Parashat Va'yetze

Seven is a significant number, both in Judaism generally and in the Five Books of Moshe in particular. It is a holy number, which carries many a connotation. The seventh portion of the week – Va’yai’tzai (literally, “when he left” as in “When Ya’akov left Be’er She’va in order to go ….”) – proves to be apt for the task its number suggests: It is holy, unique, and very significant. Today I would like to make four short comments on this seventh portion of the week, which continues to tell the story of Ya’akov.

I. Ya’akov’s Ladder: An Introductory Note

The portion begins with a brief, though dramatic and very powerful, return of the image of God - the same God that was at the epicenter, if not constituted the center, of the first several portions,  only to then wither away at the last two – through the wonderful story of Ya’akov'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 apparitions in all of Genesis – a book where dreams play a major role.  Indeed, generations of interpreters found hidden meanings in that story, and the Kaballah itself – a tradition much more complex and ambiguous than portrayed by some of today’s Hollywood celebs – has adopted its text and symbolism as one of its earliest tenets.  Indeed, the actual meaning of the “Angels of God” who appear in the dream (as climbing up and down the ladder, without a discernable function), as well as that of the image of God himself – who is positioned atop of the ladder, the first time He is visible to Ya’akov (recall what is the punishment for seeing God in other places in the bible) – have provided many a commentator much food for thought.  Another interesting point of reference is Ya’akov’s first comment once awakened from the dream: “Indeed God exists in this place, and I did not know.” (Gen. 28:16).  Is it possible that our own Ya’akov was not aware of God’s omnipresence?

Much like with the story of the Akeda (sacrifice of Yitzchak), I would not be able to even begin to explore the complexity of the story of Ya’akov’s ladder in this post.  Luckily, the seventh portion is not unique only in its description celestial dreams; it is also unique in its exceptionally detailed description of the next twenty years in the life of Ya’akov. It describes how this Third Father of our nation who gave birth to the twelve sons (and one daughter) who later became the twelve tribes of Israel, became the mythic figure we came to adore. To that I would like to dedicate my next few comments.

II.  Ya’akov’s Journey

To recap where we are in Ya’akov story: After being blessed (erroneously, apparently) by his aging father Yitzchak as the elder son, Ya’akov hears word that his brother Esav is somewhat dissatisfied.  Or, to use Esav’s own words– and I only somewhat paraphrasing here: “As soon as the mourning period over my father is over, I shall kill my brother.” (Gen. 27:41).  This murder plan is astonishing, in particular considering the fact that it was announced at a time when Yitzchak (the father) was not even dead yet.  But Esav 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. (Could identify some themes in this story that resemble the first murder of a younger brother by his elder, several portions back?)  Hearing of his plan, Rivkah, the wise mother who always supported Ya’akov over his brother, comes up with an ingenious solutions: Ya’akov would go to her brother, Lavan (who we met earlier in the story, when Abraham’s slave who came to select Rivkah as a wife to Yitzchak). Lavan resides far enough from the family, back in Aram Na’ha’rayim (where Avraham is from originally), such that Ya’akov would be able to escape Esav’s ire.  Yet, like every smart woman, she wants to present the plan to Yitzchak, her husband, in a way that he would think that this plan was his own. (For a modern incarnation of this MO, see My Big Fat Greek Wedding.) And thus we find the following amusing, though slightly over-dramatized, dialogue between Rivkah and her husband: (Gen. 27:46-28:2)

“And Rivkah said to Yitzchak:  I had enough of my life, all due to the daughters of Chat – if Ya’akov were to take a wife from the daughters of Chat, like the other daughters of this country, what point is there for me to live anymore? And Yitzchak called Ya’akov and blessed him and ordered him and said to him: You shall not take a wife from the daughters of Cna’an; [but rather] get up and go to Padan, at Aram [Na’ha’rayim] to the house of your mother’s father…. and take a wife from the daughters of Lavan, your mother’s brother.”

 And so we finally come to the beginning of our portion, where Ya’akov begins his journey in the opposite direction of his grandfather’s Avraham – who came all the way from Aram Na’ha’rayim (roughly Iraq) to Israel – but this time not to find a land, but rather to find a suitable wife and to run away from his brother. Recall that Avraham preferred to send a slave, rather than his own son, to bring Rivkah over. Ya’akov is not that lucky, however, and he is forced to make this entire journey – much like his grandfather before him – by foot; unlike Avraham, however, Ya’akov is doing this entire way all by himself, without any property, and with the fear of a murderous brother. Perhaps not the best starting point for a journey. 

Indeed, think for a moment of this “tent-dweller,” an ancient-world chef who focused until now mostly on cooking and talking with the women staying behind in the tent.  He is probably yet to acquire even basic navigation skills. He probably has very few hours of hiking and hunting experience. Yet he’s now bound to walk, by foot, hundreds of miles across the early Middle-Eastern deserts to find the right woman (and escape his brother’s revenge).

III. When Ya’akov Met Rachel …

The text tells us very little about the journey itself (other than the famous dream that took place at the very beginning of the trip). Instead, the next time we meet Ya’akov is when he meets his future wife, Rachel.  And what a meeting that was.  [Thanks to Meir Shalev for introducing this idea.]  Just take a moment to appreciate the scene as vividly described by the text: A number of lazy (male) goat-herders await in hot mid-day sun by the big well in the barren field.  They are not providing any water to their herds – they can’t, as the stone covering the well is too large and heavy; only when all the goat herders assemble can they move 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 other bloggers to pursue.]  Ya’akov, meanwhile, is trying to gather information about his whereabouts, only to find out that Rachel, the daughter of Lavan (his uncle from his mother’s side) is about to appear any moment; she, too, as it happens, is a goat herder and she is about to water her sheep together with all the others.  Ya’akov is puzzled:  Why are all you herders just sit here doing nothing? The day is far from over, and you can go and herd your sheep.  [Perhaps he wanted the place for himself once he heard the Rachel is approaching…] But the lazy herders have no intentions to leave: “No, we cannot (do so) until all the herders would arrive and [together we] have moved the stone from the face of the well and we shall water our sheep.” (Gen. 29: 7-8)

And now, following this introduction, Rachel finally enters the scene. “While he is still talking to them,” the text tells us (Gen. 28:9), Rachel suddenly appears. Now recall that the biblical text loves to praise the beauty of our mothers – for example, Sarah was so beautiful that of all the women in Egypt the King wanted her to himself; Rivkah was so beautiful that Yitzchak,  much like his father before him, preferred to introduce her as his sister rather than to be killed by a king who wanted her (in this case, Avimelech).  But Rachel was (apparently) in another league altogether: 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, with her sheep, finally enters the field (and our “view”). Instead of introducing himself, Ya’akov then performs a series of four amazing actions, each intending on impressing 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 from over the well without any help from the other herders – a physical feat of epic proportions; he then (2) waters only Rachel’s herd, lest there can be any doubt as for whom did he perform this Herculean task; then (3) he kisses Rachel, no doubt to her great amazement – he still didn’t utter a word, mind you, while she is still shocked by the single-handed feat she just witnessed (I doubt if anyone has ever even tried to do that before; the stone probably looked like no one should try to lift it on his own); and then, yet another twist: (4) Ya’akov begins crying, instead of saying anything. Only then, finally, after doing all that Ya’akov finally speaks to Rachel: “I am actually your relative,” he says, “your cousin, the son of Rivkah, your father’s sister.” (Gen. 29: 9-13) Could she not fall in love with this man-of-all-seasons? (For a short thought-experiment, try to compare this first date with any of the ones you have recently heard of (or even experienced); are we really that much better than our ancestors in this field of romancing?)

Rachel, of course, could not resist; this completely unprepared maiden falls in love immediately with this mysterious and fascinating foreign man who came all the way from (today’s) Israel to kiss her.

But Ya’akov would have to work another seven years to actually become her husband, and seven more as he was tricked by her deceitful brother Lavan. Throughout this entire period, it is important to note, not once was he allowed to express his love to her other than in words. Yet Ya’akov then utters one of the most romantic statements of all time, when he summarizes this period as follows:

[And those seven years of working for Rachel were] “in his eyes as several days passed in his love to her.” (Gen. 29:20)

Lavan, the sneaky Uncle, who quickly realizes that Ya’akov would do anything to have his beautiful sister, does everything in his powers to delay Ya’akov's marriage of his prized love. Thus, even after the seven years of work are up he tricks Ya’akov into marrying Leah, Rachel’s elder sister.  (“This shall not be done in our place,” he explains to his shocked new relative, “taking the younger sister prior to her elder.” (Gen. 29:26)).  And he makes Ya’akov work seven additional years for Rachel, and six more for some of the property he took care of so beautifully.  But love conquers all, and Ya’akov leaves Lavan in quite the opposite manner from the way he had arrived: not alone – but married to two women and the proud father of several children; not penniless – but rich and famous; not a young person – but a grown man at the peak of his powers; and finally, not a tent-dweller attached to his mother but a property owner with many practical and professional skills.   

IV. Ya’akov’s Monologue

Lavan, who envies the man who came to him barefoot and alone twenty years earlier, cannot bear the thought he is about to leave him with both his daughters and that much property (despite the fact Ya’akov worked so hard for all of these for over twenty years, and that it was Lavan who came up with the deal’s terms, twice). Lavan thus chases Ya’akov and accuses him of stealing his medicines (an important personal item; this interesting point repeats itself later with the story of Tamar and Judah; I will not discuss it here).  Then, in an astonishing turn, Ya’akov – who was silent all these years, never complained, and never argued with his deceitful uncle-turned-boss  – finally opens his mouth and delivers one of the most moving monologues.  Opening a narrow window into what he went through all those years, he says: (Gen. 31:38-42)

“For twenty years I have dwelled with 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 – making 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.”               

Lavan tries to argue: “the daughters are mine, and the sheep are mine, and everything you see here is mine”; but moves back to offer an amicable agreement.  Ya’akov agrees and they part ways. So comes to an end one of the most fascinating chapters in the biblical story: Loves concurs all, and Ya’akov is back on his way to Israel.  Now he realizes that fraudulent Lavan was merely a warm-up: His vengeful brother awaits him in Israel. 

To be continued.  Shabbat Shalom.

Doron

  

Parashat Toldot

The sixth portion of the week – Toldot (loosely translated as “the history of…”) – introduces us to the third and most influential Father of our nation, Ya’akov (later to be named Israel).  Unlike the somewhat terse treatment provided by the text to the personal details relating to both Avraham and Yitzchak, the biblical narrative is extremely generous when it comes to revealing details about Ya’akov’s life. In fact, as Professor Leibovitz suggested, one may look at Ya’akov’s story as the first (biblical) biography. Thus, we are provided with extreme details about Ya’akov from the very moment he was born (and even before that) until his very last day.  For the first time, therefore, we receive a full and comprehensive picture of a biblical persona – the first (recorded) twin in history who grew up from being a “mother’s boy” and a “tent dweller” to become one of the most influential leaders of all time. 

Today I would like to comment on the portion’s two “familial” stories: The selling of the Birthright by Esav to Ya’akov, and the act of receiving the Paternal Blessings from Yitzchak.  The two stories seem, at first blush, unrelated; a close reading the first, however, may shed some new light on the second.

I. The Selling of the Birthright

As you may recall, this week’s portion tells us that Rivkah, Yitzchak’s wife, who was brought to him by the slave in the wonderful story told in the last portion, is barren.  This is a pattern among our Mothers.  Yitzchak “petitions” God to solve the issue (and this exact term – “va’ya’a’tor” – is used until today in Hebrew to describe a petition made to the Israeli Supreme Court), and God “grants the motion” and provides Yitzchak and Rivkah with not one son, but the first ever (recorded) set of twin boys:  The first, the first-known red head (named Esav), and his twin brother, holding his heel (A’kev in Hebrew) – Ya’akov, roughly “he who would follow (his brother out of the womb).” (Gen. 25:19-26)

The Right of the First Born (Birthright) is the next issue to be tackled. In fact, we already know something about it. We have enough textual indications to suggest that it was of a right of great importance, carrying significant social and economic consequences. For example, whenever the Genesis text pauses the sequence of the story in order to tell us about any person’s lineage (see, e.g., Chapters 5-6), it usually focuses solely on – and names only – the first-born male, while the other offspring are simply related to as “other boys and girls who were born to X.”  Thus, only the first born son is mentioned by his name, and only he is mentioned as having a wife, with whom he had another first born son who is mentioned by name, and so on and so forth.  Such textual structure goes to show that only the first born was considered the family safe-keeper, the one who would continue the legacy, the one who would receive the family fortune and fame.

But this week’s portion presents a much tougher situation. We now deal, for the first time, with the biological phenomena of two brothers of the same age - twins.  Though very different in nature – one is an outdoors person and a hunter, while his twin is a “tent-dweller” and a “mother’s boy”– they were both born on the same exact day, and save for a few moments – not one of them is truly “older” than the other. Yet only one of them could enjoy the very substantial right of being the first-born (the idea of “splitting” the right would seem too sophisticated at the time, one would suspect).  And although not specifically mentioned by the text, it is quite safe to assume that Ya’akov, while sitting for hours and hours in his tent with his beloved mom, would dwell on the injustice that was caused to him at birth (and later perpetuated by his name, “the one who followed”): “Why is it just that my twin brother (Esav) received all the glory? After all, we are of the exact same age!”

And so Ya’acob begins to plot his revolutionary – no less – idea. He would buy back the Birthright.  The readers must understand how subversive, original, and brilliant – all attributes we meet again later with Ya’akov – 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 that.  While today we summarily reject such legal institutions 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. In essence, the rule was: “The first-born son 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 deserves to receive most of the inheritance; and it simplifies the otherwise very complex laws of inheritance.  

But what is the law of twins? Ya’akov, 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 Esav returns from one of his many day-long (and perhaps week-long) journeys, possibly without any game – as many hunters would admit to happen today as well – he was tired, frustrated, and very hungry (recall that fast-food joints were not in existence yet). As that precise point, Ya’akov cooks a hearty meal and makes sure his brother would smell the delicious stew.  Now note that it is Esav who asks Ya’akov – and not the other way around – 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 Esav, are called that way because of this Adom.)  Ya’akov agrees, but not before he asks Esav for something in return: “Sell me today your Birthright.” Esav, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, agrees: “Here I am, about to die – why would I need my Birthright any longer? And Esav swore to him, and he sold his Birthright to Ya’akov. And Ya’akov gave Esav 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 Torah – Ya’akov 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, Ya’akov decides to correct what he sees as a life-long injustice and to get his Birthright through the legal institution of sale. (When we examine the current crisis in the financial markets in the United States, caused in large part by people buying and selling fractions of insolvent mortgages – we may now appreciate where it all began.)

II. The "Wrongful" Blessing from Father Yitzchak

The next story of the portion is that of Ya’akov who went to his father in order to receive the blessing saved for the first born, gained it through the trickery by wearing his brother’s cloths and masquerading as a hairy person. In fact, the text itself that tells us that “[Ya’akov] came to [his father] with trickery and took [his brother’s] blessing.” (Gen. 27:35).  Not only most Midrashim are of that opinion, but in fact until today when well-read Israelis want to convey that something doesn’t feel quite right, they repeat Father Yitzchak’s suspicious comment to his son, wondering whether he is facing the correct older sibling: “The voice – is the voice of Ya’akov, yet the hands are the hands of Esav.” (Gen. 27:22; I highly recommend you read the entire text there.)

But did Ya’akov really trick his Father, or did this “paternal blessing” event symbolize something different? To me, the answer is the latter. In my mind, all that happened here is the Ya’akov, many years after buying the Birthright – a declaratory gesture, with no real effect during his father’s lifetime – finally arrived to cash the check his brother wrote him many years earlier; he came to receive the actual consideration of his deal: the paternal blessings that would bestow upon him, finally, the status of the first born – with all the related financial and social benefits. Indeed, Ya’akov feels not that he has double-crossed his father, but rather that he has earned his blessing.  Therefore, the “big and loud cry, bitter and wild” that Esav made when he realized that his brother received the blessing, was unjustified. Esav, if you recall, argued that his brother tricked him twice: “he took my Birthright and now my blessings” (it sounds much better in Hebrew). But this is not convincing.  The two “complaints” are one – he who has the birthright should receive the blessings. Now that Ya’akov earned his birthright fair and square, in a legal tender-purchase, he may realize his right by receiving the actual paternal blessing.  

Note that Yitzchak, the father, once learning from Esav that he was blessing the “wrong” son, is not considering – even for a minute – to “un-do” his blessing; in other words, Yitzchak is of the opinion that he may not cancel his blessing even if it was received by fraud.  Today this is probably what a court of law would have done (if it were of the opinion that the blessing was obtained through trickery or misrepresentation).  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 Ya’akov. Or perhaps – and this is to me the more intriguing possibility – Yitzchak knew full well who he was blessing, and simply never wanted to “undo” it to begin with.   

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron   

Parashat Chayey Sarah

The fifth portion of the week – “Chay’ey Sarah” (literally, “the Life of Sarah”) – continues, in some important ways, the string of the first four; yet in another ways it signals a departure. It continues the first four in that it follows the story of emerging Jewish lineage: Sarah and Avraham, the original Jewish parents, will die of old age – well over a hundred and twenty years old (which is, to be sure, still well short of the first lineage described in Genesis where eight and nine hundred years of age were no exception). In their stead, we find the new generation of Jewish Father and Mother: Itzhak, Avraham’s beloved son, and Rivkah, his beautiful wife. [The concept of beautiful though barren wives is pervasive among the original Jewish mothers, according to the text].

Yet it is the story at the heart of this portion – the story of finding a suitable wife for Itzhak (who turns out to be Rivkah) – that signals somewhat of a departure, at least in my mind, from the first four portions. In those portions, God was at the epicenter of the story. As you may recall, i the first portion of the week (Be’re’shit), God created everything; in the second (No’ach), He nearly destroyed everything; in the third (Lech Le’cha), He ordered Avraham to walk away from his homeland and become the first Jewish person; and in the fourth (Va’yee’ra) he tested that same person by ordering him to kill his own son.

This week’s portion, in contrast, has very little to do with God. In fact, it is almost “all too human” (to quote a great German philosopher).  If you will, this week’s presents the first biblical “soap opera” (or reality show, I guess, in today’s terms). At its center is a father who wants his son to marry “right,” that is, not to blend with the local women; a slave who travels far and wide to find such a wife, and who constructs an ingenious test to conclude whether the woman he encounters is “marriage worthy” (see Gen. 24:14 – [I will then arrive with all my camels to the watering hole, where the daughters of the city’s men come to fetch water], “and I shall ask that young lady to give me some of her own water, and if she would answer to me ‘please drink, and I shall let your camels drink as well’ – that is the [lady my master deserves].”); a beautiful young lady (Gen. 24:16 “And the young lady was extremely good looking, a maiden whom no man has ever known”) who is destined to travel with the trustworthy slave back to meet her new husband (and who passes the slave’s test with flying colors), without ever seeing him before; her deceitful brother (Lavan, who we shall encounter again later with Ya’akov); and then the final scene, where the couple finally meets – the young lady literally falling off her (camel’s) seat (Gen. 24:64) and the man finding her a proper substitute to his lost mother (Id. 24:67).

All these otherwise mundane details are highlighted by the fact that God is conspicuously missing from the picture. Not only that God is not at the epicenter of the story, He seems to be almost irrelevant to its progress. And while an argument could be made the God’s central role has been diminishing throughout the first four portions, I think this portion marks an important first, where God’s “crown of creation” – the persons created in the image of God – is in charge of the story, rather than God Himself. From now on, it would be interesting to see the intersection between God’s role and the people’s role in the coming portions. 

   

In today’s columns I would like to make two short comments on this week’s portion: the first is on the title – “The Life of Sarah”; the other on the emergence of Jewish feminist tradition as reflected by the portion.

I. The “Life of Sarah” – A Self-Defeating Title?

If you may recall, the first four portions bore strong resemblance to their titles: “Be’re’shit” (in the beginning) dealt with the creation of the Universe; “Noah” celebrated the life and heritage of the first righteous man; “Lech Lecha” (Go, go away) told the story of a journey to the Promised Land; and “Va’yeera” (“And God was seen to him”) asked some difficult questions about the relation between a man of true faith and his God. 

The fifth portion, in contrast, presents somewhat of a conundrum:  The title of the portion is “The Life of Sarah”; while the portion, in effect, begins with a report on her death: “And the life of Sarah has been … (127 years)… And Sarah has died in Kiryat Arbah.” Gen. 23:1-2. How can that be?  How can the title spells out the exact opposite of the portion’s actual content? The answer is simpler than you may assume.  The title of each week’s portion is not being decided after a careful examination of its content, nor following a review of the portion’s main themes. Rather, the title is simply the first (meaningful) word or words appearing in each portion.  As you may know, the division of the biblical text into into portions of the week was much later to the authoring of the text itself. In fact, the Babylon Jews were the first, some 400 years after the writing (or receiving) of the biblical text, to divide the five books into section that, combined, may be read over a portion of one (lunar) year. The actual naming of the portions may have appeared even later. Thus, although in some cases – including all the instances we have examined until now – there may exist a strong correlation between the title and the content, this is not always, or even not mostly, the case. 

The portion thus opens with the announcement of Sarah’s death, at the age of 127 years.  Now comes the question: is the title truly a complete coincidence, which has nothing to do with Sarah’s life, or does the text offer a bit more nuanced an explanation?  The answer in my mind that at least in two very important ways, the portion is still very much about Sarah, or at least about her legacy.  But before we get to that, a word about the age in which she dies, 127 years. This number may provide us with an interesting reference appears again in the very first verse of another story relating to a strong, beautiful, and very influential Jewish woman, that of Queen Esther. I doubt this is a mere coincidence.  [See Book of Esther, 1:1]

As I have mentioned, despite Sarah’s death at the beginning of the portion one may argue that this week’s portion is still aptly named.  First, Sarah’s burial ceremony and the negotiation over her burial grounds occupies a great deal of the portion, and rightly so.  As you may recall, Avraham insisted on burying his wife in Hebron, a part of the land of Israel, rather than somewhere in the land from which he (and she) came from. He also insisted on buying that tract of land, rather than merely accepting it as gift – a generous offer that would grant him with no rights over that ground. Indeed, the great detail in which the text describes every stage of this elaborate negotiation between Avraham and the local real-estate moguls may suggest that such a negotiation – between a resident-alien and the local citizens – in order to buy land constituted an exception, rather than the rule.  Indeed, a careful reading of the text may reveal the negotiation tactics employed by each of the parties, which together turned this affair into almost a legal tug-of-war.  To recap, Avraham knew well that despite his inferior status as “a resident alien” (Gen. 23:4), one of the best ways to become a land-owner in the new country – a key status back then (and today) – would be through the “innocent” purchase of a burial grounds for his wife.

The local real estate owners, in contrast, were well aware of the “first step” strategy that may first allow the wealthy alien to buy one lot, and then, step by step, to purchase their entire land. Accordingly, while pretending to be kind, they insist on offering the land as a gift – a clear signal of a favor bestowed upon the lesser class from the ruling one.

But Avraham knows all this. He continues to insist that he wants to buy the land, rather than receiving it as a gift, despite the generous offer. To be sure, Avraham is offering to purchase the land “for the full price.” (Gen. 23:9) Indeed, Avraham was willing to pay handsomely in order to enter the elite club of land-owners in Israel.  But the locals land owners, again, are far from ignorant in the tactics of negotiation. By the time the discussion reaches the actual designated place of burial – Me’arat Ha’machpella in Hebron (a place that today, as then, causes a great source of tension between Jews and Arabs) – they turn the negotiation into a public display of “us versus them.” Statements are made more to the ears of the assembled audience than directly to those of Avraham. The drama intensifies.  Efron, the local real-estate mogul, insists again – “No, my lord, hear me: I give you the field and I give the cave that is in it; I give it to you before the eyes of my people; bury your dead.” (Gen. 23:11). When Avraham insists again, Efron retorts with the unforgettable response, whereby he asked for an unreasonable, almost unfathomable, amount of money for the land, yet makes it seem like a symbolic gesture: “My lord and the land would listen to me: four hundred shekels of silver – what are they between me and you? [pay me and] bury your dead.” (Gen. 23:15). As some commentators suggest, this amount was so high that most people in the crowd have never heard of it before, let alone seen it in person. Yet Efron casually drops that number, as if it is nothing, a mere friendly gesture  “between me and you.” 

Now imagine the staging for a minute: A great crowd – all locals – is gathered, standing between the two people; the local landowner, and the foreigner who wants to become one.  The local landowner consults with his advisors, and then publicly dares Avraham to either receive the parcel of land for free (with no rights attached), or to buy it for the modern equivalent of some $400 million. The old foreigner, on the other hand, is aided by no one (other than by his God, of course). What should he do? Avraham says nothing in return. Rather, he quietly turns to his slaves, and within short order “weighs” each of the four hundred silver coins to Efron, the landowner. The crowd disperses, probably speaking of this amazing sum of money that they have never seen before.  End of Act I of the portion.

And the moral of the story? It was in her death that Sarah enabled her husband – and, as a result, the entire Jewish People – to become land owners in the Land of Israel. Not conquerors, but legal owners. This is a huge legal achievement, that was made possible only through – and at the time of – Sarah’s death. Indeed, Abraham himself would be buried there in short order, too. (Gen. 25:8-10)

II. Sarah’s True Legacy

Another reason for justifying this week portion’s title – the Life of Sarah – may be found in the fact that her spirit as a strong, independent woman dominates over this week’s portion as well. Indeed, the entire story of the selection of Rivkah as Itzhak’s wife is a true story of (what is known today as) “women’s power,” or true feminism.  To begin with, prior to his death Avraham understands that he would probably never be able to amend the relationships with his beloved son, the same son he was willing to sacrifice to his God.

  

Still, Avraham wants the best for his son, and that includes, of course, a proper bride. We have earlier mentioned the sending of the slave to select such a bride. What neither the slave nor we expected to find, in addition to the bride herself, is her deceitful brother, Lavan. Just like many years later, when the same Lavan would try to deny Ya’akov of his beloved wife Rachel, here Lavan gives us a taste of his famous delaying tactics. After promising the slave that Rivkah would gladly return with him to Israel (and after receiving a handsome payment for her), Lavan comes up with this surprising statement: “let the girl sit with us some days, or ten, and then she would come back 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 – as if Lavan was saying: “My dear slave; if you want to take my my sister now, you would have to pay more. The term “now” has never appeared in the terms of our contract.” This is, no doubt, the very same Lavan that surprised Ya’akov many years later by giving him Le’ah, the older sister whom Jacob never wanted, after promising him Rachel; Jacob had to wait no less than fourteen years for Rachel…. In this case, however, the slave insists. He wants to leave now (before his master, Avraham, would die).  Lavan, pressured, comes up with a creative solution.  “There is no chance,” he thinks, “that Rivkah (who with all likelihood never left her home town until now) would agree to leave with a complete stranger, a slave at that, to marry someone she never even met in her life in a far, and remote country.” “Here is the solution,” thinks Lavan, “let’s make her say she doesn’t want to go, and that would buy me all the time I need. “

 And thus comes one of the most famous – and surprising – feminist statements in all the bible, from none other than one of the most conniving, hypocrite, and (very likely) chauvinistic persons in the entire text, Lavan: “Why won’t we call the girl herself 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 go over and called Rebecca – in other words, the young lady was not even there when all this was taking place – and asked her “would you go with that man?” (think of today’s marriage vows for comparison). Her beautiful answer, only one word in Hebrew, without any hesitation is “I will.”  And this is the true meaning of Sarah’s heritage. A strong, independent, and opinionated woman would always be in charge of their own destiny. And this is why this portion, more than any other, is aptly named “ the Life of Sarah.”

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Va'Yee'ra

 The fourth portion of the week – Va’yee’ra (which in the current context means in Hebrew “When God revealed himself to Abraham”) – is as famous as the three portions preceding it; together, these first four portions probably constitute the most well-known body of biblical text of the entire 52-week cycle. The current portion is famous primarily for two related, if opposite in nature, stories:  The first is the story of Abraham’s emotional argument with God over the faith of a city full of sinners who are completely unrelated to him; and the second is the story of Abraham’s complete silence in the face of God’s order to sacrifice his own beloved son, Yitzchak. 

Today I will not dwell on the more well known of the two – the story of the Ake’dah – simply because it is too complex to cover in the modest framework of this blog.  Suffice is it to say that this story is regarded by many as the supreme demonstration                                                                                                      of the Jewish faith; indeed, they consider this story the prime reason for which Abraham was awarded with the title of the Father of the Jewish Nation. Others, however, consider that same story to be Abraham’s lowest point as a human being; a person who is willing to put his religious beliefs well before his loyalty to values such as the sanctity of human life and the importance of family, they claim, cannot be considered a role model -- regardless of the context.  

Be it as it may, anyone who is remotely interested in understanding Genesis (and, obviously, anyone reading this blog) must seriously consider reading each of the 20 verses telling the story of the binding [Gen. 22:1-19] slowly, intently, and carefully. While reading, try to ask yourself the following questions: Who are the participants in this mythical drama?  (Note that in addition to the protagonists – the Father, the son, and God Himself, your answer should include lesser characters such as the two helping hands, the donkey, and even the fire torch, the slaughtering knife, the woods,  and even the ram.) What is the role played by each of those? Why were they included in the story? Also note the textual toolkit used by the text, and its similarity to God’s command in the previous portion (I have commented on this issue in last week’s posting). Finally, try to imagine how the two almost-silent main characters of this drama – the father and his son – have felt throughout this ordeal; and if you have kids of your own – primarily ones that you have fought hard to bring into this world – finish with the following thought experiment: How would you feel during a three-day journey, in which you travel by foot through the Judean Desert en route to Jerusalem only to arrive there and kill your own most-beloved son? Now you may begin to understand the complexity of this story.

Enough for now with the story of the binding.  This week, I wanted to shortly comment on the following two issues: First, the famous cry by Abraham to his God regarding doing what is right, or just; and second, the notion of hospitality in the ancient world.

I. 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 apparently plans to kill a large group of sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah, a group of people Abraham has likely never seen before (although, it should be noted, his nephew Lot and his family live there). 

As you may recall, a very interesting argument – or is it negotiation? – ensues, where Abraham asks God to take pity on the town in case He may find 50 righteous people there, and God agrees; then Abraham lowers his offer to 45, and God agrees again; to 40, then 30 – yes again; to 20; and finally, to 10 (but not lower).  God agrees, and the two part to go on 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 standards would easily be translated (if it weren’t for God being at the other end) 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 Jewish believer” to his own God. But that is not all. 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 – that he should not execute his plan of punishment prior to conducting an actual trial (“Mishpat”).

Indeed, according to a contextual reading the more plausible interpretation is not that Abraham was nervous that God “has forgotten” about right and wrong, and therefore was about to commit a miscarriage of justice to the people of Sodom; rather, the more reasonable reading is that Abraham was afraid that God would not act like a judge (the greatest Judge of them all, to be sure), but rather as a jury and an executioner – without a trial.

Let us try and understand 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 act compassionately (T’zdakah) but will also keep to the letter of the law (Mishpat). This tension between the letter of the law (known in Mishna as Mee’dat Ha’Din) and the compassionate side (known there as Mee’dat Ha’ra’chamim) has been considered one of the greatest hallmarks of Jewish thinking of all time. 

Only a few short verses after that blessing, however, it seems that God Himself intends to do neither:  There is no mention of any compassionate thought relating to the people of Sodom; similarly, there is no mention of any trial – or trial-related procedures – that may assist that same group of people.  Instead, all we have is a verdict of capital punishment to all the inhabitants of the two cities – Sodom and Gomorrah – which can definitely be considered a truly harsh collective punishment. (The assumption that God intended to kill them all is implicit, rather than explicit, in the text. Indeed, a closer reading of the text may raise the question of how, precisely, did Abraham know of God’s plan to eviscerate all those people; no message of that sort has ever been communicated to him by God. But this point is of no consequence at this point; God has never denied Abraham’s assumption that this indeed was His plan. See Gen. 18:20-21).

And herein lies Abraham’s greatest frustration. Where is the compassion? Where is the law? And he warns God (and this is the entire verse, according to one possible translation):

 “I dare you to do the following: To kill the righteous together with the wicked – and by that to turn the righteous into a 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 Constitution, consider Due Process of Law as one of the cornerstones, if not the cornerstone, of the rights of the accused. And for good reason.       

Thus, Abraham wanted to make sure that Sodom’s people – yes, they too – receive a fair trial prior to their (extremely harsh) sentence, much like any other accused person.  And although he knew very little of these people, he truly volunteered to serve as their lawyer – the first pro-bono service – and an excellent lawyer. Personally, this interpretation makes me more proud of the Father of my People than ever before.

II. A Word about Hospitality

On a lighter note, it is hard not to notice the special care the text takes in informing us what type of food – precisely what type of food – Abraham prepared for and then served his uninvited guests – the three mysterious men who appeared “in the heat of the day” and broke the news about his wife soon having a baby boy. [Gen. 18:1-12; the inevitable comparison here is to Job 2:11]. Similarly, we hear of the special measures taken by Lot to host and defend his own two uninvited guests – this time the text informs us that they were angels [Gen. 19:1]. Here, Lot was willing to give away his two daughters “who have not known a man” to the mob gathering outside his door, if only they would leave his guests alone. [For a fascinating description, read Gen. 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 welcomed guest – whether you appear invited or not – if only you happen to come across their land.  This holds true even – and perhaps especially – for an enemy. Indeed, should an enemy be found on the tribe’s territory, he (or she) will be treated like royalty and would not be hurt until they have left. Just some food for thought for today’s world leaders.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

  

Parashat Lech Lecha

The third portion of the week, “Le’ch Le’cha,” begins – and therefore is named after – 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 that I will show you.”

Note the fascinating deductive textual move here – from the general (“your country”) to the specific (your “father’s home”); from the easiest to accept, to the hardest to acknowledge. The same move repeats itself, almost to the letter, with the second “Le’ch Le’cha” story, the more famous of the two, the one about the Ak’eda (the sacrifice of Itzchak). [Next week, we’ll examine in short the question of why God required to try Avraham with such a test of faith after it was already established that Avraham “believed in God” – the first-ever to do so (Gen. 15:6).] The Ak’eda story, if you may recall, begins also with God command to Avraham (his name was changed by then from Avram):

Take your son, your only son [recall that Avraham has already had two sons at the time],the one that you have loved, the one named 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 textual move here from the more general, or open to interpretation (“your son”), to the particular, or very specific (“Itzchak”), and from the easiest to acknowledge 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.

Many studies have been conducted, and many rivers of ink have been pored on Avraham’s test of faith. But less consideration was devoted to the earlier portion in the life of the Father of the Jewish People, or the first Jewish person ever. Today I want to say a few words about this earlier stage in Abraham’s life.

  What Type of Person Was Avraham?

The (first) Father of the Jewish People – much like his modern-day disciple, the Father of our Nation, a General and our First President – can easily be said to have two separate personalities. The first is told from father to son, carried in classrooms all over the land, and is so well entrenched in our culture that mere questioning it is easily considered heresy (for the modern-day equivalent, try to openly question the veracity of the story of Washington and the Cherry Tree, which many serious historian doubt). Along side these “Sunday School” versions, however, lies the actual text. And that’s where things get more interesting. Let us review these versions two in turn.

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 (Maimonides), for example, tells us how Avram, after initially being brought up in a society that centered around idol worshiping, went through a philosophical metamorphosis and realized that all the people around him were wrong to assume that there could be no one single god, or that events in the world may occur independently without a cause or a power source. Following this impressive thought experiment, Avram began voicing his new opinions, taking issue with people around him, and ultimately began to physically destroy statues of idol gods – calling on everyone around him 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 (Hebrew)].

Even the text itself – as it is mostly remembered – tells us a story of a great person who always listened to his God, was willing to leave his homeland for Him, and even to sacrifice his own beloved son. Overall, Avram’s image represents the ideal Jewish role-model we should all aspire to become.

So much for the Sunday-School version. A closer examination of the text, however, reveals quite a different person. 

Avraham – The Textual Version

Much like the last portion (No’ach), our portion actually begins a few verses prior to its official (textual) starting-point. There (Gen. 11:31-33) we find some interesting details. For example, it turns out that Avram’s father, Terach, was already on his way to leave his own homeland and to travel to Can’an, with Avram his son, and without any divine intervention (or calling) – all well before God was ever revealed to Avram and ordered him to “leave his homeland.” More accurately, the text tells us specifically that Avram’s father traveled with his son Avram, his grandson Lot, and Sarai (Avram’s wife). All four of them went from Ur-Kasdim (their “homeland”) to Cna’an – the famous land known today as Israel. To be sure, they never arrived there; instead, they settled in a place called “Haran,” apparently outside Cna’an. (Gen. 11:31-32).  But the most important point here is that the entire journey is made with no mention of God; not a word about a promised land; no religious components at all. Unfortunately at this point the father dies. And it is only then that our story (and the Sunday-School image) begin to emerge.

This time, however, it is God who asks Avram to “Go, go away from your country,” etc. But, interestingly, Avram is no longer there; in fact, by the time God calls on him to make the most famous journey in Jewish history – a journey many Jews will repeat, in various way, for thousands of years to come – Avram is no longer in his own homeland; in fact, he’s already half way between his country and Israel, in Haran; the divine order, therefore, seems less difficult to follow than initially appears.

Once Avram arrives at the promised-land, “the Lord appeared to Avram and said: I will give this country to your offspring.” (Gen. 12:7). One would think Avram would stay in that country for a little while longer; 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 –“yordim”) to Egypt, to acquire some food as the famine in Israel at the time was quite severe (12:10). So much for pragmatic Zionism.

Next, once arriving at Egypt, Avram presents his wife – his very, very beautiful wife, as the text reminds us time and again (see, e.g., 12:14-15)– as his sister, for fear he would be killed and she would be taken away. The ploy works: Avram received considerable fortune from the Egyptian king for Sarai [Gen. 12:16] and the king, in return, is severely punished for even thinking of touching a married woman (of whom, 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]

Apart from these clues regarding Avram’s pragmatic nature, the text also supplies great clues about our Avram’s extraordinary sense of strategic thinking. For example, when sensing that a major business dispute is about to break with his cousin, Avram does not use strong-arm tactics or pulls rank as the senior partner. On the contrary: Avram does what seems unthinkable today – he lets the junior member of the family have the right of first choice (or right of first refusal, if you will):

“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.” 

(Gen. 13:8) This seemingly “cowardly” strategic move (as it may be viewed today by some of Wall-Street’s risk-loving dealmakers) brought Avram an immediate relief for his shepherds and herds (in the short term), several years of business prosperity (in the intermediate term), and an important ally on the West bank (in the long term). Care to change your mind, financial-market “sharks”?

Later this line of thinking manifests itself again, when Avram – who just won decisively a series of wars against the local 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 shall not say, ‘It is I who made Avram rich.’” 

(Gen. 14:22-24) 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, and very complex nature. In two weeks we shall discuss his magnificent negotiations techniques that enabled him to be the first, apparently, to actually purchase – and own -- real estate property while being a foreign resident in the Land of Israel.

Importantly, the textual analysis above is not meant to disrespect the image of our First Father, or to demean him. 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 Avraham and the reader, I believe, would end up gaining by this perspective.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron