Vayeishev: Treasure-Hunting for Pshat in the Brothers’ Meal

Is the pshat-based approach to Chumash only for "rationalists"? Do imaginative students who love fiction need midrashim? Some educators think so. I disagree. What do you think?

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Can Yosef’s brothers be compared to Denethor in this scene from The Return of the King? Is there room for Middle Earth for a pshat-oriented “rationalist”?

Vayeishev: Treasure-Hunting for Pshat in the Brothers’ Meal

This week, I listened to an episode of Orthodox Conundrum titled It’s Time for a Jewish Middle Earth: Cultivating Imagination for Torah Teaching, featuring my friend and fellow educator, Olivia Friedman. It was an excellent interview! Rabbi Scott Kahn asked every question I hoped he would and even raised points I hadn’t considered. I found myself agreeing with most of Olivia’s points or, at the very least, appreciating her perspective.

However, one point disheartened me. Although I don’t recall her exact words, Olivia noted several times that midrash is necessary because the “rationalist” approach to Chumash, focused on pshat (the straightforward meaning), can feel dry—even boring. This sentiment isn’t new, and it’s not entirely wrong: a pshat-based approach can feel dull, but it doesn’t have to. That’s what saddens me—students who find this foundational approach unengaging have likely never had teachers who could bring the pshat to life without relying on midrash.

As much as I’d love to delve into pshat-versus-drash methodology, that’s too ambitious for a Friday article—especially one started late Thursday night. Instead, I’ll share a pshat-focused question that captivated me this week, illustrating why I find pshat so enthralling.

When Yosef’s brothers see him approaching, they say to one another, “Here comes that master of dreams. Now, come, let’s kill him and throw him into one of the pits and say, 'a savage beast has devoured him'; then we’ll see what becomes of his dreams” (Bereishis 37:18). Reuven persuades them to throw Yosef into a pit instead. The Torah records their actions as follows:

When Yosef came to his brothers, they stripped Yosef of his tunic, the long-sleeved tunic that was upon him. They took him and threw him into the pit. And the pit was empty; there was no water in it. They sat to eat bread and lifted their eyes and saw, and, behold, a caravan of Yishmaelites was coming from Gilad and their camels were carrying spices, balsam, and ladanum,⁠ going to bring them down to Egypt. (ibid. 37:23-25)

My question is simple: what are we to make of the seemingly trivial detail that “they sat down to eat bread”? Why does it matter? How does this advance the story or the lessons we’re meant to learn?

Surprisingly, not many Rishonim comment on this. The most straightforward pshat-based explanation I found comes from the Bechor Shor (ibid. 37:25):

It is the custom of shepherds that some of them eat and some of them stand over the animals, and after some eat, the ones that ate go to the animals and then the others eat, and it is not their way for everyone to eat together. So Yehuda was eating with some of his brothers, and Reuven and some of his brothers were guarding the sheep, and therefore Reuven did not know about his being sold.

According to Bechor Shor, the Torah includes this detail to explain how Reuven returned later, surprised to find Yosef missing, as the Torah states: “Reuven returned to the pit, and, behold, Yosef was not in the pit; and he rent his garments. He returned to his brothers and said, ‘The boy is gone! And I, where will I go?’” (ibid. 37:29-30). Is this explanation dry? Perhaps. But is it necessary to understand the sequence of events? Certainly.

Rabbeinu Avraham ben ha’Rambam (ibid. 37:25) takes a different approach:

The statement “they sat down to eat bread” shows that they felt no regret over what they had done; it [reflects] the firmness of their resolve and the intensity of their anger toward him, all of which underscores the severity of their sin in this act.

Without this detail, we might imagine Yosef’s brothers feeling remorse once their anger cooled. According to R’ Avraham, the Torah preempts that assumption: “Nope! They sat down for a picnic immediately after throwing their brother into the pit.” This detail shows the depth of their hatred, callousness, and cruelty. (At this point, Olivia might show her students the scene in The Return of the King where Denethor feasts after sending his son and loyal soldiers to certain doom at Osgiliath.)

Sforno (ibid.) also notes the brothers’ calm meal, but draws the opposite conclusion:

“They sat down to eat bread” [indicates] that none of [their actions] seemed to them like a misdeed or moral failing that would prevent them from having their meal, unlike what would be expected of tzadikim (righteous people) such as themselves had they done something wrong. For example, the Israelites [refrained from normal activities] after they [nearly] killed the tribe of Binyamin, as it says: “They sat before God until evening, and they raised their voices and wept greatly, saying: 'Why, O Hashem, God of Israel, has this come to pass in Israel?'" (Shoftim 21:2–3). Similarly, Daryavesh, when he cast Daniel into the lions’ den, as it says: “His sleep fled from him, and neither food nor entertainment were brought before him” (Daniel 6:19). [The brothers’ ability to eat calmly] happened because they considered Yosef a “rodef” (a pursuer intending severe harm), and when one faces a rodef, whoever preempts him and kills him is justified—provided there is no other way to save the one being pursued.

Where R’ Avraham sees sinfulness in the brothers’ meal, Sforno sees righteousness—or at least a confident sense that their actions were justified.

These opposing perspectives remind me of Merle Miller’s Plain Speaking: An Oral Biography of Harry S. Truman. In “Chapter 20: The Bomb,” Miller writes:

But if there was one subject on which Mr. Truman was not going to have any second thoughts, it was the Bomb. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a hundred times, almost always in the same words. The Bomb had ended the war. If we had had to invade Japan, half a million soldiers on both sides would have been killed and a million more “would have been maimed for life.” It was as simple as that. That was all there was to it, and Mr. Truman had never lost any sleep over that decision.

Those who admire Truman and agree with his fateful decision will see his sound sleep as a sign of virtuous character: here is a leader who could make a decision impacting millions of lives—one that definitively altered the course of human history—without wavering or succumbing to regret. His ability to rest easily after ordering the bombings might be the ultimate manifestation of Truman’s “the buck stops here” ethos—a testament to his moral clarity, personal responsibility, and decisive courage. Yet others, convinced that the bombings were a grievous moral wrong, would interpret Truman’s untroubled sleep as evidence of callousness or depravity. Thinkers such as Noam Chomsky, who regarded Hiroshima and Nagasaki as “among the most unspeakable crimes in history,” might protest that a moral individual ought to lose sleep over such horrific acts. In this sense, Truman’s calm rest, like the brothers’ meal, can serve as proof of either moral clarity or moral blindness, depending on one’s perspective.

This machlokess (disagreement) between R’ Avraham and Sforno opens up a journey of exploration. With two pshat-based interpretations in hand, we can revisit the events from each vantage point, weighing each commentator’s evidence and arguments. We can follow the story, toggle between perspectives, and gain new insights. As demonstrated, we can also enrich a pshat-based analysis by referencing fiction, history, and other imaginative works. And we can do it all without recourse to midrash.

Are there interesting midrashim on this verse? Absolutely! Rabbeinu Bachya (ibid.) cites Midrash Tehilim (10:2):

The Holy One, blessed is He, said, “You sold your brother amid food and drink, as it says, ‘they sat to eat bread,’ behold! Your descendants will be sold in Shushan amid food and drink, as it is stated, “in the third year of his reign, [he made a feast] etc.” (Esther 1:3) and Haman came and bought you amid food and drink, as it is stated: “the king and Haman sat to drink etc.” (ibid. 3:15).

This intriguing midrash raises new questions about connections between the Yosef narrative and the Purim story. Even as a pshat-oriented learner, I enjoy thinking about midrashim. I simply don’t believe they’re necessary, nor should they overshadow the pshat.

I doubt Olivia would disagree with anything I’ve written here. Based on what she said in the podcast and what I’ve seen of her teaching, she is fully capable of crafting an engaging Chumash lesson based on the pshat alone.

If we differ at all, it might be here: Olivia believes Chumash is written so that every Jew—no matter how their mind works—can find meaning in the text. She acknowledges that while a pshat-based approach suits many, others need the imagination-based approach of midrash. I agree that Chumash must be accessible to all and that different minds gravitate toward different methods. But I think everyone can find meaning in pshat if taught properly. I don’t know when the genre of midrash started, but it wasn’t recorded until long after the Torah was given. When David ha’Melech praises the joy of Torah study, I believe is describing a delight any Jew can experience directly in the dvar Hashem (the word of God) itself, unadorned by midrashim.

I can’t think of a better conclusion to this article than quoting one of my favorite Rishonic statements on pshat vs. drash. Rabbi Yosef Kara (I Shmuel 1:17) writes:

You should know that when the Prophecy was written, it was written shleimah (“complete” or “perfect”), with all its solutions and everything it needs, so that future generations should not stumble in it. It lacks nothing in its place [to be fully understood], and there is thus no need to bring proof from another place nor from midrash. For the Torah is whole and it was given to us [in a state of] wholeness, lacking nothing in it, but the purpose of the midrash of the Sages is to enhance Torah and glorify it. But one who does not know the pshat of the pesukim and [nevertheless] turns to its midrash is similar to one who is swept along by the torrents as the depths of the sea overwhelm him and he grasps on to anything that comes to his hand to save himself. If only he had paid close attention to the word of God he would have investigated after the resolution of the matter and its pshat, and would find it possible to fulfill that which was stated: “if you seek it out like silver and search for it like hidden treasure, then you will understand fear of Hashem and knowledge of God you will find” (Mishlei 2:4-5).

I agree with R’ Yosef Kara that the Torah is shleimah—complete in itself—requiring no external embellishments for understanding, only honest, persistent inquiry. Mining the pshat need not be a dull chore; it can be a joyful treasure hunt, an inherently rewarding journey of discovery. Even those who aren’t “rationalistically inclined” can find their creativity ignited and their imaginations fully engaged as they uncover the Torah’s hidden gems through pshat alone.

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I’d love to hear your thoughts on the podcast and on the particular question I wrote about in this article. Just note that I’ll be off the grid next week, so I may not be able to respond until the week after.

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