The Truth of Your Life & Vayigash

This week’s Torah portion makes me think of how our (American/”Western”) culture approaches life and death.

There’s an obsession with preserving life.

Especially with our advancement in medical science; no one should have to die, even if they’re old and infirm.

We cry out at the injustice of it—how much more so for the young, as our definition of “young” gets older and older.

It’s popular to “celebrate life” instead of mourning death; “They wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad.”

The result of this attitude is that we resist looking back over our lives—for fear of…being sad?

But if we don’t face death, we can’t face life.

Then, I ask, what about the wisdom we acquire through living?

And what about the long view of the future, not just our individual lives, but what we pass on, including the wisdom that comes of our mistakes?

Vayigash is about taking the long view.

It’s also about facing our mistakes—or denying them.

In the long story of Joseph and his brothers, the very life of the Jewish people hangs in the balance.

Vayigash begins with Joseph’s brother Judah coming forward not only to plead, but to challenge Joseph.

The brothers are at risk of losing their youngest, Benjamin, to slavery; Joseph has been playing a nasty game with them through the famine.

Previously, he had sent them home after secretly replacing the money they’d brought to pay for grain, leaving them bewildered and terrified: What can he, this highest of Egyptian officials, want of them?

This last time, Joseph had snuck a special goblet, one meant for divination, into Benjamin’s bag, and gone after them to accuse them of stealing.

In response, Judah had offered himself along with his brothers as slaves, to which Joseph cruelly has said;

חָלִ֣ילָה לִּ֔י מֵעֲשׂ֖וֹת זֹ֑את הָאִ֡ישׁ אֲשֶׁר֩ נִמְצָ֨א הַגָּבִ֜יעַ בְּיָד֗וֹ ה֚וּא יִהְיֶה־לִּ֣י עָ֔בֶד וְאַתֶּ֕ם עֲל֥וּ לְשָׁל֖וֹם אֶל־אֲבִיכֶֽם׃

Khalila li me’asot zot ha’ish asher nimtza hagavi’ya b’yado hu yih’yeh li aved v’atem alu l’shalom el avikhem:

“Far be it from me to act thus! Only the one in whose possession the goblet was found shall be my slave; the rest of you go back in peace to your father.” (Gen. 44:17)

Why would he do such a thing to his favorite brother, Benjamin? And to his father? What was his plan?

The threat to the brothers’ returning to their father without Jacob’s “only” son, the remaining of his beloved Rachel, is so great that Judah steps forward to make a plea.

Thus begins the Parsha.

Judah makes the speech of his life (and of Genesis), one so long and expertly delivered, that Joseph’s heartstrings are torn, causing him to break down in front of his brothers and admit the truth of his identity.

His sobs and cries are so loud, they can be heard all over the palace.

His brothers stand silently in shock as Joseph beseeches them to come closer in order to convince them of the truth of his words.

As they slowly overcome their stupor, Joseph is apparently willing to release them of their guilt by stating:

וַיִּשְׁלָחֵ֤נִי אֱלֹהִים֙ לִפְנֵיכֶ֔ם לָשׂ֥וּם לָכֶ֛ם שְׁאֵרִ֖ית בָּאָ֑רֶץ וּלְהַחֲי֣וֹת לָכֶ֔ם לִפְלֵיטָ֖ה גְּדֹלָֽה׃

Vayishlakhani Elohim lifneikhem lasoom lachem sh’eirit ba’aretz ul’hakhayot lakhem lifleyta g’dola:

“God has sent me ahead of you to ensure your survival on earth, and to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance.” (45:7)

Joseph insists that his role as savior of his family is ordained by God, so they should not feel badly for having sold him into slavery; he is not going to punish them (any longer?).

In saying so, Joseph is implying that even their negative actions had a positive impact—that even they themselves as his brothers, with all their hateful feelings and actions, were a part of God’s plan!

After everyone has settled down, Joseph arranges for his entire family, near 70 of them, to come down to Egypt and settle in the land of Goshen.

They need bring nothing with them, as per Pharaoh’s decree:

וְעֵ֣ינְכֶ֔ם אַל־תָּחֹ֖ס עַל־כְּלֵיכֶ֑ם כִּי־ט֛וּב כׇּל־אֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם לָכֶ֥ם הֽוּא׃

“And don’t worry about your belongings, for the best of all the land of Egypt shall be yours.” (Gen. 45:20)

Jacob ignores Pharaoh, and brings not only his entire family, but all their wealth acquired in Canaan.

He also does not go directly to Egypt, but makes a detour to Be’er Sheva, the place where Abraham had sworn a covenant with God (21:32), and where God appeared to Isaac (26:23-24).

There, God appears to Jacob in a vision, making a promise to be with Israel.

God reassures him again, as he had so many years before; “Do not to be afraid, for I will make you a great nation; I will be go down to Egypt with you—and bring you back:

אָנֹכִ֗י אֵרֵ֤ד עִמְּךָ֙ מִצְרַ֔יְמָה וְאָנֹכִ֖י אַֽעַלְךָ֣ גַם־עָלֹ֑ה

Anokhi ered imkha mitzrayma v’anokhi a’alkha gam alo. (Gen. 46:4)

Only after making this stop in Be’er Sheva, with a sacrifice to the God of his ancestors, does Jacob continue down to Egypt.

In so doing, says Leon Kass, in his book, The Beginning of Wisdom, Jacob is making a statement; that he is not letting go of the ways of his ancestors.

And so, Jacob goes forward with this vision.

God even reassures Jacob that it will be Joseph who closes his eyes when he dies.

But perhaps Jacob understands that Joseph is already lost to him, for he has not followed Joseph’s instructions as brought to him through his sons.

Kass suspects that he and his sons have also not donned the Egyptian clothing Joseph sends with them.

In truth, Pharaoh intends for the entire family, like Joseph, to be swallowed up by Egyptian culture. The word repeatedly used by Pharaoh is “settling,” rather than “sojourning,” which would imply a more temporary arrangement. (Kass, p. 627)

But when the time comes to bring Jacob before Pharaoh, Jacob neither bows to Pharaoh nor refers to himself as “Your servant.”

And Pharaoh has but one question for the old man:

How old are you?

וַיֹּ֥אמֶר פַּרְעֹ֖ה אֶֽל־יַעֲקֹ֑ב כַּמָּ֕ה יְמֵ֖י שְׁנֵ֥י חַיֶּֽיךָ׃

“Va’yomer Paro el ya’akov kama y’mei sh’ney khayekha?”

Is Pharaoh comparing himself to Jacob, wondering how a man who is not a demigod can live so long, wonders Kass?

And Jacob, says Kass, catches on quickly.

He immediately begins to speak of how long his life has been, but not nearly as long as his forefathers.

He says his years have been hard, he has suffered much:

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יַעֲקֹב֙ אֶל־פַּרְעֹ֔ה יְמֵי֙ שְׁנֵ֣י מְגוּרַ֔י שְׁלֹשִׁ֥ים וּמְאַ֖ת שָׁנָ֑ה מְעַ֣ט וְרָעִ֗ים הָיוּ֙ יְמֵי֙ שְׁנֵ֣י חַיַּ֔י וְלֹ֣א הִשִּׂ֗יגוּ אֶת־יְמֵי֙ שְׁנֵי֙ חַיֵּ֣י אֲבֹתַ֔י בִּימֵ֖י מְגוּרֵיהֶֽם׃

Va’yomer Yaakov el paro, y’mey sh’ney m’guray sh’loshim um’at shana m’at v’ra’im hayu y’mey sh’ney khayay, v’lo hisigu et y’mey sh’ney khayey avotay bi’ymey m’gureyhem:

“And Jacob answered Pharaoh, ‘The years of my sojourn [on earth] are one hundred and thirty. Few and hard have been the years of my life, nor do they come up to the life spans of my ancestors.’” (Gen. 47:9)

Also, Jacob makes a point of referring to his temporary sojourn on Earth.

Egyptians do not share the budding Israelite people’s concept of temporality, of coming from and returning to dust; Egypt is a land where life is preserved after death through embalming.

Jacob, through his suffering, seems to have acquired the wisdom that what matters is the longevity of his people, not himself as an individual.

This is what makes him Israel in this moment; he now knows that it’s not about heal-grabbing, birthright-stealing, or blessing-appropriation.

He understands the bigger picture. Finally.

He understands that there is something much greater in the Universe than his own particular life.

Here, Jacob rises to the worthiness of his name, his highest self, the one who sees the long view: Israel.

Thus, Jacob speaks to Pharaoh as if he were just another human being, neither demigod nor emperor.

He even bestows blessing upon Pharaoh—not once, but twice—as if Pharaoh were an underling in need of a father’s grace.

It’s translated as “greeting” and “bidding farewell,” but take note of the Hebrew:

וַיָּבֵ֤א יוֹסֵף֙ אֶת־יַֽעֲקֹ֣ב אָבִ֔יו וַיַּֽעֲמִדֵ֖הוּ לִפְנֵ֣י פַרְעֹ֑ה וַיְבָ֥רֶךְ יַעֲקֹ֖ב אֶת־פַּרְעֹֽה׃

Vayavey Yosef et Yaakov aviv vayamideyhu lifney Paro va’y’varekh Yaakov et Paro.

“And Joseph brought his father Jacob and stood him before Pharaoh and Jacob blessed Pharaoh.” (Gen. 47:7)

And:

וַיְבָ֥רֶךְ יַעֲקֹ֖ב אֶת־פַּרְעֹ֑ה וַיֵּצֵ֖א מִלִּפְנֵ֥י פַרְעֹֽה׃

Vay’varekh Yaakov et paro va’yetzei milifney Paro.

“And Jacob blessed Pharaoh and took leave of Pharaoh.” (Gen. 47:10)

Indeed, Jacob is acting like Israel during this time, a true ancestor with his heels dug securely in the ground, this time not grabbing for his own place, but asserting the place of his family and people.

Joseph, on the other hand, proves that he is lost to his father in his Egyptian ways; he is ashamed that they are sheep herders and asks his brothers to lie to Pharaoh.

Much worse, while patting himself on the back, Joseph is unwittingly leading future generations of his people into centuries of slavery by establishing them in Egypt.

As if things couldn’t be worse, by the end of this week’s Parsha, Joseph has created indentured servitude for the entire Egyptian population; first he tells the starving farmers to hand over any silver they have in exchange for grain. When that runs out, they must give up all their livestock, indebted forever more.

As Joseph sends his brothers back home to their father in preparation for their move to Egypt, he tells his them:

אַֽל־תִּרְגְּז֖וּ בַּדָּֽרֶךְ׃

Al tirg’zu badarekh.

“Do not be agitated along the way.” (Gen. 45:24)

If Jacob were to do an honest and detailed life review, as he does only briefly before Pharaoh, he might be able to say that, despite his hard life, or because of it, he learned something about favoritism—that the perpetuation of it does not pay off; he lost that favorite son.

But he might be proud that he stood up to Pharaoh, and that he brought his ways and his god and his possessions with him: that he could teach his children to dig in their heals and hold onto their beliefs and customs rather than grabbing for things that don’t belong to us.

Perhaps he would tell them that from dust we come and to dust we shall return, but it’s endurance that matters.

Perhaps he could teach them about taking the long view instead of getting caught up in the petty stuff of life.

If Joseph were to do an honest life review, some things would be different and others the same.

Perhaps he would wonder about the God-given vision he claimed to have had, and come to an understanding of the difference between short-term personal gain and long-term suffering.

Perhaps now he would understand that it wasn’t just about him, or even only about his family.

Perhaps he would realize the harm he had done his brothers in believing himself superior, and how his own actions led to theirs.

Perhaps he wouldn’t say that what they did had a positive impact, ordained by God.

Perhaps instead, he would say that God doesn’t believe that evil can be for good—and that evil could never be part of God’s plan.

Perhaps he would be ashamed.

If we are ashamed of how we’ve lived our lives, we might resist looking back, no matter how long we’ve lived.

After all, what’s the point? “I can’t fix any of it now.”

Looking back and looking deep allows us to see what we’ve learned through our mistakes and immaturity.

Yes, it can be painful. And sad.

But Joseph was wrong when he told his brothers not to be perturbed on their way home.

Doing an honest life review requires agitation. We are humans. We make mistakes.

To be “Israel,” the one who can take the long view, is an aspiration, just like it is for Jacob, whose name changes back and forth throughout the Parsha.

So let’s give ourselves a break for our mistakes, and also take full responsibility for our actions.

As the Torah tells us later, the harm we commit will be passed on for generations into the future.

By doing honest life review, we can heal that trauma, and bring blessing into the world for the sake of future generations.

And say Amen.