Vayigash 5772

Parshas Vayigash concludes with a lengthy recounting of Yosef’s successful management of the Egyptian famine relief program. Holding a monopoly of supplies, Yosef exchanges edibles for the entire nation’s wealth. Money, livestock, land, and finally the people themselves are all surrendered to Yosef, acting of course in the name of Pharoah. 

The Meshech Chochmah contends that this acquisition of national wealth on behalf of Pharaoh is a preparation for the fulfillment of a Divine promise. When Hashem foretold the Egyptian enslavement to Avraham Avinu, he promised that at its conclusion the Jews would leave Egypt with great wealth. (See Bereishis 15:14.) This was realized when the Jews upon departing “borrowed” gold, silver, and clothing from their Egyptian neighbors. These items were not returned but rather withheld as payment for their servitude. (See Sanhedrin 91a.) This is problematic however. The Jews were slaves of Pharaoh’s regime as we read in the Haggadah, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt,” not slaves of the Egyptian civilians. (See Ramban Shemos 1:11 where he proves this from the words of Chazal although the literal meaning of the verse suggests otherwise.) If so, how could the payment be collected from the population at large? The answer, says the Meshech Chochmah, is that all the wealth of the nation belonged to Pharaoh. Through Yosef’s acquisition of the people as slaves, their assets were forfeited to the royal treasury.

Taking this argument a step further we may suggest that Yosef’s acts were a preparation for the fulfillment of the Divine promise in an even more fundamental way.

We tend to think that Pharaoh was an absolute authoritarian whose decisions were never questioned and who was unanswerable to public opinion. From the words of the Ramban a different picture emerges. The Ramban (Shemos 1:10) asks a very simple question: When Pharaoh expressed his fear of the Jewish population explosion and suggested that enslavement would reduce the birth rate, why did he not recommend an even more effective solution – a program of genocide. To this the Ramban gives an astounding answer: The Egyptian people would not have tolerated such an injustice! Apparently Pharaoh also was concerned for his approval rating.

But this opens the door to a new question: Why did Pharaoh think that the Egyptians would tolerate the enslavement of an innocent people? The answer must lie in the fact that Yosef’s historic actions transformed the social contract between Pharoah and the Egyptian nation. Previously, they functioned as monarch and subjects; afterward as master and slaves. As slaves to Pharaoh, the Egyptian people would certainly have no objection to the enslavement of the Jews. In reality, the enslavement of the Jews was nothing more than a retraction of the special privileges they enjoyed as relatives of Yosef; now they would be slaves just like everybody else.

[If this conjecture is correct, we can understand why the tribe of Levi was not enslaved in Egypt (Rashi Shemos 5:4 based on the Midrash Rabbah). As Pharaoh’s prerogative to enslave the Jews was a consequence of the precedent that Yosef established, he was limited by that precedent and in Yosef’s decree (Bereishis 47:22) the priestly caste was exempted.]

Thus, Yosef’s actions are both a preparation both for the enslavement and for the redemption and, as well, a demonstration of the mysterious way in which Hashem guides the course of history through the actions and decisions of human beings.

Chanukah II 5772

The fact that Chanukah always coincides with the reading of the story of Yosef and his brothers has provided much raw material for the creative minds of our people.  Perhaps we can suggest a modest addition to this wealth of interpretation.

One noteworthy aspect of the Yosef stories is the central role that dreams play.  Three sets of dreams – those of Yosef himself, those of the Baker and the Wine-Steward, and finally those of Pharoah – advance the plot from stage to stage. A dream, of course, is unlike genuine prophesy.  In prophesy/Nevuah a substantive message is communicated to the prophet; it has a single valid interpretation upon which the prophet and/or his audience must act. Regarding dreams, Chazal teach that their ultimate meaning depends on the interpretation that they are given.  (The Gemara in Berachos relates the fabulous story of the dream interpreter Bar Hadia who gave positive interpretations to those who paid and negative interpretations to those who did not. All the interpretations came to pass!) In a sense, dreams merely provide a range of possibilities, much in the way that an opponent’s moves in a chess game create the array of possible moves for his partner.

Yosef is the first major figure in the Torah who is not a prophet; Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov all receive direct communication from Hashem.  They face challenges, but not challenges which force them to make decisions. They are commanded to do difficult things and they face distressing and uncomfortable situations which tempt them to lose their faith, but the course of action they are meant to pursue is provided.  Yosef, lacking prophetic communication, faces decision after decision. How is he to deal with his jealous and resentful brothers?  How is he to resist the temptation of Potifar’s wife?  Is his attempt to secure his release from prison by asking the Wine-Steward to intervene with Pharoah a lack of faith?  Shall he take revenge against his brothers when the opportunity presents itself?  The dreams suggest possibilities but provide no clarity.

The story of Chanukah occurs at a point of Jewish history where a similar transition was taking place.  During the period of the First Temple, we were blessed with Neveim who spoke in the name of Hashem. (Had we listened to them much calamity could have been avoided.) There was no lack of clarity; the test of our lives was to resist the Yetzer Ha’Ra for idolatry which is described in the Talmudic legend as a “fiery lion”.  In the beginning of the Second Temple period, the members of the K’nesses HaGedolah – the great assembly of the sages of Israel – prayed that this “fiery lion” be removed and Hashem acquiesced.  At that point, to counterbalance the lightening of our challenge, we were given a challenge of a different sort – the loss of clarity that came with the end of prophesy. (See Meshech Chochma, Bamidbar 11:17 who elaborates on this connection.)

The advent of Hellenism, a secular ideology which provided theaters and libraries, gymnasia and academies, came at a time when the Jews were least equipped to deal with such challenges.  Lacking the traditional sources of inspiration – prophetic messages – our leaders delved deeply into the Torah to draw out the relevant lessons that are well hidden beneath the surface.  The Torah sages thus fulfilled the role that had been occupied by the Neveim in an earlier era.

The Aron and the Menorah both symbolize aspects of Torah. The Aron was the repository for the Luchos and the scroll of the Torah; the Menorah, whose flames convert oil into energy, symbolizes the enlightenment that is derived from the process of deep, penetrating study.  The centrality of the Menorah to the Chanukah story is indicative of the major transformation in Jewish life that was taking place in this historic period.

Chanukah 5772

The Talmud in Maseches Shabbos cites a dispute between Bais Hillel and Bais Shammai as to the proper procedure for lighting the Chanukah candles. According to Bais Hillel, we kindle one light on the first night, two on the second, adding on each successive night; according to Bais Shammai we kindle eight lights on the first night, seven on the second, and so on, reducing the number of lights on each successive night. The rationale of Bais Hillel, continues the Talmud, is the well-established principle of Ma’alin B’kodesh – in matters of holiness we always ascend from the lower level to the higher. Bais Shammai, on the other hand, follows the precedent of the seventy Parei Hachag – the Mussaf offerings of Succos in the Bais HaMikdosh – where thirteen bulls were brought on the first day, twelve on the second, etc. Although the Halacha is decided in favor of Bais Hillel, an analysis of the contrary position may provide perspective and insight.

The Sfas Emes suggests that fire – the essence of the Chanukah lights – has two aspects: it consumes and it illuminates. These two aspects correspond to two different strategies that we may employ in dealing with the challenges of foreign culture, which of course was the underlying issue in the original conflict between the Hellenist Greeks and Yisrael.

When confronted by alien ideologies – the “isms” of various types – we may attempt to refute them and dispute their validity. In this case we are employing the light of Torah to “consume” and destroy anything that is antithetical. In this approach we begin with all the different “isms” and eliminate them one by one until we are left with pure, authentic, unadulterated Jewish values. Just as a ten story building which is set ablaze is ultimately reduced to rubble, so is the entire structure of foreign belief reduced. To symbolize this, Bais Shammai kindles the Chanukah lights in a manner that reflects this ongoing reduction just as the seventy Parei Hachag, corresponding to the seventy nations, will be diminished in the Messianic Age.

There is, however, a second approach. Rather than attacking the foreign ideologies directly, we may opt to focus on the study and integration of Torah values, adding a bit more light every day. Ultimately the darkness is dispelled by the increasing light. (I once heard that bank tellers are trained to recognize counterfeit currency by handling real money, not by studying the counterfeit bills and recognizing their flaws.) This is the approach of Bais Hillel and is symbolized by his method – which is the normative practice according to the Halacha – of kindling the Chanukah lamps.

The Michtav M’eliyahu offers another explanation. The Midrash suggests that the pattern of the Parei Hachag is analogous to a host who welcomed a guest into his home. The first night of the guest’s stay he is served a lavish meal; on subsequent nights the fare becomes simpler and simpler until ultimately it is actually quite meager. While we would have hoped that the Temple service could be performed in a manner that avoids this loss of enthusiasm over time, Bais Shammai recognized the reality of human nature, and in his uncompromising commitment to truth declared that our Chanukah observance must be a refection of reality. As much as we would wish otherwise, we are most excited on the first night of Chanukah and it is downhill from there.

Bais Hillel proposes – and again, the Halacha adopts his view – that we can perform a Mitzvah in the way we would want it to be in the ideal world. There, our excitement and enthusiasm would grow from day to day, as our understanding and appreciation would deepen. To aim for the highest goals, even if the frailty of human nature seems to preclude them, is to be commended and is thus symbolized in the ascending pattern of the Chanukah lights.

Vayishlach 5772

“And Dinah, the daughter of Leah, whom she had borne to Jacob, went out to look about among the daughters of the land.” (Bereishis 34:1)

This verse introduces the heartbreaking story of Dinah’s abduction and the slaughter of the city of Shechem by her brothers, Shimon and Levi. The Chasam Sofer observes that the initial letters of this verse’s first four words, in the original Hebrew, of course, spell the Hebrew word לבדו backwards*. This would not be noteworthy except for the fact that this very same word appears earlier in the Parsha. In recounting the prelude to Yaakov’s battle with the angelic prince of Esav, the Torah tells us that Yaakov was completely alone – לבדו! What could be the significance of this curious juxtaposition?

“Said Rabbi Berechia in the name of Rabbi Simon, “There is none like the Lord, O Yeshurun,” (Devarim 33:26). This verse can be understood as saying, “There is none who resembles the Lord,” but if there is anyone who resembles the Lord, it is Yeshurun/Yaakov. Regarding the Lord it is written, “Hashem shall be exalted alone (לבדו) on that day,” (Yeshaya 2:11); regarding Yaakov it is written, “And Yaakov remained alone (לבדו),” (Bereishis 32:24).” (Midrash Rabba, Bereishis 77:1)

From this Midrash we discover that the application of this specific word to Yaakov is not meant merely to convey the fact of Yaakov’s physical isolation but rather to ascribe to him some Divine attribute. To understand the true significance of this, we must first examine the contest between Yaakov and the angel.

It is obvious that any battle between an angel and a human being is “fixed” by definition. The power level of an angel is determined by Hashem; at will he can endow the angel with so much energy that it could crush any opponent or so little energy that any opponent could crush it. So the fight was not really a fight in the conventional sense at all.

Rather, Ramban explains, that episode was in actuality a prophetic message designed to apprise Yaakov of the ultimate outcome of the Yaakov/Esav conflict. The dislocation of the thigh, being adjacent to the reproductive organs, was meant to symbolize a flaw in Yaakov’s descendants, namely their susceptibility to forced apostasy. In fact, over the generations, this has been the bitter experience of the Jewish people. In the lands of the dispersion we have suffered repeated attempts to break our resolve to maintain our faith and religious practice.

Yaakov himself, however, was apparently immune. Why?

We may suggest that the danger of religious coercion is reduced when the object of that effort is confident and secure in his beliefs. When he seeks validation from and acceptance by the surrounding peoples, he is most at risk. To be לבדו/alone means to be self-validating. Yaakov, sharing this quality with Hashem himself, was safe; his children not quite so.

Dinah, in going out to see what the neighboring girls were doing, was the opposite of לבדו. In seeking to learn their ways, she was opening herself to alien influences and the desire to seek the approval of those whose values were antithetical to those of her own and her family. The breakdown of the protective barriers creates unforeseen dangers and, in this instance, the consequences were catastrophic.

*(ותצא דינה בת לאה)

Vayetze 5772

The exile of the Jewish people from its homeland is an experience which has been shared by most of the Jewish people for most of Jewish history; the “normal” state of being rooted in our own land is, in actuality, the exception. While our galus has been punctuated by persecutions, massacres, and pogroms, there have also been times and places where Jews have enjoyed great success and affluence.

Ramban (Devarim 28:42) commenting on this phenomenon – perhaps with the Golden Age of Sepharad in mind – writes that the supernatural curses of blight, pestilence, and disease foretold in the Tochacha are restricted to Eretz Yisrael; in exile we find ourselves sharing and even surpassing the prosperity of our neighbors. It is only the oppressive decrees of the governments under which we live that have blemished this idyllic image.

This protection from the supernatural afflictions, says Ramban, is rooted in a Divine promise (Vayikra 26:44), “But despite all this, while they are in the land of their enemies, I will not despise them nor will I reject them to annihilate them, thereby breaking My covenant that is with them, for I am the Lord their
G-d.”

Ramban in his commentary to Bereishis (12:6) introduces a concept that the lives of the Avos foretell and foreshadow later events in Jewish history. If our reading would only pierce the surface, we could actually see G-d laying the groundwork for the course of Jewish history by leading the Avos through miniature versions of the future tribulations.

It would seem that the twenty-year galus of Yaakov, described in Parshas Vayetze with such meticulous detail, is the paradigm for our exile experience.

(That the experience of Yaakov was meant to be a portent of future exiles is the deeper meaning behind a well known Midrash. In the dream that Yaakov had on the fateful night that he slept at the site of the future Bais HaMikdash, he saw a vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder whose feet rested upon the earth and whose top reached the heavens. What was the significance of these angels? Midrash Tanchuma (Yayetze 2) states that they were the angelic overseers of the four kingdoms – Babylonia, Persia, Greece, and Rome – that would exile the Jewish people; the ascent is an allusion to their times in power and the descent is an allusion to their ultimate downfalls.)

The parallels to the type of galus that Ramban describes are unmistakable. Although Yaakov was tormented at every juncture by the cunning, manipulative Lavan, in very significant ways these were years of wonderful achievement; during this time his family was established and he amassed great personal wealth.

Our “North American” galus certainly fits this paradigm. The wealth, influence, and political power of the Jewish community are unprecedented. The institutional infrastructure that exists today could not have been imagined fifty years ago. But rather than merely resting on our laurels, we must accept that this Divine gift comes with obligations. Given our material bounty, our Galus must be a time of spiritual creativity and striving.

(It is noteworthy that the verse cited above, “But despite all this,” is also understood at Megillah 11a as
G-d’s commitment to provide for the spiritual advancement of the Jewish people in galus by giving them teachers, counselors, and role models, such as Daniel Chananya, Mishael, and Azaria in the Babylonian exile; Mordechai and Esther in the Persian; the Chashmonaim and Shimon Hatzadik in the Greek, and the dynasty of Rabbi Yehuda HaNassi in the early period of the current exile.)

May we rise to the challenge!

Toldos 5772

And Yitzchak prayed to Hashem opposite his wife for she was barren, and Hashem responded to his prayer and Rivka, his wife, conceived. (Bereishis 25:21)

Although both Yitzchak and Rivka prayed, the Torah emphasizes that it was the prayer of Yitzchak alone that brought the desired result. To explain this Rashi cites the statement of Chazal (Yevamos 64a) that the prayer of a righteous person who is the son of a righteous person (Yitzchak) is greater than the prayer of a righteous person who is the son of a wicked person (Rivka).

At first glance this presents a difficulty. A person who has overcome the spiritual shortcomings of his negative family background should have greater merit than the person to whom the religious life came naturally due to the advantages of his positive background. This point is illustrated by the well-known statement of Chazal (Berachos 34b), “In the place where the penitent stand the purely righteous may not stand.”

A careful reading of the original statement will provide a clue to the solution. The difference between the prayers of Yitzchak and Rivka was not in that Yitzchak had more merit; to the contrary, a strong argument can be made that Rivka had more merit coming from her disadvantaged upbringing. The difference was in the quality of the prayer itself. This is the point that Chazal are making when they say that there is no comparison between the two prayers.

A short digression may give us insight into the deeper understanding of this difference. There is a famous Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 30:12) which explains that the Arbah Minnim of Sukkos correspond to various types of Jews. The Esrog which has taste and fragrance corresponds to those Jews who possess Torah scholarship and good deeds; the Hadasim which have only fragrance correspond to those who have good deeds alone; the Lulav whose fruit has taste only corresponds to those who only have scholarship. The lowly Arava, having neither, corresponds to those Jews who have neither Torah scholarship nor good deeds. The question may be asked: What does the Arava contribute then to the bundle?

The Sfas Emes (Sukkos, 5637) answers: Those Jews who lack both Torah scholarship and good deeds have a unique power of prayer. The efficacy of prayer is in our placing ourselves at G-d’s mercy by recognizing our total dependence on His kindness. One who believes that he has merit – whether deeds or scholarship – and thus approaches Hashem as if he has a valid claim for payment, actually undermines the prayer itself. The “Arava Jew” is free from any self-delusion.

(It is noteworthy that the Arava, by virtue of its shape, symbolizes the mouth (Vayikra Rabba 30:14), which is the organ of prayer, and that Hoshanna Rabba, on which the Arava features most prominently, is the day on which the entire focus is on prayer. Also, Hoshana Rabba corresponds to Dovid HaMelech, the seventh of the Ushpizin, who, as the author of Tehillim, is the embodiment of prayer.)

Returning to our original problem, we can suggest that the power of the prayer of the righteous person son of the righteous person is precisely in that he lacks the merit of his more worthy counterpart. Assuming that his observance is a credit to his upbringing and not to any choices he may have made on his own, he approaches Hashem with the humility and contrition which is the hallmark of effective prayer.

Chaye Sarah 5772

Chayei Sarah deals with two major themes – the purchase of the Me’aras HaMachpelah as a burial plot for Sarah and the finding of a wife for Yitzchak. The juxtaposition of the grave and the spouse should not be taken to be mere coincidence; in fact, in the Talmud, the rule that marriage can be contracted with Kesef – the groom giving the bride an item of monetary value – is derived from identical expressions (Gezerah Shava) linking Avraham’s purchase with the laws of marriage.

The Talmud (Berachos 31a) relates that when Rav Hamnuna Zuti was asked to sing at the wedding of Mar son of Ravina, his song’s opening words were, “Woe unto us for we shall die!” At first glance it seems to have been inappropriate for the occasion, but the commentators explain the relevance. Marriage, being the first step in the process of bringing children into the world, is really the way in which we transcend our own mortality. Sooner or later – hopefully later! – we will no longer remain in this world but we hope that our children will carry forward our legacies. Every wedding therefore, however festive and joyous it may be, takes place in the shadow of death. Hence Rav Hamnuna’s poignant words.

The legacy that we yearn to perpetuate is not simply our personal genome. Rather it is comprised of our beliefs, moral values, and life goals. For this to be achieved it is not sufficient that children be brought into the world; it is necessary that they be raised to respect and cherish the traditions that are passed down from the earlier generations. To Avraham Avinu, as the founder of the Jewish nation, this would have been of supreme importance.

The first step in the implementation of this agenda was the purchase of the Me’aras HaMachpelah. As the intended burial site of the patriarchs and matriarchs, it was to be a shrine to their memories and the values by which they lives. All who would come to pray there in subsequent generations – as is the custom – would reflect on the connecting bonds that span the centuries. Once this shrine was in place, Avraham could proceed to the second step – the physical production of his heirs and successors – by arranging for the marriage of Yitzchak. Thus the two main stories of the Parsha are deeply connected.

It is noteworthy that Rivka, although not a biological descendant of Sarah, plays an important role in the perpetuation of her personal legacy. The Torah (Bereishis 24:67) writes, “And Yitzchak brought her to the tent of Sarah his mother, and he took Rivka, and she became his wife, and he loved her.” Rashi, based on the Hebrew phrasing, explains this verse as meaning that, when Yitzchak brought her to the tent, Rivka became Sarah his mother. How so? There were three ongoing miracles in Sarah’s tent – the lamps were burning from Shabbos eve to Shabbos eve, the dough was plentiful and blessed, and a cloud of the Divine Presence hovered over the tent. When Sarah died, these three miracles lapsed; when Rivka arrived they were restored.

These miracles correspond to three similar miracles that were present in the Bais HaMikdosh of Yerushalayim – the flame of the western lamp of the Menorah was never extinguished, the Lechem HaPanim stayed warm and fresh for an entire week, and the cloud of the Shechina filled the Holy of Holies. The tent of Sarah was no less than a sanctuary of Hashem and the tent of Rivka was its continuation.

Vayerah 5772

The Torah seems to devote inordinate attention to the origin of the nations of Moav and Amon. In great detail we are told that, in the aftermath of the destruction of Sodom, the daughters of Lot committed incest with him and gave birth to sons who became the founders of those nations. When the text of the Sefer Torah was given to the Jewish people at the end of the forty years in the Midbar, it was undoubtedly a mystery why this story was considered worth recording. Only later in Jewish history was the veil lifted; two female converts from these nations, Ruth of Moav (great grandmother of Dovid HaMelech) and Na’amah of Amon (wife of Shlomo HaMelech, and mother of his successor Rechavam) play a critical role as progenitors of the Messianic dynasty.

Why is this necessary? Why must the seed of Moshiach come from a foreign source? Why can it not simply sprout from the “grassroots” of the Jewish people?

Maharal (Netzach Yisrael Ch. 32) explains that Moshiach is an entirely new phenomenon and thus cannot come from within; if its roots were already contained within the spiritual makeup of the Jewish people, it would not be truly new. Yet, Maharal does not explain exactly what the novel contribution of Ruth and Na’amah is.

The Torah (Devarim 23:4-5) tells us that male converts from the nations of Moav and Amon may not marry native-born Jews because, “…they did not greet you with bread and water on the way as you left Egypt and because they hired Bila’am son of Be’or from Pesor Aram Naharayim to curse you.”  Ramban explains that these nations should have had an enormous debt of gratitude to the Jewish people as their ancestor, Lot, was only spared from the destruction of Sodom in the merit of our ancestor, Avraham. Their failure to express gratitude disqualifies them from entry into the Jewish fold. Although, we are dealing with a prospective convert who, in any case, is engaged in the process of fundamental change, apparently this trait of ingratitude is so deeply rooted in the nature of Moav and Amon that, in the Torah’s estimation, it cannot be uprooted. (Incidentally, this law and its underlying rationale demonstrate the primacy of character perfection in the Torah’s hierarchy of values.)

However, this proscription only applies to male converts not to females. It seems that the women of Amon and Moav do have the power to change in this critical way. It is worth noting that among the exemplary characteristics that Ruth demonstrates – loyalty, perseverance, kindness – the trait of gratitude for even the smallest favors stands out. (See Ruth 2:10.)

We can suggest that this potential for radical self-transformation is the unique contribution that these righteous converts bring to the Messianic line. When kingship lacks this ability to change itself, adapting to new circumstances and challenges, it becomes stagnant and lethargic. In the worst-case scenario, it dooms its subjects to societal collapse and catastrophe as it cannot abandon failed policies and ideologies. The righteous convert, for whom essential change is the most basic feature of his life and temperament, is uniquely suited to make this positive contribution to our spiritual genome.

Lech Lecha 5772

Chazal tell us that Avraham Aveinu was given ten tests and passed them all (Avos 5:3). There is a matter of debate among the commentators as to how the tests are to be listed.  Rambam only includes those tests that are related in the Chumash text itself, whereas Rabbeinu Yonah includes the Midrashic account of Avraham’s threatened execution by Nimrod. In any case, the abduction of Sarah to Pharoah’s palace is certainly one of the ten. (According to Rambam it is the third; according to Rabbeinu Yonah it is the fourth.) We should therefore assume, based on the above citation, that here as well Avraham passed the test and is to be commended for his actions.

Surprisingly, Ramban tells us in his commentary (12:10) that Avraham sinned greatly in proposing that Sarah represent herself as Avraham’s sister. If going to Egypt entailed a danger to Avraham that could only be prevented by placing Sarah at risk, Avraham should have placed his trust in Hashem and opted to remain in Eretz Yisrael despite the famine. Even more surprisingly, Ramban, invoking the concept that the punishment rightfully takes place where the offence was committed, tells us that the subsequent enslavement of the Children of Israel in Egypt was a consequence of this sin! (See Maharal, Gevuros Hashem Chapter 9, for a critique of Ramban’s comments.)

How can we reconcile Ramban’s words with Chazal’s statement that Avraham passed all ten tests?

When a person is given a test, it is important to identify what exactly is being tested. Let us say a person is given a difficult challenge. He is unable to perform the task, yet he maintains his mental equilibrium despite his frustration. Did he pass or did he fail? It really depends on what was being tested. If the exercise was meant to be a test of his ability to perform the task, we would say that he failed. On the other hand, if it was meant to be a test of his ability to cope with frustration, we would say that he passed with flying colors.

Returning to our question: What exactly was Hashem testing for in the various tests he administered to Avraham? Let us offer the following suggestion: Over the years, Hashem made many promises to bestow kindness and bounty on Avraham. The initial move to Eretz Yisrael was to be for Avraham’s benefit (See Rashi 12:1); only there would he be blessed with wealth, children, and fame. Yet, at every juncture Avraham faced misery and crisis. He could have doubted Hashem’s good intentions or even Hashem’s ability to make good on His promises. Nevertheless, Avraham never wavered in his faith and trust. In this sense, he certainly passed all the tests.

But there is still another issue which remains to be explored.

Generally, even those of perfect faith find themselves working for a living, seeing the doctor, and looking both ways before crossing the street. Bitachon, trust in Hashem, is usually coupled with hishtadlus, human effort. But where hishtadlus is not a reasonable option, then the only alternative is pure bitachon. Of course, the proverbial $64,000 question is to know exactly when to apply which rule of thumb.

This was the calculus which Avraham faced in coming to Egypt. On the one hand, his plan to have Sarah conceal her true identity could be a life-saving hishtadlus. On the other hand, it may be a non-viable option – the risk to Sarah being too great – and accordingly this would be a scenario that calls for pure bitachon. Ramban’s position is that in this weighing of alternatives Avraham was at fault and that there were terrible consequences for this failure. This failure, however, does not detract from the purity of Avraham’s faith. He did pass the test.