What Yaakov Feared

Last year I addressed the difference between the names Yisrael and Yaakov and their usage in the Torah. I don't know if there is a fool-proof difference between them. In this article, they are used interchangeably simply because the Torah uses them in this fashion in the verses discussed.

Parshat Vayigash

Were one to examine Yisrael's attitude towards going to Egypt, it would be hard to convince us that he was apprehensive about the trip. When he heard Yosef was alive and was convinced by the sight of the wagons that he would be reunited with his favorite son, "His spirit became alive. He said, '... I will go and see him before I die.'" (45:27-28)

And yet, three verses later, after a stopover in Beer Shava to bring offerings to God, Yisrael has a vision in which God tells him, "I am the God of your father. Don't be afraid to go to Egypt, for it is there that I will make you into a great nation. I will go to Egypt with you, and I will also bring you back again..." (46:3-4)

There is no indication that he is afraid of Egypt! What is God talking about?

There are different kinds of fear: fear of the unknown, fear of possible outcomes – especially for one's children, fear of an undesired destination or destiny. One can fear other people, or what the other people might be capable of doing.

Many of the commentators raise the idea that Yaakov was aware that with this journey to Egypt the years of bondage that Avraham had been promised in Bereishit 15 would commence. The Chizkuni, for example, says that God's words after "Don't be afraid" are to assure Yaakov that just as the bondage element of the promise to Avraham would be fulfilled, so would the exodus and the becoming a great nation promises be fulfilled.

Others focus on the fears Yaakov harbored over his and his family's spiritual future. In addition to the fear that he was beginning the exile that had been promised to Avraham, Or HaChaim also mentions Yaakov's fear that he'd be buried in the impure land. God's immediate response is the promise that he personally would not be enslaved, nor buried there. "Perhaps Yaakov had designs on going back to Canaan when the famine was over and the trouble passed… this is why he is told not to fear 'for even the relatively short amount of time you think you're going to be there,' because your family will become a great nation in that place."

Along similar lines, the Beis HaLevi puts Yaakov's fear in terms of his children not being able to be in Egypt and maintain their "kedushah" (holiness). Maybe they'll become so entrenched in the tumah (impurity) of Egypt, they would not be worthy of being redeemed. God therefore told him not to fear, because He would not let them become completely lost, and if need be He would take them out before their time was up.

It is the Seforno, however, who writes what I find to be the most compelling concern. "Don't be afraid to go down to Egypt. Were your children to stay here in Canaan, they would end up marrying the Canaanites and assimilating with them. But in Egypt this will never take place because the Egyptians have their own rules against intermingling with you."

Right after this exchange with God, the Torah lists for us the names of the descendants of Yaakov. The Torah does not tell us much about the wives of the sons of Yaakov. One midrashic thought suggests each of the tribes was born with a twin sister who became a wife to one of the tribes. A different line of thinking posits the wives were Canaanite women who embraced the ways of the family of Yaakov – and listing his children here (46:5-27) would alleviate the fear of a family breakdown as it would serve as a strong indicator that this family unit will remain intact.

If the latter approach is correct, moving the family to Egypt, away from Canaanite grandparents and relatives might actually be the best thing to happen to Yaakov and his family. Creating their own homogeneous environment that will not be influenced by "distance relatives" or Egypt's "live and let live, but we will not mingle with you" attitude could, in the end, become the strongest bond in the effort to stem a tide of assimilation and have everyone in the family remain close-by-design in the Goshen area they will soon occupy.

Consider this statistic: by 1927 (14 years into the Weimar Republic), more than 44% of Jews in Germany married non-Jews (Martin Gilbert, "Final Journey" p.11). (The Nazis counted them all as Jews anyway, but nonetheless, it is a staggering number for early 20^th century stats, versus current US figures where the number wavers in the 50-plus percent range.)

Being in a place like Egypt, therefore, where Egyptian law allowed for engaging in commerce and neighborliness but prohibited assimilating with the Hebrews – wining, dining, and marrying – was a reminder Yaakov desperately needed, and an answer that assuaged his number one fear.

The fear of the silent destruction brought on by the loving environment of assimilation is one Yaakov did not need to express. It is constantly in the mind of every parent, and was Avraham's first concern when he was promised the land (see Seforno, Bereishit 15:8).

At First Sight

Parshat Miketz

by Rabbi Avi Billet


There are a number of mitzvoth which appear in the Torah multiple times: Shabbat, holidays, kosher animals, Shmittah (Sabbatical year), Eved Ivri (Hebrew servant), not to "cook a kid in its mother's milk." Even bris milah, tzitzis and tefillin each appear at least twice. Sometimes there are differences in the repetition, and the repetition usually serves a purpose.

When it comes to narrative, however, the Torah rarely repeats a story. Last week we read the story of Yosef and Potiphar's wife, and when she told her husband the tale, we are told "She said, 'This is what he did to me,'" (39:19) and as the text does not elaborate, we can assume she embellished the details. We need not know what she said, as all we need to know is that Yosef ended up in prision.

After Moshe is given the signs of the snake, the whitened hand, and to pour water from the river to turn it to blood before the people, he does so – the Torah does not repeat the details (Shmot 4:30)

But the two most blatant examples of repeated narrative are the story of Eliezer finding Rivkah (Chapter 24) and Pharaoh's dream here in Chapter 41.

In Eliezer's retelling of his own story, he changes some details to make the story and the setup more palatable to Rivkah's family. He achieves his goal: he convinces them of the divine hand in his trip, they agree to let Rivkah go with him, and Rivkah the wife for Yitzchak whom Eliezer was appointed to find.

But in our narrative, Pharaoh's dream is told to us, and then he repeats it to Yosef for interpretation with a few changes as well.

In his dream Pharaoh was standing "on the river," the first cows were "y'fot mareh," the second cows are "raot mareh v'dakot basar" and they stand next to the first cows. The cows who were "raot mareh v'dakot basar" ate the cows that were "y'fot hamareh."

In his retell Pharaoh stands "on the edge of the river," the first cows are "y'fot toar," the second cows are "dalot, v'raot toar m'od, v'rakot basar," and Pharaoh adds "I have never seen such bad looking cows in Egypt". The cows who were "rakot and raot" ate the first cows. The cows were completely swallowed, but it was not detectable because they looked as they had before [this last sentence is entirely new and was unapparent from the dream itself.]

In the second dream, the stalks are "briyot v'tovot" (healthy and good). The second stalks are described as thin and scorched by the east wind. They consumed the "healthy and full" stalks.

In the retell they are "m'layot v'tovot" (full and good). The second stalks are described as thin and scorched by the east wind, but are also "tz'numot" (shriveled). They consumed the "good" stalks.

Why the differences? Unlike Eliezer, Pharaoh isn't trying to convince Yosef of anything.

Or is he?

The Midrash Sechel Tov suggests Pharaoh dreamt the interpretation to the dream along with the dream, but forgot it. How else could he know that Yosef's interpretation was the correct one? Surely others tried interpreting it for him. Once he heard Yosef's interpretations, however, it triggered the memory, and he knew it was correct.

This line of thinking makes a lot of sense when we consider that Yosef's interpretation should have ended with verse 41:32 when he said "The reason that Pharaoh had the same dream twice is because the process has already been set in motion by God, and God is rushing to do it." But Yosef continued and said, "Now Pharaoh must seek out a man with insight and wisdom, and place him in charge of Egypt."

How did he get away with this bold statement?

Because when Pharaoh first laid eyes on Yosef, a memory was triggered that told him "This is the man who will interpret, this is the man I must keep close to me."

In other words, Pharaoh wanted Yosef to interpret correctly and to suggest a man be appointed, and Pharaoh presented the dreams with his own commentary in order to help Yosef produce the interpretation Pharaoh could not pull out of his subconscious mind.

First impressions are very powerful. Sometimes you meet someone for the first time and feel kinship, or feel this person is a person you'd like to get to know better. And sometimes there's a feeling you can't put your finger on that tells you this person will be a lifelong friend. There are many married couples who will tell you "they knew" when they first met, even if they did not hear bells and whistles or experience what Hollywood calls "love at first sight" (a concept I don't believe in).

Because Pharaoh wanted this encounter to work out (as he immediately set in motion in 41:38-35), he took the steps he needed to in order to give Yosef the chance to "earn" being close to him, the reward he carried for the rest of their days.

Another Reason For 8 Days of Chanukah?

For an expanded version on this subject, built on the idea of the following, see here

One of the questions that comes up each year is "If there was enough oil to last 1 day, and it lasted 8 days, the miracle was really for 7 days. The first day was not a miracle. So why do we have EIGHT DAYS of Chanukah?"
There are many answers to this question. Most of the answers aim to answer the related question of "How do we view the first day as a miracle as well?" Answers to a different related question would also suffice: "Is there a significance to the number eight that fits into this story?"

Two of the more known answers to the latter question are:
1. The rededication of the Temple was meant to emulate the original dedication of the Tabernacle in the wilderness, which was an Eight-Day-Celebration.
2. On account of the war, the Maccabees were unable to adequately celebrate the holiday of Sukkot. As such, upon the rededication of the Temple, they created a make-up for the holiday they missed. Since Biblically speaking the holiday of Sukkot + Shmini Atzeret is an eight-day period, this served as the model for the Chanukah time span.

Here I offer another possibility. I do not base this in any historical document or anything I found. But a unique connection came to me as I reviewed the decrees that traditionally accepted view of history offers as the background to the rebellion of the few against the many.

The Greeks aimed to destroy three fundamental tenets of Jewish life:
1. Shabbos
2. Rosh Chodesh
3. Bris Milah

Being a mohel, this simple (yet, I feel, profound) connection was staring me straight in the face.

There are all kinds of reasons suggested for why a bris takes place on the eighth day of life. One of them focuses on the idea that the baby will certainly experience a shabbos before he has his bris.

Chanukah goes for eight days, therefore, to remind us the eight-day period that leads up to a bris.
An Eight-day holiday will certainly contain a shabbos.
The fact that Chanukah begins towards the end of Kislev, on the 25th of the month, assures that Rosh Chodesh Tevet will always be observed during Chanukah.

Military celebrations alone are typically celebrated for one day. Think V-E Day (May 8) V-J Day (Sept 2), Purim (14 Adar). By all rights, Chanukah should have been a 1-day holiday.

But Chanukah is meant to be more than just a tribute to a specific date. It is a highly symbolic holiday that represents a victory over assimilation, a commitment to Jewish tradition, mitzvot, and heritage, a reemergence of a "fighting Jew," and the return of Jewish autonomy to our ancient homeland.

And if, in the background, the dates and length of the celebration can serve as a reminder to what we overcame from the perspective of those who made decrees threatening our way of life - what could be wrong with it? It gives us a constant reminder of the test that challenged our people, and the lifestyle the victorious Maccabess sought to preserve.

Right, Wrong, and Moral Justifications

Parshat Vayeshev


by Rabbi Avi Billet

A poignant Midrash in Ruth Rabba (5:6) argues that had Reuven, Aharon and Boaz known that certain minor kindnesses they performed would be recorded in the Bible for posterity, they might have done things differently. Instead of "planning" to save Yosef, Reuven would have carried Yosef home on his shoulders. Instead of coming alone to greet Moshe on his return from Midian, Aharon would have greeted him with a band. Instead of feeding Ruth enough [grain] until she was satisfied, Boaz would have fed her fattened calves.

Perhaps we can argue that had Yehuda (Bereishit Chapter 38) and King David (Shmuel II 11-12) been aware that their bedroom faux-pas would be recorded for posterity, they would have been more discreet and might not have even succumbed to the evil temptation that caused them to sin.

Yehuda's (unbeknownst) rendezvous with his daughter-in-law Tamar is such a scandal on so many levels, yet there is nonetheless a significant attempt by Chazal (the Rabbis of yesteryear) to whitewash it. The Artscroll Chumash commentary, for example, begins this section with the title, "The moral basis for the story of the union of Tamar and Yehuda."

Suffice it to say, objectively the only moral basis for the events "at the moment they transpired" can be found in Kabbalistic works. In many respects, Tamar's role, unseemly as it looks, is given a lot more credit than Yehuda's role. Yehuda only emerges positively at the end, when he admits Tamar's righteousness, and his own error which caused her to pursue her desperate measures.

Long term, the Tanakh (Bible) vindicates the downsides of the story. Yehuda achieves kingship for his tribe, as the older child born of his union with Tamar, Peretz, continues the line to King David, the eternal father of the royal family, and of the Messiah.

Why does the Torah tell us this story, then, if it takes hundreds of years for us, the readers, to see that everything, in the long term, is really OK?

Because there is a difference between destiny and the here and now. Because there is a difference between right and wrong. And because the Torah does not hide from the truth – sometimes the truth teaches us a model lesson, and sometimes the truth teaches us what not to do.

The story of the deaths of Yehuda's sons, while tragic, informs us that the patriarchs knew of the concept of yibum (the levirate marriage). That Yehuda withheld his third son, Shelah, from wedding Tamar, may reflect negatively or positively on Yehuda, depending on one's perspective. That Tamar felt the need to have Yehuda perform the yibum may also reflect negatively or positively on her, depending on one's perspective.

Last week, one of the publications of students of Yeshiva University posted a short story online that caused quite a stir. As the plot of the story did not jive with the values of the institution, many found it offensive, and wrong to appear under the name of Yeshiva University. Some argued that "freedom of expression" should allow for objectionable content to appear. I am of the opinion that students can write what they want, but should find different venues to print particular pieces that might reflect poorly on the institution – we are, after all, referring to a Yeshiva, and an institution that represents Torah and a commitment to halakhic Judaism.

One comment on the online posting of the story in question said, "I don't understand why people are so upset. I can find much more graphic sexual activity in the tanach and that may I remind you was written by God."

This is the problem. Because "God wrote about it" means everyone has a free pass to write about these kinds of outside-of-marriage encounters? "God writing about it," so to speak, is an example of the Divine using unique judgment to share what we need to know about, and to avoid sharing the stories we need not know about.

The difference between the Torah's tales and creative writing is that the human heroes of the Bible recognized their errors, felt shame even before they were caught, and even admitted their mistakes in a public forum.

People today who engage in the sins of this variety may or may not recognize their errors, or feel shame before being caught, and rarely admit publicly that they made a mistake (the author of the story in question is "Anonymous"). Even if they personally feel they've made a mistake, they might keep it between themselves and God for the rest of their lives.

Yehuda didn't excuse his behavior either, neither blaming it on his society, culture, or even the fact that he felt lonely after the death of his wife.

Without going through moral justifications, some of the lessons that come out of the story include: the need to be truthful, to follow up on a promise, not to embarrass someone (Bava Metzia 59a), to look out for yourself, to create your own destiny, to admit your mistakes. You hope God will justify your choices in good time, but in the here and now, we must make every effort to do what's right the first time.

But the Children...

Parshat Vayishlach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Towards the end of the conversation Yaakov has with Eisav about their future, Yaakov's final insistence that he cannot accompany Eisav to Seir puts the blame where most of us might put it.

'My lord,' replied Jacob, 'you know that the children are weak, and I have responsibility for the nursing sheep and cattle. If they are driven hard for even one day, all the sheep will die. Please go ahead of me, my lord. I will lead my group slowly, following the pace of the work that I have ahead of me, and the pace of the children. I will eventually come to [you], my lord, in Seir.'

When he describes the "regel ha'yladim" (the feet (pace) of the children) as the culprit for his having to move much slower, Ibn Ezra, Seforno and Ramban believe he is referring to his own children, "the oldest of whom is 12 and a few days" (Ibn Ezra). This could be supported by the verse that opens the chapter, in which Yaakov's children are referred to as "y'ladim" twice.

Others, however, believe Yaakov is referring to the children of his adult sheep who are weak and unable to be pushed hard to travel. Chizkuni (33:13), for example, points out that Yaakov placed his wives and children on camels (referring to 31:17), implying that their (the children's) inability to walk would be a non-factor.

A number of Midrashim take the reference to the weak children as a metaphor for a different time and place. It either refers to Moshe and Aharon, with the sheep being the Israelite nation who might have died in the days of Andaryanus were it not for the mercy of God, or to David and Shlomo, with the sheep again referring to the Israelite nation who might have died in the days of Haman were it not for God's mercy (Bereshit Raba Vayishlach 78).

The Medrash Agada puts a different spin on what it is the children can't handle: the burden of Gehinnom. If you push them too hard one day, they'll have no hope.

Yalkut Shimoni has two accounts which include the children metaphor referring to Chananya, Mishael and Azarya on the one hand, and the Messiah on the other hand.

The Chizkuni's interpretation is most sensible to me. One has to imagine that wealthy Yaakov's children were riding on camels, and that there is no way he would force them to walk to the point that they would not be able to continue. Sheep, on the other hand, would be afforded no such luxury.

And, as compelling as the midrashic interpretations are, I can't imagine Yaakov really had such images in mind when addressing his brother Eisav.

If Yaakov's children were riding on camels, why then did Yaakov blame his intent not to join Eisav on his small children? It may be true, as the Midrash Sechel Tov points out, that their age demanded much attention. But why couldn't Yaakov just be up front with Eisav? Why couldn't he say, "I don't think your place is the right environment for me"? His kids might not have cared where they ended up! Why blame them, when it is Yaakov who wants no part of it?

Because, as many of us well know, the most important decisions we make in our lives are heavily influenced by our children and their needs.

I know one family who chose to raise their children in a small town close to where the specific Orthodox day school they admired was located. I know of families that have specifically sought jobs in larger Jewish communities - even though they preferred a smaller or "out of town" environment - where the special education needs of one of their children could be met.

I am sure you can think of countless examples when you or your parents made important life choices that were heavily influenced by the effect and impact it would have on children.

On the flip side, there are sacrifices we make on account of our children. Sometimes we come late to or miss events we would have liked to attend because "something came up." It may be a medical emergency, or a meltdown, or a tough night at the negotiating table (ie "you are going to bed right now, or else...").

In our society, when the "detained on account of child" excuse is real, we always hope those who were offended could be forgiving and understanding.

On the other hand, there may be times when people overuse the "child" excuse to the point they are no longer believed.

Was Yaakov being truthful in his blaming his inability to continue the journey on his children? Maybe yes, maybe no. But Yaakov knew that with the right person, and presented in the right way, it is hard to refute a fallback excuse that includes the words "My kids are small and incapable of making the journey."

This is one of the shared elements of the human condition – once we have children, our lives become inexorably linked to their immediate needs when duty calls.