S.A.L.T. - PARASHAT TOLEDOT

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            The opening verse of Parashat Toledot recalls the birth of Yitzchak – “Avraham holid et Yitzchak” (“Avraham begot Yitzchak”).  Rashi, citing from the Midrash, famously comments that this verse refers to Yitzchak’s physical resemblance to his father.  God specifically saw to it that Yitzchak would look like Avraham, the Midrash explains, in order to dispel the rumors spread by the “leitzanei ha-dor” (“cynics of the time”) claiming that Yitzchak was not Avraham’s son.  Before Sara conceived, she had been abducted by the Philistine ruler Avimelekh, and while the Torah informs us that no physical contact occurred between them (20:4), rumors spread that Avimelekh impregnated Sara.  God therefore gave Yitzchak his father’s appearance, demonstrating to all that he was indeed Avraham’s son.

            Many later writers and darshanim addressed the question of why God found it necessary to dismiss the cynics’ allegations.  Is it really possible to argue persuasively with a cynic?  Won’t he always come back with an argument of his own?  People bent on mocking and jeering will always find a basis for their claims and accusations.  Why does God bother to respond?

Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l (http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/4-sichot/06toldot.php) offered a characteristically insightful explanation of the Midrash’s comment.  Yitzchak, as portrayed in the Torah and Midrashim, differed drastically from his father.  These differences are described in various ways in the different sources – chesed versus gevura, public versus private, outgoing versus introverted, gemilut chasadim versus avoda, revolutionary versus conservative, and so on.  However one chooses to formulate the different personalities, approaches and lifestyles of the two men, Avraham and Yitzchak clearly were quite different from one another.  Both, each in his own way, were spiritual giants who – together with Yaakov – formed the foundation of Am Yisrael.  But Avraham accomplished this through his trailblazing efforts in teaching the masses, becoming an internationally recognized figure, fighting wars, serving the public and involving himself in the highest political echelons, whereas Yitzhak, it seems, was far more private and withdrawn.

            It was thus only natural for the skeptics to begin wondering whether Yitzchak was indeed his father’s spiritual heir, whether Avraham’s revolution could continue through his son.  They asked, can Yitzchak really be Avraham’s successor?  How can Avraham’s legacy be perpetuated by a son who is so different from him?  They could not acknowledge Yitzchak as the bearer of Avraham’s legacy, because they assumed that this legacy required another Avraham, another dynamic, charismatic public figure.  How, they argued, could the withdrawn Yitzchak lay claim to the heritage of his father, and be considered the successor of his father, whom he did not resemble in the slightest?

            This was the “rumor” that the Almighty sought to dispel.  Yitzchak’s physical resemblance to Avraham symbolized the fact that he was, indeed, the link in the chain that would bring Avraham’s legacy to his descendants.  The nation that Avraham would build would not be monolithic; his model of spiritual greatness could not possibly be followed by each and every one of his descendants.  Each of Avraham’s successors – every member of Am Yisrael – would have to develop his or her individual talents, temperament, and personality to contribute toward the historic mission assigned to Avraham’s progeny.  God ensured that Yitzchak would look like his father precisely because he differed from his father in every other way.  And He thereby taught us that there is no single model of spiritual greatness to which we must all aspire.  Just as both Avraham and Yitzchak took part in forming the foundation of Am Yisrael, similarly, different personalities and areas of expertise are needed in each generation for their descendants to perpetuate their legacy and fulfill our collective mission in the world.

Sunday

            The Torah in Parashat Toledot tells the famous story of the blessing that Yitzchak intended to bestow upon his older son, Esav, but which was ultimately given to Yaakov who disguised himself as his older twin.  This blessing begins with the well-known verse, “Ve-yitein lekha ha-Elokim mi-tal ha-shamayim u-mi’shmanei ha-aretz ve-rov dagan ve-tirosh” (“And God shall grant you from the dew of the heavens and from the fat of the earth, and abundant grain and wine” – 27:28).

            Rashi notes the seeming peculiarity in the opening word of this blessing – “ve-yitein” – which begins with the conjunction “ve-“ (“and”).  Why did Yitzchak begin his blessing to his son with the word “and”?  Citing the Midrash, Rashi explains the word “ve-yitein” to mean – in the words of the Midrash – “he shall give and then give again,” a phrase which itself requires explanation.

            Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l (http://www.etzion.org.il/vbm/archive/8-sichot/06toldot.php) suggested that the Sages interpreted Yitzchak’s blessing as referring to God’s consistent but independent acts of giving, as opposed to a constant flow of blessing.  There is a famous Chassidic insight (attributed to Rav Simcha Bunim of Peshischa) that seeks to explain the curse that God placed upon the snake after the sin of the forbidden tree: “You shall go about on your belly, and you shall eat earth all the days of your life” (3:14).  The snake would enjoy immediate and unlimited access to its source of nourishment – earth – and this was precisely its punishment, its curse.  It would never feel dependence on God, it would never feel impelled to cry out, to plead, to beg, to raise its eyes to the heavens and beseech the Almighty for sustenance.

            Yitzchak’s blessing to his son was “yitein ve-yachazor ve-yitein” – that God should give, and then give again, and then give again.  He wanted his descendants not to enjoy the security of endless resources, of a continuous wellspring of blessing, but rather to turn to the Almighty regularly, each day anew, to ask  for a new “giving.”  The greatest blessing and gift is not for the Almighty to provide us with a secure, permanent source of sustenance, but rather for us to call out to him each day, and for Him to then answer our prayers, each time anew.

            Rav Amital commented (as summarized by a student):

The Almighty could have given Am Yisrael…any other location…some remote place where there are no troubles or worries, and where there are abundant resources.  Am Yisrael received specifically the Land of Israel, a land where there are political, security and economic problems, a land that constantly needs divine grace and is dependent only on the Almighty – a land which God’s eyes look upon at all times, because He knows that it requires His kindness.

This is the blessing that Yitzchak wished upon his descendants – that we should always be dependent on God, and that we should feel this sense of dependence and turn to Him for assistance each and every day.

Monday

            The Torah in Parashat Toledot describes the different natures of Yaakov and Esav: “The young men grew up, and Esav was a man who knew hunting, a man of the field, while Yaakov was a simple person, a dweller of tents” (25:27).

            Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel translates the phrase “yosheiv ohalim” (“dweller of tents”) to mean, “he served in the study hall of Eiver; he sought teaching from the Lord.”  Rav Yerucham Lebovitz insightfully noted that the Aramaic term “teva ulfan” (“sought teaching”) which Targum Yonatan uses here also appears in Targum Onkelos in a different context.  In Sefer Shemot (33:7), in describing the aftermath of the sin of the golden calf, the Torah relates that Moshe stationed the “Tent of Meeting” outside the camp, and “anyone who sought out the Lord would go out to the Tent of Meeting that was outside the camp.”  Targum Onkelos translates the phrase “mevakesh Hashem” (“who sought out the Lord”) in this verse to mean, “teva ulfan.”  The Torah here tells that anyone who “sought teaching,” who sincerely sought religious knowledge, guidance and instruction, would leave the comfort of his or her tent and make the trek to the Tent of Meeting outside the Israelite camp.

            It thus emerges, Rav Yerucham noted, that according to Targum Yonatan, when the Torah describes Yaakov as a “yosheiv ohalim,” it means that he was a “mevakesh Hashem,” somebody who sought out and actively pursued knowledge.  The primary quality mentioned by the Torah was that of “mevakesh” – ambition and drive that led him to go to great lengths to learn and study.

            Rav Yerucham further noted that this is perhaps precisely the contrast that the Torah seeks to draw between Yaakov and Esav.  Commenting on the Torah’s description of Esav as a “man of the field,” Rashi explains this term to mean, “adam batel” (loosely translated, “an unproductive person”).  Yaakov was a young man filled with drive and ambition, whereas Esav desired amusement and recreation.  The main difference between the two was that Yaakov wanted to hear the word of God, while Esav couldn’t be bothered.  Yaakov was prepared to work and invest effort for the sake of Torah, whereas Esav preferred wasting his time in the field.

            While we cannot demand or expect perfection from ourselves, we must, as Yaakov’s descendants, commit ourselves at very least to this quality of “mevakesh.”  We must want to learn, to grow, to improve, and be prepared to work for it.  Of course, we will not always succeed; we will all experience failures and setbacks to some degree and at some level of frequency.  But what’s critical is that even during periods of setbacks, we remain “mevakshim,” people who have set spiritual excellence as their goal, rather than resigning ourselves to living in the “field,” freeing ourselves from the responsibility and challenge of personal growth.

Tuesday

            The Torah in Parashat Toledot describes Esav as an “ish yodei’a tzayid” (“a man who knows hunting” – 25:27).  Rashi, citing the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 63:10), explains this to mean that Esav “hunted” – or deceived – his father by feigning halakhic fastidiousness.  The Midrash relates that Esav would pose to his father questions about the laws of ma’aserot (tithes), asking about the tithing of salt and straw – products that clearly are not included in the obligation of tithes.  These disingenuous halakhic queries gave the impression of strict religious observance, and thus deceived Yitzhak into thinking that Esav was scrupulously pious.

            The Midrash’s comment gives rise to several questions, including, and perhaps most obviously, the question of how Yitzchak could have been duped so easily.  The reverence our tradition affords Yitzhak – as one of the three patriarchs – makes it difficult to imagine that Esav could have so easily misled him through phony halakhic consultation.   But regardless of how we deal with this question, it would appear that the Sages here seek to convey a more general insight into human interaction and the impressions that people make on one another.

            In order to identify this message, we might take note of the particular area of halakhic inquiry that, according to this Midrashic account, was Esav’s point of focus: ma’aserot.  As Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg notes in his Yalkut Yehuda (Denver, 1936), this is not the only context in Torah literature where we find the law of ma’aserot associated with Yitzchak.  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Melakhim (9:1), based on the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 64), writes that it was Yitzchak who instituted the obligation of tithing agricultural produce.  It is perhaps not coincidental that Esav succeeded in deceiving his father specifically through this law – the law that Yitzchak pioneered.  Rav Ginsburg suggests that as Yitzchak had introduced the concept of ma’aserot, and, as such, this mitzva was especially dear to him, Esav realized that he could easily “score points” with his father by feigning extreme devotion to this law.  As Yitzchak felt special affinity for the law of tithes, Esav’s display of loyalty to this mitzva had a significant effect and succeeded in winning his father’s love and affection.

            As mentioned, the question remains as to how a man of Yitzchak’s stature could be so easily misled.  But in any event, in this passage, as in many other Midrashic passages, Chazal speak of a great Biblical figure in very human terms, as somebody who, despite his lofty spiritual stature, was still susceptible to common human foibles.  The lesson that perhaps emerges from this depiction of Yitzchak is one which relates to our ingrained personal biases that impair our ability to assess things objectively.  Even as we endeavor to live full, comprehensive, integrated lives of avodat Hashem, we all, invariably, have particularly strong feelings toward certain areas of religious observance.  Each individual has his or her areas of “specialty,” or specific values within the broad range of Torah values that he or she holds especially dear.  Yitzchak’s favoritism toward Esav should perhaps warn against the tendency to allow these biases to distort our objectivity.  It is tempting to judge other people from the narrow perspective of the particular values that are dearest to us, rather than taking into account the broader range of values and ideals.  In Yitzchak’s case, his special affinity for ma’aserot led him to overlook Esav’s neglect of other important – and more basic – values.  But often, the opposite occurs – we fail to judge favorably because we use a narrow yardstick, which takes into account only those matters that are dearest to us.  Our judgment is determined based solely on how the person achieves in our own particular areas of focus, rather than objectively assessing the totality of the person before rendering judgment in our minds.

            The lesson, then, is to judge people on the basis of the full range of values and ideals, to appreciate their virtues even if they fail in the areas of our “specialty.”

Wednesday

            We read in Parashat Toledot of the scheme devised by Rivka to ensure that the blessing her husband sought to bestow upon Esav would be given instead to the younger twin, Yaakov.  Rivka had Yaakov disguise himself as Esav by wearing Esav’s clothes and by wrapping goatskins around his arms, so his smooth skin would resemble his brother’s shaggy skin.

            The Midrash (Bereishit Rabba 65) comments that the clothes with which Rivka dressed Yaakov were the special garments that Esav wore when attending to his father.  Esav kept a special set of garments in the home and would wear them when he visited and spent time with Yitzchak, as an expression of respect and reverence for his father.  The Sages saw this practice as an indication of Esav’s exceptionally high standards of kibud av – honoring his father – and praised him for the respect he showed to Yitzchak:

Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel said: I served my father my entire life, but yet I didn’t serve him one-hundredth of how Esav served his father.  When I would serve my father, I would serve him with soiled garments, and when I would go out, I would go out with fine garments.  But Esav – when he would serve his father, he would serve him only with royal garments, saying, “It is only respectful to father to serve him with royal garments.”

How might we explain the significance of this particular expression of Esav’s kibud av – wearing “royal garments” in his father’s presence, that it earned him such accolades from the Sages of the Midrash?

            Possibly, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel refers here to reserving one’s “finest garments” for the home in a more general sense.  It is not uncommon for people to act and speak respectably and in a dignified manner with their peers outside the home, while being less mindful of their conduct inside the home, in their relationships within the family.  The comfort and feelings of familiarity allow a person to act more freely and with less discretion around those closest to him.  This is, perhaps, the tendency to which Rabbi Shimon refers: “When I would serve my father, I would serve him with soiled garments, and when I would go out, I would go out with fine garments.”  Around his father, he was less careful of how he appeared than he did around others outside the home.

            Although the Sages attribute to Esav many grave crimes – including cardinal sins such as adultery and murder – they give him credit for, at least, saving the best for the home, and specifically for his parents.  Unlike most people, Esav wore his “soiled garments” outside and his “royal garments” inside.

            Remarkably, Chazal found something for us to learn from Esav.  He committed the most heinous crimes outside the home, and his piety around his father may not have even been pure and genuine – and yet, it is something for us to admire and emulate.  It teaches us to reserve the best we have specifically for our homes, for our families, rather than saving our finest “garments” for outside the home, and wearing the soiled “garments” around our family members.

Thursday

The Torah devotes a lengthy section in Parashat Toledot to the story of Yitzchak’s experiences living among the Pelishtim in the southern Israeli region of Gerar (chapter 26). His difficult and complex relationship with the hostile and envious Pelishtim ended peacefully, when he and Avimelekh, the Philistine ruler, made a formal truce.

There are several similarities between Yitzchak’s meeting with Avimelekh, and the agreement reached by his father with the same ruler (or perhaps Avimelekh’s predecessor with the same name) years earlier. In both instances, Avimelekh approached the patriarch to initiate a peace treaty, acknowledging that the patriarch has been the beneficiary of divine grace (Avraham – 21:22; Yitzchak – 26:28). Avraham, in his talks with Avimelekh, protested the theft of water by the king’s servants (21:25), and Yitzchak, similarly, spoke critically to the Philistine ruler about the abuse he suffered at their hands (“You despised me, and sent me away from you” –26:27). Finally, both episodes end with the naming of the site “Be’er Sheva” (21:31, 26:33).

However, as Rav Amnon Bazak noted, there is a significant difference between the two meetings, which points to a basic difference in the way the two patriarchs handled the diplomatic situation that they confronted. When Avimelekh approached Avraham and expressed his interest in making a formal treaty, Avraham immediately gave his consent (“Anokhiishavei’a” – 21:24). Only thereafter did Avraham then present his complaints about the Philistines’ theft of his water. Yitzchak, by contrast, submitted his protest immediately upon Avimelekh’s arrival, indicating that he would not consent to a formal agreement unconditionally. Furthermore, a careful reading of the two narratives reveals an important difference between the natures of the two agreements. Avraham, after voluntarily giving sheep and cattle to his adversary as a kind of proof to his ownership over the disputed well, establishes a berit (“covenant”) with Avimelekh. Even though Avimelekh requested only an oath confirming the end of hostilities (21:23), Avraham offers something more that –a formal alliance. In Yitzchak’s case, just the opposite occurs. Avimelekh asks for a berit (26:28), but in the end, they simply make oaths to one another (26:31).

The Sages of the Midrash (Bereishit Rabba54:4) were critical of Avraham’s handling of the situation with Avimelekh:

The Almighty said to him [Avraham]: You gave seven sheep without My consent… I swear that, correspondingly, they [the Pelishtim] will kill seven righteous people from among your descendants… Correspondingly, his [Avimelekh’s] descendants will destroy seven sanctuaries of your descendants… Correspondingly, My ark will spend seven month sin a Philistine field…”

It appears that the Sages preferred the guarded, suspicious approach taken by Yitzchak over Avraham’s overly magnanimous and trusting response to the Pelishtim. While Avraham generally emerges as a sharp, confident, clued-in public figure, whereas Yitzchak strikes us as more private, introverted and less competent in the public arena, in this instance, Yitzchak’s approach proved more successful than his father’s. Indeed, Avraham’s berit with Avimelekh was short-lived, and the Pelishtim stuffed his wells soon after his death(26:15). By contrast, we do not find the Pelishtim initiating hostilities against the patriarchs at any point after Yitzchak’s cautious truce with Avimelekh. Chazal thus concluded the Avraham acted wrongly in granting his unconditional forgiveness to the Pelishtim and making an alliance with them on such generous terms. As the Torah goes to great lengths to emphasize later, in Parashat Vayetze, in describing Yaakov’s experiences with Lavan, we must proceed with caution, and even cunning, when dealing with dishonest, unscrupulous people. The Sages therefore approved of the guarded, careful approach of Yitzchak, and criticized the overly benevolent gestures of Avraham.

Friday

            Yesterday, we noted several comparisons between the story told in Parashat Toledot of Yitzchak’s truce with the Philistine ruler Avimelekh, and the parallel account of Avraham’s agreement with the same ruler (or a predecessor with the same name).  In both instances, Avimelekh approaches the patriarch to express interest in making a treaty and emphasizes the obvious divine assistance that accompanied the patriarch.

            Another significant parallel between the two accounts is the self-righteousness exhibited by Avimelekh in both contexts.  When Avimelekh approaches Avraham, he presents his request for a treaty in the form of a request that Avraham end hostilities against him: “God is with you in whatever you do, and thus, swear to me now by God that you will not lie to me, to my great-grandson or to my grandson; that you will act toward me [in a manner] similar to the kindness with which I acted toward you…” (21:22-23).  Essentially, Avimelekh says to Avraham, “Swear to me that you will be as nice to me as I was to you, because otherwise, I am afraid that you will act cruelly to me, and God will always help you.”  Rather than expressing any remorse for seizing Avraham’s wife during his stay in the Philistine region, and extending a guarantee that he would never repeat such a crime, Avimelekh formulates his request in a manner that implicitly charges Avraham with hostile intentions.

            Similarly, after Avraham protests the Pelishtim’s theft of his water, Avimelekh offers no apology – only an excuse: “I don’t know who did this, and also, you did not tell me, and I also never heard about it until today” (21:26).  Once again, Avimelekh plays the part of the guiltless party in these negotiations, insisting that he had done no wrong.

            This characteristic of Avimelekh actually emerges earlier in the story, after Avraham settled in Gerar and Avimelekh abducted Sara, whom Avraham had identified as his sister.  After being informed that Sara was in fact married to Avraham, Avimelekh approached Avraham and – rather than apologizing – chided the patriarch for his crime against the Philistine kingdom: “What have you done to us?  How have I sinned against you, that you have brought upon me and my kingdom a grave sin…. Why did you see fit to do this?!” (20:9-10).  Remarkably, Avimelekh utters not one word of remorse for putting Avraham and Sara through this ordeal, and instead turns around and casts the blame on Avraham, who had presented Sara as his sister.

            The absurdity of Avimelekh’s reaction is poignantly expressed by the Talmud (Bava Kama 92).  Commenting on Avraham’s response to Avimelekh – “Because I said, ‘Alas, there is no fear of God in this place’” – the Gemara (cited by Rashi to 20:11) writes, “A visitor comes to a city – do they ask him about food and drink, or do they ask him about his wife?”  Avimelekh tries to play the innocent victim in this episode, ignoring the obvious degeneracy that he and his subject displayed, and casting the blame squarely on Avraham.

            This pattern of self-absolution and playing the victim continues in Parashat Toledot.  Avimelekh approaches Yitzchak after the Pelishtim had stuffed his well, Avimelekh himself chased Yitzchak out of the city, and the Philistine shepherds claimed rights to the wells dug by Yitzchak’s shepherds.  The shameless ruler asks Yitzchak to make a promise that “you shall not do evil to me, just as we did not harm you, and just as we acted only favorably toward you and sent you away in peace” (26:29).  As in the case of Avraham, Avimelekh says to Yitzchak, “Promise that you won’t cause me harm, that you will be as nice to me as I was to you.”

            Throughout these narratives, Avimelekh characterizes the person who refuses to acknowledge guilt, and always insists on his innocence.  He is somebody who will never admit to having acted wrongly, and in any conflict or quarrel portrays himself as the innocent victim who begs his allegedly hostile adversary for a truce.  Avimelekh’s example reminds us of the exact opposite example that we are to follow – the example of honest self-assessment and preparedness to accept blame and admit wrongdoing.