Parshat Toldot: Family Matters

BY: Ayelet Kahane

Genesis is fraught with complicated and tense familial relationships. The prototypical relationship in Genesis is one that includes jealousy, deceit, and rivalry. The relationships found in Parshat Toldot are no exception. The parasha begins with an introduction to Rebekah, Isaac, and the home they ultimately create together. Rav Elchanan Samet points out that from Genesis 25:19-26, the narrative's focus is Rebekah and Isaac. Then, from verse 27 to 34, the narrative's focus is Esau and Jacob. Within each of these segments, there are two distinct subsections. In the first section, where the primary characters are Isaac and Rebekah, verses 22-23 speak of Rebekah's difficult pregnancy and the prophecy that foretold of the two nations that she would bear. Verses 24-26 speak of the birth of Esau and Jacob, with Esau emerging from the womb first with Jacob, quite literally, at his heel. Isaac and Rebekah then name their newborn twins.

In section two, where the primary characters are Esau and Jacob, there is a division in the storyline between verses 27-28 and verses 29-34. In verses 27-28, Esau and Jacob grow into two very distinct individuals. Esau becomes a man of the fields, while Jacob becomes a man of the tents. Esau is loved by his father, while Jacob is loved by his mother. Then, in verses 28-34, Esau infamously sells his birthright for a bowl of soup that Jacob was cooking.[1]

The first subsection of each segment focuses on the conflict between Esau and Jacob. Rebekah's difficult pregnancy was a premonition, an indicator of the tumultuous relationship that would develop between Esau and Jacob. Her two sons would begin their relationship in conflict and the divide and rivalry between them would increasingly grow as they developed in distinct and diverging directions.

Interestingly, the sibling rivalry described between Esau and Jacob closely resembles the first biblical sibling rivalry, that of Cain and Abel. Esau and Jacob are described as distinct to an extent that the world is seemingly divided between them. Cain's dominion extended to the fields, to agriculture, while Abel's dominion extended over animals,as a shepherd. So too, Esau is described as an "ish sadeh," a man of the fields, while Jacob is described as "yoshev ohalim," a dweller of tents. Commenting on the phrase "yoshev ohalim," the Chizkuni (R. Hezekiah ben Manoach, 13th century France) explains that the most direct, text-based translation is that these were tents for sheep. He furthers this point by explaining that it makes sense that Jacob was a professional shepherd because he was an incredibly successful shepherd for Laban later on in his life.[2] In line with a peshat (simple reading) interpretation of this verse, Nehama Leibowitz posits that in addition to meaning hunter, "ish sadeh" could imply that Esau was also a man of agriculture, a man who worked the fields. If this is the case, Esau and Jacob occupied the same distinct physical realms that Cain and Abel did- agriculturalist and shepherd.[3]

Verses 24-26, which constitute the second part of the first section, describe the unusual birth of Esau and Jacob and foreshadow the future selling of the birthright, as described in verses 28-34. The events prior to their births impacted the birth of Esau and Jacob and the continued directions of their lives. The second part of section two describes the fulfillment of the prophecy found in section one. The flow of the entire story points to the omnipotent hand in all of these events. This becomes increasingly apparent through the story of the blessings which occurs later in this parasha in Genesis 27.

In Genesis 27, the drama continues to unfold. Robert Alter points out that there are seven distinguishable scenes within this larger story and each scene includes only two characters. The chapter begins with an interaction between Isaac and Esau, where Isaac tells Esau to prepare a meal for him, in order for Isaac to bless Esau before his death. Overhearing this conversation, Rebekah then interacts with Jacob, telling him to pose as Esau and receive the firstborn blessing. The next scene includes only Jacob, disguised as Esau, and his frail father Isaac. Following this third scene, Esau interacts with Isaac, learning that his blessing has just been given to his younger brother Jacob. Hearing that Esau is intent on murdering his brother for the deed he has just done, Rebekah tells Jacob that he must flee to his brother's house in Padan Aram. Rebekah then goes to Isaac and argues, under the veil of despising the women of Ca'naan, that Jacob must go to Padan Aram and find a wife there. The two-character interactions then continue, with Isaac sending Jacob off to Padan Aram.[4]

Throughout the entire parasha, the four dominant characters are interacting in a convoluted web of actions. Notably, though, every single scene includes a mere two characters. All the events and relationships in the parasha unfold in a series of interconnected scenes, but they only happen between pairs of characters- rather than three or four characters- and there is very little communication between the conflicting characters. In Genesis 27, it is not until the sixth scene in the larger narrative that Isaac and Rebekah communicate. Furthermore, they communicate under false pretenses, pretending that the nature of their conversation and its urgency have solely to do with Jacob finding a proper wife, and not with Jacob`s safety from Esau. Additionally, there is no communication between Esau and Jacob throughout the entire episode of the blessings.

The structure of the parasha boldly emphasizes the contentious and complicated nature of the relationships between the four dominant characters. It connects this story with the larger context of history and God's plan, of what has happened in the past and what will happen in the future. 

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[1] Elchanan Samet, Studies in the Weekly Parasha (Jerusalem, Israel: Hemed Press, 2003), 102-121.

[2] Chizkuni, Yoshev Ohalim, Genesis 25:27

[3] Moshe Sokolow, Studies in the Weekly Parasha: Based on the Lessons of Nechama Leibowitz (Jerusalem, Israel: Hemed Press, 2008), 42.

[4] Robert Alter, Genesis (New York, N.Y.: W.W. Norton & Company, 1996), 137-150.

Parshat Hayyei Sarah: Is there a "Jewish" Destiny?

By AJ BERKOVITZ

The question of destiny is always of interest. Luckily for me, I am not here to answer it. It is a very complex issue that tomes, sometimes unnecessarily, have been written on. Perhaps one of the most classic questions of destiny is: do we have the ability to create our own destiny or is it predetermined. As a people living in Western democracy and perhaps also connoisseurs of popular culture, we like to believe that we are in control and the center of our existence, present and future. We are very anthropocentric beings. On this note, it is very interesting how the protagonist of a book or movie chooses a destiny very similar, if not the same one, as the one predetermined by the ‘prophecy’. For a nice example see the now not so recent Alice in Wonderland.

But because this is a parsha blog, let us see what God, or what scholars may call JE +R think about destiny. As a methodological note, I will actively veer from what is known as pshat. Please do not come brandishing swords and flaming arrows. If, however, you do wish to seek a target, my institution, well… never mind.

The primary focus of our parsha is the dialogue between Abraham and his servant and then the servant with the various family members of Rebecca. During this discourse, Abraham makes his servant swear not to bring home a Canaanite shiksa. The servant, politely unoffended, retorts: what if the woman does not consent to follow me to this land, shall I then take your son back to the land from which you came?” (Gen. 24:5). So this is, of course, the biblical source that all good bachurs need to be set up via shadchan. It also shows the failure of the system. If you cannot get someone be proactive. Go the extra, well in this case, many hundred miles.

But seriously, if a projected rejection is anticipated why not just take Isaac along ab initio? Equally startling is Abraham’s response: On no account must you take my son back there!” (6) Like every good Jewish parent, Abraham is worried. Traveling is wearisome and dangerous. Abraham’s fear, however, is peculiar. It not is just a by command that Abraham requests his son remain but also though oath: And if the woman does not consent to follow you, you shall be clear of your oath to me; but do not take my son back there” (8). The placement of this verse is extremely peculiar. It comes AFTER Abraham says that his servant will be absolved of his oath if he fails to get a nice frum meidelah. In light of its position, there must be some anathema of returning Isaac to Mesopotamia.

Many commentators claim this oversensitivity stems from Isaac’s near death as a sacrificial lamb. In fact, Ḥazal pick up on this oddity, combine it with Isaac’s sojourn in Gerar, and develop the opinion that Isaac truly had sacrificial status and was not able to leave Israel. While this is brilliant exegesis, I would like to present an alternative explanation: Isaac as a symbol of Jewish identity and destiny.

God’s first command to Abram is the famous call of “go forth!” Abram is told to leave: “your native land, and from your father’s house, to the land I will show you.” (Gen. 12:1). While this verse is a fantastic mini-depiction of Jewish history, it stands in slight contrast to a few verses before. We are told in 11:31: “Terah took his son Abram, his grandson Lot, … and they set out together from Ur of the Chaldeans for the land of Canaan, but when they came as far as Haran they settled there.” Abram has already been uprooted, what exactly is God’s command?


This is where the darshani aspect enters: perhaps the command of Lekh Lekha is not merely a positive commanded to get to Israel but also contains the inverse: DON’T COME BACK! Once God has charted a national destiny it is utter blasphemy and potentially life-threatening to attempt to completely uproot it. You may just end up dead, or worse, in the belly of a fish. “Hermione you need to get your priorities straight.” Wait, wrong book. Regardless, this may yet be Abraham’s tension in letting Isaac return to Mesopotamia. Isaac is now the symbol of Jewish destiny. Going back would set Jewish history in inverse. We can now understand the primary placing of “land whence you came” in this Abrahamic discourse.


The anathema of resetting Jewish history by undoing the will of God is ever-present in Tanakh. A more famous example is the prohibition of returning to Egypt. Although the Egypt of today is no longer the Egypt of magic, Pharaohs, and frogs, we are still prohibited to return. Maimonides in chapter 5 section 7 in Laws of Kings mentions three sources of torah prohibitions from returning to Egypt. One of the more famous sources for this negative commandment is in the laws of kings in Deut. 17. A king is not allowed to have too many horses lest he send people to Egypt to get more, and this is wrong “Since the Lord has warned you, you must not go back that way again” (17:17). Crossing God by intervening and undermining a completed historical process is dangerous.

This, in fact, does happen! After most of the land is exiled during 586 BCE, Yohanan ben Quareah begins to lead the remnant Jewish populace towards Egypt. Jeremiah, in a brilliant and harrowing prophecy (chapters 43-45) delineates the destruction awaiting the populace who returns to Egypt. Stay in the land, Jeremiah claims, and God will provide your needs.

Attempting to go back to the past is impossible and undesirable. Jewish destiny on a mass spectrum is not to be tampered with lest it fall into total ruin. Abraham sensed this in not allowing his son, Isaac, to return to Abram’s birthplace. God explicitly commands us not to return the place where he actively removed us from. God delineates a forward moving destiny for the Jewish nation. We are in constant progress and we are to strive to advance to the next historical landmark. The non-existence of a Jewish homeland, according to this reading, is not a valid option. Returning, dwelling, and wallowing in the past is not only ineffective, but destructives. So while we may be the heralds of our own destiny we are prevented one option: return to past existence.

Parshat Vayera: Brothers in Yarns

By BEN GREENFIELD

The Biblical narratives of Aqeidat Yitzhaq and of “Yishmael's Expulsion” hold radically different places in the hearts and minds of Jewish readers. Aqeidat Yitzhaq is, after all, Aqeidat Yitzaq! - familiar to us through repeated emphasis in Jewish liturgy, literature, and theology – while the story of Abraham sending Yishmael and Hagar away is, well, somewhere in Bereishit. What may surprise you, however, is that the Torah seems to disagree with this well-known dichotomy. Instead, she implores us – constantly, emphatically – to read treat these two episodes as a singular whole.

The Torah employs two tools in closing the gap between these two narratives: structural parallels and textual parallels. To appreciate the first, it may be worthwhile to briefly summarize both stories. 

Aqeidat Yitzhak, it may be recalled, flows roughly as follows:

Avraham is commanded to kill Yitzhaq; Avraham rises and prepares; they journey, without a set destination; for a moment, it seems Yitzhaq will be killed; Divine intervention saves Yitzhaq; Avraham opens his eyes and sees a replacement; God blesses Avraham's seed; cut to the genealogy of Yitzhaq's future wife (cf. Gen 22)

Now consider Aqeidat Yishmael Yishmael's Expulsion:

Avraham is commanded to banish Yishmael and Hagar; Avraham rises and prepares; Yishmael and Hagar journey, without a set destination; for a moment, it seems Yishmael will die; Divine intervention saves Yitzhaq; Hagar's eyes open and she finds water; God blesses Hagar's seed; Yishmael finds a wife (cf. 21:12-21)

The parity, I pray, is perfectly perceptible. Of course, my summaries overextend themselves just a bit in an attempt to emphasize the resemblance. Nonetheless, the point remains: in their structural core, the two stories are pretty much one.

In addition, a wide range of syntactic parallels likewise link these two tales. A full survey is beyond the scope of brief dvar – but suffice it to say that many relatively rare phrases are blatantly repeated between the two stories: “Abraham rose early in the morning”; “a distance”; “laid it upon”; “the angel of the Lord called to him”; “lifted up”; “get up”; “listen to . . . the voice” . . . the list goes on. One can find even dissimilar words that bind the texts together: Hagar places her dying child under a bush ( הַשִּׂיחִם) and Avraham finds a ram caught in a thicket (בַּסְּבַךְ ): rarely does shrubbery play such a prominent role in the Biblical chronicle without first being set ablaze.

In effect, reading Aqeidat Yitzhaq on its own is simply impossible: one cannot scan it without immediately thinking of Yishmael and Hagar. Reading over Yishmael's Expulsion elicits the converse effect, as Aqeidat Yitzhak language and themes are soon invoked. And the effect is profound.

For one, this connection liberates the Yishmael story from its otherwise “mediocre” place in the Stories--of-Biblical-Significance hierarchy. Much as the re-canonization of Shir HaShirim transformed it from an apocryphal piece of poetry to a central theological work, the re-Aqeidazation of Yishmael's story invites us – allows us, even – to find rich meaning therein. In addition, this literary bridge rescues us from the trap of necessarily reading the Yishmael story through “negative glasses”. Several traditional commentators seem to snatch at every hermeneutic opportunity to gloss virtue into Yitzhaq's tale and vice into the Yishmael story. (For example, Rashi to 21:14: “Avraham gave them bread and water – But not gold or silver, for Avraham hated Yishmael for developing evil ways.”) Guided by the tight similarities of these texts, we may see in Hagar and Yishmael tremendous signs of virtue¹ or, alternatively, be emboldened by the Torah to read constructive criticism into the Akeida chapter. Granted, in reading these texts carefully, we may arrive at the same conclusions transmitted by Rashi and captured in our liturgy – but in letting them live side-by-side, we breathe new life into Yishmael's story and discover a fresh view of the familiar Aqeida story.

1Several Islamic hadiths do just that, reading faith and heroism in those self-same Biblical details. Check out http://www.answering-islam.org/Index/I/ishmael.html for these texts in translation.

Parshat Lech-Lecha: Vulnerability to Strength

By TALIE LEWIS


This week’s parsha begins with Avram being told to leave his father’s house. With the story of the tower of Babel fresh in my mind, I began reading Lech-Lecha thinking Avram’s journey would be a heroic continuation of the theme of scattering that came from the end of last week’s parsha. However, contextualizing Avram’s journey in this way did not work out as I had planned. 

One recurring scene that can be found throughout Lech-Lecha is that of God reassuring Avram that his journey will ultimately be rewarded with offspring and land. My initial reaction to the frequency of God's reassurance was the following: Avram has just disconnected himself from the aspects of his life that rooted him in the past. By leaving his home, he has made himself extremely vulnerable and to counter this vulnerability, God provided him with multiple visions of the future rootedness He had in store for him, both in the form of land and children for generations and generations.

Maybe this is why we see God promising Avram that he will be rewarded so often, simply because Avram was unstable and thus needed to be reassured with the promise of future stability. 

Toward the end of the parsha, something perplexing happens, adding another layer to this idea. 

In chapter 15, verse 12, the text says:

 ויהי השמש לבוא ותרדמה נפלה על אברם והנה אימה חשכה גדלה נפלת עליו 

And it came to pass, that, when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and, lo, a dread, even a great darkness, fell upon him.

What was this great darkness? The text seems to leave that answer ambiguous. However, the following verse may offer some insight.

13 And He said unto Abram: 'Know of a surety that thy seed shall be a stranger in a land that is not theirs, and shall serve them; and they shall afflict them four hundred years;

ויאמר לאברם ידע תדע כי גר יהיה זרעךָ בארץ לא להם ועבדוּם, וענוּ אתם ארבע מאות שנה

After being reassured numerous times that a nation of people as numerous as the stars of the sky will come from him, and they will be given the land of Canaan, Avram is told they will first be strangers in a land not their own, and furthermore, they are going to be oppressed there for a very long time.

I imagine that would be a very difficult piece of news to receive and certainly capable of sending someone to a dark place. Maybe, in addition to offering Avram some sense of stability, God needed to firmly plant the vision of a flourishing and rooted nation in Avram's head before breaking this harsh news to him. After all, he was already starting out in a pretty vulnerable place. And without strengthening Avram first, this news could have broken him.

Before going through Lech-Lecha this week, I remembered this parsha simply as testament to Avraham’s strength and faith in God. However, after my most recent read through, the Avraham I see here is not the Avraham I usually envision. Lech-Lecha's Avraham (Avram) was fragile. He was caught in the thick of an extremely intimidating and challenging test and thus, needed a significant amount of support from God. 

This assessment is not meant to challenge Avram’s strength or faith in God. Rather, it complicates the simple picture that many of us grew up with. In grade school, I remember hearing about Avraham and the tests God gave him. I remember hearing that he left his home, almost sacrificed his son because of his profound faith in God and as a result, passed with flying colors. But I do not remember focusing on his journey in between. I do not remember thinking about the emotional and spiritual toll these tests must have taken on him. As a result, I think I missed a vital lesson present in Avraham’s story... 

We constantly find ourselves in new positions, sometimes comfortable and empowering, and other times, uncomfortable and vulnerable. After making the life changing decision to leave his father's house, Avram was in an extremely vulnerable place. Arriving at that place and being helped out of it was necessary for his journey, and in my eyes, made the faith Avraham was ultimately able to develop all the more admirable.

Like Avraham, may all of us have the awareness and the support to turn our most burdensome vulnerabilities into a our greatest strengths.

Shabbat Shalom :)

Parshat Noach: Hesse on the Parsha

By ADINA GOODMAN

The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world.

-Demian, Herman Hesse

At the beginning of the Parsha, God explains his motivations for destroying the world: “I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with lawlessness because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth” (Genesis 6:13).

It is interesting to note the specific language God uses in this pronouncement. He declares that the world is filled with “chamas,” or lawlessness. This language implies that the world contains a certain law, a certain standard, and that man has done something to mess with this world order. Since a system is as strong as its weakest unit, we must dispose of the piece that’s setting everything off the right track. There seems to be a very specific inculpation of man here – the world was fine until he came around and put everything off-balance and below God's standard.

Even once the flood is over and Noah offers a sacrifice, God maintains his view on man, saying “Never again will I doom the earth because of man, since the devisings of man’s mind are evil from his youth” (8:21).

It seems superfluously strange, then, that only verses later, God blesses Noah and his sons to “Be fertile and increase, and fill the earth. The fear and dread of [man] shall be upon all the beasts of the earth and upon all the birds of the sky” (9:1-3). Here, God uses parallel but opposite language as compared to His speech when declaring His destruction of the world. Whereas earlier He wants to “put an end to all flesh” because the “earth is filled with lawlessness because of [man],” He is now blessing Noah to “fill the earth.”

From a wholly peshat reading of the story, it seems as if God wants to bring the world back to its optimal state and start over. But then He sees that man is still around and still acting lamentably. Instead of destroying the world again in a never-ending cycle, however, God blesses man, telling him to multiply – to produce more humanity and fill the world with it. Not only that, but God proclaims that other creatures will fear man, only adding to man's immense power and influence over the world.

Another quote from Hesse may shed a light on God’s seemingly transformed approach to man as imperfect: “Whether you and I and a few other will renew the world someday remains to be seen. But within ourselves we must renew it each day, otherwise we just aren’t serious. Don’t forget that!”

As humans, we cannot recreate the world.  Even if we had Godly powers, we can see from the Noah story that the world would become imperfect again quite quickly. However, we can renew ourselves each day, as Hesse’s character suggests. This idea is the same as the one driving Gandhi’s entreaty to “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Perhaps this self-renewal idea can be extended even to God and His decision not to re-destroy man, but to encourage his reproduction. Jewish mystics describe a godliness inherent in all people. From that understanding of man, we may interpret God’s blessing to Noah as His promotion of the idea that improving the world begins with oneself. God’s recreation of the world left it imperfect, but by endowing man with the power to reflect and improve, He is in a way “being [or allowing] the change” He wishes to see in the world. God nurtures the development of man, trusting in this fleshy extension of Himself to renew himself and leave the world better.

That God did not re-destroy the world but instead blessed man to reproduce and multiply might be the ultimate pep-talk or empowering idea. God is, in effect, commanding us to destroy "chamas" and recreate our own world.

Parshat Bereshit: Trusting Humankind

By MOUCHKA DARMON

I find it extremely interesting that the parasha that is by definition connected to creation, renewal and, therefore, positivity, alludes to the “Tohu VaVohu” (1:2) at its very beginning and concludes with the passuk that announces Hashem’s desire to send the Mabul, saying “Ki nichamti ki asitim” (6:7), “I wish I hadn’t made them”. From this long parasha, we generally remember two things: the creation of the world and the sin of the Ets Hada’at. Still, in my memories, Bereishit has always been my favourite parasha and I have always thought of it as a “happy” one. My question here would be how could we actually connect the different main topics of the parasha and what message can this parasha bring us? If we take the parasha as a whole rather than a successful amalgamation, what comes out of it?

Let’s start with the beginning. When I first studied Bible, my teachers translated Tohu VaVohu as “all mixed”. Ok, I was 5, they needed to be simple. Still, striving for simplicity made them wrong. You simply have to take a look at Rashi (1:2) to get a totally different definition of those two words. Rashi gives the word “Tohu” a sense of astonishment and stupefaction even adding the old French translation as dizziness like vertigo almost. Rashi explains that it has this meaning because men are always astonished and almost shocked when placed in front of the emptiness, of the void. It is true, indeed, that nothing scares us more than this; the emptiness, the naked space, the gap, the void. We even think of emptiness as a concrete expression of sadness. We fear it in our lives, and use it as a catalyst to fill our existence with as many things and people as we possibly can. So “Tohu” would be the void and is only enhanced by “Vohu” which Rashi says is the emptiness in the sense of loneliness. Imagine a world with nothing in it. Or if it’s two hard, imagine a naked planet. Think the Little Prince of St-Exupery. Even he needed a rose and a sheep.

The world therefore got created not from an “all mixed” weird modelling clay but rather from the “nada”. This is the reason why we say the prime characteristic of Hashem is that He has the capacity to make “Yesh MeAyin”, something from the nothing, while we, human beings, as incredibly clever and skilled as we are, can only create something from something else, and need a basis for that. However, it is us who Hashem put in charge of bringing this world to its fulfillment. It is us who He chose to be His people and do His Torah. It is us again, who He calls His children. It is said that when Hashem wanted to give us the Torah, the angels cried out to Him and asked Him why He would give it to us, human beings, so prone to sin, and not to them who would do everything perfectly and He answered that the whole reason was our free will, meaning precisely our inclination for the sin. We people the world in order to choose Torah OuMitsvot over our temptations.

This very powerful idea is nevertheless tainted by some irony due to the fact that Adam Harishon and Chava sinned within the first day of creation. The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that according to the Midrash, Adam was created on Friday during the afternoon, and the commandment to not eat from the Ets Hadaat, literally the Tree of Knowledge, was only relevant until the beginning of Shabbat. That means that the forbiddance to eat from the tree was only relevant for 3 hours.

That leads to an obvious question, which is: how could Adam Harishon, who was a Tsadik, lived in the Gan Eden, and had directly been created from Hashem Himself, who literally blew into Adam his neshama, how can this man not be able to sin for 3 hours? The Lubavitcher Rebbe answers this question by saying that it is precisely the fact that the mitsva was so easy that made it so difficult. We tend to underestimate everything that seems too easy. We take them for granted. We wouldn’t make a special effort for them because we feel like they don’t need it. Within the kiyum mitsvot, we have two additional concepts to mitsvot which are the barriers we have to define in order to not do forbidden things, and the hidourim, which are a little bit more of a Chasidic principle that is meant to embellish the mitsva. For instance, most Chasidim do not eat kitniyot during Pessach, even though it’s not Chametz. A barrier that we define to not break a mitsvat lo ta’aseh is mouktse, for example. But Shabbos, not eating chametz are complex and vast mitsvot. We think that we need extra care for them because of their difficulty. That’s a mistake, the mistake that lead Adam Harishon to eat from the Tree. We need to respect every mitsva the same way, and to not make a difference between what we think is easy or tough, what we believe is relevant or not. The lesson of the sin of the Ets Hadaat is that we need to follow the mode of operation the Torah consists in. If we had always had, we would still be in Gan Eden. Torah is to be understood as a way of life, as containing all of the necessary steps and rules to win the game over. It is not our job to define what we want to take over what.

This mistake of under-estimating a mitsva is what leads Adam and Chava to get out from the Gan Eden. It also made Adam and Chava aware of their human condition, of their nakedness, as the passuk says “vayedu ki aroumim hem” (3:7), they knew they were naked. So here we have the idea of the fear of nakedness again and the need to clothe it. The next chapter talks of the birth of Cayin and Abel and relates the murder of Abel by his brother. We were in the Gan Eden a chapter ago, then we eat from a forbidden fruit, and here we go we have a murder. If there is one thing we can take from this succession of events is the concept of domino effect. The Torah states the idea of averah goreret averah just in the same way that mitsva goreret mitsva, a sin leads to a sin and a mitsva leads to another mitsva. The parasha ends with announcing the Mabul and it could seem like everything failed, the creation concluding to destruction.

The world was created from the empty and we have been placed in it to be continually building on it. However it is only up to us to go back to the void, or to create something bigger. The key here is to know and believe that we have been placed in this world and given such a choice to make because of the incredible value of the choices we make everyday. The sin of the tree is moreover here to teach us that there is no “little” thing in the service of Hashem or in the decisions we make everyday. We often think “Who am I to change the world? It is not my small action that is going to make a difference.” Well, Bereishit teaches us that a small question such as biting in a fruit can change history, even though we don’t necessarily have the privilege to know the consequence of each one of our actions. It is indeed a beautiful message that the story of the creation of the world is so full of men actions. It would have only be logical to dedicate the entire parasha to Hashem and Hashem only who is finally responsible for the creation of the world. However, the parasha is full of men, and not simply perfect Tsadikim but real, weak, vulnerable, able to fail men that finally look a lot like us. That is because we, as we are, with our weaknesses and failures, we participate in the constant building of the world, and we are responsible for filling in the nakedness, for continuing to create. We are responsible for deciding in which direction this world is heading toward, and each one of our actions, small or big, intentional or not, is a stone that is added to the huge building representing what this world fulfills. Therefore, it is a message of empowerment that the parashat Bereishit carries, and a rather powerful one. Finally, the parasha really starts with the words “Bereishit barah Elokim”, at the beginning, Hashem created, and finishes with “veNoach matsa chen beeiney Hashem”, and Noach found grace in the eyes of Hashem. Hashem created the world to put it in the hands of men, and puts His trust everyday into men. It is up to us to justify and deserve it. The good news is that as the year begins after the Holidays, we all have what it takes for that.

Parshat V'Zot HaBracha: After The End, Continuing On Our Journey

BY: Hannah Elovitz

As we enter the new year, we have finally arrived at V'Zot Habracha, the last parsha of the Torah. Moshe gives Bnei Yisrael his parting blessings before he dies at the age of 120. Near the end of the parsha, it is written that Bnei Yisrael cry over Moshe’s death:

וַיִּבְכּוּ בְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-מֹשֶׁה בְּעַרְבֹת מוֹאָב, שְׁלֹשִׁים יוֹם; וַיִּתְּמוּ, יְמֵי בְכִי אֵבֶל מֹשֶׁה.וִיהוֹשֻׁעַ בִּן-נוּן, מָלֵא רוּחַ חָכְמָה--כִּי-סָמַךְ מֹשֶׁה אֶת-יָדָיו, עָלָיו; וַיִּשְׁמְעוּ אֵלָיו בְּנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל וַיַּעֲשׂוּ, כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה יְהוָה אֶת-מֹשֶׁה 

(דְּבָרִים לד: ט-י )

“And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days; so the days of weeping in the mourning for Moses were ended. 9 And Joshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom; for Moses had laid his hands upon him; and the children of Israel hearkened unto him, and did as the LORD commanded Moses.” (Deuteronomy 34:8-9)ⁱ

Note that the period of mourning described here is over just as quickly as it started. Why would the Torah do this? Why would the mourning period for Moshe Rabbeinu end in less than one pasuk? The Torah usually has such high praise for Moshe, and notes a few verses later that there was never a prophet quite like him who had such a strong relationship with God. So couldn’t the Torah at least have waited until the next pasuk to say Bnei Yisrael`s mourning period ended? Doesn’t Moshe deserve more?

On this pasuk, R' Abraham ibn Ezra (Spain,1092 – 1167) comments:  

“ויתמו - וכאשר תמו ימי בכי אבל משה שמה, שמעו בני ישראל אל יהושע”--“Once the days of mourning ended, then Bnei Yisrael listened to Yehoshua”ⁱⁱ I think Ibn Ezra is saying that Bnei Yisrael needed that time of mourning, but they also needed to move past it in order to listen to Yehoshua. Bnei Yisrael were only truly able to heed Yehoshua’s commands and guidance once they completed their mourning for Moshe and were ready to move on to the next stage of their journey.

Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno (Italy,1475-1550) also comments on pasuk 8, saying: “כי בימי הבכי אין חכמה ואין עצה ”--“Because during the days of mourning, there is no wisdom or advice.”ⁱⁱⁱ Yehoshua was only filled with the divine spirit afterward, because he couldn’t have received it during the days of mourning. This could either have been because he himself couldn’t have handled it yet, or because the nation couldn’t. This could also simply be exemplary of the nature of mourning, that we’re not supposed to take in anything new during that time, but rather solely focus on the deceased.

Whatever the case may be, it seems clear that these commentators think the short time of mourning was exactly how it was meant to be. I think the Torah is coming to teach us a very important lesson here. Life isn’t always easy; loved ones die, someone loses a job, you fail a test (obviously not as drastic as someone dying…well, maybe for Hermione Granger it is), but I think the Torah is telling us here that we can’t stay down for too long. There is a time for mourning, but it doesn’t last forever. We can’t let the hardships in life stop us from getting up again and continuing on our journeys. Even when it came to Moshe Rabbeinu`s death, Bnei Yisrael mourned for him, but by the next pasuk Yehoshua had taken the reigns and started guiding Bnei Yisrael onto their next mission.

We must always remember that as one chapter ends, another one begins.Though it is true that V'Zot HaBracha is the final parsha in the Torah, the story is far from over. Just like Yehoshua and Bnei Yisrael, we meet this new year as well as every new beginning, as even stronger people than we were before, taking the lessons we’ve learned from our past experiences to guide us.

Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom!

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iTranslation taken from mechon-mamre.org

ii Translation my own

iii Translation my own