A Novel Case of Pikuach Nefesh and More Bava Basra 150-153

150

The Fleeting Nature of Fortune

Our Gemara on Amud Beis discusses the scope of assets included when a gift giver uses the word nechasim—an umbrella Aramaic term for possessions and assets. Does this term encompass movable property, cattle, and cash, or is it restricted to real estate?

The word nechasim has an ancient and enigmatic etymology, lacking clear Hebrew or Aramaic roots. The Maharal (Nesiv HaOsher 2) highlights this and notes that there are four primary terms for money in Hebrew and Aramaic: maos, mammon, zuz, and nechasim. Each of these words emphasizes the ephemeral nature of wealth.

•Maos and mammon share the prefix mah (what) and respective suffixes os (time) or mon (count). The words rhetorically ask, “What is this time or count?”—implying that money is fleeting and transitory.

•Zuz stems from the Hebrew and Aramaic root for movement (zaz), further hinting at money’s tendency to come and go.

•Nechasim, through its phonetic similarity to the Hebrew root kisuy (cover), suggests that money is merely a façade or distraction.

These linguistic subtleties underscore the fleeting and often deceptive nature of wealth. Unlike other Hebrew words, terms for money carry an inherent “surgeon general’s warning,” embedded in their meaning, reminding us of the pitfalls of material pursuits.

151

The Clothes Make the Man

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph explores whether tefillin fall under the category of nechasim. Are they excluded because of their sacred status and their unsuitability for sale, or are they included due to their utility as items worn on the body, similar to clothing? (See Rashbam, Sefer Torah.)

The notion of tefillin as a type of malbush (clothing) brings to mind the Maharal’s (Be’er HaGolah 4) explanation of the metaphysical significance of the mitzvah of tefillin and the symbolism of wearing them.

The Gemara (Berachos 6a) teaches that God Himself “wears” tefillin, in which it is written: “Who is like You, Israel, a unique nation?” This parallels the text in our tefillin, which declares God’s oneness and uniqueness. The Maharal explains that clothing conveys honor and dignity. To wear something is to be adorned and elevated by it. As the saying goes, “The clothes make the man.” Similarly, the Gemara (Shabbos 113a) recounts how Rabbi Yoḥanan referred to his clothing as “my honor.”

The Maharal elaborates that certain garments are loose and detached, while others cling closely to the body, reflecting the wearer’s form. Tefillin, by wrapping tightly around the body, symbolize a profound connection to the wearer’s identity.

Thus, wearing tefillin signifies honor by association with God. Similarly, God “wears” tefillin because the Jewish people, through observing the Torah and emulating God’s moral attributes, bring honor to Him. God’s tefillin declare the unique greatness of the Jewish people, as this relationship reflects His presence in the world.

The Maharal ties this concept to a mysterious episode in Devarim (33:18). When Moshe asks God, “Show me Your glory,” God replies (ibid. 23), “You will see My back, but not My face.” This indicates that Moshe, as a mortal, could not perceive God’s essence directly but could grasp His effects—the manifestation of His will and morality as carried out by the Jewish people.

The Gemara (Berachos 7a) explains that God showed Moshe the “knot” of His tefillin. The Maharal interprets this metaphorically: the “knot” represents the connection between God and the Jewish people. By showing Moshe this knot, God revealed His presence in this world, embodied in the unique bond between the Creator and His people. And those are God’s tefilin.

152

Don’t Shoot the Messenger

Our Gemara on Amud Beis discusses a type of legal deed known as a dayetikei. While this document shares similarities with other legal titles and deeds, it often specifically refers to a will or an estate bequeathal.

A beautiful Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni, Nach 968) uses the term dayetikei in a parable to explore humanity’s relationship with desires and the Evil Inclination (Yetzer Hara):

There was a man who frequently traveled to an inn for business, accompanied by his servant. Meanwhile, his son remained in Eretz Yisrael, diligently studying Torah. During one such trip, the man realized he was nearing the end of his life. He thought, “What should I do? If I leave all my possessions to my son, the servant might take everything and abscond.”

He summoned a scribe and instructed him to write a dayetikei stating, “My son may choose one item—whatever his heart desires—and the rest shall belong to my servant.” The servant, believing he would inherit everything, blessed his master and delivered the document to the son in Eretz Yisrael.

When the son learned of his father’s passing, he mourned. Afterward, he asked the servant, “Where is my father’s property?” The servant replied, “Everything belongs to me, except for one item of your choosing.” The son proposed, “Let us go to court tomorrow.”

The son approached his teacher, distressed. The teacher comforted him and said, “Your father acted wisely. In court, declare, ‘I choose this servant.’ By doing so, all the possessions will revert to you, as the servant will belong to you along with everything else.” The son followed the advice, and thus it was done.

The nimshal (lesson) of this parable is profound: God, like the father in the story, wants us to succeed in life, yet we cannot thrive without desires and ambition. The Yetzer Hara, though often seen as a negative force, is a “necessary evil.” It fuels creativity, achievement, and ultimately enables us to transcend our physical limitations.

In this analogy, God (the father) leaves the physical world (the inn) and entrusts the dayetikei to the Yetzer Hara (the servant). The Yetzer Hara, thinking it serves its own purposes, unwittingly delivers the tools for spiritual greatness. Our task is to channel these drives—love, mastery, connection, and satisfaction—toward fulfilling our higher purpose.

153

Spiritual Life-Saving Measures

Our Gemara on Amud Beis notes that most people who fall ill eventually recover. This observation has legal implications in cases where a person on their deathbed bequeaths their estate to someone else, but later recovers. Such directives can be invalidated retroactively if the person recovers, and the estate reverts to its rightful heirs. The rightful air does not have to prove that his father did not in fact die, because in those cases he would have unless the recipient of the gifts can prove that death followed.

This principle underlies a debate in halacha regarding whether one should pray for someone ill in a distant city. The Likkutei Maharil (quoted by the Chasam Sofer, Gittin 28) rules against offering a mi shebeirach prayer for a sick person in another location, reasoning that the individual may have already died, rendering the prayer disrespectful and in vain. However, the Nachalas Shiva (40) argues, based on our Gemara, that statistically, the person has likely recovered or remains alive, so the prayer is appropriate.

Chasam Sofer defends the logic of the Likkutei Maharil. If you add up the odds of both recovery or death, then there is more likelihood that there was some status change where prayer is no longer needed one way or the other. However, the Chasam Sofer ultimately sides with the Nachalas Shiva because of an additional reason. Torah prohibitions are suspended even in uncertain cases of life-threatening danger. Therefore, even the small risk of offering a “prayer in vain” is justified when there is potential to save a life.

This raises a fascinating halachic question: Can spiritual interventions aimed at life-saving outcomes justify actions that might otherwise violate Torah law?

One famous and controversial responsum addresses this issue. Rav Shalom Mordechai Schwadron (Responsa Maharsham III:225) discusses whether it is permissible to send a telegram on Shabbos to inform a great tzaddik to pray for a terminally ill individual. He explores the theoretical possibility that for someone who truly believes in the healing power of a tzaddik’s prayers—and if the tzaddik is indeed of such a caliber—this might be considered a life-saving measure. Nevertheless, he approaches this cautiously, recalling an incident in his youth where a dayan was censured for advocating similar actions and stripped of his post.

While the Chasam Sofer permits certain risks, such as a potentially vain prayer, to facilitate a spiritual cure, it is unclear if this leniency extends to outright violations of Shabbos or other prohibitions. This distinction may hinge on whether the spiritual action in question is universally accepted as a legitimate life-saving intervention.