Vayeshev: The Heritage of the Fathers

Good evening, Rav Benizri. Good evening, good evening, everyone. Good evening. There is a bit of noise here, so I’ll switch off my microphone. Yes, you may begin. So, good evening everyone. Today we begin Parashat Vayeshev and the story of Yosef. We have, in a sense, closed the circle of the fathers: Avraham the revolutionary, Yitzchak the realist, and Yaakov with the sulam, the ladder, who in a sense achieves the synthesis of the two fathers, Avraham and Yitzchak — and that synthesis earns him the attribute of emet, truth. And as we have already said, truth, when it comes from heaven, is a single beam; when it sprouts from the earth, it is the joining of many beams.

“Emet me’eretz titzmach” — truth sprouts from the earth: there are many shoots of truth, there are truths scattered about, and we must indeed recover the ideal path and bring about the connection of all these truths across the persons, the places and the times through which this universe is lived. We will come back to this. Now we begin the story of the children. Will the children simply reproduce their parents’ cycle, or will they see to it that the path their parents traced can reach the purpose of creation? For, as we have said, this creation is not a haphazard adventure on G-d’s part: it has a beginning, and if it has a beginning, it has a purpose. Who is the craftsman of that purpose? Humanity as a whole — but there is a hierarchy that must not be challenged as Korach challenged it; there is an authority. The Holy One, blessed be He, formed, or chose, the people of Israel to give this humanity a framework and, let us say, to inspire it. Not to govern it, but to inspire it; that, in sum, is what Israel must do. But just as anyone who claims to bring even a little wisdom with him, and aspires to radiate some teaching, will be perceived as a stranger within the group, a stranger within humanity — people will try to fight him at first, and then little by little they will adopt him.

That is the history of the Jewish people. It begins with Yosef. You know very well that until now Avraham was the revolutionary, but he lived as a stranger in the Land of Israel. — Can you hear me? Can you hear me? There is interference; where is it coming from? — It’s coming from the Maison de la culture juive; it’s the black screen of the Maison de la culture juive, I don’t know who it is. — Where is it coming from? — I’ll try to contact them so they switch off the microphone there. — Really? — In the meantime, you can go on, Rav Benizri. — Yes. So: the beginning, if you like, of the children of Yaakov, who constitute the ideal structure of the Jewish people. What does the text say of Yaakov?

Yaakov settles in the land that his parents sought to convert, where they began their process of spreading faith in a Creator, in a universal G-d. That is the meaning of eretz megurei aviv, “the land of his father’s sojournings”: the land of conversion — conversion of the pagan way of thinking, the pagan conception of the universe. For that one needs soil, a ground: that is the Land of Israel. It is called megurei aviv, either from the word giyur, conversion, or from the word ger, stranger. You know very well: “ki gerim heyitem be’eretz Mitzrayim” — we were perceived as strangers in the land of Egypt. But not only as strangers in the land of Egypt: we are perceived as strangers even in the Land of Israel, even in the land of Canaan. We must keep a certain wakefulness, a certain perspective on life, so as never to say to ourselves: “Now we have reached our goal.”

Gerim is the state of mind of the ger, of the stranger who is not sure of what he possesses, nor of the identity granted to him, because he is so often pointed at, his presence called into question, his role seen as parasitic. That is megurei aviv: we are in Israel, but we are inhabitants, tenants; we are not owners ad vitam aeternam. G-d’s promise is ad vitam aeternam, but we can never consider ourselves so rooted in this land that nothing can happen to us, that nothing can move us from there. No: we are gerim in our own country — “ki gerim vetoshavim atem imadi,” “for you are strangers and residents with Me.” We are at once ger and toshav, at once citizens and strangers. Now Yaakov’s error is to believe that, having now waged his struggle against Esav and triumphed in it, earning the title of Israel, he has finally finished his mission, completed it. No. Rashi says, in the name of the Holy One: “Is it not enough for the righteous…” — a righteous man can never retire, withdraw, as though what is reserved for him in the world to come were not enough for him and he also wished to enjoy this retirement in this world. No.

And what happens? “Kafatz alav rogzo shel Yosef” — the turmoil of Yosef sprang upon him. Immediately the problem of the children flares up and calls us to order, telling us: be careful. Even if we have conceived or achieved something for ourselves, and think we have solved all the problems that arose and accomplished our task, we must know that the children can call everything into question. Consequently we must see to it that shalom, an active peace, can ensure the proper working of this history we have set in motion and the fulfillment of the ideal we have set for ourselves. That is the goal in the land of Canaan, the goal in the Land of Israel. And here the two movements we highlighted between Avraham and his brother Nachor will indeed clash: namely, how is this mission to be fulfilled? By going into exile oneself, remaining a stranger to the very notion of a land, and simply trying to be the pathfinder of the nations throughout the world — founding schools everywhere, sending missionaries everywhere? Or by concentrating everything in Israel and making Israel a pilot country for all the nations — the one the nations will always look at, observe, admire, criticize, praise or condemn? That is, in a way, what is happening today, is it not? Israel is the mirror of the nations — but it is not yet, of course, the ideal.

The text teaches us that when there is “ve-eleh,” “and these,” it means there is a continuation, events that follow one another logically. But when this vav, this coordinating conjunction, is absent, it means we are beginning a new chapter with no immediate link to what came before — and to have no immediate link to what came before is a problem. It means that the toldot, the descendants, the generations, are not yet assured of success, and that the ideal is far from reached. That is also why, when the book of Shemot begins with this vav — “Ve-eleh shemot bnei Yisrael” — the whole is joined to Bereshit. For Shemot and Bereshit form a single unit in the making of the Jewish people — the Exodus from Egypt, the promise made to Avraham and its fulfillment. Consequently there are those who did not distinguish between the first book and the second and regarded them as a single entity; this vav of ve-eleh, the coordinating conjunction, means there is no interruption.

But when there is no vav, there is an interruption. Toldot, “generations,” is generally written with a vav; we pointed this out in “Eleh toldot hashamayim veha’aretz,” “These are the generations of heaven and earth,” and we concluded that we cannot separate the material from the spiritual, the earthly from the heavenly. The two vavs — so it is with toldot: the two vavs within it ought to unite parents and children. If something hinders this connection, there is imperfection, a calling into question, a failure to reach completion. And indeed: “Eleh toldot Yaakov: Yosef.” Yosef has many assets. Yosef is the long-awaited child of Rachel. Yosef is the ben zekunim, the child of old age, the son who inherited Yaakov’s wisdom and Yaakov’s love; Yosef is the child who asserts himself over his brothers by his success in whatever he puts his hand to.

But Yosef is not recognized by his brothers. We shall see: until now the problem between brothers — Kayin and Hevel — was resolved by excluding one in favor of the other. But can this be done within a single family? No. Here there must be shelemut: integrity and unity must remain the watchword, remain the goal — reaching that shalom which is itself nothing other than an attribute of G-d. You know that people avoided writing the word shalom in full, for fear of having to tear up the paper and then throw it away, since it is an attribute of the Eternal — for He is the guarantor of this unity: “Oseh shalom bimromav,” He who makes unity in the heavenly heights, with all the elements of the universe. Instead of writing shalom, they wrote shalem, without the vav. Shalem remains the ideal of perfection, of a perfect, unified whole, but this cohesion is not there: it is not visible, not present. Yet our sages instituted the word shalom as a watchword, as a greeting, as the link between a man and his fellow — shalom — except that one must avoid pronouncing it in lavatories, in bathhouses where a person is in a state of nakedness, in an unclean place; there the word shalom is inappropriate.

On the other hand, when it is a matter of securing and guaranteeing the union of a couple, then indeed the name of G-d may be erased in order to bring about shalom, to give shalom substance. And this word will come up again: the brothers cannot utter the word peace; “they could not speak to him peaceably.” Why? We shall see. So then: toldot is missing a vav. Which vav is missing? The first one — that of the fathers, who are no longer, let us say, in harmony with the children. The children want to establish a new order. But one cannot contest the authority of one’s parents; one cannot contest those who gave us life, who brought us into the world.

One may improve somewhat on what they built, touch up certain points — but to contest totally, as Korach tried to do, saying: in the name of democracy, in the name of renewal, in the name of a new way of taking charge of the people, and with a view to some higher level to which one would like to lead the people — to contest the authority of the fathers: that we cannot do. “Eleh toldot Yaakov: Yosef.” And yet Yosef, as we have seen, is “Yosef Hashem li ben acher” — his name was given with this in view: “May the Eternal add me another son.” In this notion of Yosef there is an element of total cohesion for all the children of Yaakov. It is true that he is “hashalit al ha’aretz,” the ruler over the land; he is melech and moshel, as we shall see.

He is at once the man chosen from below, by the people, to lead his brothers toward the fulfillment of G-d’s promise — but he is also moshel, and the moshel is not elected for this; he imposes his authority. That is the difference between melech and moshel. The melech is the fruit of the people’s election, of a love of the people that carries him, of its recognition. The moshel, no: he imposes his authority on the people. He is not elected, not chosen, not carried by the people, but he is feared. The king is loved; the moshel is feared. And Yosef, as we shall see, unites these two functions in his person — and this is also at the root of his initial non-integration into the framework of Yaakov’s family, since he himself will be excluded; only his children will take his place, take up the succession. They will be admitted within this structure of the Jewish people, but not Yosef. Yosef represents such perfection that matters cannot be placed in his hands. You know, we have already said that whoever is to take on a role at the head of the family of Israel must not be a perfect man, beyond reproach — quite the contrary. He is a man who can be dragged before a court, is he not, suspected of this, accused of that. But he nonetheless remains the leader who, by the authority conferred on him and the trust the people place in him, directs the family; and the fact that he is somewhat shaken, that his authority is challenged by certain things held against him, does not exclude him altogether. On the contrary, it makes him all the more responsible, because he will want at all costs to show, to prove, that despite the shadows he is the right man for the task. That is the image we proclaim through David — King David, “David melech Yisrael.” There are reproaches to be made against David; he himself acknowledged them; but that does not exclude him from the role entrusted to him, of being Israel’s model king.

So, “Eleh toldot Yaakov”: here is Yaakov’s unfinished story, told through Yosef. “Yosef ben shva esreh shanah” — Yosef, seventeen years old: this young man of seventeen who is still busy arranging his hair, tending to his appearance, being vain, nursing a certain ambition because he is the son of Rachel, the long-awaited son, the son loved by his father. “Hayah ro’eh et echav”: despite his youth, he is ro’eh, a shepherd — shepherd of his brothers; he claims to lead his brothers. Now this word ro’eh, shepherd, has several connotations. The word ro’eh is applied to the Holy One, blessed be He, who is “Ro’eh Yisrael,” the Shepherd of Israel. There are others who are also “shepherds”: the heads, if you like, of armed gangs, of lawless bands, of looters, of thieves, of pimps — they too are called ro’im.

So there is a positive sense and a negative sense to this attribute of ro’eh, and applying it to one’s brothers is presumptuous, even if it were justified. We cannot, in the name of the authority we hold, underestimate others and constantly call them to order. One must be ro’eh et echav — a shepherd with one’s brothers. One must always see oneself as being with one’s brothers, on the same footing as one’s brothers. We can never take on the role of shepherd facing a flock. No: we are part of the human flock, and consequently, if there are reproaches to be made, we must call ourselves into question, because we are not strangers to the way situations develop. And then, not everyone has the same assets in life, not everyone has the same strength, not everyone has the same intelligence, the same wisdom; so we are responsible for one another.

And if ever there is […] — if a danger threatens us, if a weakness is eating away at our structure — we are responsible too. We must see to what extent our responsibility is involved. That is what Yosef did not show at first. Of course, those who always want to present the biblical figures as the emblem of the perfect tzaddik (righteous man), of spirituality at its summit, at the apex of the human, may do so; but the Torah did not speak to us of malachim, angels. It spoke to us of the human beings that we are. We have within us this dimension of Avraham, these dimensions of Yitzchak, these dimensions of Yaakov; we have the model, we carry it within us — we carry Yosef too, with his highs and lows, with his imperfections, with the reproaches one can make here and there, if there is still some fault toward a brother or […], or toward one’s own children, no matter. It is not always a matter of wanting to justify everything — that can happen — but of wanting to correct everything, yes: that is what we try to do.

So Yosef — […] just like Yaakov: Yaakov himself had suffered from this. Yitzchak loved one son, Rivkah loved the other; and before that there was the problem of Avraham and Yishmael. So, are we going to start all over again? It is inevitable. There are indeed certain tendencies in one’s children with which one identifies more than with others. Mind you: in a couple there is the personality of the man, the father, and the personality of the mother. Sometimes they do not blend into a single entity; a gap still remains, which leads the mother to favor one child over another — yet the love may perhaps be the same. But one recognizes oneself more in this child than in that one.

And, well, what our sages teach is: “Le’olam al yeshaneh adam bno bein habanim,” a person should never single out one son among his sons. One must not make distinctions — one must not show these differences. Why? Precisely because it will feed rivalry, jealousy and hatred. One should try to balance the relationship of parents toward their children, even if in the end there is a closer bond on the father’s side here, on the mother’s side there. That is entirely normal. And the Torah already warned us when it said: “If a man has two wives, the one beloved and the other disliked” — one is necessarily preferred over the other — he may not give the birthright to the child of the preferred wife over the second wife, who compared with the first is less loved.

There are four wives and four categories of children; there is a disparity among the children: the children of Leah, the children of Bilhah, the children of Zilpah and the children of Rachel. Of course, the children of Bilhah and the children of Zilpah are not recognized on the same footing by the children of Leah or by the children of Rachel — Yosef. And he tries, in a way, to draw the children of Bilhah and the children of Zilpah to himself: since they are not really recognized by the others, why not draw them to himself and begin to exercise a kind of monopoly, a certain authority, and so impose his authority a little on the other children. But the children of Bilhah and the children of Zilpah cannot bear this — being used. The text tells us that because they were kept apart by the children of Leah, they allowed themselves to be somewhat lax, in their conduct and behavior, about certain moral rules of the family.

Well, that happens in any family: it is a way of asserting one’s autonomy, one’s independence. You see: “Vayave Yosef et dibatam ra’ah el avihem.” Yosef uses his father’s love, his father’s trust, the authority his father grants him, to bring dibatam ra’ah — their evil report. Dibatam: their slander. He reported their slander, their bad behavior. It does not say el aviv, “to his father”; it says “Yosef brought their evil report el avihem,” to their father. He informed his father of their doings — “to their father”: a little surprising, all the more so since, if he is truly concerned for the unity of the family, then this is at the same time his own father; it is not aviv, “his father,” it is “their father,” as if it were some other father. That is a first approach. A second approach is the suspicion of not being, let us say, very scrupulous with regard to the spiritual heritage of the parents: yes, of keeping up relations with the local girls, with the mores and customs of the neighbors, with avodah zarah, idolatry.

[…] ever min ha-chai, eating a limb torn from a living animal […]; and then they squabbled among themselves and excluded one another. Is the remedy, then, to report to the father what the children are doing? “Vehu na’ar,” “and he was a lad”: so is he the shepherd, or is he the lad? The ro’eh, or the na’ar? He behaves like a child, a youngster, someone irresponsible. So once again: Yosef is perhaps the tzaddik, the most righteous among his brothers. Let us say he is the ben zekunim, “for he was the son of his old age”: the child who enjoys his father’s credit without restriction. He has the assets; and yet, “VeYisrael ahav et Yosef mikol banav” — “Israel loved Yosef more than all his sons.” It does not say that Yaakov loved Yosef. It is Israel who loves Yosef. We have seen that Israel is another dimension of Yaakov: it is Yaakov’s affirmed spiritual dimension. It is he who, in a sense, blessed Yosef; it is he who grants Yosef full credit. “Mikol banav,” “more than all his sons” — it does not say mikol echav, “more than all his brothers.” “Ki ven zekunim hu lo, ve’asah lo ketonet pasim”: and he makes him a tunic, a many-colored tunic, pasim — a coat, a special garment, a uniform. Pasim: he is the master of all these tendencies present within the family of Israel; he is the one who represents it. That is what these pasim are, these ornaments on the garment.

That garment, we are told, is an almost exact copy of the first garment the Holy One, blessed be He, made for Adam and Chavah to cover their nakedness. It is the garment Nimrod preserved; it is the garment Esav took from Nimrod. It thus became a garment, a uniform — let us say the uniform of a spiritual guide, the uniform of a recognized authority. And it is the garment Yaakov wore to take the blessing, to wrest the blessing Yitzchak had reserved for his son Esav. Now this garment is today also the bone of contention between Yosef and his brothers. So we will stop here. We will of course take up the thread next week, because the theme of the children of Yaakov is very important for understanding something of the components of the family of Israel in every age. If you have any questions, please ask.

Kevod HaRav, I wanted to ask you a question. You seemed to say that contestation began with the children of Yaakov. But Avraham contested with Terach; and even Yaakov, with Yitzchak, when he takes his mother’s side against his father — he contested. So contestation is at the very origin of our fathers from the start, even before the children of Yaakov. And the second thing: in some way, you seemed to say that Yosef was perfection. It is a little like the principle of the Messiah, who exists but reveals himself only when we are worthy of him. So the children of Yaakov were, in a certain way, not worthy of Yosef?

First the first question. Differences exist, and they will always exist. We are different from one another. There is no single way of thinking — no. Even in spirituality there are currents, there are grades. Yaakov’s ladder is there: it leads from earth to heaven, but by different degrees, and this must be accepted. But this only engages the responsibility of each toward the others, and from the completion of these tendencies, of these movements, the messianic idea will be born. The Messiah is the one who is able to sense the authenticity of things, and not merely their garment, their outward appearance, the way they express themselves materially — quite the contrary. Indeed, in this week’s parasha, Moshe subjects Korach to a test — which one? That of the ketoret, the incense: to see whether Korach is capable of understanding what the sense of spirituality is. Because it is not exactly in what you do: you can imitate things; you saw someone act this way, and you too want to follow in his footsteps a little. That is not the spiritual life. The spiritual life is when you sense the thing — “vahariho beyirat Hashem,” “he shall be filled with the scent of the fear of Hashem” — when the fear of the Eternal is truly authentic and is part of the air you breathe. Now in this air you breathe there is an element that is impure, that is forbidden.

But by integrating it, you have only given this spirituality an even greater intensity. And that is the whole value of the ketoret; for Moshe too did not remain unmoved. It is said — the midrash says — that the Holy One, blessed be He, made all the generations pass before him and showed him Rabbi Akiva. And when He showed him Rabbi Akiva, he was busy adding chumrot, stringencies, here and there, and increasing still further the number of rules, of practices — let us say rituals — to the Torah. — Wait, please. — We can’t hear you anymore. We can’t hear you anymore, Kevod HaRav. We’ve lost you. Kevod HaRav, start again. — There is neither picture nor sound.

No. He dropped out, I think. You should phone him. — He isn’t answering. — There. I’m here, I’ll carry on like this. — Ah no, no, no — that’s not it. I’m not in the class; it’s me who phoned you. — But people are waiting for you in the class. — Ah, there’s no electricity at his place. — Ah, so he can’t continue. — Or perhaps over the phone, but… — What are you saying? Do we try to go on, or do we stop here? — What are you saying? Do you want…? — I don’t know how to put him through, actually. I have him here. — Wait, wait, you know what, can you hear me? He says that because of the power cut he is going to stop the lecture, and he will answer the questions next week.

Thank you, Rav Benizri. Thank you, everyone. Thank you, Rav Benizri. Thank you, Shavua tov. Thank you. Shavua tov to everyone; I wish you a good end of the day. Goodbye, goodbye, and thank you for this lesson.