Torah ominously warns, “After the wicked do not run.” 1
The Torah agonizes over the lure of the masses. Perhaps it is easy to latch on to what we see people covet and then place a great premium on possessing that for ourselves. In this simple paradigm, we are simply motivated to want to have what others have. If our civilization hungers for more possessions we may feel a competitive and driving hunger to get more so that we feel greater personal value. By having more we are worth more. Or, it may be inescapable that the language of a society holds nuances of values that are conveyed in the way we speak. That may be why the Torah exhorts us to be wary of how society moves and what it caves.
Either way it is only the strongest people who are able to maintain their principles when they are antithetical or different than everyone else. As Avot states, “In a place where people have lost their humanity strive to maintain your humanity.”
That is why the ancient rabbis understood Abraham being chosen as the elect one who would become the new Adam of civilization. When Adam and Havvah failed the test of Eden; as their offspring became murderers and victims; and Noah, while resolute in his cloistered good life, could not be counted on to begin a new lineage; Abraham succeeded. At the time of the great Tower of Babel Abraham saw the inherent flaw in humanity’s all-consuming interest to storm the gates of heaven. 2
At the time of the Tower of Babel civilization converged at the plains of Shinar to work together: “Come let us build a city…” declared Nimrod. And people flocked to the center site of construction. 3 Seeing the masses move in unison at the word of their master Nimrod, Abraham refused to have any part of the travesty. He knew it was wrong. Further, Abraham spoke out against injustice and for the universal God. That is why God chose him to be the progenitor of the people that would change history. God viewed Abraham’s strength of character as outstanding among the vast peoples of the earth.
The next time the Torah speaks of people banding together to form an alliance is in biblical town Shechem. As Joseph, the dreamer, approaches his brothers they use the key words to unite them in purpose, “Let us…” The delivery is compelling. In uniting for a single focused end, the group of brothers forms a small society in which each of them feels compelled to go along for the sake of the whole. The individual brothers willingly give up their self as they are swallowed by the larger mass. While Judah and Reuben have reservations about what they plan to do to Joseph neither one is strong or resolute enough to change the herd’s attitude. They are not Abraham.
What is the secret of Abraham? What does he have that the other lack? The Talmud labels it humility 4. What Abraham, David and Moses all bear in common is an impoverished heart which lets them know there is a Master of the endless universe and they therefore understand their place in the world. That humility, states Rabbi Yohanan, allowed them to make choices that were independent of the herd-mentality. These spiritual giants did not take direction from the surrounding society. They did not jettison their soulful self in the all-too-human quest for acceptance. They listened to their inner voice; the Voice which never ceases. 5
Much later in history the villainous Haman uses the same principle on the king. “There is a specific people….it is not in our interest to suffer them.” 6 The seemingly boundless power to influence the king and harness the subjects by Haman emanates from his inclusiveness. He galvanizes both the people and the king using the Babel principle: “Come let us…” The language is irresistible. If they work together, the people reason, all will be well. The inhabitants of the city of Shushan under his power are moved to work together in a lock-step that brings the country to the brink of genocide.
In the Torah, Pharaoh too understood the concept of rallying his people against the common enemy. This tale is most revealing of all the plots to subjugate a people and ultimately commit atrocities. A clue to the real motive behind Pharaoh’s edicts is a slip of tongue. The unparalleled human power says to his people, “Come let us deal wisely with him.” 7 So begins the years of deprivation, degradation and extermination Yet, Pharaoh’s words reveal his true intent.
Note that the Pharaoh ought to have said “Come let us deal wisely with them.” The mistake did not go unnoticed by the ancient ones. 8 The enemy was not the Jewish people. It would not have been enough for the ruler of Egypt to murder the Jews. He knew better than that. To utterly wipe out any vestige of those who would rebel against the boundaries of society Pharaoh would have to do more.
Just as the people of Babel knew that they must storm the gates of heaven to be truly powerful the Pharaoh also understood the idea that he would first need to destroy their God. Only then would the Jews disappear. That was his slip of tongue when he pronounced “Come let us deal wisely with him.” That was his goal as was every despot that sought to destroy his children throughout the long ages.
What the pivotal figures of Jewish history all understood- both the evil ones and the tzaddikim- is that the people are inextricably bound up with their God. The covenant that first bound Father Abraham to God and was re-covenanted time and again until the ultimate covenant, Sinai, is the animating force that feeds life into us. That relationship forever links our destiny and binds our souls to the One.
For as long this covenant remains we are called upon to listen to the word of God and not the word of man.
1 Exodus 22:3
2 Sanhedrin 109
3 Genesis 11:4, Hullin 89a
4 Hullin 89a
5 Berachot 3a
6 Esther 3:8
7 Exodus 1:10
8 Sotah 11a
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The End is Nigh
Midrash indicates that during the time that Jacob thought Joseph was dead Jacob was like an empty husk; he was bereft of both his son and his connection to God. Woodenly walking through his days, Jacob’s devastation was complete. His son was gone. The Shechinah left him. This double-pain is connected.
When Jacob thought that Joseph was dead, he also believed that he had failed in his life’s mission: it had been revealed to him that if his sons died before him, he would descend to Gehinom 1. With Joseph apparently dead, Jacob spent his years awaiting his bitter fate in the "Next Universe." That is why when the message arrived that Joseph was alive, the Torah declares: The spirit of Jacob their father lived." 2 The Shechinah had returned to Father Jacob.
After twenty-two years, father and son reunite. The Torah describes this moment: "He (Joseph) saw him, he fell on his neck, and cried." 3
After twenty-two years Joseph could only weep. The tears of anger, regret and separation covered Joseph’s face and blurred his vision. What did Jacob do while Joseph cried? Rashi again provides an answer:
Jacob did not fall on the neck of Joseph. He did not kiss him. He did not weep. The Sages explain that Jacob was saying the Sh'ma. 4
Jacob's response to seeing his long-lost son was to say the Sh'ma? After not seeing his son for more than two decades -- remember that Jacob believed that Joseph was torn by wild beasts—Jacob had already come to terms with the death of his son and accepted his future consignment to Gehinom – Jacob uttered the Sh'ma! Why?
Why did Jacob say Shma Yisrael and not just cry like his son? Or why not simply give thanks to God? Even more, why did he add the words Shma Yisrael, “Listen Israel,” when Jacob could have just said, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. After all, who was Jacob speaking to (remember his new name was Israel)? Was he talking to himself?
No, Jacob is addressing a hopeful future. Until now, there was only a dismal end to the family line, a sudden end to his grandfather’s and father’s legacy. Having broken the line of transmission when Joseph died, Jacob expected only Gehinom for himself and a historical footnote for the nascent Jewish people.
That is why Jacob added the words "Listen Israel." He spoke to the future. Think of Jacob’s prayer as “Listen you yet-unborn-generations who shall be know by my name Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”
D’var Aher:
The holy Torah reads as passages that flow from one column to the next. With no spaces or beaks in the long narrative they form a seamless line connecting passage streams. Invariably, when one Torah portion ends and another begins there is a space, a break in the rush of words. This is not true in Vayichi. There is no break. It is called satum, "closed."
In an oddity with the usual division of parshiot in the Torah last week’s portion ends and this one begins with no discernable break. Why is this portion satum? Rashi shares that the death of Jacob caused a closing of the eyes and hearts of Israel. The troubles of the oppression began. The nation that gave them sanctuary would now become their ruthless oppressor. As a result, Jacob wanted to reveal the end of days to his children to give them hope. As a seer he knew that he could decipher what would happen to his descendents. Jacob gathered his children around his bedside and share with them the future. As he opened his mouth to speak the prophecy evaporated, the future was closed to him. 5
The death of Jacob represented the end of an era. The patriarchal age was drawing to a close. A new generation would begin with no visible leader to guide them. Jacob felt an almost desperate need to reveal to his children what waited for them. He wished to give them hope.
“And Jacob called his sons and said 'Gather, and I will tell you, what will happen to you in the end of days’ ..." 6
Jacob gathered his children around his bedside. Ailing, weak and frail from the visage of the Angel of Death nearing, Jacob wanted to inform them of the future. A momentary pause. A lapse in memory. Jacob became disoriented, confused. Instead, he blessed them. At the moment this revelation is to take place, Jacob's vision eludes him. This is how the Talmud describes the scene:
Jacob wished to reveal the ketz, the end of time, but the Shechinah left him. He became bewildered. He was prescient just a moment before. What happened to him? Jacob said, "Perhaps there is a flaw in my children like Abraham who fathered Ishmael, or father Isaac who bore Esau." 7
In his blank confusion and emptiness Jacob did not fear dementia he agonized that there was something lacking in his children. Perhaps, Jacob thought, it was far more insidious than that, he had failed his life’s mission.
The Talmud then connects Jacob's fear with the errant offspring of his father and grandfather. Why should Jacob have expected that his children would be greater than the children of Abraham or Isaac? If Abraham could father an Ishmael and Isaac could father an Esau, why would Jacob expect that his family would emerge whole? If this was true then Jacob was the last of his lineage.
Jacob's sons respond to their father’s deep and real fear. They responded to his dumbfounded silence by saying, "Sh'ma Israel Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad, Listen Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One." What the children affirmed before their father, the last dying Patriarch, was that they would be true to his moral direction. Father Jacob would die but his tradition would extend beyond his life.
With these words, the next generation assured their father that they truly accept the One God. When Jacob realizes that his children were one nation, he utters the words the entire nation will later use to respond to the Shechinah. "Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuto L'olam Va'ed, Blessed be the honorable name of His kingship forever and ever." 8 Jacob’s life was complete, whole.
The resonance of that event sent ripples through the many generations to follow. Jacob’s declaration was later said every Yom Kippur by the Jewish gathering on the Holy Day. At the Temple, when they heard the Divine Name annunciated by the Kohen Gadol, it not only brought the presence of the Shechinah but initiated the response from the people, "Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuto L'olam Va'ed, Blessed be the honorable name of His kingship forever and ever.
Genesis comes to an end. Time and destiny will eventually bring the Jews to Mount Sinai. The Sh'ma will remain the most powerful declaration of unity of people and connection to God.
Why was Jacob refused the privilege of seeing and sharing the vision of the "end of days"? Jacob was not an unworthy father or careless inheritor of the tradition handed to him. There was no flaw. Some books must remain closed.
D’var Aher:
The Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto had a different reading on Jacob’s struggle to find the ketz, the End of Days. According to him, ligalot et haketz (which means to reveal the end) could also mean it as “liglot.” Liglot means “to expel”.
Why did the Torah not leave the regular gap or space before this week’s portion? The Warsaw Rebbe indicated that Jacob wanted to expel the ketz, the “end.” Jacob wanted to end the human pains this physical existence. Jacob wanted to share with his children the secrets of the white spaces of the Torah. It could not be. The world, God decided, was not yet ready for the Redemption. The way became satum, closed, to Jacob.
Still, we wait.
1 Rashi on 37:35
2 Genesis 45:27
3 Genesis 46:29
4 Rashi on 46:29
5 Rashi 47:28 and Bereshit Rabba 96:1
6 Genesis 49:1-3
7 Pesahim 56a
8 Pesahim 56a
When Jacob thought that Joseph was dead, he also believed that he had failed in his life’s mission: it had been revealed to him that if his sons died before him, he would descend to Gehinom 1. With Joseph apparently dead, Jacob spent his years awaiting his bitter fate in the "Next Universe." That is why when the message arrived that Joseph was alive, the Torah declares: The spirit of Jacob their father lived." 2 The Shechinah had returned to Father Jacob.
After twenty-two years, father and son reunite. The Torah describes this moment: "He (Joseph) saw him, he fell on his neck, and cried." 3
After twenty-two years Joseph could only weep. The tears of anger, regret and separation covered Joseph’s face and blurred his vision. What did Jacob do while Joseph cried? Rashi again provides an answer:
Jacob did not fall on the neck of Joseph. He did not kiss him. He did not weep. The Sages explain that Jacob was saying the Sh'ma. 4
Jacob's response to seeing his long-lost son was to say the Sh'ma? After not seeing his son for more than two decades -- remember that Jacob believed that Joseph was torn by wild beasts—Jacob had already come to terms with the death of his son and accepted his future consignment to Gehinom – Jacob uttered the Sh'ma! Why?
Why did Jacob say Shma Yisrael and not just cry like his son? Or why not simply give thanks to God? Even more, why did he add the words Shma Yisrael, “Listen Israel,” when Jacob could have just said, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. After all, who was Jacob speaking to (remember his new name was Israel)? Was he talking to himself?
No, Jacob is addressing a hopeful future. Until now, there was only a dismal end to the family line, a sudden end to his grandfather’s and father’s legacy. Having broken the line of transmission when Joseph died, Jacob expected only Gehinom for himself and a historical footnote for the nascent Jewish people.
That is why Jacob added the words "Listen Israel." He spoke to the future. Think of Jacob’s prayer as “Listen you yet-unborn-generations who shall be know by my name Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”
D’var Aher:
The holy Torah reads as passages that flow from one column to the next. With no spaces or beaks in the long narrative they form a seamless line connecting passage streams. Invariably, when one Torah portion ends and another begins there is a space, a break in the rush of words. This is not true in Vayichi. There is no break. It is called satum, "closed."
In an oddity with the usual division of parshiot in the Torah last week’s portion ends and this one begins with no discernable break. Why is this portion satum? Rashi shares that the death of Jacob caused a closing of the eyes and hearts of Israel. The troubles of the oppression began. The nation that gave them sanctuary would now become their ruthless oppressor. As a result, Jacob wanted to reveal the end of days to his children to give them hope. As a seer he knew that he could decipher what would happen to his descendents. Jacob gathered his children around his bedside and share with them the future. As he opened his mouth to speak the prophecy evaporated, the future was closed to him. 5
The death of Jacob represented the end of an era. The patriarchal age was drawing to a close. A new generation would begin with no visible leader to guide them. Jacob felt an almost desperate need to reveal to his children what waited for them. He wished to give them hope.
“And Jacob called his sons and said 'Gather, and I will tell you, what will happen to you in the end of days’ ..." 6
Jacob gathered his children around his bedside. Ailing, weak and frail from the visage of the Angel of Death nearing, Jacob wanted to inform them of the future. A momentary pause. A lapse in memory. Jacob became disoriented, confused. Instead, he blessed them. At the moment this revelation is to take place, Jacob's vision eludes him. This is how the Talmud describes the scene:
Jacob wished to reveal the ketz, the end of time, but the Shechinah left him. He became bewildered. He was prescient just a moment before. What happened to him? Jacob said, "Perhaps there is a flaw in my children like Abraham who fathered Ishmael, or father Isaac who bore Esau." 7
In his blank confusion and emptiness Jacob did not fear dementia he agonized that there was something lacking in his children. Perhaps, Jacob thought, it was far more insidious than that, he had failed his life’s mission.
The Talmud then connects Jacob's fear with the errant offspring of his father and grandfather. Why should Jacob have expected that his children would be greater than the children of Abraham or Isaac? If Abraham could father an Ishmael and Isaac could father an Esau, why would Jacob expect that his family would emerge whole? If this was true then Jacob was the last of his lineage.
Jacob's sons respond to their father’s deep and real fear. They responded to his dumbfounded silence by saying, "Sh'ma Israel Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad, Listen Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One." What the children affirmed before their father, the last dying Patriarch, was that they would be true to his moral direction. Father Jacob would die but his tradition would extend beyond his life.
With these words, the next generation assured their father that they truly accept the One God. When Jacob realizes that his children were one nation, he utters the words the entire nation will later use to respond to the Shechinah. "Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuto L'olam Va'ed, Blessed be the honorable name of His kingship forever and ever." 8 Jacob’s life was complete, whole.
The resonance of that event sent ripples through the many generations to follow. Jacob’s declaration was later said every Yom Kippur by the Jewish gathering on the Holy Day. At the Temple, when they heard the Divine Name annunciated by the Kohen Gadol, it not only brought the presence of the Shechinah but initiated the response from the people, "Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuto L'olam Va'ed, Blessed be the honorable name of His kingship forever and ever.
Genesis comes to an end. Time and destiny will eventually bring the Jews to Mount Sinai. The Sh'ma will remain the most powerful declaration of unity of people and connection to God.
Why was Jacob refused the privilege of seeing and sharing the vision of the "end of days"? Jacob was not an unworthy father or careless inheritor of the tradition handed to him. There was no flaw. Some books must remain closed.
D’var Aher:
The Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto had a different reading on Jacob’s struggle to find the ketz, the End of Days. According to him, ligalot et haketz (which means to reveal the end) could also mean it as “liglot.” Liglot means “to expel”.
Why did the Torah not leave the regular gap or space before this week’s portion? The Warsaw Rebbe indicated that Jacob wanted to expel the ketz, the “end.” Jacob wanted to end the human pains this physical existence. Jacob wanted to share with his children the secrets of the white spaces of the Torah. It could not be. The world, God decided, was not yet ready for the Redemption. The way became satum, closed, to Jacob.
Still, we wait.
1 Rashi on 37:35
2 Genesis 45:27
3 Genesis 46:29
4 Rashi on 46:29
5 Rashi 47:28 and Bereshit Rabba 96:1
6 Genesis 49:1-3
7 Pesahim 56a
8 Pesahim 56a
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Choosing Pain
We chose pain. Can you imagine that? Choosing pain? Who would do such a thing? Yet, that is precisely what happened. We chose it.
If there is a single moral to the tale of Creation it is that Adam HaRishon - primordial man- elected to take the path of pain instead of spending his days in utter comfort. The Garden was perfect. There were no needs or wants. There was work to be done and the possibility of failure did not exist. There could be no failure. Likewise there was nothing to succeed at. All Adam HaRishon had to do was breathe.
In taking the forbidden fruit shame ensconced itself in the consciousness of the two beings. First naked and unabashed 1 Adam and Havvah felt their vulnerability begin to grow into an unrelenting self-conscious throb. Once comfortable in their own skin the couple now felt no comfort, only a constant gnawing of self-doubt and recrimination. Instead of roaming about the Garden, Adam and Havvah now crouched low in the bushes. Just moments before the universe stretched before them. In one moment he world had closed in on them. The skies felt like they were crushing down upon them.
Self-loathing and fear gripped Adam and Havvah. Dark suspicions colored the previously pristine Garden. They accused one another, contemptuously.
He said, "The woman that You gave me — she gave the fruit…" "The woman said, The serpent…"
Perfection was blemished. Shunned from Eden, Adam and Havvah now had to deal with previously unimagined pains that would assault their physical being and relentlessly pursue their consciousness. They crouched lower into the foliage, terrified of the growing inner darkness.
Why did they choose the path of pain?
On Hanukka we celebrate in many ways. Among the more opaque observances is the tradition of spinning the dreidle. A commentator, Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov, said that the difference between Hanukka and Purim is best demonstrated by the dreidle and the gragger.
The dreidle is spun by taking hold of the top and twisting your wrist. The gragger is sounded by taking hold of the bottom and yanking it around. One is gripped from below; the other above. That reminds us of the difference between the two holidays. While Purim celebrates the ability of Esther to find her self and God and save the Jews, below; Hanukka recalls the intervention of God in coming to the aid of the Hasmonean warriors, above, with the miracle of the oil.
Redemption has different origins in the two holidays. There are times when we depend upon God and other times when we must depend upon ourselves. Yet, the connection between Purim and Hanukka is that redemption only comes about through struggle, pain. Both tales are pock-marked with rivalry, desperation and fear.
It would be nice if life was different; if our lives were not so riddled with wounds…and it was for a brief flicker of time in our past. The Garden of Eden. We return to our first question: why did they do it? Why did the sole inhabitants of Paradise forfeit perfection? Why could they not turn their backs from the Tree of Knowledge and forever walk in the Divine Radiance?
The question of pain is paramount in the parasha of the week as the family of Jacob descends into the fist of Egypt that would last for hundreds of years. At first it is a move that benefits everybody. Prosperity swiftly turns to anguish and despair as th children of Jacob become slaves to their present-day neighbors. Why such pain? Why must generation after generation endure agony?
In connection with the week’s Torah reading, a tale offers the following insight:
A farmer needed to yoke his cow. The cow had no desire to have the wooden plank placed around its neck and then tightened on her shoulders. She balked. Turning her neck this way and that the farmer could not yoke the animal. So what did the farmer do?
The farmer went to his shed and led her calf out in front of the mother. Pathetically bleating, the calf made the mother-cow lurch protectively forward. Because of her child, the cow allowed herself to become yoked.
It was foretold that Jacob would migrate to Egypt long ago. 2 The descent into Egypt and the subsequent affliction was part of a pact that God made with Father Abraham. There were countless ways to facilitate the yet-to-be-born descendent of Abraham leaving Canaan for Egypt but God decided to bring the calf first to induce its mother. The Holy One declared: He is My firstborn. Shall I then bring him down to Egypt in disgrace? I will draw his son before him, and so he will follow. Joseph was the lynchpin – the calf -- that forced Jacob to move. Jacob was compelled to go down to Egypt.
What does this Midrash mean? Does God want us to suffer? He ordained the slavery? It was part of God’s plan that Abraham’s descendents be slaves? Why?
It would seem that man and God are in collusion: they both believe that suffering is a necessary part of the human condition.
Rashi commented on the remarkable episode when Moses viewed the blazing bush on the mountaintop. 3 "Just as you see this bush burning while remaining intact so you carry My mission and will not be destroyed."
God did not promise that the process would be easy. There would be pain; the kind that invariably accompanies flame. God didn't say there would be no suffering. God only promised that we would not be alone and that we would survive.
In an early Talmudic passage there is the powerful statement, 4 A voice from heaven courses through the world three times each day that weeps for the pain and loss of God’s people.
If God weeps for our loss why then do we suffer?
The answer lies in the Garden of Eden. In the great experiment of human contentment, a dismal failure, a lesson was learned: humanity is happiest when learning and growing from its own mistakes. That is why Adam and Havvah chose the path of pain. It not only gave them a choice but the experience of hurt and failure allowed them to grow.
Perhaps that is also why God placed us in Egypt because that too, was part of our collective growth. Could it be that the act of suffering leads us to new spiritual ground?
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: The Holy One, Blessed is He, gave three good gifts to the Jewish people, and all are acquired through suffering: Torah, the Land of Israel, and the World to Come. 5
Elsewhere, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai taught: Come and see how beloved is Israel to the Holy One, the Well of all blessing. When Israel went into exile, the Shechina went along into exile. They went to exile to Egypt, the Shechina went with them….They went to Babylon in exile and the Shechina went with them, as it is written, because of you I was sent to Babylon (Isaiah 43:14). When they will eventually be redeemed, the Shechina will be redeemed along with them, as it is written, Then the Lord your God will bring back your captivity and have mercy upon you (Deut. 30:3). God Himself returns along with Israel from its exiles. 6
Once life was perfect and that was the problem. Now we live a life that is rife with problems and it is perfect.
1 Genesis 2:25
2 Genesis15:13
3 Exodus 3:12
4 Berachot 3a
5 Berachot 5a
6 Megilah, 29a
If there is a single moral to the tale of Creation it is that Adam HaRishon - primordial man- elected to take the path of pain instead of spending his days in utter comfort. The Garden was perfect. There were no needs or wants. There was work to be done and the possibility of failure did not exist. There could be no failure. Likewise there was nothing to succeed at. All Adam HaRishon had to do was breathe.
In taking the forbidden fruit shame ensconced itself in the consciousness of the two beings. First naked and unabashed 1 Adam and Havvah felt their vulnerability begin to grow into an unrelenting self-conscious throb. Once comfortable in their own skin the couple now felt no comfort, only a constant gnawing of self-doubt and recrimination. Instead of roaming about the Garden, Adam and Havvah now crouched low in the bushes. Just moments before the universe stretched before them. In one moment he world had closed in on them. The skies felt like they were crushing down upon them.
Self-loathing and fear gripped Adam and Havvah. Dark suspicions colored the previously pristine Garden. They accused one another, contemptuously.
He said, "The woman that You gave me — she gave the fruit…" "The woman said, The serpent…"
Perfection was blemished. Shunned from Eden, Adam and Havvah now had to deal with previously unimagined pains that would assault their physical being and relentlessly pursue their consciousness. They crouched lower into the foliage, terrified of the growing inner darkness.
Why did they choose the path of pain?
On Hanukka we celebrate in many ways. Among the more opaque observances is the tradition of spinning the dreidle. A commentator, Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov, said that the difference between Hanukka and Purim is best demonstrated by the dreidle and the gragger.
The dreidle is spun by taking hold of the top and twisting your wrist. The gragger is sounded by taking hold of the bottom and yanking it around. One is gripped from below; the other above. That reminds us of the difference between the two holidays. While Purim celebrates the ability of Esther to find her self and God and save the Jews, below; Hanukka recalls the intervention of God in coming to the aid of the Hasmonean warriors, above, with the miracle of the oil.
Redemption has different origins in the two holidays. There are times when we depend upon God and other times when we must depend upon ourselves. Yet, the connection between Purim and Hanukka is that redemption only comes about through struggle, pain. Both tales are pock-marked with rivalry, desperation and fear.
It would be nice if life was different; if our lives were not so riddled with wounds…and it was for a brief flicker of time in our past. The Garden of Eden. We return to our first question: why did they do it? Why did the sole inhabitants of Paradise forfeit perfection? Why could they not turn their backs from the Tree of Knowledge and forever walk in the Divine Radiance?
The question of pain is paramount in the parasha of the week as the family of Jacob descends into the fist of Egypt that would last for hundreds of years. At first it is a move that benefits everybody. Prosperity swiftly turns to anguish and despair as th children of Jacob become slaves to their present-day neighbors. Why such pain? Why must generation after generation endure agony?
In connection with the week’s Torah reading, a tale offers the following insight:
A farmer needed to yoke his cow. The cow had no desire to have the wooden plank placed around its neck and then tightened on her shoulders. She balked. Turning her neck this way and that the farmer could not yoke the animal. So what did the farmer do?
The farmer went to his shed and led her calf out in front of the mother. Pathetically bleating, the calf made the mother-cow lurch protectively forward. Because of her child, the cow allowed herself to become yoked.
It was foretold that Jacob would migrate to Egypt long ago. 2 The descent into Egypt and the subsequent affliction was part of a pact that God made with Father Abraham. There were countless ways to facilitate the yet-to-be-born descendent of Abraham leaving Canaan for Egypt but God decided to bring the calf first to induce its mother. The Holy One declared: He is My firstborn. Shall I then bring him down to Egypt in disgrace? I will draw his son before him, and so he will follow. Joseph was the lynchpin – the calf -- that forced Jacob to move. Jacob was compelled to go down to Egypt.
What does this Midrash mean? Does God want us to suffer? He ordained the slavery? It was part of God’s plan that Abraham’s descendents be slaves? Why?
It would seem that man and God are in collusion: they both believe that suffering is a necessary part of the human condition.
Rashi commented on the remarkable episode when Moses viewed the blazing bush on the mountaintop. 3 "Just as you see this bush burning while remaining intact so you carry My mission and will not be destroyed."
God did not promise that the process would be easy. There would be pain; the kind that invariably accompanies flame. God didn't say there would be no suffering. God only promised that we would not be alone and that we would survive.
In an early Talmudic passage there is the powerful statement, 4 A voice from heaven courses through the world three times each day that weeps for the pain and loss of God’s people.
If God weeps for our loss why then do we suffer?
The answer lies in the Garden of Eden. In the great experiment of human contentment, a dismal failure, a lesson was learned: humanity is happiest when learning and growing from its own mistakes. That is why Adam and Havvah chose the path of pain. It not only gave them a choice but the experience of hurt and failure allowed them to grow.
Perhaps that is also why God placed us in Egypt because that too, was part of our collective growth. Could it be that the act of suffering leads us to new spiritual ground?
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: The Holy One, Blessed is He, gave three good gifts to the Jewish people, and all are acquired through suffering: Torah, the Land of Israel, and the World to Come. 5
Elsewhere, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai taught: Come and see how beloved is Israel to the Holy One, the Well of all blessing. When Israel went into exile, the Shechina went along into exile. They went to exile to Egypt, the Shechina went with them….They went to Babylon in exile and the Shechina went with them, as it is written, because of you I was sent to Babylon (Isaiah 43:14). When they will eventually be redeemed, the Shechina will be redeemed along with them, as it is written, Then the Lord your God will bring back your captivity and have mercy upon you (Deut. 30:3). God Himself returns along with Israel from its exiles. 6
Once life was perfect and that was the problem. Now we live a life that is rife with problems and it is perfect.
1 Genesis 2:25
2 Genesis15:13
3 Exodus 3:12
4 Berachot 3a
5 Berachot 5a
6 Megilah, 29a
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Joseph's Pit
Joseph is the dreamer.
At once, it is a gift and a curse. It is a gift because the dreams are prescient. Each one accurately predicts the future. As Joseph reveals his dreams it is clear that he prophesies. Who would not covet the ability to be privy to what will happen tomorrow? Imagine what you could do with that information!
It is a curse because Joseph is oblivious to the meaning and import of his dreams. He dreams but does not know what to do with them, how to interpret them or how they affect his family. Innocently, Joseph approaches his family and does not shrink from sharing the minute details of a prophesy that has them groveling before their younger sibling. His brothers realize the gravity of the dream; they recognize the gift and grow increasingly impatient with his naiveté. Jacob, the father, also understands Joseph’s gift. Even as he rails against the implication of Joseph’s night visions, he consciously ‘guards what Joseph has spoken.’ 1
As years pass, Joseph changes. Almost unnoticed, Joseph is transformed from dreamer to interpreter of dreams. Does Joseph even have dreams anymore? We do not know. Now Joseph reads meaning into other people’s dreams. No longer the dreamer, now Joseph is truly the “master of dreams” as he accurately interprets the Pharaoh’s nightmares as well as his fellow prisoners in the dungeons of Egypt. The dreaming theme is a thread that wends its way through the many layers of Joseph’s life.
Yet, there is another more idiosyncratic, recurrent theme in Joseph’s years, the pit.
First off, what was this pit? Where did it come from? Deep shafts in the earth generally do not appear by themselves. How did it come to be there? The pit was one of many wells dug by Jacob in his search for the desert elixir, water. The pit, or well, was dug in order to be used by his shepherds, drunk by his children in the field and used to irrigate the crops this well was an essential lifeline.
Seeing the “dreamer” approach them, the brothers contemplated murder. At the last moment an idea seized Reuben. Instead of fratricide there was a cleaner way to get rid of the nuisance. Reuben turned to his brothers as Joseph came toward them. “My brothers, instead of killing him, why not throw Joseph into the dry pit? [There was one attempt a digging a well that yielded no water.] Our fathers dug many wells. There is one here!” God, knowing what the brothers would plan, kept the water level from rising. Only after Joseph was sold to the passing merchants did the Holy One allow the waters to rise to their natural level. 2 Joseph was thrown into the empty hole.
The books of Psalms often inject the full spectrum of human emotion into biblical events. The reader of Psalms needs to be alert to clues that refer back to events of long before. In Psalm 30, a voice cries “What benefit is there if my blood is spilled? If I descend down into nothingness?” Earlier, in this same psalm the plaintive voice cries, “Lord You have lifted my self up from She’ol. You have preserved my life from its descent into the pit.”
The pitiful moan in Psalm 30 is resonant with Joseph’s terrified cry from the pit that seemed to close in on him. In fact the very language that Reuben uses in Genesis “What benefit is there…” 3 is the same Hebrew word used in Psalm 30. The only real difference is that Psalms identifies the pit with a place called She’ol.
She’ol is a living hell. It lies in the depths of despair. She’ol is a place of utter desolation and loneliness where the sole inhabitant is you. When Joseph was thrown into the pit he was truly cut off from everything. The darkness was complete and blank. It was She’ol, an inescapable and a seeming unending nightmare.
Question: Does the terrain of She’ol seem familiar? Have you ever been cast into this pit, deprived of light and love?
Now, the reading from Psalms brings more sense to us 4. What was this pit that Joseph was cast into? She’ol. The place where the brothers threw Joseph was into empty darkness. It was a pit of infinite dimensions where no light was allowed to penetrate the thick blanket of evil.
Stripping Joseph of his coat of Light and placing him in treacherous surroundings was the greatest challenge to Joseph of his life.
Another question: why does the usually terse Torah state, “The pit was empty. There was no water in it.” Of course there was no water in it. It was “empty!” What reason could there be for the Torah restating the obvious?
Rabbi Acha interpreted this seeming redundancy to mean that “no water” means there was no Torah. 5 In other words, not only was Joseph callously thrown into a dank pit but he was deprived of Light while there. Joseph miserably sat in the pit for two days with no “water” to nourish his soul.
Until now Joseph was content. All his needs were answered. He was immersed in Torah. He found listening to the word of God as easy as carrying on a conversation with his father. Unfiltered prophesies came to his open mind unchallenged and whole. He was educated and sheltered in the shadow of God. Through the prism of his eyes Joseph was bathed in truth.
Then came the fall of the curtain of darkness that stripped him of all hope.
More years pass by in the sweep of a few sentences. Once again, Joseph was tossed into a pit (bor). 6 In English it might be translated s ‘dungeon’ but the word in the original text is identical, bor. It is the pit once more.
According to the holy Zohar, 7 "And they took him, and cast him into a pit," Is an indication to Joseph of his descent into the darkness. As it continues, This refers to casting him into Egypt. There the key of faith does not dwell. Water is the key of faith. When it is written: "The pit was empty," it refers the absence of the key of faith.
That is why Rashi tells us that Joseph’s pit was filled with scorpions and snakes. The greatest danger to Joseph was in taking him from the water of his faith.
That is also the kabbalisitc meaning of “going down to Egypt.” It is a descent into the pit of She’ol.
Every person must undertake the same journey into despair and hopelessness. Every person will enter the pit.
In the Jewish tradition Joseph is a tzaddik, one of the most righteous. Yet, he was not always a tzaddik. He first had to master himself. Joseph’s transformation began at the moment he was thrust into the unyielding darkness of She’ol. After his long nights of weeping dread Joseph emerged from the darkness of the pit as a true tzaddik. The story of Joseph concludes. He refused to give in to the dark. Instead, he fought to keep his faith. Then the tzaddik was born.
Only when he is pulled from the pit do we glimpse the new Joseph, the Joseph who-has-become.
When Father Jacob died, Joseph and his brothers brought his body to be interred at the ancient burial site, Machpelah. On the way the group passed by the pit where Joseph was thrown so long ago. Joseph stopped and stared. He peered down into the emptiness and opened his mouth: Baruch Ata Sh’asah li nes b’makom hazeh. Blessed be the Lord God who performed a miracle for me here. 8
Now, in the final chapters of Genesis the transformation is complete: Joseph the dreamer is now the “master of dreams.” All life is watched by the Eye that does not sleep; it does not even blink. The dreams have been fulfilled and Joseph the tzaddik knows his place in the world. All things come from God. Our task is to listen and follow.
1 Genesis 37:11
2 Legends of the Jews, Louis Ginzberg
3 Genesis 3:26
4 See also Ps. 143:7. 49:9; 55:24; 103:4 and 88:5
5 Yalkut Shimoni
6 Genesis 41:14
7 Zohar, Vayishlach 130
8 Bereshit Rabba
At once, it is a gift and a curse. It is a gift because the dreams are prescient. Each one accurately predicts the future. As Joseph reveals his dreams it is clear that he prophesies. Who would not covet the ability to be privy to what will happen tomorrow? Imagine what you could do with that information!
It is a curse because Joseph is oblivious to the meaning and import of his dreams. He dreams but does not know what to do with them, how to interpret them or how they affect his family. Innocently, Joseph approaches his family and does not shrink from sharing the minute details of a prophesy that has them groveling before their younger sibling. His brothers realize the gravity of the dream; they recognize the gift and grow increasingly impatient with his naiveté. Jacob, the father, also understands Joseph’s gift. Even as he rails against the implication of Joseph’s night visions, he consciously ‘guards what Joseph has spoken.’ 1
As years pass, Joseph changes. Almost unnoticed, Joseph is transformed from dreamer to interpreter of dreams. Does Joseph even have dreams anymore? We do not know. Now Joseph reads meaning into other people’s dreams. No longer the dreamer, now Joseph is truly the “master of dreams” as he accurately interprets the Pharaoh’s nightmares as well as his fellow prisoners in the dungeons of Egypt. The dreaming theme is a thread that wends its way through the many layers of Joseph’s life.
Yet, there is another more idiosyncratic, recurrent theme in Joseph’s years, the pit.
First off, what was this pit? Where did it come from? Deep shafts in the earth generally do not appear by themselves. How did it come to be there? The pit was one of many wells dug by Jacob in his search for the desert elixir, water. The pit, or well, was dug in order to be used by his shepherds, drunk by his children in the field and used to irrigate the crops this well was an essential lifeline.
Seeing the “dreamer” approach them, the brothers contemplated murder. At the last moment an idea seized Reuben. Instead of fratricide there was a cleaner way to get rid of the nuisance. Reuben turned to his brothers as Joseph came toward them. “My brothers, instead of killing him, why not throw Joseph into the dry pit? [There was one attempt a digging a well that yielded no water.] Our fathers dug many wells. There is one here!” God, knowing what the brothers would plan, kept the water level from rising. Only after Joseph was sold to the passing merchants did the Holy One allow the waters to rise to their natural level. 2 Joseph was thrown into the empty hole.
The books of Psalms often inject the full spectrum of human emotion into biblical events. The reader of Psalms needs to be alert to clues that refer back to events of long before. In Psalm 30, a voice cries “What benefit is there if my blood is spilled? If I descend down into nothingness?” Earlier, in this same psalm the plaintive voice cries, “Lord You have lifted my self up from She’ol. You have preserved my life from its descent into the pit.”
The pitiful moan in Psalm 30 is resonant with Joseph’s terrified cry from the pit that seemed to close in on him. In fact the very language that Reuben uses in Genesis “What benefit is there…” 3 is the same Hebrew word used in Psalm 30. The only real difference is that Psalms identifies the pit with a place called She’ol.
She’ol is a living hell. It lies in the depths of despair. She’ol is a place of utter desolation and loneliness where the sole inhabitant is you. When Joseph was thrown into the pit he was truly cut off from everything. The darkness was complete and blank. It was She’ol, an inescapable and a seeming unending nightmare.
Question: Does the terrain of She’ol seem familiar? Have you ever been cast into this pit, deprived of light and love?
Now, the reading from Psalms brings more sense to us 4. What was this pit that Joseph was cast into? She’ol. The place where the brothers threw Joseph was into empty darkness. It was a pit of infinite dimensions where no light was allowed to penetrate the thick blanket of evil.
Stripping Joseph of his coat of Light and placing him in treacherous surroundings was the greatest challenge to Joseph of his life.
Another question: why does the usually terse Torah state, “The pit was empty. There was no water in it.” Of course there was no water in it. It was “empty!” What reason could there be for the Torah restating the obvious?
Rabbi Acha interpreted this seeming redundancy to mean that “no water” means there was no Torah. 5 In other words, not only was Joseph callously thrown into a dank pit but he was deprived of Light while there. Joseph miserably sat in the pit for two days with no “water” to nourish his soul.
Until now Joseph was content. All his needs were answered. He was immersed in Torah. He found listening to the word of God as easy as carrying on a conversation with his father. Unfiltered prophesies came to his open mind unchallenged and whole. He was educated and sheltered in the shadow of God. Through the prism of his eyes Joseph was bathed in truth.
Then came the fall of the curtain of darkness that stripped him of all hope.
More years pass by in the sweep of a few sentences. Once again, Joseph was tossed into a pit (bor). 6 In English it might be translated s ‘dungeon’ but the word in the original text is identical, bor. It is the pit once more.
According to the holy Zohar, 7 "And they took him, and cast him into a pit," Is an indication to Joseph of his descent into the darkness. As it continues, This refers to casting him into Egypt. There the key of faith does not dwell. Water is the key of faith. When it is written: "The pit was empty," it refers the absence of the key of faith.
That is why Rashi tells us that Joseph’s pit was filled with scorpions and snakes. The greatest danger to Joseph was in taking him from the water of his faith.
That is also the kabbalisitc meaning of “going down to Egypt.” It is a descent into the pit of She’ol.
Every person must undertake the same journey into despair and hopelessness. Every person will enter the pit.
In the Jewish tradition Joseph is a tzaddik, one of the most righteous. Yet, he was not always a tzaddik. He first had to master himself. Joseph’s transformation began at the moment he was thrust into the unyielding darkness of She’ol. After his long nights of weeping dread Joseph emerged from the darkness of the pit as a true tzaddik. The story of Joseph concludes. He refused to give in to the dark. Instead, he fought to keep his faith. Then the tzaddik was born.
Only when he is pulled from the pit do we glimpse the new Joseph, the Joseph who-has-become.
When Father Jacob died, Joseph and his brothers brought his body to be interred at the ancient burial site, Machpelah. On the way the group passed by the pit where Joseph was thrown so long ago. Joseph stopped and stared. He peered down into the emptiness and opened his mouth: Baruch Ata Sh’asah li nes b’makom hazeh. Blessed be the Lord God who performed a miracle for me here. 8
Now, in the final chapters of Genesis the transformation is complete: Joseph the dreamer is now the “master of dreams.” All life is watched by the Eye that does not sleep; it does not even blink. The dreams have been fulfilled and Joseph the tzaddik knows his place in the world. All things come from God. Our task is to listen and follow.
1 Genesis 37:11
2 Legends of the Jews, Louis Ginzberg
3 Genesis 3:26
4 See also Ps. 143:7. 49:9; 55:24; 103:4 and 88:5
5 Yalkut Shimoni
6 Genesis 41:14
7 Zohar, Vayishlach 130
8 Bereshit Rabba
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