ויחי

Do dreams really come true?

Throughout the Yosef narratives, we (and Yosef) encounter three pairs of dreams. The first set are Yosef's own dreams, dreamt whilst still a youth in his father's home. In the first dream, his brothers' sheaves bow down to his sheaf; in the second dream, the sun, moon and stars bow down to him. Whilst the allusion of the dreams may seem self-evident to the characters involved, we must wait and see how they play out in the long run.

Yosef encounters the next pair of dreams whilst in prison. This time it is not his own dreams, but the dreams of his fellow inmates, the butler and baker. The butler dreams that he is pressing grapes into Pharaoh's cup and the baker dreams that birds are partaking of the bread in the basket upon his head. This time the interpretations are provided explicitly, and their fulfilment immediately follows. Yosef correctly predicts that the butler will be restored to his former position, whilst the baker will be executed.

The arena of the final pair is the king's palace, and the dreamer is none other than Pharaoh himself. In the first dream, the king sees seven lean cows emerge from the river to consume the fat cows. In the second dream, the seven thin ears swallow the seven full ones. This time Yosef announces that the message of the two dreams is one and the same. Seven years of plenty will be followed by seven years of severe famine.

The central question I want to address is: what is the purpose of the second dream of each pair? In each case, the same sequence of events could have progressed without the need for the second dream, as I will now explain.

The redundancy of the second dream

Regarding the first pair, the brothers had already reacted with utter disdain after the first dream. No further reaction of the brothers is recorded following the second dream. It is therefore reasonable to assume that their hatred had already peaked after the first dream. Furthermore, the first dream about the sheaves seems to actualise when the brothers bow down to Yosef as viceroy over Egypt and they are dependent on him for sustenance. The second dream featuring celestial bodies, on the other hand, seems less relevant to the ensuing story and altogether more difficult to decipher. Even if the eleven stars (anonymous in the dream) represent the eleven brothers, the inclusion of sun and the moon are confusing. Not only because, as Rashi points out, Yosef's mother is no longer alive, but also because Yaakov himself never bows to Yosef.[1] Even if we follow Rashi's lead and accept that dreams always contain some red herrings, this merely strengthens the question: what is the premium of the second dream?

With respect to the second pair involving the baker and butler, would it not have been sufficient for Yosef to correctly interpret the butler's dream? Why did Yosef have to kill the baker to prove himself? Though one might argue that the butler's dream on its own was relatively simple to interpret, this could have been tackled by complicating the butler's dream rather than introducing a new character who is never seen again. Perhaps interpreting two dreams was necessary to build Yosef's credentials as a master interpreter of dream pairs, yet this simply shifts the question over to the significance of the next pair.

In the case of Pharaoh, the second dream's solution is an anti-climax altogether. Whilst the Torah expends effort to detail two dreams with different symbols and subtle wording changes, Yosef seems to dismiss all the nuance and declares them to be the same ('one dream'). All this is after the butler had stressed Yosef's ability to distinguish between similar dreams. What was in fact the purpose of the repetition, according to Yosef?

וְעַל הִשָּׁנוֹת הַחֲלוֹם אֶל־פַּרְעֹה פַּעֲמָיִם כִּי־נָכוֹן הַדָּבָר מֵעִם הָאֱלֹהִים וּמְמַהֵר הָאֱלֹהִים לַעֲשֹׂתוֹ׃ (מ"א:לב)

Yosef declares that the significance of the pair is that events will certainly come to pass and commence shortly. Yet if this was the entire point, would it not have made more sense for the same dream to repeat? Why the need for different dreams?

To summarise the problem. In each case, it is difficult to discern the added value of the second dream as it appears to have no narrative significance. The principle of Chekhov's gun tells us that if a gun features in a scene, we must expect it to be fired or used at some point. Otherwise, it should not be there. What, therefore, is the purpose of the second dream or the ulterior reason for the pairing of the dreams?

Baker and butler – one word separating life and death

The endings of the baker and butler could not be more different. Yet it is critical to stress that their disparate outcomes arrive as an unexpected twist. When they first appear on the scene, the baker and the butler are grouped together as an inseparable pair:

וַיְהִי אַחַר הַדְּבָרִים הָאֵלֶּה חָטְאוּ מַשְׁקֵה מֶלֶךְ־מִצְרַיִם וְהָאֹפֶה לַאֲדֹנֵיהֶם לְמֶלֶךְ מִצְרָיִם׃ וַיִּקְצֹף פַּרְעֹה עַל שְׁנֵי סָרִיסָיו עַל שַׂר הַמַּשְׁקִים וְעַל שַׂר הָאוֹפִים׃ (בראשית מ':א-ב)

The Torah does not provide any hint as to the nature of their crime and whether they transgressed separately in two unrelated acts or conspired together. Nevertheless, since they are imprisoned together for an unspecified crime against the king, the unbiased reader would assume (at this stage at least) that they also acted together.[2]

As the Talmud (TB Megilla 13b) notes, the scene parallels that of Bigtan and Teresh in Megillat Esther who jointly conspired against the king.[3] Just like in the Megillah the two servants conspired together, the same appears to be the case here. The equating of the two servants advances further when they even seem to dream together, jointly referring to their dream in the singular:

וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֵלָיו חֲלוֹם חָלַמְנוּ וּפֹתֵר אֵין אֹתוֹ.. (מ':ח)

If indeed they are assumed to have plotted together, we would expect their fate to be one and the same, as was the case for Bigtan and Teresh. But here their paths unexpectedly diverge.

The butler relays his dream to Yosef who predicts that the butler will be restored to his former glory.

וַיֹּאמֶר לוֹ יוֹסֵף זֶה פִּתְרֹנוֹ שְׁלֹשֶׁת הַשָּׂרִגִים שְׁלֹשֶׁת יָמִים הֵם׃ בְּעוֹד  שְׁלֹשֶׁת יָמִים יִשָּׂא פַרְעֹה אֶת־רֹאשֶׁךָ... (מ':יב-יג)

Upon hearing of the butler's good fortune, the baker is keen to share his dream as well. On the surface, the dreams are indeed similar, and Yosef's interpretation begins with identical words. One word though is added which signifies the difference between life and death.

וַיַּעַן יוֹסֵף וַיֹּאמֶר זֶה פִּתְרֹנוֹ שְׁלֹשֶׁת הַסַּלִּים שְׁלֹשֶׁת יָמִים הֵם׃ בְּעוֹד שְׁלֹשֶׁת יָמִים יִשָּׂא פַרְעֹה אֶת־רֹאשְׁךָ ... מֵעָלֶיךָ (מ':יח-יט)

Whilst the butler's head will be raised in the sense of ascendancy, the baker's head will be removed from upon him, meaning he will be hanged. Apart from a masterful but cruel twist, what is gained by this mode of presentation? I would like to suggest that an important life lesson is imparted to Yosef via the dreams, specifically the fact of the pair.

From an identical starting point, two very different paths emerge, one leads to life and the other leads to death. What determines the path each one will follow? The difference between the two is that in butler's dream he was actively squeezing the grapes into Pharaoh's cup, whereas in the baker's dream he was passive. Instead of serving the bread, the birds came to feed whilst he was stationary. It was the passivity of the baker which indicated to Yosef that he was dead.[4] One might go as far to say that it is only by way of contrast to the butler's dream that Yosef understood the implication of the baker's dream. Precisely because everything was so similar, the difference became apparent.

The all-important lesson Yosef derives is that someone who is passive cannot serve, and someone who does not serve cannot be a master (sar).[5] Like the baker, such a person is a dead man walking, either literally or metaphorically. We do not know whether the dreams represented the character traits of the baker and butler which might explain their different verdicts, but it is not relevant. At the end of the day, these are secondary characters. It is the messaging which Yosef absorbs through the dreams which is the real story.

Pharaoh's second dream – corroboration or subversion?

The distinction Yosef draws between the baker and butler's dreams is of supreme importance when it comes to Pharaoh's dreams. Many scholars are surprised by Yosef's audacity to provide unsolicited advice to the king on how to manage his kingdom in light of the dreams. Equally astounding though, is that the advice itself undermines the veracity of the dream. In Pharaoh's first dream, the seven lean cows consume the fat cows, yet their appearance remains unchanged as though nothing happened. This symbolises that the famine will be of such severity that the years of plenty will be entirely forgotten. This is precisely what Yosef ensures does not happen. By storing the grain through the years of plenty he ensures that the good years are preserved. On the contrary, the years of plenty will supply the years of famine.

We need only be surprised, however, if we focus exclusively on the first dream of the cows. The second dream about the ears of grain does not share this ominous allusion. In the second dream, the thin ears engulf the full ears and then the dream ends. If we focus on this dream instead, then the consumption of the full ears need not be seen in a negative light. Rather, it can be seen as suggesting exactly what Yosef proposes. The years of plenty will sustain the years of famine. The consumption featured in the dream represents sustenance rather than displacement. This can be discerned from the second dream which uses grain as the symbol for famine instead of the more indirect and obscure symbol of the cows. Grain can be gathered and stored, whereas cows cannot.[6]

The tragic conclusion of the first dream is therefore averted in the second dream. Yosef declares it is 'one dream' in the sense of a single event but, like the 'one dream' of the butler and baker, it may conclude in two very different ways. Which way is dependent on the interpretation adopted and the chosen course of action. If they act proactively and with responsibility, the outcome of the second dream can prevail over the first dream. Hence Yosef's advice is an organic part of the interpretation of the dreams which sets out the alternative ending suggested by the second dream.

Back to Yosef's dreams

This sets the stage for the reevaluation of Yosef's own dreams. Yosef's character clearly develops as his life unfolds. Like Yehudah, the Yosef at the end of the story is not the same Yosef as at the start. In his youth, he is slandering his brothers, dreaming of greatness, and lacking sensitivity and self-awareness in relaying the content of the dreams to his jealous brothers. At least these are the characteristics which the Torah chooses to highlight to us. By the end, he is responsible, sensitive and forgiving. Unlike the personal story of Yehudah, though, it is difficult to pinpoint a precise turning point in Yosef's life as he experiences a number of false starts. Through the dreams, however, we are provided with a window into Yosef's evolving mindset.

As he matures and learns from the other dreams, Yosef understands that his own dreams represent two alternative paths rather than two predetermined events. Both dreams predict that he will assume a position of power, the question left open relates to its scope and nature. In the first dream, Yosef is actively working alongside the brothers in the field. His sheaf rises up over the others and the other sheafs bow down. The dream predicts economic supremacy on the one hand, and dependency on the other. The power is limited and purposeful. Yosef can utilise his position to sustain and save others.

But as we know, power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. In the second dream, Yosef is not active and not represented by any symbol. It is not just eleven stars (which would parallel the first dream), but also the sun and the moon. These celestial bodies – the same ones which God assigned to 'rule' in the day and the night (see Bereishit 1:18) - are bowing down to Yosef. That is suggestive of a higher order of power bordering on omnipotence. This is a major and concerning development, yet it is a potential outgrowth of the first dream. At the end of the day, Yosef is presented with two models of leadership, and he must determine which one will define him.

The sheaf of Yosef rises up as he becomes viceroy over Egypt charged with the allocation of grain across the region. Like everyone else, the brothers become economically dependent on him during the famine and even bow down to him. The first dream has been fulfilled. At the end of Sefer Bereishit, the opportunity to realise the second dream now presents itself. The brothers offer themselves as slaves due to their guilt for what they did, and the fear of what Yosef can now to do to them:

וַיִּרְאוּ אֲחֵי־יוֹסֵף כִּי־מֵת אֲבִיהֶם וַיֹּאמְרוּ לוּ יִשְׂטְמֵנוּ יוֹסֵף וְהָשֵׁב יָשִׁיב לָנוּ אֵת כׇּל־הָרָעָה אֲשֶׁר גָּמַלְנוּ אֹתוֹ׃

...וַיֵּלְכוּ גַּם־אֶחָיו וַיִּפְּלוּ לְפָנָיו וַיֹּאמְרוּ הִנֶּנּוּ לְךָ לַעֲבָדִים׃ (נ':טו-יח)

But Yosef has no interest in domination. Instead of exploiting his power, Yosef focuses on his responsibility:

וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם יוֹסֵף אַל־תִּירָאוּ כִּי הֲתַחַת אֱלֹהִים אָנִי׃ וְאַתֶּם חֲשַׁבְתֶּם עָלַי רָעָה אֱלֹהִים חֲשָׁבָהּ לְטֹבָה לְמַעַן עֲשֹׂה כַּיּוֹם הַזֶּה לְהַחֲיֹת עַם־רָב׃ וְעַתָּה אַל־תִּירָאוּ אָנֹכִי אֲכַלְכֵּל אֶתְכֶם וְאֶת־טַפְּכֶם... (נ':יט-כא)

If Yosef's inflated self-perception in the second dream put him in God's place, then this possibility is now firmly rejected in the rhetorical response '…am I in place of God?'. Another point Yosef seems to have internalised in Pharaoh's house is that there is always a king above him and he is only ever 'second in command'.

'Power is not about control; it's about service' a wise man once said. Yosef determines that he will follow the path of the first dream and not succumb to the allure of power promised by the second dream. He has learnt that not all dreams need to come true.[7]

 

  

 

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[1] Many commentators consider the bowing of Yaakov in 47:31 as expressing gratitude towards God rather than Yosef (see Ibn Ezra, Seforno; cf. Rashi, Rashbam).

[2] Jonathan Grossman, Yosef: Sippuram Shel Chalomot (Yediot Ahronoth, 2021), p172.

[3] This is one of dozens of parallels between the Megillah and the story of Yosef. This specific example continues when, in both stories, the sin/conspiracy of the two servants is recalled when the king is unable to sleep.

[4] Grossman (p174) makes the point that birds in Egyptian mythology were strongly associated with the pharaohs. Horus, for example, usually depicted as a falcon or as a man with a falcon's head, was the divine protector of the reigning pharaoh, and the pharaohs were considered to be the living embodiments or incarnations of Horus.

[5] The baker and butler are introduced as 'the baker and butler, the courtiers of Pharaoh'. Yet, in the very next verse they are referred to as masters/chiefs. This discrepancy is pointed out by many commentators and various solutions are offered. In any event, the tension between master and servant is very much relevant to Yosef's own life. Perhaps already here is an allusion to the fact that the role of a true master is to serve (Grossman, p182).

[6] It should be noted that the objective narrative of the original dream (as opposed to Pharaoh's recall) does not include this element of the unchanged appearance of the cows. I wrote about the differences between Pharaoh's subjective recall and the objective narrative in a prior post. I wish to add that the symbol of cows may have been used because of the linguistic proximity between 'Parah' and 'Pharaoh'. This would also shed light on why Pharaoh is more anxious over the first dream with its possible allusion to his strong kingdom being overthrown by a weaker one.

[7] In a slightly different vein, Grossman (p602) suggests this scene shows how Yosef reinterprets the second dream in light of the first dream. In other words, the two dreams are one dream like the dream pair of Pharaoh, and not different dreams like the baker and butler. 

סוכות

The Two Aspects of the Sukkah

There is a famous dispute as to what the Sukkah represents. Setting out the purpose of the Mitzvah, the verse states as follows: 

לְמַעַן יֵדְעוּ דֹרֹתֵיכֶם כִּי בַסֻּכּוֹת הוֹשַׁבְתִּי אֶת־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּהוֹצִיאִי אוֹתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם (ויקרא כ"ג, מ"ג)

According to R’ Akivah the Sukkot in the above verse refer to literal structures built by the people, whereas according to R’ Eliezer the reference is to the ‘clouds of glory’.[1] 

In the view of R’ Akivah the Mitzvah seeks to recall the actions of the people who were prepared to dwell in primitive booths during the wilderness sojourn. Following God into a precarious and hostile environment was a tremendous display of faith and exercise in religious endurance. This aspect is eloquently expressed by the prophet:  

כֹּה אָמַר ה' זָכַרְתִּי לָךְ חֶסֶד נְעוּרַיִךְ אַהֲבַת כְּלוּלֹתָיִךְ לֶכְתֵּךְ אַחֲרַי בַּמִּדְבָּר בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא זְרוּעָה (ירמיהו ב', ב) 

R’ Eliezer on the other hand focuses the point of reflection on God’s providence which protected the people during this period. 

Indeed, the word Sukkah has a literal connotation which accords with the view of R’ Akivah, but it is also used in a metaphysical sense consistent with the view of R Eliezer (see for example Isiah 4:6).[2] Furthermore, the fact that the active party in the verse is God (‘I caused you to dwell in Sukkot’), implies that the commemoration of the verse also recalls God’s role and not simply the human act. 

The debate originates from the fact that the event being described – the dwelling in Sukkot – is not explicitly mentioned outside the verse in question. This is itself surprising since as a general rule, the Torah prepares us with the context required to understand laws conditioned on earlier events.[3] It is therefore plausible that the verse intends to convey a double meaning which encompasses both positions. The significance lies in the fact that the two views are essentially two sides of the same coin. The act of faith of man and the corresponding action of God. 

The human and divine cloud

Interestingly, this debate regarding the fundamental character of the Sukkah mirrors a similar ambiguity with respect to the focal service of Yom Kippur. 

The introductory verse to the Yom Kippur service reads as follows: 

וַיֹּאמֶר ה' אֶל־מֹשֶׁה דַּבֵּר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן אָחִיךָ וְאַל־יָבֹא בְכׇל־עֵת אֶל־הַקֹּדֶשׁ מִבֵּית לַפָּרֹכֶת אֶל־פְּנֵי הַכַּפֹּרֶת אֲשֶׁר עַל־הָאָרֹן וְלֹא יָמוּת כִּי בֶּעָנָן אֵרָאֶה עַל־הַכַּפֹּרֶת (ויקרא ט"ז, ב) 

The question which has challenged commentators from time immemorial relates to the nature of the cloud referred to in the last phrase. Some have understood the cloud as referring to the divine presence which poses a threat against unauthorised entry. According to this interpretation, ki translates as because. The overall meaning is that the priest may not enter the inner sanctum because the divine presence is manifest in the cloud above the Kapporet. In the same way that the cloud which suffused the Mishkan (and similarly resided upon Mt. Sinai) initially prevented Moshe’s entry until called to approach by God, so too the high priest is unable to enter except as once a year under the prescribed conditions.[4] 

Others have understood the phrase as introducing the strict conditions under which the priest may enter and encounter the divine presence. According to this approach, ki translates as 'only' and the cloud refers to the incense cloud. The thrust of the verse is that the divine presence residing in the Kodesh HaKodashim may only be encountered by the priest when it is clouded over by the incense to prevent direct exposure.[5]   

Though the more immediate connotation is the human action to produce the incense cloud, the active party in the verse is God (‘I shall appear in a cloud’) which is suggestive of His act of revelation through the cloud. One can elaborate on this dispute and bring proofs in either direction, but a full appreciation of the verse must again acknowledge the duality.  

The point runs deeper. There is a debate between the sages and the Sadducees as to precisely when the incense cloud was formed. According to the sages, the incense was ignited by the Kohen Gadol once he was already inside the Kodesh HaKodashim, whereas according to the Sadducees it was ignited just before he entered.[6] What seems like a technical detail has far reaching theological implications. If God’s presence was fixed and static in the Kodesh HaKodashim then the smokescreen produced by the incense should indeed be formed prior to entry as the Sadducees held. Clearly, the sages perceived the human and divine interaction as much more dynamic and integrated. The concealment of the incense serves not only to protect the Kohen Gadol, but also to facilitate and enable the revelation itself. In other words, God’s revelation is contingent on the human anticipation (in the form of the Ketoret).  

To summarise the correspondence between the Sukkah and the Yom Kippur incense service. In the building of Sukkot, the human act of faith precipitates the clouds of glory. Similarly, on Yom Kippur, the protection of the incense cloud creates the conditions for the divine cloud to manifest.

The roof of the Sukkah (the S’chach) itself alludes to this duality. The roof must be dense enough to ensure there is sufficient shade but should not be entirely opaque so that the sun’s rays can still penetrate. In mystical terms, one might say this reflects the way the primal light only becomes communicable when transmitted and dulled through a darkened lens or vessel.[7] This is the counterpart to the function of the incense cloud which simultaneously conceals and reveals. 

Given the correspondence between the S’chach and the cloud which manifests ‘upon the Kapporet’, it is understandable that the sages derived the minimum height of the S’chach from the height of the Kapporet.[8] This crossover is further strengthened when we consider that the word S’chach (derived from the same root as Sukkah) is used explicitly in reference to the Kapporet: 

וְהָיוּ הַכְּרֻבִים פֹּרְשֵׂי כְנָפַיִם לְמַעְלָה סֹכְכִים בְּכַנְפֵיהֶם עַל־הַכַּפֹּרֶת וּפְנֵיהֶם אִישׁ אֶל־אָחִיו אֶל־הַכַּפֹּרֶת יִהְיוּ פְּנֵי הַכְּרֻבִים (שמות כ"ה, כ) 

In a more general sense, the Mitzvah of Sukkah contains several allusions to the Mishkan. Most strikingly, some of the key requirements for dwelling in the Sukkah are derived from a parallel to the seven-day inauguration of the Mishkan (the Milluim) where the Kohanim were required to ‘dwell’ in the Mishkan courtyard throughout the seven-days.[9] The seven-eight day pattern, each with their unique dwelling requirement, hardly seems coincidental and invites the comparison. 

Between Sukkot and Yom Kippur

If we are to compare the key experience of Sukkot and Yom Kippur, a stark contrast must be noted. The entry of the Kohen Gadol into the Kodesh HaKodashim on Yom Kippur was an entirely exclusive event involving only the Kohen Gadol. Everyone else was a passive bystander. Whilst the Kohen Gadol was inside no one was could remain within the vicinity of the Mishkan (see Vayikra 16:17). This of course reenacts the relative positions at the time when Moshe went up to Mt. Sinai to receive the tablets and the rest of the people were barred from approaching. The gap was even more pronounced with the second set, which according to tradition took place on Yom Kippur: 

וְאִישׁ לֹא־יַעֲלֶה עִמָּךְ וְגַם־אִישׁ אַל־יֵרָא בְּכָל־הָהָר גַּם־הַצֹּאן וְהַבָּקָר אַל־יִרְעוּ אֶל־מוּל הָהָר הַהוּא (שמות ל"ד, ג) 

Yet this cannot be the end of the story. In the outlook of the Torah the entire nation is to become a ‘kingdom of priests and a holy nation’. Moshe ascending on his own can be the departure point but not the end point. There must come a time when everyone is afforded the opportunity to ascend God’s mountain. What appears to be a marginal verse within the prelude to Moshe’s ascent, contains this all-important message: 

לֹא־תִגַּע בּוֹ יָד כִּי־סָקוֹל יִסָּקֵל אוֹ־יָרֹה יִיָּרֶה אִם־בְּהֵמָה אִם־אִישׁ לֹא יִחְיֶה בִּמְשֹׁךְ הַיֹּבֵל הֵמָּה יַעֲלוּ בָהָר (שמות י"ט, ג) 

Classically this is understood to refer to the time when the divine presence has departed from the mountain and therefore it becomes permitted to ascend. I will not delve into the many problems with this explanation on this occasion. To my mind, the shofar-led ascent must allude to a time when everyone is invited, and even required, to ascend God’s mountain - in His presence, not in his absence. Far from being marginal, it sets the objective of the entire enterprise.  

I would suggest this mass ascent takes physical form in the pilgrimage festivals where everyone is instructed to ascend God’s mountain (which in the Tanakh is synonymous with Jerusalem), to encounter His presence. The pilgrimage festivals are so essential that the instruction appears no less than four times in the Torah. Perhaps the most intriguing appearance is immediately following the most intimate dialogue between Moshe and God. When Moshe experiences the highest level of revelation whilst sheltered in the 'cleft of the rock', God tells Moshe that you ‘will see my back but you will not see my face’:

וַהֲסִרֹתִי אֶת־כַּפִּי וְרָאִיתָ אֶת־אֲחֹרָי וּפָנַי לֹא יֵרָאוּ (שמות ל"ג, כ"ג) 

Despite the limits set by God, it is remarkable that in the next chapter we read about the three pilgrimage festivals and the pilgrims encountering the ‘face’ of God.  

שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָּל־זְכוּרְךָ אֶת־פְּנֵי הָאָדֹן ה' אֱלֹהֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל (שמות ל"ד, כ"ג) 

In a proverbial sense the astounding implication is that the pilgrims are privy to a revelation which even Moshe could not attain. 

But of all the festivals it is Sukkot, the climax of all the other festivals, where this theme stands out. The inclusive and universal nature of the holiday expresses itself in various ways which go beyond the scope of our discussion.[10] The aspect which I wish to highlight is the dialogue between the Sukkah and the Mishkan mentioned above. If on Yom Kippur the Kohen Gadol enters the Kodesh HaKadoshim to encounter the Sinaitic cloud anew, it is on Sukkot when the cloud diffuses to envelope the entire nation dwelling within their mini sanctuaries. The intensely personal is now all-inclusive and everyone is enabled to ascend the mountain of God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] See T.B Sukkot 11b: Sifra 17:11. 

[2] See also Amos 9:11, although the commentators debate whether the Sukkah referred to in the verse is the Beit Hamikdash or the Davidic monarchy.

[3] The Rashbam in his commentary applies this principle on many occasions to explain the imposition of seemingly superfluous details. 

[4] See Rashi’s first explanation which he refers to as the peshat. See also Rashbam and Bechor Shor. Seforno has a slight variation but agrees the cloud refers to God’s presence.

[5] See Rashi’s second explanation, Ibn Ezra and Ramban. 

[6] T.B. Yoma 53a 

[7] T.B. Sukkah 4b 

[8] See introduction to Peninei Halakhah - Sukkot, R' Eliezer Melamed.

[9] T.B. Sukkah 43a. It is also worth mentioning the view of the Gra (commentary to Shiur HaShirim) that on Sukkot the people commenced building the Mishkan and the clouds of glory returned to the camp. 

[10] For example the Hakhel ceremony is emphasised to take place before the 'men, women, children and strangers in your communities’ (Deut. 31:12). The gentile participation in the festival presumably also relates to its universal character. The sages considered the 70 bull sacrifices as representative of the 70 nations of the world. Furthermore, the inauguration of the Beit HaMikdash  – dubbed to be a ‘house of prayer for all nations’  – takes place on Sukkot (see Kings I, 8:2). Most significantly, a universal call to ascend the mountain of God at the end of sefer Zechariah, is specifically tied to Sukkot: 

 וְהָיָה כׇּל־הַנּוֹתָר מִכׇּל־הַגּוֹיִם הַבָּאִים עַל־יְרוּשָׁלָ͏ִם וְעָלוּ מִדֵּי שָׁנָה בְשָׁנָה לְהִשְׁתַּחֲוֺת לְמֶלֶךְ ה' צְבָאוֹת וְלָחֹג אֶת־חַג הַסֻּכּוֹת )זכריה י"ד, ט"ז) 

 

מטות

Annulment of Vows: Man’s Right or Woman’s Plight?

Parashat Matot opens with a set of laws related to vows and oaths. A particularly striking feature of this passage is the introductory verse:

וַיְדַבֵּר מֹשֶׁה אֶל־רָאשֵׁי הַמַּטּוֹת לִבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה': (במדבר ל:ב)

The standard formula of the Torah for introducing a legal section is ‘God spoke to Moshe, saying’, with occasional minor variation. In this passage, however, the direct command to Moshe from God is entirely absent from the text. We only hear indirectly about God’s command from Moshe’s directive to the tribal chiefs.

The Rashbam notes how he was once asked about this point:

שאלתי באניוב בכרך לושדון: לפי הפשט, היכן מצינו שום פרשה שמתחלת כן? שלא נאמר למעלה: וידבר ה' אל משה לאמר איש כי ידר וגו׳, והיאך מתחלת הפרשה בדבורו של משה שאין מפורש לו מפי הגבורה?

The Rashbam’s phraseology is somewhat imprecise as the format used in our passage is not wholly unprecedented. The Ramban makes a passing reference to two other occasions where God’s command is relayed only through the word of Moshe (both of which will be discussed further below).[1] In any event, against the backdrop of hundreds of commands which are recorded with direct speech of God, the challenge posed is a serious one and the rare exceptions warrant our attention.

Alongside the absence of the direct command, we should also note the use of the term zeh ha-davar. This is the same formula used in the other few instances in which God’s command is recorded only through reported speech as opposed to direct speech, however its contribution needs to be understood.

One might argue that the two points are interdependent. Where direct speech of God is absent, it is necessary for the Torah (for the reader’s benefit) to reference upfront that this is indeed the word of God. Yet this is not so simple. The phrase zeh ha-davar occurs in nine legal passages across the Torah and some of those instances are in fact preceded by the standard formula ‘God spoke to Moshe saying’:

וַיְדַבֵּר ה' אֶל־מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר׃ דַּבֵּר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן וְאֶל־בָּנָיו וְאֶל כָּל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵיהֶם זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה' לֵאמֹר׃ (ויקרא י"ז:ב)

These and other such examples, suggest the zeh ha-davar phrase has a connotation which is not simply to compensate for the omission of God’s direct command.

For this generation only

The Sages considered the zeh ha-davar phrase to be indicative of an exceptional/one-off directive:

א"ר שמעון ב"ג לא היו ימים טובים לישראל כחמשה עשר באב וכיוה"כ: בשלמא יום הכפורים משום דאית ביה סליחה ומחילה יום שניתנו בו לוחות האחרונות אלא ט"ו באב מאי היא? אמר רב יהודה אמר שמואל יום שהותרו שבטים לבוא זה בזה. מאי דרוש? זה הדבר (במדבר לו, ו) דבר זה לא יהא נוהג אלא בדור זה.(תענית ל:)

The background to the above passage relates to the ban on intertribal marriage introduced in response to an appeal by the tribal chiefs prior to entry to the land. Following the earlier contention of the daughters of Tzelofchad, God had issued a directive which enabled daughters to the father’s estate (where there are no sons). The tribal chiefs countered that the new law posed a threat to their territorial integrity. If an ing daughter ended up marrying someone from outside their own tribe, the ownership of the land would transfer to the husband’s tribe upon her death. God acknowledged their appeal and instructed for inheriting daughters to marry within their tribe to prevent the transfer of tribal territory.

The compromise meant that on the one hand, women could inherit land in the absence of male heirs, and on the other hand, it ensured that the allocated territories would remain within the respective tribe. Notwithstanding the happy ending, over time, the ban on intertribal became perceived as onerous and divisive. Eventually the Sages ‘resolved’ the problem by arriving at a consensus that the original prohibition was only intended for the first generation.[2] They justified their position based on the above derasha of zeh ha-davar. The day intertribal marriage became permissible was institutionalised as a day of national celebration:

At first glance, the basis for the derasha seems far-fetched. In the words of R’ Eliezer Berkowitz:

Unquestionably, such a reinterpretation of the words zeh ha-davar is extremely weak. We assume that the rule arose from the experience of the people. In actual practice, it became impossible to maintain the marital separation between the twelve tribes. Gradually, all the other laws of inheritance were adjusted either to practical requirements or in keeping with the restored female dignity in the society.[3]

Regardless of the change in historical circumstances which may have motivated the reinterpretation, I believe the derasha itself is in fact well-grounded and demonstrates remarkable sensitivity to the text.

As mentioned before, the phrase appears in nine different legal passages. A review of all these cases demonstrates that each relates to an exceptional circumstance of one sort or another. We will briefly survey the first seven and then separately consider the last two cases – the ban on intertribal marriage and annulment of vows[4] - with an eye to addressing our opening questions.

1) Collection of the manna:

זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה’ לִקְטוּ מִמֶּנּוּ אִישׁ לְפִי אָכְלוֹ עֹמֶר לַגֻּלְגֹּלֶת מִסְפַּר נַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶם אִישׁ לַאֲשֶׁר בְּאָהֳלוֹ תִּקָּחוּ׃ (שמות ט"ז:ט"ז)

2) Storage of one portion of manna as safekeeping for future generations:

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה’ מְלֹא הָעֹמֶר מִמֶּנּוּ לְמִשְׁמֶרֶת לְדֹרֹתֵיכֶם לְמַעַן יִרְאוּ אֶת־הַלֶּחֶם אֲשֶׁר הֶאֱכַלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם בַּמִּדְבָּר בְּהוֹצִיאִי אֶתְכֶם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם׃ (שמות ט"ז:ל"ב)

3) God’s instructions for the 7-day inauguration of the Kohanim and the Mishkan:

וְזֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־תַּעֲשֶׂה לָהֶם לְקַדֵּשׁ אֹתָם לְכַהֵן לִי לְקַח פַּר אֶחָד בֶּן־בָּקָר וְאֵילִם שְׁנַיִם תְּמִימִם׃ (שמות כ"ט:א)

4) Donation of material for the building of the Mishkan:

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל־כָּל־עֲדַת בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה’ לֵאמֹר׃ קְחוּ מֵאִתְּכֶם תְּרוּמָה לַה’ כֹּל נְדִיב לִבּוֹ יְבִיאֶהָ אֵת תְּרוּמַת ה’ זָהָב וָכֶסֶף וּנְחֹשֶׁת׃ (שמות ל"ה:ד-ה)

5) Moshe’s inauguration of the Kohanim and the Mishkan:

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל־הָעֵדָה זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה’ לַעֲשׂוֹת׃ וַיַּקְרֵב מֹשֶׁה אֶת־אַהֲרֹן וְאֶת־בָּנָיו וַיִּרְחַץ אֹתָם בַּמָּיִם׃ (ויקרא ח:ה-ו)

6) Special instruction for the eighth day ceremony:

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה’ תַּעֲשׂוּ וְיֵרָא אֲלֵיכֶם כְּבוֹד ה’׃ (ויקרא ט:ו)

7) Shechitat Chutz / Besar Ta’avah:

דַּבֵּר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן וְאֶל־בָּנָיו וְאֶל כָּל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵיהֶם זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה’ לֵאמֹר׃ אִישׁ אִישׁ מִבֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר יִשְׁחַט שׁוֹר אוֹ־כֶשֶׂב אוֹ־עֵז בַּמַּחֲנֶה אוֹ אֲשֶׁר יִשְׁחַט מִחוּץ לַמַּחֲנֶה׃ וְאֶל־פֶּתַח אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד לֹא הֱבִיאוֹ לְהַקְרִיב קָרְבָּן לַה’ לִפְנֵי מִשְׁכַּן ה’ דָּם יֵחָשֵׁב לָאִישׁ הַהוּא דָּם שָׁפָךְ וְנִכְרַת הָאִישׁ הַהוּא מִקֶּרֶב עַמּוֹ׃ (ויקרא י"ז:ב)

Whilst the one-off nature of the first six cases is self-evident, this seventh case requires some elaboration. According to R’ Akiva, the above verse provides an injunction against slaughtering sacred meat outside the Mishkan periphery (shechitat chutz). Interpreting the verse in this way would pose a potential challenge to the suggestion that zeh ha-davar implies a one-off instruction, as the principle of shechitat chutz is a perpetual command as it applies equally to the Beit HaMikdash as to the Mishkan. Implicitly working within the view of R’ Akiva, the Talmud is forced to creatively assign a new function to zeh ha-davar in the specific context of this passage.

If we alternatively consider the view of R’ Yishmael (which the Talmud does not), then the ride is much smoother. R’ Yishmael understood the above verse to be dealing with besar ta’avah meaning that temporarily, during the wilderness period, there was an injunction against eating non-sacred chullin meat altogether (any consumption of meat had to be in a sacrificial context). This restriction was then removed upon entry into the land (see Deut. 12:20-21). Within R’ Yishmael at least, the passage is indeed limited to the wilderness period and therefore perfectly aligned with the suggestion that zeh ha-davar alludes to an exceptional law. For reasons which go beyond the scope of this article, in terms of peshat, the flow of the passage in general is a better fit for R’ Yishmael than R’ Akiva (see e.g. Ramban).[5]

Intertribal marriage

Let's now reconsider the ban on intertribal marriage in its wider context:

זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה’ לִבְנוֹת צְלָפְחָד לֵאמֹר לַטּוֹב בְּעֵינֵיהֶם תִּהְיֶינָה לְנָשִׁים אַךְ לְמִשְׁפַּחַת מַטֵּה אֲבִיהֶם תִּהְיֶינָה לְנָשִׁים׃ (ויקרא ל"ו:ו)

Aside from the derasha of zeh ha-davar itself, there is other supporting evidence that this injunction was intended to have a limited term. Whilst not stated explicitly, it seems obvious that the ban on intertribal marriage was a concession to existing social structures and not an ideal. First, it is important to recall the fact that the ban on intertribal marriage was enacted as a response to the tribal chiefs rather than God’s own initiative. This suggests there was actually no fundamental need to maintain the tribal integrity after entry into the land. Second, the omission of the direct command from God (in contrast to the response to the daughters of Tzelofchad) may allude to a non-ideal compromise. Finally, and most importantly, tribal unification and consolidation was surely an expected and desirable outcome of nationhood. This can be seen in sefer Devarim which, looking to the future of the nation in the land, marginalises the tribal unit in favour of political and religious centralisation. Point in fact, the internal tensions recurring throughout Tanach were derived mostly from tribal competition and a constant hindrance to national unity.

As the tribal structure gradually disintegrated the necessity of the injunction was no longer required and became an unwanted barrier to unity. However, the potential tool for rescinding the injunction still had to be unlocked. The key – being the derasha of zeh ha-davar - was naturally only discovered/accepted once the value of national unity triumphed over the countervalue of tribal loyalty, thus undoing the very mindset which triggered the initial injunction. Note that had it been written explicitly that the term was limited to one generation, it would have failed in its objective of allaying the concerns of the tribal chiefs.[6]   

Annulment of vows in the context of the patriarchal society

Returning full circle to the passage concerning vows, it seems that here too the zeh ha-davar phrase alludes to the exceptional nature of the laws. Just as the law restricting intertribal marriage was a concession to the tribal hegemony, so too the set of laws which enable a husband/father to annul the vows of his wife/daughter was necessary to accommodate the prevailing patriarchal structure. This reading is supported by other textual clues.  

The passage starts off by emphasising the utmost seriousness of a vow:

אִישׁ כִּי־יִדֹּר נֶדֶר לַה’ אוֹ־הִשָּׁבַע שְׁבֻעָה לֶאְסֹר אִסָּר עַל־נַפְשׁוֹ לֹא יַחֵל דְּבָרוֹ כְּכָל־הַיֹּצֵא מִפִּיו יַעֲשֶׂה: (במדבר ל:ג)

The focus of the law, however, is not so much on the basic requirement that they must be adhered to, but to describe the circumstances when they may be annulled based on relationship considerations. That this is the main purpose of the passage is clear from the concluding verse:

אֵלֶּה הַחֻקִּים אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה' אֶת־מֹשֶׁה בֵּין אִישׁ לְאִשְׁתּוֹ בֵּין־אָב לְבִתּוֹ בִּנְעֻרֶיהָ בֵּית אָבִיהָ: (במדבר ל"א:י"ז)

With this in mind, let’s consider the first case of annulment:

וְאִם־הֵנִיא אָבִיהָ אֹתָהּ בְּיוֹם שָׁמְעוֹ כָּל־נְדָרֶיהָ וֶאֱסָרֶיהָ אֲשֶׁר־אָסְרָה עַל־נַפְשָׁהּ לֹא יָקוּם וַה’ יִסְלַח־לָהּ כִּי־הֵנִיא אָבִיהָ אֹתָהּ׃ (במדבר ל:ד-ו)

The passage does not condition the vow on the father’s formal acceptance. Nor does it actively prescribe the right of the father to annul the vows. It says that if (ve-im) he 'prevents her' (הניא אביה אותה) from keeping her vow then God will forgive her for violating it.[7] The straightforward meaning of the verse refers to a circumstance where he compels her to break her vow. At this point he does not seem to be engaging a formal annulment procedure.[8] The structure of the verse is that of a conditional clause followed by an operative clause. This formula is recognisable from other case law in the Torah – if someone does such and such (situation)… then such and such is the consequence (operative law). In the situation at hand, the girl is faced with a predicament which the Torah seeks to resolve. Reminiscent of the way God allows his name to be blotted out in the Sotah water to restore marital harmony, the girl is allowed to violate her vow (thereby desecrating the name of God) in order to protect her and the relationship with her father/husband.[9] To this end, she may follow the directive of her father/husband instead of fulfilling her commitment to God.

A further proof for this reading is the expression ‘she bears no sin’. The phrase is repeated in all three cases where the annulment is effective. If the intent was to assign a right to the father/husband to annul the vows one would have expected the verse to say she is ‘freed from her oath/vows’ (e.g. Gen. 24:8). The fact that she requires forgiveness suggests we are not dealing with an ideal situation but an ex post facto solution to a difficult situation.[10]

Admittedly, formalising the law which permits her to break her vow inevitably embeds a legal right of the father/husband to do so in the first place. Once reconfigured as such, the father/husband need not actively force her to break her vow as he can exercise his power of annulment through verbal means. This may explain the reason why the subsequent passages outlining the situation in which she is allowed to break her vow gradually introduce the concept of annulment (הפרה) into the text which eventually replaces the coercive action (הניא) altogether (itself a positive moral development). Yet we must remain sensitive to the original context which was engaging a real-life problem borne out of a prevailing norm, but not to endorse the norm itself.

Perhaps the strongest proof is in the penultimate verse of the passage:

וְאִם־הָפֵר יָפֵר אֹתָם אַחֲרֵי שָׁמְעוֹ וְנָשָׂא אֶת־עֲוֺנָהּ׃ (במדבר ל:ט"ז)[11]

If he fails to annul her vow in time, then she is bound to her word. Why does the verse say that he bears her sin? Why is it assumed that she does not fulfil her vow? Various approaches are suggested by the commentators, but I believe the most straightforward, as alluded to by the Ibn Ezra, is that he is compelling her to abide by the invalid annulment. Since we have shown the entire passage comes to address a situation where the dominant male is forcing her to violate her vow, it is reasonable to assume that the same danger looms at the end of the passage in the scenario where the annulment was invalid (as it was not on the same day as hearing of the vow). Furthermore, emphasising that he bears the sin when he compels her to break her vow, will make him less likely to do so in the first place.

In an ideal and equitable society, one would imagine that women have the independence to make and fulfil their vows and the Torah does indeed prompt us in that direction.[12] The laws of annulment are legislated as reactive to a cultural norm (God ‘forgives’ the violation of the vow) and not designed ab initio as a fundamental right of the father/husband. Moreover, by granting fathers/husbands the power over the vows of a daughter/wife, but restricting it to the day they heard it, the control of the male was greatly diminished and a trajectory was set towards greater equality. At the same time, the established views and existing social structure of contemporary society were not disregarded, thus ensuring that positive change is acceptable and harmonious. In short, whilst the Torah's laws are grounded in the present, they are also oriented upwards with idealistic aspirations.[13]

In summary, it can be shown that each of the nine instances where zeh ha-davar introduces a legal passage, the passage deals with an exceptional law. The specific phrase serves to draw special attention to the surprising and extraordinary nature of the law which follows.[14] In the two cases where the law prescribes a ‘necessary evil’ to deal with a prevailing norm (i.e. banning intertribal marriages and permitting vows to be broken), the Torah omits reference to God’s direct command. This may allude to the fact that the law in question presents a concession rather than a Godly ideal.[15]

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[1] Later in the parashah there is another example where Elazar relays the command about purification of vessels without the Torah recording any direct speech from God. This case, however, links back to the passage of parah adumah which contains a direct speech of God. On a similar note, there are plenty of examples where Moshe’s speech adds details not referenced in the original direct command from God - but this is different to the matter under consideration.

[2] I assume here the view of R' Aryeh Leib Ginsberg (Sha’agat Aryeh) – against the Rashbam and Tosfot Rid – that the temporary nature of the injunction was derived by the Sages at a much later date (see Gevurot Ari, Ta’anit 30b). As an aside, this view is awkward – if not heretical - for the Rambam who would have enumerated this as one of the negative commandments if he was writing his sefer hamitzvot prior to the derasha being discovered. It would then had to have ‘dropped’ from the 613 list upon discovery that it is not a Mitzvah for all generations (per shoresh 3).

[3] Jewish Women in Time and Torah, Hoboken, N.J, Ktav Pub. House, 1990, available on Sefaria. R’ Baruch Halevi Epstein (Torah Temimah commentary), shares the view that we are dealing with a corroborative derasha rather than a genuinely creative one, but with a radically different conclusion:

ואמנם עם כ"ז לא נתבאר מניין לקחו להם לעיקר ויסוד לבטל מצוה שבתורה, כי בודאי על דיוק לשון זה הדבר לבד קשה לבנות יסוד לבטל מצוה מפורשת בתורה. ויתכן לומר שהיה להם בקבלה דעיקר הצווי מהסבת נחלה היה רק בעת חלוקת הארץ, כדי שיתודע ויתברר חלק כל אחד ואחד, אבל אח"כ לדורות שכבר נתבררו והוגבלו החלקים ונקראו בשם, שוב אין לחוש למקרה הסבת נחלה, ובכ"ז לא בטלו המצוה עד זמן ידוע שראו שא"א להתקיים בלי נשואי תערובת השבטים זב"ז, ועמדו והתירו, ומצאו רמז לזה בתורה את הלשון זה הדבר כמבואר, כך נ"ל.

[4] Interestingly these two parashiot – which lie in close proximity - are the only ones said over to the tribal chiefs and, as we will see, both seek to grapple with the prevailing tribal/patriarchal social structure.

[5] Ramban, Lev. 17:2, concludes as follows:

וזהו דעתו של רבי ישמעאל (חולין טז) בפרשיות הללו ומכאן אמר דמעיקרא איתסר להו בשר תאוה והוא הנאות בכתוב על דרך הפשט 

[6] In terms of the theological implications regarding the development of halachah, this is consistent with the likes of R’ A.Y. Kook (Igrot, Letter 90) and R’ Moshe Shmuel Glasner (see Peticha to Dor Revi’i) who - each with their own nuances – appreciated the potential for moral/ethical development to open new vistas of interpretation which could potentially uplift halachah.

[7] In terms of the meaning of הניא, see Rashi’s second explanation in particular (u-peshuto). See also Maharal, Gur Aryeh, regarding Rashi’s first explanation.  

[8] The basic principle is preserved by the Rambam (Hil. Nedarim 13:4-6) who understood there to be a concept of bittul of a vow alongside the formalistic hafarah. In the case of the former the demand of the father/husband for the woman to violate her vow automatically terminates it and no verbal formula is required. The Ra’avad heavily critiques the Rambam, but the Rambam’s understanding retains the plain sense of the verses as we have explained them (see also Kesef Mishna).

[9] See note 11

[10] Cf. Rashi and T.B Kiddushin 81b.

[11] There is a striking contrast between this closing verse verse and the closing verse of the Sotah passage. In the Sotah passage, the final verse (Num. 5:31) states:

ונקה האיש מעון והאשה ההיא תשא את עונה

In both passages there is a tension in the relationship between husband and wife (one results from promiscuity, the other from self-denial); both cases there is an act of compulsion (forcing the wife to drink the Sotah water/violate her vow); both cases God allows his name to be erased/desecrated to resolve the tension. In the case of Sotah, however, where she has genuinely broken the trust in the relationship the verse stresses that he bears no sin for having forced her to drink, whereas here the verse stresses that he is responsible for the violation caused by his imposition.

[12] The Sages themselves severely limited the application of the husband’s ability to annul vows to those which directly or indirectly impact on their relationship (i.e. self-denial – inuy nefesh - vows). Rambam (Hil. Nedarim 12:1) rules – contrary to the view of the Sifri - that the same scope limitation does not apply to the father (see Rambam’s responsum #326 where he partly justifies the deviation based on the peshat considerations!).

[13] See R’ Kook, ibid, Letter 89

[14] R’ Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg (HaKetav VeHaKabbalah) understands the technical basis for the derasha to be allocating a temporal meaning to the word זה (=כעת).

[15] The other cases of zeh ha-davar which do not open with a direct command require their own local explanations which are beyond the scope of this discussion (note however that #4 and #5 are linked to the direct command which is #3). 

     

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פסח

Breaking the bones of the Korban Pesach: Enigma and possible solution

Whilst there was no 'Korban' Pesach in the formal sense in Egypt, many of the involved details can be explained as modelled on the world of Korbanot:[1]

1. The specific requirement regarding the nature of the animal. It had to be a one-year old unblemished sheep (12:5).[2] These requirements are otherwise found only in relation to sacrifices (see Vayikra 22:20).

2. The requirement that the animal be ‘roasted with its head on its entrails and legs’ (12:9) parallels the preparation of the Korban Chatat (see Vayikra 4:11).

3. The injunction against leftovers and the requirement to burn any leftovers (see 12:10) corresponds to similar rules concerning the Korbanot.

4. The absence of Chametz recalls the prohibition of bringing Chametz into contact with the Mizbe’ach.

5. The positive requirement to eat matzah together with the Pesach, corresponds to the consumption of Matzah alongside many of the Korbanot.

6. The smearing of the blood on the lintel and doorpost recalls the sprinkling of the blood on the Mizbe’ach.

As discussed previously, the obvious missing component is the Mizbe’ach. Yet this is precisely the point. Replacing the formal Mizbe’ach, is the home itself. The symbolic implication is that each family unit is transformed into an object of sacrifice as an expression of dedication. This also explains why there was such a strong injunction against leaving the home that night (see 12:46). On a superficial level it relates to a physical danger lurking on the outside, but the deeper point is the story on the inside, which is the transformation of the home to a Mizbe’ach, and the people to a nation. Like the Korbanot which need to stay on the Mizbe’ach whilst they are burnt, so too everyone is required to stay within the confines of the metaphorical Mizbe’ach of the home. Outside lies the culture of Egypt, whilst on the inside, exists a sanctified space dedicated towards a very different ideal. Each Jew is called to decide which side they are on.

This explains the role of house as a central point of focus in relation to the laws of the Korban Pesach as well as the wider holiday. Throughout the holiday one’s home must be cleansed of Chametz the same way that a Mizbe’ach may not receive any Chametz. The home-Mizbe’ach paradigm is thereby an integral component of the annual celebration (Pesach Dorot) much as it was for the original event (Pesach Mitzrayim).

Breaking the bones: an anomalous injunction 

A particular law concerning the ‘Korban’ Pesach which cannot be explained by way of the Korban analogy, is a law prohibiting the breaking of the bones of the Pesach:

בְּבַיִת אֶחָד יֵאָכֵל לֹא־תוֹצִיא מִן־הַבַּיִת מִן־הַבָּשָׂר חוּצָה וְעֶצֶם לֹא תִשְׁבְּרוּ־בוֹ׃ (יב:מו)

Not only does this law not seem to share a parallel to the world of Korbanot, but interpreting its significance is altogether challenging. 

Rashbam and others linked the requirement to the atmosphere of haste (Chipazon) which must accompany the Korban Pesach. Someone who eats in haste does not have the leisure of breaking bones to extract the marrow. It seems far-fetched, however, to assume that the injunction against breaking the bones is merely a safeguard against eating the marrow (not mentioned anywhere in the text), which itself is only significant in its apparent defiance of the Chipazon principle.[1] Moreover, the law against breaking the bones appears in an entirely separate passage to the wider laws of Korban Pesach containing the Chipazon principle, a point we will return too shortly. It is worth noting that Tosfot (TB Pesachim 70a) states that the reason one must eat the Korban Pesach in satiation - ‘al hasovah’- and not whilst hungry, is so that one doesn’t rush and break the bones in the process. The exact opposite direction to the Rashbam.

Sefer HaChinukh (#16) suggests that breaking the bones to suck out the marrow is the way a poor man would act and not reflective of the manner of a wealthy free person. This too is speculative since, as already mentioned, the verse does not refer to the marrow. The straightforward meaning is that the injunction against breaking the bones is an end to itself. Furthermore, there is no hint in the text that the Korban Pesach must be eaten in a way which specifically reflects a position of wealth and leisure. On the contrary, such a requirement would seem inconsistent with the very notion of Chipazon.[4]   

Another suggestion found in the medieval commentaries is that leaving the bones intact would ensure that the lamb is still recognisable after it was consumed, leaving no one in doubt regarding the humiliation of the Egyptian god.[5] This too seems forced. If this were truly the concern there should have been a general injunction against discarding the bones altogether, or even a requirement to publicly display them. Furthermore, the ritual as an act of degradation does not sit well with the world of sacrifice which assumes an affinity with the object of sacrifice. Finally, the suggested reason is temporal, located within very tight circumstances, and would have little relevance within the annual commemoration. This is particularly problematic as the law is mentioned specifically in the context of Pesach Dorot and not Pesach Mitzrayim. 

Korban Pesach and the sale of Yosef

To work towards an answer we will first explore some intriguing, but well established, connections between the Korban Pesach and the sale of Yosef.

The sale of Yosef was a traumatic event which tore the family apart and sent Yosef into exile. As we have discussed in a previous post, the word ‘house’ (Bayit) features as a keyword in the Yosef story as he is transferred from one place to another in search of a new home following his eviction. Seemingly, his search comes to an end when Pharaoh brings him into the palace, provides him new clothes, a new name, and a prominent Egyptian wife. The name given to Yosef’s eldest son suggests Yosef has indeed found a new home to replace his old one:

וַיִּקְרָא יוֹסֵף אֶת־שֵׁם הַבְּכוֹר מְנַשֶּׁה כִּי־נַשַּׁנִי אֱלֹהִים אֶת־כָּל־עֲמָלִי וְאֵת כָּל־בֵּית אָבִי׃ (בראשית מא:נא)

But the truth turns out to be more complex.[6] Whilst Yosef adopts a new identity in Egypt, when all is said and done, he does not forget his roots. Although we (and perhaps Yosef as well) have doubts along the way, Yosef’s loyalty comes though clear and strong at the end of his life with his final recorded words:

וַיֹּאמֶר יוֹסֵף אֶל־אֶחָיו אָנֹכִי מֵת וֵאלֹהִים פָּקֹד יִפְקֹד אֶתְכֶם וְהֶעֱלָה אֶתְכֶם מִן־הָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע לְאַבְרָהָם לְיִצְחָק וּלְיַעֲקֹב׃ (בראשית נ:כד)

Against this background, the Korban Pesach acts as a healing process as each family unites and collectively rediscovers its roots. As with the Yosef episodes, the word Bayit is used intensely in the passages dealing with the Korban Pesach, signifying this reversal.

There are other linguistic parallels between the sale of Yosef and Korban Pesach. Most prominent is the ‘dipping’ and use of the blood of the goat as a ‘cover up’. In the sale of Yosef, the dipping of Yosef’s coat into the blood of the slaughtered goat was used by the brothers in an attempted cover up and deception:

וַיִּקְחוּ אֶת־כְּתֹנֶת יוֹסֵף וַיִּשְׁחֲטוּ שְׂעִיר עִזִּים וַיִּטְבְּלוּ אֶת־הַכֻּתֹּנֶת בַּדָּם׃ (לז:לא)

In the context of the Korban Pesach, the act of dipping and displaying the slaughtered lamb/goat’s blood also creates a ‘cover up’ for those performing the ritual. This time, however, the blood is proudly displayed to God in an act of family unity and renewed dedication. God sees the blood and protects those on the inside of the house from the destruction on the outside.

וּלְקַחְתֶּם אֲגֻדַּת אֵזוֹב וּטְבַלְתֶּם בַּדָּם אֲשֶׁר־בַּסַּף וְהִגַּעְתֶּם אֶל־הַמַּשְׁקוֹף וְאֶל־שְׁתֵּי הַמְּזוּזֹת מִן־הַדָּם אֲשֶׁר בַּסָּף וְאַתֶּם לֹא תֵצְאוּ אִישׁ מִפֶּתַח־בֵּיתוֹ עַד־בֹּקֶר׃ (יב:כב)

In view of the above, it may well be – as R. Bahya (12:21) indeed suggests - that drawing in the lamb (מִשְׁכוּ וּקְחוּ לָכֶם צֹאן לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתֵיכֶם) for each family recalls – and symbolically reverses - the drawing out of Yosef (וַיִּמְשְׁכוּ וַיַּעֲלוּ אֶת־יוֹסֵף) from the pit to advance the sale. 

Symbolism of the bones

I would like to propose an extension of this idea to address the question at hand. When Yosef dies, he receives a full Egyptian burial in the tradition of the Egyptian elite. He is embalmed and placed in a coffin, presumably within a sarcophagus. The embalming process was prolonged and highly invasive, intended to preserve the physical body for as long as possible for its continuation in the afterlife.[7]

According to the account of Yaakov’s own death, the embalming process took 40 days. This should be contrasted with the Jewish requirement to bury someone on the day of death (see TB Moed Katan 27b). The Jewish view does not seek to glorify or artificially preserve the external body. Instead, it is the core of a person - the ‘dry bones’ not prone to decay - which are the physical representation of one’s eternal essence. The association of bones with a person’s core is the basis for the wider usage of the word ‘Etzem’ to express the essence of someone or something.

From an archaeological standpoint we now know that burial practice was a notable point of divergence between the general Egyptian population and the semitic migrants residing on the eastern Delta. The graves discovered at Avaris, which was the capital of the eastern Delta during the Hyksos period, were constructed from mudbrick, as was typical in Canaan, as opposed to stone as per the Egyptian custom. More relevant for our purposes, the bodies were placed directly in these tombs without a coffin or sarcophagus.[8] Yosef being embalmed and laid to rest within a coffin and/or sarcophagus, placed him resolutely on the Egyptian side of the cultural divide. For this reason, we should take careful note of Yosef’s choice of words:

וַיַּשְׁבַּע יוֹסֵף אֶת־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר פָּקֹד יִפְקֹד אֱלֹהִים אֶתְכֶם וְהַעֲלִתֶם אֶת־עַצְמֹתַי מִזֶּה׃ וַיָּמָת יוֹסֵף בֶּן־מֵאָה וָעֶשֶׂר שָׁנִים וַיַּחַנְטוּ אֹתוֹ וַיִּישֶׂם בָּאָרוֹן בְּמִצְרָיִם׃ (בראשית נ:כה-כו)

Yosef only mentions his bones and makes no reference to the coffin. When the Israelites fulfil Yosef’s request two centuries later, there is again no reference to the coffin, only to the bones. Even if they didn’t physically remove the bones from the coffin, the emphasis on the bones in place of the coffin is instructive. Removing Yosef’s bones from his Egyptian tomb (at least from a literary perspective) and interring him in the land of Israel, symbolically strips away his Egyptian character and reveals his core identity.[9]

Preserving the bones of the Korban Pesach speaks to this very idea. Given the significant parallels between the Korban Pesach and the sale of Yosef, it seems reasonable to suggest that preserving the bones whilst the flesh is consumed, establishes a connection with Yosef’s request to take care of his bones. We must remember that the nature of a Korban entails an expression of human devotion via the sacrifice of the animal. The meaning of the sacrifice should therefore be located within the emotions of the person responsible for the sacrifice. This is true even more so when it comes to the Korban Pesach, where the people themselves stand as virtual offerings on the metaphorical Mizbe’ach. If bones represent the core identity of a person which do not decompose, then this is a fitting parable to the inner Jewish spirit which remains alive even after centuries of exile. No person models this better than Yosef in his own life. In light of the wider symbolism of the Korban Pesach as an act of dedication of the Jewish home and simultaneous rejection of Egyptian culture, the association with Yosef’s bones strongly reinforces that motif.

This suggestion is perhaps corroborated by the familiar imagery of the burning bush. There too it is correct to associate the survival of the bush amongst the flames, with the endurance of the Jewish people. It must be added, however, that this is prescriptive as well as descriptive. The bones may be innately durable but there is nevertheless a command not to break them. 

As mentioned earlier, the injunction against breaking the bones does not appear alongside the primary laws relating to the manner of preparing and eating the Korban Pesach. Instead, it appears sandwiched between the categories of people that are permitted to eat from the Korban Pesach.

Why is this particular law which concerns how to eat the korban pesach attached to the laws concerning who may eat from the Pesach. Based on what we have said we may suggest that the common denominator revolves around identity. For someone to be eligible to participate in the Korban Pesach he must be a member of, or affiliated to, the ‘community of Israel’ (Adat Yisrael – see 12:47), which includes the requirement of Brit Milah. This is the physical mark which links one to the covenant and through which one shares in the destiny of the Jewish people. As mentioned before, those principles of identity and destiny are represented in the bones of Yosef and embedded in the requirement to preserve the bones of the Korban Pesach.

BeEtzem HaYom HaZeh

We will end the discussion with reference to another wordplay which perhaps supports our suggestion. It does not seem coincidental that the same word ‘Etzem’ appears immediately before, and immediately after, the passage containing the prohibition Ve’Etzem Lo Tishberu Bo:

וַיְהִי מִקֵּץ שְׁלֹשִׁים שָׁנָה וְאַרְבַּע מֵאוֹת שָׁנָה וַיְהִי בְּעֶצֶם הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה יָצְאוּ כָּל־צִבְאוֹת יְהוָה מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם׃ )יב:מא(

וַיְהִי בְּעֶצֶם הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה הוֹצִיא יְהוָה אֶת־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם עַל־צִבְאֹתָם׃ )יב:נא( 

Is this just literary enhancement or is there something deeper? The emphasis that the exodus occurred ‘BeEtzem HaYom HaZeh’, after exactly 430 years, reflects the fact that the end of the exile was preplanned and foretold in the Brit Bein HaBetarim.[10]

When Yosef instructed for his bones to be taken out of Egypt as they leave Egypt, he speaks with certainty that God will eventually remember and redeem the nation. He knows this to be true because he is familiar with the content of the covenant which was relayed to him by Yaakov. The request for his bones to be brought up from Egypt is therefore inextricably linked with the fulfilment of the covenant and Yosef makes this connection explicitly. He promises that God will remember the people and ‘bring up’ the people from the land, whilst adjuring the nation to ‘bring up’ his bones when that time comes. If the requirement to keep the bones intact harks back to the message of inner loyalty as symbolised by the preservation of Yosef’s bones, then the notion of BeEtzem HaYom Hazeh is the counterpart which expresses the durability of God’s covenant.

In other words, the Etzem which signifies the fulfilment of the covenant, creates a contact point with the Etzem of the Korban Pesach which alludes to the perseverance of Jewish identity. It is this identity which enables, and is enabled by, the covenant.  

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] For reasons of familiarity, we will refer to the Pesach ritual – even as practiced in Egypt (Pesach Mitzrayim in Mishnaic parlance) - as ‘Korban Pesach’.

[2] Verse references are to Shemot unless stated otherwise

[3] Rashbam (12:46) does not directly refer to the marrow, but it seems to underly his comments and is explicit in the commentaries of Bechor Shor and Chizkuni. See also Rashbam 12:8 and 12:9.

[4] Though Shadal (12:46) had no problem listing this reason alongside Rashbam’s reason.

[5] See Chizkuni 12:6 and 12:8; Da’at Zekeinim 12:9.

[6] Discussed in more detail here

[7] See here for summary of the process: https://discoveringegypt.com/egyptian-mummification/

[8] https://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/magazine/does-archaeology-confirm-josephs-time-in-egypt/

[9] Jonathan Grossman, Yosef: Sippuram Shel Chalomot, (Yediot, 2022), final chapter.

[10] We need not delve here into the discrepancy between the 400 and 430