Parashat Va'yigash: Gen. 44:18 - 47.27

This week’s portion marks the third straight portion dedicated to Joseph. In the first portion, we encounter Joseph for the first time as a young boy, mistreated by his brothers and dreaming narcissistic dreams. They hate him, and throw him to a pit in the desert. In the second, Joseph is taken to Egypt, again goes down to the pit – this time, the Jailhouse – but then is raised to prominence, becoming the second-in-command to the King of Egypt. His brothers are coming down to Egypt to search for food, and he serves them one cold dish of revenge. This week, finally, he is revealing himself to his brothers.

So, three portions. Very few people in the history of the five books received so much attention from the text. But this is Joseph, a person who did not receive enough attention in the Jewish tradition (he has no tribe named after him, but only after his sons – Ephrayim and Menashe, which are, in fact, the only surviving tribes; in essence, we are all Joseph’s descendants). He is never mentioned as one of the Greatest, together with the three Fathers, or Moses.

Yet, other than Moses, it is hard to think of anyone – not the fathers, not Noah, and no other hero of the five books – that receives so much attention from the text. So, why three portions?

Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis

In Hegelian philosophy, we find the “dialectic move” – Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. What it means is that first the proposition emerges; then its complete opposite; and finally, some combination of the two. If “Va’Yeshev” was the thesis, and last week’s portion – “Mi’Ketz” – was the antithesis, this week’s portion, Va’Yigash, is the synthsesis. Let us see why.

We begin with dreams. In the first week of the three, we saw how dreams bring Joseph down – all the way to the pit. In the second, we saw how they bring him up – all the way to the throne. This week, there are no dreams. This week, we read on the meeting – at last – between the Joseph and his brothers, undisguised. And while the scene may seem like a nightmare, at first at least, to the brothers, it is becoming very clear soon that the second-in-command in all of Egypt, the only regional superpower, is no other than their own little brother which they last saw in a pit, over seventeen years earlier.

We next move to communication. In the first week, we read of how Joseph talks badly about his brothers to their father Jacob; they, in turn, refused to talk to him. (Think about that – you have ten brothers, none of them talks to you. How sad.) So, there is almost no communication. In the second week, we read on how they hold extremely long conversation – but not directly. Rather, “Ha’Melitz Beinotam” – the interpreter is among them. (Gen. 42, 23). So again, indirect communication, although plenty of it. This week, Joseph “ can no longer control himself” – and he asks everyone out, including the interpreter. And what are Joseph’s first words to his brothers after more than seventeen years since not seeing them? There are no words. He simply breaks down and cries. (Recall Jacob’s first “words” to Rachel – exactly the same.) This direct communication method – old school – brings into mind the great story by Y.L. Peretz, The Whistle, about the young kid who entered the synagogue on Yom Kippur’s Ne’illa Prayer, and, to everyone’s surprise, begin whistling. The congregation is aghast at the sacrilegious act at the midst of the holiest of days, but the Rabbi thinks differently: “This is the purest way to communicate with God,” he said. “Not always do we need words.”

We finally touch upon the relationship between Joseph and his Brothers. At first, they hated him, almost killing him. Then, he avenged their hatred, accusing them of anything from being spies – a violation punishable then and now by death – to thieves, to dishonest, the works. Today, it’s time to make peace. Obviously, the terms of this peace agreement are set by the victorious side – Joseph; so the entire family goes down to Egypt, etc. But this is peace after all – and like most peace accords – and most settlements – it leaves each side a bit disappointed.

So much for the synthesis.

“Few in Number, and Full of Misery”

Another point I want to make this week relates to Jacob’s meeting with his son’s new boss, Pharaoh, the King of Egypt. Recall that now that they are together, Joseph prepares his brothers to the meeting with Pharaoh. He tells them that the King will probably inquire into their deeds, and they should say that they are goat-herders (a despised profession by the Egyptian elite) (Gen. 46:33). This works exactly as planned: The King asks them: “What is it that you do?” and they reply “we are goat herders.” (Gen. 47:3).

But Joseph did not prepare his father for such a meeting. And Pharaoh then asks Jacob a very benign question: How old are you? Jacob’s surprising answer is: “The years of my life are 130 in number.” But then he add, without being asked: “Few in number, and full of misery were the years of my life.” (Gen. 47:9) Now in Hebrew, the language is simply beautiful here – the little that holds the much: “Me’at Ve’ra’im Ha’yu Ye’mai Shnei Chayay.” When Shai Agnon, Israel’s only author (so far) to win a Noble Prize in literature, looked for words to describe the premature death of his mom in her early thirties, (“Bi’dmey Ya’me’ha”), he uses the exact same words: “Few in number, and full of misery were the days of my mother.”

Now this is a surprising answer – not the least because of the break in diplomatic decorum (you only answer what the King has asked you). One would think that once Jacob is reunited with his beloved son, he would be anything if not jubilant at this moment (not to mention he is standing face-to-face with the greatest regional leader).

The sages have tried to provide several reasons for this answer. Some are predictable: Now, standing before Pharaoh, Jacob realizes he didn’t put his mind and sole into worshiping God the way he should have, thus his life seems, all of sudden, short and miserable. Good enough.

Others were less expected, even providing some humor: Pharaoh, who was surprised that the father of the young man he crowned as Vice-King is so old, is asking the father how old he is. Jacob, in return, is saying that he understands he looks very old, but in fact he is not old at all (comparatively to these days), but he looks very bad because his life were miserable.

I think, however, that something much deeper is going on here. Jacob’s life were basically the life of anticipation. Fourteen years he waited for his wife Rachel. He got her at long last. 20 years he waited to see how his brother would revenge his betrayal of him. That went well too. And now, for the first time in 17 years, he finally saw his son again – and he realizes, without words, that he was waiting for him all these days. Now, even if all those long periods of anticipation ended successfully, still most of his life were, indeed, full of sorrow. And the “few,” in my mind, related to those very few days in which he was not waiting for something to happen. Reflecting on his life near its end, Jacob provides us with a very strong lesson for life: Don’t wait. Don’t anticipate. Don’t fill up your life with the hope that something good will happen some day. Even if it will – it’s not worth it. It is better to act now (even if you regret it later) than to wait for many years for good things to come.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron