They saw hidden depths and endless possibilities in the very fabric of the Hebrew language, and one fascinating example of this is their discussion of the words vayhi and vehaya.
The discussion starts with a simple observation: The Torah often begins phrases with "Vayhi," which translates roughly to "it was," or "it came to pass." Rabbi Shimon bar Abba, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, makes a bold claim: "Every place that vayhi is stated, it is trouble or joy; if it is trouble, it is unparalleled trouble; if it is joy, it is unparalleled joy." (Bamidbar Rabbah 13). That sounds pretty definitive, right?
But then Rabbi Shmuel bat Naḥman comes along and throws a wrench in the works. He refines the idea, suggesting that vayhi always indicates trouble, while vehaya always indicates joy. "Every place that vayhi is stated it is trouble, [every place that] vehaya [is stated, it is] joy" (Bamidbar Rabbah 13). Now, this is a strong statement! And, of course, it immediately gets challenged.
The rabbis pepper him with examples that seem to contradict his rule. What about "God said: Let there be light, and there was [vayhi] light" (Genesis 1:3)? That seems like a pretty joyful moment!
Rabbi Shmuel isn't fazed. He argues that even the creation of light wasn't pure joy. Why? Because, as Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon explains, the incredible light created on the first day, a light so powerful you could see from one end of the world to the other, was ultimately hidden away because humanity wasn't ready for it. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, God "stood and sequestered it, and designated it for the righteous in the future," quoting Proverbs 4:18, "But the path of the righteous is like a radiant light, growing brighter until noon." So, even light has a shadow of sorrow.
The challenges keep coming. "It was [vayhi] evening; it was [vayhi] morning, one day" (Genesis 1:5). Surely the completion of the first day is cause for celebration? Again, Rabbi Shmuel finds a hidden sadness. He argues that everything created on that first day is destined to erode and decay, quoting Isaiah 51:6: "For the heavens will be eroded like smoke and the earth will be tattered like a garment, and its inhabitants, likewise, will die, but My salvation will be forever and My righteousness will remain unbroken." Even in beginnings, there's an awareness of endings.
The back-and-forth continues, a fascinating dance of interpretation. What about "The Lord was [vayhi] with Joseph, and he was [vayhi] a successful man" (Genesis 39:2)? Trouble! Potiphar's wife, the rabbis suggest, caused him grief. "It was [vayhi] on the day that Moses concluded [to erect the Tabernacle]" (Numbers 7:1)? Trouble! It foreshadowed the destruction of the Temple. "It was [vayhi] on the eighth day" (Leviticus 9:1)? Tragedy struck with the death of Nadav and Avihu.
Even when the text says "The Lord was [vayhi] with Joshua" (Joshua 6:27), implying success, the rabbis point out that Joshua tore his clothes in mourning that very day (Joshua 7:6). And when it says, "It was [vayhi] when the king was settled in his house" (II Samuel 7:1), the prophet Nathan immediately arrives to tell David he won't be the one to build the Temple (II Chronicles 6:9). The list goes on and on (Bamidbar Rabbah 13).
Finally, they challenge him one last time. What about those offerings brought by the princes? "The one who presented his offering… was [vayhi]" (Numbers 7:12). Rabbi Shmuel doesn't back down. He explains that these very princes would later be associated with the rebellion of Korah, a significant challenge to Moses' leadership. Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, citing Rabbi Levi ben Perata, uses a powerful analogy: "This is analogous to the son of a high ranking official who stole in the bathhouse. The bathhouse attendant feared identifying him by name. Nevertheless, he publicized him as a certain lad garbed in white." The Torah, even when it doesn't explicitly name names, hints at the future association of these "princes of the assembly" (Numbers 16:2) with Korah's tragic end.
Having defended his interpretation of vayhi, they turn the tables and demand he prove his claim that vehaya signifies joy. "We have said ours; you say yours," they challenge (Bamidbar Rabbah 13).
And Rabbi Shmuel delivers. He quotes a series of verses filled with hope and promise, all starting with vehaya: "It will be [vehaya] on that day, that the mountains will drip nectar..." (Joel 4:18). "It will be [vehaya] on that day that spring water will emerge from Jerusalem" (Zechariah 14:8). "It will be [vehaya] on that day that the Lord will continue" (Isaiah 11:11). These are images of redemption, abundance, and divine favor.
But, inevitably, there's one final challenge: "It was [vehaya] when Jerusalem was captured" (Jeremiah 38:28). Surely, this is a moment of profound sorrow, not joy! Ah, but Rabbi Shmuel has a final, surprising twist. He argues that even in the destruction of Jerusalem, there was a seed of hope. "That, too, is not trouble, but joy, as on that day Menahem, the messianic king, was born, and Israel paid off their debt for their iniquities" (Bamidbar Rabbah 13). He quotes Lamentations 4:22: "Your iniquity is completed, daughter of Zion; He will not continue to exile you." Even in destruction, there is the promise of future redemption.
So, what are we to make of all this? Is vayhi always trouble and vehaya always joy? Probably not in a literal, absolute sense. But the rabbis' exploration reveals something much deeper about the nature of language, history, and even life itself. It reminds us that joy and sorrow are often intertwined, that beginnings contain endings, and that even in the darkest moments, there can be a glimmer of hope. It's a powerful reminder to look beyond the surface, to search for the hidden meanings, and to recognize the complex tapestry of human experience woven into the very words we use.