Can’t or Don’t Want To
BET Journal | December 13, 2025
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Can’t or Don’t Want To

BET Journal | December 31, 2025

The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chayim 285) rules that a person should read shnaim Mikrah v’echad Targum — read each weekly parsha twice in the Hebrew and once in translation. The classic translation we use is Targum Onkelos, traditionally attributed to an early authoritative chain going back to Sinai through Moshe Rabbeinu. Onkelos often preserves emphases and shades of meaning that are easy to miss in a quick reading of the p’sukim, and every so often, it yields a little gem that changes how we understand a story.

This week’s gem comes in the story of Yosef and his brothers. The passuk tells us that the brothers “could not speak to him in peace” — ולא יכלו דברו לשלום. At first glance, the language sounds like they were helpless: they simply couldn’t speak peacefully. If they truly were incapable, how can they be blamed? How do we explain the long-term consequences the nation later suffered — the animosities and even harsh decrees that Chazal say were a result of their hatred? (See Rabbeinu Bachya in Parshas Mikeitz, who connects the brothers’ hatred to the later suffering of the nation.)

Onkelos slips in a single extra word: ולא צבן. The root צ-ב-נ / צ-ב-א (tzava/tsavon) is related to desire, wanting. Read together: They did not want to speak to him in peace. In other words, the Torah records how it appeared to them — “they couldn’t” — but Onkelos tells us what was true at the core: they didn’t want to. The difference is crucial. The Torah writes the reality as it presented itself to them; the Targum exposes the inner will.

That brings us to an important principle: אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון — nothing stands before the will. If a person truly wants to change, to act, or to make peace, they can summon the will to do so. The brothers’ failure was not a metaphysical incapacity; it was a moral failure of unwillingness.

This is exactly the spirit of the Chashmona’im. When the Greeks imposed their culture and tyrannized the Jewish people, the Maccabees rejected the passive claim “we can’t” and instead embodied the opposite: “we will.” We will fight for our Torah and our light. That is why the miracle of Chanukah is not only military success or oil burning longer than expected; it is a celebration of the inner resolve to reclaim identity and practice against the voice that insists “it’s impossible.”

So the lesson for us is practical and immediate. Too often, we hear the inner voice that says, “I can’t change my habit,” or “I can’t forgive,” or “I can’t break this pattern.” But the brothers’ story and Onkelos remind us to examine: Is it truly that we cannot — or that we do not want to? If we want to, and we ask Hashem for help, we discover surprising reserves of strength. Chanukah, then, is our annual reminder that with will and Divine help, the impossible can become possible.

Takeaway: The Torah’s language may describe how people felt; the Targum reveals what choice was possible. Choose to want, enlist Hashem, and you’ll be surprised by what change is possible.

RABBI DANIEL COREN

The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chayim 285) rules that a person should read shnaim Mikrah v’echad Targum — read each weekly parsha twice in the Hebrew and once in translation. The classic translation we use is Targum Onkelos, traditionally attributed to an early authoritative chain going back to Sinai through Moshe Rabbeinu. Onkelos often preserves emphases and shades of meaning that are easy to miss in a quick reading of the p’sukim, and every so often, it yields a little gem that changes how we understand a story.

This week’s gem comes in the story of Yosef and his brothers. The passuk tells us that the brothers “could not speak to him in peace” — ולא יכלו דברו לשלום. At first glance, the language sounds like they were helpless: they simply couldn’t speak peacefully. If they truly were incapable, how can they be blamed? How do we explain the long-term consequences the nation later suffered — the animosities and even harsh decrees that Chazal say were a result of their hatred? (See Rabbeinu Bachya in Parshas Mikeitz, who connects the brothers’ hatred to the later suffering of the nation.)

Onkelos slips in a single extra word: ולא צבן. The root צ-ב-נ / צ-ב-א (tzava/tsavon) is related to desire, wanting. Read together: They did not want to speak to him in peace. In other words, the Torah records how it appeared to them — “they couldn’t” — but Onkelos tells us what was true at the core: they didn’t want to. The difference is crucial. The Torah writes the reality as it presented itself to them; the Targum exposes the inner will.

That brings us to an important principle: אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון — nothing stands before the will. If a person truly wants to change, to act, or to make peace, they can summon the will to do so. The brothers’ failure was not a metaphysical incapacity; it was a moral failure of unwillingness.

This is exactly the spirit of the Chashmona’im. When the Greeks imposed their culture and tyrannized the Jewish people, the Maccabees rejected the passive claim “we can’t” and instead embodied the opposite: “we will.” We will fight for our Torah and our light. That is why the miracle of Chanukah is not only military success or oil burning longer than expected; it is a celebration of the inner resolve to reclaim identity and practice against the voice that insists “it’s impossible.”

So the lesson for us is practical and immediate. Too often, we hear the inner voice that says, “I can’t change my habit,” or “I can’t forgive,” or “I can’t break this pattern.” But the brothers’ story and Onkelos remind us to examine: Is it truly that we cannot — or that we do not want to? If we want to, and we ask Hashem for help, we discover surprising reserves of strength. Chanukah, then, is our annual reminder that with will and Divine help, the impossible can become possible.

Takeaway: The Torah’s language may describe how people felt; the Targum reveals what choice was possible. Choose to want, enlist Hashem, and you’ll be surprised by what change is possible.

RABBI DANIEL COREN

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