Parashat Vayechi, Genesis 47:28-50:26

Blessing is not a game of "who's better."

About a decade ago there was a story from Afghanistan that sounded like a joke but was tragically true. The very last two Jews in Kabul, despite all the turmoil that was going on around them, could not find common ground and in fact hated each other. They fought verbally and sometimes physically. Each lived a Jewish life, but did so alone; they even prayed separately.

Last Spring, Sir Clement Freud (grandson of Sigmund Freud) passed away. His death was widely mourned in Great Britain; but his own brother, the artist Lucian Freud, did not attend the funeral because of a boyhood dispute over who won a race:

The spat developed into a lifelong estrangement.
One version of the story has Clement leading the race through a public park, only for Lucian to call out: “Stop, thief!” A passer-by apprehended Clement, and Lucian sprinted to the finish line. The location has been variously placed as Vienna, Pimlico and Hyde Park.
What is not in dispute is that the rift apparently remained until Sir Clement’s death. The pair were not believed to have spoken in decades.
“Why on Earth would I want to speak to him or see him again?” said Lucian last year. “I was offered a knighthood but turned it down. My younger brother has one of those. That’s all that needs to be said on the matter.”
The 86-year-old, widely regarded as Britain’s greatest living artist, was not expected to attend the funeral.

Anita Singh, Clement Freud died without resolving feud with his brother Lucian, Telegraph.co.uk, April 17, 2009

What is it about a grudge that leaves such deep wounds? We easily forget where we put the keys five minutes ago but cannot shake off a decades old resentment. We all know that such resentments are unhealthy. The world renowned Mayo Clinic has even posted an article to help people let go of grudges.

Even issues that seem to have been resolved keep popping up, especially at times of stress. One such example occurs in parashat Vayechi. Seventeen years after arriving in Egypt, Jacob dies. Seventeen years after reconciling with Joseph, the death of Jacob opens an old wound in the family: When Joseph's brothers saw that their father was dead, they said, "What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrong that we did him!" (Genesis 50:15) This despite the evidence all around them: Joseph has given them a home, land, and food. Still they need to hear that he no longer bore them a grudge, and that is what they get. But Joseph said to them, "Have no fear! Am I a substitute for God? Besides, although you intended me harm, God intended it for good, so as to bring about the present result — the survival of many people. And so, fear not. I will sustain you and your children." Thus he reassured them, speaking kindly to them. (Genesis 50:19-21)

The brothers' nervousness is understandable given the ongoing pattern of rivalry and resentment in the book of Genesis: Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Rachel and Leah. Family conflict appears to date back to Creation. That is why the reference to another set of siblings in this week's parasha is so interesting.

Before his death, Jacob asks to see his grandsons and bestows a blessing on them. Old habits die hard, and he blesses the younger Ephraim before the elder Manasseh, despite Joseph's effort to correct this. But, Jacob knew exactly what he was doing. So he blessed them that day, saying, "By you shall Israel invoke blessings, saying: God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh." (Genesis 48:20) Surprisingly, there is no reaction from either grandson, and this may be precisely the reason that Ephraim and Manasseh are the names we invoke when we bless our sons.

It is odd that two individuals of whom we know so little are the central figures in this powerful and intimate ritual that many of us perform at the beginning of Shabbat.

Why Ephraim and Manasseh? Perhaps because they were the first children who had to maintain their identity in a foreign land. Or perhaps because they were the first brothers in the Bible to get along peaceably … Now that siblings have learned to get along, the story of the Jewish people can move to the next stage.

Etz Hayim: Torah and Commentary, David L. Lieber, senior ed., p. 298

The next stage in our development will be made clear next week when we begin the second book of the Torah. Moving from Breishit (Genesis) to Shmot (Exodus) is a shift from individual and family to community and nation. The leadership that arises in Shmot also consists of siblings, but they protect each other and work together nurturing a nation towards freedom. The blessing God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh invokes a sense of "we," rather than "me."

In our self-esteem drenched society we tend to confuse praise with blessing. Our children end up with a sense of personal entitlement and little else. The words of the traditional blessings God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh (or: God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah) take our children off the pedestal and place them within community. Blessing is not a game of "who's better"; it is encouragement to reach our God-given potential as human beings. Your entire family can be saved from starvation, welcomed with open arms by a long-lost sibling and you can still convince yourself he will knife you in the back. You can be one of the last of your people and imprison yourself. You can be successful beyond your wildest dreams and still be enslaved by a childhood incident. Or you can strive to be like Ephraim and Manasseh: When rivalries and resentment dissipate, you find that you are no different than the object of your anger. Only then, together, can you begin the long, slow march to freedom.

Hazak, hazak, ve-nit'hazek (may we go from strength to strength) and Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18-47:27

Goodbye autonomy.

For hundreds of years the grand tour of Europe was undertaken by young men of means. In a way, it was an educational rite of passage with an itinerary that included sites from ancient Rome and the Renaissance. Similarly, many young adults today take a gap year, study abroad, or go on extended trips to foreign lands. Such journeys are for education, edification, and growth accompanied by anticipation and excitement.

Other journeys, though exciting, are accompanied by stress. This is the time of year when lots of us are under way, whether we use the school or holiday break to vacation or to visit family. What to pack? What provisions are needed? Will everything go according to plan? Keeping in mind how stressful such a short trip can be, it is easy to understand Jacob's tension as he prepares to journey to Egypt with his family in parashat Vayigash. This is more than a holiday outing or a grand tour: Jacob is undertaking the mother of all trips.

For the elderly Jacob, the journey is fraught with all sorts of hesitation and unease. He can’t even get a good night's sleep:

So Israel set out with all that was his, and he came to Beer-sheba, where he offered sacrifices to the God of his father Isaac. God called to Israel in a vision by night: "Jacob! Jacob!" He answered, "Here I am (hineni)." And He said, "I am God, the God of your father. Fear not to go down to Egypt, for I will make you there into a great nation. I Myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I Myself will also bring you back; and Joseph's hand shall close your eyes."

Genesis 46:1-4

There is much happening in this exchange, highlighted by the powerful word hineni, discussed a couple of weeks ago, which tells us this will be a life-changing event for Jacob. Why would Jacob fear his journey to Egypt?

Traditional commentators uncover Jacob's fear in the Divine responses. Rashi states that Jacob is worried about being in a land of idol worship, where his family can be enslaved. What is the response? Fear not to go down to Egypt, for I will make you there into a great nation. According to the Netziv this means that God will keep Jacob's descendants from being assimilated and will bring them out of Egypt. There are also personal fears. Would he really see Joseph? The response: Joseph's hand shall close your eyes. While this is taken to mean that Joseph will attend him at his death, some commentators such as Rashbam and Hizkuni, understand it to mean that Joseph will care for him.

The journey to Egypt is a milestone that represents a change of status. Jacob is now an elderly man. The Jacob who fled from home after taking the birthright and who journeyed back home with a large family and great wealth is no longer in charge. The sons of Israel put their father Jacob and their children and their wives in the wagons that Pharaoh had sent to transport him (Genesis 46:5).

This is the same Jacob who had previously commanded how the family traveled: That same night he arose, and taking his two wives, his two maidservants, and his eleven children, he crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After taking them across the stream, he sent across all his possessions. (Genesis 32:23-34) He divided the children among Leah, Rachel, and the two maids, putting the maids and their children first, Leah and her children next, and Rachel and Joseph last. (Genesis 33:1-2) Now, Jacob has no say. Goodbye autonomy.

As if to drive the point home, we are provided with this detail of Jacob's arrival: Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel… (Genesis 46:28) The father is brought by wagon; the son meets him in a chariot.

Jacob's situation is no different from that which many of us face or will face as we age. Will there be a time when we give up autonomy or when it is wrested from our hands? Years ago I worked in one of the best Jewish senior residences and nursing homes in North America. It ranged from independent living to acute care and provided a variety of physical, cultural and social activities. There were stores on site. It was a beautiful campus with valuable artwork throughout the hallways. Yet, as wonderful as it was, things were regulated and schedules were set. The Jacobs who lived there were comfortable. Still, there was one thing that was important to each and every one of them: his wallet. It didn't matter that it contained no money. It held pictures and whatever each man considered valuable. His wallet carried his identity.

Autonomy and identity: These are the two elements of anxiety in Jacob's vision as he sets off to Egypt. Without autonomy, how could he maintain identity? The answer to that challenge would be met by his descendants. But what about his loss of individual autonomy? As he reached old age, would he still be seen as Jacob the patriarch or as just another frail individual to be carted around by wagon? Jacob's fears are verbalized elsewhere in the Bible: Do not cast me off in my old age, do not forsake me when my strength fails. (Psalms 71:9) These are words we should take to heart before we reach Jacob's age.

We all lead busy lives riding around in our chariots, facing the stress of jobs and families. What's a little loss of parental autonomy and identity in comparison with everything else we have to juggle? Our lesson comes from God's words to Jacob: Joseph's hand shall close your eyes, as interpreted in both senses discussed above. Not only would Joseph would be there at the very end; he would be there along the way as well. This is the same Joseph who spent his time dealing with national emergencies, including a major famine. Joseph was still able to care for his father. Knowing this, Jacob could sleep soundly.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Miketz, Genesis 41:1-44:17, Eighth day of Hanukkah

The story of Joseph presents a very modern challenge.

Is it really true that you are what you eat? When it comes to Hanukkah, your choice of traditional foods says a lot about you. Is it latkes (potato pancakes), sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts), bimuelos (fritters) blintzes (crepes), a cheese dish such as atayef , or torzelli (fried endive)? For the majority of North American Jews who are of Ashkenazi (European) background, latkes are the number one choice for Hanukkah. Yet even here there are variations. Is applesauce or sour cream the topping of choice? In my experience Galicianer (Galician background) Jews prefer apple sauce and Litvaks, (Lithuanian background) prefer sour cream. This is based on personal observation and I believe it is similar to the sweet versus peppery gefilte fish divide. (Please email me if I am wrong.)

Even more important than what we eat is how we eat.

What differentiates human alimentary behavior from that of the animals? Culinary techniques. Dietary restrictions, and religious rituals associated with eating are certainly part of the answer, but human dining is also believed to be a convivial social function. …
There were also banquets in Egypt as long ago as the Old Kingdom. Here we read of changes in the dinner table, seating, utensils, and the posture of guests at the table. In Egypt, as in Mesopotamia, a precise dining ritual and strict etiquette were prescribed, at least for gods and kings.

Food: A Culinary History, Jean Louis Flandrin and Massimo Montanari (eds.), Albert Sonnenfeld (trans.), pp. 18, 19

We get a taste of this etiquette in parashat Miketz. Joseph's brothers, returning to Egypt with the youngest sibiling, Benjamin, are invited to dine with Joseph whom they do not recognize. They only know that he is a powerful Egyptian official. They laid out their gifts to await Joseph's arrival at noon, for they had heard that they were to dine there. When Joseph came home, they presented to him the gifts that they had brought with them into the house, bowing low before him to the ground. (Genesis 43:25-26) The seating arrangement is important and they are seated in order of seniority (Genesis 43:33). The brothers are astonished that this Egyptian official accurately seats them by age.

Most surprising to me is the detail describing how the meal is served: They served him (Joseph) by himself, and them (the brothers) by themselves, and the Egyptians who ate with him by themselves; for the Egyptians could not dine with the Hebrews, since that would be abhorrent to the Egyptians. (Genesis 43: 32) What an incredible seating arrangement! The Egyptians eat in a group, the brothers eat in a group, and Joseph dines alone. There is a very simple explanation for this. Commentators such as Kimchi and Luzzatto point out that Joseph eats by himself because of his high status. This is true in many cultures and serves to illustrate just how lonely it is at the top.

But let's chew on this a little bit more. Here is a tidbit from the 16th century Italian commentator Sforno: Joseph does not eat with his brothers so they won't sense that he is a Hebrew and because Egyptians don't dine with Hebrews. Joseph is not only toying with his brothers but is behaving as an Egyptian. His behaviour reveals much about his sense of identity.

Joseph is outwardly Egyptian. He is dressed in Egyptian garb, bears an Egyptian name, and carries a high rank in the government. He has even married the daughter of an Egyptian priest. Yet there is still something gnawing at him which is revealed by the names he gives his sons: Joseph named the first-born Manasseh, meaning, "God has made me forget completely my hardship and my parental home." And the second he named Ephraim, meaning, "God has made me fertile in the land of my affliction." (Genesis 42:51-2) He has left behind the world of his parental home while still not quite being a part of the land of my affliction. He is not a part of either world; no matter how many people surround him, he always dines alone.

It is important to keep in mind that Joseph is the leader chosen by God to bring us to Egypt. He made our physical survival possible but over time we grew spiritually comfortable in those surroundings. Recall that after the Exodus we still voice our longing for the good old days of life in Egypt!

The story of Joseph presents a very modern challenge. It is the struggle we face daily, the balancing act of living a Jewish life in a secular society. For Joseph, the result could best be described as solitude, and worst as loneliness. For his descendants and our ancestors it was a slow slide into slavery. We are like Joseph in so many ways. Most of us dress in the same manner as our non-Jewish neighbors, we have secular names, we work in the greater society, our friends, neighbors, we may even have family members who are from the greater society. Even some of our favourite Hanukkah dishes started out as traditional foods of the lands in which we have lived.

Unlike Joseph we don't dine alone nor do we feel afflicted. Ours is the ultimate Hanukkah test: Do we assimilate or acculturate? As Mordecai Kaplan warned we must be wary of being "so overawed by the achievements and prestige of the majority civilization as to accept the standards of the latter uncritically." When we read Miketz on Hanukkah, our challenge is to be aware of when we are so comfortable that we become enslaved by society.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayeishev, Genesis 37:1-40:23, First day of Hanukkah

Seemingly small acts have profound consequences.

You never know where an idea will take you. Throughout history an idea or an invention has provided an opening for changes in seemingly unrelated areas. In the early 1800s Joseph-Marie Jacquard invented a loom that revolutionized the textile industry. By using a series of punch cards, Jacquard was not only able to produce complex designs, he also automated the loom. Fast forward 130 years and these same punch cards became the binary language mechanism for programming early computers.

Such influences are not limited to science and technology. Lately on my drives across Ontario I have been listening to a CBC series called 20 Pieces of Music that Changed the World. As the title suggests, the program looks at the influence of particular pieces of music, an influence that extends beyond the musical milieu. It is quite an eclectic selection: Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, La Marseillaise, Old Man River, Reggae music, and Public Enemy's Fight the Power are just a few of the selections. Implicit in such undertakings is that it is only in retrospect that you can understand the influence of a particular piece.

In the Torah, Joseph is the poster-boy for seeing things in retrospect, as will become evident in a couple of weeks (Genesis 45:8); but his story begins with Parashat Vayeishev. It opens with a lovely pastoral scene. Jacob has settled down; his sons are shepherds. He loves one son more than the other and gives him a kutonet passim, an ornamented tunic, which was the subject of a previous Torah study on this parasha.

This garment, while not a Jacquard weave, does make Joseph stand out. As the story continues we find out why:

One time, when his brothers had gone to pasture their father's flock at Shechem, Israel said to Joseph, "Your brothers are pasturing at Shechem. Come, I will send you to them." He answered, "I am ready." And he said to him, "Go and see how your brothers are and how the flocks are faring, and bring me back word." So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.

Genesis 37:12-14

If one were to add a musical theme to these verses, it would be a motif of danger and foreboding focusing on one phrase: "I am ready," which in Hebrew is reduced to one word: hineni.

This is a deceptively simple Hebrew word. What is meant by "I am ready" or, more literally, "here I am"? Rashi explains its usage here as being "the language of humility and eagerness. He was eager to fulfill his father's command despite his awareness that his brothers hated him." Elsewhere Rashi explains this term as being "…the response of the righteous. It is the language of humility and readiness." (Rashi on Genesis 22:1)

The manner in which hineni is used in the Torah is revealing: God speaks to Abraham before the akedah (binding of Isaac) and Abraham responds: hineni. (Genesis 22:1) The angel calls to Abraham when he lifts the knife to slay his son, and again Abraham says: hineni . (Genesis 22:12) Isaac asks Esau to go to the field and get him some food, and Esau responds: hineni. (Genesis 27: 2) In a couple of weeks we will read how Jacob prepares to go down to Egypt. When God tells him to make this journey, Jacob responds: hineni. (Genesis 46:2) God calls to Moses from the burning bush, and Moses answers: hineni. (Exodus 3:4) And this week, Jacob tells his favorite son Joseph to take food to his brothers, and Joseph replies: hineni.

Hineni signifies preparedness for a difficult task. Oftentimes, the individual is unaware of the significance of what is about to occur. More importantly, when the word hineni is uttered, it is in preparation for a holy task; it is the word that changes the world. This too may not be evident at the moment, and the person who responds hineni may not even be directly rewarded for the undertaking.

The word hineni reverberates throughout the Torah. As we read these responses, we need to ask ourselves: When do we answer hineni? Frequently we are aware of our response in dramatic circumstances. At times of great personal or communal crisis it is somewhat surprising how the word hineni comes to our lips. At other times we stumble over the word. A family member needs a favour that infringes on our time, a friend needs us now, a person on the street holds out a hand for a few coins, a stranger needs help but does not have the means to bring it to our attention. How often are we reluctant to say hineni under these circumstances?

Over and over in the Torah hineni is invoked in dramatic circumstances, such at the time of the akedah, as well as at seemingly small events, such as when Joseph brings food to his brothers. Either way hineni has far reaching consequences that bring benefit to the whole community.

That's great for the Torah and our ancestors who had direct contact with God. We're different. We're not Abraham, or Jacob, or Moses. We're not even Joseph, the ancient delivery boy. What difference can our hineni make?

We must understand that seemingly small acts have profound consequences. We are aware of this when it comes to rituals. For example, reciting a blessing over wine turns a mundane action into a holy occasion. This is also one of the lessons of Hanukkah: A little oil goes a long way; a small group of people can have a large impact; a minor holiday bestows a deep sense of identity. So too, saying hineni in response to the small incidents of daily life has far-reaching effects. Incidents that appear to be nuisances become holy tasks. We may not feel it or be aware of it, but it is the effect on others that is crucial.

Joseph set out to feed his brothers, and his hineni set off a series of events that would see him protecting entire nations from famine. While we may never know the outcome of our hineni, we must still be prepared on all occasions to respond hineni with all our heart, might, and soul.

Shabbat shalom and happy Hanukkah,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4-36:43

When is a kiss just a kiss?

Vampires are back in vogue: True Blood on television, The Vampire Diaries books, Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. Most notable is the recent phenomenon of mothers and daughters lining up to see the film Twilight based on the series of books. As depicted there, the modern vampire truly cares for his high-school girlfriend. That’s why teenage girls and their moms are swooning over these characters. The considerate Edward in Twilight is not the gruesome Nosferatu of the silent film era. His appeal is more like that of the suave Count Dracula as portrayed by Bela Lugosi in 1931. Why swoon over these individuals? Their appeal is expressed by the uncertainty of their intentions: You have to be wary of these characters and their motivations; indeed it is a matter of life and death: Will it be a kiss or a bite?

When is a kiss just a kiss? This question arises in parashat Vayishlach when Jacob, returning home after a twenty year absence, meets his brother Esau. How will Esau react after all this time? The last time these brothers had been anywhere near each other, Jacob had just stolen Esau's birthright. Esau reacted by musing "Let but the mourning period of my father come, and I will kill my brother Jacob." (Genesis 27:41)

In Vayishlach we have the brothers' first meeting since Esau harbored that thought. Jacob sees Esau approaching with 400 men. Jacob went on ahead and bowed low to the ground seven times until he was near his brother. Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept. (Genesis 33:3-4)

This seems simple enough, but the Hebrew word for he kissed him (va-yishakehu) has a series of dots on it. For commentators, this was the ancient equivalent of a highlighting marker, drawing attention to that word, telling them that a kiss isn't just a kiss:

There is a difference of opinion as to the exact meaning of what is taking place. In Sifre (Behaalotecha 89) there are those who explain the dots saying that he [Esau] did not genuinely kiss him [Jacob]. According to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai it is common knowledge that Esau despised Jacob but at this moment his mercy was aroused and he kissed him wholeheartedly. (Breishit Rabba 78:9)

Rashi on Genesis 33:4

So which is it? The character of Esau has traditionally been associated with danger and cruelty. Esau came to represent the Roman oppressors. Wariness surrounding Esau resulted in a pun on the verb nashak "kiss," which is read as nashach "bite." What else can you expect from a man who threatened Jacob, and by extension his descendants, with death?

There are other perspectives as well. Avot de-Rabbi Nathan (34) states that everything Esau did was motivated by hatred other than this kiss, which was genuine. Norman Cohen draws on the tradition that when Jacob wrestled with a mysterious figure the previous night, he was actually struggling with his brother, Esau, which resulted in this dramatic reunion:

Instead of striking his brother, Esau embraced Jacob and, falling upon his neck, kissed him. Tension had always existed between them, especially after Jacob stole Esau’s blessing. Esau had wanted to kill him. And even by the bank of the Jabbok River, Jacob and he struggled throughout the night. Now they were clenched, not in a wrestling hold, but rather in an embrace. From a distance it is difficult to tell if one is witnessing two people fighting or hugging. It is possible to transform a stranglehold into an embrace. What it takes is the will to overcome the disparate forces within us and outside of us and become a better functioning whole. And the starting point is our ability to recognize that it is our brother or sister or our self who stands over and against us, the one to whom we have been attached from the very beginning.

Self Struggle and Change: Family Conflict Stories in Genesis

and Their Healing Insights for Our Lives, Norman J. Cohen , p. 118

Midrash Tanhuma (1:28) observes that all but three kisses are frivolous: the kiss of homage, one after a long separation, and the kiss of parting. The kiss in this episode contains all three elements: Jacob bowing in homage to his brother, the brothers uniting after two decades apart, and the fact that they will go their separate ways after this encounter.

It is obvious from the text that Jacob is still wary and uncomfortable; this is understandable. Perhaps the kiss reminds him of an earlier one, when Jacob tricked his elderly, blind father: Then his father Isaac said to him, "Come close and kiss me, my son"; and he went up and kissed him. And he smelled his clothes and he blessed him (Genesis 27:26-7). Only now, in this week's Torah portion, does Jacob finally face and struggle with what he has done.

In Vayishlach it is Esau who has changed completely. He no longer harbours a murderous grudge, or any grudge for that matter. Jacob is only beginning to come to terms with the event that divided them so many years ago. Jacob bows to Esau seven times. But Esau: He runs, he embraces, he falls on Jacob's neck, he kisses Jacob. The end result is that some barrier has been broken and they both weep. Something has changed in Esau over the years. Perhaps absence did indeed make his heart grow fonder. More likely, Esau had come to terms with his lot. He is satisfied with what he has and he missed his brother.

The division between the brothers that began with Isaac kissing Jacob out of suspicion ends with a kiss of reconciliation. Jacob may still be wary, remembering the kiss that instigated the tragic estrangement. The pain of Jacob's deception has led many Torah commentators to be equally wary of Esau's kiss. But as time goes by, a kiss is just a kiss, Esau is just Esau. With an open mind and accepting heart we have much to learn from him about the factors in overcoming estrangement: Loving-kindness and truth meet, justice and peace kiss. (Psalms 85:11)

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel