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Rav Lichtenstein on Yaakov's Prudent Restraint

            The beginning of Parashat Vayeshev tells of the feelings of envy and resentment that Yosef’s brothers harbored toward him.  Among the surprising elements of this narrative is the silence and passivity of their father, Yaakov, with regard to these brewing tensions.  True, after Yosef relates his dreams of leadership to his brothers, Yaakov censures him – “What is this dream that you dreamt?  Is it possible that I, your mother and your brothers will come to bow to you on the ground?” (37:10). Immediately thereafter, however, the Torah appears to emphasize Yaakov’s non-involvement in this affair: “His brothers envied him, and his father kept the matter in mind” (37:11).  As the brothers’ ill-will continued to brew and boil inside them, Yaakov merely “kept the matter in mind.”

 

            Yaakov’s inaction in this context brings to mind his similarly surprising responses to earlier family crises.  Upon hearing of Dina’s abduction by Shekhem, Yaakov “was silent” (“ve-hecherish”) until his brothers returned from the fields (34:5).  And the Torah concludes its brief account of Reuven’s sin with Bilha by noting, “Va-yishma Yisrael” (“Israel heard” – 35:22), emphasizing that Yaakov merely “heard” of the incident, without responding.

 

            At first glance, we might interpret these instances of inaction as a developing pattern of passivity and ineffective family leadership on Yaakov’s part.  Our initial impression is perhaps to note the decline in Yaakov’s authority over his household, as evidenced by the absence of any effective response to the internal crises that surface in his family.

 

            However, the Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein shelit”a (as summarized by a student at www.vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/bereishit/09-60vayesh.htm), suggested that to the contrary, Yaakov’s passive responses in these incidents signify his greatness, rather than frailty, and in fact convey an important practical lesson:

 

Precisely that deafening silence which we find in these parshiyot is the great message which Yaakov is conveying to us… Yaakov knows that sometimes it is necessary to keep quiet and restrain oneself – because any reaction will cause division and even more serious danger.

 

Not every difficult circumstance warrants a response; sometimes, an undesirable situation is to be preferred over far less desirable alternatives.  As Yaakov himself tells Shimon and Levi after their bloody assault on Shekhem (34:30), although their response may have succeeded in avenging the family’s honor, it had the severe consequence of arousing the ire and hostility of the surrounding peoples.  In the case of Reuven, Rav Lichtenstein noted, Yaakov perhaps feared that condemning Reuven’s crime would cause him to leave the family altogether.  We might add that the Midrash Sekhel Tov (cited in Torah Sheleima, chapter 35, note 96) indeed applauds Yaakov’s silence in the face of Reuven’s offense: “He heard what Reuven did, [but] he restrained his anger and did not curse him or his offspring, as Noach did [in response to his son’s crime], teaching that ‘there is an advantage to the wise person over the fool’ (in contrast to Kohelet 6:8).”  The Midrash thus views Yaakov’s silence in this instance as a sign of strength and wisdom, rather than of weakness.

 

            In the case of Yosef and his brothers, too, Yaakov likely felt that intervening would only intensify the tension among the brothers.  He stood back not out of helpless resignation, but due to the reasonable suspicion that as grave as the situation was, it behooved him to ensure not to make things worse.

 

            This insight bears relevance in several different areas.  Firstly, it instructs that not every dilemma has an immediate solution, and in such situations patience and inaction are far preferable to reckless patchwork that could possibly worsen the problem.  This message is particularly relevant to the individual responsible for the situation.  As Rav Lichtenstein commented, Yaakov bore a degree of accountability for the hostilities among his sons, which arose from the preferential treatment he afforded to Yosef.  Often, a person who realizes his accountability will take rash, frantic and uncalculated measures to try and rectify the situation and thereby earn a degree of absolution.  Yaakov teaches that even in such situations, careful consideration must be given to the possibility that these attempts will make matters worse.

 

            Finally, Yaakov’s silence instructs that unhelpful words are sometimes not only unhelpful, but harmful.  As Rav Lichteinstein remarked:

 

Very often it is difficult for a person to control himself and keep silent… But sometimes an unnecessary word is simply harmful.  Therefore, sometimes it is important, despite the pain involved, to know how to strangle the shout before it escapes, to understand that silence will contribute more…

 

Indeed, silence and inaction are often signs of profound wisdom, rather than helplessness and frailty.

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Yosef's Brothers and Haman

   The Torah tells in Parashat Vayeshev that after Yosef’s brothers cast him into the pit, “they sat to eat bread” (37:25), whereupon they saw merchants in the distance and decided to sell Yosef as a slave.

 

            The Midrash (Midrash Tehilim, 10; Ester Rabba, 7) draws a somewhat startling association between Yosef’s brothers and no less a villain than Haman: “The Almighty said to the tribes: You sold your brother amidst eating and drinking... Behold, your descendants will be ‘sold’ in Shushan amidst eating and drinking, as it says (Ester 3:15), ‘and the king and Haman sat to drink…’”

 

            This Midrash passage may rank among the most strident, scathing condemnations of mekhirat Yosef found in the writings of Chazal.  Any attentive reader or listener immediately discerns the bitter discordance in the aforementioned verse in Megilat Ester: “The king and Haman sat to drink – and the city of Shushan was dumbfounded.”  In the royal chamber sat King Achashveirosh with Haman, feasting and drinking as though they had not a care in the world.  Outside the palace, thousands upon thousands of condemned citizens sat in sackcloth and ashes, having suddenly been informed that they would die in eleven months.  The Megila here succinctly portrays two diametrically opposite scenes: the food and intoxication of Achashveirosh and Haman, and the anguish that gripped the “dumbfounded” city of Shushan.  Luxury, indulgence and festivity – contrasted with grief, shock and horror.

 

            Jarring as it may seem, Chazal identified within Haman and Achashveirosh’s celebration after sentencing an entire population to death a certain point of comparison with the meal eaten by Yosef’s brothers after casting him into the pit.  Here, too, we find people sitting to a meal shortly after an act of cruelty.  In this Midrash, it seems, Chazal found the brothers guilty of not only tormenting their brother, but doing so with a clear conscience.  The Sages here censure the brothers for so easily resuming normal activity, and sitting down to a meal, after committing what essentially amounted to fratricide.

            Clearly, the brothers’ decision to eliminate Yosef – whom they likely considered a personal threat to them and their family – cannot be accurately compared to Haman’s edict to execute thousands of Jews due to childish pride and arrogance.  Nevertheless, Chazal deemed the brothers’ indifference to Yosef’s fate as worthy of comparison to Haman’s celebration.  Even if there was perhaps a possibility of mitigating the crime itself in light of their resentment and the threat Yosef may have posed, Chazal in this Midrash condemn the brothers’ casual attitude toward this affair.  In this sense, their conduct, sadly enough, rendered them worthy of comparison to one of the great villains of the Jewish people.

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Yosef Screams from the Pit

  Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima to Parashat Vayeshev (chapter 37, note 142), cites a description from the Sefer Ha-yashar of the events that followed the casting of Yosef into a pit in the fields outside Shekhem.  According to this account, Yosef cried to his brothers from the pit, pleading with them to rescue him:

 

Yosef called from inside the pit to his brothers, saying to them: “What did I do to you?  How have I wronged you?  Why do you not fear God with regard to me?  I am, after all, your bone and flesh, and your father Yaakov is my father.  Why do you do this to me today?  How will lift your face in the presence of our father Yaakov… Yehuda, Reuven, Shimon and Levi – my brothers!  Raise me from the depths into which you placed me!  Look this day upon my face and the face of my father Yaakov.  And if I have wronged you, aren’t you the sons of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, who would have compassion when they saw an orphan, would feed bread if [they saw] a hungry person, give water if [they saw] a thirsty person, and clothe if [they saw] a naked person?  How do you not have compassion for your brother – for I am your bone and flesh!  And if I have wronged you, then shouldn’t you act for my father’s sake?”

 

The Sefer Ha-yashar proceeds to record the brother’s response to Yosef’s impassioned cries:

 

All his brothers heard his cries and weeping inside the pit.  His brothers went and distanced themselves from the pit so that they would not hear Yosef’s cries and weeping in the pit.  They went and sat from afar, at a bow’s distance, and they sat there to eat bread.

 

The brothers responded to Yosef’s pleas by moving away so that they could not hear him.  His cries no doubt aroused their conscience; they assuredly knew that all he said was true, that regardless of his crimes toward them, nothing could justify this act of cruelty, which marked such a drastic departure from the legacy of their father, grandfather and great-grandfather, the legacy of kindness and compassion.  The pangs of conscience were too much to bear, and so they moved away.

 

            This account should perhaps draw our attention to the general human tendency to close one’s ears to words of criticism.  All too often, we, like Yosef’s brothers, choose to “move away” from, to avoid listening to, unsettling truths about our conduct and decisions.  We ignore or resent those who offer criticism, and prefer the company of those who support everything we do.  Yosef’s cries from the pit offered his brothers an opportunity to reverse their decision, to save their brother from the pit and themselves from the eternal stain of this dreadful crime.  It seems, however, that they were unable or unwilling to hear the voice of conscience, and chose to silence that voice and listen instead to the voice of, “Behold, the man of dreams is coming; let us now kill him…”  This story thus teaches the importance of listening to conscience rather than moving away from it, and remaining open to criticism rather than stubbornly rejecting it.

 

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Yosef's Attitude Toward his Brothers

Commenting on the story of mekhirat Yosef – Yosef’s sale into slavery – the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84) writes that when Yosef approached his brothers as they tended to their sheep, he came “be-kilus,” which literally means, “with praises.”

 

The Yefei To’ar commentary (cited in Torah Sheleima 139) suggests two diametrically opposite interpretations of the Midrash’s description of Yosef’s arrival.  First, the Yefei To’ar writes that Yosef approached his brothers with a proud, arrogant demeanor, as he normally conducted himself around his brothers.  The term “kilus” would thus refer to a kind of self-adulation with which Yosef carried himself.  But the Yefei To’ar then suggests that to the contrary, the Midrash might refer specifically to Yosef’s amiability and pleasant demeanor: “He came with praise…that he praised his brothers and verbally extended them as a blessing…”  According to this approach, Yosef came to his brothers with kind words of greeting and even praise, perhaps something to the effect of, “How nice it is to see you.”

 

This second reading perhaps underscores the tragic miscommunication and misunderstanding that may have fueled the brothers’ animosity toward Yosef.  When the brothers saw Yosef approaching, they cynically remarked, “Here, the man of dreams is coming” (37:19).  The Torah emphasizes that they made this comment upon seeing Yosef “from afar” (mei-rachok).  Distance between two parties can result in mistaken perceptions and baseless suspicions about one another, and this might be precisely what happened as Yosef approached.  From a distance, the brothers saw “the man of dreams,” an arrogant, egotistical adolescent who dreamt of asserting his authority over them.  By the time Yosef approached and began speaking to them “be-kilus,” with friendship and respect, it was too late – they had already decided upon their hostile course of action.

 

Earlier, the Torah writes that Yosef’s brothers were unable “to speak with him peacefully” (37:4).  This might mean that had they succeeded in somehow sitting with Yosef in a civil manner and befriending him, the tragedy of mekhirat Yosef might have been averted.  If they had drawn closer to him, rather than pulling further and further away from him, they may have perhaps better understood his intentions and the reasons behind his perceived arrogance.  Instead, they kept their distance and retained – and even nurtured – their negative perception, until they eventually reached the decision to eliminate their brother.

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Selling Yosef for Shoes

     Parashat Vayeshev tells the unsettling story of mekhirat Yosef, the sale of Yosef as a slave by his jealous and resentful brothers.  The Midrash (Tanchuma, 2) relates that in exchange for Yosef, each of the brothers received two silver coins, which they used to purchase shoes.  The Yalkut Shimoni (Vayeshev 142) cites in reference to this incident the verse from Sefer Amos (2:6) in which the prophet censures Benei Yisrael “for their having sold a righteous person for money; a poor person for shoes.”  Chazal interpreted this verse as an allusion to the sale of Yosef, in exchange for whom the brothers received money for new shoes.

 

            The obvious question arises as to why Chazal found it significant that the brothers purchased shoes with the money received in exchange for Yosef.  Would their crime be judged any differently if they had used the funds for another commodity?  Does it really matter how they invested the ill-begotten money?

 

            One possibility, perhaps, is that Chazal seek to magnify the brothers’ crime by contrasting the triviality of purchasing shoes with the severity of their act.  They condemned their younger brother to a life of slavery and suffering – all for just a pair of shoes.  For Yosef, the consequence of this transaction (at least as foreseen at the time) was lifelong misery, torment and shame; for the brothers, it resulted in new pairs of shoes.  The Midrash emphasizes the sheer callousness of this act, as the brothers casually approached this transaction as simply an ordinary financial venture, paying no heed to its lifelong implications for Yosef.

 

            Additionally, however, it has been suggested that Chazal here use the term “shoes” allegorically, as a reference to the shoes which the brothers wore some twenty years later when they went to Egypt to purchase grain.  By selling Yosef, the brothers paved the way for their family’s exile, as Yosef ultimately rose to the position of Egyptian vizier, becoming the person responsible for the mass distribution of grain during the drought that struck the region.  Yosef’s brothers thought that they brought greater stability to the family by eliminating the member that had caused strife and resentment.  But in truth, in ways that they could not possibly have foreseen at the time, the sale resulted in the “shoes” worn on their way to Egypt, where they would begin the long, sorrowful chapter of subjugation and persecution in exile.  They thought they were sending Yosef into Egyptian slavery, whereas this crime in fact sent them and their descendants into Egyptian slavery.  Chazal therefore emphasized that through this transaction the brothers acquired “shoes” – they facilitated their own eventual relocation in Egyptand the onset of bitter persecution.

 

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אגרת בדבר ביטול הצומות

 

ב"ה יום י"ט לחדש תמוז תר"פ, שנה ראשונה לאחינו הנציב העליון של ארץ ישראל, מר אליעזר בן מנחם סיר הרברט סמואל יר"ה.

שלום וברכה לכבוד ידידי הישיש הנכבד, מלא צפיית ישועה לעם ה' ונחלתו מו"ה יעקב צבי זיסלמאן נ"י.

מכתבו היקר קבלתי, ורגשות ששונו בתשועת ה' אשר הפליא לעשות עמנו, ביסוד גאולתנו במינויו העליון של אחינו השר הגדול שליט"א, מלאה את לבבי שמחת הלב, בראותי כי גם זקני הדור מרגישים וחשים את אור הישועה, וזה הוא סימן יפה לבית ישראל ותחייתו.

אמנם במה שנוגע לסגולת הצומות, חושב אני כי עד אשר יכונן ה' את בית מקדשנו החרב לעינינו, בהר מרום הרים, לתפארת לעיני כל העמים, אי אפשר לנו לבטל אותם. ונקוה כי כאשר החל צור ישראל את ישועתו, ביחס לתשועתנו הכללית, בנוגע לארץ הקודש בכלל, כן יאיר גם כן בתשועת בנין בית מקדשנו, וישלח לנו משיח צדקנו בגאולה שלמה, להושיע את כל עם ה' הנידחים בין זאבי ערב, שדמם הולך ונשפך בעוונותינו הרבים גם כעת באופן נורא ואיום.

וכאשר יאיר ה' לנו באור ישועתו הכוללת, יהפכו הצומות, כולם לששון ולשמחה ולמועדים טובים, ואור הישועה הגמורה, ופאר משיח צדקנו ובנין בית מקדשנו יבואו לנו, על ידי מה שלא נשכח את בית אלוקינו ואת אחינו כולם, כל עם ה' הנתון במיצר, ונשתתף בצערם ויגונם על ידי צומי תעניתנו כמאז, ויחד עם זה נתאמץ לרומם בארצנו הקדושה את קרן הקודש, ברוח טהור מלא אמונת אומן בדבר ה' הנאמן לעולם, ובהודות לה' על חסדו ואמתו.

והיה זה שלום כנפשו וכנפש ידידו דורש שלומו הטוב באהבה רבה, המצפה לגאולה שלמה

הק' אברהם יצחק הכהן קוק

(מתוך הספר מועדי הראי"ה)

 

 

הראי"ה קוק - הרב אברהם יצחק הכהן קוק נולד בגריבה אשר בלטביה בשנת ה"א תרכ"ה (1865) ונפטר בירושלים בשנת ה"א תרצ"ה (1935). כרב הראשי האשכנזי הראשון של ארץ ישראל היה הרב קוק דמות בעלת השפעה מרכזית בתולדות היישוב החדש שבארץ ישראל. אהבתו לחלוצים, אף לכופרים שבהם, ידועה ומפורסמת. עזבונו הספרותי והתורני הוא רחב ביותר - קבלה, פילוסופיה, הלכה, פירושים לגמרא, תשובות ופיוטים - בכתב יד ובדפוס

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Yaakov Lives in the Land of His Father's Residence

  Parashat Vayeshev begins, “Yaakov dwelled in the land of his father’s residence – in the land of Canaan.”

 

            A number of commentators addressed the question of why the Torah emphasized the fact that Yaakov chose to live “in the land of his father’s residence.”  Chizkuni explains that Yaakov’s residence in Canaan confirmed the fulfillment of God’s promise to Avraham that his descendants would inherit the land he inhabited.  The Torah stressed the fact that Yaakov settled in the land in which his predecessors had lived, just as God had guaranteed his grandfather, “I shall give you and your offspring after you the land of your residence” (17:8).

 

            The Rashbam and Ramban explain this verse as intended to draw a contrast between Yaakov and Esav.  The previous section tells of the Edomite kingdom established by Esav, emphasizing that Esav left Canaan and separated with his brother, choosing instead to settle in Edom (see 36:6).  Now, as the Torah returns to the story of Yaakov and the formation of the Israelite nation, it notes that as opposed to Esav, who left his predecessors’ homeland, Yaakov remained “in the land of his father’s residence.”  This is significant, the Rashbam writes, because Yaakov’s residence in Canaan reflected his confirmed status as the firstborn of the family.  The Ramban, by contrast, mentions Yaakov and his children’s decision to remain in the “chosen land” as the crucial point of distinction between Yaakov and Esav.

 

            This point is further developed by the Radak, who, in his comments to this verse, refers us to his earlier remarks, in his commentary to Parashat Vayishlach (35:27).  There the Torah similarly emphasizes that Yaakov resided in Chevron, “where Avraham Yitzchak lived.”  The Radak explains this emphasis as intended to instruct that “it is proper for a person to live in the city of his forefathers, showing honor to the forefathers who are buried there.”  Establishing residence in one’s forefathers’ area is an expression of honor and fealty to the family, and it is for this reason that the Torah draws our attention to Yaakov’s decision to remain in the land of Avraham and Yitzchak.

 

            If so, then the Torah here seeks to emphasize not merely the geographical difference between the residences of Yaakov and Esav, but the attitudes this difference reflects.  Yaakov remained in Canaan out of loyalty to his family heritage, whereas Esav divorced himself from the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak, and therefore found a different land for establishing his permanent residence.

 

            This difference between Yaakov and Esav likely underlies a famous Midrashic tradition concerning Yaakov’s “purchase” of the birthright from Esav, as told in Parashat Toledot (chapter 25).  Rashi (25:30) cites from the Midrash that this event occurred on the day when Avraham died, and Yaakov prepared a stew to provide food for the mourners, as was (and is) customary.  It is perhaps revealing that while Yaakov was at home assisting his grieving father, Esav was out hunting, and he then requested some of the food that his brother had prepared for his father.  Yaakov participated in the bereavement for Avraham, whereas Esav flatly ignored his grandfather’s death.  Understandably, Yaakov decided on that day to seize the opportunity to obtain the birthright from his older twin.  Having demonstrated his loyalty to the family in contrast to his brother’s indifference, Yaakov found it necessary to ensure that he would be named heir to the legacy of Avraham and Yitzchak, the legacy which he cherished and was committed to perpetuating.  Esav’s notable absence from the family’s grieving process proved that he was unworthy of assuming a leadership role in the family.  Sure enough, Esav severed the ties with his family and established himself in Edom, while Yaakov chose to live “in the land of his father’s residence,” passionately determined to continue the spiritual legacy of his father and grandfather in the land promised to them by the Almighty.

 

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Yosef's Dreams and Prophecies of Rebuke

 

            The Torah in Parashat Vayeshev tells of Yosef’s dreams of leadership and authority over his brothers, and the brothers’ angry response when Yosef informed them of these visions.

 

            The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84) takes note of the expression, “Shim’u na” (“Listen, if you will”), with which Yosef introduced the news about his dream (“Listen, if you will, to this dream which I dreamt” – 37:6).  This expression, the Midrash observes, was also used later, by the prophets, in introducing their words of criticism to the people.  (The Midrash cites specifically the verse in Mikha 6:1.)  The Midrash relates that Yosef said to his brothers, “This is how the prophets will administer reproof to you.”

 

            One approach we might take in explaining the Midrash’s comment is that it seeks to shed some light on the uneasy feeling people generally experience upon hearing criticism.  Listening to somebody tell us what we’ve done wrong, no matter how gently and respectfully this is done, causes us discomfort.  The Midrash, perhaps, explains this phenomenon by drawing a comparison between listening to criticism and the brothers listening to Yosef’s dreams.  The brothers quite obviously felt threatened by the dreams, which foresaw their younger brother asserting his authority over them.  They couldn’t bear to think that they would one day be subservient to Yosef, whom they considered arrogant and impetuous.  Hearing of Yosef’s aspirations of leadership naturally evoked harsh feelings of resentment.

 

            A similar feeling often overcomes people as they hear criticism.  What rattles them is not the knowledge that they have done something wrong, but rather the implication that the speaker assumes a certain degree of authority over them.  The reason why we find criticism difficult to handle is because it immediately places us in a position of inferiority in the speaker’s eyes – just as Yosef’s dreams placed his brothers in a position of inferiority.  What ensues, like in the story of Yosef, is essentially a power struggle.  We, like Yosef’s brothers, resent and resist our relegation to an inferior position, which of course entails resisting the call to change.

 

            Unfortunately, the people of the First Temple era refused to accept the prophets’ criticism, and instead insisted on defending their damaged egos by rejecting the calls for change.  Upon hearing discomfiting words of criticism, we must overcome the natural tendency to resist, and ignore the question of our stature vis-à-vis the “prophet,” whoever it may be, who offers the criticism.  Our only chance of self-improvement lies in our willingness to leave our egos aside and be willing to accept advice and criticism from wherever it may come, without concern for personal feelings of pride.

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Rav Amital on Yaakov's Unrequited Hopes for Tranquility

            Earlier this week, we cited Rashi’s famous but puzzling comments regarding the opening verse of Parashat Vayeshev, taken from the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 84:3):

 

Yaakov sought to dwell in tranquility, but then the anguish of Yosef immediately pounced on him.  The righteous seek to dwell in tranquility, but the Almighty says: “Is it not enough for the righteous that which is prepared for them in the next world, that they seek to live in tranquility even in this world?”

 

Many writers have addressed the question of why it is improper to seek to live in “tranquility,” and why Yaakov was denied this right.

 

            Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l suggested a novel interpretation of the Midrash’s comments.  Yaakov endured many hardships throughout his life, and they began when he deceived his father by disguising as Esav to receive his blessing, whereupon Esav threatened to kill him and he was forced to flee.  Moreover, virtually all his subsequent troubles bear a clear parallel or resemblance to this act of deception.  Lavan brought him his older daughter, Leah, when he expected to marry the younger sister, Rachel, and Lavan explained that it is improper for a younger sister to marry before the older sister (29:26).  This certainly brings to mind Yaakov’s efforts to seize that which was intended for his older brother.  Later, Lavan repeatedly deceived Yaakov when he worked as his shepherd (31:7-8,41), just as he deceived Yitzchak.  And Yaakov’s sons’ surreptitious plot against Shekhem, circumventing his authority, brings to mind his scheme to subvert his blind, aged father’s plan to bless Esav.

 

            When Yaakov settled in Chevron and reached old age, he hoped to “dwell in tranquility,” that he had already endured the full consequences of his scheme.  But this was not to be.  He was once again deceived – this time, by his sons – and continued to suffer the effects of his complicated marriage, as the sons of Leah resented the preferred status accorded to their younger brother, Yosef, the older son of Rachel.  The consequences of the Leah/Rachel substitution were still unfolding, and Yaakov would still be punished for his own “substitution” for his brother.

 

            Needless to say, it is not for us to understand why Yaakov was punished so severely for a scheme that was forced upon him by his mother, and which could easily be justified on several levels, as we find in many Midrashim and commentaries.  (Most notably, Yitzchak overlooked Esav’s unworthiness for the blessing, and Rivka had received a prophecy that the younger son was destined for supremacy.)  But the Midrash’s comment, as understood by Rav Amital, teaches that we must be prepared to accept the consequences of our mistakes.  As human beings, we will make many mistakes – some more severe than others – over the course of our lives, and we cannot expect to always be able to simply erase them from our record.  Understandably so, we all want to “dwell in tranquility,” to live at ease without having to worry about the mistakes we make.  But the Midrash teaches that such hopes are unrealistic.  We must be prepared to own up to our mistakes and work to correct them, and should never delude ourselves into believing that we can simply escape the consequences.

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Tamar and the Wife of Potifar

   In the midst of the story of Yosef’s sale as a slave, the Torah interjects the story of Tamar, who married, successively, Yehuda’s two older sons, both of whom died young without leaving children.  Yehuda refused to allow Tamar to marry his third son, and she eventually disguised herself as a prostitute and positioned herself along his travel route, so he would solicit her services.

 

Rashi (39:1), citing the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 85:2), makes a surprising comment in attempting to identify a point of connection between the story of Tamar and the story of Yosef.  He writes that the juxtaposition between the two incidents alludes to a parallel of sorts between Tamar’s seduction of Yehuda and Potifar’s wife’s unsuccessful attempts to seduce Yosef.  Just as Tamar acted “le-shem Shamayim,” with pure and sincere motives, similarly, Potifar’s wife was driven by altruistic motives.  Tamar, as Rashi writes earlier (38:26), acted appropriately, as she was bound by the levirate laws to marry a relative of her deceased husband.  Potifar’s wife, too, acted with sincere motives, as she saw through astrology that she would bear children from Yosef.  She erred, however, as this would occur through her daughter, who later married Yosef.

 

This comparison drawn by the Midrash between Tamar and Potifar’s wife is startling.  Tamar is generally viewed by our tradition as a righteous woman, who was very far from sexual impropriety (see Rashi to 38:15), and acted purely for the sake of the mitzva of bearing children with her late husband’s relative to perpetuate his memory.  Potifar’s wife, however, is often referred to by the Sages as a wicked, immoral and lustful woman.  How are we to understand this peculiar comparison?

 

It seems likely that the Sages of the Midrash drew this comparison for the sake of underscoring the differences between these two women and between these two incidents.  Both women found themselves in a compromised situation, where a lofty goal required questionable, unconventional measures to be achieved.  However, in Tamar’s case, these means were within the bounds of permissible conduct.  Since she was required to marry a blood relative of her deceased husband, it was acceptable for her to act as she did (according to the accepted protocols of that time).  In Potifar’s wife’s case, however, there was no justification whatsoever for her conduct.  As a married woman, she was forbidden from engaging in relations with another man, regardless of any sincere and pure motives that she may have had.  Even if she pursued lofty goals, she was wrong for employing forbidden means to achieve the desired end.

 

Extraordinary circumstances warrant extraordinary measures – but only to a point.  Tamar’s act was unconventional, unusual, and far from the ideal levirate union, but was justified under the circumstances.  Potifar’s wife, by contrast, had no justification despite the unusual circumstances of a “prophecy” that she sought to bring to realization.   Before “bending the rules” and allowing ourselves special dispensations in light of special circumstances, we must proceed cautiously, and carefully consider whether the altruistic ends truly justify the questionable means.  Lofty goals, even if they are pursued with pure sincerity, do not always authorize us to suspend normal protocols of conduct.  The story of Potifar’s wife, as understood by the Sages, thus alerts us of the potential dangers of altruism, which could oftentimes lead one to unjustifiable extreme and illicit conduct.

 

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