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PARASHAT MIKETZ

Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Miketz tells of the famine that struck the region of Canaan and Egypt, and the enormous stockpiles of grain that Egypt had stored during the previous seven years under Yosef's capable leadership.  Peoples from around Egypt were forced to go to Egypt to purchase grain, and Yaakov, too, sent his sons from Canaan to bring grain from Egypt to help the family survive the drought.  The Torah writes that Yaakov told his sons, "…redu shama ve-shivru lanu mi-sham" – "Go down to there and purchase for us from there" (42:2).

            Rashi, commenting on this verse, notes that Yaakov specifically chose to employ the word redu – "go down" – rather than the more common term lekhu – "go."  Citing the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 91), Rashi claims that the word redu serves as a subtle allusion to the two hundred and ten years that Yaakov's children and later descendants would spend in Egypt, as the numerical value of redu equals two hundred and ten (200+4+6).  A prophetic spark within Yaakov prompted him to employ an unusual word that foreshadowed the historical process that began to unfold with his children's visit to Egypt to purchase grain.

            Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi, in his work on Rashi's commentary, raises the question of why Rashi found the term redu to be an unusual word.  On a number of occasions in Tanakh we find the verb y.r.d. ("descend") used in reference to leaving the Land of Israel, just as the verb a.l.h. ("ascend") denotes moving to Eretz Yisrael.  In fact, under very similar circumstances, Avraham leaves Canaan to escape a drought and resides in Egypt, and the Torah describes his relocation with the word va-yered – "descended" (Bereishit 12:10; see also the formulation used in Bereishit 26:2, with regard to Yitzchak).  Why, then, did Rashi find it necessary to resort to a Midrashic reading of the word redu?

            The Maharal, in his Gur Aryeh, suggests distinguishing between the Biblical narrative and Yaakov's own words.  While the narrative indeed speaks of leaving Eretz Yisrael in terms of "descent," Rashi felt that Yaakov would not normally employ this somewhat unrefined terminology, which has a negative, pessimistic association.  This approach appears as well in the lesser-known work Tzofnat Panei'ach by  Rav Tzemach Ha'kohen of Jarba (published in Jerusalem, 2004), who cites in this context the Talmud's famous remark, "Al yiftach adam piv le-Satan" ("A person should not open his mouth for the Satan" – Berakhot 19a).  It is improper for a person to speak discouragingly of possible misfortunes, and thus we would not have expected Yaakov to describe his sons' journey to Egypt in pessimistic terms.  Rashi therefore felt compelled to enlist the Midrashic reading of this word, whereby Yaakov made this comment through some level of prophecy, foreshadowing the exile that was beginning to unfold.

            Considering the context in which Yaakov's comment was made could perhaps enhance our understanding of the Maharal's approach.  Yaakov and his family faced a grave crisis, and Yaakov, as family leader, bore the responsibility of lifting the family's spirits and offering encouragement and support.  As he summoned his children and bid them to purchase grain in Egypt, he presumably did so in an upbeat, positive manner, such as, "Thank goodness, we have the opportunity to purchase large amounts of grain from Egypt; this is a great opportunity – let's take advantage of it!"  In this sense, the term redu is indeed out of place.  Specifically at a time of anxiety and uncertainty, it would be inappropriate for Yaakov to speak in such negative terms.

            We should note, however, that there seems to be a far simpler answer to the question raised by Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi.  While it is true that the verb y.r.d. appears elsewhere in reference to leaving Eretz Yisrael, it always refers to relocation, rather than a brief visit.  Avraham, for example, left Israel to reside temporarily in Egypt, and the Torah thus describes his relocation with the verb y.r.d.  Yaakov, however, did not ask his sons to reside in Egypt, not even temporarily.  He asked rather that they go simply to purchase food and then return to Canaan as quickly as possible to feed the rest of the family.  For this reason, it would seem, Rashi was troubled by the term redu, which implies that Yaakov asked his sons to settle in Egypt.  Rashi thus explained – based on the Midrash – that Yaakov's words were spoken with a certain degree of prophetic foresight, predicting that his family was, indeed, on its way to residing in Egypt for an extended period.

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            As we discussed yesterday, the Torah in Parashat Miketz tells of the famine that struck Canaan, in response to which Yaakov ordered his sons to travel to Egypt and purchase grain for the family.  Yaakov begins his command to his sons by rhetorically asking, "Lama titra'u," which literally means, "Why should you be seen?" (42:1).

            The commentators offer different approaches in explaining this difficult phrase.  The Rashbam, the Radak and others explain this to mean, "Why should you appear wealthy?"  By remaining in Canaan while all their neighbors travel to Egypt to purchase grain, Yaakov's family gave the false impression of wealth, that they somehow managed to acquire and retain food supplies despite the harsh conditions.  The Ramban interprets this phrase as, "Why are you still seen here?"  They should have gone to purchase grain immediately upon hearing the news that Egypt had unlimited supplies of grain for sale.  Rashi suggests that Yaakov referred to the astonishment that the family's passivity likely aroused on the part of their neighbors: "Why should everyone look at you and wonder about you, that you are not looking for food for us before everything you have is gone?"  Seforno advances a much different explanation, claiming that Yaakov asks his sons why each looks to the other with the expectation that he – the other – would go purchase grain, shirking personal responsibility for the family.

            Rashi, in addition to the approach mentioned above, cites a particularly surprising interpretation of this verse from the Gemara (Ta'anit 10b), according to which Yaakov exhorts his sons, "Do not show yourselves in front of the children of Yishmael and Esav as though you are satiated."  As Rashi explains, this view maintains that Yaakov's family still had sufficient supplies of food; Yaakov sent his children to Egypt only to give the impression of poverty, so as not to arouse the envy of the neighboring peoples of Yishmael and Esav.

            The Ramban, in his commentary, cites the Gemara's approach and questions why the Gemara speaks specifically of Yishmael and Esav – two peoples who did not even live in Canaan.  If Yaakov's concern was arousing the jealousy of potentially hostile nations, why did he make no mention of the other residents of Canaan?  Why was he concerned of his relations with Yishmael and Esav, who did not even live nearby?  The Ramban speculates that perhaps the Yishmaelites and Edomites traveled through Canaan on their way to Egypt and passed near the homes of Yaakov and his children.  They would thus become envious upon seeing Yaakov and his family enjoying a secure supply of food.  Of course, even if we accept this premise, the Ramban's theory does not explain why Yaakov was concerned only about Esav and Yishmael, and not about the peoples who lived in the immediate vicinity, within the borders of Canaan.

            The Maharsha addresses this question and claims, quite simply, that jealousy surfaces in its more severe forms specifically among one's family members, among whom people feel a deep sense of association.  Yaakov felt no concern over his image in the eyes of the neighboring Canaanite tribes, because he felt no kinship with them, nor did they sense any level of association with him.  They would not envy Yaakov and his family, because they felt no connection with them at all.  Esav and Yishmael, however, were of course Yaakov's kin and would therefore envy their wealth.  It was thus specifically the effects of their wealth on their relationship with Edom and Yishmael that concerned Yaakov, and not their relations with the Canaanite tribes.

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            The Gemara in Masekhet Ta'anit (9a) tells that Rabbi Yochanan once encountered Reish Lakish's young son studying the verse in Sefer Mishlei (19:3), "A man's folly distorts his path, but his heart rages against the Lord" ("Ivelet adam tesalef darko, ve-al Hashem yiz'af libo").  Upon hearing this verse, Rabbi Yochanan wondered how it is possible that a concept established in Sefer Mishlei has no allusion in the five books of the Torah.  The child immediately suggested a Biblical allusion to the concept conveyed in this verse, namely, a verse from Parashat Miketz.  The Torah tells that when the brothers came to Egypt to purchase grain, Yosef, who was then the Egyptian viceroy, ordered that their money be secretly returned to their luggage before their return to Canaan.  The brothers discovered their money pouches in their luggage when they stopped along the journey, and concluded that the Egyptian leader had ordered the return of their money so he could later accuse them of theft.  The Torah writes, "They trembled each to the other, saying: What is God doing to us?" (42:28).  This response of Yosef's brothers, the child said to Rabbi Yochanan, is the Biblical source for the idea expressed in Mishlei – "A man's folly distorts his path, but his heart rages against the Lord."

            The obvious question arises, why hadn't Rabbi Yochanan thought of this verse previously?  Is it possible that he had never before learned Sefer Mishlei?  Furthermore, how does the brothers' remark reflect the phenomenon described in this verse?

            The Maharsha explains that Rabbi Yochanan posed his question to the child when he heard the child interpret this verse differently than the way he had always understood.  Rabbi Yochanan had always interpreted the word ivelet (translated in our citation above as "folly") as a reference to foolishness, or frivolity, and the verse thus speaks of people "distorting their paths" as a result of childish, silly behavior.  According to this approach, the verse conveys a similar message to that which the Sages extracted from the verse that introduces the Torah's discussion of the sota ritual – "Ish ish ki tisteh ishto…" ("Any man whose wife turns away…" – Bamidbar 5:12).  The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (3a) suggests reading the word tisteh ("turns away") as a derivative of the word shetut, or "silliness," and thus concludes, "A person does not commit a sin unless he is overcome by a frivolous spirit."  Hence, the Maharsha explains, Rabbi Yochanan had never before wondered where the Torah alludes to the idea conveyed in this verse, as it was clear that the idea is subtly expressed in the phrase tisteh ishto in the Torah's discussion of laws of sota.

            The child, however, interpreted the word ivelet differently, as "evils," referring to misfortunes that befall a person.  He had learned that the verse speaks here not of sins caused by childish, frivolous behavior, but rather of sins resulting from frustration and anguish.  The verse tells of people who turned from the proper path because of the misfortunes that have befallen them, which shattered their spirit and then their faith.  Their "heart rages against the Lord," questioning His justness in governing the world, and they thus allow their "evils" to "distort their path," to lead them away from faith and observance.

Rabbi Yochanan was unaware of any precedent for or allusion to such a phenomenon in the Torah, and the child therefore pointed to the story of Yosef's brothers.  However one chooses to interpret the exclamation, "What is God doing to us?" it certainly appears to reflect a rattling of the brothers' faith in divine justice.  Even if this is in truth not the brothers' intent, this verse suffices as a Biblical allusion to the phenomenon described in Mishlei, of a person whose misfortunes lead him to challenge God and abandon the path of Torah and mitzvot.

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            We read in Parashat Miketz of the famine that struck Canaan and forced Yosef's brothers to come to Egypt to purchase grain.  Unbeknownst to the brothers, Yosef, whom they had sold into slavery, had risen to the position of Egyptian viceroy and oversaw the collection and distribution of grain during the drought.  When the brothers came before Yosef to purchase grain, they did not recognize him, and Yosef – who recognized them – accused them of coming to Egypt to spy.  He charges, "You are spies; you have come to see the 'nakedness of the land'" (42:9).

            On the straightforward level of interpretation, the term ervat ha-aretz ("nakedness of the land") refers to the secrets of the country's defense systems.  Yosef speaks here of the parts or aspects of the country that are not meant for the public eye, such as classified military information, hidden escape routes and secret weapon stashes.  Indeed, Rashi explains (42:12) that Yosef here refers here to the brothers' entering Egypt through ten different gates.  According to the Midrash, the brothers did this in the hope of finding their long lost brother, whom they had sold as an Egyptian slave.  Yosef, however, points to this unusual arrangement as evidence that they were searching for ervat ha-aretz – hidden, classified information about the country.

            The Midrash Sekhel Tov (cited in Torah Sheleima) presents a much different – perhaps homiletic – reading of this phrase, claiming that the brothers had been discovered visiting a shuk shel zonot – a brothel (see also Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel).  The brothers had gone there thinking – surprisingly enough – that they might find Yosef there.  Yosef, in accusing the brothers, used this discovery as a basis on which to accuse them of coming to Egypt to engage in immorality.

            A slightly different interpretation of this verse is indicated by the Gaon of Vilna, in his commentary to Sefer Mishlei (7:16).  The Gaon there enlists Yosef's remark in this verse as support for his description of ancient Egypt as "a place where all the pleasures of this world were found, where there was the essence of desire and root of all impurities."  By citing the expression ervat ha-aretz as a source for this description, the Gaon appears to translate this phrase to mean "the erva of the earth," the world's center of promiscuity, pleasure and indulgence.  In response to the brothers' claim that they had come for the innocent purpose of purchasing grain, Yosef charges that they in fact visited Egypt to indulge in the delights and pleasures the country had to offer.

            These interpretations – of the Sekhel Tov and Vilna Gaon – were likely intended as homiletic readings, and perhaps seek to convey a subtle lesson concerning the purpose of each individual's stay on earth.  Like Yosef's brothers, all people must "purchase grain," invest time and effort to earn a secure livelihood.  Possibly, the Sekhel Tov and Vilna Gaon wanted each of us to ask ourselves – as Yosef asked his brothers – to determine the true reason why we have "come to Egypt," why we exert ourselves as we do in our professions.  Is our intention to merely "purchase grain," to support ourselves and our families, or perhaps do we seek to overindulge – to visit the ervat ha-aretz?  These sources thus perhaps remind us to keep avodat Hashem the focus of our lives and the "purchase of grain" as but the means to achieving that goal, and to avoid the tendency to engage in the endless pursuit of ervat ha-aretz under the pretense of "purchasing grain."

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            In the Al Ha-nissim section added to the amida and birkat ha-mazon services during Chanukah, we describe God's role in assisting the Chashmonaim in their struggle to resist the Greek oppression.  We declare, "Ravta et rivam, danta et dinam" – "You waged their battle; You judged their case."

            Rav Chayim Soloveitchik of Brisk is cited (see the journal Mesora, vol. 6, p. 8) as commenting that the phrase danta et dinam is to be interpreted as describing the Almighty as a litigant, rather than as judge.  We speak here of God not trying our case against the oppressors, in the capacity of judge, but rather "suing" the enemy nations on our behalf.  He does not merely judge the nations; He brings them to court as the plaintiff.  Given Am Yisrael's stature as God's special nation, an attack against them is seen as an attack against Him, as it were, and He thus takes "legal action" as though He were personally affected.  Rav Chayim reportedly claimed that this is likewise the intent of the berakha recited after the Megila reading on Purim – "…ha-rav et riveinu ve-ha'dan et dineinu…"

            As Rav Chayim noted, this notion appears already in a passage in the Midrash Bereishit Rabba (commenting to Bereishit 35:17), which observes that in some instances God is described as "standing" in judgment, whereas in others He is said to "sit" in judgment.  The Midrash reconciles these two descriptions by explaining that God functions as both judge and litigant.  Judges are required to sit while presiding over a case, and thus the description of God sitting refers to His capacity as judge.  Litigants, however, must stand as they present their arguments, and thus when we find verses speaking of God "standing" in judgment, it refers to His status as litigant.

            This concept perhaps bears particular significance with regard to the Chanukah victory, which came about through the bold efforts and initiatives of the Jews of the time.  They could have attributed their unlikely victory to their strategy and courage, overlooking the hand of God that led them to triumph.  Indeed, the nes pakh ha-shemen – the miracle of the single jug of oil – could be seen as God's "reminder" to the Jews of the time of His role in their victory, an indication that it was He who enabled the "small jug" – the tiny group of devoted warriors – to outlast and overwhelm the mighty Greek oppressors.  Specifically in Al Ha-nissim, which speaks of the military victory and makes no mention of the miracle of the oil, we emphasize God's role as "litigant," that He looked upon our struggle as His own, and it was thus He who waged this battle and vanquished the enemy.  He noted only "judged" the enemy and decided in our favor; He personally took on our cause and led us to this miraculous victory and restoration of independence.

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            We find some discussion among the Rishonim as to the etymological source of the word "Chanukah," the name of the holiday we are now celebrating.  The most likely explanation of this word, as suggested by the Or Zarua (vol. 2, 321) and the Maharsha (Shabbat 21b), is that this name refers to the dedication of the new altar in the Mikdash after the Hasmonean victory.  The Greeks had desecrated the altar by using it for pagan rituals, and thus the Chashmona'im reconstructed it and formally consecrated it for use.  The term Chanukah means "dedication" and thus most likely refers to the rededication of the altar after the Chashmona'im regained control over the Temple.

            Nevertheless, a number of Rishonim speculated that the name "Chanukah" is the product of a contraction of the two words chanu kaf-hei, or "they rested on the 25^th."  The battle for freedom was decidedly won on the 25^th of Kislev, and the Sages thus named this holiday "Chanukah" to celebrate this victory that occurred on the 25^th day of this month.  This theory appears in the Ran (Shabbat 21b), Shibolei Ha-leket (189) and Avudraham (Hilkhot Chanukah).

            Interestingly enough, a number of Acharonim understood the term chanu kaf-hei – the origin of the name Chanukah according to the aforementioned Rishonim – as a reference to "resting" in the sense of issur melakha – desisting from constructive activity.  The Bach (O.C. 67) and Iyun Yaakov (Shabbat 21b) in fact point to this etymology of the name Chanukah as the source for the custom documented by the Maharil that women do not perform any work during the time when Chanukah candles burn.  In their view, the "resting" of which the Ran and other Rishonim spoke refers to refraining from constructive work, and hence the proper observance of Chanukah requires at least some element of issur melakha.  The tradition recorded by the Maharil sought to observe this element through the practice of women desisting from work at least while the candles burn.

            The Chida, both in his Birkei Yosef commentary to the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 670) and in his Petach Enayim commentary to the Talmud (Shabbat 21b), disputes this contention of the Bach and Iyun Yaakov.  Firstly, he notes, the custom recorded by the Maharil developed in recent generations, and is not mentioned in any earlier sources.  It is thus unlikely that it was practiced during Talmudic times or certainly at the time when the observance of Chanukah was instituted.  Moreover, the Chida, argues, even if one could trace this custom back to the original institution of the holiday, it clearly was never enacted as an outright obligation.  It seems difficult to imagine that the name Chanukah would refer to an ancillary, optional custom that does not comprise one of the fundamental observances of the holiday.  Clearly, then, as the Chida contends, the word chanu mentioned by the Rishonim cited above refers to resting from battle, and not to refraining from melakha.

(Based on a discussion of this topic in the work Ke-motzei Shalal Rav – Chanukah)

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            Among the lesser known texts relevant to the Chanukah story is Megilat Antiochus (which is also called by other names, such as Megilat Benei Chashmonai).  Rav Saadia Gaon, who translated this text into Hebrew, held that it was written by the Chashmonaim themselves, whereas the Behag maintained that it was written later, during the Tanna'itic period.

            Towards the end of Megilat Antiochus the authors speak of the enactment of the Chanukah holiday, instructing the Jews "to observe these eight days as days of joy and honor like the festival days written in the Torah, and to kindle lights on them…"

            Rav Moshe Mordechai Karp of Kiryat Sefer, in his letter of approbation to the work Mamlekhet Kohanim, suggests a novel approach to the nature of the obligation of the Chanukah lights on the basis of this passage.  Megilat Antiochus here makes reference to an obligation of kavod – "honor" – that applies on Chanukah and corresponds to the kavod obligation that is observed on the Yamim Tovim, the festivals ordained by the Torah.  And, in this context, the Megilat Antiochus mentions as well the obligation to kindle the Chanukah lights.  As we know, the kavod obligation that applies on the Yamim Tovim includes the requirement to light candles, just as on Shabbat.  Rav Yitzchak Zev Soloveitchik ("Rav Velvele") famously established that the Shabbat and Yom Tov candles are required for the fulfillment of both oneg Shabbat – enjoying the Shabbat – and kevod Shabbat – showing honor to the Shabbat by preparing one's home in anticipation of its arrival.  Hence, if the Megilat Antiochus speaks of an obligation of kavod on Chanukah resembling that which applies on Yom Tov, and includes the candle lighting obligation in this context, then we should perhaps draw a parallel between the Chanukah lights and the Yom Tov candles.  On Chanukah, too, we might claim, the candle lighting serves primarily to give honor to the holiday.  The element of pirsumei nisa – publicizing the Chanukah miracle – affects some of the details of this obligation, but, Rav Karp suggests, fundamentally this obligation as defined in terms of kevod ha-yom, an expression of honor as befitting this special occasion.

            Rav Karp enlists this theory to resolve a number of questions, including the issue of when the Chanukah lights are to be kindled.  One custom observed by many is to light the Chanukah candles immediately at sundown, despite the fact that, technically speaking, the new day does not definitively begin until tzet ha-kokhavim (nightfall).  At first glance, one might wonder how a person can fulfill that day's obligation before the day has actually begun.  Once, however, we draw a parallel between the Chanukah lights and the candles lit for Shabbat and Yom Tov, the answer becomes perfectly clear.  The Chanukah candles are intended primarily as an expression of kavod, showing honor to the occasion by preparing for it in advance.  Therefore, just as on Shabbat and Yom Tov we light candles in anticipation of the day's onset, we similarly kindle festive lights at sundown (according to one custom) as a display of honor to the new day of Chanukah.

            (Clearly, this is not the conventional understanding, which views the Chanukah lights as fundamentally defined in terms of pirsumei nisa.)