Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

In Parashat Chayei-Sara, Avraham's servant chooses Rivka as a suitable match for Yitzchak and requests her family's permission to take her for this purpose. The verse then says, "Lavan [Rivka's brother] and Betuel [Rivka's father] answered and said, 'This matter has come from God.'" Rashi notes Lavan's unexpected appearance in the verse before his father, Betuel. This peculiarity leads Rashi to the conclusion that Lavan inappropriately jumped to answer first in the presence of his father. This haste constituted a violation of his father's honor.

It is recorded that former Israeli Chief Rabbi Mordekhai Eliyahu assumes this Rashi to be halakhically binding. Thus, one who finds himself in the company of his parent(s) and others must ensure not to answer questions directed to his parent(s) in their presence.

Although no clear source for this prohibition appears in the Gemara, this halakha seems to emerge from a similar prohibition against "contradicting his [one's parent's] words" (Masekhet Kiddushin 31b, Shulchan Arukh Y.D. 240:2). Assuming the right to contradict one's parent, rather than respectfully expressing a different view ("it seems to me that…"), reflects a self-proclaimed superiority to one's parent. By the same token, then, one may not answer questions directed to his parents, whereas doing so demonstrates a sense of superiority.

Regarding the prohibition against contradicting one's parent, a certain difficulty may arise from a passage earlier in Masekhet Kiddushin (30b): "Even father and son, or rabbi and student, who engage in Torah in the same location become enemies of one another; yet, they do not leave there until they become comrades of one another." This comment seems to encourage heated deliberation between father and son in the study hall. How does this positive outlook on halakhic debate accommodate the prohibition against contradicting one's father?

The "Atzmot Yossef" on Masekhet Kiddishun (cited by Pitchei Teshuva to Shulchan Arukh, ibid.) concludes from these two passages that halakhic discourse is not included in the prohibition against contradicting one's parent. One may question his parent's analysis of a certain issue in order that together they may arrive at a proper understanding of the material at hand. Apparently, the prohibition applies only to an outright disregard for one's parent's views; questioning those views for the clear purpose of reaching a correct understanding does not constitute a demonstration of disrespect.

A slightly different answer is offered by the "Margaliyot Ha-yam" in Sanhedrin 110a, who suggests that the entire prohibition against contradicting one's parent applies only to secular matters. When it comes to issues concerning Torah, one may contradict his parent. It is unclear how different this approach is from that of the "Atzmot Yossef"; the "Margalyot Ha-yam" may have also intended simply that over the course of debate one may oppose his parent's arguments. Alternatively, however, he may have meant that even outside the realm of discourse, when the two are not working together to arrive at the correct conclusion, one may contradict his parent so long as the issue at hand concerns matters of Torah.

In any event, it is clear that utmost care must be taken when speaking to or about one's parents not to infringe upon their due honor.

A well-known Midrash, cited by Rashi in his comments towards the beginning of Parashat Chayei-Sara, blames Sara's death on the "akeida": upon hearing of her son's near death atop Mount Moriah, Sara died. The Midrash adds that the angel of death himself appeared to Sara to inform her of what had happened; at that moment, her soul departed.

Some commentaries have explained this Midrash based on the association between the "malakh ha-mavet" - "angel of death" - and the "yezter ha-ra" - evil inclination. Meaning, Sara's death posed another challenge to Avraham. Now that he had triumphantly passed the grueling test of the "akeida," he now confronts yet another formidable task: to avoid any feelings of remorse for following God's command, in spite of its having caused his wife's death. One may never regret observance of mitzvot, not matter what happens as a result. (Needless to say, if one knows ahead of time that the observance of a given mitzva will result in the loss of life, he may not perform the mitzva, with the exception of the three sins of idolatry, adultery, and murder.)

In truth, Avraham may have already gone through a "post-akeida" trial earlier. The Torah describes that after the angel called out to Avraham and urged him to let Yitchak live, Avraham sacrificed a ram in his son's stead. This ram, the Torah tells us, was caught by its horns in a thicket of branches nearby. Why is this significant? Rav Aharon Kotler and others have explained that here, too, Avraham confronted a challenge. He volunteered this sacrifice; nobody had required a substitute for Yitzchak. Upon seeing the difficulty entailed in freeing the ram, Avraham could have easily forgone on his idea of sacrificing the animal. Instead, he remained resolute in his desire to perform this mitzva, and went through the trouble of removing the ram and offering it as a sacrifice to the Almighty.

Indeed, every challenge in life is followed by another. Even after God determines that "now I know that you are God-fearing" (22:12), the evil inclination remains on the loose. A religious lifestyle requires an ongoing, steadfast readiness to confront difficult moral, ethical, and spiritual dilemmas. And, as the "akeida" teaches us, each passing grade just brings us to the next test.

Parashat Chayei-Sara tells us that "Avraham was old… and God blessed Avraham with everything" (24:1). Midrash Rabba cites Rav Levi's three interpretations of this "all-inclusive" divine blessing that Avraham earned. The first reads, "… that He [God] gave Avraham control over his evil inclination." How are we to understand this explanation of the blessing of "everything"?

For one thing, the Midrash may come to teach us that one's blessings are incomplete without spiritual well-being. All the health, wealth, security, and domestic and social stability cannot combine into an all-encompassing sense of good fortune if a person fails to lead a proper religious lifestyle. This may have prompted Rav Levi to point to Avraham's control over his evil inclination as the basis for this unqualified blessing attributed to him. This blessing is indispensable for considering oneself truly blessed.

We may, however, explore yet another dimension of this brief Midrashic passage. King Shlomo observes ever so astutely in Sefer Mishlei, "One who loves money will never have enough money." This applies to all types of good fortune: no matter how much good a person enjoys, he yearns for more. It would seem, therefore, that an individual can never be "blessed with everything." After all, the more one has the more he wants; how can one have "everything?" Rav Levi therefore tells us that Avraham's blessing consisted of one critical ingredient: self-control. Avraham possessed the great gift of discipline and self-mastery. He took control of his natural human drives and never allowed them to overpower him. His priority scale remained fully intact at all times and ensured proper perspective and conduct. Only someone with such a gift can truly be blessed with everything, for only such a person can appreciate what he has without worrying about what he does not have.

Avraham's servant arrives in Charan on a mission to find a wife for Yitzchak. He conducts a test by which the water-girl who would offer water to both him and his camels would earn the privilege of marrying into the distinguished family of Avraham. Sure enough, Rivka comes to draw water and offers to draw for the servant. After the servant drinks, the future matriarch offand provides water for his camels.

This episode caught the attention of some halakhic authorities in the context of a passage in the Talmud. In Masekhet Berakhot 40a, the Gemara forbids one to sit down to eat before first providing food for the animals under his possession. In this story, however, Rivka first serves Avraham's servant and only thereafter tends to the need of his camels. From here the Sefer Ha-chasidim learns that the prohibition in the Gemara in Berakhot applies only to food; one may, however, drink prior to providing water for his animals (see Magen Avraham, O.C. 167:18).

One may refute this proof of the Sefer Ha-chasidim from several different angles. First, this line of reasoning presumes that Rivka observed all the mitzvot. Although this is generally assumed to be the case (that the patriarchs and matriarchs observed the mitzvot even prior to the Revelation at Sinai), the Ramban introduced a significant qualification: the patriarchs and matriarchs observed the mitzvot only in Eretz Yisrael; outside the land, they did not necessarily adhere to the commandments. Therefore, Rivka was not bound by the laws governing feeding animals while still in Charan.

Additionally, it stands to reason that the patriarchs observed only Biblical laws, but not necessarily rabbinic ordinances. Now according to Rav Yaakov Reischer (Shut Shevut Yaakov, vol. 3, 13), the prohibition of eating before feeding animals is of rabbinic origin. (Others disagree: see Gilyonei Ha-shas there in Berakhot.) Therefore, we need not hold Rivka to the specific requirements of this halakha, and we may thus not learn practical law from her offering water to Avraham's servants before his camels.

The Peri Megadim posed another, perhaps more basic challenge to the Sefer Ha-chasidim's proof. Humans abide by higher hygienic standards of drinking then do animals. Very often a water source provides water suitable for animals but undrinkable by human beings. Therefore, Rivka perhaps offered water first to the servant because he was more likely to feel thirsty than the camels. We may, of course, add that camels store water for extended periods of time. Rivka may have thus intuited a more urgent need to quench the servant's thirst than that of his camels. Her actions thus have no bearing on the halakha of giving water to one's animals before drinking himself.

We will iy"H continue our discussion of this comment by the Sefer Ha-chasidim tomorrow.

Yesterday we took a careful look at Rivka's conduct upon the arrival of Avraham's servant at the well. Rivka offers the servant water to drink and thereafter waters his camels. As we saw, the Sefer Ha-chasidim derives from this incident that the halakha requiring one to feed his animals before eating oneself applies only to food, not water. As we see from Rivka, claims the Sefer Ha-chasidim, humans take precedence over their animals when it comes to drinking.

One possible refutation of this proof (in addition to those we saw yesterday) emerges from the writings of the Ketav Sofer (Shut Ketav Sofer O.C. 32). He cites from his father, the Chatam Sofer, an important distinction between one's own animals and those of others with regard to this halakha. The Gemara's requirement that one feed his animals before himself applies only to animals in one's possession, whom halakha requires one to feed by virtue of his ownership thereof. Needless to say, one bears no responsibility to feed animals owned by others. Therefore, claims the Chatam Sofer, one giving food to another as a gift need not give to the recipient's animals before the recipient himself. Such a position would perhaps negate the proof of the Sefer Ha-chasidim. Rivka did not take water for herself before giving her animals; she gave water to the servant and his camels. Therefore, the rule that prioritizes the animals does not apply.

This refutation was presented to Rav Moshe Feinstein (though without citing the Ketav Sofer), who rejected this argument for two reasons (Shut Iggerot Moshe, O.C. vol. 2, 52). First, Rav Moshe disputes the basic presumption. One who wishes to fulfill the mitzva of "tzedaka" (charity) by giving food to another is required to supply the goods in a manner similar to how the beneficiary would have taken for himself. Thus, the benefactor must first feed the individual's animals, just as the individual himself is required to do when eating from his own property. As such, were the halakha to require giving water to one's animals prior to taking for himself, then Rivka would have had to first offer water to the camels.

Secondly, contends Rav Moshe, Rivka did not give her own water as a gift to the servant and his camels. Plenty of water sat in the well, which was of public ownership. Her generosity involved merely sparing the servant the physical exertion of drawing water for himself and his camels. Thus, even if the halakha had allowed a benefactor to first feed the recipient and only thereafter his animals, this provision would not apply in our case. Since Rivka was not offering a gift, but merely performing the work on the servant's behalf, she would have been obliged to follow the halakha's requirement of first feeding the camels.

Thus, concludes Rav Moshe, one cannot refute the Sefer Ha-chasidim's proof based on a distinction between one's own animals and those of others.

Tomorrow we will iy"H conclude our discussion of the position of the Sefer Ha-chasidim.

Over the last two days we have examined the position of the Sefer Ha-chasidim regarding halakha's requirement that one feed the animals under his ownership before eating himself. Citing proof from Rivka's conduct in Parashat Chayei-Sara, the Sefer Ha-chasidim restricts this obligation to food. One may, however, drink before giving water to his animals (as indicated by Rivka's offer of water to Avraham's servant before giving to his camels). We saw several possible ways to refute the Sefer Ha-chasidim's proof from Rivka. Today we will consider the position itself, the distinction between food and water. What could be the logic behind such a distinction?

The Melo Ha'omer in our parasha explains that the activity requiring the greatest effort must be performed last. Meaning, halakha requires one to feed his animals before eating himself because human food generally requires time and effort for its preparation. One must therefore first feed his animals rather than keeping them waiting while he prepares and eats his own meal. Regarding drinking, however, the opposite is true: humans generally drink less than animals. Giving water to animals thus requires more time and energy than drinking oneself. Halakha therefore allows one to drink for himself before investing the effort to give water to his animals.

The Torah Temima finds another basis of distinction. He contends that one often eats even when he does not feel hungry. Drinking water, however, is always considered as serving to quench thirst. Therefore, one who wishes to drink will experience physical discomfort by delaying his drink until after providing water to his camels. Since relieving the physical discomfort of humans overrides the prohibition of causing physical distress to animals (so long as no cruelty is involved - Rema, Shulchan Arukh Even Ha-ezer, 5), one may quench his thirst before that of animals.

As the Torah Temima himself notes, however, this approach would yield a conclusion found nowhere in halakhic literature (of which he is aware). Namely, the requirement of feeding one's animals before eating himself does not apply when the individual experiences hunger; the entire halakha was stated only when a person feels relatively satiated. One who must eat because he is hungry, according to this approach, may eat before feeding his animals, since he experiences physical discomfort. It should be emphasized, however, that the Torah Temima himself acknowledges the lack of an explicit basis for such a ruling.

Upon hearing his master's request that he go find a wife for Yitzchak, Avraham's servant expresses his concern that the suitable girl may not agree to relin Canaan for this purpose (24:5). We hear of this statement once again later in the parasha, when the servant recounts the entire incident to Rivka's family (24:39). One subtle peculiarity, however, caught the attention of some commentaries: the word "ulai" - "perhaps" - in this verse appears without the letter "vav." As Rashi notes, the word as written actually spells, "eilai" - "to me." Rashi, following the Midrash, explains that Eliezer had a daughter whom he wished would marry Yitzchak. This desire motivated him to bring up the possibility that the suitable young woman would refuse to leave her country. As he alluded to with the subtle switch of expression to read "to me," Eliezer had hoped that Avraham would agree in such a situation to allow Yitzchak to marry his daughter.

Later commentators throughout the ages have addressed the obvious question, if this indeed was Eliezer's intent, why does the Torah drop the letter "vav" only in the servant's report of that conversation to Rivka's family? If Eliezer had in fact said "eilai" instead of "ulai," why doesn't the Torah indicate such in the first account of this conversation?

The Maharal of Prague, in his work on Rashi's commentary ("Gur Aryeh"), explains that clearly Eliezer pronounced the word "ulai" - "perhaps" - when speaking to Avraham. He would not have come right out and requested his daughter's marriage to Yitzchak by saying, "alai" - "to me." Only when discussing the matter with Rivka's family did he note his ulterior motives when asking Avraham what would happen if the chosen girl refuses to come back to Canaan.

A characteristically insightful answer is suggested by the Rebbe of Kotzk. Like the Maharal, he claims that Eliezer certainly did not mispronounce the word "ulai" when speaking to Avraham, deliberately or otherwise. But the Kotzker goes even further than that. He suggests that when speaking to Avraham, Eliezer himself was totally unaware that his own, selfish interests motivated him to raise the scenario of the girl's refusal to come to Canaan. Only after the fact, looking at his conversation with Avraham in hindsight, did he recognize the true motive behind his question. Therefore, only later does the Torah switch the word, since only in retrospect did Eliezer realize his ulterior motives when asking, "ulai."

The Kotzker explains that very often a person is oblivious to his egotistical drive that prompts him to speak and act. So preoccupied we are with our own personal interests that we do not even realize that many of our supposedly sincere and altruistic activities are hardly sincere or altruistic. We do so much good in order that people respect us; we so often observe and abide by the mitzvot only to fit in with the community. This approach by the Kotzker Rebbe challenges us with a very unsettling notion: that even the good that we do is not entirely good. He thus calls upon us to reexamine our ideals and commit ourselves to follow them honestly and sincerely.

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