Personal Parsha Prose

“Mom! What’s for dinner?” Oh, how so many women dread that question. Taking care of a family seems to require making this same decision over and over and over – although many households have solved this by having a static weekly menu so that the question becomes moot. If it’s Monday, it must be leftovers…(not to ignore “taco Tuesdays”).

 It seems that in the Midbar, that “beloved” cry was transformed from “Ma” to “Mo” – “Hey Moshe, what’s for dinner? I’m staaaarrrrvvvvinnnnnngg!” Ok, really, they said: “If only we had died by God’s hand in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pots of meat, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole congregation to death” (16:3). But, we all know that if they were modern day teenagers it’s kind of the same thing because, like modern day teenagers, they weren’t starving. They hadn’t even been out of Mitzrayim that long. What they were “starving” for was a sense of security, which was difficult since, at this point, they were a very insecure people. 

 Like many a modern mother, Hashem held them to the words of their complaint, that they had “sat by the pots of meat” and ate their fill of bread. Why didn’t they say that they ate meat? Why use such odd phraseology as “sat by the pots of meat”? As every human being knows, food is often about far more that the desire of our mouths. Walking into a house where a brisket is in the oven or some chicken is roasting brings one a sense of hunger, yes, but also a sense of premeditated pleasure. Food is a multi-sensory gift to our goofs, our bodies. 

 The night before the mahn, the camp was covered in quail – a short statement in the Torah that is easily overlooked in the midst of the far greater miracle that was about to take place. The night before the mahn, they prepared succulent dishes that must have filled the camp with the same overwhelming pleasure as sitting by pots of meat. Good things are coming – yum, yum. It was to be their last sensory culinary experience, for the next day “there was a fall of dew about the camp. When the fall of dew lifted, there, over the surface of the wilderness, lay a fine and flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.” The manna had arrived. 

 In a most fascinating situation, while the “fine and flaky substance” is first mentioned in 16:14, it is not named until pasuk lamed-aleph (31). During those 15 or so pasukim, the Toah explains the rules of manna, about the fact that it will be gathered and brought to their tents in quantities of one day’s need, about the pointlessness of holding it overnight since it would not keep, and, most significantly, about the double portion before Shabbas.  Only after a week’s worth of mahn exhibiting its miraculous measurements of precisely the right portion for each household and the wonderous double fall of Shabbas, is the heavenly “bread” named. “The house of Israel named it manna; it was like coriander seed, white, and it tasted like wafers in honey.”

 After a full week, the women of nation threw up their hands. How many times could they call up nd yell “Come and get your, um, er, stuff that fell on the ground”? How often could they say, “Alrighty, seed-like food for supper!” The ground-fall needed a name and some of the oldest commentaries on the Torah note that the Torah’s use of word “the house of Israel,” beis Yisrael, means that it was the women who named the food (Mechilta).

This is significant because it underscores the important role that women play in the spiritual life of Bnei Yisrael. As Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsh notes: 

 Getting and keeping the feeling of being happy and contented with moderation, trusting in God and His providing, is above all dependent on the women of the household accepting this spirit, and on their care of and adherence to the spirit of living...

Parshas Bo – Wait, What Did He Just Say?

It would probably be a fair assessment to say that I am not alone in looking at the world today and shrugging in complete puzzlement. It feels like the last 5 or 6 years have brought a bizarre shift in both geopolitics, domestic policy, and economics. It often seems as if we are faced with the bizarre experience of politicians talking out of two sides of their mouths – saying one thing but meaning another.  

“That’s what politicians do,” some of you might be saying, and the proof is right here in this week’s parsha. In Parshas Bo there is a particularly strange pasuk that easily makes one hesitate and reread to try to understand what just happened. 

 The parsha begins with Hashem instructing Moshe and Aharon to return to Pharoah and describe to the court the next terrible plague that is to come. They are warned, however, that Hashem will harden Pharoah’s heart so that Hashem can overturn Egypt in a way to strengthen Am Yisrael for all of our generations (note: that’s not how it is expressed). They go to the court and describe the devastation to be wrought by a terrible swarm of locust. They leave, and the court goes crazy. “Pharaoh’s courtiers said to him, “How long shall this one be a snare to us? Let those involved go to worship the ETERNAL their God! Are you not yet aware that Egypt is lost?” (Shemos 10:7). On a side note, it is interesting that this dire reaction is to the one plague that has any sense of something natural. Perhaps because they knew, from experience in life, how truly terrible a locust swarm could be…and, of course, their land and lives were already quite devastated. 

Pharoah listens to his courtiers, which is in itself fairly incredible, and calls Moshe and Aharon back to the court and offers to let them go to worship Hashem in the wilderness. When he inquires as to whom they plan on taking with them, he is told “We will all go—regardless of our station—we will go with our sons and daughters, our flocks and herds; for we must observe Hashem’s festival” (10:9). Pharoah’s reaction, when read initially, is truly peculiar:

“So he [Pharaoh] said to them, ‘So may the Lord be with you, just as I will let you and your young children out. See that evil is before your faces. Not so; let the men go now and worship the Lord, for that is what you request.’ (10:10-11).

The Torah does not state any emotion on Pharoah’s part leading into his statement, and so it could seem that he is actually seeing things their way. “So may the Lord be with you.” Pharoah is invoking Hashem’s name, and it almost seems as if he is blessing their endeavor. More than that, it almost appears as if he is encouraging them when he says: “I will let you and your young children out.” It seems he is saying that everyone can go. 

It is therefore rather startling when Pharoah declares that “evil is before your faces.” It seemed that only a moment ago Pharoah was accepting this request; he’d even appeared to bless them that Hashem should be with them! Thus we see that Pharoah truly knows how to speak like a politician, how to couch in his words the poison of double-speak. The Netziv remarks in Haamek Daver that Pharoah’s wording here is meant to imply that he is acting from compassion: “Pharaoh asked, ‘Who is going to provide for your needs in the desert? Will you not die of hunger?’ This is the significance of his warning, ‘for evil confronts you.’ That is, you are seeking your own misfortune by taking your little ones into the barren desert.”

Pharoah invokes Hashem’s name so that he can appear as if he is thinking of their welfare. The implication that he knows better than Hashem how to protect both Bnei Yisrael and his own people is his narcissistic vulnerability. 

In the first parsha of the Torah, we learn how Hashem made man in His image…alas, ever since then it seems that man has been trying to do the reverse – make Gd in man’s image. Ok, it’s a bit of a pithy thing to say, but, in many ways, not so far from the truth. Even today when Western society has moved far away from statuesque idolatry or that Greek pantheon, most people tend to have an understanding of Hashem that reflects Gd as they want or expect Him to be. Sometimes that is the all-loving, all-forgiving, “if I’m just a good person Gd will accept me” deity, & sometimes it’s the fire & brimstone deity who will punish those who cross a person’s moral line. 

 Hashem is all-knowing, of course. Hashem does reward the righteous & punish those who deserve to be punished. The calculations for all of that, however, are well beyond our means of understanding…and understanding that is critical criteria for this week’s parsha, Shemos. Parshas Shemos is a testament to the difference in how we mortals view the world and Hashem’s comprehension of all the moving pieces & His understanding of what, ultimately, needs to happen and is thus “good.”

 The parsha opens with a recounting of the names of the 70 who came down with Yaakov to Egypt, & here we must remember that when Yaakov hesitated to come, Hashem told him it was what he should do. But was it good? We see quite quickly into the parsha that it really wasn’t what one would say is for the good b/c the Egyptians turned on Bnei Yisrael rather quicky once Yosef’s generation had passed. 

 One of the primary factors of the events in Mitzrayim (beyond, the foretelling of the oppression by Hashem & it being the means of forging the nation) was Pharoah’s belief that he could shape his world. He wished to kill Jewish boys b/c an astrologer gave him a foretelling, and he believed that he had ability to thwart it. He believed that he could remove himself from infanticide by trying to recruit the Jewish midwives to do it, but their better nature couldn't be turned. He believed that he could ignore Moshe b/c, as he himself declared: He didn't know Hashem. 

 In contrast, however, there is Moshe. The Torah tells us that when Moshe was born, his mother saw that he was “good.” Of course there are lots of interpretations of what that means, but perhaps it is an allusion to his innate connection to the Divine.  Think about the fact that only his youngest years were spent in an environment of kedusha, when he was nursed in his mother’s house. The Torah only first records him interacting with any Israelites is when he stops the taskmaster from killing a slave, and he stops him by striking him with, as the Midrash tells us, the actual name of Hashem. This is an incredible level of connection for someone who had no one to teach him the ways of Israel, which makes it even more perplexing that Moshe doesn't immediately agree when Hashem instructs him to go back to Mitzrayim. 

 When Moshe asks Hashem what he should tell the Israelites when they ask for Hashem’s name, the response is more than just a message for Bnei Yisrael. It is a message for every person… “Gd said to Moses, “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh,” continuing, “Thus shall you say to the Israelites, ‘Ehyeh sent me to you.’” Ehyeh-asher-Ehyah – I am that I am or I will be what I will be… 

 Moshe, with his inborn special connection to Hashem, can't alter the path that Hashem wants to occur. None of us can. We can judge the world all that we want. We can look at individuals or whole groups of people or situations & declare that they are wrong, that they need to be different, but we are mere mortals. To be frank, we know nothing except what we see & what we feel, but Hashem… Hashem doesn’t just know everything, Hashem IS everything.

 I wish all a beautiful Shabbas, & let us all come to truly accept that it is all Hashem.

The perception of the passage of time is one of the most puzzling elements of being alive. There are days that feel unending, and weeks that go by in the blink of an eye. One can look back at a year that just passed and wonder how it is over so quickly while, at the same time, feeling like events from the beginning of the year happened in a different era. This odd temporal distortion that we all do seems to be a significant facet of this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayechi.

For those who are fans of science fiction, the term temporal is not so mysterious, although in such reference it often is used in time travel scenarios. It is, in truth, a rather complicated word in that its essential meaning in relation to time is of something finite and specific to a set of time, but that it is used for situations inferring moving in/out of time periods shows that it rings with something far more philosophical.

Parshas Vayechi is very much a parsha about time, but time in a very biblical framework. Everything that occurs in sefer Bereishis echoes through Jewish history yet to come but is powerful in its own time as well. 

 The first section of the parsha is Yaakov on his sickbed calling Yosef and Yosef’s sons to him so that he may bless them specifically. The action is occurring in one time period, but it is an action that will affect to Jewish people for the rest of history as he adds these grandsons into the framework of the shevatim. 

The second, and primary, section of the parsha is Yaakov’s blessings to his sons, and, when read carefully, one notices here a true temporal split. Yaakov in the prophetic state of blessing his children, speaks in future, past, and present tense. Some sons are critiqued for actions in their past, while others are given hints to the future. For Yaakov Avinu on his death bed, timing had little significance, but time had tremendous significance. 

The third section of the parsha is about death and burial, which is the ultimate reminder that our time is certainly not eternal. Through his instructions for burial in Maaras Hamachpela, Yaakov is actively tying his earthly existence to the spiritual chain of his forefathers and making certain that their great accomplishments in bringing the spiritual down to earth will not be tainted.  According to numerous mepharshim, Yaakov was so specific about the burial place in order to protect it, for it was well known that Esav still felt entitled to it. It was for this reason that he specified that he had already interred Leah there – he had already prepared it in advance, with some mepharshim even suggesting that he had dug his own space in advance.  

It is the final section of the parsha, however, that has, perhaps, the most to offer on the business of time. Yosef does not even bother to try to be buried immediately in Eretz Canaan.  He lets the royal staff prepare him in their usual fashion (embalmment), and his funeral was the done with the fanfare like one of the great nobles of the country – which he was. But Yosef is aware that Hashem has lifted the Jewish people out of any normal pattern of time or mazal, and he makes his brothers promise to take him with them when they leave Mitzrayim. 

When you really think about it, it’s a weird request. He’s going to be dead. His brothers are all older than him (except Binyamin), so they too will not live much longer… It is quite obvious, therefore, that he is not talking to his generation. In making this promise for the future, Yosef is making time fold in so that he is alerting the generations of Bnei Yisrael to come that time as we see it has little meaning. He has perfect faith that his body will not remain in Mitzrayim. He has perfect faith that redemption will come, that Bnei Yisrael will return to the land promised to them through Avraham Avinu.

The idea of time travel is alluring and appealing....

Hindsight is 20/20 they say, and when you look at history from the present day you see all the twists and turns that brought about great triumphs and cataclysmic failures. And when you read a story from a historic time and you read about an individual or family’s first step into history – perhaps their purchase of a place on the Titanic – it is natural to want to call out a warning: “Wait! Don’t do it!”

 In some ways, that may be exactly the case of parshas Vayigash, this week’s parsha. After Yosef’s revelation that these are his brothers, “Pharaoh said to Yosef, “Say to your brothers, ‘Do as follows: load up your beasts and go at once to the land of Canaan. Take your father and your households and come to me; I will give you the best of the land of Egypt and you shall live off the fat of the land.’ And you are bidden [to add], ‘Do as follows: take from the land of Egypt wagons for your children and your wives, and bring your father here. And never mind your belongings, for the best of all the land of Egypt shall be yours’” (Bereishis 45:17-19).

I mean, wow! What incredible generosity. What kindness… What a trap! Not in the short term. In the short term this was, seemingly, the best of opportunities for there was no famine in Egypt. In the long term, however, we know how that relationship with the Mitrzim turned out. In truth, that is not a fair statement. After all, Bereishis 46:3 relates that Hashem called out to Yaakov and said: ““I am God, the God of your father’s [house]. Fear not to go down to Egypt, for I will make you there into a great nation.”  

But as with all moments in the Torah, there is here a warning for the future… the lure of creature comforts, of promises of comfort and luxury often come at a heavy price – not necessarily for the first generation, but for future generations. It is not often discussed when we study the role call of nations who, over the course of our very long history, banished Jews from their lands, but many of those communities that later suffered oppression and exile had initially been invited by a local ruler to come because it was known that the presence of a Jewish community was often key to invigorating an economy. And far too often, those “invitations” came with appeals of tax breaks and promises of security that did not last once the economy was flourishing. 

We often ask ourselves why Hashem has set us such a difficult history and such a long exile. It is a question to which there are many answers. We know from the Torah that Hashem expects our nation to be a mamleches kohanim, a kingdom of priests, which can be understood as a nation that demonstrates avodas Hashem to the rest of the world, and here in this parasha we also find a fascinating example of the possibilities we have to fulfill the role of being a light until the nation. In just one pasuk, 45:1, one can find two dynamic possibilities of kiddush Hashem. Yosef, overwhelmed by Yehudah’s speech, declares that everyone must leave the room. He then breaks down and sobs in front of his brothers, reveals himself, and immediately tells them that all was for the good. 

The commentaries ask why it was that Yosef sent everyone from the room, and there appear to be two primary answers in the mepharshim. The more commonly known response is that Yoseph did not want to embarrass his brothers since there seemed no way to reveal himself without his path to Egypt coming to be revealed, and it would shame his brothers for others to know that they had sold him as a slave. A kiddush Hashem! Yosef sent everyone else away so his brothers would not be embarrassed.

On the other hand, some mepharshim explain Yosef’s sending away his men as a desire not to have his plans for his brothers disrupted as the men around him were deeply swayed by Yehuda’s speech. The servants were struck by Yehuda’s heartfelt words, his pinpoint

Chanukah/Parshas Miketz – A DT with No Title

One of the incredible talents that we, the Jewish people have, is our ability to darshen out ever interesting understandings of our sacred texts and moments.  Some of our most profound concepts come from the way we look at words anew, so what about Chanukah – and ok, let me say this clearly now: this is totally me. I have zero source for this… but let’s have a little fun anyway. 

Within the word Chanukah we have the name of Chana – an extremely powerful woman’s name and a name that is tied to the holiday in several ways. Additionally, one can pull out of the word – anagram style – the word kavana, with a left over ches – so 8 days of intention. Hmm interesting… 

That the name Chana is connected to the idea of kavana is not surprising, given the original heroine of that name. Indeed, Chana the mother of Shmuel was a woman of unimaginable kavana. Perhaps, then, it is not surprising that two separate women bearing her name are associated with Chanukah.

The story of Chana and her seven sons comes from II Maccabees, Chapter 7, where it describes how 7 sons and their mother were jailed by the Selucids. They were brought before the king, who demanded that they consume the pork he put before them. One by one the boys refused and were tortured to death in front of their brothers and their mother. Even when the youngest was brought forward, the mother encouraged his faith, and he too was killed. The mother died after her sons (there are different opinions about how she died, so we will just leave it there). This is one of the stories we often hear about women’s connection to Chanukah – although I feel it is only right to note that the name Chana was attached to the mother of this story only many centuries later. 

Now we know that, al pi halacha, one does not have to give up their life rather than not eat treif. Indeed, there are even occasions where it is permitted for a person to eat treif if it will save their life…but this family faced something very different. In eating the pork before the king, they would have been declaring their lack of faith in Torah, and so their actions were all about the underlying intent. Look at the incredible kavana these 8 Jews had in such a terrifying situation. She is hailed in the text of II Maccabees: “It is true, who will not be in awe of the mental fortitude of this woman. Is she not fit to be a banner of nations?”

The second story associated with Chana and Chanukah is one that, to be honest, I hadn’t really heard about until this year. However, there is a medieval midrashic source, based on an earlier work called the Midrash Antiochus, that reveals that one of the instigating factors of the Maccabee rebellion came from Mattisiyahu’s daughter – Chana. There was an inhumane law that a Jewish woman had to go to the local governor before she could go to her chupah – yes, read the inference. Many women, it says, refused to marry at all in order to avoid this debased requirement. Chana, on her way to be married to Elaz...

https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2025/12/chanukahparshas-miketz-dt-with-no-title.html

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The word dream is, if you think about it, a rather interesting word. Like many words in our language, it has more than one meaning. On the one hand, it refers to that which happens in our minds while we sleep - which scientists will tell you is most often the way the brain processes the overload of information and experiences we each have. On the other hand, we use the word dream to refer to something we hope for ourselves in the future. It is more concrete than a wish, but not by much.

So when we say that this week’s parsha is full of dreams, we really are not just referring to the dreams that shape so much of the story of Yoseph. We are also, one might say, referring to the dreams that shape the actions of the two women in this week’s parsha: Tamar and Eishes Potiphar. Both of these women, according to tradition, dreamed of being linked to the Children of Israel, and perhaps in exploring that fact, one can also see how the Torah demonstrates an important lesson for all those who, in the future, will dream of joining the Jewish people. 

Let us look at Eishes Potiphar first. As the narrative tells us, the wife of Potiphar, the master of Yoseph, waited until her household had all gone to a festival and she was left alone in the house with only the servants. She then waylaid Yoseph and attempted to seduce him. When he refused her overtures, she accused him of trying to assault her (using nicer language…ya know). In Beresihis Rabbah 85:2, however, it is stated: “Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: She saw through her astrology that she was destined to bring forth a child from him, but she did not know whether it would be from her or from her daughter…” 

The problem was that Eishes Potiphar might have believed that this was her fate, but she saw it as something surface level. She felt that she had a place among Bnei Yisrael, and she attempted to force herself in without doing the inner work necessary to understand what it meant to be part of a nation meant to dedicate itself to connecting with the Divine. She acted in the most physical means possible, and with raw, untempered emotion, to accomplish that which is meant to bring the spiritual into the world. 

Tamar, on the other hand, exemplifies patience. She married into the family of Yehuda - which, of course, Eishes Potiphar was not free and available to do - and, in so doing, accepted upon herself their ways. But it wasn’t easy. She married imperfect youths and was left a young widow. She had joined the family and was then, one might say, ostracized and pushed a way because Yehuda was afraid for his youngest child to marry her. However, Tamar herself didn’t falter. She knew that this was who she needed to be. And yes, similar to Eishes Potiphar, she did take some extreme measures of physicality - we won’t go into that here! - she maneuvered that action into one of spiritual dignity. 

Those who choose to join the Jewish people even today do not always find it an easy path, They are, however, people whom we should all look to with admiration for their conviction and their dedication and for the power to transform their dream into reality.

The final aliyah of this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayetzei, seems like a soft and lovely path of closure to a long and tumultuous chapter of Yaakov’s life. The aliyah begins right after Yaakov has demonstrated to Lavan that his idols are not in their camp, and Lavan must let Yaakov and his family finally leave. Suddenly Lavan plays the part of a caring father, and Yaakov accepts it and agrees to a covenant. (Acceptance, of course, does not mean belief.)

There are, to my mind, some fascinating elements to the way this seemingly agreeable covenant occurred. A quick run down of events: Lavan declares his affiliation to his daughters and declares a need for a covenant, Yaakov takes a large stone and erects it as a monument. Yaakov has his kinsmen – whom many mefarshim believe to be the brothers of Lavan - gather stones to form a mound on which they share a meal. Everything goes so well that Lavan names the place “Mound of Testimony” (in Aramaic) and Yaakov names it Gal-Ed, which could be interpreted as having the same meaning. 

After they share a meal, Lavan announces their covenant, invoking Hashem and then warning Yaakov against hurting his daughters or adding another wife. He then makes a fairly odd statement: 

“Here is this mound, and here is that monument that I have erected between me and you. This mound will be a witness, and the monument will be a witness, that I will not cross over to you beyond this mound and that you will not cross over to me beyond this mound and this pillar, with hostile intent” (51-52).

They agree to this covenant, and Yaakov slaughters animals “bahar,” on the mountain, and invites Lavan and his allies to eat together.

Think about that. The covenant that they are signing is that they shall never infringe on each other’s paths. This man spouting words of care and protection for his daughters does not believe that his daughters’ family will live in peace with him. This man who has made Yaakov’s life so difficult – switching brides, indenturing him to work, playing funny games with his actual pay (in sheep), and etc…is worried that Yaakov might come back and bother him?  And look a little closer…Lavan states that he will not go beyond the mound but adds a tiny stringency that Yaakov will not go beyond the mound and the pillar. Why is there a distinction? (A question I can’t answer.)

The pillar and the mound are striking contrasts. Yaakov sets up a singular pillar. The kinsmen gather a mound of disconnected stones and then eat upon it. There is an unquestionable difference, and Yaakov sees it too.

Let us pause for a moment here to explore Yaakov’s choice of name. Gal is the word used for the mound of stones that had been collected. Rabbi Behaya, interestingly, points out that this term is an allusion to the name used by those who worshipped the sun (asserting that Lavan and his kin were sun-worshippers). This being said, this adds a possible layer of interpretation to these verses. Yaakov’s pillar is a declaration of Hashem as the singular Supreme Being. Lavan’s mound is a representation of polytheism, which makes it philosophically fascinating that this is the place upon which they ate a meal – taking care of their own needs above the true idea of solemnity – while later Yaakov makes a feast on the mountain, away from the spot of the pillar. Perhaps this section could be seen as an allusion to the different dynamics of the man-to-God relationship of Yaakov and Lavan.

Taking it all a step further, one could see a strange political foreshadowing i

One of the greatest challenges of the age of social media is the ease with which one falls into the pit of comparison. Experts are constantly relaying what deep damage this is causing to adolescents in particular, but to many adults as well. The need to compare ourselves to others is natural; when acted on in a healthy fashion, it is a means for regulating oneself, for assuring oneself that they are maintaining what could be called the social contract of their community, but it can be quite devastating.

In the Torah observant world, we often look similarly to our patriarchs and matriarchs to find ideals, thus one may be rather surprised when one takes a closer look at the marriage of Yitzchak and Rivka. 

Through this week’s parsha, Parshas Toldos, we see an outline of their marriage - although it is important to remember a few details from last week’s parsha, as well,  such as their age difference and Rivka’s enthusiasm upon meeting Yitzchak. If one expects to find perfection and synchronicity in a reflection on the marriages of our avos and imahos, then one is, perhaps, missing one of the greatest treasures of our heritage. Perfection belongs to Hashem alone.

From the very beginning of the parsha, the Torah presents us with the fact that Yitzchak and Rivka did not naturally function as a unit. Bereshis 25:21 describes how they davened to Hashem for children: “Yitzchak pleaded with Hashem, his wife opposite him…,” and Rashi citing Bereishis Rabbah (63:5) on this phrasing says that “He stood in one corner and prayed whilst she stood in the other corner and prayed.”

Throughout the parsha we see Rivka in her essential nature - she is strongly emotional and she reacts. She reacts to the fighting of her twins in the womb, she reacts to her eldest son’s wild nature (by favoring the other - which, one could speculate, came from protecting him from his brother’s antics), she reacts to Yitzchak promising Esav the blessing, and so forth. Her reactions are often for the good of the future, of course, but nevertheless, we see a pattern throughout the parsha of their dynamic opposition to one another. 

But the Torah also reveals a different side to the relationship of Yitzchak and Rivka. When they go to Gerar, Avimelech comes to understand that they are married and not siblings when he sees them “frolicking” together. At this point they are a long married couple who have raised difficult children (when put together), and yet they still Mitzachaik (everyone can look up the different definitions and interpretations of what they were doing.) Additionally, more subtly, when Esav first marries, the Torah relates that “they were a source of bitterness to Isaac and Rebekah” (26:35). They were both equally affected by their son’s marriage to these women because they were a unit; they were partners. 

Regardless of the deep romanticization of marriage that has taken place over the last century or so, the fact is that marriages are complex relationships. In the age of mass media, it is too easy to look at images of marriage and think of it as one lovely frolick, but marriage is work and marriage is dynamic and Yitzchak and Rivka provide us with a template for understanding that two people can form a unit with different ways of achieving their mutually recognized goals - and maintain their affection and respect for one another (Which is, perhaps why, in a separate, fascinating exploration, one could see how each parent was drawn to the child more similar in nature to their spouse…but not today).

We can’t look to the media or modern culture to understand what the goal of marriage is, and we should not look to other people around us because we will never have the bigger picture of what their relationships truly look like. As in all that we do, we must look to the blueprints set before us and learn and grow individually and together from our beautiful Torah. 

This week’s parsha, Parshas Chayei Sara, is a parsha of negotiation. Avraham negotiates with Ephron and the Hittites for the cave of machpela, then Avraham compromises with Eliezer (if you don’t find anyone, come back and he can marry your daughter – per the Midrash), and then, of course, there is complex and extremely subtle negotiations with Rivka’s family. The only place we do not encounter compromise in this chapter is the final aliyot, and those verses hold a tremendous lesson about our people and our place in the world.

The idea of Bnei Yisrael as the “Chosen People” is one that often appears to be the cause of great friction in history. In modern history, it has fostered accusations of exclusivity, even as the two other Abrahamic religions sought to claim themselves as the replacement for our nation. From the very start of our people, however, Avraham set a precedent about the importance of the dignity of all people, not just one set of people.

Avraham had eight sons. Yitzchak, the only son of Avraham and Sarah and the one who had proven himself dedicated to accepting and embracing Hashem’s will, was his heir both spiritually and materialistically. Avraham’s other sons, however, meant a great deal to him. He did not ignore them or try to do less for them – or at least we do not see any description of that being the case.

As Avraham reaches his final years, he takes his other children well into account. He doesn’t leave the other children hanging around and dependent. Thus “to Avraham’s sons by concubines Avraham gave gifts while he was still living, and he sent them away from his son Yizchak, eastward, to the land of the East” (Bereishis 25:5-6). Avraham wanted his sons to have the opportunity to grow and flourish even as he set the task of continuing spiritual development on Yitzchak. He gave them gifts and set them up to grow and flourish in their own rights. Indeed, these sone (most recognizably, Midian) became nations in their own right to the East of the Promised Land 

And then there was Yishmael. Avraham did not include Yishmael in this gift giving and yet he also did not include his natural first born in his will. Why? Because Hashem had already seen to Yishamel. Hashem had already promised that He would “make him fertile and exceedingly numerous. He shall be the father of twelve chieftains, and I will make of him a great nation” (Bereishis 17:20). Also, he was far older than these other sons and already well established in the lands that would become his own. 

The fact that Avraham treated Yishamel with dignity and love is suggested by the fact that Yishamel returned to bury Avraham: “His sons Yitzchak and Yishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre” (25:9). There was love. There was acceptance. But, in these final aliyot, we see that there was no negotiation. 

The world today – as it has for many generations – wants us to compromise. It wants us to enter into negotiations of identity that would min our inheritance and shift their beliefs into primacy. This is something we cannot do, or we will have betrayed the greatness of Avraham Avinu. From the beginning of the spiritual nation, he set a precedent. Yitzchak is the heir, but everyone else is beloved and treated with dignity. 

One of the most unique and differentiating aspect of Judaism throughout the ages is that it not only accepts that there are people who will not share our religion, but that we can show them love and generosity. It is a lesson that we must share with the world, and it is a lesson that, sadly, many of us need to be reminded of as well. 

May you have a Shabbas of peace.