Parshat
Ki Tetze
11 Elul 5767
August 25 2007
Daf Yomi: Yevamos 114
Guest
Rabbi:
Rabbi Chaim Wasserman
Editor, The Rabbi's Letter, NCYI
Rabbi Emeritus, Young Israel of Passaic-Clifton, NJ
Jerusalem, Israel
I was never one
to fully subscribe to the Yiddish bon mot that obviously derives
from European tradition which says that "s'iz shver tzu zein a
yid" - to be Jewish is a difficult task. Though many well known
explanations have been offered to soften the judgmental
harshness of this suggestion, I have to admit that as a
youngster, I really didn't have it hard in the insular world in
which I grew up.
All the
amenities of Jewish living were available to my family of
origin, and all within walking distance of the house. Except for
a short period of small inconveniences (but certainly not of
terrible hardships) in a new community to which I relocated
after being married and in which I continue to live until this
day, life - Jewish living, that is - has been exceedingly
comfortable. So what's so hard to be a Jew?! If you want to be
Jewish everything will fall into place. I must admit, that for a
long time I simply could not identify with this popular bit of
wisdom.
The truth be told, it wasn't until I came across an explanation
of a mitzvah found in this week's parashah, that this one
mitzvah, the more I think about it, has for me become the model
of an impossible mitzvah to observe. If a Jew is required to
observe this mitzvah - it is after all a Biblically ordained
d'oraisa - then what is required of us may very well run counter
to every fiber of human nature. I refer to what we find at the
very beginning of the fourth aliyah (Devarim 23:8) where we are
commanded not to revile an Egyptian since we were hosted, albeit
as aliens, in the land of Egypt at a time when in Canaan we
could have perished from hunger.
Here is the impossible implication of the mitzvah. I am, let us
say, a second or third generation Jew whose ancestors were
enslaved in Egypt. My mother or grandmother may have given birth
to several male children who were destroyed by the Egyptian
taskmasters. And now, a short while later, a generation or two
or more, my G-d tells me it is forbidden to hate them; they were
once good to you! But what about my helpless blood relatives, a
baby brother, or a baby who was my uncle or great-uncle who were
senselessly and brutally murdered? I shouldn't hate?
Explains Rav Yerucham Levovitz, the immortal mashgiach ruchani
of the Europe's Mir, that the motivating core of this mitzvah is
simply hakarat hatov, the recognition that the magnanimity which
Pharoah of old extended to Yaakov and his children when we were
a mere clan, not yet a nation, overrides all of the ache and the
trauma of the servitude which we had to sustain. This
commandment, I suggest, may very well be the most difficult of
all. Rashi sensed this and it is obvious that Rav Yerucham's
comment is entirely based on the insight of Rashi to this verse.
If you are still not convinced and my suggestion does not compel
you to believe that in this case it certainly is "shver tzu zein
a yid", then let me just substitute some of the players in the
mitzvah. Instead of focusing on the disdain a Jew can so easily
have for an Egyptian, let us shorten the span of time between
ourselves and the evil culprits by inserting "German" or "Arab"
into the scene.
The passuk could then read: Do not hate a German for they hosted
you in the days of Rashi, his descendants and family during one
of the most flourishing times of Torah development, the period
of the ba'alei Tosafot. Imagine what learning Torah would be
were there no Rashi and, to the Talmud Bavli, no Tosafot!
Despite all the difficulties we had to bear in the period of a
millennium, a Jew is not allowed to hate Germans since they
allowed for Torah giants to flourish generation after
generation.
Or, what would be if the Torah suggested that a Jew is forbidden
to despise the Arab nations within which Jewish civilization
flourished for century after century throughout Asia? How
readily would there be compliance here, given the history of the
last three quarters of a century?
What would you tell your grandchild, or great-grandchild, if
he/she wanted to marry a German, a convert who today sits and
studies Torah and is meticulously observant of mitzvot, big (d'oraisa)
and small (minhag)? Remember, before you answer, that his family
two generations ago was involved in the most heinous oppression
Jews ever had to sustain! Would you accept such a person into
your family?
Ribono shel Olam! Not hate? Not despise? Your Torah was given
for humankind to observe and You told us when to hate and what
to revile! How do you expect me to conform to such a mitzvah?
Yes, here is where I learned that it is, in reality, "shver tzu
zein a yid." But what shall I do? Rashi, who had every reason to
hate his Christian host country in the end of the 11th century
wrote on this passuk, "Do not revile an Egytian - Despite the
fact that your children were drowned in the river you remember
that they hosted you when you were severely in need of their
hospitality." In a word, I suppose, Rashi sets down for all
times that the principle of hakarat hatov overrides all other
considerations. It, more than all else, is the mark of an honest
human being.
Oh, yes, here it is truly "shver tzu zein a yid!" But that is
what the good L-rd wanted, who am I to ask "Why?".
NCYI's Weekly Divrei Torah Bulletin is
sponsored by
the Henry, Bertha and Edward Rothman Foundation -
Rochester, New York; Cleveland, Ohio; Circleville, Ohio
