Yoseph and Yaakov (Vayechi #3)

 In Jewish tradition, the age of 70 is considered to be “the age of wisdom,” the age at which one deserves to be treated with extra honor for having had so many years to learn and to grow (spiritually). In Jewish tradition there is also a mitzvah to give honor to our elders, to those who have attained the age of wisdom, as it says: “You shall rise before a venerable person and you shall respect the elderly, and you shall fear your God. I am the Lord” (Vayikra 19:32). This is not our parsha this week, but the fulfillment of this mitzvah - along with the mitzvah of Kibbud Av, honoring one’s father - is beautifully displayed by the actions and speech of Yoseph in Parshas Vayichi.

At the beginning of the parsha, the Torah informs us that Yaakov was “147 years old. And the days of Israel’s death drew near…” (47:28) – He was twice 70 and then some, but this was in an era when average lifespans were far longer than in our own epoch. Shortly thereafter, Yoseph is told that his father had grown ill, and Yoseph immediately goes to see him, making certain to bring his two sons along. Remember that at this time Yoseph was still the Viceroy of Egypt. While the harsh famine years that had brought Yaakov and his sons to Mitzrayim were now over, Yoseph was now responsible for administrating the nationalized municipality that he had created by making almost all of Egypt into one vast landholding. Busy as he was, when Yoseph heard that his father was ill, he came immediately.

What follows next is a strange sequence of verses, perhaps meant to be subtly indicative of Yaakov’s age and a wandering mind. Yaakov tells Yoseph about the Divine blessing he received and declares that he wishes Ephraim and Menashe, Yoseph’s sons, to be tribes equal to Reuven and Shimon (48:5). Three verses later, in 48:8, it is written: “And Israel saw the sons of Yoseph, and said ‘Who are these?” It is a strange question since he was just discussing these very people. Most significantly, Yoseph does not react as if his father might have a wandering mind, but replies with a straight and direct answer.

Bereishis 48 on the whole is strikingly human; it is incredibly real in its emotional sub-text. This is especially true of the fascinating verses that describe Yaakov very carefully, very specifically, placing his hands on the boys’ heads and Yoseph’s reaction. “Yoseph saw that his father had his right hand on the head of Ephraim [the younger], and it seemed wrong to him, and he supported his father’s hand to remove it from Ephraim’s head onto Menashe’s head. And Yoseph said to his father, ‘Not so, my father, for this one is the first born, lay your right-hand upon his head. ‘” (48:17-18).

Avi, “my father,” is one small world that completely changes the tone of this verse. It adds compassion. It adds respect. It adds relationship. And so we learn how even as Yoseph corrected his father, he did so with love and with respect. (And is immediately informed by Yaakov that he knows precisely what he is doing.)

In the 21st century, attaining the age of 70 is blessedly common as modern medicine has allowed us to increase our average lifespan. At the same time, we live in an age when we often reside far apart from our families, and our lifestyles are often defined by how busy we are. Here, however, we are powerfully reminded to slow down and treat our beloved seniors with dignity, with patience, and with respect.

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.

How Do You Bow, Why Do You Bow? (Vayishlach #2)

 Like all of the parshiot in Bereshis, a lot happens in Parshas Vayishlach. Indeed, the action moves so fast that it is easy to react to the overview and not stop for the details. For instance, Yaakov’s introduction of his divided camps.

Let’s be honest. By the time you get to Bereishis 33:6, you’ve been disarmed by the text. Chapter 33 begins with the dramatic: “And Yaakov lifted up his eyes and he saw…” Not just a simple coming upon, but a marked recognition of a serious situation. Esau arrives with 400 men, and Yaakov quickly jumps to an earlier thought to divide the camp. He then approached his brother alone, bowing deeply and repeatedly. And Esau appears to embrace him, to welcome him home and rejoice in their reunion. Then, rather than rehash old arguments or resume the path of threatening Yaakov’s life, Esau asks after children.

“Then the maids and their children came forward and bowed, next Leah and her children came forward and bowed low, and last, Yoseph and Rochel came forward and bowed” (33:6-7). It’s a flash of two verses that usually procure the most attention for being seen as a demonstration of the household hierarchy. There is Rochel at the back with her one little child, specially protected. Shouldn’t Leah’s many children be protected more? And what of poor Bilha and Zilpa, whose status as wives appear to be negligible?

In translation, the language of verses 33:6-7 seems dully repetative. In the Hebrew, however, there is a bit more variation in the words, and those variations are fascinating. Let’s look at the word for “come forward.” Verse 6 uses the feminine plural to describe the maid servants and their children stepping forward. This usage makes sense and is similar in its usage as the use of the feminine singular to describe Leah and her children coming forward. In both cases, the verb indicates the action of the women only and does not include their children. To describe the plural would, in both places, require the male plural version since a mixed gender group takes a male attribute in conjugation. However, the end of verse 7 states nigash Yoseph v’Roachel, nigash being a slightly different, more passive, form of the word meaning “come forward.”

Another significant difference is that whereas the male – or mixed gender – group conjugation is used in vayishtaachavu, and they bowed down, for both Leah and Rochel’s group, Verse 6, uses the slightly strange form of vatishtachavenan, the meaning is the same, but why not use the same verb and format as in the next verses?

The third alteration in the format of the verses is in order. In verse 6 it says the maids and their children. Verse 7 continues with the approach of Leah and her children. But the final phrase places Yosef before Rochel.

Several commentaries understand the different gender uses of vayishtaachavu as a means of learning about the behavior of the children and how they saw themselves, particularly the children of the handmaids. The Daas Zkainim notes that in verse 6 “the emphasis in this verse is on the servant maids, to tell us that their children did not prostrate themselves. They considered their respective mothers as socially inferior to themselves. On the other hand, when the children of Leah observed that their mother prostrated herself, they followed their mother’s example and did likewise.”

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes on verse 33:2, where the act of separating is first presented, that “It is possible that his feelings and greater affection directed this order, but it is by no means necessary to assume that this was the reason for it.” Rav Hirsch goes on to look at the different forms of the verb for bowing and explains that the haindmaids and their children came first and bowed together because: “Through their whole origin and past they were accustomed to bow before much less feared persons.” Their bowing was a direct correlation to the status of these women, and so the word used is vayishtachavenan and not vayishtaachavu. He continues on: “Then Leah stepped forth, the noble, proud, self-conscious wife, the mother and keeper of the household. A Leah does not bow down before an Esau, the children do it.” Thus the lack of the feminine in the word for bowing. “Then Rachel and her child should have come to the fore, but Yoseph protectingly steps in front of his mother as her knight, and Rachel, afraid that Esau would take offence, quickly bows to disarm him, so that Yoseph should also bow, and so both of them bow.” This not only explains why mixed gender plural is used for bowing, but also the strange use of the niphal for coming forward and the placement of Yoseph before Rachel. Rav Hirsch concludes: “Therein the motive for arranging the order of their approach may also lie. Yaakov let the maidservants go first because he could quietly reckon on their behaving with due humility. Rachel and Yoseph last because he expected the least from them.”

It might also be interesting to reflect that Yaakov might, perhaps, have placed Leah in the middle as a protection for her. He was certainly aware of the hours she had spent crying over her fear of marrying Esau, as noted in the Midrash. Now he was confronting Esau with the woman who he might perhaps have felt he had a right to. Yaakov therefore presented first the maidservants and their children, deflecting any quick reaction as Esau received their greetings, and then he brought forward Leah, so as to downplay her as his wife. He left Rachel for last so that Esau’s final impressions of his family would not be focused on Leah.

We cannot know exactly what thoughts went through the minds of the patriarchs and matriarchs. We can however, realize that life for them or for us, is rarely as simple as choosing whom one likes better.

The Internal Struggle (Vayetzei #3)

Next week's parsha, Parshas Vayishlach, contains the famous scene of Yaakov wrestling with the angel. Did you know, however, that this week's parsha also contains an inference to wrestling?It is part of the process of naming Naphtali, and perhaps it does not get noticed because it is one verse in the middle of 28 verses related to the birth and naming of Yaakov's first 12 children. Perhaps it is given less attention because this sixth son of Yaakov is the second son of Rochel's handmaid Bilha. Nevertheless, it is an interesting pasuk: "And Rochel said, ’With mighty wrestlings have I wrestled with my sister, and I have prevailed,’ and she called his name Naphtali" (30:8).

The word for wrestling here, naftal, is not the same as the word used for wrestling at the end of the parsha, which is y’avak. There is no need to imagine Rochel and Leah physically attacking each other, as happened to Yaakov. Rochel's struggle was more internal. Indeed, it is quite possible that Leah did not even realize the extent to which her sister saw them as adversaries.

One can only imagine how painful it was for Rochel to watch her sister bear the man that she loved child after child. Her sadness, anger, pain, and resentment must have constantly been at odds with her basic love and loyalty that she felt for her sister; a love proven by the help she provided her sister on the the night that Leah wed Yaakov. Knowing, or assuming to understand, how hard it was for Rochel to share her husband with Leah, one can only imagine Rochel's internal conversations that led her to give Yaakov “Bilha, her handmade, to wife” (30:4). She did this only after she felt strangled by envy (“Give me children or else I die" - 30:2). And so she named Bilha’s firstborn child Dan, saying “God has judged me and has given me a son" (30:6), which shows that she was anxious in her choice of action until Hashem blessed the union. With the birth of her second son through Bilha, Rochel could finally begin to let go of her negative feelings. She could finally begin to feel on par with her sister. And thus she could now admit how difficult her relationship with Leah had been.

The internal nature of her struggle can, perhaps, be recognized by their contrast to Leah’s actions. Leah followed Rochel's lead and gave her handmaid Zilpah to Yaakov. Her choice of action was because of her sister’s successful course, not because of the same desperate desire that inspired Rochel. Zilpah bore two sons in Leah’s stead, and the choice of names, and their reasons, are also clues to how differently Leah saw their relationship. (Although in the naming of Leah's first four sons we do see her struggle to feel loved too, but that angst is directed at Yaakov, not Rochel.) Leah named the first son of Zilpah Gad, saying “What luck!”, and the second son she named Asher after declaring, “What fortune!” Both of these names indicate that Leah took the addition of these sons as a happy, but not necessarily significant, event.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch comments that Rochel's use of the term Noftulee Elokim means sacred wrestling (whereas others translated the term as mighty) and says: "a sacred wrestling competition did I wage with my sister, not a match that struggles for something low or common, of which one would be ashamed, but for a sacred end did I compete against my sister, to do my part, too, for this spiritual building up of our house.”

An internal wrestling match with one's feelings of jealousy and loyalty, resentment and love, is extremely human. It is worth noting here because the important thing is what one does with those emotions. The Tur HaAruch understands Noftulee Elokim Niftalti as Rochel declaring “I have writhed repeatedly in prayer before God,” which, he further explains, is also prophecy of Naphtali's descendant Chirom being in charge of the construction of the Beis Hamikdash (as opposed to Leah’s descendant Betzalel, who constructed the Mishkan).

Rochel's declaration of her feeling of having wrestled with her sister could have been hurtful, but we see no such reaction from Leah. This, too, points to the internal nature of Rochel’s struggle. And, as noted by Rav Hirsch, it is a struggle that has as much to do with the desire to build Klal Yisrael as it is the wanting of children. This struggle, based in something larger than one's personal and immediate gratification, leads to a positive end. The RADAK notes that Rochel's use of the word Noftulee may come from the root of pey sav lamed, Pitel, to twist or be twisted as in “two strands of yarn combined to make a cord, twisted. By pulling the two strands together, the whole stream becomes stronger.”

It is well known that the lives of the matriarchs and patriarchs had challenges. Some commentaries like to whitewash them, but the truth is that what makes them great is how they handled those challenges, how they overcame their internal battles, and how they strived to build for the future. These are exactly what makes them so important. Divrei Torah focus on Yaakov’s wrestling match with the angel because it is a powerful turning point that shapes the future nation. What is often overlooked, however, is the significance of Rochel’s wrestling match, of her coming to terms with her feelings, which, perhaps, eventually was critical in her being able to bring forth Yosef and Binyamin. But for all time, one cannot diminish the importance of understanding Rochel's feelings of an internal struggle against her sister as a means also of demonstrating the normalcy of emotions and the challenge of overcoming them. 

Inherent Nature (Toldos #2)

In the 1980s, it was popular to speak of people in terms of Type A personalities and Type B personalities. In the 90s, people were all about Myers Briggs and other personality assessments. Today, the terms neurotypical and neurodivergent are popular. All of this is to say that much money and a great deal of time has been, and continues to be, spent on understanding inherent personality. But really, this is a topic that is natural to Jewish scholarship since the very beginning… and the subtleties of Parshas Toldos, which is very nuanced, are an excellent study of nature, nurture, and self-determination.

It is rather interesting to note how even the subtleties of translation can affect how we understand our Biblical ancestors. On a simple, read-through level, the Torah present Eisav and Yaakov as two equal but different youths. וַיִּגְדְּלוּ֙ הַנְּעָרִ֔ים וַיְהִ֣י עֵשָׂ֗ו אִ֛ישׁ יֹדֵ֥עַ צַ֖יִד אִ֣ישׁ שָׂדֶ֑ה וְיַֽעֲקֹב֙ אִ֣ישׁ תָּ֔ם ישֵׁ֖ב אֹֽהָלִֽים

(25:27) – “And when the boys grew up, Eisav became a skillful hunter, a man of the field, and Yaakov was a mild man who dwelled in tents." Most translations I have seen translate va’Yaakov as “but Yaakov,” an expressive statement that implies comparison; whereas, at its most simple, va’Yaakov means “and Yaakov” - a description.

A similar issue happens in the next pasuk, that says: “Yitzchak favored Eisav because he had a taste for game, va’Rivka, and/but Rivka favored Yaakov” (25:28). What is interesting here is the seeming conditional attached to Yitzchak’s love that is glaringly missing in Rivka's relationship with Yaakov. If you think Eisav didn’t pick up on that difference, you are blessed with children who have zero sibling rivalry. Loving Eisav was not natural and easy. For the family that came from Avraham's tents, Eisav was a wild card. He was different. If Eisav had been an only child, he might have come to understand the teachings of his father and grandfather. He might have chosen a path of chesed and devotion. But because that life was more natural and easy for Yaakov, Eisav quite likely struggled with why he had to bother to put so much energy into belonging to his own family.

This sounds like a rousing case for a sympathetic portrayal of Eisav, for a dvar Torah that excuses his later actions. This is not so. It is, rather, a means of looking closer in order to understand humanity and our own selves – and, perhaps most importantly, our children.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch offered the commentary that part of the problem was that Yitzchak and Rivka raised the boys the same and ignored their differences. This is, of course, an important lesson to take from Parshas Toldos. Another important lesson in a day and age when we label people neurotypical or neurodivergent (which, let's be honest, doesn't hide the subtle message of who is considered normal - although if normal means most common, I know far more neurodivergent people than neurotypical) is that the only thing that makes us good or bad are our actions.

Eisav is not a "bad character" because he was born inherently evil, as might be implied by the arts and crafts. His natural personality might have made it harder to fit into a specific mold or expectation, but along the journey of life he made choices. Most significantly, he chose to sell his brother his birthright for a hot meal. It was a rash decision made in a moment when he was, perhaps, in a bad place. But it was his decision, and that, too, might be, a valuable lesson from this parsha – that often times we make decisions in a moment that impact the rest of our lives.

With time and generations, the world has become ever more diverse. We must remember, constantly, that how we think of others can impact how we treat them, and how we treat them can impact how they perceive themselves and that can, and will, affect the choices that they make.

A New Look at YItzchak (Chayei Sarah #3)

 In the way that it is frequently taught, Parshas Chayei Sarah could, oddly enough, be seen as the foundation of a heartwarming Hallmark special: Widowed father, worried for his introverted son, sends his most trusted confidant to find his son a match. Said confidant worries over his ability to do right by the boy but puts his faith in fate and meets a girl who appears perfect. The catch, of course, is that she comes from the nastiest family in town, a bunch of thieves willing to commit murder. The confidant and the girl work together and overcome her family’s attempts to subvert the match for their own means. They return to the home of the father. They arrive just as the son is stepping outside to pray. The girl sees him, sparks fly, and she knows without a doubt that she has made the right choice.

It's a lovely narrative and, in its own way, quite accurate. But because of how overwhelmingly this story focuses on Rivka, we often miss out on seeing the subtle but important detail that is there to help us understand Yitzchak. This detail – this single pasuk – and the Midrashim that come from it, shift our preconceived notions about the seemingly passive nature of Yitzchak.

The verse is 24:32: “And Yitzchak came from having come to the well [called] L’chai Roee, for he dwelt in the land of the south.” Yitzchak was not, as it so often seems, sitting in his father’s tents waiting for Eliezer to return. So what was Yitzchak doing? What or where was the well called L’chai Roee? According to the Midrash, this was the well from which Hagar drew water to save Yishmael. It’s a strange location to associate Yitzchak travelling to, and on this too there are several commentaries. The most simple of these stating that he had travelled there to find Hagar, Avraham’s ousted concubine, and to bring her back to Avraham (who then remarried her under the name Katurot) – Bereishis Rabba 60:40. As simple as it is, the idea of this act is beautiful. Just as his widowed father wished for him to marry, for him to find his life partner, Yitzchak sought a means to guarantee that his father would not be alone.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch adds a different purpose and, in this, a new layer of understanding human uncertainty and the desire for confident prayer. “Yitzchak, the one who was most concerned in the matter [of Eliezer finding a bride] should feel drawn to the place that could strengthen his confidence that God would act for him…” For here at this well, Hashem had already proven that he hears prayers and answers them hastily.

Beyond the question of where or what was the well of L’chai Roee, the language of the pasuk is strange. It doesn’t just say that Yitzchak had journeyed from L’chai Roee, but rather it says ba mevo, literally that he came from coming. The commentators make much of this, noting how incredibly active this phrase is. Often when a person in Tanach goes some place, the terminology of travelling – linsoa or laleches – is used. Ba mevo disrupts the common image of a sedate Yitzchak. It is a secret gem that gives us the opportunity to look closer and see that Yitzchak was, in fact, a person who actively went places. Interestingly, several commentators write that he was coming from time alone, time of isolated meditation encouraged by his father. This is a good reminder that stillness and activity can both be deliberate actions.

The phrase ba mevo also leads to discussions of how, exactly, Eliezer and Rivka came upon Yitzchak. Rather than perceiving Yitzchak to have been waiting at his father’s encampment or at a designated meeting site, the implication, as some understand it, is that they met along the way, as they were both travelling in the same direction. But as the Radak notes: “Now the Torah tells us that Yitzchak encountered them as if by coincidence. The fact is, of course, that God arranges matters for the benefit of those whom He loves without their even being aware of it at the time.”

Perhaps seeing Yitzchak as a more active persona only makes the story more “Hallmark.” A now motherless boy helping his father, praying for his perfect match, and travelling the dry, lonely roads of the south. It’s a different take than the youth waiting at his father's tents who goes out to pray just at the moment his bride comes… Indeed, several of the commentaries on verse 24:63 believe that he went out to converse with a friend, based on the term lasoo’ach, which some translate as meditate (and thus pray) but which is also associated with the word l’siach, to converse.

There is no direct lesson or message here, just a fascinating delve into the wonders of meaning within the words of the Torah and an exploration to learn more about the least described patriarch. Additionally, gaining insight into Yitzchak helps us better understand the future dynamics of this couple, and, in so doing, hopefully helps us understand ourselves a little more as well.

Laughter's Essence (Vayera #3)

When you ask someone, quickly, what emotion they connect with laughter, the normal answer is joy. People laugh when they are happy, right? They laugh when they find something funny, right? Yes, these are true, but people also laugh when they are uncomfortable, when they are nervous, and when they feel powerless and in need of a weapon. They laugh to make others a target. In other words, laughter is complicated. This too is in the Torah. Not directly, but in the fact that Sarah's famous laugh is, in many ways, very ambiguous: "And Sarah laughed within herself, saying: ‘After I am already worn out, shall I have the deepest satisfaction, and my husband is [also] old?’" (18:12).

Is there anything wrong with laughing to oneself? Couldn’t it be that Sarah's laughter was the laughter of unexpected joy or a hiccup of anxiety at imagining the possibility of one's greatest hopes coming true? Sarah's laughter, however, is most often understood as a waver in faith, as a symptom of disbelief, or as a derision of herself and/or her husband. This judgment on her laughter comes from the very next pasuk: "Then God said to Avraham: why did Sarah laugh, saying: ‘Shall I in truth bear a child, old as I am?’” (18:13). If there was not something wrong with Sarah's laughter, why would Hashem question it?

Perek yud-ches (chapter 18) is not, it is important to note, the only place in which laughter is mentioned in this parsha. Significantly, laughter is part of Yitzchak’s name. Perhaps this choice of name was meant as recompense for Sarah's initial response. Or, perhaps, it is a signal for us to return to the woman and her laughter and to look at it more closely - not to judge Sarah, but to understand her, and, in that way, understand our own selves.

According to the Kotzeker Rebbe, as mentioned in the Artscroll Stone Chumash, Sarah "truly thought that she had laughed not in disbelief but in joy, as Avraham did. The truth was that subconsciously she doubted the possibility of miracles." It is only a year later that Sarah is able to realize that until the moment she was holding her son in her arms, she had held back her heart. She had expected the promise not to be fulfilled. Thus when Avraham called him Yitzchak, Sarah immediately understood the implications and declared, "God has made laughter for me, whoever hears will laugh for me." The use of the words yitzachak lee is particularly interestings - not eemee, with me, but lee, for me. This is the laughter of true joy, of joy that spreads. This is the best type of laughter.

One cannot read this parsha and not realize the significance of what takes place in the time between Sarah's laughter. Sarah and Avraham receive an undeniable promise but between then and the one year later when she gives birth, God tells Avraham what he plans to do with Sedom, Avraham and Sarah witness Sedom and its neighbors’ destruction, they travel to Gerar and deal with yet another royal attempt at emotional entanglement - - All this occurs after over a decade of being somewhat settled.

Life is messy. It's a fact most of us are aware of. It was certainly a fact that Sarah was aware of: Watching Avraham with Yishmael, looking on from a distance at the bad choices of her brother Lot, and wanting to hold on to the hope of motherhood. One of the most beautiful facts about the Jewish canon is that our heroes and heroines are not whitewashed. They are human. They have heartache and joy. They have anger and tears. And in parshas Vayera, we learn from their laughter about our own ways of interacting with the world. We can despair and we can doubt, but at the end of the day our goal, no matter what has come between us, should be that those around us laugh for us, that we share joys with others.

Active Faith (Lech Lecha #3)

One interesting understandings of the name Yisrael is as He Who Wrestles with God. As the Torah clearly states, the Children of Israel are a stiff-necked people; we wrestle with God because basic, blind faith is not the foundation of our relationship with the Divine. The thirteen principles of faith, as enumerated by Maimonides, are referred to as Ani Ma’amin, which is usually translated as “I

believe.” But the grammar is a little awkward. On OU.org (from 2006), there is a definition of the term ma’amin that states that translating it as believe or one who believes is inaccurate because “the grammatical form is ‘hepheil,’ the ‘causative,’ rather than ‘pa’al,’ the ‘active,’ indicating a more pro-active verb. In other words, believing in something of a spiritual nature, requires an effort of the mind and the imagination of the individual, and is not merely a passive ‘act.’”

It may seem strange to speak of Yisrael, the name given to Yaakov after he wrestled with a Divine messenger, in a dvar Torah of Parshas Lech Lecha. Perhaps, however, it is the perfect spot, for does not any journey of achieving active belief begin with lech lecha – go for yourself. More than that, within the parsha and the journey of Avram, we see that even the greatest of believers has questions and seeks assurance.

In five separate instances in Parshas Lech Lecha, Hashem speaks to Avram and reassures him. The first appearance is the command of lech lecha, go for yourself. This was Hashem’s first direct communication with Avram. His second is shortly thereafter, when Avram and family arrive in Canaan and Hashem declares that “to your seed I will give this land” (12:7). These two promises are necessary since they are, in a way, explanatory of why Avram should make this journey and to confirm that this is the land he will inherit.

But when Avram finds his promised land suffering a dire famine, Hashem doesn't speak to him or offer a reassurance. Avram didn't need it. He was on a journey. There was no questioning from Avram because he was actively moving forward. He went to Egypt, and, for his hishtadlus (effort), he eventually saw the necessity of going to Egypt, to acquire wealth and to demonstrate Hashem’s direct protection of his family.

After such a dramatic journey to Egypt and back, it seems, then, particularly interesting that it is only after the departure of Lot that Hashem felt the need to repeat His promise. After Avram sends Lot away, Hashem immediately speaks to him of inheritance and ownership of the land, commanding him to “walk the land, to its length and to its breadth,” (13:17).

The first time Avram separates from Lot, Hashem knows Avram will benefit from reassurance. After all, Lot had been with him on his entire journey thus far. The second time they separate, after Avram intervenes in the war between the kings, rescues his nephew, and sends Lot away again, Avram steps forward to question his childlessness. “O Lord God, what will You give me since I am going childless, and the steward of my household is Eliezer of Damascus?...Behold, You have given me no seed, and behold, one of my household will inherit me” (15:3-4). Avram trusts Hashem, but he is willing to question Him. His question is a request for clarity, for seeing the path forward. For this, Hashem instructs him in the Bris Bein Ha’baturim, the Covenant of the Parts, and provides him with a prophetic testimony of the future.

It is interesting that Hashem does not feel a need to reiterate his promise to Avram for another 13 years. Perhaps because Avram was seeing how his wish for a son when it is fulfilled in Avram’s time frame is not the path set out by God. Avram’s oldest son is Ishmael, the son of Hagar. For 13 years, Avram must have struggled to understand how this child – willful, devious, and so oppositional to Avram’s journey – could be his heir. Avram must have wondered how Hashem could fulfill his promise of a child and made that child so not right for journey ahead. But Hashem needed Avram to see and to understand so that he could accept Hashem’s request and requirement of bris milah. His watching Ishmael prepared him for the physical covenant made through his body that was necessary for Yitzchak to be born, for the spiritual DNA to pass from parent to child. This too was the moment when he developed past his own wants to one who could fully understand that he needed to heed Hashem’s desires for him. This understanding was critical for the coming test of the Akeida.

Lech Lecha is a parsha of emuna. Most of us have grown up reading it in awe of Avram’s seemingly blind faith to leave his home and everything familiar. But it was never blind faith. It was always about being ma’amin, an active and engaged believer. And from here we can learn how it is through being a ma’amin that we develop a true relationship with Hashem.

This dvar Torah is dedicated to a refuah shelaima for: Binyamin Yisrael ben Chanita, Dovid Chaim ben Tzipora, Melech Chaim ben Bella, and Chaim Yehoshua ben Frumit.

What Clean Means (Noah #3)

Life is precious - all life. This might be a strange statement with which to start a Dvar Torah on parshas Noah, the parsha in which Hashem destroys all life save for Noah, his family, and all the animals he brought with him into the Ark. However, in an era where people are once again clamoring about distinctions being both good and bad, perhaps we can find a new insight into the role of the Jewish people.

Of all the stories in the Torah, Noah is one of the most familiar. It has been absorbed, shared, and retold by the common culture. And yet it is interesting to note that in almost every depiction - whether artistic, toy, or comical - there is more focus on the animals arriving two by two than on the actual details given in the Torah that necessitate some animals boarding the teva in seven pairs. The confusion is easy to understand. First of all, it is much easier to envision two of every animal rather than trying to understand how the Ark could contain two of each animal and then some. Just picture six additional sets of oxen, not to mention twelve more giraffes. More seriously, however, the two by two depiction is most probably because Hashem first declares: "And of all that lives, of all flesh, you shall take two of each into the Ark. To keep alive with you; they shall be male and female. From birds of every kind, cattle of every kind, every kind of creeping thing on the Earth, two of each shall come to you to stay alive" (6:18 - 19).

It is only four verses later, into the next chapter and after Noah has completed the Ark., that Hashem tells him: Of every clean animal you shall take seven pairs, males and their mates, and of every animal that is not clean, two, a male and its mate; of the birds of the sky also, seven pairs, male and female, to keep seed alive upon all the Earth " (7:2-3).

The most intriguing thing about these verses is that Hashem does not, here, specify what He means when He tells Noah "of every clean animal." Later in the Torah, after Bnei Yisrael has been established, we learn about the requirement of chewing the cud and split hooves and about which animals to be careful not to mistake for acceptable, but not here. Here is just a vague instruction. Rashi says that in these verses there is proof that Noah knew the Torah. Other commentators postulate that Noah came to his own correct conclusion of which animals were clean based on whether the animals were faithful to their species in their mating. Interestingly, Nachmonides suggests that "From each of them came two - a male and female - of their own accord. Noah additionally brought six pairs of the clean animals. Those [two] animals that came to be saved came of their own accord, but as for those that were needed as offerings, [Noah] exerted himself in the performance of the commandment [to take them in]."

This commentary hints at the secondary discussion of the question as to why Noah needed more clean animals than regular animals. At this time, humankind was still forbidden from eating meat, so the goal here could not have been a permissible food source. Rather it is understood by most of the commentators that the instructions to bring seven pairs of clean animals into the Ark was in order to provide a supply of acceptable offerings after they exited the Teva. The concept of clean and unclean animals may have been mysterious to Noah - as, indeed, one might even say about the need for a diet with such distinctions remains mysterious today since it is a chok (a halacha/law that has no common sense explanation) - but there are some particular characteristics that do appear common among, although not exclusive to, the kosher animals. For instance, the fact that kosher animals are neither hunters nor scavengers.

Within his larger commentary, Chizkuni makes an interesting statement: “Seeing that due to the fact that these species (clean animals) would [one day] be allowed as food, the dangers that unless there were multiple pairs of them in the Ark, they might die out, make it plausible that the Torah ordered him to take seven pairs of each. Even though certain other unclean mammals serve as food for the gentiles, such as pigs, etc, the fact that these give birth to multiple young made it unlikely that they would die out even if only a single pair of them would be taken into the Ark…. ‘take for yourself;’ seven males and seven females each, so as to diminish the chances that they would die out” (translation from Sefaria).

This seemed an interesting thought in that while there are plenty of wild animals that give birth to only one or two offspring at a time (like elephants), many of the unclean creatures have surprising rates of reproduction. No kosher animals produce their young in litters or broods, and so Hashem took action to make certain of their survival.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch comments on the term habehaima hatahara, the clean animal, that "tahar is related to tzahar, the transparent, the particles of which are homogeneous, and allow rays of light to pass through them. So that tahar is receptive, that which allows God’s rays to pass through, offers no resistance to them."

There is an integral aspect of the so-called clean animals that makes them tahor, that makes them more receptive to the Divinity in the world, which is why they were acceptable as offerings and, eventually, designated as food for the nation that chose an active relationship with Hashem.

Rav Hirsch concludes his commentary, however, by explaining that the commandment for additional animals doesn’t have such a mundane purpose. Why are these animals designated as clean, or pure, he explains that the command to take "seven pairs of the clean animals, was given to Noah with an eye to his future offerings, or for the future requirements for food in accordance with the laws of God, or out of consideration of both factors, in any case we can understand why this command is introduced with the name Hashem. Simply for the purpose of the preservation of the animal world in general there would be no reason for taking more than three times more of the clean animals. The ‘purity’ of animals only exists in connection with the purposes of the education of humankind which the name Hashem represents.”

These ruminations on the animals declared clean and the animals declared unclean have a shadow of a thought about the world population in general and the Jewish people. The concept of being a nation singled out is often misunderstood. It does not make us better; it means that we are expected to live up to a higher purpose. Hashem provided the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov with special rules and a different task from the rest of the nations because they opened themselves up to be receptacles of Hashem’s gifts, like the tahor animals. And like the clean animals taken in as extras on the ark, the Jewish people have been willing to sacrifice themselves to bring Hashem into the world. But while the extra clean animals are wanted and needed, this does not mean that Hashem’s love for the whole is any less, for Hashem made it clear first and foremost that “of all that lives, of all flesh, you shall take two of each into the Ark.”

*Tahor is most often translated as either clean or pure, neither of which is an accurate definition.

Seeing God (Bereishis #2)

 Bereishis: Seeing Good

When the time came for the Ribono Shel Olam, Master of the World, to make the first human being, the ministering angels made themselves into competing counsels. Some of them said, ‘don’t create humans,’ and the others said, ‘create them.’ The angel of chesed (kindness) said, ‘create them, for they will do acts of loving kindness.’ Then the angel of emes (truth) said, ‘do not create them, for they will be full of lies.’ The angel of tzedek (righteousness) said, ‘create them, for they will establish justice.’ The angel of shalom (peace) said, ‘do not create them, for they will be in constant strife!’ What did the Ribono Shel Olam, do, but grab up emes and hurl it to the earth. Whereupon the ministering angels said before the Ribono Shel Olam, ‘Ruler of all worlds, what have You done? Why have You so chastised the chief of your court? Let emes arise again from the earth’ (Bereshit Rabba, 8:8).

The Zera Shimshon, as recorded by Rabbi Nachman Seltzer, explains that “the Ribono shel Olam listened to what emes was saying. When it was time to create man, He threw emes down to earth, forcing it to play a role in a world whose default setting is one of compromise, and which desperately needs truth to balance the scale so the compromises bring it close to truth and ultimate justice” (page 46).

Truth was cast to earth, and yet we are all aware of how difficult a time humankind has both with sticking to the whole truth and with discerning when people are or are not telling the truth. Indeed, this seems even more so the case in recent times, when rather than participate in conversation, many feel justified in shouting their opinions rather than researching facts. And even when facts are known they are used as justifications for one point of view over another rather than as information upon which a person can use their own free will and critical thinking. Indeed, a little more of that necessary spirit of compromise would be greatly beneficial.

While things feel more desperate today, one could look at history and suggest that this is simply the way of the world. Humanity has always struggled with balance and compromise. God cast truth to the earth, but truth itself was hidden in the world. More importantly, the ability to see absolute truth – to understand the greater picture from all perspectives – remained purely in the hands of the Ribono shel Olam. This is perhaps reflected in the first chapter of Bereishis, when it is written on the first day: “And God saw that the light was good. And God separated between the light and the darkness” (1:4).

We see here, in the very first steps of creation, the seeming necessity of division, of having two sides to contrast against one another. Could there be light if there was not darkness? Rabbi Yonason Eibeschutz, quoted in Sefer Talelei Oros:

Observes that normally good qualities are recognized in contrast to their opposites. For instance, if we see a good person and an evil person we recognize the goodness of the first by contrasting it with the evil of the second. Therefore, the order of the verse should have been reversed. The recognition of the goodness of the light would come as a result of its contrast to darkness. However, this limited vision only applies to human beings. God knows the value of everything in absolute terms.

Humankind can only choose what they believe is good based on what they believe is bad. But being able to look at the integral essence and know something is good is a quality reserved for the Divine. This is how the world needs to be if it is not to be torn apart by division. Free will demands that we have to shape our morality, even within the parameters guided by Torah, just as Free Will necessitates the lack of open miracles so that we might retain the ability to make choices.

It is easy, of course, to sit here and write a reminder to all that humankind’s hold on truth is fluid. We like to make much of being on the right side, of the us versus them, which leads, unfortunately, into a thought pattern of good verses evil. But rather than focusing on the division, or on claiming to be the light – the good and true - perhaps we need to spend more time thinking about how our world thrives on differences.

There is a phrase that has become quite common in the media and in public discourse: “My Truth.” No phrase brings to mind so quickly the fact that humans are incapable of pure objectivity. We always have an agenda of some level or another. And in a world where truth is so heavily influenced by perspective, it is especially important to remember that the ultimate decision of what is good is in the hands of Hashem.