S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT VAYIGASH

BY RABBI DAVID SILVERBERG

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            We read in Parashat Vayigash of Yaakov’s relocation in Egypt with his family, to escape the harsh drought that ravaged Canaan.  Yosef, after revealing his identity to his brothers who had come to Egypt to purchase grain, sent them to Canaan to bring Yaakov and their families.  Yaakov at first did not believe his brothers’ claim that Yosef was alive and serving as vizier in Egypt.  But then, as the Torah writes, “They related to him all the words that Yosef spoke to them, and he saw the wagons which Yosef had sent to transport him” (45:27).  At that point, Yaakov indeed believed that his beloved son was alive.

            Rashi, in a famous passage, writes that Yaakov overcame his skepticism when he heard the message Yosef had sent through his brothers along with the wagons.  The word agalot (“wagons”) relates to the word egla (“calf”), and alludes to the egla arufa ritual described in Sefer Devarim (21:1-9).  Yosef reminded his father that this halakha was the last topic they studied together before Yosef left home twenty years earlier.  This reminder convinced Yaakov that Yosef was indeed alive, and that it was he who summoned him to Egypt.

            The Da’at Zekeinim Mi-ba’alei Ha-tosefot presents a different version of this Midrashic tradition, claiming that the wagons sent by Yosef were intended as an allusion to the wagons used by Benei Yisrael in the wilderness to transport the Mishkan.  As we read in Parashat Naso (chapter 7), the tribal leaders donated wagons to the Leviyim on the day of the Mishkan’s inauguration, and the Leviyim used these wagons for transporting the various parts of the Mishkan as Benei Yisrael traveled in the wilderness.  According to the theory presented by the Da’at Zekeinim, it was this topic that Yaakov and Yosef had been studying when Yosef left home, and to which Yosef alluded when he sent wagons to carry Yaakov.

            How might we understand the significance ofthe wagons used in the wilderness, in the context of Yaakov’ family’s relocation in Egypt?

            One possibility, perhaps, is that these wagons signify cooperation and the absence of petty competition.  When the twelve nesi’im (tribal leaders) presented their gift to the Leviyim, they formed six pairs, each donating one wagon (“agala al shenei ha-nesi’im” – Bamidbar 7:3).  The nesi’im did not attempt to outdo each other; there was no competition to determine who could bring the more lavish or more useful gift.  They worked together in unison and cooperation, without any struggle for superiority or one-upmanship.  They left their egos behind and chose to work together on behalf of the new institution of the Mishkan.  The nesi’im’s concern was not how to best distinguish themselves and earn individual notoriety, but rather how to best serve the interests of Am Yisrael.

            As Yaakov’s family made its way to Egypt for what would be an extended and harsh exile, it was hoped that a new chapter would begin, which would bring an end to the sorrowful chapter of jealousy and strife that had been written over the previous two decades.  According to the Da’at Zekeinim, Yosef’s wagons symbolized the hopes for an end to petty competition among the tribes, an end to the destructive power struggles that undermine any hopes for success and tranquility.  The story began with jealousy, competitiveness and hostility.  The reunion of Yosef with his brothers was seen as heralding a new stage, a period of reconciliation and cooperation, as represented by the six wagons donated by the nesi’im, which teach us to work together in pursuit of our common goals, and not to turn religious observance into a source of fierce competition and a battle of egos.

SUNDAY

            Parashat Vayigash begins with Yehuda’s plea to Yosef – the Egyptian vizier – to allow Binyamin to return to Canaan despite having been found with the vizier’s goblet.  Yehuda begins by pleading, “Your servant shall, please, speak something in the ears of my master, and do not be angry with your servant, for you are like Pharaoh.”  Yehuda asks the vizier not to “be angry” with him for what he is about to say, explaining, “for you are like Pharaoh.”  Why does Yehuda tell Yosef that he considers him “like Pharaoh,” and why is this a reason for Yosef not to grow angry with him?

            The Rashbam explains, “You are like a king, and I am afraid of your anger.”  Meaning, Yehuda makes mention of Yosef’s royal stature not to explain why he should not grow angry, but rather to explain why he asks the vizier not to grow angry.  He recognizes that he speaks to a powerful man, and he therefore fears the consequences of his brazen petition.  (This is also the explanation offered by Chizkuni.)

            The Ramban explains differently: “‘For you are like Pharaoh’ – and I am speaking before you with great reverence, as though I was speaking before Pharaoh.”  According to this interpretation, Yehuda tells Yosef not to be angry because he speaks reverently.  Although it might be considered brazen to demand that Binyamin be released, the respect and reverence with which he speaks demonstrates that he does not intend to challenge Yosef’s royal authority or show him disrespect.

            Rav Yitzchak Kunstadt of Pressburg, in his Luach Erez (Vienna, 1915), suggested a different possible interpretation of this verse.  Yehuda tells Yosef that he should not take offense from his petition, because, after all, he is “like Pharaoh.”  A person in a high position should feel secure enough in his stature to tolerate minor infractions upon his honor.  Yosef, as the empire’s vizier, had no reason to feel threatened by Yehuda, even if he speaks firmly and critically.  Yosef’s royal stature was thus not a reason for him to grow angry with Yehuda for presenting his demands, but rather, the contrary, a reason for him to hear Yehuda’s plea with patience and understanding.

            We are perhaps well advised to keep in mind this phrase – “ki kamokha ke-Pharaoh” – when we feel slighted or insulted, or upon hearing critical remarks from our peers.  Human beings are all created in the divine image, and all members of Am Yisrael have the status of “children of the Almighty” (Avot 3:14).  We should feel too important and distinguished to be rattled by an insulting remark, or by not being accorded the respect we perhaps deserve, or think we deserve.  The more respect and regard we have for ourselves, the less disturbed we will be when we do not receive the respect and regard of others.  If we remind ourselves that “ki kamokha ke-Pharaoh,” and keep in mind our “royal” stature in the eyes of the Almighty, we will be unaffected by perceived insults, and will remain confident and upbeat regardless of the respect afforded to us by our peers – or lack thereof.

MONDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Vayigash tells of Yaakov’s family’s relocation in Egypt.  When they arrived, Yosef sought to ensure that Pharaoh would allow them to live in the region of Goshen.  He specifically instructs his brothers that when they come before the Egyptian king, they should emphasize that they work as shepherds, so that Pharaoh would decide to put them in Goshen, “for all shepherds are abominable for Egypt” (46:34).

            Several different explanations have been offered for why Yosef specifically wanted his brothers and father to reside in Goshen.  The most common understanding, it seems, is that Yosef sought to lower the chances of the family’s assimilation.  Perhaps sensing that the family, which would soon become a nation, would be remaining in Egypt for an extended period, Yosef saw to it that they would live separately from the main population centers in Egypt, in order to preserve their independent identity and lifestyle.  Indeed, the Midrash Ha-gadol explicitly comments that Yosef wanted his family to live in Goshen “so that they would not mix with the Egyptians.”

            Chizkuni, however, offers a much different – and somewhat surprising – explanation: “Yosef was concerned that if they [his brothers] would become noblemen in Pharaoh’s palace, they would demote him from his high stature, for on account of their jealousy over a striped tunic they sold him.”  According to Chizkuni, Yosef wanted his brothers to live in isolation in order to prevent them from assuming positions of power in the Egyptian government.  It seems that Yosef sensed his brothers’ talents and ability to assert authority.  He feared that if they would begin to rise through the Egyptian political hierarchy, the flames of fraternal jealousy would be reignited, and they would, once again, conspire against him.

            Chizkuni’s comments are jarring, and seemingly inconsonant with the festive tone of Parashat Vayigash.  The family’s descent to Egypt appears to have ushered in a new period of reconciliation and trust, with the feelings of envy and resentment left far behind in the pastures outside Shekhem where Yosef was sold as a slave.  According to Chizkuni, however, Yosef’s strategizing to have his brothers sent to Goshen casts a disquieting dark shadow upon this otherwise encouraging and upbeat phase in the family’s history.  Although the family was reunited, tensions and mistrust remained.  Yosef was still – understandably – unable to erase past events from memory.  The suffering he endured as a result of his brothers’ jealousy left a certain barrier, which precluded the possibility of their cooperation in Pharaoh’s government.  Yosef was still wary and suspicious.  Even as he reunited with his brothers, he could not work closely with them.  He could not expose himself to the risk of once again sparking their jealousy.

            Yosef’s ongoing suspicion, as noted by Chizkuni, perhaps conveys a number of different lessons concerning conflicts among family members and friends.  Most obviously, the persistent sense of mistrust, despite the festive reunification of the family, should serve as a warning of the often permanent effects of conflict.  Emotional bruises do not always heal completely, and they very often leave permanent scars.  Even after formal reconciliation, the relationship cannot always be restored to what it ways before the fight.  This prospect should serve as an effective deterrent to unnecessary quarreling, and a strong impetus to avoid avoidable conflicts.

            Additionally, Yosef’s conduct perhaps teaches the importance of realistic expectations in mending strained relationships.  Others in Yosef’s position may have been too caught up in the excitement of the family’s reunion to foresee the potential risks of a too-close relationship.  Now that the family has come back together, after the brothers’ violent mistreatment of Yosef and the years of separation, we may have expected Yosef to pursue as close a relationship as he could with his brothers.  But Yosef knew better, and his keen sense of pragmatism prevailed over his fantasies of a perfect family dynamic.  A flawless relationship of trust and fraternal love would have provided a fairytale ending to the unfortunate, disturbing story of Yosef and his brothers.  But this was not realistic.  Yosef perceptively understood that in this situation, a distant friendship had far better chances of succeeding than a tight, close-knit fraternal relationship.  Strained relationships among friends and family members can usually be repaired, but not always can they be made flawless.  The story of Yosef and his brothers ended on a happy note, but not on a perfect note, demonstrating that success does not depend upon perfection, particularly when dealing with the fragile area of restoring damaged relationships.

TUESDAY

            We read in Parashat Vayigash that after Yosef finally revealed his identity to his brothers, he reassured them of his commitment to them despite the crimes they had committed: “Now do not be saddened or angry [at yourselves] for having sold me here, for God sent me here for [the purpose of providing] sustenance… Now it is not you who sent me here, but rather God…” (45:5-8).

            Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor, in his commentary to these verses, writes:

“God sent me” – and it was the divine decree, and thus [even] if you intended to eat the meat of swine, the meat of lamb turned up in your hands, for no iniquity shall befall a righteous person.  It is thus clear that the Almighty is pleased with you and brings good things through your actions.

In other words, Yosef consoles his brothers by noting the positive outcome of their mistreatment of him.  Although they intended to cause him harm, they ultimately benefited him, themselves and the entire region by putting him in a position to foresee and prepare for the famine that struck the area.  This is made more explicit in Yosef’s comments to his brothers later, in Parashat Vayechi: “You plotted to cause me harm, but God plotted it for the good – to do as this day, to sustain a large multitude” (3:20).

            Surprisingly, Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor invokes in this context the analogy of “nitkavein la-alot be-yado besar chazir ve-ala be-yado besar taleh” – somebody who intended to eat pig meat, but unintentionally ate kosher meat.  He classifies mekhirat Yosef (the sale of Yosef as a slave) as a situation where a person intended to commit a religious offense, but in the end performed a permissible act.  The clear implication of the Bekhor Shor’s comments is that such an individual bears no guilt for having attempted to commit an offense.  After all, if this comparison was made as part of Yosef’s words of consolation to his brothers – “Now do not be saddened or angry [at yourselves] for having sold me here” – then it was quite obviously intended to express their innocence, not their guilt.

            Yet, in a famous passage in Masekhet Nazir (23a), the Gemara explicitly comments that a person in such a case requires atonement.  Even though the individual ultimately ate kosher food, he nevertheless requires atonement for having intended to eat non-kosher food.  The question thus arises, why did Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor invoke this analogy in explaining Yosef’s comments to his brothers?  How could Yosef console his brothers by comparing their situation to one of “nitkavein la-alot be-yado besar chazir ve-ala be-yado besar taleh,” if that situation requires atonement?

            This question has been addressed concerning a similar comment of the Or Ha-chayim (50:20), who drew the analogy of a person who intended to drink poison but ended up drinking a healthful drink.  Here, too, the question arises as to how this perspective provided consolation, if, as the Gemara states, one who attempts to commit a sin requires atonement even if he ultimately performs a possible act.

            One possible approach, as developed by Rav Chayim Eisenstein in his Peninim Mi-Bei Midresha, emerges from a comment by the Chafetz Chayim (in the work bearing that name, 3:6) in a different context.  The Chafetz Chayim distinguished in this regard between interpersonal offenses and sins relating exclusively to one’s relationship with God.  The Gemara’s comment regarding of “nitkavein la-alot be-yado besar chazir ve-ala be-yado besar taleh” applies specifically to sins resembling kashrut – meaning, offenses bein adam la-Makom (solely between man and God).  When it comes to interpersonal offenses, however, the critical factor is not the person’s intent, but rather whether or not, as a practical matter, his fellow suffered any harm.  Whereas an offense against God is committed even through the intention and attempt to sin, an offense against a fellow human being depends upon the actual result.  (The converse would also be true; thus, for example, a number of sources indicate that one fulfills the mitzva of charity even without any intent – such as if money fell from one’s pocket and was discovered by a  pauper – since, practically speaking, somebody benefited from his money.)

            If so, then Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor was indeed correct in his assessment of the situation of Yosef’s brothers.  Since their sin was an interpersonal offense, committed against Yosef, they are guiltless since the end product of their scheme was Yosef’s rise to power and the provision of food for untold numbers of people.

            We may, however, suggest a simpler explanation, namely, that the analogy to “nitkavein la-alot be-yado besar chazir ve-ala be-yado besar taleh” is applicable to Yosef’s brothers precisely because they required atonement.  Yosef’s intent is not to entirely absolve his brothers of guilt.  In fact, several Midrashim attribute future calamities to the brothers’ crime of selling Yosef, clearly indicating that they bore a good deal of guilt for what they did to him.  Rather, as Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor writes, Yosef’s intent is to point out that “the Almighty is pleased with you and brings good things through your actions.”  It goes without saying that the brothers did something wrong for which they required atonement.  But the fact that their wrongful act has the effect of saving the lives of millions of people indicated that God looks upon them favorably despite their misdeed.  God chose to use mekhirat Yosef as the means of sending a savior to Egypt.  Although they acted wrongly, God ensured that their wrongdoing would bring about success and prosperity, because, as Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor writes, “no iniquity shall befall a righteous person” – God does not allow calamity to result from the actions of the righteous.

            Remarkably, Yosef was able to see his brothers’ piety despite the grave crime they committed against him.  He was wise enough to recognize that even the greatest of people err, and thus their mistreatment of him did not necessarily undermine their righteous stature.  To the contrary, he saw the positive outcome of their crime as indicative of their piety.  Yosef demonstrates the importance of being able to admire others despite their obvious shortcomings and failings – and despite even the wrongs they committed against him.  It is easy, and often appealing, to cast judgment on people based on a small sample of their behavior.  We should perhaps learn from Yosef to try to hold others in high esteem despite the grave mistakes they make, and despite their flaws.  People do not have to be perfect to earn our respect and admiration.  And we can and should give them the respect they deserve – even if this requires digging beneath the surface to find their admirable qualities.

WEDNESDSAY

            The Torah in Parashat Vayigash tells the story of Yosef’s revealing his identity to his brothers, after which he instructs them to return to Canaan and bring their father, Yaakov, and their families, to live in Egypt.  Oddly enough, just before the brothers leave Egypt to bring their father, Yosef warns them, “Al tirgezu ba-darekh” (45:24), which is generally translated to mean either “Do not be angry along the way” or “Do not be frantic along the way.”

            The Gemara in Masekhet Ta’anit (10b) cites from the Tanna’im different explanations for this verse, including, “Do not take long strides, and enter the city along with the [setting of the] sun.”  According to this view, Yosef gave his brothers the simple advice of, “Don’t rush.”  Chazal elsewhere note the dangers of “pesi’a gasa” (“large strides”), walking in a hurried, reckless manner, and of traveling at night.  Yosef here alerted his brothers to these dangers, imploring them to walk at a moderate pace, and to ensure to find proper lodging at night.  He understandably feared that in their haste to bring Yaakov the news that his son is alive, thereby alleviating the emotional pain that had plagued him for over twenty years, and to bring their families to Egypt to escape the drought in Canaan, they may travel too hurriedly.  Yosef therefore warned them that despite their excitement and eager anticipation, they should travel at a safe, reasonable pace and not under hazardous conditions, such as at nighttime.

            Yosef’s final instruction to his brothers before they left Egypt perhaps serves as a vivid example of the dangers of neglecting basic needs and responsibilities while involved in matters of major significance and import.  It is obvious why the brothers would be tempted to travel too hastily back to Canaan, in their eager desire to bring the dramatic news to their father, and to expedite the process of relocating in Egypt, where their families would be comfortably supported by Yosef.  Interestingly enough, the Torah found it necessary to record Yosef’s warning to travel carefully.  It perhaps sought to alert us to the dangers posed by situations of great excitement and intense urgency.  Such conditions often lead people to frantic, reckless and careless behavior, as they impatiently seek to achieve the goal which they pursue as quickly as they can.  Quite possibly, the Torah made a point of recording Yosef’s warning, “Al tirgezu ba-darekh” to teach this simple lesson of acting with patience and prudence when pursuing lofty goals or engaging in matters of critical import.  Rather than allowing the excitement and fervor to lead to thoughtless, reckless activity, we, like Yosef’s brothers, must always ensure to take “small strides,” proceeding carefully and responsibly, one small step at a time.

THURSDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Vayigash presents the following description of Yaakov’s response upon hearing that his beloved son, Yosef, was alive: “ve-techi ru’ach Yaakov” – “Yaakov’s spirit was revived” (45:27).  A number of sources, including Targum Onkelos and the Midrash Tanchuma, explain this phrase to mean that Yaakov regained his prophetic capabilities.  God withdrew prophecy from Yaakov during the twenty-two years he spent in bereavement, and it was restored once Yaakov learned that Yosef was alive.  The Rambam mentions this understanding of the verse in the seventh chapter of his Shemoneh Perakim, viewing it as proof to the fact that despondency precludes the possibility of experiencing prophecy.  Although a prophet can experience prophecy in a state of spiritual imperfection, the Rambam writes, prophecy is not possible in a state of unhappiness or grief.

            The simplest explanation for the indispensability of joy and contentment in achieving prophecy, perhaps, is that it denies a person the peace of mind and clarity of thought that prophecy demands.  Intense concentration is among the critical prerequisites to the experience of prophecy, and despondent people are generally incapable of this level of concentration, preoccupied as they are with their distress.  It is for this reason, perhaps, that a prophet can only experience prophecy in a state of general contentment and while in good spirits.

            There may, however, be another reason for why a prophet cannot behold a prophetic vision while experiencing sorrow.  Namely, one is not receptive to the divine word if he looks negatively upon life, or upon the world.  God’s instructions can be heard only if one feels encouraged by the opportunities that life presents, and by the possibility of improving it and infusing it with meaning and purpose.  The sense of disillusionment and cynicism that generally accompanies sorrow and grief is inherently incompatible with prophecy, with accepting God’s commands.  A person can receive God’s word only if he looks upon life with hopeful optimism, as a field filled with opportunities, rather than disappointment.  God calls to people who are prepared to listen and eagerly embrace the opportunities He gives them for personal growth and for enhancing the world.

            In this same chapter of Shemona Perakim, the Rambam notes that anger, like unhappiness, also denies a prophet the possibility of experiencing prophecy.  He cites as an example the story told (Melakhim II 3) of the prophet Elisha, who had a musician play music for him so he could experience prophecy.  The Sages explain that Elisha required music to alleviate the anger he experienced upon seeing the idolatrous king Yehoram, which precluded the possibility of achieving prophecy.

            Anger, like grief, makes one unreceptive to the divine word because he resents the world’s imperfections, rather than embracing the challenge they pose.  The ideal response to the sight of evil is not anger, but rather the determination to act to improve the world in whichever way one can.  A technician does not grow angry and resentful upon being presented with a malfunctioning appliance; he happily welcomes the opportunity to put his skills to productive use, to make his small contribution to the world.  Ideally, this should be our response to the evils and evildoers of the world.  Rather than become despondent, angry or embittered, we should welcome the invitation God extends to us to take part in the world’s development by making whatever small improvements we can.  Accepting the divine command presumes an eager willingness to engage the world in its current state of imperfection, rather than resenting or lamenting its current state of imperfection.  The experiences of Yaakov and Elisha demonstrate the importance of remaining upbeat and retaining a positive outlook upon life despite its problems and challenges, and being prepared to accept God’s instructions for making the world a better place.

FRIDAY

            In the opening verse of Parashat Vayigash, Yehuda introduces his plea to Yosef by begging, “Let your servant say something in my master’s ear…”  Several commentators struggle to explain Yehuda’s intent in describing his petition as spoken “in my master’s ear.”

            The Beit Halevi suggests a particularly novel and insightful approach, one which sheds new light upon the nature and purpose of Yehuda’s monologue that occupies the first section of this parasha.  According to the Beit Halevi, Yehuda asked Yosef if he could speak to him directly, without the use of an interpreter.  Earlier, in Parashat Miketz (42:23), we are told that the brothers and Yosef (whose identity was unknown to the brothers) spoke via an interpreter, as Yosef concealed his true identity and conducted himself as a native Egyptian.  But now, as Yehuda pleads his case before Yosef in an effort to secure Binyamin’s release, Yehuda begs the Egyptian vizier to allow him to speak with him directly.

            The reason, the Beit Halevi explains, is that Yehuda understandably grew suspicious of Yosef’s unreasonably harsh treatment of him and his brothers.  It simply made no sense to him, for example, that the vizier would baselessly accuse them – who, like countless others from across the region, came to Egypt to purchase grain – of spying the country.  Yehuda was further confounded by Yosef’s bizarre obsession with his younger brother, Binyamin, and his demand that he come to Egypt.  In short, the vizier’s conduct toward an innocent family coming to purchase grain aroused Yehuda’s suspicion that perhaps the interpreter was not doing his job properly, that inaccurate translation led to Yosef’s otherwise inexplicable charges.

            Yehuda therefore approached Yosef and asked to speak to him directly, without the muddling effect of a suspect translation.  His intention, as it emerges from his appeal to Yosef, was simply to review the sequence of events to ensure that there was no miscommunication between the two parties.  Yehuda wanted the vizier to hear with his own ears Yehuda’s account of the brothers’ meetings with Yosef, to ensure that what Yosef heard the first time around is indeed what the brothers had said.

            Of course, Yehuda’s inkling proved incorrect, as Yosef had indeed correctly understood everything the brothers had said.  Nevertheless, Yehuda’s appeal to Yosef perhaps reminds us of the importance of proper communication between quarreling parties.  Very often, disagreements and fights result from simple misunderstandings and miscommunication.  Unfortunately, even when the misunderstandings are noted, the scars from the argument remain and do not quickly heal.  Yehuda realized that before locking horns with the Egyptian vizier, he should first check to see if perhaps the situation is the result of a simple misunderstanding.  This should serve as an instructive example for all situations where one considers initiating an argument.  It is advisable to first explore the possibility of a simple misunderstanding, before hurling accusations or initiating any sort of conflict.