Scrollers Preview: Parashat Vayechi

This week we complete our journey through the book of Genesis. Jacob is about to die, and he makes Joseph swear to bury him in the Cave of Machpelah in the land of Canaan. Jacob also blesses Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Menashe, and then proceeds to bless each of his own sons.

Jacob dies and is buried in the land of Canaan, brought there by an entourage of Egyptian dignitaries, along with his sons and their families. After Jacob’s death, Joseph’s brothers’ fear is revived that Joseph will now treat them badly in revenge. Joseph again reassures them that it was God who brought him down to Egypt, not them. We end the book of Genesis with Joseph’s death. He is placed in a coffin in Egypt. Egypt is the final word of the parasha.

The haftarah for this week also tells the story of a dying leader, King David, who gives blessings to his son Solomon and then dies and is buried.

In both of these texts we have the theme of one generation ending and passing a legacy on to the next generation. In the case of Jacob, the legacy is complex – he wants to pass on a spiritual legacy – a sense of God’s presence and protection to his grandchildren Ephraim and Menashe. And then in his blessings of the rest of the sons, we see more of a political legacy passed on to each tribe according to its strengths and weaknesses.

In the case of King David, there is some unfinished political business that he seems to want Solomon to complete for him, vis a vis his enemies. But at the same time, David also instructs his son to “Keep the charge of the Lord your God, walking in His ways and following his laws. . . .”

The story of Jacob ends with a sense anxiety – the children of Israel are in Egypt. And yet, there is hope for the future – Joseph makes his brothers swear to bring up his bones to the Land of Israel sometime in the future. The story of David too seems to end with anxiety. The text seems to go out of its way to declare that Solomon’s rule was “firmly established.”

It makes sense in a way that the first book of the Torah would end with themes of legacy and anxiety and unfinished business. Otherwise, why would we need four more books! The question, I suppose, is why does our sacred literature have these inconclusive endings? As we complete the book of Genesis, is there any sense of closure?

Scrollers Preview - Vayiggash

We have arrived at the emotional peak of the Joseph story this week, and probably one of the most emotional scenes in the Torah. Joseph, who has not yet revealed his identity to his brothers, listens to his brother Judah speak about the heartbreak it would cause their father Jacob if the brothers were to return home without Benjamin. And as Judah goes on to plead that Joseph take him as a slave in place of Benjamin, Joseph can no longer control his emotions. He breaks down in tears and says to his brothers “I am Joseph.”

Joseph continues, reassuring his brothers that “it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you. . . to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance.”(Gen. 45:5-7) This is the meaning that Joseph has chosen to derive from his having been sold down to Egypt as a slave by his own brothers. There was a larger purpose – to save life.

It is not entirely clear if the “extraordinary deliverance” to which Joseph is referring is the short-term rescue of his family from the famine or the dramatic Exodus that is to come 400 years from now. Nevertheless, Joseph’s willingness to forgive his brothers and to find a greater purpose in his own suffering is striking.

Can we relate to Joseph’s reading of the meaning of his life? He sees God’s hand in all that has happened to him. Is this because he has dreamed it or because God has come to him with prophecies? Or does he sees God’s hand because this is the only way he can remain whole spiritually?

In contrast to Joseph, his father Jacob, when introducing himself to Pharaoh, says, “Few and hard have been the years of my life, nor do they come up to the life spans of my fathers during their sojourns.”(Gen 47:9) As he looks back at the ups and downs of his life, Jacob seems embittered, without clarity about the meaning of it all. Although he is now reunited with the son he once though dead, instead of rejoicing, he complains.

Is Joseph being pollyanish here, in seeing God’s redemptive hand in the difficulties of his life, or is this the choice one makes in order to feel at peace and whole and strong?

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Parashat Miketz

12/14/12

Rabbi Rachel Goldenberg

Last night I celebrated Chanukah with President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama at the White House, among a couple hundred other national Jewish leaders. It was an awesome experience in so many ways, and I think it will take some time to articulate what it meant in any organized way. But I want to try, while it’s really fresh, to reflect on this experience in a way that connects to our Torah portion this week.

I woke up yesterday morning, got dressed in fancy holiday wear, flew to Washington, got a manicure (which only happens about once every 3 years for me), and showed up at the White House. There we were, a couple hundred Jews, many wearing yarmulkes, some wearing black fedoras, all eating Glatt Kosher food. The West Point Jewish chorus sang Hanukkah songs, and another military academy orchestra played Hanukkah and other Jewish music. And we surrounded by Christmas trees – gorgeous Christmas trees and greenery and wreaths and lights all over the White House. We gathered to light the menorah with the President and Michelle. A Jewish chaplain who celebrated Chanukah last year in Afghanistan, had the honor of lighting the menorah, a menorah rescued from a severely damaged Long Island synagogue after Hurricane Sandy. And our voices filled the East Wing with the Hebrew blessings.

What does it mean to be an American Jew? What does it mean to be invited by a Christian President to celebrate Chanukah in a White House adorned for Christmas? What does it mean to have power and influence in our nation’s capital, as Jews? What is my unique message for my President, when I have his attention, when I’m grasping his hand for less than 1 minute?

This week Joseph, the Hebrew, is taken from his cell in an Egyptian dungeon. he is dressed and bathed, his hair is cut and he appears before one of the most powerful men on earth, to interpret a dream and to deliver a message. Joseph’s influence is so potent that Pharaoh makes him his right-hand man. Joseph gets an Egyptian name, and Egyptian wife, and he names his children “God has made me fertile in the land of my affliction” and “God has made me forget my father’s house.”

So, what does it mean to show up at the White House as Jew, with a Jewish name, to celebrate a Jewish holiday, and to deliver a Jewish message? What does it mean to have my power and influence in this country celebrated and validated, and to have my religious culture celebrated in the President’s house? I left with my heart bursting. I am so proud. I am so, so grateful to be an American Jew. And I was very aware that we have a heavy responsibility. Our influence is louder and more powerful than our numbers. We are no longer “court Jews” who have to make nice, or who, like Joseph, have to assimilate and take on a non-Jewish identity in order to gain entrance to the seat of power.

I asked the President to not only stand strong with and for Israel, but to stand strong for peace. I told him, in my less than 1 minute, when he was holding my hand and looking me in the eye – that thousands of American rabbis want peace. I hope he got the message. And I hope I fulfilled my responsibility.