It starts with the seemingly simple phrase: “Ish ish” – which, in this context, means "be like all men." But what does that even mean?
The Midrash doesn't leave us hanging. It tells us a story.
There was a woman, see, and she was approached by a man. He was making a proposition. Instead of flying off the handle or giving in, she asked him a clever question: “Where will you go?” Meaning, “Where should I meet you?” It’s a subtle way of turning the tables, isn’t it?
But here’s where it gets really interesting. What did she do with this information? She went straight to the man’s wife.
Now, the wife, armed with this knowledge, went to the meeting place. And – get this – she actually consorted with her own husband! Imagine the scene.
Afterward, overcome with remorse and shame, the man wanted to die. He was devastated by his own actions.
But his wife, incredibly, had a response that cuts right to the heart of the matter. She said to him: “You ate from your bread and drank from your cup.” In other words, you indulged in what was already yours. "However," she continues, "what caused this to befall you? It is because you are haughty. Be like all men."
Wow. Let's unpack that.
The wife’s point isn’t just about the infidelity. It’s about the man’s pride, his arrogance, the sense that he was somehow above the normal constraints that bind other people. He thought he could get away with it. He felt entitled. He wasn't thinking of his wife, or of the consequences. He forgot he was just another ish, another human being, subject to the same temptations and failings as everyone else.
The story is a stark reminder that pride often comes before a fall. It's about the importance of humility, of recognizing our shared humanity. We're all susceptible to making mistakes. We all have desires and vulnerabilities.
The real tragedy here isn't just the act itself, but the underlying arrogance that fueled it.
So, what can we learn from this ancient tale? Perhaps it’s a call to check our own egos, to remember that we are all, in the end, just people. Imperfect, fallible, and in need of compassion – both for ourselves and for others. Maybe, just maybe, by embracing our shared humanity, we can avoid some of the pitfalls that await us when we think we're somehow better than the rest.