Parshas Vayishlach 5781
The city of Shechem is left decimated. Shimon and Levi have swept through the city, killing every male citizen when he was at his most vulnerable, just days following the mass circumcision that they had declared was necessary as a means to enter into a covenant with Yaakov’s children. That covenant never came to pass, and the inhabitants of the city fell victim to the brothers’ ruse.
If we were to be told of Yaakov’s indignation over this episode—but not be told why—we’d likely surmise that he found this move immoral. You can’t wipe out a city in retaliation for the rape of your sister, no matter how heinous the violation against her and the entire family.
And yet Yaakov doesn’t see the slaying of Shechem as out of proportion, per se. He directs his rebuke not towards the act itself, but the results:
וַיֹּאמֶר יַעֲקֹב אֶל־שִׁמְעוֹן וְאֶל־לֵוִי עֲכַרְתֶּם אֹתִי לְהַבְאִישֵׁנִי בְּיֹשֵׁב הָאָרֶץ בַּכְּנַעֲנִי וּבַפְּרִזִּי וַאֲנִי מְתֵי מִסְפָּר וְנֶאֶסְפוּ עָלַי וְהִכּוּנִי וְנִשְׁמַדְתִּי אֲנִי וּבֵיתִי׃
בראשית לד:ל
Yaakov said to Shimon and Levi, “You have sullied me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites and the Perizzites; my men are few in number, so that if they converge upon me and attack me, I and my house will be destroyed.”
Bereishis 34:30
Perhaps, in a vacuum, the attack is justified. Yaakov may well see Shechem’s abduction of Dinah not only as the straying of one individual from the basic code of human decency, but as indicative of a city-wide culture of systemic immorality. Nevertheless, the prudence of the attack needs to be carefully weighed against the compromising results thereof. How will Yaakov and his family be viewed by other nations? Will other nations be suspicious of them and their motives? Will they ever again be taken at their word? Will they now be viewed as an aggressor that needs to be snuffed out before they can rise up again against another unsuspecting people?
On the face of it, Yaakov’s concerns appear reasonable. But if we consider these worries in the context of the promises Hashem has already made to him, they become puzzling. Yaakov bears the mantle passed down to him from Avraham and Yitzchak. He is the progenitor of the future Jewish People, the Chosen Nation that Hashem has promised would come to bear. Yaakov himself receives promises that Hashem will be by his side and protect him. Yaakov knows his destiny to be inexorable; why is he concerned with how any other nation may view him or of the harm they may try to cause him? Yaakov and his family are invincible.
Yaakov actually finds himself in a position in which we still find ourselves today. We believe in the promises made to our ancestors, believe in the historic role that the Jewish People have played and will play in history, and are certain of the tilt towards a Messianic terminus that the future holds. This insistence, coupled with the secure position the Jewish People now enjoys, leaves us feeling more emboldened than ever.
Still, Yaakov insists that Hashem’s promises do not absolve us from acting recklessly. Knowledge that we play a more prominent role in history than any other people does not permit “in your face” comportment. Humility and responsibility demand that we be ever mindful of how the rest of the world looks at us and that we not bring criticism or animosity upon ourselves.
To be sure, Yaakov is no stranger to public displays of religion. According to the famous Midrash, he proudly informs his brother that “עם לבן גרתי ותרי׳׳ג מצוות שמרתי—Though I have lived with Lavan, I have continued to fulfill all the mitzvos.” Yaakov unapologetically conducts himself in the manner of his father and grandfather, despite the hostile climate of Lavan’s home, and proudly communicates this achievement to Eisav. Yaakov is, of course, the heir of his grandfather, Avraham, who was no stranger to the soapbox and whose public discourses on religion were legendary. Yaakov’s son, Yosef, will one day praise G-d in the court of none other than Pharaoh himself. Where do we suppose he learned to be so confident in expressing his religion?
Yaakov does not champion the cause of hiding religion from the public eye, nor does he ignore the potential repercussions of flaunting it. The line between the two is discerned through earnest reflection of whether or not the surrounding nations have a right to be suspicious or offended. In the case of the attack on Shechem, onlookers would be justified in questioning the integrity of Yaakov and his children. They gave their word, after all, and then violated it. But public preaching of monotheism in public? Take it or leave it. But if your insides burn with rage over publicly expressing my beliefs, you’re nothing but an anti-semite.
When I put on my tallis and tefillin at an airport, I expect to get some looks and I know full well that not all will be benignly curious. But that need not concern me. Hashem has gifted me with a mandate of mitzvah observance and it is my duty to fulfill it, whether it makes others uncomfortable or not. I do, however, try my best to find a corner that’s as out-of-the-way as possible. If someone is annoyed by a public display of prayer, that’s their problem; if they’re annoyed because my shuckling is distracting them from their email or I’m needlessly blocking an open seat that their child could be sitting in, it’s my problem.
Yaakov’s reaction to Shechem is a reminder to keep our antennae out. Public perception is something that effects the Jewish People’s stock, and unnecessarily relying on Hashem’s promises is not taking our own responsibility seriously enough. It is easier to blindly blame any critique from the outside world on anti-Semitism than it is to honestly assess whether we played some role in inviting that criticism. We should feel confident to fulfill Hashem’s duty visibly and publicly. But there’s no hiddur mitzvah in doing so with with our elbows out.