This year Shabbat B’Shalach, Shabbat Shira, on which we celebrate the Splitting of the Sea of Reeds, falls on Tu B’Sh’vat, as it does in many years. They are never far apart. What explains this parsha’s exceptional link to Tu B’sh’vat? There are 2 important ways in which Tu B’Sh’vat and Shabbat Shira magnify each other.
First, They teach us to recognize the goodness and might of God in the beauty of nature as surely as we did in the suspension of nature at the Splitting of the Sea. Likewise, just as God’s majestic interference with the natural world caused our ancestors to break into exuberant song, so too the majesty of nature and all the living things in it should give us much cause to sing.
Second, they teach us that although we are not allowed to live our lives in reliance on God’s miracles, we are allowed – and encouraged – to rely on the budding of the trees and the coming of spring in this beautiful world God created. For example, we sing on Tu B’Sh’vat HaSh’kedia Porachat – The Almond Tree Blossoms, and indeed it does! When we lived in Israel, there was an almond tree across the street from our building. Sure enough, within days of Tu B’Sh’vat, buds could be seen upon it.
But we cannot totally rely on God to maintain this beautiful world. According to the midrash, the splitting of the Sea of Reeds would not have occurred if all of the Jewish people had stood waiting at the shore. God’s miraculous redemption would not have occurred if Nachshon had not been willing to take action and wade into the water. So too, we cannot stand about waiting for God to repair and maintain the earth. Our wonderful planet will not long keep its integrity while we all stand waiting at the shore of environmental activism. We must commit ourselves to take care of the world – otherwise we will be unable to rely on God’s kindness.
Fortunately, the path for us is easier than it was for Nachshon. We need not expose ourselves to danger, but merely to make wiser decisions, and to make our voice heard. We can start by installing Compact Fluorescent Light bulbs (CFLs) in all of our fixtures. These bulbs use less than ¼ the energy as incandescent bulbs and last for many, many years. They are now available in almost every shape and variety of light bulb, from floodlights to full spectrum. (For more information see http://www.coejl.org/climatechange/cc_cfl.php). CFLs are environmentally and economically efficient, but they won’t install themselves. We need only to be bold, like Nachshon, and go do it!!
The combined message of these special days is encapsulated by a verse from the Song by the Sea. As our ancestors saw the majesty of God they sang the beautiful words– Zeh Eli v’Anvehu. This verb v’Anvehu is rich with meaning. Among the possibilities are that is derived from navah, pleasantness or beauty (and hence a source for the halachic principle of hiddur mitzvah) or from n’veh, a home or dwelling. The sentence might therefore mean “This is my God and I will beautify God (or Godly things)” or “This is my God and I will build a home for God.”
The coincidence of Tu B’sh’vat and Shabbat Shira suggests another midrashic reading, Zeh – Olam HaZeh, this world; Eli – nivra al yidei Eli – was created by my God; v’Anvehu – and I will commit myself to making it a more beautiful and more appropriate dwelling place for God. This is the lesson that we should learn from Shabbat Shira and Tu B’sh’vat.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Bo 5767 -- ... Like a Grasshopper on a Seder Plate
We really should put locusts on our seder plates. The function of the seder plate – particularly the z’roah, matzah, and maror – is to begin a conversation, to create a teaching moment. As we say in the seder, “Matzah/maror/pesach al shum mah? – This Matzah/Bitter Herb/Shankbone, what is it about?” Our answers elaborate on our oppression by the Egyptians and the great might with which God ensured our freedom. (As our Haggadot are safely sealed in a hametz-free vault, I won’t write anything more detailed about the Seder).
This is the function of the plague of locusts also, says the Kli Yakar. When God tells Moshe to announce the impending plague of locusts, the Almighty says that one of the purposes is “u’lema’an t’saper b’ozney binkha uven binkha eit asher hitalalti b’Mitzrayim v’et oatotai asher samti vam – and so that you should tell your children and their children what miracles I did in Egypt and all the signs that placed down upon them.” (10:2). This sounds very much like the command “v’higad’ta l’vinkha – and you shall relate to your child” that underlies the whole concept of the seder and haggadah. As the Kli Yakar observes, the locusts are the only one of the Ten Plagues accompanied by this sort of precept.
What is it about the locusts that creates or mandates this sort of teaching moment when none of the other plagues do so? The answer is to be found in Exodus 10:14, which states prophetically that such locusts were never seen eating the plants of Egypt after the lifting of the plague. This remarkable change in locust behavior, says the Kli Yakar, left a roshem, an impression. Future generations of children therefore asked their parents to explain why the locusts only ate plants just over the Egyptian border into Israel, but never plants on the Egyptian side. The responses to these questions would presumably explain that this occurred because of the greatness and might of God.
By contrast, the Kli Yakar claims that none of the other plagues left a roshem. The Torah therefore does not similarly tell us that those plagues occurred so that future generations could hear of the remarkable signs done by the Almighty. It’s true that none of the other plagues worked an ongoing change in the way of life in Egypt, but it is certainly not the case, as the Kli Yakar seemingly suggests, that “ki nishkach zikhram etzel hahamon – the memory of them was forgotten by most.” Would the trauma of the slaying of the first-born really be forgotten?
Perhaps we can explain by saying that the type of roshem left by the locusts is one that children would uniquely notice and question. Parents would therefore be led to explain, in fulfillment of the goal that “u’lema’an t’saper b’ozney binkha uven binkha eit asher hitalalti b’Mitzrayim v’et oatotai asher samit vam – and so that you should tell your children and their children what miracles I did to Egypt and all the signs that placed down upon them.” While doubtlessly the sight of all the drinking water turning to blood, wild beasts running rampage, and the slaughter of first-born sons would precipitate Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in many adults, children who did not experience these events – and perhaps even young ones who did – would not later be led to ask for explanation.
However, the curious behavior of locusts who treated the Egypt-Israel border as a sort of 38th parallel could well provoke a child to ask “why don't the locusts eat in Egypt also?” In response to this present tense question, a parent would tell the ancient story of the liberation from Egypt. This sort of tying the present to the past is precisely what occurs at the seder, when we are commanded to see ourselves as though we had left Egypt. We accomplish this goal in large part by presenting concrete and present symbols to remind ourselves of our past. Like I said, we should have a locust on the seder plate.
This is the function of the plague of locusts also, says the Kli Yakar. When God tells Moshe to announce the impending plague of locusts, the Almighty says that one of the purposes is “u’lema’an t’saper b’ozney binkha uven binkha eit asher hitalalti b’Mitzrayim v’et oatotai asher samti vam – and so that you should tell your children and their children what miracles I did in Egypt and all the signs that placed down upon them.” (10:2). This sounds very much like the command “v’higad’ta l’vinkha – and you shall relate to your child” that underlies the whole concept of the seder and haggadah. As the Kli Yakar observes, the locusts are the only one of the Ten Plagues accompanied by this sort of precept.
What is it about the locusts that creates or mandates this sort of teaching moment when none of the other plagues do so? The answer is to be found in Exodus 10:14, which states prophetically that such locusts were never seen eating the plants of Egypt after the lifting of the plague. This remarkable change in locust behavior, says the Kli Yakar, left a roshem, an impression. Future generations of children therefore asked their parents to explain why the locusts only ate plants just over the Egyptian border into Israel, but never plants on the Egyptian side. The responses to these questions would presumably explain that this occurred because of the greatness and might of God.
By contrast, the Kli Yakar claims that none of the other plagues left a roshem. The Torah therefore does not similarly tell us that those plagues occurred so that future generations could hear of the remarkable signs done by the Almighty. It’s true that none of the other plagues worked an ongoing change in the way of life in Egypt, but it is certainly not the case, as the Kli Yakar seemingly suggests, that “ki nishkach zikhram etzel hahamon – the memory of them was forgotten by most.” Would the trauma of the slaying of the first-born really be forgotten?
Perhaps we can explain by saying that the type of roshem left by the locusts is one that children would uniquely notice and question. Parents would therefore be led to explain, in fulfillment of the goal that “u’lema’an t’saper b’ozney binkha uven binkha eit asher hitalalti b’Mitzrayim v’et oatotai asher samit vam – and so that you should tell your children and their children what miracles I did to Egypt and all the signs that placed down upon them.” While doubtlessly the sight of all the drinking water turning to blood, wild beasts running rampage, and the slaughter of first-born sons would precipitate Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in many adults, children who did not experience these events – and perhaps even young ones who did – would not later be led to ask for explanation.
However, the curious behavior of locusts who treated the Egypt-Israel border as a sort of 38th parallel could well provoke a child to ask “why don't the locusts eat in Egypt also?” In response to this present tense question, a parent would tell the ancient story of the liberation from Egypt. This sort of tying the present to the past is precisely what occurs at the seder, when we are commanded to see ourselves as though we had left Egypt. We accomplish this goal in large part by presenting concrete and present symbols to remind ourselves of our past. Like I said, we should have a locust on the seder plate.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
VaEra 5767 -- The Torah of the Fundamental Attribution Error
This week, Moshe’s second attempt to rouse the Jewish people fails because the people are working so hard they barely have a chance to breathe. He then complains to God that he certainly will not be able to persuade Pharaoh to free the Jews. “Hen Bnei Yisrael Lo Shamu Elai, V’eikh Yishma’eni Paroh, v’ani Aral S’fataim – Behold B’nei Yisrael didn’t listen to me, how can it be that Pharaoh will listen to me, as I have lips that are aral (a phrase perhaps referring to physical deformity or a social speech impediment)?”
Rashi says that this is one of the ten Kal v’Chomer statements in the Torah. Actually, there are ten in TaNaKh: four in Torah, four in Navi, and two in Ketuvim, according to the midrash of Rabbi Yishmael in Bereishit Rabba (92:7). The existence of this enumerated category may be as new to you as it was to me. The ten plagues, ten commandments, thirteen attributes, those I knew – but the ten Kalin v’Hamurin? Even so, it is pretty catchy, and appealing to those logically minded, and so I’m thinking of proposing a modification to our family’s singing of Ehad Mi Yodea: “Asara Kal V’Homriya.” (After all, “Dibriyah” for the commandments is a little redundant given “shnei luhot haBrit.”)
Let’s look at Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer and compare it to the other nine that Rabbi Yishmael presents. A complete list of the other nine is below for those interested.
Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer is fundamentally problematic because it shouldn’t be a Kal v’Chomer. Moshe probably means it as a Kal v’Chomer, and there are at least three different ways to explain what is the Kal and what is the Chomer (see Rashi, Siftei Hachamim, and Ibn Ezra) but we immediately see that this doesn’t follow the structure. It’s therefore quite interesting that it even makes it into Rabbi Yishmael’s list, a point that the Anaf Yosef commentary to Midrash Rabba makes.
A classic Kal v’Chomer would go something like this: I tell you that I can’t lift 30 pounds, and so you would say that I am not very strong and I certainly can’t lift 40 pounds. More abstractly, if A is true about X, then B, which has even more of whatever characteristic made A true, must certainly be true about X. In other words, we use some fact that we know about X to make an attribution about X that we can then generalize.
But a Kal v’Chomer doesn’t work if there is some reason to hesitate before inferring an attribute from the fact. That is, if I tell you that I tried to lift 30 pounds today and couldn’t, and also that I have a fever today, you would be quite cautious about making the inference that I’m generally not strong and could not lift 40 pounds on a normal day. This is the situation in Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer. The Torah tells us that the Jewish people did not listen to Moshe because their spirits were so low from all the hard work. Moshe should therefore not attribute his inability to convince the Jewish people to his own character – thus further implying that he hasn’t a chance of persuading Pharaoh – but to the fact that they were working too hard. The failure to make proper attributions to situations, rather than to people, (just like Moshe did here) is known in social psychology as the Fundamental Attribution Error.
Moshe’s current Kal v’Chomer is noteworthy among the other nine in several ways. Let’s look at some patterns in the other nine to fully appreciate this.
First, in each of the nine, the parallelism and attribution of the Kal v’Chomer seem correct. For example, as Jeremiah says, one who can’t keep up with human runners can’t catch horses (#5); as Moshe later says, those who rebel under divine leadership probably rebel under sub-divine leadership (#4); as King David’s men say, when home is unsafe, the frontline will be more so (#6 and 7); and as Achashverosh say, those who kill under the king’s watch probably did even more damage in the lawless provinces (#10) etc. None of the other nine Kal v’Chomer statements have the obvious flaw found in Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer this week; in other words, none of the other nine exhibit the Fundamental Attribution Error.
Second, only one of these other Kal v’Chomer structures addresses any attributes of the speaker, and it does so l’Shevah, in praise of the speaker. This is the Kal v’Chomer of Joseph’s brothers, who make a Kal v’Chomer to defend themselves against Joseph’s charge that they stole from him: “If we refused to take the money you gave us, how could we steal from you?” All of the other instances address attributes of the listener or of a 3rd party. For example, Moshe makes a Kal v’Chomer on the behavior of the Jewish people, God does so on the halakha of Miriam’s leprosy, the prophets do so regarding the behavior of the people, King David’s men do so in examining the level of danger in which they find themselves, and Ahashverosh does so in discussing the extent of the Jewish military actions on Purim. While Moshe’s attributions to himself are not unique – Joseph’s brothers do so as well – in no other case does a Biblical character make a self-deprecating Kal v’Chomer
Third, of the nine, four are delivered by human beings trying to make an emphatic point in the course of conversation (Joseph’s brothers to their accusers; Moses to the people; David’s soldiers to David; Achashverosh to Esther). four are given in prophecy or general wisdom (Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and Proverbs). One is uttered by the Almighty (God to Moshe regarding Miriam). However, everyone of these nine is delivered to a human being – none are said to God. This Kal v’Chomer, and no other, is spoken to God.
To summarize, Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer in our parsha is unique in 3 dimensions. His is (a) the only Kal v’Chomer that loses its logical force due to an intervening factor -- the people’s fatigue --and makes the Fundamental Attribution Error; (b) the only Kal v’Chomer that makes negative attributions to the speaker; and c) the only Kal v’Chomer uttered to God.
What do we make of the fact that our greatest prophet utters the only self-doubting, Fundamental Attribution Error-ridden Kal v’Chomer in all of the TaNaKh, and, furthermore, does this in conversation with the Almighty?
Perhaps this is meant to illustrate to us just how hard it is for us to make accurate attributions and learn correct lessons from our experiences and observations. When we fail, it can be very difficult to know whether it was because we weren’t up to the challenge, or because some unknown external factor interfered. Moreover, even when we perceive that there was some external factor, as here, we may often wonder whether we might have failed anyway, even without that factor.
I think that we are often quite hard on ourselves and others (as I perhaps have been on Moshe) for making these sorts of errors, and for harboring such doubts. But I think that this is why the Torah shows us this incident as it does: so that we should realize that even the great and wise sometimes look back on their experiences and wonder what to make of them. Just as God was understanding with Moshe and helped him by including Aharon as a spokesman, Kal v’Chomer should we, who are not omniscient and all-mighty, go easy and ourselves and others when self-doubting ill-logic strikes us.
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The first Kal v’Chomer, Bereishit 44:8 – after Joseph’s brothers come see him in Egypt for the first time, he accuses his brothers of stealing his goblet. The brother’s respond and say, “Given that we returned the money that you gave to us, how could we steal from you?” That is, if a person does not hold onto money on which he or she has a claim, surely that person would not hold money on which (s)he has no claim.
The third Kal v’Chomer, BaMidbar 12:14 – God tells Moshe how to interact with Miriam during her leprosy saying “v’aviha yarok yarak b’faneha halo tikalem shivat yamim? Tisager shivat yamim mihutz lamaheneh.” That is, if the anger of an earthly parent would merit 7 days of impurity, surely the anger of Avinu sh’Bashamayim merits at least that much (apparently 14 days according to Breishit Rabba).
The fourth Kal v’Chomer, D’varim 31:27 – Moshe says to the Jewish people at the end of his life, “I know that you are rebellious and stiff-necked; you have rebelled against God during my life – and surely afterwards!” That is, those who rebel against God during the leadership of one who speaks directly with God will surely rebel in the absence of such a leader.
The fifth Kal’Chomer, Jeremiah 12:5 – the prophet describes the impending doom and feebleness of the Jewish people by saying, “If you get tired racing footmen, how do you expect to keep up with horses?”
The sixth Kal v’Chomer, Jeremiah 12:5 – Jeremiah’s prophecy continues, “if you feel danger in peaceful territory, how would you like the exposed heights of Jordan?”
The seventh Kal v’Chomer, Shmuel Alef, 23:3 – David encourages his men to accompany him to battle the Philistines in Ke’ilah. They respond, “We are afraid even here in Judea, how much more so if we go out to the battle in Ke’ilah.” This could be read one of two ways: if it is dangerous at home, how much more so in battle; or, if we are fearful people here at home, how much more so will we fear in battle.
The eighth Kal v’Chomer, Ezekiel 15:5 – Ezekiel brings the example of a grapevine, which isn’t much good as a building material – how much more so, he asks, if it is burnt?
The ninth Kal v’Chomer, Mishlei (Proverb) 11:31 – “Hen Tzadik Ba’aretz yishulam, af ki rasha v’hoteh – Behold the righteous is punished (Artscroll translation) on earth, certainly the wicked and sinners will be!”
The tenth Kal v’Chomer, Esther nine:12 – describing the carnage inflicted by the Jews against Haman’s men, Achashverosh says “In Shushan, the capital, the Jews have slain 500 men; imagine what they have done in the rest of the provinces!” (my translation based on the wooden Artscroll translation).
Rashi says that this is one of the ten Kal v’Chomer statements in the Torah. Actually, there are ten in TaNaKh: four in Torah, four in Navi, and two in Ketuvim, according to the midrash of Rabbi Yishmael in Bereishit Rabba (92:7). The existence of this enumerated category may be as new to you as it was to me. The ten plagues, ten commandments, thirteen attributes, those I knew – but the ten Kalin v’Hamurin? Even so, it is pretty catchy, and appealing to those logically minded, and so I’m thinking of proposing a modification to our family’s singing of Ehad Mi Yodea: “Asara Kal V’Homriya.” (After all, “Dibriyah” for the commandments is a little redundant given “shnei luhot haBrit.”)
Let’s look at Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer and compare it to the other nine that Rabbi Yishmael presents. A complete list of the other nine is below for those interested.
Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer is fundamentally problematic because it shouldn’t be a Kal v’Chomer. Moshe probably means it as a Kal v’Chomer, and there are at least three different ways to explain what is the Kal and what is the Chomer (see Rashi, Siftei Hachamim, and Ibn Ezra) but we immediately see that this doesn’t follow the structure. It’s therefore quite interesting that it even makes it into Rabbi Yishmael’s list, a point that the Anaf Yosef commentary to Midrash Rabba makes.
A classic Kal v’Chomer would go something like this: I tell you that I can’t lift 30 pounds, and so you would say that I am not very strong and I certainly can’t lift 40 pounds. More abstractly, if A is true about X, then B, which has even more of whatever characteristic made A true, must certainly be true about X. In other words, we use some fact that we know about X to make an attribution about X that we can then generalize.
But a Kal v’Chomer doesn’t work if there is some reason to hesitate before inferring an attribute from the fact. That is, if I tell you that I tried to lift 30 pounds today and couldn’t, and also that I have a fever today, you would be quite cautious about making the inference that I’m generally not strong and could not lift 40 pounds on a normal day. This is the situation in Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer. The Torah tells us that the Jewish people did not listen to Moshe because their spirits were so low from all the hard work. Moshe should therefore not attribute his inability to convince the Jewish people to his own character – thus further implying that he hasn’t a chance of persuading Pharaoh – but to the fact that they were working too hard. The failure to make proper attributions to situations, rather than to people, (just like Moshe did here) is known in social psychology as the Fundamental Attribution Error.
Moshe’s current Kal v’Chomer is noteworthy among the other nine in several ways. Let’s look at some patterns in the other nine to fully appreciate this.
First, in each of the nine, the parallelism and attribution of the Kal v’Chomer seem correct. For example, as Jeremiah says, one who can’t keep up with human runners can’t catch horses (#5); as Moshe later says, those who rebel under divine leadership probably rebel under sub-divine leadership (#4); as King David’s men say, when home is unsafe, the frontline will be more so (#6 and 7); and as Achashverosh say, those who kill under the king’s watch probably did even more damage in the lawless provinces (#10) etc. None of the other nine Kal v’Chomer statements have the obvious flaw found in Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer this week; in other words, none of the other nine exhibit the Fundamental Attribution Error.
Second, only one of these other Kal v’Chomer structures addresses any attributes of the speaker, and it does so l’Shevah, in praise of the speaker. This is the Kal v’Chomer of Joseph’s brothers, who make a Kal v’Chomer to defend themselves against Joseph’s charge that they stole from him: “If we refused to take the money you gave us, how could we steal from you?” All of the other instances address attributes of the listener or of a 3rd party. For example, Moshe makes a Kal v’Chomer on the behavior of the Jewish people, God does so on the halakha of Miriam’s leprosy, the prophets do so regarding the behavior of the people, King David’s men do so in examining the level of danger in which they find themselves, and Ahashverosh does so in discussing the extent of the Jewish military actions on Purim. While Moshe’s attributions to himself are not unique – Joseph’s brothers do so as well – in no other case does a Biblical character make a self-deprecating Kal v’Chomer
Third, of the nine, four are delivered by human beings trying to make an emphatic point in the course of conversation (Joseph’s brothers to their accusers; Moses to the people; David’s soldiers to David; Achashverosh to Esther). four are given in prophecy or general wisdom (Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and Proverbs). One is uttered by the Almighty (God to Moshe regarding Miriam). However, everyone of these nine is delivered to a human being – none are said to God. This Kal v’Chomer, and no other, is spoken to God.
To summarize, Moshe’s Kal v’Chomer in our parsha is unique in 3 dimensions. His is (a) the only Kal v’Chomer that loses its logical force due to an intervening factor -- the people’s fatigue --and makes the Fundamental Attribution Error; (b) the only Kal v’Chomer that makes negative attributions to the speaker; and c) the only Kal v’Chomer uttered to God.
What do we make of the fact that our greatest prophet utters the only self-doubting, Fundamental Attribution Error-ridden Kal v’Chomer in all of the TaNaKh, and, furthermore, does this in conversation with the Almighty?
Perhaps this is meant to illustrate to us just how hard it is for us to make accurate attributions and learn correct lessons from our experiences and observations. When we fail, it can be very difficult to know whether it was because we weren’t up to the challenge, or because some unknown external factor interfered. Moreover, even when we perceive that there was some external factor, as here, we may often wonder whether we might have failed anyway, even without that factor.
I think that we are often quite hard on ourselves and others (as I perhaps have been on Moshe) for making these sorts of errors, and for harboring such doubts. But I think that this is why the Torah shows us this incident as it does: so that we should realize that even the great and wise sometimes look back on their experiences and wonder what to make of them. Just as God was understanding with Moshe and helped him by including Aharon as a spokesman, Kal v’Chomer should we, who are not omniscient and all-mighty, go easy and ourselves and others when self-doubting ill-logic strikes us.
---------
The first Kal v’Chomer, Bereishit 44:8 – after Joseph’s brothers come see him in Egypt for the first time, he accuses his brothers of stealing his goblet. The brother’s respond and say, “Given that we returned the money that you gave to us, how could we steal from you?” That is, if a person does not hold onto money on which he or she has a claim, surely that person would not hold money on which (s)he has no claim.
The third Kal v’Chomer, BaMidbar 12:14 – God tells Moshe how to interact with Miriam during her leprosy saying “v’aviha yarok yarak b’faneha halo tikalem shivat yamim? Tisager shivat yamim mihutz lamaheneh.” That is, if the anger of an earthly parent would merit 7 days of impurity, surely the anger of Avinu sh’Bashamayim merits at least that much (apparently 14 days according to Breishit Rabba).
The fourth Kal v’Chomer, D’varim 31:27 – Moshe says to the Jewish people at the end of his life, “I know that you are rebellious and stiff-necked; you have rebelled against God during my life – and surely afterwards!” That is, those who rebel against God during the leadership of one who speaks directly with God will surely rebel in the absence of such a leader.
The fifth Kal’Chomer, Jeremiah 12:5 – the prophet describes the impending doom and feebleness of the Jewish people by saying, “If you get tired racing footmen, how do you expect to keep up with horses?”
The sixth Kal v’Chomer, Jeremiah 12:5 – Jeremiah’s prophecy continues, “if you feel danger in peaceful territory, how would you like the exposed heights of Jordan?”
The seventh Kal v’Chomer, Shmuel Alef, 23:3 – David encourages his men to accompany him to battle the Philistines in Ke’ilah. They respond, “We are afraid even here in Judea, how much more so if we go out to the battle in Ke’ilah.” This could be read one of two ways: if it is dangerous at home, how much more so in battle; or, if we are fearful people here at home, how much more so will we fear in battle.
The eighth Kal v’Chomer, Ezekiel 15:5 – Ezekiel brings the example of a grapevine, which isn’t much good as a building material – how much more so, he asks, if it is burnt?
The ninth Kal v’Chomer, Mishlei (Proverb) 11:31 – “Hen Tzadik Ba’aretz yishulam, af ki rasha v’hoteh – Behold the righteous is punished (Artscroll translation) on earth, certainly the wicked and sinners will be!”
The tenth Kal v’Chomer, Esther nine:12 – describing the carnage inflicted by the Jews against Haman’s men, Achashverosh says “In Shushan, the capital, the Jews have slain 500 men; imagine what they have done in the rest of the provinces!” (my translation based on the wooden Artscroll translation).
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Sh'mot 5767 VaYakom Melekh Hadash
“VaYakom Melekh Hadash al Mitzrayim asher lo Yada et Yosef.” This verse is usually translated “A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Yosef.” Other commentators argue that there was not a new king, but rather that the old king merely passed new decrees. For example, Rashi brings a machloket between Rav and Shmuel precisely to this effect. Another interesting proof for this second view comes from the Hizkuni, who notes that while the death of Joseph is reported again in 1:7, there is no mention of the death of an old king; therefore he must still be alive and still ruling.
The Kli Yakar makes two wonderful observations on this verse. First, he notes that “VaYakom Melekh Hadash – A new king arose” is not the simplest way to convey that there was a new king. That would have been “VaYimlokh Melekh Hadash – A new king became ruler.” The verb “To arise” is more often seen in the context of an enemy who arises against someone (“VaYakom al …”) to harm him/her, as the Hizkuni and Kli Yakar both note. This being the case, against whom did the Melekh Hadash arise? The Hizkuni answers, logically, that Pharoah rose up to harm B'nei Israel. Although this is logical, it's textually problematic -- the verse states "VaYakom Melekh Hadash al Mitzrayim -- a new king arose against Egypt." The Kli Yakar therefore says that Pharoah rose up to harm Egypt.
So in what sense could Pharoah be said to have arisen against his own people to harm them? The Kli Yakar explains that Pharoah was his, and his people’s, own worst enemy. Pharoah set out to destroy the Jewish people because their great population increase represented a threat. Acccording to most commentators, this great population growth was unnatural, the result of divine blessing. Therefore, the very reason that Pharoah wanted to destroy the Jewish people – that God was on their side, as it were – caused him to fail. Moreover, this evil and misguided plan brought down the punishment of the 10 plagues on Egypt. In this sense, Pharoah’s lust for oppression, either as the new king or via new decrees as the old king, ensured the destruction of the Egyptians – “VaYakom Al Mitzrayim.”
The Kli Yakar makes a related drasha on “Asher Lo Yada et Yosef,” which he reads as “Asher Lo Yada Mah sh’Karah L’Yosef – who didn’t know what happened to Joseph.” It is not so much that Pharoah had never met Joseph, but that he did not know Joseph’s life story. He did not know that Joseph's brothers had endeavored to kill Joseph and to nullify his dreams, to no avail; his dreams came true, because they reflected divine prophecy. To add to the Kli Yakar, if Pharoah had known the principle of “Rabot Mahashavot B’lev Ish, Atzat Hashem Hi Takum – there are many thoughts in the human heart, but the divine plan is the one that lasts” he never would have launched his evil folly. As such, his lack of knowledge of Yosef’s story was what made him an enemy to his own people.
I want to suggest a further homiletic reading that follows in the same footsteps. Rather than reading VaYakom Melekh Hadash as a reference to Pharoah (which is perhaps a stretch since we’re viewing the Melekh as an enemy of Egypt) let it be a reference to God, who is the sovereign of the entire universe. Moreover, God is sometimes identified simply as “Melekh” -- and not “haMelekh” – as in the terms of the Amidah, Melekh Ozer u'Moshia u'Magen. The verse could then be read “VaYakom Melekh, Hadash al Mitzrayim sh'lo Yada et Yosef -- And God arose, anew against the Egyptians, because they did not know the story of Joseph.”
The Kli Yakar makes two wonderful observations on this verse. First, he notes that “VaYakom Melekh Hadash – A new king arose” is not the simplest way to convey that there was a new king. That would have been “VaYimlokh Melekh Hadash – A new king became ruler.” The verb “To arise” is more often seen in the context of an enemy who arises against someone (“VaYakom al …”) to harm him/her, as the Hizkuni and Kli Yakar both note. This being the case, against whom did the Melekh Hadash arise? The Hizkuni answers, logically, that Pharoah rose up to harm B'nei Israel. Although this is logical, it's textually problematic -- the verse states "VaYakom Melekh Hadash al Mitzrayim -- a new king arose against Egypt." The Kli Yakar therefore says that Pharoah rose up to harm Egypt.
So in what sense could Pharoah be said to have arisen against his own people to harm them? The Kli Yakar explains that Pharoah was his, and his people’s, own worst enemy. Pharoah set out to destroy the Jewish people because their great population increase represented a threat. Acccording to most commentators, this great population growth was unnatural, the result of divine blessing. Therefore, the very reason that Pharoah wanted to destroy the Jewish people – that God was on their side, as it were – caused him to fail. Moreover, this evil and misguided plan brought down the punishment of the 10 plagues on Egypt. In this sense, Pharoah’s lust for oppression, either as the new king or via new decrees as the old king, ensured the destruction of the Egyptians – “VaYakom Al Mitzrayim.”
The Kli Yakar makes a related drasha on “Asher Lo Yada et Yosef,” which he reads as “Asher Lo Yada Mah sh’Karah L’Yosef – who didn’t know what happened to Joseph.” It is not so much that Pharoah had never met Joseph, but that he did not know Joseph’s life story. He did not know that Joseph's brothers had endeavored to kill Joseph and to nullify his dreams, to no avail; his dreams came true, because they reflected divine prophecy. To add to the Kli Yakar, if Pharoah had known the principle of “Rabot Mahashavot B’lev Ish, Atzat Hashem Hi Takum – there are many thoughts in the human heart, but the divine plan is the one that lasts” he never would have launched his evil folly. As such, his lack of knowledge of Yosef’s story was what made him an enemy to his own people.
I want to suggest a further homiletic reading that follows in the same footsteps. Rather than reading VaYakom Melekh Hadash as a reference to Pharoah (which is perhaps a stretch since we’re viewing the Melekh as an enemy of Egypt) let it be a reference to God, who is the sovereign of the entire universe. Moreover, God is sometimes identified simply as “Melekh” -- and not “haMelekh” – as in the terms of the Amidah, Melekh Ozer u'Moshia u'Magen. The verse could then be read “VaYakom Melekh, Hadash al Mitzrayim sh'lo Yada et Yosef -- And God arose, anew against the Egyptians, because they did not know the story of Joseph.”
Sunday, January 7, 2007
VaYehi 5767 -- Of Burial and Blessing
There are two difficulties in this week’s parsha and perushim that I would like to explore. I hope that by exploring each difficulty a single explanation will emerge.
As Jacob grows old he calls upon Joseph and beseeches Joseph not to bury him in Egypt. Apparently unsatisfied with Joseph’s acquiescence (‘anochi e’eseh khid’varekha’), Jacob demands that Joseph take an oath that he will not bury his father in Egypt, but in the family tomb, the cave of Machpelah.
Sometime later Jacob falls ill and death looms. Joseph is informed and comes to his father’s side. Jacob relates to Joseph his covenantal encounter with God at Bet El and then announces that he will consider Ephraim and Menashe as his own children. He then returns to his life story, recounting the death of Rachel near Bethlehem and Jacob’s failure to bring her even the short distance into the land of Canaan and the family tomb. Immediately after this, Jacob announces his desire to bless Menashe and Ephraim.
The commentators (See Rashi, Ramban, and Nehama Leibowitz for an excellent compilation) understand Jacob’s focus on the death of Rachel as a sort of last confession in which Jacob pleads with Joseph to treat him better than he treated Joseph’s mother. After all, if Jacob couldn’t be troubled to transport Rachel a very short distance from Beit Lehem Machpelah, why should Joseph bother bringing Jacob all the way from Egypt to Hevron? This is compelling and dramatic stuff, as a dying Jacob painfully confronts a perhaps-long-repressed failure and trauma in the hope that his son can forgive him and grant him his dying wish.
But it doesn’t quite add up. First, Jacob doesn’t actually make any such requests of Joseph. Rather, after Jacob finishes with the death of Rachel, he immediately turns to the blessing of Ephraim and Menashe (48:8). Second, Jacob shouldn’t need to beseech Joseph at this point. Recall that as the parsha opened, Jacob made Joseph swear an oath (a shevua) that he would bury him in Machpelah and not in Egypt. Therefore, by the time Jacob reaches his death-bed he should have no worries that Joseph will treat him as he treated Rachel – he already made him take an oath to that effect! So the commentators have a difficulty: If they are right that Jacob is asking Joseph not to treat him midah k’neged midah, measure for measure, with Jacob’s treatment of Rachel, why didn’t Jacob bring this up either before, or at least immediately after, he made Joseph take an oath on the matter? This is Problem Number One – Shouldn’t Jacob have brought this up earlier?
Now onto Problem Number Two. After Jacob tells Joseph that he wants to bless Joseph’s sons, Joseph shepherds them towards their grandfather, whose “eyes were heavy with age and could not see – v’einei Yisrael kavdu mizoken v’lo yukhal lirot” (48:10). After Jacob hugs and kisses them, Joseph then arranges them for their blessings, putting Ephraim, the younger, to Jacob’s left, and Menashe to Jacob’s right. Jacob disregards this ordering, and, even in his blindness, puts his right hand on Ephraim’s head.
The Baal HaTurim notes that the word ‘zoken -- age’ in 48:10 is spelled haser, that is, it is spelled without a vav and so looks like the word ‘zaken – aged.’ According to the Baal haTurim, this is meant to evoke the verse “vayehi ki zaken Yitzhak v’tikh’hena einav merot – and Isaac was aged and his eyes grew weak” (27:1). By way of reminder, aged Isaac calls upon Esau to bring him meat so that he can bless Esau before his death, Rebecca overhears and tells Jacob to dress up like Esau so that he can take the blessing.
So what’s the connection between the stealing of Isaac’s blessing and the current episode according to the Baal haTurim? Just as Jacob deceived his blind father at the time that blessings were being handed out, so too Jacob’s own son attempts to deceive him in his blindness by putting Ephraim and Menashe in the opposite order from which Jacob intended to bless them.
But this is difficult as well for two reasons. First, Joseph did not successfully reverse the order of the b’rakhot. Jacob’s hands found their way to the right children, and despite Joseph’s second and heavy-handed attempt to make it otherwise, Jacob does bless Ephraim first.Second, what was so bad about Joseph’s ordering of his own sons for blessing by their grandfather? Where was the deception? Joseph did not deliberately try to deceive Jacob (who had not yet expressed his preferred ordering); he just put his kids in what seemed to be the right order. Contrast this with Jacob and Rebecca’s intent to take the b’rakha meant for Esau. Moreover, there was no affirmative deception along the lines of Jacob’s donning of animal skins to impersonate Esau. Joseph never said “This one’s Ephraim and that one’s Menashe.” And yet the Baal haTurim believes that in this incident Jacob is receiving a comeuppance. This is Problem Number Two: Why is the Baal haTurim, when all the evidence seems to the contrary, convinced that Joseph must be engaged in some sort of deception?
It seems to me that these problems may answer each other. That is, Jacob’s misplaced confession to Joseph may be forcing the Baal haTurim to find a deception in response.
As Rachel pointed out to me, Jacob probably had a very good reason for delaying his confession until after he had obtained an oath from Joseph: if he had made his confession earlier, Joseph might not have agreed to his request! Nonetheless, Jacob wants to get this off his chest before he dies, and so confesses on his death bed.
From Jacob’s perspective it’s all quite defensible, but I think Joseph thought otherwise. Joseph probably felt manipulated and betrayed. Recall that his father was not satisfied by Joseph’s statement that he would bury him in Machpelah and insisted that he take an oath. Why was he so insistent? The Kli Yakar offers several reasons, among which that Jacob thought Joseph would have a harder time convincing Pharoah to let him go on a discretionary errand than on one mandated by oath. But I wonder whether Joseph read it differently, thinking “My father made me swear an oath precisely so that he could later re-open a decades-old wound without fear of repercussions, at least repercussions in kind (or measure for measure). That sort of manipulation makes me really angry!”
Bound by his oath, but angered by his father’s manipulation, Joseph must cast about for some other means with which to strike back at his father. This sense of seething emotion seeking a channel may be what leads the Baal haTurim to read deliberate deception into Joseph’s ‘switching’ of Ephraim and Menashe. As noted earlier, the blessing of Ephraim and Menashe comes immediately after Jacob finishes his confession. It is therefore natural to suspect that Joseph, seeking an opportunity to retaliate, would do so in the very next episode. The parallels to a blind Isaac allow the Baal haTurim to complete the puzzle, making Joseph a deliberate deceiver of his father.
It’s interesting to note that the p’shat in the Baal haTurim doesn’t go quite in this direction. Remember that the Baal haTurim seemed to say that Joseph’s deception of Jacob here was a repayment of Jacob’s deception of Isaac (i.e., Joseph --> Jacob --> Isaac). I’ve argued that the only reason to think that Joseph engaged in any deception at all is his anger at his father. Therefore, under my reading, Joseph’s deception of Jacob is in repayment of Jacob’s manipulation of Joseph (i.e., Joseph <-- --> Jacob). I want to suggest that the Baal haTurim’s reading may reflect Jacob’s perception of the incident. In previous weeks we have seen how Jacob is either indifferent to or clueless about his family members’ emotions. Here, too, Jacob may not understand that Joseph is outraged or why. Therefore, when he perceives attempted deception, his emotionally blind mind jumps to the perfect symmetry (son --> father/son --> father) suggested by the Baal haTurim.
As Jacob grows old he calls upon Joseph and beseeches Joseph not to bury him in Egypt. Apparently unsatisfied with Joseph’s acquiescence (‘anochi e’eseh khid’varekha’), Jacob demands that Joseph take an oath that he will not bury his father in Egypt, but in the family tomb, the cave of Machpelah.
Sometime later Jacob falls ill and death looms. Joseph is informed and comes to his father’s side. Jacob relates to Joseph his covenantal encounter with God at Bet El and then announces that he will consider Ephraim and Menashe as his own children. He then returns to his life story, recounting the death of Rachel near Bethlehem and Jacob’s failure to bring her even the short distance into the land of Canaan and the family tomb. Immediately after this, Jacob announces his desire to bless Menashe and Ephraim.
The commentators (See Rashi, Ramban, and Nehama Leibowitz for an excellent compilation) understand Jacob’s focus on the death of Rachel as a sort of last confession in which Jacob pleads with Joseph to treat him better than he treated Joseph’s mother. After all, if Jacob couldn’t be troubled to transport Rachel a very short distance from Beit Lehem Machpelah, why should Joseph bother bringing Jacob all the way from Egypt to Hevron? This is compelling and dramatic stuff, as a dying Jacob painfully confronts a perhaps-long-repressed failure and trauma in the hope that his son can forgive him and grant him his dying wish.
But it doesn’t quite add up. First, Jacob doesn’t actually make any such requests of Joseph. Rather, after Jacob finishes with the death of Rachel, he immediately turns to the blessing of Ephraim and Menashe (48:8). Second, Jacob shouldn’t need to beseech Joseph at this point. Recall that as the parsha opened, Jacob made Joseph swear an oath (a shevua) that he would bury him in Machpelah and not in Egypt. Therefore, by the time Jacob reaches his death-bed he should have no worries that Joseph will treat him as he treated Rachel – he already made him take an oath to that effect! So the commentators have a difficulty: If they are right that Jacob is asking Joseph not to treat him midah k’neged midah, measure for measure, with Jacob’s treatment of Rachel, why didn’t Jacob bring this up either before, or at least immediately after, he made Joseph take an oath on the matter? This is Problem Number One – Shouldn’t Jacob have brought this up earlier?
Now onto Problem Number Two. After Jacob tells Joseph that he wants to bless Joseph’s sons, Joseph shepherds them towards their grandfather, whose “eyes were heavy with age and could not see – v’einei Yisrael kavdu mizoken v’lo yukhal lirot” (48:10). After Jacob hugs and kisses them, Joseph then arranges them for their blessings, putting Ephraim, the younger, to Jacob’s left, and Menashe to Jacob’s right. Jacob disregards this ordering, and, even in his blindness, puts his right hand on Ephraim’s head.
The Baal HaTurim notes that the word ‘zoken -- age’ in 48:10 is spelled haser, that is, it is spelled without a vav and so looks like the word ‘zaken – aged.’ According to the Baal haTurim, this is meant to evoke the verse “vayehi ki zaken Yitzhak v’tikh’hena einav merot – and Isaac was aged and his eyes grew weak” (27:1). By way of reminder, aged Isaac calls upon Esau to bring him meat so that he can bless Esau before his death, Rebecca overhears and tells Jacob to dress up like Esau so that he can take the blessing.
So what’s the connection between the stealing of Isaac’s blessing and the current episode according to the Baal haTurim? Just as Jacob deceived his blind father at the time that blessings were being handed out, so too Jacob’s own son attempts to deceive him in his blindness by putting Ephraim and Menashe in the opposite order from which Jacob intended to bless them.
But this is difficult as well for two reasons. First, Joseph did not successfully reverse the order of the b’rakhot. Jacob’s hands found their way to the right children, and despite Joseph’s second and heavy-handed attempt to make it otherwise, Jacob does bless Ephraim first.Second, what was so bad about Joseph’s ordering of his own sons for blessing by their grandfather? Where was the deception? Joseph did not deliberately try to deceive Jacob (who had not yet expressed his preferred ordering); he just put his kids in what seemed to be the right order. Contrast this with Jacob and Rebecca’s intent to take the b’rakha meant for Esau. Moreover, there was no affirmative deception along the lines of Jacob’s donning of animal skins to impersonate Esau. Joseph never said “This one’s Ephraim and that one’s Menashe.” And yet the Baal haTurim believes that in this incident Jacob is receiving a comeuppance. This is Problem Number Two: Why is the Baal haTurim, when all the evidence seems to the contrary, convinced that Joseph must be engaged in some sort of deception?
It seems to me that these problems may answer each other. That is, Jacob’s misplaced confession to Joseph may be forcing the Baal haTurim to find a deception in response.
As Rachel pointed out to me, Jacob probably had a very good reason for delaying his confession until after he had obtained an oath from Joseph: if he had made his confession earlier, Joseph might not have agreed to his request! Nonetheless, Jacob wants to get this off his chest before he dies, and so confesses on his death bed.
From Jacob’s perspective it’s all quite defensible, but I think Joseph thought otherwise. Joseph probably felt manipulated and betrayed. Recall that his father was not satisfied by Joseph’s statement that he would bury him in Machpelah and insisted that he take an oath. Why was he so insistent? The Kli Yakar offers several reasons, among which that Jacob thought Joseph would have a harder time convincing Pharoah to let him go on a discretionary errand than on one mandated by oath. But I wonder whether Joseph read it differently, thinking “My father made me swear an oath precisely so that he could later re-open a decades-old wound without fear of repercussions, at least repercussions in kind (or measure for measure). That sort of manipulation makes me really angry!”
Bound by his oath, but angered by his father’s manipulation, Joseph must cast about for some other means with which to strike back at his father. This sense of seething emotion seeking a channel may be what leads the Baal haTurim to read deliberate deception into Joseph’s ‘switching’ of Ephraim and Menashe. As noted earlier, the blessing of Ephraim and Menashe comes immediately after Jacob finishes his confession. It is therefore natural to suspect that Joseph, seeking an opportunity to retaliate, would do so in the very next episode. The parallels to a blind Isaac allow the Baal haTurim to complete the puzzle, making Joseph a deliberate deceiver of his father.
It’s interesting to note that the p’shat in the Baal haTurim doesn’t go quite in this direction. Remember that the Baal haTurim seemed to say that Joseph’s deception of Jacob here was a repayment of Jacob’s deception of Isaac (i.e., Joseph --> Jacob --> Isaac). I’ve argued that the only reason to think that Joseph engaged in any deception at all is his anger at his father. Therefore, under my reading, Joseph’s deception of Jacob is in repayment of Jacob’s manipulation of Joseph (i.e., Joseph <-- --> Jacob). I want to suggest that the Baal haTurim’s reading may reflect Jacob’s perception of the incident. In previous weeks we have seen how Jacob is either indifferent to or clueless about his family members’ emotions. Here, too, Jacob may not understand that Joseph is outraged or why. Therefore, when he perceives attempted deception, his emotionally blind mind jumps to the perfect symmetry (son --> father/son --> father) suggested by the Baal haTurim.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
VaYehi 5767 -- Rachel on Birkat haBanim
In Parashat VaYehi, Ya’akov blesses Ephra’im and Menashe as if they were his own children. Yosef lines them up with Ephra’im, the younger, on Ya’akov’s left, and Menashe, the elder, on Ya’akov’s right (miy’min). (B’reisheet 48:13) Ya’akov, who has lost his sight due to his advanced age, actually crosses his hands in blessing Ephra’im and Menashe, so that his left hand rests upon Menashe’s head, and his right hand upon Ephra’im’s. (48:14) Later (in 48:18-20), Yosef asks Ya’akov why he has done this, and Ya’akov explains that it was his intention to chose the younger over the elder.
This harkens back to Ya’akov’s own experience of being chosen, over his older brother Esav, to receive his father’s blessing. What I find particularly interesting, though, is that this idea of choosing the younger son over the elder seems to have skipped a generation. Ya’akov clearly seems to prefer Yosef to Binyamin.
However, I noticed a few things upon looking closely at the aforementioned passage, as well as the verse in Parashat VaYishlah where Binyamin receives his name. (B’reisheet 35:18) Rachel actually names him Ben-Oni as she is dying, but Ya’akov decides to call him Binyamin. According to the commentators, Rachel chooses Ben-Oni (from onah, meaning affliction), because he is the son of her grief (Ben-Aveli). [The name is associated with Lehem Oni (the Bread of Affliction, which refers to matzah), and is particularly appropriate because Binyamin was born (and Rachel died) in Beit Lehem (Bethlehem), literally the “House of Bread.”]
According to the Ramban, Ya’akov -- who does not change any of his other children’s names from the names chosen by their mothers -- re-interprets the name Ben-Oni to mean Ben-Kohi, son of my strength. In taking onah, affliction, as a source of strength rather than grief, Ya’akov then translates the name to Binyamin, son of the right (hand). The right hand, y’min, is associated not only with the quality of strength, but also with success and might. In translating Binyamin’s name, he retains Rachel’s original idea, but also ascribes these good qualities to his son.
Later, Ya’akov tries to protect Binyamin when he attempts to prevent him from going back to Egypt with his brothers; it was Yosef who he sent into harm’s way. This suggests that perhaps Ya’akov favored Binyamin over Yosef. So the pattern of favoring the younger son, or at least making him an equal to his elder brother, is continued through the generations.
A further thought: The passage where Ya’akov blesses Ephra’im and Menashe is the source for Birkat HaBanim, the Blessing of the Children said by parents on Friday night. In fact, the blessing for sons actually asks God to make them like Ephra’im and Menashe (Y’simcha Elokim k’Ephra’im v’ki’Menashe). It is customary in many homes for parents to place their hands upon the heads of their children (as Ya’akov did) when reciting the blessing. In my home, rather than placing his hands on each of our heads, my own father would stretch out his arms towards us upon reciting the Priestly Blessing. While we have teased him about this habit, in addition to stretching his arms out, he also crosses his arms in the process. Whether or not this was a conscious decision to reflect the practice used by Ya’akov in the original Birkat HaBanim, I cannot say. However, it certainly interests me from an anthropological perspective, and I would have to say (pun intended): Right on, Abba!
-Rachel Slutsky-Kaplowitz
This harkens back to Ya’akov’s own experience of being chosen, over his older brother Esav, to receive his father’s blessing. What I find particularly interesting, though, is that this idea of choosing the younger son over the elder seems to have skipped a generation. Ya’akov clearly seems to prefer Yosef to Binyamin.
However, I noticed a few things upon looking closely at the aforementioned passage, as well as the verse in Parashat VaYishlah where Binyamin receives his name. (B’reisheet 35:18) Rachel actually names him Ben-Oni as she is dying, but Ya’akov decides to call him Binyamin. According to the commentators, Rachel chooses Ben-Oni (from onah, meaning affliction), because he is the son of her grief (Ben-Aveli). [The name is associated with Lehem Oni (the Bread of Affliction, which refers to matzah), and is particularly appropriate because Binyamin was born (and Rachel died) in Beit Lehem (Bethlehem), literally the “House of Bread.”]
According to the Ramban, Ya’akov -- who does not change any of his other children’s names from the names chosen by their mothers -- re-interprets the name Ben-Oni to mean Ben-Kohi, son of my strength. In taking onah, affliction, as a source of strength rather than grief, Ya’akov then translates the name to Binyamin, son of the right (hand). The right hand, y’min, is associated not only with the quality of strength, but also with success and might. In translating Binyamin’s name, he retains Rachel’s original idea, but also ascribes these good qualities to his son.
Later, Ya’akov tries to protect Binyamin when he attempts to prevent him from going back to Egypt with his brothers; it was Yosef who he sent into harm’s way. This suggests that perhaps Ya’akov favored Binyamin over Yosef. So the pattern of favoring the younger son, or at least making him an equal to his elder brother, is continued through the generations.
A further thought: The passage where Ya’akov blesses Ephra’im and Menashe is the source for Birkat HaBanim, the Blessing of the Children said by parents on Friday night. In fact, the blessing for sons actually asks God to make them like Ephra’im and Menashe (Y’simcha Elokim k’Ephra’im v’ki’Menashe). It is customary in many homes for parents to place their hands upon the heads of their children (as Ya’akov did) when reciting the blessing. In my home, rather than placing his hands on each of our heads, my own father would stretch out his arms towards us upon reciting the Priestly Blessing. While we have teased him about this habit, in addition to stretching his arms out, he also crosses his arms in the process. Whether or not this was a conscious decision to reflect the practice used by Ya’akov in the original Birkat HaBanim, I cannot say. However, it certainly interests me from an anthropological perspective, and I would have to say (pun intended): Right on, Abba!
-Rachel Slutsky-Kaplowitz
VaYeshev 5767 -- The Binding of Joseph and the Tragedy of Jacob
Jacob’s sending of Joseph to go find his brothers shepherding in Shechem is strangely, and strongly, evocative of the Binding of Isaac. In each instance a father is asked to sacrifice, or asks to sacrifice, the life of a favorite son. An extensive list of similarities, as well as a few differences is presented below. Given that there are all these parallels between the stories of the binding of Isaac and the sending of Joseph, it seems appropriate to ask who is playing which part in the Binding of Joseph, and how this similarity informs our understanding of this later event.
The uniquely favored son is chosen:
> It is through Yitzchak that Abraham’s Jewish line continues (ki b’Yitzchak yikareh lekha zera) > Although Jacob’s line continues through all his children, Yosef is favored to such an extent that he is referred to as Toldot Yaakov, the generations of Jacob.
Hineni
>When called upon, Avraham says Hineni (to God, to Yitzchak, to angel)
>When called upon by Jacob, Yosef says Hineni
Zrizut – zeal to fulfill the command:
> Avraham (Vayashkem Avraham baboker) desires to do God’s will.
> Yosef (see Rashi – hineni is lashon zrizut) desires to do his father’s will.
What almost happens:
>Avraham kills Yitzchak
> Brothers kill Yosef
The blood of an animal is shed instead:
> “And behold there was a ram,” which Avraham slaughters in place of Isaac
> Brothers kill a goat in place of actually killing Yosef (and dip coat into it)
The eating and ripping of flesh:
> The knife with which Avraham is to slaughter Yitzchak is called a maakhelet – an ‘eater’ – because, as Rashi notes, a knife eats its way through flesh as it cuts.
>The brothers claim that a wild animal came along v’akhalat’hu, and ate Yosef. When Jacob sees the bloody coat he wails hayah ra’ah akhalat’hu, tarof toraf Yosef – a wild animal has eaten him, Yosef has been ripped apart!
Angelic Intervention
>Angel ensures that the deed is not realized: calls on Avraham to make sure that he does not slaughter Yitzchak.
> Angel (Rashi; but see Ibn Ezra who disagrees) ensures that the deed is realized: Gabriel intervenes to make sure that Yosef does find his brothers.
Who is anointing the task?
> God’s direct command to Avraham, seemingly in contravention of the covenant.
> God’s covenant with Avraham that promises Jewish descent from Canaan.
Who is being tested?
>Avraham – (‘v’HaElokim nisah et Avraham’)
>Yosef. After all, he is the one who is called upon. Or perhaps also Jacob, who knows that he is sending his favorite son to suffering, if not death.
What would Success mean for Jewish history?
> The end. Avraham could not be allowed to succeed: the slaughter of Isaac would have prevented Jewish history from occurring.
> The continuation. Yosef could not be allowed to fail: he needed to find his brothers, and to be sold by them. Otherwise the descent to Egypt would not begin and Jewish history would not play itself out. (See Rashi on "Me'emek Hevron" for this idea).
Who goes into the task knowing full well what it means?
>Avraham -- But Yitzchak catches on.
> Jacob (see Rashi who explains he was fulfilling the covenantal promise above). Also Yosef (see Rashi explaining that Yosef knew how much his brothers hated him and could not fail to realize that this errand would endanger him)
Perhaps the most natural way to map the Binding of Isaac unto the Sending of Joseph is to match the father-son roles. Jacob is sending Joseph to what he believes is his death, just like Abraham did with Isaac. Joseph is therefore an Isaac character, and Jacob is like Abraham.
There are several problems with this reading. First, Rashi describes Joseph as having zrizut to do the mitzvah, the same characterization Rashi gave to Abraham, but not Isaac. Second, as Rashi points out, Joseph had zrizut even though he knew what was being asked of him – it was as though Joseph was being tested. In the Binding of Isaac we read that God tested Abraham, not Isaac. Therefore, Rashi suggests that Isaac did not initially know what was in store, but that he caught on as they drew near. But Joseph, according to Rashi, understood the threat immediately and still set off on his journey.
This suggests perhaps that Joseph is an Abraham character. But where does that leave Jacob? This seemingly puts him almost into the position that God was to Abraham. Just as God knew that Isaac would survive, so too Jacob knows that his descendants must descend to Egypt (See Rashi to ‘me-emek hevron’) in order to fulfill God’s covenant with Abraham, ki ger yihiyeh zarakha . That is, he ought to know that Joseph won’t be killed by his brothers.
Jacob, unlike Abraham, is not being asked to sacrifice a life (he won’t actually threaten Joseph, and he knows that Joseph won’t actually die), but is rather asking Joseph to sacrifice what Joseph fears may be a life – his own. In this way the relationship between Jacob and Joseph is like that between God and Abraham. God knew what He was asking, and how it would come out, and Abraham knew what he was being asked, and was willing to see it through any way it happened. Likewise, Jacob knows that he is putting Joseph into danger but knows that Joseph will not be killed by his brothers if the covenant is to be fulfilled. Joseph understands what is being asked of him, that he endanger himself, and is willing to see it through either way. Isaac, on the other hand, does not, at least initially, understand what is being asked of him.
But there is a problem with this as well: if Jacob really knows what will happen to Joseph, and knows that he is sending him in fulfillment of a divine covenant, why would he be fooled by the brothers’ representations that Joseph was dead? In other words, while Joseph, like Abraham, understands what is being asked from him, but not how it will turn out, Jacob, like the Almighty (and relying on the Almighty), presumably knows that everything will turn out, more or less, all right.
I believe that this is what was bothering Rashi when he wrote his comment to “hayah ra’ah akhalat’hu, tarof toraf Yosef – a wild animal has eaten him, Yosef has been ripped apart!” Bereishit 37:33. There Rashi says that Jacob did not mean this literally. Rather, he was seized by the ruah hakodesh and saw that Joseph would eventually suffer from the affections of the wife of Potifar – an evil beast as it were – who would rip Yosef’s garment as he escaped from her. Why is it necessary to find this temporally distant meaning to Jacob’s statement?
One commentary, the siftei hahamim, explains by asking how Jacob could know that this is what happened to Yosef, since the brother’s had not yet told him their story. Therefore, Jacob must be thinking of something else. But this is not compelling, as the brothers had already laid out convincing evidence – Joseph’s blood stained coat – that would naturally lead Jacob to the conclusion that Joseph had been eaten by wild beasts; they didn’t need to tell him.
Rather, Rashi’s problem is that Jacob must have known that Joseph simply would not be killed on this mission. As we noted above, Jacob is arguably in the same position as God was to Abraham, l’havdil, the puppet master, and so knew that just as Isaac would not die, Joseph would not die. Therefore, Rashi asks, why did Jacob exclaim with apparent pathos that Joseph had been consumed and ripped apart?
The answer is that, no matter the parallelism, Jacob is not God. While it was given to Jacob to understand that Joseph would not die at the hands of his brothers, Jacob was not blessed with omniscience. He therefore did not know of all the unpleasant consequences of Joseph’s descent into Egypt – such as the advances of Potifar’s wife and Joseph’s imprisonment – before sending Joseph on his way, and so was genuinely surprised and upset by the revelation of Joseph's future suffering derived from Eshet Potiphar.
But this begs the question: Why did God choose to reveal Joseph’s future suffering at the hands of Potifar’s wife to Jacob immediately after Joseph is sold? I want to suggest that this represents a divine rebuke of Jacob’s cavalier (puppet-master, if you will) attitude towards Joseph. Just as Jacob is kicking up his heels and congratulating himself on a job well-done in facilitating the progression of Jewish history (and probably thinking, that since the brothers wouldn’t kill Joseph “no harm, no foul”), he receives a divine news-flash that Joseph will not just be a ger, a sojourner, in Egypt but will also suffer hatred and imprisonment.
In certain ways, this is ironic and tragic, and seems quite reminiscent of Shakespeare or the Greeks – the great man at his moment of triumph realizes that he has erred terribly. And I'm attracted to this reading in part for that dramatic reason. But there is an important moral message as well. Even when we think that we are doing the right thing, implementing a divine precept even, we should be careful not to take lightly the possible, and sometimes unpredictable, consequences for others.
VaYishlach 5767 -- Wrestling with Freud
This week we will look at the changing of Jacob’s name to Israel. As Rashi sees it, Jacob’s hand-to-hand combat on the riverbank is a clash with the ministering angel who represents the nation of Esau. As Rashi further explains, when Jacob asks the angel to bless him, he is really asking the angel to acknowledge that the b’rachot that Jacob received from Isaac were rightfully his, and were not obtained through noxious trickery. This is very important to Jacob, as he is terrified that Esau, whom he will meet in the morning, might still want to kill him because of the pilfered blessings.
The angel apparently consents and tells Jacob “your name will no longer be called Jacob, but Yisrael; ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal – because you wrestled with God and humans and you overcame.” Rashi explains the first part of this statement – your name will no longer be called Jacob – as an acknowledgement that Jacob deserved the b’rachot, because the name Ya’akov could connote trickery and deceit. By changing this name and wiping away the identity of Jacob as ‘the trickster,’ the angel acknowledges Jacob’s authentic right to the blessings. In a sense, then, the angel blesses Jacob with the certainty that Esau will not try to kill him when they meet.
But the second part of the statement is difficult. What does it mean to wrestle with God? At a more basic level, does Elokim really mean God here? There are several approaches in the commentaries. The RaSaG and Unkelos translate sarita im Elokim according to the most obvious definition: wrestling before God. (I’m not really sure what it means to wrestle ‘before’ anyone, but see RaSag (“lifnei Hashem”) and Unkelos (“Kadam Hashem”)). The Radak explains that wrestling with God refers to Jacob’s battle with the angel, and so associates Elokim not with God per se, but with the heavenly host. I am uncomfortable with all of these explanations for the following reason: they seem to glorify an attribute of Jacob – his physical strength and battle-hardiness – that is simply not worth memorializing in a momentous mid-life change of name.
I am similarly troubled by the explanations given for “v’im anashim vatukhal – and [you have wrestled] with humans and you have overcome.” According to Rashi and the Radak ‘humans’ is a reference to Esau and Laban, who contended with Jacob, but over whom Jacob ultimately prevailed. The mere fact of Jacob’s victory over and escape from Esau and Laban also does not seem worthy of grand memorializing in a divinely inspired name. In fact, Jacob’s cunning – by which he gained Esau’s birthright and blessing and escaped from Laban – seems awfully similar to the attribute of deception that was just removed from his identity through the name change! Why would it then be immediately restored by a new name that memorializes Jacob’s grappling with, and ultimate defeat of, other people?
It seems to me that in order for the new name Yisrael to make sense, it must evoke good moral qualities that have become the new essence of our Ancestor. This is certainly the case when Abraham and Sarah’s names are given; they are not given the names “He who pretends his wife is his sister,” or “She who mistreats her maid.” I argue that such utterly inappropriate names are fairly analogous to the explanations of Yisrael discussed above, which more or less amount to “He who has been physically stronger than angels and more cunning and successful than men” (or as my chavruta characterized it “He who is no longer a trickster but a Big Bad Dude”).
I want to suggest a re-reading of this verse that emphasizes the positive moral qualities that we would expect to inhere in a name, and that speak to Jacob’s experiences. “Ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal” should not be read to say that Jacob has wrestled with God and humans and has been victorious.
Instead, this verse commemorates Jacob’s wrestling with the demands of justice – Elokim – and with his own baser desires –the enoshi, or human, aspects – leading to the emergence of a refined character, representing his true soul – vatukhal. Put in psychological terms, Ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal refers to Jacob’s successful synthesis of the Superego, elokim, with the Id, anashim, thereby enabling, or granting yekholet to, his Ego to emerge.
This reading of Elokim as ‘justice,’ rather than ‘God,’ is quite reasonable. First, Elokim is associated specifically with God’s attribute of judgment. Second, Elohim sometimes just means judges, such as members of a beit din, and not God! (See for example Rashi to Exodus 21:5).
Moreover, this reading allows us to emphasize Jacob’s noble characteristics and the experiences that have forced him to grow. In his earlier days, Jacob seemed to want what he wanted, and to figure out a way to get it – he exercised his Id. He bought Esau’s birthright when Esau was vulnerable and deceived his father and stole Esau’s blessing. But Jacob also was threatened with, and indeed received, recompense for pursuing his inappropriate desires. Esau threatened to kill him, and just as Jacob had deceived Isaac, who could not see, Laban deceived Jacob at night, when he could not see, by substituting Leah for Rachel. Arguably, Esau’s threats and Laban’s deceptions were appropriate justice, midah k’neged midah – measure for measure – and reflect the demands of the Superego.
By the time Jacob is returning to Canaan, he has seen the error of his ways and has done teshuvah. He sends messengers ahead to curry favor and ask forgiveness from his brother. One of his instructions is to tell Esau “Im Lavan Garti – with Laban I have dwelled.” As Rashi notes, Garti is gematria for 613. To expand on Rashi, what Jacob is really telling Esau is this: “I used to give into my impulses, and that’s what came between us, but now I have mastered them. Know that I have changed by the fact that I managed to keep the commandments during my time with the idolatrous and thieving Laban. I am not the Jacob (trickster) you knew.”
As human beings we are emphatically not perfect, and it is not in our nature to be so. Our enoshi attributes are an indispensable part of our identities both as universal humans and as individuals. For this reason, the angel admiringly notes not that Jacob has acceded to perfect justice and vanquished his humanity – which would be impossible – but rather that he has wrestled with each, Superego and Id. At the end of the process: vatukhal – and a complete (kol) and able (yakhol) Ego was able to emerge.
The angel apparently consents and tells Jacob “your name will no longer be called Jacob, but Yisrael; ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal – because you wrestled with God and humans and you overcame.” Rashi explains the first part of this statement – your name will no longer be called Jacob – as an acknowledgement that Jacob deserved the b’rachot, because the name Ya’akov could connote trickery and deceit. By changing this name and wiping away the identity of Jacob as ‘the trickster,’ the angel acknowledges Jacob’s authentic right to the blessings. In a sense, then, the angel blesses Jacob with the certainty that Esau will not try to kill him when they meet.
But the second part of the statement is difficult. What does it mean to wrestle with God? At a more basic level, does Elokim really mean God here? There are several approaches in the commentaries. The RaSaG and Unkelos translate sarita im Elokim according to the most obvious definition: wrestling before God. (I’m not really sure what it means to wrestle ‘before’ anyone, but see RaSag (“lifnei Hashem”) and Unkelos (“Kadam Hashem”)). The Radak explains that wrestling with God refers to Jacob’s battle with the angel, and so associates Elokim not with God per se, but with the heavenly host. I am uncomfortable with all of these explanations for the following reason: they seem to glorify an attribute of Jacob – his physical strength and battle-hardiness – that is simply not worth memorializing in a momentous mid-life change of name.
I am similarly troubled by the explanations given for “v’im anashim vatukhal – and [you have wrestled] with humans and you have overcome.” According to Rashi and the Radak ‘humans’ is a reference to Esau and Laban, who contended with Jacob, but over whom Jacob ultimately prevailed. The mere fact of Jacob’s victory over and escape from Esau and Laban also does not seem worthy of grand memorializing in a divinely inspired name. In fact, Jacob’s cunning – by which he gained Esau’s birthright and blessing and escaped from Laban – seems awfully similar to the attribute of deception that was just removed from his identity through the name change! Why would it then be immediately restored by a new name that memorializes Jacob’s grappling with, and ultimate defeat of, other people?
It seems to me that in order for the new name Yisrael to make sense, it must evoke good moral qualities that have become the new essence of our Ancestor. This is certainly the case when Abraham and Sarah’s names are given; they are not given the names “He who pretends his wife is his sister,” or “She who mistreats her maid.” I argue that such utterly inappropriate names are fairly analogous to the explanations of Yisrael discussed above, which more or less amount to “He who has been physically stronger than angels and more cunning and successful than men” (or as my chavruta characterized it “He who is no longer a trickster but a Big Bad Dude”).
I want to suggest a re-reading of this verse that emphasizes the positive moral qualities that we would expect to inhere in a name, and that speak to Jacob’s experiences. “Ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal” should not be read to say that Jacob has wrestled with God and humans and has been victorious.
Instead, this verse commemorates Jacob’s wrestling with the demands of justice – Elokim – and with his own baser desires –the enoshi, or human, aspects – leading to the emergence of a refined character, representing his true soul – vatukhal. Put in psychological terms, Ki sarita im Elokim v’im anashim vatukhal refers to Jacob’s successful synthesis of the Superego, elokim, with the Id, anashim, thereby enabling, or granting yekholet to, his Ego to emerge.
This reading of Elokim as ‘justice,’ rather than ‘God,’ is quite reasonable. First, Elokim is associated specifically with God’s attribute of judgment. Second, Elohim sometimes just means judges, such as members of a beit din, and not God! (See for example Rashi to Exodus 21:5).
Moreover, this reading allows us to emphasize Jacob’s noble characteristics and the experiences that have forced him to grow. In his earlier days, Jacob seemed to want what he wanted, and to figure out a way to get it – he exercised his Id. He bought Esau’s birthright when Esau was vulnerable and deceived his father and stole Esau’s blessing. But Jacob also was threatened with, and indeed received, recompense for pursuing his inappropriate desires. Esau threatened to kill him, and just as Jacob had deceived Isaac, who could not see, Laban deceived Jacob at night, when he could not see, by substituting Leah for Rachel. Arguably, Esau’s threats and Laban’s deceptions were appropriate justice, midah k’neged midah – measure for measure – and reflect the demands of the Superego.
By the time Jacob is returning to Canaan, he has seen the error of his ways and has done teshuvah. He sends messengers ahead to curry favor and ask forgiveness from his brother. One of his instructions is to tell Esau “Im Lavan Garti – with Laban I have dwelled.” As Rashi notes, Garti is gematria for 613. To expand on Rashi, what Jacob is really telling Esau is this: “I used to give into my impulses, and that’s what came between us, but now I have mastered them. Know that I have changed by the fact that I managed to keep the commandments during my time with the idolatrous and thieving Laban. I am not the Jacob (trickster) you knew.”
As human beings we are emphatically not perfect, and it is not in our nature to be so. Our enoshi attributes are an indispensable part of our identities both as universal humans and as individuals. For this reason, the angel admiringly notes not that Jacob has acceded to perfect justice and vanquished his humanity – which would be impossible – but rather that he has wrestled with each, Superego and Id. At the end of the process: vatukhal – and a complete (kol) and able (yakhol) Ego was able to emerge.
VaYetze Yaakov 5767 -- Kisses Flowing Like Water
This week’s D’var Torah will be in the form of the Rashi that I believe should have been written. Doubtless, an oversight. J
When Jacob comes to the well in Haran, he sees Rachel and then single-handedly rolls aside the stone that covers the well. The verse then says “VaYashk et haTzon – He poured water for the Flock.” Bereshit 29:10. The next verse then says “VaYishak Yaakov L’Rahel – Jacob kissed Rachel.” Note two things here: First, vowels aside, VaYashk and VaYishak are spelled exactly the same. Second, they are not from the same roots and have different meanings. The root in the first instance is Nun, Shin, Kuf, and in the second is Shin, Kuf, Hay. Nonetheless, these two different words, coming from two different roots, come out the same.
One more point before we get to our Rashi. In Bereshit 29:13, we are told regarding Laban “VaYichabek Lo VaYinashek Lo – He hugged and he kissed Jacob.”
Now our ‘Rashi:’
VaYinashek Lo -- When Jacob kissed Rachel, the text said VaYishak; now, when Laban kisses Jacob, in a grammatically identical circumstance, the text says VaYinashek. That is, when Jacob kissed Rachel, one letter from the root (Nun) fell, but when Laban kissed Jacob, everything was proper.
This is because when Laban kissed Jacob the kiss was merely superficial. Laban was actually trying to find Jacob’s money, but needed to do so under the cover of hugging and kissing (See Rashi to VaYichabek Lo and VaYinashek Lo). For this reason he made his kiss as ostentatious as possible. The Torah likewise spells his ‘kiss’ with all of the letters such that we too would be unmistakably and instantly struck by the fact that Laban is kissing Jacob. However, when Jacob kissed Rachel, he did so out of unmistakable joy and love, and so his kiss rushed forward like water. For this reason the text states “VaYishak Yaakov L’Rahel – Jacob kissed Rachel like flowing water.” Because Jacob kissed Rachel with true intention, not worrying about appearances, the Torah does not go out of its way to declare what Jacob is up to, and, corresponding to Jacob’s heartfelt enthusiasm, allows one of the letters in the root to drop.
Drisha Achrina (another explanation): Laban’s kiss was offensive to Jacob. The same root for kiss – Nun, Shin, Kuf – also spells NeSheK: Weapon. Thus, when the Torah uses the full root in VaYinashek Lo we also learn that Laban’s kiss was, like a weapon, offensive to Jacob. In Gematria VaYichabek Lo VaYinashek Lo is equal to “Chibko LiGzol Mah Sh’Alav – He hugged him in order to rob him” (Baal haTurim). Jacob’s kiss, on the other hand, was as desirable to Rachel as water is to a shepherdess in the desert.
May our Shabbat and Torah study be joyous and heartfelt, like the first kiss of our ancestors Rachel and Jacob.
When Jacob comes to the well in Haran, he sees Rachel and then single-handedly rolls aside the stone that covers the well. The verse then says “VaYashk et haTzon – He poured water for the Flock.” Bereshit 29:10. The next verse then says “VaYishak Yaakov L’Rahel – Jacob kissed Rachel.” Note two things here: First, vowels aside, VaYashk and VaYishak are spelled exactly the same. Second, they are not from the same roots and have different meanings. The root in the first instance is Nun, Shin, Kuf, and in the second is Shin, Kuf, Hay. Nonetheless, these two different words, coming from two different roots, come out the same.
One more point before we get to our Rashi. In Bereshit 29:13, we are told regarding Laban “VaYichabek Lo VaYinashek Lo – He hugged and he kissed Jacob.”
Now our ‘Rashi:’
VaYinashek Lo -- When Jacob kissed Rachel, the text said VaYishak; now, when Laban kisses Jacob, in a grammatically identical circumstance, the text says VaYinashek. That is, when Jacob kissed Rachel, one letter from the root (Nun) fell, but when Laban kissed Jacob, everything was proper.
This is because when Laban kissed Jacob the kiss was merely superficial. Laban was actually trying to find Jacob’s money, but needed to do so under the cover of hugging and kissing (See Rashi to VaYichabek Lo and VaYinashek Lo). For this reason he made his kiss as ostentatious as possible. The Torah likewise spells his ‘kiss’ with all of the letters such that we too would be unmistakably and instantly struck by the fact that Laban is kissing Jacob. However, when Jacob kissed Rachel, he did so out of unmistakable joy and love, and so his kiss rushed forward like water. For this reason the text states “VaYishak Yaakov L’Rahel – Jacob kissed Rachel like flowing water.” Because Jacob kissed Rachel with true intention, not worrying about appearances, the Torah does not go out of its way to declare what Jacob is up to, and, corresponding to Jacob’s heartfelt enthusiasm, allows one of the letters in the root to drop.
Drisha Achrina (another explanation): Laban’s kiss was offensive to Jacob. The same root for kiss – Nun, Shin, Kuf – also spells NeSheK: Weapon. Thus, when the Torah uses the full root in VaYinashek Lo we also learn that Laban’s kiss was, like a weapon, offensive to Jacob. In Gematria VaYichabek Lo VaYinashek Lo is equal to “Chibko LiGzol Mah Sh’Alav – He hugged him in order to rob him” (Baal haTurim). Jacob’s kiss, on the other hand, was as desirable to Rachel as water is to a shepherdess in the desert.
May our Shabbat and Torah study be joyous and heartfelt, like the first kiss of our ancestors Rachel and Jacob.
Toldot 5767 -- The meaning of the birthright
Let’s do some learning of a few verses across the commentaries. We’ll look at the sale of the birthright – 1) what was sold, 2) what was it sold for, and 3) what does Esau mean when he says that the birthright is no good to him as he is heading towards death?
See Bereishit 25:31-32.
“Vayomer Yaakov: Michra cha’yom et bechoratcha li. Vayomer Esav: Hine Anochi Holech Lamoot, v’Lamah zeh li Bechorah. And Jacob said: sell to me as clear as day (see Rashi) your birthright. And Esau said: Here I am headed toward death, and why do I have this birthright?”
We’ll look at Rashi, Rashbam & the Ibn Ezra and Radak, Sforno, Hizkuni.
1) Note that there are 3 approaches to what the birthright was:
a. It represented inheritance of Isaac’s wealth (Rashbam)
b. It represented inheritance of the land of Israel (Hizkuni)
c. It represented the chance/obligation to do Temple service prior to the advent of the Priesthood (Rashi and also Hizkuni to 25:34).
2) There are also 2 approaches to the terms of the exchange.
a. Jacob literally bought the birthright with the bowl of lentils (Sforno).
b. Jacob paid Esau in cash, and then gave him lentils to symbolize completion of the deal (Rashbam, Hizkuni).
3) There are 4 explanations of Esau’s statement “Anochi Holech LaMoot – I am going to die – v’Lamah Li Bechora – and what point is there in the birthright?”
a. Esau is literally dying of fatigue and hunger (Sforno)
b. Esau leads a dangerous life, hunting beasts in the wild (Rashbam, Ibn Ezra and Radak).
c. Esau knows that he must die sometime, and that will be before the conquest of the land of Israel, so his share in the land will be worthless to him (Hizkuni)
d. Esau feels that his obligation to do Temple Service – derived from the birthright -- will lead him to death, as he will fail to do the service properly and incur punishment. (Rashi)
Of this last category, note that there are implicitly 3 distinct reasons why Esau was willing to sell his birthright. 1) because of Esau’s particularly dangerous lifestyle, he discounts the value of anything occurring even in the near future, because he may not be alive to take advantage of it (a & b); 2) even if Esau led a very safe lifestyle, he would probably not be alive by the time the right vests – although his descendants will be – and so he dismisses the birthright as worthless (c); and 3) Esau believes that the obligations associated with the birthright – which he will be alive to receive – will themselves lead to death.
Let’s now focus on Rashi’s interpretation. As mentioned, before the advent of the priesthood, Temple Service to God was done by first-born sons, just as Aaron is the first-born son of Amram and Yocheved. According to Rashi, Esau believes that no good can come from doing this Service, but only warnings, punishment and ultimately death. All that Esau focuses on are the ways in which this is a burden, the ways in which he might err. Therefore, he asks, ‘if this birthright will lead me to death, what on earth do I want it for?’
There are many times when we feel like mitzvot can be a burden, times when we may be tempted to ask, like Esau, “what do I need this for? All I can do is screw up!” As a matter of fact, I believe that one of the main arguments of early Christianity was precisely this: that, challilah, God created mitzvoth so that humanity would sin. Of course, the opposite is true – God gave us Torah and Mitzvot so that we should have opportunities to succeed and to draw closer to God. The theory is, the more commandments, the more chances to actually get it right. As Pirkei Avot states: “God desired to give merit to Israel and so therefore increased for them Torah and Mitzvot, as the verse states: Hashem Hafetz L’maan Tzidko, Yagdil Torah v’Yadir.”
God gives us these opportunities to climb the ladder to a more meaningful life precisely because we have such a hard time doing it. Mitzvot are opportunities to connect to the Divine. Although they certainly can be burdensome, let us never make the mistake of Esau and ask: what are they good for? As Jews, far from bringing us to our death, mitzvot give us life.
See Bereishit 25:31-32.
“Vayomer Yaakov: Michra cha’yom et bechoratcha li. Vayomer Esav: Hine Anochi Holech Lamoot, v’Lamah zeh li Bechorah. And Jacob said: sell to me as clear as day (see Rashi) your birthright. And Esau said: Here I am headed toward death, and why do I have this birthright?”
We’ll look at Rashi, Rashbam & the Ibn Ezra and Radak, Sforno, Hizkuni.
1) Note that there are 3 approaches to what the birthright was:
a. It represented inheritance of Isaac’s wealth (Rashbam)
b. It represented inheritance of the land of Israel (Hizkuni)
c. It represented the chance/obligation to do Temple service prior to the advent of the Priesthood (Rashi and also Hizkuni to 25:34).
2) There are also 2 approaches to the terms of the exchange.
a. Jacob literally bought the birthright with the bowl of lentils (Sforno).
b. Jacob paid Esau in cash, and then gave him lentils to symbolize completion of the deal (Rashbam, Hizkuni).
3) There are 4 explanations of Esau’s statement “Anochi Holech LaMoot – I am going to die – v’Lamah Li Bechora – and what point is there in the birthright?”
a. Esau is literally dying of fatigue and hunger (Sforno)
b. Esau leads a dangerous life, hunting beasts in the wild (Rashbam, Ibn Ezra and Radak).
c. Esau knows that he must die sometime, and that will be before the conquest of the land of Israel, so his share in the land will be worthless to him (Hizkuni)
d. Esau feels that his obligation to do Temple Service – derived from the birthright -- will lead him to death, as he will fail to do the service properly and incur punishment. (Rashi)
Of this last category, note that there are implicitly 3 distinct reasons why Esau was willing to sell his birthright. 1) because of Esau’s particularly dangerous lifestyle, he discounts the value of anything occurring even in the near future, because he may not be alive to take advantage of it (a & b); 2) even if Esau led a very safe lifestyle, he would probably not be alive by the time the right vests – although his descendants will be – and so he dismisses the birthright as worthless (c); and 3) Esau believes that the obligations associated with the birthright – which he will be alive to receive – will themselves lead to death.
Let’s now focus on Rashi’s interpretation. As mentioned, before the advent of the priesthood, Temple Service to God was done by first-born sons, just as Aaron is the first-born son of Amram and Yocheved. According to Rashi, Esau believes that no good can come from doing this Service, but only warnings, punishment and ultimately death. All that Esau focuses on are the ways in which this is a burden, the ways in which he might err. Therefore, he asks, ‘if this birthright will lead me to death, what on earth do I want it for?’
There are many times when we feel like mitzvot can be a burden, times when we may be tempted to ask, like Esau, “what do I need this for? All I can do is screw up!” As a matter of fact, I believe that one of the main arguments of early Christianity was precisely this: that, challilah, God created mitzvoth so that humanity would sin. Of course, the opposite is true – God gave us Torah and Mitzvot so that we should have opportunities to succeed and to draw closer to God. The theory is, the more commandments, the more chances to actually get it right. As Pirkei Avot states: “God desired to give merit to Israel and so therefore increased for them Torah and Mitzvot, as the verse states: Hashem Hafetz L’maan Tzidko, Yagdil Torah v’Yadir.”
God gives us these opportunities to climb the ladder to a more meaningful life precisely because we have such a hard time doing it. Mitzvot are opportunities to connect to the Divine. Although they certainly can be burdensome, let us never make the mistake of Esau and ask: what are they good for? As Jews, far from bringing us to our death, mitzvot give us life.
Chayei Sarah 5767 -- Bringing Godliness To Earth
When Avraham makes Eliezer vow not to take a Canaanite wife for Yitzchak, he takes the vow “Bashem, Elokei Hashamayim v’elokei Haaretz – By the Almighty, God of Heaven and God of Land” (24:3). Avraham then promises Eliezer that he will not go unaided: “Hashem Elokei HaShamayim Asher L’kachani MiBeit Avi uM’eretz Moladti … Hu Yishlach Malakho L’fanekha… -- The Almighty, God of Heaven, who took me out of my ancestral home and `and will send an angel ahead of you” (24:7).
What we immediately notice is that God is referred to differently in these two passages. First, as both God of Heaven and God of Land, but second, only as God of Heaven. This difference is particularly striking when we think about the context: that is, assuming that Avraham wanted to refer to different aspects of God in these two situations, we might have expected that he would do so in a manner opposite to his actual choice. In the first instance, Avraham is swearing an oath, invoking the power of God. Oaths are intangible things, perhaps belonging to the Divine ether, which we back up with the power of the Almighty. We therefore might have expected Avraham to simply refer to Elokei HaShamayim in this context. Moreover, it is surprising that Avraham refers only to Elokei HaShamayim when he promises Eliezer angelic help. Angels and other siyata dishmaya (heavenly help) such as Avraham promises, are a manifestation of God’s power on earth. It is therefore very surprising that Avraham referred only to God of Heaven here.
So why is God first called Elokei HaShamayim v’Elokei Haaretz, and then only Elokei HaShamayim? Ramban and Rashi each answer that the discrepancy is based not on the difference between oaths and angelic help, but on the chronology embedded in Avraham’s statements. That is, whereas Avraham’s first statement – the vow – occurs squarely in the present, his second statement – promising Divine help – refers to past occurrences to describe God (“Asher L’kachani MiBeit Avi uM’eretz Moladti -- who took me out of my ancestral home”).
According to Ramban, Hashem Elokei Haaretz does not mean “The Almighty, God of the Earth (the world)” but instead means “The Almighty, God of The Land,” that is, the Land of Israel. When God took Avraham out of Ur Kasdim, Avraham had never been to The Land. Therefore, God was not yet God of the Land of Israel, and so could not be called Elokei Haaretz, which, to the Ramban, means Elokei Eretz Yisrael. God could therefore only be described as Elokei HaShamayim.
Rashi says that Hashem Elokei Haaretz really does mean “God of the Earth.” There is an obvious problem with this approach: God has sovereignty over the world just like the rest of the Universe – this is, after all, God we are talking about. God was just described by MalkhiTzedek, the King of Shalem, as “Koneh Shamayim V’Aretz – the owner, via creation, of the heavens and earth” a few chapters prior. So how could the Torah describe the Ribono Shel Olam as only the God of Heaven, even in the past?
This was bothering Rashi, and he has an answer: Before God first appeared to Avraham in Ur Kasdim, people were not accustomed to having the Name of God in their mouths. Thus, when Avraham describes how God took him out of his homeland, he uses the descriptor that was then appropriate – Elokei Hashamayim, God of the heavens only.
The Hizkuni agrees with Rashi and brings a proof. In the first b’racha of the Amidah, which praises God based on our ancestors’ relationships with God, we say “Barukh atah Hashem, Elokeinu v’Elokei Avoteinu: Elokei Avraham, etc.” We do not say “Barukh atah Hashem, Elokeinu Melekh HaOlam.” As the Hizkuni points out, it would not be accurate to say that God was Ruler of the World at the time that this relationship with the first Jew was formed. Therefore we simply call God “Elokei Avraham.”
The status of God as Ruler and God of the Earth is therefore dependent on what happens in the human sphere. This is reminiscent of a famous question based on two verses in Psalms that are seemingly contradictory. The first verse states “Lashem HaAretz u’mlo’ah, tevel v’yoshvei vah – The earth belongs to God, along with all who dwell upon it.” The second states “HaShamayim, Shamayim Lashem, v’haAretz Natan Livnei Adam – Heaven belongs to God, but God gave the Earth to human beings.” So who does the earth belong to – humans or God?
The Gemara in Berachot offers one solution (I believe in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak): before we make a bracha, the world is God’s; by means of the blessing, God allows us to acquire the world and derive benefit from it. Note that this interpretation reads the verses in the chronological order that they were just presented.
But what if you reverse the verses such that initially God gave the world to human beings, but at the end the world belongs to God? This is an approach that I heard from Rabbi Elie Silverberg, I believe in the name of Rav Joseph Soloveitchik. According to this reading, we do not acquire the earth from God. Rather, we take that which God gave to all of humanity from the start and sanctify it. This idea can also be found in the Rashi to Parashat Terumah. The Torah commands the Jewish people to make an elevating donation of materials to God. Rashi says: “To God? To God’s Name.” We are not literally giving these materials to God – they are of the earth, and God gave the earth to us. We are, however, given the commandment and the opportunity to elevate those earthy materials to a more meaningful plain.
Perhaps, then, we can understand the puzzle of the contradictory psalms not as before a beracha and after, but before Avraham and after. Jewish life is not a matter of merely acquiring the earth to exploit, with proper gratitude to God, but about infusing this world, which is ours to manage, with Godliness and righteousness. Before Abraham, these virtues were widespread only in the heavens; Abraham spread them on the earth, and made other people accustomed to them.
May we merit to spread Godliness and righteousness and may we soon see the verse fulfilled: “V’Hayah Hashem L’Melekh al Kol Haaretz, Bayom Hahu Yih’yeh Hashem Echad U’shmo Ehad – And God will become the Ruler over all the Earth. On that day God will be recognized, by name, as The Unique.”
What we immediately notice is that God is referred to differently in these two passages. First, as both God of Heaven and God of Land, but second, only as God of Heaven. This difference is particularly striking when we think about the context: that is, assuming that Avraham wanted to refer to different aspects of God in these two situations, we might have expected that he would do so in a manner opposite to his actual choice. In the first instance, Avraham is swearing an oath, invoking the power of God. Oaths are intangible things, perhaps belonging to the Divine ether, which we back up with the power of the Almighty. We therefore might have expected Avraham to simply refer to Elokei HaShamayim in this context. Moreover, it is surprising that Avraham refers only to Elokei HaShamayim when he promises Eliezer angelic help. Angels and other siyata dishmaya (heavenly help) such as Avraham promises, are a manifestation of God’s power on earth. It is therefore very surprising that Avraham referred only to God of Heaven here.
So why is God first called Elokei HaShamayim v’Elokei Haaretz, and then only Elokei HaShamayim? Ramban and Rashi each answer that the discrepancy is based not on the difference between oaths and angelic help, but on the chronology embedded in Avraham’s statements. That is, whereas Avraham’s first statement – the vow – occurs squarely in the present, his second statement – promising Divine help – refers to past occurrences to describe God (“Asher L’kachani MiBeit Avi uM’eretz Moladti -- who took me out of my ancestral home”).
According to Ramban, Hashem Elokei Haaretz does not mean “The Almighty, God of the Earth (the world)” but instead means “The Almighty, God of The Land,” that is, the Land of Israel. When God took Avraham out of Ur Kasdim, Avraham had never been to The Land. Therefore, God was not yet God of the Land of Israel, and so could not be called Elokei Haaretz, which, to the Ramban, means Elokei Eretz Yisrael. God could therefore only be described as Elokei HaShamayim.
Rashi says that Hashem Elokei Haaretz really does mean “God of the Earth.” There is an obvious problem with this approach: God has sovereignty over the world just like the rest of the Universe – this is, after all, God we are talking about. God was just described by MalkhiTzedek, the King of Shalem, as “Koneh Shamayim V’Aretz – the owner, via creation, of the heavens and earth” a few chapters prior. So how could the Torah describe the Ribono Shel Olam as only the God of Heaven, even in the past?
This was bothering Rashi, and he has an answer: Before God first appeared to Avraham in Ur Kasdim, people were not accustomed to having the Name of God in their mouths. Thus, when Avraham describes how God took him out of his homeland, he uses the descriptor that was then appropriate – Elokei Hashamayim, God of the heavens only.
The Hizkuni agrees with Rashi and brings a proof. In the first b’racha of the Amidah, which praises God based on our ancestors’ relationships with God, we say “Barukh atah Hashem, Elokeinu v’Elokei Avoteinu: Elokei Avraham, etc.” We do not say “Barukh atah Hashem, Elokeinu Melekh HaOlam.” As the Hizkuni points out, it would not be accurate to say that God was Ruler of the World at the time that this relationship with the first Jew was formed. Therefore we simply call God “Elokei Avraham.”
The status of God as Ruler and God of the Earth is therefore dependent on what happens in the human sphere. This is reminiscent of a famous question based on two verses in Psalms that are seemingly contradictory. The first verse states “Lashem HaAretz u’mlo’ah, tevel v’yoshvei vah – The earth belongs to God, along with all who dwell upon it.” The second states “HaShamayim, Shamayim Lashem, v’haAretz Natan Livnei Adam – Heaven belongs to God, but God gave the Earth to human beings.” So who does the earth belong to – humans or God?
The Gemara in Berachot offers one solution (I believe in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak): before we make a bracha, the world is God’s; by means of the blessing, God allows us to acquire the world and derive benefit from it. Note that this interpretation reads the verses in the chronological order that they were just presented.
But what if you reverse the verses such that initially God gave the world to human beings, but at the end the world belongs to God? This is an approach that I heard from Rabbi Elie Silverberg, I believe in the name of Rav Joseph Soloveitchik. According to this reading, we do not acquire the earth from God. Rather, we take that which God gave to all of humanity from the start and sanctify it. This idea can also be found in the Rashi to Parashat Terumah. The Torah commands the Jewish people to make an elevating donation of materials to God. Rashi says: “To God? To God’s Name.” We are not literally giving these materials to God – they are of the earth, and God gave the earth to us. We are, however, given the commandment and the opportunity to elevate those earthy materials to a more meaningful plain.
Perhaps, then, we can understand the puzzle of the contradictory psalms not as before a beracha and after, but before Avraham and after. Jewish life is not a matter of merely acquiring the earth to exploit, with proper gratitude to God, but about infusing this world, which is ours to manage, with Godliness and righteousness. Before Abraham, these virtues were widespread only in the heavens; Abraham spread them on the earth, and made other people accustomed to them.
May we merit to spread Godliness and righteousness and may we soon see the verse fulfilled: “V’Hayah Hashem L’Melekh al Kol Haaretz, Bayom Hahu Yih’yeh Hashem Echad U’shmo Ehad – And God will become the Ruler over all the Earth. On that day God will be recognized, by name, as The Unique.”
VaYera 5767 -- Amen Ken Yaaseh Hashem
Last week we discussed how the laughter of Avraham is treated differently than the laughter of Sarah. In particular, we saw the Rashi to Bereishit 17:17, which suggests that Avraham laughed out of simha, but Sarah laughed out of disbelief. Avraham’s laughter is met with Divine approval – HaKadosh Barukh Hu tells Avraham that the son should be named after laughter – whereas Sarah’s draws Divine reprimand.
However, as the Ramban points out, this explanation is not really fair to Sarah, as it neglects material differences in the circumstances in which Sarah and Avraham laughed. If they had each heard the same news, from the same source, and one had scoffed and the other rejoiced, it would make sense to differentiate, to be makpid on Sarah and not Avraham.
But that is certainly not what occurred. Instead, we have the following. Avraham, in direct conversation with the Divine, is informed that Sarah will bear him a son. Sarah hears the news quite differently, with the following differences. 1) she is not told this news directly, but overhears it during Avraham’s conversation with the angels who visit them in Mamre, and so could not have directly questioned the news, and 2) she hears the miraculous prediction from what appear to be human beings. As the Ramban points out, Avraham was the one who engaged directly with the angels, and so might have seen that they were not in fact eating, or otherwise recognized them for angels. Sarah, on the other hand, did not have direct and close interaction, and could not have known that these Bedouins were more than they appeared to be.
So, the Ramban asks, what was wrong with Sarah’s laughter? It seems quite reasonable for a 90-year old woman to laugh when she overhears 3 men whom she’s never seen before tell her husband that she will have a baby. Avraham’s joy was surely justified, upon hearing the news directly from the mouth of God. Avraham’s joy over this announcement was not discounted by any fears that it would not come true – this is the nature of direct divine communication. But surely Sarah’s skepticism was similarly justified, upon overhearing such an implausible prediction from other humans. So what was Sarah’s mistake?
The Ramban explains that Sarah’s disbelief was not, in and of itself, wrong. The timing, however, was off. Rather than immediately reacting to the apparent impossibility of this prophecy coming true, Sarah should have waited and done something first: express her hope that this might, just might, actually happen. She should have said “Amen, Ken Yaaseh Hashem – Amen, May The Almighty Make This Happen.” After that, it would have been appropriate for her to engage in a sober consideration of the likelihood – in this case, seemingly zero – of this occurrence.
It is important to take this moment to say “ Amen. Ken Yaaseh Hashem” for two reasons. First, in immediately rejecting any such prediction as impossible, we deny the power of God to make wonderful and surprising things happen in the world, and diminish the name of the Almighty. Second, when we scoff at the implausible, we deny ourselves the benefits of hope. We deny ourselves the ability to believe that things can change, that we may see a better world, and trap ourselves in a limited and static present. When Sarah scoffed, she distanced herself from the Almighty, and trapped herself in the role of a 90-year-old woman who had never realized her dream of having children. For this reason God was exacting upon Sarah, asking “Why did Sarah laugh?” That is, ‘Why did Sarah push Me away, so as to trap herself in an ever more limited human existence?’ (My interpretation).
I do not mean to suggest that we should be pipe-dreamers or Pollyannaish, forever buying lottery tickets. Instead, we should just take a moment when we hear a wonderful but implausible prediction to express our hope and belief that God should make it come true. This will not affect the likelihood of that event occurring – simply look to Sarah’s laughter, which did not prevent the birth of Yitzchak. But I believe that the Ramban teaches us an important ethical message that can enrich and imbue our lives with a greater sense of hope and of our place in a universe that ultimately bends to the will of God. Amen. Ken Yaaseh Hashem.
However, as the Ramban points out, this explanation is not really fair to Sarah, as it neglects material differences in the circumstances in which Sarah and Avraham laughed. If they had each heard the same news, from the same source, and one had scoffed and the other rejoiced, it would make sense to differentiate, to be makpid on Sarah and not Avraham.
But that is certainly not what occurred. Instead, we have the following. Avraham, in direct conversation with the Divine, is informed that Sarah will bear him a son. Sarah hears the news quite differently, with the following differences. 1) she is not told this news directly, but overhears it during Avraham’s conversation with the angels who visit them in Mamre, and so could not have directly questioned the news, and 2) she hears the miraculous prediction from what appear to be human beings. As the Ramban points out, Avraham was the one who engaged directly with the angels, and so might have seen that they were not in fact eating, or otherwise recognized them for angels. Sarah, on the other hand, did not have direct and close interaction, and could not have known that these Bedouins were more than they appeared to be.
So, the Ramban asks, what was wrong with Sarah’s laughter? It seems quite reasonable for a 90-year old woman to laugh when she overhears 3 men whom she’s never seen before tell her husband that she will have a baby. Avraham’s joy was surely justified, upon hearing the news directly from the mouth of God. Avraham’s joy over this announcement was not discounted by any fears that it would not come true – this is the nature of direct divine communication. But surely Sarah’s skepticism was similarly justified, upon overhearing such an implausible prediction from other humans. So what was Sarah’s mistake?
The Ramban explains that Sarah’s disbelief was not, in and of itself, wrong. The timing, however, was off. Rather than immediately reacting to the apparent impossibility of this prophecy coming true, Sarah should have waited and done something first: express her hope that this might, just might, actually happen. She should have said “Amen, Ken Yaaseh Hashem – Amen, May The Almighty Make This Happen.” After that, it would have been appropriate for her to engage in a sober consideration of the likelihood – in this case, seemingly zero – of this occurrence.
It is important to take this moment to say “ Amen. Ken Yaaseh Hashem” for two reasons. First, in immediately rejecting any such prediction as impossible, we deny the power of God to make wonderful and surprising things happen in the world, and diminish the name of the Almighty. Second, when we scoff at the implausible, we deny ourselves the benefits of hope. We deny ourselves the ability to believe that things can change, that we may see a better world, and trap ourselves in a limited and static present. When Sarah scoffed, she distanced herself from the Almighty, and trapped herself in the role of a 90-year-old woman who had never realized her dream of having children. For this reason God was exacting upon Sarah, asking “Why did Sarah laugh?” That is, ‘Why did Sarah push Me away, so as to trap herself in an ever more limited human existence?’ (My interpretation).
I do not mean to suggest that we should be pipe-dreamers or Pollyannaish, forever buying lottery tickets. Instead, we should just take a moment when we hear a wonderful but implausible prediction to express our hope and belief that God should make it come true. This will not affect the likelihood of that event occurring – simply look to Sarah’s laughter, which did not prevent the birth of Yitzchak. But I believe that the Ramban teaches us an important ethical message that can enrich and imbue our lives with a greater sense of hope and of our place in a universe that ultimately bends to the will of God. Amen. Ken Yaaseh Hashem.
Lekh Lekha 5767 -- Whose Laughter and Why?
We discussed at our Shabbat table how 5 names were divinely mandated in this part of Beresheit: Yishmael, Avraham, Sarah, Yitzchak, and Yisrael. We also discussed the origin of Yitzchak's name, which I had previously thought of as related to the joy of Sarah. However, it is initially Avraham who laughs, and HaKadosh Baruch Hu who actually supplies the name Yitzchak (17:17-19). The text does not, at this point, explain the name.
In Vayera, Sarah laughs when she is told (18:12), God asks Avraham why Sarah laughed (18:13), Sarah denies that she laughed-- rather she was fearful (18:15), and Sarah is reminded that she didin fact laugh (18:15). Yitzchak is born in 21:2, and Avraham nameshim in 21:3. It is only in 21:6 -- 4 chapters after God initially mandates the name, and 4 verses after Avraham gives it -- that Sarah gives herfamous speech: "Tz'hok Asah Li Elokim, Kol haShomea Yitzchak Li /God has made laughter for me, all who hear will laughingly rejoice over me." Rashi brings a beautiful midrash on this verse, in which he explains that "Kol haShomea Yitzchak Li" refersto the many other barren women who were remembered with children along with Sarah, the many other invalids who were cured on that day(of Yitzchak's brit milah), many prayers were answered along withSarah's, and there was great S'chok (games? fun?) in the world.
Sarah appears to laugh twice, once in 18:12 when the promise of a child is made, and when Yitzchak is born and enters the covenant in21:6. All of this suggests 2 questions to me:
1) Each of these instances in which Sarah laughs comes after Yitzchak is named. 22 verses after God names Yitzchak, Sarah laughs for the first time. 3 verses after Avraham names Yitzchak,Sarah laughs for the second time. Why does Sarah laugh only after his name is mentioned? (Or perhaps, why does the Torah only tell us ofSarah's laughter after the name?) That is, if we are supposed to associate Yitzchak with Sarah's laughter (Tz'hok Asah Li Elokim, KolhaShomea Yitzchak Li -- God has made laugther for me, all who hear will laughingly rejoice over me") wouldn't we expect to hear ofSarah's laughter before he is named?
2) When Yishmael, Avraham, and Yisrael are (re)named, a reason is given at the time (See 16:11 for Yishmael "Ki Shama Hashem elAnyekh -- because God has heard your distress; 17:5 for Avraham"v'hayah shimkha Avraham ki Av HaMon Goyim N'tatikha --your name shall be Avraham because you will be the father of many nations; 32:29for Yisrael "Lo Yaakov ye'amer od shimkha, ki im Yisrael, ki sarita im Elokim -- your name will no longer be said Yaakov, but Yisrael,because you wrestled with Elokim"). However, we have to wait for 4 chapters after God initially mandates the name until we receive what appears to be the explanation for the name: the joy and laughter thatYitzchak brings to Sarah. Yishmael, Avraham, and Yisrael (in that order) all received divine names, and they were immediately told by angels or the Almighty why they would receive this name. Why is Yitzchak so different?
There is one, far from satisfactory, explanation that we might offer. In 17:17 we read that Avraham fell and laughed when he wastold that Sarah would bear him a child. Rashi writes that we should learn from this verse that when Avraham initially laughed, it was because he believed God and was rejoicing in laughter, but Sarah did not believe, and was laughing dismissively. Because of this "HikpidhaKadosh Baruch Hu al Sarah, v'lo al Avraham." This sentence translates as follows: because Avraham's laughter was out of believing joy, and Sarah's out of incredulous scoffing, God was exacting upon Sarah -- querying "Why did you laugh?" -- and not upon Avraham. This would suggest thatYitzchak is not so named because of Sarah's laughter, but because ofAvraham's! This would solve the first question presented above, but the second question -- why is the reason for the name not spelled out? --remains. Furthermore, Sarah's joy and laughter over Yitzchak wouldseem to be the more significant, and the more worthy of memorialization in a name. Avraham was already the father ofYishmael, and it would seem that his joy and laughter would be lessthan that of the childless Sarah.
These are difficult questions and I would love to hear anyone's thoughts. I would also encourage any thoughts regarding theunderlying question: What differentiates Avraham, Sarah, Yishmael,Yitzchak, and Yisrael such that they all (and no one else, I think)are named by Divine intervention?
In Vayera, Sarah laughs when she is told (18:12), God asks Avraham why Sarah laughed (18:13), Sarah denies that she laughed-- rather she was fearful (18:15), and Sarah is reminded that she didin fact laugh (18:15). Yitzchak is born in 21:2, and Avraham nameshim in 21:3. It is only in 21:6 -- 4 chapters after God initially mandates the name, and 4 verses after Avraham gives it -- that Sarah gives herfamous speech: "Tz'hok Asah Li Elokim, Kol haShomea Yitzchak Li /God has made laughter for me, all who hear will laughingly rejoice over me." Rashi brings a beautiful midrash on this verse, in which he explains that "Kol haShomea Yitzchak Li" refersto the many other barren women who were remembered with children along with Sarah, the many other invalids who were cured on that day(of Yitzchak's brit milah), many prayers were answered along withSarah's, and there was great S'chok (games? fun?) in the world.
Sarah appears to laugh twice, once in 18:12 when the promise of a child is made, and when Yitzchak is born and enters the covenant in21:6. All of this suggests 2 questions to me:
1) Each of these instances in which Sarah laughs comes after Yitzchak is named. 22 verses after God names Yitzchak, Sarah laughs for the first time. 3 verses after Avraham names Yitzchak,Sarah laughs for the second time. Why does Sarah laugh only after his name is mentioned? (Or perhaps, why does the Torah only tell us ofSarah's laughter after the name?) That is, if we are supposed to associate Yitzchak with Sarah's laughter (Tz'hok Asah Li Elokim, KolhaShomea Yitzchak Li -- God has made laugther for me, all who hear will laughingly rejoice over me") wouldn't we expect to hear ofSarah's laughter before he is named?
2) When Yishmael, Avraham, and Yisrael are (re)named, a reason is given at the time (See 16:11 for Yishmael "Ki Shama Hashem elAnyekh -- because God has heard your distress; 17:5 for Avraham"v'hayah shimkha Avraham ki Av HaMon Goyim N'tatikha --your name shall be Avraham because you will be the father of many nations; 32:29for Yisrael "Lo Yaakov ye'amer od shimkha, ki im Yisrael, ki sarita im Elokim -- your name will no longer be said Yaakov, but Yisrael,because you wrestled with Elokim"). However, we have to wait for 4 chapters after God initially mandates the name until we receive what appears to be the explanation for the name: the joy and laughter thatYitzchak brings to Sarah. Yishmael, Avraham, and Yisrael (in that order) all received divine names, and they were immediately told by angels or the Almighty why they would receive this name. Why is Yitzchak so different?
There is one, far from satisfactory, explanation that we might offer. In 17:17 we read that Avraham fell and laughed when he wastold that Sarah would bear him a child. Rashi writes that we should learn from this verse that when Avraham initially laughed, it was because he believed God and was rejoicing in laughter, but Sarah did not believe, and was laughing dismissively. Because of this "HikpidhaKadosh Baruch Hu al Sarah, v'lo al Avraham." This sentence translates as follows: because Avraham's laughter was out of believing joy, and Sarah's out of incredulous scoffing, God was exacting upon Sarah -- querying "Why did you laugh?" -- and not upon Avraham. This would suggest thatYitzchak is not so named because of Sarah's laughter, but because ofAvraham's! This would solve the first question presented above, but the second question -- why is the reason for the name not spelled out? --remains. Furthermore, Sarah's joy and laughter over Yitzchak wouldseem to be the more significant, and the more worthy of memorialization in a name. Avraham was already the father ofYishmael, and it would seem that his joy and laughter would be lessthan that of the childless Sarah.
These are difficult questions and I would love to hear anyone's thoughts. I would also encourage any thoughts regarding theunderlying question: What differentiates Avraham, Sarah, Yishmael,Yitzchak, and Yisrael such that they all (and no one else, I think)are named by Divine intervention?
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