It’s Embarrassing

Chazal were Misaken that we read Parshas Parah in the weeks between Purim and Pesach each year, a Chiyuv which may even rise to the level of a D’Oraysa. On the most basic level, we do so in order to remind the Tzibur that the time for the Korban Pesach is approaching, and one must be Tahor in order to take part in the Mitzvah. Though we all hope that this year we will be Zoche to bring the Korban Pesach K’Tikuno, in times of Galus it is sometimes difficult to appreciate the relevance that Parshas Parah has to our lives. Perhaps, however, we can identify a different message borne by Parshas Para, based on the Haftorah that is read on this special Shabbos.

The Pessukim of the Haftorah come from Sefer Yechezkel and can be divided in two parts. The first section speaks about the need for Hakadosh Baruch Hu to send his children into Galus, because of our own actions, and includes some very frightening Pessukim. The second part of the Haftorah is much more hopeful, containing many details about the ultimate Geulah. Promises such as “V’Eshpoch Chamasi Aleihem” are replaced with comforting words such as “V’Es Ruchi Atein B’Kirbechem” as we learn about the wonderous times that will come L’Asid Lavo.

The Navi continues, foretelling of the wonders which will greet us at that time. HKBH promises us “V’Hoshati Eschem M’Kol Tumoseichem”, that we will be saved from our various states of Tumah, and then “V’Karasi El HaDagan V’Hirbesi Oso.” Metzudos explains that the Passuk is telling us that we will be distanced from Aveirah, and as a result, Hashem will command the land to produce an abundance. In fact, the Passuk concludes “V’Lo Eten Alechem Ra’av”, we will not be subject to famine.

The next Passuk seems to deliver a very similar message: “V’Hirbesi Es Pri Ha’Etz V’Tenuvas HaSAdeh L’Man Asher Lo Tikchu Od Cherpas Ra’av BaGoyim.” The Navi once again tells us that produce—be it grain, fruit or any other kind—will be available in abundance, and we will no longer have to fear for famine.

The apparent repetition seen in these two Pessukim certainly requires explanation: why must the Navi twice tell us that the produce will be in abundance, and that we will no longer be subject to Ra’av? In addition, the flow of the Pessukim is curious: it seems that the increased produce, and elimination of Ra’av is directly tied to the reality of “V’Hoshati Eschem M’Kol Tumoseichem”. How can we understand this? How is our escape from Tumah related to the stability of our food supply?

The truth is that there is a difference between the way the two Pessukim about famine. In the first Passuk the Navi promises us that we will no longer suffer from famine, but in the second we are told that we will be spared “Cherpas Ra’av BaGoyim”, the embarrassment of Ra’av. Radak explains that when a nation is forced to turn to its neighbors for support in a time of famine, it causes severe embarrassment. Thus, if we are spared Ra’av we will no longer suffer that humiliation.

We know, however, that there are various words in Lashon Hakodesh that can refer to embarrassment, including more common terms such as Busha or Bizayon. There must therefore be a reason that the Navi chose the word Cherpah specifically in this case. How can we understand this? Why does the elimination of Ra’av prevent us from suffering Cherpah particularly?

Although the Meforshei HaPshat do not comment extensively on these Pessukim, there is a Medrash that seems to add depth to the words of the Radak.

At the beginning of Parshas Toldos, the Torah tells us of the encounter between Yaakov and Esav that resulted in the sale of the Bechorah for a bowl of Nezid Adashim. At the conclusion of the story, the Passuk says: “Vayivez Esav Es Habechorah”. The Medrash Rabba there cites a Passuk in Mishlei that tells us that when a Rasha causes Bizayon, it is accompanied by Kalon and Cherpah. The Medrash explains how Esav caused each of these types of humiliation, and concludes that the Cherpah was the Ra’av mentioned in the very next Passuk. The implication of the Medrash is that Esav’s treatment of the Bechora somehow contributed to the Ra’av experienced at the time, because “Ain Cherpah Ela Ra’av”. The Medrash proves this idea, that Ra’av is the essence of Cherpah, from the words “Lo Tikchu Od Cherpas Ra’av BaGoyim” in our Haftorah.

The Medras is tellining that Ra’av and Cherpah go hand in hand: the most basic, elementary form of Cherpah is Ra’av. It is therefore understood that the Navi chose the word Cherpah in this instance—for Cherpah and Ra’av are indeed so closely related. Why is this true? What is the connotation of the word Cherpah that ties it so closely to Ra’av? Why, indeed, is it true that “Ain Cherpah Ela Ra’av”?

It is said that the first time a word appears in the Torah can teach us a lot about its true meaning. Perhaps we can use this approach to understand the connotatio of the word Cherpah on a deeper level.

In Parshas Vayishlach Chamor approaches Yaakov to suggest a match between his son, Shechem, and Dinah. The Shevatim are quick to nix the idea, however, explaining their reasoning: “Lo Nuchal La’asos HaDavar Hazeh Lases Es Achoseinu L’ISh Asher Lo Arla Ki Cherpah Hi Lanu.” It was simply impossible to even consider the idea, because Shechem hadn’t undergone Milah, and it would be a Cherpah for them to marry their sister to an Arel.

Rashi, there, explains that the term Arel is generally derogatory—if one wishes to insult a person he calls him an Arel. Since the word Cherpah connotes insult, the Shevatim saw the perspective union of Dinah and an Arel as a Cherpah.

The Medrash Rabba there seems to have a slightly different approach to that of Rashi. “Heichan Matzinu SheNikres Arla Cherpah” where, asks the Medrash, do we find that Arlah is called a Cherpah? The answer is “Min Hacha”, from the words “Ki Cherpah Hi Lanu”. The Shevatim, according to the Medrash, were referring to the Arlah itself as a Cherpah, not the marriage being suggested. The Medrash seems to tell us that an Arlah is itself a Cherpah, not just a term of insult.

How can we explain this? Why does the Medrash call the Arlah itself an Cherpah, and how can this help us understand the term Cherpah more clearly?

The truth is that the word “Aral” is used in a number of ways. In fact, the Medrash Tanchuma counts no less than five distinct uses of this word. Four of these refer to physical Arelim, such as “Arlas HaLev” and “Aral Sefasayim”. The final refers to the first three years that a tree bears fruit—known as the years of Arlah. Clearly each of these must in some way be connected to each other, even as they do not refer to the same condition.

Rav Hirsch, in Parshas Lech Lecha, explains the word Aral in a very succinect manner. Each use of this word, he notes, refers to a lack of control over. When someone is unable to rule or reign over an item that he may otherwise be expected to, he experiences the condition of Arlah. The term “Aral Sefasyim”, for example, refers to a speech impediment—the inability to properly control ones diction. Similarly, the words “Arlas HaLev” refer to a persons inabilities to rule over his Taivos or Machshavos. So to, when a tree is in the period of Arlah its owner does not have complete control over its fruits for he may not eat them.

The Aral with which each man is born is refered to in the Torah as “Arlas HaBasar”. Rav Hirsch explains that one who does not have Milah cannot subjugate his Gashmi to Ruchnias, as we are meant to. Only once the Aralas HaBasar is removed can one hope to be properly Sholeit on his Guf, placing Ruchnias above all.

If we understand that the term Arlah refers to a lack of control, and that Arlah is itself a Cherpah, as the Medrash in Vayishlach tells us, than we can deduce that the term Cherpah is used to describe a person who is embarrassed by his lack of control. If he should be capable to affect something and is unable to do so—he suffers Cherpah.

Based on this we can understand the concept of “Ain Cherpah Ela Ra’av”. Mankind assumes that his livelihood is in his own hands, that he and he alone, is capable of supporting himself and his family. When Ra’av comes along, however, these dreams come to an abrupt halt. There are no excuses, no room for spin or equivocation: it becomes clear that all along, his illusions of control have been just that. Is there no greater Cherpah then when one’s whole conception of the world is exposed as a fraud? Great nations, powerful hegemons, can be felled by famine, forced to submit control and rely on their lesser neighbors for sustenance. Indeed, as the Radak said, there is no greater Cherpah than Ra’av.

Perhaps we can explain the Pessukim of our Haftorah in this light.

Hashem promises us that he will purify us, “V’Hoshati Eschem M’Kol Tumoseichem”, and that we will enjoy the bounty of Eretz Yisroel, without having to fear for Ra’av. The Navi then repeats this guarantee with an addition: “L’Man Asher Lo Tikchu Od Cherpas Ra’av BaGoyim”. Ra’av comes when Cherpah is needed—when a nation or group imagines that they control their own destiny. If, however, we are cognizant of the true source of all bounty, of the real source of all Shefa, then the Cherpah of Ra’av is unnessecary.

The Tahara that we will experience, V’Zarakti Aleichem Mayim Tehorim U’Tehartem, will lead to an understanding that all along we have lived lives of “V’Hirbesi Es Pri Ha’Etz V’Tenuvas HaSAdeh”. We will have a real and true cognizance of the Hashgachas Hashem, and no longer live in the world of Kochi V’Otzem Yadi. No longer will Ra’av be nessecary to remind us of the control we lack, for we will have submitted to the Ratzon HaBorei in totality.

As we read Parshas Parah and its Haftorah, we long for the day on which we will experience the ultimate Tehara spoken about in the Pessukim. Until then, we can try to lead lives of Tahara, expunging our own illusions of control, instead reminding ourselves of the words of the Navi later in the Haftorah: “Ani Hashem Dibarti V’Asisi”.