It's a deep dive into the story of Jacob's sons and their trip to Egypt, and it's full of anxiety, suspicion, and loss.
The passage begins with a recap from Genesis 42. Joseph, now a powerful figure in Egypt, has secretly returned the brothers' silver to their sacks of grain. "Joseph commanded to fill their vessels with grain, and to restore each man's silver to his sack, and to give them provisions for the way, and he did so to them" (Genesis 42:25). The brothers discover this unexpected gift (or is it a trap?) on their journey home, and naturally, they're freaked out. "My silver was returned and, behold, it is in my sack. Their hearts sank, and they trembled one with another, saying: What is this that God has done to us?" (Genesis 42:28).
This sets the stage for a really interesting interpretation tied to the death of Rabbi Simon bar Zevida. When Rabbi Simon bar Zevida died, Rabbi Ela entered and began [his eulogy] for him: “But wisdom, where will it be found? …It is vanished from the eyes of all living… The deep says: It is not…” (Job 28:12, 21, 14). The text draws a parallel between the irreplaceable loss of a Torah scholar and the temporary nature of material things. It says there are four things essential for the world's needs, and they all have replacements. "For there is a source of silver and a place where gold is refined. Iron is taken from the dust, and copper is smelted from rock" (Job 28:1–2). But a Torah scholar? According to Rabbi Levi, they're irreplaceable. The tribes' fear when they find the silver is nothing compared to the loss of Rabbi Simon.
When the brothers finally return to Jacob, their father, they recount their experience. "They came to their father Jacob, to the land of Canaan, and they told him all that had befallen them, saying" (Genesis 42:29). The Bereshit Rabbah interprets the phrase "all that had befallen them [hakorot]" as matters that weighed heavily upon them, like beams [kekorot]. The weight of their experience is palpable.
And it gets worse! Jacob, already grieving the loss of Joseph, is now suspicious of his sons. "The man, lord of the land, spoke… It was as they were emptying their sacks…" – it teaches that their father suspected them (Genesis 42:30, 35). He accuses them of bereaving him, reminding them that Joseph is gone, Simeon is detained, and now they want to take Benjamin too. "Jacob their father said to them: You have bereaved me: Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and Benjamin you will take; all of these have come upon me" (Genesis 42:36). He laments that it is incumbent "upon me" to produce twelve tribes. Talk about pressure!
Reuben's rash offer to guarantee Benjamin's safe return by offering his own sons as collateral doesn't help matters. "Reuben said to his father, saying: Kill my two sons if I do not bring him back to you; place him in my charge, and I will return him to you" (Genesis 42:37). Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi dismisses this as the words of "a firstborn imbecile." Ouch! Is it a helpful suggestion? Are your sons not my sons?
Finally, Jacob refuses to let Benjamin go, fearing for his safety. "He said: My son will not go down with you, for his brother is dead, and only he remains, and disaster will befall him on the path on which you will go; you will cause my old age to descend in sorrow to the grave" (Genesis 42:38). Rabbi Hanina and Rabbi Marinos, citing Abba Nehorai, offer a fascinating interpretation of Jacob's words. They relate it to Rabbi Tarfon, who would use the phrase "a knob and a flower [kaftor vaferaḥ]" – parts of the ornamentation of the candelabrum – to indicate a pleasing statement. But if someone said something nonsensical, he would say, "My son will not go down with you."
The passage concludes with a poignant observation: "On the path on which you will go; [you will cause my old age to descend in sorrow to the grave]" – but not in the house? (Genesis 42:38). From here it is derived that the accuser accuses only in a time of danger. The idea is that danger heightens vulnerability.
So, what do we take away from all this? It seems to me that this midrash (interpretation) isn't just about the literal events of the story. It's about the weight of loss, the sting of suspicion, and the ever-present fear of what might go wrong. It's about the fragility of life and the importance of wisdom. And maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always the potential for hope – even if it's hidden in a sack of grain.