Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses an interesting judicial ethic, based on a verse in Mishle (31:8) that one must help the mute express himself.  Even though a judge must be careful not to show bias nor advocate for a particular side, if he sees the person is having difficulty expressing himself because he is nervous or cannot organize his thoughts, he may “judiciously” offer him help (see Shulkhan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 17:9).

The value of helping people find their voice can be enacted in many spheres of life. Helping a person who is more shy express himself, noticing somebody’s body language, hesitant gestures, and inviting them to express what’s on their mind, and allowing younger people and/or disempowered people to have their say are all part of this important ethic.

Likkutei Moharan (60) takes this idea into a different dimension. It is the role of the Tzaddik and teacher to use parables and stories to inspire and bring out ideas to those who do not possess scholarly abilities. This is also an opening of the mute in that it gives voice to spiritual and moral expression that otherwise is not easily articulated. Storytelling is the way that human beings have conveyed cultural wisdom and morals for thousands of years. The content of Torah, though considered a legal document and embodiment of a covenant, is 50% stories. And of course midrashim, and stories of heroic Jewish figures provide means by which to teach children, and ourselves, how to behave, think and feel in various life circumstances. 

Probably as a result of the traumatic encounter of biblical criticism that ran wild during the 20th century haskala, there is a reflexive fear on the part of frum, traditional Jews to allow themselves to enjoy the story–like quality of our teachings. It somehow feels sacrilegious to enjoy the actual drama in some of the biblical stories, and yet they are so beautiful and powerful. 

Here are a few examples: Yaakov’s courtship with Rachel, Leah’s pining to be loved and valued, the struggles of the matriarchs with infertility, the rivalry of Yosef and his brothers, and the general tzaar gidul banim and grief that the patriarchs experienced trying to raise their children. These are not midrashim. Many of the details and even the depths of emotion, despair and elation, are right there in the verses. Knowing that great people went through so many of the struggles that we go through is a source of comfort and guidance. 

Of course, it is a theological principle that a divine document will be multi layered and the story component might be the most primitive and simplistic aspect of it, but it is still true. As we often find when it comes to Jewish principles, there can be polar opposites, and the truth lies in honoring the space in between. On the one hand, we have a teaching, Ein Mikrah Yotzeh Midei Peshuto the verse does not depart from its simple meaning (Shabbos 63a), and on the other hand the Rambam’s Eighth Principle of Faith which dictates that every single word of the Torah is equally the word of God: 

“There is no difference between "And the sons of Cham were Kush and Mitsrayim" (Genesis 10:6), "and his wife's name was" Meheitabel" (Genesis 36:39), "And Timnah was his concubine" (Genesis 36:12) [ on the one hand] and "I am the Lord, your God" (Exodus 20:2) and "Hear Israel" (Deuteronomy 6:4) [on the other]; since they are all from the mouth of the Almighty and it is all the Torah of God - complete, pure and holy truth.”

Even though the simplest verse or story in the Torah contains profound mystical dimensions and meanings, I say, whoever read Sefer Bereishis and never felt Rachel and Leah’s pain, or Yaakov’s frustrations and fears, has missed out on a vital aspect of the biblical message.