It’s Not So Simple

This week’s Parsha introduces us to Yaakov and Eisav, and begins the narrative of the ultimate sibling rivalry—one that endures until today.

The Passuk, in describing the personalities and traits of the two brothers, draws a contrast between them. Eisva is reffered to as “Ish Yodeah Tzayid, Ish Sadeh: A skilled hunter, a man of the field” whereas Yaakov is “Ish Tam Yoshev Ohalim: A simple man, one who sat in a tent.”

Rashi explains that an Ish Sadeh is “Adam Batul, V’Tzodeh B’kashto Chayos V’ofos: an idle man, who traps animals and birds with his bow.” An Ish Tam, explains Rashi, is “Ayno Baki B’chol Aleh, Elah Belibo Ken Piv: Not someone who is an expert in all these things (that Eisav was skilled at) but he says what is in his heart.”

This is not the only time that the Torah discusses a person’s Middos or characteristics in a succinct manner. For example, we are told “Noach Ish Tzaddik” and “ViHaIsh Moshe Anav Meod,” these are both glowing descriptions of people that truly deserved them.

Why then, does the Torah seem to describe both Yaakov and Eisav with such underwhelming terms. Eisav was an unbelievable Rasha—Chazal tell us that on the the day he sold the Bechora to Yaakov he committed no less than five terrible Aveiros—why then does the Torah use only the term Ish Sadeh to relate Eisav’s nature? Surely the Torah could have described his Rishus in more detail.

In a similar vein, Yaakov was the holiest of all the Avos—it is his likeness that appears on the Kisei HaKavod. Why then are we only told that he was “Ish Tam, Yoshev Ohalim?” Yaakov was surely no less a Tzddik than Noach, why did he not deserve at least that designation?

R’ Shimshon Pincus explains that the Torah is not only trying to convey the qualities that each had, but the reason that Eisav became the Rasha that he was, while Yaakov became the unmatched Tzaddik that he was.

Eisav is called Ish Sadeh, a man of the field. R’ Shimshon points out that if one lets a fields lie fallow, if he doesn’t properly tend to it, they field does not stay empty. Rather, weeds, thorn bushes, crab grass and the like grow within it. People are the same way, if we do not properly tend to our Ruchnias, if we allow ourselves to remain stagnant, we don’t merely remain in the same place. Rather, we experience the equivalent of hurtful weeds growing in afield: the very ground that was fertile for growth is ruined.

Eisav was an Ish Batel—an idle man—he was an Ish Sadeh, but the field was not properly maintained. He did not seek growth and so weeds began to sprout—his potential for success in Ruchnias was hampered by his lack of effort and care. This is why Eisav is reffered to as Ish Sadeh—to tell us that the very reason he became the Rasha that was capable of being Over five terrible Issurim in one day was becase he was an Ish Batel—he did not tend to his own growth.

As we ses, the Torah in this case is telling us not just what kind of men the two brother were, but how they reached their respective levels. When the Passuk says that Yakkov was “Ish Tam Yoshev Ohalim “ the Torah is not just extolling the virtue of Yaakov as an Ish Tam, rather it is telling us that Yaakov became the Tzaddik he was because he was Ish Tam. From the the definition that Rashi gives us: “Ayno Baki B’chol Aleh, Elah Belibo Ken Piv,” an Ish Tam would seem to be someone who is quiet and minds his own business, how is this the key to Tzidkus? How do we understand the fact that Yaakov became everything that he did because of his status as an Ish Tam?

Perhaps if we gain an insight into the true nature of an Ish Tam, we can better understand how this led to Yaakov Avinu’s growth.

The Passuk says “Tamim Tihiyeh im Hashem Elokecha,” we are Metzuveh to be B’tmimus with Hashem. The Ish Tam has perfected this Middah, he lives his life in the world of T’mimus.

Rav Dessler, in Michtav M’Eliyahu, speaks at length about this Middah. Many people thing that a Tamim is someone who lacks intellectual prowess, who is easily fooled by others. If that was the case, clearly the Torah wouldn’t extoll Tmimus as a Middah to strive for.

The Maharal on the Passuk “Tamim Tihiyeh im Hashem Elokecha” explains that a Tamim is one who lives his life based on the D’var Hashem without any application of his own intellect. He does not consider any outside factors, and is not distracted by the Hevlei Olam Hazeh, not because he does not possess intellect, but because he realizes that a person’s Sechel can turn him away from the correct path. He is so dedicated to the Dvar Hashem that he has the ability to block out any other factors from his decision making process and the way in which he sees the world.

Based on this Maharal, and others, Rav Dessler explains that an Ish Tam performs his Avodas Hashem dierectly from his Neshama, and not based on his Chachma. He doesn’t have to consider how to act in any situation, because his whole existence is only in the world of Torah. For such a person, Emes becomes second nature, he cannot even see a way other than the Derech HaEmes.

From this definition we can understand how Yaakov became the Amud HaEmes, as we know “Titen Emes L’Yaakov,” because if he was the ultimate Ish Tam he would be totally committed to Emes without allowing himself to waver for any reason.

But this leads to another question: in this week’s Parsha we see that Yaakov allowed himself to act in a slightly dishonest fashion to take the Brachos from Esav? If an Ish Tam is one who can only act based on the Derech HaEmes, who does not employ his own intellect for the purposes of rationalization or equivocation, how could Yaakov—the paragon of Emes—act in a way that was even partially deceitful?

Rav Dessler explains that Yaakov’s actions were in no way a contradiction to his status as an Ish Tam and the Middas HaEmes that is part and parcel of this existence. If Eisav had been able to get the Brachos of Yitzchok Avinu, he would have become the Rosh Hamishpacha, which would have caused and unimaginable Chilul Hashem. That being the case, the only way to ensure Kavod Shamayim was for Yaakov to take the Brachos from Eisav. To Eisav this seemed like Mirma, but to Yaakov this was the natural outgrowth of a need to be Mekadesh Shem Shamayim. In this case the “Ramaus” necessary to prevent Chilul Hashem came from an unwavering commitment to Emes—it was itself an manifestation of Temimus.

Based on Rav Dessler’s approach we can understand that an Ish Tam is not one who is unaware of his surroundings, or naive in any way, rather he is so committed to the Derech HaEmes, so dedicated to the Ratzon HaShem that the outside factors that distract the average person are rendered totally unimportant. His only pursuit is further Kiddush Shem Shamayim, which becomes his second nature to the point that he doesn’t even have to think about it. An Ish Tam performs his Avodas Hashem not because that is all he knows—nothing else is important.

This week Klal Yisrael lost an Ish Tam.

To all who knew him, R’ Moshe Twersky, ztvk”l, was a Yoshev Ohalim, his life was Kol Kulo Torah and Avoda. He was a Masmid to the greatest degree-learning every possible moment—and an unbelievable Midakdek B’Halacha. To my mind, he also excelled in the Middah of Tamim Tihiyeh Im Hashem Elokecha.

R’ Moshe’s Shiurim were not performances: his goal was to explain the Sugya in the Derech of his Rebbeim and ancestors. Even when he said something that appeared to others to be a Chiddush in explaining the Gemara or Rishoniom, there was no build up, no smoke and mirrors, so to speak—he said what he believed was Emes. On a similar note, sometimes when one of us offered our own approach or Pshat, he responded in a way that could seem cryptic: “It’s not like that.” He knew, perhaps instinctively or perhaps based on his vast Bikiyus, that the idea being presented was not Emes—that was all that mattered, and he expected us to accept that as an answer. His approach to Limud HaTorah was wholly and completely Bakashas HaEmes—a Derech that he sought to give his Talmidim.

There was nothing as precious to him as Limud HaTorah. When I once had the opportunity to show him a source that he said he couldn’t find, he celebrated as if I had returned his life savings to him. He knew exactly what it said in that particular Teshuva, he had only “lost” the exact location. But just this extra piece of information was important to him. It was part of his Bakashas HaEmes.

His Dikduk B’Halacha had the same quality. We all knew the “Rebbah Stories,” they were legendary, some probably apocryphal, amongst the guys in Yeshiva. But the truth was that he never looked for a Chmurah for the sake of a Chumrah, he had no interest in “hock;” he merely sought to do what he thought was right—to be an Oved Hashem of the greatest degree. Because of his total Bitul to the Ratzon Hashem, there was no room for equivocation or rationalization when it came to Halacha, this was second nature to him.

He was the definition of an Ish Tam.

There is a clip from one of R’ Moshe’s Shiurim that is circulating. In it he discusses the need for everyone to be ready to give their life Al Kiddush Hashem. He remarks that it could happen anywhere at any time and everyone has to be ready for it. What I found amazing, but at the same time unremarkable, is the Pashtus with which he made that statement. Listening to the Shiur it was as if he was Paskening a Shaila in Brachos. To an Ish Tam, making the ultimate sacrifice is the same as making a Bracha: they are both part and parcel of Avodas Hashem and that is all that is important.

We know that R’ Moshe made the ultimate sacrifice—he along with three other Kedoshei Elyon gave their lives Al Kiddush Hashem. While we struggle with this, and find it hard to comprehend, the Maharal has an important message for us, as quoted by Rav Dessler in the same piece we spoke about above: “The end of a Tamim is that a time comes for him to be elevated to a level that he stands together with Hashem.” When a person devotes his entire life to a pursuit of Tamim Tihiyeh Im Hashem Elokecha, his end is to be “Im Hashem Elokecha”

Now, R’ Moshe stands in front of the Kisei HaKavod—the very same Kisei Hakavod that has the imprint of Yaakov Avinu, the ultimate Ish Tam—and he is Im Hashem. The time came for him to be Mekdash Shem Shamayim, and none of us doubt that he was ready. He had been preparing for it for his entire life.