S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT VAYESHEV

By Rav David Silverberg

MOTZAEI

            The Torah in Parashat Vayeshev tells of Yosef’s dreams of leadership and authority over his brothers, and the brothers’ angry response when Yosef informed them of these visions.

            The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84) takes note of the expression, “Shim’u na” (“Listen, if you will”), with which Yosef introduced the news about his dream (“Listen, if you will, to this dream which I dreamt” – 37:6).  This expression, the Midrash observes, was also used later, by the prophets, in introducing their words of criticism to the people.  (The Midrash cites specifically the verse in Mikha 6:1.)  The Midrash relates that Yosef said to his brothers, “This is how the prophets will administer reproof to you.”

            One approach we might take in explaining the Midrash’s comment is that it seeks to shed some light on the uneasy feeling people generally experience upon hearing criticism.  Listening to somebody tell us what we’ve done wrong, no matter how gently and respectfully this is done, causes us discomfort.  The Midrash, perhaps, explains this phenomenon by drawing a comparison between listening to criticism and the brothers listening to Yosef’s dreams.  The brothers quite obviously felt threatened by the dreams, which foresaw their younger brother asserting his authority over them.  They couldn’t bear to think that they would one day be subservient to Yosef, whom they considered arrogant and impetuous.  Hearing of Yosef’s aspirations of leadership naturally evoked harsh feelings of resentment.

            A similar feeling often overcomes people as they hear criticism.  What rattles them is not the knowledge that they have done something wrong, but rather the implication that the speaker assumes a certain degree of authority over them.  The reason why we find criticism difficult to handle is because it immediately places us in a position of inferiority in the speaker’s eyes – just as Yosef’s dreams placed his brothers in a position of inferiority.  What ensues, like in the story of Yosef, is essentially a power struggle.  We, like Yosef’s brothers, resent and resist our relegation to an inferior position, which of course entails resisting the call to change.

            Unfortunately, the people of the First Temple era refused to accept the prophets’ criticism, and instead insisted on defending their damaged egos by rejecting the calls for change.  Upon hearing discomfiting words of criticism, we must overcome the natural tendency to resist, and ignore the question of our stature vis-à-vis the “prophet,” whoever it may be, who offers the criticism.  Our only chance of self-improvement lies in our willingness to leave our egos aside and be willing to accept advice and criticism from wherever it may come, without concern for personal feelings of pride.

SUNDAY

            A famous passage in Masekhet Shabbat (22a), which appears amidst the Gemara’s discussion of the laws of Chanukah, addresses the Torah’s description of the pit into which Yosef was cast by his brothers.  The Torah writes, “the pit was empty – there was no water in it” (37:24).  In reference to this verse, Rav Natan bar Minyumi publicized the comment of Rabbi Tanchum that “there was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it.”

            At first glance, this comment of Rabbi Tanchum bears no relevance to the context of the Gemara’s discussion, which, as mentioned, relates to the laws of the Chanukah candle lighting.  It is cited in this context, presumably, because the Gemara had earlier cited a different statement of Rabbi Tanchum, which was also conveyed by Rav Natan bar Minyumi: “A Chanukah candle which is placed higher than twenty cubits is invalid.”  Often, when the Gemara records a comment from a scholar who is rarely quoted in the Talmud, it will also cite other remarks made by that scholar.  Seemingly, then, there is no inherent relationship between Rabbi Tanchum’s comments concerning the pit and the laws of Chanukah, but these comments were included as a tangential addendum to Rabbi Tanchum’s previously-cited halakhic ruling.

            Nevertheless, many darshanim throughout the ages have searched for a more substantive connection between these two comments of Rabbi Tanchum – the presence of snakes in Yosef’s pit, and the disqualification of Chanukah candles placed at a height of over twenty cubits.

            Rav Yitzchak Kunstadt of Pressburg, in his Luach Erez (Vienna, 1915), suggested a connection by noting the broader message underlying the halakha conveyed by Rabbi Tanchum.  The Chanukah candles must be situated at a height at which they are visible, because all Jews must realize the eternal relevance of the Chanukah miracle.  The struggle against oppression and persecution, and the miracle of the “small jug of oil” prevailing against the hostile majority, did not end after the eighth day of the first Chanukah.  Our nation has continuously confronted challenges to its physical or spiritual survival, and we have always been required to struggle and persevere.  The prophet Yeshayahu (11:6-8) famously foresaw the end of hostility between the “wolf and the sheep,” the time when the strong and weak will reside peacefully together, side by side.  But, as the prophecy concludes, this will take place only when “the earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as water fills the sea” (Yeshayahu 11:9).  Until then, we are confronted and challenged by the “wolves” of the earth, in all their various forms.  The Chanukah candles must therefore be visible to all, in order to demonstrate the ongoing relevance of the struggle and victory they represent, the battle that we must continue to wage for the survival of our nation and our faith.

            “The pit was empty – there was no water in it… There was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it.”  Until the time when “the earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as water fills the sea,” so long as the earth has “no water,” and the wolf still preys on the lamb, the earth will be filled with “snakes and scorpions.”  The visible Chanukah lights remind us that the Chanukah miracle recurs continuously in every generation, as God protects us from the many “snakes and scorpions” that threaten us in this “waterless” world in which we live.  Halakha therefore requires placing the candles in a place where others could see then, and thus be reminded of the great miracle of Jewish survival for which we must grateful in each and every generation.

MONDAY

            Rashi, in his opening comments to Parashat Vayeshev, cites different explanations from the Midrash for the connection between the beginning of this parasha and the final section of the previous parasha, Parashat Vayishlach.  The previous parasha ended with a record of Esav’s children and grandchildren, and with a brief history of the dynasty that ruled Edom, the kingdom established by Esav.  Now, in Parashat Vayeshev, the Torah proceeds to tell the story of Yaakov’s family, particularly the story of Yosef.

One Midrashic passage cited by Rashi draws a comparison to a flax merchant who brings his cargo-laden camels into a smith’s shop.  The smith wondered how all the merchant’s flax will fit into his small cubicle, until finally a bystander spoke up and said, “A single spark goes  forth from your smithy and burns all of it!”  If the smith was concerned about the space in his shop, he could simply throw a spark toward the flax and consume it in but an instant.

Similarly, the Midrash continues, “Yaakov saw all the chieftains mentioned above, and he wondered and said, ‘Who can capture all of them?’  What is then written afterward – ‘These are the offspring of Yaakov – Yosef.’  As it is written, ‘The house of Yaakov shall be fire, and house of Yosef a flame, and the house of Esav straw (Ovadya 1:18).  A spark goes forth from Yosef that destroys and consumes all of them.”  Yaakov had no reason to fear the tribes of Edom, the Midrash says, because the power of Yosef was capable of overcoming them.

            HaRav Yehuda Amital shelit”a (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot69/09-69vayeshev.htm) noted the stark contrast between this comment and the comments of a different Midrashic passage (Bereishit Rabba 84:5):

Earlier on it is written, “And these are the kings…,” and here it says, “And Yaakov sojourned….” Rabbi Chunia said: This may be compared to a person walking on the way who sees a pack of dogs, and he is fearful of them, and sits down in the midst of them. Likewise, when Yaakov saw Esav and his chieftains, he was fearful of them – and he dwelled in their midst.

According to this Midrash, Yaakov’s response to the threat Esav was to “dwell in their midst.”  Whereas the first passage spoke of Yaakov responding with “fire” to “consume” his adversaries, here Chazal point to cooperation, not confrontation, as the effective means of neutralizing the Edomite threat.

            Of course, it is not clear when, if ever, Yaakov “dwelled in the midst” of Edom in response to the threat.  But in any event, as Rav Amital noted, these two Midrashic passages reflect two different strategies for dealing with the threat of a foreign culture.  The first speaks of confrontation and firm resistance, whereas the other encourages coexistence and cooperation.

            Rav Amital suggested that both approaches are correct, and that different circumstances demand a different response:

This parable proposes dwelling among the nations as a way of confronting the dangers that they present to us. According to this approach, it is specifically through self-confidence and faith in our beliefs that we will succeed in prevailing over their culture. The Midrash is saying that there is no need to fear an alien culture; therefore we can become familiar with it and dwell in its midst. This appears to have been the approach of Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch… he called upon Jews everywhere to get to know modern culture, to adopt its positive elements, and to see for themselves which parts of it were worthless.

This approach enjoyed some success, but also met with some failure. Sometimes we have to keep our distance and not become too familiar with other cultures. Indeed, this would seem to be precisely the message that Rashi’s parable of the coal-merchant is teaching us. Sometimes we need to fight single-mindedly against other cultures, not to try to get to know them. Sometimes the proper response is to set off just one spark and thereby to burn down the straw mountain of foreign culture.

            In conclusion, it is interesting to note the contrast between the two analogies presented in these two Midrashic passages.  The first speaks of harmless flax trying to squeeze into a tiny shop, and encourages a harsh, even violent, response.  In the second Midrash, an individual comes upon a pack of potentially dangerous dogs, from which one would ordinarily flee and hide.  Oddly enough, the Midrash here advocates the counterintuitive approach of “dwelling among them,” sitting with the dogs and thereby avoiding their bite.

            The proper response to a foreign culture is not always the obvious and intuitive one.  In some situations, cultural influences may appear benign, but must be met with firm resistance.  On other occasions, the culture seems threatening and appears to warrant escape and isolation, but in truth is best handled through active engagement and interaction.  The correct response must therefore be determined through careful thought and consideration, and not on the basis of instinctive, knee-jerk responses.  Situations that at first seem to warrant a response of “fire” may in truth demand active involvement, and, conversely, seemingly harmless situations require zealous and passionate rejection.  Just as Yaakov succeeded in triumphing over his threatening brother, similarly, his descendants have succeeded in warding off foreign threats, by carefully considering the range of possible responses and choosing the most effective one under each circumstance.

TUESDAY

            Parashat Vayeshev tells the story of Yosef’s experiences as a servant in the house of Potifar, an Egyptian nobleman, whose wife attempted to seduce the seventeen-year-old Yosef.  Yosef resisted Potifar’s wife’s advances and was ultimately forced to flee from the home when she grabbed his garment.  Potifar’s wife then falsely accused Yosef of attempting to rape her, and he was promptly imprisoned.

            The Gemara, in a famous passage in Masekhet Sota (36b), relates that on the day when Potifar’s wife took hold of his clothing, Yosef nearly succumbed to his passions.  He decided to sleep with Potifar’s wife, until he suddenly beheld the image of his father, saying to him, “Yosef, your brothers will, in the future, be inscribed upon the stones of the efod, and you will be among them.  Do you wish for your name to be erased from among them, and you will be called ‘pursuer of prostitutes’?”  At that point, Yosef restrained his passions.

            It seems that Yosef mustered the internal strength and resolve to resist temptation upon contemplating the avnei ha-efod, the stones set into the kohen gadol’s apron which contained an engraving of the names of the twelve tribes.  The prospect of forfeiting his spot on the efod apparently injected Yosef with the courage and self-restraint he needed to avoid sin at that moment. 

            The Gemara’s comment provides several different insights into our ongoing struggle with ourselves, and the kind of approach and mindset that might be helpful in our attempt to resist our negative tendencies and impulses.  For one thing, according to the Gemara’s account, Yosef desisted upon considering the long-term implications of his decision.  A common cause of moral or religious lapses is short-sightedness, a refusal to look beyond the immediate present, the here and now.  When one considers only the immediate present, sin will often appear tempting.  In Yosef’s case, even if he looked beyond the immediate present, he would still have little reason to desist, as he lived in an immoral society, far removed from the religious values of his home.  Moreover, as a slave, he did not enjoy any social standing that could be jeopardized by committing this offense.  Still, he succeeded in resisting temptation by looking ahead to the distant future, when his descendants will earn their place among Am Yisrael.  This future-oriented perspective enabled him to disregard his current sinful inclinations, and avoid sinful conduct.

            Secondly, the Gemara’s account likely demonstrates the value of competition and peer pressure as a source of religious obedience, if only as a last resort.  Yosef heard Yaakov’s warning, “Do you wish for your name to be erased from among them, and you will be called ‘pursuer of prostitutes’?”  The plain reading of the Gemara’s comments suggests that Yosef desisted, quite simply, out of concern for his reputation among his brothers.  Judaism of course abhors the pursuit of fame and preoccupation with social stature, but it just as certainly and emphatically urges us to protect our dignity.  In Yosef’s moment of weakness, his last resort was the concern for his image, his dignity, his reputation.  “Kin’at soferim tarbeh chokhma” (“Envy among scholars increases scholarship” – Bava Batra 21a).  Somewhat surprisingly, the Gemara sanctions academic competition as an effective means of raising standards of Torah study.  In an academic environment, the pressure to keep up with or surpass peers is a valuable motivator to succeed and excel.  Similarly, as in Yosef’s case, the concern for one’s reputation and dignity is a formidable obstacle blocking the road to sin.

            Finally, this account reveals that even while living as a lowly slave in a foreign country, Yosef’s mind was focused upon the Beit Ha-mikdash.  Far from his family and homeland, geographically and practically severed from the heritage of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, Yosef still raised his eyes toward the Temple Mount, he still retained his aspirations for spiritual greatness.  Though Yosef’s body was helplessly trapped in Potifar’s home, his mind was in Jerusalem, in the Beit Ha-mikdash, where, many centuries later, his tribe would be represented by the kohen gadol serving before the Almighty at the most sacred site on earth.  Yosef was spared from sin by his spiritual ambition.  His desire to be in God’s presence triumphed over his fleeting desire to accept Potifar’s wife’s invitation.  If our primary ambition and drive is to succeed as avdei Hashem, we will be in a position to restrain other, conflicting ambitions and drives, and remain loyal to the divine command even when our loyalty is put to the test.

WEDNESDAY

            Parashat Vayeshev begins, “Yaakov dwelled in the land of his father’s residence – in the land of Canaan.”

            A number of commentators addressed the question of why the Torah emphasized the fact that Yaakov chose to live “in the land of his father’s residence.”  Chizkuni explains that Yaakov’s residence in Canaan confirmed the fulfillment of God’s promise to Avraham that his descendants would inherit the land he inhabited.  The Torah stressed the fact that Yaakov settled in the land in which his predecessors had lived, just as God had guaranteed his grandfather, “I shall give you and your offspring after you the land of your residence” (17:8).

            The Rashbam and Ramban explain this verse as intended to draw a contrast between Yaakov and Esav.  The previous section tells of the Edomite kingdom established by Esav, emphasizing that Esav left Canaan and separated with his brother, choosing instead to settle in Edom (see 36:6).  Now, as the Torah returns to the story of Yaakov and the formation of the Israelite nation, it notes that as opposed to Esav, who left his predecessors’ homeland, Yaakov remained “in the land of his father’s residence.”  This is significant, the Rashbam writes, because Yaakov’s residence in Canaan reflected his confirmed status as the firstborn of the family.  The Ramban, by contrast, mentions Yaakov and his children’s decision to remain in the “chosen land” as the crucial point of distinction between Yaakov and Esav.

            This point is further developed by the Radak, who, in his comments to this verse, refers us to his earlier remarks, in his commentary to Parashat Vayishlach (35:27).  There the Torah similarly emphasizes that Yaakov resided in Chevron, “where Avraham Yitzchak lived.”  The Radak explains this emphasis as intended to instruct that “it is proper for a person to live in the city of his forefathers, showing honor to the forefathers who are buried there.”  Establishing residence in one’s forefathers’ area is an expression of honor and fealty to the family, and it is for this reason that the Torah draws our attention to Yaakov’s decision to remain in the land of Avraham and Yitzchak.

            If so, then the Torah here seeks to emphasize not merely the geographical difference between the residences of Yaakov and Esav, but the attitudes this difference reflects.  Yaakov remained in Canaan out of loyalty to his family heritage, whereas Esav divorced himself from the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak, and therefore found a different land for establishing his permanent residence.

            This difference between Yaakov and Esav likely underlies a famous Midrashic tradition concerning Yaakov’s “purchase” of the birthright from Esav, as told in Parashat Toledot (chapter 25).  Rashi (25:30) cites from the Midrash that this event occurred on the day when Avraham died, and Yaakov prepared a stew to provide food for the mourners, as was (and is) customary.  It is perhaps revealing that while Yaakov was at home assisting his grieving father, Esav was out hunting, and he then requested some of the food that his brother had prepared for his father.  Yaakov participated in the bereavement for Avraham, whereas Esav flatly ignored his grandfather’s death.  Understandably, Yaakov decided on that day to seize the opportunity to obtain the birthright from his older twin.  Having demonstrated his loyalty to the family in contrast to his brother’s indifference, Yaakov found it necessary to ensure that he would be named heir to the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak, the legacy which he cherished and was committed to perpetuating.  Esav’s notable absence from the family’s grieving process proved that he was unworthy of assuming a leadership role in the family.  Sure enough, Esav severed the ties with his family and established himself in Edom, while Yaakov chose to live “in the land of his father’s residence,” passionately determined to continue the spiritual legacy of his father and grandfather in the land promised to them by the Almighty.

THURSDAY

            The opening section of Parashat Vayeshev tells of the special affection that Yaakov showered upon Yosef, and the hatred that Yosef’s brothers felt towards him.  The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84:8) makes a seemingly peculiar comment in explaining the source of the brothers’ hatred for Yosef: “Why did they hate him?  Because the sea would split before them.”  Presumably, Chazal here refer to a famous Midrashic tradition that associates the miracle of keri’at Yam Suf (the splitting of the Sea of Reeds) with Yosef.  Several sources establish that when the Egyptians trapped Benei Yisrael against the sea, the sea split specifically in the merit of Yosef’s resisting temptation when he was approached by Potifar’s wife.  This miracle is thus attributed to Yosef, and the Midrash here, curiously, points to Yosef’s role in this miracle as the source for the brothers’ hostility toward him.

            How might we understand this explanation for the brothers’ hatred of Yosef?

            The miracle of the sea entailed the reversal of the water’s natural course.  Chazal associated this miracle with the incident of Yosef and Potifar’s wife because they both involved restraining natural instincts: the waters reversed their course just as Yosef restrained his natural human tendencies.  The Midrash equates Yosef’s heroic triumph over his physical urges with the splitting of the sea to emphasize the importance of discipline and self-restraint which often demands “splitting the sea” – opposing one’s natural instincts.

            “Why did they hate him?  Because the sea would split before them.”  The brothers perhaps viewed Yosef as too “unnatural,” too perfect.  As the Torah relates in the second verse of this parasha, Yosef would report the brothers’ negative behavior to Yaakov.  The brothers likely viewed him as too “good,” too perfect to tolerate standard human flaws and imperfections.  The fact that he felt compelled to report all flawed behavior suggested to them that Yosef was “supernatural,” and simply could not relate to human frailties.  His character was associated with the splitting of the sea; it was something “otherworldly” and not grounded in the realities of life.  This, perhaps, is why the brothers reacted so vehemently to his dreams of leadership.  They rejected the possibility of entrusting family leadership in the hands of somebody too perfect to relate to human weakness.  They didn’t want a leader who “split the sea,” but rather a leader who worked within the normal, natural conditions of life under which they and their descendants would live.

            It is perhaps noteworthy that when the brothers devised their plan to eliminate Yosef, they emphasized his dreams: “They saw him from a distance… They said each to his fellow, ‘Behold, the man of dreams is coming!  So let us go kill him…and we shall see what will be the outcome of his dreams!’” (37:18-20).  Yosef’s brothers saw him as “ba’al ha-chalomot” – “the man of dreams.”  In their view, he lived in a world of dreams, an idyllic realm that was divorced from reality.  They firmly believed that a “ba’al ha-chalomot” had no place among the special nation that was being formed, a nation that would have to pursue its goals within the natural, inescapable realities of human existence.

            Of course, the brothers were terribly mistaken in their assessment of Yosef.  In the end, it was Yosef who emerged as the breadwinner for the entire family.  His dreams of family leadership were realized when he assumed the role of Egyptian vizier who supervised the storage and subsequent distribution of grain that fed the entire region during a devastating drought.  Yosef succeeded in fusing the seemingly irreconcilable realms of the ideal and the real; the “ba’al ha-chalomot” was indeed capable of realizing his dreams in the “real world.”  He demonstrated that contrary to the brothers’ fears, leaders can, and must, be “dreamers,” people with lofty ideals and aspirations who can find a way to “split the sea” and transform their dreams into reality.

FRIDAY

            Parashat Vayeshev tells the unsettling story of mekhirat Yosef, the sale of Yosef as a slave by his jealous and resentful brothers.  The Midrash (Tanchuma, 2) relates that in exchange for Yosef, each of the brothers received two silver coins, which they used to purchase shoes.  The Yalkut Shimoni (Vayeshev 142) cites in reference to this incident the verse from Sefer Amos (2:6) in which the prophet censures Benei Yisrael “for their having sold a righteous person for money; a poor person for shoes.”  Chazal interpreted this verse as an allusion to the sale of Yosef, in exchange for whom the brothers received money for new shoes.

            The obvious question arises as to why Chazal found it significant that the brothers purchased shoes with the money received in exchange for Yosef.  Would their crime be judged any differently if they had used the funds for another commodity?  Does it really matter how they invested the ill-begotten money?

            One possibility, perhaps, is that Chazal seek to magnify the brothers’ crime by contrasting the triviality of purchasing shoes with the severity of their act.  They condemned their younger brother to a life of slavery and suffering – all for just a pair of shoes.  For Yosef, the consequence of this transaction (at least as foreseen at the time) was lifelong misery, torment and shame; for the brothers, it resulted in new pairs of shoes.  The Midrash emphasizes the sheer callousness of this act, as the brothers casually approached this transaction as simply an ordinary financial venture, paying no heed to its lifelong implications for Yosef.

            Additionally, however, it has been suggested that Chazal here use the term “shoes” allegorically, as a reference to the shoes which the brothers wore some twenty years later when they went to Egypt to purchase grain.  By selling Yosef, the brothers paved the way for their family’s exile, as Yosef ultimately rose to the position of Egyptian vizier, becoming the person responsible for the mass distribution of grain during the drought that struck the region.  Yosef’s brothers thought that they brought greater stability to the family by eliminating the member that had caused strife and resentment.  But in truth, in ways that they could not possibly have foreseen at the time, the sale resulted in the “shoes” worn on their way to Egypt, where they would begin the long, sorrowful chapter of subjugation and persecution in exile.  They thought they were sending Yosef into Egyptian slavery, whereas this crime in fact sent them and their descendants into Egyptian slavery.  Chazal therefore emphasized that through this transaction the brothers acquired “shoes” – they facilitated their own eventual relocation in Egypt and the onset of bitter persecution.