Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Towards the beginning of Parashat Shemot, the Torah tells of the rise of a new king in Egypt, "who did not know Yosef" (1:8). The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 1:10) presents the following enigmatic passage: "Did he really not know Yosef? Rabbi Avin said, we can compare this to someone who stoned the king's confident; the king said: Sever his head, for [otherwise] tomorrow he will do the same to me! Therefore, it says about Pharaoh today, 'who did not know Yosef,' and later is says, 'I do know God'." Meaning, Pharaoh began by "not knowing" Yosef, and eventually came to "not know" the Almighty.

This Midrash requires explanation. It first asks how is it possible that the new king did not know Yosef, who had obviously earned fame and notoriety throughout the country during his lifetime. Rabbi Avin answers this question by noting the progression from the king's failure to recognize Yosef to his denial of God. How does this answer the question posed by the Midrash which Rabbi Avin appears to address?

Let us first take another look at the Midrash's question: "Did he really not know Yosef?" The Midrash understands quite clearly that in actuality, the king - whether this was truly a new king or the previous Pharaoh who changed his disposition (see Rashi) - undoubtedly "knew" Yosef. He knew full-well the annals of Egyptian history of the previous eighty or hundred years, and was aware of the contributions Yosef made to the country. The Midrash therefore asks why the Torah described the king in such a way, that he had never heard of Yosef. It answers that this failure to "know" Yosef must be seen in light of the king's refusal to "know" the Almighty. Throughout the story of the Exodus, we see Pharaoh denying the existence of any authority over him. He and his empire felt that they could control the universe; their sophisticated system of sorcery and astrology led them to deny any divine force that cannot be controlled by the human being. (This is how the Rambam describes ancient Egyptian theology in his "Ma'amar Techiyat Ha-meitim.") Pharaoh refused to admit that he is under anyone's control or authority.

This same attitude, the Midrash tells us, is reflected in Pharaoh's failure to "know" Yosef. Sefer Bereishit tells us quite clearly that Yosef single-handedly saved the Egyptian empire from ruin. If not for his prophetic forecast of famine and well-organized system of conservation, the country would have languished during the years of drought. But a Pharaoh who insistently claims supreme power over all natural forces cannot feel beholden to anyone, surely not to a foreigner. He did not recognize Yosef for precisely the same reason he did not recognize the Almighty: because he could not recognize any power beyond his control, he could not acknowledge any sort of dependence and lack of self-sufficiency. God must therefore punish Pharaoh and his people until they are willing to proclaim unabashedly that they live under the supreme authority of the Creator.

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Yesterday we discussed the verse towards the beginning of Sefer Shemot that tells of the rise of a new king over Egypt "who did not know Yosef" (1:8). Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, cites two views in Chazal (Masekhet Sota 11a) as to whether or not we should interpret this verse literally, to mean that a new king ascended to the Egyptian monarchy. According to one opinion, the "new" Pharaoh was in fact the same man; the Torah calls him a "new king" because he issued new decrees and edicts against Benei Yisrael. The Torah refers to his change in attitude as a change in person. A slightly different version of this view appears in the Midrash (Shemot Rabba 1:9). According to this opinion, the Egyptians wished to oppress Benei Yisrael, but Pharaoh refused, given Yosef's contribution to the country. In response to the king's refusal, the Egyptians overthrew the king for three months. When he agreed to their demand, he was reinstated - and to this the Torah refers when it speaks of the rise of a "new king."

This view in the Midrash potentially has halakhic implications. Rav Aharon Lewin (author of "Ha-derash Ve-ha'iyun"), in his "Birkat Aharon" on Masekhet Berakhot (chapter 16), addresses a case that came before him concerning a matchmaker who succeeded in finalizing a match. The couple had previously been introduced for purposes of marriage, but problems arose that led them to break the relationship. This matchmaker then got involved and rehabilitated the couple's marriage prospect, and, as a result of his efforts, they reconciled their differences and became engaged. Now this community had an accepted practice of a matchmaker's fee ("shadchanus gelt"), and this matchmaker demanded his fee from the families. They, however, claimed that since he only mended the fracture and did not actually initiate the match, he has no right to the money. They came before Rav Lewin for rabbinic arbitration.

Rav Lewin considered the possibility of drawing support for the matchmaker's claim from the aforementioned Midrash. Although Pharaoh was merely reinstated, and did not ascend the throne for the first time, the Torah nevertheless calls him a "new" king. This would perhaps suggest that reconstructing something that had existed and then dissolved is considered starting something new. Hence, we should perhaps award the matchmaker his fee for having restored the broken relationship.

Rav Lewin however makes the obvious point that we cannot reach halakhic conclusions based on Midrash; we must look into our halakhic sources, instead. And, in fact, he cites several passages in the Talmud which imply that we do not consider something new if it is merely rehabilitated. For example, in Megilla 2b, the Gemara discusses the principle that a prophet does not have the power to introduce new mitzvot. The Gemara qualifies this rule, however, by allowing a prophet to reintroduce halakhot that were previously known but forgotten. In a different context, the Gemara (Masekhet Sota 43a) discusses the halakha of "orekhei milchama," the furloughs granted to soldiers in specific circumstances, such as someone who has betrothed a woman but has yet to marry her. The Gemara there posits that a soldier who had been divorced and betroths his ex-wife again does not earn this exemption from military duty. Since he merely reinstates his previous marriage, and is not taking a new wife, his marriage does not qualify for the exemption mentioned in the Torah. Here, too, we see that a rehabilitated match is not halakhically viewed as a "new" relationship.

Based on these and other sources, Rav Lewin ruled against the matchmaker, that the families were under no obligation to pay his fee.

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In Parashat Shemot, we read of Moshe's mother's desperate attempt to save her young child by placing him in a small basket in the Nile River. Moshe's older sister, Miriam, stood along the riverbank to watch: "His sister stationed herself at a distance, to learn what would befall him" (2:4). Ultimately, as we know, the baby was spotted by Pharaoh's daughter, and Miriam summoned his mother to nurse the baby for the princess, who adopted Moshe as her own child.

The Gemara, in Masekhet Sota (11a), rereads the aforementioned verse such that it refers to the Shekhina. It goes through this verse word by word and shows that each word has an association elsewhere in Tanakh with the Almighty. Hence, the "sister" in this verse refers to God Himself who "stationed Himself at a distance" to watch what would befall the future redeemer of Israel. What do Chazal mean by this rereading of the verse?

A famous Midrash tells that before Moshe's conception, Miriam prophesied that her parents would beget the savior of Benei Yisrael who would deliver them from slavery. In light of this prophecy, baby Moshe represented her and her family's - and the entire nation's, - greatest hope for deliverance. The particular effort made by Moshe's mother to hide him from the Egyptian authorities perhaps reflects this firm belief the family held that this child was special. Chazal express this point by saying that Yokheved noticed that Moshe was born already circumcised.

When the family had no choice but to place the baby in the river, their hopes could have potentially vanished. How could a three-month old baby possibly survive in a basket in the Nile River? What happened to the prophetic promise of a deliverer? But Miriam did not give up. She followed the child and committed herself to doing whatever she can so long as he still breathed the breath of life.

Chazal perhaps teach us that it is here - in the firm, resolute belief in the redemption, regardless of how unlikely it appears - where the Shekhina resides during exile. As Miriam stood anxiously waiting to see her brother's fate, the Almighty stood with her. While normally the Shekhina does not reside among us during exile, it can and does join us if we sincerely commit ourselves to bringing about the eventual end of exile. Miriam refused to resign herself to the bitter reality of slavery, and the Shekhina came to ensure that she would never have to.

Many of the Jewish people's hopes and dreams of redemption and deliverance have been cast into the river, so-to-speak. So many ideas as to how we can solve our existential "problem" have disappointed. But so long as we remain along the riverbank and work towards the realization of our dreams, come what may, God will stand at our side and make it happen.

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Parashat Shemot tells of Moshe's flight from Egypt to escape the death penalty to which he is sentenced for killing the Egyptian taskmaster. Later, of course, God sends him back to Egypt in order to release the Hebrew slaves. God assures Moshe that "all those who sought to kill you are dead" (4:19). The Gemara (Masekhet Avoda Zara 5a) identifies these people who wanted Moshe dead as the infamous Datan and Aviram, who would later play seminal roles in several instances of insurrection as Benei Yisrael traveled in the wilderness. The obvious question, of course, is how could God claim that they died if we encounter them later, after the Exodus? The Gemara answers that God here means not that they actually died, but rather that they became impoverished, and poverty, the Gemara claims, is, in some sense, equal to death (as we discussed in our S.A.L.T. series this year for Parashat Vayetze).

Several Rishonim asked why the Gemara concluded that Datan and Aviram lost their wealth. After all, the Gemara there describes four different categories of people as "dead" in some figurative sense: those who are blind, who are poverty-stricken, who have lost their children, and who have contracted tzara'at (a form of leprosy). Why did the Gemara determine that Datan and Aviram became impoverished, rather than suggesting that they came upon any of the other three misfortunes mentioned?

The Rishonim (Tosefot, Rosh; Ran in Masekhet Nedarim 7b) bring textual proof to the fact that Datan and Aviram had their eyesight and children. Therefore, Chazal could not have claimed that they lost their vision or buried their children. But what about the prospect that they contracted tzara'at? The Rishonim explain that in Sefer Devarim (11:6), Moshe Rabbenu describes Datan and Aviram has having died "in the midst of all of Israel," which implies that they were card-carrying members, so-to-speak, of the Israelite community. A metzora (someone with tzara'at) is expelled from the camp (see Vayikra 13:46). Therefore, Chazal concluded that Datan and Aviram could not have contracted tzara'at.

In the work "She'ilat Shalom" (on the She'iltot, Metzora 20), a strong question is raised against this explanation of the Rishonim. An explicit mishna in Masekhet Nega'im (beginning of chapter 7) establishes that any affliction of tzara'at that surfaced before Matan Torah did not generate tum'a (ritual impurity, generally caused by tzara'at) after Matan Torah. Meaning, someone who had contracted tzara'at before the Torah was given would not be considered ritually impure after the Torah was given. The Torah considers halakhic tzara'at applicable only if the disorder surfaced after Matan Torah. This mishna appears to pull the rug from under the explanation suggested by the Rishonim. The fact that Datan and Aviram died in the wilderness "in the midst of all of Israel" should in no way undermine the possibility of their having contracted tzara'at in Egypt, since after Matan Torah their tzara'at would have no halakhic effect.

The Acharonim have suggested various answers to reconcile the answer of these Rishonim with the mishna in Nega'im. The Netziv, in his "Meromei Sadeh" on Masekhet Nedarim, as well as the Maharitz Chayot (also there in Nedarim), draw a fundamental distinction between two halakhic ramifications of tzara'at: tum'a, and "shilu'ach machanot." First, a metzora is deemed tamei, ritually impure, which forbids him from coming in contact with sacrificial meat and the like, and requires him to bring special sacrifices before he may partake of this meat and enter the Temple grounds. Secondly, a metzora is barred from communal life; he is expelled from Jewish cities and may not engage in normal social activity. These Acharonim claim that the status of "quasi-death" associated with tzara'at results from this second component - "shilu'ach machanot" - and not from the metzora's state of tum'a. The mishna in Nega'im, by which tzara'at before Matan Torah lost halakhic significance afterwards, refers only to the ritual impurity associated with tzara'at. As far as the metzora's required seclusion is concerned, Matan Torah had no effect. Therefore, those who suffered from tzara'at before Matan Torah lost their ritual impurity when the Torah was given, but still retained their metzora status with respect to their banishment from communal life.

This resolves the difficulty raised against the explanation given by Tosefot and other Rishonim. Since Moshe refers to Datan and Aviram has having been involved in the nation's communal life - "in the midst of all Israel," they could not have contracted tzara'at previously. Therefore, Chazal could not have suggested that Datan and Aviram were metzoraim.

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Parashat Shemot tells of God's famous revelation to Moshe at the burning bush (chapter 3). We find in the various Midrashim many different explanations as to why the Almighty chose the bush as an appropriate scene for His initial revelation to Moshe. In Shemot Rabba 1:9, the Midrash relates that a certain gentile posed this very question to Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Korcha. Rabbi Yehoshua replied, "This teaches you that there is no place bereft of the Shekhina - even the bush." Two difficulties arise from this response of Rabbi Yehoshua. Firstly, what does it mean that the Shekhina rests everywhere? Later in Sefer Shemot, Benei Yisrael are instructed to erect a Tabernacle for the expressed purpose of containing, as it were, God's Presence. If the Shekhina can indeed be found everywhere in the world, what need do we have for a specific structure? Secondly, how does this lesson of the bush relate to this context? If God wants to teach that even a bush is graced with the presence of the Shekhina, why does he select specifically this meeting with Moshe to convey this message?

The Maharal of Prague, in his work Gevurot Hashem, offers a creative - yet simple - explanation for Rabbi Yehoshua's response. He did not claim that the Shekhina actually rests everywhere and anywhere, but rather that it can potentially rest everywhere and anywhere. Even a lowly, unattractive bush can become the site of divine revelation. Why would God seek to convey this message specifically here? The Maharal explains that in this revelation God assigns Moshe the task of releasing Benei Yisrael from bondage, a task that Moshe initially refuses. As Rashi (3:11) explains, Moshe's hesitation resulted partly from Benei Yisrael unworthiness. Why should they deserve redemption? Athe Midrashim describe, Benei Yisrael underwent a process of drastic spiritual deterioration over the course of their stay in Egypt. By what merit will God redeem them? God's selection of the bush as the scene of this dialogue itself introduces the answer. Regardless of how low one sinks, he has not forever lost his potential for divine revelation, he can still experience Ma'amad Har Sinai. God indeed tells Moshe, "This is for you the sign that I sent you; when you take the nation from Egypt, you will serve God on this mountain." Benei Yisrael's spiritual decline did not preclude the possibility of receiving the Torah on Sinai, in the merit of which God released them from Egypt. When it comes to the service of God, the past is hardly as significant as the future. So long as the "bush" strives to grow into a "tree," the Almighty is prepared to bestow His Shekhina upon it.

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Earlier this week we discussed the verse towards the beginning of Parashat Shemot which tells, "A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Yosef" (1:8). As we saw, different views exist as to whether or not this is to be taken literally, that a new king ascended the Egyptian throne.

Among the more recent commentators who did indeed adopt the literal interpretation of this verse is Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, who adds, in characteristic fashion, an important linguistic note which sheds new light on the verse' meaning. Rav Hirsch argues that the word used by the Torah to describe the new king's ascent to power - "va-yakam" - denotes a forceful seizure of the throne, rather than a peaceful, natural transfer of power, such as through death and inheritance. A new government took over the country by force, and thus naturally harbored animosity towards anyone associated with the previous rulers - including Yosef. This animosity resulted in the persecution of Benei Yisrael, Yosef's family.

This interpretation of "va-yakam" may add support to a hypothesis advanced by a contemporary writer, Rav Yehuda Herzl Henkin, in his book, Equality Lost (chapter 4). Historical records tell of a Semitic tribe of shepherd-warriors called the Hyksos, who overtook and ruled Egypt for a century at some point during the time of patriarchs. Rav Henkin postulates that the period of Hyksos rule in Egypt coincided with the story of Yosef; namely, Yosef rose to power in Egypt during the Hyksos period. Thus, our verse, which tells of the forceful rise of a new king, would refer to the reestablishment of the Egyptian dynasty, which clearly felt justified in subjugating the Israelites, who had cooperated fully with the Hyksos occupiers. Rav Henkin suggests that the "eirev rav," the "mixed multitude" that joined Benei Yisrael during the Exodus (Shemot 12:38), refers to people from the Hyksos who remained in Egypt - perhaps under the same oppressive conditions as Benei Yisrael - after the reestablishment of the Egyptian monarchy.

Rav Henkin shows that this theory could resolve several difficult issues arising from the narrative of Yosef's stay in Egypt. For example, Yosef's brothers did not recognize him when they arrived in Egypt. Presumably, Yosef's features (and perhaps accent) were clearly non-Egyptian, which should have sparked the brothers' suspicion; why would a Semite be running the Egyptian economy? If, however, we assume that a Semitic tribe did, in fact, rule the country at the time, we understand why the brothers saw nothing peculiar in the viceroy's Semitic features. Additionally, the Torah describes the enthusiastic reaction of the king and his servants to the news of the arrival of Yosef's family (45:16). Why would the government rejoice over the arrival of foreigners into the country? Rav Henkin suggests that as a foreign, occupying force, the Hyksos rulers warmly welcomed the arrival of fellow Semites into the country to reinforce their authority over the Egyptian natives.

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Parashat Shemot tells that the Egyptians enslaved Benei Yisrael "be-farekh," generally translated as, "with hard labor" (1:13). The Gemara in Masekhet Sota (11a) actually cites a dispute between Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Shemuel Bar Nachmeni as to what this term actually denotes. Rabbi Elazar interprets it as a contraction of two words - "peh rakh" - a "soft mouth." The Midrash Ha-gadol cites Rabbi Elazar's view in more elaborate form, allowing us to understand to what a "soft mouth" refers: "He [Pharaoh] said, 'Whoever produces a brick will receive a shekel,' in order to lure Israel." The Egyptian government did not introduce its decrees suddenly and forcefully; it rather gradually lured Benei Yisrael into slave labor by offering high salaries corresponding to the amount of work performed. The Midrash Ha-gadol describes the success of this plan: "They would overly exhaust themselves in order to receive high payment."

Rabbi Shemuel Bar Nachmeni explains the term "perekh" much differently, as a derivative of the word, "perikha." Rashi explains this term to mean "crushing"; the work forced upon Benei Yisrael broke their bodies and depleted their strength. In his commentary to the Torah (on this verse), Rashi draws evidence for this translation of "perikha" from Targum Onkelos to Parashat Vayikra (Vayikra 2:14). Onkelos there defines the term "geres karmel" ("grits of the fresh grain") as "peirukhan." Thus, this word refers to breaking or crushing, such as the crushed grits of grain described in Parashat Vayikra. According to Rabbi Shemuel Bar Nachmeni, our verse describes the "crushing" of Benei Yisrael as a result of the forced labor.

A third definition of the word "perekh" appears in the commentary "Hadar Zekeinim" (a collection of commentaries by Ba'alei Tosefot and other Rishonim), in the name of the Rosh. The Rosh claims that "perekh" means separation, and thus refers to the forced separation between husbands and wives. We know that this occurred from the text of the Haggadah, which speaks of "perishut derekh eretz" - the cessation of marital life. This interpretation appears as well in the commentary on the Haggadah attributed to Rashi, which adds an etymological source for this definition: the "parokhet," the partition in the Mishkan (and later in the Temple) which separated between the two chambers. This commentary applies this definition to the prohibition later in the Torah against forcing harsh labor upon an Israelite servant (Vayikra 25:46), where we find the same term, "be-ferekh." Here, too, this commentary suggests, the Torah forbids forcing the servant's separation from his wife so that he could live with a gentile maidservant and produce more servants. This prohibition is in fact codified by the Rambam in Hilkhot Avadim (chapter 3).

The Torah Sheleima cites yet a fourth interpretation of "perekh" from a manuscript entitled, "Yalkut Or Ha-afeila," which defines the term as limitless work - meaning, work that is not geared towards a specific result - or work that the masters had no need for. This type of labor involves emotional torment, beyond the physical suffering. The Rambam includes this type of mistreatment, too, among the prohibitions related to master-servant relations (Hilkhot Avadim 1:6), and Rav Menachem Kasher (in Torah Sheleima on this verse) demonstrates that the Rambam drew this concept from our verse, in light of this Midrash.

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