Parshas Va'era: The Command to See

We often speak about the hidden nature of Hashem. Once, before the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad had its fruit eaten by Adam and Chava, humans were creatures with a full awareness of Divinity in the world. Once, before the Children of Israel sinned in their haste to connect to Hashem by making a golden calf to replace Moshe, the descendants of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov were blessed to be able to not only perceive Hashem, but to travel with a tangible connection to the Divine. Thus it is that in the world we live in today, we must each of us actively strive to see Hashem in the world and to recognize Hashem’s role in our daily lives.

 

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges that a majority of humanity faces, or so it seems, is recognizing that we are creatures of body AND spirit. We are challenged at seeing our own neshamos, our own souls, and perhaps this is why so many people end up feeling like they need to find themselves. This dilemma is not new to the human condition, although we often pontificate that it has grown much worse in every generation. The challenge of seeing our true selves is one with which even Moshe struggled.

 

Yes, yes, you might be saying. We all know that Moshe did not want to be the leader of Klal Yisrael, that he told Hashem that he was the wrong guy for the job, and that he excused himself because of his speech impediment. This, of course, could be a psychologist’s field day explaining how a man raised in a palace feels out of place leading people. (This would certainly be perplexing if one took their image of Moshe from the old Ten Commandments movie or the Prince of Egypt movie in which Moshe is raised as an equal to the upcoming prince, Ramses.)

 

The idea of Moshe as a man who had trouble envisioning himself as a potential leader or even as a messenger for Hashem, fits well with the verse from Bamidbar 12:3: “The man Moshe was exceedingly humble, more than any other person on the face of the earth.” Moshe rarely seems to assert himself for himself, and this is one of the traits of his greatness. Yet the statement of his humility is often questioned since he had to declare his leadership, he did have to take charge, and these are actions one does not generally associate with a humble person.

 

Jewish teachings answer the question of whether Moshe being humble and being the leader of Klal Yisrael is a contradiction by noting wisely that being humble does not mean stating that one is not good at things but rather it means being aware of one’s gifts and talents and putting them to proper use without a sense of arrogance. In Parshas Va’era, we see, perhaps, that Moshe’s ability to become a man of exceeding humility was, possibly, because of a bracha from Hashem.

 

Perek vav (6) concludes “Moshe appealed to the LORD, saying, ‘See, I am of impeded speech; how then should Pharaoh heed me!’” (Shemos 6:30). This was Moshe’s famous attempt at an out from the leadership role. Perek zayin (7), interestingly, then begins with: “The LORD replied to Moshe, ‘See, I place you in the role of God to Pharaoh, with your brother Aaron as your prophet.’” (Shemos 7:1).  Although the translation records both verses as using the word “See,” Shemos 6:30 says hain, which translates better as “behold.” Shemos 7:1, on the other hand, uses the actual word see… r’aih.

 

Commentaries on this verse infer that Hashem made it so that Pharoah would see Moshe’s greatness, but perhaps Pharoah became aware of Moshe’s greatness because Moshe became aware of Moshe’s greatness. Once Moshe was able to see himself, to see his personal strengths as well as his natural weaknesses, nobody, not even Pharoah, could make him feel little. Once he understood what his role was, what his true place in the world was, Moshe was able to go before Pharoah and demand that he let the people go, and he was also able to withstand the retorts, the lies, and the changing of mind because he saw that it had nothing to do with him and all to do with Hashem’s greater plan, as he and Aaron were warned.

 

This idea also explains why there appears to be a repetition from last week’s parsha in that Hashem sent Moshe to Pharoah already, and Moshe was sent away and then derided by the very people he thought he had come to save. Moshe before Perek zayin thought that he had to be someone different to save klal Yisrael, and both the Egyptians and the Israelites saw through that. After Hashem tells him to see, however, Moshe understands that his true self was exactly what was needed to redeem Bnei Yisrael.

 

Seeing one’s true self is not easy; even Moshe Rabbeinu needed a Divine bracha to do so properly. We are all hindered by the weight of the guf, the physical selves, that contains the neshama, the soul. Our physical selves thrive in a material world, a world that cannot deny human nature’s instinctive desire for praise, conformity, and recognition by others.

 

That same material world, however, is the curtain that maintains Hashem’s hiddenness, that keeps us in galus (exile). Perhaps the path to ending that galus begins with learning from Hashem’s bracha to Moshe and working on seeing ourselves, our true selves, as individuals, as communities, and as a nation. When we can achieve that lofty goal, surely we will be ready for redemption. It is no easy task, but the work itself pulls us toward greatness.

 

Shabbat Shalom

This Dvar Torah is dedicated L’ilui Neshama Dovid Chaim ben Shmuel Yosef Hacohen.

 

 

 

Parsha Shemos: A Man, A Prince, and A Judge

This week's parsha begins the narrative of the Exodus. Here we have the birth of Moshe and his journey to leadership, to the point where he could stand before Paraoh and demand him to "Let my people go.'' While the midrash tells us that Moshe was born special, born to be the one to lead Bnei Yisrael, there were many steps on his journey to leadership. Most often we hear about his compassion as a shepherd, his willingness to stand up to the abusive taskmaster, or his reluctance to be placed in power, but if one reads the text carefully one finds other traits, such as the skill of learning from critique. 

The morning after Moshe kills the taskmaster who was beating an Israelite slave, he is confronted by two Israelites who saw his actions. When Moshe steps between a fight they are having with one another,  one of the men turns to him and says belligerently: "Who appointed you a man,  a prince or a judge over us? Are you threatening to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?" (Shemos 2:14). Moshe reacts with fear and flees, but the words of this rash man were actually potent on a different level. He questioned Moshe's right to act as an eesh, meaning a man of leadership, as a sar, a prince, and as a shofet, a judge. Quite a few commentators state that the use of the word eesh implies that Moshe was very young, that he was just barely, if at all, a man. They were exentuating his inexperience. Questioning him as a prince has other implications. It highlights the illogical title for one now suddenly "identifying" with the Israelite slave. It also undermines the authority he believed he grew up with. Finally they question his right to act as a judge, for he quite obviously already saw himself as being guilty of a crime. 

The words of this man are also interesting in the fact that they talk about appointment, about being named over. In the future, when Moshe was the eesh, the man in charge, so to speak, it would be his job to oversee the princes and to appoint the judges. Indeed, he would be the one who would act as a sar and a shofet, even if he did not hold these titles. 

In this moment, however, these words cast a particularly hard punch. Moshe was, after all, at a crossroads in his life. Having been raised in the palace of Paraoh, having grown up believing he was a member of the Royal Egyptian family, he has suddenly become aware of his actual heritage as in Israelite. He now identifies with his brethren, who he sees enlaved all around him. Moshe is at an identity crisis where he must decide who he wants to be and what he wants to do. When this man,  in the text, questions him and asks who appointed him a man and a prince and a judge, Moshe might have been struck deeply by the idea  that he must determine if that is the person that he wishes to become. And this too could have been the fear that drove him to flee, for in Egypt he could never have an opportunity to understand his identity. It was clear that so long as he stayed in Egypt, he would be drawn in both directions 

This is not, of course, to say that Moshe was aware of the impact of these words at that time. But words have power, and their impact can effect a person for years. The words said to Moshe were a threat, and he reacted to them. Those words, however, resonated in his brain. As he found himself forced to determine his future and his identity, those words built the foundation of who he was to become. 

When we speak to others, let us try to be aware of the powerful impact our words can have.

Dedicated Lilui neshama of Dovid Chaim ben Shmuel Yosef HaCohen. 

Parshas Vayigash: Guidance to the Promised Land

How do we get to the “Promised Land”? A pat answer might be: “Just get on a plane.” Alas, we all know that the real answer is that this is a question that our people have been asking for generations, because the term “Promised Land” implies far more than just a physical location. It alludes to the an era of residing in a state of universal understanding of our role in the world in relation to our Creator. It refers to what we call the era of Moshiach. And so we contine to strive with the question of how we can get to the “Promised Land.”

If one reads Parshas Vayigash as the simple narrative conclusion of the story of Yoseph bringing his family to Egypt, one might miss an interesting verse that, perhaps, has resounding implications for the Jewish people: “And he sent his brothers, and they went, and he told them, “Do not be agitated on the way” (Bereishis 45:24). In the context of Bereishis, Yoseph has just finished revealing himself to his brothers, they have feasted together, he has loaded their caravan with provision and gifts, and it is time for them to go and get Yaakov. Throughout the perek, Yoseph has assured his brothers that he has forgiven them, that he is not upset with them, and that “God has sent me ahead of you to ensure your survival on earth, and to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance.  So, it was not you who sent me here, but God” (Bereishis 45:7-8). Why then, is he worried that they will be agitated?

Many of the commentators explain that Yoseph was telling his brothers not to be concerned that they would be beset by highwaymen (robbers) or that people they would pass would try to steal from them. While the Rashbam* implies that this fear was the result of their underlying guilt, that those who are burdened with past sin have constant worry for disaster, the general consensus of those who understand the verse this way is that Yoseph was telling his brothers that they need not have this agitation because his name and position would protect them.

But there are other understandings of Yoseph’s statement as well. Rabbeinu Bahya points out that the sages in Gemara Taanis understand it as a warning not to get too involved in halachic discussions that might slow them down. The commentator says: “He did not mean to stop them from discussing such matters; he only did not want them to go into them at depth as this would prove time-consuming” (Sefaria translation).

Agitated, it must be pointed out, is just one translation/association of the word תִּרְגְּז֖וּ tirgzoo. A different understanding of the word tirgzoo is that it means quarrelsome. In this context, as the Radak* explains, Yoseph was worried that the brothers might spend the journey home blaming each other for all that had happened. He could imagine their ride home being full of “Well, if you hadn’t said we should kill him…” “It was your idea to throw him in the pit…” “Who thought deceiving our father was a good idea!”  It is human nature to quarrel in this manner, but Yoseph wanted them to truly understand that everything had been hashgacha pratis, Divine purpose. 

What, you might now be asking, does all of this have to do with the question of “How do we get to the promised land”?  How do we get to the age of Moshiach. Moshiach is a complicated topic, and people throw around the term Messianic Age rather easily. Part of the process of the coming of the Moshianic Age, is that there will be two types of Moshiach - the Moshiach ben David whom most people mean when they use the term, will be the latter, the start of a new Davidic line on the throne of Israel. Prior to Moshiach ben Dovid, however, there will be Moshiach ben Yosef, whose role it will be to herald in the final era and to guide our people along the way. Thus it is interesting that this verse, 45:24, begins “Vayishlach es achiv, and he sent his brothers.” The verses just previous to this are filled with details of how he is provisioning them to leave and even the statement that he sent “she-asses laden with grain, bread, and provisions” to his father. The verse could very well have started with Vayelchoo, and they went. But he sent them. There is purpose to their travel.

How, then, did Yoseph Hatzadik guide the brothers along a way that would help their descendants so many generations later? He warned them not to be agitated or quarrelsome. The journey to the “Promised Land” is our journey through exile. On this journey we must be careful not to quarrel with one another, not to point fingers and cast blame for that which happens because all is part of the Divine plan. On this journey, we must study the Torah, learn our laws, delve into the richness of our heritage, but we must not get so involved in the details that we lose the path. We must remember that Torah encompasses far more than dos and donts, but living in this world and uplifting it. On this journey, we must not be agitated with what others will think of us because we travel under the authority of the Ultimate King. As long as we proceed in the path He has set forth (Torah), His name is our protection. 

May we soon see the end of our journey!

More Than Seven Fat Cows (Parshas Miketz)

 Last week, Stephen Sondheim, a brilliant Broadway writer and composer, passed away. In one of his famous musicals, Into the Woods, there is a line that says “Oh if life were made of moments/Even now and then a bad one/But if life were only moments/Then you’d never know you had one.”

 

The reason the character sings these words is not particularly relevant. What is relevant is the underlying thought that life cannot always be spectacular, because then we would not be able to recognize the moments that were special. This lesson can be found in this week’s parsha as well.

 

Anyone who has studied Parshas Miketz (or watched Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) knows that Pharaoh’s dream of seven fat cows being eaten by seven thin cows and his dream of seven skinny ears of grain eating seven fat ears grain represent seven years of plenty followed by seven years of devastating famine. But outside of the prophecy that allowed Yosef to prepare Mitzrayim (Egypt) for the famine and thus prepare a refuge for his family, there is a subtle lesson about life that we can learn from seven years.

 

Seven, according to all Jewish thought, represents completion. It is whole matter, as represented by a cube that has six sides and the matter that is within (7). Seven represent everything that is natural in this world. Life has good times and bad times, and this, perhaps, is the “every-man” lesson of Pharaoh’s dreams. To put it in another cheesey old theme song verse: “You take the good/you take the bad/you take them both/and there you have the facts of life.”

 

When life gets difficult, when life isn’t perfect, that’s part of God’s plan for the way the world works. We all have the opportunity to be our own Yosef’s, to think and to plan ahead. Of course, that immediately makes one ask how anyone can foresee the bad that will come their way. They can’t. Life has some shocking turn-arounds in fortune. What we can prepare for is how we handle these turn arounds, how we strengthen our neshamos to remain connected to positivity and simchas hachaim (joy in life) even during tough times. Yosef prepared Mitzrayim for the famine by purchasing everything, truly everything, in the name of the king (pharaoh). Hereto, is a hint of a lesson. If we remember in the good years, in the happy times, to attribute our brachos (blessings) to the King, then we can appreciate and remain grateful for those brachos during the difficult time.

 

Speaking of seven and nature, it must be noted that Parshas Mikeitz often overlaps with Chanukah. Chanukah is a reminder that the world runs on two levels: the natural and the super-natural. Both of these are Divine. Hashem set the world in motion during the seven days of creation, and that is nature. Sometimes, however, He intervenes, and that is super-nature. That is eight.

 

Chanukah is an amazing holiday for its simplicity. People have wonderful and beautiful menorahs that they light… and people have incredibly simple menorahs (hat tip to my friend who made a menorah with a banana this year!). Whatever type of flame one lights, they usually last only a short while before naturally fading out. Nevertheless, in that brief, beautiful time, there is a powerful message, an incredible reminder, that while we live our natural, every day lives, our good times and not so good times, there is always room for miracles.

 

 Dedicated l’ilui neshama Dovid Chaim ben Shmuel Yosef haCohen

Sweet Dreams (Parshas Vayeshev)

What is your dream? This question, put recently to a group of high school students, needed to be clarified. What did the teacher mean by “your dream”? Did the teacher mean what images popped into the students’ heads when they slept, or was the sought-after answer a far more difficult question of what it was that the students hoped to achieve in their lives? What the teacher wanted doesn’t matter now, but it certainly makes one wonder why it is that the word dream can have such disparate meanings.

From a cynical point of view, one could say that the correlation of the dreams we have and our nighttime reveries are because most of either will never come true. Perhaps, however, the truth is that if we had the bigger picture – the G-d’s eye view, one might say – we might be surprised at how much of both actually do come true, just not necessarily in the way we understand it.

 This week’s parsha, parshas Vayeshev, is full of dreams. There are the obvious dreams that come in sleep: Yosef’s dreams of sheaves of wheat bowing to his grand sheave, Yosef’s dream of the sun and moon and stars bowing to his star, and the dreams of Pharaoh’s butler and baker. (If these are unfamiliar to you, they are written out in the parasha.) There are, however, many of the other types as well. Here are a few:

 1) The Midrashim talk about the very first word of the parasha, vayeishev – and he settled, and how it indicates that Yaakov wanted to settle down in one place and just live out the rest of his days uneventfully. It was his dream to have a mundane, boring, and peaceful upper middle age/old age.

 2)      Yosef was a 17 year old youth who lost his mother, whose only brother was eight years younger, and whose father held him on a pedestal because of his dead mother. As much as Yaakov favored him and gave to him, and even though the Midrash tells us that he often told Yaakov misinterpreted understandings of things he saw his half-brothers were doing, one can only imagine that Yosef wanted to be part the fraternal unity of the other sons. Binyamin was only 9, a mere child, but Yosef was not so significantly younger than Naphtali, Asher, and Zevulun. Yosef dreamed of not being different.

 3)      Potifar’s wife, the woman who framed Yosef and sent him to jail, had dreams of her own. According to the Midrash she believed that her descendants were supposed to be part of Yaakov’s family. In truth, the connection was meant to come through her daughter (adopted, depending on the Midrash), Osnat. Potifar’s wife dreamed of being more than the wife of Paroah’s butcher.

 

When parshas Vayeshev ends, however, the only dreams that have come to any fruition are those of Paraoh’s imprisoned butler and baker. The latter was executed and the former was restored to his position at court, where he blissfully forgot all about Yosef.

Although the narratives of many of the people in Bereishis traverse multiple parshios, Vayeshev is the first parsha that ends on a cliffhanger, meaning that the full narrative arc is not completed. Yaakov’s story until now has been broken into sections – from birth until he leaves his father’s household is one parsha, the following parsha details the next part of his life, when he marries and has children up until he decides to return to the Land of his fathers, and then, again, there is a parsha that covers his return and resettlement into the land. Vayeshev could have been as Yaakov dreamed, a final parsha in which Yaakov grows old and passes on his knowledge and his beliefs to his growing family. Instead, Yaakov moves to the back burner, so to speak, and we begin the story of Yosef…and there are almost no more “neat and tidy” parshios.  Vayeshev and Parshsa Mikeitz that follows are far more intertwined than the parshios that came before them, for it is only in Mikeitz that we understand not only what Yosef’s prophetic sleeping dreams meant (his position to his family in Mitzrayim) but how the heartfelt dreams of people can have a long, and sometimes convoluted, way of coming true. Yaakov’s time in Mitzrayim was a time when he rested, Yosef was included among his brothers eventually, and Yosef married Osnat and they had two sons.

We all dream, both night dreams and “daydreams.” Things happen in our lives, however, that make our hopeful dreams feel impossible. Think how Yosef must have felt when his brothers spoke of killing him, threw him in a pit, and then sold him to passing merchants. Surely he thought there would never be a chance at reconciliation… and he was wrong. It was simply that the path to the dream was a little – a lot - different than expected.

Dreams are important. Dreams keep us moving forward through the world. When stumbling blocks (or even giant mountains) get in the way of our dreams, we just have to do our best to find their essence and give those dreams meaning in our lives. And we have to remember that what we understand of our dreams is not from the G-d’s eye view.

 

Shabbat Shalom.

 

 

 

 

The Era of Eliphaz

 

The dynamic of Yaakov and Eisav is one that echoes throughout time. We frequently speak of the foreboding prophecies given to Rivkah when the twins fought within her womb and the shifting balance of power embedded in the brachos received from Yitzchak. In Jewish tradition, Eisav being Edom means Eisav is the forefather of Rome and thus of the Christian world. From all that has been passed down through the generations, the struggle with Eisav has the perpetual overtone of the wrestling match that took place between Yaakov and the malach in Perek 32, and yet the two nations are capable of living in peace, as many would say has been the experience of the Jewish people in North America for decades.

 

The beginning of Parshas Vayishlach is dedicated to the final confrontation of the opposing brothers. Yaakov enters the region of Eisav’s residence and immediately prepares for trouble. He prays, he prepares, and he thinks each move through. There is tension in their reunion, but at the end of the narrative, when Eisav heads toward his settlements and Yaakov says he will follow, it appears as if they have come to terms with one another. Indeed, the very next pasuk states that Yaakov came in peace to the city of Shechem (Bereishis 33:18). Henceforth the Torah focuses on Yaakov and his children, and Eisav appears to only be mentioned in a listing of his family.

 

Within the genealogical history listed in Bereishis 36, however, we actually learn a bit more about the fate of Eisav. He marries several wives and has a great host of children. He also makes what appears to be a deliberate choice to leave his brother’s presence: “And Eisav took his wives and his sons and his daughters and all the people of his house and his possessions and all his cattle and all the acquisitions he had acquired in the land of Canaan and went into a land away from his brother Yaakov” (Bereishis 36:6). Given his reaction to Yaakov receiving the bracha and his desire to kill Yaakov even, according to the midrashim, at their reunion, the idea that Eisav peacefully relinquished his claim seems surprising. And yet the pasuk narrates that Eisav has a perfectly rational acceptance of his brother’s dominion over the Land of Canaan, so much so that he recognizes that their grazing animals are too numerous to share the space.

 

Could we learn here the secret to surviving the great Gulus Edom (the Diaspora of Rome)? Yes, but it is not a secret of living peacefully, but more a question of being prepared and knowing that the Yaakov/Eisav dynamic is always in play.

 

Eisav’s eldest son is actually a fascinating snapshot of historical practicality. Eliphaz, according to the Midrash Tanchuma, grew up with Yitzchak’s influence and was righteous enough to have Divine inspiration. He was one of the three confidants and advisors of the beleaguered Eyov (Job). When his father commanded him to find and kill Yaakov (before the brothers’ reunion), he robbed him instead, relying on a concept that a man with no possessions is as a man who is dead. But Eliphaz’s sons were far more influenced by their own grandfather in their feelings for Bnei Yisrael. In fact, the Midrash in Devarim Rabbah says that “Amalek was raised on Eisav’s lap” (2:20).  The Midrash Yalkut Shimoni expands this idea and notes that Esau spoke to Amalek about how he had failed to kill Yaakov and that his grandson should avenge him (Chukas 764).  More significantly, this Midrash describes how Eliphaz directed his son to help Bnei Yisrael, who are destined to inherit both This World and the World To Come, in order that he will have a share in the World to Come, and this advice greatly angered Amalek, encouraging his descendants to attack Bnei Yisrael (Beshalach 268).

 

Not much is recounted about the other descendants of Eisav, but Jewish tradition implies that they were warlike - by the fact that in the genealogical listing they are not noted as sons but rather as clans, using the military term Aluf before their names. One later Midrash, Yelamdeinu, accounts Eliphaz’s son Zepho as the man who built Rome but who was killed by Tirat king of Elisha (Yelamdeinu, Batei Midrashos 160).

 

The generations born in the late 20^th century were born into an era of tolerance and acceptance, into a culture so seemingly unconcerned about our separate national character that one could almost say we lived in the age of Eliphaz. That Age has come before, and it may come again (though Imerz Hashem Moshiach will be here soon!). When, after the great devastations of just over a century ago, the world seemed to choose to step away from us, to let us rebuild and rise up toward our birthright, Eisav’s whispering to Amalek did not disappear.

 

We have all born witness to the startling rise in anti-Semitism over the last several years. After living in general peace, it was certainly unexpected for many. This does not mean we are imminently in danger. This is not a call of dire alarm. Amalek himself did not attack Yaakov, but his deeply rooted hatred festered over time. Significantly, “his” attack came not when we were at our lowest, in the Divinely ordained slavery of Egypt, but when we were at our highest, our most connected, just after crossing the Yam Suf (Sea of Reeds).

 

Incidents of anti-Semitism rise and fall. Sometimes there seems to be a reason, but most times not. Sometimes there seems to be a pattern, but that is just our human desire to make sense of challenging situations. We are living in gulus. We are scattered by Divine decree until the coming of Moshiach. Let us learn from our forefathers, from the Holy Torah, and from the history of the Jewish people that when Eisav gathers 400 men, it is not always for peace.

 

*Please note that this is not saying that only Israel inherits all of the world, it is a far more complex matter not for this simple Dvar Torah.

Undertones of Character (Parshas Vayetzei)

"Come and learn what Lavan the Aramean sought to do to our father, Yaakov. For Pharaoh issued his edict against only the males, but Lavan sought to uproot us all…” The Pesach Haggadah 

 

Reading through the parshios in which Lavan is mentioned, most specifically Parshas Vayetzei, it is somewhat obscure to see how Lavan is such an evil character as to be referenced as the start of the oppression that occurred in Egypt. In fact, one might ask (and some have) a similar question about both Ishmael and Esau, particularly the latter. In the text, the details of the lives of these reshayim (Heb. wicked ones) are rather mundane. Ishmael is a boy who Sarah accuses of “playing” with her son, which the midrash tells us means a host of misbehaviors. Esau appears as an impulsive youth who is outwitted by his brother into selling his birthright and later as a man cheated of his father’s blessing. Lavan could be seen as a father who went to great effort to protect his daughter Leah from being shamed by her younger sister marrying first and who worked hard at keeping his son-in-law employed and his extended family together. The Midrashim, of course, go into far greater detail about exactly what their real actions and motivations were.

 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the patriarchs and matriarchs, whom we elevate and admire, are often written about in such a way as to leave questions on their behavior. Why was Sarah so unkind to Hagar? How could Yitzchak have been so oblivious to Esav’s behavior? Why did Rachel steal her father’s teraphim (household idols)?

 

Rachel’s theft is a fairly well-known story. Yaakov is done with working for Lavan. His family is almost complete, as all his children except Binyamin have been born. Hashem has told him that it is time to return to the Holy Land. As he takes his caravan and heads for home, Lavan comes galloping after him demanding to know why he has left with no notice as he would have sent him off with great fanfare. At the end of his great pronouncement of shock and disappointment, Lavan also asks why they have taken his idols (Bereishis 31:23-30). Yaakov, who knows nothing about it, tells him to search the caravan. Rachel sits upon the idols and claims that she cannot rise for the ways of women are upon her. Yaakov vouches his family’s innocence and declares that “anyone with whom you find your gods shall not remain alive!” (Bereishis 31:32). One is so surprised that Rachel would steal her father’s idols and, in the way of the “reader-in-the-know,” is horrified by Yaakov’s declaration that curses Rachel that one does not necessarily recall the beginning of the perek 31, which reveals a great deal about the dynamics of Lavan and his daughters…even as it remains subtle within the text.

 

Reading backward through the perek, one comes to Leah and Rachel’s response to Yaakov’s recommendation that they leave Lavan’s house: “Then Rachel and Leah answered him, saying, ‘Have we still a share and an inheritance of our father’s house? Surely, he regards us as outsiders, now that he has sold us and has used up our purchase price. Truly, all the wealth that God has taken away from our father belongs to us and to our children. Now then, do just as God has told you’” (31:14-16). These verses seem innocuous enough but read them again more carefully. Why did they refer to themselves as having been sold? Because everything about the family dynamic hearkens back to Lavan’s deceitful nature. Lavan keenly remembered that Eliezer had brought fine jewelry for Rivka, and felt he had a precedent for gaining from his daughters’ marriages. In the era of the patriarchs it was the normal way of the world for a man to pay the bridegroom’s family a dowry, a bride-price that paid them for taking over her care and maintenance. When Yaakov came to them and was so obviously enamored of Rachel, Lavan did not enter into the usual bargaining of a shidduch. In fact, not only did Lavan not provide a dowry for either of his daughters, but he also took advantage of Yaakov and contracted him to work seven years – each – for his wives. Lavan’s daughters were keenly aware that their husband did 14 years of labor for them, that their husband paid for them in as much,  and then spent six more years in their father’s employ.

 

Whereas some commentaries postulate that Rachel stole the idols to try to protect her father from himself, there is a sense here that there was a lot of family tension, more even than would be expected after the switching of the bride situation.

 

Another interesting dynamic in this perek is the placement of Yaakov’s family in the larger scheme of Lavan’s household. Up until this point in the parsha, one might have had the impression that Lavan’s sole familial interest was his daughters. Not only is Rachel the one tending the sheep when Yaakov first arrives, but Lavan takes great interest in Yaakov’s business. Who, then, are the kinsmen who are noted for camping with Lavan after tracking Yaakov down (31:25)? This goes back to the beginning of perek 31, where it is noted: “Now he [Yaakov] heard the things that Lavan’s sons were saying: ‘Yaakov has taken all that was our father’s, and from that which was our father’s he has built up all this wealth’” (31:1). Suddenly there are sons… suddenly there are brothers. These brothers, however, seem to place no value on their relationship to Rachel and Leah. They have their father’s character and are aggrieved by Yaakov’s success because they see it as a direct threat to their inheritance.

 

The more you pull apart the text, the more nuanced the details of Lavan and his family. Lavan’s was not a household that fostered love and family closeness. It seems, rather, that this was a household built on greed and selfishness, on a sense of what is owned and what one is entitled to. Rachel and Leah, like their aunt before them, are exceptions to those norms.

 

Why aren’t the falsehoods and deviousness of Lavan more plainly spelled out in the Torah? Perhaps this is a lesson about judging ourselves verses judging others. The Torah is a guidebook for the Jewish people, and Sefer Bereishis is the history of Bnei Yisrael specifically. It doesn’t matter, really, what it was that Lavan or Esav or Ishmael did that cut themselves off from being part of this future nation; it only matters that we know that their lives and the lives of their descendants are on a different track. We do not need to judge others. We do, however, need to judge ourselves, and this is why the Torah describes the lives of the forefather/foremothers with what may be a more honest tone. This is not to say that the Torah is dishonest in its discussion of the reshayim, but that the text follows our conscientious laws of avoiding speaking negatively about others without reason. The patriarchs and matriarch are our ancestors and our role models and so their challenges and mistakes are the situations from which we must learn. We must understand their fallibilities in order to overcome similar faults in our own selves and thus live the full spiritual lives that is our inheritance from them.

 

 

 

 

Why Didn't She Tell Him? (Parshas Toldos)

Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Rivkah had just sat down with her husband, Yitzchak, and told him that their son, Esav, was behaving contrary to all the values their family held dear? Or perhaps one might ask why it seems that Yaakov did not tell his father that he and Esav had made a legitimate agreement that made Yaakov the bachor (firstborn rights)? Indeed, one might read Parshas Toldos and see in it that the second family of the Jewish forefathers suffered from what appears to be an extreme lack of communication, and inherent in that assumption is a lesson that resonates no matter the era.

It starts, one might say, from the very beginning. The Midrash notes that when the Torah states that Yitzchak davened for his wife to have children that they davened in opposite corners (Bereishis Rabbah 63:5, as cited by Rashi). This does not indicate strife, lest one think that, but it does start to paint a picture of their marriage. In fact, Rashi also cites the Gemara about how their prayers were different that perhaps sheds even further light on their relationship: “of him and not of her, because there is no comparison between the prayer of a righteous person who is the son of a righteous person and the prayer of a righteous person the child of a wicked-person — therefore God allowed himself to be entreated of him and not of her” (Yevamot 64a). Although not the purpose of the Gemara, we are here reminded that Yitzchak and Rivkah came from very different homes, that their ways of being and existing were very different.

The lack of communication continues. It appears from the text that Rivkah never told Yitzchak that she had sought out advice on her preganancy troubles and had been given a prophecy of two struggling nations, that she had known from before they were born that they would oppose each other. Playing the what-if game is only helpful in teaching a lesson, but what-if Rivkah had shared this information with Yizchak from the very beginning...What if they together had chosen to work differently with each of their sons in order to build them as individuals. Instead, “Yitzchak loved Esav he had a taste for game; but Rivkah loved Yaakov” (Beresihis 25:28). (Separately, one might even wonder if Rivkah’s ability to love Esav was tainted by the prophecy she received.)

The ultimate lack of communication, of course, is at the end of Yitzchak’s life. When Rivkah sees that Yitzchak wishes to bless Esav with a final, grand blessing, she tries to salvage the situation by instructing a reluctant Yaakov to deceive his father. Could neither of them have gone in and explained their concerns to Yitzchak? It is an easy question to ask, an easy assumption to make, but their patterns have been firmly rooted into their lives. In all these years of watching Esav hunt when he should have been studying, partake in the violent behaviors describe in the midrashim and the commentaries, and use his cunning to trick his father into believing he was pious, Rivkah had never spoken up, and she did not know how to speak up.

The lack of communication between Rivkah and Yitzchak had dire consequences on their family, and from the perspective of Jewish history, on even their modern day descendants since we still suffer with the never ending struggle between Esav and Yaakov (Edom and Yisrael). This does not mean, one should remember, that Rivkah and Yitzchak had a bad relationship. The fact that even after the boys are grown into young men and they travel to the court of Avimelech to escape a famine, Yitzchak and Rivkah are noted as being playful with one another is important. There was love between them...Indeed, it might even be considered that Rivkah did not tell Yitzchak about his beloved son because she could not think of causing him such pain...but their relationship bore the weight of their lack of open communication.

Why was their communication lacking? Of course this is a question we can never answer, but one might even surmise that it did have a great deal to do with their backgrounds. Rivkah came from a home of deceivers. Besuel her father and Laven her brother were both men of bad faith. Rivkah, even as a child, did not fit in to the character of her childhood home, and perhaps therefore she learned to restrain herself, to hold back her thoughts and comments. Yitzchak came from a home where his mother was a force unto herself, where his mother was strong enough in herself to come and tell his father that he must send Hagar away. Yitzchak, perhaps, expected that if there was a problem his wife would come and tell him.

All that occurs is the will of Hashem. Yaakov and Esav needed to struggle so that Yaakov could transform into the man that he became, into the forefather of our nation. It is easy to judge the dynamics of their relationship from the safety of generations gone; it is far more difficult to see the problems that need to be changed when they are part of your own life. But we are blessed with the Torah as a guidebook, and so we look at Bereishis and bring its lessons into our own life. From Parshas Toldos we learn the importance of communication, of warning others of a path they just might not see, and of the necessity of communication in working together to build the future that you desire.

Moving Forward (Parshas Chayei Sarah #4)

For a parsha that seems to focus on marriage and the continuation of the family of Avraham, it seems a bit odd that it opens with death. One might think that Chapter 23, the death and burial of Sarah, would be attached to the previous Parsha, which includes many of the travails of Avraham’s life. Indeed, if, as the Midrash tells us, Sarah’s death was directly connected to the binding of Yitzchak, should not those two narratives be studied at the same time?

 

Sarah’s death opening a new Parasha is a beautiful metaphor for the Jewish view on death and mourning.  Traditionally, while we mourn at the time of death, we celebrate a Yahrtzeit, the anniversary of the death. Inevitably, there is sadness to the day, but we take that sadness, and we try to transform it into a positive, forward going energy by elevating the neshama of the departed with prayers, with a special kiddush, with divrei Torah, and etc. The very fact that the death of Sarah is introduced by a statement of her life, “And the life of Sarah was…” (Bereshis 23:1), expresses a powerful reminder that when death comes, we must focus on the life that was.

 

Given that Judaism has a firm faith in the afterlife, death is just the beginning of the next stage. No, this is not stated anywhere in the Torah, but it is deeply rooted in our beliefs. Those of us in Olam Hazeh, this world, cannot know what Olam Habah, the world to come, is actually like, and since the Torah is a guidebook for Olam Hazeh, it is not mentioned in the Torah.

 

One might think that with her death, Sarah’s story is over. This is not so, and it could be understood that this is the reason that Sarah’s death is the lead into this parsha rather than the parsha beginning with the search for Yitzchak’s wife, which is the majority of this week’s portion. Sarah waited a very long time to have a child so that she and Avraham could continue their spiritual mission into the forthcoming generations. Her story does not end until those generations truly are forthcoming.

 

It appears, from the order of the verses, that Sarah’s death took a great toll on Avraham: “And Avraham was old, advanced in days, and the Lord had blessed Avraham with everything” (24:1). Without Sarah, Avraham was jarred into realizing that his own time was coming to an end. This spurred him on to find a wife for Yitzchak, who was already close to 40 when his father took him for the Akeidah.

 

Parshas Chayei Sarah is no less a parsha about movement than Parshas Lech Lecha, but it is a different type of movement. In their earlier years, the movement was physical and energetic. In Parshas Chayei Sarah, the movement is far more subtle. Death can seem like a drastic ending, like the end of hope and joy. And it is appropriate when such a drastic end occurs - indeed, whenever one faces a great loss - that one take the time to mourn and recover. But the placement of the death of Sarah as the introduction to Yitzchak’s eventual marriage reminds us that Olam Hazeh is forward moving, that life must carry on and that we must take care of the future as a means of honoring those who have passed.

 

The Source of Strength (Parshas Vayera)

  

“Be strong!” Have you ever said that to someone going through a rough time? It sounds like a platitude, but it is a bracha, a blessing you are bestowing upon the person that reminds them that they will get through their troubles and be able to see how those troubles helped them reach a new place in their lives.  

 

There are different types of strength. It is probable to say that instinctively when we bless someone to be strong, we are wishing them koach, which is a very physical sense of strength. Our koach, our fortitude, helps us push through each day and put one foot in front of the other.

 

This week’s parsha, Parshas Vayera, however, is filled with a far more powerful strength, an inner strength that Judaism refers to as gevurah, and we can gain insight into exactly what it is by the words of the sages in Pirkei Avos 4:1: “Who is a strong man, one who subdues his yetzer (inclination).” Most often we think of the term yetzer with the yetzer harah, the evil inclination, and then envision the little devil sitting on our shoulder urging us to do wrong. But evil is far too limited a concept for defining a person’s yetzer. For instance, one who wakes up tired may just want to skip davening for the day… the idea that that would be evil seems a bit drastic. The yetzer is the natural force of our physical selves working against…or for in the case of the yetzer hatov… our spiritual selves.  

 

One might think that the parsha begins with a powerful punch of gevurah when it is understood that three days after his circumcision, Avraham ran forth to greet and serve his guests. Is this not an incredible demonstration of the spirit’s will to do good overcoming the body’s physical limitations? Or they might point out how Avraham ignored any psychological fear of punishment from the Al-mighty to stand and challenge Hashem’s decision to destroy Sodom. There is certainly incredible inner spiritual strength in Avraham, but that strength is driven by his over-arching character trait of chesed. Avraham loved his fellow man (and woman). He cared deeply about all the people in the world, and this was far more of a driving force in him than gevurah.

 

In order to understand gevurah, we need to study Yitzchak. Most people would say that the Akeidah is the defining moment of Yitzchak’s life. Although it is not obvious from the straight text of the Torah, it is implied (and understood by the sages) that Yitzchak was aware of his father’s intentions to offer him up as a sacrifice, and he made himself willing. This is the gevurah of Yitzchak, that he could put his will to live (the most basic and the strongest of yetzer) to the side in order to fulfil the Divine will. He did so without argument or complaint, and he did so with his whole heart.

 

How, one must ask themselves, was it possible for Yitzchak to accept that his father would do such a think with nary a whimper or cry? Perhaps the answer is that his gevurah, his ability to ignore even humankind’s most base survival instinct, was because his neshama was able to understand that every journey Hashem puts us on has a purpose, even if we will never understand what that purpose is.

 

In order to understand Yitzchak’s innate gevurah, we have to remember where he came from. Yitzchak’s neshama could only come to earth when his parents transformed themselves into different people (when their names were changed) and after Avraham circumcised himself. We know how desperately they wanted a child; it is mentioned over and over again, and we know the great lengths Sarah went to try to help Avraham have an heir. Yitzchak was the child born of a man and a woman who could have felt greatly disappointed in their inability to be fruitful, and multiply and who nevertheless did not falter in what they saw as their life’s mission of sharing Hashem.  Their patient faith is one of the cornerstones of Yitzchak’s personality. The other cornerstone was laughter.

 

When they named him Yitzchak, Sarah declared “Hashem has given me laughter. All who hear will laugh with me” (21:6). There are lengthy discourses written on the significance of laughter in Yitzchak’s story – how Sarah laughs, how Avraham laughs, how Hashem discusses the laughter, and of course how his name is based on the word laughter. It is such an interesting dichotomy when you think of all the pain of waiting that they went through for him, when you reflect on the trials Sarah faced in offering her handmaid to her husband, and yet they came through it to a place where there was laughter. Perhaps here we can learn about the power of laughter over the inclination to fall to despair. If we can find a way to twist our yetzer from embracing our physical/psychological pain, we can pull ourselves away from it. We can help the neshama carry forward.

 

The vast majority of us will only ever struggle to begin to comprehend the spiritual strength of the avos and emahos. We do, however, understand their struggles. We know how hard life can be, and how there are periods in our lives that are incredibly challenging and even deeply traumatic. The narratives in Bereishis are a gift to us. They are a place we can turn to see that survival, physical and spiritual, leads to growth. Even more, in the narrative of Parsha Vayera, we are reminded that there is power in laughter, and it is the power of hope that will take us to a place where that laughter will be full of joy.

 

May we all find moments of laughter and may we all find the strength to carry forward in the journey.

 

Parshas Lech Lecha: The Influence of Atmosphere

What happened to Lot? What happened to the young man who seems to have been an enthusiastic member of his uncle’s caravan when they left Haran? What happened to he who was significant enough at that time to be listed among those who joined Avram? The question is not about his actual end, which we read about in next week’s parsha when he is led from Sodom by the angels and then drinks himself to a stupor in the mountains with his daughters. The question is about how Lot became, what some might say, a no-goodnick who makes the wrong decisions. For this question, it is apropos that most of his story is recorded in Parshas Lech Lecha, the parsha of journeying, for perhaps the record of his journey reveals the change in his standing.

 For some people, the impact of a journey is the travel. It is the action and the changing and the doing. For others, the impact of the journey is the places one goes and the people one meets. Two people can travel together and be on completely different journeys, and this was Avram and Lot.

 It is interesting to note that Lot began with wonderful intentions. The Beis Halevi (as quoted in Sefer Talelei Oros by Rabbi Yissachar Dov Rubin) explained why Bereishis 12:4 says that “Avram went…and Lot went with him,” but Bereishis 12:5 says “And Avram took his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot.” The Beis Halevi noted that when Lot initially asked to join Avram, Avram tried to discourage him.  “Only afterwards, when Abraham saw that Lot was firm in his resolve did he ‘take his nephew Lot with him.’ Only then did he welcome him into the inner circle of the Jewish people.”

 Lot’s location before the journey was with Avram in Haran. He could see the beauty of a life focused on something greater than himself and so he went with his uncle. It is telling, however, that the next time Lot is mentioned it is after Mitzrayim, after dwelling in the cosmopolitan capital of the world, the center of “culture” and wealth and all that goes with it.  Once again, the story of Lot reflects where he is coming from, which in this case was the court of Pharaoh.

 What happens to Lot next is rather famous – his flocks begin grazing on other people’s domains, Avram suggests that they separate, Lot heads to Sodom and becomes a man of influence who is captured and held for ransom during the war of the five kings and the four kings. This is Lot’s story, and it becomes obvious that after Mitzrayim, Lot’s journey is no longer aligned with Avram’s. His journey is no longer spiritually oriented, and this is, fascinatingly, reflected in a comparison of Bereishis 12:5, when they leave Haran, and Bereishis 13:1, when they leave Mitzrayim:

12:5 - Avram took his wife Sarai and his brother’s son Lot, and all the wealth that they had amassed, and the persons that they had acquired in Haran

13:1 - From Egypt, Avram went up into the Negev, with his wife and all that he possessed, together with Lot.

Note the variance between the two verses. When Avram and Lot left Haran, they were together (with Sarai), and the possessions were secondary. When they left Mitzrayim, Avram and Lot were separated by the possessions. This not only represents the division that grew between them, but Lot’s state of mind, his reluctance to leave.

 In studying Parshas Lech Lecha, we most often focus on Avram’s journey, because he is our forefather and Sefer Bereishis is a recording of the development of the Jewish people. But within Lech Lecha there are many other lessons for us to learn. “Go for yourself” - Go forward in your own personal journey of growth, make active choices. While you journey, however, be aware of where you go and with whom you spend time. It takes a person of spiritual greatness, like Avram and Sarai, to dwell in the palace of Pharaoh and come out unchanged, but we, Bnei Yisrael, carry-forth their spiritual inheritance, and we can persevere.  

 

 

 

 

Parshas Noah - Language

Have you ever noticed that certain biblical narratives gain more notoriety than others? For instance, the story of the Tower of Babel has entered common culture not only as a story but with a whole level of understanding distinct unto itself. To Babble is to talk rapidly or meaninglessly, and Babbel. com is a language learning program. For all that the narrative of Migdal Bavel, as it is called in Hebrew, has gripped our imaginations, most people do not realize that it is a mere 9 verses in the Torah (Bereishis 11:1-9). Those few verses, however, are rich with subtext. 

It is a common concept within Divrei Torah to talk about the generation of Bavel and compare it to the destroyed generation of Noah and comment on how this demonstrates that Hashem is far less worried about humankind insulting or fighting against Him than He is about humanity destroying each other. The generation of Noah was destroyed because they had managed to create a world of total chamas, violence – defined by the sages as a world of selfish grabbing whatever they wanted. The generation of Bavel, on the other hand, worked together and was, therefore, spared destruction. 

Let us divert a moment to speak about the concept of unity. Unity is a very important concept in Judaism, and we are inundated with messages about the importance of Jewish unity (although it is a goal we still struggle to achieve). Even as we long for a time when Klal Yisrael will be united, to the time of Moshiach, we do not discuss it as an era where all of humanity will be united except for in one thing, which is the innate knowledge that Hashem is the King of Kings. 

But unity was not what was expected of these immediate descendants of Noah’s sons. The Dor Haflaga, the generation that was scattered (meaning bavel), was not meant to be a steadfast settlement of people who stayed together. Rather, they were meant to fulfill the blessing/command the Hashem gave to Noah and his three sons when they returned to land: “Be fertile and increase, abound on the earth and increase on it” (Bereishis 9:7).

The fourth verse of the narrative relays: “And they said, ‘Come, let us build us a city, a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered over the world” (11:4). On this verse, the Rashbam* points out: “…their principal sin was in not fulfilling G’d’s basic directive to be fruitful, to multiply, and to populate the whole earth, not just a small valley. Their declared objective had been not to scatter (verse 4). The fact that G’d forcefully scattered them afterwards shows that their sin must have been their failure to do so voluntarily” (translation on Sefaria.org).

If God wanted them to spread out, to be fruitful and multiply and to have dominion over the earth, why did they fear being scattered? Why did they desire walls to keep themselves together if already Hashem has promised that “The fear and the dread of you shall be upon all the beasts of the earth and upon all the birds of the sky—everything with which the earth is astir—and upon all the fish of the sea; they are given into your hand” (9:2) – that the natural world would be easily ruled by humankind. Whom did they fear if everyone on earth was unified in their actions, as is implied in the verse: “Everyone on earth had the same language and the same words… and they said to one another…” (11:1,3)”? The Netziv** notes in Haamek Davar, “And it is understood that this [their fear of being scattered] was related to the uniformity that was among them. And since the opinions of people are not identical, they feared that people might abandon this philosophy and adopt another. Therefore, they sought to ensure that no one would leave their society” (sefaria translation). 

It is interesting to note that while we think of the narrative of Migdal Bavel being the first place to mention language, this is not so.  Bereishis 10, which is a list of genealogy, discusses languages three times. Each time noting the descendants of the sons of Noah and how they became specific clans and languages. The word for language used in Bereishis 10, however, is lashon, associated with tongue. The word for language in Bereishis 11 is safa, associated with lips. “Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler*** explains the difference between these two terms as follows: One’s ‘lip’ is an external feature of his body, while one’s ‘tongue’ is an internal feature. Consequently, one can only refer to a language as a lashon (‘tongue’) when its speakers embody the inner meaning of that language. By contrast, a language can be called a safa (‘lip’) when its speakers embody only the technical, external features of the language, but not its core values” (taken from Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein, “Speaking in Tongues” ohr.edu, December 23, 2017). 

Here what I say may be radical, but perhaps now we can understand why Hashem saw the need to knock down, so to speak, their tower. Hashem saw, perhaps that they were all speaking to each other in the plural tense – “Let us build a city and a tower… let us make a name for ourselves,” but Hashem knew that in their hearts each one was striving to rule the other. (Certainly, this fits in with the personality of Nimrod, whom the Midrash tell us was the leader). Following the idea that Hashem could understand that their seemingly plural-unified language was false was perhaps why Hashem, the One God, used the same syntax to announce His plan. “Let us then, go down and confound their speech” (11:7). He was revealing to us that He understood the true meaning of their words. 

Hashem destroyed their collaboration because He understood that each man involved (and numerous commentaries suggest that there were specifically 70 as in the 70 nations of the world) were determined to set themselves up as “a name.” They each thought that they could take over as the diety, for it is generally understood that their building of the tower was with the aim of supplanting the angels and overthrowing Hashem. The idea that a human could think of themselves as Divine seems ludicrous only to those ignorant of history. 

Today, our power struggles are far less overt. However, the lessons remain the same. We live in an era where we truly war with and on words. Right now, in the 2020s, we have become experts at manipulating language, but the language that we share is most often safa, that which is meant only externally rather than revealing our lashon, the language of our honest, most spiritually connect selves. If we wish to rebuild a world we find broken by safa, we must learn to speak with our lashon. 

This week’s Dvar Torah is dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Dovid Chaim Hacohen ben Tzipora.  

*Rashbam: Rabbi Samuel ben Mair (1085-1158)       ** Netziv: Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (1816-1893) ***Rabbi Dessler – Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler (1892-1953)

Bereishis: Eizer Knegdo- Let’s All Work Together

(This one is a bit off the cuff and may totally miss the mark. The onslaught of holidays has made parsha a bit of a challenge and my brain is a bit scattered still!)

This week we start the Torah anew, and parshas Bereishis is so full of details and undercurrents that it takes years of study just to understand the nuances. Reviewing the more surface level events, however, one might wonder how much of the “Battle of the Sexes” is rooted in the words of Bereishis. It all begins with one very simple line in the first chapter of the Torah, a line to describe the creation of Adam: “Male and female created He them” (Bereishis 1:27).

 Verse 27, both irregular in its construct and loaded with options for interpretation, offers us the (possibly) comforting thought that the struggle to understand the dynamic of male and female relations has existed since the very outset. Male and female together in the verse means that Adam was both male and female – a complete human being. Perhaps Adam was too complete, impeding Adam’s ability to create a relationship with Hashem (the ultimate goal of humankind) because there was no way of understanding relationships when one is alone. And so, Hashem decided that “It is not good for man to be alone…” Hashem then split Adam to create an eizer knegdo.

 Eizer knegdo is another strange term. The word kneged implies something that stands opposite. Eizer is a helper. The obvious questions is then: how can someone be helpful and in opposition at the same time? Tradition teaches us that the idea of eizer knegdo is that the relationship is meant to spur one on to be the best he can be. Sometimes this requires teamwork and helpfulness, and sometimes it requires pushback and force. This is the concept of eizer knegdo a partner that helps a person grow into their ultimate spiritual potential.

 So what happened? How did the division of Adam with the goal of creating a partnership turn into the “Battle of the sexes”? Interestingly, a midrash pertaining to an earlier piece of creation seems incredibly pertinent. The Midrash relates that when Hashem create the sun and the moon, the moon asked Hashem whether two great luminaries could really rule the heavens. In answer to the implied bid for dominance, the moon was reduced to a reflection of the sun. The way the moon asked the question implied that one had to be dominant over the other, but Hashem created a luminary for the day and a luminary for the night and therefore it was, of course, possible for their greatness to be equal.

 “Male and female created He them.” Hashem made Adam as a unified being and then He divided them. Of course, it was possible for them to succeed on equal footing. Hashem also gave humanity language and comprehension and free will. Adam-alone being the part of Adam-combined that retained the memories of the time that had already passed perhaps saw the distinction Hashem made between the sun and the moon and determined, with his free will and advanced comprehension, that this was the ideal, that Chava needed to be a reflection of him. Perhaps he remembered the term eizer knegdo and focused on the eizer, the helper. He expected to lead and so he added to Hashem’s words and told her that they could neither eat nor touch the Tree of Knowledge.          

 This may sound like a flight of fancy, but centuries of the male-female dynamic are a result of all that occurred in parshas Berieishis. Hashem created Adam as whole, split them, and then Chava, the eizer knegdo, seems to do the opposite of helping Adam. She brings him the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad and they are kicked out of Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden). Within the expulsion is the forthwith dominance of man over woman, when Hashem declares “Yet your urge shall be for your husband, And he shall rule over you” (3:17).

 The curse of Chava has been at the heart of interpersonal male-female dynamics since the dawn of time. But the “urge for your husband” and the rule of husband over wife does not indicate that this is the state that is meant to be between all men and women. This comes back to the term eizer knegdo, and the understanding of the term as singularly directed for woman to help man. If that were so, however, would not the term used be eizeres knegdo rather than the eizer, which is masculine and thus general language?

 The division of Adam into Adam and Chava, and the perpetual goal of bringing the two sides together is the material of every Jewish marriage book, and it is the heart of the Jewish perspective on what a relationship should be. But Adam and Chava were far more than individuals. They set the path for all of humanity to come. Perhaps the Battle of the Sexes that we struggle with even in our modern, liberal, enlightened world comes from our inherent lack of understanding of the purpose and the need for the dynamic of eizer knegdo. The world is not about every man for himself, nor every woman for herself. It is not good for man to be alone…In the greater whole of the world, Hashem divided humankind into male and female so that the different dimensions of humankind could be utilized to attain the spiritual connection of humanity and Hashem. Each of us must now use our strengths, our character traits, to help each other build that relationship.

 

Shabbat Shalom

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Dovid Chaim HaCohen ben Tzipora

Parshas Ha'azinu: Non-god and Non-people

It is a basic, Jewish theological tenet that the Torah contains everything that has or will happen to the Jewish people. Commentators often point out the odd double language in last week's parsha, hestair astaire panai - I will shortly hide my face - as an allusion to Purim, or the fact that the 25th word in the Torah is ohr, light, and the miracle of Chanukah occurred on the 25th of Kislev. All the more so, it is almost impossible to read the descriptions of Hashem's intended punishments for straying from our relationship with Him, recorded in multiple parshiot, and not see how it has come to pass. The Torah is more than a history book, it is a blue print of history.

Parshas Ha’azinu is almost completely a transcription of the song that Moshe wished the Jewish people to transmit to each of the coming generations. The song ends with redemption, with Hashem stepping in and destroying Israel's enemies. Before that, however, there is a great deal of rebuke-filled prophecy of the times when Bnei Yisrael will fail, will desert Hashem and go in foreign ways.

The Torah uses a wide variety of terms to describe the false gods that might lure Bnei Yisrael, such as asherah, pesel, matseva, elohim, and etc. However, in Parshas Ha’azinu, one finds a fascinating and unique set of terminology: “They provoked Me with a non-god, angered me with their vanities; so shall I provoke them with a non-people, with a vile/foolish nation shall I anger them” (Devarim 32:21). The unique language here is the “non-god,” in Hebrew b’lo-el, which is parralleled by the non-people, b’lo-am.

Perhaps this is the Torah's subtle reference to the Jewish dilemma of the 21st century. We are not being enticed by idolatry. The church is no longer trying to lure in unsuspecting Jews, as it did for many centuries. We are not being threatened with death to force us to convert. In our era, an era that would feel very foreign philosophically (since technologically this would be an obvious statement) to anyone transported from even the 19th century, we must survive something completely new. Bnei Yisrael must maintain our covenant with Hashem in a world that might invoke the “name of the Lord” but whose general idea of religion seems empty compared to era's past. We live in a generation that celebrates "b’lo-el."

And who shall provoke us in this era according to Ha’azinu? B’lo-am, a non-people, which some might say is becoming a definition of North American life where the very ideas of Jewish community, nationality, and unity are being pushed to the side for the rights of the individual. Rashi comments on the phrase “with a vile/foolish nation shall I anger them,” saying: “these are the ‘Minim,’ the heretics. So indeed, it states, (Psalms 14:1) ‘The heretic (נבל) hath said in his heart There is no God’ (Sifrei Devarim 320:10; Yevamot 63b).” And Sforno explained that it referred to a people “possessing neither their own language nor alphabet (Gittin 80)."

So much text in the Torah is dedicated to reminding Bnei Yisrael to stay away from idols or false gods that some might see the growing lack of religion among American youth as a blessing, the dissolution of a threat. But now we can see that this very situation is also warned about in the Torah, and what follows, the Divine retribution that is then described, is terrible. Fire, famine, and general disaster, because falling victim to a theology of b’lo-el is just as terrible as worshipping false gods.

It is commonly understood that we today stand in the shadows of the end of days. It is newly 5,782 on the Jewish calendar and the world as we know it is set, according to tradition, to last until the year 6,000. It is therefore, perhaps, not surprising that the description of the dangers of being enticed by a culture of b’lo-el and b’lo-am is found only here, at the penultimate parsha of the Torah. The song of Ha’azinu is the last thing that Moshe taught the Jewish people, after teaching them this song, he blesses the people and is gathered unto his fathers, as it says, and Joshua takes his place to lead the people forward. Ha’azinu is the song that Moshe wished the people to pass down for generations, so that we today could know that this too was foretold.

Our struggles, our downfalls, and our suffering are the result of cause and effect. Alas, we are victims of our own doing. Parshas Ha’azinu, however, gives us something more than hope. It assures us that while our downfalls may be harsh (ok horrible), Hashem is ready and waiting with our salvation.

This Dvar Torah is dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Dovid Chaim HaCohen ben Tzipora

Parsha Vayeilech: It Might Be My Fault

The human gift for rationalization is a common topic for divrei Torah during the month of Tishrei, during the weeks when the Children of Israel even today spend time in self reflection and teshuva (repentance). Rationalizing is one of the great tools of the yetzer hara (the evil inclination) in that it is the most natural path for convincing oneself that what is right is wrong and what is wrong is right, or even that something is not quite such a bad thing to do. It is a tool that goes hand in hand with shedding accountability, with an inclination to blame.

On a national level, these behaviors have been at the heart of our people’s greatest downfalls, and we were well and truly warned that this would be so. In Parshas Vayeilech, Hashem calls Moshe to the Tent of Meeting to begin the process of Moshe’s end. Hashem tells Moshe quite clearly that when he is gone, the people will go astray. Not only will they look to foreign gods, but Hashem forecasts that “they will forsake Me and break My covenant that I made with them. Then My anger will flare up against them, and I will abandon them and hide My countenance from them. They shall be easy prey, and many evils and troubles shall befall them. And they shall say on that day, ‘Surely it is because our God is not in our midst that these evils have befallen us’” (Devarim 31:16-17).

Reading this verse, one might be astounded at the chutzpah, at the very idea that they who turned aside from Hashem’s ways could then blame their woes on the absence of Hashem’s presence among them. But this is the yetzer hara. This is human nature’s self-defense mechanism protecting the psyche. No one likes to admit when they have caused their own misfortune.

It is interesting to note how wordy verse 17 is. There are 15 words before the people’s reaction (And they shall say…), which is longer than most single pasukim in the Torah. Here too is an allusion to this being more than a happenstance reaction. Hashem is showing the mechanism of the yetzer harah’s tools. Between “they will forsake Me and break My covenant that I made with them” and the people’s complaint of abandonment, there is a lengthy description of God’s reaction – lengthy in particular since the promise of His anger has been described before. Herein is the explanation of how we so easily externalize fault because if there is any delay in the cause and effect, then we often choose to be blind to the connection.

The end of verse 17 should really state “Surely it is because our God hid himself from us when we did not follow His ways that these evils have befallen us.” The lesson here is perfect for this time of year, for the Aseres Ymai Teshuva (the Ten Days of Repentance). How did our choices bring us to the point where we could or did do those transgressions for which we need to repent this year? There is no time like the present, when we are striving to recognize, confess, and repair our actions that have been cutting us off from our connection to the Divine, for us to really stop and determine our own role in the challenges that we face.

 

Elul 2021 - Learning from the Women of Rosh Hashana

 This year I dedicate my Dvar Torah to my amazing sisters, none of whom are biological but all of whom have given me so much helpful love and support.

 

In honor of these wonderful ladies, this Dvar Torah will focus on the women of Rosh Hashana. It is interesting to note that when the sages chose the portions of the Torah and the Neviim to be read on Rosh Hashana, the primary focus, specifically on the first day, is on women. The Haftarah of the first day, the story of Chana, is commonly discussed in its connection to the holiday, but if you ask most people what the Torah portion of Rosh Hashana is, the response is the Akeidah. However, the Akeidah is not read until the second day of the holiday and the first day is the narrative of Sarah and Hagar.

 

While there are many explanations of why these portions were chosen, what stood out to me was that in studying Sarah and Hagar and Chana and Penina, we discover a stunningly complex portrait of human emotions. This could be said about many places in the Torah, but the emotions in these portions contain important lessons to us as we face these auspicious days each year. Let us look at them each more closely:

                                 

Penina: As it is written in the text of Shmuel, Penina is a minor but greatly flowed character. She was Elkana’s other wife, who had proven herself quite fruitful (10 children) and who is noted for having taunted Chana “Moreover, her rival, to make her miserable, would taunt her that the LORD had closed her womb. This happened year after year: Every time she went up to the House of the Lord, the other would taunt her, so that she wept and would not eat” (Shmuel I 1:6-7). The Midrash tells us, based, perhaps, on the fact that the text highlights that she did this most when they went up to the House of the Lord, that Penina taunted Chana with the intention of pushing Chana to pray.

Regardless of her intentions, she caused Chana tremendous amount of pain. Eventually, the blessing (her 10 children) which she had wielded as a cudgel became the source of her sorrow as, also according to the Midrash, they perished parallel to Chana’s own growing family. It took the death of eight of her children for her to gather herself and seek out forgiveness from Chana, which she was immediately given.

Rosh Hashana is the Day of Judgement, but it is also the day on which we coronate the King of kings. We do so by acknowledging that God is omniscient and omnipresent, that God knows what each of us needs and when. Had Penina simply loved her children and appreciated her own blessings, rather that use her blessings as a way to taunt Chana, then no consequence would have ensued. Yes, she should have encouraged Chana to pray, but flaunting her own bounty was not the appropriate way to do so. Rather she should have separated the two actions, encouraged Chana to pray and loved her children to raise them up in the ways of Hashem. In this way she would have demonstrated her true gratitude to the King of kings.

Hagar: Hagar is one of the most complex characters in the Torah. It is easy to see her as bad because it is human nature seeks a villain to contrast our heroes, but the truth is never that simple. We are first introduced to Hagar when she is presented to Avram for a wife to bear children by Sarai. The Midrash tells us that she was from the royal court of Egypt and that she chose to be a handmaid to Sarai because she was aware of the uniqueness of Avram and Sarai. When she becomes pregnant immediately, the relationship of Hagar and Sarai devolves. She was rude and arrogant to Sarai, and Sarai was cruel to her. Eventually Hagar fled and was then sent back by an angel. She loses that baby but quickly becomes pregnant again, gives birth to Ishmael, and all seems fine for many years until they are sent away by Avraham at Sarah’s insistence. In the wilderness into which they wandered, Hagar gives up on her sick child, lays him by the well, and sits down to cry. While the Torah states that God hears the cries of the boy, He responds to Hagar and promises her that he will live and thrive.

Although some criticize Hagar for giving up on her son, for placing herself far from him when she expected him to die, this story also teaches us about tears. It is ok to cry. On Rosh Hashana, as we stand before the King of kings and we wish to beseech him for help, it is ok to cry. It is ok to ask. And when we ask, miracles can happen. This seems like an obvious message, but if many people are like me, this is far more challenging than it seems. In our culture today we are taught not to ask for help, to be strong and available to help others. But when things get tough… it is more than ok to cry.

Sarah: Sarah’s emotions throughout her long involvement with Hagar are quite fascinating. She must have had some level of trust and appreciation for her handmaid to choose her as a second wife for Avram, to choose her to be the one to have a child, and yet once Hagar is pregnant, it causes her a tremendous amount of pain. It was probably not just Hagar’s behavior, her loftiness, that led Sarai to afflict her, but a level of pain sourced from her own burning desire to have a child. The Torah makes is clear, however, Sarai treated Hagar so harshly that Hagar fled. Once she returned, however, we hear no more of the dynamics between the two women. When Sarah tells Avraham to send her and Yishamel away, it comes from a place of rational thought, the result of her observations of Yishmael’s behavior and not from animosity toward Hagar.

Rosh Hashana is the beginning of the Aseres Ymai Teshuva, the ten days of repentance. Studying Sarah’s behavior in regards to Hagar demonstrates how one can actually be successful in the hardest part of the act Teshuva, not repeating the same mistake. This might sound surprising since it appears that Sarah very much mistreats Hagar a second time, but the two stories only seem similar until one reads them closely. One can assume that Sarah never “warmed” back up to Hagar. One can only imagine a strained relationship. But Sarah does not appear to afflict her maid servant further after she returns and gives birth to Yishmael. She keeps them with the camp even after she has born her own child. As we enter the days of Teshuva we can learn from Sarah the simple message of you can do better.

 

Chana: There is not much to say about Chana and Rosh Hashana that has not already been written somewhere and so I will simply add here the words from the commentary of Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch that I found so powerful:

“Thus the picture of Hannah, enduring, wishing, hoping, self-examining, praying, comes before our mental eye on Rosh Hashana, and wishes to lead us out of the tangled turmoil of our lives thither where peace and tranquility beckons to us too. Accordingly, her words sound warningly (2:3) how God tests our real feelings, and “how each single deed is reckoned up by Him,” hence the importance and responsibility of every single person; and then refers, (verse 6) to the vicissitudes of the external circumstances of life and declares how it is always the same God of Love (Hashem) Who reveals Himself in every phase of fortune…”

In addition to teaching us how to pray and teaching us faith in the continued hopes that our prayers will be answered positively, Chana’s prayer reminds us that everything – EVERYTHING – comes from Hashem.

Last year we stood on the threshold of Rosh Hashana and the universal prayer seemed to be that the next year would be better. Alas, that same sentiment pervades today as in addition to the challenges of the Pandemic (different as they are in each location and every situation), the strife and struggle of the world seems only to be increasing. On a personal level, I look toward Rosh Hashana just a few hours away and I wonder what it is that I should daven for exactly… my own personal struggles – unexpected, unwanted, and, as yet, unappreciated – have left me grappling with a need to understand. But when I look to the women of Rosh Hashana, I see a path to help me forward – appreciate my blessings, let myself cry out my pain to Hashem, work hard to do better in my most challenging situations, and know that everything – the good, the bad, and the ugly – is part of Hashem’s plan.

I wish you all a Shana Tova. I cannot express enough my gratitude to Ruthie and Caryn for continuing this program year after year and my admiration for each woman in participating.

 

I will let you know later where I give tzedakah today.