Parshat Shemot: "To Be Or Not To Be?"

BY: Naomi Bilmes

“To be, or not to be: that is the question.”[1] In Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy, the troubled Danish prince asks the ultimate question about life and death- Is life worth living? Is death preferable to the “sea of troubles,” the “heart-ache” and the “thousand natural shocks” that comprise human existence? This question has bothered countless authors, playwrights and philosophers in the past, and will continue to bother many in the future.

Chapter 2 of the book of Shemot begins with “לֵוִי בַּת אֶת וַיִּקַּח  לֵוִי מִבֵּית  אִיש  וַיֵּלֶך,” “And there went a man from the house of Levi and he took a daughter of Levi (for a wife).”[2] This verse begins to tell the story of Moses’ parents, Amram and Yocheved. Numerous commentators have asked questions about this verse, specifically regarding the first word: “vayelech-and he went.” Why must Amram “go out” to find a wife? Why can’t he just stay where he is? Where is he going? What does this tell us about his family and his life?

Ramban comments that this is Amram’s first marriage and Yocheved lived in another city. Therefore, Amram must “go out” to find her and marry her. Ramban also points out that “vayelech” is used in other places in Tanakh to indicate that someone is breaking the mold and doing something new. In this case, Amram is doing something innovative as well, by getting married and attempting to have sons, he is defying Pharaoh’s decree and willingly becoming a veritable outlaw. [3]

Rashi has a slightly different interpretation of the word “vayelech.” He posits that when Pharaoh decreed the slaughter of all newborn males, Amram and Yocheved were married already and they separated as a result of Pharaoh’s decree. The couple reasoned that if they were not living together, they could not have a son who would be killed in accordance with Pharaoh’s harsh decree. For Rashi, “vayelech” refers to the fact that Amram had to relocate to Yocheved and remarry her.[4]

The Gemara in Masechet Sotah expands greatly upon Rashi’s idea. The Gemara begins by assuming that Amram and Yocheved have married and separated. Rabbi Judah ben Zebina interprets “vayelech” to mean that Amram went “in the counsel of his daughter.” But what does this mean? What did his daughter, Miriam, say to him that was so vital? The Gemara continues by recounting a story about Miriam and her father. Miriam, seeing that her father has separated from her mother and that other Israelites are doing the same, approaches her father with a reprimand, “Abba, what you have done is worse than what Pharaoh has done! Pharaoh’s decree only affects the boy babies, but what you have done affects girls, too! Yes, you have prevented yourself from having to kill any baby boys, but you have also prevented yourself from having daughters who could have lived.”[5]

Amram does not respond, and Miriam continues her bold rebuke, “Your act is also worse than Pharaoh’s in another way. His decree only affects this world, whereas yours affects the World to Come. If babies are born and then drowned, they can go to Olam Haba’ah (World to Come). But if they are never born in the first place, they never even have the chance.”[6]

Miriam’s rebuke brings up a striking question, is it better to have lived and died at a young age or is it better never to have lived at all? According to Miriam’s logic it would seem that the answer is that a short life is better than no life, merely breathing the air of our world for a few precious moments ensures us the chance to get to the World to the Come. But Miriam is only considering babies, people who have not yet had a chance to act, to think or to feel. I challenge you to think of the question in regards to a much older person—someone who has had the chance to experience life. In this context, the question takes on a whole new meaning. It is not simply about getting to the World to Come; it is about your experiences and actions in this life. Is it worthwhile to experience the joys of life only to have them one day taken away? Or is the pain of death too great a cost? Maybe it is better for life to never even begin.

Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai take on this question from a slightly different perspective. They examine the question of a person’s actions. Humans are guaranteed to sin, so maybe it is better that humans don ot live at all rather than live a sinful life.

Shammai: It is better for man not to have been created!
Hillel: Incorrect! It is better that man exists!
Shammai: Let’s take a vote!

The majority rules that it is better for people NOT to have been created! But since he has indeed been created, he should investigate his past deeds and fix them if necessary. He should also examine his future actions and make sure they are in accordance with morality and halakha.[7]

The Gemara in Eruvin seems to teach us that it is better never to have lived at all—a statement which directly contradicts the Gemara in Sotah. Miriam thinks any life is preferable, while the Rabbis imply otherwise. I find the Rabbis’ conclusion somewhat disheartening. Are we really to believe that we have no chance in life to achieve goodness? Are we truly so bereft of morality that sinning is our inevitable course of action?

We must prove to God and to others that we do indeed deserve to be created. While Hamlet shies away from the pain others create for him, the Rabbis seem to be shying away from the pain and immorality we create for ourselves. In Hamlet’s case, the cure to life’s troubles was death. In our case, however, the cure must be self-improvement. We have been created. We are likely to sin. We are able to repent. We can therefore earn the right to the life that God has given us.

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[1] Hamlet, III.i

[2] Shemot 2:1 The Stone Edition: The Chumash, Artscroll, 1994.

[3] Shemot / Exodus: The Torah with Ramban’s Commentary, Artscroll, 1999.

[4] The Torah: With Rashi’s Commentary, Artscroll, 1999.

[5] Sotah 12a 

[6] Ibid.

[7] Eruvin, 13b

Parshat Vayechi: The Choice Is Yours

BY: Michal Dicker

In parashat Vayechi, Jacob gathers his twelve sons together, before his impending death, in order to tell them what will befall them in אַחֲרִית הַיָּמִים,” “the end of days” (Genesis 49:1).  Jacob then proceeds to present an analysis of each of his sons’ personalities.  His analysis highlights his sons’ strengths but more often, focuses on the weakness reflected in each son's actions throughout the Biblical narrative.  Jacob’s predictions and aspirations for his family’s future function as an outgrowth of his assessment of his sons’ characters.  The verse concluding Jacob’s speech states:

“כָּל-אֵלֶּה שִׁבְטֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, שְׁנֵים עָשָׂר; וְזֹאת אֲשֶׁר-דִּבֶּר לָהֶם אֲבִיהֶם, וַיְבָרֶךְ אוֹתָם--אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר כְּבִרְכָתוֹ, בֵּרַךְ אֹתָם” “All these are the twelve tribes of Israel; and this is how their father spoke to them, and blessed them; every one according to his blessing he blessed them” (Genesis 49:28).

Yet, when contrasted to the blessings Jacob bestows upon his grandchildren, Ephraim and Menashe, what Jacob relays to his sons does not seem to be much of a blessing at all.  For one, the Bible consistently uses the verb “.כ.ר.ב,” “bless,” in the former case, to describe Jacob’s speech, and he tells them how great and powerful they will become. However, Jacob’s speeches to his sons seem less like blessings than warnings and predictions.  Further, Jacob mimics his father Isaac’s blessing methodology by holding his grandsons and placing his hands upon them.[1]  In parashat Vayechi, Joseph presents his sons to Jacob such that Jacob’s right hand rests upon the elder Menashe’s head, while Jacob places his left hand on the younger brother Ephraim’s head. Yet, before blessing his grandchildren, Jacob switches his hands:

“וַיִּשְׁלַח יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-יְמִינוֹ וַיָּשֶׁת עַל-רֹאשׁ אֶפְרַיִם, וְהוּא הַצָּעִיר, וְאֶת-שְׂמֹאלוֹ, עַל-רֹאשׁ מְנַשֶּׁה:  שִׂכֵּל, אֶת-יָדָיו, כִּי מְנַשֶּׁה, הַבְּכוֹר.” “And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim’s head, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Menashe’s head, changing his hands; for Menashe was the firstborn” (Genesis 48:14).  Upon seeing what his father has done, Joseph objects by appealing to Menashe’s status as the בכר, the firstborn.  But Jacob refuses, on the grounds that one day Ephraim will outstrip Menashe.[2]  This decision of Jacob, or Israel (the name that he is called during this particular episode) creates a contrast between the blessing that he gives Ephraim and Menashe, and Isaac’s blessing of Jacob and his twin brother Eisav.  In the latter case, Jacob—the younger of the brothers—had to manipulate his father in order to receive the blessing of the firstborn.[3]  Although Isaac was very disturbed by the fact that Jacob tricked him, and had emitted a “חֲרָדָה גְּדֹלָה,” “a great trembling” at his deceit, he ultimately endorses Jacob by blessing him a second time (Genesis 27:33).  In further contrast to Eisav and Jacob, Ephraim and Menashe are blessed simultaneously, and receive the same substantive blessing.  These various parallel accounts of fathers blessing their sons and grandsons in the Bible reflect a variety of different views on the hierarchy of seniority.

It appears that Jacob, possibly as a result of his scarring personal experience, chooses to ignore the common trend of blessing the elder above the younger. He is explicit in choosing the grandson that he wishes to honor, Ephraim, with the placement of his right hand, despite his status of the younger brother.  Furthermore, it is possible that it was the competitive nature of his ancestors that inspired Jacob to take a stand and re-imagine the way in which lineage is inherited.  By placing both his hands on his grandchildren’s heads and, doing what is never done in the Book of Genesis, choosing both to bless both of Joseph’s children and each of his sons, Jacob actively includes many of his offspring in the continuing Biblical story.  None of his sons would have to share the fate of the sibling not chosen, e.g. Ishmael and Eisav. Although neither Isaac nor Ishmael receive a blessing from Abraham, immediately after he dies, the verse states: “וַיְבָרֶךְ אֱלֹהִים, אֶת-יִצְחָק בְּנוֹ” “God blessed his son Isaac” (Genesis 25:11); the Torah doesn’t focus again on Ishmael. Similarly, when Eisav and Yaakov part after their joyful and tear-filled reunion, the Torah refocuses on Yaakov and his descendants, turning all focus away from Eisav. Clearly, the Torah devotes little attention to the lives of Eisav and Ishmael. Furthermore, Jacob’s efforts to bless all of his children reflect his desire that none of them suffer Eisav’s fate.[4]  In blessing all of his children, Jacob is offering a criticism of the jealousy and competition that derives from exclusivity and chosen-ness.  For example, both of the wives of Jacob, Rachel and Leah, perpetually compete for Jacob’s love through their ability to have children.  Their feud is memorialized through the names of most of their children, which bear the mark of each of their respective fertility.  For example, Leah names her first son Reuven because: “כִּי-רָאָה ה בְּעָנְיִי--כִּי עַתָּה, יֶאֱהָבַנִי אִישִׁי.” “Surely the Lord has looked upon my affliction; now therefore my husband will love me” (Genesis 29:32). Hence, Jacob experiences the burdens of competition not only in the fraternal but in the marital sphere as well.

Jacob reflects on the events of Genesis up until this point in Vayechi and therefore decides to undermine the value of fixed and “unmerited” qualities, such as age, and in the Torah’s case, first-born rights.  Although Eisav is older than Jacob, Jacob undermines the age-hierarchy by taking action and securing the firstborn blessing for himself.  Further, although Menashe is older than Ephraim, again Jacob chooses to disregard the age-hierarchy, and empower Ephraim by virtue of his promising future and innate potential.  Finally, Reuven, who Jacob describes in his blessing in Vayechi as being “בְּכֹרִי”––“my firstborn,” and “כֹּחִי וְרֵאשִׁית אוֹנִי”—“the beginning of my strength” (Genesis 49: 3-4), does not receive the firstborn honors since he dishonored Jacob.  Rather, Yehuda, Leah and Jacob’s third son, is the one who Jacob predicts will rule over his brothers. For, the “brothers will praise” Yehuda and “staff shall not depart” from his control (Genesis 49: 8-10).  Jacob continually communicates that action, rather than status, gauges a person’s worth.  The message that he conveys in Vayechi is that it is initiative, rather than an inherited (genetic) position, that can ultimately change the course of one’s own life, or the lives of one’s children.

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[1]Genesis 27:27

[2] Genesis 49: 19

[3] Genesis 27: 35

[4] For, when Eisav discovers that Jacob has stolen his blessing, he lets out a “ומרה גדולה הצעק”––“a great and very bitter cry,” and begs his father: “ברכה לי אצלת הלא” ––“Have you not reserved a blessing for me?” (Genesis 27: 34-36).

Vayigash: Serach bat Asher and the Bridging of Generations

BY: Neesa Berezin-Bahr

In parshat Vayigash, the family of Jacob rejoins Joseph in Egypt, setting the stage for the exile in Egypt and subsequent redemption of the people of Israel. In the Torah’s description of the journey down to Egypt, various family members are mentioned, and a previously unnoticed character, Serach bat Asher is one of the few women who are mentioned by name amongst the family.[1] Possibly due to her special mention, Chazal writes that Serach, accompanied by a gentle harp meant to ease the emotional intensity of the moment, was the one who revealed to Jacob that Joseph is still alive.[2] Upon hearing the news, Jacob’s spirit was returned to him.[3] The Midrash says that because Serach, in essence, revived Jacob’s life, she never tasted death; she is counted among the nine people who entered Gan Eden alive.[4] Serach, an eternal being, is thus attributed with other midrashim. The verb form of Serach, spelled with a samech as her name is sometimes spelled, means “to go free”, “overrun”, or “exceed.”[5] True to her name, she is a remnant through the generations.

According to Midrash, Serach was present when Joseph reveals to his brothers the secret phrase that the savior of the Jewish people in Egypt will use, “pakod pakaditi.” Serach is addressed by the nation when they are unsure of the integrity of Moses as savior and she is able to verify his legitimacy when he indeed uses that phrase.[6] When the Jewish nation is preparing to leave Egypt, Moses wants to take the bones of Joseph with them. How did Moses know where Joseph’s bones were located? Only Serach, who carried the oral tradition and was present when Joseph was buried, could locate Joseph’s bones.[7] Serach is the link between the past and the future and she signifies the strong connection between the Oral and Written Torah.[8] In Talmud Sotah, Rashi asks why the Jewish people in Egypt could not just ask their questions to Joseph’s grandchildren. According to Midrash, redemption was dependent on Serach’s knowledge; without “pakod pakaditi” and without Joseph’s bones, there would be no redemption.[9]

Chazal often utilize a tool called “conservation of Biblical personalities.” When there is an unnamed character referred to in Tanakh, the Midrash will identify him/her with a known Biblical personality for the sake of continuity within and between texts. Serach was known as a wise woman, filled with knowledge and secrets from the past. In Sefer Shmuel, a rebel named Sheva ben Bichri runs from King David and seeks refuge in a city. Yoav, David’s army general, forms a siege around the city and proceeds to engage in conversation with a “wise woman” in order to capture and kill the rebel.[10]  When Chazal saw an “isha chachama, “a wise woman”, a significant yet unnamed character, Chazal identifies the character as Serach. She bridges generations and she is needed for this particular episode.  The isha chachama has an entire conversation with Yoav, David’s general, over a wall, symbolically a barrier which Serach is able to bridge. The isha chachama says, “Ani Hishlamti … ” “I completed … ”, which hints to three things: the first is that she, Serach, completed the 70 “nefesh” (souls) who went down to Egypt; the second allusion is that she fills the gaps between generations, or thirdly, the isha chachama is purposely using the language of shalom, peace, because she succeeds in bringing peace in this story. [11]

Her tactic for saving the city echoes the dialogue between Abraham and G-d. When G-d has plans to destroy Sodom, Abraham pleads with G-d not to destroy the city because of a possibility that there are ten righteous people amongst the wicked.[12] Serach, the isha chachama, pleads that they not destroy the city merely because of one guilty person. Serach was well-versed in Torah Law and was aware of the ruling that if a specific person is identified by name and is deserving of death, then it is permissible to save the city and sacrifice the guilty party’s life.[13] She assumes the role of judge, careful to keep Sheva ben Bichri anonymous until the appropriate time and is therefore said to have completed the “70 nefesh”- she unto herself is a Sanhedrin, a judiciary body of 70. She blends Torah Law and human nature. She again affirms life over death.

Eternity means bringing Oral Tradition with us; it means reliving our past as a nation. Every day we are meant to feel that G-d is giving us the Torah anew. “The term pakad is like a barbed arrow, drawn by the archer of the past and directed towards the target of the future, the redemption of the people.”[14] Our past is not just past; we constantly relive it and it is as real today as was hundreds and thousands of years ago. Being eternal means living for a community that is eternal, not just for ourselves. “Maaseh Avot siman l’banim”[15] (or in our case, “maaseh avot v’imahot siman l’banim u’banot”), the actions of our forefathers and mothers are a sign for future generations; we can learn valuable lessons from our ancestors. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik says, “With one hand the Jew receives the message of the past, and with the other he passes it on to the future. Through the merging of experiential memory and experiential anticipation the Jew transcends temporal bounds and penetrates into eternity.”[16] Serach Bat Asher teaches us to remember the past, relive it, and make it come alive in all of our experiences so we can merit seeing redemption soon for all of Am Yisrael!

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[1] Bereishit 46:17

[2] Midrash Hagadol 45:26

[3] Bereishit 45:27

[4] Torah Shleimah 45:26 Footnote 88

[5] In the Torah, Serach’s name is spelled with the letter “sin”, interestingly however, in the Talmud (Sotah), Torah Shleimah, Midrash Rabah, Midrash Tanchuma, Bereishit Rabah, and Pesikta d’Rav Kahane amongst other sources, her name is spelled with the letter “samech”. 

[6] Shemot Raba 13

[7] Pesikta d’Rav Kahane 11

[8] Midrash Tanchuma, Beshalach: 2

[9] Talmud Sotah 13A

[10] Shmuel II 20

[11] Bereishit Rabah 94:9

[12] Bereishit 18: 22-32

[13] Bereishit Rabah 94:9

[14] Adelman, “Torah of the Mothers”

[15] Ramban on Bereishit 12:6

[16] Shiurei HaRav: The Unique Experience of Judaism

Parshat Mikeitz: Seeing In A New Light

BY: Josh Trachtenberg

The final two parshiot of Sefer Bereishit provide the narrative of one of the most eloquent and humane expressions of emotion and love in all of the Torah. Yosef is a figure whose character signifies transition. As such, Parashat Mikeitz can be viewed through the dramatic, touching, and beautiful shift of Yosef’s disposition towards his brothers.

In the broader narrative of Jacob’s sons, Yosef experiences many transitions. His role lacks consistency; within the span of only a few parshiot, Yosef possesses numerous and differing roles. He is introduced as both a beloved son and a hated brother; he segues from these opposed positions within his own family to the roles of slave, prisoner, and dream interpreter in his life after exile from his family. His final experience with his brothers before beginning a new life is one in which his role is decidedly negative, and in which his social standing is painfully low.

In Egypt, Pharaoh seeks Yosef in a moment of weakness and fear. The Torah describes the reaction of Pharaoh to his own dreams as being one of desperation. " וַיְהִי בַבֹּקֶר, וַתִּפָּעֶם רוּחוֹ, וַיִּשְׁלַח וַיִּקְרָא אֶת-כָּל-חַרְטֻמֵּי מִצְרַיִם, וְאֶת-כָּל-חֲכָמֶיהָ; וַיְסַפֵּר פַּרְעֹה לָהֶם אֶת-חֲלֹמוֹ, וְאֵין-פּוֹתֵר אוֹתָם לְפַרְעֹה."¹ "It was the morning [immediately after having his second dream] and Pharaoh’s spirit was agitated, and he sent for all of the magicians and wise people of Egypt, and he told them his dreams and they did not interpret them for Pharaoh."²

Immediately following this, Yosef is called, and after his correct interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams, he assumes the role of being depended upon. His character is ultimately catapulted to the second highest position in all of Egypt. Although he begins as a slave in a foreign land, Yosef becomes an individual of tremendous power.

The great Hassidic master Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev deduced a powerful message from a description of one of Yosef’s many transitions.³The Berditchever was perplexed by a redundant use of language in the verse that tells of the moment in which Yosef first saw his brothers in Egypt: "וַיַּרְא יוֹסֵף אֶת-אֶחָיו,  וַיַּכִּרֵם; וַיִּתְנַכֵּר אֲלֵיהֶם"⁴" When Joseph saw his brothers, he recognized them; but he acted like a stranger toward them.”⁵ In this verse, the root הכר, to recognize, is employed twice. The second appearance of the root is in the form of a transitive verb, and, as such, the act of recognizing specifically denotes a recognition of the brothers that is more profound than the simple seeing and recognizing described in the first part of the verse. This verse arguably signifies another transition for Yosef; in this verse, a change in Yosef’s disposition towards his brothers becomes realized.

The Berditchiver points out that the moment in which Yosef sees his brothers bowing and pleading for food to survive the famine is one in which the dreams he dreamt in the house of his father become reality. The Berditchiver suggests that the redundant use of the verb “to recognize” signifies that when Yosef saw his brothers anew, he recognized them as approaching him from a position of pain, trying and discomfort, and was suddenly aware of how callously he had spoken to his brothers about his dreams.

When Yosef initially dreamt in his father’s house, he was not at all sensitive to his brothers. In his youth, Yosef was not quiet or humble about his dreams; he exhibited little humility when boasting to his brothers that they will one day bow to him. The Berditchiver contends that Yosef could have recognized the moment in which his brothers bowed to him in Egypt as the realization and manifestation of his dreams as he understood them while still living with his brothers. At that earlier point in time, he disparaged his brothers by clearly implying his superiority, that he felt he was greater than them. To the Berditchiver, Yosef’s transitive recognition of his brothers is one in which he no longer wants them to experience pain in their own souls. When his brothers bowed to him in Egypt, Yosef was provided with occasion to express the merits of his egotistical perspective. Rav Levi Yitzchak frames the eyes of Yosef, the powerful Egyptian official, as having a beautiful difference from the eyes of Yosef, in his role as brother. Instead of seizing the opportunity to shame his brothers for not having believed him while in the home of Jacob, he goes through great lengths to ensure that knowing his dreams had come true and that he had surpassed them in standing does not hurt them.

Earlier, Yosef provoked his brothers and fed them with desire to kill him. Upon the fruition of his dream in Egypt, Yosef does not exhibit the egocentric qualities that broke his family apart. Instead, he sees his brothers with sensitivity. With this new perspective, Yosef, albeit in a strange way, initiates the process of mending the wounds between himself and his brothers and repairing his father’s broken heart.

The intersection of Shabbat Chanukah and Parashat Miketz is potentially very meaningful, especially if considered in light of the altered landscape of Yosef’s relationship with his brothers. The Berditchiver describes Chanukah candles as providing a distinct type of light, and consequently Chanukah presents unique and holy opportunities in terms of sight and seeing.⁶

In Parshat Miketz, Yosef’s evolution and maturation allow him to see his brothers in a new light. His second recognition of his brothers is one in which he sees them entirely differently than he had before. Instead of existing as pawns for Yosef in his role of power, Yosef recognizes his brothers with sensitive, loving, and caring eyes.

When his brothers bowed before him in Egypt, Yosef had two possibilities of sight. His immediate disposition could have been to realize that his dream had come true, and he could have exclaimed in victory and triumph that he was Yosef. This would have revealed the same Yosef who had caused emotional pain to his brothers in the past; he could have compounded the insult of begging for food with the injury of being told, once again, that they were inferior to their brother. Instead, the new light that illuminated to Yosef the moment in which his brothers bowed before him allowed him to recognize his brothers with a disposition of sensitivity and love. Yosef could have seen the bows of his brothers in two radically different ways. He could have recognized his brothers as the Yosef who provoked his way into slavery. Instead, in a way that demonstrates the complex evolution and growth of his character, Yosef sees his brothers with a disposition of caring, and recognizes their bowing as an imperative to embark on a quest to repair a fractured relationship.

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1 Genesis 41:8^↩

2 JPS Translation^↩

3 Kedushat Levi Parshat Miketz 4^↩

4 Genesis 42:7^↩

5 Translation ibid.^↩

6 Kedushat Levi Derushim L’Chanukah 2^↩

Parshat Vayeishev: No Rest for the Righteous?

BY: David Marks

א וַיֵּשֶׁב יַעֲקֹב, בְּאֶרֶץ מְגוּרֵי אָבִיו--בְּאֶרֶץ, כְּנָעַן. ב  אֵלֶּה תֹּלְדוֹת יַעֲקֹב, יוֹסֵף בֶּן-שְׁבַע-עֶשְׂרֵה שָׁנָה הָיָה רֹעֶה אֶת-אֶחָיו בַּצֹּאן, וְהוּא נַעַר אֶת-בְּנֵי בִלְהָה וְאֶת-בְּנֵי זִלְפָּה, נְשֵׁי אָבִיו; וַיָּבֵא יוֹסֵף אֶת-דִּבָּתָם רָעָה, אֶל-אֲבִיהֶם

1 And Jacob dwelt in the land of his father's sojourning, in the land of Canaan.   2 These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was feeding the flock with his brethren, being still a lad even with the sons of Bilhah, and with the sons of Zilpah, his father's wives; and Joseph brought evil report of them unto their father.¹(Genesis 37:1-2)

The first verse in this week’s Sidra informs us that after his confrontation with Esau and his physical struggle with the angel, Yaakov settled in the land of his father’s sojourning. The name of the Sidra, Vayeishev (and he dwelt), follows Vayeitze (and he departed) and Vayishlach (and he sent), which connote continuous movement and action in which Yaakov did not have time to settle, either physically but also psychologically. Based off a midrash,² Rashi suggests an explanation for the interesting succession of the names of the parshiot. He writes:

עוד נדרש בו וישב ביקש יעקב לישב בשלוה קפץ עליו רוגזו של יוסף צדיקים מבקשים לישב בשלוה אומר הקב"ה לא דיין לצדיקים מה שמתוקן להם לעוה"ב אלא שמבקשים לישב בשלוה בעוה"ז

A further comment was expounded on this verse, “and (Jacob) settled”, Jacob sought to dwell in tranquility, but then, the ordeal of Yosef sprung upon him. The righteous request to settle in tranquility, but the Holy One Blessed Be He says ‘the righteous do not consider that which is prepared for them in the world to come to be enough for them rather, they request to dwell in tranquility in the world to come.³

This teaching is brought from a midrash which indicates that the righteous are not meant to rest in this world. Such an observation is astounding to us; traditionally, we associate inequity with sinners. As a result, we are shocked by the idea that someone who dedicates his life to godliness should suffer in this world.

I think the answer lies in the following idea. There is a concept within the Talmud⁴ that speaks of thirty six righteous individuals who keep the world turning; without them, the world would not exist. That is, it is through the efforts of individuals that the world exists, and it is through their acts of loving-kindness that the world is not destroyed by the opposing evil which persists. Whether we understand this figuratively or literally, there is a lesson to be learned here. The world always needs to progress. Those who espouse godliness must always seek to take the next step. Once they rest, the lack of turbulence in their lives will not allow for creativity.

A similar notion is described in the famous disputation of the Ramban (Rabbi Moses ben Nachman, 1194-1270) in 1236 with a Christian who had converted from Judaism named Pablo Christiani. In disputing the notion that the Messiah had already arrived, Ramban alludes to the fact that the prophecy of "Nation shall not raise sword against nation," (Isaiah 2:4) had not come into fruition. In fact, the world had been in such turmoil since the era in which he lived. Within the context of a polemic, the Ramban’s observation points to the fact that suffering in the world is part of a progression, and until the world reaches perfection, there is no rest for its inhabitants. Judaism does not view the world as perfect. It is the responsibility of every individual to improve the world. Not by warfare and bloodshed does the world progress, but by productive contributions. 

This idea seems to suggest that while the world is still not perfect, we are subject to its woes regardless of our own actions. We are not to rest, even if we are not causing the unwarranted harm. Thus people should not sit in tranquility and ignore the chaos around them. Such an approach to the question of theodicy can be controversial and unsettling; there is a value in appreciating the product of struggle. Stagnation is the antithesis of progression. Rough times enable and require a person to think in a forward fashion and to look for solution to solve problems.

A settled mind is not confronted with problems and therefore does not contend with them. Yaakov believed that the remainder of his life would be spent in rest; he thought his work would be completed once he reached the land of his forefathers. Perhaps he was guilty of not looking further to address other issues or to progress the lives of his family. While we are not the judges of such a man, we must consider the lesson taught here. Life is not meant to be lived in tranquility. If our goal is to fix the world, we must consider the fact that while it is “not incumbent upon [us] to complete the task, [we] are not exempt from attending to it.”⁵

1 JPS translation from Mechon Mamre, http://mechon-mamre.org/e/et/et0137.htm#1

2 Midrash Rabba Parashat Vayeshev 34:3

3 Rashi, Genesis 37:1

4 Tractate Sanhedrin 97b

5 Pirkei Avoth 2:16