Certain types of characters exist in every Jewish community, and today I would like to focus on one such character: we call him the Purim Yid.
The Purim Yid thinks about Purim all year long. The year begins, and while everyone seriously, somberly contemplates the Yomim Noraim, and the Purim Yid reminds everyone that Yom Hakippurim, is a day “kPurim”, a day that is like Purim.
As Chanukah approachs, the Purim Yid tries to hide his excitement for the day after Chanukah, when he can finally announce that Purim is on the horizon. The Purim Yid reminds his friends and family when Purim is 100 days away. The Purim Yid proclaims that mishenenichnas Adar marbim bsimcha begins in Adar Rishon, and of course, it begins a few days earlier when we bench Rosh Chodesh.
The Purim Yid sometimes gets a bad rep: he enjoys frivolity, alcohol, and partying. But this does not necessarily have to be the case. I would like to share with you a thought on this week’s parsha from history’s greatest Purim Yid: Rav Mordechai Yaffe.
Rav Mordechai Yaffe lived in the era of the printing of Rav Yosef Karo’s lengthy Beit Yosef and abridged Shulchan Aruch, and he decided that the Jewish world could use something between the extremes.
He spent fifty years writing a ten volume set- 5 volumes on halacha, one on kabala, a book of sermons, and he wrote a commentary to two classic works: Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim and Rashi’s commentary on chumash.
As a good Purim Yid would, he named each of these works after a phrase in the Megillah, and his work is know as the Levush.
In his commentary on Rashi, he asks a simple question and answer.
Our parsha begins
וְאַתָּ֞ה תְּצַוֶּ֣ה ׀ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל וְיִקְח֨וּ אֵלֶ֜יךָ שֶׁ֣מֶן זַ֥יִת זָ֛ךְ כָּתִ֖ית לַמָּא֑וֹר לְהַעֲלֹ֥ת נֵ֖ר תָּמִֽיד׃
You shall further instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps regularly.
Rashi explains
זך. בְּלִי שְׁמָרִים…
כתית. הַזֵּיתִים כּוֹתֵשׁ בַּמַּכְתֶּשֶׁת וְאֵינוֹ טוֹחֲנָן בָּרֵחַיִם, כְּדֵי שֶׁלֹּא יִהְיֶה בוֹ שְׁמָרִים…
CLEAR — without sediment…
BEATEN — he pounds the olives in a mortar and must not grind them in a mill, so that there may be no sediment…
This seems redundant. If the Torah writes that the oil needs to be shemen zayit zach, pure oil without sediment, one can figure out the rest. The Torah is not a cookbook or instruction manual recommending which tools to use; presumably a person can figure out on his own a method to produce sediment-free oil.
Why does the Torah need to tell us how to crush the olives?
The Levush explains that “zach” and “katit” are two distinct halachot. Had the Torah simply commanded us to bring pure oil, zach, that would not eliminate the possibility of using your kitchen blender. You would blend the oil, and let it sit for a day. The sediment would all sink to the bottom, and after you remove the top layer, you would be left with pure oil.
But no, the oil does not simply need to be zach, it needs to be katit. The Levush explains that katit means not only does the oil need to be pure as burns in the mishkan, but the process of production requires purity. The moment one touch those olives, their oil must remain pure. The purity of the menorah demanded not just a pure product, but a pure process.
In the coming months we will not only be celebrating Purim and Pesach, but we will spend even more time preparing for Purim and Pesach. Costumes, what to put in shaloch manot, the seudah, and the very next day we find ourselves within thirty days of Pesach.
Perhaps to purify the process, we can elevate our preparation for these holidays. Look through the megillah before Purim; find a new commentary on the Haggadah to read not just at the seder, but to prepare for the seder. Learn the halachot in anticipation of the holiday.
It may be that no one us can discern the difference between blended olives or olives crushed with a mortar. Processes can be crammed with the product seemingly unaffected.
The oil of the menorah reminds us that our Judaism is worth refining through every step of the process.
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