Parshas Tazria/Metzora – The Challenge of Identity

 Society has always, in one way or another, acknowledged the connection between one’s emotional well being and one’s physical well being. In Medieval Times (and, alas, far after the so-called Dark Ages), doctors treated people’s psychological unwellness by treating their “Humors” (bodily fluids). In more recent times, we know that stress causes ulcers, thyroid can cause depression, and etc. It is clear that our bodies and our minds are deeply entangled. And yet it is still incredibly difficult, at least for me, to understand the parshiot of Tazria-Metzora, of an “illness” of the soul being reflected by a physical ailment. (And I will certainly note that I think a big part of my challenge is having grown up with the English translation of it being leprosy and then discovering that leprosy was caused by a bacterial infection and learning that leprosy is really just a very bad translation.)

As one reads the parsha one learns about the physical appearance of the blemish, and, in truth, the idea of strange discoloration is something that most people can envision and understand. But what about the very strange situation described in Vayikra 13:12-17:

If the eruption spreads out over the skin so that it covers all the skin of the affected person from head to foot, wherever the priest can see—if the priest sees that the eruption has covered the whole body—he shall pronounce the affected person clean; he is clean, for he has turned all white. But as soon as undiscolored flesh appears in it, he shall be unclean; when the priest sees the undiscolored flesh, he shall pronounce him unclean. The undiscolored flesh is unclean; it is leprosy. But if the undiscolored flesh again turns white, he shall come to the priest, and the priest shall examine him: if the affection has turned white, the priest shall pronounce the affected person clean; he is clean.

“If a person’s entire physical being becomes covered in a blemish” - this isn’t Vitiligo, the slow process of pigmentation loss. It is, as the pasuk notes, an eruption of blemish. Having just been taught that this very type of blemish indicates a spiritual impurity, the Torah is now teaching us that an entire body covered in this very blemish is to be declared pure, and if a patch of regular skin appears, then he is impure. It is, one could say, a rather shocking and confusing passage. Shocking because it is hard to imagine one erupting in a blemish that could cover the entire body, and confusing because said person goes in and out of the state of pure and impure.

The process, as I understand it, is that it starts as an initial impurity that, after having been declared impure, quickly spreads over the entire body. Now that it is over the entire body, the kohain looks at it and declares that it is not an impurity, it is a skin issue. If it is everywhere, it is clean and the person is pure. However, once it has been declared pure, or shortly thereafter, it shifts again and retreats creating a patch of the person’s original skin. Now the kohain says “Wait a minute, it is not a skin issue, it is an impurity.” This can go back-and-forth multiple times. As long as it is completely one way or the other, the person is pure, but the patches shift the person back to impurity.

In a way, this speaks greatly to the question of identity, a topic that appears to be a hot button issue today but, in reality, has always been an important part of human nature. Think about the stories of kids in high schools (public) who went “Goth,” declaring that they were asserting their independence, but it was clear that what they were asserting was their group identity.

We all, as human beings, struggle with identity. When we figure out how to be completely our true selves, we are pure. However, when we let that niggling self doubt of our path enter our minds, we are no longer are pure selves. This does not mean we should not question ourselves, that we should not follow correction of a halachic or hashkafic path of Torah, that we should not be involved in constant growth and readjustment.

One could give an extreme example, such as allowing comments made during a religious debate to cause one to question Torah, chas v’shalom. Without proper care, that small impurity can worm its way into one’s sense of self, can make one doubt things that are known to be truths.

One could also think of the silly, more mundane moments when who we are and what we like is challenged by other people. For instance, a person like sardines and enjoy having them for lunch, but the guy at the next seat tells him that eating sardines is weird. One could respond, “Well, , that’s your opinion” and continue eating sardines. But, quite often one might, instead, begin to worry that he is doing something unacceptable.

This is very normal for human beings to do. Our goal, and one of the biggest challenges of being people of faith in an unfaithful world (to sound like a charming book cover) is that we need to have tenacity to hold on to our point of view, to our inherent identity. If we let a random, outside thought create a blemish, then we must stop and recalibrate ourselves all over again, to get to the point where we can once again know for certain who we are and what our purpose is. Is this a natural process - yes! Is it a challenging process - yes! Is there something we can do about it - yes! It is what our people have always done. We study, we learn, and when we worry about the first signs of a patch of impurity, we take it to our spiritual experts, and we ask them for guidance.

*What I write here now are purely my thoughts, with no commentaries or midrashim having been researched, although someone may find something similar somewhere I want it to be stated because it is just my unbacked up ideas.

Parshas Shemini: Avoiding Emotional Judgements

 When one studies Torah, one is not just learning about the history and laws of the Jewish nation. Studying Torah is about learning life skills on a range of levels. In Parasha Shemini, we have the opportunity to learn about the hazards of letting our emotions decide our judgement of other people’s actions, and we do this through Moshe.

Moshe had a temper. It's a fact that we don't often think about because… well because he is Moshe. He is the ultimate eved Hashem, and is even called out in the Torah for his great humility. And while that is true, it is also true that there are several references to him reacting in anger. Some people have, perhaps, read that statement and felt offended at the presumption of negative traits. On the contrary, the idea of Moshe having a temper attests to the fact that he had enough passion to lead our stiff necked ancestors. Even more importantly, in every case of anger that is expressed in the Torah, Moshe’s primary reaction is about the honor due Hashem or protecting the Jewish people (even from themselves).

In Parshas Shemini, Moshe's emotion are very complex. The Mishkan is finally ready to be inaugurated. In the midst of the elaborate santicifaction ceremony for which has prepared for days, Nadav and Abihu are struck down for bringing an unasked for offering. Their deaths must be overlooked so that the sanctification can be completed, so Moshe must help his brother and two nephews put off their reactions. Aaron and his sons go on to a series a specific offerings. But something seems to have gone wrong in the completion of the ceremony, at least according to Moshe, for the Torah suddenly states: "Moshe inquired insistently about the he-goat of the sin-offering for behold it had been burned! And he was wrathful with Elazar and Itamar, Aaron’s remaining sons" (10:16).

Hashem commanded very specific steps and sacrifices for the day that the Mishkan was sanctified. Several of the sacrifices were meant to be eaten by the kohanim, Aaron and his sons, including the he-goat of the sin offering. Why then, Moshe needed to know, did they burn it?

The Torah’s words that Moshe “inquired insistently” and “was wrathful” tell us that he was led by his emotions in his reaction. Perhaps Moshe saw this as the kohanim being unable to take and follow instruction, that they could not truly serve Hashem properly. More humanely, perhaps he was worried that Elazar and Itamar had also, like their brothers, performed the service improperly and that they too might die. However, as Hashem did not appear to react, as he had with Nadav and Abihu, Moshe’s strong actions speak of underlying emotion driving him forward.

To conclude the situation, Aaron stepped in and said: “Was it they who this day offered their sin offering and their elevation offering before Hashem? Now that such things befell me - were I to eat this day's sin offering would Hashem approve?" (Vayikra 10:19).

In stepping between Moshe and his sons, in declaring his role and responsibility, Aaron was also explaining to Moshe that the deaths of Nadav and Abihu had effected the inauguration, even without their stopping and reacting. Aaron, Elazar, and Itamar were all now in a state known as onen. It is the first stage of mourning - after the death but before the burial. An onen is very limited in the performance of mitzvot, even if they are kohanim performing a service in the Mishkan or Beis Hamikdash.

Being both onanim and kohanim, Elazar and Itamar could not participate in most of the offerings. As the Kohen Gadol (high priest), however, Aaron was allowed to perform the offerings. As for why two goats and the meal offering were eaten but one sacrificed goat was not, Aaron’s response implied enough to remind Moshe that the goats that were eaten were sacrifices ordered specifically for the inauguration and were therefore allowed to be consumed, whereas the he-goat of the sin offering was actually an offering of Rosh Chodesh and could not be consumed by an onen, even the Kohen Gadol. The first two could be offered by Aaron and eaten by the priests, the third had to be burnt whole since none of them were permitted to eat it.

When Moshe saw the sacrifices done differently than he had instructed, he reacts with emotion he grows irate with a holy passion to do Hashem’s will properly. He investigates and lays blame rather than asking questions. But in pasuk 10:20, after Aaron has defended his sons and explained the halachic nuances, Moshe is humbled - and here is the lesson to be learned. While the verse simply says "Moshe heard and it was good in his eyes," the Midrash tells us that Moshe declared that he had forgotten the law that Aaron had just retaught him.

Parshas Shemini is where Moshe recognizes the price of temper. Vayikra Raba points out that ''because Moshe became angry at Elazar and Itamar, he forgot the laws of mourning." It is interesting to note that we can know, from future incidents, that Moshe does not completely lose his temper. Indeed, according to many commentaries, he lost his ability to enter Eretz Yisrael because, in a moment of temper, he struck the rock rather than speaking to it to draw forth water.

Just as Moshe could have quietly apologized rather than declare that he had forgotten the law and thus humble himself before the people, the Torah did not have to include these details. But everything in the Torah is meant to help us grow as individuals. Right now, we are living in a time of great tension. People have many emotions quivering under the surface as they try to put on a good face. Let us remember to hold back out judgements on each others’ behavior because far too often there are facts we do not know and reasonings we may have forgotten.

Parshas Vaykhel-Pekudei: Gathering a Mishkan Today

 This week we marked the strange anniversary of one year since the World Health Organization declared Covid 19 a pandemic. Many of us are restless to break free of the restrictions, and many of us are wary of not keeping those same restrictions. It has been noted by some how easily we all became so compliant that even the image of crowds gathered make some anxious. It is not, I think, far-fetched to say that for the Jewish community this forced separation has been particularly difficult. We are, after all, a nation that gathers.

This week's parsha begins with gathering: "And Moshe gathered all of the community of Bnei Yisrael and he said to them, 'These are the things that God commanded you to do them'" (Shemos 35:1). He then reiterates the laws of Shabbat, perhaps in what one might call a condensed mode : “Six days shall you do creative labor and on the seventh there will be for you to sanctify Shabbat to Hashem, all who do creative labor shall die. Don't kindle fire in your dwellings on Shabbat” (ibid. 36:2-3).

THESE are the things? It's two verses, two commandments, and then Moshe is telling them other words of God. It seemed a bit odd that the Torah includes such a long introductory phrase, almost a waste of words (chas v’shalom). “These are the things that God commanded you to do them.” Why wouldn’t the Torah just tell us that Moshe gathered all of Israel and said the Lord commanded you to work six days and… Instead we begin with "These are the things."

In the context of parshas Vayakhel-Pekudei, the two lines of the mitzvot of Shabbat are a preface to the far more encompassing process of building the Mishkan. It seems, perhaps, repetitive of Parshas Teruma and Tetzaveh, but what we see is each section begins with Moshe purposefully stating that these were the instructions from Hashem. We can infer that each of these pieces is a continuation of "These are the things."

We do not have a Mishkan today. We can't even really imagine what it was like to partake in the building of such a wonderful thing. If Hashem knew the building of the Mishkan was a one time event, why was it necessary to record the instructions and the carrying out of the instructions in such detail? If the Torah is not just a history book, but an eternal guide, then there must be things that we can learn and ideas that we can apply to our lives today in this description.

For instance, if one looks at the full details of the preparations of the Mishkan, one sees not just the enthusiasm of Bnei Yisrael - from which we can certainly learn about the right attitude toward avodas Hashem - but also an incredible representation of community working together. One might aregue with this statement that an inordinate amount of the work was done by Betzalel and Ohilab. While this is true, it is nevertheless a demonstration of community. Betzalel may have done the work, but his name is not highlighted throughout the description of what he did. In fact, his name is mentioned only 3 times in Vayakhel (and one time in Pekudei). The first time is in Shemos 35:5, Moshe announces that "The Lord has called by name Betzalel ben Uri ben Hur." He is then called by name in 36:1-2: “Betzalel and Ohilab and every wise hearted man whom God has imbued with wisdom and insight to know how to do, shall do all the work of the service of the Holy, according to all that the Lord has commanded. And Moshe called Betzalel and Ohilab and every wise hearted man… to approach the work to do it." Note how even in the 2nd and 3rd use of his name, Betzalel (and Ohilab) are mentioned but included as one of many. He is a man of extraordinary (literally stated God-given) talents, but he does not revel in fame and glory. He puts his skills to used for Hashem as part of the whole.

This year, Parshas Vayakhel-Pekudei is read on the cusp of Rosh Chodesh. We are heading into the month that celebrates freedom, and yet, this year, we are burdened with so many restrictions to our freedoms. Let us remember, however, that what we celebrate at Pesach is far more than the removal of our ancestors from the physical labor of slavery. As many a commentary or Dvar Torah has pointed out, Bnei Yisrael's journey was not actually to freedom as one would think of it today, but really to being ovdei Hashem, servants of the Divine will. As we mark this one year pandemicaversary, as we prepare for Pesach, we must continue to do the underlying work of "These are the things that God commanded you."

Six days shall you work and the seventh is for sanctifying Hashem. The work is the work of building the MIshkan; the work is the work of doing for the spiritual (and physical) well-being of the community. It might be interesting to think that if the work of the mMishkan is a communal creation of a space for the Divine that requires a unified effort, that we could learn here that Hashem desires that 6/7th of our efforts, of our strengths, are to be directed thus, and 1/7th to our personal avodas Hashem encompassed in the observance of Shabbat. When we build together the figurative community full of unity, that is the modern work of the Mishkan and then Hashem can dwell among us.

Just as we long to have all of our beloveds together for the holiday to be free of this pandemic, so should we work for that true communal spirit that is necessary for complete avodas Hashem. Nisan is upon us. Let us gather our spiritual strength and talent and put them forth for the benefit of our klal - whether physically together or distanced - and know that our truest freedom is just over the horizon.

Ki Tisa: How Individuals Make the Community

 The current state of the Western world seems to be a conflict between individual and collective identities. In the near past people were clamoring to be honored for their unique individuality, but this is now being overshadowed by identity-based groups demanding influence on both law and culture. It is a 21st century conundrum. Is one’s identifiable community more important than one’s individuality? Parshas Ki Tisa might offer an interesting philosophical outlook on how one’s unique individuality is actually meant to shape one’s community.

Ki Tisa begins with the pasukim (verses): “And God spoke to Moshe saying: When you take a census of Bnei Yisrael according to their numbers, they shall give each man an atonement for his soul to Hashem when counting them, so that there will not be a plague among them when counting them” (Shemos 30:11-12). Verse 12 is interesting in its variation between plural and singular: “THEY shall give EACH MAN an atonement…”

A census, by its very definition, is a measurement of a group of people. It is a necessary bureaucratic procedure. This makes the pasuk’s reference to a plague seem so out of place. How could counting lead to a plague? While we know that this consequence did, actually, occur – when King David took a census by head and the people were struck with plague as recorded in II Samuel 24, one could also understand the idea of plague in a more figurative way. What does a plague do? As we have noticed all too closely in our 21st century pandemic, “plague” affects a community with more than just death. It forces people to separate, to isolate, as they protect themselves and those closest to them. It Is notable, too, that the translation app on Google also translates nun-gimmel-phey as a stumbling block or a bump. Hashem is warning Bnei Yisrael of the potential negative ramifications of a mindless counting of bodies.

The interesting thing about the phrasing of this command is that while a leader is the one who requires the census and will make use of the count, the halacha mandates that the census is performed by the community – They shall give. This enforces the self-reflective nature of Klal Yisrael – how our community actions impact our individual selves and, perhaps more importantly, vice verse.

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch has an interesting commentary on the implications of “Pekudei” and the significance of each individual’s mindset:

Pekudei Bnei Yisrael are all those who are thought of as Bnei Yisrael, in whom the idea Bnei Yisrael has a concrete bearer. At the moment in which anybody is counted lpkudei Bnei Yisrael, he learns to value himself as a ben Yisrael, the self-appreciative consciousness is aroused to see this idea of his nation incorporated in himself. Then, at that point, the important teaching is addressed to him:- Not by mere existence, by living for himself, has his nephesh, his personality, value and meaning, not by his just being there is he an integral part of the nation, his mere existence does not even give him the right to be there; only by giving, doing, something, is he to be counted, only by giving, doing, does he gain the right for the continuance of his existence, only by contributing his share in accordance with his duty does he obtain a justifiable position as a creature who has been crowned by God with Life, a justifiable position in the community of his nation. Only by contributing something may he be reckoned in the number of the Children of Israel.

This act of being counted by giving an atonement, by becoming a conscientious piece of the Klal, is important. Bnei Yisrael have generations of experience of being judged as a whole based on the behavior of individuals and being judged as individuals based on a perspective of the whole. Sometimes this is for the good and sometimes it is the path to disaster.

The intertwining of the individual and the klal is an idea encapsulated in the mitzvah of Kiddush Hashem and the avoidance of Chilul Hashem (sanctifying God’s name and desecrating God’s name). Bnei Yisrael are representatives of Hashem in this world, and how each ben Yisrael (to borrow Rav Hirsch’s usage) represents the nation is significant. Thus we know that when we go out in public, our behavior is watched and judged according to us as individuals AND as a reflection of Klal Yisrael. If I am in a bad mood and lose my temper at a cashier, the cashier attributes that also the “the Jews.” And, on the other hand, when I go out of my way to return a lost wallet, my identity as a Jew is also noted. Each individual member of Klal Yisrael must remember that how they act is accounted to the whole.

Taking a census of the people by counting heads is prohibited perhaps to teach us that such an impersonal count would imply that their own individual actions don’t matter. Pushing to be part of a group without acting for the group is inclusion without merit of action. People grouped together simply because they share a character trait or live in a similar place are not a combination of unique pieces working to make a whole, they are just a group of people. They lack cohesion. They can and will easily shift and disconnect from one another. When, however, the individuals are actively involved in being a part of a community – of sharing the same values and working toward the same goal – this is the atonement that they give. This is how they are truly counted.

Our nation has been dispersed throughout the world, and the world is currently moving into one of its eras in which one’s peoplehood is seen as more important than the individual people. This is when we most must understand that our individual actions have a significant impact on our nation as a whole. When each of us “gives an atonement” – offers a part of ourselves, whether that means through money (tzedakah), time for learning, and/or holding back one’s natural inclinations toward a bad middah (character trait) – then we protect each other and are best able to help Klal Yisrael fulfill its role in this world.

Parshas Teruma - Woodworking and Weaving

 Parshas Teruma is well-known for Divrei Torah that speak of what it meant when God instructed Moshe to speak to Bnei Yisrael and “let them take for Me a portion from every man whose heart motivates him.” This leads to all sorts of discussions on topics as direct as what the Israelites had to donate (and from where) to more esoteric contemplations on intent and giving a gift to Hashem.

What Bnei Yisrael gave is important. The Torah lists 16 items: gold, silver, copper, turquoise, purple and scarlet wool, linen, goat hair, red-dyed ram skins, tacshish skins, acacia wood, oil for illumination, spices for anointment, the aromatic incense, shohen stones, and other stones. Then Hashem explained what it was for, which was the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle).

To be honest, the descriptions transcribed in Parshas Terumah are not particularly exciting unless you are a civil engineer or an artisan. While last week’s parsha was all laws, those still had a slight feel of narrative – the general style of the Torah up until now. Between cubits in height and cubits in width and repetitive counts of the number of rings and staves…well, Teruma becomes a more difficult parsha in which to focus one’s attention. Yet even as Hashem gave these directions, or as other generations have reviewed them, there are those who grow excited at these details… Ask for staves of acacia wood and Reuven the woodcutter is envisioning exactly how to shape the wood. Request rings of gold and Shimon the goldsmith is ready to take to his forge. Tell about the turquoise, purple, and scarlet threads, and Yehuda the dyer knows just what ingredients are needed. Sarah the weaver can envision exactly how she needs to work her loom. Each of the men and women who stepped forward to help construct the Mishkan was continuing the standard of giving set by the beginning words of the parsha, that each person should give as his heart motivated him. They are giving from their hearts and their souls when they give from their creative energy.

In looking at the connection of Parshas Teruma’s opening request of donations given in free-will and the continuing three perakim (chapters) that highlight the need for artisan and artists, we are given an opportunity to assess our personal and communal priorities. Have we as a community looked askance at creative career paths, thinking of them as “bidieved” – well he has no other choice? Have we given our children opportunities to explore a desire for artistic expression? Do our communities facilitate these options, or do we guide our children into singular shoots?

Once upon a time, in the not nearly as distant a past as one might think, people specialized in creating. Each object that a household used needed someone to create it, whereas today we have our formulas and our factories. Each town or region needed their own special artisans and so we valued the craftsmen among us. Learning to do was given weight along side learning from books.

When the Torah describes the making of the ten curtains of the Mishkan as “twisted linen with turquoise, purple and scarlet wool – with a woven design of cherubim shall you make them,” this is a moment to stop and think with awe of the beauty of that curtain, the skill of that weaver, and the generosity of Hashem for giving that weaver the ability to see and transmit a piece of the Divine will.

It isn’t easy to see the benefit of encouraging what can seem to a structured world of mass manufacture that which seems to be frivolity. For those to whom Hashem has given the gift of creative soul – those who are able to look at a tree and see a stave, those who are able to match perfect colors – encouraging and channeling that need to create is critical to their avodas Hashem. Let us prepare now for a generation that can step forward and bring Hashem’s words to life.

Parshas Mishpatim: You, Yous, and the Foundation of Being Better People

 I have often wondered why the English language, unlike so many other languages, no longer has a proper distinction between second person singular and second person plural. No matter how many people an individual is speaking to, one or many, they are all addressed as you. Because of this lacking, when one reads the parsha in English, one might easily miss subtle nuances in the text, such as that which happens in Shemos 22:22-23: “If you (s) do mistreat them [the stranger, the orphan, or the widow, all mentioned in 22:20-21], I will heed their outcry as soon as they cry out to Me, and My anger shall blaze forth and I will put you (pl) to the sword, and your (pl) wives will become widows and your (pl) children orphans.”

There is something fascinating about finding these grammatical flags within the verses of the Torah. In a text in which we believe that every word has meaning and significance, even the basic grammatical participals, the transition from addressing you to you all has a purpose.

The Torah’s injunctions not to mistreat the stranger, the orphan, or the widow is an idea that gets repeated over and over throughout the Torah. These three specifications lay the foundation for building a community that cares. These three specifications are the people most easily lost, taken advantage of, or disdained in the shuffle of society and day-to-day living because most often they have no one specifically looking out for them.

One would not think that it would be necessary to codify kindness to people, especially to those in more needy situations. But God made man and God made Torah and God most certainly understands that there is, in many of us, a very natural tendency to make hierarchies. We take care of those closest to ourselves first, and then those with whom we are familiar, and then those who are other. It takes more conscious effort to be open to people in other circumstances or to empathize beyond one’s personal interest with those in exceptional circumstances.

One interesting aspect of parshas Mishpatim is that in the basic interpersonal laws that it lays down, there is a recognition of some of humankind’s natural, negative character traits. Take hatred for example. While sinas chinam, baseless hatred, is forbidden, the Torah accepts the fact that two people might become enemies. Thus it is written in the Torah: “When you see the donkey of your enemy lying under its burden and would refrain from raising it, you must nevertheless raise it with him” (23:4).

Hatred, selfishness, perversions, and violence are all possibilities of inclinations within the human condition, and parshas Mishpatim touches on many of what we might think of as uncrossable lines. It also tells us, as one can interpret from verse 23:4 (helping your enemy), that Hashem knows and expects us to be able to overcome those inclinations. You don’t like someone because they did something to you, because they said something, or because they have an opposing philosophy to life, the Torah does not say that one has to like them. But it does tell us that you have to stop and help them raise up the animal, you do have to still see that they are a person.

In Shemos 22:22-23, Hashem mandates the protection of the stranger, the widow and the orphan, because while selfishness may natural, it is not a good trait. But it is also a character trait that can be mitigated by the society around us. If those around us are generous, we have a tendency to give more of ourselves. If those around us are emotionally hard or lacking in compassion, we tend to be the same. And this, perhaps, is a lesson that can be learned from Verse 22:22-23’s shift from second person singular to second person plural. One person may be performing the act of mistreating the widow or taking advantage of an orphan or wronging a stranger, but when this happens there is an onus upon the whole community for not having come together to protect them, to look out for them. Kindness, as it is often said, begins at home; but home is also where we learn the traits of kindness that we must take into the greater world.

To Be a Goy Kadosh (extra post for Yisro)

One of the most powerful and beautiful injunctions in the Torah is the commandment to the Jewish people to be a goy kadosh, a holy nation. With such weight put to this singular role, it is surprising to look, analyze, and assess the transformation of the word goy from a general term for a nation to a word that our children are indoctrinated to immediately associate with others, with outsiders, with people who are lesser.

This Dvar Torah was actually started months ago, when a child, not my own, made a derogatory comment about goyim and was unable to accept or process the fact that the term goy, in its pure, original meaning, could be used for the Jewish people just as much as for the rest of the world. I apologize now for those who will find my language demanding or hashkafically challenged. This is truly me sharing from my heart.

In teaching our children to disparage, to hate or disdain, "the goyim," we are doing terrible damage to ourselves. Hashem literally instructs us, just before giving us His greatest gift, to “be a mamlechas cohanim and a goy kadosh.” Hashem is appointing us an incredible opportunity! We are a nation chosen to be able to connect with the divine and to represent Hashem’s greatness in the world. Why does this need to be done at the expense of others?

When we build ourselves up only by putting others down, we are actually making ourselves so much smaller. Of course, we have a necessity to keep ourselves separate, to secure the neshamos of our children and the precious gift of the Torah that is our inheritance. Without question we do not want our children emulating the outside world - but when you tell them how lowly the goyim are and then they meet fine, upstanding people, what does this say about our own perception of others who are also Betzelem Elokim... and then we wonder why children won't behave properly for their non-Jewish teachers! Certainly, we have been forewarned that the other nations will persecute us, but they are persecuting us at God’s will for our aveiros, so their persecution - when it is real and not simply perceived - is not an excuse to hold our heads higher and speak ill of them, but rather it is a means for us to check our egos and realign ourselves with our mission.

When we look at the world, we have to stop seeing and thinking in terms of us versus them, that's not the world Hashem wanted us to build. He gave us the Torah so that we have the power of creating a society with us leading them, showing them the way to being ovdei Hashem.

When we read Parshas Yisro we look at the amazing words of the Aserest Hadibros, and we see the foundation steps to building a moral civilization. That’s not a civilization just for us, but Hashem’s goal for all of the world. Let us strive to live up to our roles in the greater world by focusing on our beauty, our grandeur, and our responsibility, and the rest of the world as the creations of Hashem whom we need to inspire.

Parshas Beshalach: Miracles in the Mundane

Song is both the product of inspiration and a means by which one inspires others. We glorify songs because of how they make us feel, because they are built of language and sound that moves our soul. This duality of being both the product and the cause of inspiration is a fascinating aspect of the shira we refer to as As Yashir that is recorded in Chapter 15 of Shemos.

Az Yashir is the song that Moshe and Bnei Yisrael sang after their salvation at the Yam Suf (the Sea of Reeds). One can only imagine the adrenaline that fueled the emotions of the Israelites as they turned back and saw not only that behind them was a large body of water even though they themselves were totally dry, but that on the far side from where they had come Pharaoh lay wasted among his destroyed cavalries. The night had truly been one of miracles; and yet, it is interesting to note, the shiraseems to begin with the seemingly least miraculous aspect of the night – horse and rider thrown into the sea.

In celebrating the miraculousness of their survival, one might expect the Israelites to have immediately lauded the sea splitting beneath their feet or even its crashing back down upon their pursuers, but horse and rider thrown into the sea seems the most mundane part of the miraculous night. Of course, it was the last step in the destruction of the Egyptian kingdom, once the most powerful nation in the world, but the water of the sea creating walls with paths of dry land still seems to overshadow it.

Perhaps, however, the seemingly supernatural miracle was just too much for Bnei Yisrael to process. Also, of all the happenings of the night, seeing the destruction of the cavalry was the final act, and so remained that which was foremost in their minds.

Az Yashir, is also a song for the future. Based on the unique grammar of the words “Az yashir Moshe u’vnei Yisrael…Ashira la’Hashem – Then Moshe and the Children of Israel will sing…I shall sing.” It is understood that the shira is also a song that will be sung in the future. If that is the case, what might we be able to learn from this verse praising Hashem for hurling horse and rider into the sea? This question might even be strengthened by the fact that we no longer live in an era of cavalry, so even imaging a cataclysmic was – God forbid – we don’t imagine horses and riders. Therefore, we must find in this a different understanding.

Moshe’s shira started with the most immediate miracle, even if it was the most mundane, because the gratitude and the amazement would be universal, it was so fresh and so powerful in their memories. The actual splitting of the Sea was awesome – and thus perhaps too overwhelming for some people to process. By starting with the miracle that followed the dictates of nature (horses and armed riders in the middle of a sea have little chance of survival – disregarding how they got into that sea), Moshe was leading the greatest whole of the people with him to be inspired. Thus he declared and they repeated: I will sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and rider He has hurled into the sea. The Lord is my strength and might; He is become my deliverance. This is my God and I will enshrine Him; The God of my father, and I will exalt Him.”

Past or future, supernatural or mundane, God is in everything and it is our job, as individuals and as a nation, to see the miracles in the mundane and to praise their true source.

Parshas Bo: History and the Future

 Anyone who pays attention to the weekly Torah portions will tell you that the overall text of the Torah is a mosaic of recorded history, genealogical records, and the giving of the law. What many may not have noticed was when the transition from history tome to guidebook begins and the lesson one can learn from it.

This week’s parsha, Parshas Bo, famously contains the first commandment given to the entire Jewish people – the commandment of Rosh Chodesh. As significant as that commandment was – in its historic place, in the important weight Rosh Chodesh plays in Jewish life – it is a surprisingly brief commandment. It is one simple pasuk: “This month shall be for you the beginning of the months, it shall be for you the first of the months of the year” (Shemos 12:1).

Looking at the commandment of Rosh Chodesh, particularly in contrast to the next verses which delineate the time frame of the taking of the lamb and the slaughtering of that lamb for the night that would become Pesach, it might seem that the purpose of telling them that this shall be the counting of a new month is only to mark time for the upcoming mitzvot and miracles. For the Israelites in Mitzrayim, however, this was perhaps a more wonderous command. The mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh given at this time was not simply about setting up a calendar. It was a foundation for envisioning a future. Not an easy thing to do coming out of slavery.

The next set of verses are very specific commandments for the moment, for the time of leaving Mitzrayim. These are the commandments to buy the lamb, to examine it, to slaughter it and mark the lintels with its blood, etc. But they are followed by a long set of verses that discuss the first commandment of a holiday, of a day on which no work shall be done, when one’s leavening has been taken from one’s house, and when there is a week-long celebration. The Israelites had not yet even made their matza. They believed freedom was coming, but they were still slaves. Why are these instructions here, especially as they are repeated later several times?

The fact is that these commandments are not wholey part of the law book of Torah but part of the history book. These verses are a recording of the words Hashem gave Moshe to inspire the Israelites to hope. Take the lamb, follow these special instructions, and know that in time to come your children will commemorate your actions with this festival following these laws. The revelation of the mitzvot of Chag Hamatzot is of similar value as the revelation of the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh. They are declarations of the future, reassurances that there is purpose to their actions.

The narrative then continues with Makkos Bachuros, death of the firstborn, and Pharaoh and the Egyptian people finally telling the Israelites to leave. After that night, after those who held forth in faith, are evicted from Mitzrayim, finally set free, their travails are far from over. But following the same fashion of providing eternal laws as an assurance of the future, Hashem adds further rules to who may or may not eat from future Pesach offerings. These rules, which apply to alienated people, slaves, sojourners, hired labour, and prostelytes (12:43-48), make little sense when told to the just freed Israelites who have barely gotten themselves out of Mitzrayim and can certainly not think of how they will bring the Pascal offering on this same night the next year. Realistically, Hashem should have given these details the next year, at the approach of their second Pesach, but here again Hashem is giving them a sense of hope for the future… someday you will have people dwelling amongst you who can’t eat the Pesach lamb, and someday you will have people who are not from your family but whom you shall embrace as if they have always been of Bnei Yisrael.

Perek 12 concludes: “It happened on that very day; Hashem took the Children of Israel out of the land of Egypt, in their legions” (12:51). This is a statement of narrative conclusion, and indeed, the next section begins with a series of commandments that close out the Parsha. The transition is over. From here on out, the “storyline” of the Torah is woven between segments of law and the details of the Mishkan.

The significance of this transition is one each person must determine for themselves. However, one might say that the fact that the beginning of the Torah’s law book begins as part of the narrative is a poignant reminder that Bnei Yisrael is not a people simply because we share a common history but because our laws, our Torah, is our constant reassurance of our future.

No Monolithic Evil (Parshas Va'era)

 In a recent conversation, I was asked how I could possibly affiliate with a particular political party. While I understood where the question was coming from, my honest response, was that I was more __x__ than __y__, and I couldn’t – wouldn’t – be dishonest about that. But distinctions are a hard thing in society. It often leads to an assumption that one group must be ascendant over the other(s). Once an attitude of  “us versus them” forms, people begin to assume a belief (or at least the sentiment) that the them is bad or evil. It is interesting to notice, therefore, that much of this week’s Torah reading, Parshas Va’era, involves a very “black and white” type of group-building. And from this we can learn both the reasons that this can be necessary, and, at the same time, why such extreme thinking can blinding.

 

The dynamic of us-them is the heart of the story of the Exodus. The Egyptians enslaved the Israelites and set them into a life of oppression partially because they feared this small group who refused to give up their unique identity. When Moshe came to Egypt with the Divine assignment of freeing Bnei Yisrael, he had to enforce a clear distinction, which Hashem made clear through exactly who was affected by the makkos (plagues). When Pharaoh seems not to be understanding how much his obstinacy is hurting his people, Hashem even instructs Moshe to spell it out for him: “I will make a [deliberate] distinction between my people and your people” (Shemos 8:19).

 

Sometimes “us versus them” is necessary. This statement alone, under the mores of modern society, is probably making some people grow uncomfortable. When we speak about Moshe and the Exodus from Egypt we are talking about another age, about a time when Hashem, the Creator of the Universe and Ultimate Judge, showed clear signs to distinguish between nations. This is why the Torah could include a commandment to wipe out Amaleck, but our sages can tell later generations that we no longer have the ability to recognize, with certainty, who Amaleck is. Even a hint of bringing such dire judgement into one’s conversations today is uncomfortable because we have all been carefully trained on how to not judge others.  Most people I know have, at one time or another, uttered a statement of their being opposed to labelling others. This is, of course, a good thing because almost no individual fits into a perfect box of definitions and many labels come with unfair judgements of good or bad.

 

While we speak of this value of not judging to our friends and neighbors, each of us has to think how we as individuals and we as different communities are actually handling the fact that society is full of interwoven groups and types. Sadly, too often the message is given that such distinctions mean WE are good and THEY are bad.  Really, however, such broad terms hide the truth. Bnei Yisrael may be the Chosen Nation, but each individual member of the Jewish people is unique, and it is their independent actions that determine if they are good or bad. And just as this is so for our people, it is so for all other nations.

 

 

Hashem guided Moshe in his speech and in his actions as he set the makkos upon the Egyptian people. We must learn something different from Parshas Va’era. It would be easy to take a broad brush and state that all the MItzri,the Egyptians, were evil, and many have done so. The Mitzri, however, were also a nation of individuals. They had an exceedingly evil leader, yes. They had necromancers and advisors who encouraged evil, yes. But they also had an entire population of people who were not stuck in one box. The proof of this is even in Shemos 9, on the eve of the plague of hail, the Torah states: “Whoever among the servants of Pharaoh feared Hashem’s word brought their slaves and livestock indoors to safety; but those who did not fear Hashem left their slaves and livestock in the fields” (9:20-21).

 

The Mitzrim were not one giant mass of evil-minded people set on destroying Bnei Yisrael. Some chose to believe in and fear Hashem. Others, those referred to in 9:21, chose deliberately – the commentaries tell us – to ignore the Divine warning. And, I would image, there were a whole lot of Mitzrim who fell somewhere in-between.

 

“Us Versus Them,” broad definitions of the characters of other groupings, and, at the same time, a general fear of labelling true evil, are all issues that our societies are dealing with today. When we stop and look at Parshas Va’era, perhaps we can be reminded that most groups are not monolithic. True evil does, sadly, exist in this world, but (as far as I know) none of us have the Divine guidance that Moshe was given when he stood before Pharaoh. Our jobs are to look to ourselves and make certain that in every situation we can fall into the people of Shemos 9:20, they who feared Hashem’s word, and guide our actions thusly.

And Moshe Said (Parshas Shemos)

There are few more common words in the Torah then “Vayomer Moshe; And Moshe said.” It isn’t a phrase that stands out, and it is rarely a set of words that draws commentary. This is why, perhaps, there did not seem to be much written about Shemos 3:3’s beginning: “And Moshe said: ‘I must turn aside to look…’”

To understand why one might look for commentary on Vayomer Moshe, it is important to know the verses that come beforehand, or else one might think Moshe is in the middle of a dialogue with someone (which would make the question moot): “Now Moshe was shepherding the sheep of Yisro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he drove the flock into the wilderness, and he came to Horeb, the Mountain of God. An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. And Moshe said, ‘I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn’t the bush burn up?’”

So who is Moshe talking to? He is alone on a mountain with a bunch of sheep. And we know he is alone because the Midrash famously explains that one of the reasons Moshe was chosen for leadership was that he went up onto this mountain chasing after a stray lamb, going out of his way to ensure the safety of the entire flock. So once again, to whom was he so politely explaining his decision to go look at the strange burning bush?

One could, perhaps, jump back to verse 3:2 and point to the presence of another sentient being. It clearly states that the angel of the Lord appeared to him. And yet, it seems, Moshe did not see this angel. Just because the angel appeared, just because the angel made itself visible, does not mean that it was seen. This is supported by the second half of verse 3:2, when the Torah appears to be narrating Moshe noticing and processing that there is a bush that was burning without being consumed.

This brings us back to the original question. Why isn’t verse 3:3 written in a more removed style? It might, perhaps, have made more sense had the verse been written: And Moshe turned to look at this great sight and wondered why the bush did not burn. Perhaps in this question we discover the true significance of the miracle at the sneh, the burning bush, that here we see how Moshe’s balance of neshama and goof, of spiritual and physical, was unique.

When Moshe says “I must turn aside to look…,” he is talking to himself. His intellect, the part of his brain tied to olam hazeh, is seeing a bush that refuses to burn. His neshama, his soul, is seeing the angel of Hashem. Moshe’s declaration of intent is, perhaps, a transcription of him going through the process of the neshama leading the goof (the spirit over the body). “And Moshe said…” Moshe’s spiritual side was actively guiding his physical self. It is perhaps telling that there is an etnachta, a trope that infers punctuation, at the end of the phrase “And I will go and see this great thing.” This etnachta separates the two sentences that are within the same verse: “Why doesn’t the bush burn up?” Perhaps the etnachta break is a means of indicating that the great thing was not the burning bush, but the angel of the Lord. Moshe’s brain could not yet process this, so he believed he was turning aside to look at the bush that did not burn, the miracle in the physical realm.

It is a well understood fact that the situation at the sneh was a major moment in Jewish history. It is the moment when Moshe accepted (begrudgingly) the job of redeeming the Jewish people. But perhaps the truly significant moment was when Moshe allowed his spiritual self to speak to his physical self, when he talked to himself so that his overpowering force of goof would find its own reason to wish to turn aside.

Conjecture such as this is, most interestingly, supported by the fourth verse of the perek: “And when Hashem saw that he had turned aside to look, Hashem called to him…” (3:4). When Hashem had confirmation that Moshe’s neshama could empower his goof, He immediately called out to him.

Moshe was the greatest prophet of all time. His ruchnias was able to actively redirect his gashmius, and therefore he was able to communicate with Hashem as no other could. And while most of us know that we are far from this madrega, this level, everything in Torah is recorded for us to strive toward. The angel appeared, Moshe gazed at the bush, and then Moshe went to examine it. There are times in each of our lives when we encounter something inexplicable – something even as mundane as a coincidence, as hashgacha pratis – and we gaze at it, but we fail to see what it actually is. The introduction of the burning bush is, perhaps, a subtle reminder for us to remember to stop an examine such events and find their true spiritual meaning.

What the Bread Means (Vayigash #3)

One would not think that there would be a great deal to say about a simple line like "Yoseph sustained his father and brothers and all his father's household with bread, down to the little ones" (Bereishis 47:12). It comes as the conclusion to the description of the incredible welcome Yaakov and his family received in Mitzrayim. After a personal greeting from Paraoh and the permitted settlement of the choicest land in the country, it should not even be particularly informative that Yoseph provided bread - sustenance - to his family. And yet it was worth noting in the Torah.

Most commentators understand this verse as a description of how - scantily or with largesse - Yoseph supported his family. Some commentators, such as Chizkuni and Sforno, read "down to the little ones" as a statement of economic frugality, of only as much as was needed. Sforno states that this phrase infers that "even though Yoseph was in a position to allocate generous rations to the members of his family, he did not show them any preference and treated them on the basis of need, each family according to the number of souls."

Other commentators, however, believe that the phrase "down to the little ones" tells quite a different story. The Radak cites Pesachim 10 saying: "It is in the nature of children to break food up into crumbs and to leave them all over the place. There is a well known proverb which states that children are responsible for the decay of food." Siftei Chachamim, elaborating on the same theme, explains that Yoseph "provided more than they really needed."

This would be an easy verse to take lightly and just note how it is an interesting means of understanding Yoseph and the family's situation at the time … if it were not for the stark contrast of 47:12 and 47:13: "Yoseph sustained his father and his brothers and all his father's household with bread, down to the little ones. And there was no bread in all the land, for the famine was very severe." Suddenly, one has to wonder at the juxtaposition. There is no bread in all the land, but Yoseph is feeding every member of his family bread. Not to imply that he should be skipping members of the family, but even if he were economical and giving just enough to comfortably sustain every member of the family, it sounds like that is still more than most people had at the time.

So what? You might ask. Yoseph is the viceroy. It is only natural that he gets to take care of his family a little better. Certainly Paraoh's family wasn't starving. And, indeed, we do not see the people begrudging Yoseph or his family. Indeed, through the rest of the parsha they are praising him as bringing their salvation from the famine even as they turn over everything they own and their rights and freedoms, as well.

The Egyptian people in their time of need do not question or argue with Yoseph. But when they are no longer in dire straits, when their country has recovered so well that they have the luxury to forget what Yoseph did for them… perhaps they did not forget how much easier Yaakov's family had it then the rest of the people - how only they and the priests were not forced to sell their land and to hand themselves over to be as serfs. Perhaps this was why it was so easy for the Egyptian people to let Paraoh enslave Bnei Yisrael.

Sforno concludes his commentary by writing: "Our sages have stated that at a time when the general population suffers shortage even those who have ample are to limit themselves." Control in a time of crisis - it sounds like an exceptionally worthwhile topic in the final days of 2020. We know that Hashem runs the world and that it is up to Him who gets infected (look at the number of households where 1 or 2 people got sick, but others did not). The people around us, however, are frightened. Not all of them, it's true, but many. In a time when everyone is being asked to restrain themselves, should we not be extra careful to show our own constraints? Thus we have a modern lesson from the bread of Yaakov's household.

Some Implications of Seeing (Miketz #2)

 The second section of this week’s parsha begins with a statement and instruction that seems oddly simple and is yet able to inspire an incredible level of reflection and consideration. “And Yaakov saw that there was food in Mitzrayim, and Yaakov said to his sons ‘Why do you so appear?’ And he said “Behold, I hear that there is food in Egypt. Go down to there and procure food for us, and we will live, and we will not die’” (Bereishis 42:1-2).

The first striking question on these two verses is why does the first verse use the word “saw?” Would it not have been more accurate to use the term “hear,” as is used in the second verse? If I were reading a novel I would, perhaps, chalk the difference in words to an attempt to avoid repetitive language but any student of the Torah knows that repeated words are common. We must, therefore, take a closer look.

While most commentaries seem to go to the trouble of explaining that "seeing" is like hearing in that is a way of saying coming into knowledge, perhaps there is a more literal way of understanding “And Yaakov saw.” Yaakov was a known man in the Land of Canaan, a man of renown. He was also, as always, a man of the tents, a man who chose a location and stayed there, so he knew the regular comings and goings of those around him. Yaakov was able to fully understand what his neighbors were suffering. Yaakov “saw” that there was food in Mitzrayim by noting who went empty handed but came back with bushels of grain upon their mules. When he speaks to his sons and says only that “he heard,” he is being considerate of not giving them direct tochacha, but is, nevertheless, indicating that his sons, who are men out and about in the world, should have been aware and taken action.

The second interesting consideration is why the first thing that Yaakov says to his sons is Lama tisraoo, “Why do you so appear?” Shouldn’t his conversation have started out with him telling them that he had heard about rations in Egypt and then wondered why this was something they had not yet acted upon? One common commentary on this verse is that brought by Rashi: “I am of the opinion that the real meaning of Lama tisraoo is: Why should every one gaze at you and wonder at you because you do not search for food before what you have in your possession comes to an end.” In other words, it was not good for the people around them to notice that they still had food when so many around them were struggling through the famine. Yaakov’s family may have had enough to eat, but they couldn’t – they shouldn’t - ignore either how their neighbors were struggling nor how their neighbors might react to their lack of struggle.

This might be an interesting lesson to look at today, in this modern pandemic that we face. Within our own community, there are many who are struggling through this time period – financially, physically, mentally – and we are all excellent at putting on a good face, not showing others when we are in need. We must, therefore, strive to see what is needed around us, seek to have zrizus (haste) in acting to help, and be ready and willing to listen to what a possible remedy for others may be. Beyond our community, however, we need to be aware, constantly, of how our actions appear to others. Even if one does not fear the virus – even if one’s rations are not running low – it is wise to act as if one is taking action.

Let us return to the parsha and perhaps find a completely different understanding. When the Torah tells us that Yaakov saw and then that he questioned what his sons were seeing, perhaps this is a hint at Yaakov’s underlying understanding of the situation in his household. Yaakov saw that there was something significant going on in Egypt and possibly also the reluctance of his sons to jump at the opportunity to provision the family even as there was no end of the famine in sight. Perhaps their lack of action, or even the way they looked at each other when Mitzrayim was mentioned, struck him as odd. This would give reason for the parallel use of the verb roeh, see, in pasuk 42:1. Their very reluctance to go to Egypt was a flag that he should pay more attention to Egypt. The clues that he saw, the hints that there was something more – was a source of great pain. Therefore he said to them “I have heard,” the wording of a rumor, of a more distanced understanding, and left them the space to explain themselves. They did not explain themselves, and so he sent them – without Binyamin - straight to Mitzrayim.

Two verses, two very different ideas…but an excellent reminder that every choice of word in the Torah is an opportunity to delve further into the text.. Hodu L’Shem Ki Tov for the enduring nature of the Torah.

Brotherhood (Vayeshev #2)

This week’s Dvar Torah is about brotherhood. It’s not the typical topic one thinks about for Parshas Vayeshev, since this is the parsha in which ten of the sons of Yaakov sell their younger brother Yosef as a slave and tell their father that his son is dead.

Parshas Vayeshev is, in many ways, one of the easiest parshas to relate to because the emotions are so real. Real people experience jealousy and anger and hate and fear and love, all emotions prominent in this narrative. One can fairly easily relate to the feelings that the eldest ten had toward Yosef. And at the same time, when one reads Yosef’s multiple approaches to his brothers, one can even have that feeling of anxiety like when you read a book and watch the character say all the wrong things and remain oblivious to their impact.

Once could argue, however, that the older brothers are unified. They work together, they travel together, and they share feelings that, for better or worse, can be bonding. The problem is that bonding based on shared negative emotions is, by its very essence, flawed. They may all have resented and disliked Yosef, but they did not all share the same exact motives or levels of hate. And thank goodness that is so, or else they might have gone through with the initial plan to kill him.

This flaw in the brotherhood of Yaakov’s sons is also the reason that it could not hold strong. After lying to their father about Yosef’s death, what happens to the brothers? The fact is that we don’t really know what most of them were doing. However, what happened to Yehudah, who appeared to be the leader of the brothers as they decided Yosef’s fate, is telling. The central section of Parshas Vayeshev begins: “And it was in that time that Yehuda went from his brothers and turned to an Adulamit named Horah” (38:1). The unity of the brothers dissolved. The focus of their negative bonding was gone and was replaced, if not by guilt, then by a discomfort within themselves. The brothers did not come together again until the land of Canaan was suffering under a famine.

One of the biggest contributing factors of what happened to Yaakov’s sons was Yaakov’s reaction to Yosef’s second dream, the dream that appeared to foresee Yosef’s ultimate kingship. While Yaakov questioned the dream, and its meaning, he did not deny it. “And when he told it to his father and brothers, his father berated him, saying ‘What is this dream you have dreamed? Are we to come, I and your mother and your brothers, and bow low to you to the ground?’ So his brothers were wrought up at him, and his father kept the matter in mind.” The question is left rather open ended. Yaakov neither fully chastised his son for reaching beyond himself nor supported Yosef, which would have given his other sons an affirmation that this was Divine will rather than their little brother’s ambition.

On the holiday of Chanukah, we have a different reason to think about brotherhood. In the story of Chanukah, we can see how the lessons of Yaakov and his sons transmitted through the generations to another band of brothers also lead by a man named Yehuda. The Maccabees obviously had an enemy to unify them, but this was an external enemy rather than one of their own. More significantly, one can see an example of good father-son(s) communication in how Mattisiyahu directed his sons from his deathbed:

“Wherefore, my sons, be valiant and show yourselves men in the behalf of the law; for by it shall you obtain glory. And behold, I know that your brother Simon is a man of counsel, listen to him always: he shall be a father unto you. As for Judas Maccabeus, he has been mighty and strong, even from his youth up: let him be your captain and fight the battle of the people. Take also unto you all those that observe the law and avenge the wrong of your people.”

Neither Simon nor Yehuda were the eldest son of Mattisiyahu. The eldest son was Yochanan. (The younger two were Elazar and Yohonatan.) But Mattisiyahu saw the importance of placing his sons in their necessary and rightful roles. He needed his sons, the leaders of the Jewish rebellion, to avoid fighting among themselves. Simon, about whom it is implied had great wisdom, might have felt that his intelligence merited his assumption of leadership. But his father made it clear that his role was as advisor, while Yehuda was to lead the war effort. This was not a denigration of the other brothers, but rather it was an honest analysis of strengths and the best people to lead in order to benefit Klal Yisrael.

Would it have been better if Yaakov had said something specific at the time Yosef shared his dream with his full family – perhaps something to the effect of a statement that the truth in Yosef’s dream was one that could occur now or in the future as merited and should be a reflection of behavior, or perhaps he should have added to Yosef’s dream a broader explanation of each of their future roles. This we cannot say, for we know that every step that occurred in bringing Yosef to Mitzrayim was necessary for the benefit and formation of Klal Yisrael. We can, of course, hypothesis that this phrase, “and his father kept the matter in mind,” was included in the Torah to be understood and acted upon differently, perhaps, by Mattisiyahu centuries.

What lessons can we in our modern age draw from this reflection on brotherhood? Perhaps it is a lesson for parents, that parents should speak clearly to their children and help them understand how they try to provide what is needed for each of their children and for each of their children’s different needs. Or perhaps we can remember that our best unity comes from a love of Klal Yisrael and not from bonding together against other people’s motives and actions.