Parashat MiKeitz

At first glance, Parashat MiKeitz’s opening seems an aside to Yoseif HaTzadik’s travails. We first detail the two dreams Paroh dreamt, and then ten pasukim later connect the dreams to Yoseif. This is the transition we expect, for Yoseif had already set up the means by which he would be redeemed in last week’s parasha. Hashem sent him the Sar HaMishkim and the Sar Ha’Ofim, gave each a dream, and filled Yoseif with the Ruach necessary to interpret each dream. Therefore, when Paroh can’t explain his own nightmares, the Sar HaMashkim naturally comes to his rescue – and Yoseif’s rescue for that matter – with timely advice.

But if we look at the very first words of the parasha, we see that these two stories’ connection is much more explicitly foreshadowed. VaYihee MiKeitz Shnasayim Yamim, and it was after two years. The pasuk makes clear reference to Yoseif’s additional time in jail. But why? Perhaps the Torah wants to show us that Paroh’s dreams did not occur immediately after he let the Sar HaMashkim free:

“ViLo Zachar Sar HaHashkim Es Yoseif VaYIshkacheihu” Beraishis 40:23

(why does the pasuk need to state both that the Sar HaMashkim didn’t mention Yoseif [to Paroh] and also that he forgot him? The language is redundant!)

ViLo Zachar: On that day.

VaYishkacheihu: Afterwards. Since Yoseif relied on [the Sar HaMashkim] to mention him [to Paroh], he had to remain improsioned for another two years, for it says in the pasuk “Ashrei HaGever Asher Sam Hashem Mivtacho ViLo Panah El Rehavim,” praiseworthy is the man who places his trust in Hashem and does not turn to the Mitzrim, who are called Rehav (arrogant) [for assistance].

Rashi, Beraishis 40:23

But this doesn’t explain why the Torah should mention Yoseif’s punishment in Parashat MiKeitz. If it were so important for the Torah to tell us that Yoseif remained in jail two years after the Sar HaMashkim was freed, we would expect to find out in the last pasuk of Parashat VaYeishev! Instead, the Torah uses this fact to build chronological context to a story that has plenty of context already. As soon as the Sar HaMashkim introduces the Na’ar Ivri Eved, it becomes crystal clear how our parasha ties into last week’s story. Perhaps most to the point, in a parasha that details Yoseif’s successes and ascension to power, there is simply no need to know about the punishments he has already overcome.

Perhaps by immediately connecting the story of Paroh’s nightmares to the story of Yoseif’s stay in prison, the Torah hopes to bring other similarities to light. If we look closely at the two dreams of Paroh, we find an interesting similarity to the pair of dreams shared by the butler and baker. After his first dream, Paroh simply awoke and thought nothing much of his nightmare. But after the second dream, the pasuk states “ViHinei Chalom.” The mifarshim explain that Paroh understood the significance of having the same dream repeat in a single night; like one would only ask for advice after having a recurring nightmare, Paroh only asks his magicians for interpretations after having dreamt both dreams.

In similar vein, the dreams of the butler and baker come in a pair, yet they are also referred to as a single Chalom. VaYachalmu Chalom Shneihem, VaYomeru Eilav Chalom Chalmnu, they said to [Yoseif] we have dreamt a dream. Just like by Paroh, the two officers recognize the unity of their dreams because they coincidentally dreamt similar things on the same night. Therefore they continue, U’Fosair Ein Oso, we know these dreams mean something, but we do not know what they mean.

This concept is brought out most explicitly in our parasha, not by the Sar HaMashkim or Sar HaOfim or even Paroh, though they all do refer to the concept, but rather by Yoseif himself. VaYomeir Yoseif El Paroh, Chalom Paroh Echad Hu.

Paroh knows very well he had one dream, and his magicians each give him a single interpretation for a single dream as well. They predict he will have seven daughters and bury seven daughters, conquer seven nations and lose seven nations. When Yoseif steps before Paroh, Paroh even prefaces, “Chalom Asher Chalamti,” it’s a single dream for sure. And Yoseif thinks he’s genius by getting up and saying, “Before I can interpret your dream, I must explain that it’s really one dream. The sevens stand for seven years each and add up to only 14 years, not 28. It’s a single dream.” Apparantly, Paroh is astounded by Yoseif’s ingenuity and appoints him viceroy, but Yoseif is quite clearly just faking his way to power! Shouldn’t Paroh just have realized that Yoseif was simply making the obvious sound more prophetic or emphatic?

Maybe even more bizarre is Paroh’s immediate rejection of his magicians’ explanations. Rashi says that Paroh did not find ease of mind with their interpretations. He seems to assume that there are correct interpretations of the dream and incorrect interpretations of the dream. But when a Navi interprets his Nevua or his dream, doesn’t the interpretation stick, whether it is positive or negative? This was exactly why Chulda HaNiviah was favored over Yirmiyhu as an interpreter towards the end of Bayis Rishon! So how can Paroh pick and choose whichever interpretation he likes?

When Yoseif offers his interpretation, he concludes with a lengthy description of how to avoid suffering in the seven years of blight. What purpose does Yoseif’s solution in his effort to interpret the dream, why should Yoseif bother himself to deal with Paroh’s problems? The answer to this question, the mifarshim bring down, is that every dream has its respective purpose. If Yoseif had simply offered an interpretation, much like the other magicians had, his predictions of food and famine would have been purposeless and useless. What separated Yoseif’s description from the rest was not that he looked at it as one dream instead of two, but rather that he looked at the dream as practical advice.

With this understanding, everything fits into place. When Yosef declares “your dream is really one dream,” Yosef isn’t suggesting that every other magician really thought Paroh dreamt two separate dreams. Yoseif means something totally different. Because Paroh’s dream is one dream, it also bears a single purpose, a single direction. To tell Paroh he would have seven daughters and his seven daughters would die, one would have to reason that Paroh dreamt two dreams! The first dream would have to move Paroh from point A, status quo, to point B, having seven daughters, and the second dream would return him to point A. This is why Paroh was so certain that his magicians could not be correct, and this is why Paroh did not find ease of mind in their interpretations, for their interpretations were certainly amusing and interesting, but there was absolutely nothing Paroh could act upon. However, Yoseif followed his dream with detailed instructions, with directions Paroh could follow to take advantage of the upcoming events, and for that Paroh recognized Yoeif’s genius and considered his interpretation correct.

Let’s stop for a moment and account for what we now know. Yoseif interprets Paroh’s dream correctly because he recognizes that the meaningful information within a dream is only meaningful if it can be acted upon to move the dreamer from status quo to a new status. In Paroh’s case, the awareness of the upcoming years of plenty and famine helped Paroh store enough food in the good years to provide the world with sustenance over the poor years. Furthermore, Paroh was soon not only the ruler of Mitzrayim but rather the entire world. And that’s much grander than conquering a mere seven countries.

But there’s something else Yoseif realizes about the significance of dreams. He says to Paroh, “ViAta, Yaireh Paroh Eesh Navon ViChacham ViShesahu Al Eretz Mitzrayim,” in order to deal with the famine, appoint the wisest man you know over Mitzrayim, and Yoseif continues with his plan to collect and store grain. Perhaps Yoseif wasn’t implicitly referring to himself, but regardless, Paroh immediately appoints Yoseif to the job, claiming, “Acharei Hodi’ah Elokim Osichah Es Kol Zos Ein Navon ViChacham KaMochah.” Whether Paroh is correct or not, it certainly seems as if Yosief is taking unfair advantage of the current situation, playing off of Paroh’s fears to earn himself a spot next to the throne. And his suggestion could have certainly backfired. How was Yoseif so sure that his interpretably selfish proposal wouldn’t royally insult Paroh?

Certainly, Yoseif was not trying to act innocent while appointing himself to the throne. Paroh wasn’t that foolish and probably would have been insulted if he thought Yoseif was manipulating the dreams for his own benefit. Instead, Yoseif reasoned to Paroh “You need me here to interpret your dream, so there must also be some reason why I need to be here to hear the dream, why Hashem has granted these talents and abilities specifically to me. Perhaps what the dream suggests is that someone with my particular skills is the perfect man to act upon your dream and help earn you power over the entire world.” This Paroh thought was a brilliant read into the dream.

Unfortunately, this new notion that the interpreter of the dream should try to relate himself to the dream itself creates new problems with our read of last week’s story. We saw how Rashi chastises Yoseif for putting his trust into a Rehav instead of into Hashem, but is that really what Yoseif did?

“In three more days, Paroh will take stock of you and return you to your perch, and you shall place Paroh’s goblet in his hand as was once decreed that you be his butler, so that you will then mention me to yourself once you have benefited [from my interpretation], and you will do kindness for me and mention me to Paroh and he will take me from this house…”

Beraishis, 40:13-14

Of course Yosief puts his trust into the Sar HaMashkim! Hashem sent him the Sar HaMashkim to get his name mentioned to Paroh. Hashem gave him this interpretation to the dream, and so Yoseif knows this is what Hashem wants him to do. Yosief knows this is Hashem’s master plan to get him out of the jail. If this is considered trusting Rehavim, then why was serving as Paroh’s viceroy any better? He was relying on the power and decrees of Paroh to establish his own name around the world!

But remember, the Sar HaMashkim wasn’t the only one whose dream Yoseif had to interpret. Having already contrived his way out of prison, Yoseif hastily turned the Sar Ha’Ofim’s dream aside, foretelling his imminent execution. If dreams are not only meant to be known but also to be acted upon, there is a serious flaw with Yoseif’s interpretation of the Sar HaOfim’s dream. Sure, Yoseif accurately predicted that the baker would be hanged, but he failed to look for the significance of this fact, the role this knowledge could potentially play in the context of all three men’s predicaments.

Rashi comments on the redundancy of Parashat VaYeishev’s final pasuk, ViLo Zachar Sar HaMashkim Es Yoseif VaYishkacheihu, that one term refers to the immediate forgetting, and the other term refers to the long term memory lapse. However, Rashi uses an interesting word; instead of saying ViLo Zachar LiAlter, that the Sar MaMashkim didn’t mention Yoseif to Paroh immediately, Rashi says he forgot Bo Bayom, on that day. What significance did that particular day carry?

For starters, Bo BaYom refers directly to the day the Sar HaMashkim was released, Paroh’s birthday. But more than that, Bo BaYom was also the day the Sar Ha’Ofim was hanged. Of course, the Sar HaOfim’s inevitable death doesn’t have much of an effect on either Yoseif or the Sar HaMashkim. But what if the Sar Ha’Ofim’s dream was not to be interpreted that he would be executed, but rather that he would be sentenced for execution? That would change everything! All of a sudden, Yoseif would give the Sar Ha’Ofim a chance at life, the Sar HaMashkim could walk into Paroh’s chamber and plead on behalf for his good friend the baker. But if the Sar HaMashkim were going to save his friend, he would have to act fast, he would have to act Bo BaYom. He would also have to mention Yoseif, mention how he know about the Sar Ha’Ofim’s sentencing, and that would surely involve the mentioning of Yoseif to Paroh. Hence, ViLo Zachar Bo BaYom. Amazingly, look what happens when the Sar HaMashkim finally does mention Yoseif to Paroh:

And the Sar HaMashkim spoke to Paroh saying, “Today, I recall my sin. Paroh got angry at his servants, and placed me in jail with the cheil executioner, along with the Sar Ha’Ofim. And we dreamt a dream one night, he and I…”

Beraishis, 41:9-11

The baker has been dead now for two years! What relevance does he have to the Sar HaMashkim’s recollection of Yoseif? Perhaps we see here how fond the Sar HaMashkim truly was of his friend the Sar Ha’Ofim, and how difficult it was to mention Yoseif the Jew, the Na’ar Ivri Eved. Perhaps Yoseif overlooked the ungraciousness of the Sar HaMashkim. Maybe Yoseif thought the least the Sar HaMashkim could do in return was mention him to Paroh. But a Rehav, an arrogant Mitzri like the Sar HaMashkim, had no trouble putting his own personal conveniences in front of Yoseif’s. The only person the Sar HaMashkim would save from Paroh’s hand was a person he personally cared about, namely the Sar Ha’Ofim.

We can now recognize a tremendous maturation in Yoseif over those two years. When he encountered the dreams of the butler and baker, he understood very well that the dreams had significance, but he was too busy tending to his own personal needs to consider the needs of the Sar Ha’Ofim. Yoseif’s description of how and why the Sar MaHashkim should get him out of jail is as long as the two dreams’ interpretations combined! Had he tried to save the Sar Ha’Ofim too, had he considered why Hashem brought him two distressed people with two dreams, then maybe he would have been saved a lot earlier.

Yoseif was therefore punished with two additional years in prison, and it was those years when Yoseif internalized these most valuable lessons. What happened over those two unaccounted years? Yoseif’s maturation. And without attaining that higher level of maturity, what would Paroh’s dreams have looked like to Yoseif? He probably would have succumbed to the same mistakes he made in prison. Instead of foretelling a potential famine that could be prepared for, the predicted blight would have been imminently destructive – just as the baker’s death sentence was – and all of Mitzrayim would have died out. Instead of asking for a position as viceroy to help save the nation, Yoseif probably would have asked for some trifling reward in return for his accurate interpretation. All of a sudden, the fact that Paroh’s dream occurred two years after the Sar HaMashkim was released from prison doesn’t just put chronological context on our story; it helps us define Yoseif’s present character and maturity.

Fortunately, Yoseif learned his lesson quickly enough, in time to save Mitzrayim and in time to reach the level of power he was destined to achieve. But most importantly, in time to teach the same lesson to his brothers. Years back when he first dreamt his own pair of dreams, both he and his brothers made this very mistake. Not once did Yoseif consider how his brothers would react to the dreams, nor did his brothers consider whether there could be some positive outcome to Yoseif’s rise to power, like his ability to provide them with food in a time of severe famine. Neither looked past his own personal needs; Yoseif wanted to rule and the brothers did not want to be slaves. Through the charades Yoseif plays with his brothers, ultimately kidnapping Binyamin, testing whether any of the brothers would risk his life for his half-brother’s sake, Yoseif tries to teach us that when approaching the troubles in the world, it is far more important to consider the needs of others.

Parashat VaYeishev

After it writes for you Eisav’s settlings and offspring in a concise manner – for it is not worth the space to detail how they settled or chronicle their battles and their victory of the Choree – it details Yaakov’s settlings and his offspring in a lengthy manner, with all the happenings which caused them, for they are indeed important to Hashem to expand on them.

Rashi, Beraishis 37:1

For the next four parashiot, the Torah turns its full focus to the tale of Yoseif and his brothers, and Rashi seems to explain to us why so much space is needed to chronicle this story. Rashi alludes to “Gilgulei Sibasam,” the continuous turns of events that bring our story to its unlikely and unpredictable climax; there is a focus on not only the outcome of these parashiot, but also on the particular methods by which we arrive at their conclusion. In contrast, Rashi observes, the story of Eisav carries no further importance than its conclusion, and so we skip the gory details of how Eisav won so many battles and conquered so many lands; we merely list the future rulers of Edom, as late as “Aloof Magdiel,” which the Midrash comments is Rome.

What Rashi fails to answer, however, is why the lineage and history of Edom is mentioned first. We emphasize the Chashivus of Yaakov’s story and the need to dwell on every detail, and yet it seems to take a backseat to the “trivial” affairs of Beit Eisav. If Yaakov’s story was so precious to Hashem, why shouldn’t the listing of Eisav’s lineage wait until the end of Sefer Beraishis?

Similarly we find by the generations from Adam to Noach “He begot him” and so and so, and then it dwells on Noach. And from Noach to Avraham the same.

Rashi’s continuation does not answer our question. We chronicle the generations according to chronology; once we reach the appropriate place in the timeline, the Torah slows down the story to include every crucial detail. But do we ever break from the historical order? Strangely enough, we do by Eisav. Aloof Magdiel, among many of the other listed chieftains, wasn’t even born before Moshe’s death, let alone before Yoseif’s dreams. Why then is the Torah so eager to run through Eisav’s lineage?

Rashi certainly cannot be focusing on the chronology of the stories; after all, if Yoseif is only seventeen years old at the beginning of our parasha, Yitzchak must still be alive, yet Yitzchak’s burial is clearly detailed before the Torah discusses a word about Eisav’s progeny! Chronology is clearly not the Torah’s concern, but what then determines our parashiot’s organization of Yitzchak’s family tree?

This is comparable to a pearl that falls in the sand. A man feels around for it and sifts with a sifter until he finds the pearl. Once he finds it, then he throws away all the pebbles from his hand and takes the pearl.

Clearly, Eisav is compared to the pebbles and Yaakov is compared to the pearl. The man is either Hashem or the Torah. If Rashi wasn’t clear before, he explicitly states here that the purpose of running through Eisav’s lineage is so that we can cast him aside.

But why does Rashi tell us that the pebbles are in this man’s hand to begin with? Why not just write, “Once he finds the pearl, he takes it”? Perhaps Rashi is emphasizing the value of these pebbles. Had the man not found a pearl, he would have been willing to hold on to the few pebbles he discovered; only after he uncovers treasure do the pebbles become relatively worthless. Likewise, the Torah first addresses Eisav’s story to teach us that Eisav bears worth, but once Yaakov enters the spotlight, Eisav is permanently cast aside.

The Gemara in Avodah Zara teaches us that before Hashem awarded the Torah to the B’nei Yisrael, He first gave every other nation a chance to accept His offer. The Sifri recounts Hashem’s conversation with the B’nei Eisav:

He proposed the Torah to the B’nei Eisav, and they responded, “What does the Torah say?” Hashem replied, “Lo Tirtzach, you may not kill.” Upon hearing this, the Bnei Eisav replied “How can we be expected to keep the Torah?! We are the children of Eisav, whose nature was to kill, like the pasuk says “ViHaYadayim Yidei Eisav,” and who was promised by his father, Yitzchak, “Al Charbichah Tichyeh, you shall live by your sword.” We cannot accept the Torah and abandon our lifestyle.”

Sifri, Devarim 33:2

This Midrash suggests that Eisav was in fact capable of accepting the Torah. The only thing that stopped him and his descendants was their unwillingness to detach themselves from their exhilarating lives of battle and murder. As Rashi states in Parashat ViZos HaBracha, “Lo Ratzu,” the B’nei Eisav were simply uninterested.

Perhaps Eisav is not hastily counted so as to be immediately disposed of. Perhaps we don’t really recognize how wantonly we rush through Eisav’s lineage until we contrast his story, or lack thereof, against Ya’akov’s. Like the man with the pebbles, we can only measure Eisav’s worth on a relative scale, and so we recount each king’s and capital’s name, but the description ultimately bears no comparison to the parashiot of VaYeishev through VaYechi. Just as Hashem first proposes the Torah to the Bnei Eisav, we too first consider his spiritual worth. But we soon come to recognize how little worth he and his descendants truly bear.

Parashat Toldos

Upon discovery that Ya’akov has stolen his blessings, Eisav blurts out a fascinating accusation: “Is this perhaps why his name is Ya’akov? He has now tricked me twice! First he took my birthright and now he takes my blessings!” But how many tricks does Yaakov really pull? Rashi, quoting the Medrash Tanchuma, details the dialogue between Yitzchak and his favorite son:

Hachee Kara Shemo Ya’akov VaYa’akveini Zeh Pa’amayim (Beraishis 27:36)

Why did Yitzchak tremble? He said [to himself] “Perhaps I have sinned, for I have blessed the younger son before the older and deviated from the order of lineage!” Then Eisav began to yell, “He tricked me twice!” so his father said to him, “when else has he tricked you?” and Eisav replied, “he took my birthright.” [At that moment,] Yitzchak said “Over this I was troubled and trembling, for perhaps I had acted unjustly, but now I see I have blessed the Bechor, Gam Baruch Yiheyeh.”

Rashi, Beraishis 27:36

When Yitzchak discovers that Ya’akov is the true Bechor, he stops trembling because he realizes that the Brachos went to the Bechor just as intended. So didn’t Ya’akov only trick Eisav once with a pot of lentils, and then as a result of the first trick earn the Brachos later on? Yet if Ya’akov truly had already earned the Bechor’s blessings, then why couldn’t he simply inform Yitzchak of their sale and avoid all this confusion and trickery? But before we investigate Ya’akov’s plan, let’s analyze Eisav’s accusation.

Eisav’s query is doubly perplexing when we consider that the pasukim tell us quite explicitly the reason for Ya’akov’s mame. ViAcharei Kain Yatzah Achiv ViYado Ochezes Ba’Akeiv Eisav, Ya’akov was named for holding onto Eisav’s heel; nothing to do with trickery! Perhaps Eisav’s argument is that Ya’akov’s name bears more than one meaning. Indeed, Rashi makes such a suggestion. Rashi notes that most children are named by their mothers, and so when each of Ya’akov’s children is born, the pasuk states VaTikra, she named him;” however, our pasuk reads VaYikra Shemo Ya’akov. Rashi answers that each Yitzchak and Hashem named Ya’akov, and the Sifsei Chachamim suggest that each awarded Ya’akov his name for a different reason. Yitzchak presently saw Ya’akov hold onto Eisav’s heel, and Hasem knew Ya’akov would trick his brother twice in the future. So “Ya’akov” doesn’t solely refer to holding on to Eisav’s ankle, and it would seem that Eisav’s accusation was actually Hashem’s original intention behind Ya’akov’s name!

But where do we see two separate tricks? The Ayin-Kuf-Vet shoresh doesn’t only mean to “trick,” according to Rashi; it could also mean to ambush, to lay low and then unexpectedly attack, like in Devarim 19:11. Though Ya’akov took the Bechorah from his brother in the beginning of the parasha, it was quite likely that Yitzchak would have given the Brachos to Eisav regardless of firstborn rights. Whether Ya’akov was a Bechor or not would only have altered which set of Brachos were to be transmitted first. A similar idea is expressed in Cham’s construction of cities for his sons. Just like Cham build Tzo’an, an inferior city, for his second son Mitzrayim before he built the superior city Chevron for his youngest son Cana’an, the order of the Brachos’ transmission isn’t necessarily related to their value. Ya’akov therefore laid low until the appropriate time, and he received the Brachos intended for Eisav by ambush, by sneakily approaching his father as the Bechor.

Within an orderly lawful system, the Bechor goes first. Had Yaakov not been the firstborn, Ya’akov’s Bracha would have been the product of theft and usurpation since it was done in an anarchical manner. But when Yitzchak discovered that Ya’akov truly was the Bechor and that there was no technical error, that the Bechor did indeed receive his Brachos first, Yitzchak understood that his younger son’s actions did not create injustice, but rather kept the proper justice in place, namely that the Bechor received his Brachos first.

Rashi explains that Yitzchak stopped trembling when he discovered Ya’akov was the Bechor. At first glance, one would not expect Yitzchak to find any ease in this information, for he should realize that his own son has been plotting behind his back for decades now. But a closer look shows that the peace of mind did not come from knowing that Ya’akov received the Brachos he deserved, but rather from knowing that the son with the firstborn rights received his Brachos first. From there, Yitzchak drew the rest of his conclusions. He came to understand the true meaning behind his younger son’s name. He came to understand his son’s silence – as compared to Eisav’s aggressiveness – and its useful purposes; ambush was Ya’akov’s only way of acquiring that which was destined to be his. And the two – now separate – tricks played on Eisav were each essential steps. First he acquired the Bechorah, and then he stole the Brachos.

Shmuel said: There is another festival in Rome. Once every seventy years, they take a healthy man [corresponding to Eisav] and ride him upon [signifying dominance over] a lame man [corresponding to Ya’akov, who was lamed in his battle against Eisav’s malach]… and they say “Achua DiMarana Ziifana,” the brother [Achua] of our master [DiMarana, referring to Eisav HaRashah] is a fraud [Ziifana, meaning that Ya’akov fraudulently prophesied the eventual coming of Moshiach, but now that Yisrael has permanently been defeated by Edom, Moshiach will surely not come].

Rav Ashi said: They have tripped over their own mouths, for had they said Ziifana Achua DiMarana, it would mean what they intended to say, “A fraud is the brother of our master.” But now that they have said Achua DiMarana Ziifana, it is the Marana who is the Ziifana [for the phrase can be reinterpreted to mean “The brother of our fraudulent master”]!

Mesechet Avoda Zara, 11b

Rav Ashi makes a seemingly irrelevant comment in this gemara. Who cares whether the Romans said the word Ziifana before the phrase Achua DiMarana? Either way, they meant that Ya’akov, not Eisav, was the fraud! The GR”A answers that Rav Ashi here is offering a profound insight into the nature of Edim’s claims. On the surface, reality suggests that they are the victiorious nation. Yisrael is enslaved and cannot sink any lower. Yet within the syntax of their very statement, and within the fabric of their very ideology, comes the source of Yisrael’s salvation. Many phrases have double meanings, and the Bnei Yisrael’s survival is not only hinted by these nuances, but rather defined by them. Within every generation, the Jews are oppressed and suppressed, but ultimately all the suffering will be converted into salvation. Hashem calls us His “Bni Bechori,” and now all that’s left is for us to lie in ambush.

It is this same approach that we can take to explain Ya’akov’s most troubling claim in the parasha. When Yitzchak asks him “are you my son Eisav,” Ya’akov insidiously replies “Anochi Eisav Bechorechah.” Ya’akov blatantly lies in order to force the Brachos out of his father; how can he do such a thing!? Rashi tries to justify Ya’akov’s righteousness: “I am the one bringing you food, and Eisav is your Bechor.” What a weak unsatisfying explanation. Is this really what Ya’akov meant to say?! And even if he intended this, Yitzchak was certainly deceived! So how does is this form of deception any better?

However, if we understand that the success of Ya’akov is defined within the very ambiguity of words, as the GR”A noted on the gemara in Avoda Zara, then Rashi’s approach is quite satisfying after all. The Gur Aryeh compares Ya’akov’s reply to Eisav’s. When Eisav walks in, he says Ani Bincha Bechorcha Eisav, but Ya’akov uses the word Anochi. The Gur Aryeh points out that the word Ani cannot stand on its own unless it id a complete sentence. Ani Eisav Bechorach would have been a lie. And Ya’akov could have said this, but he didn’t. When Ya’akov says Anochi Eisav Bechorechah, his words can be interpreted in multiple ways, and Ya’akov bears no responsibility for his father’s assumptions. Ultimately, Yitzchak discovers what Ya’akov’s words meant, and at that point, he stops trembling.

It seems like a weird coincidence that Hashem would choose to name Ya’akov exactly as Yitzchak did, but we now see that part of the meaning behind Ya’akov’s name is its very ambiguity. What makes Yaakov’s name and its dual meaning so incredible is its ability to conceal the truth as long as necessary. We only discover what Ya’akov is destined to do after he does it! But until then, we can only read between the lines, noting the nuances that help us embrace the coming of Moshiach, just as Rav Ashi did.

Good Shabbos.

Parashat Chayei Sarah

Everyone likes a good story. After weeks and months of parashiot with little narrative, the legendary tales of Sefer Beraishis are a perennially welcomed transition. We soon forget the litany of seemingly unrelated mitzvos that comprise Ki Teitzei, the catalog of curses that consume Ki Tavo, and the vivacious vocabulary that would bring Ha’azinu to life, if only we could understand what the words meant. But at a certain point, even the storytelling gets a little out of hand. At first glance, Eliezer’s trip to retrieve Rivkah as Avraham’s future daughter-in-law was not only a marvelous success; it was a total breeze. He arrives 16 days early, according to the Midrash, immediately chances upon the right girl, and brings her back to Cana’an the very next day! So how does the Torah turn this rather anticlimactic account into virtually an entire parasha?! If it wasn’t detailed enough – with asides like Eliezer giving water for his men to wash their feet – Eliezer then repeats the entire story, in case we missed anything the first time! Why?

Va’Avo HaYom El Ha’Ayin (Beraishis 24:42)

Va’Avo HaYom, [why does Eliezer need to specifiy that he arrived that day? Rather, Eliezer must mean,] “I left [Avraham’s home] today and I arrived [in Charan] today.” From here we learn that [Eliezer’s] path of travel was contracted. Rabbi Acha said: The chatter of even the forefathers’ slaves is more precious to Hashem that the Torah of his children, the halachos observed by the later generations. Therefore the story of Eliezer spans two or three pages and is doubled, whereas the [halachos of Tumah, which are the] Gufei Torah, the body of Torah law, are contained within a few extra letters here and there.

Rashi, Beraishis 24:42

Rashi, quoting the Midrash Rabbah, explains exactly why the Torah spends so much time on this tangent. But this Rashi still leaves us to wonder why the chatter of the Avadim is so precious. The Midrash apparently proposes that the amount of pasukim devoted to a particular inyan indicates the topic’s relative importance. But why then would we consider the Halachos of Tumah to be the Gufei Torah? Either it is present in the pasukim and thereby bears greater importance, or it is absent from the pasukim and is thereby secondary to the Avadim’s chatter? Furthermore, Rashi’s lashon suggests that it is chatter that is always more valuable than Torah, even when it comes from Avadim, but why would Hashem ever consider chatter more precious than Torah?

Perhaps the strongest question we should ask is on Rashi’s placement of this Midrash. It doesn’t appear at the start of Eliezer’s repetition, nor does it appear at the end, but rather somewhere close to the middle. Rashi seems to be using this pasuk, VaAvo HaYom El Ha’Ayin, to drive home the point of this Midrash, namely that Eliezer’s story was repeated simply because of its value in Hashem’s eyes. But this very pasuk, of all the pasukim in Eliezer’s account, is the one source that suggests exactly the opposite! Rashi says “from here we learn that Eliezer’s path was shortened,” so without this repetitive account, Rashi implies that we never would have known this fact. Eliezer’s story can’t be looked at as a repetition after all; it bears new details, details that did not find their way into the nuances of the Torah’s initial account. Could we argue anymore that Eliezer’s words were repeated out of their relative preciousness?

The Nachalas Ya’akov is also very troubled by Rashi’s placement of this Midrash, but for different reason. If we look in the Midrash Rabbah, we find that this drasha, this inference that the path was shortened for Eliezer’s sake, is not learned out of Eliezer’s report but rather from the initial account. Actually, a closer look into the Midrash shows that the Amora’im themselves weren’t really so certain as to the source of this drasha. It’s a lot easier to describe their confusion by quoting the Midrash:

VaYakam VaYeilech El Aram Nahara’im (Beraishis 24:11)

Rabbi Yitzchak said: This trip took only one day. [The juxtaposition of VaYakam and VaYeilech implies that he left and immediately arrived in Charan.] From where did Rabbi Yitzchak know this? From the pasuk Va’Avo HaYom El HaAyin…

Beraishis Rabbah, 59:11

So where did Rabbi Yitzchak learn Kfitzas HaDerech from? The Nachalas Ya’akov proposes that both paskim serve as valid sources for the limud. However, the author of this Midrash was bothered by Rabbi Yitzchak’s drasha because the Kfitzas HaDerech didn’t seem to serve any significant purpose. Yes, it made Eliezer’s life relatively easier. But the real point of Hashem’s miracles along the way was to ensure that Rivkah would follow him home and her family would consent. When Lavan and Bisu’el hear about all the amazing Nissim performed for Eliezer, all the pleasant coincidences, they exclaim MeiHashem Yatzah HaDAvar, Lo Nuchal LiDabeir Eilechah Rah O’ Tov, and the deal is immediately done. Therefore, we are skeptical as to whether Eliezer traveled a seventeen day journey in only one day, until we can find a source suggesting that Eliezer told over such a miracle to Bissuel.

Perhaps this explains why Eliezer’s story, though precious to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, is only repeated once. When Eliezer returns to Yitzchak, the pasuk relates “VaYisapeir HaEved LiYitzchak Es Kol HaDivarim Asher Asah,” that he told Yitzchak about all the things Hashem did to aide his journey. Why contract the fantastic story into this one short pasuk? But since the miracles occurred for the sole purpose of informing Rivkah’s family, there was no need for the Torah to elaborate a third time; this ‘chatter of the forefather’s servant’ was relatively superfluous.

Our questions on Rashi disappear. The drasha Va’Avo HaYom is indeed repeated, although Rashi says we ‘learn’ from this particular pasuk that Eliezer’s distance was shortened. The Nachalas Ya’akov explains that Rashi chooses this pasuk to elaborate on Eliezer’s long-winded repetition of the story because it is this pasuk that contains the repetition of Hashem’s miracle, the Kfitzas HaDerech. Rashi uses the Midrash to argue that the stories even slaves tell can be more precious in Hashem’s eyes than the Halachos upon which our Torah is built because these stories can help us to recognize the tremendous miracles Hashem is capable of performing. The Anaf Yoseif brings this point out in a beautiful analogy:

Yafah Sichasan Shel Avdei Avos… (Beraishis Rabbah 60:8)

Chas Vishalom the Torah merely came to relate stories, and the breath of those who claim such should evaporate! Rather, the secret behind these stories is: The Malachim are made of fire and dressed in fire, but when they are sent down to this world, they dress in material clothing in order for this world to properly accommodate them. Kal ViChomeir, the Torah, which is above the Malachim, for HaKadosh Baruch Hu peered into it and created Olam Hazeh with the very intent that the world’s inhabitants accommodate it (the Torah), was dressed in a clothing, namely stories that people could understand.

Anaf Yoseif, Beraishis Rabbah 60:8

The Anaf Yoseif here relates a tremendous Yesod. The stories of the Torah contain many lessons and many inferable Halachos and Midos. But there is much more to glean from these tales, more than we can find even in the endless commandments of a Parashat Ki Teitzei, or in the dense discourse of a Parashat Ki Tavo. Here we can see the hand of G-d acting, just as it did in Ma’aseh Beraishis, actively partaking in the unfolding of every plot. We see it most clearly in the chronicles of Beraishis and Noach, and more subtly by the saga of Yoseif and his brothers. And here, where Eliezer relates this most awesome fact, that Hashem truly does control each and every historical plot, the account is repeated. Perhaps we can take this new approach to storytelling and build it into a new way to look at the entire Sefer Beraishis. Let’s begin with the first Rashi in the entire Torah:

Amar Rebbe Yitzchak: Hashem didn’t need to begin the Torah from before HaCHodesh HaZeh Lachem, for that is the first mitzvah commanded to the Bnei Yisrael. Why then did He begin with Beraishis? Because He tells us the power of His actions, Koach Ma’asav Higid LiAmo, for if the other nations shall ever say to Yisrael, “You are bandits! You have unjustly conquered the lands of the seven nations!” Yisrael can reply, “All the land belongs to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, He created it and He gives it to whomever He pleases. It was His will to give it [to the seven nations] and it was His will to take it from them and give it to us.”

Rashi, Beraishis 1:1

There are numerous questions on this Rashi, but let’s focus for now on the two strongest, most basic, questions. Rashi first asks why the Torah doesn’t begin from HaChodesh HaZeh Lachem, putting the significance of 62 perakim of Torah into question. Yet the answer Rashi gives only reveals the purpose behind one pasuk! The Torah should tell us Beraishis Barah Elokim – we’ll know what to answer to the Goyim – and then skip ahead to HaChodesh HaZeh! Futhermore, Rashi acknowledges that we are responding to Goyim, nations that do not recognize the power of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. So what good could it possibly do us to tell these nations all about Hashem having created the world, about Hashem’s carte blanche to take and give Eretz Yisrael to deserving nations? Clearly, we are missing Rashi’s point.

Perhaps the key behind Rashi’s argument falls on those very first words He quotes. Why doesn’t the Torah begin with a litany of mitzvos, all those detailed instructions that consume our everyday life, Rashi asks. Why does it begin with chapters and chapters of stories? And the answer? Koach Ma’asav Higid LiAmo, to teach us, His own nation, about His incredible strengths. These stories are what help us stand up to the Goyim, to say that we believe in Hashem’s Kochos, so that when they call us bandits, we will stand our ground, whether or not the Goyim listen to us. The Torah is for us, not Goyim, and whether other nations will ever accept our beliefs, we must never forget what we truly believe in. We believe in the Kochos of Hashem, and we learn of these Kochos through the stories of Beraishis.

It is the storytelling of Beraishis that lends us the strength to accept Hashem’s Torah. Without the recognition of Hashgachah Pratis, without the cognizance of Hashem’s hand through the totality of history, up until our very times, the mitzvos we are instructed to keep and perform lose connection from their very source. It is the storytelling of Beraishis that prepares us for a Yitzeas Mitzrayim and a Mattan Torah in but twelve more weeks, so that weeks from now, we can embrace the statutes of a Parashat Mispatim with open arms and open hearts. And months from now, when we arrive at a pasuk “Binu Shnos Dor VaDor, She’al Avicha ViYagedchah, Zikeinechah ViYomru Lach,” we will understand what value the Shnos Dor VaDor truly hold. Good Shabbos.

Parashat VaYeira

Before resolving to destroy the cities of Sedom and Amora, Hashem first consults his loyal follower Avraham, giving Avraham ample chance to defend the cities. But ultimately, Avraham’s pleas are to no avail, and Sodom and Amora are reduced to rubble. Many wonder, why then did Hashem feel the need to inform Avraham? If there was nothing Avraham could do, what benefit did Hashem foresee in opening Sedom’s fate to discussion?

And Hashem said, “Am I to cover from Avraham what I am about to do [to Sedom and Amora]? Avraham will soon be a great nation, and all nations of the world will be blessed by his name. For I am attracted to him, because he commands his children and household to keep to the Derech Hashem, to do Tzedek and Mishpat, in order [that Hashem] bring on Avraham what He has promised him.”

Beraishis, 18:17-19

Hashem answers our question Himself ever so clearly in these few pasukim. Avraham is seen as a fatherly figure, a Michaneich, not only to his own children and household, but to even the other nations of the world. Even if Sedom and Amora are not deserving of Avraham’s defense, it would simply be improper for Hashem to destroy them without informing Avraham, a leader who has invested so much in even these rotten cities. In just last week’s parasha we witnessed Avraham valiantly risk his life in order to help the kings of these wicked cities. For sure Avraham at least deserves to hear his people’s sentence before it is carried out.

This opinion, however, is clearly not shared by the Mizrachi, who fervently searches for a connection between the stories of Avraham’s three angelic visitors and his defense of the city of Sedom. The Mizrachi notes the syntax of the phrase “ViHashem Amar HaMichaseh Ani MeiAvraham.” We would normally expect to see the pasuk write “VaYomeir Hashem.” Perhaps the intent of the pasuk is to illustrate that Hashem had already resolved to tell Avraham about Sodom’s verdict. In similar vein, we find Chazal infer from the words “ViHashem Pakad Es Sarah” that Sarah had already been remembered prior to the pasuk’s chronological placement (see 21:1, Rashi D”H ViHashem Pakad Es Sarah). However, Hashem decided to wait on telling Avraham until after He sent the three guests; only then would Avraham be fit to defend Sedom and Amora, for he would have proven his care for every individual by performing proper Hachnasas Orchim.

It seems clear from the Mizrachi’s comments that Avraham did not yet deserve to know about the judgment on Sedom until after he took care of the Malachim. But doesn’t Hashem resolve to inform Avraham based on the merits of his future? If Hashem has already reasoned “Ki Yidativ Lima’an Asher Yitzaveh Es Banav” before He even sent the Malachim, then how could the Mizrachi suggest that Avraham was not yet fit to defend Sedom?

Perhaps we can approach Hashem’s reasoning for informing Avraham from an even simpler angle. Hashem puts a lot of emphasis on the Chinuch Avraham performs. The later generations, Avraham’s descendents, will study and learn from their forefather’s actions; therefore, it is important that Avraham teach his descendents that one should never simply accept Hashem’s Midas HaDin, but should always pray for Rachamim, right until the last moment. Whether Avraham is successful in defending Sedom is of little consequence; we still learn the proper fashion by which we should entreat HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and we still learn how to exhibit proper care for other individuals, even individuals like the members of Sedom and Amora.

But we can also learn from the Malachim’s visit, for we see that Avraham could not defend Sedom or Amora until he had welcomed the Malachim into his home and treated them properly. Avraham surely already merited that Hashem inform him about Za’akas Sedom Va’Amora, but his descendants needed to learn what type of man could argue with Hashem on behalf of others. Through the care Avraham shows for the Malachim, we see exactly what type of person has the Pischon Peh to plead with Hashem on behalf of another’s well-being.

But why then begin the parahsa with the Malachim’s visit? If the Mizrachi’s take – how Hashem first resolved to tell Avraham about Sedom and Amora, then sent the Malachim, and then informed Avraham – is the correct progression of our parahsa’s story, why do we begin with VaYeira Eilav Hashem? Shouldn’t we begin with HaMichaseh Ani MeiAvraham, and then Hashem should appear to Avraham and send the Malachim?

Before we attempt to explain the significance of the parasha’s order, we should take note of something a little more subtle, something that bothered the Mizrachi about his own pshat. Analyzing the first Rashi in the parasha, where Rashi explains that Hashem appeared to Avraham in order to be Mivakeir Choleh, the Mizrachi wonders how Rashi knew that Bikur Cholim was the purpose of Hashem’s visit. Couldn’t it have simply been to inform Avraham about Sedom and Amora? Therefore, the Mizrachi asks on himself, Rashi must have believed that Hashem did not first appear with the intention of informing Avraham about Sedom and Amorah.

Although the Mizrachi leaves the question on himself a rather large Tzarich Iyun, the Levush HaOrah comes to his defense. Had the pasuk intended to tell us that Hashem appeared to Avraham to tell him about Sedom and Amora, the pasuk would have read “VaYeira Hashem Eilav,” Hashem appeared to him. “VaYeira Eilav Hashem,” on the other hand, means that Hashem appeared for him, for Avraham’s personal benefit. This cannot refer to Hashem’s need to tell Avraham about Sedom and Amora, for that futile discussion served no direct benefit to Avraham. Although Hashem did appear to Avraham in order to discuss Sedom, Hashem prioritizes the reasons for His visit and first asks about Avraham’s well-being.

Perhaps it is from this very first pasuk that Avraham learns to argue on Sedom’s behalf. Avraham sees how Hashem puts the urgency of Sedom’s cries to the side in order to attend to another’s health and well being, and so Avraham does the same, forgetting about Hashem’s Din and discussing the prospect of Tzadikim in Sedom. What better a pasuk with which to open the parasha that VaYeira Eilav Hashem, for we learn from it that the actions of our forefathers we so often strive to imitate are really the actions of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. Before we can discuss the importance and significance of Avraham’s Midos, the parasha details Hashem’s Midos, anchoring all the “Tzedek and Mishpat” we perform to its most perfect source.

Hashem’s words HaMichaseh Ani MaiAvraham is then not an expression of sympathy but rather one of urgency. We can come to emulate the actions of Avraham, but will we ever recognize that we “keep to the Derech Hashem” by doing so? Through the gestures and conversations of parashat VaYeira, we not only learn a few helpful Midos, but we discover that copying the Avos’ actions will teach us how to live our lives more properly, for nobody had a greater mentor than the Avos did.

Parashat ViZos HaBracha

VaYamas Sham Moshe Eved Hashem BiEretz Moav (Devarim, 34:5)

VaYamas Sham Moshe. Is it possible that Moshe died and wrote “And Moshe died there”? Rather, Moshe wrote up until this point [in the Torah] and Yehoshua wrote the rest. Rabbi Me’ir says: Is it possible the Sefer Torah [Moshe handed to the Levi’im] was lacking anything? Doesn’t the pasuk say “Take this Sefer Torah”? Rather, Hashem dictated [these final eight pasukim] and Moshe wrote them with tears.

Rashi, Devarim, 34:5

One opinion says Moshe wrote the last eight pasukim of the Torah. The other opinion attributes authorship to Yehoshua. One seems bothered by Moshe’s ability to write about his future – it would be paradoxical for a living man to write of his death, and physically impossible if he were dead. The other seems more perplexed by the notion that Moshe would leave us an incomplete Sefer Torah.

It’s not a very complicated Machlokes. In fact, what bothers me most about Rashi’s comments is how simplistically the two angles are presented. The second opinion suggests that Moshe didn’t have to foresee the future in order to write his Sefer Torah; Hashem could simply dictate the words to him. So why can’t the first opinion accept this argument. The first opinion sees no apparent problem with Yehoshua’s authorship of the final eight pasukim, so why can’t the second opinion take the same approach? At first glance, there’s a heated debate in this Sifri, but at second glance, neither opinion appears to be in discussion with its counterpart!

Let’s first reconsider what question these two opinion’s address. Does the first opinion really have a problem with Moshe writing about his imminent future? Moshe knows he’s about to die, he even said so at the opening of Parashat VaYeilech, so why would it be impossible for him to write “VaYamas Sham Moshe”? Furthermore, only a few pasukim later, we read “Lo Kam Navi Od BiYisrael KiMoshe.” No matter who wrote that pasuk, he certainly would have to know a little about the future to truly assert that no future Navi would ever be as great as Moshe. So how does one take issue with Moshe foretelling his own death and yet see no difficulty with Yehoshua prediction of Moshe’s everlasting legacy?

Maybe we should be a little more careful in our analysis of this Sifri’s question. Rashi writes, Efshar SheMoshe Meis ViKasav VaYamas Sham Moshe, is it possible that Moshe dies and then writes “And Moshe died there”? In other words, Rashi is not concerned how Moshe could have written this pasuk while he was alive. Rather, Rashi’s only concern was how Moshe could write it while he was dead!

Perhaps what’s really bothering these Tanna’im is the tense of the pasuk, the fact that it is written in lashon avar. Had the pasuk said “And Moshe was about to die,” they would take no issue with Moshe’s ability to foresee his imminent death. But because the pasuk is written in past tense, Moshe would first have to die and only then could write about his death from the appropriate chronological perspective. The first opinion is so troubled by the tense of VaYamas Sham Moshe that he concludes the pasuk simply could not have been authored by Moshe; it must have been Yehoshua’s contribution. However, the second opinion (Rabbi Me’ir) is so troubled by the notion of Moshe handing over an incomplete Sefer Torah that he concludes the word VaYamas simply cannot be read literally. It wasn’t that Hashem dictated the words of Torah to Moshe, but rather that He informed Moshe of his nearing death, and Moshe cried over the information. The Gur Aryeh explains that Moshe’s sadness was the first step to his death, and so the pasuk says he “died” there a lesser, somewhat proverbial, death.

At first glance, it is the opinion of Rabbi Me’ir that appears more straightforward and sensible. He reasons that Moshe wrote the entire Sefer Torah, leaving none for Yehoshua to complete, while the Rabanan insist on complicating matters, suggesting that Yehoshua did indeed partake in the authorship of the Torah. But why then would Rashi leave Rabbi Meir’s insight until the end of his comments? Shouldn’t the Rabanan’s obscure approach take a backseat to the simplicity of Rabbi Meir’s? However, the Sifri’s question falls solely on the difficulties surrounding the word VaYamos. It is therefore Rabbi Me’ir’s opinion that contains a far greater stretch, for only one of the two opinions can explain the term VaYamos according to its simple meaning.

On the surface this Sifri clearly comes to discuss the final eight pasukim of the Torah, but perhaps its discussion also helps clarify the final three pasukim. The Torah sensibly should have ended where Sefer Yehoshua picks up, namely with the death of Moshe and the rise of Yehoshua. Yet even after Yehoshua’s establishment as a leader, the Torah takes a step back to inform us:

ViLo Kam Navi Od BiYisrael KiMoshe Asher Yida’o Hashem Panim El Panim LiChol HaOsos ViHaMofesim Asher Shelacho Hashem La’Asos BiEretz Mitzrayim LiFaroh U’LiChol Avadav U’LiChol Artzo U’Lichol HaYad HaChazaka U’Lichol HaMora HaGadol Asher Asah Moshe Li’Einei Kol Yisrael.

(Devarim, 34:10-12)

In other words, the Torah ends with a run-on sentence that returns to the topics addressed in Sefer Shemos, veering as far away as possible from the context of our current parasha. Is this Moshe’s eulogy? Perhaps. Or maybe it is something much more eternally significant than a heartfelt farewell.

When we consider the struggles the Sifri encounters with the word VaYamos, we come to recognize the importance this Midrash places on the Torah’s completion just as Moshe hands the leadership to Yehoshua. If we look through Sefer Devarim, we see that before Moshe could ever teach the Mitzvos that comprise the latter half of the book, he first had to come to terms with the nation, to rebuke and reprove them, and to reach a common ground. He told over the stories of Mitzrayim and the Midbar through his own eyes, and only when the nation could view their history as Moshe did could they also view the Torah as Moshe did.

Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Levi said: When Moshe ascended to the heavens [to receive the Torah], the Malachei HaShareis said to HaKadosh Baruch Hu “Ribono Shel Olam! What is this mortal doing amongst us?!” [Hashem] replied to them, “He has come to accept the Torah.” They said to [Hashem], “The Chamuda Genuza, Your precious [Torah of] secrets that You stored away for 974 generations before the world was created, You now want to give it to flesh and blood?!”… Hashem said to Moshe, “Answer them.”… [Moshe] said, “Ribono Shel Olam, what does it say in the Torah You are giving me?” Anochee Hashem Elokecha Asher Hotzaiseecha MaiEretz Mitzrayim. [Moshe said to the Malachim,] “Were you enslaved to Paroh? Then what is the Torah for you?… What else does it say? Kaveid Es Avicha ViEs Imecha. Do you have parents to honor? Then the Torah is clearly not for [Malachim].”

Mesechet Shabbos, 88b

The gemara in Mesechet Shabbos reminds us that the Torah may be a very holy book, but it is still written from a human perspective. Mohe could not simply hand the Bnei Yisrael a scroll and expect them to follow it, but he couldn’t describe its laws either. Instead, Moshe gave over a perspective of the world, and that perspective was used to build context for our understanding of the Torah, even today.

We all too often consider Moshe’s life a story within the Torah, but perhaps it is really the Torah’s story that is conveyed through Moshe’s eyes. It is Moshe’s viewpoint, from Moshe’s vantage, that is transmitted in the final Sefer of the Chamisha Chumshei Torah. Moshe’s last moments are not only the time that he wrote his Sefer Torah; those very moments capture the perspective with which the Torah is written.

No wonder it is so critical that VaYamos Moshe be written by Moshe himself or just at the moment of his death, for that moment is the only perspective conveyed in the Torah. It is that unsurpassable vantage that gives Moshe the title as the greatest Navi of all time. And it is his story that we follow and live, and his view of the world – past, present, and future – that is transmitted Li’Einei Kol Yisrael.

Chag Kasher ViSamei’ach.

Parashat Nitzavim

“Today, you stand here together in front of Hashem your G-d…to enter into Hashem’s Bris and oath that Hashem your G-d is cutting with you today.”

Devarim (29:9-11)

From these two pasukim, we see two facts. (1) There is a Bris being established in the opening scene of this week’s parasha – a twenty pasuk run-on sentence we will soon explore – and (2) it is a new Bris that is established on this very day, the day of Moshe’s death as Rashi notes, not the repetition of an old covenant. Why do we need this new Bris?

“In order to establish you today as a nation to [Hashem], and He will be to you a G-d…” (29:12)

Well, this doesn’t sound very different from the Bris we entered at Har Sinai. Didn’t that Bris also state “Anochi Hashem Elockechah, Lo YiHiyeh Lichah Elohim Acheirim?” Perhaps the upcoming pasukim will tell us how the two Brisos differ.

“And it’s not just you with whom I am cutting this Bris and oath, but with [both] those present standing here today, and those not, [the future generations].” (29:13-14)

But the Bris at Har Sinai surely wasn’t only for the congregation present at Moshe’s address; almost everyone at Har Sinai died in the Midbar, and a new generation had already assumed their parents’ roles as members of Jewish nation. How then does this Bris differ? Perhaps the elaborate purpose behind this new Bris will reveal a difference.

“Because you know from your time living in Mitzrayim and your time passing through the Goyim’s lands [about their idols,] and you have seen their idols… that are with them. Perhaps you will have a man or woman or family or tribe whose heart today will turn from Hashem our G-d to worship those other gods. He will hear the words of [the Klallos in last week’s parasha] and think in his heart, ‘I will be fine so long as I follow the sights of my heart…’ to add his accidental sins to those he does willfully.” (29:15-18)

In other words, Hashem fears that we will hear all the terrible Klallos listed that will befall us if we sin and thereby give up trying to follow the proper path. Our active choice of ignorance and abandonment will become a willful sin.

But how then does this Bris, more than any other Bris, rest with both the present generation and their children? The present generation witnessed the idols of Mitzrayim and the bordering nations, a reference to the Eigel HaZahav and Ba’al Peor acoording to the Ramban, but their children did not. Furthermore, Hashem gives us a very elaborate description of what might push one off the Derech. Is this a new fear? Surely there was a danger of Avoda Zara long before the witnessing of these Shikutzim and Gilulim. Which leads us back to our first question: the Bris of the Aseres HaDibros quite explicitly forbids Avoda Zara, so how does this Bris, with or without elaboration, differ? We’ll leave these questions on the side and forge ahead in our reading of these pasukim; the pasukim continue with the consequences of Avoda Zara.

“Hahsem will not forgive such a man; instead, His wrath will flare… and He will set aside all the bad for [this man] among the Shivtei Yisrael, like all the oaths written in this Torah Book.” (29:19-20)

We finally start to see a difference between this Bris and the one at Har Sinai; the one at Har Sinai was sealed with one set of oaths, namely the ViTochacha of Parashat BiChukosai, and this Bris is sealed with a list of curses twice as long. The incentive not to worship idols has thereby doubled. Of course, this would be a wonderful place to end G-d’s threat, but the pasukim continue.

“And the later generations – your children after you and the Goyim of a faraway land – will say, and they will see the [destruction]. Sulfur and salt, the earth is scorched and nothing can be planted and nothing can grow… And all the Goyim will say ‘What has Hashem done to this land? What could possibly anger Him so?’ And they will say ‘Since [the Bnei Yisrael] have abandoned their Bris with Hashem that He established with them upon their exit from Mitzrayim. They went and worshiped other gods and bowed to them… and Hashem got angry on the land[‘s inhabitants] to bring upon [them] the curses written in this book. And Hashem furiously removed them from their land and sent them to a foreign land, just like today.” (29:21-27)

Here we have a very detailed description of the Goyim’s thought process, how they will come to recognize that our sins result in our exile. The pasukim analyze how they analyze how we have been tormented by Hashem! If this isn’t bizarre enough, keep in mind that what we are really discussing is the reason behind why Hashem wants to make a new Bris. In other words, we are analyzing someone’s perception or reaction (‘what has G-d done?!’) to a potential consequence (destruction of land) of a theoretical sin (Avoda Zara) which has hopefully been averted by establishing this Bris! Couldn’t Moshe just teach them all the new Bris without this addendum?! The explanation is longer and more unclear that the covenant itself!

And we still haven’t really explained why any new covenant was really necessary. We can say that Hashem is changing the severity of Avoda Zara’s consequences, but I don’t believe that we can comfortably establish a difference between the sets of Klallos solely on the numbers of curses each Bris lists. If 49 Klallos was only enough warning for the forty years in the desert, and now 98 are required, wouldn’t we suspect desensitization to these consequences would spur the need for even more Klallos in only a few more years? Yet the Bris established in this week’s and last week’s parashiot still exists today, 3000 years later! There must be some greater, more significant, difference between the consequences described in our parashaiot and those previously threatened at the time of the earlier Brisos.

I believe this difference can be found most explicitly in the Bris’s aforementioned convoluted explanation; however, to see this difference, we must first be critical not only of the thematic material, but also of the word choice. We first list two sets of characters; both our children and the Goyim of a faraway land witness the destruction. What do these people do? The pasuk says ViAmar, and they will say, and this describes what our children and the Goyim do. But the pasuk says nothing of their dialogue! The pasuk simply continues that they will also see the destruction and overturning of the land. We don’t quote any Amirah until the next pasuk, which specifically quotes the Goyim. What happened to the Amirah of the Jewish descendants? It’s also strange that we find two pasukim (23 and 24), one after the other, where a single party states a question and then its answer.

Perhaps these two pasukim are really constructing a dialogue between the Goyim and the Jewish descendants. The Goyim first ask what has happened to the Jewish nation, and the Jewish descendants respond. This would explain where we see the Jewish descendants speak, it would explain the word ViAmar as a foreshadowing of the ensuing dialogue, and two ViAmiru’s would now be stated by different parties, one with a question and one with an answer.

Returning to the pasukim, we can now read the consequences of the Bnei Yisrael’s idol worship much differently. Their descendants will be confronted in galus and asked why they are treated so miserably. Why do their lands lay fallow and their houses in shambles. And they will recognize and recall the sins of their fathers, Al Asher Azivu Es Bris Hashem Elokei Avosam. Regardless of what Mitzvos or Aveiros these descendants themselves are or are not committing, the blame is squarely placed on their ancestors. And this should make us wonder whether the descendants are only punished as a result of their own misdeeds or whether they are inevitably cursed, even if they stop sinning.

“Pokeid Avon Avos Al Banim Al Shileishim ViAl Ribei’im LiSoni’ai”

LiSoni’ai, to those who hate Me, as [Onkelos] translated, to those descending generations that keep to the evil deeds of their fathers.

Rashi, Shemos (20:5)

“ViHayu Bicha LiOs U’LiMofeis U’BiZarachah Ad Olam, Tachas Asher Lo Avadta Es Hashem Elokechah BiSimchah U’BiTuv Leivav MeiRov Kol”

MeiRov Kol, out of abundance, while you still possessed all your good [as opposed to your or your children’s current status].

Rashi, Devarim (28:47)

Each of these pasukim describes the reason behind our punishments. The first pasuk relates to the original Bris at Har Sinai as recognizes Hashem’s right to punish later generations for their fathers’ sins. However, Rashi adds a huge qualifier; Hashem can only antagonize rotten descendants, people who hate Him like their fathers did. Therefore, we see every generation can avoid Onshim by returning to Hashem.

The second pasuk, however, relates to the newly established Bris and paints a much scarier picture. The pasuk explains that Hashem brings the Klallos upon us not because we don’t worship Him properly, but because we didn’t at one point in history. Even when the abundance is gone, even when the blessings that led to our rottenness are long gone, Hashem still exacts His revenge. Onshim are clearly of a different nature; they are no longer a consequence of our continued iniquity, but rather they can be stretched well past the time we stop sinning. This draws a staggering difference between the Bris at Har Sinai and the Bris in this week’s parasha!

While punishing sinners and leaving the innocent alone may have been deterrent enough during the travels in the Midbar, Hashem here tries a new tactic. Under the rules of the new Bris, one must recognize that his sins not only effect him, and not only effect the people and objects he sins against, but can even severely effect the innocent. Hashem threatens the sinner with the torment of his children; his descendants live in a foreign land and are oppressed as their fathers were, and not necessarily due to their own sins. Now we see exactly why it was so important for Moshe to specify that the Bris being made on that very day was sealed even with the future generations; any sin committed on that day would inevitably cause harm to even those of future generations!

And while one could possibly mistaken this Bris as an unfair gesture on G-d’s behalf, one could also view it as the most favorable gesture. Every time we sin, Hashem forces us to consider that we not only harm our own lives, but endanger countless innocent lives as well. The new Bris truly does become a most powerful, though extremely dangerous, deterrent for the 3000 years to follow, one that bodes a woe-filled future, but at least piques a newfound incentive to maintain our Kesher to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and a newfound perception of the far reaching effects of our Aveiros.

G’mar ViChasima Tova and a Chag Kasher ViSamei’ach!

Parashat Ki Tavo

As presented in the pasukim, the Mitzvah of Bikurim epitomizes our gratitude to Hashem for bringing us into Eretz Yisrael. We award the Kohein – Hashem’s designated guardian of holy property – with not the prime of our produce but rather the first; we do not partake of any goods until we have shown sufficient recognition that all our success comes by Hashem’s will. It therefore makes perfect sense that we recall Sippur Yitzeas Mitzrayim, our bitter days of slavery and hardship, and transition into Yerushas Eretz Yisrael. We declare VaYivi’einu El HaMakom HaZeh VaYitein Lanu Es Ha’Aretz HaZos Eretz Zavas Chalav U’D’vash; what greater form of gratitude could one possibly express!

Yet Sippur Yitzeas Mitzrayim and Yerushas Eretz Yisrael do not comprise the entire declaration, for before we mention anything about the hardships in Egypt, we first raise our voices and recall Arami Oveid Avi, how Lavan once thought to kill Yaakov. As Rashi notes, Mazkir Chasdei HaMakom, it is good to mention the acts of kindness G-d has done for us in the past, but does this really make it necessary to recall Arami Oveid Avi – a story that didn’t even happen in Eretz Yisrael, when we bring our Bikurim to the Kohein? What relevance can these three words bear within our declaration?

Perhaps even more puzzling is the announcement that precedes Arami Oveid Avi. Before we begin our declaration, we first claim, Higaditi HaYom LaHashem Elokechah Ki Basi El HaAretz HaZos Asher Nishba Hshem LaAvoseinu Lases Lanu, I am declaring today that I have arrived in the land that Hashem promised our forefathers to give to us. What a bizarre introduction to our tidings of gratitude! This statement is of a totally different nature from Arami Oveid Avi. While Arami Oveid Avi views the land as something Hashem gave to us out of love, this initial declaration makes the Yerushas HaAretz appear out of necessity, that Hashem had to fulfill His promise to the Avos against His will. One statement exalts the land, calling it the Eretz Zavas Chalav U’D’vash, while the other merely recognizes that we have arrived there, not to mention that this recognition is not only obvious and tedious but also a few years delayed.

But most perplexing is that Rashi sees these contradictory declarations in exactly the opposite light:

ViAmartah Ailav, and you should say to [the Kohein, I have arrived in the land Hashem promised…] – So that you should not be an ingrate.

Rashi, Devarim 26:3

To Rashi, it is the first statement that expresses one’s true gratitude towards Hashem. All that talk about Eretz Zavas Chalav U’Dvash is nothing in comparison to the promise Hashem made with the Avos. How can this be? Doesn’t this statement express the exact opposite of gratitude, that we owe nothing to Hashem because He had no choice but to bring us into Eretz Yisrael?

I believe that before we can really understand the incredible relevance of the initial declaration, we must first be critical of the second’s. We praise the goodness of Eretz Yisrael, but only through comparison to our afflictions in Mitzrayim. Does this really express how good the land is, or does it only recognize that it’s better than Mitzrayim? Perhaps we are only gracious that we no longer have to perform back breaking labor for our Egyptian masters; that is certainly something to thank Hashem for, but it by no means addresses the quality of Eretz Yisrael.

Instead, the key to recognizing the objective quality of Eretz Yisrael, beyond its relative superiority to life in Mitzrayim, is to remind ourselves of Hashem’s Shavua to the Avos. Long before the Bnei Yisrael were introduced to Eretz Mitzrayim, we were promised a gift from Hashem, an objectively fine home for our eventual settlement.

And how did we know that the land Hashem had promised us was in fact a good land? Perhaps Hashem has no interest in providing us with the best land; maybe He arbitrarily chose our designated settling grounds, possibly picking Eretz Yisrael because it was where Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov all lived. Therefore, it is not enough to specify Asher Nishba Hashem LaAvoseinu LaSeis Lanu; we must also express explicit recognition of Hashem’s care for our people, a care Hashem clearly expressed when He stopped Lavan from annihilating Ya’akov and his family. Like Rashi says, we recall the story of Lavan to be Makir Chasdei HaMakom, to recognize examples of Hashem’s mercy, thus aiding our recognition of the care He always has for His nation. We come to recognize that Hahsem would only designate an objectively superior land to for the Avos’ descendents, and not just arbitrarily choose our plot.

Granted it is valuable to remember how Hashem extracted us from the tyranny of Mitzrayim, but we mustn’t lose focus on the objective value of Eretz Yisrael. The land is not an alternative, not an improvement upon our days of slavery; rather, it is a good unparallel and incomparable to any other land. That is why Hashem promised it to our anscentors long before we experienced our first hardships, whether amidst the perils of Mitzrayim or those brought by Lavan. And that is why we are ever grateful, year after year, unwilling to partake of our earning until we award Hashem what is rightfully His.

Parashat Ki Teitzei

During Moshe’s second stroll outside Paroh’s palace, he chances upon a pair of quarreling Jews, identified by Rashi as Dassan and Aviram. Moshe tries to break up the fight between the two Anashim Nitzim and he says “Lama Takeh Rayecha.” Rashi notes here that Moshe addressed the individual with his fist raised, the lashon of Takeh is in future tense so Moshe was only asked why he was about to hit his friend.

The lashon of Rayecha in the pasuk is also somewhat strange. Why does Moshe call the victim is this case the attacker’s friend? He surely looks more like an enemy than a friend. Rashi therefore explains that Moshe was drawing a comparison between the assailant and his victim, as if to suggest that their Rishus was on equal par. The problem, however, is that only one of these two men had his fist raised. What gives Moshe the right to call them both Resha’im?

The next pasuk is even stranger. Dassan and Aviram challenge Moshe by asking “Are you going to kill us just like you killed that Mitzri yesterday.” Dassan and Aviram seem to be poking at Moshe with a baseless comparison between two quarreling men and an oppressive taskmaster who beat his slave to near death, why would they ever suspect that they are deserving of death as well?

The Medrash Shemos Rabbah sheds some light on the pasukim in question above: “Davar Acheir [on the word Nitzim]. They had intention to kill one another, like that which it says in Devarim (25:11), ViKi Yinatzu Anashim Yachdav (and Rabbi Elazar says there that the pasuk refers to a Matzus Shel Misah, lethal sparring).”

We see from this medrash that the sparring in our parasha, the Nun-Tzadee shoresh in particular, refers to a fight with lethal intent on both sides. Rashi explains in Ki Teitzei that such a fight will ultimately result in blows. And so it makes perfect sense that Moshe can call even the victim a Rasha equal to his assailant, though he did not have his fist raised at that exact moment, for he too was engaged in this type of fighting. One could assume that each would surely throw punches before settling the quarrel, and so Lama Takeh Rayechah in essence applies to both Dassan and Aviram.

But as this medrash solves one dilemma, it creates another. When one sees a murder about to take place, one is allowed to save the innocent victim and kill the murderer before the crime is committed. In fact, this halacha comes from a drasha in this week’s parasha (22:26). By a Rodief, any method of murder is permissible, so long as the killer is stopped in time. However, by the quarreling men, the pasukim discuss how a woman who breaks up the fight by grabbing the potential murderer by his testicles deserves to have her hand cut off! Talk about a double standard!?

Interestingly, Rashi does not take this pasuk literally, but instead identifies the punishment as Boshes, a monetary compensation of embarrassment. The punishment seems like a much more fit form of justice, but only until we consider the following pair of scenarios. Had this woman killed her husband’s assailant, she would not have had to pay any money, no matter where her hand touched. The only payment forwarded is a compensation for embarrassment, and dead men do not collect Boshes. But if she grabs his testicles, then Beis Din forces a payment upon her. Ironically, it is due to the relatively peaceful settlement of this quarrel that the woman earns her punishment!

Perhaps a resolution to this difficulty can be found in a lesson taught earlier in the parasha. It is easier to forgive a murderer than a person who causes another to sin. This is why we may never accept a member of Ammon or Moav for conversion, for their daughters led us astray in the story of Pinchas and Ba’al Pe’or, but we may eventually accept a Mitzri or Edomi, though they blatantly set out to do battle with us. Why though are we less harsh with murderers? We learn from the Ben Soreir U’Moreh that when one’s fate is clear, he can be judged “Al Sheim Sofo.” Sometimes, we can be so certain that a second chance will fail that it’s worth letting an innocent man be killed with a clean slate. And if we are certain that sparring men will surely land blows, and that they will surely becomes murderers, then perhaps we may judge each “Al Sheim Sofo.”

To kill a potential Rotzei’ach, in some cases, is better than attempting to make peace between him and his friend. However, a woman who grabs her husband’s assailant hasn’t accomplished anything; she hasn’t done any favor to the attacker by letting him live for each man inevitably still hates the other. Therefore, she cannot get the benefits of the Rodeif and must pay for the embarrassment she has caused. Even a man who is better off dead isn’t deserving of embarrassment, and so he is owed his Boshes.

Our understanding of these pasukim in Ki Teitzei now lends new meaning to the pasukim in Shemos. When Dassan and Aviram ask Moshe “Are you going to kill me like you killed the Egyptian yesterday,” there really is a good comparison between the two. Rashi teaches us by the Egyptian that Moshe looked this way and that way, meaning into the Egyptian’s future, and decided that this Egyptian’s death would be of no loss to the world because none of his descendants would convert. Quite similarly, two men who are Nitzim with each other are better dead than given a chance to live; no good could possibly come of Dassan’s and Aviram’s futures. Moshe only spared them because he no longer believed the Bnei Yisrael were deserving of a geula (see Rashi, Shemos 2:14, D”H VaYira Moshe), meaning there was no benefit to the nation to dispose of these two men. Yet their deaths would have ultimately been a favor, and would have spared them from a far more tragic Sof at the time of Korach’s rebellion. As the pasuk there says, ViDasan VaAviram Yatzi’u Nitzavim; they left this world as those same upstarts they were first introduced as, but they left with far more guilt to bear.

Parashat Re'aih

“Watch yourselves, lest you join with [the other nations] after you have kicked them out [of Eretz Yisrael], and lest you seek their gods, saying “how is it that they worshiped their gods? I will do the same.” Don’t do this to Hashem, your G-d, for Hashem hates all the abominations that they performed to their gods, for they would also burn their sons and daughters to their gods."
Devarim, 12:30-31

There are two ways of understanding these pasukim. Either the statement “Eichah Ya’avdu HaGoyim Ha’Eileh Es Eloheihem” is one of appall and disgust, or it is one of curiosity and openness. Either one can look at the practices of the Goyim with a feeling of bewilderment, not understanding how anyone in their right mind could worship a god by, say, throwing stones or defecating on it. Or one can look at the conquest of Eretz Yisrael and the utter exile of its former inhabitants and wonder what they could have possibly done to anger Hashem to such an extent.

There are also two ways to understand the beginning of pasuk 31, Lo Sa’aseh Kain LaHashem Elokechah. Rashi considers this an Azharah against worshiping idols through practices foreign to Judaism. The pasuk in Mishpatim says Zovei’ach Leilohim Yachoram Bilti LaHashem Livado, one who slaughters to idols should be destroyed, Zevichah is exclusively for Hashem. From this pasuk we learn that any Avoda done for Hashem is a standard form of Avoda, and therefore if it is done to anything other than Hashem, we consider it Avoda Zara. But from where do we know that an Avoda not done to Hashem can also fall under the prohibition of Avoda Zara? Rashi answers that these pasukim are the very source.

The Ramban takes issue with Rashi’s reading of the pasukim, for pasuk 31 would therefore unnecessarily specify that this Aveirah is done LaHashem Elokechah. What Aveirah isn’t done against Hashem?! The Ramban therefore considers these pasukim no more than a warning against the adoption of pagan practices in our Avodas Hashem. The Ramban’s view is also supported by the continuation of these pasukim, which order us not to alter Hashem’s Mitzvos, Lo Sosaif ViLo Sigra. How then could Rashi expect the Torah to establish a law against Avoda Zara if the context of these pasukim is the laws of Avodas Hashem?

Perhaps there is a more pressing question to be asked here, one that rests on both Rashi and the Ramban. If one recognizes that the Goyim were kicked out of Eretz Yisrael for performing these forms of Avoda Zara, why would we ever be interested in joining in their practices? Isn’t it clear that these Avodos anger Hashem? Yet the pasuk clearly says that he will come to say “ViE’eseh Gam Ani!” Even more so, if one is disgusted by things like Avodas Ba’al Pe’or or Markolis, why would he ever decide to worship them?!

The Ramban answers this question with ease. He explicitly explains pasuk 30 as a form of inquiry instead of exclamation. We investigate what Avodos the Goyim did to their Avodah Zara and assume that they were punished because those Avodos were intended Bilti LaHashem Livado as well. We therefore mistakenly say “E’eseh Gam Anochi,” assuming that Hashem desires us to worship Him as the Goyim worshiped their Avoda Zara, and so the pasuk here comes to warn against such assuptions.

But this answer cannot possibly work for Rashi. While the Ramban describes Lo Sa’aseh Kain as an Azhara against benign – though bizarre – forms of Avoda (in constrast to burning ones children alive), Rashi emphasizes things like Pe’or, which one would never mistaken as ways that Hashem desires us to worship Him. How then does Rashi understand the inconsistent reactions, Eichah Ya’avdu and ViE’eseh Gam Ani?

This past Thursday, I shared an interesting conversation with a drunken homeless black guy in the 116^th street subway station while waiting for my train to arrive. The man was pacing back and forth, cheerily trying to talk to whomever crossed his way, but nobody would pay any attention. Desperate for attention, he surveyed the crowd for a moment, and spotted me. He announced at the top of his lungs to the wholeform, “You know what’s the baddest cap of ‘em all? The baddest cap… the baddest cap of ‘em all…” paused, and then pointed in my direction from no more than a few feet away, “...is that yarmulke.” A little unsettled, and a little unsure what to do, I decided walking away would not only mean missing my train, but would probably prompt him to chase after me and continue his rant, so I proudly but quietly nodded and smiled back. And he took this as an invitation for a chat. He walked up to me rather slowly, and whispered, “and I respec’ that. I respec’ that cuz’ you know what that [yarmulke] stands for? It means you gotta lotta pride fo’ who you are. Who in their right mind would ever wear that thing on their head, know what I’m sayin’, unless they were proud of who they are.

I nodded, and softly responded, “I hear. I hear.” He continued, “but ya know, at lot of people died cuz’ a that,” pointing at the kippa again, “a lot good people died cuz’ a that pride, you know. So you gotta say shalom. I mean, you gotta say shalom. If someone says shalom to you, you can’t be better than them and not say shalom, but’cha gotta say shalom.” We shared a little more chat time, exchanged some high fives, and he even poked me in the chest a little – something about “havin’ a lotta heart.”

I normally don’t quote black homeless guys in the subway as parshanim, but I think this one couldn’t have said over pshat in these two pasukim any clearer. When we look at the Gilulei Avodas Kochavm, like excreting on Ba’al Pe’or or throwing stones at a Markolis, we are initially disgusted and appalled. We say “how can these people do such crazy things in the name of their religion?! How can they call these disgusting acts forms of worship?!” But over time, we come to admire their Avoda, not because it looks rational, but because we admire the pride they show. They haven’t the slightest embarrassment to defecate in public, and it’s all in the name of Ba’al Pe’or, and we think to ourselves, “there must really be something about this Ba’al Pe’or if they’d be willing to do that in the name if Avoda!” We begin with the recognition that the Goyim have the “baddest rituals of ‘em all,” and we come to that same level of respect when we recognize how much pride goes into these rituals.

It is for this reason Rashi highlights bizarre Avodos like Pe’or and Markolis, falling in line with the pasukim’s own example of burning children alive. But what about the continuation of these pasukim? How does this Azhara fit within the context of Lo Sosaif ViLo Sigra?

For the answer, I again turn to my favorite commentary, the homeless guy. Remember, pride can earn one a lot of respect, but it can also lend one an air of arrogance. Many people died, the homeless guy observed, because they didn’t say shalom, they thought they were above the rest of society, separated by the obscure rituals they performed. You gotta say shalom out of recognition that the crazy things you do or wear do not separate you from the rest of society. Weird practices are not exclusive to the Jew, and plenty of Goyim practice even more bizarre rituals than we. If one takes pride in his religiosity because of the seeming irrationality of the mitzvos he performs, then the pasuk warns that he will surely be drawn to the Goyim’s practices, for they are even more irrational than ours. But if he takes pride in Yiddishkeit because it is his connection to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and he takes pride in his rational mitzvos as much as he does in his irrational mitzvos, then he will surely not falter.

Therefore, the pasukim continue, Es Kol HaDavar Asher Anochi Mitzaveh Eschem Tishmiru La’Asos. Rashi asks what does Kol HaDavar refer to? Which thing would we not keep? Quoting the Sifri, Rashi answers that this teaches us Kalah KiChamurah, that the pasuk doesn’t remind us to keep all the mitzvos, but rather to keep all the mitzvos equally. Perhaps it would improve our Avoda to have five parashiot in our Tefilin, perhaps it would increase the pride we have in our Avoda to say another pasuk of Birchas Kohanim. Hashem warns us that our perception of what we get out of His Mitzvos is worth nothing. Instead, we should keep them all simply because we were instructed to, and such an Avoda promises to both further us from the Gilulei Avodas Kochavim and bring us to as close a Kesher as we can possibly attain with our Maker.