Jan 6, 2017 | Torat Devorah
Then Yosef could not contain himself before all those who stood by him; and he cried, “Cause every man to go out from me.” And there stood no man with him, while Yosef made himself known to his brothers. (Bereishit 45:1)
Rabbi Ari Kahn comments: ‘The text does not simply state that Yosef could not control or contain himself, but that he could not contain himself “before all those who stood by him.” What does this additional clause mean? To whom does it refer, and what did these “significant others” have to do with Yosef’s discomfort? Perhaps, as Rashi suggests, Yosef could no longer bear his brothers’ humiliation, and he ordered all of the attending members of court to leave the room.(1) Perhaps, as the Rambam suggests, Yosef’s motives were less compassionate: He wanted to keep the story of their treachery quiet, either out of concern for their reputation – or for fear of how their shared history might reflect upon him.(2) Yet the very next verse seems to contradict these suggestions, for in what seems to be an outburst of emotion Yosef cried out, and his cries were heard by all of Egypt. And he wept aloud; and the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard. (Bereishit 45:2)’ Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk offers an explanation that is both simple and chilling: Yosef had one only thing in mind; he pursued one goal, and that is why he overcame his compassion time after time. His ultimate goal was to bring about the fruition of the dreams of which he spoke to his brothers and his father. This would require that his father be brought before him to pay obeisance to the viceroy of Egypt.This approach paints Yosef as remarkably self-serving, claiming that Yosef was motivated by a single-minded, self- centered desire to bring about the fulfillment of his own dreams. Rabbi Kahn continues: ‘The sale of Yosef, then, was seen by Yosef on a different plane than it was by the brothers. Yosef saw the sale in terms of Jewish history, and it is on these terms that he attempts to console his brothers when he finally reveals himself to them. From the brothers’ perspective, the crime itself, an act of perfidy committed against an individual, was only the superficial level of the sale. Even on this level there is another aspect to the sale. The brothers’ underlying attitude is unmasked when they sell him: Yosef is not part of the family. It is surely no coincidence that Yosef is sold to “Yishmaelim” and perhaps Midianites; both of these tribes are descendants of sons of Avraham who had been rejected, dispossessed from the Covenant. In some warped way, the brothers, for their part, may have seen this as Divine Providence…As we have already seen, Yosef invoked God, and broke down in tears. He needed to regain his composure. The brothers admit their guilt, coming to realize their personal responsibility for the atrocity they committed against their younger brother. But this did not satisfy Yosef. He sought to correct a deeper stratum, a more profound aspect of the sin. Whereas the brothers had begun to see their guilt on a personal level, they had not yet come to understand the sin in national terms. They had “gotten rid of” their annoying brother, and they now regretted it. But they did not yet understand that they had disrupted the foundations of the Jewish People, of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Yosef’s goal was to bring them to this level of understanding, and his purpose was two-fold: Not only did Yosef aim to solidify the foundations of the unity of the nation, he hoped to expedite the realization of God’s Covenant with Avraham…As the Midrash (and the verses, less explicitly) indicate, Yosef fails: the brothers cannot recognize him. In their narrative, he is gone – dead, part of their past but not part of their future. His slavery is not the beginning of their slavery; it remains an independent, tragic chapter in Jewish history, whose reverberations are still felt today, every time one Jew mistreats another. Conversely, when we feel mutual responsibility, when we take care of one another, we imbue all of Jewish history, all Jewish suffering, with meaning and purpose, and we bring the redemption that much closer.’
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Dec 23, 2016 | Torat Devorah
These are the generations of Jacob: Joseph was seventeen years old . . . (37:2) Should not have the verse said, “These are the generations of Jacob: Reuben, etc.”? Why Joseph? The Midrash Rabbah and the Zohar lay out the amazing mirrored lives of these two individuals:” Everything that happened to Jacob happened to Joseph. As Jacob was born circumcised, so was Joseph born circumcised. As Jacob’s mother was infertile, so was Joseph’s mother infertile. As Jacob’s mother had difficulty in childbirth, so did Joseph’s mother have difficulty in childbirth. As Jacob’s mother bore two sons, so did Joseph’s mother bear two sons. As Jacob was hated by his brother, so was Joseph hated by his brothers. As Jacob’s brother sought to kill him, so did Joseph’s brothers seek to kill him. Jacob was a shepherd, and Joseph was a shepherd. Jacob was persecuted, and Joseph was persecuted. Jacob was blessed with ten blessings, and Joseph was blessed with ten blessings. Jacob was exiled from the Holy Land, and Joseph was exiled from the Land. Jacob took a wife outside the Land, and Joseph took a wife outside the Land. Jacob fathered children outside the Land, and Joseph fathered children outside the Land. Jacob was escorted by angels, and Joseph was escorted by angels. Jacob was made great through a dream, and Joseph was made great through a dream. The house of Jacob’s father-in-law was blessed on his account, and the house of Joseph’s father-in-law was blessed on his account. Jacob went down to Egypt, and Joseph went down to Egypt. Jacob ended the famine, and Joseph ended the famine. Jacob adjured [his children], and Joseph adjured [his brothers]. Jacob charged [his children], and Joseph charged [his brothers]. Jacob died in Egypt, and Joseph died in Egypt. Jacob was embalmed, and Joseph was embalmed. The bones of Jacob were brought up [from Egypt to the Holy Land], and the bones of Joseph were brought up [from Egypt to the Holy Land] . .
Joseph dreamed a dream, and told it to his brothers. . . . “Behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and behold, my sheaf arose and also stood upright; and behold, your sheaves stood all around, and bowed down to my sheaf.” (37:5-7). The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains: “We live in a disjointed and fragmented world. Its countless components each seem to be going their own way, each creation seeking only its own preservation and advancement. Our own lives include countless events and experiences, espousing different priorities, pulling us in different directions. But this is but the most superficial face of reality. The deeper we probe nature and its laws, the more we uncover an underlying unity. The more we assimilate the lessons of life, the more we discern a “guiding hand” and a coherent destiny. The more we utilize our talents and resources, all the more do the various aspects of our uniquely individual role fall in place. This is the deeper significance of Joseph’s dream. We are all bundlers in the field of life. Here, each stalk grows in its own distinct little furrow; our challenge is to bring focus to this diversity, to gather these stalks together and bind them as a single sheave. But this alone is not enough. As Joseph saw in his dream, his brothers’ individual bundles stood in a circle and bowed to his. This means that while every individual should view the various components of his life as a distinct “bundle,” the piecing together of his life is not an end in itself, but the means to a higher goal. In the words of our sages, “The entire world was created only for my sake, and I was created only to serve my Creator.” So while every person should view his entire world—the resources and opportunities which Divine Providence has sent his way—as being there for him, this “bundle” must in turn be dedicated to the fulfillment of his divinely ordained mission in life. The way this is achieved is by subjugating one’s own bundle to “Joseph’s bundle.” The Torah is G‑d’s communication of His will to man, and charts the course for man to serve his Creator. And each generation has its “Joseph,” an utterly righteous individual whose life is the perfect embodiment of the Torah’s ethos and ideals. This is the tzaddik whom the “bundles” of the various tribes of Israel surround and to whom they subjugate themselves, turning to him for guidance as how best to realize the purpose of their lives.”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Dec 15, 2016 | Torat Devorah
At the beginning of this portion, Yaakov Avinu is filled with anxiety over the approaching meeting with his brother Esav after a twenty year separation. He doesn’t know what to expect. He only knows that Esav is coming towards him with four hundred men from his people.
Yaakov’s lack of certainty concerning his fate is expressed very well by Rashi, with his saying that prior to this meeting, “Yaakov prepared himself for three things: for a gift, for prayer and for war” (RaSHI on Bereshit 32, 9). In other words: Yaakov didn’t know what to do – whether to tempt his brother in order to find favor in his eyes and to develop a feeling of “political horizon”, or to prepare for a destructive war, or whether to depend on the grace of The Holy One.
Rabbi Gustavo Suraszki of Ashkelon comments: “From the perspective of this weekly portion’s reader, there isn’t much room for optimism. A person reading the Torah for the first time will immediately feel that there isn’t much room for making peace, rather for revenge and the beginning of waves of violence between the two sides. There is a great probability that in the end, blood will be spilled at the site of the meeting. However, in the end, the two adversaries kiss and embrace in the center of the arena. Many commentaries have been made on this very same embrace. There are those who say that Esav “nashak” (kissed) his brother with all his heart (Rashi on Bereshit 33, 4), and there are those who say that Esav “nashach” (bit) him with all his heart. Between “kissed” and “bit” (“nashak”- “nashach”) there are innumerable commentaries.
At the beginning of our Torah portion, the Ramban says “that all what occurred to our forefather with his brother Esav will always occur to us with the sons of Esav.” He is basically describing this meeting as a “prototype” of all of the meetings that occurred over the generations between the Jewish people and the nations of the world. Meetings in which there were kisses that were also bites, and embraces that were counterfeit; meetings in which the suspicion dominated the setting.
So what do we learn from this meeting between Yaakov and Esav? Rabbi Saraszki explains his thoughts: “The first thing that it teaches us is that even if the kiss was genuine, it didn’t make them friends forever. But the most important point is not in the present story. The important point is that on that occasion, they understood that there was room in the world for both of them. And most importantly: they understood that there is no more important battle than the struggle for co-existence between two entirely different conceptions of the world.
It’s reasonable to assume that Yaakov and Esav continued to live very differently from each other as they did at the time of their births. Even if Esav invited his brother to continue the journey together in saying “… “Travel on and let us go” (Bereshit 33, 12), Yaakov quickly realized that there was no point to it. Yaakov continued along his path to the Land of Canaan, and Esav made his way to Seir. That was perhaps one of the first opportunities in history in which the slogan was made: “Two countries for two nations”. ”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Sep 16, 2016 | Torat Devorah
‘Do not take the mother bird together with the young (22:6)’
Notwithstanding the above citation from the Talmud, both Maimonides (in his Guide for the Perplexed) and Nachmanides (in his commentary on the Torah) give logical and humane reasons for this mitzvah, and the similar commandment (in Leviticus 22:28) not to “slaughter an animal and its young on the same day.”
Maimonides writes that the reason for these mitzvot is so that “one should not kill the child in sight of the mother, for the animal has great pain from this. There is no difference between the concern of a person and the concern of an animal for their children, because a mother’s love and compassion for the fruit of her womb is not a function of the intellect or speech, but a function of the thought process that exists in animals as in people.
Nachmanides takes issue with this explanation, arguing that if that were the reason, it should be forbidden only to kill the young before the mother, not vice versa. “It is more correct to say,” he writes, that the reason for these commandments is “so that we should not have a cruel heart that is devoid of compassion”—since, in any case, killing a mother and its young on the same day is an act of cruelty. He also offers another reason: “Because the Torah would not permit a practice that could cause the destruction of the species, though it permits the slaughtering of a single member of the species.”
Both Maimonides and Nachmanides point out that their explanations seem to contradict the above-cited passage from the Talmudic tractate Berachot, which warns against explaining the mitzvah of “sending away the mother” as deriving from G‑d’s compassion on the mother bird. Maimonides also cites Midrash Rabbah, which states: “Does it make a difference to G‑d whether one slaughters an animal from the throat or from the back of the neck? In truth, the mitzvot were given only to refine the human being.”
Maimonides explains that there are, in fact, two opinions as to the nature of the mitzvot: a) that the mitzvot are supra-rational divine decrees; b) that there are reasons for the mitzvot, even if the reasons for certain mitzvot have not been revealed to us. The passage in Berachot, says Maimonides, expresses the first opinion, “that the mitzvot have no reason other than that they are the divine desire, while we believe according to the second opinion, that every mitzvah has a reason.”
Nachmanides takes a different approach, arguing that there is no contradiction between his explanation and the Talmud’s statement. The Talmud objects to explaining the reason for the mitzvah as G‑d’s compassion for the bird or animal; rather, it is to teach us compassion and prevent the trait of cruelty from taking root in our hearts. In the words of the Midrash, “the mitzvot were given only to refine the human being.” In this connection, Nachmanides also cites the verses (Job 35:6–7), “If you sin, how have you affected Him? If your transgressions multiply, what do you do to Him? If you are righteous, what do you give Him? What can He possibly receive from your hand?” The things that G‑d commands us to do are not anything that He wants or needs, nor are the divine prohibitions things that “bother” Him—He is above that all. The “reasons” for the mitzvot are the ways that they are beneficial to us, sanctifying our lives and refining our characters.
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Aug 26, 2016 | Torat Devorah
Because you hearken to these laws (Deuteronomy 7:12)
The commentaries dwell on the Hebrew word eikev in this verse—an uncommon synonym for “because.” Many see a connection with the word akeiv (same spelling, different pronunciation), which means “heel.” Rashi interprets this as an allusion to those mitzvot which a person tramples with his heels—the Torah is telling us to be equally diligent with all of G‑d’s commandments, no less with those that seem less significant to our finite minds.Ibn Ezra and Nachmanides interpret it in the sense of “in the end” (i.e., “in the heels of,” or in the sense that the heel is at the extremity of the body)—the reward being something that follows the action. A similar interpretation is given by Ohr HaChaim, who explains that true satisfaction and fulfillment comes at the “end”—the complete fulfillment of all the mitzvot, and by Rabbeinu Bechayei, who sees it as an allusion that the reward we do receive in this world is but a lowly and marginal (the “heel”) aspect of the true worth of the mitzvot. Baal HaTurim gives a gematriatic explanation: the word eikev is used because it has a numerical value of 172—the number of words in the Ten Commandments. Tzemach Tzedek sees it as a reference to ikveta d’meshicha, the generation of “the heels of Moshiach” (the last generation of the exile is called “the heels of Moshiach” by our sages because: a) they are the spiritually lowest generation, due to the “descent of the generations”; b) it is the generation in which the footsteps of Moshiach can already be heard). This is the genetarion that will “hearken to these laws,” as Maimonides writes: “The Torah has already promised that the people of Israel will return to G‑d at the end of their exile, and will be immediately redeemed.” The Lubavitcher Rebbe says: Our commitment to Torah should be such that it permeates us entirely, so that also our heel—the lowest and the least sensitive part of the person—“hearkens to these laws, observes them and does them.” In other words, our relationship with G‑d should not be confined to the holy days of the year, or to certain “holy” hours we devote to prayer and study, but should also embrace our everyday activities. Indeed, this “lowly” and “spiritually insensitive” part of our life is the foundation of our relationship with G‑d, in the same way that the heel is the base upon which the entire body stands and moves.
In Deuteronomy 10:19 the Torah commands: “Ve-ahavtem et hager ki gerim hayitem be-eretz mitzrayim” (“Love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt”). We find very similar statements elsewhere in the Torah, of course, but with a crucial difference. Consider Exodus 22:20, for example: “Veger lo toneh velo tilhatzenu” (“Do not wrong a stranger, do not oppress him”). The end of this verse—which provides the reason for the law, or perhaps the reason why the people should take care to follow it—is the same as that in Deuteronomy: for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt. But in Exodus, and in most of the other biblical verses that address this issue, the command is: Do not harm, do not oppress. In Deuteronomy 10:19, we are told: Love. One is a negative injunction—do not act in such a way toward a stranger—while in this week’s parashah we have an affirmative requirement: Seek a ger out and show favor to him or her. Rabbi Ethan Linden explains: ” It is perhaps the oddity of this that leads Rashi to his interesting comment on this verse. He quotes from the Talmud (BT Bava Metzia 59b): “Do not taunt your fellow with the blemish you yourself have.” This is an unexpected take on the verse—and one that affects the level of difficulty of this mitzvah. After all, not oppressing someone is easier, and takes far less effort, than acting affirmatively to befriend them, to try to understand and love them. While the Exodus version of the command can be followed simply by staying out of the way of a ger, this Deuteronomic version in our parashah seems to require the exact opposite: to get in their way such that we can see the ger, and the ger can see us. Rashi, perhaps sensing this difference, reads the verse as being less about public policy and more about public comity. We all have blemishes, Rashi seems to be saying, and perhaps we should remember that when we are interacting with our neighbors. Rashi’s reading of the verse seems to indicate that this command is not just about the ger but about the way we interact in general with those around us. And indeed, the Talmudic context for the comment that Rashi brings to bear on this verse is noteworthy in that it is all about the power of wounded feelings to bring great harm into the world. The narrative immediately preceding the Talmudic discussion of hurt feelings is the famous story of the oven of Akhnai, the rabbinic debate about the ritual purity of a particular oven that ends with a voice coming forth from heaven to declare, ‘These and these are the words of the living God.’ ”
Aug 11, 2016 | Torat Devorah
This week is known as Shabbat Hazon, the Sabbath of Vision, and the vision offered by our prophets is that of a city that has gone astray, abandoning the path of righteousness. In our haftarah, the book of Isaiah opens with the chilling depiction of a “faithful city” (kiryah ne’emanah) that has become distorted into harlotry. What sins does Isaiah associate with such faithlessness? It is not ritual error but ethical failure that he decries. If so, then what would a righteous city look like? Is such a vision within our grasp?
Shabbat Hazon leads into the black fast of Tish’ah Be’Av in various ways. The opening chapters of Deuteronomy and Isaiah, which we read this week, set the stage for the calamity that will be described in horrific detail by the book of Lamentations. In Midrash Eikhah Rabbah, we read that three prophets used the language of Eikhah (how?!) to describe the sorrows of Israel. Moses, who saw the people in its glory, asked, “How can I bear their burden alone?” Isaiah, who saw Israel in its fallen state asked, “How did the faithful city become a harlot?” And the book of Lamentations, traditionally attributed to the prophet Jeremiah, saw Jerusalem destroyed and asked, “How did the great city become like a widow?”
Rabbi Daniel Nevins of the JTS comments: “These three questions are all phrased with the Hebrew word for how (eikhah). In the same text, Rabbi Nechemiah says that the word eikhah indicates lament (kinah). Rabbi Yehudah says that it indicates reproach (tokhecha). Reproach and lament go together of course. The destruction of Jerusalem is exceptionally lamentable because it is viewed as a self-inflicted wound. From Moses to Isaiah to Jeremiah, we can trace Israel’s descent from arrogant power to dissolute immorality and then on to utter destruction…Isaiah’s words are chilling. He tells the people not to rely on ritual alone. They may have been meticulous about prayer and sacrifice, but they have oppressed the poor and ignored the cries of those who suffer. Zion will be rebuilt through righteousness, he says in the closing line of the haftarah. There will be righteous judges and the city will once again be faithful. Only a just society can survive. This is the repentance envisioned by our great prophets. How does it square up with our own reality? Despite the challenges of our current economy, we Jews continue to live in a position of great privilege. In North America, we have large and prosperous communities with great synagogues, day schools, and other impressive organizations. In Israel, we have an entire State with its impressive apparatus of government, military, education, health, and industry. Individuals struggle economically and many institutions are fiscally challenged, but the Jewish communities of Israel and the Diaspora still have unprecedented resources. We can be described aptly by the Eikhah of Moses—the Jewish People is large, powerful, and prosperous—what is it doing with its might? It is the second Eikhah of Isaiah that ought to grab our attention however. How are our communities perceived? Have we fostered righteous conduct within and without, or are our communities viewed as selfish and materialistic? We can all point to examples of excess, but it seems to me that a growing number of our congregations have indeed embraced social justice as a standard feature of religious life. Some host homeless shelters and soup kitchens; some support sustainable farming; some have taken great efforts to make their communities inclusive and welcoming to people who previously felt excluded… Shabbat Hazon is the beginning of our long season of repentance. This week, we will end the book of Eikhah with the famous line, “Turn us, Lord, to You, and we shall return; renew our days as of old.” May we embrace this mission of return both individually and communally so that our cities become known, once again, as faithful towns filled with justice and compassion.”
