After the Torah told of Beneh Yisrael’s departure from Egypt, it spoke of their experiences in the desert. It described the great miracles performed for them, showing us how G-d cared for our ancestors and ensured their sustenance and protection. All these stories were leading to what we might call the “crescendo,” the purpose for which Beneh Yisrael left Egypt – their receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. We find, however, one section which seems out of place. Just prior to the story of Matan Torah, the Torah found it necessary to tell us about the arrival of Yitro, the father-in-law of Moshe Rabbenu. The Torah goes into great detail, informing us of the great honor with which Moshe and the other leaders welcomed Yitro, and of how Yitro assisted Moshe by advising him to establish a network of judges. Why is this narrative included as part of the Torah’s presentation of the events that led to Matan Torah? Why is this story significant enough to be mentioned just prior to the Revelation at Sinai? Rav Leibele Eiger (Poland, 1818-1888), in Torat Emet, explains that this story is told to teach us that nobody should ever despair. Yitro was a pagan priest, and the Sages tell that he explored and practiced every form of idolatry before finally arriving at the belief in the one, true G-d. His arrival, and his acceptance by Beneh Yisrael, teaches us that it is never too late for a person to embrace the Torah. Once Yitro made the decision to join Beneh Yisrael, his idolatrous past did not matter. He did not say to himself, “Why should I bother? They have been part of this religion since the days of Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. It’s too late for me. I’m from a pagan background, and I’ve always been a pagan. I was even a priest! I can’t suddenly come now, at my age, and join them!” Yitro did not think this way. Because once he decided to embark on this new journey, he was warmly accepted and embraced. This is the critically important message that the Torah wished to convey to us before telling us about Matan Torah. It wanted to teach us that it is never too late to accept the Torah. No matter how old we are, and no matter what we’ve done in the past, we are still encouraged to “come to Sinai,” to commit ourselves to the Torah, and build a relationship with Hashem. There is also an additional lesson we learn from Yitro. The opening verse of Parashat Yitro describes Yitro as “Kohen Midyan,” which is commonly translated as “the priest of Midyan.” Indeed, Yitro was a pagan religious leader. However, Rashi, commenting to the first instance of the word “Kohen” in the Torah (“Admat Ha’kohanim” – Bereshit 47:22), writes that sometimes, this word denotes prominence and prestige, and not a position of leadership. Importantly, Rashi cites the verse in our Parasha – “Kohen Midyan” – as an example of where “Kohen” is used to mean distinction, as opposed to religious leadership. According to Rashi, then, the Torah here emphasizes that Yitro was a distinguished person, who enjoyed wealth and prestige. And, several verses later in our Parasha (18:5), the Torah states that Yitro came “El Ha’midbar” – “to the desert.” Rashi comments that the Torah speaks in praise of Yitro, who “sat in the glory of the world” – with wealth and honor, and gave it all up to join Beneh Yisrael in the barren desert. Yitro, the “Kohen,” enjoyed material comforts and prestige, but he decided to sacrifice it all to come to the desert. Yitro shows us that in order to accept the Torah and be part of G-d’s treasured nation, one needs to make sacrifices. One cannot expect to commit himself to Torah without giving up some comforts, conveniences and luxuries. Of course, we are not expected to live in a “desert,” with only our bare necessities, as our ancestors did for forty years. We are, however, expected to make sacrifices, just as Yitro did. Torah life is exceedingly rewarding, but we must be prepared to put in the work, to exert effort, and to make sacrifices. The story of Yitro is told before Matan Torah to remind us that in order to fully commit ourselves to Torah study and observance, we must be prepared to give up certain comforts and conveniences in exchange for the unparalleled joy and privilege of serving our Creator.

“Az Yashir,” the famous song of praise which Beneh Yisrael sang after the miracle of the splitting of the sea, begins, “Ashira L’Hashem Ki Ga’o Ga’a, Sus Ve’rochebo Rama Ba’yam” – “I shall sing to G-d for He has risen ever high; He cast into the sea the horse and its rider” (15:1). This opening segment of “Az Yashir” was sung also by Miriam as she led the women of Beneh Yisrael in song (15:20). Rav Eliezer Ashkenazi (1512-1585), in his work “Ma’aseh Hashem,” offered an insightful explanation of this verse. The Gemara (Sanhedrin 39b) famously teaches that after the miracle of the sea, the angels in heavens wanted to sing a song of praise to Hashem, but Hashem prevented them. He said, “My creatures are drowning at sea, and you will sing praise before Me?!” Although the Egyptians certainly deserved to perish because of what they did to Beneh Yisrael, nevertheless, they were human beings, and every human being is G-d’s handiwork. Therefore, it was inappropriate for the angels to sing to G-d for the great miracle while the Egyptians, G-d’s creatures, drowned. In this opening verse of “Az Yashir,” Beneh Yisrael explain why they nevertheless were singing Shira (song of praise) – “Ki Ga’o Ga’a.” The Ma’aseh Hashem writes that this phrase describes not Hashem, as is conventionally understood, but rather Pharaoh, the king of Egypt. Pharaoh made himself supreme, believing he was the most powerful being in the world, and under nobody’s control. He elevated himself to the highest pedestal of authority. This is why he stubbornly refused to allow Beneh Yisrael to leave until he was forced to let them. He brazenly defied G-d, and even denied His authority, telling Moshe, “Mi Hashem Asher Eshma Be’kolo” – “Who is G-d that I should heed His voice?” (Shemot 5:2). This, the Ma’aseh Hashem explains, is the meaning of the verse, “Ashira L’Hashem Ki Ga’o Ga’a.” While generally song after the demise of enemies would be inappropriate, in this instance, it was warranted, “Ki Ga’o Ga’a” – because the enemy that met his downfall had prided himself on being greater than G-d. Pharaoh’s demise was an occasion to be celebrated because it restored G-d’s honor. Beneh Yisrael sang not to celebrate the Egyptians’ death, but rather to give honor and glory to Hashem, whose singular greatness and authority had now been shown to the entire world. Of course, we read “Az Yashir” each day as part of our Pesukeh De’zimra service, with which we introduce the daily Shaharit prayer. Before we stand before G-d in prayer, we remind ourselves of His unlimited power and ability to help us. We take a few moments to reflect on the fact that no person and no situation is more powerful than G-d. No matter what kind of difficulty we face, no matter what kind of assistance we require, we can turn to Hashem for the help we need. Just as Pharaoh thought that he was more powerful than G-d, so might we on occasion make the mistake of thinking that a problem or crisis is “too difficult” for G-d to handle. We therefore preface our morning prayers with the song of “Az Yashir,” reassuring ourselves that Hashem is fully capable of resolving any problem we face, and giving us the help that we need.

Before the tenth and final plague, Makat Bechorot (plague of the firstborn), Moshe came before Pharaoh and warned him about the impending calamity that G-d would bring upon Egypt. Moshe then predicted that this plague would cause Pharaoh to finally relent and allow Beneh Yisrael to leave Egypt: “And all these servants of yours will come down to me and say: Leave, you and all the people under your charge! – and afterward, I will leave” (11:8). The question arises, why did Moshe need to say, “Ve’ahareh Chein Eseh” – “and afterward I will leave”? Beneh Yisrael had been waiting for centuries to leave Egypt. Moshe had spent a year repeatedly urging Pharaoh to let Beneh Yisrael go, and Pharaoh continually refused. Is it not obvious that they would leave Egypt after the plague of the firstborn, when Pharaoh told them to leave? The Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy, 1475-1549) explains that Moshe was telling Pharaoh, “We will leave later.” He was emphasizing that Beneh Yisrael would leave Egypt “Ahareh Chen,” at some later point, and not the moment when Pharaoh would order them to leave. Pharaoh commanded Beneh Yisrael to leave in the middle of the night, right after the plague of the firstborn struck, but Beneh Yisrael did not leave until morning. This, the Seforno explains, is the meaning of “Ve’ahareh Chein Eseh” – that Beneh Yisrael would not leave immediately, but only later. We must then ask, why was this case? Why, in fact, did Beneh Yisrael delay their departure from Egypt until morning? Wouldn’t we have expected them to leave immediately when they finally had the opportunity to do so? Rav Shalom Schwadron, the “Maggid of Jerusalem” (1912-1997), explained that this was done to demonstrate to Pharaoh G-d’s absolute, unlimited control. Pharaoh all throughout assumed that he enjoyed full control over Beneh Yisrael, and so he refused the demand that He allow them to leave. And even when he finally was forced to yield, Pharaoh thought he could still exert his control over Beneh Yisrael, and drive them by force out of the country. G-d wanted to show Pharaoh that he had no control whatsoever over Beneh Yisrael – neither to keep them in Egypt, nor to send them out of Egypt. And so even when Pharaoh finally relented, G-d did not allow Beneh Yisrael to leave when Pharaoh wanted them to leave, and their departure was delayed until the morning. They left on G-d’s terms, not on Pharaoh’s terms. Developing this point one step further, Rav Schwadron explained that Pharaoh’s enslavement of Beneh Yisrael was commissioned by G-d. Hashem had decreed that Beneh Yisrael should spend hundreds of years in bondage, in preparation for their receiving the Torah at Sinai. Pharaoh was nothing more than a pawn, the means through which G-d fulfilled His decree. It was therefore critically important for Beneh Yisrael to leave Egypt when G-d decided, and not when Pharaoh decided. G-d wanted to show Pharaoh that he never had control over Beneh Yisrael, that it was always G-d who orchestrated the events. Of course, this message is intended not only for Pharaoh, but also for us. We must remember at all times that G-d exercises full, unlimited control over the universe, and there is nobody in nothing in the world that acts independently of His power. Anything that happens has been decided by G-d. This awareness should bring us comfort and solace during times of hardship and distress, assuring us that G-d’s control over the world – and over our lives – is absolute, and He is always caring for us, even under the most trying circumstances.

Before beginning the story of the ten plagues which G-d brought upon Egypt, it presents the genealogy of the first three tribes of Israel – Reuben, Shimon and Levi. Rashi (6:14) explains that the Torah wanted to tell us about the family background of Moshe and Aharon, the ones who confronted Pharaoh and brought the plagues, and who descended from the tribe of Levi. It therefore began from the first tribe, Reuben, and continued until it reached Moshe and Aharon. The Torah concluded this section by stating, “This is Aharon and Moshe, to whom G-d said: Bring Beneh Yisrael out of the land of Egypt… They were the ones who spoke to Pharaoh, king of Egypt…this is Moshe and Aharon” (6:26-27). Rashi, explaining the need for the seemingly repetitious phrase, “this is Moshe and Aharon,” writes: “They kept to their mission and their piety from the beginning until the end.” The Torah goes out of its way to emphasize that Moshe and Aharon remained committed to the goal of bringing Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt, until the very end. They retained their devotion, and their righteousness, throughout the entire process. It is common for people to grow weary and give up. When we start something new, like a new project or new spiritual undertaking, we are filled with excitement and enthusiasm, which fuels us and keeps us going. Inevitably, however, this excitement wanes with time. It is all but impossible for the enthusiasm felt at the beginning a new endeavor to last. Whether it’s a new personal project, a new community project, a new business, or a new hobby – people so often give up in the middle, once the excitement that had kept them going wears off. This is one of the reasons why it is customary to make a festive Siyum celebration upon the completion of the study of a Masechet (tractate of Gemara), or of another significant portion of Torah. We celebrate not only the accomplishment itself, but also the person’s persistence, his long-term commitment to the goal. It is relatively easy to begin a Masechet, and to study the first several pages. But seeing the project through to completion is far more difficult. Rashi’s comments here teach us to follow the example set for us by Moshe and Aharon, to persist in pursuing our ambitious goals even after the initial excitement has waned. If we’ve taken on an important, meaningful project, let’s apply ourselves to see it through to completion, despite the challenges and proverbial “bumps in the road” that we will inevitably encounter. In order to achieve, we must be prepared to put in the work even when we feel like giving up. Like Moshe and Aharon, we must be committed to making it until the end, to achieving the goals that we’ve set out to achieve.

We read in Parashat Shemot of the successful attempt made by Yochebed, the mother of Moshe Rabbenu, to rescue her beloved infant. After Pharaoh decreed that all newborn boys among Beneh Yisrael should be killed, Yochebed delivered a baby, and hid him from the Egyptian authorities for three months. Then, seeing that she could no longer hide him, she placed the baby in a basket and put the basket in the river. It was discovered by Pharaoh’s daughter, who opened the basket and saw a child crying. She exclaimed, “This is from the children of the Hebrews!” (2:6). Pharaoh’s daughter took the baby, brought him home, and raised him as her child. She named him “Moshe.” The question arises as to how the princess realized that this infant was Jewish. Immediately upon seeing him, she declared that this was an Israelite child. Why? The commentators also address a different question, regarding the syntax of this verse. The Torah tells, “Va’tiftach Ta’tir’ehu Et Ha’yeled, Ve’hineh Na’ar Bocheh” – “She opened it and saw the child, and behold, there was a lad crying.” Moshe is first called “Ha’yeled” – “the child,” but then referred to as a “Na’ar” – “lad.” Clearly, as Moshe was but three months old, the term “Yeled” is far more appropriate for him than “Na’ar,” a term that usually denotes a grown child. Why does the Torah here speak of a “Na’ar” crying, if Moshe was a small baby? An innovative reading of this verse was suggested by the Ba’al Ha’turim (Rabbenu Yaakob Ben Asher, Germany-Spain, 1269-1340). He notes that the words “Na’ar Bocheh” in Gematria equal the phrase “Zeh Aharon Ha’kohen” – “This is Aharon the Kohen.” According to the Ba’al Ha’turim, it wasn’t Moshe who was crying. His older brother, Aharon, was standing along the riverbank to watch what would happen to Moshe, and he was crying out of fear and compassion for his baby brother. When Pharaoh’s daughter opened the basket, she saw an infant – and she also heard a “Na’ar,” the infant’s older brother, crying from a distance, worrying about what would happen to the baby. This perhaps explains why the princess immediately determined that the infant must belong to Am Yisrael – because this is a uniquely Jewish trait, crying for one another, caring about one other, feeling each other’s pain, and shouldering each other’s burden. In the Book of Yehezkel (34:31), the prophet turns to Beneh Yisrael and says, “Adam Atem” – “You are people.” The Gemara in Masechet Yebamot (61a) interprets this to mean that “Atem Keruyim Adam” – only the Jewish people are defined as “Adam,” whereas other nations are not. This classification of Jews as “Adam,” the Gemara explains, is relevant for a certain Halacha regarding the laws of impurity. But this enigmatic Talmudic teaching has, over the years, been used by anti-Semites as “evidence” of the Jews’ contempt for gentiles. They claimed that the Talmud teaches Jews to view other peoples as subhuman species – despite the fact that numerous other sources in Torah literature make it very clear that to the contrary, all human beings are created in the divine image and demand our respect and concern. The Rabbis struggled to explain the meaning of the Talmudic teaching that the term “Adam” is reserved for the Jewish People. Rav Meir Shapiro of Lublin (1887-1933) offered a compelling, and especially meaningful, interpretation. He asserted that the Gemara here distinguishes not between “Adam” and animals, but rather between “Adam” and the other Hebrew term used in reference to human beings – “Ish.” The difference between the words “Adam” and “Ish,” Rav Shapiro noted, is that the word “Ish” has a plural form – “Anashim,” whereas the word “Adam” has no plural form. The Gemara teaches that Jews are called “Adam” because we comprise a single entity. We are all parts of one organic whole. We are not “plural,” because we are members of a single nation. No other nation is bound together in mutual love, care and concern like the Jewish Nation. When one Jew is in pain, or is in trouble, Jews around the world cry. This is one of the unique aspects of the Jewish experience – being an “Adam,” part of an organic entity, where everybody is interconnected and unconditionally devoted to one another. This is how Pharaoh’s daughter knew that the infant she found belonged to Beneh Yisrael – because she saw somebody crying for him, worrying about him, concerned about him. When our Jewish brothers and sisters across the world are in crisis, we must all feel their pain. We shoulder their burden of sorrow with them, and we commit ourselves to doing everything we can to help them, to support them, to encourage them, and to ensure their safety and wellbeing.

Many parents observe the beautiful, time-honored practice to bless their children every week on Friday night. The blessing they give is, “Yesimcha Elokim Ke’Efrayim Ve’chi’Mnashe” – that Hashem should make them like Yosef’s two sons, Efrayim and Menashe. The source of this blessing is the story told in Parashat Vayehi of Yaakob Abinu’s emotional meeting with Yosef and his two sons before his passing. After blessing Efrayim and Menashe, Yaakob proclaimed that for all time, parents in Am Yisrael will bless their children that they should become like Efrayim and Menashe (48:20). The obvious question arises as to why parents wish for their children that they should grow to become specifically like Efrayim and Menashe. Undoubtedly, Efrayim and Menashe were exceptionally righteous men; after all, they were privileged to be the founders of two of the twelve tribes of Israel. However, our nation has been graced with countless outstanding spiritual giants, from the time of our saintly patriarchs until even our generation. What is unique about Efrayim and Menashe, such that parents wish for their children to become like them? The answer becomes clear when we review the relationships between brothers from the beginning of the Humash until our Parasha. The first siblings in human history were Kayin and Hebel, the two sons of Adam. As we know, they both brought offerings to G-d, who accepted Hebel’s sacrifice, but rejected Kayin’s. Consumed with jealousy, Kayin proceeded to kill his brother. Generations later, Abraham Abinu begot two sons – Yishmael and Yishak. The younger brother, Yishak, was chosen as heir to the special covenant that G-d made with Abraham. Yishmael refused to accept this decision, and taunted and even threatened Yishak. This is what prompted Sara to urge Abraham to drive Yishmael from the home. Yishak, too, had two sons – Yaakob and Esav. Yaakob, the younger twin, received their father’s blessings, which Esav resented. Esav planned to kill Yaakob, who fled from Eretz Yisrael to escape his brother’s wrath. This unfortunate pattern of fraternal strife continued in the next generation. Yosef’s brothers resented Yaakob’s special love for him, the special garment that Yaakob made for him, and Yosef’s dreams of leadership. They undertook the drastic measure of throwing him into a pit, intending to kill him, and then decided to lift him from the pit and sell him as a slave. When Yosef brought his two sons to see Yaakob, this pattern of hostility finally ended. The Torah relates that when Yaakob blessed Efrayim and Menashe, he purposely placed his right hand on the head of the younger son, Efrayim, and his left hand on Menashe’s head. He explained to Yosef that while both tribes will, in the future, attain greatness, the tribe of Efrayim will become more numerous and more powerful. Menashe, the older brother, did not respond. He did not resent being surpassed by his brother, and felt no envy. Finally, the ill of fraternal strife was cured. The greatest blessing that a parent could wish for his or her children is that they should follow this example of contentment, that they avoid petty competition and jealousy, that they feel satisfied with what they have in life even if others have more. All of us, without exception, are going to find on occasion that life isn’t fair, that the people around us are more fortunate and more blessed than we are in some way. This is inevitable. As hard as parents should – and, generally, do – try to treat all their children fairly and equally, some children are going to feel disadvantaged or shortchanged. And even if they don’t feel this way at home, they will feel this way in school, in their social circles, in their professional lives, or in some other framework. There is nobody for whom life is always and entirely fair. And this is why the blessing, “May G-d make you like Efrayim and Menashe” is so vital. In order to live happily and contentedly, we need to follow the example of Efrayim and Menashe. We need to transcend envy and competition, and feel happy with whatever we have. The Gemara (Shabbat 152b) teaches that if a person lives with envy, then after his death, even his bones decay. Jealousy is so toxic, and so destructive, that its effects upon a person’s being endure even after he leaves this world. Let us all strive to truly become like Efrayim and Menashe, to respect and admire our peers even if we see them enjoying success that we do not enjoy, so that we will all live together happily, harmoniously and lovingly, setting an inspiring example for the rest of Am Yisrael and for the rest of the world.

Parashat Vayigash features one of the most dramatic stories in the entire Torah – Yosef’s revelation to his brothers. Many years earlier, when Yosef was just seventeen-years-old, his brothers threw him into a pit, with the intention of killing him. They then decided to lift him from the pit and sell him as a slave to merchants, who brought him to Egypt. Miraculously, Yosef ended up becoming the vizier of Egypt, who was responsible for distributing grain during the years of famine. His brothers came from Eretz Yisrael to Egypt in order to purchase grain, and they stood before Yosef. They did not recognize him, but he recognized them – and he proceeded to accuse them of coming to Egypt as spies. He forced them to return home and then come back with their youngest brother, Binyamin, and thus prove their innocence. When they came back to Egypt with Binyamin, Yosef ordered his butler to plant his silver goblet in Binyamin’s bag. Then, as the brothers began making their way back home, Yosef sent his butler to chase after them. The goblet was found in Binyamin’s bag, and Yosef commanded that Binyamin must remain in Egypt as his slave. Yehuda, who had promised Yaakob to bring Binyamin home safely, pleaded with Yosef to allow him to remain in Binyamin’s place. After hearing Yehuda’s impassioned plea, Yosef told his brothers who he was. The commentators address the question of why Yosef revealed himself to his brothers only now, after hearing Yehuda’s petition. Why did he not tell the brothers who he was right when they first came down to Egypt? And why did he force them to bring Binyamin, and then try to keep Binyamin with him? For that matter, already when Yosef rose to the position of vizier, why did he not contact his family to tell them that he was alive and well? One commentary, called the Leb Melech, answers these questions by clarifying why the brothers decided to eliminate Yosef in the first place. He explains that the brothers wrongly suspected Yosef of thinking of himself as the only heir to Hashem’s covenant with Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Just as only one of Abraham’s sons – Yishak – inherited the blessings to Abraham, and then only one of the Yishak’s sons – Yaakob – inherited them, the brothers thought that Yosef planned to be the sole inheritor of G-d’s covenant. Knowing that this was wrong, that they were all included in the covenant, and would all take part in the formation of Am Yisrael, the brothers saw Yosef as a real danger to the family and to the future of the special nation that was now being established. The brothers concluded that Yosef needed to be expelled because he threatened the development of the Jewish Nation. Yosef knew this, and this is why he never contacted his family – or even revealed his identity to his brothers when they arrived. He had good reason to fear that if the brothers knew that he had risen to a position of power, and was no longer a lowly slave, they would do everything they could to kill him. And if just two of the brothers – Shimon and Levi – were able to destroy the entire city of Shechem, then all ten of them could find a way to assassinate him in Egypt. Yosef therefore devised a plan to help the brothers recognize their mistake. First, he had them imprisoned for three days – so they would feel the pain of captivity, which they had caused him to experience. Then, three days later, he took them out of prison, explaining, “I am G-d-fearing” (Bereshit 42:18). He told them that he had changed his mind, and instead of keeping them all in jail and sending one of them home to bring Binyamin, he would keep only one of them in jail and send the rest of them back. Yosef wanted to model for his brothers the humility to reconsider and rethink one’s assumptions. He hoped that this would inspire them to reflect, to reevaluate their decision to expel him from the family. Sure enough, the brothers immediately expressed their regret, realizing that they made a mistake by selling Yosef (42:21). Then, Yosef arranged that the brothers would have to put themselves on the line for Binyamin. When he wanted to keep Binyamin with him forever as a slave, the brothers realized what it meant to permanently lose a brother, and thus truly regretted what they had done to Yosef. At that point, Yosef revealed himself. After hearing Yehuda’s plea, Yosef felt confident that the brothers changed their mind about him, and that it was safe to tell them that he was Yosef. I once heard an addition to this insight, which highlights one particular part of Yosef’s plan. When the brothers came to Egypt, Yosef accused them of being spies. His intention was for them to feel what they had done to him – falsely accusing him of rejecting them, of planning to drive them out of the family. They now felt what it was like to be wrongly accused, to be unfairly maligned, to have people make assumptions about them that weren’t true. Many times, in our interactions with people, we fail to recognize the hard feelings that our words could cause. We talk on impulse, and with our emotions, without thinking carefully about how what we say is impacting the individual we’re speaking with. In all our interactions, we need to try to place ourselves in the other person’s position, to try to imagine how we would feel if people spoke to us the way we are speaking. This sensitivity will help us be humbler, more considerate and more refined people, and will help us build healthy, happy and meaningful relationships with the people around us.

Parashat Miketz begins with Pharaoh’s peculiar dreams and his desperate quest for a satisfactory interpretation. Pharaoh dreamt first of seven lean cows devouring seven large cows, and then of seven lean sheaves of grain devouring seven heathy sheaves. The royal advisors were unable to come up with a convincing interpretation, and so the king’s cupbearer, who had been in prison with Yosef, told Pharaoh of how Yosef correctly interpreted his and the baker’s dreams which they dreamt in jail. Yosef was brought before Pharaoh, and he explained to the king that these dreams foretold the imminent onset of seven years of surplus, which would be followed by seven years of harsh famine. Then, Yosef proceeded to advise Pharaoh to appoint an official responsible for overseeing the storage of grain during the seven years of plenty, in preparation for the famine that would follow. Pharaoh reacted enthusiastically to Yosef’s interpretation, exclaiming, “En Nabon Ve’hacham Kamocha” – “There is no one as intelligent or wise as you!” (41:39). He then named Yosef second-in-command, and assigned to him the mission of storing produce during the coming seven years. Yosef implemented a program of massive storage, which ended up saving not only Egypt, but also the surrounding countries, during the years of famine. Many commentators raised the question of why Yosef chose to not only interpret Pharaoh’s dream, but also offer unsolicited advice. Yosef had been in prison, falsely accused of a heinous crime, and he was released solely for the purpose of interpreting Pharaoh’s dream. Why did he assume for himself the right to also advise Pharaoh? Many answers have been given to this question, but perhaps the simplest, most straightforward answer is that solving the problem was part-and-parcel of the dream’s interpretation. Yosef intuitively understood that Pharaoh was shown this dream so that he could act ahead of time to prevent mass starvation during the seven drought years. This is why Pharaoh exclaimed, “En Nabon Ve’hacham Kamocha” – mentioning first “Nabon” and then “Hacham.” In terms of intellectual development, the level of “Hacham” precedes “Nabon.” A “Hacham” is somebody with knowledge, whereas a “Nabon” is somebody with the intuition, insight and creativity to apply the knowledge effectively. Normally, then, the description “Hacham” should be given before “Nabon.” In this case, however, Pharaoh wanted to emphasize to his advisors the difference between Yosef and them. The advisors felt content coming up with interpretations, without offering any practical guidance, without explaining what Pharaoh is meant to do about his dreams. Yosef, however, was not merely “Hacham,” but also “Nabon,” someone who knew how to use his knowledge. He understood that these dreams were shown to Pharaoh for a practical purpose, so that he could act for the benefit of his people. I once heard from Rav Chaim Brim (Jerusalem, 1922-2002) an insight into the lesson we can learn from Pharaoh’s dreams and Yosef’s interpretation. Just as there are years of “plenty” and years of “famine” with regard to material resources, there are also years of “plenty” and “famine” with regard to time and energy. When a person is young and healthy, he has the time and energy to accomplish, to achieve, to build, and to contribute. As people age, they have less time and less physical strength to achieve. Pharaoh’s dream is relevant to each and every person, teaching us that youth eventually gives way to old age, that our “years of plenty,” our opportunities for achievement, do not last forever. And just as Yosef understood the practical message of this vision, we, too, must take this lesson to heart. We must not waste our “years of plenty,” our youthful years, the opportunities we have to accomplish and make a difference. We must remember that our “years of plenty” do not last forever, and so we need to use these years wisely, and take full advantage of our time and energy while we have them. Rather than waste these years staring at screens and involving ourselves in vanity, let us instead use them productively, for Torah learning, for Misva observance, and for accomplishing all the great things which Hashem has given us the ability to accomplish.

Insights into the Weekly Parasha - Brought to you by itorah.com

Insights into the Weekly Parasha - Brought to you by itorah.com