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This week’s reading describes the miracle of the Mahn (Manna), the miraculous bread which G-d gave to our ancestors to eat in the desert. The people said they were hungry, they complained, and they were given an open miracle in return — along with instructions. They were told to gather only what they needed for the day, except on the sixth day, when they were told to gather a double portion for the Sabbath.

So almost everybody did exactly what they were told to do. But the Torah tells us that “they didn’t listen to Moses, and men left it over until morning, and it became wormy” [Ex. 16:25]. Who didn’t listen? The Medrash tells us: Dasan and Aviram.

You just have to ask, who were these guys? In modern language, what was their problem?

We first meet Dasan and Aviram much earlier. Moses goes out and sees an Egyptian beating a Jew, and in order to protect his brother from death, he kills the Egyptian. The next day, he finds Dasan and Aviram fighting with each other, and he says to the attacker, why are you hitting your friend?

He answers back, “who made you ruler and judge over us? Are you saying you’re going to kill me like you killed the Egyptian?” The Medrash says that what Moses found so frightening about this exchange is that there were wicked people, informers among the Jews.

But they weren’t simply informers, they were troublemakers at every opportunity. They finally met their end during the rebellion of Korach, which they joined. Korach was jealous of Moses and Aharon for the honor they received. But if Korach had become the leader instead, Dasan and Aviram would still have been simply members of the tribe of Reuven. What did they stand to gain from getting involved in the argument?

They were obviously sincere to a certain degree, because they merited to be part of the Exodus. But they could not get over their desire to challenge authority, apparently simply for its own sake. Even on something so trivial as gathering extra Mahn, they couldn’t resist seeing if they could find a flaw in the orders Moses gave them. And that was the same trait that eventually led to their deaths in Korach’s rebellion.

But that’s not really relevant to us today, is it? I mean after all, we don’t find people today, apparently well-meaning in some way, but acting out, against authority, just “because,” do we? Or perhaps it is more common than ever.

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What better time to ponder the spring season than the end of January! As I softly cup my hands around a steaming cup of hot chocolate, I can picture the red budding leaves forming on dormant tree limbs, and the fresh, green daffodil foliage peeking through the soil. When my mind paints this annual display of G-d’s wonders, it kindles the feeling of His ever-presence.

However, the glorious and miraculous can draw attention from the small wonders. If we were to witness a nation’s water transformed to blood, three days and nights of paralyzing darkness, and the splitting of a sea we could mistakenly think that G-d’s might is present, but not ever-present. We can witness an obvious miracle, but live most of life forgetting there’s a G-d.

For this reason, Passover, which commemorates the leaving of Egypt, must be celebrated in the spring, just as the Exodus itself took place during that season. On the morning after hearing the detailed account of the open miracles of the Exodus around a Seder table, a little boy or girl can walk outside and witness the exodus of daffodils from frozen soil or leaf buds from dead limbs. Mentally fusing the two events, the Passover lessons can then penetrate their souls and prepare them for a lifetime of constant exodus from challenging trials to the comforting, and empowering, recognition of His ever-presence. (Based on Rav Shimon Schwab zt”l)

Good Shabbos!
Rabbi Mordechai Dixler
Program Director, Project Genesis – Torah.org

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After the impact of six plagues, Pharoah had no choice. He would have had to give up. The commentaries (Ramban and Seforno) say that when G-d told Moshe that “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and I will increase my signs in my wonders in the land of Egypt” [7:3], He was restoring Pharoah’s free will, Pharoah’s ability to choose to deny the obvious.

Just a few weeks ago, Jerry Coyne, an evolutionary biologist at the University of Chicago, wrote in USA Today that “there is no freedom of choice, no free will. And those New Year’s resolutions you made? You had no choice about making them, and you’ll have no choice about whether you keep them.” [Credit to Rabbi Avi Shafran for pointing out this article, in Ami Magazine.]

I pointed out that Coyne is an evolutionary biologist, because it is relevant to the conclusions he has reached. If one believes that our brains are nothing more than a collection of molecules in a “meat computer” (his words), then it is inevitable that the operations performed by that brain are not something we can control. As Coyne writes, “true ‘free will,’ then, would require us to somehow step outside of our brain’s structure and modify how it works.”

He then immediately proceeds to describe several corollaries of his conclusion. He discusses how this ought to change the criminal justice system, in that a “regular” criminal is really no more responsible than those found not guilty by reason of insanity. But even before he gets there, the very first conclusion he reaches is that religion makes no sense, primarily because it teaches the idea of reward and punishment. Since we don’t have free will, it makes no sense to imagine that someone would be punished for evil behavior.

This, of course, is circular reasoning. Coyne begins from the assumption that there is no afterlife, and uses this to “conclude” that the idea of reward and punishment in that afterlife makes no sense. The Torah teaches that G-d enables us to choose, to give us free will, even though it may not make sense “naturally.”

The philosophical challenge — how we can “control” our brains when there is no natural method for doing so — is not foreign to Judaism. The Torah does teach that our choices are predetermined, in that G-d, being above time, already knows what choices we will make. He knows all of human history from beginning to end, and how each of our choices did, do, and will fit into His master plan for the world.

That is the same conundrum, but it cannot be used to exempt ourselves from responsibility for our actions. On the contrary, we recognize that we were granted free will, even if, with our limited capacity, we don’t understand precisely how that is possible. The Torah requires that we make the effort to improve ourselves, rather than pretend that our actions are beyond our control.

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“Now I’m motivated. I’m going to make this happen.” Those are the sweet words that kick-off the path to progress. As human beings we have aspirations to grow, to build, to make a mark. What sparks the transition from stagnation to production?

While Moses was grazing sheep he noticed a bush, burning. Amazed that the bush continued to burn without being consumed by the flames, he stopped in his tracks to investigate. “G-d saw that [Moses] turned to see and G-d called to him from the bush” (Ex. 3:4). G-d understood that the first few steps Moses took were indicative of his general approach; one who’s prepared to change his course towards progress, the crucial characteristic of an effective leader.

We aspire to produce and grow, and G-d often extends His hand, as it were, to inspire us to move forward. He’ll send messages if we’re prepared to notice them, but it’s up to us to supply one basic ingredient: the few deliberate steps towards the goal. Once we take those steps, G-d provides the strength to produce — “Create an opening for Me the size of a needle’s eye, and I’ll create an opening for you the size of a great hall’s entrance” (Michtav M’Eliyahu 4:276, ShHSh”R 5:2)

When the ball is in our court, are we going to run with it?

Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Mordechai Dixler

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The blessing Jacob gives Judah concludes with the words: “his eyes will redden from wine, and his teeth white from milk.” Rabbi Yochanan says homiletically (Kesubos 111b) that you can read it as “teeth whiter than milk” — to give a smile to a friend is even greater than giving him nourishment.

When someone comes collecting charity, it is a difficult and often thankless job. Rejection can break a person’s spirits and keep him or her from continuing, no matter how important the cause. So, as it happens, a smile may be one of the most important things you can give — you can brighten that person’s spirits and enable him or her to persevere.

Closer to home, there is no one who doesn’t have a “hard day” now and then. There are great people who have tremendous internal reserves of happiness, so that no matter what, it seems like they are always happy. Even people like that need an encouraging word now and then — much less the rest of us, who sometimes just want to crawl back into bed and start over tomorrow, if not next week!

To be generous of spirit is at least as important as being generous with money — and when it comes to smiles, the more you give, the more you have!

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Yaakov Menken

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The sons of Jacob find themselves before Egypt’s second in command, unaware that it’s really their brother Joseph. Falsely accused of espionage and of stealing from the royal palace, about to lose their father’s beloved son Benjamin — whom they swore to protect from harm — Judah approaches the viceroy determined to end this downward spiral though all means.

It is at precisely this moment that Joseph cannot hide his true identity any longer, and he asks all but his brothers to leave the room. The Midrash (Tanchuma) notes that to ask everyone to leave was practically suicidal for Joseph. Fearing for Benjamin’s life, his brothers could easily justify killing Joseph, and there would be no witness to the act.

Rather, concludes the Midrash, Joseph’s overriding concern was for his brother’s dignity. When they discovered that they had severely erred in their judgment of Joseph and his dreams, that they had put their father through 22 torturous years of mourning for naught, they would certainly not want to be in the public eye. Joseph selflessly risked his life for the sake of his brothers’ dignity.

It’s a powerful message to us. Our culture glorifies the embarrassment of others; recorded gaffes and insults to those in the public eye go viral on youtube, and biting one-line remarks make up a good portion of today’s humor. Magazines whose sole purpose is gossip — usually of the least complimentary kind — abound. Where has the respect for human dignity gone?

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We read this week that two years after Pharoah’s wine steward and chief baker had their dreams, Pharoah had one of his own, and as a result, they rushed Joseph from jail.

Obviously Pharoah needed Joseph, but the Torah tells us something deeper: that Joseph was only in jail for the precise amount of time decreed from above. In fact, Joseph would have gotten out of jail earlier, but the Torah tells us that “the wine steward did not remember Joseph, and he forgot him.”

Why did he forget? Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki quotes the Medrash, which explains that Joseph placed his trust in the wine steward, rather than G-d. For that reason, G-d made sure that the wine steward forgot him.

We celebrate the holiday of Chanukah because Judah “the Maccabee” and his brothers did the opposite. Yehudah may have been strong, but he wasn’t insane. His was a small group, vastly outnumbered by not only the well-trained Greek army, but even by the Hellenized Jews of the era. They went out to wage war, against impossible odds, expressing their trust that G-d would help them.

This, too, drives home the lesson that we discussed two weeks ago — that we are obligated to make our own efforts, but “know that if they succeed, it is only because G-d granted them success.” It doesn’t matter if the person we might trust is a friend or relative or even ourselves… in the end, success comes from a Higher Authority.

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Many of us certainly remember the bitter taste of medicine. Before artificial sweeteners and capsules, taking medicine was, well… a hard pill to swallow.

Let’s put ourselves in Joseph’s shoes on his trip down to Egypt. After having lost his mother Rachel as a teenager, nearly killed by his brothers and thrown into a pit with poisonous snakes and scorpions (see Rashi’s commentary), he is then torn from his home, separated from his father, and sold as a slave in a foreign country. What can a person in such distress do to prevent a complete breakdown, and maintain his commitment and trust in G-d?

“Their camels were carrying spices, balm, and lotus, to take [them] down to Egypt (Genesis 37:25).” Why must the Torah record what merchandise was in Joseph’s caravan? Rashi’s commentary explains that normally the caravans carried merchandise with unpleasant odors, but for the sake of Joseph, this one carried the pleasant scents of spices. But consider the circumstances! In that situation, would Joseph really care whether the smells were fragrant or foul?

The answer may be counter-intuitive, but yes, he would care. He would care, and that was the key to Joseph’s unwavering commitment and positive attitude despite the rough road he was to travel. By focusing on even the small positive signs among the most trying circumstances, we can change our own attitude dramatically, and can muster the strength to move forward. G-d’s medicine may sometimes be bitter, but He adds a “spoonful of sugar” that we’d be wise to search for and embrace (Otzros HaTorah & Chofetz Chaim).

Good Shabbos!
Rabbi Mordechai Dixler
Program Director, Project Genesis – Torah.org

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As our forefather Yaakov (Jacob) prepared to encounter his brother Esav again after 34 years, he did three things: sent presents, readied for war, and prayed. He balanced his prayers and trust in G-d with appropriate “worldly” efforts. He neither trusted in his own efforts, nor expected G-d to protect him with open miracles.

Not everyone knows how to strike this balance correctly. At one end of the spectrum are the people who believe that everything is up to them, who panic when they encounter a challenge or pat themselves on the back when things go well. At the other end of the spectrum, perhaps, is the rabbi of a town seated downstream from a dam that was about to break.

The sheriff found the rabbi sitting calmly on his front porch, studying. “Rabbi!” yelled the sheriff, “it’s a flood, we have to evacuate!”

“Don’t worry,” said the rabbi, “G-d will help me. I don’t need to go.”

Soon the water flooded the town, and firemen in motorboats were picking up the stragglers. One of them noticed the rabbi, and called him to come with them.

“Don’t worry,” said the rabbi, “G-d will help me. I don’t need to go.”

But the waters rose, and rose, and by the time a helicopter was sent to find the last residents, the rabbi was calmly sitting on his roof. Yet once again, the rabbi refused to go.

Once in Heaven, the rabbi demanded an explanation. “I followed Your ways, I learned Your Torah, I did Your will… why didn’t You help me?!”

“What do you mean?” came the response. “I sent a car. I sent a boat. I even sent you a helicopter, but you refused to be helped!”

[Thank you to David Mitnick for reminding us, at the NWCP Dinner, of this joke.]

It is important to learn from Yaakov our forefather, and strike the balance. We must make our efforts — and know that if they succeed, it is only because G-d granted them success.

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In our time, we’ve become accustomed to deceptive promises. The savvy consumer is advised to read advertisements between the lines, not to make the impulse decisions salespeople would have us make. Laws protect the consumer from blatantly false claims, but companies skillfully work within the protective guidelines to push us to “buy now” that Whojamadingle XV200 we just discovered we desperately needed “before they’re all gone.”

When Jacob proposed marriage to Rachel, her father Laban agreed, “It is better for me to give her to you, than to give her to another man.” As it turns out, Laban, forever the swindler, secretly switched Leah for Rachel and Jacob was deceived. Was his agreement an outright lie? Rav Itzeleh Volozhiner zt”l (2nd Dean of Volozhin Yeshiva, d. 1849) notes that Laban never promised Rachel to Jacob. He stated that it’s better to give her to him, but he never said he actually would!

It’s troubling that we’ve become used to this brand of deception. It’s not only accepted as standard business practice, but perhaps it’s becoming too much of an interpersonal practice too. “When are you coming?” “I’m already on my way.” “Can we get together tomorrow?” “Sorry – I have… a bunch of things to take care of.” These commonplace responses may be true, but the eternal lessons to be drawn from Laban’s response should give us pause.

Good Shabbos!
Rabbi Mordechai Dixler
Program Director, Project Genesis – Torah.org