Parashas Bo 5772

“Why did [G-d] bring [a plague of] darkness upon [the Egyptians]? Because there were Israelites in that generation who were wicked and didn’t want to leave [Egypt]. And they died during the three days of darkness so that the Egyptians wouldn’t see their downfall and say that even they (the Israelites) are being smitten like we are” (Rashi on Sh’mos 10:22). During the plague of darkness (or at least during its first three days), those who were unworthy of being redeemed (apparently because they didn’t want to be) died, and were buried by their brethren under the cover of darkness afforded by the plague. Which leads one to wonder how the survivors felt. Could they appreciate the miraculous plague G-d had performed for them while suffering such a massive loss themselves?

Rashi continues by describing how the cover of darkness provided by the plague also allowed the Children of Israel to discover which valuables their Egyptian neighbors owned, and where they were hidden. After burying their dead, were they really interested in researching what they could ask their Egyptian neighbors for when they are finally freed? Even if, as the commentators on Rashi explain, the wicked Israelites died during the first set of three days of darkness and the searching for valuables took place during the second set of three days (when the Egyptians not only couldn’t see, but couldn’t move), was the frame of mind of the survivors such that they could focus on remembering which vessels were hidden where? Although this would explain why Moshe would have had to plead with them to look for expensive items they could subsequently ask for (see Rashi on 11:2), since this request occurred immediately after Hashem told Moshe there would be one more plague (11:1), the plague of darkness must have already been over, as was the searching done during that plague.

The Mechilta (Introduction to Parashas B’shalach) says that when the wicked died during the plague of darkness, the survivors “gave thanks to G-d and praised Him because their enemies (the Egyptians) didn’t see [the wicked Israelites die] and rejoice in their downfall.” Rather than being upset that their brethren had died, the survivors were appreciative that the Egyptians didn’t notice. Apparently, the righteous Israelites somewhat expected, or at least were not surprised, that the wicked Israelites had perished, and the emotion they felt was happiness because of the way it occurred (and its timing). Why weren’t they upset about these deaths? Why did they expect it to happen?

Sh’mos Rabbah (14:3, see also Midrash Tanchuma, Va’era 14) delineates the wickedness of those who died: “For there were sinners among the Israelites who were appointed leaders by the Egyptians, and they had status, wealth and honor, and they didn’t want to leave. G-d said, ‘if I punish them publicly and they die, the Egyptians will say that just as He was upset at us, he was upset with them.’ Therefore, He brought three days of darkness upon the Egyptians so that [the Israelites] could bury their dead without their enemies seeing them, and they (the Israelites) will praise G-d for it.” Midrash HaGadol (Sh’mos 10:23) refers to the wicked who died during the plague of darkness as informers “who didn’t believe they would be redeemed and revealed the hidden things of the Israelites to the Egyptians.” If these wicked Israelites were collaborating with the Egyptians for their own personal benefit, we can understand why the righteous Israelites did not mourn their deaths and why they were not surprised that they were killed before the redemption came. (Even if only the collaborators died, most Egyptians would not have been aware of who was collaborating, and would not attribute their deaths to their having been traitors.)

Nevertheless, if 80% of the Israelite population died during the plague of darkness (see Rashi on Sh’mos 13:18), it would be difficult to imagine that there were that many collaborators, who all became wealthy and received honor, subjugating only the remaining 20% of the population. Another issue (raised by Rav Shimon Schwab, zt”l, at the beginning of Parashas B’shalach) is how the wicked dying and being buried during the plague of darkness helped keep the Egyptians in the dark (pardon the pun) about these deaths. After all, wouldn’t they notice, after the light was turned back on, that so many Israelites were missing?

Sefer Hayashar describes the wicked who died as people who “rebelled against G-d, did not listen to Moshe and Aharon, did not believe that G-d had sent them, and [who] said ‘we will not leave Egypt, lest we die of starvation in the desolate desert.” It is possible that the collaborators/informers were a subset of this group, and all of them would have done the same if given the opportunity. Therefore, when G-d smote the collaborators, he included all those who didn’t believe in the redemption, wouldn’t have left Egypt, and were willing to be traitors (even if they hadn’t actually been traitors). We still have to deal with how the Egyptians didn’t notice all those missing Israelites, and how the righteous Israelites knew that so many of their brethren, even those who had not been asked to be traitors, wouldn’t leave Egypt no matter what.

Rabbeinu Efrayim and Rokayach say explicitly that the plague of darkness took place in the month of Adar, the month before Nissan (when the exodus from Egypt occurred). This is implicit in the Midrashim and commentaries who say that G-d had to tell Moshe about the tenth plague while he was still in Pharaoh’s palace, despite its ritual impurity, because Pharaoh had told Moshe not to come see him any more (Sh’mos 10:29, see Rashi on 11:4); if the plague of darkness took place in Nissan, Moshe would have already known that the tenth plague was coming on the night of the 14th from the prophecy he related to the Children of Israel by Rosh Chodesh Nissan (12:1-12), and wouldn’t need an “emergency prophecy” while standing before Pharaoh. The conversations surrounding the first eight plagues may have made it clear where people stood (so it was not surprising who, or how many people, had died in the ninth plague). And with Egypt being “in ruins” (10:7), The Egyptians may have been too distracted to notice which Israelites, or how many, were no longer around (but would have noticed many funerals suddenly occurring).

Rabbeinu Bachye (10:5), working out the timing of the ten plagues, says that the plague of darkness started at the beginning of Nissan and lasted for a week, followed by a week respite before the tenth plague, which occurred on the 14th (at night, as it turned into the 15th). If the plague of darkness started after Moshe had told the Children of Israel about the imminent exodus--and what they needed to do to be worthy of it (circumcision, bringing an animal that the Egyptians worshipped as an offering to G-d)--it could become apparent rather quickly who really believed their redemption was at hand, and who wasn’t willing to leave.

Based on there having to be something for the locusts to eat (during the eighth plague) that hadn’t been destroyed by the hail (during the seventh plague), and the timing of when the grains that hadn’t sprouted (and were therefore spared from the hail) grew enough to be eaten by the locusts, Ramban (10:4-5) says that the plague of locusts must have occurred in Nissan, followed by the plague of darkness and the smiting of the first-born. Panim Yafos points out that this follows Rav Ashi’s opinion (B’rachos 4a), that Moshe said G-d will smite the first-born at this same time (midnight) tomorrow, meaning that he said it on the 13th of Nissan (as it turned into the 14th). If Moshe said this right after the plague of darkness ended, the ninth plague must have occurred on the 11th, 12th, and 13th of Nissan (there are several Midrashim and commentaries who say the plague of darkness only lasted three days, not six). Since the animals to be offered on the 14th were tied to the bedposts on the 10th (see 12:3), and the “chaburos” (groups) who shared an animal were arranged then, it would be quite obvious who was planning to leave Egypt with Moshe and who wasn’t--who was part of the Nation of Israel and who had assimilated into Egyptian culture. Sides had been chosen, with some pledging their loyalty to Moshe and Aharon and others siding with those who had collaborated with the Egyptians. It was therefore not surprising when G-d removed these wicked Israelites from the scene; it might have even been a relief that they would not be able to get in the way when the time came to leave Egypt. And since the Exodus occurred just a day later, the Egyptians never had a chance to notice that any Israelites had died; for all they knew, everyone had left with Moshe.
 

Parashas Vaera 5772

 “And the frog came up and covered the Land of Egypt” (Sh’mos 8:2). Obviously, there had to be more than just one frog for it to cover the entire country. And, except for this verse, they are always referred to as “frogs” (plural). From the time Pharaoh was warned (7:27 and 7:29), including the commandment for the plague to begin (8:1) and Pharaoh asking Moshe to remove them (8:4, see also 8:5 and 8:8), until they died (8:9) the second plague was one of “frogs.” It is only when the plague actually started that the singular form is used. Although on a “p’shat” level the commentators (including Rashi) point out that a species of animal can be, and is, described in the singular form even when the subject matter is more than one member of the species (see B’raishis 32:6, Sh’mos 8:13 and Bamidbar 21:7), since in our narrative the plural form is used every time but one, a different explanation is given on a “d’rash” level: There was originally just one frog, even though many frogs partook in the plague. I would like to take a closer look at the various versions of this “d’rash,” with an eye towards understanding why Rashi, who wrote, “there was one frog, and they hit it, and it spurted out swarms and swarms,” chose this version.

 The Talmud (Sanhedrin 67b) starts by quoting Rabbi Elazer, who says the plague started with one frog which subsequently gave birth to many frogs, and these offspring “filled all of the Land of Egypt.” It then segues into a dispute between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya: Rabbi Akiva said the same thing as his student, Rabbi Elazar (see Yevamos 62b and Rashi on Shabbos 19b d”h Rabbi Elazar; there is a word used by Rabbi Elazar that is not included in the quote of Rabbi Akiva that appears in our edition of the Talmud, but this “missing” word does appear in Talmudic manuscripts as well as in Yalkut Shimoni and Midrash Seichel Tov, which seem to be a direct quote of the Talmud, as well as in Sh‘mos Rabbah 10:4). More precisely, Rabbi Elazar was quoting his teacher, Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya responds to his colleague by saying, “Akiva, why are you getting involved in Agadic passages (passages not pertaining to Jewish law)? Refrain from saying such things and stick to ‘Nega’im’ and ‘Ohalos’ (complex topics of Jewish law)! There was one frog that croaked to them (the other frogs) and they came.” According to both Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya, the plague started with just one frog; Rabbi Elazar be Azarya rejects Rabbi Akiva’s approach (and apparently his ability to “darshen” verses as well, see Sanhedrin 38b) and suggests his own. Rashi seems more similar to Rabbi Akiva (with the frogs that swarmed Egypt coming from the initial frog rather than being called by it), although there is no mention in the Talmud of the frog being hit. Nor is there any hint in Rashi about Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s objection, or a response to it.

 Midrash HaGadol is similar to the Talmud, with some notable differences. First of all, instead of the opening statement being made by Rabbi Elazar, it is made by Rabbi Eliezer. This may be a misprint (with a “yud” added inadvertently or mistakenly along the way), but if it’s not, the opening statement was made by one of Rabbi Akiva’s teachers (see Pesachim 69a), rather than by one of his students, and the dispute quoted after his statement would be a dispute about how to understand his words rather than an original dispute. It is also theoretically possible that Rabbi Eliezer made a statement, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya argued about what he meant, and Rabbi Elazar (Rabbi Akiva’s student) followed his teacher’s opinion.

The wording of the opening statement is a bit different too, with the word “hishritza” (which implies “giving birth to”) omitted, providing enough ambiguity to allow for a disagreement regarding whether the first frog gave birth to all the others or enlisted them. Interestingly, the word “hishritza” doesn’t appear in Midrash Lekach Tov either, with the statement (the only approach given in this Midrash) being from Rabbi Elai, who might be quoting his teacher, Rabbi Eliezer (see Succah 27b). (The other difference between the Talmud and Midrash HaGadol is that the latter brings a third opinion, the Rabanan, who also say the one frog enlisted the other frogs, but say it did so by the Nile before they all swarmed [the inhabited cities of] Egypt together rather than the one frog entering Egypt [proper] and then calling the others.)

 Tanna D’Vey Eliyahu (7) asks explicitly how the verse that uses the singular form of “frog” can be reconciled with the verse(s) that use(s) the plural form. First it quotes Rabbi Akiva as saying that there was originally one frog which the Egyptians hit, causing frogs to fall out of it until it filled the whole country. The second opinion quoted is Rabbi Eliezer HaModai, who told Rabbi Akiva to leave Agada alone and stick with “Nega’im” and “Ohalos,” before describing how frogs call to one another to tell them that the coast is clear (i.e. not to be afraid of birds who might otherwise eat them). Rashi seems to be quoting Rabbi Akiva, albeit not by name. Based on Rashi’s explanation of Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s response to Rabbi Akivah (Sanhedrin 67b and Chagiga 14a), it would seem that Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya (and/or Rabbi Eliezer HaModai) was saying that Rabbi Akiva is so sharp, he can dissect nuances so well, that he is prone to reading things into a “d’rasha” when there is no need to probe so deeply. When it comes to understanding/explaining complicated and complex topics such as when and where ritual impurity applies and how it is removed, the ability to drill down so deeply is necessary. However, when it comes to reading between the lines of the Biblical text based on textual nuances, Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya thought it was overkill. After all, why say that one frog gave birth to all the other frogs if frogs communicate with each other, and the one frog could have simply called the other frogs to join it. The question is why Rashi chose Rabbi Akiva’s approach over Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s.

Midrash Tanchuma (14) also tries to reconcile the verse that uses the singular “frog” with those that use the plural “frogs,” but only quotes Rabbi Akiva’s approach, that “the Egyptians hit it and it spurt out many frogs.” It seems rather obvious from the wording that this was Rashi’s source, the question is why. The question is also why add, or include, that the Egyptians hit the frog, rather than just leaving it as the one frog giving birth to all the others.

Rabbi Akiva’s approach, that the first frog gave birth to the other frogs, is the most widely quoted opinion (although the birthing process being helped by the Egyptians hitting the frog is not always mentioned), and Midrash Tanchuma’s version contains no other opinions, making it the cleanest, most straightforward version to quote. It also seems that those who argue with Rabbi Akiva aren’t arguing in a vacuum, but about what Rabbi Eliezer meant when he said the second plague started with one frog and then became many frogs, whether he meant it gave birth to them all or called them all. Why would the one frog call the others? Perhaps because it was being attacked, and was calling for help. Otherwise why would G-d initially send one frog to call the others rather than just sending many frogs right away? (This is true according to Rabbi Akiva as well, as G-d could have sent many frogs rather than just one that gave birth to all the others.) G-d apparently wanted to include the irony of the Egyptians making it worse for themselves in their suffering. If so, the disagreement between Rabbi Akivah and Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya was not about whether the Egyptians hit the frog, only about what happened after they hit it. Although Rabbi Elazar chose Rabbi Akiva’s opinion over Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s, being Rabbi Akiva’s student could taint that preference (see Shabbos 39b). Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s approach seems much more natural; one frog attacked Egyptians, they fought back, and it called in the reserves. Why didn’t Rashi go with Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya’s approach, or at least quote both?

If the one frog called the other frogs after it was attacked, it was a one-time thing--the frog asked for help when it was being hit and the other frogs came. Even if by bringing the one frog first G-d got the Egyptians to bring the harshness of the plague upon themselves, having them do so repeatedly is much more delicious. The angrier they got, the more they hit the frog, the more frogs spurted out (see Birkas Peretz), and the more aggravating and frustrating it must have been for Israel’s oppressors. It is therefore possible that Rashi went with Rabbi Akiva’s approach, including the Egyptians hitting the frog, because it more completely explained why G-d started the plague with just one frog.

 

Parashas Shemos 5772

 “And she (Yocheved) wasn’t able to hide him (her newborn) any longer” (Sh’mos 2:3).Why wasn’t she able to hide him any longer? “Because the Egyptians counted from when [Amram] remarried her, and she gave birth after six months and a day, and they checked on her after nine months” (Rashi). Since Moshe was born almost three months prematurely, the Egyptian enforcers making sure all male infants were thrown into the Nile didn’t know he was born yet. Before they came looking for him, Yocheved put him in a box and placed it in a body of water. Although Midrash HaGadol and Targum Yonasan give a similar explanation for the three months Yocheved was able to hide her baby, the Talmud (Soteh 12a) says she was pregnant before her three-month separation from Amram, and the Egyptians counted from when they remarried. Either way, Moshe was born three months before the Egyptians checked to see if Yocheved had given birth. In other words, the decree that “all sons that are born are to be thrown into the Nile (Sh’mos 1:22) was still in affect three months after Moshe was born. However, Rashi (1:22), this time quoting the Talmud (ibid), had told us that Pharaoh’s astrologers knew which day Moshe (“the savior of Israel”) was born. If they knew Israel’s savior had been born three months earlier, why would they still be searching for newborns to drown in the river? 

 It should be noted that according to Sh’mos Rabbah (1:18), the Egyptian astrologers “saw” when Yocheved became pregnant with Israel’s savior, and the decree to throw all newborn sons into the Nile was issued and in affect for the next nine months. If the astrologers didn’t know when Moshe was actually born, his premature birth would not affect the length of the decree; it was issued for nine months from his conception, and the Egyptians didn’t check on Yocheved until nine months after she got remarried. However, the Talmud (and Rashi) say there were three stages to Pharaoh’s decree, with the third stage, when even Egyptian newborn were thrown into the Nile, enacted because his astrologers said that Israel’s savior had been born on that day. If they knew he had been born on the 7th of Adar, why was the decree to throw newborn sons into the Nile still in affect three months later, on the 6th of Sivan?

 The Egyptians had two separate concerns. They were disgusted by the population growth of the Children of Israel (1:12) and afraid of its consequences (1:9-10), and were worried about their savior. Chizkuni points out that even though throwing anyone into the Nile after Moshe was already born wouldn’t help the latter concern, maintaining the decree would still curb population growth, and was therefore kept intact even after Israel’s savior was born. However, the Talmud also says (Soteh 12b) that the decree was halted after Yocheved put Moshe into the water, as the astrologers “saw” that he was already in the water. Obviously, the decree was maintained to try to eliminate the child that would grow up to be Israel’s savior, and was therefore kept in force until they knew he was already thrown into the water, when it became unnecessary and was therefore cancelled. Rashi, in his commentary on Soteh 12a, says explicitly that because the astrologers “saw” that he wasn’t smitten yet, “the decree was maintained until he was thrown into the water.” The question remains, though, why the Egyptians would need to seek out those who had just been born rather than only trying to find previously-born children who had not been tossed into the Nile. It is possible that only Pharaoh’s inner circle knew all the details, including that Israel’s savior had already been born. Rather than making those enforcing the decree distinguish between those born this week and those born last week (the week after Moshe was born), and then extending the exemption to those born within the last two weeks (then the last month, then two months, and then three months), the instructions from Pharaoh’s palace stayed the same even after Moshe was born, rescinded only after they “saw” that he was in the water.

 Rambam, in his “Letter Regarding Astrology,” dismisses the possibility that astrologers can reliably predict the future. His primary reasons for dismissing astrology were that the science was bad and that free will can change things, making any prediction (even if the science worked) dependant on any choices made through free will not affecting the outcome that had been set in nature (see http://rabbidmk.posterous.com/rambam-on-mazal-1 ). Obviously, Rambam couldn’t have known for sure that the astrological science used in ancient Egypt was the exact same science people in his generation were relying on. He wrote his letter in order to discourage the people of Lunil from following the astrology of their time; it wouldn’t matter if the science Pharaoh relied on was any better, since the science relied on by the people Rambam was addressing  was bad. Nevertheless, Rambam did tell them that even if it seems that some sages in the Talmud believed in astrology (not that it was permitted, but that it worked), it was only a minority opinion. This implies that the astrology discussed in the Talmud (at least according Rambam’s understanding) was the same as it was in Rambam’s time, as otherwise he could have said that the Talmudic sages were not referring to the same astrology used in Lunil at the time. [Although it is possible Rambam felt he could more effectively dissuade the people of Lunil from using astrology by dismissing it entirely rather than differentiating between the astrology discussed in the Talmud and the astrology used in Lunil in the 11th century.]

 Either way, astrology could never be relied on, even if it was accurate, because free will could change the outcome of what the stars indicated, especially if G-d decided to override nature (such as when Avraham had children despite the stars indicating that he couldn’t, see Rashi on B’raishis 15:5). When it comes to explaining the narrative surrounding Moshe’s birth, how accurate astrology was is sort of beside-the-point, as they believed it was accurate, and acted based on what they thought to be true. This is so whether the science was bad or not, since they themselves trusted the science. Nevertheless. if there was absolutely nothing to it, this discussion doesn’t start, as the Egyptians couldn’t have known when Israel’s savior was either conceived or born. The Talmud saying that the astrologers knew when Yocheved put Moshe in the water does indicate that our actions change what can be seen in the stars, which runs counter to Rambam’s premise (and why he must say it is a minority opinion).

 Sh’mos Rabbah (1:22) also equates Yocheved putting her son in the water with tricking the astrologers, with a slight nuance that can make a huge difference: Rather than the astrologers actually being fooled because Moshe was in the water, Yocheved put him in the water in order to fool them. Were they fooled? If they could see changes in the stars, they could have been. If, however, all astrology can show is the starting point, what would happen if there is no intervention (either divine intervention, from G-d, or intervention via the divine part within us, the soul, manifested through free will), then the astrologers wouldn’t be able to see that Moshe was in the water, even if Yocheved thought they would. This is consistent with the astrologers “seeing” when Moshe was born by knowing when Yocheved was supposed to become pregnant and adding nine months, rather than “seeing” when he was actually born. [This only works if Moshe was born prematurely, but not if Yocheved became pregnant before she separated from Amram. If Rashi’s words (1:22) can be understood inexactly (“should have been born” rather than “was born”), it would explain why Rashi (2:3) said he was born prematurely even though the Talmud says Yocheved was pregnant earlier (see Mizrachi and Tosfos Rid). When explaining the Talmud, Rashi is limited to its perspective that astrologers can see changes; when explaining the verses, he can do so in a way that is consistent with Sh’mos Rabbah.]

 If astrologers could see what would happen if nothing was tweaked, the Egyptians could have assumed (especially if most people do not exercise their free will and G-d rarely intervenes in the natural world) that Israel’s savior would be born nine months after his mother conceived. This would be the day that Pharaoh had the Egyptian newborn sons also thrown into the Nile. Rather than knowing when Moshe was born, they would “know” when he was supposed to be born. If G-d circumvented what the stars indicated by causing Moshe to be born three months earlier, giving his mother the chance to hide him before the Egyptians looked for him, we can understand why Pharaoh decreed that Egyptian babies should be thrown into the Nile three months after Moshe was actually born; they thought they knew when he was born, based on the stars telling them when he was supposed to be born.
 

Parashas Vayechi 5772

“And Yisrael (a.k.a. Yaakov) saw Yosef’s sons and said, ‘who are these?’ And Yosef said to his father, ‘they are my sons, whom G-d gave me with this” (B’raishis 48:8-9). What was the “this” that Yosef referred to? The “sh’tar eirusin” and “kesubah,” the legal documents through which Yosef married his wife (Rashi, based on Maseches Kallah Rabasi 3); Yosef was showing his father that he was legally married to his wife, and that his sons were therefore legitimate. Tzaidah LaDerech (a commentary on Rashi) explains that Yaakov was concerned that Yosef didn’t really want to marry his wife, Usnas, but was given no choice by Pharaoh (see B’raishis 41:45), so never formalized the relationship into a full marriage, keeping her as a pilegesh (concubine) instead. (Whether Yaakov thought this was why the divine presence left him when he wanted to bless Yosef’s sons or Yosef thought this was what his father thought is irrelevant; either way Yosef produced the documentation of his full marriage to alleviate this concern. Since it was a full marriage, and this couldn’t have been the reason why the divine presence had left, Yosef had to plead for mercy so that the divine presence would return.)

According to Jewish law, in order for a document to be legal, it has to be signed by valid, kosher witnesses. When Yosef got married, the Children of Israel were all still in Canaan; where could he find any kosher witnesses in Egypt to sign his marriage contract(s)? Without witnesses, the documents weren’t legal, and, according to Jewish law, Usnas would not have been Yosef’s wife. How did Yosef produce valid marriage documents to show his father if there were no witnesses who could sign them?

Midrash HaGadol says that Yosef produced “a kesubah and marriage document of the time.” In other words, they may not have been documents that would be accepted by Jewish courts after the Torah was given, but were the official documentation used in ancient Egypt for marriages (see Torah Sh’laimah 48:65), and therefore proved to Yaakov that Usnas was Yosef’s full, legal, wife rather than just his pilegesh.

Maskil L’Dovid (Rabbi Dovid Pardo’s commentary on Rashi) suggests that when there was no other option, G-d fearing, righteous individuals could be used as witnesses, even if they were not descendants of Yaakov and therefore did not qualify as “Children of Israel.” He mentions the possibility that Yisro and Iyov, who were Egyptian advisors and were righteous, may have been those witnesses. [Although according to some Iyov married Dina, Yaakov’s daughter (see B’raishis Rabbah 57:4), and one of Iyov’s close friends was Yosef’s cousin, Elifaz (see http://www.aishdas.org/ta/5769/vayeitzei.pdf, pg. 2), so could have been at Yosef’s wedding, Yisro would have had to live for hundreds of years if he was a witness when Yosef got married and gave advise to Moshe after the Exodus from Egypt.]

Rabbi Yitzchok Sorotzkin, sh’lita (Rinas Yitzchok II) raises the possibility that Yosef used converts as witnesses, an idea Chasam Sofer (Toras Moshe) says is “certainly” true. Rabbi Sorotzkin acknowledges that the conversions couldn’t have been done in the exact same way conversions were done after the Torah was given (as there was no Jewish court in Egypt), but says that before the Torah was given there had to have been a different conversion process, as otherwise how could “Avraham convert the men and Sarah convert the women” (see Rashi on B‘raishis 12:5). (Rabbi Sorotzkin deals with the specifics of pre-Matan Torah conversions in G’vuros Yitzchok, B’raishis 51.)

That Yosef was proactive in trying to help others get closer to G-d is clear, as one of the conditions Yosef set in order to buy grain from the Egyptian government during the famine was to become circumcised (see Rashi on 41:55, see also http://www.aishdas.org/ta/5765/vayigash.pdf ). If the witnesses on his marriage documents were converts, he would have had to have converted them before he got married, which was right after he was appointed viceroy. The implication is that Yosef must have been converting people while he was in prison, and likely even before he was imprisoned. This would explain why Pharaoh gave him Usnas as a wife; even if she wasn’t Dina’s daughter (see Pirkay D’Rebbe Eliezer 38), if she had converted to Yosef’s religion, she would be an appropriate wife. It would also make sense that Iyov had joined this group of converts, and was therefore allowed to marry Dina (see B’raishis Rabbah 57:4, where there is a discussion about whether Iyov was a “Yisraeli” or not).

There are other implications of there being a community of converts in Egypt at the time. First of all, when Yosef tells the brothers that he “fears G-d” (42:18), it would be his way of informing them that he was a member of that community. Yosef didn’t eat with the other Egyptians (43:32) because he was a member of a group that ate meat; since the brothers already knew that he “feared G-d” and was part of that group, this didn’t surprise them. The very fact that “Egyptians couldn’t eat with Hebrews” implies that there was already a group of Hebrews they couldn’t/didn’t eat with, even before the brothers arrived in Egypt.

When Yosef instructed his staff to prepare a royal feast for his brothers, it including serving them meat (43:16) and showing them that it was slaughtered (Chulin 91a). Numerous commentators ask how the brothers could have eaten the meat, since kosher slaughtering can only be done by a member of the Children of Israel. Rav Sorotzkin discusses this as well (in Rinas Yitzchok I and II), without coming to a resolution. If the brothers knew that the “shochet” (the one who slaughters the animal) was a convert, we can understand how they could have eaten the meat.

Last week I discussed how Yehudah could tell the Egyptian viceroy that since according to Torah law a thief only becomes a servant if he can’t pay what he owes, and Binyamin could make such a payment, Binyamin couldn’t be kept as a slave (see B’raishis Rabbah 93:6). Did Yehudah really expect the Egyptian viceroy to follow Torah law instead of Egyptian law? Well, if the viceroy presented himself as a member of a community of converts who followed Torah law, telling him that he was going against Torah law would be a very powerful argument.

 

Parashas Vayigash 5772

The viceroy’s goblet was found in Binyamin’s bag, so the brothers must return to Egypt to face him as adversaries once again (B’raishis 44:14). The punishment discussed went from the thief being executed and everyone else becoming prisoner-slaves (44:09, before they knew where the goblet was, when they assumed they didn’t have it), with the viceroy’s emissary saying that only the thief will be a prisoner-slave while everyone else goes free (44:10), to everybody becoming prisoner-slaves (44:16), with the viceroy maintaining his emissary’s position that only the thief would be his prisoner-slave. This was unacceptable to the brothers (as they realized that this was a punishment from G-d for having sold Yosef into slavery and Binyamin was the only one who was not part of that), so Yehudah approaches the viceroy (44:18) to try to somehow convince him to allow Binyamin to return home (44:34).

Among the arguments put forth by Yehudah (B’raishis Rabbah 93:6) is that the viceroy’s punishment is inconsistent with the customs and laws of the Children of Israel. Although it is true that a thief can become a servant (Sh’mos 22:2), it is only true if he can’t pay back what was stolen and an equal amount in punitive damages. If the thief can pay back what is owed (double the value of what was stolen), he does not become a servant. (There is no mention of the fact that the thief does not necessarily become the servant of the person whom he stole from, nor is there any mention that the thief does not become a slave, but a temporary servant-worker. Nevertheless, since Binyamin and his family could pay whatever was owed, these details becomes insignificant.) However, the notion that the viceroy of Egypt would give up his claim to Binyamin based on Torah law seems rather farfetched. Why would the Egyptian viceroy set aside the laws of his own country because of a claim that it was inconsistent with the defendant’s local laws? The viceroy could do whatever he wanted; did Yehudah really expect him to back off once he found out he was violating Torah law?

When the brothers initially said that the thief should be put to death (44:9), Or Hachayim explained that it was based on Noachide law. Violating a Noachide law is a capital offense, and since the prohibition against stealing is one of the seven Noachide laws, this was the punishment the brothers mentioned when they were accused of stealing the goblet. Rabbi Eli Steinberg, sh’lita (Minchas Eliyahu) suggests that the rejection of this punishment by the viceroy indicated that he would not treat them as Noachides, but as Israelites. Therefore, Yehudah responded that according to their laws a thief does not become a servant if he can pay what he owes. However, the Noachide laws are also part of the laws of the Israelites, i.e. the section that applies to those that are not a part of the Israelite nation. Why would the Egyptian viceroy care what a foreign set of laws says? The rejection of using capital punishment was not based on treating the brothers as Israelites instead of Noachides, but because that wasn’t the law in Egypt. Why would Yehudah think the Egyptian viceroy would follow Torah law rather than Egyptian law?

Tanchuma Yoshon (Vayigash 5) expands Yehudah’s argument by having it include Torah law without limiting it to only Torah law. After referencing the viceroy’s previous statement that he “fears G-d” (42:18), Yehudah said it’s not true, as he is not following either Egyptian law or Torah law: “According to G-d’s law a thief pays double and is sold for his theft [only] if he doesn’t have [enough to pay]; according to the laws of the government, all of his (the thief’s) things are taken.” Yehudah was not arguing that the Egyptian viceroy has to follow Torah law, just stating that it would be acceptable if he did, as would following the normal governmental law. The problem, Yehudah argued, was that neither was being followed. However, in B’raishis Rabbah only Torah law is referenced. If Rabbi Si’mon (who made the statement in B’raishis Rabbah) meant that Yehudah was saying that keeping Binyamin as a slave was inconsistent with every system of law (and not just inconsistent with Torah law), we would have expected him to mention those other systems of law as well. By mentioning only “our law,” the implication is that Yehudah expected the Egyptian viceroy to follow it. The questions remains, though, why he would.

Neizer HaKodesh (a commentary on Midrash Rabbah; this particular comment is quoted by Eitz Yosef) suggests that Yehudah never phrased it as “our law;” it was only Rav Si’mon who put it that way. Yehudah’s intent was that this was the standard law, and therefore expected the viceroy to follow it. I’m not sure why it would be assumed that most law systems were/are similar to ours, especially when it comes to the consequences of not being able to pay for what was stolen. Midrash Tanchuma says explicitly that Torah law was not the same as governmental law; since it is not obvious that Egypt followed “our laws,” Rabbi Si’mon would not have worded his statement in a way that could be misunderstood to mean only Torah law.

The viceroy mentioning that he “feared G-d” does not indicate that he followed G-d’s laws, especially if they were different than Egypt’s laws; it would be very problematic (for Egypt) if its second-in-command disregarded the laws of the land. Rather, the viceroy was explaining why he retracted his original demand that all the brothers but one stay in Egypt (42:16); he feared that G-d would punish him for allowing their elderly father (etc.) starve to death (see Radak and S’fornu). Therefore, he let all of them go back, with food, keeping one brother as collateral to make sure that they returned with their youngest brother (42:19-20). Even though the viceroy expressed his “fear of G-d,” there is no implication in this exchange that he followed G-d’s law--especially if it was not the same as Egyptian law. Nevertheless, as I discussed last week, the viceroy’s instructions regarding the preparation of the feast (43:16) included making sure it was kosher (and that the brothers knew it was kosher), and did not violate the Sabbath (see Chulim 91a, B’raishis Rabbah 92:4 and Midrash Agadah). It is possible that this display of sensitivity towards their religious needs led Yehudah to believe that the viceroy might change his mind about how to punish Binyamin as well. Not that he expected him to, but that it was worth a try. However, there is a big difference between being sensitive to the religious needs of others and disregarding the local civil laws in favor of a belief system’s civil laws. (This whole discussion does indicate that the notion that our forefathers kept the Torah even before it was given is not limited to their relationship with G-d, but extended to how they dealt with other people as well.) It seems a bit awkward that Yehudah should even suggest to the Egyptian viceroy that he disregard his own law and follow theirs instead.

 Until now I have written from the perspective that it was Yehudah who brought up the fact that according to Torah law Binyamin should be allowed to go free (provided he pays for what he was accused of stealing). Perhaps, though, the Midrash is picking up the conversation in the middle. There was a back-and-forth between the brothers regarding what the punishment for stealing the goblet should be, and the Midrash is trying to tell us what happened “between the lines.” It is therefore possible that just as the viceroy communicated to them that their meal was 100% kosher, when he insisted that Binyamin become his slave he drew a comparison to their laws as well. “Don’t tell me it’s so outlandish that your brother will become my slave because he stole my goblet, for even your laws include a similar provision that a thief becomes a servant.” It was to this argument that Yehudah responded that “ours laws only have that provision when the thief cannot make retribution for what he stole; in this case we can pay for it, so he should go free.” Torah law couldn’t be used to justify keeping Binyamin in Egypt, and Yehudah made sure the viceroy knew it.

 

 

Chanukah 5772

 Although the holiday of Chanukah is Rabbinic in origin (the events it commemorates occurred during the Second Temple, well after Tanach was canonized, and certainly well after Moshe died), there are several hints to it in the Torah. I can vividly recall my father, sh’lita, excitedly sharing with me his discovery that the 25th (the numerical value of “kuh”) encampment (“chanu,” they camped) of the Children of Israel in the desert was at “Chashmonah” (Bamidbar 33:29), the same name (“Chashmona’im”) used to describe the heroes of the Chanukah story. (Chanukah starts on the 25th of Kislev.) Similarly (although not as blatant), the 25th word in the Torah is “Or,” light (B’raishis 1:3; see Midrash Y’lamdeinu, quoted by Yalkut Shimoni 47, which calls this a “chanukah,” a dedication).

 The Menorah, the seven-branched candelabrum at the center of the Chanukah miracle, when its lights burned for eight days despite having only enough oil for one day, is discussed in the Torah five times; three if you exclude the commandment to make it and the narrative when it was made. The first time (Sh’mos 27:20-21), it isn’t mentioned by name, even though its oil is discussed, as are some of the details of lighting it. These verses are mirrored, almost word for word, in Vayikra (24:2-3), followed by a third verse (24:4) mentioning that this lighting is done atop the Menorah. This paragraph is taught immediately after a description of the Biblical holidays (23:1-43), hinting to us about another holiday, one where the Menorah is front and center.

 The third time the Menorah is discussed (Bamidbar 8:1-4), there also seems to be no connection to the subject matter either right before or right after it, and what was taught could have been incorporated into the other mentions. The Ramban (8:2), quoting and explaining Midrashic sources, explains why Aharon lighting the Menorah follows the gifts brought by the Nesi’im (Heads of Tribe) at the dedication of the Mishkan: “For when Aharon saw the dedication (“chanukah”) of the Nesi’im, he was disappointed that neither he nor his Tribe were included in the dedication (“chanukah”). [This part is a quote of the edition of Rashi that Ramban had; the next part is Ramban quoting Rabbeinu Nissim, who quoted a Midrash.] G-d said to Moshe, ‘speak to Aharon and tell him that there will be another dedication (“chanukah”), one that has a lighting of the flames (the Menorah); I (G-d) will do for Israel, through your sons, miracles and a salvation and a dedication (“chanukah”) that will be associated with them--the dedication of the Chashmona’im (who were Kohanim, descendents of Aharon). And therefore this paragraph (about Aharon lighting the Menorah) is next to the dedication of the [Mishkan].” In other words, the commandments relating to Aharon lighting the Menorah were taught immediately after the Nesi’im brought their dedication offerings because of the role Aharon’s descendants would have in the miracle of Chanukah.

 Another hint to Chanukah appears in this week’s Parasha, read on Shabbos Chanukah. After Binyamin joins his brothers to return to Egypt to buy food, they are invited to a royal feast at Yosef’s house (B’raishis 43:16). The instructions Yosef gives the executive in charge of his house are to “slaughter that which is slaughtered and prepare it.” The last word of that expression (“v’hachain”), along with the last letter of the word immediately preceding it (“tevach”) are the same letters as the word “Chanukah.” Elya Rabbah 670:10 says that the word “chanukah” is embedded in Yosef’s instructions to prepare a feast to promote having a festive meal on Chanukah, even though it is not officially part of the celebration (as opposed to Purim, the other Rabbinical holiday, where a festive meal is). The connection of the other hints to Chanukah is rather obvious; “chanu chaf hay,” i.e. their 25th encampment being in Chashmonah, “light” being the 25th word in the Torah for the “Festival of Lights,” the Menorah being taught right after teaching us about the holidays and the dedication facilitated by Aharon’s descendents being used as a consolation for his not participating in the Mishkan’s dedication all fit the context of what the Torah is teaching. However, what connection is there between Yosef’s instructions regarding the meal for his brothers and the message of Chanukah? Is the “hint within a hint” to have a festive meal even though it’s not required, and giving us this hint on Shabbos Chanukah, the connection between the two, or is there more to it?

 The Talmud (Chulin 91a) tells us that Yosef’s instructions had a specific intent. “Slaughter that which is slaughtered” meant not just to slaughter the animal properly, but to “reveal the area where it was slaughtered,” so that his brothers could verify that they could eat it. “Preparing it” meant to remove the “gid ha’nasheh,” the sciatic nerve, which is off-limits to the Children of Israel (see B’raishis 32:33). The instructions were also meant to convey other aspects of the meal’s preparation (see Midrash Aggadah, which explains how each letter of “v’hachein” represents laws of preparing meat properly); B’raishis Rabbah (92:4) is among the Midrashim which say that this meal was eaten on the Sabbath, with Yosef giving instructions to make sure the meal was prepared before Shabbos started so that no prohibitions would be violated. The bottom line is that embedded in Yosef’s instructions to “slaughter” the animals and “prepare” them properly was the message that despite all those years in Egypt, including being part of Egyptian royalty, he hadn’t abandoned his religion and didn’t become assimilated into Egyptian culture; he still kept kosher, the Sabbath and the other laws that were unique to his family. Is there a more appropriate place to embed a hint to Chanukah, when we resisted becoming Hellenized, than in the words indicating that Yosef remained true to his heritage? Our refusal to be assimilated into Greek culture or to abandon our laws, customs and traditions very much mirrors Yosef retaining his religious identity despite his years, and involvement, in Egypt, setting the tone that gave us the strength to resist Hellenization. A hint to this parallel is therefore contained in the Torah reading of Shabbos Chanukah.

 

 

Parashas Vayeishev 5772

Parashas Vayeishev deals with Yosef being brought down to Egypt, and what happened to him there. This narrative is interrupted by Yehuda’s family issues; getting married, having children, his oldest two children dying, and then having two more children with his former daughter-in-law, Tamar. One of the twins born to Tamar, Peretz, had two sons of his own, who are included in the “70 souls” that went down to Egypt with Yaakov (B’raishis 46:12). Since Tamar had been married to Yehuda’s oldest sons, her sons were the age Yehuda’s grandsons could have been; Yehuda’s narrative therefore spans the equivalent of four generations (Yehuda, what could have been Yehuda’s sons, the sons who could have Yehuda’s grandsons, and his grandsons, who could have been his great-grandsons). Being that only 22 years elapsed between the time of Yosef’s sale and when Yaakov moved to Egypt (Yosef was 17 when he was sold, see 37:2, was 30 when he appeared before Pharaoh, see 41:46, and Yaakov moved after the seven “years of plenty” and two years of famine; 30-17=13, 13+7+2=22), there was not much time for Yehuda’s family tree to produce three generations. Numerous commentators have raised this issue; I have come across three basic approaches.

Ibn Ezra (38:1, see also Ralbag) expands the time frame by positing that Yehuda got married before Yosef was sold, even though the verse says that he got married “at that time,” i.e. when Yosef was sold. He brings another case where a verse implies one time frame when it must mean another, adding that we don’t find anyone under 12 who fathers children. Since the Yehuda narrative starts with his getting married and ends with his fathering children with his former daughter-in-law, children that could have been the same age as his grandchildren, Yehuda’s narrative must expand beyond its placement in the Yosef narrative, overlapping with it for many years. It is therefore not that difficult to suggest that the overlap was on both ends of the narrative, rather than only on the back end (see Ralbag). If a father must be at least 12 years old, each of Yehuda’s son had to be 12 when they either married Tamar or when she thought they should marry her (12+3, figuring a year for each pregnancy/birth); add another three pregnancies/births (Peretz and each of his two sons) and the 12 years of Peretz before he could father a child (12+3), and we have 30 years (12+3+3+12). Since Yehuda was, at most, four years older than Yosef (Yosef was born at he end of the 2nd set of seven years that Yaakov worked for Lavan, see 30:25, while Yehuda was Leah’s fourth son, all of whom were born after the 2nd set of seven years started), he was no older than 21 at the time of the sale (17+4=21). Therefore, Yehuda himself must have gotten married when he was 12-14 years old (he was 43 when they moved to Egypt, four years older than the 39 year-old Yosef; 43-30=13). Did all of Yaakov’s sons get married that early? Did they leave their wives and young children (Yehuda had three) in Chevron when they went to Shechem with Yaakov’s sheep? Did their families go with them to Shechem (and then Dosan)? Were the women and children oblivious to Yosef’s arrival and then disappearance?

Another issue raised if Yehuda’s narrative starts before Yosef was sold is why it was told here. If Yehuda left Chevron to start his own family after seeing how devastating Yosef’s sale was to Yaakov, we can understand why his narrative starts where it does. But if he had started his family years earlier, why was Yosef’s narrative interrupted at this point? Even if the words “at that time” refer to the two narratives overlapping, shouldn’t Yehuda’s narrative have been told before Yosef’s dreams? (Based on Ibn Ezra’s requirements, Yehuda was already married with children by then.) Several connections/contrasts with Yosef’s narrative are mentioned by the commentators, including Yosef’s coat being dipped in the blood of a goat (37:31) and Yehuda owing Tamar a goat (38:17), Yehuda telling his father to “identify” Yosef’s coat (37:32) and Tamar telling Yehuda to “identify” his signet, robe and staff (38:25), and Potifar’s wife enticing Yosef and Tamar enticing Yehuda, connections that are more obvious if Yehuda’s narrative is inserted right after or right before the contrasting points in Yosef’s narrative. The most famous answer to this issue, however, is found in many Midrashim, quoted by Rashi; we are told of Yehuda’s “descending from his brothers” immediately after Yosef’s sale in order to teach us that his status among the brothers had fallen because he didn’t prevent the sale. 

Many assume that Rashi must mean that this was when Yehuda’s narrative started. However, if this were the case, Rashi wouldn’t have asked why Yehuda’s narrative was taught here; the reason it was taught here would be because that’s when it started--Yehuda left his family because of the devastation of the sale, and that’s when he got married. It’s only because Yehuda’s narrative didn’t necessarily start here that Rashi had to explain why it was inserted here. Midrash Lekach Tov and Midrash Seichel Tov, who give the same explanation as Rashi for the placement of Yehuda’s narrative, say explicitly that Yehuda got married and had children before Yosef was sold. (They say Yehuda’s third son, Shaila, was born when the sale was happening, which is why Yehuda wasn’t with his wife when he was born.) Obviously, Yehuda’s “descent” being caused by the sale does not mean that this has to be when his narrative started. (Shaila being born when the sale occurred doesn't help our original issue much; three generations were born in 25 years, instead of over a 22 year period.) 

Another approach is suggested by Rav Yaakov Meidan (http://www.vbm-torah.org/parsha.59/11vayig.htm; Nechama Leibowitz z”l quotes Shadal--R’ Sh’muel Dovid Luzzato--as saying something very similar, see http://www.lookstein.org/nechama_parasha17_vayeshev.htm, but I couldn’t find it there), stretching the time frame at the back-end rather than at the front-end. The end of the 22-year period is based on Peretz’s sons being born in Canaan, prior to Yaakov moving to Egypt. Rav Meidan suggests that the number 70 was so important (as it corresponded to the 70 nations of the world) that Yehuda’s two eldest sons, who had died, acted as “placeholders” for two of those slots, which were eventually filled by Peretz’s sons (after they were born). This is why Er and Onan are mentioned even though they died years earlier, and why Peretz’s sons were introduced with “and Peretz’s sons were” (46:12), rather than just “the sons of” (as everyone else was). Removing one generation from the 22-year span does alleviate the problem, but creates a new one instead; the Torah strongly implies that Peretz’s sons were born in Canaan. Additionally, the extra word (“were”) is past tense; Rav Meidan is using to indicate something that will happen in the future. (See Netziv for a similar explanation without these shortcomings.) Besides, if Yehuda’s eldest sons hadn’t died, Peretz and Zerach wouldn’t have been born (as Tamar would have still been married to Er), so it was they who replaced Er and Onan in the “census” (and were their reincarnated souls, see Rabbeinu Bachye on 38:1), not Peretz’s sons.

Seder Olam (2, see also Chizkuni and Tosfos on 38:1 and Midrash HaGadol on 46:12) fits everything into 22 years by saying that Er, Onan and Peretz all got married when they were seven years old. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 69b) does discuss the possibility of becoming a father at such a young age, although it does not try to prove it from here (indicating a recognition that Yehuda's narrative took more than just 22 years). [See Ibn Ezra’s short commentary on Sh’mos 24:14, where he accepts as being completely true the tradition that in earlier generations eight year olds could become fathers, even though he rejects using it to explain the verses; see also Ran on Sanhedrin 69a.] If seven year olds could impregnate their wives (and we’re discussing three sons, who shared the same genes), Yehuda could have gotten married after Yosef was sold, married his oldest sons off when they were seven, impregnated Tamar 10 years after the sale (one year each for the pregnancy/birth of his eldest sons, seven years till they could become fathers, and one year that Tamar waited for Shaila, see B’raishis Rabbah 85:6 and Nazir 4b-5a), leaving 12 years for Peretz to be born and have two children. (This even leaves time for Onan to have been nine when he did “yibum;” there are more years available if Shaila was born at the time of the sale.) 

Although compressing the years by relying on our tradition certainly addresses the issue, it leaves us with another one. How could Er and Onan be punished for doing something when they were so young? This is discussed by several commentators, but I would like to suggest a possibility based on a related issue; even if it was physically possible for eight year olds to become a father, why would G-d have put these youngsters in such a position? (See Yad Ramah on Sanhedrin 69a, who says that it was only with special divine intervention that anyone could become a father at such a young age.) Why not have them be more mature before dealing with everything that puberty brings? (Some do suggest that they were fully mature in all ways, which is why they were held accountable for their actions.) 

As mentioned above, G-d wanted “70 souls” to descend to Egypt (because they corresponded to the 70 nations of the world, and because they corresponded to the “70 faces of the Torah,” see Vilna Gaon’s commentary on the Hagadah, d”h b’m’say m’at). This could explain why Peretz matured so early; by becoming a father (of two) at such an early age, the “magic number” of 70 was reached. But what about Er and Onan? Why would G-d want them to mature so early? “G-d said to Yehuda, ‘you have no children, therefore you don’t know of the [emotional] pain from children, and you tricked your father and told him ‘your son died.’ By your life, you will marry a woman and bury her children so that you will know the pain from children.’ This is why it says, ‘and Er and Onan died” (Midrash Tanchuma manuscript, quoted in Ishay HaTanach, and by Hadar Z’kainim and R’ Chaim Paltiel; also see S'fornu). G-d may have accelerated the maturation process of Er and Onan in order for Yehuda to be able to experience the kind of pain he had inflicted on his father, thus enabling him to fully repent (as evidenced by his refusal to leave Binyamin in Egypt). Er and Onan’s quick maturity put them in the same circumstance they would have been in had they matured more slowly (see Nimukay HaRid on 38:7). They were therefore punished, but got another chance, reincarnated as Peretz and Zerach, who also matured quickly. This time, however, they didn’t repeat their mistake, and Peretz had two children within two years, thereby completing the “70 souls” that descended into Egypt.

 

Parashas Vayishlach 5772

“And Yaakov was afraid” (B’raishis 32:8). He was afraid that his brother, who was coming towards him and his family with an army (32:7) would “smite me, mother and child [together]” (32:12). This fear gripped him despite G-d’s assurance that “I will be with you, and I will watch over you wherever you go, and I will return you to this ground (in Canaan), for I will not abandon you until I have done that which I have spoken to you” (28:15). Yaakov hadn’t yet returned to Canaan, so G-d’s assurance of a safe return still applied. Nevertheless, Yaakov feared Eisav because he was afraid that he might have sinned (see Rashi on 32:11 and B’rachos 4a), thus negating G-d’s promise (which was dependant on Yaakov remaining righteous).

In his prayer asking G-d to save him from Eisav, Yaakov reminds G-d that He had told him He would be good to him (32:13), seeming to invoke the promise to watch over him. If Yaakov’s fear of Eisav was predicated on G-d’s promise no longer applying, how could he reference it in his prayer? What was the purpose of reminding G-d of an assurance that was no longer valid?

The expression used by Yaakov to refer to the promise (“and You said ‘I will do good/be good with you”) uses a double-language, which Rashi (quoting B’raishis Rabbah 76:7) says means two distinct things; “I will do good in your merit, [and] I will be good [with you] in the merit of your fathers (i.e. Avraham and Yitzchok).” As several commentators point out (see Mizrachi, Toldos Yitzchok and Sefer HaZikaron), even if the promise made based on Yaakov’s own merits no longer applied, the promise made based on the merits of his parents still did. This would explain why Yaakov mentioned his descendants being as numerous as “the grains of sand by the sea,” even though G-d’s promise to him only mentioned making his descendants as numerous as “the dust that is upon the earth” (28:14, see Rashi on 32:13); Yaakov purposely used an expression that was said only to his grandfather because he was invoking the part of the promise that was based on Avraham’s (and Yitzchok’s) merits. Nevertheless, we would still need to explain why Yaakov was afraid of Eisav if the part of the promise that was based on his parents’ merits was still in force.

Another possibility (see Daas Z’kaynim and S’fornu, see also B‘chor Shor and Rabbeinu Efrayim) works from the other direction. When Yaakov was assured that he would return safely, he was alone -- he had no family and no possessions (just his “stick”); even if G-d’s promise still applied, it only applied to him, not to his family. Therefore, he was concerned that Eisav would harm “mother and children,” i.e. his family, and asked G-d to protect them. However, since he was sent to Charan specifically to start a family (28:2), and having his family decimated by Eisav could not be considered being fully protected by G-d, returning safely without his family wouldn’t qualify as “not being abandoned by G-d” (28:15, see Ramban on 32:13).

  Rashbam (see also R’ Chaim Paltiel) compares Yaakov’s prayer with the prayers Moshe offered on behalf of the nation after they sinned; even if they deserved to be punished, doing so wouldn’t reflect well on G-d Himself, as others would think G-d couldn’t fulfill His promises (not that they no longer deserved to be fulfilled). Yaakov was asking G-d to keep His promise, even if his sins had negated them, for the sake of G-d’s honor. Unless Yaakov publicized G-d’s promise to him, I‘m not sure how his situation is comparable with Moshe’s (where everybody knew that G-d had miraculously taken the Children of Israel out of Egypt). Bais HaLevi has a similar approach, albeit without this shortcoming, specifying that “G-d’s honor” refers to G-d’s will being fulfilled; G-d obviously “wanted” to do good for Yaakov, and G-d not getting what He “wanted” (if Eisav killed him) was what concerned Yaakov, not his own safety. (Additionally, if Yaakov and family were wiped out by Eisav, who would continue the Abrahamic mission?)

Ramban understands Yaakov’s prayer to be “just as You (G-d) did so many things for me even though I wasn’t worthy of them, please keep Your promise to me even though I may no longer be worthy of it.” Rather than Yaakov referencing G-d’s promise as an argument for why He should save him, it was part of the prayer, specifying what he wanted the prayer to accomplish. According to Ralbag, the promise is not part of the prayer, but Yaakov’s way of expressing his concern that he is not worthy of it being fulfilled (and therefore needed to pray). Similarly, Malbim suggests that Yaakov understood that his fear indicated that he was not fully confident in G-d’s promise, and therefore not worthy of it being fulfilled (which is why he had to ask G-d to help him despite previous assurances). Abarbanel sidesteps the issue, using a soldier going to war as a parable. If the soldier doesn’t really think he might die, his fighting cannot be described as bravery; it is only if he knows the danger involved and still fights that he can be called “brave.” Similarly, if Yaakov thought Eisav was just coming to spend time with the brother he hadn’t seen in decades, he wouldn’t think he was in danger, and wouldn’t need to rely on G-d’s promise to feel safe. It was only because Yaakov realized what Eisav’s intentions were that he experienced the normal human emotion of fear, and had to rely on G-d’s promise in order to alleviate that fear. 

Mahari”l Diskin positions Yaakov’s prayer as a “catch-22.” Yaakov’s fear was based on two things, his merits being depleted and the possibility that he had sinned (see Rashi on 32:11 and Maharsha on Brachos 4a). If he hadn’t sinned, G-d’s promise would still apply, and if his merits hadn’t been depleted, they would protect him despite having sinned. The “kindnesses” G-d did for Yaakov, such as helping him amass such a large flock (31:9-12) and appearing to Lavan to make sure he doesn’t do anything to Yaakov or his family (31:24 and 31:29), had depleted his merits. But if Eisav took these things away from Yaakov, they ultimately would not have served any purpose, and could no longer be considered “kindnesses” -- and without any “kindnesses” depleting Yaakov’s merits, G-d’s promise to protect him still applied! Yaakov mentioned G-d’s promise in his prayer because it is part of the “catch-22;” either way the promise (or similar results) should stand.

Bais Efrayim offers three approaches to explain why Yaakov mentioned G-d’s promise in his prayer despite his fear being based on the promise no longer applying. His first suggestion is that only two of Yaakov’s three preparations for Eisav were based on his fear that G-d’s promise was nullified by sin -- sending Eisav a large present and dividing his “camp” into two “camps.” (It is interesting to note that the present was sent before there is any mention of Yaakov’s fear.) Prayer, on the other hand, was appropriate whether the promise still applied or not, so Yaakov included it in his prayer. Bais Efrayim’s second suggestion is based on the notion that Yaakov had wanted to be dealt with through G-d’s “Midas HaDin” (attribute of strict justice), whereby everything was absolutely deserved without having to rely on G-d’s kindness and mercy. Yaakov was afraid that based on that standard he no longer deserved to be protected from Eisav, so asked G-d to help him through His “Midas HaRachamim” (attribute of mercy); by that standard, Yaakov was still confident that G-d’s promise still applied. Bais Efrayim’s third approach is similar to Ramban’s, albeit using verses from the first two chapters of Yirmiyahu as an example of G-d “remembering the kindness of [the nation’s] youth” (2:2), despite sending Yirmiyahu to warn Israel that punishment is imminent (1:12-17); Yaakov was asking G-d to keep His promise despite his current state, based on the closer relationship they had at the time the assurance was given.

When discussing Moshe’s prayer after the sin of the golden calf (Sh’mos 33-34, lesson #3), Ralbag explains how prayer works -- how it can cause something that wouldn’t have happened to happen, or cause something that would have otherwise occurred not to. One of the ways prayer works is by motivating the person to become worthy of it. By verbalizing/concretizing what we want, and thinking about how we need to improve in order to deserve it, the process has been started to actually deserve it. 

Yaakov was afraid that Eisav could harm him because he wasn’t sure that he still deserved the protection G-d had promised him. This mirrors Yaakov’s concern immediately after the promise was made (see Ramban on 28:20), which led to Yaakov making a vow as a means of motivating himself to maintain the level necessary for the promise to be fulfilled (see http://rabbidmk.posterous.com/parashas-vayaytzay-5763 ). A vow is a valid motivational tool for the long term, and was appropriate when Yaakov’s spiritual level had to be maintained for a long time (until he actually returned, when the promise could be fulfilled). However, with Eisav approaching, there wasn’t much time. Yaakov was afraid that he (currently) wasn’t worthy of the promise being fulfilled, and had to do whatever he could to become worthy. He therefore asked G-d to save him from Eisav, using prayer as a vehicle to become worthy of what he was asking for. In that prayer, he mentioned G-d’s promise to remind himself that he had been worthy of such a promise, and could become so again.

 

 

Parashas Vayaytzay 5763

The Ba’al Haturim tells us that there three places in Tanach that the word “vayidar” (and he made a vow) is used. The first is in our Parasha, where Yaakov vows that if G-d fulfills His promise to return him safely to his father’s house he will designate the stone he had made a monument as “G-d’s house” and give a tenth of his possessions back to G-d (B’raishis 28:20-22). The second is immediately after Aharon’s death, when the Children of Israel were attacked by the inhabitants of Arad, and captives were taken (Bamidbar 21:1-3). The nation vowed that if G-d helps them defeat these Canaanim, they would donate all of the spoils to G-d (see Rashi there). The final occurrence is in Shoftim (11:30), where Yiftach vows to offer the first thing to walk out of his house to G-d if He helps him defeat the Ammonites.

However, Yaakov’s vow is very different than the other two. G-d had already made Yaakov a promise, while no prior promise was made to the nation or to Yiftach. The Ramban (and others), based on the Talmud (Berachos 4a), explains why Ya’akov felt he needed to make the vow at all, rather than just trusting that G-d would keep His word; G-d’s promise to watch over him (as well as any promise) was dependant on Yaakov maintaining his spiritual level. Ya’akov was afraid that he might sin, thus invalidating G-d’s promise.

This may explain why Ya’akov wasn’t sure that he would return safely, but not why he made the vow at all. If there were conditions that G-d needed to keep (or that he wanted G-d to keep), we can understand why Yaakov would promise to do something if G-d actually kept them. The nation and Yiftach wanted G-d to help them in battle, so they promised to do something if G-d did. But G-d had already promised to do what Yaakov wanted, provided that Yaakov kept his end of the bargain (i.e. not sinning). It was now up to Yaakov, and Yaakov alone, to ensure that he would return unharmed. Rashi explains the words “and I return in peace” as returning complete, without sin. And that this was one of the conditions Yaakov had set before obligating himself to fulfilling his promise. How could Yaakov make a conditional vow to G-d if it was up to him to fulfill the condition(s)?

The Abarbanel says that Yaakov had some doubts about whether he had rightfully “taken” the blessings from Eisav, and whether the future “chosen people” would really come through him. Therefore, Yaakov’s prophetic vision was intended specifically to reassure him that the blessing he had just been given by Yitzchok, and G-d’s promises to Avraham, would be fulfilled through him and his children.

The Talmud (Soteh 2a and Berachos 63a, quoted by Rashi on Bamidbar 6:2) tells us that the laws of a Nazir are given immediately after the laws of a Soteh (Bamidbar 5-6) to teach us that someone who sees the demise of a Soteh should become a Nazir in order to abstain from wine. One can abstain from wine without first becoming a Nazir. Nevertheless, the consequences of transgressing the vow of being a Nazir provides additional motivation to abstain, and is therefore the recommended course of action. Many “vows” or “oaths” are made for motivational purposes. Why make an oath to do something you intend to do anyway if not to add motivation? A typical Talmudic vow might be that “something should become as forbidden to me as the meat of an offering if I do (or don’t do) such and such,” which is obviously made to either prove that one is serious about doing it or to motivate oneself to do (or not do) something. Although vows are normally frowned upon (see Yoreh Dayah 203:1-4), if their purpose is to strengthen Torah observance it is permitted (203:6) or recommended (203:7).

Yaakov was just told that the future of the mission to which his parents and grandparents had dedicated their lives would be on him, not Eisav or anyone else. It would not even be shared with anyone else. As long as he didn’t mess up, there would be a future Nation of Israel. In order to further motivate himself, Yaakov made a vow. Not a conditional vow that if G-d does this for me then I’ll do this for Him. It was more of a pep talk, reiterating the consequences of succeeding, or failing, in his mission. He told himself that if G-d is able to keep His promise (i.e. if Yaakov himself doesn’t sin), then G-d’s name will rest upon him and his descendants, there will be a “chosen people,” and this very location will be where the future Temple(s) will stand. There was much at stake, and Yaakov knew it was up to him to continue building that future.

Many commentators discuss how Yaakov could include “and Hashem will be my G-d” in his vow, as if it wasn’t a given. (This is true no matter which side of the conditional ledger you put it, whether it means “if Hashem will be my G-d” or “then Hashem will be my G-d.) However, if Yaakov’s vow was more of a self-motivational tool than a conditional vow, he was just emphasizing the “my” part, that the responsibility rests on him, as G-d’s name will rest on him and his descendants.
 

Parashas Vayaytzay 5772

“And Leah became pregnant and she gave birth to a son, and she named him R’uvain, for she said, ‘because G-d has seen my shame; now my husband will love me” (B’raishis 29:32). The reason Leah named her first son R’uvain is stated explicitly in the Torah: Leah was the “other wife,” and she was hoping that being the mother of Yaakov’s child would improve her status. Yet, the Talmud (B’rachos 7b) provides a different reason why Leah gave him the name R’uvain: “Look (“r’u”) at the difference between my son (“vain”) and my father-in-law’s son. As for my father-in-law’s son (referring to Eisav), even though he sold his birthright willingly (B’raishis 25:33), see what is written about him -- ‘and Eisav hated Yaakov’ (27:41) and ‘he tricked me twice’ (27:36, with Eisav claiming that Yaakov’s acquisition of the birthright was done through deception rather than with his full knowledge and participation). My son, however, even though the birthright was taken from him against his will, as it says (D”H I 5:1), ‘and when he profaned his father’s bed his birthright was given to the sons of Yosef,’ he nevertheless did not become jealous of him, as it says (B’raishis 37:21), ‘and R’uvain heard [what his brothers were planning to do to Yosef] and he saved him from their hands.”

 The questions are rather obvious. First of all, how could the Talmud suggest an alternate reason for R’uvain’s name if the Torah explicitly tells us why Leah gave him that name? Why look for a different reason if the reason is already stated? Additionally, how could Leah have named R’uvain based on events that are years from happening? Even if Leah knew there would eventually be 12 Tribes (see Rashi on 29:34 and on B‘rachos 7b, d”h Ha’pa’am), did she know--during the first year of her (and Rachel’s) marriage--that her sister wouldn’t be able to have children right away, would therefore give her maidservant to Yaakov as an additional wife, and would die at a young age, thus setting the stage for R’uvain to “profane his father’s bed?” Did she know that the brothers would consider fratricide, thus necessitating R’uvain to step up and prevent it? Why didn’t she warn Yaakov about what was happening (or going to happen)? [Although we do find other instances where a child is named based on future events, it is never as specific, and could easily be understood as the parents expressing their hopes (such as Noach bringing comfort, see B‘raishis 5:29) or assessing the situation and predicting what will happen (see 10:25, where Peleg’s father could have seen what Nimrod was trying to do and realized that there would have to be multiple cultures rather than one forced culture). Even if there was prophecy involved (see Rashi on 10:25), it was never as specific as the Talmud seems to be saying Leah’s was.] The specifics themselves are not hinted to in the name “R’uvain.” Although the word “son” is in there (as opposed to any hint of Leah’s “shame” or “suffering”), where in R’uvain’s name is there any indication that Leah was comparing her newborn son to her brother-in-law in any way, let alone how each reacted regarding their lost birthright?

 The most common explanation for the need to suggest a reason other than the one stated in the Torah (see Vilna Gaon, Radal on Pirkay d’Rebbe Eliezer 36, and Nachalas Yaakov and Maskil L’Dovid on Rashi; see also Moshav Z’kaynim) is based on whether the reason for the name is stated before or after the name itself. For all of Yaakov’s other children (especially those of Leah; Yosef has a reason given both before and after), the reason for the name is stated first, then the name. Since R’uvain’s name is given first, then the reason, the Talmud realized that there must be another, unpublicized reason why Leah named him R’uvain. This is supported by the expression “for she said,” which implies that she gave one explanation publicly, while having a different reason that she was unwilling to share.

 The Talmud isn’t the only source that provides an additional reason for R’uvain’s name. Midrash HaGadol makes three suggestions, the second of which is the same as the Talmud’s. The third one has a similar theme, with Leah saying, “look at the difference between my son and my father-in-law’s son (Eisav); my father-in-law’s son is a thief and an extortionist, he has every fault, whereas my son uses all of his resources to avoid stealing, as it says, ‘and R’uvain went during the days of the wheat harvest’ (when there was plenty of grain to bring back home, yet he brought back something that was ownerless instead, see Rashi on 30:14). Here too, Leah is comparing her son to Eisav, using an event that won’t occur for years.

 The first suggestion expands upon the reason given in B’raishis Rabbah (71:3), which understands the name “R’uvain” to mean “see [this] son amongst the sons,” adding “not tall and not short, not light and not dark.” Although this suggestion does not share the issues of the other two (which base the name on future events, without any hint to the message behind the events being in the name itself), it is still quite puzzling. What kind of praise is it to just be “one of the boys,” with no extra-ordinary features?

 Leah had been expecting to marry Eisav, which upset her greatly (see Rashi on 29:17). Part of her concern had to be that if Eisav was her husband, then he would be the father of her children. Even after marrying Yaakov, Leah was still concerned about her children (see Chidushay Gaonim, a commentary on Ein Yaakov; see also Alshich). After all, Avraham’s oldest son (Yishmael) wasn’t a model child. Neither was Yitzchak’s. Would her children, specifically her oldest child--who was Yaakov’s eldest son too--also be unworthy of being part of the Chosen People? Or would he be the oldest of the 12 Tribes of Israel. Because of this concern, Leah was committed to making sure her children deserved to be part of the Nation of Israel. Therefore, when she gave birth to her first son, she gave him a name that reflected this commitment, and would be serve as a constant reminder of what was at stake. “Look at my son, he is going to be one of the sons of Yaakov, one of the Children of Israel.” Unlike Eisav, who was physically different (see 25:25), reflecting the “zuhama” (spiritual impurities) that Yitzchok still had from his ancestors that had to be cleansed from him in order to allow Yaakov to be completely pure, R’uvain looked like a normal child; not too big, not too small, not too red, not too white, something that was not lost on a mother who was afraid that her son would be “different” from Yaakov’s other sons.

 The most important thing, of course, was how her son would behave, and this was reflected in the name she gave him too, as she was determined not to let him grow up to be anything like Eisav. Not that she had to know the specifics of what her son would do years from now so that she could compare it directly with what Eisav had done. Just as Lemech was hoping that his son Noach would bring comfort to the world without necessarily knowing that he would, Leah was hoping/praying that her son would be completely different from Eisav without knowing for sure that he would. We know that she got what she was hoping for, and we can point to specific things that highlight how different R’uvain was from Eisav (see Ben Yehoyada; baruch she’kivanti--sort of), but she didn’t have to know the specifics in order to express how she hoped things would turn out.

 Yet, despite how noble her hopes were, she couldn’t share them with anybody. There was already enough tension between Yaakov and Eisav; how would Eisav react if he found out that Yaakov’s oldest son was named “Not Like Eisav?” What kind of relationship could Leah expect to have with her father-in-law, Yitzchok, if the name she gave her oldest son compared her son to his? Did Yitzchok need further reminding that his oldest son, the one he loved so much, had failed spiritually? Therefore, although Leah named her son “R’uvain” to reflect her desire and commitment that he wouldn’t turn out like Eisav, she didn’t share that reason with everybody. Rather, she said that the reason she had named him R’uvain was because G-d had seen her shame, and given her a son. That may have also been true, but it wasn’t the only reason, or the main reason.

About

Producer at WFAN; gives weekly Chumash shiur, writes weekly D'var Torah (also available at www.AishDas.org/ta); Co-founder/trustee of the Clifton Cheder