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Peninim on the Torah by Rabbi A. Leib Scheinbaum - Parshas Shemos

Yosef died, and all his brothers and that entire generation. (1:6) Sforno comments that, as long as any member of the original generation that had descended with Yaakov Avinu to Egypt was still alive, the present generation was able to maintain the proper spiritual level. Once they were gone, however, the spiritual decline which led to slavery and persecution accelerated. In his commentary to Shemos 6:16, Rashi teaches that, as long as a member of the original group of immigrants was alive, the Jews enjoyed freedom. The slavery commenced with the demise of the last one. This seems inconsistent with Rashi's commentary to the beginning of Parashas Vayechi (Bereishis 47:28), where he describes Vayechi as a parsha setumah, closed parsha. He explains that the lack of the nine-letter spacing that usually divides the previous parsha (Vayigash) from the next one reflects a condition which teaches us something about the Jewish People's mood when the Patriarch died. At that moment their hearts were "closed", in anticipation of the persecution and suffering that would be their lot immediately following his death. If, in fact, the shibud, enslavement, did not begin until everyone had passed on, why were they so overcome by the exile? Indeed, Yaakov sought to reveal to them the source of hope, the end to the exile, but was prevented from doing so by Hashem. Were they enslaved - or not?

Horav Dov Schwartzman, zl, distinguishes between two forms of shibud, enslavement. The Torah teaches us, Vayechi Yaakov b'eretz Mitrayim, "And Yaakov lived in the land of Egypt." What does "living" in Egypt mean? The Rosh Yeshivah explains that Yaakov Avinu lo meis, "Yaakov did not die." An eternal trait of our Patriarch, Yaakov, transcends the galus, bitter exile. This ability to rise above the exile, to maintain a sense of fidelity to Hashem, to continue hoping for redemption and waiting for it daily, is intrinsic to Vayechi Yaakov. The Patriarch saw beyond the pain, perceived beyond the troubles, because his life source was Hashem. Yaakov's inextricable bond to the Almighty was an enduring quality, which he infused in his descendants throughout the generations. Vayechi Yaakov b'eretz Mitzrayim is the catchphrase for Jewish transcendence in the diaspora, for the almost daily confrontation with adversity and pain. This emotion comprises our generative force that keeps us strong and committed despite the overwhelming challenges which confront us at every turn.

Rashi alludes to the idea that our parsha is closed due to two factors: The eyes and heart of the people became closed in response to the upcoming enslavement; Yaakov wanted to reveal the end of the exile to his descendants, and his "access" was blocked. If the shibud had not yet commenced, why were the people so "closed"? Apparently, two aspects to the exile/enslavement existed. With Yaakov's passing, an aspect of shibud Mitzrayim began, which may be referred to as timtum ha'lev, "stuffed/oppressed heart." Depression, hopelessness, is a symptom of timtum ha'lev. When Yaakov was alive, the Egyptians had no adverse influence over the Jews. He lived - and infused his family - with life, hope and optimism. Once Yaakov was gone, the Egyptians began to enslave the Jews. This does not mean that there was actual slavery. It is just that the Egyptian mindset took over their lives. They no longer expressed the emotions of hope for the future, and joy of life in the present that had infused them when the Patriarch had been alive.

Shibud malchiyos, enslavement by (gentile) monarchies, is a term which describes the Jew under the influence of the gentile nations; subject to their mindset, culture, habits and lifestyle. The Jew loses his uniqueness, his individuality, his independence, his Jewish selfhood. This is what is meant by the eyes and heart of the Jews were closed due to the troubles of the enslavement.

The second reason that our parsha is designated a parsha setumah is that Yaakov was prevented from revealing the end of the exile. The Rosh Yeshivah explains that it was not simply the end of the Egyptian exile which he wanted to reveal, because this was no secret. Four hundred years, which began with the Bris bein HaBesarim, Covenant Between the Parts, was the timespan allotted for the Egyptian exile. It was the end to all exiles, the Final Redemption, which Yaakov wanted to share with his children, but it was blocked to him.

Revealing the end to our tzaros, troubles, by extension, also indicates to us what is incumbent upon us to do, so that this event takes place in the nearest future. Thus, Yaakov's children would develop an acute understanding of their obligations in this life. What happened? Why did he stop? The Shechinah, Divine Presence, left him. This means that Hashem veiled the means for effecting the Redemption in a cloak of ambiguity. The people knew that the Redemption would occur. How - and when - was not revealed. We will just have to continue acting appropriately by focusing upon our responsibility and obligation to Hashem while we are in this world, never giving up hope and never ceasing from trying to bring about an end to our galus.
And (he) went out to his brethren. And (he) saw their burdens. (2:11)

Rashi defines vayar b'sivlosam, "And he saw their burdens: Nasan einav v'libo liheyos metzar aleihem, 'He focused his eyes and heart to be distressed over them.'" Literally, the phrase means that Moshe Rabbeinu "saw into their burdens." He delved into their adversity. Apparently, the word va'yar, or its root raoh, to see, means much more than superficial perception. It demands cognitive application in conjunction with the perception. To see, and not to see beneath the surface, is not reiyah, seeing.

I think that we have just uncovered a deep insight into the concept of "seeing" as evinced by the word reiyah, in its various forms. It means much more than the simple translation we accord it. In order to see, one must engage his mind. To perceive, one must think. Hashem told Avraham Avinu Lech lecha... el ha'aretz asher areka, "Go for yourself… to the Land that I will show you" (Bereishis 12:1). Here, too, the word reiyah is used. I think Hashem was teaching Avraham, I will show you Eretz Yisrael in such a manner that you will perceive what makes it so special, so unique. It is this perception that Avraham transmitted to his descendants. It is this emotion that every Jew carries in his heart, a feeling that courses through him when he experiences that reiyah of the land first hand.

Perhaps this is why Moshe asked to see the Land. He knew that he would not enter it, but seeing it would not be a simple, insignificant perception. His seeing was commensurate with experiencing Eretz Yisrael.

With this idea in mind, we suggest that this is the underlying meaning of yiraas Shomayim, "fear of Heaven," which is normally translated as "fear of awe." One is awestruck with a profound fear of the greatness of Hashem. Yiraah, fear, is related to reiyah, seeing. Only one who has a deep perception of Heaven can truly fear. In order to fear, one must see - with depth. He who is clueless concerning Heaven has not yet achieved the plateau of yiraas Shomayim. Thus, in the process of inculcating students with yiraas Shomayim, we must first open up their minds to what Shomayim represents. They require a deeper understanding of the Almighty. Otherwise, they are unable truly to "fear."

The Talmud Chagigah 2a states: "One who is blind in one eye is excused from the mitzvah of Reiyah" (going down to Yerushalayim during the Shalosh Regalim, Three Festivals, to celebrate in the Bais Hamikdash, to "see" and "be seen"). Horav Elimelech, zl, m'Lishensk, quoted by the Yismach Moshe, explains that a person was created with two eyes; one eye is for seeing his own lowliness, while the other eye is for perceiving the awesome greatness of Hashem. One who is blind in one eye, who is unable to see his own inferiority, is, as a result, unable truly to see and perceive Hashem. To come close to Hashem, to embrace emunah, faith, to be inspired with kedushah, sanctity, one must divest himself of "himself." One must realize that, without Hashem, he is absolutely nothing.

Parashas Re'eh (Sefer Devarim11:26) begins with an exhortation to distinguish between blessing and curse and to choose blessing. Re'eh anochi nosein lifneichem hayom brachah u'klalah, "See, I place before you today a blessing and a curse. Choose blessing." What is the meaning of "seeing" blessing and "seeing" curse? Does one "see" the difference between blessing and curse, or does one experience the difference?

My Rosh Yeshivah, Horav Boruch Sorotzkin, zl, explained that, before one can distinguish between blessing and curse, it is necessary that he take a close, educated look at the blessing. Is it truly a blessing, or might it be a curse? How often do we choose a path which we feel is blessed, only to discover later on that this was a road to curse? Thus, it is important to have an acute understanding of the true meaning of blessing and curse. Therefore, the Torah underscores the need to "see," to look with understanding, to apply heart and mind, to look beyond the superficial.

With this in mind, we have a deeper understanding of the concept of nosei b'ol im chaveiro, sharing/carrying the yoke/burden together with his friend. In order to do this, one must elevate his level of empathy to the point that he personally identifies with his fellow's needs. This is what Moshe Rabbeinu exemplified. When he "looked" at his brethren, he thought about - and then felt - the burdens which they were experiencing. In order to "feel" the pain, however, one must see with an open mind.

Nosei b'ol im chaveiro is one of the forty-eight qualities through which one acquires Torah. It, therefore, makes sense that the greater one is connected with the Torah, the greater is his understanding of the importance of sharing the burden with those less fortunate than he. All too often we view the gedolei Yisrael, Torah giants, throughout the ages from the perspective of their incredible erudition and devotion to Torah dissemination. They are equally gedolim and gaonim in the area of interpersonal relationships. Every Jew is their brother and sister. They sense the responsibility and feel the obligation to reach out to those members of their wider "family" who are in need.

There is no shortage of stories demonstrating this concept. I chose the following vignette, related by Rabbi Yechiel Spero in his wonderful book, "One Shining Moment." When we think of the Chazon Ish, the first thing that comes to mind is his outstanding scholarship. Commensurate with his consummate greatness in Torah was his unique love for all Jews.

The Chazon Ish lived in Bnei Brak, where Horav Yosef Kahaneman, zl, the Ponevezer Rav, had reestablished the Ponevezer Yeshivah. It was during the war years, and the yeshivah had experienced incredible growth, not only in numbers, but also in the intensity of the learning. Therefore, it was no wonder that, on Simchas Torah, the day that we celebrate with the Torah, the sense of ecstasy and effusive joy emanating from the students was palpable. The dancing was a celebration that went beyond the mundane. Each individual felt spiritually uplifted, as he danced in concert with the other yeshivah students who truly felt a kinship with the Torah. Once a year, the elderly Chazon Ish came to the yeshivah to celebrate Simchas Torah with the students.

It was a sight to behold. The elderly sage danced in a way that was unmatched by those decades his junior. He was neither a part of the yeshivah administration, nor did he hold any official rabbinic position. He just wanted to dance with the bachurim of the yeshivah. Seeing the gadol hador, preeminent Torah giant of the generation, dance with such vigor enlivened the students to dance in kind.

All good things come to an end at the appropriate time. Once the dancing ended, everyone felt the exhaustion of their para-spiritual workout. While the dancing endured, no one felt the physical toll. They were in on a different plane, far removed from the physical. Now it was time to accompany the frail Chazon Ish to his home. The sage also felt the strain. Once the dancing had ended, he realized how old his physical body was. Escorted by the yeshivah students, the elderly sage slowly made his way home.

On the way, they came upon a man dressed in clothes that would not pass as Yom Tov garb even by today's lax standards. The man looked like he just did not belong. He appeared withdrawn, despondent. The Chazon Ish stopped and walked over to the man to ask him what was bothering him. The Chazon Ish himself was exhausted; yet, when he saw another Jew in pain, he felt that man's pain. The man did not need more. He was like a bottle of soda that had been shaken up, waiting to burst through. He began with his dismal tale of woe. "I was born out of the Jewish faith. After years of study and a deep-rooted desire to become a part of the am Hashem, nation of G-d, I converted. Tonight, on the night when Jews all over celebrate their relationship with the Torah, I have nowhere to go. It is like a wedding, only I was not invited! I was alone with nowhere to go. Look at me. I look different, I talk different. I am different. I sat myself down on the street and contemplated my exclusion from the Jewish world that I wanted to join." The man concluded his sad story and hung his head down in defeat.

The Chazon Ish listened to the man's tale of woe, then asked, "Do you know any Jewish songs?" The sage asked the man to pick one of the songs that he knew and begin singing: "You sing, and I will dance. Together, we will celebrate Simchas Torah."

The students were shocked beyond belief. Their Rebbe could hardly walk home. Already advanced in years, he was unusually frail and in poor health. Tonight, he had added the weight of hours of spirited dancing. Yet, if another Jew felt alone and in need, he would gather whatever little reserve he might have and garner it to enliven the life of another Jew. And dance he did.

The man slowly began to sing. Unsure of himself, he commenced with a mumble. Toras Hashem temimah, "The Torah of Hashem is perfect," he sang, picking up speed and pitch as he became emboldened. The Chazon Ish began to dance with a fervor that overshadowed his earlier dancing. As a chassan, bridegroom, dances before his kallah, bride, the elderly sage danced before this man. The man smiled and cried at the same time, as he began to belt out the words of the song. Each stanza brought renewed vigor, matched only by the Chazon Ish's exuberant dancing. Why did he do this? He wanted to make a young man smile. The ger, convert, felt out of place without family and friends on a night that everyone seemed so happy. The gadol hador taught him otherwise. No Jew is left behind. No Jew is left alone.

The students stood there in amazement, as they watched a man, who minutes earlier had hardly been able to trudge home, now dancing gracefully with a joy that apparently transcended this physical world, carrying him aloft to another dimension - a dimension reserved only for the few, the unique, the worthy.

Sponsored in loving memory of -Aharon ben Moshe- His Neshama should have an aliyah and… We should merit Techiat HaMetim B'mhera, Byameinu. In order to see him again.

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from: Office of Rabbi Berel Wein date: Wed, Jan 7, 2015 at 4:09 PM subject: Parshat Shemot 5775 - Rabbi Berel Wein

In My Opinion

Rabbi Wein’s Weekly Blog

LOOKING BACK, LOOKING AHEAD

We currently find ourselves at the beginning of the month of January, which is the first month of the secular year. January derives its name from the pagan god Janus, who was given two faces, one looking in one direction and the other in the opposite direction. It became the symbol of the past and the future, the old year and the new one, of looking back and looking ahead at the same time. This symbolism was adopted by some of the emperors of Europe – notably, the Hapsburgs of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Romamovs of the Russian Empire among others. They employed two headed eagles facing in opposite directions to indicate their seemingly great past and hopefully their even greater future. In fact one could say that all of human life is based on this trait of looking back and looking ahead at one and the same time. The problem always arises as to the emphasis given to looking back or to looking ahead. Without being able to look back, individuals and nations lack the experience and background in dealing with current events. However, without looking ahead one becomes a captive of the past and runs the risk of being completely irrelevant to the actual world and its constant change. This problem, of a proper balance between the past and the future, is especially acute in current Jewish society – particularly in the growing section of Jewish society dedicated to observance of Torah commandments and values. Much of this world lives almost solely in the past while another substantial section of our Jewish society looks only to the future and has little knowledge or concern for our past. One of the many adverse effects of the Holocaust in the Orthodox Jewish world has been the construction of an Eastern European past that is based on romantic fantasy and invention. And it is to this imagined and unrealistic past that the current problems and issues of our society are compared to and measured. It is of little wonder that a great deal of dysfunction, disharmony and radically opposing views and contentious personalities dominate the scene. Those that worry about the future, whether of individuals, families, the Jewish state, or the Jewish people as a whole, are oftentimes accused of lacking faith. Since the future is inscrutable, we need not deal with it. God will somehow help us then as He has in the past. We immerse ourselves in the past... unfortunately in a past that never was. This type of mindset affects all of our educational systems. It creates unreasonable demands upon children and students and imposes an education on the masses meant for the elite and the exceptional. It imagines that somehow everyone in Europe before the war that destroyed Jewish life there attended yeshiva, studied Talmud and was meticulously observant of all of the minutiae of Jewish law. In making the exceptional the norm, which it never was in the past, many problems that now exist in our current society are not only unsolved but in fact are exacerbated. Being fixated on the past, especially on an imaginary past, carries dangers with it. In a fit of rabbinic exegesis, I would suggest the following. We have just completed reading the book of Bereshith in our Shabbat morning services. At the conclusion of this holy book, our father Jacob blesses his two grandchildren, the sons of Joseph, Menashe and Efrayim. He places his right hand on the head of Efrayim and in his blessing he mentions Efrayim first before Menashe. By the very nature of the linguistic derivatives of their names, Efrayim represents the future growth of the Jewish people in Egypt and thereafter. Menashe represents the past with all of the problems, disappointments and afflictions that the house of Jacob suffered in the land of Canaan. Apparently Jacob wishes us to emphasize the future while at the same time not allowing us to forget the real past that we have experienced and overcome. The Jewish people are big on memorials. We never let go of our past and in fact are constantly reinventing it to fit current political and religious correctness. That is not always a negative thing. But our main emphasis should be on constructing our future. We should be imagining what the Jewish world and the State of Israel will look like a century after us and spend less time on reconstructing what we think the Jewish world looked like a century before us. Knowing our history is essential for vital Jewish life to continue. Nevertheless falling into the trap of being academics of the past and thus disregarding the construction of our future is, in my opinion, futile and dangerous. The trick is to look forwards and backwards – especially forwards - at the same time, without injuring our necks and vision. Shabbat shalom Rabbi Berel Wein