Vayigash: Was I Not Supposed to Do That?

 “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission.”

I think the above quote is relatively famous, though I personally was surprised to discover it’s attributed to Admiral Grace Hopper, (among other things) an early pioneer in the world of computers. I thought it was an old adage, either original to English or from some other language or culture, but maybe this concept isn’t as timeless as I had imagined. Or maybe, possibly, the basic principle is quite ancient, but Hopper just phrased it perfectly. She named something that is indeed quite central to the experience of being a human being... but no one put it as plainly or eloquently as she did. The Torah sure seems to know the concept anyway; there’s an example right here in this week’s parashah!

The major climax of the Joseph story has arrived. He finally revealed to his brothers that he, the grand vizier of Egypt, was actually their long-lost (that is, sold into slavery... but who’s counting?) brother. And soon he will also be reunited with his father, in a beautiful and heart-warming scene. There is, however, an underlying tension that is NOT being addressed. I’m not referring here to the way the brothers treated Joseph; that plot line actually DOES get dealt with at length. No, this is a much-much older tension that dates back to Abraham. We, the Jewish people, are tied to the Promised Land, known originally as Canaan, later to be called Israel. And whenever an ancestor leaves this land, God expresses some displeasure. So when Joseph sends word to his father that he is alive and weathering this seven-year famine just swimmingly, the Zionistically-inclined reader might raise an eyebrow when Joseph adds, “God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me without delay! You will dwell in the land of Goshen, where you can stay close to me.” (Gen. 45:9-10)

But Jacob goes. He leaves without hesitation; almost interrupting his sons mid-speech because he is so eager to see Joseph. Somewhere in the back of his mind, however, he must know that this isn’t going to be a two-week stay in an AirBnB; they’re definitely relocating the whole extended family to Egypt. This, I would argue, is where the Torah appears sympathetic to Jacob’s predicament, and subtly suggests that Jacob intends to “follow” the words of Admiral Hopper: He’ll ask God’s forgiveness for having left, rather than permission to go. I say that the Torah is sympathetic, because even though Jacob isn’t waiting to inquire what God thinks of this plan, the text tells us that God comes to Jacob preemptively and blesses his endeavor: “And God said, ‘I am El, the God of your father. Fear not to go down to Egypt, for I will make you there into a great nation. I Myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I Myself will also bring you back, and Joseph’s hand shall close your eyes.’” (46:3-4) We might be tempted to view this as a very awkward moment. God said “don’t worry about going to Egypt,” and you and I might want to respond, “Ummmm... Jacob didn’t seem all that worried...” But I think the text is more empathetic than that.

God wants Jacob to know that it’s ok to make assertive, proactive decisions. God blesses Jacob’s uprooting of his family before he has to confront the ramifications of his actions for himself. Perhaps God is even speaking to subsequent generations of Israelites, who will understandably cry out: “why, oh why, did Jacob ever bring us here???” God reassures the slaves, their descendants, and yes, even you and me today, that Jacob made the right decision. Much like the immortal words of Grace Hopper, it also reminds us that waiting for permission and following procedure, established rules and precedent, and “the way it’s always been” doesn’t always yield the best results. It’s not just a facetious, anti-establishment quip; it is actually true that sometimes you have to forge ahead, trust your instincts, and only later, if and when it is necessary, ask for forgiveness for transgressing a norm or expectation. As we prepare to start a new (secular) year, with so many precedents and traditions already having been thrown out the window, and a genuine need to start afresh, I hope we all keep this teaching in mind. We surely do NOT know what lies ahead, but we WILL turn whatever it is into a blessing. 

Happy New Year!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Wikimedia Commons
2. Moshe Milner on Wikimedia Commons
3. Pixabay
4. Pixabay

Mikeitz: What Dreams May Be

In a lot of good literature, ancient and modern, there is a moment of ultimate accountability. Some call it karma, retribution, just desserts, or even - oddly enough - a “come to Jesus” moment. One way or another, things come full circle. The Bible loves this type of literary device. To be sure, it is a major feature in this week’s reading. My question, therefore, isn’t so much about IF it happens (it does), but rather: when does the actual MOMENT of comeuppance occur? In our particular story, Joseph is living in Egypt and the seven years of plenty have - as predicted - been followed by seven years of Covid... sorry, I meant to say “famine.” Joseph’s family, back in Canaan, have of course been afflicted by the scarcity as well, and Jacob ultimately sends ten of his remaining eleven sons to procure food from Egypt. And I cannot help but wonder - when exactly does it hit the brothers that the decades-old prophecies have come true?

You see, years earlier, when the brothers were forced to deal with their maddeningly bratty younger sibling, who just pranced around in his multi-colored coat and tattled on them to daddy, something TRULY sent them over the edge. Joseph, that little runt, had the insufferable chutzpah to tell them that he dreamt that eleven sheaves of wheat would bow down to him, and soon after, that eleven stars AND the sun and moon would also be prostrating before him. “It isn’t bad enough that you’re a spoiled brat, the favored child, and oblivious to the pain you’re causing the rest of us... now you think you’re one day going to be our KING?!?!?” They can’t take it anymore; they throw him in a pit, and soon after sell him as a slave to nomadic merchants passing by. But that was long ago. Ancient history. In our parashah, that little punk is no more, and instead the brothers are facing Tzafenat Paneach, the grand vizier of Egypt, second-in-command to Pharaoh! And they have NO CLUE that the two are one and the same.

Joseph realizes it first. Not only because he recognizes them, even when they do not know him, but the Torah wants to link this moment back to those prophecies from way back when: “For though Joseph recognized his brothers, they did not recognize him. Recalling the dreams that he had dreamt about them, Joseph said to them, ‘You are spies! You have come to see the land and it’s vulnerabilities!!” (Gen. 42:8-9) Deep down, Joseph is stunned and awed at this moment; here they are, bowing, begging, and groveling before him. Who would have ever thought?? However, just a few verses later, the Torah does something really interesting. As this powerful Egyptian lord keeps pressing them and bullying them, they recall - unprompted - what they did to Joseph! They have absolutely no idea that their long-lost, enslaved brother is standing in front of them, more powerful than any of them could EVER have imagined. Yet they turn to one another and say: “Alas, we are being punished because of our brother. We looked on at his anguish, yet paid no heed as he pleaded with us. That is why this distress has come upon us.” (v. 21) I guess that (festering...) pain wasn’t hidden too deep under the surface, was it?

But the brothers won’t actually have their “come to Jesus (Joseph?)” moment for a few more chapters. Joseph will keep them squirming for a while. When he finally reveals himself, however, I wonder how quickly the light bulbs went off over each of their heads? Or oil lamps, I suppose, if we’re being period-appropriate. That sinking realization that the eleven of us look an awful lot like bowing sheaves of wheat right now... And the point, I suppose, of all this is that we are meant to examine and reexamine ourselves as well. What we do, and say, and convey; it matters! Karma can indeed boomerang around and come flying back at us! When we put goodness and kindness into the world, it may return to us at the most unexpected - yet greatly appreciated - moments. And hurtful, vindictive things not only leave a mark on others, but may plague us too... for decades! As we prepare to launch into a new year, we can indeed begin with a clean slate. But that doesn’t erase the past, or heal wounds that were never addressed. It just means we have a new opportunity to grow, mend, feel, and learn for the future. Don’t let that precious chance go to waste.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Willis Lam on Wikimedia Commons
2. Rolfmueller on Wikimedia Commons
3. Nick Youngson on Alpha Stock Images
4. Pixabay.com

Va-Yeishev (pre-Chanukah): Waiting For A Special "Elixir" to Arrive

Chanukah is a good example of an evolving holiday. It's probably about 2,200 years old, and when it was first "dedicated" on our calendar (the word "Chanukah" means "dedication"), it surely must have seemed like a new-fangled kind of thing. Some people were on board with adding a celebration, others curmudgeonly said everything was better in the old days when no new holidays were added by anyone EVER! Over the centuries, Chanukah has been viewed as a symbol of Jewish military might and perseverance; as a lead-in to discussions of assimilation vs. ghettoization; a sign of God's protective power to make the oil last; a joyous day to exchange gelt (real coins or chocolate) and eat fried foods; a worthy competitor to Christmas in preventing little Jewish children from pining endlessly in December; a cautionary tale about zealotry; and an opportunity for interfaith connections, as groups join together to celebrate Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, Diwali, and more. Did I miss anything?

Oh, yes, I want to add one more: Chanukah, in more recent times, has also become a favorite holiday for environmental groups and Jewish climate change activists. Why? Because one of the central "miracles" of Chanukah reminds us that we all can make do with less. We "thought" we needed x amount of olive oil, and simply could NOT perform the rituals without it. Yet somehow, magically (or perhaps just more sparingly...) we figured it out. Is this not a central lesson as we head into 2021, and our country - please God - refocuses on our obligations to our earth? Chanukah invites us to reframe how we define "need." Rather than indulge in eight days of presents, and allowing ourselves and our children to satiate our cravings for more and more STUFF; maybe discussing the rationing of oil can lead to new thinking around what is sufficient, how to be content, and how to share with others and with our planet?

I actually want to add yet ANOTHER new perspective as well, a new and vital teaching that we can glean from our Festival of Lights. Right now, in the lead-up to Chanukah, all the nations on the planet are preparing for the release of a much-needed, much-anticipated vaccine against the Coronavirus. But we cannot all get it at once. This precious commodity won't immediately be ready to “brighten” all our lives. We have to make do. We have to make strategic, difficult choices about how to keep our society going, even as we desperately wait for more of this "elixir" to be produced. The parallels to the pure oil needed to rededicate the Ancient Temple are actually quite striking. All of what I said above could apply to the Chanukah story OR our current pre-vaccine predicament.

More than even the holidays of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Pesach, Sukkot, or Purim, Chanukah teaches us about communal obligation. When we band together, we can defeat entire armies. But not only that, we can also figure out how to share our resources in a more well-thought-out manner that benefits everyone. Whether it’s olive oil, presents, gelt, the diminishing resources of our planet, or a miraculous vaccine that can put an end to this pandemic nightmare. Chanukah reminds us that we can, and must, *dedicate* and *rededicate* ourselves to one another, and to our shared benefits. When we do, we can make the most miraculous things occur.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. ModernTribe.com
2. Christmashat on Freeimageslive
3. Stevepb on pixabay
4. KateNovikova on depositphotos

L’Chaim (Newsletter) Article, December, 2020: There Must Be 50 Ways to Give Tzedakah

 From the Rabbi’s Virtual Desk - There Must Be 50 Ways to Give Tzedakah.

You can give a dollar bill, Jill. Or use a credit card, Bernard. Click on a website, Dwight. Send a check in the mail, Gail. 

Ok, I think you get my point. We all know it is important to give tzedakah. But how much do we know about the challenges and barriers to RECEIVING it? Our Biblical and medieval ancestors all spoke about the inherent tensions in dealing with charitable behavior, and I think now is as good a time as any to review some basic principles. 

The Rambam (A.k.a. Moses Maimonides, 12th Century Spain & Egypt) actually wrote out a hierarchy of giving. At the lower end, it begins with giving begrudgingly in a public setting, which is NOT great… but still counts as tzedakah. Then the Rambam identifies a whole series of categories that factor in embarrassment. If the giver and the recipient know one another, that’s ok, but it CAN create embarrassment and shame. If the giver knows, but not the receiver, or vice versa, or neither, these are various levels of giving, according to the Rambam. And at the top of his list is teaching another a trade, or in some other way empowering others to assist themselves. 

This all seems theoretical, or just a nice set of guidelines to keep in mind. But right now, there is more than enough hardship and economic insecurity to go around. Many people may be on the receiving end of kindness, who never expected to find themselves there. A lot of individuals and families struggle with the shame, stigma, and self-reproach that may come with financial woes. I understand these concerns. The emotions are real… but so are the repercussions of a VERY scary economic downturn.

Please remember that Ohev Shalom is here for you, for us all. We have funds and resources that we are able - and honored - to distribute; without judgment or guilt. I know it can be challenging to ask for help, and sometimes we literally do not know how to do so. I am writing this message, right now, to tell you that ALL the stages along Rambam’s ladder of tzedakah matter. You don’t need to evaluate whether someone else’s potential need may or may not be greater than yours. Please reach out if you need help. Or if you know someone else who might, we want to know that as well. 

I cannot instruct or command you NOT to feel shame. It’s an awkward topic, plain and simple. The needs, however, are real, and so is the pain. If there are 50+ ways to GIVE tzedakah, there are surely 50 - or more - ways to receive it. All are legitimate, all are welcome, and all those needs are seen. No need to be coy, boy (or girl).

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber