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Hanukka and Humility - Yosef and Pharaoh's Dreams

 

            Parashat Miketz tells of Pharaoh’s peculiar dreams and his quest to find a satisfying interpretation.  The cupbearer recalls the successful interpretation that Yosef had suggested to the dream he dreamt while in prison, and Pharaoh thus calls for Yosef to come interpret his dream.

            When Yosef comes before Pharaoh, the king says to him, “I have dreamt a dream, but there is nobody who can interpret it, and I have heard about you that you can hear a dream and interpret it” (41:15).

            Yosef replies, “It is not me; God shall answer to Pharaoh’s satisfaction” (41:16).

            The Midrash (Tanchuma 3; see also Bereishit Rabba 89:9) viewed Yosef’s response as reflecting his extraordinary humility: “He attributed the greatness to its Master.  The Almighty said: You did not want to boast about yourself – I swear that for this you will rise to greatness and kingship!”

            Yosef here attributed his talents to God, to their “Master.”  He understood – and expressed such to the Egyptian monarch – that human achievement must be credited to the Almighty.  While achievement certainly depends also on human effort, those efforts are insufficient to yield the desired result.  Ultimately, one cannot achieve anything without God’s assistance.  

     As Moshe admonishes Benei Yisrael in advance of their entry into Eretz Yisrael, where they would till the land, build homes and amass wealth, “You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you the capability to achieve wealth” (Devarim 8:18).  Yosef resists the instinctive tendency to take full credit for his achievement, announcing to Pharaoh, “It is not me.”  And for this self-effacing humility he is rewarded with power and kingship.

            Rav Avraham Pam (in Rav Pam on Chumash) drew a parallel between Yosef’s remark to Pharaoh and the response of the Chashmonaim to the events of Chanukah.  Although they had achieved a remarkable and unlikely victory, they made a point of downplaying their role and underscoring God’s intervention.  

This likely explains what otherwise would appear as the disproportionate emphasis placed on the miracle of the oil, which might seem, at first glance, to have been far less consequential and noteworthy than the stunning victory of the Chashmonaim.  In their effort to shift the credit from themselves to the Almighty, the religious leaders of the time drew the people’s attention toward the miracle of the oil, which clearly signified the hand of God and demonstrated that it was He who had enabled the Chasmona’im to prevail.  They, like Yosef, refused to pride themselves for their accomplishments, and instead recognized God’s intervention through which their success was achieved.

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The Satan in Zekharya's Vision of Yehoshua

 The haftara for Shabbat Chanukah is taken from Sefer Zekharya (chapter 3), and tells of the prophet’s vision of Yehoshua ben Yehotzadak.  Yehoshua served as the kohen gadol during the time of Ezra, when the Jews returned from Babylonia with the permission of the Persian government to rebuild the Mikdash and renew Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael.

 

            In this vision, Zekharya sees Yehoshua with the Satan “standing at his right to accuse him” (3:1).  The Targum identifies this “Satan” as Yehoshua’s sin.  The commentaries (Rashi, Metzudat David) explain, based on a verse in Sefer Ezra (10:18), that Yehoshua’s sons married non-Jewish women, and Yehoshua apparently did not work to prevent these marriages. According to the Targum (verse 3), Yehoshua’s sons had married women who were unsuitable for marriage to a kohen, but not gentile women.  In any event, this stain on Yehoshua’s record threatened him as he stood before the Almighty in Zekharya’s vision.

 

            Radak and Ibn Ezra suggest a different interpretation, namely, that “Satan” refers here to Sanbalat, the leader of the enemy group that sought to disrupt the Jews’ reconstruction of the Beit Ha-mikdash, as told in Sefer Nechemya (chapter 2).  According to these authorities, this vision related to the threat that hovered over the Jews’ heads at the time, and conveyed God’s assurance that the Jews, under the spiritual guidance of Yehoshua, would succeed in their attempts to rebuild the Temple and Jewish life.

 

            Regardless of how one chooses to interpret this prophetic image of the “Satan,” it is worth noting the prophet’s description of the scene: “ve-ha’Satan omeid al yemino le-sitno” – “the Satan was standing by his right to accuse him.”  Rav Shlomo Breuer (in Chokhma U-musar), notes that the image of someone standing “by his right” usually refers to assistance and support (as in the common English expression, “his right-hand man”).  For example, a famous verse in Tehilim (121:5) reassures the person in distress by declaring, “The Lord is your protector; the Lord is your shadow on your right side.”  The concept of “standing at the right” thus seems entirely incongruous with the presence of the Satan seeking to “accuse” Yehoshua in Zekharya’s vision.  Why does the prophet describe the Satan in these terms, if – whether it refers to the kohen’s sin or his enemies – the Satan clearly seeks his downfall?

 

            Rav Breuer suggested that, indeed, the constant presence of a “Satan,” an accuser, a hostile enemy ready to cast allegations, has always served as an invaluable source of support for the Jewish people.  When we know that others are scrupulously monitoring and evaluating what we do and say, we act and speak differently; we hold ourselves to the strict standards imposed upon us by the “Satans” around us.  As Rav Breuer remarked:

 

The Satan stands at his side in order to hinder him.  This is the way it has to be.  He who is called upon to represent the sacred Divine cause must face the reality of a Satan at his side.  Actually, this Satan is “omeid al yemino”: unconsciously, and against his will, he supports us.  The presence of a Satan at every step of the way is designed to strengthen our wakefulness and care, and to keep us on the summit of our task… By hindering us, the Satan actually stands at our right!

 

            It is thus to our benefit that the Satan – in all its various manifestations – hovers over us at all times, ready to accuse, malign, prosecute and find fault.  Its constant presence ensures our “wakefulness,” as Rav Breuer described, to our mission as God’s nation, and helps raise us to the high, demanding standard which is our chosen destiny.

 

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Who is Yosef's Wife Osnat?

     Parashat Miketz relates the sequence of events that led to Yosef’s sudden emergence as the Egyptian vizier, after having been imprisoned in an Egyptian dungeon.  Upon being appointed to his prestigious position of power, Yosef marries Osnat, whom the Torah identifies as the daughter of “Potifera, priest of On” (41:45).

 

            The Rashbam, in his commentary, claims that this man, Potifera, must not be confused with Potifar, the man whom Yosef had served until his wife falsely accused Yosef of trying to abuse her.  The basis for the Rashbam’s view – besides the different names of “Potifar” and “Potifera” – is the different titles given in the Torah for the two men.  Potifar is introduced as “sar ha-tabachim” (“chief butcher” or “chief executioner” – 37:36), whereas Potifera is described as “kohen On” – “the priest of On.”  This would indeed suggest that we deal with two different individuals with similar names.

 

            Rashi, however, and most other commentators, maintain that Yosef indeed married the daughter of Potifar, his former master.

 

            When considering this view, the question immediately arises as to why Yosef would consent to marry the daughter of the woman who had caused him such grief.  After unsuccessfully trying to seduce him daily for an extended period of time, she then accused him of attempting the same to her, and thus had him imprisoned.  Would Yosef want to have this woman as his mother-in-law?  The simple answer, it would seem, is that, as the Torah clearly writes, it was Pharaoh who arranged this marriage.  We might therefore conclude that Yosef had no choice in the matter.  But if so, we might wonder why Pharaoh selected specifically Potifar’s daughter for Yosef, in light of Yosef’s unpleasant history with her family.

 

            Chizkuni offers a number of possible reasons to explain this seemingly peculiar match.  Firstly, had Yosef married and begotten children from another woman, Potifar might claim the legal right to take the children as his slaves.  Since Yosef had been his slave, he would argue, Yosef’s children naturally belong to him.  Pharaoh therefore had Yosef marry Potifar’s own daughter, as Potifar would not likely take his own grandchildren as slaves.

 

            Secondly, Chizkuni explains, this marriage may have been specifically arranged to clear Yosef’s name.  Potifar and his wife’s acceptance Yosef as their son-in-law would send the message that Yosef was not guilty of the crime of which he had been accused.

 

            Chizkuni then presents a different explanation, based on an account in the Midrash, that Osnat was not Potifar’s biological daughter.  She was actually Yosef’s niece – the daughter of Dina – who had come into Egypt and was raised by Potifar and his wife.  Yosef discovered that she was his niece and thus desired to marry her.

 

            Rabbi Reuven Bulka, in his work Torah Therapy, develops a novel approach to explain Yosef’s willingness to marry Osnat.  The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 85:2), cited by Rashi (39:1), tells that Potifar’s wife’s attempts to seduce Yosef were driven by more than physical attraction.  According to the Midrash, she saw through astrology that she would have a child through Yosef, and sought to cohabit with him in order to fulfill this destiny.  She felt justified – or perhaps even required – to lure Yosef to intimacy because the stars demanded that they beget children together.  She was unaware that this prediction referred to her daughter’s marriage to Yosef, and not to her adulterous relationship with him.

 

            Rav Bulka insightfully notes the resemblance between Potifar’s wife’s response to this vision, and Yosef’s behavior many years earlier:

 

Yosef’s dreams of domination over his brothers happened when he was quite young, seventeen years old.  He rushed to share those dreams with them, to thrust upon them the yoke of domination which the dreams indicated, and almost to push destiny before its time…

Trying to ram destiny down the throat of others was the very procedure which the wife of Potifar had engaged in.  She too saw a vision, one which linked her with Yosef, and instead of letting this unfold in its natural evolution, she decided to be the architect of destiny rather than a participant in a naturally unfolding destiny…

 

Both Yosef and Potifar’s wife attempted to “ram destiny down the throat of others,” prematurely force their visions of the future into reality, without concern for how this might affect others in the present.  Rav Bulka adds that Yosef himself perhaps made this association between himself and Potifar’s wife:

 

When Yosef languishes in prison following his being placed there by Potifar, he undoubtedly must have made a connection between his own behavior with his brothers and the behavior of Potifar’s wife with him.  The parallel must have been striking, i.e., experiencing a vision and imposing the vision rather than letting that vision unfold normally.  At one and the same time, Yosef must have seen this as a lesson to him about the danger of taking destiny into one’s own hands and must have come to grips with the behavior of Potifar’s wife and seen in it an important message for himself.

 

This association is what perhaps led Yosef to accept the marriage to Potifar’s daughter:

 

Quite possibly all the bitter feeling he had for his fate was neutralized by this thought, so that he came to see his future mother-in-law’s behavior as understandable, since he himself had done the same thing, and no personal grievances were allowed to develop.

Thus, when Pharaoh suggests Osnat to Yosef as a life’s mate, Yosef immediately sees the fulfillment of the vision of his former accuser…

 

According to this approach, Yosef’s marriage to Potifar’s daughter was not simply a necessity, but rather something which Yosef fully accepted in light of the circumstances surrounding the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of Potifar and his wife.  He realized that just as Potifar wife’s vision was ultimately fulfilled, so would his childhood dreams be realized – but in the time and through the means chosen by God.

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The Importance of Fraternity: Parashat Mikeitz and the Story of Haman

      We read in Parashat Miketz that when Yosef’s brothers plan to return home from Egypt, Yosef orders his servant to place his silver goblet in Binyamin’s bag, to frame him as a thief.  Shortly after the brothers’ departure, the servant runs after them and opens their bags, discovering the goblet in Binyamin’s luggage.  The brothers immediately rend their garments, realizing that Binyamin would now be either executed or held prisoner in Egypt (44:13).

 

            The Midrash Tanchuma comments, “The tribes tore for Binyamin – therefore, Mordekhai descended from him, who tore for Israel.”  The Midrash makes reference here to a verse in Megilat Ester (4:1), which tells that Mordekhai, upon hearing of Haman’s decree against the Jews of Persia, rent his garments, wore sackcloth and cried.  It seems, at least at first glance, that the Sages view Mordekhai’s response as a kind of “reward” for the time when the brothers rent their garments in sympathy for their condemned brother.  Now, many centuries later, a descendant of Binyamin – Mordekhai – mourns for the decree issued against the entire nation.

 

            This comment, however, seems very difficult to understand.  After all, Mordekhai was himself included in Haman’s decree of annihilation, and thus he mourned as much for himself and his family as for the rest of the nation.

 

            Rav Shlomo Breuer, in his Chokhma U-musar, suggests a different reading of the Midrash Tanchuma.  Namely, the Midrash here observes the common theme of Jewish fraternity that is shared by the brothers’ reaction here in Parashat Miketz, and the story of Haman.  The same sense of brotherhood and shared destiny that led the brothers to mourn the fate of Binyamin is what led Haman to condemn the entire Jewish people on account of the disobedience of one Jew (“…but Mordekhai would not kneel or bow”).  Haman blamed the entire Jewish nation for Mordekhai because they all identified with one another; since they acted as a single family, they all bore some degree of responsibility for Mordekhai’s behavior, and would therefore have to suffer the consequences.

 

            Needless to say, this association is by no means intended to discourage this sense of identification and responsibility that we all share with one another, in light of how it causes the enemy to hold us all accountable for individual offenses.  To the contrary, we ought to be held accountable for one another and bear responsibility for each other’s behavior.  Moreover, it is precisely this sense of fraternity and cohesiveness that ultimately rescued the Jews of Shushan, as Ester did her part by risking her life on behalf of the nation.  The Midrash simply observes how the empathy Jews feel toward one another can be found in very different periods in history, and is discerned even by our most vicious enemies.  Undoubtedly, though, this is to a large extent the source of Am Yisrael’s strength, and among the important ingredients of its miraculous survival throughout the millennia.

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Yosef's Motives

 

            We find a number of different approaches among the commentators to explain Yosef’s plan in what appears as his heartless and vengeful treatment of his brothers in Parashat Miketz.  After living their lives in wealth and prosperity, Yosef’s brothers now find themselves without any food, as a result of the harsh drought conditions that gripped the region.  They come to Egypt to purchase grain, and do not realize that the man before whom they stood was the brother they sold into slavery over two decades earlier.  Yosef baselessly accuses them of spying, imprisons Shimon, and commands them to bring Binyamin, the youngest brother who had remained in Canaan.  What was Yosef’s intent in subjecting his brothers to this ordeal?

 

            Among the more common answers to this question is that Yosef sought to lead his brothers toward complete and genuine repentance.  Professor Nechama Leibowitz cites in this context the Rambam’s famous comments in Hilkhot Teshuva (2:1), based on the Gemara (Yoma 86b), that complete teshuva is achieved when the violator encounters the same circumstances in which he sinned, and this time abstains from wrongdoing.  Yosef orchestrated a situation where the brothers had the opportunity to dispense with a son of Yaakov’s favorite wife, Rachel; this time, it would be Binyamin.  By placing the brothers in a position where they would have to put their lives on their line for Binyamin, Yosef ensured that the brothers’ repentance was complete.  Hence, the moment Yehuda offered to remain in Egypt as a slave in place of Binyamin, Yosef revealed his identity to the brothers.

 

            Others, however, objected to this approach, noting that one is not entitled to torment his fellow in order to lead him toward repentance.  And even if Yosef did view it as his responsibility to put his brothers through this ordeal for the sake of teshuva, how did he not think of his elderly father, and the grief this would cause him?  After having lost Yosef, Yaakov now endured the imprisonment of Shimon and was compelled to allow his youngest and most cherished son, Binyamin, to go to Egypt.  Was this justified, even for the sake of leading the brothers to repentance?

 

            We might therefore prefer considering variations of this approach.  Abarbanel, after suggesting that Yosef indeed intended to punish his brothers to lead them to repentance, proceeds to offer a different explanation.  He noted that Yosef wanted to support his family during the famine, but realized that he would be unable to do so by sending food packages to Canaan.  This system would undoubtedly be discovered, and his political adversaries would be quick to accuse him of conflicting loyalties to his family back in Canaan.  But Yosef also feared what would happen if he immediately disclosed his identity and invited his father and brothers to settle in Egypt.  Who’s to say that their attitude toward him had changed in the interim years?  Yosef had to be concerned that they might still resent him – and might still want to destroy him.  He therefore first ascertained that they had undergone a change of heart, and only then revealed his identity.

 

            A slightly different explanation emerges from the comments of Raboteinu Ba’alei Ha-Tosefot (42:1), in addressing the question of why Yosef did not contact his father upon ascending to power in Egypt:

 

He feared that had he informed his father, his brothers might hear and flee – some to the north and some to the south – out of terror, fearing that he might kill them, and his father would thus be distressed over them, and he will have thus caused his father immense grief.  He therefore waited until his brothers came to him and first disclosed his identity to them and appeased them with words, [and told them] that he feels no ill-will toward them…

 

According to this explanation, Yosef’s concern was not that his brothers would still seek to kill him, but to the contrary, that they would flee from terror, thereby dividing the family.  Raboteinu Ba’alei Ha-Tosefot posit this theory to explain only why Yosef did not contact his family before the famine, but not what Yosef had in mind when casting false accusations against the brothers.  Somehow, it seems, this scheme was intended to show “that he feels no ill-will toward them.”  We might speculate that the Ba’alei Ha-Tosefot viewed Yosef’s plan as seeking to demonstrate the control he exerted over his brothers as the Egyptian vizier, that he could have easily had them executed or denied them the food they so desperately needed.  They would then see and believe that he has forgiven them for their crime, and sincerely wishes for them to join him in Egypt and support them comfortably.

 

            In any event, it emerges that Yosef’s intent was not to inspire his brothers to repent, but rather to ensure the family’s unity.  He had to ascertain that the brothers would neither continue harboring resentment, nor feel such guilt as to be unable to remain part of his family.  The sequence of events he orchestrated resulted in the successful reconciliation between Yosef and his brothers, laying the groundwork for their peaceful family existence in Egypt.

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Prisoner or Prisoners: Yosef's Change of Heart

 

            We read in Parashat Miketz of Yosef’s harsh treatment of his brothers when they came to Egypt to purchase grain.  Yosef, who was now the Egyptian vizier and unrecognizable to his brothers, baselessly accused them of spying and demanded that they bring their younger brother, Binyamin, to Egypt.  At first, he ordered that one of them should return to Canaan to bring Binyamin while the others remained incarcerated in an Egyptian cell (42:16).  But later, after keeping them in prison for three days, Yosef allowed nine of the ten brothers to return to Canaan and bring Binyamin, while one of them, Shimon, remained with him in Egypt (42:19).

 

            Different approaches have been taken to explain Yosef’s plan, why he ordered his brothers to bring Binyamin to Egypt. But regardless of how we understand Yosef’s general objective, we must also address the specific question of why he changed his decision concerning the number of brothers he permitted to return to Canaan.  As mentioned, he first allowed only one brother to go to Canaan, and then, after keeping the brothers in prison for three days, decided to allow nine brothers to return.  How do we explain this sudden change?

 

            Shadal cites an interesting theory from another Italian exegete, Yitzchak Shemuel Reggio.  Yosef left it for the brothers to decide who would return to Canaan to bring Binyamin, and kept them in prison until they reached this decision.  However, none of the brothers wanted to go.  They knew the devastation Yaakov would experience upon seeing only one of the ten children returning from Egypt, and they feared it would kill him (just as Yehuda would later claim that the anguish of losing Binyamin would kill Yaakov – 44:31).  And even if not, they assumed, Yaakov would certainly not allow Binyamin to go to Egypt after seeing that only one of the ten other children returned from there.  They therefore chose the option of inaction, waiting in the prison cell and hoping that in the meantime, the hostile vizier would ease his demands.

 

            Yosef, who (for reasons that are not entirely clear) wanted his younger brother to join him in Egypt, was left with no choice but to offer a better alternative.  He therefore allowed them to return, leaving only one brother behind as “collateral” to ensure that they would come back to Egypt with Binyamin.  The brothers felt that Yaakov would more easily tolerate this situation than if only one son returned home, and thus accepted Yosef’s revised demand.

 

            We read in Parashat Miketz of Yosef’s harsh treatment of his brothers when they came to Egypt to purchase grain.  Yosef, who was now the Egyptian vizier and unrecognizable to his brothers, baselessly accused them of spying and demanded that they bring their younger brother, Binyamin, to Egypt.  At first, he ordered that one of them should return to Canaan to bring Binyamin while the others remained incarcerated in an Egyptian cell (42:16).  But later, after keeping them in prison for three days, Yosef allowed nine of the ten brothers to return to Canaan and bring Binyamin, while one of them, Shimon, remained with him in Egypt (42:19).

 

            Different approaches have been taken to explain Yosef’s plan, why he ordered his brothers to bring Binyamin to Egypt. But regardless of how we understand Yosef’s general objective, we must also address the specific question of why he changed his decision concerning the number of brothers he permitted to return to Canaan.  As mentioned, he first allowed only one brother to go to Canaan, and then, after keeping the brothers in prison for three days, decided to allow nine brothers to return.  How do we explain this sudden change?

 

            Shadal cites an interesting theory from another Italian exegete, Yitzchak Shemuel Reggio.  Yosef left it for the brothers to decide who would return to Canaan to bring Binyamin, and kept them in prison until they reached this decision.  However, none of the brothers wanted to go.  They knew the devastation Yaakov would experience upon seeing only one of the ten children returning from Egypt, and they feared it would kill him (just as Yehuda would later claim that the anguish of losing Binyamin would kill Yaakov – 44:31).  And even if not, they assumed, Yaakov would certainly not allow Binyamin to go to Egypt after seeing that only one of the ten other children returned from there.  They therefore chose the option of inaction, waiting in the prison cell and hoping that in the meantime, the hostile vizier would ease his demands.

 

            Yosef, who (for reasons that are not entirely clear) wanted his younger brother to join him in Egypt, was left with no choice but to offer a better alternative.  He therefore allowed them to return, leaving only one brother behind as “collateral” to ensure that they would come back to Egypt with Binyamin.  The brothers felt that Yaakov would more easily tolerate this situation than if only one son returned home, and thus accepted Yosef’s revised demand.

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Heavily Taxed or Heavily Armed - Yosef's Grain Tactics

            Parashat Miketz tells of Pharaoh’s unusual dreams, which Yosef interpreted as predicting seven years of agricultural surplus which would be followed by seven years of severe drought.  Yosef urged the Egyptian monarch to appoint an official who would oversee the storage of grain throughout the seven years of surplus, in order to prepare for the subsequent famine.

 

In describing the storage that should be conducted during the coming seven years, Yosef used an unusual term – “ve-chimeish” (41:34) – and the commentators offer different theories to explain this word.  A number of commentators, including the Rashbam, Chizkuni, the Radak and Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, explain “ve-chimeish” as a reference to a twenty-percent tax imposed on all farmers.  (According to this view, the word stems from the Hebrew word for five, chamesh, and thus refers to one-fifth.)  The government ordered the mandatory storage of one-fifth of all produced grain during the seven years of surplus, in preparation for the drought years.  The Rashbam claims that whereas farmers were generally required to pay only ten percent of their yield to the government, Yosef advised Pharaoh to double the tax during the coming seven years in order to adequately prepare for the looming famine.  Indeed, the Rashbam adds, we read later, in Parashat Vayigash (47:24), that Yosef instituted a twenty-percent tax on all agricultural lands in Egypt.

 

Shadal, however, challenges this explanation.  The twenty-percent tax of which we read in Parashat Vayigash was imposed during the drought years, when the farmers languished from underproduction and were forced to sell their fields to the government.  The landowners thus essentially became Pharaoh’s serfs, working his lands and receiving a (large) percentage as payment.  This arrangement, Shadal contends, has nothing at all to do with Yosef’s plan for mass storage during the years of plenty.  To the contrary, the fact that Yosef introduced the twenty-percent levy upon the produce during the drought years would seem to indicate that this was an exceptional provision which differed from the standard taxation system.  It indeed seems difficult to explain how the Rashbam attempted to draw proof to his explanation of “ve-chimeish” from the arrangement that Yosef established later, during the drought.

 

Shadal therefore prefers the interpretation offered by Targum Onkelos, which was also embraced by Rashi, explaining “ve-chimeish” to mean “he shall arm.”  Rashi cites as a basis of this interpretation a verse from Sefer Shemot (13:18), which describes Benei Yisrael leaving Egypt in a state of “chamushim,” which Rashi explains to mean “armed.”  Shadal writes that the term is used here, in Parashat Miketz, to mean that Egypt was “armed,” or equipped, with grain through the process of mass storage.  Weapons were a vital necessity in the ancient world, and thus the verb ch.m.sh., which, narrowly defined, means “arm,” is also used in reference to equipping oneself with any vital commodity, including food.  Thus, the term is used here in Parashat Miketz to mean the “arming” of Egypt during the seven years of surplus with large warehouses of grain, which the country would come to rely on once the drought years set in.

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Seven Cows and Togetherness

 

            Parashat Miketz begins by describing Pharaoh’s unusual dreams, for which he desperately sought a satisfying interpretation.  The Torah writes that Pharaoh first saw seven robust cows that grazed “ba-achu” (41:2).  Most commentators interpret this word as a reference to a meadow.  Targum Onkelos, for example, translates the word as “be-achva” (“in the meadow”).  The Ramban, however, raises the possibility of explaining this term to mean “together.”  The seven cows stood in a large area of pasture and were thus able to graze comfortably all together.

 

            This also appears to be the interpretation followed by a number of Midrashic texts, which noted the symbolic significance of this particular aspect of Pharaoh’s dream.  The Tanchuma Yashan (Miketz 3) comments, “When good years arrive, people become brothers to one another.”  We similarly read inBereishit Rabba (89), “At the time when the years are prosperous, people become brothers to each other.”  According to these sources, the word “ba-achu” is derived from the familiar word ach (brother), and refers to a sense of friendship and “fraternity” that existed among the robust cows in Pharaoh’s dream.  This quality symbolized the aura of friendship, cooperation and sharing that characterizes periods of peace and prosperity – such as the seven years of plenty which the seven large cows in the king’s dream represented.

 

            Conversely, Chazal detected in the Torah’s description of the second set of cows – the lean, emaciated cows which foretold the years of food shortage – an allusion to the tension and tight fists that characterize years of economic hardship.  The Torah introduces the seven lean cows with the term “parot acheirot” (“other cows” – 41:3), regarding which the Midrash (Tanchuma Yashan, ibid.) comments, “When bad years arrive, people become ‘others’ [strangers] to their fellows… What are ‘acheirot’?  They see each other and turn their faces away from them.”  The term “acheirot” is viewed here as a subtle expression of emotional distance and alienation.  During times of financial crisis, people are preoccupied with their own needs, seeking provisions for themselves and their families, such that they cannot give attention to other people.

 

            This aspect of the years of shortage is elaborated upon further by the Midrash Ha-gadol:

 

At the time when calamity befalls the earth, all people become “others” and foreigners to one another.  How?  A person comes from a distant place and enters the city.  His friend sits in the street, and when he sees him, he turns his face behind him and pretends as though he does not see him and he never met him.  What caused this?  The hunger and calamity in the world.

 

In periods of prosperity people enjoy the luxury and serenity to foster and maintain social relationships.  But in times of shortage, people’s money, time and attention are all exclusively focused on obtaining their bare necessities.  They do not have the ability or the interest to share their lives with others, as they are compelled to obsessively restrict themselves to their bare physical survival.

 

            It is interesting to note that Chazal found an allusion to this aspect of financial hardship specifically here, in reference to the drought that struck during Yosef’s time.  In a certain sense, Yosef achieved the precise opposite result during this period of shortage – he succeeded in bringing all countries in the region together.  Yosef stored countless stockpiles of grain during the years of plenty, such that Egypt was the only country with provisions during the seven-year drought.  As the Torah describes, all the surrounding nations came to Egypt to purchase provisions.  While ordinarily shortage has the effect of the “other,” of people withdrawing into themselves and ignoring everybody around them, the drought in Yosef’s time had the effect of bringing all the nations together to Egypt.  Yosef created a reality where a food shortage would yield the precise opposite result than that which we would have expected; instead of causing nations to separate from one another, he brought them together.

 

            Financial hardship is likely to cause people to ignore one another – but it can also have the opposite effect of bringing people together.  In such periods, empathetic people share what they have even if they have little, and wise people work together to pool resources and develop effective strategies for handling the crisis and weathering the storm.  Even in times depicted by the seven lean cows, it is possible for people to “graze” together, to establish and enhance relationships and join forces to find solutions.

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The Pitfalls of "I Told You So"

            We read in Parashat Miketz of the arrival of Yosef’s brothers in Egypt to purchase grain.  Yosef, whom the brothers did not recognize, accused them of coming to spy the country, and ordered one brother, Shimon, to be imprisoned while the others return home and bring the youngest brother, Binyamin, back to Egypt.  The brothers immediately made the connection between their current situation – where one brother was taken from them – and the crime they had committed against Yosef: “They said one to another, ‘Indeed, we are guilty on account of our brother, that we saw his distress as he pleaded to us, but we did not hear him – this is why this trouble has befallen us!’” (42:21).

           

Reuven then replied to his brothers, “Did I not tell you, saying, ‘Do not mistreat the child,’ but you did not listen?  And now a reckoning is made for his blood!”  At this moment of “reckoning,” when the brothers saw before their very eyes their crime coming back to haunt them, Reuven felt vindicated; the stance he took on that fateful day in Dotan was now proven correct.  And he wanted to ensure that his brothers acknowledged and made note of it.  He says, “Did I not tell you?” – or, in contemporary parlance, “I told you so!”

           

Saying “I told you so” is destructive and hurtful on many levels.  For one thing, it simply reinforces the feelings of shame and remorse felt by the other party, pouring salt on their raw emotional wounds.  The result is, in many cases, just more tension and animosity, and hardly even will the response be an honest and polite, “I’m sorry, you were right and I was wrong.”  Moreover, “I told you so” diverts attention from the present and future, and focuses the conversation on the past, which can no longer be changed.  What should have occupied Reuven’s mind at this difficult moment was not self-vindication, but rather charting the best course of action to deal with the unexpectedly harsh circumstances that he and his brothers confronted.  But he instead resorted to petty competition, showing his brothers that he was right and they were wrong.

           

But perhaps worst of all, “I told you so” often has the effect of adding stress to an already tense situation.  Usually, the response of “I told you so” relates to an argument between parties concerning a complex and difficult issue or circumstance that they faced, and which they sought to handle in different ways.  After a decision is reached and it is later determined to have been the wrong choice, the parties face a problem that must be addressed.  They are already tense, anxious and upset.  An arrogant, triumphant “I told you so” magnifies the aggravation and frustration manifold, making a difficult situation intolerable.

           

Later in Parashat Miketz, we find another comment made in a moment of frustration that only added to the stress of the situation.  After the nine brothers returned to Canaan and informed Yaakov of the Egyptian vizier’s demand that they bring Binyamin to Egypt, Yaakov refused to allow Binyamin to go.  Later, when the family’s provisions were depleted, the brothers again implored Yaakov to allow them to bring Binyamin to Egypt and purchase the direly-needed food provisions.  Desperate and forlorn, Yaakov exclaimed, “Why have you done me evil by telling the man that you had another brother?” (43:6).  Yaakov pointed an accusing finger at his sons, who – he thought – volunteered the information that they had a younger brother, whom the vizier then demanded that they bring to Egypt, thus causing the current crisis.

           

The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 91) criticizes Yaakov for making this angry remark: “Our patriarch Yaakov would never speak a purposeless word [davar shel batala] – except here.”  The Sages viewed this remark as a “purposeless” comment, one which had no constructive value, and was blurted simply as an expression of grief and frustration.

          

Difficult predicaments require coolheaded, rational thinking and strategizing.  The comments made by Reuven and Yaakov were raw expressions of emotions which – though readily understandable in light of the stressful circumstances they confronted – exacerbated the stress and tension, rather than contributing toward the search for a solution.  Specifically in situations of complex and difficult predicaments, when tensions are high and emotions are boiling, we must avoid “devarim shel batala,” emotional outbursts that agitate, rather than help calm, the people involved.

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