Parshat Naso

During my days in yeshiva, or perhaps sometime after that, there was a joke that made its rounds within the yeshiva world and beyond.

“Do you know who Shimshon’s father was?”

“Of course! His was the husband of Eshet Mano’ach (Mano’ach’s wife)!”

The joke is not repeated because of its humor but because of the underlying difficulty that it reflects, a difficulty that puzzles the serious students of Tanach. When analyzing the story of Shimshon’s birth in Sefer Shoftim (perek 13), the haftarah that we read this week, it is clear that the central character of the story is Mrs. Manoach, the soon-to-be mother of Shimshon HaGibor. The angel of Hashem appears to her and not her husband. She, not her husband, receives the list of all the strictures that her future son would have to observe. She is given specific laws that she would have to observe, while none are given to Mano’ach. And when Mano’ach asks God to send back the “man of God” who appeared to his wife, the angel returns—but, again, returns to the wife, and not to Mano’ach. In fact, when Mano’ach fears that they would die as they had just “seen God,” it was his wife who had to ease his mind and explain that Hashem would not have appeared to them and allowed them to see the wonders if He wished to kill them. It was all about her. Mano’ach was simply the husband of Mano’ach’s wife.

And yet…she has no name.

We know the name of Devorah, the nurse of Rivka.

We know the name of Ya’el, who killed Sisera.

We know the names of Shaul’s wives.

We know the name of Shaul’s daughters and David’s wives.

Yet, for some reason, the name of this woman, the one who bore a son who would become one of Israel’s shoftim and would earn the appellation of “Gibor”—her name is never mentioned!

HaRav Moshe Lichtenstein points out another troubling aspect of the story and the personalities. The stories of barren women throughout Tanach share a common thread: the anguish of these women that is shown through their reactions to their barrenness. Sarah Imeinu longs for a child and even goes so far as to have Avraham take her handmaiden in the hope that she, Sarah, would be “built up,” or perhaps more correctly “besonned” (“ibaneh”) through Hagar. Rivka pleads for a son together with Yitzchak while Rachel bemoans her barrenness and tells Yaakov to give her a child, for, if not, “meita anochi,” “I am dead. We also read of Chana who prayed for a son at the Mishkan in Shilo and of the Shunamite woman who, though never asking for a child, reacts with disbelief (“do not disappoint me”) when told by Elisha that she would give birth.

But not so Mrs. Mano’ach. And not so Mano’ach. We read of no prayers, no pleading to God for a son and not even an expression of gratitude upon hearing the angel’s promise. We sense an attitude of passivity in their lack of action or reaction. In fact, as Rav Lichtenstein declares, the very name Mano’ach seems to imply rest, repose and relaxation. It is troubling, indeed.

And, perhaps, the entire story might be seen as a reflection of the state of nezirut, “nazerism.” The laws of the nazir parallel those of the kohen in many ways. The requirement to avoid all defilement, the injunction against becoming defiled even for some relatives, and the prohibition of intoxicating beverages (for a kohen doing service in the Mishkan). And yet, the kohen is sanctified for all time while the nazir’s sanctity is limited—usually for only 30 days.

I would suggest that the contrast is based upon the difference in the nature of the two positions. The nazir is defined by what he may not do. No haircutting, no defilement, no grape product. He must separate from many communal activities and, in fact, the very root n,z,r means to separate, to distance oneself (Rashi Bamidbar 6:2). There is no positive act he is required to do more than offer the necessary sacrifices once his period of nezirut ends. His sanctity is rooted in the passive omission of certain activities. The kohen, on the other hand, finds the source of his sanctity in the position he holds in serving the community. He is the religious functionary. He offers the sacrifices for the nation, he judges and teaches the people and even purifies them. His prohibitions do not lead to a distancing from the people but to an elevated status that the people would respect.

Kedusha is not achieved through passivity—nor is leadership. The lack of action shown by Mano’ach and his wife mirrors the type of sanctity of the nazir. To arrive at true holiness one must actively pursue behavior that impacts others, that helps the neighbor and that brings the nation closer to their Creator.

This was missing from both Mano’ach and his wife. Perhaps that is why the name of Shimshon’s mother is also missing. Those who fail to turn to Hashem in a time of need, who fail to reach out to the All-Powerful, have ignored their divine spark.

And perhaps that is why the text has ignored their identity.

Rabbi Neil Winkler is the rabbi emeritus of the Young Israel Fort Lee and now lives in Israel.