Moses the Anonymous Egyptian

We have read the story of Moshe Rabbeinu so often that we surely haven't missed anything--have we? But the deeper one digs, more the Torah text reveals, and it is the Torah that sweeps away our preconceptions and misconceptions. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger explains:

Moshe Rabbeinu is perhaps the greatest and most influential figure in the history of the Jewish People. He was their redeemer, lawgiver, leader, prophet, defender, sustainer, and teacher.  While the Torah is blueprint for all of creation, it is also named “the Five Books of Moses.” 

Our perceptions of Moshe are of a larger-than-life figure. Midrashim tell tales of his remarkable youthful exploits – being tested by Pharaoh as an infant and travels and conquests in African lands. Popular culture has even created an image of a “Prince of Egypt.”  A careful reading of the parasha however tells a very different story.  Moses was initially a rather anonymous and inconsequential Egyptian man. His birth story was interesting but, until Hashem’s initial revelation to him, he was basically a nobody.

A Levite man went and took a Levite woman and they had a child. At this point all identities are insignificant, anonymous and irrelevant. The narrative is familiar -- so, skipping ahead, Pharoh’s daughter notices the child floating in the Nile and directs an attending maiden to retrieve him. She is compassionate toward what is obviously (to her) a Hebrew child.

The Midrash and most readers of the text interpret Shemot 7:10 in the narrative as Pharaoh’s daughter (i) adopting the child as her own, (ii) naming him Moshe (“because he was drawn from the water”) and agreeing to his care by Jewish nursemaids (not in that order).  However, as one reads these verses and the subsequent text, this is not what happened.

The child was taken by the princess’s retainer from the water, but he certainly could not have been raised by her. Thus, she was put in the care of nursemaids. After a period of time when he grew (Shrmot 2:10), he was brought before her. This implies that there was no previous relationship between them. Linguistically, the Torah creates a Hebrew narrative that, in fact differs from the actual (and the actual is more consistent with all that follows).

To digress for a moment. The Egyptian suffix mss (or mosses) means “son of” or “child”. The best example of this is the line of Egyptian royalty that adopted the name Ramses – Ra was their main deity, the Sun God – thus Ramses was the “son of” the Sun God. In this instance, to Pharoh’s daughter this boy was NOT a son, he was merely moses (with a small m), a child that she had compassion for.

This conclusion is supported by logic, by fact and by the six verses that follow:

1.     In ancient times a princess was currency, a political asset to be married off to rulers of other kingdoms or to important noblemen.   Logic dictates that such a princess could not have had a son identified with her.

2.     In Shemot 2:11, Moshe goes out to see his “brothers” and he sees their burdens (“sivlotam”). This word, sivlotam is used only one other place, in Shemot 1:11 – and it refers to the burdens of the Egyptians (see Rashi on that verse).  This being so, the main burden of the work and taxes was on the Egyptians (as they were the vast majority of the population, the Jews were still a small minority). They were also involved in the harsh labor; It was their burdens that Moshe went out to witness!  He was a compassionate person and reacted to the scene he was witnessing. Had he been a prince, he would have been able to order the taskmaster to stop – but he was merely an “ish” an Egyptian commoner!

3.     In Shemot 2:14 as he witnesses the two Jews fighting, they refer to him simply as an “ish”. Moshe is afraid, again, as we see in the next verse (Shemot 2:15), because he is merely a common Egyptian.  He is not viewed as the son, real or adopted, of Pharaoh’s daughter.  He has no privilege.

4.     Finally. as he flees to exile in Midian, in Shemot. 2:19 Yitro’s daughters identify him as an Egyptian man (“ish Mitzri”).

In summary, until Hashem reached out to Moshe through the sneh (the burning bush), he likely did not know anything about his heritage or of the destiny of the Jewish people. He may not have even known anything of Hashem, only the pagan gods of Egypt. It is quite telling that, when Hashem addresses Moshe, he first explains that he is God of his fathers Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov (Shemot 6:13). In other words, He reveals to Moshe his identity as a Hebrew. Likewise, it is quite telling that, after the shock of this revelation, Moshe’s first words are “mi anochi” – who am I (Shemot 6:11)?

Moshe was no longer an anonymous Egyptian man. He was now the greatest Jew who ever lived, tasked with ending his people’s Exile.  All of his capabilities had lain dormant within him, awaiting the exact moment for them to emerge. May the latent abilities of the anonymous Mashiach who hopefully is walking among us soon be realized.

Postscript

After I developed the thoughts and structure of this devar Torah, I found a very similar analysis in Rabbi Zvi Grument’s new Book, Exodus: The Genesis of God’s People (Maggid Books, Jerusalem, 2025) pp. 15-26.

Calamitous Contentment

Were the experiences of Yaakov Avinu and his descendants in Egypt the prototype of subsequent exiles, going from comfort to suffering? And did our forefather make the wrong choice? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger investigates.

Between the years 800 and 1930 various countries, municipalities, principalities, noblemen, Church officials, and angry mobs in Europe expelled the Jews from their homes. This happened more than 130 times. As we know, after that date the strategy devolved to one of extermination. In many instances, the Jews enjoyed periods when they were accepted and welcomed as productive members of their communities. In earlier times, they may have had a second-class status, but they had their niche as merchants and in finance—and even mingled with the upper echelons of the citizenry. After emancipation arrived in various countries, they assimilated into the professions and universities and into the worlds of science, art and culture. In other words, although their situation was often precarious, Jews often lived in a fantasy world, the world of “this time will be different”: their neighbors accepted them, they were protected, they were safe, nothing could happen to them. But it did – time and time again. Their comfort resulted in such a credible illusion that they were unable to believe or accept the inevitable as they were led to their near extinction.

Today we are once again witnessing such denial. Jews and their communities in the diaspora suffer: in South America (Buenos Aries), in India (Mumbai), in Australia (Bondi Beach) in the US (Pittsburgh), in France (Toulouse and Montauban) and in New York (multiple incidents on subways, at synagogues and on the streets). Antisemitism is rampant.  Individual Jews and their communities face threats from the Left and the Right: from college campuses and from social media; from influential political commentators and from political leaders. Then there is the rising number of Moslems that are asserting their brand of aggressive power over polite and civilized society.

Nevertheless, most Jews either remain in denial or are so comfortable with the trappings of the material bounty they enjoy that they cannot accept their predicament and reach for their best alternative – their spiritual legacy and true homeland.

They are not alone: they are simply modeling their behavior after their forefather  Yaakov – the choicest and purest of the Avot insofar as all twelve of his sons,were likewise untainted. After experiencing two difficult exiles, in the house of Lavan and in Egypt, he should have yearned for a return to the Land of Israel. Instead, in parashat Vayigash we find that, once the famine ended, “the Jews remained in the Land of Goshen, and they prospered and became very fruitful” (Bereishit 47:27). Yaakov and his sons were so comfortable. Yet a generation or so later they would be enslaved, initiating the pattern of classic antisemitic tropes (Shemot 1:9-10). How was this possible?

History has shown us time and time again how this was possible. Today, despite the warning signs, we have a front row seat to yet another round in this cycle. However, as regards Yaakov, we perhaps should not be so quick to judge. He at least could justify his choice (although one could ask whether he was required to so choose). Turn back to Yaakov’s first “exile.” As he is escaping the wrath of his brother for having taken the berachah of the first-born, fleeing to Padan Aram, something interesting occurs. Yitzchak’s parting words are: “(He) should give to you and your children with you Avraham’s blessing to inherit the land you reside in, that He gave to Avraham” (Bereishit 28:4). In other words, Yaakov did not take the berachah. Yitzchak always intended to pass to him the legacy of Avraham and that legacy was the berachah of Avraham -- the land.

So when did this berachah—this commitment regarding the land—become effective? In truth Hashem dangled this promise before Avram several times, reaching the point where a frustrated Avram finally asked, “How do I know that I will really inherit it?” (Bereishit 15:8). So, Hashem enters into a covenant with him, the brit ben habetarim. The terms were as follows: The Jews would be exiled to a foreign land for four hundred years; they would be enslaved there and, in the end, they would be redeemed with great wealth and given the land (Bereishit 15:13-14). This is when the right of Avram’s children to the land would be fixed.

Yaakov received both the legacy and the burden of this blessing. When he sojourned to Egypt to reunite the entire family – something he thought would never happen from the time Yosef was lost to him – he recognized that this was the beginning of the process that would result in the fulfillment of the berachah. He thus knew that he must choose to stay in Egypt. He remained with his eyes wide open, knowing that his children and their succeeding four generations would suffer.

Is this really what Hashem wanted for Bnei Yisrael? We cannot know. All we know is that this is the choice Yaakov made. And, as they say, the rest is history.

What we do know, with the advantage of hindsight and now with the wisdom of the ages is that, as successive generations of Jews have made this same choice, it has only resulted in catastrophe. There are no beneficial exiles, there are not even benign ones. Blissful ignorance or, worse, contentment leads only to calamity.

Chanukah: How Do We Get it So Wrong?

 Here's another surprise from our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger, who asks if we have missed the point of Chanukah completely. 

Since our early childhoods we all have a special fondness for Chanukah. What a joy! Presents – perhaps on all eight days, and maybe even more from grandparents and aunts and uncles and friends – an absolute bonanza. Then there are the latkes and sufganiot. Add on high stakes games of dreidel, parties, and festive meals and we have a holiday quite different from the typical “shul-fest.” Even the sole ritualistic element, lighting the menorah, in many homes where each child regardless of age participates with their own, is not a burden but an expression of love and appreciation.

If we dig deep enough, we can find many reasons, not a single uniform one, for each of these practices; the gift giving and dreidel game, the particular foods and even the many aspects of lighting the menorah itself.  However, unlike on Pesach when our various practices are intended to provoke questions that lead to opportunities to teach – or more importantly, to educate through an experiential process – on Chanukah all we seem to do is indulge ourselves and the children.  What is the source for all these practices?  What is the real story of Chanukah?  What happened?  Why is it so important?

Perhaps one of the issues for us, as adults, regarding Chanukah, is that we still approach it with the eyes of our childhoods. For us it is still the story of the brave Yehudit defying the Greek general and the seven sons of Hannah refusing to bow to Antiochus; of Matityahu calling out “mi la’Hashem e’lai” to rally the Jews to fight the Greeks who had defiled the Temple, and of the Maccabees who led Judah and waged a guerilla war to defeat them with a handful of men. Then, of course, there is the miracle of the one jug of oil lasting eight days. In our minds, this all led to the declaration of the annual holiday that we celebrate with our menorah lighting and all the other wonderful, meaningful and joyous customs.

However, history and reality do not quite match this narrative.

At that time Antiochus IV, the Seleucid king, was enthusiastically welcomed by many Judean Jews. He installed a man named Yeshua (Jason) as Kohen Gadol (in place of his older brother). He incorporated Greek culture into Jerusalem. A more assimilated Jew, named Menelaus, bribed his way into the position and introduced idolatrous practices into the Temple – including sacrificing unclean animals. The first day the mizbe’ach was used for such worship was…. 25 Kislev! It is doubtful that the date is a coincidence.

About two years later, Matityahu, with the family name Hashmonai, instigated a rebellion against NOT the Greeks (Yevanim) but against the assimilated Jews/Hellenizers (Mityavnim). After Matityahu died, his son Yehudah assumed leadership.  Since he was a great warrior, he was given the nickname Makabee, the Aramaic word for hammer. The rebels were never called Maccabees.  That name became attached to these heroes when the two books of the Maccabees were canonized as a part of the Christian Bible!

When the Hashmonaim regained control of Har Habayit and the Temple from the Hellenizers, they were not concerned with the menorah. The mizbe’ach had been defiled.  If you recall, the mizbe’ach is constructed from stones and the mityavnim rendered the current ones unfit. On 25 Kislev, the same day that two years earlier the actions of Menelaus disqualified it, they rebuilt it with new stones. This is the actual Chanukah the “chanukat hamizbe’ach” (rededication of the altar). Once they rebuilt the mizbe’ach, they made a strategic decision. Since the most recent chag for which they had not brought korbanot was Succot/Shmini Atzeret, they decided to celebrate for eight days and to compensate those offerings (this is actually expressly written in II Maccabees 10:5-8, although I hesitate to rely on it as the definitive source. However, I do note that Beit Shammai explained that the order of candle lighting corresponds to the korbanot brought on the eight days of Succot/Shmini Atzeret).

So, have we gotten Chanukah all wrong? In fact, the Rabbis did not institute the mitzvah of lighting the menorah on Chanukah for another two centuries, which was well after the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash.

Fundamentally, as with many other aspects of our religion, the Sages faced a nearly insurmountable challenge: how to provide the foundation and structure for our faith and ritual, to provide hope for future generations and to assure survival and continuity after the destruction of the Temple and the devastation wrought by the Romans. They wove the fabric of today’s Judaism – daily prayer, the written teachings of the oral tradition, the superstructure of Rabbinic ordinances, and holiday rituals such as how to utilize the arbah minim the fifteen aspects of the Pesach seder, and the mitzvah and mystique of Chanukah.

Bringing light into the home and stressing the primacy of traditional Judaism over Hellenism and paganism, during the darkness of exile, was a most important and appropriate symbol. Moreover, by adding an eighth branch to the seven of the traditional Menorah, the Sages were commemorating past glory and foreshadowing future salvation.  The number seven represents the natural, teva. Eight is beyond nature, le’maala min hateva. Thus (i) they needed to highlight a miracle narrative (the one jar) and (ii) they needed to move the focus away from the mizbe’ach and the korbanot and direct it toward the Menorah. As we can see, they succeeded.

Bottom line, we do not get Chanukah wrong. The Rabbis simply wanted us to celebrate a different version: Chanukah 2.0.

Topsy turvy

This week's parashah invites us to ask challenging questions as to why we sometimes appear to be rewarded for our misdeeds or punished for our good ones. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger investigates.

Viewed simplistically, our religion is binary: blessings are good, curses are bad. Mitzvot are good, sins are bad. Morality is good and immorality is bad. As Moshe reminds us time and time again throughout Sefer Devarim, we should choose life. The choice is obvious since the path is clear – it’s black and white.

Life however is full of grey tones and the Torah itself, at least as literally written, at times represents a confusing guide. Men who are the foundations of our faith are depicted in dubious or compromising situations. There is, at the very least, ambiguity regarding Reuven’s actions with Bilhah. Shimshon’s behavior put the nation at risk. Eli HaKohen’s sons’ treatment of women was less than exemplary. Both David and Shlomo faced Divine punishment because of their conduct with women.

There is no need to highlight other examples. Suffice it to say, passion and desire are powerful human emotions.  We cannot understand what Hashem expects from us, how to serve him or who we are without understanding these complex drives.

In Parashat Vayeshev we encounter two of the greatest figures in Jewish history facing what most would consider extremely compromising moral choices. For each, the outcome is different. The respective consequences are counterintuitive. Thus, in the micro, it is difficult to understand how to interpret the moral lesson, at least on the surface.

These are familiar narratives. Out of guilt for selling Yosef, Yehudah exiles himself, then marries and has children. As events unfold, his first two sons each marry the same woman, Tamar. They die childless, leaving a third younger son.  Yehudah sends her away to delay yibum. Years go by, she sees that she has been abandoned, so she decides to dress as a harlot to seduce Yehudah. She succeeds and gets pregnant.

Drama unfolds as she is accused of infidelity by Yehudah, who actually demands she be executed), but she is saved when he admits his culpability after she produces, among other things, the items he left with her as security for payment. In the end she gives birth to twins, one of which is the ancestor of the Davidic line (and hence the Mashiach). Bottom line, he knowingly interacts with a harlot and the result seems to be the greatest of rewards!

Simultaneously, Yosef begins servitude in Egypt. After a period of years facing harsh conditions, he rises to a position of responsibility in the home of an Egyptian nobleman. Unfortunately for him, the nobleman’s wife becomes interested in him. She repeatly attempts to seduce him numerous times, culminating in an incident where she manipulates events to make a very aggressive effort to entice him.  As he refuses and runs out, she grabs his garment and uses it as evidence of her claim that he attempted to sexually assault her. He is imprisoned for several years before he is released to interpret Pharoh’s dreams and as a result promoted to viceroy.

Yehudah succumbs to his baser nature and is enticed by a harlot. The consequence he faces is… a set of newborn twins, one of which is the progenitor of a royal dynasty and the ultimate redeemer.

Yosef is a Tzadik.  He endures suffering because time after time he resists temptation, ultimately at great peril—yet he pays a significant price. While, perhaps, there was a short-term benefit (he becomes viceroy of Egypt), effectively this benefited his father and brothers almost as much as it did him. Moreover, he certainly does not have the same historical importance (yes, there will be a Mashiach ben Yosef, but his role seems limited in function and is rather ambiguous).

Yehudah, the one who made the immoral choice (actually two, if you include the sale of Yosef) comes out the big winner. Where is the fairness?  What does this teach about morality? Topsy, turvy. V’nehafoch hu!

Perhaps the key to the answer is a word or concept that characterizes Yehudah more than any other. A quick word association with him would likely yield terms like: leader, majesty, spokesman, warrior, or (as his mother proclaimed) praise to Hashem. However, perhaps the most accurate word is “arev” or “eravon” – a guarantor or security. When someon

e defaults on a loan he received or on a loan he agreed to guarantee, when there is a default, then the borrower can collect from the security (eravon) given by the borrower or from the guarantor (arev).

When Yehudah negotiated with Tamar but did not have the fee (two goats) she asked for an “eravon” – and he inquired: “what is the ‘eravon’ I should give you?” (Gen 35:17-18). It was that very security that saved her when Yehudah was willing to admit that he acted immorally and accepted responsibility for his poor moral choice in engaging with her. Likewise, when confronting Yosef to plead for the release of Binyamin, his main argument—and the one that succeeded—was that he committed to Yaakov that he would be the arev for him (Gen. 44:32). Effectively, Yehudah was again accepting responsibility for his earlier immoral choice (in this instance, selling Yosef).

Yosef was good. Black and white. If he saw an iniquity, if he thought his brothers sinned, he would report it – even if they would hate him. Likewise, when faced with a seduction, he would not succumb, regardless of the consequence. This is certainly meritorious. But this is how he was hard-wired. He is a Tzadik.

However, life is grey.  For the rest of us (at least most of us) it is complex and confusing, Like Yehudah we fall, sometimes in extreme and calamitous ways. Knowing this, Yehudah is the paradigm for finding our way back to the path of morality and service of Hashem after we fail.  We are security for something precious. That might be for our family values (Yaakov for Yehudah), to our underlying sense of honor and responsibility (Yehudah’s need to fulfill his commitment – even in the face of shame), most certainly to the teachings of the Torah, to our neshamot and to the version of ourselves we strive to be.

Another word related to the root of Yehudah is to be modeh, to admit or acknowledge.  Yehudah was able to look inward and acknowledge his actions and to take responsibility.  He could then take the appropriate corrective action. We are not perfect. We are not expected to be tzadikim. We simply must be able to acknowledge who we are and what we do so we can turn things around.

"Who knows three?"

As we close out the Seder every Pesach, our families sing “three are the fathers and four are the mothers.” But is this true? No doubt there are three fathers, but what is the correct number of mothers? Were there four?  Perhaps there are only three? The most accurate answer actually might be six. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger explains:

When we bless our daughters, we beseech Hashem to imbue them with the qualities of Sarah, Rivka, Rachel and Leah—the four mothers. In Parshat Vayeshev, Bilhah and Zilpah are clearly identified as wives of Yaakov (“neshei aviv”), this might support six. Rachel is the one who eternally weeps for her children in exile, she was solely designated for Yaakov (Leah believed she was destined for Eisav: see Rashi to Bereishit 29:17) and she, the younger sister, not Leah who birthed such a large number of tribes, is mentioned third in the weekly blessing (we also note Rashi on Bereishit 31:33, who states that Yaakov’s regular abode was in Rachel’s tent and that generally Rachel is the only one designated in the Torah as “eshet Yaakov.”)

Turning back to Seder night, the focus seems to be on the fours—the four cups, the four sons, the four expressions of redemption, and so on. But it is actually the threes that have primacy: one does not fulfill one’s obligation without mentioning three things (Pesach, Matzah, Maror) and the Ten Plagues are condensed into a three-part acronym.

Our people are a nation of threes, as Rav Chisda expresses in Shabbat 88a: “Blessed is the Merciful One who gave the threefold Torah (Torah, Neviim, Ketuvim) to the threefold nation (Kohanim, Leviim, Yisraelim), through the third born (Moshe) on the third day of separation in the third month (Sivan).” Indeed, there is an even earlier three to be associated with our people: according to the Midrash, Avraham Avinu recognized Hakadosh Baruch Hu at the tender age of three years old.

What is the significance of three and how does this relate to the elevated status of Rachel?

While Three Dog Night may have designated one as “the loneliest number,” it is, in fact, the most important number. It is Hashem and it represents unity. With no other (ein od milvado), there is only clarity.  There can be no contradiction or confusion.

When a second is introduced, when there are two, there is opposition and conflict. Adam might not have sinned without his “negdo,” the one opposite him. Yitzchak prayed for children, but that prayer was “lenochach ishto,” opposite his wife. This is not to imply that a man and woman are in a perpetual state of conflict.  Quite the contrary, their ideal state is one of shalom bayit. Nevertheless, this cannot be achieved without a center point, without a third, a three, that integrates their disparate personalities and natures.

Our nation has three fathers, but we are most closely identified as the children of only the third: we are the sons of Yaakov, we are identified as Benei Yisrael. A parent cannot spoil and indulge a child with love: Avraham is the parent of love.  Likewise, a parent cannot always be strict and exacting, as represented by Yitzchak. The most fitting parent blends together these two characteristics into a path of truth and clarity – “titen emet leYaakov.” The third father was the center point that provided our foundation.

If we focus on Rachel, we see that she, more than any of the matriarchs, represented this same center point. She took action at two critical junctures that displayed contradictory behavior. When Lavan substituted Leah when Rachel was to marry Yaakov, she refused to allow her sister to face embarrassment and she honored her father. In other words, she showed love, compassion and respect.

Yet she was willing to disrespect Lavan, even to the point of risking her own safety and that of her family, by removing the idols from his home; they were a complete anathema to her. Rachel, like Yaakov, was a mixture of love and justice (In contrast, Leah showed no compassion to Rachel after she asked for the flowers from Reuven. Leah demanded payment in the form of extra time with Yaakov.).

As the children of Yaakov and Rachel, our spiritual DNA contains the capacity to experience the world in three dimensions, not two. There is a time for love and life and mercy and peace.  Likewise, there is a time to be strict, to fight, to kill, to make war and to be vengeful. The first is ideal, the second is sometimes and reluctantly necessary. However, the guiding principle is always truth and what is right – and that is what our three, our Torah, demands from us.

Unfortunately, much of the world exists in a two-dimensional reality. We are surrounded by those who believe that there is only a single path—the path of death and hate.  In their world there is their way or no way.  Three Dog Night had it wrong. One is not the loneliest number…but two is – the two of conflict, the two of deceit and manipulation and the two of mutual destruction. Any solution involving two is likely one doomed to fail.

Post Script: We all know the old joke about the two Jews stranded on the island having three shuls: one for each and the third that neither would go to. Thinking about this a little more, this explanation does not hold up. They each already had one they would not pray in, this being the shul the other Jew occupied. It is more logical to believe that the third shul was the place where they prayed together; it was the third point where, as the children of Yaakov and Rachel, they would have cried out together be rescued.

Lavan the Deceiver – Nature or Nurture?

Was Lavan always bad, or did something happen in his life to turn him to the side of evil?  Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger speculates: 

Lavan, brother of Rivka and father to Rachel and Leah, is certainly one of the more controversial biblical figures. In one respect, he is our uncle and forefather. His sister Rivka directed Yaakov to seek a wife from his home, so she knew he would stay there for an undetermined duration while Eisav’s wrath cooled—and would know he would influence and mentor him. However, we also know that Lavan cheated Yaakov tens of times. Lavan’s most egregious swindle was to switch Leah for Rachel—an action that resulted in Yaakov’s indentured servitude for an additional seven years. Lavan was considered such a threat to the very existence of our people that the Torah describes him as a person that wanted to destroy our father (Devarim 26:5). He is consistently referred to as “Lavan ha’Arami” (“Lavan the deceiver”).

If this is truly who he was, if this was his character, how could Rivka have sent Yaakov to him? Perhaps, this was not his nature. Maybe some event changed him, an experience which taught him that the way to advance or the way to protect himself and to get what is his was through deceit and misdirection. Ironically, this turning point, this critical time in his development, may have been his interaction with the house of his sister’s new family.  In other words, Lavan learned it from the house of Avraham (via his servant)—and Rivka may have been totally unaware of this.

Let us pay careful attention to Eliezer’s interactions with Rivka and her family—with close attention to Lavan:

1. Eliezer sets out on the journey laden with the ten of the finest camels and the entire (and considerable) wealth of Avraham’s house (Bereishit 24:10).

2. He speaks to Hashem in order to set up a test to find the right woman for Yitzchak (24:12-14)

3. Rivka enters and passes the test (24:15-21)

4. Eliezer gives her expensive gold jewelry (24:22).

She reveals who her family is and brings him home. Lavan then comes out to meet Eliezer.

5. Lavan comes out of the house, sees the jewelry and then is enthusiastically and generously hospitable (24:30-32).

Eliezer explains who he is, why he is there, recounts the story (including the sign from Hashem) and asks that he bring Rivka back as a wife for his master’s son.

6. Betuel and Lavan agree (24:51). Eliezer offers nothing and they receive nothing.

7. Despite arriving with the camels and a significant display of wealth, Eliezer gives Rivka gold and silver vessels and garments, but only migdanot (presents) to Betuel and Lavan (24:53). Soo they are soon on their way back to the house of Avraham on the camels (in fact, Rivka even departed with her maid) (24:61).

Bottom line: Eliezer came, he showed off immense wealth, he perhaps implied that they would profit if they agreed to allow him to take Rivka, they agreed – and he took the girl (who actually received all of the fine gold jewelry which presumably she would take with her) and the wealth. Betuel and Lavan got played!

Lavan must have been furious! He was conned. What’s more, he was conned by the virtuous Avraham, he was conned by a wealthy man, and he was conned by family (Sarah was Betuel’s aunt). He was taught lessons that he carried through his life. Is there any wonder he became “Lavan the deceiver”?

Now fast forward many years. Yaakov arrives in Aram and he wants a wife! For Lavan the irony must be delicious. What could be better?  His sister—his rich sister and now part of the family who deceived him so many years earlier—has delivered her precious son to his doorstep. Oh, are they going to pay! They are going to pay top dollar!

The story that plays out is almost a mirror image of ours. Yaakov is by a well. He meets Rachel there.  He discovers that she is from the very family he seeks. She brings him home to meet the family. Lavan gives him the same enthusiastic and generous welcome.  Except, there is one big difference. Yaakov has no camels, no obvious wealth.

Lavan hugs/frisks him—but he feels no hidden cash or jewels.  He kisses him—but there’s nothing concealed in his mouth. Lavan will not be thwarted, his strategy must shift. He knows Yaakov is there to marry and wants to marry Rachel. Lavan is going to make him pay, with everything he is and everything he has. The deceiver emerges, the revenge trap is sprung.  “Shall you work for me for free? Tell me what you want!” (29:16). Yaakov is drawn in and is hung out to dry by his own initiative – working seven years for Rachel (29:18), which turns to fourteen years after the deception. Fundamentally, Yaakov pays for the fact that Eliezer/Avraham themselves might be said to have acted deceitfully.

Perhaps Lavan was orignally a good person, perhaps not. Perhaps Eliezer was following the correct social norms, perhaps not. It is difficult to ignore the parallels between the two stories. In parashat Chayei Sarah the family seems to have expectations of significant wealth—gold, silver, camels—as payment. But they receive nothing. This might justifiably engender bad feelings and give rise to a grudge.  In Parashat Vayetze, Lavan clearly expects payment and makes sure to extract it.

Lavan could have been compassionate, he did not have to treat Yaakov so harshly. He did not have to take advantage of his passion and his situation. This may be why Lavan is cast in such a negative light.  However, it might not entirely be his fault. Perhaps it was not his nature. Rather, it was a learned behavior.

The Antecedent to the Precedent

Most of us have read the story of Avram's departure from Ur Kasdim and his early career as an apprentice Patriarch--but we may be sleep-reading through a familiar story instead of asking ourselves some penetrating questions. Why Avram? What's so special about him? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger takes a close look at the Torah text and shows us what we may have missed.

If you are reading critically, Lech Lecha poses a question rather than presenting a request or command. The question is, out of every other living person, why does Hashem choose Avram as the progenitor of His holy nation, effectively making him father of the three major world religions? The Torah does provide limited background about him: who his father was, that his brother died, that he got married and that his wife was childless. It also tells us that it was his father—and not Avram—who began the journey from their homeland. It conveys nothing of his character, his beliefs or his fitness for such a pivotal role in human history.

Some mistakenly identify him as the first monotheist.  However, there were others who preceded him: Adam and his three sons, Noach, Shem, Ever, Chanoch and Malkizedek (some say he was Shem). Yet Avram gets all the credit. Why?

There are midrashim that recount how Avram

1. inferred that Hashem existed by observing the natural world;

2. destroyed the idols in his father’s store and;

3. survived Nimrod’s attempt to burn him in a fiery furnace for not worshipping other deities.

However, the Torah, which sometimes details seemingly minor incidents, is silent as regards these events.  The Torah does not provide this background. The Avram narrative begins with Hashem directly addressing him – and Avram does not seem surprised by this. Why?

All of this is even more perplexing when we examine Hashem’s first communication/request: Hashem asks Avram to leave his land, birthplace and father’s home to go to an unspecified land in exchange for great reward. Avram had already left his land and birthplace. His father moved the family from Ur Kasdim to Charan. Additionally, they set out to travel to Canaan (Israel) – the place Hashem was going to show him, anyway (Gen. 11:31). This is like receiving a reward for breathing. Yet this is considered a turning point in history. Why?

 As explained, we know little of the pre-Lech Lecha Avram. However, there are three narratives that follow Hashem’s revelation to Avram that may answer the three “whys.”

The first is the Sarai story.  After Avram journeys to “the land” there is a famine that causes him to relocate temporarily to Egypt which had food. He tells his “beautiful” wife Sarai to present herself as his sister so that the locals will not kill him and treat her better. As the story unfolds, the Egyptians bring her to the Pharoh who intends to claim her. Hashem intervenes and threatens him. Pharoh returns Sarai to Avram, admonishes him for the deception, but presents him with an abundance of wealth. Avram now has the resources he needs as the head of the family, to be a provider.

The second is the Lot narrative. The story begins with a family dispute over grazing land, following which Lot separates from Avram and moves to Sodom. Lot is taken captive during the First World War (the war between the Five Kings and Four Kings). When Avram hears this, he gathers a small band of 318 men to challenge and defeat the larger, previously victorious army; he defeats them and recovers Lot. Avram thus proves his mettle as a protector of the family.

The third is the Hagar/Yishmael narrative. Sarai is barren so she encourages Avram to take her maidservant Hagar as a second wife. Hagar becomes pregnant but Sarai oppresses her and she flees to the desert. An angel bids her to return and she later gives birth to a son – whom Avram embraces and names Yishmael. Avram biologically creates a family. Immediately after this third event, Hashem forges a new covenant with Avram, changing his name from Avram to Avraham – signifying that now he is the father of a multitude of nations. Gen 17:5.

These three stories retrospectively show us why Hashem chose Avraham. While other men may have recognized that there is one God in the universe, only Avraham understood that He is not a singular distant, powerful and sometimes vengeful entity – the King of the World. Instead, he perceived and encountered God as the Father of Mankind.He also understood that, to the extent that Avraham was created in Hashem’s image, he himself, likewise, had to be a father – the archetypical father.

These three stories are stories of family: of supporting the family, of preserving the family, of risking all to protect the family, and  of creating a family –-- of being a father. Hashem chose Avraham because he was capable of being Avraham Avinu. When this narrative cycle was complete Hashem acknowledged this by designating him as the “Av Hamon Goyim,”. the father of the multitude of nations.

In summary, here are the answers to the three “whys” that we encountered above:

1.Avraham was not the first monotheist, but he was the first to recognize that the one God ultimately relates to mankind intimately as a father.

2.  The Torah did not recount the early, formative stories of Avraham’s past because they are not relevant to understanding his critical essence. Yes, he was a courageous champion of monotheistic faith. But more germane, he was the only individual with the character to be the father of our nation.

3. Hashem’s request is not what it seems. It is a code – it explains why Avraham was chosen. Avraham had already left his land and birthplace. The family actually intended to relocate to where Hashem ultimately sends him (Canaan/Israel). So, the only sojourn is from the house of his father. In other words, to become the father, he needed to leave the house of his father. The point of the command “lech lecha” was not to tell him where to go. It was to separate the child from his father Terach so he could become our father.

Bereishit and the forbidden fruit -- a misdirection?

Taking a fresh and imaginative look at one of our most familiar parshiyot, Rabbi Steven Ettinger wonders what might have happened if Adam and his helpmeet had engaged a good defense lawyer--and whether the real offense was not the eating of the forbidden fruit but something arguably more important -- with a message for us to learn.

The sequence of events when Hashem creates Adam, as recounted in Bereishit, Chapter 2, is perplexing:

1. He creates and animates man (forming clay and then infusing it with Divine spirit – interpreted as giving man and only man the power of speech);

2. He plants Gan Eden and places Adam there;

3. The plants (trees) sprout, including the Trees of Knowledge and Life;

4. Main rivers flow from Eden to irrigate Gan Eden and the civilized world;

5. Hashem “takes” Adam and “places” him in Gan Eden to work and protect it; 

6.  He commands Adam that he may eat from all trees except the Tree of Knowledge and warns that—if he eats from that tree, he will die;

7. Hashem recognizes that it is not good for Adam to be alone, so he provides him with a helpmate;

8  Finally, Adam names all of the animals.

There are many questions we could ask: why was Adam placed in Gan Eden twice? Why did the trees only sprout after Adam was placed in Eden? What exactly was Adam’s task in Eden? Why did Hashem give Adam just the one command?Why was it only at the end that Hashem created woman? Where did the animals come from? A lot of trees seem to be mentioned, but no animals.

The key to understanding this unusual sequence is the famous story that follows. The “woman” encounters the nachash who says to her “Didn’t Hashem tell you not to eat any fruit of this garden?” He said this so that he could engage her in conversation (see Rashi to Bereishit 3:1), As we know, he convinces her to eat the forbidden fruit, she then gives it to Adam—who also eats it. Hashem reacts by punishing Adam, the woman and the nachash. Adam is exiled from the Garden and the woman is cursed with birth pains and being subjugated to her husband.

The takeaway is that Adam and the woman could have used a good lawyer. When Hashem confronted them, they did not really mount an effective defense. They merely tried to shift blame—Adam to the woman, then the woman to the nachash. However, they actually had an effective and quite reasonable defense.

As noted above, the creation of Adam was unique in that man is the only entity in creation with the power of speech (creation has four categories: inanimate objects, vegetation, living creatures, speaking beings – only man is in this last category). 

Now woman is out alone in the Garden and she encounters the nachash. To her surprise, this being is speaking. Thus, to her limited experience and understanding there could be only two possible explanations: this being either is another type of “man,” or perhaps was he created by another God. Add to this is the fact that she was created after everything else. She did not therefore witness Hashem’s handiwork in planting the Garden, she was not “placed” there, she did not hear God’s command directly – indeed, she never encountered Hashem directly. For her, everything is hearsay. As far as she knows, the nachash has inside information, maybe even better information than her husband. His behavior, his speech, his very existence, are proof that there are beliefs and rules other than those which, she has been told, are valid – and these rules might perhaps be superior (she is being told that, by eating the fruit, she could even become Godlike). Additionally, she has not yet been commanded to listen to Adam. Bottom-line, especially since she only heard the command second-hand, she should not be culpable.

At this point the woman does eat—but she does not die! Since she did not do so, one can only imagine the conversation she had with Adam:

Woman: “Guess what? There is another speaking ‘man,’ there may even be other Gods or God-like beings, so eat the fruit of the Tree and enjoy – I did.”

Adam: “But God said if we eat it, we will die!”

Woman: “I ate it and I am still here, so as you can see, it is perfectly safe – and there are some amazing benefits. It is consciousness raising!”

So Adam ate too.  Again, this is perfectly understandable—and even excusable, given the facts and circumstances. This gave Adam the right to “blame or rely on” the woman (she presented a cogent argument and had eaten the fruit and did not die), and the woman could “blame” the fact that the nachash defied the natural order (which perhaps implicitly made it Hashem’s fault). So why were they punished? After all, iit does NOT seem like they did anything wrong. Or, at worst, maybe Hashem even entrapped them with the talking nachash!

Perhaps the reason Adam was punished has nothing to do with the command not to eat the fruit. That was simply a misdirection. Hashem punished Adam because he violated the primary command: “to work and protect the Garden.”

Returning to the sequence in Chapter 2, Hashem placed Adam in the Garden before the trees sprouted. Adam watched the trees  emerge but he expended no effort in nurturing them. And when the rivers burst forth to irrigate the Garden, Adam again had no need to do anything. Nevertheless, Hashem places him in the Garden again and tells him to work and protect it.

But we can ask “What work? What protection?”  It doesn’t seem that there is anything for him to do. But there is! “Working” and “protecting” are code, synonym for” taking responsibility”—just like the sign on President Harry Truman’s desk: “The buck stops here.” Adam named the animals because he (and not the lion) was the King of the Jungle. In other words, he was responsible. And, though he did not need to plant or irrigate the Garden, he was responsible for it—for good and for bad.

When Adam erred and ate the fruit (possibly NOT a sin, as explained above, as he may have had had a valid excuse), he failed in his obligation was to take responsibility. That was the job Hashem gave to him.  That was what he was commanded to do. Hashem likely did not care about the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, that was a mere pretense.

We have emerged from the Yamim Noraim with a clean slate. We have done teshuvah.  We also know that we will err and sin, likely doing many of the same things we transgressed last year and the year before, etc. Hashem knows this. We know this. We need to learn the lesson from Adam’s behavior: if we want to avoid serious consequences, we need to accept responsibility. If you peel away the excuses, if you do not assign blame to others, if you do not redirect and misdirect—only then can you make positive changes.

Shabbat Shuva: Not Just Empty Words

We are reaching the end of Sefer Devarim. This week we read parashat Vayelech and next week Ha’azinu, the last of the weekly Shabbat readings of this book. Looking through Sefer Devarim as a whole, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger takes a fresh view of the word that gives this Sefer its name.

There is real symmetry to Mishneh Torah, this collection of Moshe’s last words to our people between the beginning and end of this Sefer. The first verse begins with words and the root דבר:

אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל בְּעֵ֖בֶר הַיַּרְדֵּ֑ן בַּמִּדְבָּ֡ר בָּֽעֲרָבָה֩ מ֨וֹל ס֜וּף בֵּֽין־פָּארָ֧ן וּבֵֽין־תֹּ֛פֶל וְלָבָ֥ן וַחֲצֵרֹ֖ת וְדִ֥י זָהָֽב׃

These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan, through the wilderness, in the Aravah near Suph, between Paran and Tophel, Laban, Hatzerot, and Di Zahav.

The Torah marks the conclusion of Ha’aziunu with three unusual and redundant pesukim (Deut. 32:45-47):

וַיְכַ֣ל מֹשֶׁ֗ה לְדַבֵּ֛ר אֶת־כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֥ים הָאֵ֖לֶּה אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

And when Moses finished reciting all these words to all Israel,

 

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֲלֵהֶם֙ שִׂ֣ימוּ לְבַבְכֶ֔ם לְכׇ֨ל־הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֧ר אָנֹכִ֛י מֵעִ֥יד בָּכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר תְּצַוֻּם֙ אֶת־בְּנֵיכֶ֔ם לִשְׁמֹ֣ר לַעֲשׂ֔וֹת אֶת־כׇּל־דִּבְרֵ֖י הַתּוֹרָ֥ה הַזֹּֽאת׃

He said to them: Take to heart all the words with which I have warned you this day. Enjoin them upon your children, that they may observe faithfully all the terms of this Teaching.

כִּ֠י לֹא־דָבָ֨ר רֵ֥ק הוּא֙ מִכֶּ֔ם כִּי־ה֖וּא חַיֵּיכֶ֑ם וּבַדָּבָ֣ר הַזֶּ֗ה תַּאֲרִ֤יכוּ יָמִים֙ עַל־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֨ר אַתֶּ֜ם עֹבְרִ֧ים אֶת־הַיַּרְדֵּ֛ן שָׁ֖מָּה לְרִשְׁתָּֽהּ׃ 

 

For this is not a trifling thing for you: it is your very life; through it you shall long endure on the land that you are to possess upon crossing the Jordan.

 In these three verses Moshe uses the root דבר six times. It is unclear from context if each one refers to the same thing, different things, perhaps to the entire Torah, solely Sefer Devarim, maybe to certain specific admonitions he related that particular day – or to all, or none, of the above. Moreover, there seems to be no major commentary on these verses that provides clarity.

 This week is Shabbat Shuva. Perhaps it should more appropriately have been called Shabbat Teshuva – as it is the Shabbat of the Ten Days of Repentance.  However, it receives its name from the special Haftarah that we read – “Shuva Yisrael” from Hosea 14.

 Most people are familiar with the opening verse:

שׁ֚וּבָה יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל עַ֖ד ה אֱלֹק-ֶ֑יךָ כִּ֥י כָשַׁ֖לְתָּ בַּעֲוֺנֶֽךָ׃

Return, O Israel, to the ETERNAL your God, For you have fallen because of your sin.

However, it is the second verse that perhaps provides a key to understanding the enigmatic words in the verses we quoted and, in turn will reflect back and provide us with a deeper understanding of the teshuva process. The verse reads: 

קְח֤וּ עִמָּכֶם֙ דְּבָרִ֔ים וְשׁ֖וּבוּ אֶל־ה 

Take words with you, and return to God.

What are those words? There is that word “devarim” again.  Is this somehow all connected? Is there an interpretation or unifying theme that can help us understand this within the context of Moshe’s phraseology which may then help us reach a higher teshuva?

Moshe said that the words, the “devarim”, are not a “davar rek,” not empty. Rashi interprets this as follows:
 

There is not one empty (ריק i.e., superfluous) word in the Torah that, if you properly expound it, has not a grant of reward attached to it for doing so. You can know this, for so did our Rabbis say: It states (Genesis 36:22) “And Lotan’s sister was Timna”; (Genesis 36:32)

In other words, there are Jews who contain, have heard, have studied, have learned all, or close to all of the Torah. They are Jews who are “Kol haDevarim” Jews. They bring their bountiful “Devarim” and return to Hashem. It is easy for them; they approach confidently - have little to be concerned about.

 But unfortunately, there are many or our co-religionists who have not only not paid attention to the entire Torah – they have heard, perhaps, only a fraction of it. Maybe only a phrase or two, the equivalent of the words: “And Lotan’s sister was Timna”.  For one, it was reciting one “Shema Yisrael”.  For another, it was answering a single Amen to a mourner’s kaddish when they attended a funeral. For yet another, maybe it was sitting at one’s grandparents’ seder and eating matzah.

If any Jew combines that one word, that one experience, with a step or a thought toward teshuva, then, as we read in the very next pasuk: 

אֶרְפָּא֙ מְשׁ֣וּבָתָ֔ם אֹהֲבֵ֖ם  נְדָבָ֑ה                                                                                                             

I will heal their affliction. I will take them back with love.

Devarim is unique, a Jewish king must write this book and keep it with him at all times. All of the Jews – men women and even infant children – gathered as a nation every seven years to hear it read aloud.   Even today some have the minhag to read the complete sefer on the eve of Hoshana Rabbah. Perhaps it is not solely because of its contents. Instead, maybe it is because its very name reminds us that every single Jew is a davar and not a davar rek. If every Jew can hold on to his or her davar and  bring it to Hashem – it would change the world!