Vayechi (5764)

From the book Mida Tova: Articles on the Hermeneutical Principles by Rabbi Michael Avraham. Translated from Hebrew using gpt-5.4 (reasoning_effort=high, batch API).

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With God’s help

Midah Tovah — Eve of the Holy Sabbath, Parashat Vayechi, 5765

• A. Redemption and Livelihood
• B. Hekesh and Gezerah Shavah as Analogies
• C. “For Your miracles that are with us every day”: Everydayness and Miracles

A. Redemption and Livelihood

Rabbi Yohanan said: There are three keys in the hand of the Holy One, blessed be He, which were not entrusted to a messenger, and they are: the key of rain, the key of childbirth, and the key of the revival of the dead. From where do we know the key of rain? As it is written: “The Lord will open for you His good treasure, the heavens, to give the rain of your land in its season.” From where do we know the key of childbirth? As it is written: “And God remembered Rachel, and God heeded her and opened her womb.” From where do we know the key of the revival of the dead? As it is written: “And you shall know that I am the Lord when I open your graves.”

(Babylonian Talmud, Ta’anit 2a; Sanhedrin 113a; Genesis Rabbah, parashah 73)

On the verse, “The angel who redeemed me from all evil…” Rabbi Yosei bar Halafta said: Livelihood is twice as difficult as childbirth. Concerning childbirth it is written, “In pain you shall bear children”; concerning livelihood it is written, “By toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life.” Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman: Rabbi Elazar said, Scripture juxtaposed redemption to livelihood, and livelihood to redemption. Just as redemption is doubled, so too livelihood is doubled; just as livelihood occurs every day, so too redemption occurs every day. Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman said: Livelihood is even greater than redemption, for redemption is through an angel, whereas livelihood is through the hand of the Holy One, blessed be He. Redemption is through an angel: “the angel who redeemed me”; livelihood is through the Holy One, blessed be He: “You open Your hand and satisfy every living thing.” Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: A person’s sustenance is as difficult as the splitting of the Sea of Reeds, as it is said, “To Him who divided the Sea of Reeds into parts,” and there it is written, “who gives bread to all flesh.”

(Genesis Rabbah, parashah 97, s.v. “The angel who redeemed me”; see also parashah 20, s.v. “By toil shall you eat”)

Introduction

The first midrash (rabbinic exposition) cited above describes three keys that were not entrusted to any messenger; only the Holy One, blessed be He, acts through them directly: birth, redemption, and livelihood. Birth corresponds to childbirth, redemption to the revival of the dead, and livelihood to rain. The second cluster of midrashim describes various relationships among these three.

Redemption, Birth, and Livelihood

In the second midrash, the Sages are concerned mainly with livelihood, and they compare it to birth and redemption. Four different expositions are presented there, and their conclusions also appear to differ from one another. First, let us look more closely at the concepts discussed in this midrash.¹

The main pair of concepts discussed in our midrash is redemption and livelihood. Already at the level of their primary connotations one can see a contrast between them: livelihood is something everyday, almost a law of nature, whereas redemption is one-time, sudden, almost contrary to the laws of nature. In both processes our relationship with the Holy One, blessed be He, is formed. Livelihood we receive from Him with our own gracious assistance, whereas with respect to redemption we expect it to come from above. Our deeds determine our worthiness, but we do not take part in the act itself.

There are tensions that accompany our attitude toward these two concepts, precisely along the earthly-heavenly axis. Many of us do not really feel that livelihood is given to us by the Holy One, blessed be He. Religious thought commonly rebukes those who hold such views and claims that their faith is defective, but this is a common and widespread phenomenon. With regard to redemption, the situation is the reverse: the accepted view is that redemption will come to us from above, without our intervention or practical effort, but as is well known, especially in recent generations, a fierce polemic has been waged around this thesis.²

A survey of the midrash as a whole, to be elaborated below, shows that birth, which seems to us to be a miraculous act, creation out of nothing, is precisely what defines the scale and stands on the lowest rung.³ Livelihood, which appears at first glance to be a natural process, whether as the reward for our labor or as rainfall occurring through natural processes, is described as a miraculous event, twice as great as birth. And according to Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman, redemption, which is miraculous, is situated below natural livelihood. The hierarchy that emerges from the totality of the expositions is this: birth is a simple event; redemption and livelihood are twice as great as birth; and it may even be that livelihood stands above redemption. This is almost the reverse of the ordinary and intuitive natural classification.

The Biblical Background of the Expositions

Our midrash begins with a citation from Jacob’s blessing to Joseph’s two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim: “The angel who redeemed me from all evil…” These two were raised in Joseph’s household, and Joseph sustained the entire world. In a parallel midrash, Midrash Tehillim (Buber), Psalm 80, s.v. “Shepherd of Israel,” these expositions also appear against the background of a comparison between the Holy One, blessed be He, and Joseph. Both provide food according to the children, and even to those who harmed them.

This framework hints at the conceptual context. Presumably the midrash seeks to explain the proper attitude toward livelihood, which seemingly is attained through our own actions, but in fact is the result of wondrous miracles no less than redemption. It is not Joseph who dispenses food to every living being; rather, the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself holds this key.⁴

The Lesson of the Midrash

One should note that the midrash corrects this outlook in both directions. On the one hand, redemption is not quite so miraculous, for it is carried out through an angel, and an angel is a messenger, sometimes even a human being; see the sheet on Parashat Vayishlah. On the other hand, livelihood is not quite so natural. It is highly miraculous, even more so than redemption.

The conclusion is twofold: one must not see livelihood, or redemption, as merely a natural process, nor as a merely miraculous one. Both take place on both planes at once, and one must be conscious of that. Those who attribute everything to heaven and ignore the earthly aspect, and those who attribute everything to their own power and exertion and ignore the theological-heavenly aspect, are both mistaken. We shall elaborate below.

The Different Expositions

Our midrash presents four expositions. It is quite clear that their order is thematic rather than chronological,⁵ and this emerges from the structure of the midrash. Briefly:

1. The first exposition is that of Rabbi Yosei bar Halafta, who infers from the difference between the Hebrew terms etzev and itzavon⁶ that livelihood is twice as difficult as birth. This serves as an introduction to the expositions that follow, setting a scale for livelihood and redemption.

2. Rabbi Elazar’s exposition makes a hekesh between redemption and livelihood, and between livelihood and redemption: from redemption he learns that livelihood is doubled relative to birth, and from livelihood he learns that redemption too occurs every day. Both are miracles twice as great as birth, and yet both occur every day. This emphasizes the principle that miraculousness does not contradict everydayness, and as we saw above, this is probably the core message of this cluster of expositions.

3. Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman adds to Rabbi Elazar that livelihood, which is carried out by the Holy One, blessed be He, is greater than redemption, which is carried out by an angel.⁷ This is probably a statement that intensifies the evaluative message: the everyday is greater than the overtly miraculous.

4. The cluster concludes with Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi’s exposition, which states that a person’s sustenance is as difficult as the splitting of the Sea of Reeds. At first glance, there is no comparison here at all. But the source of the exposition is the juxtaposition in Psalm 136:13: “To Him who divided the Sea of Reeds into parts, for His steadfast love endures forever,” and immediately afterward, “who gives bread to all flesh, for His steadfast love endures forever.”

On the sheet for Parashat Vayigash we saw that a conclusion about similarity between two items in a list is usually a hekesh. If so, it would seem that Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi’s exposition is also a hekesh. Admittedly, its linguistic form does not match either of the two forms presented there, and this raises doubt about the formal classification of this exposition under the hermeneutical rule of hekesh.

In any event, if we regard the splitting of the Sea of Reeds as an example of a miracle of redemption, then this exposition too makes some kind of comparison between livelihood and redemption. It is not clear, however, whether Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi agrees with Rabbi Elazar, who places them on the same level of miraculousness, or with Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman, who understands livelihood to be even more miraculous than redemption, since the splitting of the Sea of Reeds is one of the clearest examples of a miracle that completely overturned the natural order.⁸

B. Hekesh and Gezerah Shavah as Analogies

Rabbi Elazar’s Hekesh

As we have seen, the main message of this cluster lies in Rabbi Elazar’s exposition, which is presented as a hekesh—that is, a juxtaposition-based inference. On the sheet for Parashat Vayigash we paused briefly over the nature of this rule and saw that sometimes it expresses a syllogistic inference, mainly in our own terminology and less in the language of the Sages, and sometimes some kind of analogy. It is an ambiguous term, whose interpretation must be determined from the rabbinic context in which it appears.

Even a first glance at the formulation presented here shows that this exposition has an unusual linguistic structure. The verses that serve as its textual basis do not appear in the midrash at all, although in the parallel midrash in parashah 20 two verses from Psalm 136 are cited. Moreover, there is an explicit double reference to both sides of the hekesh, something not usual in other instances of this rule. At first glance such a formulation even seems to contradict one of the basic principles of hekesh: there is no half-hekesh. According to this principle, it is enough to juxtapose one term to the other in order to infer the reverse as well, and there is no need to say so explicitly.

Are These Two Expositions?

A look at Rashi on the parallel midrash in parashah 20 gives us an initial clue. For the hekesh from redemption to livelihood, Rashi cites verses from the Torah: “the God who has shepherded me” and “the angel who redeemed me.” For the hekesh from livelihood to redemption, the midrash there itself brings two other verses from Psalm 136: “and redeemed us from our foes” and “who gives bread to all flesh.” It seems that Rashi understands Rabbi Elazar as simply combining and presenting at once two different hekeshim. The first infers that livelihood is supernatural, like redemption; the second infers that redemption is everyday, like livelihood.⁹

On the sheet for Parashat Vayera, at the end of part 2, we saw the rule that “there is no half-gezerah shavah,” a gezerah shavah being a verbal analogy. There we noted the dispute between Rashi and Rashbam on this matter. According to Rashi, in Babylonian Talmud, Keritot 22b, this rule does not establish symmetry between the two directions of the gezerah shavah; it means only that in the direction one has chosen, all relevant features must be transferred. According to Rashbam, in Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 120b, the rule requires the gezerah shavah to be symmetric as well. As we saw on the sheet for Parashat Vayigash, many have compared hekesh to gezerah shavah, and it therefore seems that the meaning of the rule in both contexts is similar.¹⁰ If so, according to Rashi a hekesh is not necessarily symmetric, and therefore Rabbi Elazar in our midrash needs an additional source in order to infer the conclusion in the opposite direction as well.¹¹

We saw there that the symmetry of a hermeneutical rule indicates that it is an analogy. If two subjects are analogous, and the rule is not merely a technical indicator for deriving one specific conclusion, then what is at stake is a substantive similarity between the contexts. Similarity is symmetric by its very nature: if A is similar to B, then B is also similar to A.¹²

In our case Rabbi Elazar makes two hekeshim in two directions, and therefore even Rashi will agree that this is a genuine analogy between redemption and livelihood, and not merely a technical exegetical move. Livelihood and redemption are similar to one another, and we perform a two-sided analogy between them. The hekeshim merely hint to us that such an analogy exists.

Ordinary Hekesh

Several questions can be raised even with respect to an ordinary hekesh. Let us take as an example a hekesh from redemption to livelihood. Before determining the premises of the hekesh, we must decide on its axis: which parameter is under discussion? This is a decision made by the exegete himself, either through reflection on the two sides of the equation, redemption and livelihood, or on the basis of a tradition available to him. The axes chosen here are supernaturalness, that is, miraculousness, and everydayness. At the next stage the exegete determines his premises: redemption is supernatural and not everyday, whereas livelihood is natural and everyday. He must then decide on the direction of the hekesh: from redemption to livelihood, or the reverse.

At this point the following questions arise. Once we perform the hekesh, part of the original picture changes: redemption turns out to be everyday, and livelihood turns out to be miraculous. How do we choose on which axis, or in which direction, to perform the hekesh? At first glance there are four different possibilities, each of which yields a different result:¹³

1. To learn from redemption that livelihood is miraculous.
2. To learn from redemption that livelihood is not everyday.
3. To learn from livelihood to redemption on the axis of everydayness.
4. To learn from livelihood to redemption on the axis of naturalness.

From all this it seems highly likely that two of these four data points are not absolute. It is not known in advance that livelihood is natural; it is only usually perceived that way. Likewise, it is not known that redemption is not everyday; it is only usually perceived that way. The other two data points, the supernatural character of redemption and the everyday character of livelihood, are apparently taken by the exegete to be certain, and therefore only they can serve as possible starting points for a hekesh. Each direction of the hekesh changes the perception of one of the other two data points, the ones that are not certain.

Thus we are left with two absolute data points from which one may begin. The remaining question is the direction of the hekesh. In our case there are hekeshim in both directions, but according to Rashi this is only because there are two pairs of verses. In an ordinary hekesh, only one direction would have been required.¹³

Here again, as in several other examples already discussed, we see that the exegete’s prior assumptions participate in the making of the hekesh. Here, for example, he already understands in advance, whether by reason, tradition, or some other source, the conclusion that livelihood and redemption are both supernatural and everyday, and therefore those are the directions of his hekesh. The hekesh itself only anchors that understanding. A similar phenomenon was noted on the sheet for Parashat Vayera in the discussion of scriptural decree.

Analogy

Such a phenomenon characterizes every analogical inference. Suppose, for example, that we wish to conduct a scientific study of the properties of ravens. We observe several ravens and see that they resemble one another in a number of respects, for example, they have wings, they are black, and so forth. We then infer that all ravens are similar, and therefore all of them fly at heights between ten and twenty meters, or that their lifespan is about a year, or that the length of their beak is ten centimeters.

There are several criteria for evaluating the quality of an analogy.¹⁴ One is the number of parameters, that is, the axes of analogy, in which similarity has been observed. Another is the number of ravens in which these features were observed. Another is the diversity of those parameters, and the diversity of the observed group of ravens in respects not characteristic of ravens. One may also consider how speculative the conclusion is, and so forth. But the most important criterion in evaluating analogies is the relevance of the observed features to the feature inferred by analogy.

That relevance cannot be defined a priori, for as long as we have not investigated ravens we cannot know which of their properties are essential and which are accidental. If we are studying the lifespan of ravens and the factors that determine it, we cannot rely on the relevance of certain parameters to that trait, because before we finish the study we still do not know which factors determine it. We have an intuition that color and wings are not relevant to beak length; perhaps they are relevant to lifespan or flight height. But how can such an intuition be grounded a priori? It ought to be the result of the research, not an assumption at its basis.¹⁵

From these considerations, and others, it follows clearly that analogy always rests also on a priori intuitions that are already present in us before we carry out the inference, or the research, itself.

Back to Interpretation

In the interpretive context, the situation is somewhat different, because the decision about similarity is not the result of a generalization from observing a collection of similarity parameters, but rather of a textual hint. Of course, as we have seen more than once, some of those hints themselves rest on such intuitions. This distinction blurs the importance of most of the evaluative criteria mentioned above, but the question of relevance certainly remains. We would not accept an inference that livelihood will come through the Davidic Messiah, like redemption, or that in order to bring redemption one must receive a salary and shop at the grocery. This is simply a more general form of the question of how the axes of the hekesh are chosen, a question we discussed above.

C. “For Your miracles that are with us every day”: Everydayness and Miracles

Miracle and Nature

We mentioned above the two apparently contradictory planes: everyday nature, expressed in livelihood, and the supernatural or miraculous, expressed in redemption. The midrashim directed us toward a two-way blurring of the distinction between these planes: the everyday is miraculous, and the supernatural is everyday.

Nahmanides, at the end of Parashat Bo, writes as follows:

From the great and public miracles a person comes to acknowledge the hidden miracles, which are the foundation of the entire Torah. For a person has no share in the Torah of Moses our teacher until he believes that in all our affairs and all our happenings, all of them are miracles; there is no nature or customary order of the world in them, whether for the public or for the individual. Rather, if one performs the commandments, his reward will cause him to succeed, and if he transgresses them, his punishment will cut him off. Everything is by the decree of the Most High…

Nahmanides’ words seem to express a radical approach, one that rejects any attempt to attribute events to the world’s natural order. What takes place in our world is decreed only by commandments and sins. Everything is supernatural. For example, rainfall is a result of the service of God, not of suitable meteorological conditions.

An example of such an approach is expressed in the verse, Deuteronomy 8:17: “And you shall say in your heart: My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.” The alternative appears immediately afterward: “But you shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you power to get wealth.”

And Yet, Common Sense

Despite all this, it is difficult to adopt so radical a view. Our own eyes see that our actions bear fruit, and natural causality reigns in the world. Apologetics developed over the generations maintains that there is an obligation of practical effort, a kind of scriptural decree, but that this effort is not what produces the desired results. This state of affairs is described as a test with which the Holy One, blessed be He, tests us. Living within the everyday-natural experience is then regarded as a failure of faith.

Without entering deeply into the matter, let us say only that this conclusion is not necessary. The theological explanation of events does not necessarily contradict the natural explanation. It may be that both explanatory planes exist simultaneously. Theologically, rain is a result of our good deeds, and its withholding is decreed because of many sins. Physically, rain is a result of various meteorological conditions.

Parallel Planes of Reference

Such a picture of parallel modes of reference is by no means simple.¹⁶ Usually a cause is conceived as something that compels the result. Therefore, when we say on the theological plane that commandments are the cause of rain, the meaning would seem to be that whenever commandments are performed, rain will fall even if the meteorological conditions are unsuitable; and if commandments are not performed, then even if the conditions are suitable, no rain will fall. And when we say on the natural plane that meteorological conditions are the cause of rainfall, our meaning is that there is no dependence at all on our good or bad deeds. If so, these appear to be contradictory descriptions, and it is not clear how one can adopt both at once.

This possibility of parallelism can be explained in several ways and models. We shall not elaborate here. Let us only note that the subject was discussed briefly on the sheet for Parashat Vayetze, part 3. There we saw two parallel explanations for the fall of Newton’s famous apple onto his head: physically, because of the force of gravity that pulled it downward; theologically, because of Newton’s sins, for which the Holy One, blessed be He, punished him.

One mechanism that makes such parallelism possible is to view one plane as derived from the other. For example, the fact that we make practical efforts, that is, that we act in various ways, really does physically cause the expected results. But the One who activates that physical-causal connection is the Holy One, blessed be He.¹⁷ Such an approach to the issue of “my power and the might of my hand” can be found in Derashot HaRan, edition of Aryeh Feldman, at the beginning of the tenth homily. In fact, that is exactly what appears in verse 18 above: the Holy One, blessed be He, “gives us power to get wealth.”

A Literary Anecdote

Let us conclude with a passage from Oscar Wilde’s well-known children’s story The Happy Prince (translated by Rafael Elgad, Yavneh, Tel Aviv, 1997), describing the swallow’s sad parting from the Prince, who was a statue made of gold and precious stones, with a lead heart:

“I am glad that at last you are setting out for Egypt, my little swallow,” said the Prince. “You have stayed here far too long. Please kiss me on the lips, for I love you!”

“I am not going to Egypt,” said the Swallow. “I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of sleep, is he not?” And he kissed the Prince on the lips, and then fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a strange cracking sound was heard, as though something had burst inside the statue. And indeed the Prince’s lead heart had split in two. Truly the frost was terribly severe.

Here we have a conjunction of circumstances. The Prince’s lead heart split in two at the moment of the swallow’s death, apparently from grief and “heartbreak” in both senses of the phrase. But the innocent explanatory sentence that closes the passage attributes it specifically to the physical properties of lead, which could not withstand the cold. So what really broke the Prince’s heart: the cold, or the sorrow?

Back to the Midrash

That is precisely the lesson taught by the midrash we have been discussing. The everyday and the miraculous do not contradict one another. Redemption is indeed miraculous, but it is also everyday and natural. Livelihood is indeed everyday and natural, but it is also miraculous. We must not flee from the natural plane and occupy ourselves only with the theological plane, but the opposite approach is also mistaken. Both livelihood and redemption have parallel explanations on the everyday and theological planes. This is one interpretation of the matter of the “hidden miracles” in Nahmanides’ words cited above.

As a continuation of this conclusion, we may say that Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman’s exposition, which holds that livelihood is greater than redemption, does not accept this sweeping equivalence. But not necessarily because of a theological emphasis; on the contrary, because of a necessary emphasis on the earthly. In his view, the hidden miracles are greater than the open ones. The constant and regular governance of nature, that is, livelihood, impresses him more, and testifies more strongly to the existence of a “governor of the palace,” who rules it continually and completely, than does the overturning of nature at certain singular moments, that is, redemption.

Footnotes