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Rabbi Haim Lifshitz
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Joseph: Righteous Child of a Righteous Parent
l'ilui nishmat Esther bat mordechai When Isaac and Rebecca were praying – each standing in his and her respective corner, requesting that God grant them a child – Isaac’s prayer was answered before Rebecca’s, because he was the righteous child of a righteous parent whereas Rebecca was the righteous child of a wicked parent. From a superficial glance, it would seem that a righteous child of a wicked parent should have greater merit than a righteous child of a righteous parent, in that the righteous child of a wicked parent is breaking out of a routine of wicked habit, and forging a new path for himself, whereas the righteous child of a righteous parent is obligated to preserve the habits that were ingrained in him in his home, and not break out and march toward a new, independent path. All that is required of him is to protect the wells his forefathers have dug. In what way is his merit greater than the righteous child of a wicked parent? Such was Joseph. He too was the righteous child of righteous parents, yet the Torah casts doubt upon his righteousness. He is a talebearer toward his brethren, the tribes of Israel, slandering them to their father. He curls his hair, does childish things; his acts of righteousness do not diverge in any way from the routine behavior of a spoiled adolescent who is his father’s darling. Furthermore, what is so outstanding about his dreams, in which he is raised to greatness, to look proudly down upon his parents and older brothers? What is so outstanding about the fact that his father made him a striped coat, other than the fact that it further roused his brothers’ envy? It is difficult to even understand his brothers’ envy, for they were apparently righteous men, and could we not expect grown-up men who were as righteous as they were, not to stumble into sin because of a striped coat that Jacob had made for Joseph exclusively? The entire episode seems peculiar, and impossible to connect with people as righteous as the sons of Jacob, men who would ultimately become “the tribes of God.” Topping it all is the act of selling Joseph. The sale of Joseph diverges from the framework of peculiar and puzzling behavior to be classified absolutely and categorically as a criminal act, which the Talmud makes no attempt to minimize. Its grave punishment is meted out to the righteous “ten killed by royal decree." Rabbi Ishmael, the High Priest, rejoices at the privilege of atoning for the crime of Joseph’s brothers. He has overheard “behind the veil,” [prophetically penetrating into a hearing that was conducted by the heavenly court] that the righteous ten decreed to death have been assessed as paralleling the greatness of the ten of God’s tribes who sold Joseph. Joseph’s righteous brothers – who conducted a legal trial in order to ensure that justice would be done, who arrived at the verdict that their brother Joseph must be put to death, who (so to speak) included the Master of the universe as party to their trial, forbidding Him as well as all other parties present to ever reveal to their father that they had sold Joseph – enjoyed such great status in heaven that their decrees were respected. On the one hand, the Joseph's brothers were the greatest of the great, the most righteous of righteous, yet on the other hand, they transgressed one of the gravest prohibitions of the Torah: “One who kidnaps a man and sells him” incurs the death penalty. From this entire tangle, we see anew, with ever-greater clarity, how the ranks of sanctity are both objective and personally subjective. A righteous man is tested by trials that the Creator custom-tailors to his precise individual size. The Creator anxiously awaits the righteous man’s successful withstanding of his trial, but it is this trial, specifically – his own uniquely individualized trial – that he must pass. Joseph slanders his brothers to their father, for having supposedly transgressed the official rules found in the Torah’s book of laws. Joseph accuses them of transgressing official prohibitions. Such an accusation can either turn out to be true or false; the alleged transgressors are either obliged to be punished or are exempt from punishment. If the accusation can be rebutted, they will be found innocent of wrongdoing. If they are unable to disprove the accusation, they will be obliged to be punished. The punishment would atone, which would cleanse them of their sin. So much for official transgressions, but what about the personal, individualized tests that express one’s personal quality? These have no official status. They do not testify to an individual’s actions. They are rather the personal testimony of one’s human quality, as opposed to the fleeting stains of sin, which are ephemeral by their very nature, and readily erased through atonement. God’s expectation from the righteous child of a righteous parent stretches across vast realms that do not necessarily have any specific, legal boundary. The righteous child of a righteous parent is not merely expected to observe the halacha, the officially written laws of Judaism. If his righteousness is expressed through this alone, in what way is the child’s power greater than the parent’s power? A son who has followed in his father’s official footstepts does not merit the title, “righteous child of a righteous parent.” He merits the title, “child of a righteous parent.” He possesses “the merit of his forefathers’ lineage” but no personal merit. The child of a righteous parent acquires his own personal merit when he breaks new ground and forges a new path, fraught with risk and strewn with themines planted for him specifically by the King of kings. On the route of personal tests and trials, in the realm of personal traits of character that have no fixed definition within the Jewish legal framework, if the child of the righteous parent withstands his personal tests and trials and does not stumble, then in the merit of withstanding these personal trials, the child of the righteous parent fully and justly earns his own title of "righteous," on his own merit. For the righteous child of a wicked parent, walking the route of the official legal framework of Judaism is not viewed as walking the path of routine, in that this is a path that the child himself has paved through his own powers, at the price of breaking away from the ways of his wicked forebears; not only did he not learn their wicked ways but he has actually deviated from their path toward the path of good. For a newly righteous person, who has no righteous lineage, it is sufficient that he has adopted the written halacha as his personal path. Here lies his merit, and it is sufficient as such. Yet this path does not testify to his personal character, as does the path of the righteous child of a righteous parent. It was on such a personal, individualized path that Joseph was transformed into a personally, individually righteous man. He withstood all the trials, all the tests of his good character traits. He withstood as well countless temptations of lust, because in addition to it all, he was of an extremely handsome physical appearance, yet he withstood all of these difficult and painful trials. On a parallel track the Torah discusses Judah, testing him as well through the test of personal character. “She has been more righteous than I,” admits Judah about his daughter-in-law, Tamar, paying no heed to the personal shame and humiliation his confession entails. Joseph’s harrowing tribulations with the wife of Potiphar, and the fact that he wholeheartedly forgave his brothers for having sold him, especially testify to his unique level of righteousness, which justly win him the title of “Joseph the Righteous.” We can see from this that one must distinguish between two distinct forms of serving God. There is the objective and official service, which obligates all Jews under all circumstances, to the extent of their ability, and which is specifically defined by the halacha, the compendium of Jewish law. The laws must be understood as the containers, the outer forms, for the most part. Their inner, meaningful content, their essential substance must be bestowed by the individual human beings serving God, through their personal intentions, through the heart. The requirement of sitting in a Succah on the Festival of Succoth, for example, is defined by the halacha as follows: “You must dwell in the succah as you would normally reside.” Yet the halacha leaves it to every Jew to grant this definition a personal expression. One person may eat and work and preoccupy himself with all of his normal activities just as if he were in his own permanent home, while another simply eats there, but nothing more, being restricted from doing more for personal reasons. One person sets aside a tenth of his money for charity, as the halacha requires, to fulfill the commandment of giving charity. Another, within the framework of “a Torah-authorized degenerate,” sets aside no more than a tenth, though his financial capabilities extend far beyond this standardized sum. Here we arrive at a conceptual fork in the road, a dispute in principle: Some view the halacha, the Jewish legal framework, as the only framework for serving God. They consider it not only a generalized framework, but also a personalized framework, obligating anyone who would serve God. Others view the halacha as a framework expressing only the most minimal requirements. To do more is to attain more. Those who take this view obviously consider themselves bound by the prohibition, “Do not add and do not detract.” However, they view this as a technical restriction only. Vows and pledges are an ultra-legal channel for broadening the halachic framework, yet they are capable of containing God’s servant’s personal yearnings as well. Prayer also affords the servant an expression for his heart’s desires, for his longing to attach to God. To the mandatory prayer one may also add many other chapters (from the Book of Psalms, mostly) according to one’s personal taste and one’s private needs. However, there are those who view themselves as authorized to add extra-halachic expressions to the halachic framework. These take on many varied and miscellaneous forms, such as Kabalistic principles and the like. These practices are generally adopted by Chassidic communities, and strenuously objected to by the more halacha-oriented (Lithuanian) communities. Others go to greater extremes and invent all sorts of imaginary customs. Yet none dispute the fact that “the commandments of the heart” – those that derive from the heart, from personal traits of character, and from the mind as well, all within the framework of one’s personal service of God – are not optional but rather entirely mandatory in every sense. “It is one’s obligation within one’s universe,” the commandment to labor at refining one’s own personal character traits. This applies mainly to the framework of interpersonal commandments. In this realm, the more one does, the more one attains. Joseph, the Righteous, was the bearer of the banner of these “commandments of the heart.” The unique quality of these personal commandments is that they are designed to express personal feelings that are not expressed within any generalized framework. Consider the very fact that a framework is generalized, whereas the commandments of the heart take place within the private space of the life force. It is impossible for a private individual to find expression through any standard framework. The Torah emphasizes the importance of the private framework, specifically. It is the private individual who radiates authentic power toward the group, according to the verse that compares Jacob to fire, and Joseph to a raging flame, and Esau to straw. The candle’s fire can only illuminate the darkness, while the raging flame constitutes a fire so charged with power as to bend iron. It is the method of Joseph, the Righteous, specifically, that is compared to a raging flame, because personal fire is the most powerful fire. Power originates from the depths – from the depths of the heart of the one who serves. It should be pointed out that the power of serving God cannot be sustained outside the framework of the halacha. It penetrates to the very depths, but it never wanders outside the framework of the halacha. |