PARSHAT VAYECHI

 (5768)

 

MAINTAINING ONE’S IDENTITY

 

“When I lie down with my fathers, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial-place.”                                                       (Genesis 47:30)

 

            A true story – It was a Shabbat evening towards the end of December 1990.  My family and I had just moved to Florida from Pittsburgh.  We looked forward to living in a much larger Jewish community.  We loved Pittsburgh, appreciated the small but active Jewish community there, but often felt like an invisible minority amongst the vast Christian majority.

            We had just sat down to eat our Shabbat dinner when there was a knock on the door.  When I answered, there was Santa Claus in his full regalia.  He said his ho, ho, ho and started to walk into our home.  I told him, “Boy, do you have the wrong house.”  Meanwhile, my children were all excited.  It turns out that Santa had been hired to show up at a Christmas party about a block away.  He had been given the wrong address and showed up at a rabbi’s home on the Jewish Sabbath.  So that was the year I had to give Santa directions and send him off to the proper place.

            I sometimes think about that story as we enter the week where the vast majority of our friends and neighbors celebrate Christmas.  It is so easy to be swallowed up in the trappings of the season.  I never want to be “the Grinch who stole Christmas” or Ebenezer Scrooge shouting, “bah humbug.”  I appreciate the lights, the decorations, the music, and most important, the sense of good will and holiness which this Christian holiday exudes.  Unless I am willing to go live in Israel (something which has crossed my mind), I realize that I must live a Jewish life as a minority in a majority culture.

            How do I as a Jew maintain my identity?  How do I teach my children to be proud of their differences?   (When my children were very young in Pittsburgh, I remember having them pose for pictures at the mall.  The poor camera operator tried to get them to sit still for the snap shot, saying in exasperation, “Be good, or Santa won’t bring you any presents.”  One of my kids spoke back, “We’re Jewish.  We don’t believe in Santa.”  The young mall employee did not even know how to react.)

            To be a Jew outside the land of Israel is to be part of a minority.  To be sure, we are a proud minority who has kept our way of life going for thousands of years.  And few nations in the history of humanity have been as welcoming to the Jewish people as America.  Jews have flourished in the United States thanks to the tradition of religious freedom tied to the good will of the American people.  But having said that, it is always difficult to be a minority and keep one’s identity alive.

            This week’s portion is a precedent for living as a minority in a majority culture.  The Israelites came down to Egypt as a small minority in a vast majority culture.  Joseph insisted that the Israelites live in one concentrated area, Goshen, where they could maintain their way of life and not assimilate into Egyptian society.  Parents would bless children with the dream of keeping the Jewish way of life alive.  And both Jacob and Joseph, as they face their own deaths, tell their children not to bury them in Egypt.  Bring them back to the Holy Land so they can be buried with their ancestors.

            Later the Rabbis would elaborate on how the Israelites maintained their identity in the land of Egypt.  Children were given Hebrew names and maintained the Hebrew language.  Parents were careful to teach their children the laws against gossip and sexual immorality.  (Leviticus Rabbah 32:5)  There was a serious effort to keep their minority culture alive.

            Today it is easy for Jews living in America to be swept along with the majority culture.  (One bit of irony – it was a Jew who composed the most popular Christmas song of all time; Irving Berlin wrote White Christmas.  Berlin called it the best song he had ever written, and went on to say it was the best song anybody had ever written.)   For Jews living in America, let us appreciate our neighbors’ holiday.  But like the Israelites in ancient Egypt, let us never forget who we are.

 

 

 

PARSHAT VAYECHEE

 (5766)

 

ALZHEIMER’S

 

“And Israel saw Joseph’s sons, and said, who are these?”

                                                (Genesis 48:8)

 

            Jacob was old and sick, and called upon Joseph to bring his two sons to him for a blessing.  Moments before he had waxed eloquent on how he planned to adopt the two sons, making them two of the tribes.  Now the moment had come when the sons appeared before him.  Jacob looked at his two beloved grandsons and said, “Who are these?”  He did not even recognize his own grandsons.

            The Midrash (Rabbinic legend) gives one explanation.  He did not recognize them because they came dressed in Egyptian dress, and they did not appear to be Hebrews.  However, when the two boys saw their grandfather, they said the Shma (the central prayer of Jewish tradition.)   Hearing the prayer, Jacob realized who they were and was ready to bless them.

            The Midrash is beautiful.  But perhaps there is another explanation.  When a grandparent does not recognize his own grandsons, perhaps it is the beginning of senility.  Perhaps even Alzheimer’s disease was setting in.  I have seen it too often.  In my own family, during the last years of her life, my father’s mother did not recognize him; she called him “Sonny.”   Too often I have performed a funeral where the family told me, “Rabbi, my mother died years ago.  Her mind disappeared.”  Recently someone spoke to me who was angrier.  “Rabbi, my wife was stolen from me by this disease.”

            I do not know if Jacob had Alzheimer’s.  He certainly was able to speak in an articulate way to all of his sons before he died.  But perhaps his memory was beginning to fade.  Sadly, too many of us see a loved one’s mind slip away while they are still in this world.  I think we all admire the honesty with which the late President Ronald Reagan admitted his Alzheimer’s to the public and shared his struggle with this incurable condition.  It is certainly one of the saddest ways to leave this world.

            A number of years ago I gave a lecture at the Broward County Main Public Library.  The lecture was for a mind-body conference, and it dealt with the kabalistic idea that our soul has various levels in this world.  Our soul goes from nefesh (mere consciousness) to ruach (the animal soul of emotions), then to neshama (the human soul able to empathize and make rational decisions) and finally, if we are lucky, chaya (the highest level of the soul where we become at one with another soul, or with the universe as a whole.)  One of our goals in life is to grow our souls, to evolve to higher and higher levels.  I have written and lectured extensively on this beautiful idea.

            As I was speaking, I saw a woman growing agitated in the back of the room.  Finally she raised her hand and asked me, “Rabbi, my mother has Alzheimer’s.  She cannot take care of herself, she gets violent, and she no longer recognizes me.  Tell me, what level is her soul at?”  I will admit that I was stumped.  But I have been thinking about that question ever since.

            Could it be that some people, because of brain malfunction, can only hold onto the lowest level of the soul in this world?  Could they go back to the nefesh level, the most basic level of the soul?  Certainly they possess the higher levels of the soul.  But perhaps those levels of the soul are no longer in this world.  Could it be that some people’s souls are already partially in the world to come, even as they continue their bodily existence in this world?  Could it be that they still exist on some higher plane, while those of us who love them in this world only see the most basic level of consciousness?

            Perhaps our job when, this happens, is to make sure they never lose their human dignity.   There is a tradition that when Moses built the Ark of the Covenant, he put in the Ten Commandments written on two tablets of stone.  But Moses also put the broken pieces of the tablets he threw down after the incident of the golden calf.  The Rabbis compare the broken tablet to a scholar who has forgotten his learning.  Such a scholar is treated with as much dignity and respect as a scholar at the height of his learning.

            Sadly, there are some people whose souls retreat to the next world while they still live among us in this world.  They become shells of themselves.  Nonetheless, they deserve as much human dignity as any other human being.  After all, at the end of his life, even the great patriarch Jacob did not recognize his own grandchildren.

           

 

 

PARSHAT VAYICHEE

 (5764)

 

COVENANT

 

"And Jacob said to Joseph, El Shaddai appeared to me in Luz in the land of Canaan and He blessed me and said to me, I will make you fertile and numerous, making of you a community of peoples; and I will assign this land to your offspring to come for an everlasting possession."                    (Genesis 48:3-4)

 

This week we finish the book of Genesis, reading about the death of Jacob and at the end, the death of his son Joseph.  What is the major theme in Genesis?  The book speaks of many powerful themes - creation, perhaps family.  But I believe there is one theme that stands out throughout the first book of the Bible - covenant (in Hebrew brit or bris.)

In the book, God made a covenant with Noah and his descendents (all humanity), with the rainbow as the symbol of this covenant.  Then God made a covenant with Abraham and his immediate family (the Jewish people) with circumcision as the symbol of this covenant.  Later, this covenant will be renewed with the entire people Israel standing at Mt. Sinai.  To understand the message of Genesis, and perhaps the message of the entire Bible, we must understand the meaning of covenant.

A covenant is like a contract, but with a much deeper sense of commitment.  It defines mutual obligations between the parties, whether God and all humanity or God and the people Israel.  It assumes an ongoing relationship as well as mutual commitments towards action.  In a similar way, our tradition sees marriage as covenant between a man and a woman, with mutual promises and commitments as well as an ongoing relationship.

One of the modern thinkers who has written powerful books about covenant is Rabbi David Hartman, founder of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem and the teacher of a generation of rabbis.  Last summer Rabbi Hartman and his daughter were scholars in the Chautauqua Institution in Western New York State, a retreat center for the arts, education, and religion.  (I was also a teacher in Chautauqua last summer, but was there several weeks before Rabbi Hartman.  However, I was privileged to get a tape of his main talk.)

Rabbi Hartman told this mostly Christian audience that covenant is one of the most empowering ideas in religious thinking.  Many people have the mistaken notion that religion teaches human passivity and obedience.  Religion is about going through the motions because God demands it, as a master makes demands of a slave.  But this is not the Biblical view.  Rather, God made a covenant with humanity because God needs us.  We humans are major actors in the divine, human drama.  God literally waits for us to act out our particular role in the covenant.  We are partners with God in the perfection or the redemption of this world.

Hartman compared the Biblical and the Greek visions of God.  To the Greeks, God was the unmoved first mover.  According to Aristotle, God was pure thought contemplating God=s own perfection.  God was unchangeable, without needs or desires.  No Greek would understand the title of the famous book written by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man.   The Greek God does not need humanity; in fact, to say God needs anything is to mar God's perfection.

Not so the Biblical God.  God needs humans.  We are God=s covenantal partners.  God awaits our actions.  We have the power to do God's work in this world, making this world a better, holier place.  Or we have the ability to reject God's work, making this world a sadder place to live.  God needs us as much as we need God.  Covenant implies partnership; that is what makes the idea of covenant so empowering for human beings.

People sometimes ask me what the essence of Judaism is.  My answer is that Judaism, whether Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox, is an answer to the question: What does God expect of us as Jews under the covenant?  In fact, since God made a covenant with all humanity, a central human question ought to be, what does God expect of us as human beings under the covenant?  The book of Genesis introduced the idea of covenant to the world.  God needs a partner.  God cries out to us as human beings.  How we respond to the covenant with God is the central religious question of our time, perhaps the central religious question of all time.

 

 

PARSHAT VAYICHEE

(5763)

 

ELDERLY PARENTS

 

“When Jacob was told, your son Joseph has come to see you, Israel summoned his strength and sat up in bed.”                            (Genesis 48:2)

 

The words of the Torah were written thousands of years ago.  And yet, sometimes they read as if they are happening today.

In the beginning of this portion, an elderly man (Jacob, also called Israel) lay on his sick bed.  A messenger told his beloved son Joseph that his elderly father was ailing.  (Why did he not know?!)  Joseph arrived with the two grandsons.  Jacob, upon seeing his son and two grandsons, had a new burst of strength and was able to sit up on the bed.  Jacob blessed his grandsons before his death.

This scenario is played out here in Florida on a regular basis.  People retire down here to live out their days in the good weather, enjoying the golf and cards, early bird dinners and cruises.  But time takes its toll, children are far away, people become sick and frail.  Often their children do not know of their parents’ condition.  Sometimes the children do know but are too busy with their own lives to do very much about it.  (“Rabbi, my mother is frail, alone in her apartment down in Florida.  It is hard for me to visit.  Can you look in on her on a regular basis and make sure she is alright.”)

Finally, when the situation gets bad enough, the children come down.  Often they bring the grandchildren.  Something happens; the frail senior suddenly has a new life, a new excitement.  (“Rabbi, when I finally came down to visit mom, she seemed so animated and excited.  She seems to be okay.  Why did you tell me she is ill?”)

Who is responsible for the care of elderly frail parents?  The Torah tradition is clear; the responsibility lies with the children.  The Talmud teaches, “Honor means the child must supply the parent with food and drink, clothing and footwear, and assist the parent’s coming and going.”  (Kiddushin 31b)  The child does not necessarily have to provide the hands on, day to day care, although in a perfect world that is the ideal.  But a child must make sure a frail, elderly parent is properly cared for.

I am certainly aware that parents can be difficult, particularly as they loose their physical abilities or part of their mental capacity.  I am reminded of the story of  Rabbi Assi who had a tough, perhaps senile mother.  His mother wanted jewelry, so he bought her some.  His mother wanted a husband, so he tried to find one for her.  None were good enough; his mother demanded a husband who looked like him.  Finally Rabbi Assi fled to the land of Israel.  Then he heard his mother was coming to stay with him, so he asked permission of his rabbi to leave.  After receiving permission, he heard that it was his mother’s casket coming to Israel.  Rabbi Assi cried out, “If I had known I never would have left her.”  (Kiddushin 31a)

Part of the burden and the joy of being human is to care for elderly parents.  It is not necessarily an easy task.  But after all, they did care for us when we were children.  Now the time has come to return the favor.

 

PARSHAT VAYICHEE

(5762)

 

FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION

 

“All these are the twelve tribes of Israel, and this is it that their father spoke unto them and blessed them, every one according to his blessing he blessed them.”    (Genesis 49:28)

 

I visited an elderly woman last week who was homebound and quite depressed.  She could no longer drive, see very well, or participate in the physical activities she used to enjoy.  She cried in my presence and asked, “Why am I alive?  My body cannot do what it used to do?  I no longer do the things that used to give me pleasure?  What good is life?"

I tried to comfort her.  “God is not ready to take you yet.  God still must have something He wants you to do in this world.”

“What could God want with an old lady like me?” 

I answered, “You have grandchildren and great grandchildren.  If you could leave them a message, what would you tell them?” 

At first she replied, "They are busy with their own lives.  They don’t care."

“But what would you tell them?”   With that she started to talk, to tell her story, to speak of her values, to share her wishes and dreams for her progeny.  And the more she spoke, the more animated she became.  Finally I stopped her.  “Don’t tell me.  Use a tape recorder and record it for them.  Perhaps this is what God wants you to do while you are still in this world.”

In this week’s portion, Jacob finally passes on after living to see several generations.  He also had complained, “Few and evil have been the days of the years of my life.”  (Genesis 47:9)   Nonetheless, he was privileged to gather all his children around him for a final blessing and final words of wisdom before he died.  Out of this portion grew the Jewish idea of leaving our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren an ethical will.  Unlike a regular will, which is concerned with passing on our property, an ethical will is concerned with passing on our values.

With this week’s portion we finish the book of Genesis.  One of the major themes of this book is the connection between parents and children.  In my new book The Ten Journeys of Life in the chapter on facing our mortality, I speak of two metaphors for human life.  The ancient pagan world saw life as a great cycle, with each generation simply reliving the life of the previous generation.  “One generation comes and one generation goes.  There is nothing new under the sun.”  (Ecclesiastes 1:4,9)  The Bible, on the other hand, sees life as a chain, with each generation a new link.

            The book of Genesis is filled with long lists of begats, who gave birth to whom.  There were ten generations from Adam to Noah, ten generations from Noah to Abraham, Abraham begat Isaac, Isaac begat Jacob, Jacob begat twelve sons and a daughter, the sons begat the people Israel.  The link between generations is key to understanding the Biblical message.

Parents have an obligation to teach their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  Children have an obligation to honor their parents, grandparents, and great grandparents.  The older generation is a repository of wisdom for the younger generation.  Each generation learns from the past, adds its own wisdom and insights, and passes their knowledge on to the future.  So it is that over the course of generations, we human beings perfect this world as a kingdom of God. 

As we grow older, we may no longer have the physical strength to participate in the activities we loved when we were younger.  But we are never too old to teach our children and grandchildren.  As we say in our daily prayers, “Generation by generation we will praise God's name.”

 

PARSHAT VAYICHEE

(5761)

 

LOOKING FOR GOOD

 

“But Joseph said to them, Have no fear.  Am I a substitute for God.  Besides although you intended me harm, God intended it for good.”     (Genesis 50:19-20)

 

Joseph’s brothers approach Joseph, fearful that he will enact some kind of revenge for their treatment of him.  Joseph answers that he is not in God’s stead to judge.  Besides, they may have intended him harm, but God intended their actions for good.

One of the most natural human inclinations is to look for the negative in others.  It is so easy to criticize and to pass judgment, it is natural to gossip and put down our fellow human beings.  Some people can only build themselves up by knocking others down.  It is always possible to find fault.  It is far easier to look for the bad than to look for the good in others.

For that reason, Jewish tradition places great importance on the principle of lelamed z’chut, searching for the good in people.  The idea goes back to the days when the Jewish community actually sat in judgment when there was a capital crime.  Twenty-three judges, known as a small Sanhedrin were given responsibility to reach a verdict.  In order to be convicted, there had to be a majority of two.

What if all twenty-three judges found the culprit guilty?  In this case, he or she was let go.  The idea was that there must be at least one judge willing to argue in the defendant=s defense.  Somebody had to find some mitigating circumstance, some reason to consider a verdict of not guilty.  Without someone searching for good, the defendant did not have proper representation.  Perhaps our Constitutional right to proper legal defense grew out of this ancient Rabbinic law.

We no longer have Jewish courts of law.  But all of us are in a position to judge our fellow human beings.  Too often we scrutinize the actions of others even before we look at our own actions.  The great sage Hillel taught, “Do not judge your neighbor until you have stood in his place.”  (Avot 2:4)   It is proper to search for the good, even when it is not obvious.

Sometimes we need to search hard for the good in others.  There is a story of Rabbi Israel Salanter, the founder of the Musar movement in the nineteenth century, a movement that emphasized deep ethical introspection.  He caught a man smoking at the entrance of the synagogue on the Jewish Sabbath (an act forbidden by Jewish law.)  He told the man, “Excuse me sir, perhaps you did not know that it is the Sabbath.”

“I know perfectly well that it is the Sabbath.”

“Perhaps you forgot that smoking is forbidden on the Sabbath.”

“I know perfectly well that smoking is forbidden on the Sabbath.”

“Perhaps your doctor gave you some kind of medical dispensation requiring you to smoke on the Sabbath.”

“There is no such dispensation.”

Rabbi Salanter then turned his face to God.  “Lord of the universe, look how wonderful Your people are.  I gave this man three chances to lie, and three times he told the truth.”

This is a perfect example of the search for good in someone.  The more difficult a person is, the harder it is to find this good.  Sometimes it involves a search for mitigating circumstances.  Why is the person doing what they are doing?  Are there aspects of this person's life we do not know about?  Are they simply weak and unable to control themselves?  Underneath, what is the good and the positive in this person?

Perhaps it would be worthwhile to do a formal exercise.  Every time we hear someone put down their fellow, we should try to find something positive about that person.  Lelamed Z’chut ought to become a habit practiced daily.  Let Joseph inspire us to always search out the good in others.