistant to this perspective and, therefore, to the rule of the philosopher king. To them, his vision of things is flawed throughout; and he is ill-equipped to hold forth effectively in the hustle and bustle of everyday social living. Philosophical rule must therefore be imposed upon the people non-voluntarily – at least at first. It is for their good. The situation in this regard invites comparison to the ridicule the liberated prisoner receives at the hands of his erstwhile fellow prisoners. 

Plato is not unaware that instituting this kind of governance is a formidable task, and that initial conditions have to be set up so as to be accommodating of the requisites of implementation. To this end, he describes at length what other social arrangements have to be made. He says that the state (i.e., society) is to be divided into three classes of citizens or inhabitants: the guardians, the auxiliaries, and the artisans. The artisans produce and live a life of personal enrichment. But the guardians and auxiliaries are charged with protecting and governing the state. To qualify, they have to meet stringent standards. Having qualified, they need to undergo a formidable education. In its early phase, this education consists in cultural and literary studies, comprising music, poetry, and the various arts. But youth’s cultural exposure needs to be limited to what is worthy of their natures; and to the end of assuring that it is, the state exercises harsh censorship, banishing impure specimens of literature and art forms from the stage and jettisoning their authors and producers along with them. The point of imposing these measures is to guarantee that the young develop along desirable lines.

 

We would be remiss if we did not stipulate that the education that Plato advocates for youth at this stage comprises physical exercise - gymnastics - in addition to the musical, cultural studies just emphasized.

The best of the youth receive continuous promotion and go on to become guardians proper, that is, rulers or philosopher kings. The remaining select, provided they prove themselves adequate, take their positions alongside the full-fledged guardians and become auxiliaries: soldiers with military duty. 

Education is but one aspect of the overall arrangement, though. The different classes, especially the lowest, have to be made to be content with their fates. Otherwise, conditions aren’t conducive to the manageable imposition of elite rulership. The state therefore resorts to feeding its citizenry myths, having the people internalize these myths and reconcile themselves to their alleged determinateness. The myths tell them that their class assignments are not arbitrary but necessary. The artisan class is thereby quelled.

However, the guardians must be dealt with specially. They have to be relied upon to defend the state; and they are expected to be able to act selflessly in behalf of the state. What arrangement might the state make to secure the guardian’s unflinching loyalty? Plato answers with a form of communalism.

He wants to see the state set aside a spatial region for the express use of the guardian class, where they live together and share common resources as one happy family. They meet as one in their common dining facilities, sleeping quarters, and recreational grounds, women as well as men. They roam freely amongst themselves, unobstructed. Property is not owned privately; people are not possessed of valuables (or other durable belongings); and wealth is not accumulated. As a result, self-interest is immeasurably diminished, and dedication to the common good is appreciably enhanced.

And that’s merely the beginning. To be added is that the nuclear family is abolished, with mating done rotationally and selectively for optimal breeding. Biological parentage is made little of, so that children can look at all adults as their forebears and adults can view children’s upbringing as a shared, collective charge. With this social scheme in place, guardians, future and present, are disabused of their preconceived notions of personal interest: they are enlisted in the cause of working toward the greater good.

They need merely to proceed with their philosophical education.

Plato acknowledges that guardians might, under these austere conditions, not themselves be as happy as they could otherwise be. But he drives home the point that guardians have to be persuaded that the object of the overall social arrangement is not to make one party, or one group, as happy as can possibly be; but rather to achieve the greatest degree of happiness for the state taken as a whole. The happiness of a part of the whole needs to be sacrificed for the maximal happiness of the whole. However, it is not, for Plato, a foregone conclusion that, on balance, guardians will not themselves be happier vis-à-vis the lives they lead.

In any event, they will make society better.

At this point, it needs to be interjected that Plato is not content simply to give an account of the structure of the good state. He wants, further, to extrapolate from this account to the case of an individual. He is interested in the question of what makes someone a good man, and of why someone should want to be good. He suggests that just as what makes a state a good state is that it is divided into classes, that each class faithfully adheres to its own role and does not venture to trespass over onto another’s, and finally that the state is governed and controlled by the one class that possesses immense knowledge and understanding; what, similarly, makes someone a good man is that his psyche, which comprises three parts – wisdom, courage, and temperance – operates so that each of its parts adheres to its own domain and does not presume to venture into that of another, and so that the other parts subordinate themselves to the dominion of wisdom. The person is therefore properly integrated and experiences optimal satisfaction as a result. His weakest aspect, the part of him that desires, may not in and of itself achieve total satisfaction. But to harp on this is to miss the point, already noted in connection with the state, that what counts is not the happiness of this or that part but, rather, the happiness of the whole. The work that his parts do has to be coordinated so as to achieve the maximum degree of satisfaction for the man as such. As a result, he is not only moral but happily moral.

Shabbos Preparation

(72:7)
Everyone should do his best to provide meat, delectable fish, and excellent wine. For it is a mitzva to eat fish at each of the Shabbos meals, provided that it does him no harm. However, if it does do him harm, or even if he simply does not like fish, he should not partake of fish. The reason being, Shabbos is meant to be a source of enjoyment, not of discomfiture. In addition, he should sharpen the knife, as this too is accounted an honor for Shabbos. He should, further, put the house in order, drape the beds, and spread a cloth over the table, keeping the table covered for the duration of the Shabbos day. Some go so far as to spread two tablecloths upon the table. He should be extremely joyous about Shabbos’ immanent arrival, keeping in mind how excited he would be were he anticipating the arrival of an important person, and how far he would go to tidy up the house in such a person’s honor. All the more so should he make preparation in honor of the Shabbos Queen.... It is a good idea to taste on erev Shabbos the Shabbos food cooking in the pots – to make sure that it tastes good.

In Honor of Shabbos

I have got some developing, breaking news to report. It is from the Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, Hilchos Shabbos, 72:4.

I paraphrase.

It is written, zachor es yom hashabos lekadsho (Remember the day of Shabbos, to sanctify it). What this means is that a person should remember, and sanctify, it on each and every day. How so? If, on a regular day, he should happen across a desirable food item, one that is not readily encountered and, also, not immanently perishable, he should step up and procure it in honor of the day of Shabbos. Moreover, on erev Shabbos, a person is particularly strongly adjured to rise early and shop around to procure the things that will meet his Shabbos needs. He is, in fact, given a special dispensation: he may dispatch his shopping obligation before having davened the morning prayer – with the proviso that he will not thereby have arrived late for the public prayer service (tefila betzibur). Furthermore, it is preferable to do the sopping that one does in honor of Shabbos on erev Shabbos to doing it on Thursday. There is, however, an exception to this rule: when the item in question requires substantial preparation, he should obtain it earlier – presumably on Thursday – so as to be able to prepare it adequately. Something else: in regard to anything he buys for consumption on Shabbos, he should make it a point to expressly declare his intention that he buys it for the honor of Shabbos. On a related matter, among the various edicts that Ezra enacted, there is one to the effect that one should do one’s laundry on Thursday, so as not to be encumbered by the demands of this chore on erev Shabbos, when one needs to be free to tend to one’s Shabbos requirements.

(72:5)

It applies to everyone alike that, even though he has plenty of servants of whose services he can avail himself for getting his various chores done, he should still make it a point to personally indulge in some act for the express purpose of honoring Shabbos thereby. He should, in this way, seek to emulate the Amoraim. Rav Chisda, for example, is reported to have cut the vegetables thinly; while Raba and Rav Yosef would chop wood and Reb Zeira would light the fire. Rav Nachman, in turn, fixed up the house, gathering in utensils needed for Shabbos and hauling out vessels designated for weekday use. Everyone should follow in their example, and refrain from thinking that it is beneath him to sully himself with such mundane undertakings. On the contrary, it is a boon to his honor that he honors the Shabbos.

(72:6)

It is ubiquitous among the diffuse communities of Jewish people to hold to the custom of baking bread loaves in the home in honor of Shabbos. This applies not only to those who are in the practice of partaking of pas palter during the week, for whom adhering to pas yisrael on Shabbos would constitute an upgrade (in level of observance). It applies as well to those accustomed to eating pas yisrael during the week: they too are enjoined to make home-baked loaves for Shabbos. This is so that the woman of the household will fulfill the command (mitzva) of separating chala. For Adam, the first man, had been created on erev Shabbos, and – having been created first – was the chala of the world. But the woman transgressed and, consequently, precipitated his downfall. She needs, therefore, to make amends for the catastrophe she brought about. This she does by baking loaves and separating chala. Three loaves are made: a big one, a middle-sized one, and a small one. The middle one is designated for the feast of the night (Friday night). The big one is used for the daytime meal, to signal the fact that the day period of Shabbos deserves greater honor than does the night period. Finally, the small loaf is set aside for the third meal.           

Teaching and Learning

velimadtem osam es beneichem ledabeir bam beshivtecha beveisecha uvlechtecha vaderech uvshachbecha uvkumecha. On the face of it, the verse says: You should teach them (the laws) (to) your children, to speak in (or about) them, when sitting in your house...

A question that arises is: What is the force of to speak in them? Is it to be understood as saying, teach your children to speak in them? In other words, get your children to speak about the laws: this is what you are enjoined to do (in your teaching). Or, is it rather to be understood as saying that you should teach them (the laws) to your children, so that they will...later, of their own accord (as it were), come to speak of them? We put this aside for a moment and raise another matter, one that is indifferent to the two sides of the question just raised.

The verse says, to speak in them...besivtecha beveisecha – when you sit in your house. It sounds as if it is saying that you should teach them to your children, so that they will speak in them when you sit in your house and travel on your way, etc. Which seems incongruous! Why would you want to anchor your children’s study to the intervals and highlights that punctuate your routine/schedule? You would think that their study sessions should, rather, be pinned to judiciously selected segments of their respective schedules!

Perhaps, someone might say, this is what it means. The mode of expression merely switches from addressing you to addressing them. However, the suggestion of a switch like this occurring in mid course seems a bit excessively farfetched. So what then?

Another suggestion: beshivtecha beveisecha applies, not to when they, the children, should learn/speak of them, but rather to when you should teach them (i.e., your children). Do your teaching to your children when you sit in your house...is what the verse is saying. This sounds plausible. We need, it light of this suggestion, to reconsider the two sides of the question raised up front.

That question concerned the object of teaching: what is it that we are enjoined to teach our children? On one view, ledabeir bam addresses this matter, asserting that you are enjoined to teach your children to speak in them, meaning in the laws of the Torah. One question for this view concerns the word osam. On the face of it, it is out of place. Apart from this, there is also the consideration that, if what you are enjoined to teach is that they should speak in them, it is a bit hard to understand why this teaching should be anchored to discrete intervals in your daily schedule. Ostensibly, you could hammer in the importance of studying and speaking in learning on an opportunistic basis – whenever the occasion arises. Finally, is it really plausible to assume that we are being told to teach our children to speak about the laws? Does it not make more sense to say that that we are being enjoined to actually teach them the laws? It would seem to me that the answer is yes: the object of our teaching should be the Torah itself.

On this understanding, the intent of ledabeir bam is not that of supplying an object of teaching but, rather (to repeat), to accentuate that the point of teaching them the laws of the Torah is to get them not only to practice the mitzvos but also to speak of them and to study them – and, in turn, to pass them on to their young. This, then, accords with the last suggestion made, the one, namely, that beshivtecha beveisecha... is a characterization of when you should do your teaching: do it at all sorts of times of the day, under a variety of circumstances. On this view, the object of teaching is specified by the word osam (thus accounting for its presence) – which alludes to the laws. Do your teaching of the laws, the verse says, as you engage in pivotal activities throughout your day.   

I believe that the verse’s stream of cantillation supports this reading of the verse. An esnachta occurs under the word bam, signaling a separation from the immediately ensuing beshivtecha... Beshivtecha is thus freed up to modify the leading verb velimadtem.

Equally important, this reading of the verse makes it out to run parallel with the corresponding verse in the first parsha of kerias shema. There it says: veshinantam levanecha vedibarta bam beshivtecha beveisecha... This latter verse, ostensibly, tells you to do two things: teach them to your children and speak in them. It then tells you to do these things under various circumstances, at various junctures of the day. These specifications pertain to both of the injunctions enunciated. (Proof: once again, an esnachta occurs under bam.) Consequently, it is the command to teach that is being qualified by the stated specifications as to when. Thus the one parsha is revelatory of the proper reading of the other.

And incidentally, there may be another respect in which the first parsha sheds light on how the second is to be read and understood. We had occasion to fuss over the phrase ledabeir bam; and we settled on the understanding that it was an allusion to a future payoff of the effort to teach children Torah: they will, in time, come to study Torah (speak of it) on their own. However, pursuing the method of extrapolating from the first parsha of kerias shema to the second, we are afforded another perspective on the interpretation of this phrase. We may understand ledabeir bam as meaning that you should teach them to your children so that you will speak in them, as you do so. You will thus be teaching and learning at all hours of the day. Indeed, you will be teaching and learning at once! This reading creates a really neat symmetry between the verses of these two parshios – which makes the reading compelling in the extreme.