Bereshit Rabbah 39, Part One: Lech Lecha

We have begun these steps of lekh lekha, which belong to each one of us and are indispensable to the new joys we can discover throughout our lives, in our permanent quest for renewal. It is a dynamic of life, and it is with it that Jewish history begins: lekh lekha. And we said that, more than an effort of introspection, going to the very depths of oneself means allowing the divine spark that animates every living being to come out of the shadows and light our way. That, in a sense, is the lesson given to the Assembly of Israel: it must learn to listen. And to do so, it must indeed leave all its surroundings — which is difficult; we so often take them along with us, and it is hard to disconnect completely.

And then a question arises: was everything that came before, everything that was given to us from our earliest years, entirely negative? Must everything be swept away for the sake of this dynamic of lekh lekha? There are, after all, positive aspects that are far from negligible. I have already told you that the idolatry we are speaking of lies quite simply in the stereotype we have conceived and then frozen, so that Elohim — and it is the divine we are speaking of — become acherim, become “other”: we let them grow old, we let them wither, we did not renew them. And that holds true of everything. A philosopher, we said, is a lover of the arts and of knowledge. We, for our part, are chakhmei ha-ahavah, the sages of love — and therefore we must not let this love fade and wilt. It must be given a new breath. That breath is the one Avraham himself finally discovers when he says: the sun lights the world, but now night draws near, the sun moves on and the moon takes its place — perhaps it is the moon? But then the clouds come and darken the moon; yet there is the power of the wind, of that breath which drives the clouds away — and that breath is the one I have within me, the one I myself possess. There are people who avoid blowing on a candle, quite simply because they do not want the very breath that animates them to be the agent, the instrument, of the light’s extinction. So then: this breath within me — neshamah she-natata bi, “the soul You placed within me” — this breath is within me, and I must give it a new power, so that it may shed light on everything I have inherited until now, from myself, from my homeland, from my surroundings and from my father’s house. I am going to look at all of it with new eyes.

It is not a matter of denying or disparaging everything that has been done; it is simply a matter of seeing these things again, reconsidering them from a new angle, with a new breath, in order to dust them off, to remove all the gangrene, all the harm they have accumulated, all the fringe. And that is shim’i vat u-re’i, “Listen, daughter, and see”: in this listening, there is another vision of things, another vision of things that man discovers. And that other vision belongs to faith — to faith, because faith is not something received from outside, not at all. It is not a grace; it is the fruit of our searching, of our quest, so that at the zero point of our logic, or at the summit of all our rationality, another point is revealed, which is the beyond of that rationality, of that logic. That, in sum, is what is asked on each person’s path: the effort needed to lay bare one’s potential. For this potential — “Ki chelek Hashem amo, Yaakov chevel nachalato,” “For Hashem’s portion is His people, Yaakov the cord of His inheritance” (Devarim 32:9) — there is a portion of the divine in His people; Yisrael ve-Kudsha Berikh Hu chad hu, Israel and the Holy One, blessed be He, form a unity. And consequently there is a cord, there is a bond that is there, but of which we are unaware. That was the theme of the first midrash, because, at bottom, Avraham is someone we are only now discovering. But what is his title? It is Avraham ha-Ivri.

Ha-Ivri: we always translate it as “Avraham who is from the other bank,” and the Midrash says of Avraham ha-Ivri that everyone else stood within a current of thought, within various philosophies. For in sum, we said that philosophy — or philosophical schools, insofar as they introduce a structured and bounded current of thought — is a form of idolatry. Now, one must not underestimate those first generations: there were many philosophers among them, and notably the descendants of Ever were makers of idols. In other words, Avraham’s father sold idols. What does it mean that he sold idols? He was selling currents of thought, selling ideas. He was advising each person, according to his quest, what he ought to take up, what he ought to do — just as we recommend remedies, medicines, prescriptions to the sick, for physical illnesses; well, there are also illnesses, or disorders, that stem from man’s mental or philosophical derailments. So Avraham belonged to that society in which philosophy reigned supreme. And it did not arrive at this faith, at this re’iyah, this vision of G-d in what lies beyond logical thought, beyond the rational. Now, you know very well that even regarding the mitzvot of the children of Noach — there are seven universal mitzvot that were given to Noach at the end of his forty days in the ark, forty days paralleling Moshe’s forty days on Mount Sinai, where he received the Torah; Noach receives a Torah that is this universal law — we are told that the chasidim, the righteous of the nations, the followers among the nations who observe these laws, have a share in the World to Come. That is much easier — but which World to Come is meant? That is where the difference lies. The olam haba of the chasidei umot ha-olam is not the same olam haba spoken of in connection with the people of Israel, because the path is far broader and the trial far harder. And one does not put to the test someone who cannot withstand such a trial. The other nations are not capable of it, save by an extreme act of will — because “leave your land” means leave your first will, your natural will; each person comes with a will, and will is the expression of man’s free choice. So it is said: careful — what is asked of the other nations to reach their olam haba, their World to Come, is only this law. But the Rambam, Maimonides, sets down a restriction. Which one? They must not keep these laws out of reason, because they have understood them well and reached that conclusion on their own. There must be a measure of faith in the One beyond who dictated them — that is, a revelation that goes further than reason. Only then do we speak of olam haba. Otherwise, otherwise there is… It is not entirely wrong; we are not going to demote the person who holds solely to his reason — provided he keeps these laws, we will indeed grant him access, and that is good. And fundamentally, that is the idea in this first midrash: hetzitz alav ba’al ha-birah, “the master of the palace looked out upon him.” Hetzitz means that he saw him as though through a crack, and said to him: “I am here, I dwell within you, I reveal Myself to you, I will give you — I will ease your access to the truth you are seeking.” That, in sum, is what the second one comes to say. We now move on to this second midrash.

He opened his discourse thus: “Your oils have a good fragrance” (Shir ha-Shirim 1:3). An oil — […] — “shemen turak shemekha,” “your name is oil poured forth”; we will explain it shortly. Amar Rabbi Berekhiah, Rabbi Berekhiah said: le-mah hayah Avraham avinu domeh — what did Avraham our father resemble? A flask of afopalsimon, a very strong balsam perfume, surrounded by a seal, a tightly fastened stopper, and set down in a corner, and its fragrance did not spread. But from the moment it began to be moved from one place to another — you see? — at that moment the stopper shifted, and the fragrance spread. That is, the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Avraham: “Taltel atzmekha mi-makom le-makom” — you have only to move; move yourself, mi-makom le-makom, shift yourself from one place to another — “ve-shimkha mitgadel ba-olam,” and your name will grow great throughout the world.

I pass on to the third midrash, because they are bound up with one another, and it is Rabbi Berekhiah again who says it, who opens the discourse: “Va-yomer Hashem el Avram,” “And Hashem said to Avram” — the introduction; you see that we are still among the introductions to lekh lekha. “Achot lanu ketanah ve-shadayim ein lah”: we have a little sister who has no breasts; her breasts are not developed. “Achot lanu ketanah” — we have a little sister: this is Avraham. It refers to Avraham. A moment ago it was a daughter — shim’i vat u-re’i — where the Assembly of Israel is given the title of G-d’s daughter. Here, achot lanu ketanah: Avraham is given the title of sister. Why? Because within the word ach there is this notion of union.

You know, the word ach, “brother,” appears only with the second child. When Kayin was born, he was king of the family. He had everything for himself. When the second child comes, he takes from him, in a sense, the uniqueness he had boasted of until then; but the young brother is nonetheless obliged to see himself as dependent on the elder brother, and he tries to keep a bond. That is where the word ach comes from — from the verb meaning “to join”: he is the link to the first brother. So it is explained that the word achot comes from the verb meaning “to join,” and it refers to Avraham, who established the relationship among all the creatures of the universe, all who come into the world — like someone joining together two torn pieces. There is a rift that widens between human beings, and he sets out to unite them.

Ketanah — why ketanah, “little”? […] Ketanah expresses a kind of humility. While he is still small, he brings forth, he brings to light, laws, commandments, deeds. And “she has no breasts” […]. “What shall we do for our sister on the day she is spoken for” — on the day she is put to the test? One might begin by questioning her virtues; but here it is not a matter of questioning her virtues — it is the trial. What does this mean? The day Nimrod decreed that he be thrown into the fiery furnace. Already the gas chamber is there, in Avraham’s first trials.

If he holds firm like a wall, we can build upon him. Im ma’amid devarim ke-chomah — that is, if he is like a wall, if he holds firm in his faith like a wall, yivneh alav, one will be able to build upon him. Ve-im delet hi — but if she is a door, a door open to every compromise, we will make a drawing upon her; that is, there will simply be an engraving which, with time, will fade and disappear, and little will remain of it. Im dal hu — if he is poor in mitzvot, in good deeds — we will engrave upon him a panel of cedar; and just as this engraving lasts only for a set moment — mah ha-tzurah hazo einah ella le-sha’ah, “just as this engraving is only for an hour” —

“so I too,” says G-d, “could stand by him only for a moment — le-sha’ah, in a fleeting way.” Ribbono shel olam, he then said before Him: Master of the worlds, “ani chomah,” I am a wall; “ma’amid ani et devarai,” I stand by my words, I hold to my words; “ve-shadai ka-migdalot,” and I have breasts that nourish, ka-migdalot, like towers, like keeps. From afar one can see those who will follow my path: Chananiah, Mishael and Azariah — and the proof will be that they will embody it, Chananiah, Mishael and Azariah. “Az hayiti ve-einav ke-motz’et shalom,” then I was in His eyes as one who finds peace — I appeased Him, I set Him at ease. He entered the fiery furnace in peace and came out — and there you have the midrashim.

I hope I have translated sufficiently. You have an English translation; I have not tried to check whether it corresponds entirely, but if it does not, I will point it out. So let us begin with this second midrash, this word of Scripture that says: “Le-re’ach shemanekha tovim, shemen turak shemekha,” “Your oils have a good fragrance; your name is oil poured forth.” Ein navi be-iro — no man is a prophet in his own town. You cannot remain in an idolatrous environment and, in the end, seek to spread this word, this faith, this message, this way of being. What does this mean? If we go back over the history of Avraham’s family, we said that he descends from one of the children of Shem — the Semites — and among the children of Shem there was Ever. Ever: archaeological research today has revealed that there was a tribe called the Habiru, and this tribe was settled in the land of Israel, which was annexed by Kenaan, the son of Cham. Kenaan — take note — is one of the sons of Cham, together with Mitzrayim; this will come back in the story. So what we have lived through in history in recent years had already happened in that era.

There is Kenaan, a descendant of Cham, who will settle in the land of Ever. But the people of Ever are bearers of the good word, of faith in G-d; they try — or rather they are driven — to spread out somewhat through the land, through the surrounding regions. And so we see communities of Ever scattered everywhere, living their lives apart, just like our Jewish communities dispersed across the world, which say: well, as long as no one harms us, as long as we are left alone, as long as people are tolerant toward us, we may as well fulfill this vocation, or give our teaching, in exile rather than lay claim to a country, to borders, and get drawn into interminable wars and tensions. One can live like that — and that was the case of Nachor. You know that Terah, who is avi Avraham va-avi Nachor, “the father of Avraham and the father of Nachor,” has three children: Avraham, Nachor and Haran. Haran followed Avraham; he shared Avraham’s point of view. But when there were the persecutions of Nimrod — a rebel who refused to recognize the autonomy claimed by the Habiru, the Hebrews — he said to himself: no, we will pursue them. And that is the organized pogrom: all those who refuse to come to terms with the ruling power will be thrown into a furnace.

Now, as for the Habiru, there is a letter that has been found in which a king — a petty king — complains to another that the Habiru would not conform to the law: when a slave took refuge among them, they would on no account hand him over and return him to his owners; they protected the slave and gave him his freedom within their communities. And Nimrod wants to put an end to these independent communities. That is when Avraham is put to the test of the fiery furnace. Haran will not come out of it; Avraham will escape the furnace. Already at the origin there is a survivor of a Shoah. And so Nachor — who is also a son of Terah, Avraham’s brother —

he settled in Ir Nachor, the city of Nachor. He built a city. It is there, incidentally, that the wife for Yitzchak will be sought. It is there, too, that Yaakov will seek refuge from his brother Esav. Marriages take place within one family that bears one and the same faith. But there are tendencies within this family, just as we know there are tendencies within our own people, and each, indeed, has his own way of defining himself as ivri. This introduction will allow us to understand that this way of seeing a Judaism of the golah, of the diaspora — in which, in Haran, one can live peacefully and try to give Judaism a universal resonance — is not approved by Hashem, who says to Avraham: take care, do not settle into this current of thought; if you want to be universal, you must first think of having a country in which you can truly take root.

Without agreeing to realize yourself in a country, it is not possible. Your fragrance cannot be released, cannot spread. You cannot become a beneficent oil yourself unless you agree to undertake these steps: a return to your roots, your country, your territory — which was originally that of Ever — even at the cost of trouble with the occupants of the time, who were Kenaan. That, incidentally, is why it is said afterward: “ve-ha-Kena’ani az ba-aretz,” “and the Canaanite was then in the land” — the Canaanite occupies the land. So you must, in the end, think of a political reality, of a national existence. That is what the text says here, in saying: take care — the Holy One, blessed be He, asks Avraham to put an end to this policy of Nachor in Haran, where life is good. For you should know that after Ur Kasdim, after this pursuit — this persecution — by Nimrod, the whole family moves. Terah takes his two sons: he takes Avraham, he takes his son Nachor as well, and he takes the son of Haran, the other one, who is now an orphan, and he settles in Haran — he settles in Haran, that is, along the way. He does not continue the journey, because life is good in this Haran. Let us not forget that the cities we are now speaking of are the most developed cities industrially, and intellectually as well, in their crafts and their economy; there is wealth there; it is the most sought-after region in the world, in the entire universe; it is from there that everything emanates, that everything radiates — and yet. We understand, moreover, Avraham’s resistance when he says: take care — at no price shall my son Yitzchak go back to Haran, and the woman he will find in Haran must come here, to Israel, because I want to build this national entity here, so that afterward I can make my word respected.

“The wisdom of the poor man is despised” (Kohelet 9:16) — despised, contemptible; no one attaches any importance to it. Why? Because he lacks this autonomy of being. And that is what the Holy One, blessed be He, asked of Avraham in lekh lekha. That is the second midrash. Now the third. It goes in the same direction as the first, because it says — take note — Rabbi Berekhiah said: “Achot lanu ketanah ve-shadayim ein lah.” “Achot lanu” — we have a sister. Why did we move from bat, “daughter,” to achot, “sister”? Well, I explained it — I touched on it a moment ago: it is the birth of the second child that makes one an ach, a brother. The notion of ach exists only when there is a second child.

So where there is no second child, there is no ach. At that point one must establish a bond of respect, of subordination, of calculated dependence toward the elder. Well, I told you there was this tendency — and Avraham was part of this world too — namely: from the moment we are given the possibility of staying, of practicing our faith and applying it, and even of teaching it in complete freedom, why think of a national identity? But we must not forget that Avraham makes his appearance when humanity is fractured, broken apart into seventy nations. The Holy One, blessed be He, does not want a mold within humanity; on the contrary, He wants a rainbow — different shades, different colors, different tendencies — and through all of this, to recompose it, to make it all converge toward a single faith. But it is not a matter of melting into that faith: each one is different, each one’s potential is different; we were not all born under the same star, we do not have the same heritage, we do not have the same points of view, we do not have the same angle of vision. There are different angles of perception — but not all of them are false.

One must simply try to make them converge, as did the tribes of Israel, which made all their particular traits converge, united, toward the Temple that stood in their midst. That is all — yet they were different within the people of Israel. There are these seventy nations, as we have already said. When we went down to Egypt, we went down seventy souls. Now, one would have expected the plural, “souls” — but no, it is not so: they were seventy, yet they were united with one another by a single faith, a single aim, a noble aim. Well, that is what is expected of Avraham. What is expected of Avraham is not that he merge into the nations and form a cell among the nations; it is, on the contrary, that he step out of these nations, out of the circle of these nations, and be able — I would say — to influence, to decide, as on a scale, the current in one direction, in a very wise way, as would, fundamentally, a court composed of seventy judges, the seventy judges representing the seventy nations. That is how the Great Sanhedrin was composed; but there had to be one voice that would decide between thirty-five and thirty-five and, as it were, set the majority in a firmly determined direction.

Well, that is what you must do, Avraham — achot lanu ketanah. But for this, great humility is needed, and great self-giving, immense self-giving. Immense self-giving — and self-giving is not undertaken with a view to any reward; it is a gratuitous self-giving. And that is why achot lanu ketanah — the one who makes himself small, a sister who makes herself small: zeh Avraham she-ichah et kol ba’ei ha-olam, “this is Avraham, who joined together all who come into the world” — whose aim was to bind together, to unite all who come into this world, as one would stitch together the different seams of a torn garment — and this by setting an example himself. Mitzvot u-ma’asim tovim: performing good deeds; ve-shadayim ein lah — even though he, in a sense, received this from no one.

Lo heniku’hu, lo heniku’hu — no one nursed him: he does not come to hand on what has already been taught. A teacher who comes and reproduces before his students what the student can understand by himself — that is the job of the book, and of the school. That is not a teacher. There has to be a sense of innovation; he has to bring something, a new element. This is important, important. So here, what we have been, what we have been given, is good — but perhaps it must be brought up to date as one grows in this way, in the discovery of oneself. This is very important, and it is what he says here. “Mah na’aseh la-achotenu ba-yom she-yedubar bah,” “What shall we do for our sister on the day she is spoken for?” She will be put to the test. How will we know?

By the trial, you see? If he holds firm to his convictions despite the difficulties he meets, the harsh trials inflicted on him, then that is someone one can stake everything on. “Im chomah hi, nivneh aleha tirat kesef” — we will be able to build upon her a palace of silver, you see? […] Tirat kesef — that is Israel. So it is said that her wings are covered, covered with silver — but that will also give us occasion to explain: it is not a weight of silver that is to be seen in each wing, not at all. But im dal — if he is poor in deeds — we will engrave upon it luach erez, a panel of cedar; that is, what he has done.

What he has done is not lost, but let him know that he has limited himself in time. It is not something destined to last, because it will be accommodated as time goes on, and it will lose its substance. But Avraham says: no, I am an ivri. You know, Rabbi Yehudah said that the characteristic of the Ivri is to project himself into the future. The Ivri is, in some way, a navi, a prophet: ro’eh et ha-nolad, he sees what is to come; he knows how to see what his action may set in motion afterward. And in sum, Avraham says: if I, today, withstand every trial, there will be people throughout history like me who will refuse to bend their backs before King Nevukhadnetzar, and who will rather let themselves be thrown into a fiery furnace than renounce their path — the path of Israel, you see? And these are Chananiah, Mishael and Azariah; we will have occasion to see them. It is at that moment, when he showed this determination, that the fiery furnace finally did not prevail over him — as it did over Haran.

Haran acted out of self-interest, because he wanted, in a sense, to say: just like my brother, who is venerated today — because it is a fact, it is a fact: a righteous man is venerated once he is dead; it is after his death that he is recognized. So he did it in that spirit — and that does not count; he does not come out of it, he will not come out of it. He is the one of mah ha-tzurah hazo… le-sha’ah, the engraving that lasts only for an hour. But Avraham — nikhnas be-shalom: he entered in peace and came out in peace; he came out of this fiery furnace and will be able to continue on his way and fulfill the vocation that G-d assigned him within humanity — to accomplish this ma’avar, this crossing from one bank to the other. There, I will stop here. If you have questions, with pleasure.

— Rav, I have two small questions for you. The first question: at the beginning you said that for non-Jews, if they did not put intention into the Noahide mitzvot, it did not count. And coming back to Jews: even when we have no intention — it is better to have intention, but even without intention, the mitzvot count. How is it that there is a difference, that for non-Jews intention is paramount, while for us it is not obligatory, so to speak — it is better, but not obligatory? And the second question I wanted to ask you concerns Avram, who represents the nations. At the beginning you said that we had to be an independent nation, […] not being dependent on the non-Jews.

So there is a way to be Jewish without non-Jews. If the non-Jews are merely a backdrop, so to speak, why do they have [a share in] the World to Come? And if they are not a backdrop, why is there no possibility for non-Jews — a vision of non-Jews who would become, so to speak, in the long term, like Jews who do teshuvah (repentance), who improve themselves? And why, in fact, will non-Jews remain non-Jews and Jews remain Jews? Why is there no bridge, so to speak — I am not speaking of an individual bridge, I am speaking of a collective bridge — because if Jews can be independent, why could non-Jews not become Jews as well?

Why must there be non-Jews, in fact? After all, this is at the end of days. Why do we need non-Jews at the end of days? We need them to serve the Jewish people, to serve the cause of the Jewish people — to put it crudely. — I will answer; let me take up my remarks again. To answer your first question: we are mushba’im ve-omdim, bound by oath; we have been committed by an oath since Mount Sinai. And because of this, Israel — even when it decides to leave the ranks of the people, Israel cannot escape this oath, which bound the children, the grandchildren. It is the brit, the covenant. There was the brit bein ha-betarim, the Covenant between the Parts — we will have occasion to study it — but this covenant was renewed with the Jewish people at the revelation of G-d at Sinai, and it committed the entire Jewish people to this path.

Which is why a Jew is never lost: he disappears from view; he may disappear for generations, and he will resurface one day or another. That is to answer your first question. The second question: you know that the Torah is indeed destined no longer to be practiced in the times to come — that is, we will have internalized it so thoroughly that we will have no need of recommendations from outside, of prescriptions from outside. Like the Patriarchs: we are told that they kept the Torah from A to Z, even eruv tavshilin — yet the Torah had not been given. How did they keep the whole Torah? They had no need of inquiry, of evaluation, of assessment, of prescriptions, of a code of conduct — no; they had already absorbed it into themselves; it had become part of them, so much so that ticking off this law and that law and that law became superfluous for them. Their whole life is Torah; the Torah is a natural expression of their person. Because the Torah is needed only to guide us in life — He has no need of it; what difference does it make to Him? Whether one slaughters the animal from the nape or from the neck, from the throat as is normal in shechitah, makes absolutely no difference to Him.

What He gave us are rules of life, a kind of pedagogy of being, you see? And we apply them as such. The time will come when this pedagogy of being will be surpassed. What, then, is the role of the non-Jews? And why can the non-Jews not surpass it too? Well, I will tell you. In reality, if you claim to be — if you apply for a teaching post somewhere, you must have a training superior to that of the students to whom you will give your teaching. We are a mamlekhet kohanim, a kingdom of priests; we are a kingdom of teachers; we are there to bring back, to educate, to show, to guide all those who need this teaching, and to protect them from every deviation.

[…] That is the link. We are educators. — You yourself say that in the olam haba there will no longer even be any need of Torah, since there will no longer be a yetzer ha-ra (evil inclination). So in what way… — No, careful, careful. The yetzer ha-ra will always be there. Because the yetzer ha-ra, take note, is the spur of the mind. — In the olam haba? — Even in the olam haba, but it will be of a higher degree. Because as we advance and climb steps, rungs, the danger grows greater, and the fall would be fatal. So it will be a yetzer ha-ra of a very elevated intellectual level. But we need it, because it is through this yetzer ha-ra that one accomplishes lekh lekha.

It is by fighting it that one accomplishes lekh lekha. — Todah rabbah, thank you very much. — Thank you, Mr. Benizri. I have a question too. It concerns your commentary: the text says of Avraham that he is achot ketanah, yet you systematically comment on the masculine side. Is there a reason for passing over the feminine wording? And I wondered whether this could be set alongside the commentary you once made on nefesh and nefashot. — Well, listen: nefesh is feminine, bat is feminine, achot is feminine. If I spoke in the masculine, forgive me. You know, zakhar, “male,” comes from the verb zakhor, “to remember”: he is the bearer of memory, of zikaron, you see?

But as long as we were not yet constituted, we were defined by our paternal, masculine descent. From the moment we were constituted as an umah — umah, imah, “nation,” “mother” — then a Jew is one born of a Jewish mother: the definition is feminine. And that is indeed how it is; that is the language of the Holy One, blessed be He, with the Assembly of Israel: “My daughter,” “My sister,” “My bride,” and afterward “My mother” — that is how the midrash puts it — and afterward, “ba-atarah she-itrah lo imo be-yom chatunato,” “with the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding,” and “on the day of the joy of his heart.” The crown is… […] — No, Mr. Benizri, excuse me — I think you put ach in the feminine, but you said of Avraham that he was called achot ketanah.

— Achot? — No, no: achot ketanah. You mean that in this formulation, achot — which is rather striking, quite unusual — Avraham is constituted at that moment, and that is why he is placed in a feminine form? — He is achot ketanah because he is… — In a completed form? — No, he is not complete — precisely. — But why achot ketanah and not ketanot? — Ah no, achot ketanah is not a plural; achot ketanah is a singular. Achot ketanah is a singular. And ketanah: he is still small. He must make himself small in order to transmit this teaching. He must bend his back. That is achot ketanah, she-ichah et kol ha-olam, “who joined together the whole world.” And I spoke of this dependence of the younger on the elder. Yes?

— It is in the Song of Songs. — Another question. I have one more small question. You said that there were seventy nefesh, seventy souls, who went down when they went down to Egypt, and that they spoke of unity. I think that was not so remarkable, given what we know of all the conflicts between the brothers and what happened with the jealousy, and so on. It is true that when they went down it was, let us say, a kind of reconciliation, but I think it is difficult to really speak of unity at that level. — No; it means that when they went down, they went down still constituted as one, you see? They had found Yosef again: it is a whole family moving to find a brother who had been lost, gone astray, sold — until then.

But the text said it: one feels this need to form a community when one is outside, in galut (exile). Unfortunately, in Israel, when one is in a country, when one has realized one’s country, this notion of mishpachah, of family, deteriorates somewhat; it loses its importance, and in the end community life suffers, pays the price. That is a fact, and it is to be deplored, because we shall see: “ve-nivrekhu vekha kol mishpechot ha-adamah,” “and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you” — and in speaking of the nations, it speaks of families. It speaks of families. We are a great family among other families. The one who gives the measure of it is Amos, in his prophecy, when he reviews the families that surround Israel and that fought against it: he speaks of mishpachot, of the spirit of family.

— The term immi, “my mother,” comes back to me, yes, but I do not know if any of you… the verse does not come to mind, or where it occurs. This verse, incidentally, is quoted: “Shammah chiblatkha immekha, shammah chiblah yeladatkha,” “There your mother was in travail with you, there she who bore you was in travail” (Shir ha-Shirim 8:5). But there is the term immi: “lo zaz… ad she-kera’ah immi,” “He did not cease… until He called her ‘My mother.'” — There is none. — Yes, there are many… but there is none… — There are many. There we are. Your question? — Well, if there are none… — Mr. Benizri, I have written something about antisemitism. Would it interest you if I sent it to you? If I… — If you sent what?

— I have written something — in fact, that antisemitism was G-d’s promise to Avraham. I will send it. — Very well, with pleasure. — I will, yes? — Good evening, Shavua tov, until next week. — Thank you very much, Shavua tov. — Let me say: if you have any reservations to express, do not hesitate. — Why reservations? — Reservations because, you see, perhaps the study was not what you expected. — No, no need to worry. I am quite satisfied. — Yes, yes, no need to worry, sir. — There we are, thank you; until next week, until next week, goodbye, until next week, until next week.