Dëvar Torah – Parashath VaYéshev (Genesis XXXVI, 1-XL, 23)
Our parasha begins the story of Yoséf, which occupies the rest of the Book of Genesis. As the story opens, we are told that the seventeen-year-old Yoséf brought reports of alleged wrongdoing on the part of his brothers to his father, Ya‘aqov. We are also informed that Ya‘aqov loved Yoséf more than the others, ki ben zëqunim hu’ lo.
As Rashi notes, the phrase is capable of two interpretations: First, Yoséf was literally a son of Ya‘aqov’s mature years, his eleventh son. As anyone familiar with such cases knows, such children are often coddled and spoilt more than their older siblings. Alternatively, Onqëlos translates ben zëqunim bar chakkim, “wise son,” and Rashi elaborates that “everything that [Ya‘aqov] learnt from then on he transmitted to [Yoséf].” Yoséf was thus his father’s most apt pupil, absorbing everything his father had to teach. It was in recognition of this superiority, the Sforno tells us, that Ya‘aqov gave Yoséf the këthoneth hapassim, the unique striped coat which inspired his brothers’ enmity.
In addition, Yoséf had a dream that he and his brothers were gathering the harvest, when his sheaf suddenly stood upright and their sheaves bowed down to it. Yoséf unwisely told his brothers of this dream, which was hardly likely to cause an increase of fraternal affection (XXXVII, 5; Sforno ad loc.) The Sforno also explains the dibba ra‘a, or lëshon hara‘ (unnecessarily defamatory speech which is believed to be true), of Yoséf’s reports as youthful indiscretion, whence the verse informs us vëhu’ na‘ar,(“and he was a youth”) — a dangerous combination of Torah knowledge and immature judgment. The first dream was followed by yet another, similarly interpreted in terms of Yoséf’s superiority.
As a result of these incidents, it’s hardly surprising that his brothers seethed with resentment. Presented with the opportunity of getting him alone, they acted to rid themselves of this irritation named Yoséf, selling him to an Arab caravan on its way to Egypt.
Yoséf’s own actions were plainly problematic and provocative. The Talmud (Yërushalmi Pé’a I, 1) tells of three specific instances of lëshon hara‘ for which Yoséf was punished midda këneged midda, “measure for measure”: He suspected them of eating ‘évar min hechai (“a limb from a living animal”), which resulted in the slaughter of a goat to soak his striped coat in its blood to deceive Ya‘aqov; he accused Lé’a’s sons of disparaging Bilha and Zilpa and treating them like servants, for which he was sold into slavery; and he accused them of casting lustful glances at the Canaanite girls, for which he was subjected to the advances of Potifar’s wife.
Still, the Torah sources focus on Ya‘aqov’s gift of the këthoneth hapassim as the root cause of all the suffering which resulted from the sale of Yoséf. The Talmud (Shabbath 10b) sternly warns us: “A man should never distinguish one of his sons from the others,” because, as a result of Ya‘aqov’s gift, “the matter was set in motion and our forefathers descended to Egypt.”
Rabbi Aharon haKohén Friedman, in his commentary Dëvar Aharon on the Haggada shel Pesach, notes that this underlies one of the central rituals of the Passover séder, the dipping of a vegetable with the mysterious name of karpas into salt water. The word karpas signifies no specific vegetable in Hebrew (people use things as diverse as potatoes, celery, or parsley for the purpose) and so the Dëvar Aharon explains the ritual as meaning that the bitter tears of Egyptian servitude (the salt water) came about because Yoséf was nimkar (“sold”) for the këthoneth hapassim. Kar-pas.
What could be the explanation of this monumental lapse of judgment on Ya‘aqov’s part?
Our parasha begins with the verse: Vayéshev Ya ‘aqov bë’eretz mëgurei aviv bë’eretz Këna‘an (“And Ya‘aqov settled in the land of his father’s sojournings, in the land of Canaan”). The Talmud (Sanhedrin 106a) tells us that “every place where vayéshev is said, it is none other than a term of suffering” and cites our verse, followed immediately by the report of Yoséf’s lëshon hara‘ as an example.
At first blush, it seems hard to understand what the Talmud is getting at. None of the major commentaries cite this passage in their comments on the verse. They either contrast the great detail with which the Torah treats Ya‘aqov’s settlement with the rather cursory treatment given the history of ‘Ésav and his descendants at the end of last week’s parasha (Rashi, Even ‘Ezra, Ramban), or explain the verse to mean that Ya‘aqov remained in that part of eretz Këna‘an which had been sanctified by the presence of his forefathers Avraham and Yitzchaq (Rashbam, Sforno).
What is the link that the Rabbis perceived between the concept of yishuv (“settling”) and suffering?
The key, in my humble opinion, lies in the difference between what the verse says of Ya‘aqov and of Yitzchaq. The term vayéshev implies a permanent settlement, whereas the term mëgurei suggests temporary stays.
One might imagine that this difference is reflected in the fact that Ya‘aqov built a house (XXXVIII, 16) while his father remained a tent-dwelling nomad (hence mëgurei aviv reflects his wanderings) and conclude from it that Ya‘aqov had somehow forgotten the prophecy given to his grandfather, Avraham, ki gér yihye bë’eretz lo’ lahem (“for [your descendants] will be strangers in a land not theirs,” XV, 13), which had obviously not yet been fulfilled. The verse’s seemingly superfluous phrase bë’eretz Këna‘an (since Yitzchaq never left Canaan in his life) suggests that something else is meant by bë’eretz mëgurei aviv. Indeed the Talmud (Mëgilla 17a) deduces from the name of Ya‘aqov’s estate, Sukkoth (a “temporary dwelling” if ever there was one), that he remained at that site only eighteen months.
So what does this contrast imply?
The Rabbis warn us (Avoth IV, 16): “This world resembles an anteroom to the world to come,” the point of which is that, measured against eternity, our 120 years here are a short stay. Adam këhevel dama, yamav këtzél ‘ovér (“Man is like a breath, his days are like a passing shadow,” Psalms CXLIV, 4). If we apply this mishna to the passage from Sanhedrin, perhaps we can understand it as meaning that every place where we find vayéshev written in the Torah, it is a sign that the incident immediately following is the result of forgetting, however momentarily, that this world is the temporary dwelling and the next the permanent address.
Yitzchaq’s identifying characteristic was his tremendous piety, his G-d-fearingness, whence was derived his gëvura, his heroic fearlessness regarding anything standing in the way of his Divine service. Ya‘aqov himself paid tribute to this quality of his father’s at his final meeting with Lavan: lulei Elo-hei avi, Elo-hei Avraham ufachad Yitzchaq haya li (“Had I not had my father’s G-d, G-d of Avraham and fear of Yitzchaq” XXXI, 32). This world was very much the eretz mëgurei aviv, the temporary dwelling place of Ya‘aqov’s father. Yitzchaq never imagined that this world was his home.
But in what way did Ya‘aqov forget what was ever-present in his father’s mind? After all, as we saw in last week’s parasha, Ya‘aqov, confronted by the threat of ‘Ésav, prayed, Qatonti mikol hachasadim (“I am less than all the kindnesses,” XXXII, 11), whence the Talmud learns (Shabbath 32a) that Ya‘aqov did live on the knife’s edge, fearing shema yigrom hachét’, “lest sin be the cause [of his downfall].” Rabbi Baruch haLévi Epstein takes note of the definite prefix (“the sin”) in his Torah Tëmima, and demonstrates on the basis of midrashim that the sin which Ya‘aqov feared had stained his record was neglect of the mitzva of kibbud av va’ém, “honoring one’s parents.” During the 34 years of his exile from home (14 years in the yëshiva of Shém vë‘Éver and 20 with Lavan) he had been out of contact with his parents.
That Ya‘aqov’s sons had a problem with this very mitzva is evident from numerous incidents: Shim‘on and Lévi failed to consult their father in their hot-headed rush to avenge the rape of their sister Dina, bringing down his rebuke (XXXIV, 30; cf. also XLIX, 5-7); Rë’uvén, in his zeal to prevent what he saw as a slight on his mother’s honor, trampled on his father’s conjugal obligations (XXXV, 22, Rashi ad loc., after Shabbath 55b; cf. also XLIX, 3-4); and of course, in our parasha, we see that they were willing to have Ya‘aqov believe that his favorite son had been brutally killed (XXXVII, 31-35).
Ya‘aqov, until the drama with Yoséf reached its conclusion, had failed to see his own failing as it was manifest in his sons. It was in this that he was complacent, where Yitzchaq would not have been; since the failing was manifest in such a tzaddiq, it bore dire consequences for the future, being the proximate cause for the Egyptian exile.
It is in our quest to understand how Ya‘aqov could miss this that a lesson may be found for us. The first fourteen years of Ya‘aqov’s exile, as noted supra, had been spent in yëshiva. Had the roshei yëshiva, Shém and ‘Éver, known of Ya‘aqov’s failure to write home it is hard to believe that they would not have spoken to him about it. Certainly no modern mashgiach ruchani would let it go unremarked. We are led to conclude that the rebbe-talmid relationship may not have been as close as it might have been.
When the Rabbis tell us: “Appoint a rav for yourself and acquire a companion” (Avoth I, 6), they are telling us that our personal hishtalmuth (“perfection”) can’t take place without external help. We can’t see ourselves as others see us, but the clear vision of an experienced rebbe and the straight talk of an honest companion can provide us with the necessary perspective to see where we are strong and where we need work. That even one of the patriarchs, the pillars on which our world is supported, could have had a lapse in the observance of a mitzva demonstrates the desperate need for each of us to develop such relationships.
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