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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT VAYESHEV

By Rav David Silverberg

            Towards the  beginning of Parashat Vayeshev, the Torah describes Yosef as a "na'ar et benei Bilha ve-et benei Zilpa neshei aviv" – "a lad with the sons of Bilha and the sons of Zilpa, his father's wives" (37:2).  Rashi explains this clause as referring to two distinct characteristics.  First, Yosef acted as a na'ar, immaturely, paying inordinate attention to his appearance.  Secondly, he was frequently "with the sons of Bilha and the sons of Zilpa," who found themselves shunned by their older brothers, the sons of Leah.  Yosef, despite being a son of Rachel, the most beloved of Yaakov's wives, nevertheless befriended and dealt kindly with the sons of Bilha and Zilpa.  According to Rashi, then, this description is intended to reveal the seeds of contention that would later develop into bitter tension between Yosef and his older brothers.

            In a generally similar vein, the Rashbam explains that Yosef befriended the sons of Bilha and Zilpa and thereby brought upon himself the enmity of the sons of Leah.

            Abarbanel, however, explains this verse much differently, claiming that the word na'ar in this context means "serving."  Yosef, in his humility, lowered himself before even the sons of Bilha and Zilpa, treating them with respect and even as his overlords.  All the more so, then, did he conduct himself respectfully towards the sons of Leah.  According to Abarbanel, this verse seeks to extol Yosef's virtues, as he humbled himself before all his brothers, including the sons of Bilha and Zilpa.  For this reason the Torah makes a point of identifying Bilha and Zilpa as neshei aviv – Yaakov's wives.  The Torah emphasizes that Yosef treated these wives' sons no differently as he did the sons of Leah, recognizing that Bilha and Zilpa had no lower a status in the family than Rachel or Leah.

            Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala, cites Abarbanel's interpretation of this phrase, but advances a different theory regarding its purpose in the narrative.  Whereas Abarbanel saw this description as simply extolling Yosef's humility, Rav Mecklenberg claimed that it sheds light on the ensuing events.  The fact that Yosef conducted himself with such humility even towards the sons of Bilha and Zilpa proves the prophetic nature of his dreams of power and authority.  As opposed to other commentators, who understood Yosef's dreams as a natural result of his ambitions of leadership, Rav Mecklenberg contends that to the contrary, these dreams directly contrasted with Yosef's attitude towards his brothers.  He harbored no ambitions of power or prestige, feeling content working as a lowly, humble servant to his brothers.  Precisely for this reason he realized that his dreams were of prophetic significance, as they could not possibly have originated from any personal desire for authority, and he therefore felt compelled to share these dreams with his brothers.

            The brothers, of course, rashly concluded that Yosef's dreams reflected his longing to rule over them, and were naturally incensed.  This story thus emphasizes the importance of giving the benefit of the doubt rather than immediately attributing sinister motives to our family members and peers.  What people around us say or do can occasionally appear offensive despite never being intended as such.  According to Rav Mecklenberg, Yosef's brothers harbored resentment towards him because of a simple misunderstanding of his perspective and intentions.  Had they given Yosef the benefit of the doubt and sought to understand his motives, rather than immediately presuming his megalomaniacal lust for power, this tragic conflict could have been avoided, and the twelve brothers could have lived together in peace, harmony and mutual understanding.

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            We read in Parashat Vayeshev of Reuven's attempt to save Yosef from his brothers, who had planned to kill him as he approached them in Dotan.  Reuven advised his brothers to cast Yosef into a pit and leave him there to die, rather than actively kill him, intending to later return to the pit and retrieve his younger brother.

            The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 34:9, cited as well in Yalkut Shimoni 2:690) makes the following comment regarding Reuven's efforts on his brother's behalf:

The Torah here teaches that when a person performs a mitzva, he should perform it with a full heart, for had Reuven known that the Almighty would write about him, "Reuven heard [his brothers' plot] and saved him from their hands," he would have carried him [Yosef] on his shoulders and brought him to his father.

            Why would Reuven had performed this mitzva more emphatically ("he would have carried him on his shoulders and brought him to his father") had he been aware that God would record his actions in the Torah?  Did the Midrash assume that Reuven was so driven by the desire for honor and prestige, to the point where he would have acted more heroically had he known that this event would be written for posterity?  Furthermore, how does this teach that a person should perform a mitzva "with a full heart," with energy and enthusiasm?

            Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima (Bereishit, chapter 37, note 135), explains that at the time, Reuven was unaware of the eternal significance of his efforts to save Yosef.  These efforts changed the course of Benei Yisrael's history, as Yosef's life was spared and he ultimately rose to power in Egypt, a position that allowed him to save his father and brothers from starvation.  At the time, Reuven did not – and, indeed, could not – realize the monumental importance of what he was doing.  Had he known that his actions were of such significance that rendered them worthy of mention in the Torah, he would have acted with far greater energy and passion.  When a person believes in the importance of his work, he invests more emotion and gusto into that work.

            Hence, the Midrash urges, "when a person performs a mitzva, he should perform it with a full heart."  Small and insignificant as a mitzva act may seem, it is of immense importance and worthy of maximum effort and energy.  In some versions of this Midrash, this passage concludes, "In the past, a person would perform a mitzva and a prophet would record it; now, when a person performs a mitzva, who records it – Eliyahu the Prophet and the Messianic King, and the Almighty gives them His stamp."  Even with the discontinuation of prophecy, our mitzvot continue to be written, they are deemed significant and meaningful enough to be recorded for all eternity.  No mitzva performance is small enough not to deserve our maximum investment of time, concentration, emotion and energy.  If we would be aware of the incalculable worth of each mitzva we perform, we would approach each one "with a full heart," with exuberant passion and vitality.  (See Rabbi Yaakov Kaminetzky's Emet Le-Yaakov, where he explains this Midrash along similar lines.)

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            Towards the beginning of Parashat Vayeshev we read of Yosef's famous dreams that foreshadowed his eventual rule over his brothers.  In the first dream, Yosef beheld himself and his brothers binding sheaves of grain in the fields, when suddenly all his brothers' sheaves bowed before his.  Yosef's second dream featured the sun, the moon and eleven stars – presumably alluding to his brothers and parents – bowing before him.  Earlier this week, we saw the view of Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his work Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala, claiming that Yosef's dreams in no way resulted from his personal ambitions of power and authority.  Based on Abarbanel's interpretation of the second verse of the parasha, Rav Mecklenberg held that Yosef conducted himself humbly and submissively with his brothers, and had no plans or desires of asserting any sort of authority over them.  Other commentators, however, maintain that Yosef's dreams indeed reflected his ambitions to one day rule over his brothers (see, for example, Ramban and Seforno to 37:10).

            Rav Yitzchak Stollman, in his work Minchat Yitzchak (Detroit, 1936), suggested a novel, more precise explanation as to the kind of youthful ambitions that led Yosef to behold these dreams of leadership.  The final section of the previous parasha, Parashat Vayishlach, listed the children of Esav and concluded with the names of the alufim, or chieftains, of the Edomite nation that Esav founded.  Rav Stollman suggested that the Torah here seeks to explain the reason why the nation of Edom never rose to regional prominence.  Esav's descendants divided into independent tribes, each led by its own aluf, and never came together under a single banner of leadership.  The Edomite tribes were economically independent, each supporting itself without pooling resources with the others, and they developed into distinct and politically disjointed provinces.  This prevented the people of Edom from developing into a powerful nation that would exert any kind of influence over its neighboring nations.

            Yosef, the young, perceptive "dreamer," understood what was developing in nearby Edom and recognized the need for the twelve sons of Yaakov to avoid this mistake.  In his first dream, he saw all twelve brothers harvesting grain together in the same field, symbolizing economic cooperation and joint ventures.  Indeed, the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84) comments on this dream, "You gather fruits and I gather fruits; yours rot and mine stand."  Yosef foresaw the need for cooperation such that when some tribes are struck by famine, they can be sustained by the others.  (Of course, this is precisely what happened when Yosef supported his brothers during drought that ravaged Canaan.)  Secondly, he beheld the dream of the sun, the moon and the stars, alluding to the importance of strong political leadership.  Am Yisrael would not endure if the tribes separate into politically disjointed clans, as occurred in Edom; they must join together under a single central authority, and only in this way could they form a strong and influential nation.

            Yosef's vision manifested itself later, as well, after his brothers and their families relocated in Egypt.  Throughout Yosef's life, Benei Yisrael lived together in Goshen, as a single people separate and distinct from the native Egyptians.  Soon after Yosef's death, however, as implied by the verses towards the beginning of Sefer Shemot (1:6-7), they began to disperse throughout the country (va-timalei ha-aretz otam).  Yosef's death was followed by the death of his dreams of a unified people bound together under a strong leadership.  It would take the cruel oppression by Pharaoh and his taskmasters to once again bring Am Yisrael together as a single nation with a shared destiny.

            Unfortunately, Yosef's brothers misunderstood Yosef's dreams as reflecting personal ambitions of power, rather than purely idealistic visions of Am Yisrael and genuine concern for their development into a strong, fortified people.  As a result, his dreams would have to be fulfilled through the agonizing process of Yosef's slavery and imprisonment, and the brothers' desperate attempts to purchase grain from the Egyptian viceroy.  Ultimately, however, Yosef's dreams laid the groundwork for the forging of a distinct national identity on foreign soil, which allowed for the eventual emergence of a strong, unified nation bound by the same set of beliefs and spiritual ambitions.

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            In the midst of the narrative of the sale of Yosef and his travails in Egypt, the Torah inserts the story of Yehuda and Tamar, which begins by informing us that "Yehuda descended from his brothers" (38:1).  Rashi famously cites from the Midrash that Yehuda "descended" not merely geographically or topographically, but in terms of his family stature: "They deposed him from his position of greatness when they saw their father's anguish [as a result of Yosef's absence].  They said [to Yehuda], 'You told us to sell him; had you told us to bring him back, we would have listened to you!'"

            At first glance, Yehuda's demotion as a result of the sale of Yosef seems terribly unfair.  True, he had conceived of the idea of selling his brother, but he had done so only after the others had suggested killing him.  Yehuda had at least given Yosef a chance for survival, after the other brothers had decided upon eliminating him.  Why did he deserve to be ousted from his position for his efforts, just because they were only partially successful?

            A similar question arises from an astounding remark in Bereishit Rabba (85:4): "Whoever begins a mitzva and does not complete it buries his wife and children.  From whom do we learn this – from Yehuda."  Yehuda "began the mitzva" of saving Yosef by suggesting that his brothers sell him as a slave rather than kill him, but he stopped there.  Rather than completing the mitzva, by bringing Yosef back home safely, he stopped intervening when he won his brothers' consent to sell Yosef.  Thereafter, Yehuda lost his wife and two children, as told in the next section, serving as a warning to all those who begin a mitzva but fail to bring it through to completion.  (See also Masekhet Sota 13b.)

            Why should a person be punished for initiating a mitzva but failing to complete it?  Does such a person deserve harsher retribution than those who do not initiate the mitzva in the first place?

            It would seem that Chazal seek to warn against the all too common phenomenon of great ideas that never reach fruition due to laziness or indifference.  People are often driven to initiate new projects and embark on new mitzva ventures, but once the initial excitement wanes, and the "elbow grease" and pressures begins to mount, these projects and ventures are relegated to the back burners.  To be successful, in any area, a person must be prepared to pursue his goals even when obstacles arise and when the adrenaline ceases to flow, when the initial rush of idealism and determined resolve subsides.  Chazal therefore sharply criticize the one who lets go of his aspirations the moment difficulties surface and the emotional energy begins to decline.  The warning regarding this person's wife and children likely relates to this theme.  Marriage and parenting both begin with a rush of excitement and idealism, which gradually begins to subside as the pressures of family life mount and the day-to-day responsibilities overshadow the broader goals and aspirations.  A person with a tendency to begin new ventures without completing them, who stops his pursuit of goals when he meets with challenges or adversity, will find it difficult to succeed in his family life, in the capacity of spouse and parent, roles which require steadfast resolve and unshakeable lifelong commitment.  (See also Rav Yerucham Lebovitz, Da'at Torah.)

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            The Torah tells in Parashat Vayeshev that when Yosef arrived in Shekhem in search of his brothers, "A man encountered him, and behold, he was walking lost in the field; the man asked him, 'What do you seek?'" (37:15).  Yosef of course replied that he had come searching for his brothers, and the man informed him that they had relocated in Dotan.

            Rashi famously cites from the Midrash Tanchuma that this "man" was, in truth, not a man at all, but rather the angel Gavriel, whereas Ibn Ezra and, less explicitly, the Rashbam, maintain that the Torah refers here to a human being.

            The Midrashic interpretation of ish ("man") affects the reading of this verse on several different levels.  Exegetically, it resolves the question that would otherwise arise concerning the seeming superfluity in this verse.  At first glance, there is no reason for the Torah to record this brief exchange between Yosef and the ish; it could have simply stated that Yosef found his brothers in Dotan, or, at most, that he was told that they went to Dotan.  The Midrash answers this question by identifying this ish as an angel, such that this encounter is most certainly worthy of note.  Interestingly, the Rashbam addresses this question and suggests a much different answer, namely, that this exchange is recorded to emphasize Yosef's devotion to his father.  Upon reaching Shekhem, he expended efforts to find his brothers, rather than simply returning home and informing his father that he could not find them in Shekhem.  In this way, the Rashbam explains this account without resorting to the Midrashic reading.

            On a broader level, the Midrash seeks to emphasize the hand of Providence guiding the events in this narrative.  The presence of an angel directing Yosef to his brothers signifies the direct involvement of God in this episode, executing His plan to bring Yaakov's family to Egypt in fulfillment of the prophecy of berit bein ha-betarim (see Ramban).

            Thirdly, by introducing an angel into this narrative, Chazal perhaps sought to add a homiletic, allegorical dimension to Yosef's encounter with the ish.  The Chidushei Ha-Rim cites the Rebbe of Kotzk as viewing this exchange as symbolic of an "exchange" of sorts that periodically occurs – or ought to occur – between every individual and his internal "angel."  Every so often, as we "walk lost in the field," when we lose our direction in life, distracted by the physical and material enjoyments this world has to offer, an "angel," our conscience, appears to us and asks, "What do you seek?"  Meaning, what are our goals and aspirations in life?  What exactly are we out to achieve?  Certain experiences and situations compel a person to carefully determine which direction he wishes to follow, what precisely he seeks to accomplish during his brief sojourn on earth.  These "exchanges" between a person and himself help him avoid getting "lost in the field," and ensure that he walks not aimlessly in the world of luxury and physical gratification, but rather in a clear direction towards a life of spiritual meaning and excellence.

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            Towards the beginning of Parashat Vayeshev the Torah tells of Yosef's two dreams foretelling his leadership role over his brothers.  In the first dream he beheld his brothers' sheaves of harvested grain bowing before his sheaves, while in the second he saw the sun, the moon and eleven stars prostrating before him.

            While we generally tend to speak of the two dreams together and combine them into a single event, a close reading of the text reveals important differences between the dreams and their effects on the brothers.  Most obviously, the first dream depicts Yosef's authority over only his brothers, whereas the second dream refers as well to the "sun" and the "moon," an apparent allusion to Yosef's parents.  (As Rashi notes, Yosef's mother, Rachel, had already passed away, and the "moon" referred to Bilha, who assumed the role of Yosef's guardian upon his mother's death.)  For this reason, it would seem, Yosef reports the first dream only to his brothers (37:5-6), but tells the second dream to his father, as well (37:10).  Since the second dream included his parents, Yosef found it necessary to bring the information to his father, and not only to his brothers.

Additionally, the brothers appear to react differently to the two dreams.  After the first dream, we are told, the brothers "despised him further on account of his dreams and his words" (37:8).  Upon hearing the second dream, by contrast, the brothers simply "felt jealous of him" (37:11).

Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his Divrei Shaul (Likutim), suggests that the different reactions to the two dreams resulted naturally from the difference in content.  The brothers' resentment intensified after their heard the first dream because they naturally suspected that this depiction originated from Yosef's ambitions of authority and leadership.  If Yosef dreamt about their grain bowing to his, the brothers presumed, this could only be because these kinds of thoughts occupied his mind during the daytime hours.  The second dream, however, included Yaakov and Bilha.  The brothers realized that nobody – certainly not Yosef – longs to see his parents bow submissively before him.  The inclusion of Yosef's parents in this vision proved that it was prophetic in nature, that Yosef beheld this dreams not as a result of his aspirations of authority, but as a form of prophecy.  Therefore, the second dream did not intensify the brothers' hatred towards Yosef.  They understood that he does not harbor megalomaniacal ambitions of power and authority over his brothers, and he beheld these dreams as prophecies of the future.

Nevertheless, even though hearing this second dream did not intensify the feelings of hatred, "His brothers felt jealous of him" (37:11).  The recognition of Yosef's dreams as a form of prophecy could not cool the flames of jealousy that burned within the brothers.  These feelings of envy likely caused them to dismiss even this second dream as but a manifestation of Yosef's childish fantasies of power, and they therefore felt justified in acting to eliminate their brother from the family, given the threat they thought he posed to the family.  Their jealousy blinded them to the obvious but disquieting reality that Yosef was destined to greatness, and they instead attributed his visions to his aspirations of authority.

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            Yesterday, we cited a theory advanced by Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his work Divrei Shaul, concerning Yosef's two dreams of authority over his brothers.  It emerged from his interpretation of the verses that after hearing Yosef's second dream, the brothers recognized the prophetic nature of these visions, but their feelings of envy led them to nevertheless refuse to accept the conclusion that Yosef is destined to become their leader.  Instead, they convinced themselves that these dreams were not of a prophetic quality, and instead originated from Yosef's personal ambitions of power.

            Elsewhere in Divrei Shaul (Mahadura Telita'a), Rav Nathanson applies this notion in explaining an otherwise puzzling comment of the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84).  The Midrash notes Yosef's use of the expression "Shim'u na" ("Hear, if you please") in summoning his brothers to listen to his dream, an expression used by several of the prophets of Israel many centuries later.  (Bereishit Rabba cites specifically a declaration by the prophet Mikha – Mikha 6:1; Torah Sheleima cites from other Midrashic sources that Chazal refer here to other prophecies, as well.)  According to the Midrash, Yosef sought to allude to his brothers that "such will the prophets admonish you," to intentionally foresee the admonition of the prophets.  Similarly, Bereishit Rabba also notes the parallel between Yaakov's angry response to Yosef's second dream – "va-yig'ar bo aviv" (37:10) – and the Judean kingdom's vitriolic rejection of Yirmiyahu's prophecies – "lama lo ga'arta be-Yirmiya ha-Anatoti" (Yirmiyahu 29:27).  According to the Midrash, the Torah here, in the context of Yosef's dreams, foresees the time when Benei Yisrael will reject the prophecies of Yirmiyahu.

            Rav Nathanson explained that the brothers, like the skeptics among Benei Yisrael during the First Temple period, denied the prophetic nature of his visions.  Just as the rejectionists dismissed the prophecies that did not accommodate their presumptions and inclinations, and simply attributed them to either sheer insanity or treason, so did the brothers deny the prophetic quality of Yosef's dreams.  Unwilling to come to terms with the prospect of Yosef assuming family leadership, they conveniently rejected his prophecies and dismissed them as manifestations of his immature desires of authority.

            Although we no longer have prophets among us, the story of Yosef's dreams as understood by the Divrei Shaul is of great importance to us today, with regard to the area of halakhic observance.  Just as the brothers dismissed Yosef's prophecies which yielded uncomfortable conclusions, and their descendants rejected the prophets' warnings which ran counter to mainstream public opinion, so are we often tempted to dismiss halakhic rulings that are inconvenient or do not accommodate our preconceived notions.  Yosef's brothers were convinced that he did not deserve to serve in a leadership role, and that his assuming such a position could spell disaster for the family and the nation it was to establish.  This unshakeable presumption refused to yield to the otherwise inescapable conclusion yielded by his prophetic dreams.  Rather than yield, the brothers undermined the authority of these dreams.  We must ensure not to repeat this same mistake, to abide by piskei halakha even when they conflict with our preconceived ideas, and to surrender our presumptions to the authority of Halakha, rather than deny that authority for the sake of upholding our presumptions.