NOTE: I was not able to finish this article before Shabbos. I therefore added several addendums throughout the article to clarify a few points and fill in the gaps.
Yosef is sitting in an Egyptian dungeon — far from home, far from his father, and far from the dreams that once hinted at greatness. Into this dark, forgotten space are thrown two new prisoners, men who once served in Paro’s palace: the Sar HaMashkim (aka the Chief Cupbearer) and the Sar HaOfim (the Chief Baker).
In time, both of these royal officials experience troubling dreams. Yosef notices their anxiety and offers to interpret the dreams for them, insisting — as he always does — that “interpretations belong to God.”
The first dream he interprets is that of the Sar HaMashkim:
In three days, Paro will lift your head, restore you to your position, and take you out of this prison.
This is obviously good news for the Sar HaMashkim. But Yosef sees it as (potentially) good news for him also. And so, he makes a personal request. I paraphrase:
“When things go well for you, remember me. When you are restored, please mention me to Paro. Help me get out of this prison.”
Now we fast-forward just a few pesukim to the very end of the parasha. Yosef’s interpretations of both dreams come true. The Sar HaOfim is executed, and the Sar HaMashkim is restored to his post — serving Paro once again.
And here it is — Yosef’s opportunity to go free. All that is needed is for the Sar HaMashkim to mention Yosef to Paro. He could note how he had looked after them in jail. He could mention how he had accurately interpreted both dreams. He can even add Yosef’s proclamation that he is innocent of any wrongdoing.
In essence, the Sar HaMashkim can be G-d’s emissary to Yosef’s freedom. All it requires is a word with Paro.
But the Sar HaMashkim doesn’t mention Yosef. He doesn’t say a single word. And, in due time, he forgets Yosef altogether.
And so, the hope has now faded. The opportunity is lost, and Yosef remains in jail.
But, of course, we know the continuation of the story. In due time, Paro will have his own dreams and will require someone who can properly interpret them. At that point, the Sar HaMashkim will not only remember, but will also mention Yosef to Paro. And then, Yosef will go free.
But Yosef will have to wait for that moment. How long? Two years. We know it’s two years, because the Torah tells us that it was two years.
And that is interesting.
Why Two More Years?
Let’s put this all together.
Yosef asks the Sar HaMashkim to mention him when he goes free. And our parsha ends by noting that not only did he not mention him, but that he also forgot him:
“וְלֹא זָכַר… וַיִּשְׁכָּחֵהוּ”
He did not remember Yosef — and then he forgot him.
And then the very next line lets us know that at the end of two years, Paro had his dreams:
“וַיְהִי מִקֵּץ שְׁנָתַיִם יָמִים…”
“And it was, at the end of two years…”
If Paro’s two dreams were the end, then what was the beginning?
Perhaps we could say that the beginning was the two dreams of Paro’s advisors — the Sar HaMashkim and the Sar HaOfim. There is a nice symmetry there — and on one level I think that is obviously true.
But there is another beginning — hidden within the juxtaposition of our verses; namely, two years from the moment that the Sar HaMashkim did not mention Yosef. Two years after that, Paro had his dreams — and therefore two years after that, the Sar HaMashkim mentioned Yosef.
This is not some minor point — there is something deeper going on here — and Chazal pick up on that something. As such, they ask:
Why is it that the Sar HaMashkim did not mention Yosef to Paro?
And why did he then forget him entirely?
According to Chazal, the answer lies in the dual request Yosef made when he interpreted the Sar HaMashkim’s dream. Yosef said:
“זכרתני” — remember me
“והזכרתני” — and mention me
Two separate mentions. Two explicit appeals.
And Chazal say for each request, Yosef was required to spend one extra year in prison. Evidently, there was something off or inappropriate about this request — and that ‘something’ resulted in Yosef being in prison for two more years.
But what is that ‘something’?
Indeed, wasn’t Yosef’s response the appropriate one? Why else would G-d place these two men in Yosef’s cell and give them these dreams, if not for Yosef to take advantage of this opportunity to set himself free?
Says Chazal — yes, you may have thought that. But the Chumash — through its clever telling of the story — is indicating otherwise. It is indicating that there was something wrong with Yosef’s request.
Addendum: Deeper textual analysis
Let us look more closely at the pesukim themselves.
When Yosef speaks to the Sar HaMashkim, he makes two distinct requests. First, he says: “זכרתני איתך” — remember me with you. Then he says: “והזכרתני אל פרעה”. Literally speaking, the second request means ‘cause Paro to remember me’.
This raises a couple of questions.
What does “with you” mean in the phrase “remember me with you (זכרתני איתך)”
Why would Paro release Yosef simply because the Sar HaMashkim mentions him? At this point, Paro does not need Yosef. Yosef only goes free later because Paro has dreams and requires him. So why would Paro free him now?
The key to answering both questions lies in the phrase איתך — “with you.” Based on the Ramban and his careful reading of the Hebrew, we can understand “with you” as meaning for your benefit.
In other words: let me go out with you so that you benefit from my release. And that can mean one of two things:
I can continue to serve you outside of jail as I did inside of jail.
I can serve Paro, and you can take credit for recommending me to him.
It’s as if Yosef is saying to the Sar HaMashkim:
You have a real opportunity here.
You have seen how well I have managed this jail.
You have seen how well I took care of you and the Sar HaOfeh.
You have seen how loyal I am.
You have seen how capable I am at interpreting dreams.
Take advantage of this and when you go out — זכרתני איתך — i.e., help me go out with you.You can’t lose.
Either you gain a capable assistant when you return to your work
Or you curry favor with Paro by recommending to him someone who is capable and can be of real assistance to him.
Therefore, since it is in your self-interest — והזכרתני אל פרעה — mention me to Paro and how I can be assistance to him so that he will free me — וְהוֹצֵאתַ֖נִי מִן־הַבַּ֥יִת הַזֶּֽה.
And if he worries about the politics of releasing a slave who is a convicted adulterer — plead to him my case. Let him know that I’m not really a slave because I was kidnapped (כִּֽי־גֻנֹּ֣ב גֻּנַּ֔בְתִּי מֵאֶ֖רֶץ הָעִבְרִ֑ים) and that even here I did nothing wrong (גַם־פֹּה֙ לֹא־עָשִׂ֣יתִֽי מְא֔וּמָה).
That way he can politically justify freeing me.
In short, Yosef was pointing out how that it was in the Sar HaMashkim’s rational self-interest to help him get out of jail — and how to politically get that done.
And he was right!
And this is what makes the end of this Parsha so puzzling. The Sar HaMashkim did not remember Yosef when he got out of jail — וְלֹא זָכַר שַׂר הַמַּשְׁקִים אֶת יוֹסֵף — even though it was in his self-interest to do so.
What’s more, he then forgot him — וַיִּשְׁכָּחֵהוּ.
Even though he was in jail with him for a decently long period of time.
Even though he had been served by Yosef day in and day out.
Even though he had been distressed by his dreams and Yosef had alleviated that distress.
None of this seems normal. None of this seems natural. It seems — dare we say — orchestrated.
But it gets better. For, two years later, circumstances beyond anyone’s control will force the Sar HaMashkim to remind Paro of his sin (אֶת חֲטָאַי אֲנִי מַזְכִּיר הַיּוֹם) — and in doing so, mention Yosef to Paro.
This too seems orchestrated. And given that it is orchestrated — we can wonder, why not orchestrate it two years earlier? Why the wait?
And so, in the end, it all seems tied together.
The way of the world was that the Sar HaMashkim would have helped Yosef go free when he (the Sar HaMashkim) went free. But, evidently, G-d didn’t want Yosef to go free then. So he didn’t mention him.
And G-d didn’t want him to go free after that either. So he forgot him.
But then, two years later, G-d did want Yosef to go free. So he was forced to mention him.
All of this Chazal seem to have picked up on. And it all works. But it still leaves us with a question — why couldn’t Yosef go free when the Sar HaMashkim went free. Why couldn’t he mention him then? Or why couldn’t Paro have had his dreams then. What happened then that meant Yosef had to wait two more years.
We don’t know. But — as we said above — but it seems to have something to do with his request. Something about that request was off.
But, as we noted before — we do not know what that something is. But we may know how to find out. For Chazal state that there is a verse (found in Sefer Tehillim) which provides the very insight that we need. It goes something like this:
Ashrei is the man who makes Hashem his mivtach and who does not turn to the rehavim.
Yes, I know — that’s a pretty bad translation. But I did it on purpose — because what we need here is not a good translation of this verse, but rather a deep understanding of it. In particular, we need to understand this verse in terms of how it relates to Yosef and what he did wrong.
And that means that we need to take the time to understand the three words in this verse that I did not translate:
Ashrei (אשרי)
Mivtach (מבטח)
Rehavim (רהבים)
As such, let us step away for the time being from Yosef and his plight in prison and enter into the world of David HaMelech and Tehillim and see what he (and the people of his time) have to teach us about bitachon.
David HaMelech and the Metaphorical Bor
Psalm 40 — the Text
Hebrew
לַ֝מְנַצֵּ֗חַ לְדָוִ֥ד מִזְמֽוֹר׃
קַוֺּ֣ה קִוִּ֣יתִי יְהֹוָ֑ה וַיֵּ֥ט אֵ֝לַ֗י וַיִּשְׁמַ֥ע שַׁוְעָתִֽי׃
וַיַּעֲלֵ֤נִי ׀ מִבּ֥וֹר שָׁאוֹן֮ מִטִּ֢יט הַיָּ֫וֵ֥ן
וַיָּ֖קֶם עַל־סֶ֥לַע רַגְלַ֗י כּוֹנֵ֥ן אֲשֻׁרָֽי׃
וַיִּתֵּ֬ן בְּפִ֨י ׀ שִׁ֥יר חָדָשׁ֮ תְּהִלָּ֢ה לֵאלֹ֫הֵ֥ינוּ
יִרְא֣וּ רַבִּ֣ים וְיִירָ֑אוּ וְ֝יִבְטְח֗וּ בַּיהֹוָֽה׃
אַ֥שְֽׁרֵי־הַגֶּ֗בֶר אֲשֶׁר־שָׂ֣ם יְ֭הֹוָה מִבְטַח֑וֹ
וְֽלֹא־פָנָ֥ה אֶל־רְ֝הָבִ֗ים וְשָׂטֵ֥י כָזָֽב׃
English
For the leader. A psalm of David.
I placed my hope in Hashem,
and He inclined toward me and heard my cry.He lifted me from a roaring pit,
from thick, clinging mud;
He set my feet upon rock
and made my steps secure.He placed a new song in my mouth —
a song of praise to our God.
Many saw this, were filled with awe,
and placed their trust in Hashem.Ashrei is the man
who makes Hashem his mivtach
and does not turn toward the rehavim
or toward paths of falsehood.
The Metaphorical Pit
We are in the poetry of Tehillim — and in this poem, David HaMelech metaphorically describes his situation as akin to finding himself stuck in a pit.
A pit — quite interesting. Do we, perhaps, hear an echo of the story of Yosef?
In this pit there are raging waters. As I envision it, there is a storm outside and the rainwaters are rushing down the sides of the mountains straight into the valley below — thus flooding the pit where David is trapped.
But David HaMelech is not merely trapped — he is also immobile — for his feet are stuck in the muddy ground that has been formed by the raging waters. As such, he can’t even make a feeble attempt to climb out of the pit.
And in this state of being doubly trapped, the waters are getting higher and higher. And there is nothing that David can do about it. If no one else intervenes, that is it — David is done for.
The question is — who will intervene? Or, more accurately — who should David hope will come by and take him out of this pit?
That is the metaphor — and David HaMelech is telling us that he has lived that metaphor. It wasn’t a literal pit, but it was a literal trap. He has been in situations where he needed salvation and lacked the means to provide it for himself.
And he furthermore tells us — that when he found himself in those situations, he placed his hope in Hashem — again and again and again.
And what happened? David HaMelech tells us that also.
Hashem responded. He (so to speak) leaned in, heard David’s cry, and lifted him out of his metaphorical pits and placed him on solid ground. At the top of the mountains, free from the dangers of the rushing waters of life.
Before, David was trapped below — now he is elevated high.
Before he could not move — now Hashem has “established his steps.”
And this reality — of going from danger to hope to salvation — G-d turned that into a song that David sung. And the multitudes heard that song and they saw what happened and they then deepened their trust in and reliance upon G-d.
All of this is a summary of this particular poem up until (but not including) our line: a personal experience of trusting and relying upon G-d by Dovid HaMelech which inspires others to attempt to do the same.
It is the next step, though, that is of interest for understanding our story of Yosef — and that next step is articulated in our verse:
“אַשְׁרֵי הַגֶּבֶר אֲשֶׁר שָׂם ה’ מִבְטַחוֹ, וְלֹא פָנָה אֶל רְהָבִים...”
With this verse we have left the poetic telling of a story and have entered into the realm of the insights that were gleaned from that story. In other words, our verse is the articulation of an insight into reality — the articulation of a principle of how the world works.
It is this principle that we are after — for it is that principle which explains our story. We’ll get started unpacking this verse with a loose translation of our verse:
There is a state of being or reality called אשרי (ashrei). To achieve this, we need to make Hashem our מבטח (mivtach) as opposed to turning towards a group of people known as the רהבים (rehavim).
Or, put otherwise: there will be times when you are trapped and will lack the ability to extract yourself from the dangers and difficulties facing you. And in that situation, you will have two options.
Option #1: Make Hashem your מבטח.
Option #2: Turn towards the רהבים.
And whether or not you choose option #1 or #2 will determine whether or not you will be in a state of אשרי — which is a state of being that we all deeply want to be in.
That is the principle. We don’t yet understand it — and we won’t until we understand those Hebrew terms. But we at least know what we don’t know — and that is always a good first step.
At this point, we have three questions we need to answer:
What does it mean to make Hashem a מבטח?
Who are the רהבים and what does it mean to turn towards them?
What does the word אשרי mean — and what does it mean to be in a state of אשרי?
We will start with the last question — what does the word אשרי mean. And to do that, we will turn our attention to the very first Psalm in Sefer Tehillim — because the very first word in Sefer Tehillim is none other than אשרי (and that is not a coincidence).
Ashrei (אשרי) — the Essence of Sefer Tehillim
Psalm 1 — The Text
Hebrew
אַ֥שְֽׁרֵי־הָאִ֗ישׁ אֲשֶׁ֤ר ׀ לֹ֥א הָלַךְ֮ בַּעֲצַ֢ת רְשָׁ֫עִ֥ים
וּבְדֶ֣רֶךְ חַ֭טָּאִים לֹ֥א עָמָ֑ד
וּבְמוֹשַׁ֥ב לֵ֝צִ֗ים לֹ֣א יָשָֽׁב׃כִּ֤י אִ֥ם־בְּתוֹרַ֥ת יְהֹוָ֗ה חֶ֫פְצ֥וֹ
וּֽבְתוֹרָת֥וֹ יֶהְגֶּ֗ה יוֹמָ֥ם וָלָֽיְלָה׃וְֽהָיָ֗ה כְּעֵץ֮ שָׁת֢וּל עַֽל־פַּלְגֵ֫י־מָ֥יִם
אֲשֶׁ֤ר פִּרְי֨וֹ ׀ יִתֵּ֬ן בְּעִתּ֗וֹ
וְעָלֵ֥הוּ לֹֽא־יִבּ֑וֹל
וְכֹ֖ל אֲשֶׁר־יַעֲשֶׂ֣ה יַצְלִֽיחַ׃לֹא־כֵ֥ן הָרְשָׁעִ֑ים
כִּ֥י אִם־כַּ֝מֹּ֗ץ אֲֽשֶׁר־תִּדְּפֶ֥נּוּ רֽוּחַ׃
English
Happy is the man who has not followed the counsel of the wicked,
nor taken the path of sinners,
nor joined the company of the insolent.Rather, the teaching of Hashem is his delight,
and he engages with that teaching day and night.He is like a tree planted beside streams of water,
yielding its fruit in season,
whose leaves do not wither,
and everything it produces endures and succeeds.Not so the wicked;
they are like chaff that the wind blows away.
What Psalm 1 Is Teaching
The opening psalm of Sefer Tehillim sets out to answer a single question:
Who is the person who will be ashrei?
If we can understand this psalm, then we can begin to understand what the word ashrei itself means.
The psalm begins by describing what such a person does not do.
He does not follow the counsel of the resha’im,
he does not walk in the path of the chata’im,
and he does not sit in the company of the leitzim.
Each of these groups represents a different layer of human influence.
The resha’im are those with a distorted or destructive worldview. Their ideas are flawed — but they are often compelling. In the moment, what they say can sound reasonable, even persuasive, and there is a natural pull to follow their thinking.
The chata’im represent something different. Their appeal lies not in ideas, but in behavior — habits, lifestyles, and ways of living that have their own internal logic and attraction.
And then there are the leitzim. They do not offer a worldview or a way of life, but rather an attitude — a tone of cynicism, mockery, and dismissal. This, too, has its own appeal, and its own power to shape a person.
So we have three layers of influence:
Ideas and philosophies (resha’im)
Ways of living and acting (chata’im)
Attitudes and tone (leitzim)
The person who is ashrei deliberately distances himself from all three.
But that is only half the picture.
Desire, Effort, and Outcome
The psalm then tells us what does define the ashrei person.
He has a desire — a cheifetz — for the Torah of HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
Desire is a telling word. We desire things that we do not yet fully possess.
And this captures something essential about Torah. The Torah has its own worldview, its own way of living, and its own attitudes — but we are not born already living them. We may be drawn to them, but acquiring them requires effort.
That is why the verse continues: it is not enough that he desires the Torah. He engages with it day and night. The word used is yehegeh — a form of thought that suggests sustained reflection, planning, and working out how an ideal becomes a lived reality.
In other words, day and night he is thinking:
How do I actually live this?
How do I translate desire into action?
Right now, he does not fully live the Torah. But he could — if he invests the time, attention, and effort to figure out how.
And so the psalm places two paths side by side.
On one side are the worldviews, behaviors, and attitudes of the resha’im, chata’im, and leitzim — paths that often offer immediate gratification and visible payoff.
On the other side is the path of Torah — slower, more demanding, and less obviously rewarding in the moment.
So the central question emerges:
Which path actually works?
Which one leads to stability, meaning, connection — in short, the good life?
Ashrei Is About Outcome, Not Impression
Sefer Tehillim answers that question.
The person who resists the immediate appeal of the wicked and instead invests in Torah is compared to a tree planted beside flowing streams of water.
Even when conditions change, the tree remains nourished.
Even when storms come, it stands firm.
And not only does it survive — it produces fruit, in its proper time.
In its time — not immediately, but eventually.
The wicked, by contrast, are like chaff. When pressure comes, they have no weight, no roots, and nothing lasting to offer.
And with this, we arrive at a crucial insight:
Ashrei is not about the moment. It is about the outcome.
Ashrei describes the person who chooses the path that may not look rewarding now, but proves itself true over time.
This distinction matters deeply — because life often presents us with choices between what offers immediate benefit and what only reveals its value later.
And when it comes to bitachon, this tension takes on an especially sharp form.
A Unique Type of Ashrei
Let us now return to the story of David — and to the pit.
In many areas of life, we can eventually see through the appeal of the resha’im and chata’im. With enough wisdom and reflection, their flaws become apparent.
But that is not always the case.
There are moments — moments of danger, helplessness, and desperation — when clarity disappears. When you are stuck in the mud, with water pouring down and no way out, insight alone does not help.
And it is precisely there that a new alternative appears: the rehavim.
In times of crisis, the rehavim offer themselves as the practical answer — the powerful, inflated forces that promise immediate rescue and control. They present an alternative to making Hashem one’s mivtach.
It is to this alternative — and to the contrast the verse draws — that we must now turn.
And for that, we will enter Sefer Yeshayahu, Chapter 3
Rehavim (רהבים) — the Alternative
Yeshayahu, Chapter 3 — the Text
Hebrew
כִּי֩ הִנֵּ֨ה הָאָד֜וֹן יְהֹוָ֣ה צְבָא֗וֹת מֵסִ֤יר מִירוּשָׁלַ֙͏ִם֙ וּמִ֣יהוּדָ֔ה
מַשְׁעֵ֖ן וּמַשְׁעֵנָ֑ה
כֹּ֚ל מִשְׁעַן־לֶ֔חֶם וְכֹ֖ל מִשְׁעַן־מָֽיִם׃גִּבּ֖וֹר וְאִ֣ישׁ מִלְחָמָ֑ה
שׁוֹפֵ֥ט וְנָבִ֖יא וְקֹסֵ֥ם וְזָקֵֽן׃שַׂר־חֲמִשִּׁ֖ים וּנְשׂ֣וּא פָנִ֑ים
וְיוֹעֵ֛ץ וַחֲכַ֥ם חֲרָשִׁ֖ים וּנְב֥וֹן לָֽחַשׁ׃וְנָתַתִּ֥י נְעָרִ֖ים שָׂרֵיהֶ֑ם
וְתַעֲלוּלִ֖ים יִמְשְׁלוּ־בָֽם׃וְנִגַּ֣שׂ הָעָ֔ם אִ֥ישׁ בְּאִ֖ישׁ וְאִ֣ישׁ בְּרֵעֵ֑הוּ
יִרְהֲב֗וּ הַנַּ֙עַר֙ בַּזָּקֵ֔ן
וְהַנִּקְלֶ֖ה בַּנִּכְבָּֽד׃
English
For behold, the Master — Hashem of Hosts — removes from Jerusalem and from Judah every support and every prop:
every support of bread and every support of water.The mighty warrior and the seasoned man of war;
the judge and the prophet;
the diviner and the elder.The officer of fifty and the man of stature;
the counselor, the skilled artisan, and the one discerning of counsel.I will place youths as their leaders,
and capriciousness shall rule over them.The people will press against one another — man against man, neighbor against neighbor;
the youth will act rehav toward the elder,
and the base toward the honored.
An Introduction to Yeshayahu, Chapter 3
The third chapter of Sefer Yeshayahu describes a society in the process of collapse — not primarily through famine or invasion, but through the removal of the very supports people rely upon to feel stable and secure.
The chapter opens with a striking image.
Hashem is described as removing from Jerusalem and Yehudah every mash’en and mash’ena — every prop, every support, every crutch upon which society leans.
At first glance, this sounds like material deprivation. And indeed, the Navi begins there: bread and water — the most basic forms of sustenance — are taken away.
But the list does not stop there.
The Navi then moves outward, naming the pillars that normally provide strength, order, and continuity to a functioning society:
Mighty warriors and seasoned men of war
Judges and prophets
Elders, counselors, and people of stature
Those with wisdom, skill, and the ability to give guidance
In other words, Hashem is not merely removing resources.
He is removing competence.
What replaces them?
The Navi tells us plainly: na’arim — youths.
And worse still: ta’alulim — people ruled by impulse, instability, and immaturity.
Leadership falls into the hands of those who lack judgment, restraint, and perspective.
The result is not merely poor governance. It is a complete inversion of social order.
People press against one another.
Each person oppresses his fellow.
And then comes the line that matters most for our discussion:
“יִרְהַב הַנַּעַר בַּזָּקֵן,
וְהַנִּקְלֶה בַּנִּכְבָּד.”
The na’ar will be rehav over the zaken.
And the base will be rehav over the honored.
The Meaning of Rehav
In a healthy society, this would be unthinkable.
Youth defers to age.
Inexperience respects wisdom.
The insignificant recognizes the weight of the honorable.
But here, the opposite occurs.
Those with the least depth project dominance.
Those without substance assert control.
Status is no longer earned — it is performed.
The mefarshim help capture the meaning of the word rehav by reading it carefully in context — both within this verse and elsewhere in Tanach..
Rashi explains that the na’ar will aggrandize himself over the zaken — puffing himself up, speaking as if he is superior, dismissing the elder as outdated or irrelevant.
Ibn Ezra understands rehav as prevailing or overpowering — a contest in which the younger, lesser figure somehow wins.
Metzudos David emphasizes arrogance: a form of self-strengthening through projection, asserting power and stature that one does not truly possess.
The Malbim adds two crucial dimensions.
First, this behavior violates the dictates of Torah, which require honoring elders and those of wisdom.
Second, it violates the dictates of nature itself. There is a natural humility that a less capable person has toward someone greater, wiser, or more accomplished.
Normally, someone who barely knows how to play “Chopsticks” has respect for someone who can play Chopin. Someone just beginning science feels awe toward Einstein. Someone running for student government defers to an experienced leader.
That is how the world normally works.
But in this broken society, the opposite becomes normal.
The inexperienced belittle the experienced.
The shallow mock the deep.
The insignificant posture themselves above the honorable.
All of these explanations fit the context. They explain how the word functions in the verse, why the behavior represents a collapse of order, and what has gone wrong.
But Rav Hirsch adds an additional layer.
Rehav as “More”
Rav Hirsch looks not only at context, but at the form of the word itself and its relationship to other Hebrew roots.
He notes that rehav (רהב) appears to be related to rov (רוב) — “abundance,” “more” — much as kohen relates to kun and bohen to bon.
From this, a deeper picture emerges.
Rehav is not merely arrogance.
It is the drive for more — beyond one’s true measure and worth.
More power.
More status.
More control.
More influence.
The rehavim are those who constantly push past their natural limits, projecting strength, authority, and importance even when there is little substance beneath the surface.
And this is precisely their appeal in times of collapse.
When true supports are gone, when real stability has been stripped away, the rehavim rise. They look powerful right now. They seem decisive, confident, in control. They present themselves as the address.
This is not accidental. The rehavim emerge exactly when genuine foundations have been removed.
Rehavim as the False Mivtach
All of us need a mivtach — something or someone to rely on. This is true in ordinary life, and it is doubly true in times of danger.
When we are in the pit, who do we believe will get us out?
David HaMelech answered: HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
But Yeshayahu shows us the alternative: the rehavim — inflated powers that promise immediate rescue, control, and security.
They look like the realistic option of the moment.
But there is a cost.
To receive their support, one must join them in their ways. One must adopt their worldview, follow their methods, and internalize their attitudes. The price of relying on the rehavim is the abandonment of Torah values.
And this brings us back to Sefer Tehillim.
You want to be ashrei?
You want to survive — and more than that, to endure and flourish?
Then make Hashem your mivtach.
Rely on His values.
Rely on His ways.
Rely on Him — even when that does not look like the path of power or success right now.
That is the warning of Tehillim.
And that is the alternative exposed by Yeshayahu.
Putting It All Together (Almost)
Now, recall the pit in which David HaMelech finds himself — metaphorically trapped, powerless, and in need of salvation. And recall that Yosef, too, was once thrown into a pit.
That alone should catch our attention.
But it becomes more interesting still. There is another verse, also in Sefer Yeshayahu, in which the word rehavim is used as a reference to Egypt itself — a power that boasts of its ability to help in times of crisis, yet proves utterly hollow when help is actually needed.
And now the pieces begin to align.
Here we have Yosef — cast into a pit and sold as a slave to Egypt. We have a psalm that speaks of pits and of not turning toward the rehavim. And we have Chazal explicitly stating that this very verse — “Ashrei is the man who makes Hashem his mivtach” — refers to Yosef.
This is not coincidence. It is convergence.
But how — and why — does Yosef find his way into a poetic reflection on David HaMelech’s life?
The answer lies in what we already noted. The psalm has moved beyond story and into principle. What happened to David was not a one-time event. It was an instance of a rule — a law of reality.
The one who makes Hashem his mivtach becomes ashrei. That is how the world works.
David lived that truth. Others after him lived that truth.
And Yosef exemplifies it.
In other words, it is no accident that this psalm gestures toward Yosef. Yosef is not merely included in the principle — he embodies it.
But now a serious problem emerges.
Earlier, we noted that Yosef spent two additional years in prison because he asked the Sar HaMashkim to remember and mention him. Does that not suggest a lack of bitachon?
Is Yosef — of all people — an example of how not to make Hashem one’s mivtach?
Bitachon from Beginning to End
Let us retell Yosef’s story with fresh eyes.
Yosef is sold by his brothers and taken to Egypt — severed from his family, cut off from his past, with no realistic hope of return. He finds himself in the land of the rehavim, where expediency would seem to demand adopting their worldview, their methods, and their values.
But Yosef does none of that.
At every stage, he remains anchored to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
When sold as a slave, he remains faithful.
When confronted by the advances of Potiphar’s wife, he remains faithful.
When falsely imprisoned, he remains faithful.
He does not shift. He does not adapt. He does not compromise.
And then comes the critical moment.
Two of Paro’s ministers are imprisoned alongside him. They dream troubling dreams and cannot understand them. Yosef responds without hesitation: “Do not interpretations belong to God?” He locates the entire process squarely in the hands of Hashem — and interprets the dreams with complete confidence that they will come true.
Indeed, it is precisely because Yosef trusts Hashem — because he has made Him his mivtach — that he makes his request of the Sar HaMashkim.
In short: if you want to see someone who makes Hashem his mivtach and does not turn to the rehavim, look no further than Yosef HaTzadik. He exemplifies that reality through and through — trial after trial.
And if you want to see someone who becomes ashrei because he lives that way, once again — Yosef HaTzadik.
Chazal themselves say exactly this:
אַשְׁרֵי הַגֶּבֶר אֲשֶׁר שָׂם ה’ מִבְטַחוֹ — זֶה יוֹסֵף
וְלֹא פָנָה אֶל רְהָבִים — עַל יְדֵי שֶׁאָמַר לְשַׂר הַמַּשְׁקִים “זְכַרְתַּנִּי וְהִזְכַּרְתַּנִּי,” נִתּוֹסַף לוֹ שְׁתֵּי שָׁנִים
Happy is the man who places his trust in Hashem — this refers to Yosef.
And did not turn to the rehavim — because he said to the chief cupbearer, “Remember me and mention me,” two additional years were added to him.
Read that carefully.
Yosef is the paradigm of one who does not turn to the rehavim. And yet a single request — one outward reach — resulted in two more years in prison.
Is there a clearer demonstration that turning toward the rehavim does not work?
Had Yosef truly relied on them, he might well have vanished into obscurity — imprisoned, forgotten, erased from history. We know this because of those two years.
The Last Thread
One question remains.
What, exactly, was wrong with Yosef’s request?
I am out of time — so I will offer only the briefest answer.
Yosef framed the entire episode correctly: interpretation belongs to God. And when he interpreted the dreams, the impact was powerful. But then, in that very moment, he inserted himself into the process — and that insertion diminished the purity of what had just occurred.
That was the mistake.
There is much more to say about this — but for now, it will have to suffice.
Good Shabbos.
Addendum: More about Yosef & Bitachon
First Point
Yosef had many opportunities to give up. From the very beginning, trusting in G-d did not seem to work out very well for him.
He was hated for pointing out to his father actions of his brothers that he believed were wrong.
He was hated for his dreams — and ultimately sold by his brothers because of them.
He resisted the advances of Potiphar’s wife and was falsely imprisoned for doing so.
Judged purely by short-term feedback, Yosef could easily — and quite “rationally” — conclude that G-d’s ways and the ways of the world simply do not align, and that it is G-d’s ways that should be abandoned.
And yet, Yosef stays with HaKadosh Baruch Hu through it all. He remains yashar. He does not abandon his values, his faith, or his identity — even when there is no visible payoff.
And in the end, it is precisely that long-term consistency that leads to his becoming mishneh la-melech.
Yosef is not merely an example of ashrei — he is its embodiment.
Second Point
The problem was not that Yosef lacked bitachon.
And it was not that he trusted the Sar HaMashkim instead of G-d.
The issue was more subtle.
Yosef had just framed the entire episode correctly: “הלא לאלוקים פתרונים” — do not interpretations belong to G-d? He explicitly located the source of salvation in HaKadosh Baruch Hu. But then, in that very moment, he inserted himself into the process.
He transformed what had been a purely God-centered moment into a moment of self-advocacy.
In a context where Yosef himself had just emphasized that everything comes from G-d, that shift matters. It can rub wrong.
And I wonder — did it perhaps rub the Sar HaMashkim wrong?
Perhaps, at first, the Sar HaMashkim fully intended to remember and mention Yosef. But when the moment arrived, he held back — not because he forgot, but because something gave him pause. Perhaps he thought: This man speaks about trusting G-d — but when it counts, he plays the same political games as the rest of us.
And so, he passed Yosef over. And that, perhaps, is what is meant by “he did not remember him.”
Herein may lie the bitachon message that Yosef missed.
Of course G-d placed the Sar HaMashkim in prison with Yosef to help bring about Yosef’s release. And indeed, one theoretical possibility is that G-d wanted Yosef to be proactive.
But once Yosef saw how events were unfolding, he may have been meant to recognize that G-d was already taking the lead. G-d placed them there. G-d gave them the dreams. G-d gave Yosef the ability to interpret those dreams. And G-d orchestrated matters such that Yosef himself explicitly invoked the divine source of the interpretations.
Clearly, G-d was taking center stage here — and Yosef (perhaps) was meant to notice that.
Perhaps he was meant to interpret the dreams in G-d’s name and allow their impact to unfold on its own.
In other words, bitachon is not merely a science — it is also an art. It is not a rigid set of rules that can be followed mechanically with guaranteed results. Like music, bitachon requires sensitivity, timing, and discernment. It must be played with technique and finesse, with skill and with soul.
And that means learning when action is required — and when restraint is the truer expression of trust. In moments where it is clear that G-d is taking center stage, and where human intervention would diminish rather than enhance G-d’s presence, the most faithful action may be no action at all.
Sometimes, the deepest expression of bitachon is the willingness to step back — and watch the Divine unfold.