A New Offering: Zechariah Haber’s Legacy
Zechariah Haber, Minha Hadasha: Entsyklopedya Lamdanit Le-Torah she-be-al Pe — Helek Orah Hayyim (Yeshivat Har Etzion, 5785)
Zechariah Haber z”l, a son, a husband, a brother, and the father of three small children, was 32 years old when he fell in Gaza while serving in his tank unit in January 2024. The life Zechariah lived was extraordinary, and his story—like those of so many others—has become seared into the consciousness of many Jews worldwide. He was a stunning synthesis of mind and heart: brilliance in both Torah and science; profound, almost sublime humility; love of Torah, family, people, and Eretz Yisrael; and simply goodness. Born in America, he studied for five years at Yeshivat Har Etzion, and at the time of his death was a doctoral student in Tel Aviv University’s Faculty of Plant Science and Food Security, a specialty reflective of his love for the land. While a graduate student, Zechariah published peer-reviewed scientific papers. He did not live to complete his dissertation, but by virtue of his publication record, he was posthumously awarded the doctorate for groundbreaking work in which he used advanced computational methods to genetically engineer wheat that could withstand adverse conditions. As a scientist, Zechariah thus left a legacy of discovery and publication. Now, with the appearance of Minha Hadasha (A New Offering), his legacy for the world of Torah becomes palpable and vivid. And much more is in the offing.
Studying this Hebrew work, even holding it, is a deeply moving experience. As R. Amnon Bazak of Yeshivat Har Etzion writes in his preface, the sefer is presented to the public “be-dema u-be-simha”—with both tears and joy. We shed tears over this tragic loss; but there is joy as well, writes R. Bazak, not only because we know the book will contribute to future Torah study, but because “Zechariah’s memory will be eternalized in so meaningful a way” (11).
Minha Hadasha was written during Zechariah’s fourth and fifth years in Har Etzion, during the time of night seder. He was only 22 when he started, and wrote almost furtively; his family did not know of the project until after his passing. Zechariah regularly delivered some of the material in shiurim and haburot, but he shared the written text with only a few. It is unclear what his intentions were regarding publication. The book’s appearance in print aptly marked his first yahrzeit, and it is no small tribute to Zechariah that his yeshiva is the publisher. The present volume on Orah Hayyim runs 350 pages—yet it is only the first in a projected series covering all the divisions of Shulhan Arukh plus laws of korbanot and the Beit ha-Mikdash. As impressive and extensive as this book is, it is just a beginning.
The “Encyclopedia” is not a conventional one. While it clearly demonstrates encyclopedic knowledge, it is not an encyclopedia-style survey. The author does not summarize positions, but rather quotes sources verbatim, and the quotations (from Tanakh, Talmud and Midrash, Rishonim, Aharonim, exegetes, and philosophers; notably, Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed makes appearances) occupy the overwhelming bulk of the territory. But that is the point: he does not aim at comprehensiveness and expansive commentary, but rather at the curating and ordering of selected texts—followed, importantly, by prods for the reader to engage with those texts actively. Encyclopedias typically feed information; Minha Hadasha requires reader reflection on what has been presented. Under almost every Orah Hayyim topic considered, Zechariah begins with “mahut ha-mitzva,” the character or essence of the commandment under consideration. He first quotes a few sources—chosen judiciously and often pruned to make the text’s essential point salient—and then in most cases he bids the reader to notice a disagreement, or conflicting pulls within a text, and to ponder what is fundamentally driving each option. (“Eikh efshar le-hasbir . . .”: how can we explain the sides of an issue based on different “directions” in the sources ) He offers concise, allusive “remazim” (hints) that by design typically do not tell all. (I was to some degree reminded of Nehama Leibowitz’s Gilyonot.) By dint of its format, the book would make a wonderful focus for havruta study, not to mention an excellent resource for preparing shiurim. As R. Moshe Lichtenstein, co-Rosh Yeshiva at Har Etzion, remarks in his introduction, it is precisely because usually Zechariah does not expressly reveal his own answers to his questions—and instead challenges readers to use their own powers of thought—that the reader, who has already been gifted important texts, is now doubly rewarded (17).
R. Lichtenstein places Zechariah’s accomplishment in the context of well-known polarities in approaches to Talmud Torah: sinai ve-oker harim (broad erudition versus analytic sharpness and creativity); limmud u-ma’aseh (study versus practice). Zechariah’s work fuses Lithuanian-style “hakiras” (analytical investigations that utilize precise definitions and distinctions to explain halakhic positions) with the quest for the reason behind the mitzva under discussion, across many of its details. Notably, R. Lichtenstein argued many years ago, in a critical assessment of the Brisker method, that the “major goal [in Torah study] for proponents of Brisk should be a greater integration of the ‘why’ element [the reason for a mitzva] into the ‘what’ [“the concrete halakhic datum”] . . . Every effort should be made to move beyond this initial stage and to seek a governing rationale for the mizvah at hand” (Torah u-Madda Journal 9 [2000], 10-11). That “Why?” lies at the very heart of Minha Hadasha.
As Zechariah’s father Aharon Haber explained, Zechariah distinguished two conceptions of reasons for mitzvot. One maintains that mitzvot are “practical responses to an imperfect world,” tools for navigating the natural world in which we find ourselves. The other is that they bring us closer to God, elevating us via an experience that transcends our natural circumstances, so that mitzvot take on “a spiritual meaning of their own.” Some halakhic sources about matters of technical detail reflect one rationale, some reflect the other, and some reflect both. Very many analyses in the sefer inquire as to which of these two types of reasons is being applied (without framing the matter exactly this way). As this duality courses through its pages, the book demonstrates over and over how fertile this framework is for understanding different halakhic options. (The first approach roughly resembles that of Rambam in Guide of the Perplexed III:27-49. The second is reminiscent of an account Rambam gives in Guide III:51, in which the purpose of the commandments is “training you to occupy yourself with His commandments . . . rather than with matters pertaining to this world.”)
Click on image to access the volume’s table of contents, preface, and sample chapter.
The book does not follow precisely the order and content of topics in Orah Hayyim, but as we work our way through its twenty-two headings, we are greeted by a rich yet finely focused set of sources that brilliantly link details to essence.
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The phrase “minha hadasha” in the book’s title (from Leviticus 23:16), chosen by Zechariah’s parents Miriam and Aharon Haber, refers to the offering of new crops that is presented on Shavuot. It is also the title and refrain of an imaginative, evocative piyyut (or poem) that Zechariah composed in 2016 and intended, actually, as a zemer for the festival. Zechariah believed that our yamim tovim deserve to have poems and songs that are tied to their distinctive characters. One might say that his Shavuot zemer is also tied to his distinctive character, specifically his love of the land. Reprinted at the outset of the book, the piyyut abounds with biblical, halakhic, aggadic, and exegetical allusions. It culminates in the hope for redemption. In the original publication, Zechariah expressed the desire that it be set to music. That has been accomplished by the Israeli duo Yonina. In a stirring video, their rendition is sung with immense power and poignancy by a very large choir of family and friends, of all ages.
Fittingly, while Minha Hadasha begins with this halakha-imbued poem about Shavuot, it concludes—altering the order of topics in Orah Hayyim—with a halakhic analysis of that same festival, soon upon us. This ending beautifully closes the circle. In fact, a shiur by Professor Aaron Segal of Hebrew University, Zechariah’s uncle, brings to the fore—by focusing on but one stanza—not only the piyyut’s intricacy and meticulous architecture, but also its connection to the topic of Shavuot, and the central question about reasons for mitzvot, in the halakhic work.
The synthesis of halakhist, scientist, and poet that was Zechariah Haber is a wonder to behold. He inspires nothing short of awe.
As we count the weeks toward celebrating the giving of the Torah, we would do well to reflect on this new offering and its remarkable author. The pages amply display the analytic brilliance of Torah, her richness and beauty; while the persona and life story of the work’s creator augments our reverence for those who not only passionately love Torah, but stand ready to sacrifice their lives for the am ha-Torah that treasures her.
The words of the righteous serve as their memorial: “Divreihen hen zikhronan” (Yerushalmi Shekalim 2:5). Yehi zikhro barukh.
To learn more about Zechariah z”l and order a copy of Minha Hadasha visit www.zechariahhaber.com.
David Shatz is the Ronald P. Stanton University Professor of Philosophy, Ethics, and Religious Thought at Yeshiva University and a member of TRADITION’s Editorial Board.