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The First Rashi – Man is Last
This week’s parshah opens with the Torah describing the experience of a woman who gives birth, and the stages of tumah and taharah (pure and impure stages) that follow. Rashi (12:2) quotes a Midrash that ‘just as in the creation of the world, man was created last—after the animals and the rest of creation—so too in the Torah’s presentation of the laws of tumah and taharah, man is discussed last. Only after the Torah completes its discussion of the animal world in last week’s parshah—what is tameh, what is tahor, which creatures convey tumah and under what circumstances—does it turn to the tumah and taharah of a human being’.
At first glance, this Midrash is puzzling. It seems to be pointing out what is simply a sequence. First the Torah discusses animals, and then it discusses man. First in creation, man came last; here too, man is addressed last. But why is that significant? The tone of the Midrash suggests that this is not just a description of what happened, a parallel, but why it happened this way, that the order is intentional and necessary. And that leaves us with a question that demands understanding: what is the message behind placing man last—both in creation and in the discussion of tumah and taharah? What is the Torah trying to teach us through this parallel structure?
The Be’er Yosef explains by pointing out a second curiosity. There is a striking contrast between man and the animal world. When it comes to animals, the system is fixed and unchanging. What is tamei is tamei, and what is tahor is tahor. There is no fluctuation, no movement between states. The categories are stable: an animal that conveys tumah when dead will always do so, and one that does not will never suddenly become a source of tumah. There is a certain consistency to the entire system.
But when we turn to the human being, the picture changes dramatically. A person moves in and out of states of tumah and taharah. There are many different pathways through which tumah can be contracted—childbirth, tzaraas, and others—and corresponding processes through which a person returns to taharah. Unlike the animal world, where everything remains fixed, the human experience is fluid, shifting, dynamic.
Even more striking is that a person can become a source of tumah while still alive. This is something we simply do not find by animals. Not only that, but the scope of tumah generated by a person can be far more expansive. A person can transmit tumah to objects he sits on or lies upon, and in certain cases—such as a metzorah—even to the space around him. And, of course, when a person dies, the tumah imparted is of a much more severe nature than that of any animal.
All of this leads to a fundamental question. If anything, we might have expected the opposite—that man, the pinnacle of creation, would be less associated with tumah, not more. Why is it that the tumah of a human being is more complex, more dynamic, and in many ways more severe than that of an animal?
Man is a Microcosm of Creation
The Be’er Yosef builds the foundation for an answer by taking us back to the very beginning of creation. The Torah tells us that man was created last, after everything else had already come into existence. Chazal, in the Gemara in Sanhedrin 38, discuss this at length and offer various explanations for why man was created at the end.
One of the deeper approaches, echoed in the Zohar and developed at length by Nefesh HaChaim (Shaar Aleph, Perek 6), is that this was not simply a matter of sequence, but of essence. Man was created last because he is meant to contain within himself all that came before him. Every Koach—every force, every capacity, every distinct quality that Hashem embedded into creation from beginning to end—was gathered together and placed into the human being.
All of creation, in its diversity and complexity, contributes something. Each element carries its own unique strength, its own defining quality, its own particular “gift.” And man is not just another creation alongside them; he is, in a sense, a synthesis of them all—a convergence point, where all those different forces are brought together and held within a single being.
The Nefesh HaChaim emphasizes that this is not a poetic idea, but a foundational reality. Hashem created all the worlds, all the layers of existence, and then formed man as the being who contains and reflects them. He even cites numerous sources to support this, explaining that the human being is a microcosm of the entire universe.
What emerges from this is a powerful and somewhat unsettling picture. Within a person are all the elements of creation—not only the elevated and refined forces, but also the lower, more base drives. A person is a complex blend, a living mixture of competing pulls and influences. Every action a person takes is shaped by this inner world. Even when one does something good, it is often not purely, perfectly altruistic; there may be traces of pride, desire, or self-interest mixed in. And when a person does something wrong, it is rarely devoid of any positive element. Human behavior is rarely absolute—it is nuanced, layered, and internally conflicted.
This stands in sharp contrast to the rest of creation. Everything else functions according to its nature. Without bechirah—without free will—each part of creation simply expresses what it is. It does not fluctuate, it does not struggle, it does not oscillate between competing identities. It remains consistent, stable, and defined.
Man, however, is different. Because he contains within himself so many different forces, he is constantly in motion—pulled in different directions, rising and falling, refining and sometimes regressing. He is not static; he is perpetually in flux, navigating the tension of all the worlds that exist within him.
Based on this foundation, the Be’er Yosef explains that our original question begins to fall into place.
Why Man has a Different Set of Laws for Tumah
All other creations are static. They are exactly what they were created to be, no more and no less. An animal does not struggle with competing inner forces, nor does it shift between different spiritual states. It simply expresses its nature. And therefore, its halachic status reflects that reality: what is tamei remains tamei, and what is tahor remains tahor. There is no movement, no internal transformation that would generate change.
Man, however, is fundamentally different. Because he contains within himself so many different kochos—drawn from across the spectrum of creation—he is constantly in motion. He is pulled in different directions, capable of rising toward taharah or descending into tumah. The very same person can, at different times, embody different states, depending on how he chooses to engage the forces within him. Tumah and taharah are not fixed labels; they are expressions of an inner process.
And with this, the Be’er Yosef explains his second point as well. Not only is a person different in that he moves between tumah and taharah—but when he does fall into tumah, it can be more severe than anything we find elsewhere in creation.
An animal that is tamei is not “falling” into tumah; it is simply living out the nature it was given. There is no tension, no contradiction. But a human being is different. Within him are elements of kedushah, of greatness, of refinement—and when he nevertheless becomes tamei, that tumah is not neutral. It is the result of those very elevated capacities being drawn downward.
In a certain sense, the greater the potential, the greater the fall. A person is a single, unified being who carries within himself both higher and lower forces. When those higher kochos are pulled into a state of tumah, the result is more intense, more expansive. This is tumah emerging from a being who was meant for something higher.
That is why the tumah of a person can be more severe than that of any other creature. It is not despite his greatness, this is tumah that is in a sense, because of it.
Perek Shira
The Be’er Yosef takes this one step further and, with it, offers a beautiful understanding of the entire concept of Perek Shirah. What is this “song” that all of creation is said to sing? At its core, Perek Shirah is not just describing poetic praise. It is teaching a person how to look at the essence—the inner nature—of every part of creation. Whether it is the sun, the moon, the earth, an animal, or even something as simple as a stone, each creation expresses a certain איכות, a defining quality, a pure way of being. These creations do not have bechirah; they are not conflicted or pulled in different directions. They simply are what Hashem made them to be, and in that consistency lies their “song.”
This idea is already hinted to in Chazal. The Gemara tells us that a person is meant to learn from the ant, from the cat—to observe the natural world and draw lessons from it. Each creature reflects a certain mida in its purest form: diligence, modesty, discipline, consistency. They are living expressions of those traits, untainted by inner contradiction.
And that is where Perek Shirah becomes deeply personal. The goal is not merely to admire the world outside of us, but to recognize that all of those same qualities exist within us. Since a person is a microcosm of creation, every mida we observe “out there” is also present “in here.”
The avodah, then, is to look at those pure expressions in creation, identify their essence, and then turn inward—finding and drawing out those same kochos within ourselves, and channeling them toward avodas Hashem. In that sense, the “song” of creation becomes a guide for our own song: helping us take the scattered forces within us and align them, refine them, and ultimately use them in the service of Hashem.
Taking this Idea Home
And this brings us to the practical takeaway.
A person has to realize that unlike other parts of creation, within a human are raw, formable kochos. We are not locked into one identity, one track, or one fixed set of traits. We are, in a very real sense, the shapers of who we become. The word middah itself comes from the idea of measurement, because we all have ‘measures’ of all the different qualities (anger, patience, lust, happiness, jealousy etc.), and since we have so many different facets we choose when to use and how to use each of those qualities. No one is defined by a single trait. We all contain a range of qualities, a spectrum of tendencies, and it is our avodah to develop, to expand, and to emphasize the good within us.
A person might naturally lean a certain way, but no one is purely “good” or purely “bad.” We are all a carefully balanced mixture, crafted with precision by Hashem. Within that mixture are strengths that can be elevated, and drives that can be redirected. Our personalities are not obstacles to avodas Hashem—they are the very tools with which we serve Him.
And that is the key difference between man and the rest of creation. Everything else serves Hashem in exactly one way, according to its nature. It is fixed, consistent, and unchanging. But a human being is a “mixed bag” in the deepest sense—containing within himself many different kochos—and therefore he has the ability to choose. He decides which traits to draw upon, which tendencies to strengthen, and how to channel them in any given moment.
That is both the challenge and the beauty of being human. Our avodah is not to become someone else, but to take the full range of who we are and use it—wisely, thoughtfully, and purposefully—in the service of Hashem.
The Difference Between Man and Animal
To sharpen this idea, we can illustrate the difference with a simple example. Take a dog. At first glance, it may seem that dogs also have “personalities.” Some are calm and easygoing, others are energetic or reactive. But that similarity is only superficial. A dog is not choosing how to respond; it is responding according to how it is wired.
Its reactions are the product of instinct, conditioning, and immediate stimuli—how hungry it is, how tired it is, what it has been trained to associate with certain situations. If one could recreate the exact same set of conditions—identical stimuli, identical internal state—the dog would respond in the same way each time. In that sense, it operates almost like a program, consistent and predictable.
A human being, however, is fundamentally different. We are not limited to a single, pre-programmed response. We possess bechirah—the ability to choose—which means we decide which kochos within us to draw upon in any given moment. And because of that, even the very same person, placed in the very same situation, with all the same external and internal factors, can respond differently. One time with patience, another with frustration; one time with restraint, another with impulse.
That gap—that space between stimulus and response—is where the entire avodah of a person lives.
To Summarize
And this is why man was created last, and why his laws are taught last. Only after we understand the rest of creation—its consistency, its clarity, its simplicity—can we begin to appreciate the depth, the complexity, and the incredible responsibility of what it means to be human.
May Hashem help us utilize all the facets of our incredibly deep personalities to become the best people we can be in His service.
Have an amazing Shabbos! Rabbi Moshe Revah Mrevah2@touro.edu
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