Manifest Mockery
Summary by Channie Koplowitz Stein
Parshat Toldos begins with what appears to be a superfluous phrase. The unusually wordy verse says, “These are the offspring of Isaac son of Avraham - Avraham begot Isaac.” Certainly, if Isaac is the son of Avraham, Avraham begot Isaac. Why does the Torah take the unusual step of repeating that detail? Rashi’s explanation, although appearing quite logical on the surface, raises even more questions than it resolves. Rashi says that Hashem created a miracle that Yitzchak resembled Avraham so closely that the scoffers would not be able to claim that Sarah, who conceived Yitzchak after Avimelech had detained her, got pregnant from Avimelech rather than from Avraham.
Rabbi Yaakov Goldberg in Dvir Kodsho poses several questions based on this Rashi. First, since Avraham already had a son, why would the scoffers question his ability to father children? The miracle seems clearly to be with Sarah who had no children after all these years of marriage rather than with Avraham. Further, since when does the Torah concern itself with what cynics think? After all, the Torah does not care that cynics will say Man was created by committee rather than by the One God when it writes, “Let us create Man,” in the plural. Rabbi Eisenberg adds yet another question in Mesilot Bilvovom. Why are the scoffers asking the question now, when Yitzchak himself is a father, rather than at his birth?
This last question seems to have the simplest answer. When Sarah gave birth, there was no question that Yitzchak’s birth was miraculous. Sarah even nursed other babies and proved that she had indeed given birth. But now that Yitzchak himself was a father to boys who were so different from each other, the people questioned the genealogy of the boys. They knew that the righteous Avraham had an evil son Ishmael, but that son’s mother was the Egyptian Hagar. Now that Yitzchak had an evil son Esau alongside a righteous son, the cynics opined that Avimelech’s genes must be part of Yitzchak. They conveniently forgot that Rivka herself was the daughter and sister of evildoers.
Dvir Kodsho, citing Rabbi Yitzchak Zev Soloveitchik, the Griz, offers an interesting perspective that further illuminates Rashi’s words. The scoffers were not denying that Sarah gave birth to Yitzchak at such an advanced age, rather were questioning that Avraham was the father. What they wished to deny was that this birth was a fulfillment of Hashem’s earlier promise to Avraham. To admit that Hashem had promised and had now fulfilled that promise with the birth of Yitzchak would have forced them to accept monotheism. That they were unprepared to do. The scoffers’ goal was to avoid becoming believers.
This is the very purpose of cynicism. Rabbi Frand, basing his words on the ideas of Rabbi Hutner, tells us that cynicism is the very characteristic of Amalek. Cynicism forms the basis of destruction, of tearing down everything holy. It is chillul. But its counterpoint is hillul, of finding sanctity in everything. And there is a bit of cynicism in every one of us that the yetzer horoy uses very effectively. If we can inject a bit of cynicism into everything, if nothing has any real, pure value, then we absolve ourselves of any responsibility. We need not be inspired to grow and perfect ourselves. This trait of Amalek is the antithesis of everything Jewish.
Yet it is so easy to fall into the trap of leitzonut, of mockery and cynicism, warns Rabbi Young in Apples from the Tree. And by doing so, we rob ourselves and others of the will to be inspired and carry ourselves and our children forward. If we denigrate a rabbi’s words, or mockingly call tzedakah collectors schnorers, or speak disparagingly of a teacher, how can we inspire respect for Torah or for tzedakah in our children?
To counteract this tendency, Rabbi Frand suggests we develop the habit of being positive. Be aware of what we are saying and squelch the desire to make offhand cynical remarks.
Rabbi Kofman in Mishchat Hashemen takes us back to the scoffers of Abraham’s generation. When Sara gave birth at the age of ninety, there must have been a tremendous awakening to Hashem’s presence in the world. But all it takes is one derogatory or cynical word to dispel inspiration. We today have constant experiences or hear many stories that should inspire us. Do we use them, or do we dismiss them with the wave of the hand or a cynical comment? We have to be prepared to be an open vessel willing to fill ourselves with inspiration, to see God’s hand in everything around us, and recognize that Hashem gives us the exact challenges that we can handle, no more and no less, so that we can grow. If you have a moment of inspiration and you do not utilize it, that moment may become the catalyst for rebellion.
The first perek of Tehillim (which praises those who do not dwell among the scoffers) praises the man whose desire is in the Torah and who is involved beTorahto day and night. While beTorahto is usually translated as being involved in His Torah, in Hashem’s Torah, Rabbi Kofman asserts that we should be involved in our Torah. In other words, praised is the man who makes the Torah his own, his way of life, and doesn’t leave it when he leaves the study hall. Rabbi Kofman bolsters his interpretation with the verse from chapter 34 of Tehillim. There the poet says, “Go, O sons … I will teach you fear of Hashem.” Rabbi Kofman points out that this verse too is telling us to make Torah and the fear of God part of our lives as we go out of the teacher’s presence or out of shul and into our lives. Remember all the lessons, verbally and experientially, and be inspired. Be not like the scoffers of Avraham’s generation who saw but still refused to learn and grow.
The Torah is telling us this detail, writes Rabbi Schrage Grossbard, because Hashem knows that mockery can leave an impression. That’s why the Torah tries to be as truthful as possible, to prevent scoffing. So, asks Rabbi Mordechai Ezrachi in Birkas Mordechai, why are we not concerned with exactitude when Hashem says, “Let us make Man?” There can definitely be the implication that Hashem is not the sole Creator but is one God in concert with other gods. But Hashem is more concerned with the feelings of mankind than of His own honor. Hashem wished to remove any possible suffering that Avraham would have and therefore arranged the further miracle that Yitzchak would look like a clone of his father Avraham. If Hashem was so careful of the feelings of Avraham, how careful should we be of the feelings of our fellow man?
Our truly great Talmidei Chachamim understand this implicitly. Rabbi Friefeld relates how Rav Chaim Soloveitchik spent two hours listening to a simple shoemaker pouring out his heart about his troubles. To this great Rav, alleviating a fellow Jew’s suffering was as important as learning Torah.
But Avraham’s suffering may not have been about his own honor, writes Rabbi Ezrachi. Avraham Avinu was concerned about the scoffers themselves, how they could stoop so low as to be unwilling to acknowledge Hashem’s hand in this birth. Avraham would want to rehabilitate them and probably be unsuccessful. Hashem wanted to spare Avraham the pain of watching others fall so low.
Both Rabbi Gedaliah Schorr and Rabbi Eisenberg approach the scoffers from a perspective completely different from the physical appearance of Yitzchak. Rabbi Schorr notes that the main attribute of Avraham Avinu was chesed, kindness, while Yitzchak is identified with gevurah, awe or fear. According to Ohr Gedaliah, the scoffers could not understand how Yitzchak’s attribute of awe and fear could be inherited from Avraham. It seemed to them to be more closely related to character of the despot Avimelech who understood fear and who relinquished Sarah after Hashem threatened him with punishment. After all, Avimelech was interested only in himself. But what the scoffers failed to realize was that although fear of punishment can be truly motivating to do what the other wants, love can be equally motivating. In that case, the fear is not for self, but for the other, for one does not want to disappoint or hurt the one he loves. This was the quality of the awe and fear associated with Yitzchak. This fear is truly the result of the same ahavah, love, that generates chesed, kindness. In this sense, Yitzchak was a true son of Avraham.
The Torah goes on to record how, after Avraham’s death, the Plishtim had stopped up the wells that Avraham had dug. Yitzchak now dug those same wells again, giving them the names Avraham had originally given them. Mesillot Belvavam explains that Yitzchak was teaching them that the love Avraham displayed was not gone with Avraham’s death, but was manifest in the very fear and awe of Yitzchak. Yitzchak’s son Yaakov will then be the perfect synthesis of these two characteristics in the characteristic of truth.
The scoffers went one step further. According to Rabbi Schorr, they used the very name to imply that Yitzchak was the son of Avimelech. After all, they claimed, laughter is itself mocking and unholy. However, while it is true that laughter can indeed render the holy sacrilegious, we have the ability to elevate the mundane to holiness, and to experience joy and laughter in doing so. This indeed may be the greatest lesson of Yitzchak and his name, that we stand before Hakodosh Boruch Hu in a physical, mundane world, yet we can recognize Hashem wherever we turn, and we can laugh and be joyous in His presence.