Parshioth Vayeshebh & Miketz

Sorry to have missed last week's post; I was at a wedding. However, these parshioth rather naturally flow together, so it was not such a stretch to find a topic that straddles the two. There is a shoresh (root) that is used quite frequently through the story of Yoseph and his brothers, despite being rather infrequent in the rest of the ḥumash: variations on nikar, recognition, are absolutely central to this narrative. True, Yoseph's hidden identity makes this an important plot device, but I think that there is more to the matter. The fact that Yoseph recognizes his brothers is conspicuously repeated in consecutive verses, subject to significantly greater emphasis than their failure to reciprocate, which is the plot relevant point. 

What exactly is the meaning of this root? First let us compare to where else it appears. There are two categories. First, in the rest of sepher Bereishith, it is used three times, once in each of three stories, each with a strong connection to the story of Yoseph. The first time, Yitzḥak does not recognize Ya'akobh when the latter seeks the brakha in disguise; sibling rivalry and mistaken identity, the clear case with no hints needed. The second, Ya'akobh demands that Labhan recognize whatever is rightfully his in the camp, unaware that Raḥeil has stolen his idols; in case we missed the parallel to the scene where Yoseph's steward finds the goblet in Binyamin's pack, the midrash makes the reference explicit. The third is at the trial of Tamar, when she insists that Yehudha recognize the sureties that he left her; this story comes in the middle of the broader cycle of Yoseph and his brothers, and there are various other textual clues that point to a parallel (one that I had thought to develop last week was Yehudha's comparison of himself to Tamar, as though he had lately been in similar circumstances and failed to rise to her level on that occasion, when the only other story we have seen him involved with was the sale). The root is never used through Shemoth, Vayikra, and Bamidhbar. The second category is the collection in sepher Debharim. At this point in the text, it is used almost invariably in a derogatory fashion, a reference to corruption and bias. Judges are repeatedly exhorted not to "recognize" faces in judgment. The Leviim are praised for refusing to "recognize" at the time of ḥeit ha'eigel (the sin of the golden calf).

Clearly, the term does not simply mean "to identify". If so, it would be imperative that true justice should recognize every particular of its subjects. Rather, we see that every instance involves a recognition not of the object itself, but of its relationship to the subject. Hakarath hatobh, gratitude, is not recognition of some abstract good, but recognition of good with regard to yourself. It is the most subjective form of knowledge, in many ways more self-knowledge than knowledge of the one recognized. 

This reading encompasses both the uses in Bereishith and those in Debharim, but it does not yet account for the clear bifurcation in use. For the patriarchs, this sort of discernment seems absolutely essential. Clearly, Yehudha is unfit to rule until his confrontation with Tamar, which takes the form, "Haker-na...Vayaker Yehudha..." (Please recognize... and Yehudha recognized). Similarly, when Yoseph haTzadhik recognizes his brothers, this is clearly to his credit and leads to the peaceful and whole-hearted reunion of the family. Recall that double language I mentioned at the beginning. There are some explanations for that in the classical commentaries; the strongest on the level of peshat, in my mind, is that at first he recognized them as a group, and then he interacted with them and knew each one individually. However, I would like to propose a different reading. Instead of translating verse 32:8, "And Yoseph recognized his brothers, and they did not recognize him," we can translate, "And Yoseph recognized his brothers, whereas they had not recognized him." He recognized their relation to him, his obligation to them beyond any claim of justice, in the way that they failed to do when they saw him twenty two years earlier despite knowing full well who he was at that time. A simple reading presents the sale as an act of anger and jealousy, deeply personal, but ḥazal reject that reading. They see the brothers as acting to protect the nation from disastrous misrule under a vain, ambitious, unscrupulous tyrant in the making. Perhaps, without the adversity that followed, their judgment would have been entirely accurate. When they repent, they say not that they had been unjust, but unmerciful. Seemingly, they followed the principles that Moshe would later lay down in Debharim. So, what was the crime? 

Bereishith establishes the roots of the nation. The foundations rely on bias. Veahabhta lerei'akha kamokha, love your fellow as yourself. According to Rabbi Akibha, this is a kelal gadhol, an all-encompassing principle of the Tora. Much of the law is designed to inculcate partiality, requiring obligation toward other Jews that goes beyond the strictures of justice. To allow yourself to be impartial rips the fabric of society, separates you from the community. Never-the-less, a mature nation about to take up the burden of sovereignty, as we find in Debharim, must have law. It is a paradox. We cannot be both judge and kinsman. Society cannot function if we are not judges, and cannot exist if we are not kinsmen. For now, the best answer I can see is, in this matter, as in so much, seek balance.
Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!
Ḥanuka sameiḥa!

Pareshath Vayishlaḥ

I have been traveling this week, and I haven't a full drash on the paresha prepared. However, in talmudh Torah, often a good question is better than a good answer. So, I will relate the question I hoped to investigate and answer, again working off the Yalkut Shim'oni; perhaps the explanation will be clear to the reader. If so, please share your thoughts.

Typically, midrashim are extremely terse commentaries on particular verses. Although these verses are often discussed at length, this usually takes the form of alternative opinions. In this week's paresha, however, there are two exceptions to this structure, with far too many parallels for coincidence. Each jumps off from a point of tense, but peaceful, relations between Ya'akobh's family and their neighbors. In both cases, the midrash posits that there was a later war that goes unmentioned in the text, and goes on to at great length to describe the war in a vivid narrative that would be far more at home in the Illiad than in the rabbinic corpus. At least Sepher Yehoshu'a or Sophrim. In both cases, Yehudha plays the heroic protagonist leading the fight, which is not so surprising, but also in both, Naphtali is one of the most prominent supporting characters, which is more surprising.

Specifically, the first is in the aftermath of the destruction of Shekhem, when the surrounding nations dare not take vengeance for the city, for the terror of God was upon them. The midrash claims that this was only at that time. Later, Ya'akobh and family return to settle in Shekhem, and the inhabitants of the land are outraged; what chutzpah, to live in the very site of their crime, in the very houses of their victims! They make war, but contra Ya'akobh's dire prediction to his sons, they are decisively defeated. One by one, over several days, their armies are driven from the field and their fortified cities stormed. In the end, the Amorites make peace, and Benei Yisrael return to the survivors all the loot and pillage they have accumulated.

The latter midrash comes as 'Eisav departs the land on account of his brother, building a kingdom to the south with his Kana'ani in-laws. The midrash again claims, this was only at that time. Later, just after Leia dies, the family of Ya'akobh is in mourning, and 'Eisav comes with four thousand men to wipe them out. Ya'akobh speaks words of peace and reconciliation, which are met with arrows and rocks until Yehudha takes charge and leads a counterattack. Yehudha heads south, leading Naphtali and Gadh, Reuvein goes north accompanied by Yissokhar and Zebhulun, Levi goes east accompanied by Dan and Asher, and Shim'on goes west accompanied by Binyamin and Ḥanokh ben Reuvein (Yoseph had already been sold at this point). For comparison, in the wilderness the order of camp was Yehudha in the east accompanied by Yissokhar and Zebhulun, Reuvein in the south accompanied by Shim'on and Gadh, Ephraim (Levi is removed from this count, and so Yoseph is split into two) in the west accompanied by Menashe and Binyamin, and Dan in the north accompanied by Asher and Naphtali. Completely different, but the same fourfold division with one leader and two subordinates in each cardinal direction. The forces of Edom are fought off and almost entirely killed, including some of 'Eisav's sons and, according to one opinion, 'Eisav himself. The remnant flee back to their southern kingdom and thenceforth live in peace.

What are we to make of these? Fantasies of a muscular and victorious Judaism in the aftermath of the disastrous wars with Rome? Mystical allegories of spiritual struggle and the messianic age? I don't know. Why here, twice in this paresha, so different in style, methodology, and content from what we have come to expect? This paresha was studied by the rabbis before they would undertake diplomatic missions to Rome, seeing the exemplar of Jewish relation to the goyishe world in Ya'akobh's approach to his estranged brother and re-entry into his estranged land. In this paresha, Ya'akobh doubly becomes Yisrael. First, from his mysterious adversary in the dark, connected with his encounter with 'Eisav. Second, from the word of God in the immediate aftermath of the incident at Shekhem. Are those answers? No, but they might become answers. Again, I welcome your thoughts.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshath Vayeitzei

This week, Raḥeil imeinu complains to her husband, demanding children lest she be as the dead. Ya'akobh responds angrily. Nechama Liebowitz discusses some of the explanations for his anger in the rabbinic tradition. One that struck me was a passage from Rav Yitzḥak Arama. He drew from the story of creation, where Adam's wife is given two names, Isha and Ḥava. Ya'akobh was angry because Raḥeil only recognized the latter name, that of motherhood, and neglected that woman also has a name that parallels the masculine Iysh to teach that women have equal potential for moral and intellectual accomplishment to men. The good deeds of the righteous are accounted as their offspring, beginning incomprehensible chains of effect that continue to shape the world long after their author has passed therefrom. How, then, can a righteous woman like Raḥeil claim that she is completely bereft? For the record, whatever his justifications, the rabbis castigate Ya'akobh for rebuking his wife for her cry of distress. In any case, this is a very nice vort, and moved me to branch out from characterizations of noteworthy men and try to investigate Laban's daughters.
We are not given much in the way of detail about our matriarchs. For Raḥeil and Leia, we almost no direct description beyond Bereishith 29:17, "Ve'einei Leia rakoth, veRaḥeil haytha yephath-toar viyphath mare." (And Leia's eyes were soft, and Raḥeil was beautiful of form and beautiful to look at.) Perhaps that is because all the glory of the king's daughter is within, but we are given this glimpse, so let us make the most of it. 

Interestingly, these descriptors are not particularly common in the Tora. Where else it appears, for good or for ill, rakh is often paired with some form of 'anugh, the same root as 'onegh, tender and delightful. There are several explanations in the commentaries, but to my mind they are all variations on the theme of sensitivity. Those more inclined to peshat (plain meaning) say that her eyes were beautiful and gentle. Others draw on a midrash that she was originally to wed 'Eisav, but she inquired as to his character, and when she heard the sorts of things I wrote last week, she wept and prayed until the decree was nullified. A few connect this verse to the earlier meeting between Raḥeil and Ya'akobh at the well; why was only Raḥeil a shepherdess? Leia's eyes were pained by bright sunlight and sharp winds. This is in some ways a praiseworthy trait, but it also leaves her unable to handle adversity. We see this sensitivity again as the children are born. Ya'akobh loved Raḥeil more than Leia, and so Leia felt hated. Rav Hirsch sees the progression of names as an indication that her hopes were realized and that the children truly healed the gap between her and her husband, but Rav Sacks sees the opposite. Either way, she seems to find some measure of peace by the time Yehudha is born. According to Shim'on ben Yoḥai, she was the first to truly thank God since the time of creation. Her subsequent children, including those she  mothers through Zilpa, are also named in ways that seem to express contentment and a simple desire to build up the house of Yisrael (Zebhulun reverts to form at the end; needs further investigation).
Her sister is characterized not by how she sees the world, but by how the world sees her. Interesting that the more active is described more as an object and the more passive described more as a subject. There are only two other places in Tanakh where we see quite the same elaborate set of beauties that Raḥeil possesses. Her son, Yoseph, is described in very similar terms. Also, the symbols for the seven years of plenty in Pharaoh's dreams are each described as beautiful of form and beautiful to look at. Both very strongly associated with worldly prosperity and abundance. Raḥeil's struggles with fertility alongside her fecund sister reiterates the point from the last paresha that children are mentioned in the spiritual blessing, but absent from the material blessing. Similarly, Leia enjoys the blessing of eretz Yisrael in a much fuller way than Raḥeil's brief and painful sojourn. What comes with material blessing? Raḥeil's main observed trait, in my view, is that she is never content, always driven. The first words we hear her speak are those mentioned in my introduction, insisting that she must have children. The names she chooses lack the optimism and gratitude of Leia's children, always including some dissatisfaction. Dan, for God has judged her and also listened to her voice; Ḥizkuni and Sephorno pick up on that "also" to say that the judgment she refers to is against her, that she is barren and not that she was able to bear through Bilha. That judgment is the part of the explanation that is actually connected to the name itself, adding more than a note of discontent. Naphtali is not so straightforward, etymologically, but the plainest reading is that she has struggled with her sister in a holy matter, and even if she has not prevailed, she has proved capable. Yoseph, to add, that she should add another son. Ben Oni, child of my suffering, obviously does not break that trend. The jealousy that she feels for her sister is part of the same restless striving. Despite the fact that she has the greater share of their husband's love, love which Leia clearly craves, the only jealousy we see is Raḥeil's. This jealousy bothered the sages. At the time of the first wedding ceremony, surely Raḥeil must have known that she was not the bride, and yet she did not interfere. Indeed, the midrash teaches that she actively participated in the illusion, so that her sister should not be rejected and disgraced. Clearly, she loved her sister deeply, and was capable of selflessness on her behalf; why should she now be jealous? They answer that she was jealous of the righteousness by which Leia merited so many children. She allowed herself jealousy only to prod herself to strive ever harder, focusing her prayers to the point that only she, of all our saintly forebears, would be heeded in her plea for mercy when the nation went into exile. Sanctification of the material reaches the highest spiritual peaks.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshath Toledhoth

I spoke about Yishma'el, now let us speak about 'Eisav. Ya'akobh's hirsute brother is much more the consummate villain, but that does not make him a straightforward character. According to one way of reading the text, he is a boorish simpleton, tricked time and again by clever Ya'akobh. Jewish brains against goyishe brawn. Would such an adversary be worthy of his place as antagonist to the Jewish people? The traditional understanding takes a nearly opposite tack. (Unless otherwise referenced, all midrashim below can be found in the Yalkut Shim'oni).

What do we know of 'Eisav? We know that he is an "ish yodhea' tzayidh, ish sadhe", translated by JPS as a cunning hunter, a man of the field. Tzayidh is an interesting word, only really associated with one other character in Tanakh: Nimrodh, the great dictator and hunter of men, founder of the first empire. It can mean to hunt or trap, but is also connected to roots for plotting and secrets. But where Nimrodh is a ghibor tzayidh, a hunter by dint of might and valor, 'Eisav is a yodhea' tzayidh, one who knows the hunt, using his intellect to trap and kill, doubling down on those associations of stratagem already present in the word. This is the opposite of his brother, the ish tam, a wholesome man. Similarly, the man of the fields is contrasted to the man of tents, the farmer/shepherd dichotomy that starts with Kayin and Habhel and appears again prominently in Egypt. These roots also contain more than their simple meaning; sadhe, field, is related to productivity and material sustenance, whereas ohel, tent, is related to radiant light. Here also, we see a certain sophistication in worldly matters contrasted with moral and spiritual qualities. Yitzḥak is said to love 'Eisav on account of the hunt in his mouth. According to the midrash, this means that 'Eisav would put his skills as a hunter to work in discourse with his father, appearing to be a righteous man by asking about the tithes on salt and hay.

How does this sophistication and self control relate to his monstrous appetites? We see him spurn his birthright to sate his hunger, and midrashically he habitually raped married women from the age of fifteen until forty. However, it is not clear that this was an inherent aspect of his personality. His first sin, at the age of thirteen, was that he began in secret to attend houses of idolatry. After two years of this intellectual corruption, his grandfather Abhraham is gathered to his people. 'Eisav's greatest moral strength lies in kibudh abh, his respect for his father and by extension his grandfather, and this event shatters what is left of his faith. He says to himself, "If grandfather died, then there is no reward for righteousness," and he throws himself into hedonism of the most violent and selfish sort, starting with murder and rape. Returning wearied from this dramatic loss of innocence, he finds his brother cooking the funeral meal and demands it. In the ensuing encounter, he plays the dark and warped version of Koheleth (Ecclesiastes), our philosopher king par excellence; with death coming, only this world matters, and so the exalted spiritual birthright of Abhraham is not worth even a bowl of soup (it seems clear from what follows that Ya'akobh gains no particular claim to the material inheritance; indeed it is not clear that he shares in Yitzḥak's wealth at all in the end). I understand this exchange to be a division of the roles of spiritual and material leadership, along the same lines that Yitzḥak seems to intend years later at the giving of the brakhoth, which division Ribhka decisively rejects and undermines. So, we have a picture of an active, vigorous, intelligent, kingly man who feels entitled to everything the material world has to offer and who justifies acting out his darkest desires through an erroneous moral framework. A true tragic hero in the classical mold, great in his potential and great in his flaw. No wonder, given this understanding, that the rabbis identify him with Rome.
Rav Yakov Medan draws a convincing parallel between him and Dovidh haMelekh, the beloved of God, in his relation to the world. Dovidh also was red haired, a warrior, hunter, and bandit. However, Dovidh also has God always before his eyes and on his lips. The hands of 'Eisav and the voice of Ya'akobh, the combination that so bewildered Yitzḥak. Only through such a union, the spiritual and the physical in one, can redemption come. Ribhka saw this, and arranged that Ya'akobh should have the blessing of the material world for his posterity, to enable that combination.

Obviously, there is much more to say, but I think that is as good a stopping place as any I am like to find. I could try to draw out a lesson, but I think there is a place for a more literary reading as well as the ethical. So,

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshath Ḥayei Sara

This week, Abhraham abhinu expresses his rather vehement preference that his son should marry a daughter of his lineage and avoid a local Kena'anith. Rav Hirsch asks on this point, why the distinction? These and those are both idolaters, so what makes one better than the other? His answer is that the Kena'anim are morally degenerate, whereas the family back in Ḥaran is simply misguided on an intellectual level; an intellectual error can be rectified much more simply through education, whereas moral development is much more deeply ingrained. Another classic answer to the same question relies on Abhraham's use of the phrase, "asher anokhi yoshebh bekirbo" (amongst whom I dwell), to say that the essential difference is isolation from the reinforcement of the idolatrous in-laws; without their influence, she can be brought to proper faith and piety, but surrounded by relatives who model the opposite and encourage her to do the same, the odds are not good. 

These answers are neat enough, but the question is off. There is a much stronger question that must be asked instead: we know that Naḥor and his descendants are idolaters, but we also know that Abhraham was a masterful proselytizer, and had many followers and disciples in Kena'an. Eli'ezer, the servant sent as shadchan (matchmaker), was a righteous man. 'Aner, Eshkol, and Mamre are called ba'alei berith Abhraham (either treaty-bound allies of Abhraham or members of the covenant of Abhraham), and they are considered righteous men. Melkhitzedhek was called kohein le-El 'elyon, priest to God most high, and is midrashically identified with Shem, son of Noaḥ. In Kena'an, unlike Gerar or Mitzrayim, Abhraham sees no need to dissemble from the lack of fear of God in the land. So, we are not left with a choice between two groups of idolaters, unsure what differentiates them, but between a strong community of monotheists and a distant group of idolaters. Indeed, Ramban explicitly and Rashi implicitly understand the above quoted phrase, "amongst whom I dwell", as coming to teach that Abhraham's instructions were specifically against taking a wife from these righteous local allies and disciples.
So, how are we to understand this choice? Ramban writes that current good behavior is not enough to overcome the curse of Ḥam, and Abhraham cannot countenance the marriage of blessing to curse. I do not see how he can take that position when Abhraham himself consents to be united with Haghar, herself a daughter of Ḥam. I would like to propose a different solution. Perhaps the issue is not, as it seems at first, the bride, but rather the groom. Abhraham has accepted the lesson from the last paresha, that the spiritual life of the nation is entering a new phase, and that his son is not suited to follow the model that served him so well. I think that the contrast between Abhraham's relationship to the surrounding nations and Yitzḥak's is best illustrated by their experiences in Gerar, so similar in so many respects, but fundamentally different. Abhraham dwells among the Pilishtim and is beloved by them, and they enter into covenant with him while he is in their midst. Yitzḥak also dwells among the Pilishtim, but he inspires envy and strife until he is driven out. However, after that, as he dwells apart, they come to recognize his Godliness and enter into covenant with him as well. 

This reflects a deep tension through Jewish history as we relate to the nations. How are we to be a light? Do we go out among them, teaching and preaching, building relationships and integrating? Or do we allow them to live as they please, focusing on ensuring that our own distinct community is a model ready for them to look to when they are ready to see it? As in most such tensions, each has its place and balance must be our end. Abhraham recognized that his strength was not his son's, and that Yitzḥak would need to live a life of much greater separation to realize his unique potential. As such, he sought a wife who would not perforce draw his son into the local community with all its mess and politics in which he would flounder. He sought a woman who would be as much an outsider as Yitzḥak, perfectly suited to join him in the wilderness, digging wells from whose living waters all people will eventually draw blessing.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshath Vayera

I find the character of Yishma'el fascinating. He is often paired with 'Eisav, the two rejected sons of the avoth (the patriarchs) (benei Ketura notwithstanding), but his relationship with Yisrael is far less straightforward. 'Eisav is associated with Rome, that greatest oppressor of the Jews, combing the humiliation of Bavel (Babylon), the bald slaughter of Paras (Persia), and the assimilationist pressure of Yavan (Greece), managing to far outdo each of its predecessors in their own area of expertise; and he is further distinguished as the progenitor of 'Amalek, the ideological negation of Yisrael. Yishma'el, on the other hand, is one of those rare figures that the rabbinic tradition leaves as neither hero nor villain. Sometimes he is accused of great sin: Rashi connects the "mitzaḥek" that motivates Sarah to have him exiled to the three cardinal sins of 'abhodha zara (idolatry), giluy 'arayoth (illicit sexual relations), and retziḥa (murder). But then again, Ramban responds that it is outrageous to suppose someone raised in the house of Abhraham would act thusly, and even Rashi agrees that he repented later in life. He is the only person in the Torah called "adham" save for the progenitor himself, literally a mensch. We have a number of great rabbis who bear his name, despite the tradition to avoid the names of the wicked. Yet, despite all in his favor, he is not considered fit to remain a part of the trunk of the nation. Sarah says that he must go, and God supports her.

So, what does this ambivalent character represent? The three avoth are often connected to midhath haḥesedh, the outpouring of emotion that breaks down all barriers and flows toward oneness (Abhraham); midhath hagebhura, the analytic precision that puts everything in its proper place and orders creation (Yitzḥak); and midhath hatiphereth, the harmonious balance between the former and the latter (Ya'akobh). Interesting digression: Rav Matis Weinberg understands this whole paresha as providing a gradual transition for the spiritual life of the people from ḥesedh to din -- every time Abhraham runs, hurries, or wakes up to do something (almost everything he does this week), he finds himself a little closer to din, culminating in 'akeidhath Yitzḥak where Yitzḥak really becomes the dominant force, although the narrative transition waits until the next paresha.
By this understanding, both Yishma'el and 'Eisav are far more their fathers' sons than their younger brothers who are chosen to inherit. They represent the dangers of imbalance. They may also represent these midhoth to the nations; the Vilna Gaon has an interesting comment to God's promise to make a nation of Yishma'el, that there are traditionally seventy nations, and seventy already accounted for, but seventy often really means seventy-two, with two set apart and above, as is the case in the Sanhedrin, with seventy elders, one Abh haBeith Din (head of the court), and one Nasi (prince or president). Thus, there is room for Yishma'el and 'Eisav to father nations, and indeed a special place of leadership for them. This idea works nicely with the traditional identification of 'Eisav with Christianity and Yishma'el with Islam.
The dangers of excess gebhura seem clear enough, as stated in the first paragraph regarding 'Eisav. Every sort of tyranny and oppression. Yishma'el, the opposite figure, is described as the freest of men by Rav Hirsch, and full heir to those most typical gifts of Abhraham's ḥesedh: generous hospitality and a powerfully monotheistic intuition. Not so bad. But also dangerous. It means that "his hand shall be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and he shall dwell in the face of all his brethren." The generous spirit, untempered by din, is incompatible with society, order, and ultimately peace. Vehameibhin yabhin.

Shabbath Shalom uMebhorakh!

Pareshat VeZot HaBrakha

Turns out it is a little harder to learn in the sukkah amidst snacks and games than in the beit midrash, so this week will be on the short and simple side.

One thing that has always bothered me about this week's paresha is the absence of Shim'on. Surely, the Jewish people are not complete without every tribe, every sort of Jew. 

The Abarbanel notes that Moshe's brakha differs from Ya'akov's in its focus on the land. Ya'akov addresses each of his sons according to their characters, and the way in which that will affect their places in the nation. Moshe addresses the tribes according to their portions in the inheritance, which impacts their role in a different way. Ya'akov deems two of his sons, in their character, unworthy of such a portion, cursing them that they should be divided and dispersed. Those sons are Shim'on and Levi. And yet, despite sharing equally in Ya'akov's condemnation, Levi merits praise and blessing from Moshe. So really, the question is reversed; not, "Why is Shim'on excluded?", but "Why is Levi included?". Note that a significant portion of Levi's blessing consists of praise for the behavior of the Levites during the journey through the wilderness. The only other tribe whose actions are similarly mentioned is Gad, in an enigmatic verse extolling the tribe for being first to claim their portion, a decision that Moshe was far from thrilled by initially. The mepharshim explain that that verse was not so much a blessing as a personal expression of gratitude, for without that act, whether or not it was praiseworthy in itself, Moshe could not have died and been buried in the land. By their request to settle on the east bank, they extended the land to include Moshe's grave. So, Levi's accolades remain unique. I think that they can be read not as praises so much as conditions, or explanations. Levi's portion is to be Hashem, and their support the tithes, but not because they are denied a share of land, Devarim 10:8-9 notwithstanding. They were not to receive land in any case. They receive a portion because they acted properly when the people were tested. Shim'on, by contrast, are most noted through the time in the wilderness for being the main sinners in the matter of ba'al peor.

This brings out an interesting tension that plays out in many ways through Tanakh. To what degree are we shaped by our ancestors, and to what extent free to make our own decisions? We see that through righteousness Levi is able to transcend the limitations of their curse and transform it into blessing. We have the freedom to set our own courses. However, there is no blank slate. Shim'on and Levi are both, ultimately, scattered and divided through the nation. Shim'on may have sinned in the wilderness, but so did many others who were not subject to the same punishment, because their starting points were not the same. The actions of their forefathers echo down through the generations, affecting every generation to come. Interesting to muse on as a ba'al teshuva.

Mo'adim leSimḥa!

Shabbat Shalom uMevorakh!