Rashi Vayigash – Telling Yaakov that Yosef is Still Alive

These past few weeks, we have been learning about the ongoing confrontation between Yosef and his brothers. He was determined to bring the brochos to fruition, they were bewildered by the unexplained animosity of the Egyptian ruler, and we are watching all this unfold from the sidelines, not understanding the entire situation. After all, the viceroy displayed an uncanny familiarity with so many personal details of their lives. Did they really think he knew all this courtesy of some “magical goblet?” Weren’t they even the slightest bit suspicious? They knew there was one person who knew everything about them, someone they personally sold to Mitzrayim years before. They medrash describes how Yosef displayed supernatural strength, the sort they were only accustomed to seeing in their own family. Yet, despite all this evidence staring them in the face, it seems they did not even entertain the possibility that they were dealing with their long-lost brother, Yosef. Why ever not?!  

It gets even stranger. The shevatim returned to Eretz Cana’an and told Yaakov Avinu about their encounter with Yosef. They were not merely guessing, piecing together clues to the puzzle. They gave a firsthand report about their emotional reunion with their father’s beloved son, and yet Yaakov did not believe them! It was only when he saw the agalos that he could accept the news. Why the strong resistance?

There was a basic aspect of human nature at work here. Fact: The brothers sold Yosef as a slave. Conclusion: He was enslaved somewhere in Mitzrayim. It was as simple as that! Their convictions were so strong, their supposed knowledge so certain, that they could not even imagine an alternate scenario. Even with so many hints thrown their way, they clung to their first impression, and could not see past their beliefs.

We face this difficulty at every turn of our avodas Hashem. Once we develop a certain perspective, we become settled in one mindset, it becomes all but impossible to switch tracks and see things differently, to change our opinion and our approach. Yet, this is a crucial component of so many aspects of our avoda.

We learn Torah. And very often, we learn the very same material we learned before. Every year, we read the same parshiyos, we go through the same explanations of Rashi. Some people alleviate their boredom by constantly turning to new pirushim, novel explanations of the pesukim. This is a superficial solution. After all, it is a unique characteristic of Torah that a young child, as a mere beginner, and a more advanced student, indeed even a great Talmid Chochom, all study the very same material, the same Chumash. We must identify with the pnimiyus of the Torah, to view the very same material from a fresh perspective, to see something new in the familiar words. We should not only focus on the externals, on amassing more information, more knowledge. We attempt to go deeper, to reach greater insight in the same pasuk, the same Rashi.

This is true Torah study. We already learned, we already understood properly, and yet we continue to delve into the words, we are open to another opinion, to approach the matter differently.

My Rebbeim stressed this important concept. I remember once contemplating something I learned from R’ Yonason David shlit”a, and I was excited to have discovered some new depth in his words. However, when he encouraged me to share my insight, I found myself literally repeating his own idea to him, using the very same terminology. This was quite embarrassing for me, until he explained that this was precisely the process we undertake in deepening our understanding of Torah. The very same words, the same ideas, begin to carry more meaning, as we realize more of their significance. 

This is equally important regarding our bein adam l’chaveiro. We have firmly held opinions about the people around us, based on endless details of our encounters with them, and these opinions guide our interactions with them. This severely limits the extent we can develop these relationships, to see past the externals and allow people to surprise us, to reveal new aspects of the personality, and to continue to grow and develop in our eyes. To relate to others properly, we must open ourselves to fresh perspectives, to the prospect of developing a second opinion.

Yet as we saw from the parsha, this seems like an impossible task. Our past experience blinds us to the possibilities of the future. How do we get around this problem?

Here is an idea, the beginning of a method we might use to circumvent these difficulties and allow our inner world to flourish.

When Dovid Hamelech married Bas-Sheva, the navi Nosson came to offer him rebuke. Although halachically permissible, the navi informed him that Hashem considered it an inappropriate course of action. However, he did not tell him this outright. Instead, he told him a mashal, a story of a poor farmer who has his last sheep taken by a rich neighbor. Dovid was filled with indignation at the plight of this poor victim, and he declares the perpetrator guilty of the death penalty. At this point, Nosson points the proverbial finger at Dovid, and tells him, ata ha’ish, you are that man. Dovid immediately admits his wrongdoing and accepts responsibility.

It is difficult to understand this conversation. Dovid was fully aware of his actions, and certainly had a fully developed explanation justifying the marriage. What did Nosson tell him already? And is the mashal truly comparable to Dovid’s situation? The story seems an open and shut case of a crime, while Dovid had the full backing of the Shulchan Aruch to support him. Why did he embrace Nosson’s perspective so quickly?

The answer lies in a major misconception regarding our motivations. We might think ourselves intelligent, guided by educated decisions. However, this is precisely what gets in our way, because sophisticated arguments do not yield easily to an alternate viewpoint. It is the simple ideas that are the most powerful. Let us not confuse the simple with the superficial. Sophisticated ideas are complex, and they always remain somewhat abstract, unconnected to the reality of our lives. On the other hand, the deepest truths of existence are also the simplest. Only simple, uncomplicated ideas have the power to hit home, to force you to switch tracks, to face the truth you might otherwise resist or avoid.

Therefore, Rav Hutner ztz’l once advised me that a mashal should always aim for simplicity. The more tangible, even coarse, the depiction, the better chance it has of hitting home, of revealing the inescapable truth.

Yaakov could not believe that the son he was mourning for twenty-two years was still alive, and all the proof in the world could not sway him. But when he saw the agalos, he believed. Arguments, ideas, proofs, all were mere words, and it is all too easy to come up with counter arguments, to stick to prior convictions. But then reality stared him in the face. The simple presence of the agalos accomplished what sophisticated polemic could not, and Yaakov believed.

There is an auxiliary koach that can be harnessed to aid this process. When someone is comfortable with the status quo, it is difficult to uproot himself and align with a new viewpoint. A non-conforming nature can counter this tendency. A certain defiance, some stubbornness, can help a person resist the ease of staying within the realm of the familiar. A streak of independence can lead him to say, “I will not have my decision unduly influenced by anyone, even by myself, by my own previous conclusions! I will consider the evidence anew, and decide for myself, right now.”