Parashat Bo

This week’s portion, “Bo” – literally “come to,” or “go to” (as in “go to Pharaoh") – tells the incredible story of the Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt. Thus, more than 430 years after Israel (Yaakov) himself arrived in Egypt (Exodus 12:40), the People made of his disciples is now leaving that same country during a single night.  And what a remarkable story that is.  The portion – both very eloquent in style and very rich in data – tells us how more than 600,000 adult males, along with their children, families, companions, and much property (Ex. 12:37), have left their homeland without hesitation, only to follow their new leader into the unknown. Recall – there were very few means of transportation back then: No cars, airplanes, trains or other land-carriers; there were some ships, but none at their disposal. Thus, all those people left Egypt on their own two feet; they all have literally “walked away” from Egypt. And while their departure was haste, they did receive divine instructions on how to prepare for it (instructions that may be well used today as well): “And this is how you shall eat [your last meal before departure]:  your loins must be girded, your sandals on your feet, and your walking poles at hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly.”  (Ex. 12:11)

The text of this week’s portion is one of the classics, containing not only vast portions of the Passover Haggadah (including the famous justification of its very title: “And you shall tell your son [“Ve’hee’ga’de’tah le’vin’cha”] on that day the following: It is for this that the Lord have performed for me when I have left Egypt” (Exodus 13:8)), but also selected portions of the constituent She’ma text (Ex. 13:9 (“And this shall serve as a sign on your hand…”); Ex. 13:16 (similar)).   In short, there are many reasons to read the portion in its entirety this week.

In my post today I would like to make two short comments: The first about the issue of collective corporal punishment, and the second about the act of leaving a homeland.

I. The Tenth Plague

Two weeks ago, at the very beginning of the book of Exodus, we were quickly introduced to the new King of Egypt and to his most brutal decree:  “And the King of Egypt spoke to the Hebrew midwives . . . and said: “When you deliver the Hebrew women, look at the birth stones: if it is a boy, you shall kill him, and if a girl – she would live.”  (Exodus 1:15-16).  “How unjust,” we might have thought as we read the text, “what have those little babies done to deserve such an early encounter with death for no fault of their own.”  The rest of the text, to be sure, suggests that the Hebrew midwives never abided by the King’s order, a refusal that merited a quick summons to the King’s Court for a short “supreme court” hearing (Exodus 1:17-20; perhaps due to a successful representation, no harm was done to them).  Still, the impression of a brutal, arbitrary, and extremely unjust punishment – bore by a vast group of people for no fault of their own – remains with us as one of the most horrifying, and defining, characteristics of the new Egyptian King.

In today’s portion, we learn of a much wider-scale, collective “first-born” punishment scheme – one that actually occurred in reality (as opposed to being merely planned).  To recap, after performing nine of the plagues (which the text insists on calling “marvels” (Ex. 12:10), which also brings back the notion of the number “ten” discussed last time), Pharaoh still refuses to “let my People go.”  Thus, God – through Moshe – turns to a measure of last resort: The Plague of Killing All First Born.

Three full chapters (Ex. 11-13) are dedicated to the planning, announcement, preparation for, and then meticulous execution of this drastic measure. It begins with God’s dramatic message to Moshe: “One more plague I will bring upon Pharaoh and Egypt, and after that he will send you away…” (Ex. 11:1).  And what is that plague? “And every first-born in the land of Egypt shall die, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sits on his throne to the first-born of the slave-woman who is behind the grind stone, and all of the first-born of the cattle. And there shall be a huge cry in the entire land of Egypt, a cry the likes of which has never happened before and shall never happen again.” (Ex. 11:5-6).  To eliminate any doubt, and as highly emphasized by the Passover Haggadah, this measure was undertaken by God himself (“And Moshe said, so said God: Towards midnight I will go out into the land of Egypt…” Ex. 11:4); not by a messenger, not by an angel, and not by a seraph.  Rather, God himself implemented this drastic measure, which resulted in “no household in Egypt in which death is absent.” (Ex. 12:30).

Clearly, God’s “last measure” here was intended as a direct reaction to Pharaoh’s diabolic scheme to kill every “Hebrew” first born. But was that too strong a measure? Faithful readers of this blog may have a basic idea of the institute of First Born in those times and its economic significance.  The death of this entire group must have had, therefore, a much greater effect on Egypt – economically, security-wise, and socially, to name but a few areas – than the mere loss of several men of Egypt. Indeed, an entire generation of future leaders was wiped in a single night. To put things in perspective, however, Pharaoh’s plan was much harsher: it targeted all the newborn males, not only the first born.  Yet Pharaoh’s idea remained just that – an idea, while God’s plan to inflict pain upon the entire nation of Egypt (and their property) was executed to the fullest. Was this too harsh?

Recall that most Egyptians had no say in the tough-measure negotiations that took place between Pharaoh and Moshe.  Yet, they suffered the most, each family losing its own first-born.  But the exact same argument could be made by the Israelites, who did no harm to Pharaoh – in fact, they did much good -- and yet were about to lose all their male newborns.

The measure, it should be said, worked well.  Pharaoh – who just threatened Moshe to not to see his face again, “for the day you shall see my face again you shall die” (Ex. 10:28) – now calls Moshe and Aharont to a meeting in the middle of the night (the same night where God killed all first-born) and practically rushes them to “get up and get away from my People.” (Ex. 12:31). And so they do.  But does the effectiveness of the measure justify its degree?  In modern “law of war” terms, the question is whether the measure is proportional:  could we have reached the same result by applying a lesser mean or measure? (Note, for instance, that none of the previous nine plagues were successful; then again, none of them has inflicted any death, though they did inflict much suffering. Does this speak in favor or again applying such final measure?.  According to my late father, “the fact that it worked shows it was the right measure.” In other words, ‘The proof is in the pudding.’ And my dad is usually right. Is he right this time too?

II. On Leaving Your Country

An overlooked aspect of this week’s portion is the fact that this is the first time in history that a mass immigration has occurred (or, at least, has been documented). An entire nation, more than million in numbers, is getting up in one night and leaving their homeland of 430 years.  Did they have any last thoughts, fears, hesitations? Were they all unanimous in their decision? Sure, their life was close to hellish; sure, they wanted to get away. But leaving a homeland is far from being trivial (indeed, later in the desert we shall hear these same people complaining time and again of the proverbial “pot of meat” they have left behind).

Indeed, a physical transfer – such as leaving one’s homeland – is a very hard thing to do. So is a mental one – as in a religious conversion.  In this case we have a huge group of people who is about to experience both. How can an entire nation, then, get up and leave in one night? 

In stark contrast to the first portion in Exodus, where Moshe faced some serious opposition and doubt as to authority, here the People of Israel immediately “bow down and kneel” when they heard his instructions. (Exodus 12:28).  And while it is true that in the coming weeks we’ll be hearing several times about their grievances, that single night has demonstrated a singular picture unity by the People of Israel, never to be repeated before or since. 

Now think for a moment of yourself and of a decision to leave everything behind and run for freedom. Would the decision to do so be easier if you knew that you would be joined by everyone you know, all your family, friends, and neighbors? Or would it be easier to do it all on your own? The answer, I suspect, may help us understand that “single night unity” that prevailed among our people. I wish we would live to see other nights like this.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

       

      

Parashat Va'Era

This week’s portion – the second in the Book of Exodus, entitled Va’Era, literally “I have been revealed” (as in God tells Moshe that He has been revealed to the three Forefathers) – tells the story of seven of the Ten Plagues inflicted by God on Egypt and its King Pharaoh. As I have noted here last week, this story – or its essence, at least – should be quite familiar to every Jew who celebrates Passover; or, in other words, to almost any Jew. Just to recall the factual background, Moshe asks Pharaoh to “let my People go” but Pharaoh refuses.  In response, God (through Moshe) inflicts ten horrible plagues on Egypt.  Each of the seven mentioned in this week’s portion – Blood, Frogs, Lice, Wild Beasts, Pestilence, Boils, and Hail – is described in great detail, including the warning preceding it, the manner in which it occurred, the (usually) horrific aftermath it left in its wake, and the effect it had on life in Egypt in general. Yet throughout this remarkable display of divine power, King Pharaoh remains steadfast in his reluctance to let the People of Israel go. We are to wait until next week in order to see what finally broke this stonehearted King’s will.  

I would like to make three short observations about this week’s portion. The first relates to the connection between Moshe’s leadership style and that of Dr. King, whose Day we marked this week. The second relates to the use of the number “ten,” seemingly belonging to the decimal system, in the Jewish bible (as in the “Ten Plagues,” the “Ten Commandments,” etc.).  And the third note raises the issue of “our God” versus “their God.”

I. Moshe & Dr. King

Earlier this week we celebrated Martin Luther King’s Day.  It would be quite interesting to compare the leadership styles of Moshe – who was one of Dr. King’s favorite Biblical figures (in his last speech, for example, Dr. King famously invoked the image of Moshe’s last day, see  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98k-pjN6nl0&feature=related) – and that of Dr. King himself.  Both leaders represented members of an oppressed minority, who (at one point) were used as slaves.  Both were men of God.  Both never hesitated to invoke God – either in their addresses to their people or in their negotiations with the oppressing-class’ leaders.  Yet one used God to advocate a sophisticated form of non-violent resistance, while the other used God – according to today’s portion – in order to inflict horrific harm (the Plagues) on the oppressing class. Which one was more correct?  What style of leadership is better in these situations?

Obviously, no single “right answer” exists to this question. However, one thought-experiment we may try to conduct in order to understand the question better is this: Assume for a moment that Dr. King had the same ability to perform miracles as Moshe had.  Would Dr. King actually go ahead and inflict Ten Plagues on White America during the 1960s in order to “let his people go?” And if so, would he still be remembered (and celebrated) today in the same way?  Conversely, going back to biblical times, would Moshe be so successful in his plea to let his People go without inflicting such serious harm on Pharaoh and his people?  And if he would not, what does that tell us on the non-violent resistance movement? Is it always the best path to choose? I would be happy to hear your thoughts on those issues in the “comments” section below. 

II. Ten Plagues? Ten Commandments?

Every year in Passover when we read the Haggadah we mention the Ten Plagues. Similarly, every kid knows (or at least supposed to know) about the Ten Commandments.  Yet the biblical text itself never mentions the number “ten” – or any number at all, for that matter – in either context (of the Plagues or of the Commandments).  The text simply goes through the description – of the Plagues and the Commandments, respectively. Indeed, it is only in later generations that we find the enumeration of both, each characterized by the round number “Ten.” And while the text’s silence on the issue of the exact number may be coincidental, at may also be telling. With the Plagues, for example, we see very clearly that the first seven are separated from the last three in terms of portions.  Clearly, if the number “Ten” were so important, the portions would not have been separated in this manner. 

Second, and more importantly, the “Plagues” are not disconnected from their background. Thus, for example, just before inflicting the Plagues we learn about the marvel of turning Aharon’s rod into a serpent (Exodus 7:8-13).  While not very persuasive to Pharaoh as a mean to “let my People go,” it plays an important role in helping us to understand the background to God’s later decision to inflict serious harm upon Egypt. To put it plainly, the King of All Kings provided ample opportunity to the King of Egypt to escape His might without any harm. 

The text, therefore, tends to emphasize the importance of understanding the Plagues in their proper context: First, non-violent measures were offered by Moshe. Only then harm was inflicted, in gradually growing measures. [The situation with the Ten Commandments is even more complicated; the lack of orderly division between the first “three commandments” led to numerous debates about the precise scope and content of each of them, some lasting to this day. I will elaborate on that issue when we arrive – in about three weeks – to the commandments themselves.]  Thus, the next time someone mentions the Ten Plagues to you, you may surprise them by answering: “True, but they did try some non-violent measures first!”

III. From Their God to Ours

Finally, some of you are probably aware of the very interesting order of the Ten Plagues.  In terms of physical description, the Plagues seem to move from the Earth to the Heavens: First blood appears “from within” the River Nile, then Frogs leap from that same river into people’s homes, then the “ashes of the earth” produces lice, and so on and so forth until the Hail comes from the heavens. (Next week we will be reading about the great wind that first brings the Locusts unto Egypt, then blows it away; about the Darkness from the heavens that covered all of Egypt for several days; and finally, on the divine killing of every first born in Egypt.)  

But in a deeper sense, the Plagues also represent the move from the Egyptian god to our own Jewish God.  It should be remembered that the relationship between the Lord and His Chosen People was nascent at that point. It was important for Him to show us, too – and not only to Pharaoh – who God really is. Accordingly, the Plagues move from the physical and earthly Nile – the symbol of all Egyptian gods (Pharaoh, the Egyptian God-King, was often referred to as “standing on the Nile”), as well as Egypt’s sole source of livelihood – to the transcendental surroundings of the heavens, from which the most serious Plagues are inflicted.

Thus, by moving from “their” god to “ours,” the Plagues signal both to the Egyptians and to the Israelites where they should always look for salvation – not down at the river, but up in the heavens.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Sh'mot

Parashat Sh’mot – the first portion of the second book, which literally means “names” – is one of the most famous of the entire Chumash. Indeed, its content is well known to almost every educated Jewish person. This is so not only because it contains one of the key stories of the entire canon (the rise to power of Moshe, the most significant person in all of Judaism), but also because a major part of it (as well as of next week’s portion) were later “exported” into the Passover Hagada, a text read by many Jewish families each year, regardless of Jewish affiliation, degree of faith, or membership in a shul. Thus, even a non-frequent (biblical) flyer may experience a déjà-vu upon reading this portion for the first time. In my notes today I will briefly comment on several of the fascinating aspects of this portion.

I. A "Best-Seller” Portion 

In addition to many Hagada “flash-backs” – for example, the new Egyptian King who enslaved and tortured the Israelites, his decree to kill every male-born Israelite, and the subsequent plea of the Israelites to their God to save them, among many others – a reader of this week’s portion may well experience another trip down memory lane (provided they attended Sunday school or mandatory Bible classes in Israeli elementary school).  For example, the wonderful story of little Moshe in the wicker basket – how he was first saved, then raised by Pharaoh’s daughter (despite her father’s decree to kill all Hebrew male babies (Exodus 2:2-10)). It also includes the wonderful story of Moshe standing before the burning bush, while the bush is not burning up (Exodus 3:2-3); the famous decree by God, ordering Moshe to “remove your shoes from your feet, as the place you are stepping upon is holy ground” (Id); the famous refusal of Moshe to God’s proposal to lead his people, claiming he’s not fit to do the job (on which I will elaborate shortly); and the famous scene where Moshe and his brother Aharon stood before King Pharaoh and uttered the first-ever “Let My People Go!” demand (Exodus 5:1). No wonder, therefore, the is portion is one of the bible’s most famous “best-sellers.”

Obviously, I cannot discuss all of these great stories here today.  What I would like to do is to focus on Moshe – the greatest figure in Judaism, whose story is about to capture the remaining four books of the Chumash that is named after him. Indeed, from a purely narrative-based perspective, we may argue that the biblical story has been developing from one figure to the next: Adam, for example, or Eve – as well as their descendants – merit only a few lines in the text. Noah, the righteous person, a bit more. Avraham, the father of our nation, receives the first developed treatment of the story. His favorite son, Itzchak, receives some more – if we include the Akedah; and then Ya’akov receives the most comprehensive coverage of them all. But now that this dynasty has ended – recall that the new Egyptian King “never knew Yoseph” – it is time for a completely different level of coverage; and Moshe, who is not related to this “royal” family at all, will be the subject of no less than four books.

In today’s note I would like to juxtapose the “classical” narrative of Moshe’s rise to power with a more up-to-date, political science description of the same story. 

II. A Note on the Title: The Book of Names

Before I begin, a word on the title of the portion – and the book – we are reading today. The text begins with “And these are the names (Sh’mot) of …” and therefore, as usual, the portion and the book are named in Hebrew “Sh’mot” (Names). This is because every portion in the Bible is named after the first meaningful word in the text; every book is named after the first meaningful word in that book (which always corresponds to the name of the first portion, of course).  Thus, for example, “Be’re’shit” is both the name of the first portion as well as of the first book in the bible.

The English translation editors, however, preferred a more subject-matter-oriented title, and named both this portion and the entire book “Exodus” – which I consider unfortunate. Exodus, of course, describes the main issue with which this book deals – the escape of Egypt by the People of Israel in order to “make Aliyah” (“aliyah” being a biblical term) to the Land of Israel.  What those editors missed, however, is the emphasis the text places on the names of the Children of Israel as they arrived in Egypt – after which this book is properly named. These are the great twelve tribes of Israel, and they are at the center of this book. To me, moreover, another interesting discussion of names appears in this portion in another place, where different names are given to the Jewish God. And the one explaining those different names to Moshe is none other than God Himself, while talking to him for the first time. (Ex. 3:14-15) Unfortunately, this single part of the text is nearly impossible to translate. In essence, Moshe asks God “If I were to be asked what is Your name, what should I tell them?” And God replies: “I am the being that shall be.” (Exodus 3:14-15; my translation.). Unfortunately, none of this discussion is even hinted by the English version of this portion’s name.  From now on, therefore, consider referring to this portion (and the book) by its real name – The Book of Names (“Sh’mot). 

III. Moshe’s Rise to Power: The Classic Version

I turn now to the classic version of Moshe’s rise to power.  As every elementary-school student is Israel knows well, Moshe – the only true “slave of God” – was never interested in the great honor bestowed upon him by God, namely leading the People of Israel out of Egypt.

In fact, it seems that Moshe was never made out of “leader material” (at least not in the classic sense, the way we view it today). Rather, Moshe was a peaceful goat-herder, minding his own business. He could not be less interested in global politics: “And Moshe, tending to the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midyan, drove the flock into the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.” (Ex. 3:1-2)  To his great amazement, however, an Angel of God followed by no less than God Himself appear before him and instruct him of his new destiny as the leader of (what would later become) the Chosen People.  Moshe protests – a sign of a true leader – and argues with God (in their first encounter ever, mind you): “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?” (Ex. 3:11). God assures Moshe that things will be fine, but Moshe is not convinced: “They [the people of Israel] would not believe me; they would not listen to me, as they will argue: ‘God has never shown Himself to you.’” (Ex. 4:1).  God solves that problem as well, equipping Moshe with the ability to perform a set of miracles that would easily convince the most doubtful of heretics.  Still, Moshe is not assured: “Please, I swear to You oh God, I have never been a man of many words . . . I am both slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (Ex. 4:10). God then allows Moshe to “outsource” the speech function to his brother Aharon, and now even Moshe, the great skeptic, is finally convinced.

All this argument, we learn, comes to show us one thing: True leaders are not power-hungry; they are not “running” for office – in fact, they are running from office; they are selected by God, usually “behind the flock” (just like David, many years later), and are not even aware of their future career until God himself tells them. End of story. Lesson learned.

Is there another way to look at that same story? Allow me to introduce one. 

IV. Moshe’s Rise to Power: An Alternative View

Moshe’s image, as reflected by the text, is extremely complex – both personally and in the biblical context.  From a textual standpoint, we find many a clue that Moshe is likened to many important figures before him, and is already destined for greatness from the moment he was born. Thus, for example, upon his very birth, we are not told the name of his father (unprecedented in the text), or of the fact that he has a brother (Aharon) and a sister (Miriam) (see Ex. 2:1); in fact, Moshe himself has no name until much later (he is described invariably as “son,” “boy,” “lad” etc.).  Thus Moshe enters this world as an independent, “stand-alone” figure – no family, no ties, no roots, even no name. We then learn that he was hidden by his mother – not in a wicker basket, as many Sunday School students may think – but actually in a small  “arc” (King James Version got it right this time (Ex. 2:3)) – a direct reference to Noah, the first righteous man. Then we learn that Moshe is actually a Hebrew person who grew up among Egyptian royalty  -- much like another legendary Hebrew figure, Joseph.  Moshe then finds a wife in a manner strikingly similar to that of Jacob’s (both impressing their bride-to-be by hydrating her flock) – another reference to one of most important figures in the biblical text. Finally, we learn that immediately after he was persuaded by God to lead the Israelites, “Moshe took his wife and sons and mounted them on the donkey and went back to the land of Egypt [where God ordered him to go]” – no doubt a reference to Abraham, his son and his donkey, as they are described in the early morning hours before the Akeda (Gen. 22:3).

But Moshe is also destined to greatness on his own accord, rather than merely by textual references. He is raised as an aristocrat at a time when his People are being slaved and humiliated by the same royalty members with whom he lives. In other words, Moshe’s own family and friends, in essence, are enforcing the reprehensible policies decreed by the King of Egypt against the Israelites. Moshe cannot be seen, therefore, as a genuine member of the Israeli people at this point. With that, we may safely assume that occasionally he would look outside the window of his sheltered palace and consider the situation of his brothers and sisters in their sufferings. Still, Moshe grew up with royalty. He saw the way they govern. He studied the laws of politics, power, and authority. He was no stranger to leadership.

Our first encounter with the adult Moshe is striking: “Some time after that, when Moshe has grown up, he went out to his brethren and witnessed their hard-labor.  And he saw an Egyptian man attacking a Hebrew man, one of his own. And he looked around, and, after seeing that no man was there, hit the Egyptian man and buried him in the sand.”  [Ex. 2:11-12].  This is truly an amazing story: Despite his seemingly aloof background – and perhaps because of it – Moshe does not merely protest the injustice he witnesses; rather, he pro-actively interrupts the situation and without a warning or inquiry kills the Egyptian aggressor. Not exactly the act of a shy goat-herder.

The next day, Moshe goes out again. No longer shall he reside permanently at his sheltered palace. This time Moshe encounters two Hebrew men fighting. He turns to the aggressor, and – while not striking him – demands to know: “Why are you striking your brethren?” The answer shocks and dismays Moshe for years to come: “And [the aggressor] said: Who made you a minister and a judge upon us? Do you plan to kill me, as you have the Egyptian?” (Ex. 2:12). Thus, Moshe realizes that it is not his actions but rather the source of his authority that would be key to any future leadership position.

It is against this background that we may now re-examine the famous encounter (and debate) with God.  Recall that back then – when there was no CNN, no internet, no facebook or twitter – political power was earned primarily by family ties, or by an act of performing a miracle, like Joseph’s “interpretation” of the dreams of Pharaoh.  Moshe, obviously, had to choose the latter.  So here is how the story begins:

There is a miracle. A bush is burning, but it is not consumed.  Then God speaks: He invokes the three fathers: Avraham, Itzchac, and Ya’acov – the “founding fathers.” Indeed, just as today Supreme Court Justices and Congressmen often like to invoke the names of the (American) Founding Fathers as a source of legitimacy for their actions, Moshe, back then, required a similar “big authority” names to rely on. And while today such source of legitimacy sounds self-evident, almost trivial, recall that at that time these figures did not mean much to most Hebrew slaves:  They have never seen them and I doubt many of them even heard of them. Still, Moshe is in desperate need for a legitimating source of his authority; the Founding Fathers are as good a source as any available to him.

Then Moshe asks “Who am I [to do all that]” – invoking almost the exact same text he heard from the Hebrew slave while questioning his authority over him. Here, again, Moshe is required to show to his (future) People that he is well aware of his questionable legitimacy as a leader, and wants to address this head on. Again, God invokes the Founding Fathers, and this is the message Moshe delivers later to his audience. 

The next issue, Moshe’s speech impediment, is also a classic. While many view it as another sign of Moshe’s humility, a different reading emerges if we consider Moshe, with his very sharp organizational skills, as realizing that dividing the position of CEO and spokesperson could benefit both him and his brother.  Today, as we are well aware, every business and political leader would agree with this division, allocating PR and spokesperson functions to designated persons other than themselves. 

In short, Moshe’s first encounter with God, other than its classic reading, may also offer us some very interesting perspectives on leadership, legitimacy, and division of power. I hope those lessons will serve us well in understanding this towering figure in out next portions.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Va'Yechi

This week’s portion – Va’Yechi (literally, “and he lived,” as in “and Ya’akov lived in the Land of Egypt for 17 years”) – is the last portion in the Book of Genesis.  Thus, we celebrate a new “first” today: We are about to end, for the first time in our cycle, the reading of one of the Five Books of Moshe. And this time we conclude the first of these books – probably the most significant of the entire canon.  It is only fitting, therefore, that this week’s Portion is a portion full of endings: Thus, for example, both Ya’akov, the last of Judaism’s three “Founding Fathers,” and Yoseph, his most famous and beloved son, end their lives in this portion.  In addition, as we are about to learn in the next Portion, a new king is about to take office in Egypt, a king who “did not know of Yoseph”; put differently, the era in which Yoseph – the Jewish foreigner – was the most influential person in all of Egypt has also come to an end. Add to that this week’s Haftara as well, and you would learn about the end of King David’s life – the end of arguably the greatest king we have ever had. 

The very fact that three of Judaism’s greatest legends end their lives in the course of only one portion – and the very last portion of Genesis at that – is not coincidental. Rather, it sends us a clear message on the issue of life ending in general; but it also tells us something quite unique about new beginnings.  In my post today I would like to shed some light on these two complimentary – though sometimes considered contradictory – issues, demonstrating the powerful notion that “every end is also a new beginning.” 

I. Every End….

The end of one’s life may often be used as an opportunity for reflection.  Some people like to depart this world with an act symbolizing the true meaning of their life. Others would like to leave behind something defining their legacy. Still others would like to be remembered by “famous last words.” Let us examine for a moment how two of our greatest protagonists, Ya’akov and Yoseph, chose to end their lives.   

We begin with Ya’akov.  At the center of today’s portion is Ya’akov’s blessings, given to each of his twelve sons – who later became the Twelve Tribes of Israel.  These blessings are extremely complex in content and meaning, and I cannot dwell on their meaning here; suffice it to suggest that Ya’akov opens his last address with the following cryptic words:  “Gather ‘round and I shall tell you what will happen to you at the end of days.” (Gen. 49:1)

But in a wider sense, how does Ya’akov choose to actually end his life? To me at least, the answer is very interesting: He chooses to depart this world in the exact same way that his father did. Indeed, the similarities between Ya’akov’s end-of-life story and that of Yitzchak’s are striking.  Both men, the biblical text informs us, could hardly see at the end of their days (compare Gen. 48:10 (“And the eyes of Israel were heavy of old age”) with 27:1 (“And Yitzchak turned old, and his eyes became too dark too see”)); both question the identity of their descendants standing before them for blessings (compare Gen. 27:18 (Yitzchak’s question to Ya’akov: “Who are you my son?”) with 48:8 (“And Israel saw the sons of Yoseph, and he asked: ‘who are these people?’”)); both first bless the younger rather than the older, despite the explicit law to the contrary (compare Gen. 48:14 (Israel blesses Ephrayim first, although he is the younger of the two), with 27:28 (Yitzchak blesses Ya’akov first, though he is the younger twin)); and, most strikingly, both refuse to renege on their wrongful blessings once notified of their error (compare Gen. 48:19 (Ya’akov refuses to recognize his mistake), with 27:38 (Yitzchak refuses to recognize his)).

The end of Ya’akov’s life, therefore, can be seen as an act of unification with his father – “Ma’assei Avot, Siman Le’vanim” – the “deeds of the fathers are signs for their sons.” (Midrash Tan’chuma, Lech Lecha, 9).  To make this symbolic gesture even more concrete, Ya’akov insists that he would be buried right next to his father – at the famous site bought by his grandfather Avraham many years prior.  His last wish fulfilled by his sons, Ya’akov arrives at his final resting place where he is forever united with his father and grandfather.

The end of Yoseph’s life, in contrast, is almost diametrically opposed. Instead of uniting with his family, Yoseph’s main concern is with himself. Instead of thinking of his fathers’ legacy, Yoseph is more concerned about his own. Recall that as a child, Yoseph had a dream (two, in fact) where his brothers bowed to him as if they were his servants.  The brothers, obviously, hated him for that. Near the end of his life, however, this dream comes true. This week’s Portion tells us how:

Now that Ya’akov, the patriarch, is dead, the brothers became fearful that their younger brother will “hate us and finally revenge all the evil things we have done to him.” (Gen. 50:15)  In attempt to prevent such a measure by Yoseph, the brothers – in their final act of trickery and deceit towards their brother – concoct a hypothetical “last will and testament” ordered by their joint father, according to which Ya’akov ordered that Yoseph would forgive his brothers for all their evil doings. (Gen. 50: 16-17) Yoseph, who probably knows they are lying (surely his father would have told him of such a request), not only forgives them, but bursts again into tears. (Recall the dramatic settings at the beginning of the previous portion, where Yoseph orders all the servants and advisors out of the room only to immediately burst into tears in front of his shocked brothers, followed by his confession that he is their lost sibling.).  He then reassures them that no harm would befall on them. Hearing that, the brothers actually “fall [on their knees] before Yoseph” and say: “We are your servants.” (Gen. 50:18)  Thus, the young boy’s dream becomes true on the eve of his death.

And by that last act Yoseph parts this world. On the one hand, he has all his dreams fulfilled; on the other, he leaves no meaningful legacy.  And Ya’akov? His days on this earth, according to his own testimony, were “short in number, and full of sorrow”; yet his legacy lives on to this day, as one of the greatest of in all of Judaism. Indeed, to this day we are all the People of Israel – the sons of Ya’akov.

The Portion may be sending us a message here. While we cannot control the way we come into this world we may very well attempt to choose the way in which we part it. We may choose to think only about ourselves. We may also choose to think about our descendants and of our loved ones. In any event, the choice is ours and no one else’s to make. 

II. ... Is Also a New Beginning

Other than a reflection on endings, Genesis’ last portion may also offer a lesson in new beginnings. True, in order to fully comprehend that lesson one must turn the pages and continue to read the first chapter of Exodus. Still, in this case the game is worth the candle.

In Exodus 1:6-8, we find the following very succinct but beautiful description: “And Yoseph has passed, and so did his brothers, and so did that entire generation . . . And a new king rose over Egypt, and he did not know Yoseph.”  The notion that Yoseph, the most significant figure in Egypt (and the region) for nearly 80 years was not known by the new ruler gives us pause; yet at the same time it sounds extremely familiar.  Just like every president (all over the world, not just here in the U.S.) wishes to distance himself as much as possible from his predecessor, so does the new Pharaoh; he simply refuses to be defined by the legend of his famous predecessor and his right-hand Yoseph.

But in a deeper sense, the separation from Yoseph and his generation – in essence, the separation from Genesis – is necessary to understand the story of Exodus.  Indeed the book of Genesis is unique in many respects, not the least of which is the fact that all the key figures – local and domestic, plebes as well as kings – recognize the power of Abraham’s God (and therefore, to an extent at least, also believe in Him). This is true, to be sure, for Yoseph’s Pharaoh as well – who recognized time and again the power of Yoseph’s God. But this is not the case when we examine the remaining four books of the Chumash (or the other 23, for that matter, of the entire Tanach).  Here we find people – and kings – who simply refuse to acknowledge Our God’s powers and presence. 

But “Mai’Az Yatza Ma’tok” from the unfortunate came the sweetest of all (Judges 14:14):  As a people, we needed someone like Pharaoh who refuses to believe in our God so we can leave Egypt and re-settle in the Promised Land. In a sense, therefore, we needed someone who “did not know Yoseph” in order to really escape Yoseph’s land.  And thus, Yoseph’s end truly marks a new beginning for us – the beginning of an independent People of Israel.

Shabat Shalom,

Doron