Parshas Vayetze – The Influence of Lavan

 Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Binyamin ben Simcha and Chaya Sofya Sara bas Mera. To the hostages who have been returned, may they have healing, and to those who remain hostage may they come home soon.

 

In Judaism, it is customary to think of our periods of exile by different names. The four great exiles are known as the Babylonian exile, the Persian exile, the Greek exile, and the Roman exile – this last being the exile of Edom that has continued for 2,000 years. There was also the Egyptian exile before we were a nation, and there are references to an oppression enforced by Yishmael. Today, as is commonly discussed, we live in the galus of Edom and suffer the persecution of Yishmael, but one of our greatest threats comes from what might be called the Influence of Lavan.

 

It seems that in every generation there is a set of time when humanity declares that society has descended into its lowest state. And quite often they are right. And quite often we are shocked to find that we can go even lower. It also seems to be true that that time has come and that there has rarely been an era in which deception, and, more significantly, self deception, has been allowed to become a cultural norm – at least in the West. This is the Influence of Lavan.

 

Although Lavan is mentioned earlier in the Torah, it is in Parshas Vayetze that his character is truly presented. Lavan has a reason and an explanation for all of his actions, and they are explanations that sound legitimate and plausible. When he switches Leah for Rochel on Rochel’s wedding day, he presents it as a kindness to his daughter and the following of tradition. When he demands that Yaakov work another seven years to wed Rochel, he hints that this is only fair, after all, since he worked seven years and got Leah. And then there was the matter of Yaakov’s wages for having worked for him long past the 14 years of his marriage vow, which Lavan continually tried to curtail even as he claimed that Yaakov need only specify his wages.

 

This last example is fascinating. Lavan told Yaakov to state how much he was owed, and, shortly thereafter, Lavan’s sons start to complain that Yaakov is taking all of their father’s wealth. Their statements did not come from a vacuum. They had grown up being told that Yaakov was an interloper, even though he was married to their older sisters and quite obviously was a dedicated employee. This was Lavan’s influence. This was the result of the subtle, and not so subtle comments, that must have infiltrated Lavan’s house as he recognized and tried to deny Yaakov’s success. That is Lavan’s nature, as he does, indeed, paint himself as the successful employer even though his wealth came from Yaakov’s hard work.

 

This is all well and good and, in truth, fairly common knowledge about Lavan. What we need to look at here is the behaviour of our ancestors, of Yaakov, of Leah, and of Rochel.  They met deceit with kindness. They met selfishness with rigour and staying true to living an honest, Gd-fearing lifestyle. The only time they seemed to falter from this path was when Rochel, with good intentions, made the decision to take her father’s idols to prevent him from worshipping them. Because she tried to do something righteous through pure trickery, she ended up bearing the weight of Yaakov’s curse.

 

Right now, as Yishmael attacks and Edom looks eagerly to watching Yaakov fall, we must all be wary of Lavan. Every year at Pesach we read in the Haggadah: "Go and learn what Lavan the Aramean sought to do to Yaakov our father… Lavan sought to uproot everything...” The duality of Lavan, when one claims both rightness and victimhood even as one perpetrates great ill, is a dangerous and cunning foe, and it is the foe we face today.

 

Many of us are left bewildered, struggling to comprehend how anyone could equivocate the violent offenders being released at a 3 to 1 ratio for innocent men, women, and children who were taken at gun point from their homes or from a recreational concert. Across the many types of medias, Jews and non-Jewish Israelis have set out a barrage of fact-based declarations, of heartfelt pleas for recognition, and even humorous works of satire to show the world that this is insane. More significantly, even as the world’s “peace-keeping” organizations like the UN and the Red Cross betray their very mandates, Israel strives to present evidence of the excessive measures it takes to try to prevent civilian casualties.

 

But this is Am Yisrael. This is who we are. Pound us. Berate us. Hate us. We will stay strong to the path of real justice. We will reflect our heritage as the descendants of Yaakov, Leah, and Rochel.

 

Stay Strong. Am Yisrael Chai.

Have a beautiful and meaningful Shabbas.

Parshas Bereishis: In Times Like These

This week’s Parsha is dedicated to the zechus for besoros tovos from Israel. May Hashem protect our soldiers, may He bring a speedy healing to the wounded, and may He let peace reign. Please continue to read in the merit of a refuah shelaima for Chaya Sofya Sara bas Mera, Tova bas Perel, and Binyamin ben Simcha.

If you will pardon my saying it, it seems strange that this week’s parsha is Parshas Beireishis. This is usually a time when we are all still burbling with the excitement of the Yom Tovim or laughingly complaining about the laundry and the cleanup. But we aren’t like that now…not this year. Not in 5784.

Five thousand, seven hundred and eighty-four years and about four weeks ago, Hashem infused the first form of man with His Divine spirit. And for almost a day, it was perfect – until humankind thought they had a better grasp of what was good for them. Perhaps the swallowed seed of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad is that need to feel that we have control, that we are setting the path to our own destinies.

When Hashem calls to Adam after they have eaten the fruit, Adam responds: “And he said, "I heard Your voice in the garden, and I was afraid because I am naked; so I hid” (2:10). He hid…in the garden…from Hashem Who is Omniscient! Adam ate the fruit, and suddenly he thought he understood life and the choices that have to be made in it.

Hashem’s response is interesting as well: “And He said, "Who told you that you are naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?" (2:11). It is such an obviously rhetorical question. There is no one who could have told Adam such a thing…except Adam himself. Perhaps we can read this as the ultimate rhetorical Divine question: Is anyone really in control of the world except Hashem?

The answer, of course, whether a tragedy is personal or communal, is no. All of this is in Hashem’s control, and all of it has purpose.

This week’s parsha also introduces us to the first acts of violence. Cain struck and killed his brother Abel. It is here also interesting to note because he did this act out of jealousy. Hashem showed favor to Abel’s offering, which was, indeed, superior. Cain believed that he had the ability to control the world enough to remove the obstacle in his way from receiving Divine praise, when, of course, the obstacle was himself (since he chose mediocre items to bring rather than the finest of what he had).

Klal Yisrael’s enemies have long sought to remove us from being an obstacle between them and the status of ultimate Divine favor. Even more so, however, is that like Cain, our enemies have refused to see how assessing and changing their own lives would elevate them.

This is all philosophically lovely and an example of relating the text of the Torah to the world we live in, but what is it that we can take away from these thoughts. So our enemies are jealous – stating that doesn’t make any of the pain diminish (which nothing can, really) or give comfort. It may, however, help us shape our reactions and our focus on what we need to do.

What is it that we need to do? Alas, I am a descendant of one who ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad, and so I will continue totry strive to change the world around me as I see fit. But with the guidance of the Torah, I recognize that the most critical act I can do is to pray and to remember that Hashem is Omnipotent and Omniscient and everything is part of His plan.

Please Hashem, may is be Your will that we only have besoros tovos (good tidings), that our enemies should be stopped, and that we should find strength and come together as a people, and truly see Your glory.

Parshas Vayeshev: Optimism

Patience and anger, laughter and sorrow, attentiveness and distraction…These are just some of the character traits that describe the inner-workings of the human psyche. The fact is that the emotional make up of most people can feel contradictory; and, of course, each of us has different contradictions because every person has unique strengths and weaknesses. Life is a balancing act, and finding balance is a constant part of the journey.

Of all of the personalities about whom we learn in the Torah, Yosef is one of the most complex. Through that which is written in the chumash and the many teachings of the Midrash, we have a fascinating profile of a boy who grew into a man, of a favorite son who was hated by his brothers, of a man with the will power to stand up against seduction, and of a brilliant politician and strategist.

There are many character traits that are attributed to Yosef, the most fascinating of which might be the fact that, in his youth at least, he was vain. There is one character trait, however, that arcs over Yosef’s entire life that is particularly noticeable in Parshas Vayeshev. Yosef is an extreme optimist; he perpetually saw the good in others. One fascinating example of this trait is when he went to meet his brothers who were pasturing their sheep near Shechem. The brothers were not where he expected them to be, and he accepted directions from an unknown man. The very tone of his conversation with “the man,” with a stranger, is one of acceptance and trust.

In many ways, Yosef’s conversation with the stranger seems odd. The entire scenario feels out of place in the general narrative of the Torah because on the surface it seems like such a minor detail. Do we really need to care that Yosef needed and received directions? – I mean, there could be a lesson in that too -- It isn’t as if anything contentious happens between them or the man offers him some surprising words of wisdom. However, these brief verses force us to ask questions about it. Those questions lead to Midrashim, to explanations about angels and details about why the brothers changed their location. It also reveals a bit more about the trusting nature of Yosef’s character.

Yosef believed that people were worthwhile, that people would do the right thing. It’s why he didn’t hesitate to tell his brothers the second dream, even when the first one upset them. It’s why he seems to put up no resistance to his brother’s actions even as all that they do leads to his being sold into slavery. It is how he ends up in a compromising position with Eishes Potiphar. It’s there through every step. It is even commented on, to Yosef’s detriment, when the sages note how he languished in jail for two years because he believed the butler would do right by him (but that’s not this week’s parsha).

One might say that this was the truth with Yosef’s forefathers as well, but even Yitzchak, about whom so little is written in the Torah, offers more reaction to events than Yosef does in Parshas Vayehsev.

Is understanding Yosef’s character significant? Does it provide us with any halachic guidance or hashgafic insights? The simple answer is that “Who is Wise? One Who Learns from All People” (Ethics of the Fathers/Pirkei Avot 4:1).

On the one hand, perhaps the Torah is offering us a caution against such wide-eyed trust. Afterall, it becomes clear through Yosef’s story that many people do not have good intentions or that miscommunication can have dire effects. On the other hand, there is no more successful man recorded in the Chumash. He succeeded in every venture. Even getting sent to jail was a direct result of his success, and then he was successful in jail. Yosef made friends and influenced people wherever he went.

We are taught that, ultimately, the Torah values bein adam l’chavero and shalom over bein adam la’makom – interpersonal mitzvos over those between man and God. Yosef’s optimism was a blend of both focal points. His faith gave him strength; his belief in others drove him forward. It isn’t a dramatic lesson or a lesson that is particularly concrete. But it is one that we can take into our days and put to use – even if it means something as simple as being more pleasant to the grocery cashier or the man who cuts the line.

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas and a freilichen Chanukah (Sunday night!)

Parshas Toldos: WHY WHY WHY

It is a well-known concept in Jewish life that this world is a corridor to the world to come. It is a philosophy that is meant to focus us on our spiritual development, on not getting waylaid by the physical comforts that feed our goofs but not our neshamas. There is, however, one challenge with this imagery. A corridor is most often a straight line. The term infers a straight path. In truth, sometimes life feels more like a maze, with sharp turns and paths that are blocked. In other words, the corridor of this world is not often straight and therefore not always easy.

In many ways, this is the truth that we see from Parshas Toldos. Not one step of the lives of Yitzchak or Rivka, or their sons, seems straight forward and easy. This applies even to Esau, who we so often malign in our descriptions as a wayward son. Yes, Esau was drawn to wild sport and irreverent behaviour, but how much more so did these actions become a comfort to him when he erred in selling his birthright or when we saw his brother receiving that which he thought he deserved.

One of the profound statements in Parshas Toldos is Rivka’s cry: “If so, why do I exist?” (Bereishis 25:22). Life got hard, and Rivka reacted. Life got hard, and Rivka wanted to know what all her efforts and all her prayers had been for.  Life got hard, and Rivka went to challenge Hashem.

The term the pasuk uses for Rivka’s inquiry as to why it had all been so hard, and why it seemed to only be getting harder, is li’drosh. This term means to consult, but it also infers a force in the inquiry, a demand for answers and a pulling apart of the information. It is the root term for Midrash, the process by which the Oral Torah takes apart the text of the Torah and reveals its deeper meaning.  

Rivka’s demand is incredibly relatable. She wants to understand the purpose of pain. She wants to know that her suffering has meaning. Hashem’s answer to Rivka is not comfort. It is not an assurance that all will be well. Hashem responds to Rivka by telling her that her children will strive against each other. In other words, Hashem told Rivka that it was possible that life would only get more difficult.  

In the current era of the world, there is often an undertone and a demand that happiness is our due, that life should form itself around our needs and our wants. Alas, no matter how hard we wish that to be true, most of us quickly discover that it just doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen because there is a plan that is far greater than we can see.

Our individual maze-paths interlock with millions of other paths, and the full picture can only be seen by Hashem. Statements such as these, that only God knows what is good for us, are often blithely asserted as statements of comfort to those going through troubled times or are used as a means of forestalling someone else’s complaining. But as we learn from Rivka, when the going gets tough…it’s ok to react. Hashem wasn’t angry at Rivka for questioning her challenges. Hashem didn’t react negatively to Rivka for crying out. Rivka had an emotional reaction to a difficult life, but she channelled that state of distress back toward the Source of all things.

We may wish that life was easier, that our challenges were more straight-forward. We may despair when obstacles seem to pile upon us. That’s natural. That’s being human. And from Parshas Toldos we can learn that such feelings can be completely acceptable.

 

 

 

Parshas Chayei Sara – Before the Task Begins

Have you ever thanked Hashem for finding a parking spot? For coming up with that dollar you needed to pay to unlock a shopping cart? For running into a friend whom you desperately needed to call? These are our refrains of gratitude, and they are often moments conscientiously chosen after moments of elevated stress. Expressing gratitude to Hashem is a beautiful act, and one we learn from Avraham Avinu. But what about asking for help at the very beginning, before the slight rise in blood pressure, before we wonder if our efforts are about to founder. Perhaps the first noticeable example of this comes from a wholly unexpected source: Avraham’s trusted servant Eliezer.

 

In parshas Chayei Sara, Avraham instructs Eliezer to go and find Yitzchak a wife. He sends him back to his homeland but also instructs him whom he cannot choose.  Once he arrives at the well in Nachor and before he speaks to even one citizen of note, Eliezer asks God for help. “O G-d. God of my master Avraham, make it happen to me today, I pray, and act with loving-kindness to my master Avraham” (24:12).

 

One could surmise that he was nervous that he could not fulfill his mission properly, but Avraham literally told him that Hashem would “send a messenger before you, and you will get a wife for my son from there” (24:7). Avraham had sent him with assurance that he would be successful, and still Eliezer stops before he even begins and turns to Hashem for success.

 

Eliezer’s words are powerful. “Hakareh na l’phanai hayom. Let it happen to me today.”  The Hebrew term kareh (happen) is most often spoken about in reference to its use in describing how the Amalekites rejected the idea of Divine providence. The Amalekites chose to attack the Israelites to show that there was no such thing as predestination, that they could control fate.

 

Eliezer, on the other hand, used the word kareh for the exact opposite implication. Eliezer’s prayer is a recognition that even things that seem like happenstance are the workings of Hashem’s control. Eliezer has followed every instruction Avraham has given him, and there is no reason to doubt that he will succeed. At the final stage, when “chance” matters most, Eliezer turns and asks Hashem to make it all go smoothly.  

 

Quite beautifully, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh notes that Eliezer’s use of Hashem’s name, yud-key-vav-kay, is a way of saying “You, Who are not only the old old Creator, Who laid the foundations of the world thousands of years ago, but Who are still active in ever approaching moment, makes it [success] come into existence…” This is a beautiful iteration of the first of Maimonides 13 Principles of Faith:  “I believe with complete faith that the Creator, blessed be His name, is the Creator and Guide of all the created beings, and that He alone has made, does make, and will make all things.”

 

Eliezer’s supplication is a beautiful reminder to us of our own need to turn to Hashem first, not out of need but out of an understanding that everything is in His hands. Additionally, Eliezer’s sincere bitachon demonstrates the way Avraham influenced those around him. And this, too, is a lesson that we can take from Perek chaf-daled. Our actions and our beliefs do not exist in a vacuum. Every individual influences the people around them: friends, neighbors, colleagues, and even household help (although Eliezer was far more than that!). The mission of the Jewish people is to be a “light unto the nations,” to be a guiding example of humanity’s inherent relationship with the Divine. It is not what we say but what we do – how we act – that will have the most impact.

 

 

You Are So Beautiful… To Me!

                The very first reference to personal beauty in the Torah is in Parshas Lech Lecha, and it has, perhaps, some interesting insights into a Torah healthy way of understanding placing importance on beauty. The first beautiful woman in the Torah is Sarai, and her beauty is one of the first things we learn about her other than her union with Avram and her family lineage. Sarai is not immediately described as beautiful, but rather, the fact of her beauty is a statement from her husband. “Behold, now I knew what a beautiful woman you are” (Bereishis 12:11).

                This verse is one that is frequently discussed. The commentaries use this pasuk to discuss Sarai’s great modesty or to offer a more detailed explanation of the true distinction of Sarai to the women of Egypt. Another Midrash suggests that Avram was noting that even after all of the difficult travels, she did not look haggard or distressed.  

Much of the commentary on this pasuk is based on the word “Na,” which is often translated as now. This is the source of the Midrash that this was the first time Avram looked closely at Sarai’s appearance – so modest were they. As fine as the message of modesty is, this commentary has raised many eyebrows, so to speak. They were married for years and never looked at each other? If we are meant to live our lives emulating the avos and eemahos, are we meant to teach our children that spouses should not really look at each other?

Perhaps this Midrash is telling us something far more subtle about relationships and communication. The word Na is often used to mean please, to create a gentle request, rather than as the word now. This changes the meaning, subtly – “Behold, please, I knew that you are a beautiful woman.” It is interesting to note that in the pasuk, the word knew is in the past tense, not the present (nor with the vav ha’hafuch that would make a past tense word present).

Avram is assuring his wife that he has always know she was beautiful. Now, however, he wants her to know that he finds her beautiful even as he is about to ask that she accept his obfuscation of their true relationship.  Avram’s opening words to his request are words of love and assurance, because, whether one likes it or not, the curse of Chava has left many, if not most, women with a need for words of reassurance from their spouse.

Or perhaps when the Midrash says that he had never looked at her fully, what it means – and what he is telling Sarai – is that throughout the time of their life together, he has always focused on her intelligence, her humor, her kindness… whichever of the many midos she excelled in. Avram knew Sarai as a complete person. She was beautiful to him for a thousand reasons, not just being comely. Now, however, that they are about to enter a world in which the physical is so valued, Avram reassures her that he has always found her beautiful as well.  

Three verses later, the Torah tells us that “When Avram entered Egypt, the Egyptians saw how very beautiful the woman was” (12:14).  Avram was not just complimenting his wife. She was a truly beautiful woman. And the Egyptians were the type to make a great deal of her beauty, to overflow her with compliments. We know that Jewish tradition teaches that even a compliment can be a bribe…imagine how easy it is to lose oneself when put on a pedestal for something as superficial as one’s beauty. This would not happen while Sarai knew in her heart that Avram saw her as beautiful, that Avram who loved so many non-physical aspects of her being, also saw her as beautiful. His words were deeply fortifying.

Beauty in Parshas Lech Lecha, and in life, can be both a blessing and a curse.  To let the idealization of beauty be of too great an importance, to hear that one is beautiful too often from the world at large, and to be made much of for being beautiful by those who would take, can bring ruination. But knowing that those you love and trust see your beauty, can be stabilizing, can give strength. Knowing this, perhaps, the lesson that we learn is to share such words of assurance with the people about whom we most care.

Did Noah Drink Alone

 Jewish tradition contains a great deal of ceremony that includes drinking a cup of wine. There is Kiddush at the Shabbas meals, and Yom Tov meals as well…Not to mention four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder. There’s wine drunk under the chuppah, and even wine given to the babe at the bris (to sooth him and numb him from the pain to come). And there is often a great deal of wine on Purim and Simchas Torah. And yet, on the whole, Jews are not known as a drunken people, perhaps because at each of these occasions at which wine is drunk, one is meant to be sharing time with others.

The first mention of wine in the Torah comes in Bereishis 9, in Parshas Noah. After the world has been destroyed and Hashem has made the covenant of the rainbow with Noah, the Torah states: “And Noah began to be a man of the soil, and he planted a vineyard” (9:20). Most commentaries immediately flag the fact that planting a vineyard was what Noah chose as his very first action. One would think that he would first plant food. Noah planted a vineyard and immediately the Torah tells us that he drank and got drunk and embarrassed himself. His son, Ham, derided him while his other two sons, Shem and Yafes, tried to treat him respectfully. When Noah woke from his wine induced slumber, probably with a fearsome hangover, he cursed  son Canaan.

This famous story, when looked at a little closer, leads to some rather fascinating realizations about how we read the Torah. Telling time in the Torah is not always a simple thing, to say the least. With its string of conjunction vav’s, and…and…and…, it often sounds as if one thing happened right after another, and they are therefore related. Certainly, one reading the narrative of Noah imagines it all happening as consecutive action. Noah and sons get out of the Ark, build an altar for an offering, receive Hashem’s blessing and covenant, and set to farming the land and plant a vinyard. There is no mention of a passage of time, which makes Noah’s taking to drink seem all the more unacceptable.

But then there’s Canaan. When Noah gets drunk and goes “uncovered in his tent” (9:21), the Torah tells us: “And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father’s nakedness” (9:22). After Noah awakens, he doesn’t curse Ham, but rather Ham’s son Canaan. Not surprisingly, given the pacing of the Parsha, most people don’t stop to question where Canaan came from. After all, it is stated quite clearly that only Noah and his wife and his three sons and their wives got onto the Ark. The subtly active role of Canaan in these verses tell us that Noah did not just hop out of the Ark and think about getting drunk.

Given the fact that the Midrash states that Noah and his sons and Noah’s wife and his sons’ wives kept themselves apart while the flood ravaged the land, we can assess that Canaan was not even conceived until after the catastrophe. But then, if Noah turned to farming so soon after the covenant of the rainbow, how old could Ham have been at the time of Noah’s drunkenness? Researching grapes, one finds that there is a common assessment that it takes from 3-7 years for a grapevine to bear fruit. Once we are realizing that these situations did not take place with the immediacy that is implied in the pacing of the verses, one can now recognize that by the time Ham insulted his father’s dignity, Canaan was already a child old enough to be influenced by the actions of those around him…if not already a young adult.

This leads to a basic question of why Noah sought to get drunk. One might have thought that Noah was drinking as a means to forget the destruction of the world that he knew, but now we know that a significant amount of time has passed. Life is moving forward and there is a whole world to rebuild…a whole world for his sons and their wives and his grandchildren. Noah, who was a unique and special man from among his generation, finds himself on the other side of life and perhaps doesn’t know what to do with himself. This is would also, possibly, explain why some commentaries accentuate the idea that Noah wanted to have a fourth child and was prevented from doing so by the actions of Ham. That fourth child would have brought him relevance among the next generation.

Planting the vineyard would not, in itself, seem to be a problem. One can assume that they all drank some wine. Archeological and historical studies have found that wine or beer was often the more common drink than water. The problem was that Noah drank to excess, and did so, perhaps, purposefully because he no longer felt a purpose. The problem was that Noah did not feel connected to the world his sons were building. Shem and Yafet could show such a perspective sympathy. Ham could not.

Understanding the motivations of the Biblical personalities helps us to understand deeper lessons in the Torah. Here, where it is easy to take an attitude of condescension to Noah for his behavior, perhaps one should also take the time to think about his motivations. Perhaps one needs to contemplate Noah’s life before, during, and after the flood. Perhaps one needs to not glance quickly at the situation and presume a failing, but rather think through the steps that brings a person to a place.  In learning to do so, we come back to the beautiful truth at the heart of Jewish life: we are a family and we are meant to be there for each other.  

Shabbat Shalom

 

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.

 

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

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.