This week’s portion – Va’Yigash (literally, “and he approached”) – marks the third of “Joseph’s” portions. In the first portion we were introduced to Joseph as a young boy, mistreated by his brothers while reporting to them on his narcissistic dreams. We then continue to learn about how much the brothers hate Joseph, finally throwing him into a deserted pit in the middle of the desert. In the second portion, we meet Joseph when he is taken to Egypt, again being thrown down into the pit – this time, the Egyptian jailhouse – only to be raised later to royalty prominence, becoming the second-in-command to the King of Egypt himself. His brothers are then arriving at Egypt in search for food, and Joseph serves them one cold dish of revenge without letting them know who it is. This week, at last, he would also reveal himself to his brothers, and the family would reconcile again.
I. Where Is Joseph Today?
So, three portions, all dedicated – almost exclusively – to one person, Joseph. Very few people in the history of Judaism, let alone the biblical text, received so much Torah attention. And yet, while occupying more than his fair share of the text, Joseph – as Jewish image – occupies very little of the traditional heritage. Thus, he is not enumerated as one of the Jewish Forefathers; he is hardly ever mentioned as Jewish leader; he is not a Jewish role-model; very few kids, if ever, dress like him or attempt to imitate him in Purim; in short – despite all the biblical attention, the image of Joseph in Judaism has all but vanished. Joseph is dead to Judaism. This is even more surprising if we consider the fact that despite not having a tribe named after him – but rather two tribes named after his sons, Ephrayim and Menashe – Joseph is, to a large extent our only remaining father, as all the other ten tribes have been lost. In essence, therefore, it would be possible to claim that we are all Joseph’s descendants.
Yet, other than Moses, it is hard to think of anyone – certainly none of the three Forefathers, not Noah, and no other biblical figure comes to mind – that receives so much attention from the Torah text. So, why the discrepancy? While I can’t even offer an educated guess here, I would like to say few words on these three portions as a whole.
II. Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis in Joseph’s Story
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 synthesis. 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. He first reported them to his brothers, and then was punished by being deserted deep down in the desert. In the second portion, we saw how those same dreams bring Joseph back up – all the way to the throne. This week, however, 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 appear at first like some sort of a dream (and perhaps, for some of the brothers, as a potential nightmare), reality hits home soon when it becomes clear that the second-in-command in all of Egypt, the only regional superpower, is no other than their own little brother Joseph – the same brother that they have thrown down to a pit over seventeen years earlier. Thus – dreams leading to bad; dreams leading to good; no dreams.
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, refuse to talk to him at all. (Think about that – having ten brothers and none of them ever talks to you. How sad.) So, in the first portion we may conclude that there is almost no communication. In the second week, we read on how Joseph and the brothers hold extremely long conversations – but not directly. Rather, “Ha’Melitz Beinotam” – the interpreter is between them (both figuratively and actually; Gen. 42:23). So again, indirect communication, although plenty of it. This week, Joseph “ can no longer hold himself back” – and he asks everyone out, including the interpreter. And what are Joseph’s first words to his brothers after more than seventeen years of 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” communication, if you will – 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 shock and dismay, began whistling. The congregation is aghast at the sacrilegious act at the midst of the holiest day of the year, but the Rabbi thinks differently: “This is the purest way to communicate with God,” he said. “Not always do we need words.” So again, we move from no communication, to indirect communication, to the most direct form of communication possible – no words involved.
We finally touch upon the relationship between Joseph and his Brothers. At first, they hated him, almost to the point of wanting to kill him. Then, Joseph avenges their hatred, accusing them of anything from being spies – a violation punishable by death (then and now) – to thieves, to dishonest and more. But in this week’s portion, finally, it is time to make peace. Obviously, the terms of this peace agreement are set by the victorious side – Joseph; so the entire family travels down to be with him, in Egypt. But this is peace after all – and like most peace accords, and most settlements – it leaves each side a bit disappointed. Thus, we have first hatred from the brothers to Joseph; then accusations leveled by Joseph and the brothers; and finally peace and harmony between the two sides.
So much for the Hegelian move.
III. “Few in Number, and Full of Misery”
Another point I want to make today relates to the very interesting meeting between the last of the three Forefathers, Jacob, and the King of all of Egypt (and his son’s new boss) Pharaoh. Recall that the text reports to us in great detail on how well did Joseph prepared his brothers for the meeting with Pharaoh. Thus, for example, Joseph tells the brothers 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 worked 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 this all-important 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 adds, without being asked: “Few in number, and full of misery were the years of my life.” Now in Hebrew, the language is simply beautiful here – so few words that capture so much meaning: “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 are to answer only what the King has asked you). One would think that now that Jacob is finally 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). But no, Jacob reflects back on his life, and at this moment it looks to him short and brutal, much like their much later depiction by Hobbs.
The Jewish Sages worked hard to try and provide explanations for this rather surprising comment. Some of these are quite 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. This is one explanation.
Other explanations are less predictable, even humorous: 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.
In my view, however, something much deeper is going on here. Jacob’s life was, to a large extent, a life of anticipation. Fourteen years he waited for his wife Rachel. Then he finally achieved her. Twenty years he has waited to see how his brother would avenge his betrayal of him. That went well too. And now, for the first time in 17 years, he finally sees 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 thus 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 may not be finally worth it, if your entire life has passed in anticipation. It is better to act now (even if you regret it later) than to wait for good things to come.
Shabbat Shalom,
Doron
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