Rav Podolsky z"l Vayechi 5761
A fascinating incident takes place in our parsha, as revealed in the Gemara (Sotah 13a). Yaakov's children all ascended to Eretz Yisrael to bury him. It was a heavy, emotional task; Yaakov was revered by all.
Finally, they came to Chevron and approached the Me'aras HaMachpelah (Cave of the Patriarchs), anxious to pay their final respects to their father. Standing outside the cave, however, was an old, red, hairy fellow, brandishing a sword -- Esav. "Where do you think you're going?" asked Esav.
- "We're going to bury our father in the cave," they replied.
"Oh no you're not! The cave belongs to me!"
"But Uncle Esav, don't you remember that you sold the birthright to our father!"
"I never sold my portion of the cave. Yaakov buried Leah in his portion. The rest belongs to me!"
"But you did, Uncle Esav. You even signed on a deed!"
"Oh yeah? Where is it? I'm not moving till you show it to me!"
"Well, we didn't bring it with us. We didn't think we would need it during the funeral. We left it back in Egypt."
"So send someone to get it. Meanwhile, I'm not moving!"
The brothers elected Naftali -- who swiftness resembled a deer's -- to run back to Egypt to retrieve the deed.
In the meantime, one of Yaakov's grandsons, Chushim ben Dan, became aware of what was happening. He was called Chushim because he lacked a very important sense: He was deaf. Unable to follow the dialogue, Chushim wondered what was going on. The brothers somehow conveyed to him that good old Uncle Esav was holding up the works until Naftali returns from Egypt.
Chushim exclaimed, "And until Naftali returns, grandfather's body will lie here in disgrace?" This was too much for Chushim to bear. He took a stick and unceremoniously knocked off Esav's head, whereupon they proceeded to bury Yaakov in the cave.
Asks Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz (Sichos Mussar 5731 p. 165): Why was it specifically Chushim who worried about Yaakov's honor? What about the rest of Yaakov's family? Why were they willing to put up with Esav's shenanigans?
Explained Rav Chaim: Here we behold the human capacity to acclimate to any situation. When the brothers first encountered Esav, they assumed that after their first argument Esav would relent. Thus, in order to get past the first argument, they had to "swallow" their deep desire to bury their father, albeit temporarily. But Esav did not yield, and they had to go through the same process again. After each stage of the dialogue, the brothers gradually acclimated to a previously extremely uncomfortable situation. Consequently, they took no action.
Only Chushim, who was not involved at all in the arguments, retained his original aversion his grandfather's disgrace. Accordingly, only he acted.
As a small child, I once accompanied my father who was then a real-estate broker, as he showed a house to a potential buyer. The house was directly across the Penobscot river from the James River paper mill. Unaccustomed to the vile stench, I burst out, "Dad, it stinks here!" Dad gave me a look, and the house remained unsold.
Years later, I befriended a person who lived right next to the mill. "How do you stand it?" I asked him. "Stand what?" was his honest reply. The "MillStink" (as they affectionately referred to it) had ceased to bother them. Indeed, it barely registered on their olfactory nerves. They had acclimated.
A similar phenomenon has been manifest throughout the so called "Oslo peace process." I remember when the Israeli government first announced the donation Gaza and Jericho to the Palestinian cause. "Gaza and Jericho first," it was dubbed. There was a major uproar. Homes within a fifty mile radius drastically declined in value. No one I knew thought that it could really happen. But it did, and people acclimatized.
When they spoke about giving guns to arm the Palestinian "policemen", people were up in arms. But it happened, and people moved on. When Chevron, and many other cities were given over, again people were upset, but they got used to it.
Then the shooting began. Somehow, when the shooting was far away, people were able to tolerate it. It didn't affect them personally. But when the Arabs began shooting at the Yerushalayim neighborhood of Gilo, everyone (even leftists) proclaimed, "No more! That's were we draw the line!" Yet the shooting continued, and people eventually adapted. The lesson to be learned: There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that a human being cannot get used to.
And this brings us to the point. Because all of this simply pales in comparison with the type of acclimation of which we are all guilty. Once a year, during the holiday season (Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur), we take a good look at ourselves. We ascertain our shortcomings and make sincere "new year's resolutions" to improve. But what happens in practice? The first week we are pretty meticulous regarding our behavior. But, ever so subtly, we regress. Either we don't realize it, or we choose not to. In either case, the negative behavior ceases to stink, or we cease to notice it.
And so are we guilty of the same flaw when we fail to make those ever-necessary adjustments. Teshuva means never acclimating; never succumbing to complacency. Rather than make peace with the MillStink, it behooves us to remove the source of the stench.
Only then will we come out truly smelling like a daisy!
