Category Archives: Jewish Thought

Vo’eira – The Seed’s Decay is All We See

It’s all too easy to disassociate the beginning of a parsha from the end of the preceding one. But Rav Shlomo Yosef Zevin, in LaTorah UlaMoadim, sees Hashem’s declaration at the opening of Vo’eira as connected to Moshe’s question toward the end of parshas Shemos. That question was (Shemos 5:22) “Why have You treated this nation badly?” And Elokim’s response (6:2) is “I am Hashem.”

Rav Zevin compares the apparent question/answer disconnect here with what transpires in Ki Sisa, when Moshe asks Hashem to “Let me know Your ways” (33:13) and is responded to with “You will see My back but My front will be unseen” (33:23).

What gives?

In both cases, explains Rav Zevin, the response expresses the reality that we cannot perceive justice, or even any sort of sense, with our limited purview of history. We are like a person first seeing the “burial” of a wheat kernel and its decay in the ground without having ever seen the stalk of wheat that emerges as a result, and the loaf of bread to which it will eventually contribute.

Elokim – the midas hadin, strict justice, name of Hashem – tells Moshe to rest assured that the din he perceives is not detached from “I am Hashem” – the sheim havaya that implies rachamim, benevolence. The din is but a prelude to rachamim, and the redemption of the Jews is at hand.

And the ultimate redemption, too, as hard as it may be to spy, is forthcoming no less.

Shemos – Nameless

While parshas Shemos (“Names”) does begin with names, those of the shevatim, and introduces the naming of Moshe, it is ironic that, when the parsha’s narrative begins, anonymity seems the rule.

“A man went out from the house of Levi and took a daughter of Levi” (Shemos, 2:1). We know the references are to Amram and Yocheved, but their names are not provided. Likewise with Moshe’s sister (2:4) whom we know to be Miriam but is unnamed. Same with Doson and Aviram, who are named in parshas Korach (Bamidbar 16) but not here in Shemos. And “the daughter of Par’oh,” we know, from Divrei Hayamim, was named Bisya. But in our parsha she has no name .

And what names are introduced for other dramatis personae seem pedestrian in their meanings. See Rashi 1:15 on Shifra and Puah.

What occurs as a possible message in the abundance of namelessness is that even simple people, those who haven’t established any sort of “name” – fame or distinction – for themselves, are capable of accomplishing great things; of, by their choices and actions, “making a name” for themselves. Every Tom, Debby and Harriet, in other words, can play a role as pivotal as those played by Amram, Miriam and Bisya. What matters isn’t one’s credentials but, rather, one’s actions.

And the idea that we should not feel limited is something the Kotzker famously commented on with regard to the Midrash stating that Bas Par’oh’s hand, extended to baby Moshe, elongated to reach him. She apparently reached out for something that was well beyond her reach, which is why the miracle had to happen. And yet she reached out all the same.

When one is seeking to do good, she (or he) should not feel constrained by “reality,” be it physical distance or any lack of credentials.

Vayechi – People Can Be Mere Stones

It’s easy to resent being mistreated.

It’s also misguided to be resentful.

Yosef reassures his brothers that he harbors no ill will for their having plotted against him. “Although you intended me harm, Elokim intended it for good” (Beraishis 50:20), he tells his siblings, echoing his earlier words “It wasn’t you who sent me here, but rather Elokim (ibid 45:8).

Those statements, Rav Yeruchom Levovitz, the famed Mir mashgiach, explained, were not mere polite, comforting words of forgiveness. They meant precisely what they say: that Hashem was ultimately the reason for his having been mistreated and sold into servitude. [Note the use of “Elokim” in both psukim, indicating din, pure justice]. It was part of a plan.

In his Daas Torah, Rav Yeruchom writes that Yosef was telling his brothers that they really had nothing to do with his life’s trajectory, that they had essentially been mere tools that were used in order to bring him to who he had become, the viceroy of Mitzrayim.

And so, Rav Levovitz continues, every person who feels wronged by another should not automatically be angry at his oppressor, since he is where Hashem wants him to be. Would anyone, the mashgiach asks, think to rail against a stone that fell on him? The oppressor is but a stone, the means by which Hashem’s plan for the injured person is furthered.

It’s an attitude vital for living a Torah-informed life.

“Take this rule,” says Rav Yeruchom, “firmly in hand.”

The Latest Academic Absurdity

What do you think represents an “egregious threat to bedrock principles of academic freedom”?

The kidnapping and gagging of a professor? An administrator’s cancellation of the professor’s class? . A warning that he’d be fired unless he taught a certain point of view? Three strikes, you’re out.

To see the answer, click here.

Vayigash – Man and Beast

Shepherds were abhorrent to ancient Egyptians, Yosef tells his brothers, as he relates what they should tell Par’oh in order to reserve the area of Goshen for his immigrating family (Beraishis 46:34). We find this in Mikeitz as well (43:32; see Rashi and Onkelos there)

Some commentaries understand that as indicating that the Egyptians protected livestock and shunned the consumption of meat. Ibn Ezra writes that the Egyptians were “like the people of India today, who don’t consume anything that comes from a sensile animal.”

Pardes Yosef (Rabbi Yosef Patzanovski) references the Ibn Ezra and explains that the ancient Egyptians considered the slaughter of an animal to be equivalent to the murder of a human being.

Although far distant in both time and place from ancient Egypt and India, some people in the Western Hemisphere today have come to embrace the notion that the sentience of animals renders them essentially no different from humans.

To be sure, seeking to prevent needless pain to non-human creatures is entirely in keeping with the Jewish mesorah, the source of enlightened society’s moral code. But those activists’ convictions go far beyond protecting animals from pain; they seek to muddle the fundamental distinction between the animal world and the human. A distinction that is all too important in our day, for instance, when it comes to issues pertinent to the beginning or end of life, or moral behavior.

A book that focuses on “the exploitation and slaughter of animals” compares animal farming to Nazi concentration camps. Its obscene title: “Eternal Treblinka.” Similarly obscene was the lament by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals founder Ingrid Newkirk that “Six million Jews died in concentration camps, but six billion broiler chickens will die this year in slaughterhouses.”

But even average citizens today can slip onto the human-animal equivalency slope. American households with pets spend more than $60 billion on their care each year. People give dogs birthday presents and have their portraits taken. Such things might seem benign but, according to one study, many Americans grow more concerned when they see a dog in pain than when they see an adult human suffering.

We who have been gifted with the Torah, as well as all people who are the product of societies influenced by Torah truths, consider the difference between animals and human beings to be sacrosanct.

It is incumbent on us to try to keep larger society from blurring that distinction.

Mikeitz – Low-Key is a Lesson for the Ages

“Why display yourselves when you are satiated, before the children of Esav and Yishmael?” (Rashi, Beraishis 42:1).

That is the Gemara’s (Taanis 10b) understanding of Yaakov Avinu’s exhortation to his sons, lama tisra’u (understood, apparently, as “why be conspicuous?”). His rhetorical question was posed to ensure that “they will [the children of Esav and Yishmael] will not be jealous of you….” as they journey to Mitzrayim to garner food during the famine.

Chazal say that, in general, “a person should not indulge in luxury” [ibid]. But especially when it might generate jealousy and resultant animosity.

It is a lesson for the ages, and needed throughout the ages. Among others, the Kli Yakar, who died in 1619, lamented the fact that some Jews’ homes and possessions in his time proclaimed their material success. The problem has hardly disappeared today.

(One of the things that attracted me to the community where I live was the basic uniformity of the homes there. There are no mansions here, not even McMansions.)

Several commentaries wonder at the Gemara’s reference, in the opening quote above, to the progeny of Esav and Yishmael. Yaakov was in Cna’an. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Chazal to make their point about not standing out with regard to Yaakov’s neighbors, the Cna’anim? There’s no reason to believe that Esav and Yishmael’s people were nearby.

What occurs to me is that there is a poignant prescience in Chazal’s comment. They may have sensed, or even foreseen, a distant but long-running future of Klal Yisrael, where so many of its members would be residing, as has been the case for many centuries, amid cultures associated with Esav and Yishmael.

Vayeishev – Momentous Moments

The nature of the “work” that Yosef came to Potifar’s house to do on the day when the Egyptian’s wife sought to entice him to sin with her (Beraishis 39:11) is famously the subject of a disagreement between Rav and Shmuel.

One opinion is that Yosef intended “to do his [household] duties”; and the other, “to do his needs,” i.e. to submit to the woman’s blandishments – an intention that was undermined only after an image of Yaakov appeared to Yosef, giving him the strength to resist (Sotah 36b). (That latter opinion, with its portrayal of Yosef as vacillating before finally resisting may be audibly symbolized by the shalsheles cantillation of the word vayima’en, “and he resisted.”)

Rav Simcha Bunim of Pshischa is quoted to have commented that the word “work” employed at the pivotal point in Yosef’s life – when he earned the appellation tzaddik, “righteous” – holds the message that each of us has a “work” to accomplish in his life, not just in a general sense but with regard to acting – or not acting – at a pivotal moment, when we are faced with a decision that will define us.

Yosef’s life-changing moment was when he was faced with an insistent Mrs. Potifar. Every person, the Pshischer suggested, will be faced with a pivotal moment, or moments, of his own, when his choice will make all the difference.

Which idea may lie behind Targum Onkelos’ translation of “his work.” He renders it in Aramaic as: “to audit his [Potifar’s] financial records.”

While that may simply be a presaging of the time-honored Jewish profession of accounting, the word Onkelos uses for “his financial records” is chushbenei. The word’s root is cheshbon, “accounting,” and it brings to mind its use in the phrase cheshbon hanefesh – an accounting of one’s “soul,” an examination of one’s standing in his spiritual life.

Each of us is charged with discerning moments in life, when the choice before us may be pivotal. Of course, we never know whether what we are facing is indeed such a moment. And so, we are wise to treat every decision we face as potentially momentous.

Vayishlach — Beware the Rabbi

Imagine finding yourself in a desolate place and spying a lone figure in the distance coming toward you. Your apprehension, even nervousness, would be understandable. But then, when he comes closer and you see that it’s a man with a long white beard, wearing a hat, kapoteh and tallis, you’d breathe a sigh of relief. Until he suddenly attacks you, gets you in a headlock and bends your arm painfully behind your back.

The angel that confronted Yaakov when our forefather re-crossed Nachal Yabok to retrieve some small items looked, according to one opinion, “like a talmid chacham” [Chullin 91a].

The most straightforward takeaway from that contention is that one cannot rely on the appearance of a person as being reflective of his essence. That’s an important lesson, as it happens, for all of us, and to be imparted to our young. Honoring someone who looks honorable is fine, but trusting him requires more than that.

But there’s a broader, historical message in that image of a faux talmid chacham too.

From the 19th century Wissenschaft des Judentums movement to the Reform and Conservative ones to the Jewish nationalism that sought to replace Torah with a Jewish state to “Open Orthodoxy,” there have been many efforts to distort the essence of Judaism – dedication to the Creator and His laws for us.

They have all sought to don conceptual garb proclaiming their “Jewish” bona fides. But they have all been revealed to be no less masqueraders than the sar of Esav wrapped in a tallis.

Vayeitzei – The Purity Principle

Yaakov and Leah had their first (perhaps only) argument on the morning after the wedding feast. He had expected Rachel to join him in his abode that night but, unknown to him until morning’s light, “behold, it was Leah” (Beraishis 29:25).

Midrash Rabbah (ibid) recounts how our forefather exclaimed “Deceiver, daughter of deceiver! Did I not call out ‘Rachel’ and you answered me?”

Leah well parried the thrust: “Is there a barber without apprentices? Did your father not call out ‘Esav’ and you answered?”

Touché.

But the Torah isn’t a drama presentation. And the Torah doesn’t criticize either subterfuge. What are we to glean about our lives from that comeback? On the most simple level, I think it conveys something about how we – whether we are teachers, parents or just people (because all of us are examples to those around us) – convey less (if anything) with words than we do with our actions.

I learned that lesson well, if a bit embarrassingly, many years ago, when I was typing away on a keyboard and my four-year-old son sat down on the floor near my desk with a pegs-and-holes toy, which his imagination had apparently repurposed into a word processor (this was B.C. – Before Computers), and proceeded to imitate me.

It was very cute, and I smiled. Until, that is, his little sister crawled over and tugged at him. Showing annoyance, he turned to her and said, loudly and tersely, “Will you please stop? Can’t you see I’m working?” Yes, he was, as they say in the theater, inhabiting his character.

One of the answers to the Chanukah question of why the cohanim needed to find a sealed flask of oil despite the fact that tum’a hutra b’tzibbur – ritually defiled entities are permitted in many cases for public use – is attributed to the Kotzker Rebbe. He explained that that principle does not apply when a crucial, new era is being initiated, which was the case when the Chashmonaim rededicated the Bais Hamikdash. At so important a time, purity cannot be compromised.

The term for “initiation” is chinuch. And it is also used to mean “education.” When we educate others, especially the young, we do well to ensure that our actions are pure.

Toldos – The Aroma of a Mitzvah

When a pasuk seems superfluous, it’s probably significant.

As Rivka is about to advise her son Yaakov to impersonate his twin Esav and receive their father Yitzchak’s bracha, she adds, “So now, my son, heed my voice about that which I am commanding you” (Beraishis 27:8). What are those seemingly unnecessary words meant to convey?

Rav Yaakov Moshe Charlop, the Mei Marom, suggests something fascinating. He points out that Yitzchak, spiritually purified as he was after the Akeida, was exquisitely spiritually sensitive and able to discern that the food he was consuming carried the flavor of a mitzvah – here, an aroma of kibbud av va’eim, the honoring of parents.

Yitzchak had commanded Esav (but not Yaakov) to bring him victuals and so Rivka sought to ensure that what Yaakov brought his father would be spiritually redolent of that mitzvah. Otherwise Yitzchak would sense the lack of “mitzvah-ness” in the food, and know that the son before him was not Esav.

And so, Rivka’s statement to Yaakov that he heed her voice about “that which I am commanding you” imbued the food Yaakov prepared with that mitzvah-aroma. Yaakov’s physical disguise was thus complemented with a spiritual one – the fulfillment of a parent’s order.

I have a personal custom, when attending a bar or bas mitzvah celebration, of directing the father or mother of the newly “commanded” member of Klal Yisrael to ask him or her to pass the parent one of the condiments on the table. When the young person complies, I say, “A mitzvah d’Oraysa is fairly rare. You just fulfilled one.” And, mindful of the Mei Marom’s thought, I know that,even though the parent most likely can’t taste it, the aroma of a mitzvah resides in the food.

Rabbi Avi Shafran

Reflections on Jews, Judaism, Media and Life