Pinchas: The Promise of a Broken “Vav”

Rabbi Daniel Z. Feldman

The mourning period of the three weeks generally starts with the Torah reading of Pinchas. In the Chasidic literature, it is suggested that this is because it contains the description of the festivals, and we eagerly anticipate the fulfillment of the prophecy of Zachariah (8:19) that the fast days of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av will be celebrated as holidays. That literature describes two versions: one in which the 17th of Tammuz will be the first day of the festival, the 9th of Av will be the last, and everything in between will be Chol Hamoed; and one in which the 9th of Av will be the first day, the 17th of Tammuz will be the last day, and everything in between will be Chol HaMoed. (That second one seems quite incredible, even if it means that the 3 weeks will thus continue to be the least happy weeks of the year.)

Either way, it seems that there may be an even more direct reference to this prophecy in the Torah reading, one that does not require waiting until Shabbat but is read three times throughout the week leading up to it. Pinchas, in recognition of his act of heroic zealotry, is granted God’s “covenant of Shalom”, the very feature the Talmud (Rosh HaShanah 18b) identifies as necessary for the realization of Zechariah's prophecy, and the very quality that we yearn for so desperately at the moment. 

The exact definition of this elusive “shalom” that is required to transform the fast days is, of course, a subject of debate. Here we have what might be a predictable irony: we cannot even agree on what shalom means.

The word “shalom” is written in an unusual way in the verse regarding Pinchas, a point already noted by the Talmud (Kiddushin 66b), which relates that the third letter, a ‘vav’, is ketiah, or somehow broken. However, the strangeness does not end there; there is significant debate, with important practical ramifications for the validity of a Torah scroll, as to what this ‘breakage” looks like.

The Ritva, in his commentary, asserts that the vav has been sliced through, breaking it into two. It cannot mean, he asserts, that it has been “cut down to size”, because if so, the Talmud would have called it “small” rather than “broken”. He urges that all of the Torah scrolls should be emended to reflect this understanding.

Nonetheless, a small vav is what was envisioned by Rabbenu Bachya. The Maharsha, meanwhile, pictured a different small letter: the vav is so shrunken that it essentially is rendered a “yod”. (See also Resp. R. Akiva Eiger, I, 75 and Pitchei Teshuvah, YD 275:10). Irony here, once again: we cannot even agree on what broken shalom looks like,

 “There are seventy faces to the Torah”; while the actual Torah scroll can only adopt one of these positions, a lesson can be gleaned from each of them. Every possibility formulates the word in a different way and yields a different insight into the nature of the character necessary in order for a harsh act such as that of Pinchas to actually be considered an accomplishment towards Shalom.

The reading that is most consistent with the homiletic interpretation found in the Talmudic text is that which modifies the word to shalem, signifying completeness. This is a reading that could emerge from the letter being transformed into a “yod’. The message would then be that only an individual who is a balanced personality, aware of all considerations and potential consequences, could justifiably undertake what he did and have it be reckoned as an act of peace.

Splitting the vav into two parts actually creates two “yod”s, which can then be inserted into the word to create the new word yashlim, which indicates peace in the future tense. In this reading, the requirement is that the act not only accomplish something in the moment, but that the effects going forward will similarly bring about enduring peace rather than triggering contentious consequences that will be counterproductive.

Lastly, the opinion that the vav is simply written as a small letter has significance too: such an act can never be perpetrated by one who is thinking of his own glory; his ego must be minimized if not eliminated. It is noteworthy that Pinchas is immediately identified at the beginning of this week’s Torah reading through to his grandfather, Aaron. Rashi explains that this was to counteract taunting that had been directed at him after his act of zealotry, which focused on his maternal descent from Jethro who had been an idol-worshipping priest, and through that to call into question his worthiness to take on a leader among Israel. Still, the relevance of Aaron in this context would require explanation. Very often, would-be zealots are moved to attack others, whether through words or through actions, in order to address their own feelings of inadequacy by pulling others down. It was important, then, to emphasize that Pinchas had no such feelings of inferiority, and nothing that he needed to prove.

Of course, there is symbolism to the very fact of being broken. R. Zalman Sorotzkin, in his Oznayim LaTorah, understands the message to be that as necessary as Pinchas’ act was, the reality that it was an expression of violence detracts from its compatibility with the ultimate vision, a truly peaceful world.

Harsh acts are sometimes necessary, and yet the price of that harshness must also be acknowledged. In God's instructions to Moses following the sin of the golden calf, and Moses’ destruction of the first set of tablets, He states “carve yourself two tablets of stone like the first, and I will inscribe upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets, which you shattered  (Ex. 34:1).” The words “which you shattered” are understood to be an endorsement: “more power to you (yashar koach), that you shattered them” (Shabbat 87a, Yevamot 62a, and elsewhere). However, there are midrashim that seem to give a different impression. “Carve yourself”: Moses should be the one to carve this new set, in contrast to the first set, which God made directly. This is so that Moses should appreciate the value of that which he destroyed (see Yalkut Shimoni 854 and elsewhere). Are we to understand, then, that Moses was wrong to destroy the first set of tablets? The great ethicists suggest that there is no contradiction here. Moses indeed was correct to destroy those first tablets, which was necessary in light of the idolatrous behavior of the Jews. However, it can simultaneously be true that he needed to appreciate the cost of that decision.

This parallels a comment that R. Sorokin makes elsewhere, regarding the verse “distance yourself from falsehood“ (Ex. 23:7), which has prompted the question as to why the Torah does not simply instruct us not to lie, in a language of straightforward prohibition, rather than the seemingly weaker language of ““distance yourself“. He suggests that this reflects the fact that there are times when it is necessary to speak falsely, such as when it is required to do so in order to keep the peace. In those contexts, that is the correct decision; nonetheless, the compromising of truth is still a cost that must be acknowledged. Accordingly, the Torah asks us to extend efforts so that, through planning and consideration, those circumstances where one is forced to choose between harmony and integrity are few and far between.

This brings us back to the prophecy of Zachariah. When, indeed, will his words be realized, will we be able to rejoice and celebrate on the 17th of Tammuz and the ninth of Av? The end of the same verse contains the answer: “and truth and peace are beloved“. When both of those values are equally revered and honored, when we cherish them both with such great passion and commitment that we make sure to live our lives so that each has the space to be protected and upheld.

In our imperfect world, harsh actions are sometimes necessary in the ultimate pursuit of peace; one value often has to be compromised in the service of the other. Redemption means that will no longer be necessary, that all of our values will be allowed to live in harmony. This is the future festival we so eagerly await.