Account of a Personal Struggle
Chapter 1 - P’shat and the Simple Meaning
Bereishis Chap. 17 - Avraham fell on his face and laughed; he said, “Shall a one-hundred-year-old give birth?” Chap. 18 - Sarah laughed inside and said, “After I am withered shall I become young? Furthermore, my husband is old.” ... Sarah denied it, saying, “I did not laugh,” for she was afraid. Chap. 20 - Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian that she bore to Avraham, laughing. She said to Avraham, “Cast out this handmaiden and her son, for the son of this handmaiden shall not inherit with my son, with Yitzchak.”
Chap. 25 - The children grew up, and Esav was an expert hunter, a man of the field, while Yaakov was a simple man who stayed inside ... Esav came from the field and he was tired ... Yaakov said, “Sell me your birthright today.” Esav said, “Look, I am about to die; what good will the birthright do me?”
Chap. 29 - Hashem saw that Leah was hated, and he opened her womb, but Rachel was childless. Leah became pregnant and bore a son, and she called his name Reuven, saying “Hashem has seen my suffering, for now my husband will love me ... ” Rachel saw that she did not bear to Yaakov, and Rachel was jealous of her sister ... Rachel said, “I have struggled with my sister and defeated her,” and she called his name Naftoli ... Raqchel said to Leah, “Please give me some of your son’s mandrakes.” She said to her, “Isn’t it enough that you took my husband ...?”
Chap. 37 - Yosef brought bad reports of them to their father. Yisroel loved Yosef more than all his brothers ... His brothers saw that their father loved him more, and they hated him ... One said to his brother, “Look! This master of dreams is coming. Now, let us go and kill him ...” They took him and threw him into the pit. They sat down to eat bread ... Yehudah said to his brothers, “What profit if we kill our brother ... Let us go and sell him ...” Chap. 42 - Yosef saw his brothers and recognized them; he disguised himself to them and spoke to them harshly ...
In many places in the Torah and in Nach, the simple meaning of the words is very disturbing. The Avos Hakedoshim appear to be prey to the same flaws as the rest of us, and worse. Their enemies, Reshaim Gemurim, do not seem to be all that bad. Hashem sides with us, but it is not always clear why.
Our teachers have taught us that these impressions are not true. Yishmael and Esav committed serious crimes; they were not just laughing or hunting. Sarah’s motivations were L’shem Shomayim, as were those of Yaakov, Rachel and Leah. The brothers thought that Yosef was evil and sat in sincere judgment on him. Yosef was not avenging himself on his brothers; he had all the good motivations described by the various mefarshim. And so too for many other stories: Bilaam was not a noble prophet, unwilling to speak anything other than Hashem’s will; he was extremely evil and bent on destroying Hashem’s Chosen People. Bas’sheva was not married when David married her. And so on.
These explanations from Chazal are not just our pious beliefs. They are true, known both from unbroken tradition and from very careful analysis of the text, as detailed in the Malbim, Rav Shamshon Rafael Hirsch, and other mefarshim. They reflect the reality of the incidents described.
Perhaps, then, the simple reading of the verses should be ignored as misleading and incorrect. But this too is impossible; a text does not leave its simple meaning [1]. The p’shat and the midrash must both be true. But they are contradictory! How shall we reconcile them? Shall we compromise, adjusting each meaning in the direction of the other? Good idea in general, if we are subtle enough and honest enough to protect the integrity of both p’shat and midrash. Still, how can we do that in these cases? Can a story of wives having a domestic squabble, or of jealous brothers striking out in pain against their hated younger brother, be adjusted slightly to make their motivations sincere? Is this not a distortion of the impression given by an honest reading? [2]
In addition to the specifics of each case, a general question arises: Why is the tremendous piety, devotion to Hashem, and learning of Torah of our fathers almost invisible in the Torah, mentioned only rarely or by hints [3]? What are we to learn from the fact that the Torah is designed in this way? What is it intended to teach us?
Chapter 2 - The Ant and the Elephant
Many years ago, I learned a fascinating fact about biology. If we could double the size of an animal in every dimension, its weight would increase like the cube of the change, by eight, for we have doubled at once its length, its width, and its height. However, the strength of the animal’s legs increases only like the square of the change, by four, for only the doubling in width and thickness helps; the legs’ increase in length does not make them any stronger. Thus, even though the animal's legs are stronger, they are less able to carry its weight, since the weight has increased so much more. The greater the change of scale, the more extreme is the imbalance of proportionate change between the weight and the leg strength. This is why a picture of an elephant next to a picture of an insect, scaled to the same size, shows that their legs look quite different. The elephant’s legs, even on scale, cannot be proportionately as thin as the spindly legs of the insect. They could never support its greatly increased weight. This principle is called, appropriately enough, the Square-Cube law.
Imagine that we want to tell an ant the story of an elephant that passed a difficult nisayon. This elephant, through tremendous effort, managed to lift a load of half a ton on its back. What shall we tell the ant? If we say that the elephant lifted half its body weight, the ant would laugh at us, and say, “What kind of nisayon is that? I lift more than my weight and carry it all day long.” If we tell it instead the actual weight of the load, the ant would gasp in bewilderment and say, “That’s a million times what I can carry. That’s not a nisayon, it’s impossible; it has no relationship to me.” We have given him the impression that the elephant lifted a skyscraper!
One more try: Let us tell him that the elephant lifted as much as he could and more than he ever knew that he could; much more than anyone ever imagined could be lifted by an elephant. This already the ant can grasp, on its terms. It might say, “The elephant must have lifted about ten times its weight. Wow!” This is a big improvement; we have conveyed to the ant that the elephant passed a difficult test. However, in the end, the ant is still seeing the story in terms of ants. He doesn’t know anything about elephants.
Chapter 3 - Yeridas Hadoros - from Elephants to Ants?
When Hashem created the world, he made it a place of both physical and spiritual aspects, of body (guf) and spirituality (neshamah). We know that its spiritual roots, its neshamah, are attached to its physical creation and link it to its source in ways about which we know little.
When man was created to be the master of this world, Hashem created him also with a guf and a neshamah. The guf enables him to deal with the physical world, and the nesham is his link to the spiritual.
Chazal say that Adam Harishon was created stretching from the earth to the heavens. This means that he had contact with, and perception of, all of the spiritual levels linking the physical with its source.
From the time of Adam’s sin, however, began the process called yeridas hadoros, the descent of the generations. Succeeding generations have less and less direct comprehension of the spiritual. Though we are still connected to our spiritual source, to a greater and greater extent our perceptions of our lives are basically in the physical world.
As a result of this, we are very different from those of earlier generations. An event that to us seems to be almost entirely, to them was deeply infused with spiritual realms with which we have very little direct physical contact. Though we are made of the same parts as they, the guf and neshamah, the vast difference in proportion makes us so different that understanding their lives becomes very difficult.
The truth is that the difference is not only one of proportion. Certain parts of their make-up we lack entirely. One case of this is the desire to worship idols, which was destroyed by the Anshei Knesses Hagdolah. As a result, our entire desire for spirituality, and closeness to Hashem, was inevitably crippled, since they originate in the same source. Thus, the earlier generations had a whole dimension to their personalities that we lack. This is more than a difference in scale. In my metaphor: Try to convey to the ant a story about how an elephant used his trunk!
Chapter 4 - Ma’aseh Avos Siman Labonim
The words of Chazal often draw deep correspondences between the lives of the Avos and major events in the history of Klal Yisroel. With our metaphor in mind, these correspondences may become very understandable. Let us say that the Ribono shel Olam desires a certain accomplishment by his creation. That precise accomplishment could have been achieved by Avraham Avinu doing a particular action in response to a particular set of circumstances. Later, if Hashem wanted Yitzchak Avinu to create the same effect, he might have to do a very different action. It would have to be different, because he was different from his father, and so were the circumstances different. Nonetheless, Chazal would be able to pick out the commonality, because actually the same event had taken place in every way. Only, a translation would be necessary, to see how all the apparent changes are reflections of the differences between Avraham and Yitzchak. As an analogy, we might imagine trying to translate a story of a trip by horses and wagon into a modern setting with an automobile. Virtually all the details would change, with a gas station in place of the bundle of hay, etc., but the essence of the story might be preserved.
Taking the analogy further, Chazal compare an effect created by one of the Avos to the same effect done by Klal Yisroel as a whole. We know that a person is like a whole world, and that, conversely, Hashem has a relationship with Klal Yisroel that is similar to a relationship with a single person. Of course, in translating an event from one of the Avos to the entity of Klal Yisroel, the changes will be very great indeed. We might be quite unable to see a comparison of a migration by covered wagon across the United States over a period of a century to our trip by one family as being anything but an imperfect and even specious metaphor. In the reality of Hashem’s relationship with us and plans for us, however, the comparison could be very real and completely precise. The details might change beyond recognition, except to the eye of Chazal.
In truth, when we say that a person is like a whole world, we are saying that the events of that person’s life are of major importance. Having a child, the love of a husband and wife, the feelings between brothers; these are of eternal and cosmic significance. So, too, are what a person does in earning a livelihood, or the way he said a prayer. The Avos Hakedoshim were people who lived their lives with a clear perception of the eternity of their every action.
Chazal say in many places that with their Ruach Hakodesh, the Avos were able to see the effects on their future generations. This may mean that they saw the future. However, I suggest that it might mean that they saw the present, and knew what they were doing as they did it. The future would be a translation.
We often have a tendency to ask why some event is in the Torah; what lesson does it have to teach us? I have no doubt that everything in the Torah will teach us innumerable profound lessons. Still, it may be sufficient to say that an event is in the Torah because it was very important, and a major feature of Hashem’s plan for this world.
Chapter 5 - Midos, Large and Small
Rambam Hilchos Deios 2(2) - There are character traits that a person is forbidden to behave with in a middle way, rather he must distance himself from them completely. Like this is arrogance ... and similarly anger ... 2(7) (Let a person not be) a quarreler nor jealous nor lusty nor run after honor. Thus said the Sages: Jealousy, desire, and honor remove a person from the world ... 7(7) One who takes vengeance on another violates a negative commandment, as it is said, Do not take vengeance ... this is a very bad midah.
From the words of the Rambam, we would have thought that these midos and the desires associated with them must be completely bad. A desire for honor must be wrong, for it is associated with arrogance. So too the hatred and irritation for those who violate our desires, for that is related to the midah of anger. The desire to pay back those who have wronged us must also be bad, for vengeance is forbidden. And we must not be jealous of others ...
It is perplexing, then, that these desires are very often ascribed to Hashem himself, so to speak. We are commanded to give him honor; presumably that is his will. He becomes angry, so to speak, when people sin. And he avenges himself upon evildoers. Is there then a double standard? Are we not commanded to imitate his ways and his midos?
The truth is that these emotions cannot be completely bad. Everything that Hashem made is good, and these emotions are part of how all men are made. We must imitate Hashem in using them, and then they are good. But when is that, when the Rambam has told us to distance ourselves from them completely?
“Someone who flees from honor, honor pursues him.” “A person should not say, “I will study that they should call me Rabbi ... rather study from love, and in the end, the honor will come.” (Nedarim 62a)
Don’t worry - in the end the honor will come! Is honor good or bad? If good, why flee from it, and why not study in order to get it? If bad, why does Hashem make it pursue good people, and how can he promise it to those who study out of love? And how can we serve from love if we are looking forward to the honor at the end?
Perhaps the answer is that two different types of honor are being discussed. At the beginning of the statements, the person has not improved himself yet; he is mostly physical, and his guf is the focus of his desires. Any honor he gets is either flattery and false or is related to his physical actions and desires. He should flee from it. However, the end of the statements is a different story. He has changed himself; he has grown. Now his neshamah is central to his life and his perceptions. Now, what he does and what he wants can be more a reflection of what Hashem wants done. Perhaps now he can even enjoy honor, since the honor is for his capacity as a messenger of Hashem and corresponds to the honor given Hashem himself [4].
The same type of point can be made for anger, for vengeance, and for jealousy. Of course a person who is angry at the frustration of the petty wishes of his body and his ego, who avenges himself on those who has frustrated him or who is jealous of his neighbor’s possessions, is not to be admired; why should we respect his desires for that which is not Hashem’s desire? Very different is the person for whom the neshamah is as real to him as his guf. For him, it can be that his desires correspond to the will of Hashem. He can be angry at evil, as we are commanded to be with Amalek, and take vengeance on evil-doers, as we see that the Bnei Yisroel were commanded to do to the Canaanim, and as judges and the king do in all generations. And he can be jealous of the spiritual attainments of others, and want to emulate them. “The jealousy of sages increases wisdom.”
Naturally, even someone from an earlier generation could still be evil and have terrible midos. Their greater perception of things spiritual didn’t stop them from listening to their own desires instead. Indeed, they had the option of “knowing their Master and intending to rebel against him”, for they knew their Master much more than we do.
Chapter 6 - Midrash Revisited
To explain each of the stories from Bereishis with which we began is beyond the scope of this article and the abilities of the author. However, perhaps we can now at least see the possibility that for people like them the p’shat and midrash are not in conflict. Perhaps for people living mostly in a spiritual realm, a simple act of laughter can denote anything from joy and emunah to mockery and Avodah Zarah. Perhaps the act of hunting in the field can be a clear sign of apostasy if done in the wrong way (but not necessarily, for Yitzchak thought that Esav was doing it for the right reasons and if so he was worthy of receiving the brachos.) Perhaps jealousy between wives can be a very deep manifestation of the desire to build Klal Yisroel. Perhaps the hatred of the brothers for Yosef can be a true hatred of evil as perceived and a fear of being cast away by Hashem, and lead to a decision L’shem Shomayim to destroy the evil-doer. And perhaps Yosef’s treatment of them can be L’shem Shomayim also, as the mefarshim explain. All this without leaving the simple meaning of the verses, only that our perception of what they were doing must be affected by the difference between them and us.
In the examples cited, perhaps the p’shat would describe the physical acts that took place, and the more subtle reading of midrash would be needed to illuminate the spiritual nature of the acts, for good or for evil. However, other examples may not follow such a simple rule. For example, in the incident of Reuven and Bilhah or of David and Bas-Sheva, Chazal have taught us that the simple reading rather indicates the spiritual aspects of what happened, and the midrash tells us the actual events.
It seems to me that when we see a large discrepancy between the simple reading and the midrash of Chazal, that this should be a warning signal to us. We must not pick one or the other, for the p’shat must be true, and the midrash is based on subtle reading of the text and is true also. We also should not choose a false compromise wherein both meanings are perverted, unless a true mesh of the two is honestly possible. Rather, such contradictions should be taken to show us that we are dealing with people very different from us, at a level of spirituality at which both meanings are true and do not contradict.
Are we able to gain a true grasp of these stories? I don’t know. It might depend on how deeply we are sunk in our own perceptions of the world as purely physical. Can an ant really understand an elephant? Perhaps, if the differences are those of scale and not of kind. Or, perhaps, the ant can never understand, and the only route to grasping the truth is to grow and become more of an elephant. The Torah, after all, is not just knowledge, but is intended to become part of us and to change us.
Someone may think that this article is discouraging; that we are exempt from learning about things that we cannot understand. Nothing could be further from the mind of the author. On the contrary, I hope to encourage us to reopen the questions that disturbed us when we were small, to see if they disturb us still., and to see if we can use our maturity to work through the difficulties to find understandings that are honest and deep.
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[1] This phrase, as actually used by Chazal (Shabbos 63b), refers to halachic ramifications. I am using the common borrowed form, saying that the simple meaning of the verse is meaningful. Certainly this is the assumption of the mefarshim, Rishonim and Acharonim, who give explanations of p'shat in addition to the midrashim. We do not say that the simple understanding is an accidental, and incorrect, byproduct of the need to write the p'sukim in a way that carries all the hidden messages and r'mazim. Toras Hashem is perfect, and can deliver every level of meaning correctly.
[2] I am taking the liberty of calling the simple meaning as it appears to me by the honored name of p'shat. One might well say that that is the source of my problems. Perhaps the Malbim, or anyone who reads very carefully and subtly, would respond, "Certainly the p'shat is true. But what you understand is not even the p'shat and not even the mishma! There is no need to defend the nonsensical first impressions of a casual skimming; the truth of the Torah is for those who read it with effort, with reses v'zeah, striving to miss nothing and to leave no problems undealt with. That simple reading is true. Those who cannot, or will not, read like that, should perhaps better not pretend to understand what they are reading. They should just accept the words of Chazal as being the product of more depth than that of which they are capable."
This is all true; certainly we miss an awful lot. Still, I do not feel that I am foolish and arrogant for taking my impressions seriously, and even for claiming that they are the mishma of the p'sukim. They are not really just my impressions, first of all; it seems to me that everyone agrees with them. The struggle of the mefarshim, where I have seen them, is to correct and shift these first impressions by bringing more information from their deeper readings. I feel that it is untenable to ignore these impressions. The fact that the first impressions are coherent, that they form an understandable story line, albeit one with which we are at times uncomfortable, is to me a sufficient proof that they are intentional. Even this very shallow reading, then, should be taken to be one of the levels of meaning presented by the Torah.
Some have suggested to me that the surface-level meaning is intentionally misleading, given to the nations who can read it. Yisroel, however, knowing that one needs a Rebbi to understand the Torah, goes past his level to the truth beneath. (The same kind of idea, without adding the detail of the nations, is sometimes presented as the relationship of mishnah and gemara.)
I do not think that I have to justify my certainty that Toras Hashem does not contain a level of meaning that is not true.
[3] Another answer has been suggested to me: One way to deal with the problem of this paper is to say that all the uncomfortable events I listed happened only in a subtler sense. Perhaps the conversations were really undercurrents in more innocent discussions. Perhaps the events had long time gaps in the middle, and so on. If we had been there with a tape recorder, we might have missed them entirely. This is not to say, chalilah, that the words of the Torah are not absolutely true; Hashem, in his complete understanding, picked out these descriptions as the truest summary of what happened. It does mean that we are perhaps too literal-minded. Words, as used in the Torah, include spiritual (or more subtle physical) equivalents, to the point where, according to the most literal translation, the events did not happen at all.
This is the way the Maharal understands aggadata of Chazal (not Tanach) (and see the Shelah Hakodosh, who disagrees even in Torah she'b'al peh). This is also the way that the gemara (Shabbos 55b) explains the incidents of Reuven and Bilhah, David and Bas-Sheva, and the sons of Eli. According to this approach, these cases would be the rule for the whole Torah, not the exceptions.
This approach is difficult for me to accept. First, I would have no idea where to draw the line. If uncomfortable events in the Torah are non-literal, probably all the rest of them are too. Maybe defeating Midyan or Og Melech Habashan meant in a Beis Midrash. Maybe the life of Moshe Rabbeinu was a summary of the actions of a committee, or the history of a family over hundreds of years. I don't know where to stop! This is not an argument against the idea per se, but just an admission of my own limitations.
Second, we are treading here close to the line of what a believing Jew may not accept. Of course, if it is true, then it is permissable to believe it (or obligatory). Still, I am wary of the suggestion that the Torah has so few natural boundaries in its understanding, so few certainties. Doesn't being Orthodox mean anything? Except in cases where Chazal say so explicitly, I would not dare to suggest such explanations myself.
Third, a deep truth in our Torah seems to me to point in just the opposite direction. As Moshe Rabbeinu said to the malachim on Har Sinai, this physical world is the main arena of observance of the Torah. Coarse physical events are its main manifestations. Of course, all the spiritual worlds are affected as well, right up to Shomayim. Still, it is hard to accept a spiritualization of the Torah that minimizes or removes its physical aspect; that would be a watering down of the Torah's full range.
None of these objections are proofs by any means. Still, I would like to continue the search elsewhere.
The adherents of this approach have a good point, which I feel ought to be addressed. Shouldn't the Torah's main interest in Avraham Avinu be a general spiritual summary of this life, his long-term accomplishments and how he changed himself? Perhaps we ought to understand the incidents in the Torah in that way, and not as one-time events. How can half-a-dozen particular incidents represent our full knowledge of the characters of the Torah? Did he or she do nothing in between?
Let me try to answer with another analogy.
Mr. Smith is always careful crossing the street, checking for traffic. Mr. Jones is not. They each cross the street hundreds of times. One time, though, a especially fast truck rounds the corner. Mr. Jones is seriously injured and Mr. Smith is able to save himself. That event and its implications will remain with each of them for the rest of their lives, but it was actually a result of a more general fact about their behavior. The more careful person is also safer.
In this example, the relationship between midos and result is somewhat blurred, because we live in a (seemingly) imperfect world. Sometimes, the wrong person gets injured. But in the perfect world of Hashem's mitzvos, cause and effect are sharp and precise. If Reb Smith consistently strives to do a particular mitzvah well, Hashem will arrange for him an opportunity to do that mitzvah in a situation with a profound long-term spiritual impact. If Reb Jones is often careless about it, he will in the end slip into an important aveirah, perhaps with negative consequences for generations, as in the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. See Avos 4(2), "The reward for a mitzvah is (another) mitzvah...", and Makkos 10b, "If he did not lie in wait, and Hashem caused it to happen through his hand (Shemos 21)" and the whole gemara there. This is perhaps what is referred to as a nisayon, a test. (See the Rambam and the Ramban on the Akeidah.)
With this in mind, we can perhaps understand the Torah's capsule descriptions of the lives of our fathers. When we read of Avraham Avinu's extraordinary mesiras nefesh for hachnosas orchim with the three malachim, we should understand that this single event encapsulates a lifetime of devotion to the needs of others. Aharon Hacohen's joy on seeing his brother anointed over him contains within it his always being unselfish, "loving peace and pursuing it". The event actually happened in physical reality, but it also represents a whole facet of Aharon's nature.
"Dan shall be a snake on the road ... that bites the heels of a horse, so that his rider falls backward. (Bereishis 49(17))" Numberless mitzvos have been done by shevet Dan, and countless events involving them, but the entire shevet can be summarized by a reference to Shimshon, as Rashi explains there (and \see also Devarim 34(1)) with Rashi). Somehow, his life and what he accomplished in his death represents all of his shevet's failures and triumphs.
[4] It is not a refutation of this point that we see gedolim fleeing from honor. The change we are discussing is relative, and even a person from our generation who has perfected himself to the limit of his abilities is in no way comparable in absolute terms to the Avos Hakedoshim or the Chachmei Hagemara. The Avos lived in a generation where the neshamah was tremendously more accessible and closer to the guf, and thus their ability to become a messenger of Hashem was far more complete and deep than ours. The amount of honor that a person is permitted to enjoy is related to this absolute criterion, and will surely be much less in our generation than in theirs.