Once again, Jewish blood is hefker. Once again, the onset of a Yom Tov has been used by those inheritors of the appellation pereh adam to visit death and destruction upon Yidden just as they were coming together to celebrate the fact that they were Jews and to participate in a Chanukah celebration.
Sadly, this is not a new story. It is the story of our golus.
Jewish blood has always been hefker. Perhaps what is more maddening is the two-facedness of it all. In pre-war Poland, no one got up in parliament and said that this was an attack on all Poles or that “this is not who we are as Poles.” Everyone knew that the Jews were different, and those in the host societies didn’t really care all that much about them. In fact, they hated them and said so.
Today, two-faced enablers of this type of behavior, such as Prime Minister Albanese of Australia, are trying to have it both ways. He condemns the attacks and says that they are an attack on all Australians, while he himself enabled the attacks by constantly calling the actions of the Israeli government “genocide” and simultaneously looking the other way for two years as overt anti-Semitism ran rampant, shuls were burned, and Jews were attacked. Now he professes to be surprised when Muslims go on a shooting rampage, killing, as of this writing, sixteen Jews, and maiming and wounding scores of others.
Sometimes I wish he would just be open and say, “Yes, we hate Jews. Yes, Jews are different. No, don’t expect us to try to stop the hundreds of thousands of Muslims who we have stupidly imported from the third world and ruined the ‘delicate’ balance of ‘multiculturalism’ in our country…just because of the Jews.” That is the back script that he is not saying. Those were the subtitles I was reading when I heard Albanese’s mealy-mouthed condemnations.
The event, a Chanukah menorah lighting arranged by Chabad, was intended to remind Jews who have forgotten who they are, and who were mixing into the melting pot of Australian life, that they are Jews. It is so tragic that the greatest reminders are sometimes provided by those who hate us. As Rav Chaim Volozhiner once said, if the Yidden don’t make Kiddush, the goyim will make Havdalah.
Historical Precedence to Two-Faced Treatment
In truth, however, we find similar themes both in Parshas Mikeitz and in the story of Chanukah. We find that Yosef helped the sar hamashkim interpret his dream, and then, right before Yosef was freed, the sar hamashkim promised that he would remember Yosef’s kindness. On a practical level, however, he had no intention of implementing his promise.
For two years, the sar hamashkim conveniently forgot all about Yosef. He forgot that Yosef had asked him to tell Paroh that he was in prison for no reason. For two years, the sar hamashkim was perfectly happy to be back at his job and had no “time” to even think about the lowly Ivri, Yosef.
But then there was a crisis in the palace. Paroh needed an answer, and he needed it now.
The sar hamashkim began telling Paroh about his days in jail and about his troubling dream. He then continued, “In jail with me was a ‘naar, Ivri, eved.’ The sar ha’ofim and I told him our dreams and he interpreted them. And his interpretations came true!”
That is the story in this week’s parsha. The question is: Why did the sar hamashkim use the words naar, Ivri, and eved to describe Yosef, his savior?
Rashi says, “Cursed are the reshaim, who even when they mention someone favorably do so in a way that makes the person they are talking about sound lowly and bad.”
Rashi explains that the sar hamashkim referred to Yosef with words that were insulting. He called him a naar, a fool, someone not worthy of greatness; an Ivri, someone who doesn’t even know our language; and an eved, a lowly slave, thereby reminding Paroh that there was a law in Mitzrayim that a slave cannot rule and cannot even wear the clothing of noblemen.
The Imrei Emes asked: How could the sar hamashkim say that Yosef did not know the language of Mitzrayim? We find in Chazal that Yosef knew seventy languages and that he knew more languages than Paroh. After all, Paroh did not know Lashon Hakodesh. In addition, the Imrei Emes asks in the name of the Sefas Emes that by that time, Yosef had already been in Mitzrayim for thirteen years. Certainly, he had already picked up the language.
Why Yosef Pretended Not to Know the Language of Mitzrayim
The Imrei Emes explains that although Yosef certainly did know the language, he acted as if he didn’t. Why? Because he understood that the residents of Mitzrayim were terrible, immoral people, who were very far removed from the purity of the house of Yaakov Avinu, Yitzchok Avinu, and Avrohom Avinu, where he had been born and raised. He knew that he had to keep his distance from the Mitzriyim if he wanted to preserve his purity.
So what did he do? He acted as if he didn’t understand their language. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he was a foreigner. Thus, they did not involve him in what they did because they couldn’t communicate with him. In this way, he ensured that he would have as little to do with them as possible.
This is how a Yid must preserve himself in golus. He must always be separate, an am levodod, a nation that stands alone. Today in America, every nation or type of person has a hyphenated name. There are African-Americans, Asian-Americans, and Hispanic-Americans. We Yidden must realize that we are not “Jewish-Americans” or “American-Jews.” We are Yidden.
We are Yidden who happen to live in America. The same is true for those who live in Europe. They are Yidden who happen to live in Europe. Dare I say that even those who live in what is known today as Israel are not “Israeli Jews,” but rather Yidden who live in Eretz Yisroel?
This is the lesson that Yosef Hatzaddik taught us.
A Yid is a Yid. He is different. He doesn’t mix.
Learning From Yosef How to Act With the Yevonim
Perhaps it is not a coincidence that it is on Chanukah that we lain this parsha, where Yosef showed us how to stay apart even in the terribly impure golus of Mitzrayim. The entire culture of the Yevonim was to make the Yidden mix with them. The Yevonim were not like Haman or Hitler, who tried to kill us. The Yevonim wanted us to become like them, to join them.
Yosef Hatzaddik taught us that it is our job to act as if we don’t even speak their language, to remain apart, not to understand their culture, and not to want anything to do with them.
The sar hamashkim may have meant to ridicule Yosef when he called him an Ivri, but to us, being an Ivri, being a Yid, is the greatest compliment and the ultimate goal.
If we think that we, in our sheltered communities, don’t have to try our utmost to be Ivrim, we are living in a cave. Today, more than ever, with the advent of social media and instant access to the worldwide sewer, even we, with our distinctive chareidi garb and thriving botei medrash and shuls, are perhaps more connected to non-Jewish ideas and culture than any generation before us. Sadly, we can look Jewish and do Jewish things, we can walk the walk and talk the talk, while in our pockets resides a goy that gives us access to the culture, humor, thinking patterns, and worldview of Yovon, and of all the others who hate us and want to annihilate us through both the paths of “achi” and of “Eisov.”
Yes, we, wherever we might be, must remember to keep saying, “Ivri anochi! We are Jews! We are different!” Not just at a once-a-year Chanukah lighting ceremony, but every day and every second.
Remember: Be a Yid. Be an Ivri.
There is no greater goal, and no greater accomplishment, than that.
