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