VaYigash - Righteous Grumblings

Shortly after his family resettles in Egypt, Joseph brings his saintly father to meet Pharoah. Struck by how old Jacob looked, Pharoah asks him one question: “How many are the days of the years of your life?” Jacob replies: “The days of the years of my travels are a hundred and thirty years. Few and evil have been the years of my life and I have not attained the years of life of my fathers in the days of their travels” (47:8-9). Accepting that Jacob faced many trials in his life with his brother Esau, his wives, and his father-in-law, as well as the abduction of his daughter, bitter infighting between his sons, and the disappearance of his son, his response to Pharoah is still perplexing. Is this the way a righteous man, who (we would think) models an acceptance of God’s will, speaks about his life to a major world leader?   

Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban), a noted community leader and scholar in 13^th century Spain, asks this very question. He suggests that Jacob’s answer was intended to address Pharoah’s puzzlement at Jacob’s aged appearance, which was uncommon in Egypt. Jacob’s reply stated, in essence: “I look older than most people because I’ve faced many painful situations.”

I would suggest another rationale for Jacob’s seemingly bitter response to Pharoah. Jacob’s practice was to keep a distance from people who he viewed as unsavory or as potentially poor moral role models for his children and grandchildren. We can see this practice reflected in Jacob’s negative response to his brother Esau’s offer that they travel together (33: 12- 14), and his quick flight from his father in law’s house (Chapter 31). Jacob may have sensed that Pharoah would take a keen interest in the elderly father of his top official, Joseph. So Jacob did what he could to discourage Pharoah’s interest, by offering a sour and bitter outlook on life in their first encounter. It seems that Jacob’s tactic was successful, because the Torah records no further contact between the two men.

MeKaytz - Plausibility Quotient?

Pharoah, the king of perhaps the greatest superpower country in that era, tells Joseph – a Hebrew slave and the former prisoner – about his two dreams and Joseph offers a compelling interpretation, as well as some advice on how to handle the dream’s forecast of future events. Pharoah reacts by stating: “Can we find someone like this, in whom resides the spirit of God?” … Since God has caused you to know all this, there is none so discreet and wise as you. You shall be over my house and according to you all my people shall be ruled; only in the throne will I be greater than you.” (41:38-40).

I find Pharoah’s reaction hard to fathom. Yes, the dream interpretation and the advice may have seemed quite fitting, even wise. But would anyone – let alone a formidable ruler like Pharoah – turn around and immediately appoint a total stranger to be prime minister? There’s no background check, no apprenticeship, no offer of a cushy post as ‘top advisor’ – instead, Pharoah installs Joseph as almost a political rival. How can that be?

Some Biblical commentators suggest that Joseph’s interpretation was so spot-on, it demonstrated that he knew more about the dreams then Pharoah initially revealed. Noticing this, Pharoah understood that Joseph was Divinely inspired and put him in the best post to capitalize on his Godly connection. And then there’s a midrashic story (Talmud Sotah, 36B) that posits that Pharoah subjected Joseph to a leadership assessment test, in which he challenged Joseph to prove his mastery of different languages. In the course of the test, Joseph not only demonstrated mastery of the 70 known languages but also showed his knowledge of Hebrew, which Pharoah could not master. To cover up the fact that he was bested in this situation, Pharoah offered Joseph the top position on condition that he swear not to reveal the results of the language test to anyone else.

The explanations are interesting. But I have a difficult time connecting either one to the text in the Torah portion. So, for me, the question persists.

VaYayshev - Holding Steady

A young Joseph relates one of his prophetic dreams to his eleven brothers: “Behold, we were binding sheaves in the midst of the field and lo, my sheaf arose and also stood upright; and behold your sheaves came around it and bowed down to my sheaf.” (37:7). One of many questions that can be asked on this dream is – what is the significance of the fact that Yosef’s sheaf not only arose but “also stood upright”? Is there a distinct message in this added phrase?

Rabbi Shmuel Borenstein, a noted rabbi in Poland in the late nineteenth century/early twentieth century and author of the Biblical commentary Shem MiShmuel, took note of this seemingly superfluous phrase. He correlated it with a line in Psalms: “Who will go up to the mountain of God and who will stand in His holy place?” (24:3).  Rabbi Borenstein explained that both lines point to the idea that it is one thing to achieve a distinct level of spirituality, but it is another, deeper challenge to maintain that level of accomplishment. Human nature prompts us to constantly grow and change; it is no simple feat, then, to maintain a high level of religious devotion despite the changes we experience in age, attitude, ability, and interests. Joseph’s dream, then, hinted at one of his great strengths – his incredible constancy in spiritual conviction and in moral behavior, despite the vicissitudes he faced.

This insight on the verse has tremendous relevance for us all. In our marriages, as parents, in our professional lives, as devoted volunteers, in our spiritual lives, and in other spheres we may find that our concerted efforts and diligence yield moments of accomplishment. These achievements are indeed worth celebrating. But the greater challenge lies is insuring that our accomplishments remain constant and are not eroded by our human frailties.

VaYishLach - Expecting struggle

I’d assert that one of the unfortunate downsides of modern Western culture, with its remarkable advances in technology and its focus on personal independence and the pursuit of happiness, is an expectation that – for the most part – good things will happen to us. In the extreme we can see this attitude in alarming social ills like road rage, drug abuse, and alcoholism, as well as the frighteningly high rate of divorce. More commonly, we might see this attitude in the low national rates of civic involvement and voter turnout, as well as the correspondingly high rates of TV viewership. All these troubling developments reflect a bias towards bliss and a collective retreat from the difficulties of regular life.  As a society we think that life should be happy, even easy, and we recoil when troubles come our way.

At the other end of the spectrum, a truly righteous and intellectually sophisticated person expects there to be struggle and challenge in life. He does not expect a life of ease. And he is actually surprised when he’s achieved a string of successes, wondering if something is amiss.

This perspective is illustrated nicely in this week’s Torah reading.  Preparing for his encounter with his brother Esau after 20 years absence, and fearing that his brother is murderously angry with him, Jacob prays to God. Despite the Lord’s recent promise to him, “Return to the land of your fathers and to your family, and I will be with you.” (31:3) Jacob worries and states in his prayer: “I am not worthy of all the kindnesses and all the truth which you have done for your servant” (32:11).

Jacob does not see his successful escape from the home of his deceitful father-in-law, days earlier, nor the wealth and large family he’s built in the intervening 20 years, as his due. Nor does he take God’s promise for granted. Rather, he prays with genuine concern because he understands that life is often difficult and – even with God’s explicit blessing – a person can still face searing challenges and will need Divine favor to succeed.

Vayetzei - Difficult tradeoffs

In last week’s Torah portion we read how our patriarch Jacob, urged on by his mother Rebecca, presented himself as his brother to his near-blind father Isaac so that he (Jacob) could receive the blessing Isaac intended for Esau. Commentators through the ages have grappled with this difficult episode, as it appears to present one of our ‘founding fathers’ as a deceitful person taking advantage of his father’s infirmities, rather than dealing directly or honestly, in order to gain an advantage – however justified Jacob might have been in claiming the preferred blessing.

Nechama Leibowitz, in an essay “Your Brother Came with Deceit,”¹ suggests that scripture itself attests that while Jacob’s ends were just, the means he used to achieve them were quite unsavory. In a similar vein Rabbi Francis Nataf, in an essay “The Inevitability of Choice,”² draws on a number of sources and makes the claim that the personalities in Genesis were often faced with difficult choices. He asserts that they understood implicitly that a course of action favored by God could, nonetheless, involve painful trade-offs and difficult consequences. We can see this in the deceptions that afflict Jacob in this week’s Torah portion, such as the switch of Leah for the desired Rachel on the wedding night and his father-in-law’s repeated changes of his wages. We can also see this in the deceptions that befall Jacob later – his two sons’ peace treaty with and then stealthy massacre of the town of Shechem and the eleven brothers’ sale of Joseph and cover-up story that an animal devoured Joseph.

The message of the Torah is clear – if you start your ‘career’ with deception, it will gain a life of its own.

1.     New Studies in Bereshit (Genesis), by Nechama Lebowitz. Published in Israel, 1977 (?); p. 264–270.   

2.     Redeeming Relevance in the Book of Genesis: Explorations in Text and Meaning, by Rabbi Francis Nataf. Published in Jerusalem, 2006; p. 41-56.

 

Toldos - Indiscretions of the righteous

Facing a famine in the land of Canaan, our forefather Isaac moves to the land of Gerar. Fearing that the local townsmen might slaughter him in order to seize his wife Rebecca, he comes up with a familiar ruse – he tells people that she is his sister (26:7). This masquerade, however, ends quite differently than did Abraham’s strikingly similar deception in the same place, six decades earlier.  This time, none of the locals attempt to take hold of Rebecca by force and, after some time, the king of the Philistines: “looked out at the window and saw and behold Isaac was sporting with Rebecca, his wife.” (26:8). The King figured out that Isaac and Rebecca were indeed married and called out Isaac on the ruse.

What are we to make of this explicit reference to the patriarch Isaac sporting (the word in Hebrew, MiSaChayk- has various connotations of joking, playing, and/or physical intimacy)?  How are we to understand that a man noted by numerous commentators for his reserve and quiet dignity is seen by a stranger as sporting with his wife? And what is this sporting?

Writing in the 16^th century in Safed, Rabbi Moshe Alshich suggested that we understand this instance of MiSaChayk as follows: after some time in Gerar, Isaac let his guard down and the king saw Isaac give Rebecca a gentle caress. The king knew that a righteous man like Isaac would only intimately touch his wife. I find this answer quite plausible, as it conforms with both the meaning of the word and the known character of the biblical personality.

Chayei Sarah - significant servant

The character in the book of Bereishis (Genesis) that deserves a serious second look is Eliezer, the faithful servant of Abraham. What do we know about Eliezer? We know, from the two previous week’s Torah readings, that Eliezer was apparently a formidable warrior¹, a skilled student and teacher of monotheism², and one of the people that accompanied Abraham and Isaac to the Akeidah (the near-sacrifice of Isaac)³. In this week’s Torah reading we observe that, in his travels to secure a suitable wife for Isaac, Eliezer demonstrates remarkable diplomatic skills as he carefully describes his master, his mission, and his experiences on the way to Rebecca’s family⁴. I find it particularly noteworthy that, taking into account his very active role throughout the chapter (24) that outlines this mission, the Torah devotes more text to describing the conversations and actions of Eliezer than it does to the conversations or actions of Sarah or Ishmael (59 vs. 35 and 13, respectively). What are we to make of all this attention devoted to Abraham’s faithful servant?

I wonder if – in the example of Eliezer - the Torah is providing us with a role model for a ‘regular’ person of faith, to which we can more readily relate than some of the other characters. Abraham was the prophet of God, while Eliezer ‘merely’ received the teachings of God’s values from Abraham and shared them with others. Most of us are not learned rabbis or seasoned Torah teachers, with a refined sense of God’s will in the world. Instead, we attach ourselves to rabbis and teachers who speak to our religious sensibilities and then we become ‘servants’ of their teachings and worldview.  And like Eliezer, we can marshal our skills and experiences in the service of God, under the direction of those ‘masters’ of God’s perspective. While Abraham, Sarah, and the other patriarchs and matriarchs are vital role models, it may be Eliezer that speaks most clearly to the regular Jew.   

1 = 14:14

2 = see Rashi, on 15:2

3 = see Rashi, on 22:3

4 = see Nehama Leibowitz, New Studies in Bereshit/Genesis, “Table-talk of Patriarch’s Servants,” p. 230 – 236.

VaYeira - Argue with God?

Something about this week’s parsha really bothers me. How can Abraham be so bold as to challenge God, when he’s told of the prospective destruction of a Sodom & Gemorrah (18:23) – a region of wicked people - yet say nothing when God asks him to sacrifice Isaac (22:2)!  Yes, it was noble for Abraham to inquire if the complete destruction of two cities was necessary. But, in the later instance, human sacrifice would have been the antithesis of the faith Abraham had been preaching for decades and the seeming negation of God’s promises to Abraham that he’d have a son to inherit him. Abraham is vocal in the first situation and silent in the second, more personal matter. I find this seeming inconsistency quite disconcerting.

Responding to this dilemma, my ‘neighbor’ in the early morning weekday prayer service Rabbi Shlomo Ziegler suggests that in the first instance God was consulting with Abraham (so to speak) whereas in the second situation he posed a direct command. Rabbi Ziegler suggests that we are not given license to broadly question God’s judgment when presented with a command. Rabbi Ziegler offered another possible answer – Abraham learned in the first instance that, even if questioned, God’s reasoning is well founded and his decisions are final.  So he did not bother to challenge God the second time.

Though I see truth in both answers, the question still vexes me.

Lech Lecha - smashing statues

This week's Torah portion starts the saga of Abraham, introducing him as a middle-aged married adult. The Torah text tells us nothing of his youth or the process that led him to espouse monotheism, so midrash steps in to fill in the blanks. One midrash paints a picture of a young Abraham in a store or temple of idols, left alone to help others serve the idols. His father Terach comes by later that day and is dismayed to see that all the idols are smashed to bits, except the largest one which is 'holding' a sword. He asks his son: "What happened?!?" and Abraham spins a tale of a fight between the idols, which the tall statue won by destroying the others. When his father refuses to accept the story, Abraham asks rhetorically: "If the statues can't fight for themselves, then why should people pray to them?"

Are we to believe this story actually occurred? Perhaps - it could be a strong oral tradition, passed down through the centuries from family to family and eventually making its way into Rabbinic teachings. Perhaps this story was perpetuated because it illustrates a core personality trait of our founding forefather - his role as a social and religious iconoclast. The New Webster Dictionary defines iconoclast as: "n. one who attacks established beliefs; destroyer of images." By telling a story of someone who destroys statues, the midrash hints at the other meaning of iconoclast – someone who attacks established beliefs. In Abraham’s era, the established belief system revolved around idol worship. Some open minded souls could have accepted his contrary views but those invested in the social order of the day probably didn't take kindly to his challenges. This may well have set the stage for God to suggest that Abraham "go, for yourself" to another country.  

The question this midrash poses to each of us, in our era: 

When we encounter established societal attitudes that run contrary to our religious values or ethical imperatives, are we prepared to act differently and to share our reasons why with others? 

Noach – Is righteousness relative?

In the very beginning of the portion of Noach, we encounter a phrase that strikes us as somehow qualified: “Noach was a man righteous and wholehearted in his generations” (emphasis added). The preeminent Biblical commentator Rashi explains the significance of this phrase by citing a debate from the Talmud - some say that Noach was great but was held back from greater spiritual achievement by the bad environment he lived in, others say he was notable only in comparison to his bad neighbors.

A short while later in the Torah portion, Rashi points out a debate in the midrash about what illuminated the interior of the ark; some say it was a window, others say it was a precious radiant stone. My neighbor, Yitzhak Block, suggests that this second explanation by Rashi is a metaphoric echo of the first debate brought down by Rashi that I shared above. As Yitzhak put it, the question is – did Noach’s character contain the strengths to engage the outside world (like a window) or was there only sufficient reserves to illuminate his own interior life (like a precious stone)? The dilemma of how to judge Noach’s strength of character is indeed perplexing, not just as an academic question but also a challenge to each of us to consider whether we exceed prevailing standards or if we help to redefine the norms.

Bereishis (Genesis)

In the second verse in Bereishis (Genesis), the Torah tells us that before creation the earth was “Tohu VaVohu,” translated as “unformed and void.” Rashi comments that the word Tohu signifies that if a person saw the state of the world before creation, he would be astonished, and Vohu describes a vast emptiness.  I found it interesting that, in a compilation of stories and statements from Jewish scriptures ¹, there are six different midrashim that comment on the words “Tohu VaVohu.” These six midrashim share a common message: that people shouldn’t spend much time wondering what the world was like then, rather, they should focus on the nature of the world from creation and afterwards. Why?

I suspect that the message of these midrashim, and perhaps even of the scant attention the Torah devotes to pre-creation earth, is that Judaism has an inherent antipathy towards chaos and disorder. We have many rituals that help us delineate clear boundaries – think of Kiddush, havdalah, bar mitzvah, and blessings before and after eating, to name a few. Jewish law is also filled with carefully described parameters of what is, and what is not, kosher; food preparation permitted on the Sabbath; verbal responses permitted during prayer; and so much more. What Tohu VaVohu may be teaching us is that, despite our generation’s fascination with reality TV, violent video games, and angry protest movements, Jewish values are concerned with the active pursuit of boundaries, order, and progress.    

  

1        =  Sefer HaAggadah: The Book of Legends from the Talmud and Midrash, edited by Hayim Nahum Bialik and Yehoshua Hana Ravnitzky. English translation published by Schocken Books, NY, 1992.