Parashat Mishpatim

This week’s portion – Mishpatim, or The Laws – is a direct continuation of last week’s portion. As you may recall, last week we read about how the Children of Israel received their Constitution – the famous Ten Commandments. Those majestic provisions painted in very broad brush strokes a picture of the actions the people should take – such as recognizing our One God, keeping the Shabbat, and respecting our parents, as well as some of those they should not – such as not to steal, to murder, or to covet. This week, we move from the constitution to the laws; from the general to the particular; and from the majestic to the (somewhat) mundane. But there is more here than meets the eye. 

As you may recall from last week, the Ten Commandments represented the idea of providing a unified code of conduct (and morals) to the people prior to any action, as opposed to a declaration of particular laws, per case, after a dispute has risen between (usually) two parties. Such an elaborate scheme of laws was quite a novel idea, and also, at least in part, probably a consequence of Moshe’s heeding his father-in-law's advice and departing from the role of a sole arbiter and judge of all cases and controversies. Now that other judges were in charge of running the legal system, they – and the people who were subject to their powers – were entitled to know (to quote Chief Justice Marshall from some 200 years ago) “what the law is.” And the law IS the great Ten Commandments, but it is also many more “small commandments,” dealing not only with the most egregious of violations (refusing to acknowledge God as the sole creator) or most heinous of crimes (murder), but with many every-day occurrences that require a legal solution. This is the issue of this week's portion – the many laws that will shape the behavior, both criminal and civil, of the Jewish community for generations to come.

There are many “legal” things to say about these laws, including their beautiful consistency, hierarchy, internal logic, and practicality. But I am afraid all this would be of little interest to the non-lawyer readers of this blog. Still, even without legal training one cannot escape a sense of awe when reading these ancient laws: how efficiently they were written; how much wisdom they reflect; how relevant many of them still are today (or, put differently, how little has changed in the past 3,000 years). To take but a few of my favorite examples: “And bribe you shall not take, as bribe will blind the eyes of wise men, and contrive the words of the righteous ones.” (Exodus 23:8); “And you shall not wrong a foreigner (or non-citizen) and you shall not oppress them, as you yourselves were foreigners in the land of Egypt.” (22:20); and there are many more, including, most importantly, the first official recognition of a woman's right to be supplied with food, clothes, and conjugal privileges. (Ex. 21:10)

But today I want to focus not on the laws that haven’t changed, but on those that have. In particular, I would like to demonstrate how two laws, well-established in their day, have undergone a transformative change over the years and today are used for completely different purposes than those originally intended.

I. “An Eye for An Eye”

This week’s portion introduces, for the first time, the notion of “an eye for an eye” (Ex. 21:22-25; the term appears twice more in the Chumash; see Levit. 24:17-22; Deut. 19:16-21). It is interesting to note how this well-measured, carefully-calculated formula of compensatory damages turned over the years into the rallying cry of some over-zealot state prosecutors (primarily in some Southern states) who demand “justice” (euphemism for the death penalty) to the criminals they put on trial. Let me explain. First, let us see the context in which the term appears in this week’s portion. The “eye for an eye” term – sometimes referred to today as the “Talion” – appears in the context of a series of laws pertaining to physical altercations.

The talion appears as part two of a law with two possible consequences. (Think of Section 1 as the law, and small sections (a) and (b) as the consequences). (See Exodus 21, 22-25) The law, or Section 1, deals with the following incident: Two free men are fighting while one of them accidentally harms a pregnant women (who is not involved in the tussle) and causes her to give birth to one child or more. The first of two possible consequences here, or small section (1), is that both mother and child (or children) are fine. In that case, the sanction (civil punishment) for the violator is an undetermined amount of money damages to be sought by the woman’s husband (note: not by her) and determined by the magistrates.

The second possible consequence, small section (2) if you will, is far more severe. Here, some (unspecified) “disaster” has happened – either the woman was injured or died, or the children were injured or died – then, in that case, the amount of damages is no longer arbitrary; in that case, the payment would be exactly in the amount equal to that that has been lost:

“[22] When men fight, and they injure a pregnant woman, and her children have come out, and no other tragedy occurs, the penalty would be in the amount that the husband of that  woman would ask as determined by the court; [23] But if a disaster struck, then you [the hitting person] shall give life for life, [24] eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, arm for an arm, foot for a foot, burn for a burn, wound for a wound, and bruise for a bruise.”

It is clear, therefore, from the context of this specific remedy that there is no intention that the person who accidentally, unintentionally damaged – or even killed – a pregnant woman or her child would be executed, or would be permanently maimed in a barbaric manner. On the contrary, it is clear that all the text is trying to do here is to protect the right and bodily integrity of pregnant women who deserve a special protection of the law due to their (physically) precarious position. 

[This week alone, we heard of federal judges in this country who have yet to internalize this important lesson, denying a claim by a young mother who asked for her job back after being fired for breast pumping at the workplace; the young mother’s claim that she is entitled to a “reasonable accommodation” was denied by explaining that she was no longer pregnant and therefore not entitled to any protection of the laws. Other judges have recently denied the notion that pregnancy itself requires “reasonable accommodation” as it is a “disability”; and while I do not think that pregnant women are “disabled,” they definitely deserve a temporary protection of the laws as needing “reasonable accommodations,” even at the priced of being tagged, legally, as "temporary disabled."] 

In addition to pregnant women, the text also protects other fragile groups - such as slaves of both genders who are accidentally hurt as a result of two men fighting (an event as old as humanity itself – see the Cain and Abel story for the earliest documented incident). This is a fascinating issue, then as today – the protection, by regulation, of fragile groups of victims (minors, elderly, and pregnant women) suffering from violence caused by other members of the community; think of victims of a gang “drive by,” or a bar female patron who suffers from violence by two intoxicated guests. Most importantly, the biblical text provides here a well-measured response, determining, first and foremost, that such injuries should be compensated, even if accidental; and second, and no less importantly, that such compensation should be comprehensive – for any injury they have suffered, for every bruise, cut, or lost limb, either to them or to the babies, they should receive a full compensation covering that very same amount.

Now to take this carefully-calculated civil compensation formula and turn it into the theoretical basis for criminally executing many an innocent victim, some cases in a racially-biased manner – and all that just because it “sounds good” (“The bible teaches us: ‘Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth.’ You, the jury, must give this man a taste of his own medicine: Send him to the death chamber!”) – such a misuse of the biblical text is simply beyond me.

II.The Laws of Kashrut 

Not too many are aware, but much of the entire corpus of the Laws of Kashrut (or dietary laws) stands on a single verse appearing in this week’s portion. [To be sure, there are many other verses relating to what a Jewish person may or may not eat; this one, however, is the lynchpin]:

“Though shall not cook a young goat in its mother’s milk.” (Exodus 23:19).

This seemingly innocuous prohibition, which was prescribed – according to some of the more recent commentators – in a direct response to many a foreign nations’ “special treat” during feasts (that is, the actual cooking of a young kid in its mother’s milk), was apparently designed to separate us from all other nations. We, the Jewish people, are ordered to refrain from doing such things.

How could that single verse spread into the powerful set of laws it is today?

Here is a quick thought exercise: We are not allowed to boil a young goat in its mother’s milk. There are two components here: the meat of the goat, and the milk of the mother. How can we be sure, while cooking the meat, that his mother’s milk – or traces thereof – cannot be found in the milk, or milk products, in which we cook that meat? The safe answer would be to eliminate any milk, or milk-based products, from the cooking process of the goat’s meat. But looking back at that meat, how can we be sure that that same meat – or traces thereof – are not to be found in other processed meat products? While the chances are not high, in order to be safe we better separate all meat-based products from any milk-based products.

Once we have done that, we have to also make sure that those two groups of products will never be consumed in the same set of dishes; therefore, two sets of dishes are warranted, one for each group (meat and milk products). Thus, here we are, more than 3,000 years afterwards, with a very specific set of laws regarding the strict separation of meat and milk. Every single product that comes to our mouth is labeled, either “meat,” “milk,” or “parve” (which is neither).  And every single meal we eat is carefully designed so it will not step over the bounds of this single verse, appearing in a text written several thousands of years ago. Fascinating.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Yitro

This week’s portion – Yitro, named after Moshe’s father in law – is the great portion of Matan Torah, the constituting event of providing the Torah to Israel by God.  This is perhaps the most important, most defining moment in the young life of the People of Israel, this assembly of former slaves who are about to become the Chosen People. In fact, this moment is so potent and so dramatic that its effects are well felt among us today, more than 3,000 years after it occurred. From both a religious and historical perspective, the event of receiving the Jewish constitution straight from the hands of God could not be overemphasized in its importance.

This short post, obviously, is not the proper venue to adequately discuss the multitude of issues surrounding the Ten Commandments.  For example, “I am the Lord Your God” – the first commandment, constitutes for many (including Prof. Yeshayahu Leibowitz) not only the most important commandment but also a summary of the entire Torah in one sentence; for others, however (including one of Leibovitz’s preeminent students, Prof. Assa Kasher), “You shall have no other God but me” is the most pertinent Commandment to Judaism. Still others question the number ten with regards to the Commandments, while others ponder the exact identity of the Second Commandment – is it “You shall not have other God” (which may also be read as part of the First Commandment) or is it “You shall not make any sculpture or image”? Finally, debate abound as to the actual meaning of the commandment forbidding the act of “coveting”: Does “Do not covet” relates to the actual taking of other person’s wife and other property or the mere thinking of doing those? And if the latter is correct, how may such a restriction be enforced?

Despite the fact I cannot discuss those issues here, I do urge you to examine the text of the portion yourself and make an informed decision as to each. This is a fun process, and by following it you may understand better why this classic and sacred text has not lost its appeal over the thousands of years since it was first introduced.  

Today I would like to make two short comments on issues preceding the actual receiving of the Torah: The first is known as Yitro’s Advice, and the second relates to the preparation for the “Big Event.” 

I. Yitro’s Advice

Moshe’s father-in-law, Yitro, comes to visit him, accompanied by Moshe’s wife Zipora – famous for not being Jewish – and their two kids.  (Obviously, Moshe has not been in touch with his family for quite some time; this is but one of the earliest documented examples of a leader who gave everything to his People, including sacrificing his own personal life).  As the morning arrives, to the great astonishment of Yitro, Moshe is hard at work: 

“And on the next day and Moshe sat to judge the people, and the people have stood upon Moshe from the morning until the evening.”  (Exodus 18:13)

Yitro cannot hide his surprise: “What is this thing that you do to your people, why are you sitting on your own while the entire people gathers upon you from morning until evening?” And Moshe answers: “Because the people come to me to seek God; should they have a dispute they would come to me, and I will judge between a man and his fellow, and I would announce to them the laws of God and his Torah.” (Ex. 18:14-16). But Yitro is neither satisfied with the explanation nor does he mince words: “That is not right; wither away you shall – both you personally and the people that upon you, as the task you have undertaken is too heavy for you – you cannot perform all this by yourself.”   

At this point, most readers would tend to agree with Yitro: Why should Moshe perform this entire task on his own? Surely it would be better to have some help from others, wouldn’t it? Why, then, he did not think about it by himself? Most commentators try to ascribe Moshe’s behavior to the fact that at this point he is an extremely inexperienced leader who perhaps was very hesitant to delegate any of the divine authorities he was given by God. This makes much sense, in particular in light of the fact that in this fragile point of the People’s history no courts, no enforcement agencies, and very little legislative power are available to him. Thus, it fell upon Moshe and him alone to concomitantly announce the law (legislate), judge concrete cases (judge), and, should need be, enforce the decision (execute). This explanation serves as the conventional wisdom explaining Moshe’s preference of judging on his own in the desert. 

 But I suspect something else may be at play here. Recall that Moshe was raised among royalty. Surely he hasn’t seen King Pharaoh sitting all day judging “small claims” between the people of Egypt. Surely he hasn’t seen the people of Egypt standing “upon their king” from morning until night, detailing their every-day disputes. Accordingly, he knew full well that the role of a leader is not to intervene in the most minute of controversies between people. In my mind, however, Moshe had a much larger agenda in his mind than simply judging the people’s “small claims.” Indeed, Moshe wanted to establish a unified system of theological law – the law of the Jewish God, of course – that he would both announce and apply in an equal manner throughout the ranks of this newly formed community.  This is why he did not want – or used – any other person for the arduous task judging, for the fear they would deviate from his message – despite the heavy toll it exacted on him.

But Yitro overcomes these somewhat ambitions goals by explaining to Moshe that he would spill the proverbial baby with the baby bath: “wither away you shall – both you personally and the people that upon you.” Hence arrives Yitro’s sound advice, which in essence recommended nominating judges of small claims (“for every ten”), judges of general disputes (“for every fifty”), judges of appeals (“for every hundred”), and quasi- Supreme Court judges (“for thousands”).  Moshe would remain as the ultimate arbiter, in case a hard issue of law is not resolves below him. (Until today, many legal systems worldwide operate in accordance with to this model precisely). 

What’s fascinating to me is the link – which I have not found anywhere in the commentaries – between this advice and the Ten Commandments. Indeed, most commentators consider the second and seminal half of this portion, the one dealing with the Ten Commandments, as important yet completely separated from the story of Yitro. To me, this is not merely a coincidence. In my mind, once Moshe had to abandon his “single model” of law – “the law is what I announce it to be every day” – he had to come up with a bold new concept; and that concept – not less bold than its predecessor – was the public announcement the entire code to all members of the community at the same time, so they would all – including the Judges – know what the law is, precisely.  This is precisely what let to the idea of announcing the Ten Commandments (as well as the special manner in which they were announced) in advance of future violation, as opposed to announce the law post-factu, after each case was decided.

I would be remise if I finish this comment without reciting the list of traits that Yitro recommended to be found in each of the judges that Moshe nominated. To this day, more than 3,000 years later, many a scholar are hard pressed to find a more succinct, elegant, and thoughtful set of requirements for a presiding judge: “You shall seek of the entire nation exceptional people, who fear God, people of truth, who despise greed.” (Ex. 18:21). It is for that reason that many judges around the world have these lines ascribed in their chambers.

II. The Preparation for Receiving the Torah

The second comment I would like to make today relates to the wonderful scene that preceded the actual Receiving of the Torah. The description of that event includes some of the most vivid, dramatic, and detailed accounts in the entire cannon.  You could almost think of yourself as a fly on the wall (or on a tent-post) in the Israeli camp, looking at these former slaves who are now ordered to prepare to the biggest event of their young life as a nation. Among others, they were ordered to wash their clothes (for the first time since they left Egypt); to keep away from the big mountain; to abstain from sexual relationship; and more generally to thoroughly prepare themselves – for the duration of three days – for the big moment.  And then the constituent moment itself finally arrives: “On the third day, as morning dawned, there were loud voices, and lightning, and a dark cloud descended on the mountain, and the voice of the Shofar came very loud – and all the people in the camp were very fearful.”  (Ex. 19:16; the beautiful description continues in the text itself).  

This preparation (and the exacting language in which it is described) is indeed special, and was probably meant to detract the people of Israel from their every-day hardships in the desert.  But in my mind it was meant to serve another important purpose, one that well serves the notion I discussed earlier. Now that Moshe is no longer available to every person as a judge on a daily basis, he wanted to guarantee that his (and God’s) law would still rule throughout; he was also adamant that this law should apply uniformly and equally to every member of the community. But in order to achieve such a feat something special was required; indeed, a simple declaration of the new divine law would probably not be very effective with a group of people who just witnessed God parting a sea for them to walk in, and then drowning the entire cavalry mission of the leading regional superpower. Hence, Moshe’s announcement of the new law required drama, panache, suspense, and anticipation (mixed with fear).  This was probably Moshe’s thought process, and the impressive result is beautifully presented to us today via the text of this week’s portion.

Did it work? As some of you well know, we will be reading in short order (four weeks or so) about the story of the Golden Calf.  So the short answer, unfortunately, is “no.”  But is there a silver lining here as well?  I think there is. What do you think?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron   

Parashat Be'Shalach

This week’s portion – Be’Shalach, roughly translated as “when [Pharaoh] sent [the People of Israel] away” – is extremely interesting in that it is extremely visual.  It essentially tells the story of the first days following the Exodus – the departing of Egypt; yet it is written more like a screenplay, a compilation of visual images, than a regular biblical story.  And thus, some of the most captivating scenes ever envisioned (and later attempted to be captured on the big screen by Cecil B. DeMille’s epic “The Ten Commandments”) are reported here in great detail:  The parting of the Sea, the drowning of all of Pharaoh’s cavalry, the “pillar of cloud” walking in front of the People of Israel during the day, and the “pillar of fire” by night, and many others. Indeed, it is for a good reason that our sages concluded, following this portion, that “what the lowliest of woman slaves had actually seen by that sea, even Prophet Ezekiel hasn’t seen in his grandest of visions.” 

But beyond its powerful imagery, this week’s portion is also unique in that it consists of a many a contradiction: On the one hand it contains some of the greatest revelations of faith of the People of Israel as well as of Moshe, God’s first (and only) slave. On the other hand, it also contains some of the most bitter revelations of disbelief, non-faith, and continuing complaints against God by the same people. This tension – of faith and non-faith, belief and disbelief – was wonderfully summed up (although in other context) by Israel’s first national poet, C.N. Bialik, in the opening lines of his famous poem, My Father:

“Odd were the ways of my life,

 and puzzlement ruled their direction,

Between the gateways of purity and vile 

have they constantly circled,

The sacrosanct constantly intertwining with the profane,

And the glorious with the loathsome wallowed …”

(My translation, obviously doing little justice to the sublime original).

Indeed, immediately following their experience as witnesses to some of the most beautiful visions of divine miracle ever observed by a human, the Children of Israel are quick to remind us of the mundane, frustrating, and – somewhat unbelievably – faithless lives of this recently-freed nation of slaves. My two short comments today would relate, first, to the notion of “how quickly we forget” (or its Latin cousin), and then – in close proximity – to the false notion of the requirement for “a proof of the existence of God.” 

I. Sic Transit Gloria Mundi . . . 

Right after God commits some of His most astonishing miracles – the parting of the sea, the drowning of the enemy’s cavalry, etc., etc. – we find the newly-freed nation, not surprisingly, in a very faithful mode: “And Israel has seen the wondrous hand which God laid upon Egypt, and the people have seen God, and they believed in God and in Moses His slave,” the text informs us  (Exodus 14:31).  Recall that the Father of our Nation, Abraham, also was first described as “believing in God” right after God showed him His power, promising Abraham that he would receive all the best in this world  (Gen. 15:6). 

But God usually doesn’t end there – believing in Him when things are good is easy; what happens when things don’t go so well? Well before the story of Job, God tests Abraham despite the textual testament that Abraham believes in Him, and asks Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son (Gen. 22:1).  Abraham’s belief is not shaken – perhaps even strengthened – by the ordeal.  God also tests Abraham’s descendants, the People of Israel, but this time with much less success.  The same people who just witnessed some of His greatest miracles are now threatening to soon stone His slave Moshe  (Ex. 17:4), and are quick to wonder “whether our Lord God is present among us or not” (Ex. 17:7).

Indeed, as the Latin saying goes, “thus passes the glory of the world,” or, in modern English usage, “how quickly we forget.”  But why is that? What caused the People of Israel to turn their back on God so quickly?

Of the many answers offered to this question, allow me to suggest a much less spiritual and much more mundane response: the people's change of heart stems, first and foremost, from the physical conditions in which they found themselves. Despite the fact that the People of Israel were slaves in Egypt – and thus used to hard labor in the hot desert sun – they were not used to walking in the desert.  As you may recall, they were walking the entire first night, and then – without mentioning any break – continued to walk onward for days. It also seems they did not have water with them, nor did they see any clear indication of a nearby water source.  Their first Divine test, therefore, their first test of faith, was a very concrete one: Fear of dying in the desert of dehydration, or placing their utmost faith with God: “And they went three days in the desert and they have not found any water” (Ex. 15:22); “And they were encamped in Rephidim, and there is no water for the People to drink” (Ex. 17:1).  Viewed in that light, it’s not completely facetious to assume that quite a few reasonable people – perhaps even some readers of this blog – would turn instantly atheist, even after such a show of miracles.  

But what is also fascinating is not merely the fact of the people’s rapid turn of heart, but rather the content of their grievances.  Only a short period has passed since these slaves complained (harshly) to Pharaoh of the dismal conditions of their employment: “Straw you failed to provide to your slaves, yet bricks you order us to make! Thus your slaves are being beaten. . .” (Ex. 5:16); only a short time has passed since God himself confesses to Moshe that He has “heard the crying of the Children of Israel that are slaving under Egypt” (Ex. 6:5), and already Egypt seems like Paradise Lost, a place they crave to return to: “How we wish we were dead at the hand of God [here in the desert; unlike] in the land of Egypt, where we sat by the pot of meat, where we have eaten bread until we were full – and now you have taken us all out to this desert to starve this entire congregation to death.” (Ex. 17:3).  But what is really happening here? How can their memory be so short?

One possible answer, while somewhat surprising, is by now well-researched and well observed. Economist and psychologists – mainly Kahnman & Tverski (the former received a Nobel Prize in economics for his research in this field) – remind us that we prefer what is available to us over things we have no familiarity with, even if the thing that is available is not beneficial to us. (Oversimplified, this is what they called the “availability heuristics” in their seminal 1973 article published in Science magazine.)  Thus, for example, we tend to prefer our known and familiar environment – even if we do not particularly like it – over venturing off to a new start, somewhere we have never been before. The quintessential paradigm here is – just like in the Bible – our workplace: Most people complain about their workplace, yet very few leave of their own accord.  Is that the “People of Israel” syndrome?  One might wonder.

  

II. Can We “Prove” that God Really Exists?

Here I want to make a very short, but crucial point on the great issue of Faith.  Many times, ever since the fourth grade, I heard a lot of people tell me: “If you prove to me that God exists, I will then – and only then – believe in God.”  Two things are wrong with that argument:  First, as we have seen in this week’s portion, “proof of God” has nothing to do with the notion of faith. Indeed, even when every person of Israel (including “the lowliest of woman slaves”) standing on the beach of the now-departed Red Sea have seen, in their own eyes, the glory and mighty of God like no one before or since, those same people turned away from this very God only days later, in a heartbeat, as soon as things went wrong for them. In contrast – and that is Prof. Leibovitz’s point – for many generations Jewish people who have never seen God or could have ever imagined that they would see him, not only believed in Him wholeheartedly but were willing to sacrifice themselves on “Kidush Ha’Shem” – for the sake of God. And they did so while reciting the Sh’ma, only not to become converts to another religion.   That alone goes to show that the correlation between the so-called “proof of His presence” and actual “faith” is anecdotal at best.

But on a deeper level, the sentence itself – “prove to me X, and then I will believe in X” is simply a non-sequitur.  If one chooses to believe in something, than they must relinquish any desire for proof that that same thing actually exists; otherwise, there is no room for belief. By the same token, if something is proven to you, you can’t be said to believe in it, since there is no room for “faith” once something is proven. At that point, you simply know, or are aware of its existence; you can no longer be said to “believe” in it.  Thus, you cannot believe that the computer on which you are now reading this blog exists; you know it does; similarly, you can’t know that the Patriots will win the upcoming Super Bowl on Sunday, though you may certainly believe in that (or not).

Indeed, belief and proof are mutually exclusive.  You either believe in something, or you have proof (know) it exists. For that reason, many scientists were – and still are – religious: They had (or even created) proof for many areas in their respective research fields, but they did not have (and would never be able to produce) any proof that God actually exists (or not, for this matter); therefore, they feel free to believe in Him. 

Accordingly, you may stop asking yourself (and others) for the proof of the existence of God in the world, and simply ask yourself that: do you believe in Him?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Bo

This week’s portion, “Bo” – literally “come to,” or “go to” (as in “go to Pharaoh") – tells the incredible story of the Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt. Thus, more than 430 years after Israel (Yaakov) himself arrived in Egypt (Exodus 12:40), the People made of his disciples is now leaving that same country during a single night.  And what a remarkable story that is.  The portion – both very eloquent in style and very rich in data – tells us how more than 600,000 adult males, along with their children, families, companions, and much property (Ex. 12:37), have left their homeland without hesitation, only to follow their new leader into the unknown. Recall – there were very few means of transportation back then: No cars, airplanes, trains or other land-carriers; there were some ships, but none at their disposal. Thus, all those people left Egypt on their own two feet; they all have literally “walked away” from Egypt. And while their departure was haste, they did receive divine instructions on how to prepare for it (instructions that may be well used today as well): “And this is how you shall eat [your last meal before departure]:  your loins must be girded, your sandals on your feet, and your walking poles at hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly.”  (Ex. 12:11)

The text of this week’s portion is one of the classics, containing not only vast portions of the Passover Haggadah (including the famous justification of its very title: “And you shall tell your son [“Ve’hee’ga’de’tah le’vin’cha”] on that day the following: It is for this that the Lord have performed for me when I have left Egypt” (Exodus 13:8)), but also selected portions of the constituent She’ma text (Ex. 13:9 (“And this shall serve as a sign on your hand…”); Ex. 13:16 (similar)).   In short, there are many reasons to read the portion in its entirety this week.

In my post today I would like to make two short comments: The first about the issue of collective corporal punishment, and the second about the act of leaving a homeland.

I. The Tenth Plague

Two weeks ago, at the very beginning of the book of Exodus, we were quickly introduced to the new King of Egypt and to his most brutal decree:  “And the King of Egypt spoke to the Hebrew midwives . . . and said: “When you deliver the Hebrew women, look at the birth stones: if it is a boy, you shall kill him, and if a girl – she would live.”  (Exodus 1:15-16).  “How unjust,” we might have thought as we read the text, “what have those little babies done to deserve such an early encounter with death for no fault of their own.”  The rest of the text, to be sure, suggests that the Hebrew midwives never abided by the King’s order, a refusal that merited a quick summons to the King’s Court for a short “supreme court” hearing (Exodus 1:17-20; perhaps due to a successful representation, no harm was done to them).  Still, the impression of a brutal, arbitrary, and extremely unjust punishment – bore by a vast group of people for no fault of their own – remains with us as one of the most horrifying, and defining, characteristics of the new Egyptian King.

In today’s portion, we learn of a much wider-scale, collective “first-born” punishment scheme – one that actually occurred in reality (as opposed to being merely planned).  To recap, after performing nine of the plagues (which the text insists on calling “marvels” (Ex. 12:10), which also brings back the notion of the number “ten” discussed last time), Pharaoh still refuses to “let my People go.”  Thus, God – through Moshe – turns to a measure of last resort: The Plague of Killing All First Born.

Three full chapters (Ex. 11-13) are dedicated to the planning, announcement, preparation for, and then meticulous execution of this drastic measure. It begins with God’s dramatic message to Moshe: “One more plague I will bring upon Pharaoh and Egypt, and after that he will send you away…” (Ex. 11:1).  And what is that plague? “And every first-born in the land of Egypt shall die, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sits on his throne to the first-born of the slave-woman who is behind the grind stone, and all of the first-born of the cattle. And there shall be a huge cry in the entire land of Egypt, a cry the likes of which has never happened before and shall never happen again.” (Ex. 11:5-6).  To eliminate any doubt, and as highly emphasized by the Passover Haggadah, this measure was undertaken by God himself (“And Moshe said, so said God: Towards midnight I will go out into the land of Egypt…” Ex. 11:4); not by a messenger, not by an angel, and not by a seraph.  Rather, God himself implemented this drastic measure, which resulted in “no household in Egypt in which death is absent.” (Ex. 12:30).

Clearly, God’s “last measure” here was intended as a direct reaction to Pharaoh’s diabolic scheme to kill every “Hebrew” first born. But was that too strong a measure? Faithful readers of this blog may have a basic idea of the institute of First Born in those times and its economic significance.  The death of this entire group must have had, therefore, a much greater effect on Egypt – economically, security-wise, and socially, to name but a few areas – than the mere loss of several men of Egypt. Indeed, an entire generation of future leaders was wiped in a single night. To put things in perspective, however, Pharaoh’s plan was much harsher: it targeted all the newborn males, not only the first born.  Yet Pharaoh’s idea remained just that – an idea, while God’s plan to inflict pain upon the entire nation of Egypt (and their property) was executed to the fullest. Was this too harsh?

Recall that most Egyptians had no say in the tough-measure negotiations that took place between Pharaoh and Moshe.  Yet, they suffered the most, each family losing its own first-born.  But the exact same argument could be made by the Israelites, who did no harm to Pharaoh – in fact, they did much good -- and yet were about to lose all their male newborns.

The measure, it should be said, worked well.  Pharaoh – who just threatened Moshe to not to see his face again, “for the day you shall see my face again you shall die” (Ex. 10:28) – now calls Moshe and Aharont to a meeting in the middle of the night (the same night where God killed all first-born) and practically rushes them to “get up and get away from my People.” (Ex. 12:31). And so they do.  But does the effectiveness of the measure justify its degree?  In modern “law of war” terms, the question is whether the measure is proportional:  could we have reached the same result by applying a lesser mean or measure? (Note, for instance, that none of the previous nine plagues were successful; then again, none of them has inflicted any death, though they did inflict much suffering. Does this speak in favor or again applying such final measure?.  According to my late father, “the fact that it worked shows it was the right measure.” In other words, ‘The proof is in the pudding.’ And my dad is usually right. Is he right this time too?

II. On Leaving Your Country

An overlooked aspect of this week’s portion is the fact that this is the first time in history that a mass immigration has occurred (or, at least, has been documented). An entire nation, more than million in numbers, is getting up in one night and leaving their homeland of 430 years.  Did they have any last thoughts, fears, hesitations? Were they all unanimous in their decision? Sure, their life was close to hellish; sure, they wanted to get away. But leaving a homeland is far from being trivial (indeed, later in the desert we shall hear these same people complaining time and again of the proverbial “pot of meat” they have left behind).

Indeed, a physical transfer – such as leaving one’s homeland – is a very hard thing to do. So is a mental one – as in a religious conversion.  In this case we have a huge group of people who is about to experience both. How can an entire nation, then, get up and leave in one night? 

In stark contrast to the first portion in Exodus, where Moshe faced some serious opposition and doubt as to authority, here the People of Israel immediately “bow down and kneel” when they heard his instructions. (Exodus 12:28).  And while it is true that in the coming weeks we’ll be hearing several times about their grievances, that single night has demonstrated a singular picture unity by the People of Israel, never to be repeated before or since. 

Now think for a moment of yourself and of a decision to leave everything behind and run for freedom. Would the decision to do so be easier if you knew that you would be joined by everyone you know, all your family, friends, and neighbors? Or would it be easier to do it all on your own? The answer, I suspect, may help us understand that “single night unity” that prevailed among our people. I wish we would live to see other nights like this.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

       

      

Parashat Va'Era

This week’s portion – the second in the Book of Exodus, entitled Va’Era, literally “I have been revealed” (as in God tells Moshe that He has been revealed to the three Forefathers) – tells the story of seven of the Ten Plagues inflicted by God on Egypt and its King Pharaoh. As I have noted here last week, this story – or its essence, at least – should be quite familiar to every Jew who celebrates Passover; or, in other words, to almost any Jew. Just to recall the factual background, Moshe asks Pharaoh to “let my People go” but Pharaoh refuses.  In response, God (through Moshe) inflicts ten horrible plagues on Egypt.  Each of the seven mentioned in this week’s portion – Blood, Frogs, Lice, Wild Beasts, Pestilence, Boils, and Hail – is described in great detail, including the warning preceding it, the manner in which it occurred, the (usually) horrific aftermath it left in its wake, and the effect it had on life in Egypt in general. Yet throughout this remarkable display of divine power, King Pharaoh remains steadfast in his reluctance to let the People of Israel go. We are to wait until next week in order to see what finally broke this stonehearted King’s will.  

I would like to make three short observations about this week’s portion. The first relates to the connection between Moshe’s leadership style and that of Dr. King, whose Day we marked this week. The second relates to the use of the number “ten,” seemingly belonging to the decimal system, in the Jewish bible (as in the “Ten Plagues,” the “Ten Commandments,” etc.).  And the third note raises the issue of “our God” versus “their God.”

I. Moshe & Dr. King

Earlier this week we celebrated Martin Luther King’s Day.  It would be quite interesting to compare the leadership styles of Moshe – who was one of Dr. King’s favorite Biblical figures (in his last speech, for example, Dr. King famously invoked the image of Moshe’s last day, see  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98k-pjN6nl0&feature=related) – and that of Dr. King himself.  Both leaders represented members of an oppressed minority, who (at one point) were used as slaves.  Both were men of God.  Both never hesitated to invoke God – either in their addresses to their people or in their negotiations with the oppressing-class’ leaders.  Yet one used God to advocate a sophisticated form of non-violent resistance, while the other used God – according to today’s portion – in order to inflict horrific harm (the Plagues) on the oppressing class. Which one was more correct?  What style of leadership is better in these situations?

Obviously, no single “right answer” exists to this question. However, one thought-experiment we may try to conduct in order to understand the question better is this: Assume for a moment that Dr. King had the same ability to perform miracles as Moshe had.  Would Dr. King actually go ahead and inflict Ten Plagues on White America during the 1960s in order to “let his people go?” And if so, would he still be remembered (and celebrated) today in the same way?  Conversely, going back to biblical times, would Moshe be so successful in his plea to let his People go without inflicting such serious harm on Pharaoh and his people?  And if he would not, what does that tell us on the non-violent resistance movement? Is it always the best path to choose? I would be happy to hear your thoughts on those issues in the “comments” section below. 

II. Ten Plagues? Ten Commandments?

Every year in Passover when we read the Haggadah we mention the Ten Plagues. Similarly, every kid knows (or at least supposed to know) about the Ten Commandments.  Yet the biblical text itself never mentions the number “ten” – or any number at all, for that matter – in either context (of the Plagues or of the Commandments).  The text simply goes through the description – of the Plagues and the Commandments, respectively. Indeed, it is only in later generations that we find the enumeration of both, each characterized by the round number “Ten.” And while the text’s silence on the issue of the exact number may be coincidental, at may also be telling. With the Plagues, for example, we see very clearly that the first seven are separated from the last three in terms of portions.  Clearly, if the number “Ten” were so important, the portions would not have been separated in this manner. 

Second, and more importantly, the “Plagues” are not disconnected from their background. Thus, for example, just before inflicting the Plagues we learn about the marvel of turning Aharon’s rod into a serpent (Exodus 7:8-13).  While not very persuasive to Pharaoh as a mean to “let my People go,” it plays an important role in helping us to understand the background to God’s later decision to inflict serious harm upon Egypt. To put it plainly, the King of All Kings provided ample opportunity to the King of Egypt to escape His might without any harm. 

The text, therefore, tends to emphasize the importance of understanding the Plagues in their proper context: First, non-violent measures were offered by Moshe. Only then harm was inflicted, in gradually growing measures. [The situation with the Ten Commandments is even more complicated; the lack of orderly division between the first “three commandments” led to numerous debates about the precise scope and content of each of them, some lasting to this day. I will elaborate on that issue when we arrive – in about three weeks – to the commandments themselves.]  Thus, the next time someone mentions the Ten Plagues to you, you may surprise them by answering: “True, but they did try some non-violent measures first!”

III. From Their God to Ours

Finally, some of you are probably aware of the very interesting order of the Ten Plagues.  In terms of physical description, the Plagues seem to move from the Earth to the Heavens: First blood appears “from within” the River Nile, then Frogs leap from that same river into people’s homes, then the “ashes of the earth” produces lice, and so on and so forth until the Hail comes from the heavens. (Next week we will be reading about the great wind that first brings the Locusts unto Egypt, then blows it away; about the Darkness from the heavens that covered all of Egypt for several days; and finally, on the divine killing of every first born in Egypt.)  

But in a deeper sense, the Plagues also represent the move from the Egyptian god to our own Jewish God.  It should be remembered that the relationship between the Lord and His Chosen People was nascent at that point. It was important for Him to show us, too – and not only to Pharaoh – who God really is. Accordingly, the Plagues move from the physical and earthly Nile – the symbol of all Egyptian gods (Pharaoh, the Egyptian God-King, was often referred to as “standing on the Nile”), as well as Egypt’s sole source of livelihood – to the transcendental surroundings of the heavens, from which the most serious Plagues are inflicted.

Thus, by moving from “their” god to “ours,” the Plagues signal both to the Egyptians and to the Israelites where they should always look for salvation – not down at the river, but up in the heavens.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Sh'mot

Parashat Sh’mot – the first portion of the second book, which literally means “names” – is one of the most famous of the entire Chumash. Indeed, its content is well known to almost every educated Jewish person. This is so not only because it contains one of the key stories of the entire canon (the rise to power of Moshe, the most significant person in all of Judaism), but also because a major part of it (as well as of next week’s portion) were later “exported” into the Passover Hagada, a text read by many Jewish families each year, regardless of Jewish affiliation, degree of faith, or membership in a shul. Thus, even a non-frequent (biblical) flyer may experience a déjà-vu upon reading this portion for the first time. In my notes today I will briefly comment on several of the fascinating aspects of this portion.

I. A "Best-Seller” Portion 

In addition to many Hagada “flash-backs” – for example, the new Egyptian King who enslaved and tortured the Israelites, his decree to kill every male-born Israelite, and the subsequent plea of the Israelites to their God to save them, among many others – a reader of this week’s portion may well experience another trip down memory lane (provided they attended Sunday school or mandatory Bible classes in Israeli elementary school).  For example, the wonderful story of little Moshe in the wicker basket – how he was first saved, then raised by Pharaoh’s daughter (despite her father’s decree to kill all Hebrew male babies (Exodus 2:2-10)). It also includes the wonderful story of Moshe standing before the burning bush, while the bush is not burning up (Exodus 3:2-3); the famous decree by God, ordering Moshe to “remove your shoes from your feet, as the place you are stepping upon is holy ground” (Id); the famous refusal of Moshe to God’s proposal to lead his people, claiming he’s not fit to do the job (on which I will elaborate shortly); and the famous scene where Moshe and his brother Aharon stood before King Pharaoh and uttered the first-ever “Let My People Go!” demand (Exodus 5:1). No wonder, therefore, the is portion is one of the bible’s most famous “best-sellers.”

Obviously, I cannot discuss all of these great stories here today.  What I would like to do is to focus on Moshe – the greatest figure in Judaism, whose story is about to capture the remaining four books of the Chumash that is named after him. Indeed, from a purely narrative-based perspective, we may argue that the biblical story has been developing from one figure to the next: Adam, for example, or Eve – as well as their descendants – merit only a few lines in the text. Noah, the righteous person, a bit more. Avraham, the father of our nation, receives the first developed treatment of the story. His favorite son, Itzchak, receives some more – if we include the Akedah; and then Ya’akov receives the most comprehensive coverage of them all. But now that this dynasty has ended – recall that the new Egyptian King “never knew Yoseph” – it is time for a completely different level of coverage; and Moshe, who is not related to this “royal” family at all, will be the subject of no less than four books.

In today’s note I would like to juxtapose the “classical” narrative of Moshe’s rise to power with a more up-to-date, political science description of the same story. 

II. A Note on the Title: The Book of Names

Before I begin, a word on the title of the portion – and the book – we are reading today. The text begins with “And these are the names (Sh’mot) of …” and therefore, as usual, the portion and the book are named in Hebrew “Sh’mot” (Names). This is because every portion in the Bible is named after the first meaningful word in the text; every book is named after the first meaningful word in that book (which always corresponds to the name of the first portion, of course).  Thus, for example, “Be’re’shit” is both the name of the first portion as well as of the first book in the bible.

The English translation editors, however, preferred a more subject-matter-oriented title, and named both this portion and the entire book “Exodus” – which I consider unfortunate. Exodus, of course, describes the main issue with which this book deals – the escape of Egypt by the People of Israel in order to “make Aliyah” (“aliyah” being a biblical term) to the Land of Israel.  What those editors missed, however, is the emphasis the text places on the names of the Children of Israel as they arrived in Egypt – after which this book is properly named. These are the great twelve tribes of Israel, and they are at the center of this book. To me, moreover, another interesting discussion of names appears in this portion in another place, where different names are given to the Jewish God. And the one explaining those different names to Moshe is none other than God Himself, while talking to him for the first time. (Ex. 3:14-15) Unfortunately, this single part of the text is nearly impossible to translate. In essence, Moshe asks God “If I were to be asked what is Your name, what should I tell them?” And God replies: “I am the being that shall be.” (Exodus 3:14-15; my translation.). Unfortunately, none of this discussion is even hinted by the English version of this portion’s name.  From now on, therefore, consider referring to this portion (and the book) by its real name – The Book of Names (“Sh’mot). 

III. Moshe’s Rise to Power: The Classic Version

I turn now to the classic version of Moshe’s rise to power.  As every elementary-school student is Israel knows well, Moshe – the only true “slave of God” – was never interested in the great honor bestowed upon him by God, namely leading the People of Israel out of Egypt.

In fact, it seems that Moshe was never made out of “leader material” (at least not in the classic sense, the way we view it today). Rather, Moshe was a peaceful goat-herder, minding his own business. He could not be less interested in global politics: “And Moshe, tending to the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midyan, drove the flock into the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.” (Ex. 3:1-2)  To his great amazement, however, an Angel of God followed by no less than God Himself appear before him and instruct him of his new destiny as the leader of (what would later become) the Chosen People.  Moshe protests – a sign of a true leader – and argues with God (in their first encounter ever, mind you): “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?” (Ex. 3:11). God assures Moshe that things will be fine, but Moshe is not convinced: “They [the people of Israel] would not believe me; they would not listen to me, as they will argue: ‘God has never shown Himself to you.’” (Ex. 4:1).  God solves that problem as well, equipping Moshe with the ability to perform a set of miracles that would easily convince the most doubtful of heretics.  Still, Moshe is not assured: “Please, I swear to You oh God, I have never been a man of many words . . . I am both slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (Ex. 4:10). God then allows Moshe to “outsource” the speech function to his brother Aharon, and now even Moshe, the great skeptic, is finally convinced.

All this argument, we learn, comes to show us one thing: True leaders are not power-hungry; they are not “running” for office – in fact, they are running from office; they are selected by God, usually “behind the flock” (just like David, many years later), and are not even aware of their future career until God himself tells them. End of story. Lesson learned.

Is there another way to look at that same story? Allow me to introduce one. 

IV. Moshe’s Rise to Power: An Alternative View

Moshe’s image, as reflected by the text, is extremely complex – both personally and in the biblical context.  From a textual standpoint, we find many a clue that Moshe is likened to many important figures before him, and is already destined for greatness from the moment he was born. Thus, for example, upon his very birth, we are not told the name of his father (unprecedented in the text), or of the fact that he has a brother (Aharon) and a sister (Miriam) (see Ex. 2:1); in fact, Moshe himself has no name until much later (he is described invariably as “son,” “boy,” “lad” etc.).  Thus Moshe enters this world as an independent, “stand-alone” figure – no family, no ties, no roots, even no name. We then learn that he was hidden by his mother – not in a wicker basket, as many Sunday School students may think – but actually in a small  “arc” (King James Version got it right this time (Ex. 2:3)) – a direct reference to Noah, the first righteous man. Then we learn that Moshe is actually a Hebrew person who grew up among Egyptian royalty  -- much like another legendary Hebrew figure, Joseph.  Moshe then finds a wife in a manner strikingly similar to that of Jacob’s (both impressing their bride-to-be by hydrating her flock) – another reference to one of most important figures in the biblical text. Finally, we learn that immediately after he was persuaded by God to lead the Israelites, “Moshe took his wife and sons and mounted them on the donkey and went back to the land of Egypt [where God ordered him to go]” – no doubt a reference to Abraham, his son and his donkey, as they are described in the early morning hours before the Akeda (Gen. 22:3).

But Moshe is also destined to greatness on his own accord, rather than merely by textual references. He is raised as an aristocrat at a time when his People are being slaved and humiliated by the same royalty members with whom he lives. In other words, Moshe’s own family and friends, in essence, are enforcing the reprehensible policies decreed by the King of Egypt against the Israelites. Moshe cannot be seen, therefore, as a genuine member of the Israeli people at this point. With that, we may safely assume that occasionally he would look outside the window of his sheltered palace and consider the situation of his brothers and sisters in their sufferings. Still, Moshe grew up with royalty. He saw the way they govern. He studied the laws of politics, power, and authority. He was no stranger to leadership.

Our first encounter with the adult Moshe is striking: “Some time after that, when Moshe has grown up, he went out to his brethren and witnessed their hard-labor.  And he saw an Egyptian man attacking a Hebrew man, one of his own. And he looked around, and, after seeing that no man was there, hit the Egyptian man and buried him in the sand.”  [Ex. 2:11-12].  This is truly an amazing story: Despite his seemingly aloof background – and perhaps because of it – Moshe does not merely protest the injustice he witnesses; rather, he pro-actively interrupts the situation and without a warning or inquiry kills the Egyptian aggressor. Not exactly the act of a shy goat-herder.

The next day, Moshe goes out again. No longer shall he reside permanently at his sheltered palace. This time Moshe encounters two Hebrew men fighting. He turns to the aggressor, and – while not striking him – demands to know: “Why are you striking your brethren?” The answer shocks and dismays Moshe for years to come: “And [the aggressor] said: Who made you a minister and a judge upon us? Do you plan to kill me, as you have the Egyptian?” (Ex. 2:12). Thus, Moshe realizes that it is not his actions but rather the source of his authority that would be key to any future leadership position.

It is against this background that we may now re-examine the famous encounter (and debate) with God.  Recall that back then – when there was no CNN, no internet, no facebook or twitter – political power was earned primarily by family ties, or by an act of performing a miracle, like Joseph’s “interpretation” of the dreams of Pharaoh.  Moshe, obviously, had to choose the latter.  So here is how the story begins:

There is a miracle. A bush is burning, but it is not consumed.  Then God speaks: He invokes the three fathers: Avraham, Itzchac, and Ya’acov – the “founding fathers.” Indeed, just as today Supreme Court Justices and Congressmen often like to invoke the names of the (American) Founding Fathers as a source of legitimacy for their actions, Moshe, back then, required a similar “big authority” names to rely on. And while today such source of legitimacy sounds self-evident, almost trivial, recall that at that time these figures did not mean much to most Hebrew slaves:  They have never seen them and I doubt many of them even heard of them. Still, Moshe is in desperate need for a legitimating source of his authority; the Founding Fathers are as good a source as any available to him.

Then Moshe asks “Who am I [to do all that]” – invoking almost the exact same text he heard from the Hebrew slave while questioning his authority over him. Here, again, Moshe is required to show to his (future) People that he is well aware of his questionable legitimacy as a leader, and wants to address this head on. Again, God invokes the Founding Fathers, and this is the message Moshe delivers later to his audience. 

The next issue, Moshe’s speech impediment, is also a classic. While many view it as another sign of Moshe’s humility, a different reading emerges if we consider Moshe, with his very sharp organizational skills, as realizing that dividing the position of CEO and spokesperson could benefit both him and his brother.  Today, as we are well aware, every business and political leader would agree with this division, allocating PR and spokesperson functions to designated persons other than themselves. 

In short, Moshe’s first encounter with God, other than its classic reading, may also offer us some very interesting perspectives on leadership, legitimacy, and division of power. I hope those lessons will serve us well in understanding this towering figure in out next portions.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Va'Yechi

This week’s portion – Va’Yechi (literally, “and he lived,” as in “and Ya’akov lived in the Land of Egypt for 17 years”) – is the last portion in the Book of Genesis.  Thus, we celebrate a new “first” today: We are about to end, for the first time in our cycle, the reading of one of the Five Books of Moshe. And this time we conclude the first of these books – probably the most significant of the entire canon.  It is only fitting, therefore, that this week’s Portion is a portion full of endings: Thus, for example, both Ya’akov, the last of Judaism’s three “Founding Fathers,” and Yoseph, his most famous and beloved son, end their lives in this portion.  In addition, as we are about to learn in the next Portion, a new king is about to take office in Egypt, a king who “did not know of Yoseph”; put differently, the era in which Yoseph – the Jewish foreigner – was the most influential person in all of Egypt has also come to an end. Add to that this week’s Haftara as well, and you would learn about the end of King David’s life – the end of arguably the greatest king we have ever had. 

The very fact that three of Judaism’s greatest legends end their lives in the course of only one portion – and the very last portion of Genesis at that – is not coincidental. Rather, it sends us a clear message on the issue of life ending in general; but it also tells us something quite unique about new beginnings.  In my post today I would like to shed some light on these two complimentary – though sometimes considered contradictory – issues, demonstrating the powerful notion that “every end is also a new beginning.” 

I. Every End….

The end of one’s life may often be used as an opportunity for reflection.  Some people like to depart this world with an act symbolizing the true meaning of their life. Others would like to leave behind something defining their legacy. Still others would like to be remembered by “famous last words.” Let us examine for a moment how two of our greatest protagonists, Ya’akov and Yoseph, chose to end their lives.   

We begin with Ya’akov.  At the center of today’s portion is Ya’akov’s blessings, given to each of his twelve sons – who later became the Twelve Tribes of Israel.  These blessings are extremely complex in content and meaning, and I cannot dwell on their meaning here; suffice it to suggest that Ya’akov opens his last address with the following cryptic words:  “Gather ‘round and I shall tell you what will happen to you at the end of days.” (Gen. 49:1)

But in a wider sense, how does Ya’akov choose to actually end his life? To me at least, the answer is very interesting: He chooses to depart this world in the exact same way that his father did. Indeed, the similarities between Ya’akov’s end-of-life story and that of Yitzchak’s are striking.  Both men, the biblical text informs us, could hardly see at the end of their days (compare Gen. 48:10 (“And the eyes of Israel were heavy of old age”) with 27:1 (“And Yitzchak turned old, and his eyes became too dark too see”)); both question the identity of their descendants standing before them for blessings (compare Gen. 27:18 (Yitzchak’s question to Ya’akov: “Who are you my son?”) with 48:8 (“And Israel saw the sons of Yoseph, and he asked: ‘who are these people?’”)); both first bless the younger rather than the older, despite the explicit law to the contrary (compare Gen. 48:14 (Israel blesses Ephrayim first, although he is the younger of the two), with 27:28 (Yitzchak blesses Ya’akov first, though he is the younger twin)); and, most strikingly, both refuse to renege on their wrongful blessings once notified of their error (compare Gen. 48:19 (Ya’akov refuses to recognize his mistake), with 27:38 (Yitzchak refuses to recognize his)).

The end of Ya’akov’s life, therefore, can be seen as an act of unification with his father – “Ma’assei Avot, Siman Le’vanim” – the “deeds of the fathers are signs for their sons.” (Midrash Tan’chuma, Lech Lecha, 9).  To make this symbolic gesture even more concrete, Ya’akov insists that he would be buried right next to his father – at the famous site bought by his grandfather Avraham many years prior.  His last wish fulfilled by his sons, Ya’akov arrives at his final resting place where he is forever united with his father and grandfather.

The end of Yoseph’s life, in contrast, is almost diametrically opposed. Instead of uniting with his family, Yoseph’s main concern is with himself. Instead of thinking of his fathers’ legacy, Yoseph is more concerned about his own. Recall that as a child, Yoseph had a dream (two, in fact) where his brothers bowed to him as if they were his servants.  The brothers, obviously, hated him for that. Near the end of his life, however, this dream comes true. This week’s Portion tells us how:

Now that Ya’akov, the patriarch, is dead, the brothers became fearful that their younger brother will “hate us and finally revenge all the evil things we have done to him.” (Gen. 50:15)  In attempt to prevent such a measure by Yoseph, the brothers – in their final act of trickery and deceit towards their brother – concoct a hypothetical “last will and testament” ordered by their joint father, according to which Ya’akov ordered that Yoseph would forgive his brothers for all their evil doings. (Gen. 50: 16-17) Yoseph, who probably knows they are lying (surely his father would have told him of such a request), not only forgives them, but bursts again into tears. (Recall the dramatic settings at the beginning of the previous portion, where Yoseph orders all the servants and advisors out of the room only to immediately burst into tears in front of his shocked brothers, followed by his confession that he is their lost sibling.).  He then reassures them that no harm would befall on them. Hearing that, the brothers actually “fall [on their knees] before Yoseph” and say: “We are your servants.” (Gen. 50:18)  Thus, the young boy’s dream becomes true on the eve of his death.

And by that last act Yoseph parts this world. On the one hand, he has all his dreams fulfilled; on the other, he leaves no meaningful legacy.  And Ya’akov? His days on this earth, according to his own testimony, were “short in number, and full of sorrow”; yet his legacy lives on to this day, as one of the greatest of in all of Judaism. Indeed, to this day we are all the People of Israel – the sons of Ya’akov.

The Portion may be sending us a message here. While we cannot control the way we come into this world we may very well attempt to choose the way in which we part it. We may choose to think only about ourselves. We may also choose to think about our descendants and of our loved ones. In any event, the choice is ours and no one else’s to make. 

II. ... Is Also a New Beginning

Other than a reflection on endings, Genesis’ last portion may also offer a lesson in new beginnings. True, in order to fully comprehend that lesson one must turn the pages and continue to read the first chapter of Exodus. Still, in this case the game is worth the candle.

In Exodus 1:6-8, we find the following very succinct but beautiful description: “And Yoseph has passed, and so did his brothers, and so did that entire generation . . . And a new king rose over Egypt, and he did not know Yoseph.”  The notion that Yoseph, the most significant figure in Egypt (and the region) for nearly 80 years was not known by the new ruler gives us pause; yet at the same time it sounds extremely familiar.  Just like every president (all over the world, not just here in the U.S.) wishes to distance himself as much as possible from his predecessor, so does the new Pharaoh; he simply refuses to be defined by the legend of his famous predecessor and his right-hand Yoseph.

But in a deeper sense, the separation from Yoseph and his generation – in essence, the separation from Genesis – is necessary to understand the story of Exodus.  Indeed the book of Genesis is unique in many respects, not the least of which is the fact that all the key figures – local and domestic, plebes as well as kings – recognize the power of Abraham’s God (and therefore, to an extent at least, also believe in Him). This is true, to be sure, for Yoseph’s Pharaoh as well – who recognized time and again the power of Yoseph’s God. But this is not the case when we examine the remaining four books of the Chumash (or the other 23, for that matter, of the entire Tanach).  Here we find people – and kings – who simply refuse to acknowledge Our God’s powers and presence. 

But “Mai’Az Yatza Ma’tok” from the unfortunate came the sweetest of all (Judges 14:14):  As a people, we needed someone like Pharaoh who refuses to believe in our God so we can leave Egypt and re-settle in the Promised Land. In a sense, therefore, we needed someone who “did not know Yoseph” in order to really escape Yoseph’s land.  And thus, Yoseph’s end truly marks a new beginning for us – the beginning of an independent People of Israel.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron