Sanhedrin 28
Our Gemara on amud beis discusses the status of the parents of children who marry each other (known in Yiddish as machatonim), and whether their closeness disqualifies them from serving as witnesses. The Gemara uses an interesting metaphor: “The father of the groom and the father of the bride can testify about each other, as they are considered to each other like a lid on a barrel.”
Rashi explains the metaphor: “It is like the magufah, the clay seal on the barrel, which is not of the same material as the barrel.”
Aruch (39, “avla”) and Yad Ramah interpret the metaphor differently: “It is like the cover of a barrel that is not attached but merely rests on top of it.”
Rashi seems to emphasize the lack of familial closeness due to the absence of shared blood relations. Each in-law comes from a different family line (made of different material). Although the in-laws share children through marriage, there is no direct blood connection. They are connected but not truly related.
A husband and wife become “one flesh,” as described in Bereishis (2:24), but this unity only extends to their children and future generations, not upward to their parents. Yad Ramah and Aruch stress that the bond is tangential. Just as the lid merely rests on the barrel without being part of it, the in-laws are connected only because of their children’s marriage.
Regardless of the interpretation, it is essential to recognize that the relationship between the parents of married children is not akin to the attachment one has with other blood relatives. Healthy relationships are maintained when expectations and roles are clear. It is a bonus to feel kinship or friendship with the parents of your son-in-law or daughter-in-law, but it is not a requirement. Respect, cordiality, and cooperation for the benefit of the shared children are the primary roles and expectations. Do not expect more, and do not be offended if you do not receive more.
The Yiddish term machatonim is a fascinating example of a word unique to certain cultures. It derives from Lashon Hakodesh, using the mem prefix that denotes an action. A mechutan is one who becomes connected through marriage (chatanus). Interestingly, while Yiddish borrowed the Hebrew roots, this term does not exist in biblical or Talmudic Hebrew. It does, however, appear in Spanish as consuegros, and in Punjabi and Urdu as kurmani and samdhan, respectively.
Another example of a unique word is m’shakela, found in Lashon Kodesh, describing a parent who has lost a child, distinct from other types of loss (see Shemos 23:26 and Bereishis 27:45). Arabic has a similar word, thakla, which appears related to the Hebrew m’shakela. In English, there is no specific term for a parent who has lost a child. In German, the term “verwaiste eltern” (orphaned parent) is used. Sanskrit has a term, vilomah, for this loss.
When one culture has a word for a specific relationship or experience that others do not, it highlights the importance or frequency of that concept in the culture. The presence of these terms in certain languages reflects how these cultures experience relationships and losses. In contrast, Western cultures often lack these terms, suggesting that marriage and extended family may be seen as less central to individual life.
Shedding Our Inner Egyptian
Sanhedrin 31
Our Gemara on amud beis offers an intriguing expression of praise for the sage Mar Ukva: “he who has light upon him, like Moses, who is called the son of Batya.”
The commentaries question why Mar Ukva is specifically described in this way, and why Moshe is principally identified as the son of Batya (who, according to the Midrash, was Pharaoh’s daughter and raised him).
Rashi cites a tradition that Mar Ukva’s initial repentance and awakening to Torah life occurred after a severe temptation to commit adultery, which he overcame at the last moment. He is compared to Nosson Tzutzisa, as described in Shabbos (56b), whose holiness was symbolized by a fire above his head, a light from his otherworldly purity that allowed him to resist temptation and adhere to his morals. Peri Tzaddik (Shemos 10) notes that Moshe, who was known as the “Egyptian man” (Shemos 2:19), also had rays of light emanating from his head because, like Mar Ukva, he had to resist temptations despite the challenges posed by his upbringing as an Egyptian in Pharaoh’s palace.
Where else do we find the term “Egyptian man?” Moshe killed an Egyptian man who was beating a fellow Jew (Shemos 2:11-12). Some see Avraham’s departure from his birthplace as a symbolic shedding of an old self to embrace his destiny. Similarly, Yaakov’s wrestling with the angel represents his internal struggle as he prepares to confront his estranged brother and return to his childhood home. In the same way, before Moshe could confront Pharaoh and lead the Jewish people, he needed to “kill off” the Egyptian within him. This Egyptian represented traits he had adopted in Egypt that he needed to discard in order to fulfill his mission.
Later, in the wilderness, we encounter another Egyptian man, the son of an Egyptian and a Jewish woman (Vayikra 24:10). This individual blasphemes, and Moshe, perplexed, seeks divine guidance. He ultimately rules that the man is to be stoned (ibid 11-14). Who is this half-Jew, half-Egyptian? According to the Midrash, he is the son of the same Egyptian whom Moshe had killed (Rashi, ibid 10). Why was he beating the Jew? The Midrash explains that he had raped the Jewish man’s wife in order to dispose of him (Shemos 2:11).
Isn’t it interesting that of the conundrums to confront Moshe, this one involves a part of his past, and he cannot recall the halacha? This violent act, along with the illegitimate birth and subsequent execution of the child, could symbolize aspects of the “Egyptian man” still lingering within Moshe. These unresolved elements of his past surfaced in the wilderness and needed to be eliminated once again.
Why a second time? It’s notable that this time the man is not purely Egyptian, but a mix of Egyptian and Jewish. Perhaps Moshe’s act of killing the Egyptian earlier in the Exodus symbolized his casting off the overt, obvious influences of Egypt. However, after the Exodus, to fully accept the Torah, Moshe had to confront even the more subtle aspects of Egyptian influence – those elements born of both his Egyptian and Jewish upbringing.
As members of a society and era that often corrupt our morals through tempting deconstructions and rationalizations, we too must confront the Egyptians and half-Egyptians within us.
