Parshat Vayigash: Every Act We Take...

This week's Torah portion is Vayigash (Genesis 44:18-47:27). We are not yet slaves in Egypt. Judah and all the brothers have come to Egypt searching for food and while they meet Joseph, they do not yet know/recognize who he is. Last week, Joseph planted a goblet in Benjamin's pack to frame him for stealing - an excuse to keep his favorite (and only brother from the same mother) in Egypt with him as the rest of the brothers were preparing to go back to Canaan and Jacob. Judah (the one who was behind Joseph's alleged death) approaches Joseph to plead for Benjamin's release and to offer himself as a slave to the "Egyptian" Joseph. Joseph is so overcome by witnessing his brothers’ loyalty to one another that he finally reveals his identity by saying, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?"

These acts of brotherly love, remorse, and forgiveness set into play the final steps that will cause us to become slaves in Egypt. The brothers rejoice in finding their lost, and not dead!, brother. They return to Canaan to tell Jacob the news and then return with Jacob to Egypt to settle. It is only a matter of time before every one of this generation, most particularly Joseph, has died.  Then (in two weeks) we will read the fateful words in Exodus 1:8, "And there arose up a new king over Egypt, who knew not Joseph."  From there our 400 years of slavery will begin. 

 

We know, because it is in the Torah, that it was God's intention all along for the Israelites to become slaves, for Moses to become our leader, and for us to enter into the Promised Land. So this story had to play out as it did.  But what does it mean for us today? 

 

I often think of it as a cautionary tale - every individual action we take, every decision we make, leads to another and another and another. We have little control over "things" once they reach a certain point. Judah was the brother who encouraged the others to do away with Joseph. He felt he was able to control things on his end up to the point they told Jacob and eventually headed to Egypt for grain. After that... well we know what happened.

 

We are about to enter into a new year – 2024! For some reason, it still sounds futuristic to me. But what is very present is that we are living through one of the most difficult and confusing times of our lives. So what do we do? We remain aware that every decision we make will lead to another.  We use our words wisely and we remember that both the big and the small actions that we take can and DO make a difference. We must also permit ourselves to change course if and when needed. The one thing we can’t do is to give up. 

 

Shabbat Shalom

 

#BringThemHomeNOW #peace #OsehShalom #עושהשלום# שבתשלום

 

 

Parshat Vayeshev: One person can make all the difference

Vayeshev, Genesis 37:1-40:23

The pivotal moment in this week’s Torah portion is the meeting between Joseph and the man known as “ha-ish/the man,” who is otherwise not named. His time in our story is brief, yet by meeting him, Joseph’s destiny, and with it the destiny of the Jewish people, is changed forever.

Genesis 37:13 provides the setup for what is to come: “Israel said to Joseph, ‘Your brothers are pasturing at Shechem. Come, I will send you to them.’ He answered, ‘Hineni/I am ready.’”We follow Joseph as he leaves his father’s home and sets off to find his brothers.

Once he arrives in Shechem, he gets lost and meets a man in a field. The story continues: “…When he reached Shechem, a man [ish] came upon him wandering in the fields. The man asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’ He answered, ‘I am looking for my brothers. Could you tell me where they are pasturing?’ The man said, ‘They have gone from here, for I heard them say: Let us go to Dothan.’ So Joseph followed his brothers and found them at Dothan” (Genesis 37:14 – 17).

Who was this Ish, this random man? Rashi (12th century France) suggests that he may have been the angel Gabriel. Ibn Ezra (12th century Spain) suggests he was just a passerby. 

The simplest way to read the story is that the Ish was placed in Joseph’s path by God to ensure that Joseph would get to where he needed to go in order that God’s promise to Abraham will be fulfilled. “Know well that your offspring shall be strangers in a land not theirs, and they shall be enslaved and oppressed four hundred years” (Genesis 15:13).

This serendipitous meeting with a stranger in the field sets Joseph upon a path that changed the entire Jewish future.  Thanksgiving was just a few weeks ago and we are heading into Chanukah. Both of these holidays, one secular, one religious, call to us to be better people.

We are to acknowledge gratitude, the richness of being in community, and the recognition that we can create change.

The importance of the serendipitous stranger calls to me. One chance meeting can make a difference. One ordinary person can become extraordinary by taking a moment to help someone in distress. One person can truly make a difference.

 

Miketz/Chanukah - A Single Person Can Make a World of Difference

Torah Portion Miketz (Genesis 41:1-44:17)

A common greeting for Chanukah is “Chag Urim Sameach,” meaning happy holiday of lights. The Haftarah that we read on the first Shabbat of Chanukah is Zechariah 2:14-4:7. It contains mention of Zechariah’s vision of the menorah and its lamps or branches that stood and will stand again in the rebuilt Temple.  As we are all well aware, light is a pervasive theme of Chanukah, in fact of most traditions that occur around the time of the winter solstice.  Light banishes the long night’s darkness during the winter months. Light spreads hope and openness and transparency. One looks into a flame and becomes mesmerized by the beauty and paradox of a constant light that is ever changing.

I experience a sense of awe, possibility and hope every time I kindle the Chanukah candles and gaze at their flames. There is something about fire. It is powerful and dangerous, yet also cleansing and mesmerizing. The light of the smallest candle can fill a space so much larger than itself. It tells us to take courage, to peer into the darkness, into the cracks and corners of our world and our lives. It illuminates the possibilities of our lives. It reminds me that if the flame of one little candle can breathe such potential, imagine the impact that each of us can make.

One person can make a difference. Witness the legacy of Joseph in the four Torah portions, including this week’s Miketz , that tell his story.  He goes from being  a bratty younger brother who is sold to slavers, is imprisoned in Egypt, becoming its second highest leader, saving the country from famine and finally, forgives his brothers for trying to kill him. If one person can do all of that, just imagine the difference that many people standing as one can make!

The Haftarah, meanwhilie, contains a prophecy about rebuilding the Temple. The prophecy that will be fulfilled in large part due to the pragmatic pluralism practiced by Cyrus the Great over the areas that he governed. Cyrus’ position was to respect and allow the traditions of the people of his empire. It helped keep the peace and ensured that taxes would be received. In many ways this attitude is a model of governing for our world today.

Zechariah contains the famous words Lo b’Chayil v’lo b’koach, ki im b’ruchi amar Adonai Tzva’ot “Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit – said the Lord of Hosts.” (4:6)

This verse contains a powerful message both for Chanukah and for our world today. We recognize this timelessness and timeliness nightly in the second blessing over the Chanukah candles: bayamim ha-hem -- in those days, bazman hazeh – in this time. It takes more than armies and war and physical strength to make change and to live a good life. It requires faith – in God, in a higher power, in the goodness and possibility of mankind.  When I see the words “but by My Spirit” it tells me that I must nourish a personal godliness while recognizing that the godliness I see in others may be very different from my own.  It requires the moral strength of having one’s own belief while at the same time holding space and respect for others without feeling threatened.

That is what Chanukah represents to me, that Judaism is a constant light that is ever-changing. The faith we hold, the traditions that imbue our lives with meaning, those same traditions that we often fight against, the sense that being a Jew means something – to me this is the answer to the Sages question in the Talmud, Mai Hanukkah? What is Hanukkah?

Food for Thought: 

1. What does the concept of “light” mean to you?

2. Chanukah was a time of conflict not only against an oppressive ruler but it also was a civil war dealing with religious practices and ideas and the reality of assimilation. Who were the real winners of the Chanukah story?

Remembering and knowing

This week’s Torah portion is Sh’mot, Exodus 1:1 – 6:1.

How do we grant eternal life to people in Judaism?

We do it by keeping our loved ones alive through memory, stories, actions and saying Kaddish.

In my family, we tell stories of those who have passed away so often it’s as if they are still alive.

My children have never met their great-great-grandparents on my side, but Bubbe and Zeyde are alive to them because of all the stories I tell. It’s important because these stories are their spiritual and ethical inheritance. We remember them.

So what happened with Joseph? We read in Exodus 1:8: “A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” Why didn’t this new ruler remember him? Didn’t Joseph do enough for Egypt during his 80 years in government to deserve to be remembered? He saved the Egyptians from the famine and acted as a negotiator between Pharaoh and farmer/tenants.

The scholar Rashi, interprets this verse to mean that that Pharaoh acted as if he did not know about Joseph. Pharaoh conveniently pretended that he didn’t know or remember Joseph and therefore would not have to be beholden to his descendants, to his people.

The commentator Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno presents a different interpretation. He felt that Pharaoh really did remember a Joseph from the history books. However, he said that “… it did not occur to anyone to associate the Hebrews of his time with the family of Joseph who had been so highly esteemed.” So Joseph was remembered but his family affiliations were not. And even if they had been remembered, Sforno continues that “… the idea that the present day Hebrews deserved special consideration on account of their illustrious forbearers did not occur to anyone observing the way these Hebrews behaved at that time.” This last statement posits that even if Joseph had been remembered, no one would connect him with current day Hebrews because his people were not living up to his legacy.

What follows, then, is that Joseph may indeed have been remembered but he was not known.

What is the difference? To remember someone means to “to have or keep an image or idea in your mind of (something or someone from the past).” (Miriam-Webster). The Hebrew word for this type of remembering is zachor. The Hebrew word used in this verse is yada, to know. In certain situations, we can interpret yada to mean remember, as some will do in this verse.

But yada means so much more. It means to know someone intimately, as in a lover, or to know all the intimate relevant details about someone. Pharaoh and his court may have known of Joseph, may even have remembered him — but either as Rashi claimed, pretended that they didn’t know him, or as in the Sforno interpretation, didn’t know the intimate details of Joseph’s life. They didn’t know that he had been a Hebrew.

Joseph may not have been properly known to Pharaoh all those years later, but he was known to his people. He is still known to us today.

Perhaps one message from this verse is that not only must we continue to remember those who have gone before, but also we must do them the honor of continuing to live up to the standards that were set by them and by living a life worth being remembered and known for eternity.

Questions for discussion:

Can you think of anyone else in the Tanach who we learn just enough about to remember him or her, but whom we do not feel that we have enough information to truly know who he or she was?

What do you want people to remember and know you for after you are gone?

This appeared in Washington Jewish Week. 

Vayechi: A [Grand] Parent’s Blessing as Protection in the face of Assimilation

Parshat Vayechi is the last Parasha in the book of Genesis. In this parsha we find Jacob on his deathbed and desirous of blessing his sons. This is the first instance in the Torah of someone getting sick and knowing that their death is approaching. Prior to this point in the Torah, when someone’s death is mentioned, it says “and so-and-so was old, and died.” The commentaries say that Jacob requested of G-d that he become sick before he die, thereby giving him warning that his end was approaching and giving him time to to bless his sons before he died.

In verse 48:1 Joseph found out that Jacob was sick. Joseph then "took his two sons with him." (presumably to bring them to Jacob, although it doesn't say that anywhere). When Joseph and his sons got there, Jacob sat up in bed, and told Joseph that his two sons would now be considered like Jacob's children, and will get a portion in the land just like the rest of the brothers. 

Interestingly, the Torah doesn't say that Joseph brought his sons to Jacob, but that Joseph took his sons with him. What it could mean is that not only did Joseph bring his sons physically to Jacob, but also that Joseph kept them close to himself, so that they wouldn't be spiritually influenced by their non-Jewish surroundings. Jacob recognized this, which is why he felt strengthened when Joseph came to him with his sons.

With the act of Jacob claiming his grandsons as his own, he made sure to stress that it was those two sons that were born in Egypt (48:5). Their greatness and Joseph's greatness was that they identified as and lived as Jews despite living in Egypt. And finally, although his hands were on the two grandsons, Jacob's blessing was that Joseph's children, and anyone who has to live in a non-Jewish world, should be protected throughout history so that we can all be proudly called the children of Avraham and Yitzchak (and Jacob).  The blessing that is given is:  Y’simcha Elohim k’Efraim v’Menasseh”   “So he blessed them that day, saving, "By you shall Israel invoke blessings, saying: God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh."

This is the same blessing that parents all over the Jewish world give their children on Friday nights. What is special about Efraim and Manasseh? They didn’t assimilate. They were the sons of an important man in Egypt, living for much of their lives apart from any kind Jewish community, yet they kept to their heritage. This is a blessing to forestall assimilation. This is a blessing that says you can be successful and fulfilled regardless of where you live and what’s going on around you – and still remain Jewish.

Perhaps this message is why we read this Parasha so soon after Chanukah, a holiday about Jewish identity. With all that is going on in the world today regarding religion and tolerance, the message of this parsha should be taken to heart. Even in a place as hostile to Jews as Egypt was, there was a way to live there and continue to have a positive Jewish identity. My prayer is that in our world today, all people can find a way to live through these hostile times and still maintain their own positive religious identities and at the same time, allow others to as well, whatever religion they may belong to.

Food for Thought: 
~If you were to compose a blessing to give to your children each Friday night, what would it be?
~Jacob blessed his grandchildren, Efraim and Manasseh, before his eldest child Reuben. Why would he do that? Note: consider the biblical motif of the younger son inheriting before the elder. How does that fit in here?

This dvar originally appeared in the Washington Jewish Week.

Chukat: Differing Reactions to Loss

Chukat  Numbers 19:1-22:1

Differing Reactions to Loss

         In Genesis 50:10-11, Joseph observed a seven-day mourning period for his father Jacob, mourning bitterly and loudly.  When the Caaanites witnessed this, they observed that the people were holding “a solemn ceremony of mourning.” From this we derive the practice of shiva where we observe a specific period of mourning for those close to us. After the mourning period was over, Joseph and the mourners returned to Egypt to resume their daily lives.

         In this week’s parsha, Chukkat, Aaron dies and “all the house of Israel bewailed Aaron thirty days.” (20:29) Eleazar, Aaron’s son, becomes the High Priest and the journey continues. Later, when Moses dies “... the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days. So the days of weeping and mourning for Moses ended.” (Deuteronomy 34:8) We are taught that the time for mourning has a definite ending, 30 days.  Joshua, Moses’ successor, then takes on the task of entering and conquering the Promised Land. From these deaths we learn the practice of shloshim,  the thirty day period when we continue our mourning, still with restrictions but less so than during shiva.

         There is one more death to note. We also learn this week that the People arrived in Kadesh and “Miriam died there and was buried there.” (20:1) There is no ceremony, no mourning; and there is no person stepping up to take Miriam’s unofficial function. How do the People react? By doing what they usually do when faced with hardship, they kvetch about something that may or may not be related to Miriam, the lack of clean water.   

         So what do we learn from Miriam’s death? Were the People at this time hard-hearted fools, unable to experience the pain and loss of Miriam? I don’t think so. I believe the message here is that that life goes on. That people will react differently to the same circumstances at different times. Even circumstances as familiar to us as the loss of an important person in our lives.

         For some people, the loss of a loved one causes life to stand still, creating a sort of paralysis that precludes engaging in our normal daily activities for a period of time. For others, a similar loss causes internal feelings and reactions that we don’t understand and are not comfortable with. So we resort to a behavior that we engage in when we are not content, when there is something bothering us that we don’t know how to cope with. In this case, the complaining and whining that characterized B’nei Israel’s years in the desert.

         What lesson do we derive from all this? We are fortunate to belong to a tradition that gives us a framework for coping with loss. It recognizes the different stages people go through after losing someone close and, like a protective cloak, gives us the extra security to gradually reemerge into the reality of living our now changed daily lives. But our religion is also a practical one. It recognizes that we are human and fallible and therefore quirky. We might lose someone important and because of our fallibility we cannot mourn “properly.” Perhaps we are afraid, perhaps the loss is too large to comprehend straight away or ever. So, as in the case of Miriam’s death, we revert to behaviors that are not noble but are certainly human. And then, once the  reaction has subsided, life continues on.

1.    Think back to times when you experienced the loss of a loved one. Did the traditions of mourning work for you or did you find yourself in need of something else?

2.    Given the different reactions to the deaths of characters in the Torah, do you think the Torah is providing commentary on the importance or place of that person in the lives of our people?