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Parshas Bo - I Can See You By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Egypt's admiration of the Jews

The Egyptians were at the end of their rope. They really couldn’t withstand the Plagues much longer. Their agriculture was in ruins, their livestock was devastated, and all the wealth of the Nile had been depleted. Even Pharaoh’s own servants begged him to release the Jews (10:7). One would have expected that there would be great resentment against the Jews for being the cause of all of this suffering, loss, and death. And yet, not once, but twice, does the Torah state that Hashem caused the Egyptians to harbor the exact opposite, great admiration and affection for the Jewish people, before they left Egypt. The first citation of this was right after the Plague of Darkness. In explaining to Moshe what was about to transpire, Hashem told Moshe that the Jews would request items from the Egyptians before their departure. The Torah then states (11:3), “וַיִּתֵּן יְקֹוָק אֶת־חֵן הָעָם בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרָיִם” – “Hashem placed the nation’s ‘חן’ (favor or appeal) in the eyes of Egypt.” Even Moshe, says the verse, became a hero in the eyes of all of Egypt, including Pharaoh’s own servants. The second time we read about this “חן” is when the Jews actually leave and they ask the Egyptians for parting gifts (12:36): “וַֽיקֹוָק נָתַן אֶת־חֵן הָעָם בְּעֵינֵי מִצְרַיִם וַיַּשְׁאִלוּם וַינַצְּלוּ אֶת־מִצְרָיִם” – “Hashem placed the nation’s ‘חן’ in the eyes of Egypt, and so the Egyptians granted their requests; the Jewish people thus despoiled Egypt.”

Why turn Egypt against it's ruler?

I would have understood the Egyptians giving parting gifts to the Jews out of fear, intimidation, and a desire to abate their own suffering. But that was not their motivation; as the Torah states, and as Hashem had promised to Moshe at their first meeting by the Burning Bush (3:21), the Egyptians would be so filled with admiration for the Jewish people, they’d actually feel good about giving the Jews parting gifts. As the commentaries ask, how could this be, that the very people who were responsible for bringing the Plagues and all the suffering upon the Egyptians, would now be the object of their admiration and affection?! A slew of commentaries suggest that this was part of the miracle of the Exodus. Just as Hashem manipulated Pharaoh’s emotions and hardened his heart, Hashem also melted the hearts of the Egyptian people, forcing them to like the Jews for the first time. But if this was truly a miracle, I don’t see why it was at all necessary for Hashem to perform this miracle. The Egyptians could have just as easily given the Jews great wealth out of intimidation and fear, and the resulting benefit would have been the same. Why was it so important for G-d that the Egyptians actually like the Jews before the Exodus?

Egyptian soul searching

Secondly, why was it necessary for the Torah to state this phenomenon twice, firstly after the Plague of Darkness, and secondly as they were leaving? The Ramban (to 11:3) does not believe that this newfound affection was a miracle. Rather, it was a reflection of the Egyptians’ soul-searching and coming to the realization that they were the bad guys. They realized for the first time how truly cruel they had been to the Jews. They unfairly exploited them and persecuted them. The Plagues spurred the Egyptian to come to terms with their own guilt and their crimes against humanity. Their affection for the Jews was compassion for their own victims. There’s a syndrome called “Lima Syndrome.” It is “the phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy for their captives, named after the abduction of the Japanese Ambassador's Residence in Lima, Peru in 1996 by members of a terrorist group. Within a few days, the hostage takers set free most of the captives, including the most valuable ones, due to sympathy.” Essentially, it is the inverse of Stockholm Syndrome. It would seem that the very first case of Lima Syndrome occurred in ancient Egypt.

The "other"

Rabbi Shmuel David Luzatto (19th cent.) takes this one step further (in his Torah commentary to 11:3). He observes that at the same time that the Egyptians came to terms with their own evil, they also recognized that these Hebrew slaves were actually human beings. They came to this realization by seeing that one of the “gods” took a concern in their welfare to the point where He was willing to move heaven and earth in order to save them. This raised the esteem of the slaves in the eyes of the Egyptians. Whereas before, they had viewed their slaves as sub-human, they now saw them as their peers, as fellow human beings, who were deserving of compassion and fellowship. The Shada”l concludes that this is true of the human condition everywhere. The lower class is usually viewed as being “other” and ”less than” because of their poverty. But when it is shown that this lower class of people have intrinsic value, they become more visible to the upper class as fellow human beings. This is why, for example, after Yoseph proved himself to be of value in Potiphar’s house, that Potiphar’s wife started to view Yoseph not just as a slave, but also as a real “man,” and that is why she became so attracted to him.

The light of humanity

Perhaps we can now understand why this concept of “חן” appears in the Torah right after the Plague of Darkness, even though that “חן” would not become manifest until the Jews were ready to leave Egypt several days or weeks later. In this Plague of Choshekh, the Torah states (10:23) “לֹא־רָאוּ אִישׁ אֶת־אָחִיו” – “No man could see his brother” due to the great darkness. How was this Plague appropriate for the Egyptians? It was a result of their blindness to the Jewish people as being truly fellow human beings. They failed to recognize the humanity of the Hebrew slaves, despite their inherent value. That is why the Torah states in the same verse, “וּלְכָל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל הָיָה אוֹר בְּמוֹשְׁבֹתָם” – “But the Jewish people possessed light in their dwellings.” It was this light of humanity, this tremendous benefit that the Jewish people brought to society, that the Egyptians tragically failed to see, because they were shrouded in the darkness of their own selfishness and cruelty.

Lack of humanity & the Holocaust

This is how the Nazis were able to justify treating the Jews of Europe with such cruelty. Take away their humanity, treat them like vermin, and you can justify any atrocity against a fellow human being. This is how slave owners treated their black slaves in the Southern U.S. during the 19th century. Fortunately for the Jews, reparations came quite swiftly after WWII. The world, after witnessing the horrors of the Holocaust and Germany’s great defeat and humiliation, had great affection and sympathy for the Jewish people, and this triggered the founding of the State of Israel. Germany itself has paid tens of billions over the years in war reparations, as a way of paying “moral and material indemnity” for the “unspeakable crimes…committed in the name of the German people” during World War II. Sadly, it took a lot longer for the US to recognize the humanity of the black man, and that is why this injustice has lingered to this day.

Human suffering -our reaction

Finally, I believe that Hashem specifically desired for the Egyptians to have great admiration and affection for Bnei Israel, because without it, the objective of having a Chosen People would have been defeated. If the world does not look upon the Jewish people positively, then how can we possibly fulfill our role as a “light unto the nations” (Is. 42:6 and 49:6) whose role is to positively influence mankind to recognize G-d? If Jew hatred and resentment runs rampant, we have no hope of helping mankind. This narrative of the Jewish people’s “חן” is therefore a portent for future redemptions in Jewish history. When it is time for our ultimate redemption, the world will once again admire the Jewish people and desire attachment to us. We are already seeing this phenomenon in our days, and we can only pray for brighter days ahead. Human suffering may not be in our control. But how we react to that suffering is up to us. Those with a stronger and broader spirit have used challenging times to have greater compassion for the family of man, and to reduce those artificial barriers which divide us. The benefit and often the very objective of suffering is to help reorient our vision, and to realize that the “other” is also a person. Only by taking a concern for others will we be able to emerge from suffering as better people. I can see you. Can you see me? May our improved vision bring us to the Redemption, bb”a.

Parshas VaEra – I Have Lips But Cannot Speak By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

A speech impaired redeemer?

Why did Moshe have a speech impediment? Many of us are familiar with the Midrash that states that Moshe had burned his tongue on a hot coal when he was just a small child in Pharaoh’s court (See Shemos Rabbah 1:26). Others understand that Moshe did not have an actual physical impairment; rather, he was either painfully shy or he didn’t possess a full command of the language needed to communicate his message properly (See Rashbam and Sforno to Ex. 4:10). But our question isn’t how he became speech impaired, but rather why did Hashem want the redeemer to be speech impaired? After all, Moshe was endowed with so many other physical attributes of strength, height, good looks, etc. Why was the person dispatched to redeem the people specifically disabled in speech? Rabbeinu Nissm of Gerona (14th cent.) suggests that Hashem was quite deliberate in choosing a redeemer with impeded speech. The problem with a silver-tongued leader is that many times he succeeds in persuading the people not because his arguments are just or correct but rather because he has the power of rhetoric and knows how to sway people (think Adolph Hitler). Hashem specifically wanted Moshe to not have the “gift of gab” in order to demonstrate that his words were accepted not on the basis of rhetoric but because of their justness and truthfulness. This is an example of how sometimes being gifted with a charismatic trait can sometimes be a liability.

Moshe's view of himself

But let’s look at how Moshe describes his speech impairment. In Parshas Shemos, when Hashem first asked Moshe to be the redeemer, Moshe’s response was (4:10)

לֹא֩ אִ֨ישׁ דְּבָרִ֜ים אָנֹ֗כִי גַּ֤ם מִתְּמוֹל֙ גַּ֣ם מִשִּׁלְשֹׁ֔ם גַּ֛ם מֵאָ֥ז דַּבֶּרְךָ֖ אֶל־עַבְדֶּ֑ךָ כִּ֧י כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה וּכְבַ֥ד לָשׁ֖וֹן אָנֹֽכִי

I have never been a man of words… for I have a heavy mouth and a heavy tongue.

Yet, when Moshe tried to reason with Hashem in our parsha as to why going to Pharaoh was futile, he expressed his inability to speak in a different way by calling himself an “עֲרַ֥ל שְׂפָתָֽיִם”, literally, a man of “uncircumcised lips.” Why the different language? What is the difference between having a “heavy” mouth vs. an “uncircumcised” one? And why did Moshe refer to his “mouth” and “tongue” originally, and now refers to his “lips”?

The sound of silence

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, in describing how people can persuasively communicate with each other, noted an interesting phenomenon of noise. When I’m trying to speak with someone, if my ambient surroundings are quiet, if the wind is calm and there’s no noisy machinery or music operating in the background, it’s quite easy for the other person to hear me. But when there’s a lot of background noise or it’s very windy, the other person won’t be able to hear me no matter how articulate or loud I may be (just think about all the times you’ve had to ask someone to mute themselves on Zoom!). This, he explained, was the problem with communication in the Diaspora. We know, based on the prophets, that in the end of days, the world will come to recognize the G-d of the Jewish people. We even say in our High Holiday liturgy, in the prayer known as “ויאתיו כל לעבדך”, that in the Messianic Age, the entire world will clamor to Eretz Israel to hear the word of Hashem: “וישמעו רחוקים ויבאו” – “Those far away will hear and come.” But how will this happen? How will the world hear the voice of Hashem amidst the turbulent wind and all of the distracting noise of the Exile? No matter how clear that call is, the background noise and chatter will all but drown it out! Rabbi Nachman concludes that the only way for a message of holiness to break through to those far away is to first stop all of the background noise. The only way to accomplish that, he says, is through acts of lovingkindness. By showing love and acceptance to others, we cause the noisy winds to abate. This then allows the world to hear the messages of Hashem and His Torah (This is all presented beautifully by Rabbi Hillel Zeitlin in “על גבול שני עולמות”, 353-360, citing from Likutei Moharan 17).

The mouth in exile

Perhaps this is what Moshe was trying to express to Hashem: Before I returned to Egypt and You asked me to become the redeemer, I didn’t feel I was adequate because of my own internal speech disadvantages. That which is inside me, my “mouth” and my “tongue,” are impeded either physically or psychologically, so I don’t think I’ll do a very good job at being Your spokesperson. But after Moshe came to Egypt and interacted with the Jewish slaves, he noted an additional liability: Here in the Galus (Diaspora), my words cannot get across. That’s not even because of my inherent speech problems, but rather because of the turbulent and noisy air of Galus. My “lips”, the external-most part of my speech faculty, is “uncircumcised,” that is, covered over and impeded by all the background distractions of living a life in Galus. For the Jewish slaves, that distraction is in their servitude. For Pharaoh, that distraction is in his great wealth and power, and his view that he’s in absolute control. Either way, my message, even if articulated in my mouth effectively, will never get past my lips to reach the ears of those who most need to hear it. That is what he meant by describing himself with “uncircumcised lips.”

Aharon's calming nature

What was Hashem’s response? “אַהֲרֹ֥ן אָחִ֖יךָ יִהְיֶ֥ה נְבִיאֶֽךָ” (7:1). Go to Pharaoh with your brother Aharon. You will be the one to provide the message, but Aharon will be the one to clear the noisy air between you and Pharaoh. How so? Aharon represents the man who “loves peace, pursues peace, loves all people, and brings them to the Torah” (Pirkei Avos 1:12). Aharon’s soothing voice and demeanor will enable Pharaoh to hear your message. It will only be out of a hardened heart that he will refuse to let the people go, but at least he will hear what you have to say. Rabbi Hillel Zeitlin, a great scholar of Chassidus in the early 20th century, utilized this teaching of Rabbi Nachman to attempt to address the rise of Communism in Russia and Nazism in Germany that were on the horizon during his lifetime. Rabbi Zeitlin saw within these two evil movements the potential for great holiness to emerge in their aftermath, when their noisy winds would finally be abated. And what of us, in this very noisy and turbulent 21st century? Things have gotten so noisy that we can’t hear each other anymore. Even our fellow Jews are sometimes so distant from us and we from them, that we can’t understand each other, and it sometimes seems like we’re speaking a foreign language. The noise has gotten so bad, that it’s sometimes even hard to hear ourselves think. Our social media, our entertainment venues, our voice and text messages, drown out the real messages of truth and purpose.

Stop the noise, let Divine reason in

Ultimately, we should first make the effort to abate the noise. Here’s what I’d suggest: Turn off your social media, your WhatsApp, your Instagram, etc., and ignore the alerts and updates that are pinging from your smartphone. Better yet, turn off all the alert options so that you can allow yourself some peace and quiet. Make a conscious effort to decrease your frequency of reading the news; don’t worry, the world won’t blow up if you’re not watching. Don’t get caught up with the latest ideology or political movement. Try to stay focused on loving your fellow man and performing random acts of kindness to each other. That is how we can abate the noise, and how we can allow our voices of Torah and Divine reason to be heard. Yes, there will always be the Pharaoh’s whose hearts will still be hardened. But for all the others, we will be able to make a difference and influence the future. May our efforts at trying to make the world a better place bear fruit so that we too are witness to the Redemption, bb”a.

Tzimtzum and Pulling Ourselves Out of Exile By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Tzimtzum - "Reduction"

In his introduction to the Book of Exodus, the Ramban calls this section of the Torah the book of Galus and Geulah, of Exile and Redemption. But what do these terms mean? “Exile” from what? Rabbi Yaakov Lainer (d. 1878) offered a completely novel idea about what it really means to be in “exile” on an existential level, something that all of us experience at different stages in life. You may be familiar with a kabbalistic concept called “tzimtzum,” which literally means “reduction.” It describes an action that G-d employed when creating our universe. Because nothing truly exists outside of G-d, it became necessary for G-d to “reduce” Himself at the time of Creation in order to make room for our universe and its contents to exist independently of this all-encompassing G-d. According to the kabbalists, just as we are meant to emulate G-d in a variety of ways, we’re also meant to emulate G-d’s trait of “tzimtzum.” That is, I should strive to “reduce” myself, especially in the presence of others, to make room for them and allow others to have a presence, even though my tendency, as a being created in G-d’s image, is to be all-encompassing. Tzimtzum happens when man encounters the Divine. Not only does man seek to emulate Divine reduction; the closer he encounters Divinity, the more he realizes that “אין עוד מלבדו”, that one has no true independent existence outside of G-d. In his effort to attach himself to the Divine, man also seeks to diminish himself. Tzimtzum is thus a natural reaction to a Divine encounter. When a person feels distant from G-d, namely, one feels in “exile,” this instinct for tzimtzum begins to disappear.

Yosef's Death & Exile

When looking at the opening to the whole story of our ancestors’ slavery, the Torah lets us know that (1:6) “וַיָּ֤מָת יוֹסֵף֙ וְכָל־אֶחָ֔יו וְכֹ֖ל הַדּ֥וֹר הַהֽוּא:” – Yoseph, his brothers, and their entire generation passed away. Only after Yoseph died did true exile begin, because even in Egypt, Yoseph was able to represent the idea of tzimtzum. Not only did he provide his people with the clarity of vision to discern G-d in their everyday lives. The entire story of Yoseph being the great conservationist, in that he collected and saved food during the years of plenty in order to have what to eat during the years of famine, represents that very wise trait of tzimtzum. One type of “reduction” is to freely choose to deny oneself available pleasures and indulgences, in order that one can save up for a rainy day. One limits one’s consumption of goods, and in so doing, makes room for there being a future when those goods will come in handy. Exile begins when one no longer sees any point in doing anything for tomorrow, and instead focusing only on the joys and needs of today. These two features of tzimtzum – reducing oneself and planning for the future – are negated in existential “exile.” When one feels distant from Hashem, one no longer feels the need to reduce oneself in order to make room for G-d to enter in. One also lacks the clarity of vision to anticipate and plan for the future. The two features of “exile,” then, are rapid expansion (instead of reduction) and living only for today (instead of having a long-term plan). Immediately after reading about Yoseph’s death, we read about how Bnei Israel’s population exploded exponentially. We also read how Pharaoh was able to trick the Jews into becoming his slaves, realizing that upon Yoseph’s death, the Jews lost their clarity of vision and their power of conservation, and could not see what was happening to them.

Population Explosion

While at face value, expanding the Jewish population with lots of babies is a great thing. But on a deeper level, it represents a horizontal growth of a nation which has lost its vertical connection to the Divine. This is why we can note a fascinating contrast in population growths. For the 210 years that the Jews were in Egypt, they grew from 70 families to 600,000 families. In the following 40 years, when the Jews were traveling in the desert, the population remained essentially unchanged. Why? Because in Exile, one compensates for the lack of Divine connection with terrestrial expansion. Once the Jews left Egypt and lived the next 40 years in Hashem’s presence with daily miracles, they no longer felt the need to expand, but instead reduced their growth aspirations in order to bask in Divine light. When we go into exile, it’s easy to forget who we are and why we are here. This is one reason why this book is called Shemos – “Names.” One only needs a name when they need to identify who they are. If I’m in danger of losing my identity and forgetting who I am, my name acts as my “name tag” to remind me that I’m me. This is one of the features of Exile, to require a name so that I don’t completely lose myself. In fact, we have a tradition then once we die, we’ll be asked to identify ourselves by name, which is why we recite verses after our daily prayer that remind us of our name. Heaven wants to make sure that we didn’t forget ourselves during this life. Finally, when considering that Bnei Israel experienced this growth in Egyptian exile, we note that Egypt was a place where Pharaoh and his subjects believed that they could expand as much as they wanted. As masters of their own destiny, their ambitions were completely unrestrained. This attitude rubbed off on the Jewish people. Hashem instructed Moshe, through a series of warning and plagues to Pharaoh, to re-educate Pharaoh and all of Egypt about the need for “tzimtzum” in everyone’s life. One can read the entire Exodus story in this light.

Personal Exiles, Personal Redemptions

My takeaway from this very esoteric discussion is that we all go through periods of Exile and Redemption in life. We have our hungry years, when we are ambitious to grow and make a name for ourselves. This hunger is borne from a deep-seated desire to connect with something much larger than ourselves, and when we fail to clearly see that Divine source, we compensate for it by trying to fill the void with as much expansion of ourselves as possible. This void can be addressed quite directly through overeating, which leads to a literal expansion of one’s body. But there are other ways to fill that void, sometimes in even more harmful ways. The pursuit of fame, of fortune, or even the pursuit of alcohol, cannabis, and other mind-altering drugs to deaden the pain of that void are all symptoms of exile. When we go through these iterations of exile, it’s easy to forget who we really are. But then, we have periods in life, usually as we get older and start to gain more clarity of vision, when we realize that there is greater glory to our lives when we reduce ourselves so that we can receive the Divine light. We don’t eliminate our ambitions entirely, but we’re able to put them into the perspective they deserve of being a secondary priority to the real objective, which is to walk humbly before G-d. The goal, of course, is to work towards redeeming ourselves from exile. At times we undergo experiences in life that help to shake us out of our exilic state. The experience can be of a very personal nature, such as an illness or a breakdown of a relationship. Other times, the experience can occur on a societal level, impacting an entire population. During the pandemic, we were forced to undergo some level of “tzimtzum” despite being in Exile. Our material freedoms and luxuries were curtailed, and we were forced to take stock of social systems and structures that we had taken for granted for decades. We were shaken awake from our stupor and confusion so that we could regain clarity about our very purpose. Rav Lainer concludes his thought with a consoling prospect: The prophet Zechariah calls the Exile a “planting” of the Jewish people among the nations (Zech. 10:9). When you plant a seed, you expect it to rot and decompose before germinating and growing into something much larger and grander than the original seed. Being placed in exile is a necessary preparatory stage that will bring us to Redemption. Although we may expand and lose our connection with G-d, it is ultimately to allow us to reconnect and reduce ourselves before Him in the future. Let’s repair the acrimony borne amidst the stresses of daily living. Let’s all become reconnected with the Divine and experience Redemption. May we all see it writ large, bb”a.

Blessings, Curses, and More By Sarah Rudolph In this week’s parsha, after 17 years in Egypt, Yaakov knows his death is approaching and he summons his sons: “Gather, and I will tell you what will happen to you in the end of days” (Bereishit 49:1). Typically, we refer to the ensuing verses as “Yaakov’s blessings” – often studied in comparison to the blessings Moshe offered before his death, as both Yaakov and Moshe address each of the sons/tribes individually. However, it is not so clear to even a casual reader that what Yaakov said to his sons constituted “blessings.” When it comes to Moshe, the Torah is very specific in introducing his speech: “This is the blessing which Moshe, man of God, blessed the children of Israel before he died” (Devarim 33:1) – but Yaakov’s statements to his sons are not introduced with such a definitive label, for good reason.

With Blessings Like These…

True, Yaakov starts on a positive note: “Reuven, my firstborn, my strength…!” But in the very next verse, Reuven is called unstable and reminded of his disgraceful behavior with regard to his father’s intimate life. Shimon and Levi are described as a violent pair with whom their father does not even wish to associate; he goes so far as to curse their anger and predict they will be scattered. Most of the sons do receive words of praise and blessings for the future; one notable example is Yehuda, who is told at length that his brothers will recognize him, his enemies will bow to him, the scepter will belong to him, etc. Yosef’s blessing actually contains the word “blessing,” more than once, and seems fairly effusively positive (whatever exactly it means) – but we already knew he was a favorite. Others seem a bit more mundane and/or brief, even negative, or too poetically obscure to characterize with ease (see: abundant exegetical comments on each, spanning the past thousands of years). On the other hand, while Yaakov’s words are not introduced as blessings, they do seem to be summarized as such. Immediately after he addresses Binyamin, the Torah states:

All these were the tribes of Israel, twelve, and this is what their father spoke to them, and he blessed them; each according to his blessing, he blessed them. (Bereishit 49:28)

Three uses of the word “bless” in one sentence – seems pretty clear. But how are we to understand this characterization? Perhaps simply by reading, and punctuating (outlining?), more carefully.

Where are the blessings?

Ibn Ezra comments on the initial verse:

“What will happen to you” – The prophet spoke of the future. And those who say these are blessings, because [of the verse at the end], err – for where are the blessings of Reuven and Shimon and Levi? [Rather,] “and this is what their father spoke to them” refers to what he said by way of prophecy, and afterwards he blessed them, and Scripture does not mention [what he said in] the blessings.

We may have assumed that verse 28 is a summary, but Ibn Ezra tells us there’s more to it: it is both a summary and new information. It notes that Yaakov said the above to his sons, to share the futures in store for them, and adds that he blessed them, individually, as well.

And you get a blessing! And you get a blessing!

Beyond the importance of taking care with syntax – as attentive readers, and also as writers aiming for clarity – I think there is more to glean from highlighting the distinction between Yaakov’s predictions and his blessings. For instance, consider the fact that both are presented: the truths, even the hard ones, of character and destiny – and also the giving of blessings, suited to each individual but not limited by character or destiny. Everyone does get a blessing, regardless of what else they need to hear. And perhaps there is also significance in the fact that the Torah spells out the predictions but not the blessings. After all, these twelve are both the Tribes of Israel and Yaakov’s own sons. Blessing one’s child can be a very personal, loving moment, and while there are things about these twelve individuals – even some personal things – that we all need to hear, perhaps there were things Yaakov wanted to say to his children that are none of our business. All we need to know is that he blessed them, each of them. And so should we, with our children, “each according to his blessing,” as we know and love them.

Words and Feelings By Sarah Rudolph The story of Yosef and his brothers offers a particularly poignant window into the very real emotional lives of our biblical ancestors. These emotions are described in words, as when the Torah first states outright that the brothers hated Yosef, and are also expressed in actions, as when their hatred is illustrated by the fact that they were unable to speak peaceably to him (Bereishit 37:4-5).

Show or tell?

They say actions speak more loudly than words. Certainly, Yehuda’s quiet assumption of responsibility for Binyamin, and his bold appeal to the Egyptian leader, provide a more vibrant picture than a simple statement that “Yehuda repented” could have conveyed. Yosef’s repeated struggles to hide his tears are similarly indicative, showing us rather than telling us that he is deeply moved by his brothers’ presence. On the other hand, the challenge in reading actions rather than explicit statements is that their meaning is less, well, explicit. We know the reason the brothers couldn’t speak nicely to Yosef was that they hated him, because we are told. But what exactly motivated Yehuda’s later actions? Was it regret over selling Yosef, and/or over causing Yaakov grief? Was it love for Binyamin? Was it simply a practical strategy to survive the famine? What exactly was behind Yosef’s tears? Was he happy to see his beloved brothers? Was he reliving the pain of what they had done to him? Was he reminded of their father and his love for him? Was it all this and more? Commentators address these questions with a variety of explanations that truly illustrates the existence of “seventy [i.e., many] faces to the Torah.”

Left Speechless

One such example in t his week’s parsha is the description of the brothers’ reaction when Yosef finally revealed his tears and identity, and his brothers “were not able to answer him, because nivhalu before him” (45:3). There are a number of possible translations for nivhalu: shocked, confused, overwhelmed, alarmed, scared… Even once we choose a word, the meaning is still not obvious. What exactly did the brothers feel at this momentous reveal, and why did that make them unable to respond to Yosef?

Shame?

Were they silenced by shame, as Rashi suggests? If so, why? Because they sold him, as in Radak? Or perhaps more deeply, because Yosef sent everyone else out before identifying himself and discussing their past, and they realized that he was protecting them from public embarrassment and that he loved them despite what they had done? (Inspired by R. Eliyahu Mizrachi’s comments on Rashi, though not quite what he says.)

Fear?

Or was it fear? Perhaps, as Malbim suggests, nivhalu indicates a trembling fear of revenge, “as if he had said: Is my father still alive despite the troubles you caused him?!” After all, Yosef knew from previous conversations that Yaakov was alive; why ask a question to which he knew the answer, if not to make a harsh point and perhaps introduce harsh retribution? In fact, the Gemara (Chagiga 4b) takes the brothers’ reaction in this verse as a small-scale model of the visceral fear we might expect to feel when facing God on judgment day – and as a reminder to consider our actions in that light. Alternatively, perhaps they were simply shocked. As a favorite joke from my youth had it: What did Benjamin Franklin say when he discovered electricity? Nothing; he was too shocked! Perhaps nivhalu simply means the brothers, too, were simply too shocked, and needed time to collect themselves and speak. (On a similar note, see Da’at Zekenim in the name of R. Yosef Kara: “They believed and didn’t believe.”)

Talking Through It

With the brothers rendered speechless, for whichever reason(s), Yosef calls them closer and speaks to them more fully, comfortingly, about their sale of him and how he views it. And finally, after he speaks at greater length and tearfully embraces each brother, “afterwards, his brothers spoke with him” (45:15). (Here, too, one must understand how and why they no longer nivhalu; how did Yosef’s further words help them past whatever it was they were feeling?) However we understand the details, the bottom line that stands out to me here goes back all the way to the beginning of the story, when “they were unable to speak peaceably to him.” They’ve been through a great deal, together and apart and together, and it will not be all smooth sailing in the relationship from this point on, either. But whatever exactly they have felt at various moments and whatever emotions are still to come – at least, finally, they can talk to each other.