Vayeshev – Executive Function

 Vayeshev is about executive capacity: when vision outruns judgment, when authority precedes restraint, and when leadership instincts appear before the internal structures to carry them.  Yosef has to learn executive function the hard way, and eventually—according to the Gemara in Sotah, which says he conducted himself with “rabbanus”—it may literally be what nearly kills him before his brothers. 

Still: Yosef cannot suppress his dreams. They are not fantasy; they border on nevuah. The Torah never criticizes him for dreaming. But it does criticize how he handles those dreams. Like Yaakov before him—laughing silently while Esav cries over the loss of the brachos, dooming later generations—Yosef may possess truth, but lacks executive modulation. Vision without restraint becomes provocation. Not malice, not arrogance—irrational exuberance. This is his first executive failure:  knowing something true does not license saying it unfiltered.

Yosef’s second failure is subtler. Chazal describe him as mesalsel b’se’aro; not vanity per se — premature self-presentation: acting like a ruler before being one.  Enter Mrs. Potiphar—not just as a seductress, but also a stress test. Yosef is not saved by willpower. He is saved by dmus d'yukno shel aviv: an external regulator.  And the Midrash’s edge is sharp: had he believed he could “do it once” and shut her up (“Olam haba? With you? The things I do for Egypt”)—he might have rationalized himself out of eternity.

Instead, he’s falsely imprisoned, but the ten years aren’t enough, yet.  R. Shimon Shkop’s insight is surgical: the extra two years are not because Yosef asked the sar ha-mashkim to remember him—but because he asked twice: initiative turns into over-management. Yosef is almost there — and when he finally exits prison, he is transformed. He plans. He delegates. He delays. He controls information. He governs hunger, fear, and timing.  He has learned executive function.

Now contrast Yehuda, the other executive.  Yehuda does not endanger himself; he endangers everyone else: his proposal to sell Yosef succeeds—and he is blamed for that success; he goes OTD in form if not in substance by marrying a Canaanite, leading to the deaths of his first two sons, and then he compounds their gross (literally and figuratively) mistreatment of Tamar—publicly and structurally—even with Yaakov and Yitzchak, according to Midrash trying to cover for him, apparently unaware of what has happened inside Yehuda’s home.  Only when Tamar forces recognition—tzadkah mimeni—does Yehuda experience executive awakening, learning not through temptation but through consequence.

So why is it that Yosef suffers for his “rabbanus”?  Yosef’s challenge is not morality. It is power calibration.  He is outward-facing, system-oriented, globally necessary. Egypt cannot survive without him. The brothers—by contrast—are inward-facing, identity-preserving, covenantal.   The hint of reconciliation comes with Yehuda and Tamar at the end of Chapter 38—the Davidic lineage: enduring, corrected executive power.  Yosef represents competence refined by restraint; Yehuda represents authority refined by accountability. The Torah does not choose between them: it teaches the need to learn when vision becomes authority—and when authority must learn restraint.

Vayishlach - Amalek Goes To College

 If Amalek didn’t go to college, it would have had to have been invented for him.

In “Microaggression and Moral Cultures” (2014), sociologists Bradley Campbell and Jason Manning argue that American universities have shifted from a culture of dignity, in which people absorb minor insults and reserve intervention for serious cases, toward a culture of victimhood, where even accidental slights are documented, broadcast, and brought to authorities. The change doesn’t merely reflect emotional fragility; it turns grievance into moral currency. Victimhood now elevates status and grants a presumption of innocence, allowing people to punish others without assuming responsibility. As reliance on third parties for justice increases, personal agency weakens, while the power to condemn intensifies. The result is a culture that licenses retaliation so long as the retaliation is framed as resistance.

That logic now shapes campus responses to the Israel–Hamas war. The oppressor-versus-oppressed narrative gives students a moral shortcut: support the “victim” and you are righteous, oppose them and you are immoral. Under this framework, endorsing violence does not require confronting its brutality. Chants for Israel’s eradication are treated not as acts of agency, but as performances of innocence—violence becomes morally cleansed if carried out on behalf of the oppressed. The righteousness of victimhood becomes a blank check for vengeance.

This secular worldview echoes the biblical chain of Esav → Eliphaz → Timna → Amalek, laid out at the end of this weeks’ parsha. Esav sells the birthright yet claims to be robbed, demanding sympathy to authorize anger. Eliphaz is sent to kill Yaakov but instead steals his wealth, insisting he had no choice: he avoids cost while harming another, outsources moral justification to authority, and uses identity (“a wronged son”) to excuse harm. This is victimhood converted into license. Timna transforms exclusion into ethnic grievance, turning pain into ideology. Amalek inherits the grievance without the injury, attacking not to win but to erase the symbol of a supposed oppressor. Once grievance becomes virtue, erasure becomes justice.

Amalek inherits neither the grievance nor the injury, only the narrative, and converts it into a cosmic truth-claim. They attack Israel not for strategy or justice, but in the name of a moral claim they never experienced, turning a secondhand story of “injustice” into permission for erasure. The Torah’s description of Amalek targeting the exhausted and the stragglers is not merely cowardice—it is grievance deployed as purification. And here Amalek institutionalizes something new: safek becomes ikkar—the central tool by which violence is justified. If one can cast doubt on the moral worth of the other, or the legitimacy of their history, or the purity of their identity, then annihilation masquerades as justice.

Amalek, then, is the ancient version of the Campbell–Manning student archetype. They possess no firsthand injury, yet claim the highest moral entitlement through a grievance they did not suffer, using it to justify punishment without accountability. Like the student who denounces others publicly but insists they are “only defending the oppressed,” Amalek harms while insisting they merely avenge a moral wrong already decided for them by narrative, not evidence. They outsource justification (“history demands it”), avoid personal responsibility (“we are only resisting domination”), and treat violence as ethical necessity rather than choice.

Campbell and Manning warn that “moral dependence” produces not weakness but the moralization of vengeance. A generation that won’t take responsibility for a personal slight will feel absolved endorsing atrocities if they are framed as solidarity. Esav cries injustice, Eliphaz enforces grievance, Timna sanctifies resentment, and Amalek purifies through destruction. Just as victimhood culture grants innocence by identity and power by accusation, Amalek cloaks aggression in borrowed moral outrage. They do not fight to win—they fight to prove themselves righteous.

And all for 50K a year on their parents’ dime.

Toldos: No Ontology For You

Esav is shocked that he didn't get bentched.

He is made to realize that is because at age 15, he benched himself permanently and wasn't even in the game.

Esav doesn’t snap when Yaakov walks out wearing his fur coat. He snaps when he realizes Rivka was never fooled.  And then - once he understands that the person he trusted most—more than Yitzchak, more than himself—had always known he wasn’t the partner he pretended to be.  You don’t shriek a “tze’aka gedola u’mara” because you lose a blessing. You scream like that when your entire self-delusion explodes in your face and you can’t look away.

When Rivka tells Yaakov to pose as his brother, she’s not playing favorites; she’s administering the only wake-up call Yitzchak is structurally incapable of initiating. She has the prophecy—rav yaavod tza’ir—but more importantly, she has the lived knowledge of what Esav’s character actually means. Yitzchak has no idea what a man like Esav means for a woman, for a household, for the covenant. She does: the daughter of the paradigmatic practitioner of droit de signeur, Besuel - “Lord of the Virgins” - and the brother of the man who treats his own daughters like commodities.  So she knows that ontology cannot be entrusted to someone who sees relationships as tools and responsibilities as props.  And that’s on his good days.

Yaakov isn’t eager: Is my purchase of the bechora not enough?  Must I take the brachos this way? He sounds like Tamar decades later, refusing to expose Yehuda even when she is entirely in the right, because the humiliation would fracture something in the Messianic line that can’t survive a public shaming. Yaakov fears that the method will contaminate the result.   So when Yaakov later allows himself that flicker of satisfaction at Esav’s tears, it reverberates — it cancels his initial reluctance, and history takes note. Tears are never trivial in Tanach. Sometimes they’re accepted, sometimes deferred. Esav’s pain is real. But his reversal is not: he is forever denied access to the ontology, it belongs to his brother, and always at his expense.  By definition, he can never win the sibling rivalry.

But this is the tragedy of Toldos — the ruse was necessary because Yitzchak thought Esav was Zevulun to Yaakov’s Yisaschar.   Rivka knows better.  The brachos are not being stolen—they are being rescued.  The brachos — not just food security or political leverage — were the operating system of the family’s spiritual destiny.  Ontologies don’t die easily, but neither do the people who lose access to them. That’s the lesson Esav forces us to confront: not that resentment fuels violence, but that exposure fuels rage. And sometimes the most dangerous thing in the world is the moment a person realizes the story he told himself was never true,  he’ll never be able to convince himself otherwise, and his brother will remind him.

Esav has no ontology.  

And that itself is now ontology.

Chaye Sarah: Sim Not Yadcha on the Text--How to Not Teach Chumash

Parshas Chayei Sarah contains two famously difficult passages that, curiously, receive wildly different treatment in traditional education.

The first is “sim-na yadcha tachas yerechi,” Avraham’s instruction to Eliezer to take a solemn oath.

The second is the midrashic claim that Rivka was three years old when she married Yitzchak.

Both can make an educator pause.

But only one of them — Rivka’s age — has historically been elevated in some circles into a mandatory ontology, a dogma that must be taught literally even when it distorts the narrative and contradicts basic educational responsibility.

Why did that happen?

And why did “tachas yerech,” which is far more awkward on the surface, never receive this ontological treatment?

And what does Rivka herself teach us about how to answer both questions?

1. “Tachas Yerech”: The Symbol Everyone Knows Is Symbolic

When Avraham asks Eliezer to place his hand tachas yerech, the Torah uses a euphemism — the same way it uses euphemisms throughout Chumash for matters of embodied life.

Chazal follow suit.

Rashi explains the act in covenantal terms: an oath taken upon the symbol of the bris — the brit being the only mitzvah-object Avraham possessed.

But no rebbe in cheder ever insisted that this was literal anatomy.

No one framed it as a test of emunah.

No one pressed children to envision it or defend it.

Why?

Because everyone understood instinctively what Chazal understood:

• The Torah is speaking in symbol.
• The location is covenantal, not anatomical.
• The point is brit, not biology.
• And, following Pesachim 3a, euphemism is an ideal educational modality for certain topics.

In other words:

This was never turned into ontology because it never served a sociological purpose.

2. “Rivka Was Three”: When a Midrash Becomes a Boundary Line

By contrast, the midrash claiming Rivka was three — which is not pshat, not unanimous in Chazal, and not demanded by the storyline — was elevated in some educational subcultures into a doctrinal identity marker.

A badge of fidelity.

Rabbi Marc Angel has written sharply about this: how some mechanchim framed it as an issue of emunah rather than as a midrashic calculation that was never meant to override the moral, psychological, and narrative reality the Torah is describing.

The tragedy of that approach is twofold:

 

(1) It violates Pesachim 3a.

The Gemara tells us to avoid explicit discussion of things that can embarrass or confuse, and to follow the Torah’s path of euphemism.

Yet here, educators did the opposite:

• *They euphemized “tachas yerech,”
• but literalized the midrash that makes the relationship incomprehensible,
• and insisted children accept it as “simple pshat.”

 

(2) It violates Rivka’s dignity — precisely what the text works to protect.

The Torah goes out of its way to present Rivka as:

• mature,
• morally discerning,
• spiritually independent,
• capable of choosing to leave her home,
• able to pass a rigorous test of chesed,
• and immediately recognizing Yitzchak’s spiritual greatness.

Nothing in the narrative reads like the story of a toddler.

Everything reads like the story of a young woman whose purity, courage, and agency shine in contrast to the broken environment around her.

Turning that story into a tale about a three-year-old is not piety.

It is a form of narrative malpractice that erases the very virtue the Torah is praising.

3. The Paradox: Why One Was Euphemized and the Other Literalized

 

Here is the critical insight:

The literalization of the Rivka-midrach was never driven by fidelity to the Torah.

It was driven by a cultural impulse:

• To defend midrash at all costs,
• To treat every drasha as ontology,
• To draw boundary lines between “us” and “them,”
• And to cultivate a form of emunah that confuses genre, category, and pedagogic responsibility.

 

“Tachas yerech” is symbolic.

“Rivka was 3” is also symbolic — a number derived via a midrashic derash for homiletic purposes.

But only one of them was enlisted into a culture war, so only one became a forbidden topic to question.

In truth, neither are literal.

Both are symbols, handled differently because of sociology, not Torah.

4. And Then Rivka Herself Teaches Us the Correct Mehalech

When Rivka first appears, the Torah does something rare.

It slows down.

It describes her deeds with care.

It lets us watch her:

• exercise judgment,
• act with strength,
• display generosity,
• withstand pressure,
• and make a profound choice with full intentionality.

The Torah presents Rivka as a paradigm of moral maturity in a corrupt household.

If mechanchim today want to know how to teach Bereishis responsibly, Rivka offers the model:

See people as the Torah sees them — not as a strained midrashic arithmetic sees them.

Teach covenantal meaning, not biological awkwardness.

Protect dignity, not distort it.

Use euphemism where the Torah uses euphemism.

Use ontology where the Torah uses ontology — not where culture does.

Rivka’s greatness lies in her ability to rise above a family that could not see her clearly.

Our task is not to repeat that failure.

Our task is to teach her story the way the Torah actually tells it: with dignity, nuance, and truth.

 

The Torah speaks in symbols; educational malpractice happens when we turn symbols into dogma. 

Rivka’s story reminds us that our job is to preserve dignity, not sacrifice it to misapplied piety.

 

Vayera: Haran Always Votes for Haman

With the terrifying spectre of an open Hamasplainer having been elected to what some call the third most powerful office in the world — placing 2025 New Yorkers almost on a similar moral plane as 1933 Germans and 2006 Gazans — there is one uncomfortable question that remains: with so many “MOT’s” having not only voted for the mayor-elect but having campaigned for him under their hijacked mutation of “Judaism”, how to relate to those erstwhile brethren and sistren? 

Does one try to be “mekarev” them?  Are they “tinokos shenishbu” even though they have not only adopted a political creed so openly hostile to Judaism but they have treasonously grafted “Jewish” on it as if putting a kippah, tallis, tefillin on a pig and then giving it a birs before administering chassidishe shchita?

Or—do we view them as the 20% viewed the 80% prior to the three days of Makkas Choshech who freely and without coercion decided that their future lay in Egypt — and, while they may not have died en masse literally like the midrashim propose, they may have simply been dead to the other 20% by virtue [signal] of their decision to opt out?

The contrast between Avraham’s ostensible fierce advocacy in this week’s parsha for Sodom contrasts starkly with his silence as his brother Haran suffers the fate meant for him 2 parshos ago.  I would like to suggest that Haran is a prototype for the 80%— and by extension for the 2025 Jewish Mamdani voter; this time—the Haran came to its logical conclusion and voted for Haman, and did so openly and proudly under the banner of a “Judaism” kidnaped and abused into a gross mutation of the host.

What is uncanny about Avraham in Vayera is not that he advocates so fiercely for Sodom — it is that he doesn’t advocate for his own brother.  Avraham pleads for an entire civilization that is already morally cremated, yet he lets Haran burn — and does not even attempt a plea bargain with Nimrod, or a habeas motion before G-d.  People stumble on this because they assume both categories — Sodom and Haran — should be grouped together as “wicked people who have sunk too far.”  But Sodom gets a lawyer.  Haran does not.  Why?  Because Sodom is a defendant — an actual named party in the case.  Haran is not.  Haran refuses to be a party of record.  And Torah is making a clinical distinction, not an emotional one.

Haran never chose a conviction; he tried to ride the verdict.  His sin was not licentiousness.  His sin was opportunism.  Terach at least “narc’d” in the open — that is morally repugnant, but at least it is an explicit allegiance.  Haran instead engineered a moral equivalence between Abraham and Nimrod — and then assumed that whichever side won would claim him as a shareholder.  That is performative neutrality — which is its own form of treason.  In modern psychological terms: he wanted the schar of Pinchas without actually picking up a spear.  And Avraham must have known his brother’s pattern — this was not naïve uncertainty, this was a betting slip.

So Avraham advocating for Sodom is not rachmanus al ha’achzarim.  It is strict scrutiny of the strict-scrutiny case.  Avraham is effectively saying: if You are about to administer a Midas HaDin verdict of irreversible civilizational liquidation — then that verdict must be subjected to a Midas HaDin standard that leaves not only no reasonable doubt — but no doubt whatsoever.  And that is why Abraham is not merely permitted to defend Sodom — he is commanded to.  He becomes, functionally, their court-appointed attorney — zealously representing a client the Court itself has assigned him.

In that light, Bruriah’s yitamu chata’im fits Abraham perfectly — until the moment the choteh becomes itam ha’chotim — where the sinner and the sin collapse into one undifferentiated object, and the attempt at rehabilitation becomes categorically incoherent.  That is Haran.  And that is why Haran is the conceptual ancestor of Haman.  Haman is the perfected form of Haran’s instinct: the opportunist who will vote annihilation if annihilation is the current that secures his imagined insider status.  Haran is not the man who doubted.  Haran is the man who had no convictions — and therefore ended up defaulting to the power structure that promised him the highest psychological yield.  In our age — this is the category to fear most.  Because the Harans always end up voting for the Hamans — even when they themselves will get burned in the process.

When a person publicly uses “as a Jew” as the rhetorical justification for a political stance that structurally endangers Jews, they are no longer speaking as the tzibbur — they are speaking only as themselves. == This is the distinction Avraham makes in the furnace scene — Haran stands near the Jews, but not as one of them.  Avraham’s Eruvin 19a rescue boundary demonstrates that the decisive category is covenantal anchoring, not the degree of sin. He rescues the wicked, the compromised, even the morally confused — every sinner except those who erased their covenant identity. 

So how do we relate to those who publicly claim that their Judaism is the very basis for endorsing a political platform that materially endangers Jews?

This is the time to call it out for what it is.  A betrayal so complete that even Avraham Avinu would not allow himself to recognize the perps — except as he “recognized” his brother.

Therefore: Zohran voters who used Judaism as a justification for their votes…

… are worse than Hamas.  Because you have introduced and catalyzed the metastasis of their intersectional oncogene into several of our internal ecosystems for your own benefit and self-validation in the vehicle of virtue signaling.

…are all porshim and acherim; Zimrim, Momaderim, and Moomers all in one.

…have no right to speak on behalf of us, and morally and spritually have no rights to even ask for access to communal resources.  They can get that from the Soroses and the Qataris, if they don’t already.

…have no rights to ask for any kid of spiritual comfort from tribal brethren and sistren whom they betrayed.  In case one should try to protest about this move on their counterparts — this was done after the 2018 Pittsburgh massacre when Franklin Foerskin yemach shmo made this threat to Jewish Trump voters in the pages of the Altlantic.  And then year a later cancelled his own already thin credibility by making excuses for the perps of the Jersey City atrocity.  So he was never speaking out of communal concern: it was all about politics and virute signaling.

…aren’t even to be represented as the reshaim at the seder.   Which makes perfect logical sense because Zohran voters types have likely already made their own mutated versions with oranges — and other artifacts that are analogous to spiritual tumors — on their Seder plates.

… are lower than afar va’efer — because that is what they would rather reduce their coreligionists to rather than admit that their intersectional peor-gressive worldview is a load of Greta Garbage.  

…are the paradigm of the response of the mesis/mediach confirming an adoption of the mutato-Mamonidean code of wokearei emunah: kach hi chovasenu, kach yafeh lanu.

…Unity?  UNITY?  (Sorry, Jim Mora).   Unity for Zohran voters is under the banner of a universalism which would erase Judaism — an epistocide, which — as the “poor Gaza” mantras over the last two yeara have proven — would justify Judeocide, even if it took them along with it, because—like the idol worshipers who took out their idols from their bosoms to kiss them and died when their innards burst — Zohran voters are all ready to die Al Chilul Hashem if it leads to the end of Judaism. (Glenn Greenwald and Ben Cohen ym”shm meet regularly with Tucker Carlson, so Zohran voters shouldn’t pretend they’re above talking to “right wing MAGA fascists” if it will help in furthering the above mentioned epistocide.)

Even Bruriah would not have us pray for them — and they would not want us to pray for them either, as they would assume the G-d we pray to must be Zionist, while they go say Kaddish for dead Hamas terrorists.

Zohran voters are they/them.  

Zohran voters are not us.

When Haran votes for Haman, Haran votes himself out. 

That is exactly what happened this past Tuesday.