Because I Said Snow – Parshat Vayechi 5777

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Snow days. Don’t let the happy, smiling people on Facebook fool you. The snow in Portland has been rough. Parents who work outside the home can only work at home for so long, and kids tend to get restless after two snowball fights and three viewings of Frozen (no, the symbolism is not lost on me).

Here’s the important point, though. As frustrated as we may be by this change in routine, we know school closures are for our own good. Those robo-calls and morning news screen crawls may feel like tiny, stabbing icicles chipping away at our psyches, but of course they are for the right reasons. The safety of students and teachers is clearly the priority, and canceled school days and postponed programs happen because those in charge are looking after our health and wellbeing.

Sometimes we need to hear bad news because it’s for our own good. Because, painful as it is, it’s with our best interests in mind. For example, I recall vividly the time my mom pointed out my ever-encroaching crow’s feet; rest assured, I’ve given my opinion right back plenty of times. If you know our relationship, you know this back and forth comes from a place of love (and occasionally humor). Whether it’s another snow day or a loved one giving an honest critique, we often feel we can be the most honest with and about the ones we love because there is an understanding of trust, care, and concern for wanting the other to be at their very best.

This week we read parshat Vayechi, the final section of text in the first book of the Torah. In this section of text, Jacob requests to his son Joseph not to bury him in Egypt. Then, Joseph brings his sons to receive blessings from their grandfather Jacob. Jacob dies, and as the family mourns, Joseph also requests that his bones be taken with his father’s. The brothers reconcile the final pieces of their differences so they can be at peace in their father’s absence.

The blessing of the children is a tradition continued even today – we do it with our children. Each week on Shabbat we bless our children and share with them an amazing accomplishment we’re proud of or just something that made us smile. Similarly, Jacob’s blessings start out lovely and complimentary as he blesses each of his sons.

However, as he blesses Rueben, Jacob shares “You brought disgrace…” Hold the phone. Disgrace? What kind of a blessing is this? On the surface it sounds like a pretty harsh dig at Reuben’s character, but if we look closer, perhaps this is part of a greater blessing. If intended constructively, having your father, the one who knows you best, point out a glaring fault or misstep is a sign of care, respect, and certainly trust. There is the trust that Reuben will take his words seriously to heart, and there is the respect that prevents Jacob from withholding advice that could make his son a better person if he shared it.

Some people tell us what we want (or think we want) to hear, but is that doing us any good? A few snow days may be inconvenient, but I’ll take the honest, respectful inconvenience over the alternative any day. Who’s up for a snowball fight?

Know Thyself – Parshat Vayigash 5777

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As the parent of a feisty and sometimes defiant three-year-old I often find myself in battle mode, having to make constant tactical adjustments based on the situation. There are two forces at play in our house: what we, her loving parents, would like to see happen, and what she, the stubborn, strong-willed daughter, would like to see take place. I’ve found that one of the hardest parts of parenting at this stage is acceptance. I’m always reevaluating and changing my expectations based on her mood, behavior, and capabilities. And although we do our best to mold and influence our children by setting positive examples, ultimately I cannot change her, I can only change my reaction to what she’s doing.

The same lesson is learned in our parshah this week. Parshat Vayigash is the continuation of the saga between Joseph and his brothers. Yehudah, one of the master perpetrators of the evil against Joseph, stands up for his brothers and requests to be imprisoned rather than Benjamin. Later, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, and his brothers tell Jacob that Joseph is still alive. Following this the 70 members of Jacob’s extended family and community follow him down to Egypt and the family is officially reunited.

There is an interesting moment of reflection between Judah and Joseph. “Then Judah went up to him,” the text reads. Literally from the Hebrew, Judah came to know him. The S’fat Emet interprets this as Judah coming to know himself. That is to say in recounting the events that lead to this point in our narrative, Judah comes to recognize that he is not the same person he was when he let his brother get sold into Egyptian slavery. In recounting what has transpired, he also recognizes that he cannot change his father. He realizes and accepts that Jacob may always be partial to Joseph, and that the only thing he can change is how he copes.

The lesson that we cannot change others, only our own actions and reactions in certain situations, is one of the hardest lessons to learn and something many people struggle with well into maturity. Sometimes other people do change on their own, but Parshat Vayigash reminds us that the most important thing we can do is to know ourselves.

Fine, Thanks – Parshat Miketz 5777

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There’s a certain expectation that comes with asking someone how they are. You expect to receive a simple “good” or “fine” or maybe even “could be worse.” So it catches you off guard when instead you receive an entire life story of what ails them in that moment, including why it ails them, how they got there, and what they wish would happen. Suddenly you realize you’re still standing there fifteen minutes later, and you’re second-guessing asking the question in the first place.

Or perhaps you’ve been on the other end of this conversation. You desperately have something you need to share, but you’re afraid to share it because the other person seems uninterested. And perhaps instead of the long diatribe, you answer “I’m fine” and move on, sad and frustrated the other party wasn’t as receptive as you had hoped.

The ways we care for one another represent the roles in which we see ourselves in our communities, and caring for one another is a central theme in this week’s parshah, Miketz. In the parshah, Joseph solves Pharaoh’s dreams and becomes a great leader in Egypt. He then marries, has two sons named Ephraim and Menashe, and sees the land endure the seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. During the famine Joseph’s brothers come to Egypt in search of food; Joseph recognizes them, but they have no clue who he is. Joseph tests the brothers and asks for his younger brother to be brought to him. Then when no food remains in Jacob’s house in Israel, Benjamin is brought back down to Egypt and again Joseph interacts with his brothers. Even up to this point, Joseph’s brothers still have no idea who he is.

When Joseph is first reunited with his brothers, he asks them, “How is your aged father of whom you spoke? Is he still in good health?” It’s an interesting twist on the casual “How are you/I’m fine” exchange. To the brothers, Joseph is just a high elected official, who for some reason seems to actually care about them and their family. But in reality we know that Joseph is also Jacob’s son and of course has a vested interest in the health of his own father. In a sense, Joseph’s question is the beginning of what has become the Jewish cultural norm of asking about a person’s wellbeing. In fact, it is often suggested that this act of inquiry led to the modern practice of bikur cholim, visiting the sick.

Of course beyond this significance, the question Joseph asks is also one of basic human compassion. It’s just that many religions, including Judaism, obligate members of a community to make an outward, public showing of care and concern. We recite the Misheberach, the prayer for healing, publicly on Shabbat and Torah-reading days partially to ask for God’s aid in healing, but also so that the congregation is aware of who is ill and who needs our support.

Parshat Miketz reminds us that beyond the initial asking of the question “How are you?” we have an obligation to be interested and engaged in the answer, to be aware of whom in our community really needs our help. Then, just as Joseph did, we act.

Hanukkah Is Fake News Too

Eve PosenLeave a comment

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As we learned from the widespread propagation of “fake news” over the last several months, we believe what we want to believe. Fake news and sensationalized headlines are nothing new, but they rose to the forefront of our national dialogue during and immediately following the election.

What makes fake news so controversial is not that it exists. Anyone who has spent any time in a grocery store checkout line in the last 40-plus years has seen plenty of “published” fake news headlines. (Don’t you feel better knowing Elvis and JFK are alive and well in a bunker in Montana? I sure do.) What makes today’s fake news troubling is that social media, as pervasive as it is, is still a relatively new type of media. We’re still testing its limits and its trustworthiness.

Not only is fake news nothing new, so to speak, but the story of Hanukkah itself, which goes all the way back to 167 B.C.E., is fake news.

SPOILER ALERT: The rest of this article presents some information about Hanukkah that may be different than what you learned in Hebrew school or from singing “Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah.” If you would like to continue living under this unspoiled illusion, you may want to skip to the final paragraph.

Most of us learned as children that the miracle of Hanukkah was that a little bit of oil lasted a full eight days, which is why we celebrate by lighting the chanukiah for eight nights. In reality, this headline that has been perpetuated since before “I Have a Little Dreidel” is one of the earliest fake news stories.

You see, while the Maccabees were fighting to save their society and their religion, they missed out on the fall celebration of Sukkot, an eight-day festival. So when the war ended and the Temple was rebuilt, it was the perfect time to “catch up” on the holiday they missed. Thus, they rededicated the Temple and celebrated for eight days. Hanukkah isn’t a miracle of oil, it’s just a late Sukkot.

But if you ask most people about the miracle of Hanukkah and why we light candles eight nights in a row, the only answer most people know is that the oil miraculously lasted that long. Why did we substitute the truth for something entirely made up? If we wanted to celebrate a miracle, wasn’t it a big enough miracle that the small band of Maccabees defeated the mighty Greek army?

One possible reason for the replacement story is that it’s not the simple truth; it’s provocative and inexplicable. Perhaps it is because in a time of darkness and destruction, the people needed to hold onto a miracle of light.

In the end, the “fake news” of Hanukkah was relatively harmless, and in fact quite the opposite. It created and sustained one of the most well-known Jewish stories within and outside of Judaism. But it also teaches us the power of our words and the power our convictions have over us. Confirmation of the opinions we hold, whether based in truth or not, makes us feel complete and safe. Although the consequences of fake news are not always as uplifting and miraculous as the new and improved story of Hanukkah, the reasons for fake news centuries ago and today are probably similar. We may not see as many miracles these days, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t looking.

Change of Perspective – Parshat Vayeshev 5777

Eve PosenLeave a comment

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Do you know that point at which you’ve read something so many times that it starts to lose its meaning? Maybe it’s something you yourself have written, and you’ve reached the saturation point when you need to hand it off to someone else to edit. Or perhaps it’s a subject line in your email inbox you’ve seen so many times that you know what the email is about without having to read it (and may not want to read it).

There’s a similar phenomenon that happens in our relationships. We become so accustomed to seeing certain people in certain places or acting in certain ways that even if they’ve changed, we don’t always notice. These patterns also present us with the opportunity to separate ourselves from that which is familiar and return later to see the content in a new way and to connect with it again.

This week we read Parshat Vayeshev. We find ourselves 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 for 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.

In the moments that deal with the dreams, Joseph and his brothers are at odds. His brothers see him only through their jealous eyes. And Joseph only sees his brothers as mean, unhelpful, and exclusionary. Jacob, who perhaps has had enough of his sons not getting along, issues the following directive to Joseph: “Go and see how your brothers are and how the flocks are faring, and bring me back word.”

The term that Jacob uses to mean “How your brothers are” is shalom, peace. Literally, Jacob is asking Joseph to “See the shalom – the integrity and the peacefulness – of your brothers.” Jacob knows that his sons do not get along, yet perhaps he’s hoping that seeing his brothers in their element will give Joseph the opportunity to see that they aren’t all bad. Simchah Bunim, a late 18th century Polish commentator, interprets this line as, “You who complained about them and brought back bad reports, go and discover their admirable qualities.”

It is with fresh eyes that Jacob hopes Joseph will see his brothers. Fresh eyes to let go of the hurt and pain and a new light (in the field) that will show Jacob’s other sons as the kind and caring brothers they have the potential to be. Let us make it a goal, especially as we enter into a new secular year, to learn from this lesson and never miss an opportunity to use fresh eyes, open minds, and peaceful hearts.