Parshat Miketz
by Rabbi Avi Billet
One of the fascinating aspects of actual Torah study – study of the Five Books of Moses – comes in the subtlety of language. The usage of specific words, and sometimes even a single letter, all open the door to interpretation which is simply lost through the study of the Torah through a translation.
Here is a wonderful example of this. Were one to read a translation of the verses 41:15-16, one would miss the oddity of an additional word which need not be in the text. As Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan translates it in his “Living Torah”: Pharaoh said to Joseph, 'I had a dream, and there is no one who can interpret it. I heard that when you hear a dream, you can explain it.' Joseph answered Pharaoh, 'It is not by my own power. But God may provide an answer concerning Pharaoh's fortune.'
Nothing seems amiss or afoul here. And then, Rabbi Kaplan is not famous for a literal translation. His translation is a commentary as well in its attempt to give form and structure to the Torah’s narrative.
And so, when we look at the Hebrew we find something that need not be said. Pharaoh said, “I have heard about you ‘laymor’ (saying) that you will hear a dream and interpret it.” And Yosef answered ‘laymor’ (saying), “Not me. God will give the answer for Pharaoh’s peace (of mind).”
The word ‘laymor’ is used most often in the Torah to describe either that which God told Moshe, or that which Moshe will tell the people based on God’s instruction. Here, however, the word ‘laymor’ is superfluous in both contexts in which it appears. Pharaoh need only say “I have heard that you hear dreams and interpret them” and Yosef’s response should simply be “And Yosef answered, “It’s not me. God will provide the answer…”
The Talmud tells us in Sanhedrin 56b that the word “laymor” actually has another meaning. If one looks back to Bereshit 2:16, one finds the verse that describes how God commanded the original human – and from this verse the Talmud derives the seven Noachide laws. The verse itself translates to “God gave the man a commandment, saying, 'You may definitely eat from every tree of the garden,’” and from the word in the middle – “laymor” (saying), the Talmud implies the command against immorality and promiscuity.
And so, an implication that can be derived here, from the extra word Pharaoh throws at Yosef, and from the exact same word that Yosef throws back at Pharaoh, is that the accusation that sent Yosef to prison is still hovering over his head.
Pharaoh is therefore hinting to this when he says, “I’ve heard about your laymor (business with the wife of Potiphar) AND that you interpret dreams.” And Yosef’s response is, “The laymor (business) is not me! (In other words, it was and remains a false accusation!) AND God will provide the answer…”
If we think about Yosef’s ordeal, we may come to think about any person who is sent to prison for a crime they did not commit – especially when the sentence is so long. And how they profess their innocence to the point that no one believes them, and to the point that it becomes a joke to anyone who will listen. “Yeah yeah, Yosef. Of course you’re innocent. Like everyone else.” And the person may feel very depressed. Never really getting a chance to explain. A chance to set things right. A chance to prove one’s innocence.
But if we recall what Yosef said to the Chief Wine Pourer last week, he said, “When you are freed, mention me to Pharaoh, for I was kidnapped from the land of Ivrim, and here I have done nothing wrong.”
It could very well be that when the wine pourer did tell his boss about Yosef, that he remembered to mention all these things as well. And since Pharaoh had taken Yosef out to interpret dreams, he needed to find out if Yosef’s criminality was a real issue, or if what he had been told in Yosef’s name from his wine pourer had truth to it.
Throwing the subtle hint to Yosef through the word “Laymor” may have been his way of saying to Yosef, “Now that you are here, you have the hearing you’ve always wanted. You’ll get one chance to clear your name. Use it well.”
And Yosef does do well. He catches Pharaoh’s softball, denies all connection to what he was accused of, and moves on the business at hand. It is not so farfetched to see the behind-the-scenes narrative taking this turn, because anyone who reads the chapter in which Yosef is accused could easily note how when Potiphar gets angry (39:19) it was at his wife, and not at Yosef who he trusted with his whole household. He had to throw Yosef in prison because of course his wife is believed over the word of a mere slave/servant. But the jail was in his own house (see 40:3 when the Chief Wine Pourer and Baker were placed in the same prison).
Lesson: Learn Torah in the original Hebrew. It opens the door for so many more questions and for incredible answers, but also opens a pandoras box of interpretation gleaned from the subtle addition of a seemingly unnecessary phrase, word, or even letter.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Friday, December 23, 2016
Yosef the Ruler v. Yosef the Brother - bad guy or good guy?
Parshat Vayeshev
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the story of Yosef and his brothers carefully, a number of things jump out at us that mirror the Torah’s narrative from the depiction of creation.
Beginning with Yosef’s first dream, we note that it takes place in a field where some of the bundles bow to one bundle – an image of subservience and, seemingly unrelated, farming.
The brothers say to Yosef, “Do you want to be our king? Do you intend to rule over us?”
This might not seem so significant, except that one of the terms they use – “Im Mashol timshol banu” – includes a word that appears only one other time in the entire Bible. That word is “timshol” and it is the same word God uses to tell Kayin to take control of his desires and emotions and try to do better rather than harbor a grudge forever.
His second dream invokes the celestial entities that were created on Day 4 – the sun, moon and stars.
And after his second dream, the brothers go to take care of sheep.
The image of farming in dream #1, and the brothers getting away from Yosef through being shepherds reminds us of the first conflict of brothers, that of Kayin and Hevel.
As we know the story that is coming, we tend to identify Yosef as the “good guy” and the brothers as the “bad guys.” In the Kayin/Hevel story, as Kayin is the murderer and Hevel is the victim, we always identify Kayin as the “bad guy” and Hevel as the “good guy.”
But the use of the word “timshol” being directed at Kayin and at Yosef would seem to imply that in some way they are in the same boat – you have the opportunity to rule over something… what are you going to do with that?
Kayin did not control his passion and he killed his brother. Maybe the brothers are hinting to Yosef that if you don’t control this desire to rule over us, someone may come to be murdered.
The parallel is not exact, and it is therefore imperfect. For example, Yosef’s first dream implies that they are all farming – not just Yosef – and that somehow either he is the best farmer, or his produce is better than that of his brothers.
Their response to his dreams (they don’t directly respond to his dream about the stars) is to go shepherding. Are they identifying with Hevel? Are they giving a premonition that they are going to right the wrong done so long ago to Hevel on account of a similar fight between the farmer and the shepherd?
This leads into a very different discussion about how we determine right from wrong.
For example, is it always true that when a 2-person fight ends with one dead and the other standing that the survivor is guilty of murder? Of course not. Self-defense, a boxing match or other contact sport in which the players know the risks, a battlefield, or a righteous execution (think Nuremberg, Eichmann, etc.) are all examples of a justified killing (or, at least in the boxing case, one with no criminal intent).
In the case of Kayin and Hevel, there is a very simple way to read the verse to suggest that Kayin may have been acting in self-defense, or at the very least, he rose from an inferior position to knock Hevel who had overpowered him (see Midrash Aggadah 4:8). This perspective changes our perception of right and wrong (don’t worry too much, as most commentaries paint Kayin as the bad guy).
In the case of Yosef and his brothers, it is very easy to make the case for the brothers being the good guys and Yosef being the bad guy. In ancient times, the first born was the natural leader of a family. True, Yosef was the first born to Rachel, but he had a lot of half-brothers who were older than he. But Reuven should have been the natural leader. Additionally, if a new nation is to arise, as we’ve seen in other cases (Yishmael, Nachor), the twelve children are equal princes, with equal shares until their father dies and their oldest sibling takes over.
Yosef making his own inroads disturbs the brothers on many levels. He is jumping into a position that is not naturally his. He is the recipient of his father’s favoritism, which did not go well in keeping a family together in the past (see what happened with Yishmael and Eisav), and his being chosen bodes poorly for the future of the rest of the family. Will they be rejected from Yaakov’s family?
Perhaps the brothers, in looking at all this, are realizing the connection to the first fight between brothers and are determined that the majority will not be lost due to the whims of a fractional minority of one. Certainly in their eyes, Yosef is the “bad guy” and they are the “good guys.”
Recall as well that the fight to the death between Kayin and Hevel took place in a “sadeh” (field), while in Yosef’s dream of the farming, the brothers are all in a “sadeh,” and when Yosef is looking for his brothers in Shechem, he is lost in a “sadeh.” (37:15)
I think it is that encounter, when a third party, a mysterious man, meets Yosef, when the shift from a correction of a past misdeed to a different kind of story begins to unfold.
The man asks Yosef “What are you looking for?” And Yosef says, “I am seeking out my brothers.” Because despite everything, Yosef knows in his heart that he is not looking to change anything in their relationship. He may have dreams of grandeur and of royalty, but he does not believe that he will rule OVER his brothers. More that his position will be of great benefit to his family.
And so it becomes a matter of perspective. Perhaps Yosef putting his cards on the table – “I seek my brothers” ends up changing the direction of the story so much that his brothers detect in him a brother when they see him. And while they don’t treat him nicely, they do come to the realization that “our hand shall not be upon him, for he is our brother.” (37:27)
If only all the Jewish people could remember that in the end, all of the Jewish people are “our brother” we would be able to look past differences and note what we have in common and mend many open wounds without any need for even the verbal violence that sometimes passes between us.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the story of Yosef and his brothers carefully, a number of things jump out at us that mirror the Torah’s narrative from the depiction of creation.
Beginning with Yosef’s first dream, we note that it takes place in a field where some of the bundles bow to one bundle – an image of subservience and, seemingly unrelated, farming.
The brothers say to Yosef, “Do you want to be our king? Do you intend to rule over us?”
This might not seem so significant, except that one of the terms they use – “Im Mashol timshol banu” – includes a word that appears only one other time in the entire Bible. That word is “timshol” and it is the same word God uses to tell Kayin to take control of his desires and emotions and try to do better rather than harbor a grudge forever.
His second dream invokes the celestial entities that were created on Day 4 – the sun, moon and stars.
And after his second dream, the brothers go to take care of sheep.
The image of farming in dream #1, and the brothers getting away from Yosef through being shepherds reminds us of the first conflict of brothers, that of Kayin and Hevel.
As we know the story that is coming, we tend to identify Yosef as the “good guy” and the brothers as the “bad guys.” In the Kayin/Hevel story, as Kayin is the murderer and Hevel is the victim, we always identify Kayin as the “bad guy” and Hevel as the “good guy.”
But the use of the word “timshol” being directed at Kayin and at Yosef would seem to imply that in some way they are in the same boat – you have the opportunity to rule over something… what are you going to do with that?
Kayin did not control his passion and he killed his brother. Maybe the brothers are hinting to Yosef that if you don’t control this desire to rule over us, someone may come to be murdered.
The parallel is not exact, and it is therefore imperfect. For example, Yosef’s first dream implies that they are all farming – not just Yosef – and that somehow either he is the best farmer, or his produce is better than that of his brothers.
Their response to his dreams (they don’t directly respond to his dream about the stars) is to go shepherding. Are they identifying with Hevel? Are they giving a premonition that they are going to right the wrong done so long ago to Hevel on account of a similar fight between the farmer and the shepherd?
This leads into a very different discussion about how we determine right from wrong.
For example, is it always true that when a 2-person fight ends with one dead and the other standing that the survivor is guilty of murder? Of course not. Self-defense, a boxing match or other contact sport in which the players know the risks, a battlefield, or a righteous execution (think Nuremberg, Eichmann, etc.) are all examples of a justified killing (or, at least in the boxing case, one with no criminal intent).
In the case of Kayin and Hevel, there is a very simple way to read the verse to suggest that Kayin may have been acting in self-defense, or at the very least, he rose from an inferior position to knock Hevel who had overpowered him (see Midrash Aggadah 4:8). This perspective changes our perception of right and wrong (don’t worry too much, as most commentaries paint Kayin as the bad guy).
In the case of Yosef and his brothers, it is very easy to make the case for the brothers being the good guys and Yosef being the bad guy. In ancient times, the first born was the natural leader of a family. True, Yosef was the first born to Rachel, but he had a lot of half-brothers who were older than he. But Reuven should have been the natural leader. Additionally, if a new nation is to arise, as we’ve seen in other cases (Yishmael, Nachor), the twelve children are equal princes, with equal shares until their father dies and their oldest sibling takes over.
Yosef making his own inroads disturbs the brothers on many levels. He is jumping into a position that is not naturally his. He is the recipient of his father’s favoritism, which did not go well in keeping a family together in the past (see what happened with Yishmael and Eisav), and his being chosen bodes poorly for the future of the rest of the family. Will they be rejected from Yaakov’s family?
Perhaps the brothers, in looking at all this, are realizing the connection to the first fight between brothers and are determined that the majority will not be lost due to the whims of a fractional minority of one. Certainly in their eyes, Yosef is the “bad guy” and they are the “good guys.”
Recall as well that the fight to the death between Kayin and Hevel took place in a “sadeh” (field), while in Yosef’s dream of the farming, the brothers are all in a “sadeh,” and when Yosef is looking for his brothers in Shechem, he is lost in a “sadeh.” (37:15)
I think it is that encounter, when a third party, a mysterious man, meets Yosef, when the shift from a correction of a past misdeed to a different kind of story begins to unfold.
The man asks Yosef “What are you looking for?” And Yosef says, “I am seeking out my brothers.” Because despite everything, Yosef knows in his heart that he is not looking to change anything in their relationship. He may have dreams of grandeur and of royalty, but he does not believe that he will rule OVER his brothers. More that his position will be of great benefit to his family.
And so it becomes a matter of perspective. Perhaps Yosef putting his cards on the table – “I seek my brothers” ends up changing the direction of the story so much that his brothers detect in him a brother when they see him. And while they don’t treat him nicely, they do come to the realization that “our hand shall not be upon him, for he is our brother.” (37:27)
If only all the Jewish people could remember that in the end, all of the Jewish people are “our brother” we would be able to look past differences and note what we have in common and mend many open wounds without any need for even the verbal violence that sometimes passes between us.
Friday, December 16, 2016
Only Milah L'Shem Shamayim (Circumcision, for Heaven's Sake)
Parshat Vayishlach
by Rabbi Avi Billet
We are a people who are proud to honor the Bris Milah, and we very willingly and unquestioningly circumcise our sons. We do this because of our commitment to our end of the Covenant, and our belief that as long as we do our part, God will continue to do His.
Would we be as willing to do this if we had to circumcise at a later age? Would we at the very least reconsider the age at which we do this?
In 2009, an Israel-born woman named Danae Elon produced a movie called “Partly Private” in which she explored the cultural attachment people around the world have to circumcision. Coming from an anti-religious home, and a father who told her that if he could do it over he wouldn’t have circumcised his sons (he was young and naïve and just did what everyone else did), now that she was pregnant, she wanted to come from a place of knowledge in reaching her decision whether to circumcise.
While her particular story is for those who are interested, what I found fascinating was a circumcision party she attended in an Arabic community somewhere (I believe it was Turkey), in which they had boys age 6-9 circumcised in a spectacle that was most public. And while all the fathers were saying, “my son will go through with it no matter what. He doesn’t have a choice” when they turned the camera to some of the boys, they gave a thumbs down and expressed their displeasure in having to undergo this procedure.
A few years ago, a friend of mine, who is also a rabbi of a shul, called me with a dilemma. A family came to him for their son’s bar mitzvah. I don’t think they were particularly observant. There was a question about the circumcision – had it been done at the right time? Was the person who did the circumcision reliable to do it properly? I don’t remember the particulars, but I do recall that what I felt was the best option was for the child to have “hatafat dam” – a largely ceremonial procedure (which could be done privately) in which the tiniest amount of blood is drawn from the circumcision scar to symbolically turn a medical circumcision into a Bris Milah. This procedure is done on circumcised males who convert to Judaism, and on Jews whose circumcisions were done in a manner not following Jewish law.
To make a long story short, when the young man was given this information, he balked and did not go through with the procedure (I think they had enough “safek” (doubt) to accept that the child’s circumcision was kosher in order to go through with the bar mitzvah without the hatafat dam).
I bring all of this as background for a simple question. Shchem the prince agreed to circumcise himself when the brothers of Dinah insisted upon it, and he even underwent the procedure right away. Why do we continue to look at him as deserving of his fate (killed by Shimon and Levi) after he clearly was following his heart and trying to do the right thing after having done a very wrong thing with Dinah? It’s not easy to do what he did – to own up, apologize, ask how he could make things better, and then undergo circumcision!
The Midrash Sechel Tov says this wasn’t for love. It was for lust. It was certainly not for the sake of heaven. In other words, whatever was driving him remained insincere, as evidenced in his not even attempting to understand why circumcision was of value to Yaakov’s family.
Alshikh argues that his prime motivation wasn’t even for Dinah! It was to convince everyone else, the people of Shchem-city, to go through with it. If he came home and said, “I think we should all do this!” no one would have listened. But when he came home already circumcised, it was a much easier sell. And the pitch was that “you will all profit from this relationship!” which, as we know, was not a very honest pitch.
On the other hand, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch points out the likelihood that in some manner all the people of the city were not merely subjects of the lord and prince, but were actually owned by them in a way, used to having to follow the whims of their masters.
Malbim and Netziv highlight how when he underwent the surgery, his motivation as described in the Torah is “his desire for the daughter of Yaakov.” It’s no longer his love for the young maiden, but to be connected to Yaakov.
There’s an old saying that “money is the root of all evil.” It seems that Shchem used a desire to be connected to the wealthy Yaakov as the motivating factor behind his circumcision. I’ve heard some people say in jest – though I wonder if they aren’t somewhat serious – that they’d give up an arm or at least a finger to attain a certain financial status and stature. If that’s the case, then what’s the loss of a foreskin? According to some in the know, not much. One would typically miss it much less than a limb or even a finger, as its absence changes very little in terms of a person’s day-to-day functional living.
And so we need not give credit to Shchem, the opportunist and the rapist, who cared for Dinah only until he had his way with her, and then turned to bigger, greener sights, when he realized from which family she came.
To answer the opening question, I like to believe that if we had to do this at a later age, we would go for it all the same. The righteous converts I have met were happy, if not in some cases excited, to have their circumcision turned in to a bris. I can’t speak for those who undergo circumcision, as I haven’t spoken to many – most men I meet who have joined the Jewish people as adults happened to be circumcised as children. But I imagine they know coming into it that circumcision will be one requirement. And they continue to go through with it. More to the point, however, is the example we have from the many Jews who came from the former Soviet Union, who did not hesitate to have themselves circumcised as teenagers or as adults. God bless them and their wonderful example of showing what it means to be devoted to God, even when the challenge is so difficult. They proved to us that the Jewish people are not deterred by the difficulty they face when the motivation is indeed for the sake of heaven.
**********************
p.s. I recall the words of a father who had been through this who told me at his son's bris, "Rabbi, I am so glad we are doing this for my son at this age, when he'll have no memory of it. When I came over from the Soviet Union, I was 19. I was excited to have my bris. But I also remember the pain - I couldn't walk for a month!"
As willing as he was, he was grateful to be in a country where he did not have to hide his religion and could circumcise his son at the right time - 8 days old!
by Rabbi Avi Billet
We are a people who are proud to honor the Bris Milah, and we very willingly and unquestioningly circumcise our sons. We do this because of our commitment to our end of the Covenant, and our belief that as long as we do our part, God will continue to do His.
Would we be as willing to do this if we had to circumcise at a later age? Would we at the very least reconsider the age at which we do this?
In 2009, an Israel-born woman named Danae Elon produced a movie called “Partly Private” in which she explored the cultural attachment people around the world have to circumcision. Coming from an anti-religious home, and a father who told her that if he could do it over he wouldn’t have circumcised his sons (he was young and naïve and just did what everyone else did), now that she was pregnant, she wanted to come from a place of knowledge in reaching her decision whether to circumcise.
While her particular story is for those who are interested, what I found fascinating was a circumcision party she attended in an Arabic community somewhere (I believe it was Turkey), in which they had boys age 6-9 circumcised in a spectacle that was most public. And while all the fathers were saying, “my son will go through with it no matter what. He doesn’t have a choice” when they turned the camera to some of the boys, they gave a thumbs down and expressed their displeasure in having to undergo this procedure.
A few years ago, a friend of mine, who is also a rabbi of a shul, called me with a dilemma. A family came to him for their son’s bar mitzvah. I don’t think they were particularly observant. There was a question about the circumcision – had it been done at the right time? Was the person who did the circumcision reliable to do it properly? I don’t remember the particulars, but I do recall that what I felt was the best option was for the child to have “hatafat dam” – a largely ceremonial procedure (which could be done privately) in which the tiniest amount of blood is drawn from the circumcision scar to symbolically turn a medical circumcision into a Bris Milah. This procedure is done on circumcised males who convert to Judaism, and on Jews whose circumcisions were done in a manner not following Jewish law.
To make a long story short, when the young man was given this information, he balked and did not go through with the procedure (I think they had enough “safek” (doubt) to accept that the child’s circumcision was kosher in order to go through with the bar mitzvah without the hatafat dam).
I bring all of this as background for a simple question. Shchem the prince agreed to circumcise himself when the brothers of Dinah insisted upon it, and he even underwent the procedure right away. Why do we continue to look at him as deserving of his fate (killed by Shimon and Levi) after he clearly was following his heart and trying to do the right thing after having done a very wrong thing with Dinah? It’s not easy to do what he did – to own up, apologize, ask how he could make things better, and then undergo circumcision!
The Midrash Sechel Tov says this wasn’t for love. It was for lust. It was certainly not for the sake of heaven. In other words, whatever was driving him remained insincere, as evidenced in his not even attempting to understand why circumcision was of value to Yaakov’s family.
Alshikh argues that his prime motivation wasn’t even for Dinah! It was to convince everyone else, the people of Shchem-city, to go through with it. If he came home and said, “I think we should all do this!” no one would have listened. But when he came home already circumcised, it was a much easier sell. And the pitch was that “you will all profit from this relationship!” which, as we know, was not a very honest pitch.
On the other hand, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch points out the likelihood that in some manner all the people of the city were not merely subjects of the lord and prince, but were actually owned by them in a way, used to having to follow the whims of their masters.
Malbim and Netziv highlight how when he underwent the surgery, his motivation as described in the Torah is “his desire for the daughter of Yaakov.” It’s no longer his love for the young maiden, but to be connected to Yaakov.
There’s an old saying that “money is the root of all evil.” It seems that Shchem used a desire to be connected to the wealthy Yaakov as the motivating factor behind his circumcision. I’ve heard some people say in jest – though I wonder if they aren’t somewhat serious – that they’d give up an arm or at least a finger to attain a certain financial status and stature. If that’s the case, then what’s the loss of a foreskin? According to some in the know, not much. One would typically miss it much less than a limb or even a finger, as its absence changes very little in terms of a person’s day-to-day functional living.
And so we need not give credit to Shchem, the opportunist and the rapist, who cared for Dinah only until he had his way with her, and then turned to bigger, greener sights, when he realized from which family she came.
To answer the opening question, I like to believe that if we had to do this at a later age, we would go for it all the same. The righteous converts I have met were happy, if not in some cases excited, to have their circumcision turned in to a bris. I can’t speak for those who undergo circumcision, as I haven’t spoken to many – most men I meet who have joined the Jewish people as adults happened to be circumcised as children. But I imagine they know coming into it that circumcision will be one requirement. And they continue to go through with it. More to the point, however, is the example we have from the many Jews who came from the former Soviet Union, who did not hesitate to have themselves circumcised as teenagers or as adults. God bless them and their wonderful example of showing what it means to be devoted to God, even when the challenge is so difficult. They proved to us that the Jewish people are not deterred by the difficulty they face when the motivation is indeed for the sake of heaven.
**********************
p.s. I recall the words of a father who had been through this who told me at his son's bris, "Rabbi, I am so glad we are doing this for my son at this age, when he'll have no memory of it. When I came over from the Soviet Union, I was 19. I was excited to have my bris. But I also remember the pain - I couldn't walk for a month!"
As willing as he was, he was grateful to be in a country where he did not have to hide his religion and could circumcise his son at the right time - 8 days old!
Friday, December 9, 2016
Meet Leah, the "Hated" Wife
Parshat Vayetze
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Parshat Ki Tetze we are told a tale about a man who has two wives, one who is beloved (“Ahuva”) and one who is detested (“S’nuah”) (Devarim 21:15). Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the term used there is the exact term used by God (29:31) and Leah (29:33) in describing her own situation with respect to her husband.
In Ki Tetze, Rabbi Hirsch quotes the Talmud (Yevamot) to suggest that the word “S’nuah” is the Torah’s way of expressing disapproval of a marriage. He then mentions the Sifre where the word describes one who is “discriminated against undeservedly.” Through his analysis of the difference between the word “S’nuah” and “S’niah” Hirsch raises a third possibility that the term implies a wife who is “less loved.”
In our parsha, Hirsch calls Leah “the hated… i.e. less beloved” wife, as he notes that
When faced with trying to understand the relationship that Yaakov had with Leah, if we want to be myopic, we can pretend to understand Yaakov on a level each of us might feel in such a situation.
To bring a few possibilities:
Some of these don’t really make sense. Because if Yaakov really hated her, it stands to reason he would have divorced her. After all, his marriage to her was made under false pretenses.
So what does it mean that “she was hated?”
Hirsch’s insights are very good. A lot of it could have been in her mind, comparing herself to her sister (Rachel married Yaakov a week after Leah). God’s perspective could also simply be a reflection of Leah’s feelings. It’s not farfetched to say that she was “less loved,” as the Torah doesn’t mince words in describing Yaakov’s love for Rachel (29:18,20,30)
At the same time, Yaakov also gets angry at Rachel (30:2), in a manner we never see him treating Leah – even when Leah seems to be very forward after trading her “dudaim” (flowers – mandrakes?) to Rachel in exchange for the evening with Yaakov.
So was it real hatred that was going on here?
Reb Bunem of Pshischa had a different perspective in explaining Leah’s being “hated.” He suggests it is impossible that Yaakov hated her. Rather, she was hated by herself, the same way that a true righteous person is very hard on his or herself. She saw her own flaws, knew her inadequacies, may have had leftover feelings of sadness from the thought that at any time Yaakov might divorce her, leaving her open to being picked up by Eisav.
As on target as Reb Bunem might be in protecting Yaakov from being a hater, the idea that Leah feels so inadequate is nonetheless sad to consider (even though I think it is a great explanation). We all know and see people who live lives of (personally inflicted) inadequacy. Some feel they can never date or marry due to some flaw they see in themselves. Some feel they can never get the kind of job they want or do the things they want to do because they won’t do it perfectly, or even well, or because they are “no good at anything.”
A wise woman I know likes to say, “There will be plenty of people who will put you down in your lifetime. Don’t ever be a person who puts yourself down.”
Leah carries the title of one of the “Imahot” (mothers) of the Jewish people because of her many good qualities. It is sad that this stain of being “S’nuah” is on her resume, even if it helped her become a great mother, and cemented her place as the wife buried next to her shared husband.
And then, maybe she became so great because of or in spite of her hated status. And that’s a thought worth mulling over.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Parshat Ki Tetze we are told a tale about a man who has two wives, one who is beloved (“Ahuva”) and one who is detested (“S’nuah”) (Devarim 21:15). Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the term used there is the exact term used by God (29:31) and Leah (29:33) in describing her own situation with respect to her husband.
In Ki Tetze, Rabbi Hirsch quotes the Talmud (Yevamot) to suggest that the word “S’nuah” is the Torah’s way of expressing disapproval of a marriage. He then mentions the Sifre where the word describes one who is “discriminated against undeservedly.” Through his analysis of the difference between the word “S’nuah” and “S’niah” Hirsch raises a third possibility that the term implies a wife who is “less loved.”
In our parsha, Hirsch calls Leah “the hated… i.e. less beloved” wife, as he notes that
“God chose precisely the one who felt slighted and disadvantaged, and made her the principal ancestress of His people. For the names that this less-loved wife gave to her sons show us that, precisely in her feeling of disadvantage, she was saturated with love for her husband; the names show us that she uplifted herself to fully appreciate the role of motherhood in the destiny of woman and the happiness of marriage, and that for both she cast her burden on God, Who sees and hears all and causes His Presence to dwell between man and woman. Her husband’s love was her goal, and with every child born to her, she hoped to add another layer to the foundation of this love. In the end, her hopes were fulfilled. What was denied to the bride and wife was granted to the mother of children.”
When faced with trying to understand the relationship that Yaakov had with Leah, if we want to be myopic, we can pretend to understand Yaakov on a level each of us might feel in such a situation.
To bring a few possibilities:
- He liked Leah as a cousin, but never wanted to marry her.
- He had been tricked into marrying her, and hated her because he was victim of a rouse.
- He had been tricked into marrying her, and he hated her because of her role in not owning up to her true identity,
- She was a detestable woman, so he hated her.
Some of these don’t really make sense. Because if Yaakov really hated her, it stands to reason he would have divorced her. After all, his marriage to her was made under false pretenses.
So what does it mean that “she was hated?”
Hirsch’s insights are very good. A lot of it could have been in her mind, comparing herself to her sister (Rachel married Yaakov a week after Leah). God’s perspective could also simply be a reflection of Leah’s feelings. It’s not farfetched to say that she was “less loved,” as the Torah doesn’t mince words in describing Yaakov’s love for Rachel (29:18,20,30)
At the same time, Yaakov also gets angry at Rachel (30:2), in a manner we never see him treating Leah – even when Leah seems to be very forward after trading her “dudaim” (flowers – mandrakes?) to Rachel in exchange for the evening with Yaakov.
So was it real hatred that was going on here?
Reb Bunem of Pshischa had a different perspective in explaining Leah’s being “hated.” He suggests it is impossible that Yaakov hated her. Rather, she was hated by herself, the same way that a true righteous person is very hard on his or herself. She saw her own flaws, knew her inadequacies, may have had leftover feelings of sadness from the thought that at any time Yaakov might divorce her, leaving her open to being picked up by Eisav.
As on target as Reb Bunem might be in protecting Yaakov from being a hater, the idea that Leah feels so inadequate is nonetheless sad to consider (even though I think it is a great explanation). We all know and see people who live lives of (personally inflicted) inadequacy. Some feel they can never date or marry due to some flaw they see in themselves. Some feel they can never get the kind of job they want or do the things they want to do because they won’t do it perfectly, or even well, or because they are “no good at anything.”
A wise woman I know likes to say, “There will be plenty of people who will put you down in your lifetime. Don’t ever be a person who puts yourself down.”
Leah carries the title of one of the “Imahot” (mothers) of the Jewish people because of her many good qualities. It is sad that this stain of being “S’nuah” is on her resume, even if it helped her become a great mother, and cemented her place as the wife buried next to her shared husband.
And then, maybe she became so great because of or in spite of her hated status. And that’s a thought worth mulling over.
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