Revisiting Tzlafchad

Titled "Revisiting" because we've been down this road before

Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

 This idea was born out of a learning session I had with my daughter, Aliza. She gets a lot of credit for the direction into which this thought developed. 

 The tale of the daughters of Tzlafchad is shrouded in mystery surrounding the death of their father.

 Five years ago, I raised the suggestion of the Zohar that Tzlafchad was the lone victim of the snakes in Bamidbar 21. 

 But a new reading of the account lends to a new interpretation that perhaps his so-called “sin” wasn’t really a sin at all.

 “Our father died in the desert. He was not among the members of Korach's party who protested against God, but he died [in/of] his own sin without leaving any sons.” (27:3) 

 The daughters of Tzlafchad ask Moshe for their father’s portion in the land because they feel his desert-death should not prevent his family inheriting a portion of land.

 If their father’s death was relatively innocent, why compare it to Korach’s rebels? Were they really saying that he died because of a sin? How would they know that the sin was the reason for his death?

 Abravanel raises a number of points that can help us answer these questions.

 They compared their father to Korach to make it clear to Moshe that Tzlafchad never challenged him personally. This might help Moshe be more receptive to their request. Tzlafchad was not a controversial figure.

 Their saying “He died in his sin” (‘b’chet’o met) makes any suggestion of his having died at the hands of man (such as the woodcutter in Bamidbar 15:32-36, or in any battle in Bamidbar 14) to be impossible.

 But maybe that expression introduces us to what his “sin” was, namely that he did not have any sons.

 Before we continue, let us make a couple of things clear. Not having sons is not a sin. People who have only daughters, or people who do not have children at all, have not sinned. It is in God’s hand to grant people children, and whatever cards He deals determines to what degree we have fulfilled our mitzvah to procreate. The Talmud tells us there are three partners in creation (Kiddushin 30b, Niddah 31a) (though modern science can perhaps be counted as a “fourth” partner in Creation for those struggling with infertility), but as one of my teachers once pointed out, the Talmudic passage in Shabbat 31a that lists the questions one will face at the Heavenly Court includes “Did you attempt to procreate?” The question is not whether you were successful or how many children you had, but whether you tried.

Tzlafchad had five daughters. But they are the ones who mention that “he died in his sin and he did not have sons.”

 There is only one other place in the Torah when the idea of “not having sons” is mentioned: in a passage that describes how Nadav and Avihu, Aharon’s older sons, had died. Bamidbar 3:4 tells us “Nadav and Avihu died before God when they offered unauthorized fire to God in the Sinai Desert, and they had no sons.” 

Trying to pinpoint why Nadav and Avihu died is a longer conversation, with many viewpoints and suggestions offered by the commentaries. But the Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 20) utilizes this verse to make a strange suggestion in the name of Rabbi Levi, that one of the reasons Nadav and Avihu died was because “They did not have sons.” (Bamidbar 3:4). While not having sons is not inherently a sin, it could be viewed in Torah language as a “chet” – a sin. (The Talmud Yevamot 64a suggests it may actually be a sin, but the Torah Temimah explains how it’s not a real sin) Seforno and others suggest that if Nadav and Avihu had sons, those sons would have been kohanim even before Elazar and Itamar. Not having produced these children, they missed out on bringing the next generation of kohanim into the world.

 Perhaps, in using a similar language, Tzlafchad’s daughters were saying to Moshe, “Our father died leaving only daughters. In his own way, following the teaching we learned about Nadav and Avihu, his death was in a state of personal ‘sin’ because there were no sons. But, unlike Nadav and Avihu, who had no children, he left behind five daughters. We should get his portion so that our father’s name will not be forgotten.”

 This may have actually been a brilliant ploy because Moshe viewed his nephews Nadav and Avihu as very holy (Vayikra 10:3). Perhaps Tzlafchad’s daughters’ appeals to Moshe (and his feelings about his nephews), explaining their circumstance in similar terms, helped Moshe come to the conclusion that of course they should inherit because it is unfair for their father’s circumstance to be compared to Nadav and Avihu. Particularly if Moshe looked past Nadav and Avihu’s lack of children, he would see that Tzlafchad’s daughters were all that their father could have wished for and more.

 Certainly having daughters is a great blessing. And maybe, after this tale, the concept of the “sin” of not having sons was laid to rest forever. Because raising children is not about gender. It is about teaching the next generation how to be good people, and good Jews. And certainly in that respect, Tzlafchad was anything but a failure or sinner. He was quite successful!

Inspired by Yishmael

Parshat Chayei Sarah

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The character Yishmael in the Torah is quite fascinating. Any honest opinion of Yishmael may be partially sympathetic to him, but will more than likely cast him as an unfavorable character until he undergoes his personal teshuvah (repentance) towards the end of his life, as indicated by the term "gviah" which describes his death (Midrash, Rashi, etc).

In truth, most of the negativity ascribed to Yishmael is not even evident in the Torah. As I wrote in this space last week, even whatever caused Sarah to have him banished from the home may have had nothing to do with bad behavior. In the best case scenarios, he was either being very nice to Yitzchak or he was talking about his rights as Avraham's first born (which is completely legitimate!), either of which made Sarah uncomfortable.

        
Beyond that, he seems to be more of a victim! He is banished in utero and as a teenager, the latter time with a minimal amount of bread and water, and he reappears at Avraham's funeral. The rabbis indicate that he died shortly after Eisav married his daughter, perhaps because Eisav married his daughter.

        
The Rabbis even depict him as one of the lads accompanying Avraham to the Akeidah (binding) of Yitzchak!

        
And of course, Avraham's love for Yishmael is no secret. When God tells him he'll have a son with Sarah, he says "Let Yishmael live before You." (17:18) When God tells Avraham to take his son… the one he loves… Yitzchak… to the mountain, Rashi points out Avraham's responses: "I have two sons, I love them both, o – You mean Yitzchak…"

        
Would Avraham have such feelings for a son who is terrible? Compare him to Yitzchak and Rivka, who are tremendously hurt by Eisav's choice of wives (26:35)

        
At the end of Yishmael's life, when his death is recorded using similar language to Avraham's death, we are told of his "descendants/generations." They are introduced using a familiar term, "V'Eileh Toldot Yishmael…" These are the generations of Yishmael.

        
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch points out that of all the times this phrase appears in the Bible, the word Toldot is spelled four different ways: with either 6, 5 or 4 letters. Yishmael's case is the only time it appears with 4 letters.

        
In Hebrew, the 6 letter version is called "Malei" (full or complete) because it has two vovs as vowels. The 5 letter versions either has a vov for the first "o" vowel, or a vov for the second "o" vowel, while the other "o" vowel in the word is indicated by a dot after the consonant preceding it. The 4 letter version has no vovs as vowels.

        
The two times it appears "Malei" are in 2:4 – the Toldot of the heavens and the earth, and in Ruth 4:18 – these are the generations of Peretz leading to David. The first vov is missing when describing the generations of Eisav (36:1,9) and Yaakov (37:2). The first vov is present, while the second vov is not for Adam 5:1, Noach 6:9, 10:1, Shem 11:10, Terach 11:27, Yitzchak 25:19, Aharon and Moshe – Bamidbar 3:1. For Yishmael – no vovs! Causing Hirsch to say, "All this says is 'Explain me!'"

        
The missing first vov (of the shoresh/root word) indicates an incompleteness in the children of that person. Eisav had many descendants, but they had no internal greatness, neither spiritually or ethically. And in the context in which the word appears for Yaakov, it is as part of the introduction to the fighting between his sons, which culminated with their selling their brother to Egypt.

Missing the second vov (the vov that makes the word plural) hints to there not really being "generations" because the person only had one or two sons that carried his traditions.

The heavens and earth are complete in quality and quantity, on the other hand, because they were made through a statement of God.

The generations of Peretz is considered complete because of the responsibility it will bear in heralding the redemption of Israel, based on its worthiness.

Yishmael is the only one spelled without vovs because he did not have as many descendants as, for example, Eisav had (compare Yishmael's 3 verses to chapter 36!). And his sons were also not as complete in their character as the descendants of Yitzchak eventually proved to be.

In essence, this one word indicates that Yishmael's family – 12 princes and all – were nothing to write home about. He had the 12 children that were promised, but how he raised them did not reflect well on him.

At the same time, when we examine Yishmael himself, we see a man who is loved by his father, who is viewed as a person who went through many personal struggles to unquestionably conclude his life as a righteous man.

Every person who becomes a parent has an important job in raising children. Hopefully we do our best, have our influence, and it can be listened to for as long as we are alive and have the ability to communicate. And of course, thereafter.

But there comes a time when the children leave and they are, to a certain degree, on their own. When that happens, the focus must once again revert to each of us as an individual.

There's a joke about three religious leaders arguing over when life begins. One says, "At conception." Another says, "At birth." And the rabbi says, "Life begins when the kids move out and the dog dies."

This is not to suggest that when the kids move out we cut the strings. But we must also be able to focus on our own growth – spiritually, religiously, mentally and healthfully – so we can live out our days after "life begins" with the ever present goal of concluding life unquestionably as a righteous person, following Yishmael's example.

Coming of Age Properly

Parshat Vayishlach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

I recently overheard two fathers of teenagers comparing their approaches to their sons' shul attendance on Sundays and other "days off." One of them came to me afterwards to discuss his related concerns about "texting on shabbos."

With a little insight from Parshat Vayishlach, perhaps there is a simple answer to both questions. I accept that I may be hopelessly naïve. But the stand I propose at the end of this will not be, if followed, what turns your children away from Judaism. Much bigger issues bring about such a result. Having said that, let us see how we can find parenting-inspiration from our forefather Yaakov.

One theme in Vayishlach is the coming-of-age of Yaakov's children.

Unlike in Vayetze where they appear as backdrops in the narrative of events in Padan Aram, in Vayishlach, we see an entirely different story. Consider: Reuven and Bilhah, Shimon and Levi in Shechem, all the brothers dealing with the prince of Shechem, and Yosef being singled out as the last son to meet Eisav. Even Dinah's experience in Shechem, while tragic, is arguably her initiation into the "real world." The brothers, collectively, plunder the city of Shechem and are later asked by their father to remove the idols that they have from their midst.

Yaakov's role as parent is fascinating, at times very active, and at times quite passive.

Immediately after dividing into two camps, Yaakov prays to the God of his fathers (32:10-12). Through remembering his roots in front of his children, he is demonstrating his understanding of why he is in this situation and the expectation he has from the God Who promised to watch over him and his children.

           

Whether Yaakov was crippled (end of Ch. 32) in order that he may: experience the promise God made to him (Chizkuni), be shown he would not be defeated (Radak), or ultimately win in a confrontation (Yalkut Shimoni), all help Yaakov realize that you can't run from your fears. In facing his brother with one unified camp, scrapping the two-camps plan, he models and teaches his children that if you boldly face what you think is your greatest fear, you may find that the only thing you really feared, if I may borrow from FDR, was fear itself. Facing one's destiny is more important than running like a coward. 

           

When his injured "gid hanasheh" prevented him from running, he became emboldened and confronted his brother in the open field. Abstaining from eating this nerve of an animal could be a reminder that cowardice is unbecoming of those who are God-fearing.

            

Yaakov takes the sidelines in allowing his sons to deal with Shechem. They speak "b'mirmah" – using tricks – (as did their father to Yitzchak (see 27:35)) and they bring justice against those who defiled their sister (34:27). Their father is disappointed in their choices, but they literally get the final word (34:31). It seems that they take the teachings of their father – to use trickery, to stand up to those who oppress you or who want to make your life miserable – and they run with them. And while they may not be entirely correct, their actions are somewhat justified by the context of the perpetrated deed.

            

In the final tale, when God tells Yaakov to go to Bet-El to make an altar to his God, Yaakov tells his sons to remove the idolatrous images they have (35:2). They listen! They give them to him, and he buries them under a tree!

            

Yaakov has modeled a line of behavior for his children. They learn from his example, they take his lead. They are not perfect, and they make choices he doesn't like. But when he tells them to give him precious items because they conflict with the prayers he will soon engage in, or because they don't fit in to the mood of the household, they acquiesce – no questions asked.

            

Parents of children who are coming of age certainly notice the changes they go through. Hopefully parents give children the freedom to make choices (and to make mistakes!), but hopefully both parents and children respect one another and have the ability to communicate with one another in general and about what is important to them.

Claiming you don't want to make your child go to shul for a 9am (or later!) minyan on a Sunday because you're afraid of losing your relationship with your son seems silly to me. Your kid davens (or attends davening) in school every day of the week. Sunday is the day you show your kid that you daven too! And that it isn't a day off for him or for you!

            

Finally, if Yaakov could convince his sons to give up golden images and jewelry which did not jive with the home he was building, I see no reason why the texting on shabbos "problem" is a problem. Every home can have an "off-limits-on-Shabbos" box, and every cell phone, tablet, etc. in the house is placed there before shabbos.

            

The same parents who pay their kids' cell-phone bills and give their kids credit cards should have every say as to when the phone is on and off-limits.

            

Yaakov buried objects which were far more precious, for the sake of preparing for serving the God that protected him and his family through the years. Shabbos is the day we serve the God that has protected and sustained our families through the years. If we are afraid of our children or can't bring ourselves to put up simple guidelines that brings the family on the same page in terms of prayer and Shabbos, we are doing something very wrong as parents.

            

Despite all the problems, "Yaakov's sons were twelve." (35:12) With God's help, and properly standing for what "our family believes in," we should merit to raise children who not only follow our examples for the good, but who surpass our expectations in their observance of the Torah, their relationships with God, and their religious experiences.