Parshat Vayigash

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Many Paths, One Center

In this parsha we have the reunification, after twenty-two years, of Yaacov and Yosef. It is, of course, an emotional meeting. Yaacov travels all the way to Mitzrayim with the entire family. Yosef harnesses his chariot himself and goes out to greet his father. However, the pasuk that describes the meeting itself is ambiguous. “He appeared before him, fell on his neck, and he wept on his neck excessively (Bereisheit 46:29)” It’s a little unclear who exactly is doing what. Rashi explains that it was Yosef who fell on Yaacov’s neck, and Yosef who wept, while Yaacov did neither because he was saying Shema. Now, this is not necessarily the most intuitive explanation of the pasuk. However, Rav Schorr gives us the depth we need to really understand the moment according to Rashi’s explanation.

Yaacov and Yosef, standing together in a loving embrace, are experiencing two different worlds. For Yaacov, this moment is the sweet end of his last and hardest test. As Yaacov absorbed the news that Yosef was still alive, his spirit revived and the Shechina, which had been absent for twenty-two years, came to rest on him again (see Rashi, 45:27). The rogez of Yosef, the troubles of Yosef, had ended with the clarity of “your son Yosef is still alive,” and Yaacov was finally able to leave behind the world of galut and begin to prepare for the geulah.

For Yaacov, a new period of ma’aseh avot siman l’banim had begun. For the last seventeen years of his life Yaacov lived in a state of geulah, and he implanted within us the spiritual seeds for our own geulah. The Maharal explains that when Yaacov saw Yosef standing before him, not just alive but a ruler in Egypt, his heart was filled with love and fear of Hashem. He had moved out of the darkness and could now see with clarity the hashgacha of Hashem, how Hashem and His Name are one in the world. The intense spiritual joy this tzaddik felt during his reunion with his beloved son was naturally channeled into saying the Shema. That was Yaacov’s reality. But Yosef’s reality was different. For the children of Yaacov, the arrival into Mitzrayim was the start of the galut. Yosef, so happy to be united with his father, also knew that this was the first step along a long and difficult road. How could Yosef do anything but cry?

These two tzaddikim were experiencing the exact same moment, in the same place, and yet they were living in two different realities. This ability to share a moment, and a mission, with another person who sees reality differently is one of the important themes of this parsha. The parsha begins with the confrontation between Yehudah and Yosef. These two brothers are two kings in one family, which is not a comfortable situation. However, Rav Schorr compares their approaches to that of the heart and the mind, which are the two kings of the body. In a healthy body, these two sources of power work together, and in a healthy nation, the same is true. As we approach the end of Sefer Bereisheit, and the seeds for geulah are implanted in the nation, these two tzadikkim, with their very different approaches, must come together.  This theme is repeated in the haftorah, which is from Yechezkel (37: 15-28) and is all about the future unification of Yehudah and Yosef. The message is clear. Geulah is about unification, but it is a specific type of unification. It is the unification of different parts, where each piece of the whole still retains its own identity.

This message of simultaneous unity and diversity comes intertwined with the story of the beginning of galut in Mitzrayim. This is not by accident. Our ability to tolerate the differences of others is born from the same emunah which allows us to get through the difficult circumstances in our lives. Our emunah tells us that Hashem has a plan that is greater than what I can see. Tolerance is based on the knowledge that each person has a role in Hashem’s grand plan that is greater than what I can see.

At the very end of Mesechet Ta’anit there is a description of the tzaddikim in Gan Eden: “In the future the Holy One, Blessed is He, will make a circle of all the righteous people and He will sit among them (in the middle of the circle) and each and every one will point with his finger (toward him).”  Rav Schorr explains that in this world, every Tzaddik has his own path, each different from the other, which will require individualized and different responses. We saw that Yaacov was living in geulah at the same moment, and in the same space, that Yosef was experiencing the beginnings of slavery. They could not live in each other’s world. Similarly, it was incomprehensible to the young Yehudah how Yosef could follow the path he did, and it is often incomprehensible to us why those Jews we term ‘other’, in whatever clothes they wear, choose to act as they do.

If we had to map the spiritual path of the world from our own perspective, we would probably draw a maze of intertwining lines that point in every direction imaginable. What Hashem will reveal in the World To Come is that all the different paths are really one path. They are all circling around a central axis. In this world it looks as if each tzaddik, each person, is travelling his own path, alone. In the future Hashem will show us how all the paths were really pointing in the same direction, towards a central point that unifies them all.

Parshat Miketz

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“Enough is Enough"

Toward the end of the Parshat Miketz, Yaacov is forced by famine to relinquish his youngest son Binyamin and allow him to go with his brothers to Mitzrayim. As he does so, he turns to Hashem with a prayer (Bereisheit 43:14): “May E-l Sha-dai grant you compassion before the man, and he will release to you your other brother and Benjamin, and as for me as I am bereaved, I am bereaved.” This is the tefillah of a tzaddik who is suffering. In order to understand it, we have to look a little more closely both at the test that Yaacov is facing, and also the particular name of Hashem he uses in his prayer.

At the time that he utters this prayer, Yaacov is facing his longest and hardest test. It had begun almost twenty-two years earlier. Rashi describes (Bereisheit 37:2) how Yaacov, after having dealt with Eisav, Lavan and Dina, and after having finally settled with his family in Eretz Yisrael, was hoping for and expecting some peace in his life. This was not just a matter of wanting to rest. Yaacov had a strong desire to return to his spiritual roots. As we mentioned previously, Yaacov was connected spiritually to the Eitz HaChayim, the tree of life. He was born to sit in tents and connect himself to the Torah. However, taking on Eisav’s avodah, in addition to his own, had forced Yaacov into galut. When he finally returns to Eretz Yisrael, having built the family his father and grandfather had dreamed of, Yaacov thought he would have the opportunity to relax into his essential avodah. And then, Yosef disappeared, and with him many of Yaacov’s hopes and dreams.

It was not just that Yaacov had lost Yosef, although that would have been bad enough. Yaacov knew that the future of the Jewish people hinged on his having twelve sons. He had a nevuah that as long as none of his sons died in his lifetime, he would not see Gehenom. Then, at exactly the time that Yosef disappeared, the presence of the shechina left him. What was Yaacov to think? Rashi, quoting the midrash, (Bereisheit 37:2) calls this test “rogzo shel Yosef, the troubles of Yosef” but Rav Schorr points out that rogez also means anger. This was the test where it appeared that Hashem was angry at Yaacov. R’ Bunim of Peshischa points out how astonishing it is that Yaacov maintained his avodah through this long test. For twenty-two years, without his beloved son, without any certainty that he had succeeded in his mission of building the Jewish nation, and without the presence of the shechina, Yaacov persisted and succeeded in his avodah of maintaining emunah when Hashem’s presence was hidden. 

This last test of Yaacov’s is the maaseh avot siman l’banim for the galut we now find ourselves in. Like the troubles with Yosef, our galut, too, began with lashon harah and hatred of one Jew for another. Like Yaacov, we live in a world without nevuah, and the galut feels like it stretches along endlessly. We too live with a reality that could be wrongly interpreted as Hashem being angry at us (this is, in fact, what the Catholic Church has been telling us for centuries.) And like Yaacov, our mission is to maintain our emunah, our knowledge of our relationship with Hashem, through it all.

Rav Schorr explains that we have the strength to get through all this because Yaacov planted it within us.  Maaseh avot siman l’banim would be meaningless if it were just a way for us to know what will happen in the future from what happened in the past. Instead, it is a spiritual reality that the Avot implanted within us. Their actions, their avodah, impacts us spiritually today. When I want to understand this on a more personal level, I think of my grandparents, a”h. They had a loving and joyful relationship, and a vivacious, youthful old age, Baruch Hashem. That reality gives me both the desire and the ability to build the same for myself. On a national level, the spiritual seeds the avot planted so many years ago are still inspiring us and keeping us going. Yaacov’s strength, his ability to hold onto his emunah for twenty-two years, is our strength as well.

Rav Schorr explains that the prayer that Yaacov uttered for himself and his sons is a prayer for us as well. The essence of that prayer lies in the name E-l Sha-dai. The meaning behind this name is given in Chagiga 12a which explains that when Hashem created the world it began to expand, becoming more and more physical. As it did so, Hashem’s presence became more and more hidden in the world. The physical expansion of the world needed to be limited so that the physicality of the world would not obscure the presence of Hashem. The name Sha-dai expresses Hashem’s ability to define the moment of perfect bechira, when the ability to see Hashem in the world and the ability to hide Hashem in the world were evenly matched, and to say to the world, at that exact moment, “Dai, Enough.”

Rashi (Bereisheit 43:14) says Yaacov’s prayer was, “May He Who said to His world, “Enough!” (שֶׁאָמַר דָּי) say to my troubles, “Enough!” The tefillah was an expression of emunah for himself, and also for us. Hashem is a creator who knows when to say “enough.” He knows that moment when the troubles have served their purpose as mechanisms for growth. At whatever moment the word “enough” needs to be said, Hashem will say it and everything will turn around. If Hashem has not yet said it, that means there is still room to move forward in our present situation. And we can draw on the strength we got from Yaacov to keep us moving.  

Parshat Vayeishev

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The Young Ox in the Room

This parsha opens up with a picture of a young Yosef. Specifically, he is described as a “na’ar, a youth” (Bereisheit 37:1), and at first glance this doesn’t seem to be a particularly flattering assessment. Rashi elaborates that Yosef would fix up his hair and his eyes to look handsome. Maharal adds that Yosef would act without thinking through the consequences, doing things like telling his dreams to his brothers.

And yet, Rav Schorr invites us to look at this idea of “na’ar” from a different perspective. “Na’ar” is connected to the idea of hitorerut, the idea of being awake to the changing spiritual possibilities of the moment. We can look at this idea of “na’ar” as the idea of a young Yosef trying to fit himself into the circumstances of the moment.  What may seem to be negative or neutral in the moment are the seeds of what will later become his greatness.

Rav Schorr describes Yosef’s derech as the derech of the mind. When he is young, he is guided on what he knows to be right, and he acts on it, regardless of the consequences. He brings reports about his brothers to his father, and he shares his dreams of kingship with brothers who are jealous of him. However, as he matures, we begin to see a different form of Yosef emerge. The Yosef who confronts his brothers at the end of the story is cool, calm and collected. He is clearly thinking through the consequences, nevertheless, he remains steadfast in his commitment to act on what he believes is right.

As a young man, the firstborn of Rachel, and the beloved of Yaacov, Yosef had dreams that were prophecies about being a ruler. And, in fact, this is exactly what he would later become. But this aspect of himself had not been fully developed yet. It expressed itself in interesting ways. Rav Schorr explains that it was actually the deep feeling of kingship within Yosef that motivated him to spend time on his appearance.

Yosef is not the only king in the family. Yosef’s story is  intertwined with the story of Yehudah. This is the story of two kings with two very different paths. Yosef was the king that was compared to an ox, but Yehudah was the king that was compared to a lion. Yehudah wore his kingship more naturally, while Yosef was having some trouble fitting into his circumstances. And while Yosef, as we mentioned, followed the path of his mind, Yehudah followed the path of his heart.

Both sons face similar tests. Just before we learn about Yosef’s encounter with Potifar’s wife, we learn about Yehudah’s encounter with Tamar. Out of love for his son, Yehudah denies Tamar’s right to do the mitzvah of yibum. And then, at the expense of great personal embarrassment to himself, he admits that Tamar had been right. Yehudah’s essential trait, as expressed by his name, is his ability to admit that everything that he is, and everything that he has, comes from Hashem. He can begin moving in one direction, and then pivot and move in the other direction if that’s what Hashem wants. He is King, because he channels the kingship of Hashem.  His complete devotion to Hashem’s will is the starting point for the line of Moshiach.

Against this backdrop, we are given the story of Yosef in the house of Potifar. The wife of Potiphar would come to Yosef each day, not just with perfume, but with an argument. She knew they were destined to have descendants together. She knew this was part of Hashem’s plan. But Yosef’s path was not Yehudah’s path. Yosef was driven by his youthful ability to be alive to the spiritual potential of the particular moment, to stay true to what he knew was right, regardless of the consequences.

Both Yehudah and Yosef passed their tests, though they did it in very different ways.  Rav Schorr tells us that each of us is tested, again and again, in our essential middah.  All the different aspects of ourselves, however they are expressing themselves at the moment, are important. They are expressing who we are. Life gives us the opportunity to refine them. This is exactly what Yosef did. He was able to take the mantle of leadership because he had remained true to the aspect of kingship within himself, and refined it through the circumstances of his life.

Chanukah Day Eight

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Day Eight: Mesirat Nefesh, Finding the Real Center

As we mentioned yesterday, the nature of the world changed at the time of the Second Beit Hamikdash. The world was a different place when we could get direct answers from Hashem about what to do, and when we could walk into the Beit Hamikdash and experience open miracles. We had unbelievable access to spirituality. To counterbalance that, we also had a tremendous drive for avodah zarah.

Mostly, we don’t really understand what avodah zarah was all about. It’s too removed from our reality. However, there’s one aspect we can understand all too well. Chazal tell us that the core of avodah zarah was the desire to be the center of the world. Someone who makes their god an idol, and speaks for their god, gets to determine the parameters of the relationship. So we see that Pharaoh (Bereisheit 40:1) stood on his god, on the river, while Yaacov (Bereisheit 28:13) awoke to find Hashem standing over him.

As the world changed from a world of prophecy to a world defined by human intellect, many things changed with it, but our desire to be the center of the world remained the same. It simply took a different form. Chazal called it the heresy of Greek wisdom. The Greeks claimed that everything in the world could be understood and determined through our intellect. If we cannot understand it, if it doesn’t fit into our rational world view, then it doesn’t exist. For this reason, miracles can’t exist. Reality is only what we allow it to be. Existence is limited to the self.

This heretic may believe himself to be quite sophisticated. In reality he is simply expanding on an infant’s take on the world. A baby has no concept of reality outside of himself. We are born to believe that we are all of existence. The purpose of our lives is to expand ourselves and break out of that trap of living completely within ourselves.

The secret weapon of the Chasmonaim, in their battle against the Greeks was mesirat nefesh. Mesirat nefesh is our most powerful weapon for blasting away at the walls that confine us within ourselves, and opening ourselves up to a higher reality.  A person who is willing to self-sacrifice is a person who recognizes that he exists as a part of a higher and greater existence. Through mesirat nefesh we declare, “My existence is not reality itself. My existence is the way I reveal a deeper reality. Therefore,  if my existence contradicts that reality, I cannot continue to exist.” The opposite is true for a person who is trapped in themselves, who defines existence as himself. He cannot sacrifice himself. If he would, existence would perish.

Mesirat nefesh means that we move the center of our world outside of ourselves.  In this way we expand ourselves and our world. Any act we choose to do over Chanukah with mesirat nefesh, any tefillah we daven with more kavanah, any act of kindness we would rather not do, is a statement that we are connected to something higher than ourselves. Even with small acts of mesirat nefesh we open up our homes and our lives to the expansive, unlimited, joyous spiritual reality that is the world Hashem has given us.  

To explore this idea further in the sefer, see pages 164-168 and 174-187

Chanukah Day Seven

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Day Seven: The Light We Hold In Our Hands

There was an amazing aspect to the kedusha of the Mishkan in the desert. Unlike the Beit HaMikdash, where we had to travel to its place to experience its kedusha, the Mishkan had no place. It traveled wherever we traveled, and even dismantled, and in the hands of the Kohanim as they traveled across the desert, it was always halachically the dwelling place of the Shechina. As Hashem promised, we ourselves were the place where the Divine Presence rested. The Kohanim held its kedusha in their hands.

Aharon inaugurated this aspect of the Mishkan through the menorah and Hashem promised Aharon that the lights that he inaugurated would be eternal. Ramban (Bamidbar 8:2) tells us that this is the light that we continue to light in our homes on Chanukah. However, the light of the Chanukiah is the light of the Menorah in a transformed state. Chanukah marks a fundamental change in our relationship with Hashem. The figure that can help us understand this change is Shimon HaTzadik.

Shimon HaTzadik lived three generations before Chanukah, but he is credited by the Gemara (Megilla 11a) with paving the way for the defeat of the Greeks. Interestingly, he is also credited by the Gemara (Yoma 69a) for paving the way for the victory of the Greeks. The Gemara describes Alexander the Great marching on Jerusalem to destroy the Beit HaMikdash, and Shimon HaTzaddik coming out to meet him in the clothing of the Kohen Gadol. Alexander bows to Shimon, recognizing Shimon’s face as the image of victory he sees before him in battle.

How can Shimon HaTzadik be both the reason for the rise of the Greeks, and the reason for our defeat of them?  Shimon Ha Tzadik’s has a very specific place in our mesorah. He lived at the very end of the period of nevuah, and with him begins the period of Torah SheBa’al Peh. His is the first name in Avot (1:2), the first to have Torah given over in his name. This was the beginning of a new kind of innovation. From now on, the Torah would be carried in the hearts and minds of the Sages, and be brought into the world, not through nevuah, but through their innovation.

The rise of Torah Sheba’al Peh illuminated our world tremendously. For the purposes of free choice, there had to be a counterbalancing darkness. This came into the world through Greek culture, which affirmed the power of the human intellect and then divorced that power from Hashem. It was therefore Shimon HaTzadik, first of the Sages of the Torah SheBa’al Peh, who paved the way for Alexander the Great’s victories in the world.

Shimon HaTzadik was not just a sage, he was also Kohen Gadol. His mesorah was taken from Aharon, and carried on by his children, the Chashmonaim. They were tremendous innovators in the service of Hashem. After miraculously winning the war no Navi had told them to fight, they went back to the Beit HaMikdash and decided not to wait a week, but to use their one vial of pure oil to light the menorah. There was no navi, there was no clear halacha that told them to light. They innovated because Hashem inspired them, and their menorah stayed lit, because Hashem was with them.

Aharon inaugurated the idea that Hashem’s light and kedusha can travel with us and within us wherever we are, even when the mishkan is completely disassembled.  The Chashmonaim reinaugurated this idea and used it to illuminate a changed world. We continue the tradition. The form of the light may have changed, but we can still use it to rekindle our relationship with Hashem and illuminate our homes.

To explore this idea further in the sefer, see pages 86-92.