Forgive But Not Forget – Parshat Miketz 5780

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There are certain memories that I not only hold on to, but ones I sometimes feel hold me back. The broken heart after the end of my first true love left me afraid to trust and love again for some time. The feeling of failure when I didn’t get into a school I had my heart set on held me back from going for my dreams for several years after. One of the hardest lessons to learn is how to let go, and it’s something I’m still working on. Part of it might be my hyperactive memory, but I tend to hold on to grudges and remember not just what someone did but also how they made me feel. Sometimes those residual feelings we remember hold us back from healing, which makes it that much more difficult to move forward.

We see memory play a large role in the lives of our biblical leaders. So much of how they react in specific situations hinges upon what has happened to them in the past and how they have held on or let go of that experience. 

Our parshah this week, Miketz, brings us back into the story of Joseph. We pick up in part two of the life and trying times of Joseph. Our hero has had a few setbacks, among them being sold into slavery by his brothers and thrown into jail. However, Joseph gets his big break when Pharaoh has a startling set of dreams. When none of Pharaoh’s resident magicians are able to interpret his visions, Pharaoh calls on Joseph, and with God’s help, Joseph translates the dreams as a sign of an approaching period of fertility followed by a period of famine. Joseph presents Pharaoh with a game plan and becomes Pharaoh’s right-hand man in preparation for these times that will certainly be difficult not only for Egypt, but also neighboring lands. 

In the midst of his time in Egypt, Joseph gets married, and he has two children, Efraim and Manasseh. The descriptions of their names comes in chapter 41, verses 50-52: “Before the years of famine came, Joseph became the father of two sons, whom Asenath, daughter of Poti-phera, priest of On, bore to him. 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.’”

The name of his first son, Manasseh, might seem strange, considering that he clearly did not forget the hardship of his parental home, which we see when he meets his brothers again in the next parshah. Instead, perhaps he is saying that while he remembers, the memory no longer oppresses him. In other words, Joseph has taken the lesson of his family hardship and learned from it so that he could move forward. He hasn’t forgotten the events, but he has put aside enough of the feeling of those events to move on.

Joseph reminds us that even when we live through the unimaginable, we have the ability to grow from it. On the other hand, when we let our memories oppress us, we’re letting the perpetrators win. Instead, sometimes we have to find the will to free ourselves from the part of the memory that’s holding us back and the wisdom to be aware of it in the first place. 

Self Soothing – Parshat Vayeshev 5780

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One of the hardest parts of parenting infants for me was sleep training and helping them learn the process of self-soothing. For the longest time, both of my children could only find comfort snuggled in my arms. I don’t blame them; I love being cozy and snuggled up too. Unfortunately, inconsistent baby sleeping led to regularly interrupted parent sleeping, and I discovered my tolerance for the “cry it out” method was exactly two minutes before I lost my mind and resorted back to snuggling. Eventually, as they both got older and with the help of their soft “lovies” and reassurance from Mommy and Daddy, they learned how to self soothe. 

Being able to healthfully self soothe is one of the skills we learn very early on in life, and it’s an essential skill for the rest of our lives. With so many ups and downs and unknowns in life, the ability to comfort yourself in a healthy and efficient way is critical to your well-being. But what happens if we lose this ability? In our Torah portion this week, Parshat Vayeshev, the patriarch Jacob finds out.

Vayeshev is in the thick of the Joseph story. Joseph has two dreams that he shares with his brothers, both of which make them angry with him. The brothers go out to pasture, Joseph finds them, the brothers decide to sell him, and father Jacob mourns the loss of his favorite son. After this, the story takes a turn to focus on Joseph’s brother Judah and the betrayal of Tamar before turning back to Joseph’s life in Egypt, which ultimately lands him in jail.

Chapter 37, verses 34 through 35, reveal Jacob deep in his grief after his sons tell him Joseph is gone. “Jacob rent his clothes, put sackcloth on his loins, and observed mourning for his son many days. All his sons and daughters sought to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted, saying, ‘No, I will go down mourning for my son in Sheol.’” The Hebrew word used for “comforted” here is reflexive, l’hitnachem. In other words, the pain was so great, Jacob refused to comfort himself. 

Soothing yourself as an adult is different than soothing yourself as a toddler. As adults, we can use rational thought and experience to refocus and remain calm. But in this week’s Torah portion, Jacob reminds us that there are some moments in life that don’t fit neatly into these rational coping blueprints. Sometimes even adults have to cry it out. 

Worst Case Scenario – Parshat Vayishlach 5780

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I have a terrible habit of always imagining the worst possible scenario in any instance. When Matan was a baby and I constantly had to get him in and out of the car, I’d envision myself tripping on the stairs and taking a tumble with him in my arms. And whenever the school number pops up on my caller ID, I always assume it’s because one of my kids is sick and has to come home. While my rational mind knows there’s not a lot to be gained from imagining these negative situations, other than at best an abundance of caution and at worst an ulcer, I still can’t help myself from doing this. 

Frequently, these scenarios will play out in our heads in anticipation of an event. When you’re planning a major function, you worry about the weather. When you’re pregnant, you’re concerned about going into labor somewhere not so convenient. When you’re seeing a friend for the first time in forever, you fear that you’ll have nothing to say, or the reunion will be awkward.

It’s this last version that happens in this week’s parshah, Vayishlach, which again shows the interaction between Jacob and his brother Esau. The last time these two were together, Esau didn’t seem too attached to his birthright blessing until it had been given to Jacob, and Jacob didn’t care much about his brother’s right to the blessing until his brother threatened to kill him. Now, twenty years or so later, we find the brothers on a path to meet again. Both are now married and fathers of large clans, and both have large flocks with them. 

As Jacob is preparing to meet his brother after their extended absence from each other’s lives, he is running through all of the worst case scenarios in his head. Chapter 32, verses 8-9 reveal that “Jacob was greatly frightened; in his anxiety, he divided the people with him, and the flocks and herds and camels, into two camps, thinking, ‘If Esau comes to the one camp and attacks it, the other camp may yet escape.’”

The Hebrew words va-yira and va-yeitser literally mean “he was frightened and upset.” According to Genesis Rabbah, that means that Jacob both feared that he and his family might be harmed and was upset that he might harm his brother in self-defense. Either way you look at it, Jacob was living in the world of worst case scenarios.

But in reality, Jacob took his fear and anxiety and put them into action, making a rational plan for protection and acknowledging how he was really feeling. That way he actually stood a chance at stopping some negative behavior from occurring. Worst case scenarios might just mean your subconscious is trying to remind you to be careful or change your attitude or look at a situation differently. Rational or not, just as Jacob did, we can still learn from the lessons our emotions have to teach us.

Recurring Nightmare – Parshat Vayetzei 5780

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Lately I’ve had the same recurring dream. Do you remember those nightmares about showing up to school in your underwear or missing a test? It’s pretty much like that, except now my nightmare is about shul instead of school. I’m standing on the bima, giving a sermon I feel passionately about. I’m confidently speaking from the heart, when suddenly one congregant after another stands up and starts heckling me. This continues for a while until the whole congregation is booing, and then I’m escorted off the bima. You don’t need to be Freud to understand my anxiety in this dream (which is, thankfully, just a dream).

Parshat Vayetzei, which we read this week, is the beginning of some vivid dream sequences that lead us through the next few parts of our Torah cycle. The text picks up with Jacob on his journey away from his parents’ house to meet his cousin, Lavan, and the strange dreams and encounters he has with godly creatures along the way. He ends up falling in love with Rachel, works for her hand in marriage, but is tricked into marrying Rachel’s older sister Leah. Fast forward a few more years of work, and the prize of having Rachel as his wife is realized. The text continues with the birth of Jacob’s large family and his journey away from his father-in-law Lavan to a new home. 

The dreams Jacob has on his journey are full of the emotions he’s experiencing. It’s partly the fear of being in the world alone, but also the hopeful faith that God was always there as a guiding force. While he’s asleep, Jacob’s subconscious is bringing up the memories of running from his brother and of the regret of being dishonest with his father. 

Sometimes our dreams can wake us up to our truest feelings, feelings we might be fearful to address in the waking world. Perhaps there’s a change we’re scared of making, but our dreams, which are out of our control, can present things in a new light. Jacob wakes from his dream, suddenly aware that God was with him, and that when he does the right thing he will have the community and safety he seeks. 

My own personal heckling dream recently returned the night before I was going to give two divrei Torah on topics I was passionate about. Perhaps those dreams were a manifestation of my fear of being vulnerable in front of the congregation. What if my passion wasn’t shared? What if it fell flat? But in having those dreams, I was able to better appreciate that vulnerability and realize that the things that make us less perfect also make us more human.

A Mother’s Love – Parshat Toldot 5780

 

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The easiest part of parenting is love. The hardest part of parenting is tough love. I’m talking about those moments when I just want to give in to the ridiculous tantrum and relinquish a lollipop or M&M so the screaming will stop. But I know if I do that, I’m just making my life harder in the future, because I’m creating the expectation that bad behavior is rewarded. Or how about the moments when I just want to do something for my children instead of letting them make mistakes and learn from them. Doing the right thing as a parent isn’t always easy, but because I love my children I try to be strong and consistent.

Doing what’s best for someone else doesn’t necessarily mean doing what’s easiest or even what’s kindest in the moment. In the Torah, again and again we see parents making tough choices as they raise their children. Parsaht Toldot, which we read this week, is no exception. The text begins with Isaac and Rebecca learning about the birth of their twins, followed by the incident of Esau selling his birthright to Jacob and the sibling issues that follow. In the middle of the portion, we learn about what happens to Isaac as he re-inhabits a land that his father had been to before. 

At the end of the parshah, after the saga of Jacob stealing his brother’s birthright and tricking his father, the text reads, “Then Isaac sent Jacob off, and he went to Paddan-aram, to Laban the son of Bethuel the Aramean, the brother of Rebekah, mother of Jacob and Esau.” If you’ve been following the journey so far, it seems odd that the Torah would reiterate that Rebekah was Jacob’s mother, since at this point we are already very well aware of that. A 17th century Polish commentary called Tzeidah La-Derekh asks this question as well. The response is simple: it’s in her role as a mother that Rebekah sends Jacob away. She’s showing her love to both of her children; she’s sparing Jacob’s life, and she’s saving his brother Esau from becoming a murderer.

Both Jacob and Esau were her children, and while she may have had a deeper connection to Jacob, she still loved and protected Esau. The hardest thing she had to do was send away one child to save his life, and subsequently save the other child.

There are countless choices and decisions we make as parents, and plenty of times we’re left wondering whether or not we’ve made the right choice. The struggle of Rebekah reminds us that our job is to be firm and loving, and to make the tough choices that allow our children the best chance for success in life.