December 29, 2012

Va-y’chi, Genesis 47:28–50:26

By Dr. Deborah Miller | Associate Director of the Melton Research Center for Jewish Education

It’s Not What You Say . . .

A number of years ago, I took my grandson to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. During the intermission, he said, “This is the best show I ever saw in my whole life!”
I smiled. He was four. His whole life? When can we look back and say, “All my life I have (believed / felt / acted as though . . . )”?

Certainly Jacob is in this position in the final parashah of the book of Genesis, as he lies on his deathbed. We, too, can look back on his life and see what patterns emerge as we consider what kind of a person he has been. At the same time, we see Joseph, the early favored son, standing with his father in his final scene on earth—and serving as a contrast to him.

We have learned that two trees do not make a pattern—it takes three. So we have to look at a series of events in order to learn about Jacob. What can we discern?

To my mind, there are two salient aspects of Jacob’s life. One is that he has been true to his name throughout his long life: He was named sneak/supplanter at birth, and has rarely veered from that description. He has exercised poor judgment in his family life, and made it difficult for his children to live nobly. He has shown no growth of character, and no wisdom gained from experience. On the contrary—after seeing the devastating familial effects of favoring Joseph, he still persists in blessing the younger of Joseph’s two children more than the older, in spite of Joseph’s attempts to correct him.

Joseph, in contrast, has learned. If Jacob’s social and emotional maturity looks like a flat line, Joseph’s shows growth, change, and learning from life. He magnanimously looks beyond the hurts his brothers inflicted, takes his brothers in and nurtures them, and sees to all their and their families’ needs. He can see the bigger picture—how their deliberate injuries inadvertently resulted in his ability to save a whole civilization. Having this perspective, he can try to relieve their well-deserved guilt.

I’m afraid that my low opinion of Jacob and my high opinion of Joseph are all too evident. For me, the proof of the differences in their characters is captured in an amazing repetition of a key phrase. In two different stories, in two different contexts, Jacob and Joseph say the same thing. In each the tone is totally different. And each reveals the essential character of the protagonist.
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December 22, 2012

Parashat Vayigash - Genesis 44:18–47:27

Joseph's Moment of Truth

Revealing his true identity, the viceroy cannot control his emotions.

By Rabbi Charles Savenor

Provided by the Jewish Theological Seminary, a Conservative rabbinical seminary and university of Jewish studies.

The moment of truth has arrived. With Benjamin framed for stealing and sentenced to enslavement, Joseph waits to see how Jacob's other sons will respond. Joseph believes that his well-orchestrated ruse will finally expose his brothers' true colors.
Judah's Appeal

This week's parshah opens with Judah appealing to his brother Joseph, the Egyptian viceroy, to free Benjamin and to enslave Judah in his place. Judah's eloquent petition recounts his brothers' interaction with this Egyptian official as well as the familial circumstances of Jacob's household. Benjamin, the youngest son in the family, occupies a valued place in their father's eyes, Judah says, because he is the last living remnant of Jacob's deceased wife, Rachel. In conclusion, Judah asserts that if he were to return home to Canaan without Benjamin, he could not bear to see his father's immediate and long-term pain and suffering.

Judah's words arouse Joseph's soul, as the Torah tells us that "V'lo yachol Yosef lehitapek. . ."--"and Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, 'Have everyone withdraw from me!' So there was no one else about when Joseph made himself known to his brothers" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 45:1).

Witnessing Joseph's intense reaction to Judah's appeal, we wonder what exactly pushes Joseph to his emotional limit? What does Judah say or do that compels Joseph to reveal himself at this moment?

Our most trusted biblical commentator, Rashi, surmises that since Joseph's emotional outburst is juxtaposed with evacuating his Egyptian servants, Judah's self-incrimination embarrasses Joseph. The viceroy of Egypt fears that when these alleged spies are introduced as his brothers, the family's reputation, and his by association, will already be tarnished in Egypt and in Pharaoh's court.

Rashi's analysis helps us to understand the momentary reality, yet other interpretations exist, which incorporate the larger context of Joseph's dreams and the patriarchal covenant. As soon as Joseph "unmasks" himself, he urges his brothers not to be upset about their having sold him into slavery many years before: "Kee lemeheeyah shelahani Elohim lefnayhem"--"(for) it was to save life that God sent me here ahead of you" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 45:5). Joseph believes fervently that God's preordained plan for him involves maintaining life for his entire family and the civilized world. Thus, Joseph stores food for Egypt for times of feast and famine, and secures safe passage to a new land for his family. 

Actualizing the Covenant

The outcome of Joseph's story not only affirms his childhood dreams, but also actualizes the first part of God's covenant with the patriarchs and matriarchs. As Jacob's family settles in Egypt, Act I of the epic of the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob comes to a close. With such an immense epiphany--that his dreams are realized and the future of his people secured--how could we expect Joseph to contain his emotions?

Additionally, sustaining brotherhood, one could argue, is humanity's first ongoing challenge, upon being escorted from Eden. After slaughtering his brother, Cain utters the timeless question, "Hashomer ahi anohi"--"Am I my brother's keeper" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 4:9)? Nahum Sarna asserts in the JPS Torah Commentary of Genesis that "the sevenfold stress in this chapter on the obvious fraternal relationship of Cain and Abel emphatically teaches that man is indeed his brother's keeper."

By repeating the Hebrew word for brother, "ah," in Genesis 45, Joseph responds as much to Judah's words and actions as to the first disastrous confrontation between the first siblings in the Torah. In other words, Joseph's emotional outburst stems from hearing Judah's passionate plea beyond their own family's story, in a larger context that affects all of the children of Adam and Eve.

The overarching challenge of being one's brother's keeper, however, continues throughout Genesis. Sadly, the partnership efforts of generation after generation become impeded and frustrated by jealousy, competition, and greed.

At the beginning of his amazing odyssey, for example, Joseph ventures to talk to his brothers on his father's behalf. Having lost his way, Joseph speaks to a stranger, who asks Joseph what he wants. "I am seeking my brothers" (Etz Hayim, Genesis 37:16), he says, which sounds like a straightforward request for his brothers' physical location, but constitutes, in actuality, a deep-seated desire to be in concert and live in harmony with his brothers. Furthermore, Joseph's words can be understood as his personal response, in the affirmative, to the question Cain posed generations before him--this is how he perceives one should be his brother's keeper.

In our story this week, Joseph is overwhelmed by Judah's compassion for his father, and for his brother, Benjamin. It is not only that Judah is willing to take the place of his brother, but that he does not want to contribute to his father's pain. Judah has learned from the loss of his own two sons what loss can do to one's soul. Aviva Zornberg expounds in Genesis: The Beginning of Desire: "Initiated into the fellowship of pain, Judah becomes capable of investing the whole force of his personhood into preventing its recurrence." With his compassion and courage, Judah demonstrates before Joseph's very eyes what it means to be a brother.

In the end, the significance of what Joseph learns surpasses even his wildest dreams. He loses control of his emotions because not only will his brothers be reunited, but also humanity has finally proven that it can shoulder the responsibility of brotherhood.

May our generation be blessed with compassion, mutual respect, and patience so that we can actualize the prophetic dream of mending our world into a global community replete with peace, love, prosperity, understanding, and most importantly, sisterhood and brotherhood.

December 15, 2012

Parashat Mi-ketz, Genesis 41:1—44:17 and Numbers 7:48—53

This week's commentary was written by Rabbi Daniel Nevins, Pearl Resnick Dean of The Rabbinical School and Dean of the Division of Religious Leadership, JTS.

What is the essential message of Hanukkah, the beloved Festival of Lights? Like many of our holidays, this celebration is protean, shifting shape to accommodate our changing Jewish needs. American Jews have viewed it as a celebration of religious freedom, as if Judah Maccabee were an ancient Roger Williams, championing the rights of religious minorities and establishing the separation of religion and state. Israelis have seen the Maccabees as early nationalists, rising up to wrest sovereignty over the Holy Land from its foreign occupiers, and establishing a political refuge where Jews could live in dignified self-determination. Mystics have viewed Hanukkah as the recurrent flow of hidden light from the uppermost realms of heaven into the darkest expanses of the material world so that every year is a miraculous expression of divine grace. And children everywhere have claimed Hanukkah as their own—it is the festival of candles, candies, doughnuts, games, and presents galore.

These multiple meanings may each claim a measure of plausibility, since defining the historical Hanukkah is practically futile. While the Hasmoneans (Maccabees) were in some ways traditionalists who sought to augment Jewish ethnic and religious solidarity in the face of Hellenism, they themselves were also innovators who bucked venerable Jewish traditions. Historian Seth Schwartz reviews some of these innovations in his book Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 BCE to 640 CE. The Hasmoneans were from neither the Davidic line of Judean kings nor the Zadokite line of the high priests, yet they eventually claimed both of these crowns. While they opposed the Seleucids, they integrated Greek language, rhetoric, and material culture into their own governing practices. The Hasmoneans conquered neighboring territories and mass-converted the Idumeans and other ethnic groups. This large-scale integration of non-Judeans into the Jewish religion was in contrast to prior and subsequent Jewish policy, and had far-reaching consequences. Eventually, the Hasmoneans turned on each other, drawing in the Romans and sowing the seeds of destruction for Jewish sovereignty, Temple worship, and even existence in Judea.

The Hasmoneans both resisted and embraced Greek culture, and their holiday therefore exemplifies the inner Jewish conflict between piety and assimilation. Hanukkah always feels contemporary because most Jews continue to feel conflicted by its themes of integration and separation from surrounding cultures. Jews simultaneously want to participate fully in the political, economic, and cultural life of their Gentile neighbors while also maintaining a sense of Jewish difference and even destiny. The Joseph story always coincides with Hanukkah, and who could be a better exemplar of the challenges of living in two worlds than the grand vizier of Egypt? In Parashat Mi-ketz, Joseph rises in spectacular fashion from prison to the throne, changing his clothes, name, and even language to the extent that his own brothers do not recognize him. And yet within, he remains Joseph, son of Jacob, the Hebrew lad who remembers his essential difference and destiny. Joseph's appearance on Hanukkah reminds us that success in secular society must not be permitted to draw us away from our distinctive Jewish identity.

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December 8, 2012

Parashat Va-yeishev

Genesis 37:1–40:23

This week's commentary was written by Rabbi Abigail Treu, Rabbinic Fellow and Director of Planned Giving.

Forgetting to Remember for Posterity

When my grandmother first starting losing her memory several years ago, the impulse to correct her facts was overwhelming. No, Grandma, we weren't together last weekend. No, you didn't just eat dinner. No, Grandma, I'm Abigail, your granddaughter. 

Over time, as her memory has disintegrated and she lives entirely from moment to moment or fantasy to fantasy, the impulse has softened. When she announces that she is living with her mother in her childhood home, we no longer bother to explain that she actually resides in an assisted-living facility with her husband of 42 years. If she is surprised that my children are her great-grandchildren, we let it go. The facts don't seem to matter so much anymore, and we have come to appreciate a beauty in her ability to live each moment as it comes, and to place herself psychically where she needs to be.

Remember the Sabbath day. Remember what Amalek did to you in the wilderness. Remember what God did to Miriam. Remember that you were slaves in Egypt.Memory is integral to our identities as Jews and as individuals. What happens when we lose our memories, or our ability to remember altogether?

The question arises for me this week because the themes of losing (memories and much more) and forgetting run strong in this week's parashah, and indeed throughout the entire Joseph story. Jacob and then Joseph lose track of the brothers when they go out to pasture. Reuven leaves Joseph in the pit, and when he returns, "the boy is gone!" (Gen. 37:30). The brothers lose Joseph altogether as they sell him into slavery. Judah loses the prostitute (really Tamar) and his staff, cord, and seal. Even Joseph loses his clothes in the grip of Potiphar's wife. The theme continues in coming weeks as objects disappear into Benjamin's sack, and as Joseph remembers the forgotten dreams of his youth (42:9) and names his firstborn son Menassah, "because God has caused me to forgot all my trouble" (41:51).

Most explicit is the closing cliff-hanger line of the parashah: "Yet the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph; he forgot him." (40:21). The commentators wonder about the chief cupbearer's forgetting. What might the difference between not rememberingand forgetting be? Rashi and others suggest that the difference is temporal: the not remembering describes what happened the day of the cupbearer's release from prison, and the forgetting is what happened after that. Ibn Ezra suggests that not remembering is that the cupbearer did not mention Joseph to Pharoah; and thatforgetting is ba-lev—what happens in one's heart. Radak says just the opposite. None of this satisfies, but their close read is helpful: there is, the language of the verse suggests, an important difference between not remembering and forgetting. 

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