Parashat Va'Ye'chi Gen.: 47:28 - 50:26 (End)

This week we conclude the reading of the Book of Genesis. The first of the Five Books of Moses – probably the most significant of the entire canon – ends. Fittingly, this week’s portion – Va’Ye’chi (literally “and he lived”) – is a portion full of endings. Both Jacob, the last of Judaism’s Founding Fathers, and Joseph, his most famous and beloved son, end their lives here. And if we consider the Haftara as well, then King David, too, will end his life by the time our reading is complete.

The very fact that three of Judaism’s greatest lives end in one portion – and the very last portion of Genesis at that – is not coincidental. It tells us something quite significant about ending of life in general, but also about new beginnings. Today I want to talk about these two complimentary – though sometimes considered contradictory – points, demonstrating the powerful notion that “every end is a new beginning.”

Every End….

The end of one’s life may often be used as an opportunity for reflection. Some would like to depart this world with an act that symbolizes, more than any other, their life on earth. Their legacy. Let us examine shortly how Jacob and Joseph choose to end their own lives.

We begin with Jacob. At the center of today’s portion is Jacob’s blessings to his twelve sons – the twelve Tribes of Israel. These blessings are extremely complex, and I cannot dwell on them here; suffice it to say that Jacob opens his last address with the cryptic words: “Gather around me, and I shall tell you on your experiences at the end of days.” (Gen. 49:1)

But how does Jacob choose to leave this world? The answer to me is, exactly like his father. Indeed, the similarities between Jacob’s end-of-life story and Isaac’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 Isaac turned old, and his eyes became too dark too see”)); both question the identity of the sons standing before them for blessings (compare Gen. 27:18 (Isaac’s question to Jacob: “Who are you [of] my son[s]?”) with 48:8 (“And Israel saw the sons of Joseph, and he asked: ‘who are these people?’”)); both bless first 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 than Menashe), with 27:28 (Isaac blesses Jacob first)); and, most strikingly, both refuse to renege on their wrongful blessing order once they are corrected by an outside observer (compare Gen. 48:19 (Jacob refuses to recognize his mistake), with 27:38 (Isaac refuses to recognize his)).

The end of Jacob’s life, therefore, is marked by 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 connection even more concrete, Jacob insists that he be physically buried right next to his father, at the famous site bought by his grandfather many years earlier. His last wish is fulfilled by his sons, and now Jacob is finally forever united with his father Isaac, and grandfather Abraham.

The end of Joseph’s life is almost diametrically opposed. Instead of uniting with his family, Joseph legacy is more about himself than anyone else. Recall that as a child, Joseph 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, this dream comes true.

Recall that Jacob, the patriarch, is dead. Now the brothers are fearing that their younger brother will “hate us and finally award us back for all the evil things we caused him.” (Gen. 50:15) So big is their fear, that they concoct a “last will and testament” by their father, one that was never made, according to which he should not hurt them. Joseph, who probably knows they are lying (surely his father would have told him that), not only forgives them, but burst into crying again. (Recall the dramatic settings at the beginning of the last portion, where Joseph orders everyone away, and burst into crying before introducing himself to his brothers). He then reassures them that no harm would be done to them. Hearing that, the brothers actually “fall in front of Joseph” and say: “We are your servants.” (Gen. 50:18)

And thus Joseph parts this world – with all his dreams fulfilled, but without a meaningful legacy. And Jacob? His days on this earth were “short in number, and full of sorrow”; and yet, his legacy lives on as the greatest of Judaism’s Founding Fathers. Until today, we are still The People of Israel – the sons of Jacob.

…. Is a New Beginning

Other than in endings, Genesis’ last portion may also offer a lesson in new beginnings. True, in order to fully comprehend that one must “cheat” and turn the page to the new book 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 Joseph has passed, and so did his brothers, and that entire generation . . . . and a new king rose over Egypt, and he did not know Joseph.” The notion that Joseph, 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) wishes to distance himself as much as possible from his predecessor, so did the new Pharaoh not want to be defined by the legend of Joseph.

But in a deeper sense, the separation from Joseph 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, believe in Him). This is true, to be sure, for Joseph’s Pharaoh as well. Not so for the other four books in the Chumash (or the other 23, for that matter, of the entire Tanach). Here we find people – and kings – who refuse to recognize His 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 so we can leave Egypt and re-settle in the Promised Land. In a sense, therefore, we needed someone who “did not know Joseph” in order to really escape Joseph’s land. And thus, Joseph’s end truly marks our beginning.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Va'yigash: Gen. 44:18 - 47.27

This week’s portion marks the third straight portion dedicated to Joseph. In the first portion, we encounter Joseph for the first time as a young boy, mistreated by his brothers and dreaming narcissistic dreams. They hate him, and throw him to a pit in the desert. In the second, Joseph is taken to Egypt, again goes down to the pit – this time, the Jailhouse – but then is raised to prominence, becoming the second-in-command to the King of Egypt. His brothers are coming down to Egypt to search for food, and he serves them one cold dish of revenge. This week, finally, he is revealing himself to his brothers.

So, three portions. Very few people in the history of the five books received so much attention from the text. But this is Joseph, a person who did not receive enough attention in the Jewish tradition (he has no tribe named after him, but only after his sons – Ephrayim and Menashe, which are, in fact, the only surviving tribes; in essence, we are all Joseph’s descendants). He is never mentioned as one of the Greatest, together with the three Fathers, or Moses.

Yet, other than Moses, it is hard to think of anyone – not the fathers, not Noah, and no other hero of the five books – that receives so much attention from the text. So, why three portions?

Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis

In Hegelian philosophy, we find the “dialectic move” – Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. What it means is that first the proposition emerges; then its complete opposite; and finally, some combination of the two. If “Va’Yeshev” was the thesis, and last week’s portion – “Mi’Ketz” – was the antithesis, this week’s portion, Va’Yigash, is the synthsesis. Let us see why.

We begin with dreams. In the first week of the three, we saw how dreams bring Joseph down – all the way to the pit. In the second, we saw how they bring him up – all the way to the throne. This week, there are no dreams. This week, we read on the meeting – at last – between the Joseph and his brothers, undisguised. And while the scene may seem like a nightmare, at first at least, to the brothers, it is becoming very clear soon that the second-in-command in all of Egypt, the only regional superpower, is no other than their own little brother which they last saw in a pit, over seventeen years earlier.

We next move to communication. In the first week, we read of how Joseph talks badly about his brothers to their father Jacob; they, in turn, refused to talk to him. (Think about that – you have ten brothers, none of them talks to you. How sad.) So, there is almost no communication. In the second week, we read on how they hold extremely long conversation – but not directly. Rather, “Ha’Melitz Beinotam” – the interpreter is among them. (Gen. 42, 23). So again, indirect communication, although plenty of it. This week, Joseph “ can no longer control himself” – and he asks everyone out, including the interpreter. And what are Joseph’s first words to his brothers after more than seventeen years since not seeing them? There are no words. He simply breaks down and cries. (Recall Jacob’s first “words” to Rachel – exactly the same.) This direct communication method – old school – brings into mind the great story by Y.L. Peretz, The Whistle, about the young kid who entered the synagogue on Yom Kippur’s Ne’illa Prayer, and, to everyone’s surprise, begin whistling. The congregation is aghast at the sacrilegious act at the midst of the holiest of days, but the Rabbi thinks differently: “This is the purest way to communicate with God,” he said. “Not always do we need words.”

We finally touch upon the relationship between Joseph and his Brothers. At first, they hated him, almost killing him. Then, he avenged their hatred, accusing them of anything from being spies – a violation punishable then and now by death – to thieves, to dishonest, the works. Today, it’s time to make peace. Obviously, the terms of this peace agreement are set by the victorious side – Joseph; so the entire family goes down to Egypt, etc. But this is peace after all – and like most peace accords – and most settlements – it leaves each side a bit disappointed.

So much for the synthesis.

“Few in Number, and Full of Misery”

Another point I want to make this week relates to Jacob’s meeting with his son’s new boss, Pharaoh, the King of Egypt. Recall that now that they are together, Joseph prepares his brothers to the meeting with Pharaoh. He tells them that the King will probably inquire into their deeds, and they should say that they are goat-herders (a despised profession by the Egyptian elite) (Gen. 46:33). This works exactly as planned: The King asks them: “What is it that you do?” and they reply “we are goat herders.” (Gen. 47:3).

But Joseph did not prepare his father for such a meeting. And Pharaoh then asks Jacob a very benign question: How old are you? Jacob’s surprising answer is: “The years of my life are 130 in number.” But then he add, without being asked: “Few in number, and full of misery were the years of my life.” (Gen. 47:9) Now in Hebrew, the language is simply beautiful here – the little that holds the much: “Me’at Ve’ra’im Ha’yu Ye’mai Shnei Chayay.” When Shai Agnon, Israel’s only author (so far) to win a Noble Prize in literature, looked for words to describe the premature death of his mom in her early thirties, (“Bi’dmey Ya’me’ha”), he uses the exact same words: “Few in number, and full of misery were the days of my mother.”

Now this is a surprising answer – not the least because of the break in diplomatic decorum (you only answer what the King has asked you). One would think that once Jacob is reunited with his beloved son, he would be anything if not jubilant at this moment (not to mention he is standing face-to-face with the greatest regional leader).

The sages have tried to provide several reasons for this answer. Some are predictable: Now, standing before Pharaoh, Jacob realizes he didn’t put his mind and sole into worshiping God the way he should have, thus his life seems, all of sudden, short and miserable. Good enough.

Others were less expected, even providing some humor: Pharaoh, who was surprised that the father of the young man he crowned as Vice-King is so old, is asking the father how old he is. Jacob, in return, is saying that he understands he looks very old, but in fact he is not old at all (comparatively to these days), but he looks very bad because his life were miserable.

I think, however, that something much deeper is going on here. Jacob’s life were basically the life of anticipation. Fourteen years he waited for his wife Rachel. He got her at long last. 20 years he waited to see how his brother would revenge his betrayal of him. That went well too. And now, for the first time in 17 years, he finally saw his son again – and he realizes, without words, that he was waiting for him all these days. Now, even if all those long periods of anticipation ended successfully, still most of his life were, indeed, full of sorrow. And the “few,” in my mind, related to those very few days in which he was not waiting for something to happen. Reflecting on his life near its end, Jacob provides us with a very strong lesson for life: Don’t wait. Don’t anticipate. Don’t fill up your life with the hope that something good will happen some day. Even if it will – it’s not worth it. It is better to act now (even if you regret it later) than to wait for many years for good things to come.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Mi'Ketz Gen. 41:1 - 44:17

This week’s portion – Mi’Ketz (literally, “at the end of”) – is a fascinating study in opposites, when compared with last week’s potion. In fact, the two seems to be quite the mirror image of each other.

Take the relationship between Joseph and his brothers. Last week, we read how the Brothers despised Joseph and tortured him in many a way (both active and passive) – finally almost killing him and then abandoning him in the desert. This week, instead, we read how Joseph – who knows all too well that revenge is a dish best served cold – tortures his brothers back, crudely, slowly, and meticulously over a period of several months, more than thirteen years after he has seen them last. This should serve as an important lesson to all “big brothers (and sisters)” out there: be very careful how you treat your little siblings…

Or take Joseph himself. Last week, we read about how he descended to the lowest places imaginable – first thrown by his brothers into a “pit” in the desert all by himself (just try to imagine being in such a barren grave – if only for a few moments); then thrown in jail, for several years, in a foreign country no less (the regional superpower Egypt). This week, conversely, we read about Joseph as the most prominent, powerful, and influential figure in all of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself (which was not only King, but also a kind of God). This should serve as a lesson of another nature, and a very powerful one. Even if we fall into a pit, or spend some years in jail – there is no telling what the future holds. (Note, however, that Joseph was innocent in both cases (“for I have one nothing” Gen. 40:15); this is no license to do wrong.)

And finally, think about Dreams. Last week we saw how dreams, by and large, brought misery upon Joseph, both when he divulged their content to his brothers, and when he solved the ones in jail (since they promised to save him following his interpretation, a promise they did not keep for over two years). This week, the opposite is true: Joseph’s ability to “solve” (interpret) Pharaoh’s dreams grants him the special title “Zaphnat Pa’a’ne’ach” (which none of the 10 traditional translation dare attempt to translate, and which means, approximately – “he who can decipher the deepest secrets”), and otherwise enables to become in charge on all of Egypt. Here, too, is a teachable moment: If you are very passionate about something, even if it brings you much misery in the beginning (like, for example, the crazy idea to write a blog on the Portion every single week), stick to it – perhaps good things will come.

But this week’s lessons do not end here. Here are some others. First, “spread your bread.” The wisest of all persons, the author of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes 11:1) has taught us: “Spread your bread upon the waters, for after many days you shall find it.” In essence, that means that you should never hesitate to do your best today, even without a prospect of an immediate reward; that reward may come “after many days.” And indeed, Joseph has solved the dreams of fellow inmates in the jailhouse despite the fact that there could be no immediate benefit from that. He did ask, however, that those persons “would remember him” and bring him out of jail, when the appropriate time comes. And it did – more than two years later. (Interestingly, the person who mentions Joseph’s name to Pharaoh – the same Minister whose dream Joseph solved in jail – begins his statement to the King with the famous words “My sins I bring before you today…” (Gen. 41:10). The “sins” he talks about are usually attributed to his own sins, the one that put him in jail in the first place; but in a deeper sense, they relate to the sin he committed towards Joseph – breaking his promise to mention his name to Pharaoh).

Second, the lesson of seizing the moment. The Romans told us to seize the day – carpe diem; but way before that, our sages asked rhetorically “if not now, when?" (Pirkei Avoth 1:14). Joseph performs an incredible feat: he solves a royal dream, a dream no other person – including all the wise of Egypt – was able to solve (the dream about the seven good years followed by the seven bad years). But – and this is important – Joseph doesn’t stop there. Immediately following his interpretation, ad-lib, he outlines a comprehensive plan to combat the emerging crisis. That way, he helps the King not only to understand the meaning of his dreams but also to overcome the emergency they bring about. For this (and not only for his interpretation) he is rewarded with the title of Second only to the King. So next time your boss calls you to explain a certain point in your (or someone else’s) memo – go ahead, save the moment and outline for her what are the best ways to solve the crisis that is coming about.

And finally, the lesson of understatement. In the Talmud (Brachot 35) we find that “the righteous ones, their work is done by others.” Note that after solving Pharao’s dreams, Joseph offers to Pharaoh to appoint “a wise and smart person all over the land of Egypt” (Gen. 41:33). Now recall Joseph’s situation at that point: He is only thirty years old (Gen 41:46), a “young boy” according to the person who introduced him to Pharaoh (Gen. 41:12); he has just spent several years in jail (and technically, although he changes his clothes and got his first shave in years, he is still a prisoner); he was wrongly accused (twice), and suffered quite substantially for it. Yet he never asks for a position, never asks to be rewarded, never pleads to be released from Jail. Instead, he focuses on how he, the young man, can help Pharaoh, the King of Egypt. And for that, for never even suggesting that it would be him, Joseph, who should be appointed by the King to resolve the problem he has just outlined, Pharaoh rewards him with the greatest of all rewards: “There is no wiser and smarter than you” says Pharaoh to Joseph while giving him his own royal ring (Gen. 41:40-42); from now on, “without your permission, no one would as much as lift his arm of feet in the entire land of Egypt.” (Id, 42). Well said.

Shabat Shalom.

Parashat Va'ye'shev Gen. 37:1 - 40:23

Much shorter than last week’s portion, Va’ye’shev is a succinct, wonderfully-written portion revolving around one person: Joseph, Jacob’s beloved son. Joseph (or Yoseph) is so dear to Jacob, as he is one of only two sons that his beloved wife Rachel gave him. He is seventeen when the portion opens, and – precisely like his mother – he is described as both “handsome looking” and “a feast for the eyes” (Gen. 39:6; cf. Gen. 29:17 (same exact description of his mother Rachel)).

Not surprisingly, this favorite son feels superior to his ten older brothers. As the portion begins, he’s already presented as a whistle-blower, a person who brings reports of their bad behavior as herders to their father (already a strong social faux-pas). Since every action has a counter-action, it should come at no surprise that the brothers, too, “hated him and did not speak to him.” (Gen. 37:4) The portion then “bookends” with two sets of double dreams: the first dreamt by Joseph, the other interpreted by Joseph. In between these two sets, we encounter a very interesting story about Judah – Joseph’s big brother – and one very smart daughter-in-law named Tamar. Unfortunately, I have room this week to discuss only the first of the three fascinating stories. I will be happy to discuss the other two should you ask separately.

Joseph’s Dreams

Joseph is known to us today as the “dream solver” – the go-to person in question of deciphering dreams. Long before Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams (1899) – in which Freud has claimed to “provide proof that there is a psychological technique which allows us to interpret dreams” – the biblical Joseph realized that dreams our subconscious manifestations of desires, fears, and wishes. But before all that – he had his own dreams.

Those dreams are considered simple – even simplistic – compared to the ones he deciphered, and are well understood by his brothers. In the first, Joseph and his brothers are binding sheaves in the field, when suddenly Jeseph’s sheaf stands well upright while all the other sheaves gathered around it and bow to it. (Gen. 37:7) Simply said, visibly powerful, and clearly understood. The brothers’ reaction? Also quite expected: “Are you like a king ruling us, or a Governor governing us? And they hated him even more for his dreams and stories.”

Joseph’s second dream is not much different. This time, it is no less than the sun, the moon, and the eleven planets which are bowing down to Joseph. Again, quite simple. Hearing about this dream, even his loving father cannot stand idle: “And his father scolded him and said: what is this dream you dreamt – should me and your mother and all your brothers come to bow down to you? And his brothers were jealous of him, and his father kept that in his mind.” (Gen. 37:9-11).

Was Joseph Really That Naïve?

The traditional account, therefore, is that Joseph was at best naïve and at worst stupid when he approached his brothers and told them about his dreams. Yet everything we learn later about Joseph suggests the exact opposite – he was neither naïve, nor stupid. This young man, who was immediately liked by everyone who met him – men and women, high-officers and prisoners alike – climbed through the ranks at a very young age to become the first-ever foreign “Vice President” of the only Superpower in the region. He was smart, sophisticated, polished, and had very sharp political instincts. All that made me think again about the traditional account. Let us try and review those dreams again.

First Dream: In the Field

We begin the account of the first dream when we already know few things about Joseph: First, of all his sons, Jacob loves him the most. Second, the brothers hate him for that. Third, the brothers don’t even speak to him anymore. With these in mind, Joseph approaches them to talk about his dream in what seems like a suicide mission: He is about to tell them about his “superiority-complex,” as if they didn’t know enough. Now put yourselves for a second in Joseph’s shoes: Suppose you had a dream putting you in charge of your ten older brothers who hate you; would you go and tell them about it?

Note that the first dream is more subtle compared to the second: Here, the brothers’ sheaves bow to Joseph’s sheaf; but they themselves do not bow to him. In the second dream, the sun, moon, and eleven planets bow directly to Joseph – to him, not to his planet. Is that important? Can those dreams be interpreted differently?

Second Dream: The Sun, Moon, and Eleven Planets

Of all the biblical dreams, Joseph’s second is my favorite. Perhaps because it was depicted by Walt Disney in his magnificent adaptation of Paul Dukas’ “The Sorcerer's Apprentice” in his Fantasia films (the only piece to be presented in both the original and the 2000 version of Fantasia.) While the original story, authored by Goethe, says nothing about Joseph’s dream (see http://german.about.com/library/blgzauberl.htm), the animated depiction by Disney has Mickey Mouse dreaming himself to stand on a huge rock, ordering the sun, moon, and planets around him to obey all his commands with the magic stick. This could not be a mere coincidence.

Another reason why I like this dream so much is because of the profound cosmological knowledge it contains. Recall the period in which the dream is being reported – very little

Astronomical developments are known to be published. Yet the number 11 for planets – until recently, the exact number depicted by NASA to describe the same phenomenon (see http://solarsystem.nasa.gov/planets/index.cfm) – in addition to the moon and the sun, strikes me as an amazing coincidence.

So What Were These Dreams, After All?

I think that Joseph reported the dreams “as is” to his brothers not because he was naïve, but rather because he considered them to be divine interventions. Indeed, every time Joseph is asked later about dreams and their interpretation, he always invokes God. (see, e.g., Gen. 40:8; 41:16; 41:25). And dreams – and God – played a major role with his beloved father. I venture to assume that the story about Jacob’s most famous dream – “Jacob’s Ladder,” which was discussed in a previous post – was told over and over to the “chosen son.” When he began dreaming, he clearly felt that God is finally beginning to look upon him, too. That is why he told their content to his brothers; this is why he even dared to challenge the authority of his father; he truly felt that this was God’s calling. Perhaps he was right.

Since Joseph’s time, many a people appear in our midst, trying to report about their divine dreams. Today, we usually treat them as insane. Perhaps we should take a closer look.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Va'Yish'lach Gen. 32:4 -36:43

Last time we discussed Jacob’s twenty years with Laban – a period summarized by Jacob in a very moving monologue. Now we enter the eighth portion, the one dedicated to his meeting with his brother Esau – the first in twenty years. It is also dedicated to the story known as the Rape of Dina, Jacob’s daughter. I will make a short comment on each.

“And Jacob remained on his own…”

Careful and meticulous consideration – that’s how the text describes Jacob’s preparation for his first meeting with his brother Esau in twenty years. To recall: This is the same brother who said, even before their father Isaac died, “Let the mourning period of my father end, and I will kill my brother Jacob.” (Gen. 27:41) This is the brother from whom Jacob escaped to the other end of the Middle East. This is the same brother from whom Jacob bought (or stole, if you ask Esau) the birthright, and then received their father’s blessings (or stole it yet again, if you’d ask his brother).

And Jacob knows – what proves to be right – that his homecoming ceremony cannot be kept secret. Somehow, despite the lack of internet, everyone seems to know that Jacob – with his property, two wives, two midwives, and eleven sons – is coming back home.

So Jacob prepares, and he prepares well. He is hoping for the best, and planning for the worst. He begins by what every good general would do: gathering intelligence. So he sends a group of reconnaissance warriors (in the Hebrew original: Angels (“Mal’achim”) Gen. 32:4) to find out about Esau’s intentions and actions. He asks them to deliver a message – something about him living with Laban (a relative, recall – their uncle), and that now he, Jacob, would like appease Esau – but when the messengers come back they mention nothing about any message delivered. All they say is: “We arrived at your brother, and here he is – walking towards you with [a small army of] some four hundred strong.” (Gen. 32:7).

Jacob then divides his property, explaining that if Esau would arrive at the first camp, at least the other would survive. He then prays to God and asks for salvation – something he hasn’t done, perhaps, in twenty years. But our forefather also realized that God only helps those who help themselves. He thus prepares a huge gift for his brother – hundreds of sheep, ewes, rams, camels, cows, and bulls – and then divides it into separate groups. He instructs his slaves to keep distance between these groups, such that every time Esau would run into one, they would say – “this is a gift from your brother.” He also instructs each of the group leaders to repeat the exact text: “perhaps by this gift your slave Jacob would carry favor with you.” He then takes his two wives, two midwives, and eleven sons and crosses the Jordan into Israel. So far for meticulous preparation. [Consider his previous encounters with his brother, and how he prepared for those – buying the birthright for a well-cooked stew; receiving the blessings by wearing sheep’s skin, etc.]

And then he remains on his own.

And then he wrestles all night with an Angel (this is complicated, but I won’t go into it here), and that Angel – after Jacob’s insistence on receiving a blessing (some things never change) – blesses Jacob and changes his name to Israel, as he could stand with both God and Men. (Gen. 32:25-33) And so the name of our people was created – “Am Israel,” the nation of Israel. We are not the nation of Abraham, nor of Isaac, but of Jacob’s – now called Israel.

The text does not explain why or how Jacob, who was accompanied by a huge entourage of a few hundred men and women, was “left alone” in the middle of the night to fight with the Angel. But perhaps I may venture to guess.

After all the careful considerations, after all the meticulous planning, after all the cost-benefit analyses, game-theory considerations, and damage-control scenarios – Jacob is left alone to himself. It is he – and no one else – who has to wrestle with the consequences of his actions. It is he who has to fight his inner demons. It is he who cannot sleep the night before the big event, wrestling with his god all night.

And this, I’m afraid, is true for every one of us as well. Indeed, at the end of all ends, “the buck stops here” for each and every one of us as well, not only for the president. We can plan all we want, persuade ourselves that we externalize all the risk in the world, hide behind the most cutting-edge theories out there – but at the end of the day, it is us – each and every one of us – who has to account for our actions, alone. It is us who need to wrestle with our inner Gods all night. And only if we are still standing in the morning, we can be truly feel “Israel” – like someone who stood with both men and gods and was not defeated.

Oh, by the way – the meeting went just fine. Esau ran toward his brother, hugged him, kissed him, and made peace (Gen. 33:4). All’s well between the brothers now. [Well, of course things are a bit more complicated, but let’s leave it at that.]

The Rape of Dinna

Dinna’s rape is one of the most complicated stories in Jacob’s history. According to the text, Dinna – one of Leah’s (big sister) daughters – went for a walk, when suddenly a young prince, son of a local king, saw her. He took her to himself, slept with her, and tortured her. The story quickly spreads – “an outrage has been done: someone slept with Jacob’s daughter” and her brothers are called to action. But then a sudden twist: The rapist falls in love with Dinna, and so his father, the local king, asked her father (Jacob) to marry her. Jacob delegated the treatment of this request to his sons. They plot a revenge, whereby they would ask the men to circumcise in order to marry Dinna, and then kill them while in pain. The plan carries out flawlessly, and Shimon and Levi executes it to the last gruesome detail. They save their sister, and everyone’s happy.

Or are they? Even Jacob himself begins having second thoughts when he hears on the price this local tribe had to pay for sleeping with his daughter – they are all dead, their property stolen, and their wives and children taken prisoners. Isn’t that a bit too much, even taking into account the horrific thing done by one of them? (Gen. 34:30) The brothers answer with one sentence ending all conversation, which until today is used all too often by angry brothers (and husbands) who wish to avenge their loved one’s rape: “Should our sister be treated like a whore?” End of conversation. Or is it? You decide. [I will not even venture to assume here that the encounter was not a rape; let us believe the biblical author.]

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Ve'Yetze: Gen. 28:10 - 32:3

Seven is a significant number – in Judaism in general and in Genesis in particular. And the seventh portion proves to be both unique and holly, as its number suggests.

Jabob’s Ladder

The portion opens with a brief, though dramatic return of God - that same figure that was at the center, or was the center, of the first several portions and then withered away – through the wonderful story of Jacob's Ladder. This magical dream, where a ladder stands on the ground "and its head reaches the heavens, and there the Angels of God climb up and down on it" (Gen. 28:12), is one of the most multi-faceted apparition in a book where dreams play major role. Indeed, generations of interpreters found hidden meanings in that story and the Kaballah adopted its text as one of its earliest tenets.

To me, however, the seventh portion is unique in that it demonstrates, in astonishing detail, the next twenty years in the life of Jacob – the Third Father of our nation who gave birth to the twelve sons (and one daughter) who later became the twelve tribes of Israel.

Jabob’s Journey

A quick reminder: After being blessed (erroneously) by his father, Jaboc hears word that his brother Esau is somewhat dissatisfied. Or, as the text puts it – and I paraphrase – “as soon as the mourning days will pass on my father, I will kill my brother.” (Gen. 27:41). This murder plan is astonishing, in particular since Isaac (the father) is not even dead yet. But Esau can’t be bothered with niceties: He is so furious about the act of stealing his Birthright that he already plans ahead, beyond his father’s death. (A brownie point here to readers who identify themes from the first murder of a younger brother by his elder, several portions back.) Hearing of his plan, Rivkah, the wise mother who always supported Jacob over his brother, comes up with an ingenious solutions: Jacob would go to her brother, Laban (whom we met earlier, in the story of Isaac’s slave who came to select her as a wife), who lives far enough to escape Esau’s ire. Yet, like every smart woman, she wants to present the plan to Isaac in a way that he, Isaac, would think that it was his idea. So we find the following amusing and over-dramatized dialogue: (Gen. 27:46-28:2)

“And Rebecca said to Isaac: I have no more use of my life, all due to the daughters of Chat – if Jacob were to take a wife from the daughters of Chat, like the other daughters of this country, what point does my life have anymore? And Isaac called Jacob and blessed him and ordered him and said: You shall not take a wife from the daughters of Knaan; get up and go …. [away] and take a wife from the daughters of Laban, your mother’s brother.”

And so we finally come to the beginning of our portion, where Jacob begins his journey in the opposite direction of his grandfather’s – who came all the way from Aram (roughly Iraq) to Israel – in order to find a wife. Recall that Abraham, said grandfather, did not send his son there to find a wife, but used a slave to “import” Rivkah. Jacob is not that lucky, however, and he’s going there by foot, all by himself, and without any property.

Think for a moment of this “tent-dweller,” an ancient-world chef who focused until now on cooking and talking with the women in the tent. Not much navigation skills. Not many hours hiking and hunting for food. Yet he’s now bound to walk all the way through the early Middle-East to find the right woman (and escape his brother revenge).

The text tells us nothing about the journey, other than the dream about the Ladder; the next time we encounter Jacob is when he meets his future wife, Rachel. And what a meeting that is. [Thanks to Meir Shalev for introducing this idea.] Imagine that: A bunch of three lazy goat-herders are awaiting in the sun by the big well in the field. They don’t water their herds – they can’t, as the stone covering the well is too large; only when all the goat herders assemble they can move away the stone together. [An economic analysis of this arrangement led to new thinking about collective bargaining and the “tragedy of the commons”; but that’s for another time.] Jacob, gathering information, finds out that Rachel, the son of Laban (his mother’s brother), is about to appear any moment – she’s also a goat herder, and she’s coming to water her sheep. Jacob is puzzled: why are all of you sitting here doing nothing? The day is far from over, and you can go and herd your sheep. [Perhaps he wants the place for himself, to be alone with Rachel.] But the lazy herders respond: No, we’re not going anywhere; we have to wait until all the herders come along before we can water the sheep. (Gen. 29: 1-8)

The Arrival of Rachel

After setting the scene, “while he’s still talking to them” [Job, anyone?] Rachel arrives. And what an entrance it that. Recall that the biblical text loves to praise the beauty of our mothers – Sarah was so beautiful that of all the women in Egypt the King wanted her to himself; Rivkah was so beautiful that Isaac, just like his father, preferred to lie about her than to be killed by another king who wanted her (Avimelech). But Rachel is in another league: She was so beautiful, that the text gushes: “And Rachel was both beautiful (Yefat Toar) and a feast to the eyes (Yefat Mareh).” (Gen. 29:17)

So Rachel, and her sheep, moves slowly into the field. Instead of introducing himself, Jacob then performs a series of four amazing deeds, each intends to impress his future wife in a different way: (1) First, on his own, this “tent-dweller” who just finished a very difficult single traverse of the ancient Middle-East, lifts the huge stone over the well – without any help from the other herders; he then (2) waters only the herd of Rachel, lest there be doubt as for whom did he perform this Herculean task; he then (3) kisses Rachel, no doubt to her great amazement – he still didn’t utter a word, while she is still shocked by the single-handed feat she just witnessed (I doubt if anyone has ever even tried that before; the stone probably looked like no one should try to lift it on his own); and then, yet another twist: (4) Jacob begins crying and sobbing (yes; he just broke the world-record of Strong-Man, and now he’s weeping like a baby). Only then, finally, Jacob tells Rachel: I’m actually your relative, your uncle – or, more accurately, your cousin, the son of Rivkah, your father’s sister. (Gen. 29: 9-13) Can she not fall in love with this man-for-all-women?

She does, and he falls in love too. He then works seven years for her, during which he is not allowed to touch her. [All you “first-date action fans” out there, think about that for a moment: Not for a month, not for a year, not even for five years – Seven whole years and they never materialized their love.] Yet Jacobs utters one of the most romantic statements of all times when he summarizes this period: And those days were “as several days passed by as he loved her so.” (Gen. 29:20)

Laban, the sneaky Uncle, does everything is his powers to deny Jacob of his prized love. Even after the seven years are up he cheats Jabob into marrying Leah, Rachel’s elder sister. (“This shall not be done in our place,” he explains to his shocked nephew, “taking the younger sister prior to her elder.” (Gen. 29:26)). And he makes Jacob work seven more years for Rachel, and six more for some sheep. But love concurs all, and Jacob leaves Laban pretty much the opposite of how he came to him: not alone – but married to two women and having many children; not penniless – but rich and famous. Not a young man – but a grown person in his full powers.

Jabob’s Monologue

Laban, who envies the man who came to him barefoot and alone twenty years earlier, can’t bear the thought he’s leaving him with both his daughters and so much property (despite the fact he worked for them for twenty years). He chases Jaboc and accuses him of stealing his medicines (an interesting story that would repeat itself later with Tamar; but we can’t discuss it here). Then, in an astonishing turn, Jabob – who was silent all these years, never complained, never argued with his deceitful uncle – finally relents and delivers one of the most moving monologues in all of Genesis. Opening a narrow window into what he went through all those years, he says: (Gen. 31:38-42)

“For twenty years I have been servant to you . . . not once have I eaten from your herd; not once have I violated your property; I myself made good on any loss to your herd – whether stolen by day or stolen by night [an interesting comment on the different laws, perhaps, that applied to theft in different times of the day]. Often scorching heat ravaged me by day, and icy-freezing temperatures by night bearing sleep impossible. I have spent twenty years at your home, working all the while: Fourteen years working for your two daughters, and six years for your sheep, and you have earned my salary scores time over.”

Laban tries to argue – “the daughters are mine, and the sheep are mine, and everything you see here is mine” – but quickly suggests a pact. Jacob agrees and they part ways amicably. So comes to an end one of the most fascinating chapters in our history. Loves concurs all, and Jacob’s back on his way to Israel. Now he realizes that fraudulent Laban was merely a warm-up: His vengeful brother awaits him in Israel.

To be continued. Shabat Shalom.

Parashat Toldot: Gen. 25:19 - 28:9

The sixth portion of the week introduces us to the third and most influential Father of our nation, Jacob (later to be called Israel). Unlike Abraham and Isaac before him, the biblical text tells us much about Jacob -- from the day he was born (and even before that) until the day he dies. Thus, we receive a full and very comprehensive picture of this multifaceted twin, who grew up from being a “mother’s boy” and “tent dweller” to become one of the most influential leaders of all times.

Today I would like to make two related comments about Jacob’s nature which derive from two of the portion’s most prominent stories: The selling of the Birthright, and the act of receiving the Paternal Blessings. As I have indicated, the two are related, but reading the first more accurately may shed new light on the second.

The Selling of the Birthright

Rivkah, Isaac’s wife who was brought to him by his slave in the wonderful story told in the last portion, is barren. This is a pattern among our Mothers. Isaac “petitions” God (and that exact word – va’ya’a’tor – is used until today in Hebrew to describe a request to the Israeli Supreme Court), and God provides him and Rivkah with twins: The first-ever known red-head (Esau), and his twin brother, holding his heel (A’kev in Hebrew) – Ya’akov, roughly “he who followed his brother (out of the womb).”

While the text does not write much about the Right of the First Born (Birthright), we already know plenty of it. We have enough indications to believe it was of great importance, and carried social and economic consequences. Indeed, whenever the book of Genesis stops the story to tell us about lineage (see Chapters 5-6), the text focuses only on the first-born male, while all the other offspring are simply related to as “other boys and girls who were born to X.” Thus, only the first born is mentioned by his name, and only he is mentioned as having his own wife, with whom he had another first born who is mentioned by name, and so on and so forth. That goes to show that only the first born was considered the family safe-keeper, the one who continued the legacy, the one who received all the fame, fortune, and glory.

Now we deal, for the first time, with twins. Though very different in nature – one is an outdoors person, a hunter, while his twin is a “tent-dweller” and a “mother’s boy”– they are both of the same age. Yet only one of them would enjoy the very substantial right of being the first born. Although the text does not mention it, I am sure that Jacob, while sitting for hours and hours in his tent with his beloved mom, used to dwell on the injustice that was caused to him: Why would he (Esau) receive all the glory? We’re of the exact same age!

And so Jacob begins to plot his revolutionary – no less – idea. He would buy back his Birthright. The readers must understand how subversive, original, and brilliant – all attributes we meet again later with Jacob – this idea is. Birthright is acquired through biology. Just like Royalty in England, this was the Law of the Land for years, and there was nothing that could be done to challenge it. While today we mock and reject such arrangements explicitly (see the U.S. Const. Art. I § 9: “No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States”), it is still worthy to consider the simplicity and economy of such a rule for ancient societies: “The first-born (male) gets it all. No argument.” While arbitrary in nature, this rule is fair in that it applies equally to all families; it prevents many intra-family feuds as to who deserve to receive most of the inheritance; and it simplifies the otherwise very complex laws of inheritance.

But what is the law of twins? Jacob, who lives at a time when the Supreme Court is not yet functioning (notice his complete disregard of God as a source of restoring justice in this case), decides to take matters into his own hands.

While Esau returns from one of his many days-long (and perhaps weeks) journeys, possibly without any game – as many hunters would tell you – tired, frustrated, and very hungry (recall that McDonalds and other fast-food joints were not in existence then), Jacob makes sure he would smell his delicious stew. Now note that it is Esau who asks Jacob – and not the other way – to taste from this heavenly gourmet dish: “Fill me up with this red, oh so red thing, as I am tired now.” (Gen. 26:30; note that red in Hebrew is Adom, and the text explains that the Adomites, an important people who are descendants of Esau, are called that way because of this Adom.) Jacob agrees, but not before he asks Esau for something huge in return: “Sell me today your Birthright.” Esau, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, agrees: “Here I am, about to die – why would I need my Birthright any longer? And Esau swore to him, and he sold his Birthright to Jacob. And Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew.” (Gen. 26: 32-34)

What’s shocking to me is not the act of the sale itself, but the audacity and originality of its originator. Before that, the sale of intangible rights in not even mentioned anywhere in the text – Jacob had to come up with the idea all by himself. There were no institutions (like courts) that could enforce such a sale, and – as far as we know – the act had no witnesses. Still, Jacob decides to correct what he sees as prolonged injustice and to get his Birthright though sale. (When we look at the current crisis in the banking system, and can’t believe what these people bought and sold – fractions of insolvent mortgages – we may look back to Genesis and see where it all began. This comment is dedicated with love to the reader Lalo).

The Blessing from Father Isaac

The story of Jacob cheating his father to receive the blessing of the first born is well known in Halacha. In fact, the text itself tells us – from Isaac’s mouth – that “[Jacob] came to me with trickery and took your blessing.” (Gen. 27:35). Until today, when well-read Israelis want to say that something doesn’t feel right, they quote Father Isaac’s suspicious call: “The voice is the voice of Jacob, yet the hands are the hands of Esau.” (Gen. 27:22; I highly recommend you read the entire text, there.)

But did Jacob really trick his Father? Wasn’t there something much deeper going on? To me, all that happened here is the Jacob, many years after buying the Birthright – an declaratory gesture, without much meaning during the father’s lifetime – comes now to cash the check and receive the actual blessings (and all of its consequences). He feels he deserves that. He feels that the blessing directly derives from his purchase act of many years earlier. Therefore, the “big and loud cry, bitter and wild” that Esau made when he realized the trick, complaining that Jacob tricked him twice: “he took my Birthright and now my blessings” (it’s much better in Hebrew) – is not convincing. The two are one – you get the blessing because you have the Birthright, and vice-versa. Now that Jacob earned his birthright fair and square, in a purchase, he can enjoy all the accompanied rights.

Note that Isaac, the father, who learns about the trick, doesn’t even consider to “un-do” his blessing, to cancel it due to the fact it was made by fraud. Today this is probably what a court of law would do. But back then, what’s done is done, and there’s no turning back. That was the case with the sale of the Birthright, and that was the case with the blessing – both belong now to Jacob.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Chayey Sarah Gen.: 23:1 - 25:18

The fifth portion of the week – Chay’ey Sarah (The Life of Sarah) – is almost a comic relief in comparison to the first four. “Comic?” you may ask, “how could you say that? Both Sarah and Abraham die in the portion. What is so comic about that?” Well, no disrespect here: While it is true that they both die, they do so at the very old age – well over a hundred and twenty years (which is nothing compared to the first lineage described in Genesis, where eight and nine hundred years were no exception, but still extremely old); they both lived long and fulfilling lives; and they died among their family and friends (most probably). That, of course, is not the comic-relief part of the portion (hence the “almost” in my opening sentence).

The comic relief, if you will, is in the fact the God is almost completely missing from the portion. After being at the epicenter of each of the first four portions, the fifth offers us something much more mundane, though equally fascinating: human life. Indeed, this week’s potion is all about people – the soap-opera version of the bible, if you will – without much God involved. No flood, no burning of a city, no punishments, but also no creation of the Universe, no moral lessons, no intervention. Instead, we find the cycle of life and death, family values, falling in love, wooing rituals, a bit of Freudian psychology, and marriage. This is what this portion has to offer, and in that sense, it is a very welcome comic relief (or respite) from the previous four. No divine drama; only human drama.

To sum up the story: Sarah dies; Abraham negotiates for a burial ground in Israel; Abraham is extremely preoccupied with finding a suitable bride to his son Isaac (whom he nearly just killed); Abraham’s slave goes out to find Rebecca; Rebecca and Issac get married (actually, the whole idea of marriage is quite complicated at the time, but, for simplicity sake, let us assume they got married), Abraham dies; both his sons – Isaac and Ishmael – burry him. End of story. End of an era.

The “Life of Sarah” – An Ironic Title?

The first four portions bore strong relations to their titles: Be’re’shit (in the beginning), Noah, Lech Lecha (Go, go away), Va’yeera (“And God was seen to him”). But the fifth presents somewhat of a conundrum: The title is “The Life of Sarah,” but the portion actually begins with her death. How can that be? The answer is simpler than one might assume. The title of the portion are not selected after careful examination of its content and then vetting of the best one or two words to represent it. Rather, the title is simply the first (meaningful) word or words in every portion. Recall that the division to verses and portions, and the actual naming of the portions, is a much later ritual than the (divine?) writing of the text itself.

So, the portion opens with the notice of Sarah’s death, at the age of 127 years. [An elegant, though not entirely authentic, interpretive effort was made here by the JTS translation: “Sarah’s lifetime – the span of Sarah’s life – came to one hundred and twenty seen years.” Gen. 23:1] So, is the title truly a complete coincidence, and has nothing to do with Sarah’s life? Not quite. In two very important ways, the portion is, in fact, about Sarah. But before we get to that, a word about the age in which she dies, which may provide us with a clue as to this week’s title: that same number – 127 – appears again as the number of countries in which an ancient king holds court in the very first verse of The Book of Esther – another very impressive woman in Jewish history.

Sarah’s Burial

And, indeed, despite her death this portion could not be more aptly named. First, Sarah’s burial, and the negotiation over her burial grounds, occupies a great deal of the portion – and rightly so. Abraham insists to bury her in Hebron, in Israel, and not where he came from. The great detail in which the text describes every move here suggest that this was the exception. Indeed, a careful reading shows the “burial ground” careful negotiation as a real legal tug of war. In short, Abraham knew that despite his inferior status as “a foreign resident” (or a “resident alien,” as nicely translated by JTS, Gen. 23:4), the way to first buy and own land in the new country – and therefore to make the first steps towards future ownership on the land as a whole – would be through his wife’s burial ground. Who would refuse to sell a parcel of land to bury the wife of a very rich foreigner?

Well, the locals were far from stupid. Knowing that buying the land would constitute an irreversible step, they “kindly” offer him to take the land for free – a symbolic gesture, that would not grant him with any ownership title (apparently), but only “a right of passage” to use the land for burial and visit his loved wife’s grave. “Not so fast,’ insists Abraham, I want to buy it “for the full price.” (Gen. 23:9) Indeed, Abraham is willing to pay a lot of money to enter the selective club of land-owners in Israel. Well, again – the locals are far from stupid. By the time the negotiation reaches the designated place – Me’arat Ha’machpella in Hebron, a place that today, as then, was a great source of tension between Jews and Arabs – it becomes public. Statements are made for the ears of the crowd. The drama intensifies. Efron insists, again – “No, my lord, hear me: I give you the field and I give the cave that is in it; I give to you in the presence of my people; bury your dead.” (Gen. 23:11). When Abraham insists, Efron retorts with the unforgettable “between you and me,” what is 400 shekels? (23:15). Now, it is important to understand that this was a fantastic, truly fantastic sum. (Meir Shalev writes beautifully on this public drama in the fields in his classic “bible now.”)

Now imagine the staging for a minute: A great crowd – all locals – is gathered, standing between the two people; the local land owner, after consulting with his advisors, publicly dares Abraham to either receive the land for free (no rights), or buy it for the equivalent of 400 million dollars. The foreigner, on the other side, is aided by no one (other than his God, of course). He says nothing. He turns to his slaves, and within short order “weighs” each of the four hundred silver coins to Efron, the land owner. The crowd disperses, speaking of this amazing sum of money which they have never seen before.

So it was in her death that Sarah enabled her husband – and, as a result, the entire Jewish People – to become land owners in Israel. Not conquerors, buyers. That is the right way to own a new land.

Sarah’s Legacy

But Sarah’s spirit is all over this week’s portion in another, very important aspect. The entire story of the Selection of Rebecca as Isaac’s wife is a true story of (what is known today as) “girls’ power,” or true feminism. To begin with, Abraham understands, before he dies, that while he would not be able to amend his relationships with the son he already tied to the woods, he needs to find him a proper wife – the most important last task before he himself dies. Second, the slave that Abraham sends – after encountering the “extremely good looking virgin,” which, to eliminate any doubt, “no man has ever known,” (Gen. 24:16) – meets her brother, Laban. Now this Laban guy would cause a lot of problems to our third Father, Jacob. But even now we get a flavor of his crafty ways. Right after noticing all the jewelry and gold that his younger sister received from the slave, he becomes extremely friendly to the slave, who then describes his master’s wealth in great details. Laban happily agrees that his sister would wed into this rich family (not much has changed since), but when the time to leave arrives, he (Laban) suddenly comes up with what later becomes his trademark – a nasty delay tactic: “let the girl sit with us some days, or ten, and then she would come with you.” [Importantly, the “ten” may also be interpreted as a decade.] (Gen. 24:55) This, of course, is presumably done to raise her price – “you want her now, you pay more. Nobody said anything about now.” But the slave insists. He wants to leave now (before his master dies). Laban, pressured, thinks of a creative solution. There’s no chance, he thinks, that the girl – until now completely ousted from the process – would like to leave with a complete stranger, a slave at that, to marry someone she never even met in a foreign country. “Here is the solution,” thinks Laban, “let’s make her say she doesn’t want to go, and this would be over.”

And thus comes one of the most famous – and surprising – feminist statements in all times, from none other than the most conniving, hypocrite persons of all the bible: “Why won’t we call the girl and see what she wants?” [or, more traditionally translated: “Let us call the girl and ask for her reply.” Gen. 24:57] So, the text continues in great detail, they did went to call her – she wasn’t even there while all this was taking place – and asked her “would you go with that man?” (marriage ceremony, anyone?). Her beautiful answer, only one word in Hebrew, without any hesitation is “I will.” This is Sarah’s heritage. This is the true “life of Sarah.”

Parashat Va'yee'ra: Gen. 18:1 - 22:24

The fourth portion of the week – Va’yee’ra (which means, more or less, that God revealed himself to Abraham) – is as famous as the first three [which, perhaps, are the most famous portions of all], primarily for two reasons: The first relates to Abraham’s emotional call to God, imploring him to do what is right with a city full of sinners; the second relates to Abraham’s silence in the face of God’s order to sacrifice his first born.

Today I will not dwell on Isaac’s A’ke’da – the story of the binding – as it is too deep to cover in the framework of this blog. Suffice is it to say that this story is regarded by many as the supreme point of God’s worship, while by others as Abraham’s lowest point as a human-being. Be it as it may, anyone who is remotely interested in understanding Genesis must read each of the 20 verses [Gen. 22:1-19] slowly and carefully; ask yourself who or what is participating in this drama (including the two helpers, the donkey, the fire torch, the slaughtering knife, the woods, the angels, and the ram), and what is each’s role; note the textual tool-kit (on which we said a few words last time); and finally, ask yourself how are the two hardly-speaking protagonists – the father and his son – were feeling throughout. If you have kids, try and imagine how would you feel during those three days.

But enough with the binding. The two quick notes I wanted to make this week relate to, first, the famous cry by Abraham to God about doing what is right, or just; the second relate to hospitality in the ancient world.

Abraham and Constitutional Due Process

Genesis 18:25 is one of the most shocking, dramatic, and nearly impossible-to-translate verses in the entire Bible. Here is Abraham – who says nothing when God orders him to go and sacrifice his own beloved son – arguing ferociously with God who wants to kill a bunch of sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah, a group of people Abraham has likely never seen before (although, it should be mentioned, his nephew Lot lives there).

As you may recall, a very interesting argument – or is it negotiation? – ensues, where Abraham asks God to take pity on the town if He can find 50 righteous people there, and God agrees; then Abraham lowers his offer to 40, and God agrees again; to 30; to 20; and finally, to 10 (but not lower). God agrees, and the two parties go their own ways. [Gen. 18: 22-33]

In the heart of this negotiations stand Abraham’s call to God. In Hebrew, the words are:

“Chalila Le’cha, Ha’shofet Kol Ha’Aretz Lo Ya’ase Mishpat?” [Gen. 18:25] [according to JPS translation, just for general knowledge, the translation is: “Far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth deal justly?”].

Not surprisingly, I could not find any translation – among the ten offered on bible.cc or otherwise – that comes close to the original. The first thing to note here is the Abraham warns God – “Ch’alila Le’cha,” which, by today’s standard would easily be interpreted – if it weren’t for God – as “I dare you!” Now, none of the interpreters – nine of them opting for the vague “far from thee” – would have imagined such a provocative statement from the first “true believer” to his own God. But it gets better. The rest of this famous call is usually interpreted as a call for justice of some sort (“do right,” or “do justice” are the most common terms used by English translators.) But the actual words are more refined: Abraham does not warn God from not doing the right thing; he warns him – as the Judge of the entire universe – to bring down the punishment before having a trial.

Indeed, according to a contextual reading, Abraham was not afraid that God “forgot” what’s wrong and what’s right; he was afraid that God would not act like a judge, but rather as a jury and an executioner.

Let us take a quick look why. Before this famous discussion begins, in a little-noted verse, God mentions in his blessing to Abraham the important fact that he – Abraham – will keep the ways of God by doing “Tzdaka Umishpat” – that is, will do both compassionate deeds (T’zdakah) but will also keep the law (Mishpat). This tension between the letter of the law (known in Mishna as Midat Ha’Din) and the compassionate side (known as Midat Ha’ra’chamim) has been one of the greatest trademark of Jewish thinking throughout the ages.

Only a few minutes after that blessing, God intends to do neither: There is no mention of any compassionate thought of the people of Sodom; and there is not trial either. They are simply sentenced to die. (Or are they? The text doesn’t make it clear, at all, how did Abraham come to learn on God’s plan to kill all those people; but this is less important. See Gen. 18:21).

And here is where Abraham is getting frustrated. Where is the compassion? Where is the law? And he warns God (and this is the entire verse, my translation): “I dare you to do such a thing, killing a righteous man with a wicked man – and thus making the righteous as the wicked; I dare you – shall the Judge of the entire Universe not hold trial?”

While this interpretation may seems, at first blush, procedural (primarily to the non-lawyer readers of this blog), please recall that many constitutions, including the American, see Due Process as one of their cornerstones, and for a good reason.

Thus, Abraham wanted to make sure that Sodom’s people – yes, they too – get a fair shake (or a fair trial) before they are sentenced. And he served as their lawyer, and an excellent one at that. That makes me, personally, more proud of the Father of my People than the more conventional interpretation.

A Word on Hospitality

On a lighter note, it is hard not to notice the special care the text takes in informing us what type of food – but exactly what kind – Abraham prepared for his uninvited guests. [Gen. 18:6-8]. Similarly, we hear of the special measures taken by Lot to host and defend his own two uninvited guests – he was willing to sacrifice his two virgin daughters to the mob, if only they would leave his guests alone. [For a fascinating description, read 19:4-11]

These two stories come to show, in my mind, how important hospitality was in ancient times. Until today, many middle-eastern tribes will welcome you as a king – invited or uninvited – if you come across their land to visit. This is true even – and perhaps especially – for an enemy. If an enemy comes to visit, and he’s found on the tribe’s territory, he (or she) will be treated like royalty, and would not be hurt, until they leave.

Some food for thought for today’s world leaders.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Le'ch-Le'cha Gen. 12:1 - 17:27

The third portion of the week, “Le’ch Le’cha,” begins with the unforgettable words spoken by God to his first chosen son, Avram: “Go, go away from your country, from your home-land, from your father’s home, to the land I will show you.” (my translation.)

Note the fascinating deductive linguistic move – from the general (“your country”) to the specific (your “father’s home”); from the easiest to accept to the hardest. The same move repeats itself, almost to the letter, with the second “Le’ch Le’cha” story, the more famous of the two – the story of the Ak’eda (the sacrifice of Itzchak). [Next week, we’ll deal with the interesting question of why God needed to try Avraham after it was already established he “believe in God” – the first-ever to do so (Gen. 15:6).] In the Ak’eda story, God commands Avraham (his name was changed by then from Avram):

Gen. 22:2

And [God] said [to Avraham]: Take your son, your only son [recall that Avraham had two sons at that stage!], that you have loved, take Itzchak, and go, go to the land of Moriah and sacrifice him on one of the mountains that I will point to you.”

Again, we see the linguistic move from the general (“your son”), to the particular (“Itzchak”), and from the easiest to the hardest to accept. We can also see the repeated request to leave – “Le’ch Le’cha” – from that familiar, loved, and steady place (be it a physical or a mental place), to the place to which God will direct you. Today I want to focus on the early Avram.

What Kind of Person Was Avraham?

The (first) Father of Our Nation – much like his modern-day title-sake, a General and our First President – can easily be said to have two personalities. The first is told from father to son, carried in classrooms all over the land, and is so well-entrenched that questioning it is considered heresy (see the story of Washington and the Cherry tree). Then again, there is the text. And that’s where it starts to get interesting.

Avraham – The Official Version

Our sages made a considerable effort to paint the first real Jewish person, the father of the entire Jewish nation, not only in the best light possible, but also in a way fitting the holiest of hollies. Since the text is scant in details on Avraham’s background – we meet him when he’s already 75 years old (Gen. 12:4) – they came up with some of their own.

The Rambam, for example, tells us how Avram went through a philosophical metamorphosis, realizing that all the people around him were wrong to assume that there could be many a god, or that the world may revolve on itself, without a cause or a power source. Following this impressive thought experiment, Avram began arguing with people around him about their wrongful beliefs, broke some statues of other gods, and called on everyone to worship only the one true God. [Rambam, Book of Science, Part IV.]

Others have followed suit. Legend has it that Avram, who worked at his father’s shop, used to constantly break many of the gods’ images that were sold there, and kept asking people not to buy them. In addition, he used to talk to the clients, asking them to return from their wrong ways, and attempted to turn their hearts to the only real one God. [See Nechama Leibovitz, Notes on Be’Reshit, at 80].

The text itself – as it is mostly remembered – tells us of a great person who listened to his God constantly, leaving his homeland for Him, sacrificing his son to Him, and generally a true Jewish role-model we should all aspire to.

But reading of the actual text reveals quite a different story.

Avraham – The Textual Version

Much like the last portion (No’ach), our portion actually begins a few verses prior to its official starting-point. There we find some interesting details. Turns out that Avram’s father, Terach, was the one to actually leave his own country. He took with him Avram, his son, and Lot, his grandson, and Sarai – Avram’s wife, and went from Ur-Kasdim (their “home-land”) to Kna’an – the famous land known today as Israel. No mention of God in this story; not a word about a promised land. Then the father dies. And then our portion begins.

Now, all of a sudden it is God who asks Avram to “Go, go away from youur country,” etc. But, interestingly, Avram is no longer there; in fact, he’s already half way between his home-land and Israel, in a place called Haran.

Then Avram reaches the promised-land: “And the Lord appeared to Avram and said: I will give this country to your offspring.” Gen. 12:7. One would think he would stay there for a while; it has been, after all, a long journey, and the entire place was promised to him by God.

But only three verses later, right after the divine promise was made, Avram leaves Israel and goes (“down” – a word used until today to describe people immigrating from Israel) to Egypt. And once he gets to Egypt, he presents his wife – his very, very beautiful wife, as the text keeps repeating – as his sister, for fear he would be killed and she would be taken away. The tactic works: Avram received considerable fortune from the Egyptian king for Sarai [Gen. 12:16]. The king, in return, is severely punished for even thinking of touching this married woman (of which, of course, the king knew nothing about). Somehow, in a bizarre twist of faith, Pharaoh does not kill Avram when he discovers the ruse – he doesn’t even take his fortunes back! – but rather simply tells Avram to “take [the money] and leave!” [Gen. 12:19]

But apart from these opportunistic clues, the text also supplies great materials about our first leader’s extraordinary sense of pragmatism. For example, when he experiences his first significant business fight with his cousin, he doesn’t use strong-arm tactics or pulls rank as the senior partner. On the contrary: Avram does what seems unthinkable today – he lets the junior choose: “And Avram said to Lot: Let there be no quarrel between you and me, and between my shepherds and yours, for we are brothers; since the entire country is in front of you, let us separate – if left you choose I will turn right; and if right, I will turn left.” This seemingly “cowardly” move (as it may be called by some of today’ amateurs at Wall-Street and the consulting firms), brought Avram an immediate relief for his herds (in the short term), several years of business prosperity (in the intermediate term), and an important ally on the West (in the long term). Take that, financial-market “sharks”!

Later this line of thinking manifests itself again, when Avram – who just won decisively a series of wars against the local (business?) kings – is asked by one of the defeated kings to bring back that king’s men, and in return to keep the victory spoils. Avram’s now-famous answer may surprise those who don’t know him well: “But Avram said to the king of Sodom . . . I will not take so much as a thread or a shoe-string of what is yours; you hall not say, ‘It is I who made Avram rich.’” [Gen. 15:22-23] Again, Avram gains a great strategic ally, and prevents future wars from that front by acting (seemingly) in an altruistic fashion.

There are many more clues as to Avram’s unique’s nature. In two weeks we shall discuss his magnificent negotiations techniques, which enabled him to be the first, apparently, to actually buy real-estate as a foreigner in the Land of Israel.

Importantly, the textual analysis above is not meant to disrespect Avram. On the contrary: It only comes to supplement and enrich his well-known – though somewhat simplistic – image as it appears in folklore and our memory. Both Avram and the reader, I assume, would end up gaining by this perspective.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron