Parshas Bo: The AUdacious Ego

 Parshas Bo: The Audacious Ego

Dedicated to a Refuah Shelaima for Moshe Aharon ben Necha Itta and Tanchum Shlomo ben Rayza Bryna

This week’s parsha describes the terrible events of the last three plagues and the ultimate downfall of the great Egyptian monarchy (although it would, we know, rise again). This week’s parasha explains great and mighty events such as the blackening of the sky by a sea of locust who landed on the fields and devoured everything in their path. This week’s parsha is full of darkness and death.

This week’s parsha contains the unmistakable calamity of absolute narcissism.                                                                                                                                             

There is a fascinating verse buried amidst all the chaos of the final plague: “Take also your flocks and your herds, as you said, and begone! And may you bring a blessing upon me also!” (12:32).  After the Death of the Firstborn, Pharoah is finally ready to send the Israelites – all of the Israelites – to go to the Wilderness to worship Hashem. After generations of slavery, after trying to kill their babies, after all the extra inflicted hardship, how does he possibly have the audacity to ask for a blessing! As if setting them free is no big deal.

It’s audacious. It’s outrageous. It’s… well, when we really stop and think about it, perhaps it isn’t so surprising. The easy response is to say, “Well, we all know people like that.” People who are do oblivious to clues. We all know people we want to label as narcissists, who put themselves before everything and take no responsibility for the messes they may make. Pharoah is just perfect profile of the personality – although one could argue that his royal life made it so he could be no other way. Pharoah’s ridiculous ego is present throughout the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim. He reacts to Moshe and Aaron by stating that he doesn’t know who Hashem is. He deliberately toys with them about whether he will send them to the wilderness. More significantly, even as his land and people are plunged into chaos and despair, Pharoah doesn’t care.

Indeed, one can see how the Egyptian people felt by their immediate reaction to Pharoah’s release of the Israelites…… “The Egyptians urged the people on, impatient to have them leave the country, for they said, ‘We shall all be dead’”  (12:33).

The fact that the Torah includes this detail of Pharoah asking for a bracha allows us to examine the significance of what he did. Obviously, it is included for us to really understand who Pharoah was and just how flawed he was. It serves as a warning about autocrats who rule a country based on a sense of their own personal power. Warnings about such a grandiose concept, however, is really a warning about who each of us has the potential to become. We can say it’s human nature to focus on ourselves, but Jewish tradition constantly reminds us that we need to be above base human nature.

Parshas Va’eira – The World Cannot Choose

If you know the story of the Exodus then you know that Hashem hardened Paroah’s heart. It’s one of the most repeated tropes in the many discussions of the narrative. Most often, however, it comes up far into the plagues. It is the source of great discussion and debate: What of Paroah’s bechira - especially as his actions impacted all of Mitzrayim? If Paroah didn’t relent, then no one was going to help the Israelites. This, of course, leads to the deeper question of: How can Paroah be punished if Hashem was the one causing his heart to be hardened?  The hardening, tradition teaches us, was already there. Hashem did not change the man.

 

This week’s parsha, Parshas Va’eira, introduces the beginning of the plagues, and it introduces the hardening of the heart of Paroah. It came from the very beginning and is mentioned three times before the first plague, the plague of blood. The first mention is verse 7:3, where Hashem informs Moshe: “And I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt.”  Having heard this, Moshe and Aaron went to Paroah and had their show down with Paroah’s magicians, but their expectations must have been very low. When the snakes of the magicians were eaten by Aaron’s snake, the Torah relays: “Yet Paraoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them, as Hashem had said.  And Hashem said to Moshe, ‘Paraoh is heavy of heart (stubborn); he refuses to let the people go.’” (7:13-14).

 

In English, these verses look both very similar and very different. All three of them contain the word lev – heart. However, 7:3 uses the verb kashe, verse 13 uses chazak, and verse 14 uses the word kaved. Hashem promises Moshe that he will make Paroah’s heart hard. However, what we see happening is that after being confronted with Aaron’s obviously mightier staff-snake, Paroah made his own heart strong. There was nothing supernatural about it. And thus Hashem’s statement in verse 14, that Paroah’s heart is stubborn. Hashem used the term Kavaid Lev. The word Kavaid means heavy, but it is also associated with the word kavod, which means “honor.” 

 

Hashem did not need to strengthen Paroah’s heart, Paraoh’s own ego refused to allow him to recognize Hashem’s greatness, that there was a possibility that he was not the ultimate authority.

 

This is a deep truth of the world, that we all know. Power breeds power. Paroah, who reigned over the most powerful nation in the ancient world, could not humble himself to acknowledge that something beyond him was happening. Hashem did not have to worry about fulfilling His promise to strengthen Paroah’s heart because his heart was already burdened with too much kavod.

 

We, or at least I can speak for myself, keep hoping that the world will open its eyes and see the truth. But even if they do, are they capable to admitting they were wrong? A stand once taken is hard to come down from, and so we fight almost alone. Is this Hashem’s will actively blinding the nations or were their hearts already hardened?

The truth, alas, is that this question pushes at our brains but is, in fact, irrelevant. If their hearts were already hardened than it was so because of Hashem, Who stated that we would be a hated nation. Thus, either way, the events of this era – as of so many eras in the past – is the will of Hashem. What is left to us to ponder – and many of us have and do – is what Hashem requires of us in light of the path the world has taken. That, I would say, is the true bechira.

Vayechi: Death, Blessings, and Life Choices

 

Vayechi – Death, Blessings, and Life Choices

If one were to boil this week’s parsha down to its most basic elements, Parshas Vayechi would be said to be about death and blessings, blessings that all focus on “this will be you when I am gone.” Death and blessings sound like a strange combination of themes as we tend to think of death as the ultimate negative, and even more so when we remember that the name of the parsha translates to “And he lived.”

 

He lived. Yaakov lived. For 17 years Yaakov lived in a land not his own, and, in many ways, he flourished. It was not, one would assume, his ideal life. He was not where he wanted to be as he understood the kedusha of Eretz Yisrael, but it was where Hashem told him that He wanted him to be. It is a sharp contrast to the commentaries surrounding the beginning sentiment of “Vayeishev,” “and he dwelled,” where Yaakov is criticized in the Midrash for settling into complacency.

 

Because Yaakov lived his life in the best way he could for being in a less then ideal state (an ability he had proven already during his sojourn with Lavan), his last years had a tremendous impact. The Torah describes the funeral procession set for him by Paroah and the fact that there was a period of national mourning throughout Egypt. Some of this was a reflection of the nation’s feelings for Yosef, but a reaction so grand only occurs from respect, nay – reverence, for the deceased himself.

 

Yaakov’s choosing to LIVE those 17 years, rather than just accept his altered state, gave him the kochos, the spiritual strength, to end his life in a way that carried his life forward. He focused his ability to see the world on a spiritual plane to provide guidance and shine light on the deeper journey ahead for each of his sons and, thus, strengthening them. Yes, even the blessings that were tochacha were the means of shoring them up against the challenges that were to come. Yaakov on his deathbed focused not on his own end but on the future that was to come.

 

Today is Aseres B’Teves. It is the shortest fast day on the calendar, but it is also noted as the most significant of the minor fasts of mourning the destruction of Jerusalem. Today represents the beginning of the end of what had been an idyllic time when the first Beis Hamikdash was the heart of our nation. We fast to mourn our loss and to spur on teshuva so that we can return, so that Hashem will redeem us. But as this year it overlaps with Vayechi, perhaps we must recognize a different lesson in our mourning.

 

Like Yaakov Avinu, we are not living in our ideal world, we are separated from the greater spirituality, but that is not a reason to live any less. That is not a reason to become complacent, but rather it is a reason to bring that ideal world as close to where we dwell as possible. And this does not apply only to one’s physical location. Yaakov did not live an easy life. From sibling rivalry to in-law troubles, from Rachel’s dying to Yoseph’s disappearance, from trouble with Shechem to famine in Canaan… But he did not let that stop him from living. Often times life takes a hard turn, but it is our job to persevere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unmasked

 Another Thursday night/Friday morning at the end of another crazy week – should be crazy for another month, so I will apologize in advance (and over and over, cause, you know).

As we’ve entered the new secular year, there have been many reflections on the year that has passed, which was nothing if not heart-wrenching and difficult. Around the globe people took to covering their faces so they could march in public and display a side of themselves that roils with violence and hatred. The world is full of people who present one face in public, but it isn’t who they truly are. Frighteningly, this very duplicity has been forcing many Jews to also choose to hide themselves, to take off their yarmulkes or tuck away their Magen David. In the world today, it sometimes seems like it might be safer to blend in, to appear like everyone else, than to display one’s Judaism.

When we read Parshas Vayigash, many of us are astonished that the sons of Yaakov do not recognize their brother Yosef. He was their brother, after all. But we know that he was dressed like an Egyptian – and not just any Egyptian, but a powerful official – and was known by a different name. “Joe” even spoke the language of the land flawlessly; we can assume he had no accent. So it isn’t altogether surprising that they didn’t realize it was him after 17 years, in a palace where he had been sold as a slave, and after he had accomplished the art of blending to perfection. Perhaps we are so surprised because many people have recognized a phenomenon of inherent recognition amongst our people. Anecdotally, and from my own experiences, there are many stories of the strange way in which Jews are drawn to each other – intentionally or not. We see it in the act known as bagelling, when a Jew who has shed all seeming outward signs of his/her identity makes it a point that their Judaism is recognized, that they don’t get overlooked as part of the tribe.

As Yosef interacted with his brothers, it became harder and harder for him to maintain the façade until he pulled them aside, emptied his chamber, and declared his identity. Yosef’s declaration of his identity echoes through history. Through trials and tribulations, exiles and assimilations, there has remained that spark of the pintele yid, as they call it, that yearns to burn bright. (An appropriate thought to remember just after Chanukah when the primary mitzvah entails being seen for who we are – those who serve and praise Hashem). The soul of the Jew wants to connect to his/her brethren, wants to be seen as who they truly are and not their outward garb.

Just because Yosef’s family came to Mitzrayim, does not mean that Yosef was able to dress or act publicly like himself. He was, after all, the Viceroy. Nevertheless, connected to his community, he was whole, and he admonished his family not to blend in, not to move in amongst the Mitzri nation. And the family of Yaakov was lauded by Paroah. They were granted land and privileges. They were shown respect and acceptance of their separation.

Those who beleaguer us now wish to make us weak by undermining our belief in ourselves. The louder they rally, the more Jews might question the path they follow or the way they express themselves because, as the protestors try to declare, it’s about justice (it isn’t), and no one wants to feel that they are opposed to justice.

But we must take our cue from Yosef. We must declare ourselves to our fellow Jews and come together, because our unity, our connection, and our sense of true self has always been our most powerful weapon.

Miketz Chanukah Brief piece

 

On the road and not much time…. This will be a one brief thought, please pardon me.

 

This week’s Parsha, Parsha Miketz, focuses on the famine in Mitzrayim. There are many, many commentaries on, well, just about every part of this story. One could say, however, that this is the portion of the Torah in which we really learn that quite often situations that appear to be hardships are stepping stones to that which must come later.

 

It is terrible that Yosef was sold by his brothers to Mitzrayim – but he had to go to Mitrayim in order to save everyone from the famine.

 

It was difficult that he was sent to the home of Potifar, where the plotting mistress lay in wait – but this was where he needed to go to learn the administrative skills that would serve him well in the time to come.

 

It is horrible that he had to experience being falsely accused – but perhaps this was the source of his realizing that the only way to really understand the brothers’ motives was to falsely accuse them and Binyamin in particular.

 

It was depressing that Yosef had to linger in prison for two years, his kindness to the butler forgotten – but that was the butler’s release was not yet the time for the 7 years of plenty and famine to be set underway and in the prison was a time to learn and understand the working of the minds of the Egyptian people.

 

We all have difficult times in our lives that we, perhaps, wish we hadn’t had to experience. Quite often, however, one step – difficult as it may have been – directly correlates to a far great step in our future.

 

On Chanukah, during the short days of winter – when it is often cold and dark – we struggle, sometimes, to see the light that is to come. But when we shed light on the miracles of daily living and of the incredible history of the Jewish people, as we do each night of Chanukah, we are able to be inspired, and we turn to Hashem in praise each day.

 

May we all try to have insights into the challenges we have faced so that we remember to thank Hakadosh Baruch for the struggles as well as the joys.

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

Parshas Vayeishev: Personal Potential

 In this week’s parsha we take an interesting detour from the main narrative to discuss the relationship of Yehuda and Tamar. Obviously from our vantage point we know why their story is important, but its placement interrupting the narrative of Yoseph seems to startle me every year. It is a story that evokes a wide range of emotions. We feel pity and anger and fear at the actions toward and by this young woman, but once we know the complete story, what we feel should be awe. And the complete narrative itself is replete with lessons.

 

The relationship of Yehuda and Tamar is a relationship that isn’t a relationship. Yehuda acknowledges that he is the father of her unborn children, but, as the Torah itself states: “And he did not know her again” (Bereishis 38:26). To be honest, that was a pasuk that always made me sad for her. I felt like they should be truly partnered, for their lives were so bound together, but they weren’t. They were partnered as they were for one purpose and that was the birth of their sons, which was significant for future generations.

 

It is almost impossible not to wonder why these two had to go through such tough times. If Hashem wanted these twins to be born from a union of Yehuda and Tamar, why not just make a shidduch? Why not bring them together in a more direct way? Why did they have to suffer?

 

Really, both of them suffered to get to this point. Yehuda lost two of his sons in the prime of their lives, and while the Torah doesn’t actually relay his emotional state, one can make assumptions from the fact that he kept Tamar from marrying Shelah. It was obviously quite a traumatic experience.

 

Tamar’s suffering came from multiple angles. Quite obviously there was the pain of becoming a widow before even truly becoming a wife. Hopes and prospects dashed not once, but twice. But the rejection for the third son was devastating on a far deeper level. Not only did it imply some level of blame upon her, but it also probably generated gossip and societal rejection. Even more painful was the fact that it put her one great desire out of reach. Tamar wanted to join the family of Yaakov. It was, she believed and knew, her destiny.

 

Yehuda and Tamar are two souls that had a mission together, and that mission was Perez and Zerach. That mission was the generations to come.

 

But we are not just the parents of our children. The narrative of Tamar and Yehuda teaches us something else as well, and that is the importance of process. Yes, their lives were challenging; but, they could not have met their potential without it. They had to dig deep within themselves and meet the potential that they had within.

 

To live up to our greatest potential, we often have to go through turmoil. In order to even start to discover the strength Hashem has given us, we need to look for our true selves. We need to be able to see what we have and what we need to give. Tamar had no interest in playing the harlot, but she knew that she wanted to bring forth the next generation of Yehuda’s family, and so she had to step out of her comfort zone and do something more. Yehuda could easily have saved his pride and denied her markers, but he dug deep and stood up to admit his truth. Both Tamar and Yehuda found their strength.

 

Next week we will light the Chanukah candles. Each night we light another candle. We start with one flame and the light expands from there. We do so to remind us that we only ascend toward holiness, that kedusha must grow.

 

Tamar and Yehuda were individuals who exemplified this idea. They put what was right from a kedusha point of view ahead of any concern about prestige or what things looked like to other people. This could not have happened at an earlier point in time as neither of them were ready, neither of them was able to access that individual power. Once they were, however, they set off a chain of miracles.

 

It is not always easy to look at ourselves as individual pillars of potential, as having within our own selves the power to be great. Very few people I know have lived an easy, stress-free life, but the greatest people I know are those who took those challenges and used it to build themselves, to become more, and to channel the reflection of Hashem into the world.

 

I hope you all have a beautiful Shabbas and a wonderful Chanukah.

Parshas Vayishlach: Asking for a Name

 Parshas Vayishlach: Asking for a Name

 

Do manners matter? It’s a funny question, especially as just about everyone who might be reading this (or listening to it) was, without question, raised on a steady diet of being told to say please and thank you and to hold the door for the next person. Truth be told, though, the etiquette of manners is really dependent on the society in which you live. (For instance, the European kissing of the cheeks of everyone becomes a problem in our community.)

 

Sociological discussions about manners in religious communities would probably focus on that which we call mitzvos bein adam l’chavero. These mitzvos include actions that most of us consider standard behavior – visiting the sick, giving charity, taking care of people in need, hosting guests, and etc. And our traditions are rife with such interactions and considerations. However, throughout Jewish tradition there are references to far more subtle actions that are important to manners and etiquette. Indeed, even to such a simple action as smiling…there are several references to the importance of smiling.

 

In this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayishlach, there is the extremely famous but somewhat perplexing narrative of the wrestling match between Yaakov and an angel. Don’t worry, the good manners are not attacking someone at midnight. At the end of the wrestling match, when the malacha has declared himself bested, he gives Yaakov a new name in response to Yaakov’s demand of a bracha. Yaakov’s response is fascinating in and of itself:

 

“Yaakov inquired and said, ‘Please tell your name.’ He replied, ‘Why do you ask my name?’ And he blessed him there” (Bereishis 32:30). At this point it is obvious that Yaakov’s opposition is not a mortal man, so why did Yaakov ask for a name? Tradition has several answers to this and makes it a point to note that names are sources of power. That is not the point too this dvar Torah.

 

The perek ends with the angel blessing Yaakov…but perhaps that should be restated as the angel blesses Yaakov again. Afterall, the change of name was Yaakov’s bracha, was it not? So why does the angel bless him again. Perhaps because he stopped to ask his name. Yaakov stopped to recognize the identity, so to speak, of the being with whom he was conversing. Yaakov wasn’t intimidated by the nature of his companion, and he bore no grudge to the violence of their initial interaction. He asked his name, and that was significant; that was a recognition of basic respect.

 

Think about the effort that Adam HaRishon put into naming all creatures. Names have significance and meaning. Names have an impact. Names have power, and asking someone’s name immediately makes them feel seen and respected…individualized.

 

The commentator Chizkuni points out on the angel’s response: “‘Why are you asking for my name?’ The angel informs Yaakov that there is no point in knowing his name; he explains that when people that have not seen one another ever, upon meeting, will extend greetings with one another and bless each other wishing each other well, and ask one another for their names, they justify this in the event that they wished to communicate with each other in the future.” Asking for a name means building a bond, but, as almost all the commentaries point out, the malachim have temporary identities that are actually statements of their missions rather than core identities.

 

Nevertheless, that Yaakov inquired, that Yaakov demonstrated his recognition of the malach as unique and significant, even if it was only for his temporary existence, was a moment of derech eretz.

 

Most of us are faced with dozens of opportunities to impact the lives of others on a regular basis. Random people do kindnesses for us all the time, and we don’t even always thank them much less ask for their name. But what of the people who we see regularly, with whom we share regular moments on an ongoing basis – the barrista at the coffee shop, the crossing guard, the doorman, etc. – Perhaps we should be making the effort to learn their names. And even if a person is transient in our lives, as the malach suggested he himself was in Yaakov’s world, there is still, in here, a reminder of meeting their eyes and smiling our thanks and expressing a connection, a recognition of the impact they have made.

 

May we all be blessed with reasons to smile and reasons to be grateful to others.

 

Wishing you all a Shabbas Shalom