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We Cannot Abandon Our Brother to the Pit

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin Can you imagine if the Chanukah story were to take place today? Would the Hasmoneans be called heroes or terrorists? Would they be lauded for saving the Temple from defilement, or be derided as religious zealots who were intolerant to modernization? Let’s try and apply a lesson from “bayamim hahem,” from those days, and see if we can apply them to “bizman hazeh,” to our times. Only one section of Talmud discusses Chanukah in any real depth, in the second chapter of Tractate Shabbat. In the course of discussing the laws of Chanukah, the Talmud cites a halakhah taught in the name of Rabbi Tanchum (TB Shabbot 22a): “If one places their Menorah higher than 20 cubits above ground level, it is invalid.” It is necessary for people on the street to be able to see the Menorah, and if the Menorah is so high that no one can see it, one has not fulfilled the mitzvah. The Gemara then immediately launches into another statement of Rabbi Tanchum, which seems to be completely disconnected from the previous statement, and has nothing at all to do with Chanukah: The Torah in our portion describes the pit into which the brothers threw Yoseph (37:24) “The pit was empty; there was no water in it.” “If the pit was empty, doesn’t that automatically imply that there was no water in it?! Derive from this that the pit wasn’t completely empty. There was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it.”

Imposing beliefs on others

What’s going on? Why does the Gemara feel that this non sequitur is relevant amidst a discussion of Hilchot Chanukah? Let’s consider the condition of our society today to see if we can find another answer. There’s a common refrain in today’s culture: What gives people the moral authority to impose their beliefs on others? Isn’t it annoying when someone tries to impose their beliefs upon you? Isn’t it annoying when another Jew comes along and tells you you’re not observing Judaism correctly? No one likes to be chastised or condescendingly told they’re not religious enough. “Why don’t they mind their own business?” I can only imagine the resentment that some progressive Jews must have felt upon seeing the Hasmoneans violently reject the Greeks and their “modern modifications” to our holy places. “Who are you to tell me how to practice Judaism? I’m happy with the Greek innovations; why are you throwing us backwards?” This is one of the reasons why Hashem introduced an overt miracle to the Chanukah story. When the priests brought out the Menorah to the public and showed everyone how the oil of one day miraculously kept on going, they were quelling the internal protests of those Jews who felt that the Hasmonean revolt was wrong. The Hasmoneans accomplished their message by demonstrating to others that Hashem was with them in restoring the Temple to its traditional mode.

The Chanukiah: A message of love

When we light the Menorah and place it in our windows or doorways, we are unquestionably sending a message to the entire world. But we’re also sending a message to our fellow Jews. That message is one of love: I care for you and I want to share my traditions with you. You may feel that this is an archaic practice that commemorates something that doesn’t resonate at all with you, but I wish to show you differently. Chanukah is still relevant in my life and it can be in yours, too. “Tradition” is not a dirty word, but is something you should embrace with me. I’m not chastising or berating, merely sharing my light with you and teaching by example. But still: “Why don’t you mind your own business?” Because if I don’t share my Menorah light with you, in all likelihood you will succumb to the prevailing attitudes of the world around you, which is to reject God, reject religion, and reject tradition. If I don’t care about you, who will? When the brothers initially thought to kill Yoseph outright, Revuen protested and suggested that they instead throw him in a pit. Some commentaries understand that Reuven was essentially arguing: We should not proactively harm Yoseph. Let’s just throw him in the pit and leave it up to God to decide what his fate will be. This way, the blood will not be on our hands. Even though Reuven only made his point as a straw argument in order to later save Yoseph from the pit, the other brothers thought his argument was sound.

The light of the Chanukah candles

But this is where they were wrong. “The pit was empty of water, but it still contained snakes and scorpions.” That is, don’t think that by being passive and leaving someone to their own devices you can feel you’re innocent of any wrongdoing. When there’s no water in the pit, when there’s not Torah in the general society, you are condemning the other to be indoctrinated by the prevailing values of where you have abandoned them. That is why we all have a mandate to reach out and try to help others find their way. I can’t just say, “It’s not my business, let them do what they want.” By leaving them in the waterless “pit” of the outside world, I’m consigning them to be consumed by the “snakes and scorpions” of that world. Just as I have to share my Menorah light with others, I must be aware that if I don’t share my light, if I light it too “high” for others to access, I’m condemning my brother or sister to potential oblivion in a world that disdains that light. That is why Rabbi Tanchum’s two statements align with each other, and why it’s no coincidence that we always read the Yoseph story around Chanukah. We are our brother’s keeper, and we must continue to care and try to seek our brother and sister out, and bring them home to the religion of their parents and grandparents. As Yoseph so properly stated when looking for his brothers in the field (37:16), “אֶת־אַחַי אָנֹכִי מְבַקֵּשׁ” – “I just seek my brethren.”

Sharing the light

We are losing Jews to assimilation at a precipitous rate. It’s not only Jews from non-Orthodox homes, but young Jews from our own homes are also checking out. We need to do whatever we can to seek out our brethren. That is one of the integral messages of Chanukah, to share our light with others. One of the silver linings to the very dark cloud of the Gaza war is that Jews have become much more unified. One of the focal points of that reunification has been a return to tradition. Jews realize that if the world hates us, we need to return to the source, to our origin point, and regain whatever it is that made us a people in the first place. We are also seeing a reduction in the resentment factor that had turned people away from tradition in the past. The light that emanates from every Jewish home is palpable, and we are feeling each other’s love. May our living the Torah by example provide ample light to others and bring the light of the ultimate Redemption, bb”a.

Struggling with Our Free Will

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin Does man truly possess free will? Or, are we, as many social scientists suggest today, a product of a series of events that have occurred in our lives and various natures and dispositions that we are born with? Can man truly be held responsible for the choices he or she makes? “At least since the Enlightenment, in the 18th century, one of the most central questions of human existence has been whether we have free will. In the late 20th century, some thought neuroscience had settled the question, but this was later refuted. The elusive answer is nonetheless foundational to our moral codes, criminal justice system, religions and even to the very meaning of life itself—for if every event of life is merely the predictable outcome of mechanical laws, one may question the point of it all.” The modern-day Acher, Yuval Harari, has argued that free will is a myth, invented by religion. “Theologians developed the idea of ‘free will’ to explain why God is right to punish sinners for their bad choices and reward saints for their good choices. If our choices aren’t made freely, why should God punish or reward us for them?” To prove this is false, Harari argues: “This myth has little to do with what science now teaches us about Homo sapiens and other animals… You cannot decide what desires you have. You don’t decide to be introvert or extrovert, easy-going or anxious, gay or straight. Humans make choices – but they are never independent choices. Every choice depends on a lot of biological, social and personal conditions that you cannot determine for yourself. I can choose what to eat, whom to marry and whom to vote for, but these choices are determined in part by my genes, my biochemistry, my gender, my family background, my national culture, etc. – and I didn’t choose which genes or family to have.”

Free will of classical Jewish literature

Of course, Harari’s argument against free will is predicated on the assumption that religion defines free will to mean that all people are completely equal in their respective dispositions to countless different good vs. bad choices. But that was never the definition of free will in classical Jewish literature. Rather, “free will” simply means that despite one’s unique dispositions – biological, social, and personal conditions – no one forces a human being to act upon that which God defines as bad behavior. It may be more difficult for one person to resist the temptation to a particular illicit act than another. For example, some people find the urge to shoplift overpowering, while others recoil at the prospect. But in the end, we all can choose, through proper discipline and conditioning, to resist even the strongest of urges. It may very well be that our patriarch Yaakov struggled with this idea. It would appear that his brother, Esav, had already resigned himself to act upon his impulses. When given the opportunity to choose the immediate gratification of a meal vs. maintaining his first-born role as the moral leader of the family, Esav abdicated the latter, with the argument (Bereishit 25:32), “הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְלָמָּה־זֶּה לִי בְּכֹרָה”, which we may translate as: “All of us, whether saint or sinner, end up in the same place anyway, dead. Why should I maintain this position of moral authority if morality is an illusion and there is no free will?!” He gave into the urge for food and lived for the instant gratification of the moment. Esav’s very name (עשו = עשוי) implies “completed” and fixed in one’s nature, devoid of the opportunity to change. This is exactly what Harari would have us do, revert back to our Esav impulses.

Yaakov reunites with Esav

It may very well be that twenty years later, Yaakov would be filled with a great doubt: perhaps my brother Esav was right, after all. “וַיִּוָּתֵר יַעֲקֹב לְבַדּוֹ וַיֵּאָבֵק אִישׁ עִמּוֹ עַד עֲלוֹת הַשָּׁחַר” The Torah (Bereishit 32:25) describes how Yaakov, returning to Eretz Israel, prepared to confront his brother. He sent his family ahead, and then remained alone in the darkness, devoid of his family – his support system – and left alone to his thoughts. He began to question the last two decades of his life and the precarious future he now faced: I’ve lived my life with the conviction that there is absolute right and wrong, and yet Lavan seems to flourish with impunity despite his sinister behavior. Esav has amassed great wealth living the life of someone who follows his impulses, and those same bloodthirsty impulses may impel him to kill me. Struggling with these doubts manifests in a wrestling match with an “angel,” a being who, according to our Sages, doesn’t possess free will. Our sages teach us that this was Esav’s angel, who, over the course of this dark night tries to convince Yaakov that free will is, indeed, an illusion.

Yaakov as Yisrael

But Yaakov resists, and remembers that Hashem appeared to him and promised him Divine protection. He remembers the ladder ascending to heaven, representing the opportunity that man has, through his free will choices, to ascend or descend, to become close or distant, from G-d. Seeing that he cannot defeat Yaakov, the angel touches Yaakov’s sciatic nerve, which runs opposite his loins, representing the greatest biological urge that humans possess. This proves to be Yaakov’s weak spot, in that there are times in life when man feel powerless to resist his sexual urges. But even that “injury” to Yaakov’s belief in free will does not last long. Man may succumb temporarily, but eventually can overcome even the strongest of urges, once he sees the light of day. This is why, as the dawn breaks, Yaakov is initially limping, but then the sun heals him of the injury to his loins. The angel thus awards Yaakov his new name, Yisrael (32:29), meaning the man who struggles with G-d and with man, and eventually emerges victorious. Yes, Yaakov, sometimes the urges are overbearing, but you have demonstrated that you do have free will and you can conquer your demons. Indeed, this is why we are called Bnei Israel, Children of the Struggler, because free will is the very basis of our entire faith.

Overcoming evil

Let Esav continue believing in his deterministic urges as the guide to his life. You and your descendants will have a higher calling. Your virtue will undermine Esav’s whole belief system. At different times in history, he will hate you for it, and will try to destroy you for proving him wrong. For you will remind him that no matter how sophisticated he can articulate the argument, you demonstrate that man can always overcome the evil within. We have been dealing with the problem of free will for time immemorial. This problem persists today, and we occasionally must face yet another scandal of a religious or community leader who stands accused of being a sexual predator. The perpetrators and their behavior must be condemned in the strongest of terms. We owe the victims no less. No matter how tormented the individual may be by his demons, no one can claim to be religious and yet repeatedly succumb to their baser impulses. We have seen the horrors of those who proclaim “Allahu Akbar” and then proceed to commit the most immoral and violent acts. Even women’s advocacy groups have looked the other way when it comes to Jewish women being raped and abused. One of the reasons for the world’s persistent hatred of the Jewish people is because we never give a pass to someone who chooses evil over good. Both Yaakov and Esav always have a choice. We may limp from such experiences, but the dawn eventually heals even the deepest of wounds. That is our hope and this is our prayer. May we truly experience the healing power of the day when all evil will be eradicated, and we will feel the soothing rays of light emanating from the Messianic Age, bb”a.

Watch Your Aura

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin We left last week’s parsha with the very dramatic episode of Yaakov usurping the blessings that were originally meant for Esav. Understandably, Esav was quite upset about this, and resolved to murder his brother once their father was dead. It seems like parsha Vayetzei begins with an entirely new chapter and scene, which begins with Yaakov fleeing his parents’ home in Eretz Israel, and his dream of the Ladder while in flight. But are the stories connected? The Midrash Tanchuma states that the whole reason why Yaakov needed to leave Eretz Israel is because he had the status of an accidental murderer. The accidental murderer must flee to an Ir Miklat, a City of Refuge, exiling himself from his hometown and his family, and Yaakov needed to do the same. What does this mean? In what way was Yaakov like a murderer? Rav Yaakov Lainer and others suggest that in the aftermath of Yitzchak giving the blessings to Yaakov instead of to Esav, the Torah records that Yitzchak was filled with a great, frightful epiphany (27:33): He came to the realization that Esav was not the man he thought he was, and that he would not, tragically, play a role in being a part of the Chosen People. Imagine for a moment Esav’s feelings, realizing that his father had now discovered the truth about him. “I’m not the man they thought I was at home,” he thought. What happens to such a person? How does his behavior change?

Esav's attempts at tesuvah

Initially, Esav thought that he might win back his father’s respect. He tried, as recorded at the end of last week’s parsha, when seeing how his parents had sent Yaakov away to find a wife from their own family. Esav decided to follow suit and married Yishmael’s daughter. But that didn’t last. He must have realized that his parents nonetheless gave up on him; after all, they never told him to go seek out a wife from their family as they had instructed Yaakov. When Esav previously thought that his father held him in high regard, Esav restrained himself. Despite his violent and lustful tendencies, he kept himself in check at least when he was in his father’s presence. But now, reasoned Esav, the charade is over. I might as well live my life to its fullest and do whatever I want. We sadly know of more than one story of a young man or woman who felt “exposed” as falling short of their parents’ or mentors’ expectations. This led them to give up entirely on trying to be good and eradicating their flaws (Obviously, this is a lesson as much for the parents and mentors to be careful with their words as it is for the individuals who have fallen short).

Yaakov failing his brother

This is the murder to which the Midrash refers. Yaakov’s taking of the blessings caused Esav to spiral downwards to a life of complete abandon. He lost his spiritual “life,” as it were, and Yaakov was complicit in this “death.” Yaakov himself may have been bothered by this. To continue the Midrash’s metaphor, if Yaakov was the accidental murderer, then Esav was not only the victim, but also the blood avenger, the go’el hadam that the Torah says is entitled to vengeance (Num. 35:19). Yaakov was afraid of Esav’s legitimate call for vengeance; as a result of Yaakov’s act, Esav had been demoted and truly had suffered a death of sorts. If I am truly blessed of God, thought Yaakov, why should my brother fail because of my righteousness? This may be one of the reasons why Hashem showed Yaakov the vision of the Ladder, with angels ascending and descending. God was teaching Yaakov that there will be times when one person can succeed and others, inspired by that success, will ascend the ladder with him. There will be other times in life, however, when as one “angel” ascends the ladder, another angel is forced to “descend.” Sometimes the light of one person can inadvertently extinguish someone else’s light. But that should not be a reason to desist from ascending the ladder. As long as a person is acting righteously and for the sake of Heaven, he must continue along that path even if his bright light will end up casting a shadow of darkness upon others.

Yaakov's exile

This lesson would prove vitally important to Yaakov when encountering Lavan and living in his home for such a prolonged period of time. Yaakov needed to remember the discipline of not changing who he was in order to avoid the jealousy or resentment of his father-in-law’s household. It was also a necessary lesson when preparing to go down to Egypt with his family, as will be documented over the next several weeks. The Diapora Jew should remember that living a life of religious observance can never be abandoned for the sake of others. If there is a way to mitigate the negative fallout from the Tzadik’s ascent, Hashem will help it happen. This is why Hashem compelled Yaakov to leave his hometown. He was showing compassion to Esav, by not forcing him to live under the unbearable shadow of Yaakov’s righteousness. This is why Yaakov had to go into “exile” for his inadvertent “murder.” Just as the family of the murder victim is entitled to be protected from having to continuously live in the presence of their loved one’s murderer, Esav was entitled to live his life without the constant torment of Yaakov’s righteous presence. The story of Yaakov’s departure from Esav’s presence is thus the story of Cain and Abel all over again, and this is stated explicitly by the Zohar. Cain could not bear the pain of seeing his brother’s success shine a light on his own failure, and so he killed him. Fortunately, Yaakov fled his parents home before Esav could arise and kill him. Ultimately, if the tzadik remains steadfast in his behavior, without the objective of flaunting it, eventually those around him will come to accept and even embrace the other’s righteousness. This is borne out by the reconciliation between Yaakov and Esav, years later, as will be documented in next week’s parsha.

Righteousness and sanctimony

Still, we should all be conscious of our “auras.” We should not allow ourselves to be conspicuously righteous, if we can at all avoid it. In some yoga studios, there is a sign that reads: “Please take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.” “Energy” can refer to anger, depression, or other negative emotions. But it can also refer to the sense of pride that a person may carry for being or doing good. We have to remember that there’s a fine line between righteousness and sanctimony. If we project that sense of superiority over others, then we are provoking the ire of Esav. What’s more, even when one’s righteousness is genuine, if we can shield our behavior from the Cain’s and the Esav’s out there, we’d be wise to do so. No one wishes to be an accidental murderer or to flee to a City of Refuge. We all remember the “goody-goody” in our class when growing up, the one who would presume to lecture his or her classmates on proper behavior and who strove to be the teacher’s pet. No one likes the goody-goody, and we certainly don’t wish to project that image to our peers and the rest of the community. In our efforts toward doing what Hashem wants, our goal should be to be modest in our behavior and being a positive example for others whenever possible. Let’s try to keep others in mind as we ascend the ladder toward the final Redemption, bb”a.

Venturing Out Into a Dangerous and Deceptive World

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin The difference in personalities and outlooks between the father, Avraham, and the son, Yitzchak is quite stark and apparent in their respective narratives. Avraham’s attribute was that of Chesed, of spreading out to the rest of the world and sharing God’s loving message of ethical monotheism with the world. Yitzchak was more withdrawn and did not view his role as needing to go out into the world. Rather, when the world came to him, he dealt with it righteously. This trait becomes apparent in the narrative of Yitzchak digging wells, and then being persecuted by the Philistines for his actions. Instead of a confrontation or attempting a peace treaty, Yitzchak always avoided conflict by just walking away from his aggressors. Even when Avimelech, king of the Philistines, came to him with an offer for peace, Yitzchak did not initially welcome him with open arms, but instead asked them why they had come. They had to press him with a request for a peace treaty in order for Yitzchak to finally relent.

Avraham vs Yitzchak's personalities

Rav Yaakov Lainer characterizes Yitzchak’s personality in a very positive and holy light. Yitzchak was so withdrawn from this world because he recognized that this world is a false reality and that there is only one true Existent Being, God Himself. He chose to remain as attached to Divinity as possible, and considered integrating into the world as a form of detachment from holiness and Divinity. By contrast, Avraham expressed his closeness to God by spreading God’s message and enlightening as many of God’s creatures as possible about God. There is a place for both personalities and approaches, and this is evidenced by a passage in the Zohar. Commenting on the verse (Gen. 1:5) “God called the light ‘day’ and the darkness, ‘night,’” the Zohar cryptically states: “’God called the light “day”’ refers to Avraham; ‘and the darkness “night,”’ refers to Yitzchak.” The daytime is a time for productivity and going out into the world and influencing one’s surroundings. Nighttime is the time when we withdraw from the outside world and are left to our thoughts and our dreams. Our sleeping state is when our souls detach from this world to some degree, we are physically paralyzed, and unconscious of our physical surroundings. Our dreams sometimes manifest mini-prophecies that give us insight into the Divine realm.

Noah and the raven

We may suggest that this is also the dichotomy represented in Noah’s efforts shortly before departing from the Ark. In order to see if the world was ready again for habitation, Noah first sent out the raven. Only when it refused to fly forth and instead circled the Ark, did Noah send out the dove. Why did he choose the raven first? The black raven represents the darkness of night, and a wariness and reluctance from spreading out into the world. Noah, conscious of mankind’s state before the Flood, may have been expressing his own caution and hesitation to repopulate the world, by sending out the raven first. The raven’s actions were completely consistent with its nature; it flew around the Ark, but refused to fly out further into the unknown world. This was the trait of Yitzchak, and it has its place, when the individual feels threatened or compromised by integrating into the physical world. But this was not to be Noah’s destiny. While realizing that the world is not perfect, and that he had a natural aversion from the world based on witnessing mankind before the Flood, he later realized that he had nonetheless been tasked with repopulating the world. While he may have preferred to be a Yitzchak, God wanted him to be an Avraham. He therefore sent out the white dove, representing the light of day, a time when we spread out and make a difference in the world.

Like father, not like son

Ultimately, one has to make a calculus based on one’s own personality and the circumstances one finds oneself in to determine whether to be an Avraham or a Yitzchak. There is something else quite telling about this dichotomy, found in the opening verse of our parsha (25:19): וְאֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת יִצְחָק בֶּן־אַבְרָהָם אַבְרָהָם הוֹלִיד אֶת־יִצְחָק These are the chronicles of Yitzchak son of Avraham; Avraham begat Yitzchak. If the verse already stated that he was Yitzchak, son of Avraham, why the second phrase restating that “Avraham begat Yitzchak”? The Torah is teaching a profound lesson in human nature: When the father is an Avraham, the son will quite often be a Yitzchak. Sometimes a person’s personality can be outgoing and “larger than life.” Others around him, often the person’s children, realizing they can’t measure up to that degree of charisma and personality, will withdraw and choose the opposite way of socializing with others. The Torah is teaching that part of Yitzchak’s development into the man he became was due to Avraham giving “birth” to those personality traits that emerged in Yitzchak.

Avraham's perception of Yitzchak

Rav Lainer has a second way of reading these words, “Avraham begat Yitzchak.” Recognizing that Yitzchak was more introverted, Avraham made it his priority to foster a more outgoing and effusive nature within his naturally withdrawn child. As a parent, he worked with Yitzchak and tried to draw him out as much as possible, knowing that as the patriarch of Israel, Yitzchak would need to pass the mantle of leadership to the next generation. On a deeper level, Avraham also knew that Yitzchak’s perception of reality was more accurate than his own. Yitzchak correctly surmised that in order to be more connected to God, one needed to withdraw from the vicissitudes, falsehoods, and trivial events of this world. This is what our Sages mean when they side with Bait Shamai who asserted (TB Eruvin 13b), “It is more convenient (“נוח”) for a person to have never been created.” Yitzchak was choosing to remove himself from a world of deception that could only draw him away from Hashem. He didn’t wish to take risks and venture outward into a world that could destroy his spirituality. But Avraham, knowing that Hashem creates each of us for a purpose in this world, encouraged Yitzchak to take an active role in the unfolding of Jewish history.

Yitzchak's internal struggle

This internal struggle within Yitzchak to not venture outward is also what blinded him to the truths of Esav. Because he was withdrawn from the outside world, he knew only one thing, which was that Esav was his firstborn, and that it was therefore proper to grant him the birthright. The fact that he was tricked into blessing Yaakov instead demonstrated to him that he really wasn’t in control of his own destiny, and that ultimately, if Hashem wanted him to accomplish something in the world, Hashem would find a way for him to do so. It was then that he realized that the path of his father, Avraham, the path of venturing outward and taking risks in this world, had merit. He therefore sent his son, Yaakov, away from the solitude and security of the land of Israel, letting him know that he should adhere to his grandfather’s path instead of his father’s. This dichotomy between Avraham and Yitzchak continues to this day. There are those who prefer the path of Yitzchak, to withdraw from the shark-infested waters of modern society and to avoid confrontations with anything that could tempt us to leave the path of Torah. Others choose the Abrahamic path of embracing the outside world and, like Noah’s dove, plucking an olive branch of goodness from this world and bringing it back to the Ark of the Torah community. Each of us should introspect and choose our destiny carefully. At the same time, we should respect the Avraham’s and the Yitzchak’s among us, and accept that we all have different life paths. Ultimately, we all have a role to play in bringing us to the final Redemption, may we see it, bb”a.

Dawning of the Age of Rivkah

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin When dealing in the world of shidduchim, one must dwell on every word and gesture. Sometimes, the smallest negative comment, even a non-verbal facial expression, no matter how innocently dropped, can destroy a shidduch. Two young ladies were sitting and talking on a crowded Jerusalem bus. One said to the other, “Did you hear that our friend Yocheved is dating Motty Levy?” “Really?” said the other woman. “Yocheved is dating Motty? I never would have thought! Motty, after all, is so modern; I’m surprised Yocheved would go for him.” An older woman sitting right behind them said, “I’m so glad to hear this information, girls. You see, I’m Yocheved’s mother.” Both young women’s faces turned red with embarrassment. “Or,” the older woman added, “I could have been Yocheved’s mother. Be careful how you talk about people in the future.” The delicacy of a shidduch is not a new phenomenon. Let’s examine a chapter from the life of Eliezer, Avraham’s servant, who was in charge of making the shidduch between Rivkah and Yitzchak.

Eliezer's approach to shidduchim

After he finished relaying the entire interchange between himself and Rivkah at the well, Eliezer beseeched Rivkah’s family to perform “חֶסֶד וֶאֱמֶת” – “kindness and truth” by allowing her to accompany him back to Eretz Israel to become Yitzchak’s wife. Lavan and Betuel, Rivkah’s brother and father, responded with one of the most pious sounding responses in the entire Torah (24:50): “מֵיְקֹוָק יָצָא הַדָּבָר לֹא נוּכַל דַּבֵּר אֵלֶיךָ רַע אוֹ־טוֹב:” – “These events came from Hashem; we can therefore say neither bad nor good.” Take Rivkah with you, and let her be a wife for Yitzchak. The family and Eliezer sat down for a festive dinner, and they all went to bed. The next morning, Eliezer announced, “It’s time for me to go with Rivkah back to my master!” This time, Rivkah’s family had changed their tune (24:55). “Let her stay here for a few months” to prepare for the wedding, they suggested, and then she can catch up with you. What happened? Why, the night before, did the men agree that Eliezer could take Rivkah with him, and now, the next morning, the family was delaying the wedding? One answer might be that Rivkah’s mother was not initially consulted. In the first verse, only the men of the family consented for the young maiden to go away with a stranger. Rivkah’s mother, who is mentioned as one of those who requested that Rivkah wait a few months, had a more cautious and protective attitude, and perhaps didn’t trust these men whom they had just met. This is the difference between mothers and fathers, and thank G-d for our mothers whose radar antennae are usually up to suspect the worst.

Lavan's change of heart

Rabbi Moshe Alshikh gives a different answer. He notes that once the men promised Rivkah to Eliezer, the Torah narrative states that Eliezer presented Rivkah and her family with gifts (24:53). וַיּוֹצֵא הָעֶבֶד כְּלֵי־כֶסֶף וּכְלֵי זָהָב וּבְגָדִים וַיִּתֵּן לְרִבְקָה וּמִגְדָּנֹת נָתַן לְאָחִיהָ וּלְאִמָּהּ The servant produced utensils of silver and gold and clothing, and gave them to Rivkah. He gave sweets to her brother and mother. Clearly, Eliezer was a generous man and wanted to display the comfortable life that Rivkah would enjoy upon returning with him to Eretz Israel. But Lavan and his mother noticed that they didn’t receive any gold and silver; only Rivkah got these expensive gifts. All they received were sweet fruits and candy. Now, sweets are fine, and I’m sure they were probably the most expensive sweets of the time, like Godiva chocolates. But really, can you compare candy to gold? Originally, Rivkah’s family thought that by giving up their sister, they’d strike gold and would be showered with lavish gifts in her exchange. But once they saw that only Rivkah would be rewarded and all they stood to receive was candy, their entire demeanor changed. “Let’s ask the girl,” they said, thinking that Rivkah wouldn’t want to travel with this strange man. It was only after Rivkah said emphatically (24:58), “I’m going,” that they had no choice but to surrender her to Eliezer.

A person’s actions, not their words

In addition to demonstrating the fragile nature of a shidduch, and how egos and personal interests can sometimes get in the way of two people getting married, this whole exchange provides us with another very strong message: Just because a person says “Baruch Hashem,” “It’s all from Hashem,” and uses all the right religious lingo, one needs to be careful that the person isn’t displaying false piety in order to attain personal gain. Look at a person’s actions, not their words, to determine someone’s piety. The reason why Lavan and Besuel are not held up as paragons of righteousness, of people who clearly acknowledged that Hashem runs the world, is because of how quick they were to change their minds once they saw that there wasn’t much in it for them. Piety for the sake of gold, no matter how frum it sounds, is not piety at all.

The world and its Jews

We leave you with a final thought about this story. Rabbi Shmuel Aryeh Leib Zak of Biala, who lived in the early 20th century, looked at this entire passage metaphorically. There will come a time in Jewish history, hopefully some time soon, when all the signs of the Redemption will be upon us. Even the nations of the world will acknowledge that the Messianic Age has arrived and that it is time for the Jewish people to return to Israel. They will say, “It is from G-d! We cannot say anything bad or good to stop you. Go! Return to Israel!” But shortly thereafter, the nations will change their tune. They will realize that all their wealth and wellbeing is tied up in the Jewish people. Who will be our bankers, our scientists, and our doctors? Who will be our jurists and our accountants? Realizing that they can’t afford to give up their Jews, they will say to the Jewish people, “What’s your rush? The Messiah will still be there in a few months. Get all your affairs taken care of before making Aliyah. You have businesses that need to wind down. You have houses and other assets that you need to liquidate. Take your time; you can always leave tomorrow.”

The voice of the Jewish neshama

But Hashem will send his messengers who will tell us, “Let us go, we can’t afford to wait any longer. The Redemption is here, and Hashem has provided us with all we need as long as we go.” Only when “the maiden” herself, who represents the conscientious voice of the Jewish neshama, cries out and says, “I’m going!” will the Jewish people be able to break free of the Diaspora’s gravitational pull and finally make Aliyah. The name Rivkah, when conjugated from its shoresh (root) to a verb, literally means the act of fattening young livestock to make them healthier and more valuable. An “עגל מרבק” - “barn calf” is a calf that is very healthy and robust. In the haftarah for Shabbat HaGadol we read that in the Messianic Age, the Jews will indulge in wellbeing (Malachi 3:20) “כְּעֶגְלֵי מַרְבֵּק”, like fatted calves. In the age of “Rivkah,” the time to leave the diaspora will be up to us, since despite all the antisemitism and jealousy against the Jews, they will not willingly give us up. It will be up to us to say, “I will go. Now!” So many have already made that blessed decision to go. May those still remaining in the Diaspora hear the call of Hashem’s messenger, beckoning us to come back home in the loving embrace of our beloved Master. May we see this Redemption, bb”a.