How many times have you heard (or said to yourself) “It’s just a phase”? For Joseph, phases were feast or famine . . . literally. For us, phases are footie pajamas. This too is Torah.
A Time to Mourn – Parshat Veyeshev 5776
If you have some knowledge of the medical world, you may know that septic shock isn’t something you typically bounce back from. My mourning process for my father started when it became clear that he was not going to survive this attack to his vital systems. That’s when it hit me that I would be without my father’s physical presence for the rest of my life.
It sounds strange to begin mourning before a death. After all, he was still breathing. But what triggered my early grief was knowing that each breath brought him closer to his last and that after he was extubated, any moment might be our last together.
Everyone mourns in their own way. My mom, my sister, and I all expressed our feelings differently and on different timelines. I’m not embarrassed to say I was a wreck because I had already accepted the next phase and was plunged into the emotional depths of this loss, but my process was unique to me. We did our best to comfort each other, even as we were in three different phases and mindsets.
Just as no two people are exactly alike, no two relationships between people are exactly alike. That’s the reason the mourning process works differently for every mourner. Individual circumstances shaped my relationship, so there was no “one grief fits all” solution for my pain.
Parshat Vayeshev, which we read this week, shares this idea in its own way. The narrative begins with Joseph’s dreams and his brothers’ revenge on him for sharing his prophetic visions. Jacob is then told that Joseph is gone, and we read about Joseph’s experiences in Potiphar’s house, including his jailing and dream interpretation for fellow prisoners the butler and the baker.
When Jacob is told of Joseph’s “demise,” he reacts as any parent would – he is inconsolable. The text literally reads that he “refused to be comforted.” The word for “comforting a mourner” in Hebrew is l’hitnachem, which is reflexive. Thus, Jacob refused to comfort himself. Samson Raphael Hirsch teaches that we can never truly comfort a mourner, even when we have known a similar loss. We can only surround the mourners with a sense of being cared about, in the hope that this will bring them to the point of comforting themselves.
Parshat Vayeishev is a reminder that we all experience our relationships and the world in unique ways. For that reason, we’re not obligated to heal one another, we’re obligated to be there for one another so the healing can happen.
On Miracles and Hate: Hanukkah 5776
I’m not ready for Hanukkah. By that, I don’t mean that I got a late start shopping for gifts. I don’t mean that I lost my Nana’s latke recipe. What I mean is, how can I possibly go into a holiday of light and miracles when everything in the news is darkness and hate?
In the span of about a week, it’s as if we’ve been reading a twisted, despairing version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On one day, a massive terrorist attack in Paris, but some people were still hateful. Another day, senseless murders in Colorado Springs, but some people were still hateful. And on another day, a massacre in San Bernadino, but some people were still hateful.”
How do I celebrate nights of joy, hope, and freedom in the world that creates days like this? How can I sing Hallel, songs of praise for God, with horrific acts being perpetrated in the name of religion? When all around it seems so dark, how can lighting these lights possibly make a bit of difference?
The answer is right in front of me in the holiday itself: dedication. Hanukkah, Hebrew for “dedication,” embodies the will, the determination, the dedication of a people to survive in the face of insurmountable odds. It’s the spirit that is kindled and does not die, from the Maccabees fighting to preserve their lives and our sacred tradition, to the Parisian Jews being told not to light chanukiot out of fear of further attacks.
Join me, starting Sunday, and let us dedicate our eight nights of light against the hate and the desperation. For eight nights, let there be nothing but our combined glow around the world.
On Sunday I will light for hope.
On Monday I will light for understanding.
On Tuesday I will light for wisdom.
On Wednesday I will light for respect.
On Thursday I will light for acceptance.
On Friday I will light for dialogue.
On Saturday I will light for guidance.
On Sunday I will light for peace.
Now my holiday is dedicated. Now the flames have regained their purpose. Now I’m ready.
Parenting by the Parshah – Vayeshev
It may not always be obvious, but our children are watching us and modeling their behavior on what they see. What do they see in you? This too is Torah.
Forever Changed – Parshat Vayishlach 5776
Truly life-changing moments are few and far between. A specific encounter can touch your heart, or a story on the news can make you think, but very few of these moments reach us so deeply that our lives are never the same again. The instances that typically alter our lives are the ones you’d expect, like significant lifecycle events or major traumatic experiences. However, occasionally an event which seems superficially insignificant can lead to an unexpected transformation.
This is the case in parshat Vayishlach, which we read this week. The portion is filled with what should have been huge, life-changing moments for Jacob. Jacob and his twin Esau reunite and make up after a 20-year estrangement. Following this, Jacob’s daughter Dinah is involved in a violent incident in Shechem that prompts her brothers to take revenge on her behalf, Rachel dies in childbirth, and Jacob’s father Isaac dies. All of these significant events likely impact Jacob in one way or another, but it’s before these at the beginning of the parshah when his life is changed completely.
Jacob is preparing to meet his brother after decades apart, and he struggles with an angel in his sleep. This unique encounter changes him in an instant, both physically and emotionally. The wrestling knocks his hip out of its socket, and Jacob’s name becomes Yisrael, literally “one who struggles with God.”
When Jacob and Esau reunite, Jacob is overcome with emotion. In Chapter 33, verse 10, Jacob proclaims, “Seeing your face is like seeing the face of God.” The text in Genesis Rabbah, a 5th century commentary on the Torah, suggests that Jacob is talking about his own transformation, not about his brother’s appearance. Jacob is sharing with Esau that he has seen the face of God and is a changed man, not the deceitful brother who tricked his twin. He no longer sees Esau as a rival, but as an equal, deserving of honor and dignity. Clearly Jacob is a new person.
It’s a cliché to simply say “people can change.” Our parshah reminds us that change is really about having our perspective shifted so that we may see the world differently. The hope is that we recognize in ourselves not only these significant moments when they happen, but the potential for them to occur at all.
Rabbi Eve Posen 