Ha'Iggeret ~ The Message

The existence of our planet Earth in the universe is very improbable. Lots of hypothetical studies have been made and lots of numbers have been thrown around. Some have said that the likelihood of a planet such as Earth is 1 in a million millions chance (1 followed by 12 zeroes), others say it’s a 1 in 700 quintillion chance (7 followed by 20 zeroes). There are an estimated 700 quintillion planets in the universe but only 1 Earth. There were 700 quintillion chances to get the numbers right, but only once did (forgive me) the stars align.

Had gravity been any stronger, any weaker, we may not exist. Had we been any closer or any farther from the sun we may not exist. Had the amount of carbon dioxide been any higher or lower, we may not exist. You get it — there are lots of conditions that had to be juuuuust right for us to be here.

In the context of gravity, in the context of CO2 content in the atmosphere, in the context of our distance from the sun, the details matter. An extra decimal, an added zero and we start fading away slowly like Marty McFly if he hadn’t gotten to the dance in time (did I do that cultural reference right?)

Details matter, too, in this week’s parsha. B’nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) are instructed to build the Mikdash or the Mishkan, a sanctuary for G-d to dwell in while B’nei Yisrael was in the desert.

“And let them make for me a sanctuary so I may dwell among them - וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם”

The Torah goes on to detail exactly now the Mishkan should be constructed, from the exact cubits of the Ark inside that will carry the luchot (the tablets, you know, from the Ten Commandments / Aseret HaDibrot?), specific design elements such as the fact that the menorah (lamp) for the Mikdash should be hammered out of a single piece of gold, not soldered from many pieces. And then for the tent covering of the Mishkan itself, with the specified colors of purple, blue, crimson, and embroidered with the likenesses keruvim (cherubim, delightful angel creatures).

There are SO many psukim, lines, in this parsha detailing how the Mishkan should be built. In a succinct, carefully worded text such as the Torah, these details are not extraneous. What is the message of the Mishkan? G-d wants us to be detail-oriented? G-d is a very strict interior designer?

Not to lessen the importance of this, but kind of? The Mishkan’s “point” is to be a reminder of Creation. Our Torah commentators compare the descriptions of G-d’s Creation to the descriptions of our building of the Mishkan. That our creation of the Mishkan is a microcosm of G-d’s Creation of the world.

My humble take is that G-d created the world, and the Mishkan (or any Sanctuary / place of holiness) is a reminder we are on Earth to create, too. We had a hand in the specifics of the Mishkan in the same way G-d had a “hand” in the specifics of our improbable universe. We have laws and ordinances and practices that help us to accomplish our creation, parallel to the laws and ordinances and instructions in building the Mishkan. The tiny details do not bog us down, they remind us that there’s a bigger picture. That we are *not* G-d, we are human beings. Human beings with sparks of holiness, created by the Most Holy, here to make the world more holy.

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This week’s parsha, Parshat Mishpatim, marks a change in the flow of the Torah thus far. In the entire preceding parshiyot, we’ve only gotten about 40 mitzvot or commandments, but in Mishpatim ALONE we get 53.

We get a wide range of mitzvot from this parsha — the laws of kashrut (keeping kosher), laws of stealing, commandment of prayer, and others. But a main theme is the idea of dealing with other people generally, as well as in relation to their money or belongings. But when we refer to stealing, we don’t just mean money or belongings. This refers to stealing someone’s sleep (slamming doors when your family is sleeping, talking on the phone when your roommate is napping), stealing someone’s time (arriving at a Zoom meeting late, or leaving someone on hold for too long), and even stealing fresh air from others (blocking the window or door in a stuffy room).

An interesting commandment we are given is, “You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan - כָּל־אַלְמָנָ֥ה וְיָת֖וֹם לֹ֥א תְעַנּֽוּן׃”

The Baal HaTurim points out this usage of the word כל, kol meaning “all.” Every single widow and every single orphan should be treated with kindness, even if they are well-to-do. The Baal HaTurim explains that this usage of “kol” teaches that even if someone seems “comfortable” after a loss, no kind of hurt can be compensated for simply by earthly possessions.

When I read this, my thoughts were, “…well it sure is easier to mourn in a nice, warm house than a not-nice, cold house…” Which probably isn’t the right response? I don’t know. There’s a movement to “make Instagram casual again” and this refers to the fact that Instagram has become this glossy, posed film reel of the seemingly-perfect lives of others. This is DEFINITELY different, but we have this idea in our minds that if something *looks* beautiful, it is. That if someone *is* beautiful, their life is too. That even if someone has experienced loss, “well at least they still have the vacation home in Aspen!”

This goes for celebrities too. We hear all the time how celebrities will speak from the height of fame, the height of wealth and privilege, saying how even these material things can never fill the void of hurt, sadness, loneliness, and meaningful relationships.

I’m going on about this because the key to caring for *every* widow and orphan is empathy and basic respect. To go back to our rules about stealing — our belongings, our time, our space, our sleep, these are things (both tangible and intangible) that make us human. They are the base of our earthly existence, and respecting that time, space, and sleep is the basis of what we owe one another.

This is why I think these laws about interpersonal relationships have to appear now — seemingly abruptly inserted between last week’s experience at Har Sinai (Mount Sinai), only to return to the Har Sinai experience at the end of the parsha. Of course there are lots of other mitzvot that we are responsible for in regard to G-d, but how can our commandments related to G-d mean anything if we don’t have respect for the creatures of G-d’s earth?

I’ve been getting these daily emails from the Chofetz Chaim Heritage Foundation, all relating to interpersonal relationships. The first day’s idea asked, “Do you know someone who's mean or difficult?”

Well duh. (Who just popped into your mind? That’s the person we’re going to focus on.) I was excited to read this. I don’t like feeling negatively about people! Like the saying goes, “holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

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We receive the 10 Commandments, Aseret HaDibrot, in this week’s parsha! Of course this is a big, holy moment, but I want to discuss a less-talked-about idea that Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, zt”l shared in his commentary on this parsha a few years ago.

In addition to receiving the 10 Commandments this week, Moshe (Moses) also receives some advice from his father-in-law, Yitro (Jethro).

When Yitro hears of the great miracles B’nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) have experienced at the Splitting of the Red Sea, Kriyat Yam Suf, he comes to Moshe, where he sees Moshe sitting in “judgement” of B’nei Yisrael day in and day out, but doing this all alone. (What is Moshe judging them for? Some commentators say this was actually the day after Yom Kippur and that this parsha is out of chronological order, and others disagree. We won’t get into that. Point here is: Moshe is sitting and judging lots of people. Like me on a Saturday in the park!! Ah I crack myself up.)

Yitro says that what Moshe is doing, which is not delegating judgement to a system of judges is Lo Tov, לא טוב not good. Rabbi Sacks pointed out that t  he only other time the phrase לא טוב is used is after G-d creates Adam and then subsequently creates Chava (Eve) — לֹא־ט֛וֹב הֱי֥וֹת הָֽאָדָ֖ם לְבַדּ֑וֹ - it is not good for man to be alone. So it’s not good for man to live / be alone, and it’s not good for man to lead alone.

So back to Yitro. Yitro says Moshe will wear himself out, as well as the the people, by not delegating his judging to a proper judicial system. Well obviously it would help Moshe not be so exhausted, but how does this help the people? They’re just waiting there for their verdict, right? Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, known as the Netziv, has an interesting perspective. In his commentary on this parsha, he quotes the Talmud, “Surely where there is strict justice, there is no peace, and where there is peace, there is no strict justice! What then is the justice that coexists with peace? We must say: mediation.”

The Netziv connects this idea to Moshe and the people. Moshe was a prophet of immense power. Two people would walk into his presence with a conflict and he would know instantly who was at fault. Moshe was a strict guy, he wasn’t one for mediation or compromise. Which means that, while there was justice, there wasn’t much peace in his wake.

Sometimes we think the thing that is 100% just is the thing that is 100% right to do, but from this idea we learn that this is not always the case. Feelings and emotions of those around us are also very important. While Moshe couldn’t very well lie about knowing which party was at fault, he could delegate his judging powers to non-prophetic people. Not only would he be elevating his appointed judges, he would also be allowing peaceful reconciliations to take place.

Mediations or compromises leave both parties happy and validated, versus strict justice that leaves one party rejected and the other triumphant. Compromise isn’t the solution to everything in life of course, but in conflict, sometimes it is.

Maybe this is not the same thing, but Rachel Berry (played by recently outed-as-problematic actress, Lea Michele) from the 2010s Fox TV show Glee (about a high school show choir club) has popped into my head. If you didn’t watch Glee, we can definitely still be friends, but you must know, in order for us to move forward, that I had a Glee binder throughout high school that I used un-ironically and honestly pretty proudly. So it’s you who may want to remove affiliations 🥴

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This week’s parsha is Beshalach, and the Shabbat we read this parsha is known as “Shabbat Shira,” or the Shabbat of Song. (As you may have realized, my name is Shira, and this is Shabbat Shira! “Shabbat of Song” referring to Shirat HaYam, the Song at the Sea during Kriyat Yam Suf, the splitting of the Sea of Reeds or the Red Sea. I studied music in college, and continue to be a fan / maker of music… you get it)

I totally tend to speak in extremes, but (for many reasons besides the fact that this is Shabbat Shira and I happen to be Shira too) this actually is my #1 favorite parsha to learn about. If you woke me up at 4 AM and said, “Give a dvar Torah right now,” I would go to this.

After 10 wild and crazy plagues, B’nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) are finally free to leave Mitzrayim (Egypt), but as we have come to expect, G-d hardens Pharaoh’s heart once more, and he changes his mind. Just as they feel finally free, B’nei Yisrael find themselves trapped between the Sea of Reeds, Yam Suf, and Pharaoh and his approaching army. When B’nei Yisrael sees their predicament, they are rightfully frightened. Moshe (Moses) tries to comfort them, saying they should have no fear — G-d will deliver you. But then G-d comes back with, “Why do you cry out to me? Tell B’nei Yisrael to go forward. And then hold your staff out so that B’nei Yisrael may march onto dry ground”

Do you catch that order? “Tell B’nei Yisrael to go forward and THEN you can split the sea.” G-d had said many times that B’nei Yisrael will be delivered, that Egypt will be dealt with harshly, and so G-d expects a little bit of faith from them. We know how the rest of the story goes, the sea splits and B’nei Yisrael is free. Don’t you just want to shake them and say, “Goodness! Just wade into the water!!”

My mom always says that if you’re having a hard time deciding on something, it’s because you don’t have enough information. B’nei Yisrael just saw 10 miraculous, harsh plagues that left them unscathed. But they have also just experienced 210 years of slavery in Egypt. When do the miracles become enough to restore faith? And are we expected to make such a huge leap of faith when we’ve been suffering for so long?

We learn in the Talmud and Midrash that one person did have the faith to jump in the water first — Nachshon. Nachshon’s emunah, his belief and faith in G-d encouraged the rest of B’nei Yisrael to also make the leap. Then the sea split. We learn though, that the sea didn’t split until the water had reached Nachshon’s nose / eyes. What incredible faith… To hold out until the last possible second, and still remain steadfast. This reminds me of the story of Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac in Sefer Bereshit, the Book of Genesis. Avraham (Abraham) wasn’t some cold-blooded, heartless person who was willing to kill his son. He was a person who knew the power of context. Why would G-d have him kill his son who he waited and prayed and longed for for so many years? Why would G-d promise Avraham generations as numerous as stars in the sky?

So back to this story — why would G-d send the 10 plagues, finally free B’nei Yisrael, get them THIS FAR only to have them be destroyed? It makes no sense that this would have been the end of B’nei Yisrael. But do we think rationally when faced with a terrifying situation? Not really!

For full text, email me at [email protected] or join my email list here.

"When You Believe" - London Cast of Prince of Egypt https://youtu.be/wTWbZAqRJDc?t=15

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The first mitzvah, or commandment, we are given as a whole people is the commandment to recognize Rosh Chodesh (literally meaning the head of the month — rosh is head, chodesh is month), or recognizing the new moon. A thousand years after this first commandment was given, during the Chanukah story, Rosh Chodesh was one of the practices banned in addition to keeping Shabbat (the Sabbath) and performing Brit Milah (circumcision).

But why? That Rosh Chodesh is on the same level of two practices that are so sacred — Brit Milah and Shabbat — makes clear its significance.

Ok so why do both G-d and the villains of the Chanukah story (the Seleucids, the Syrian-Greeks) care so much about us knowing when we’ve started a new month?

On the basic level, taking away Rosh Chodesh takes away our ability to keep time and having a calendar. Not having a calendar means we don’t have any of our chagim, our holidays and festivals. So without Rosh Chodesh, we also lose the ability to observe a whole lot of other mitzvot (commandments).

But on a deeper level, Rosh Chodesh represents renewal. The word for month, Chodesh, is connected to the word for renewal, repair, newness — chadesh. Just as the moon wanes and dissolves into a sliver only to build itself back up to fullness, so do we. Just as the moon is in a constant state of movement, moving through stages, so are we. Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch comments that if we were to base our time on something fixed and immovable, we would get the idea that we, too are fixed and immovable. The Torah teaches us that we are, in fact, NOT.

But making changes are hard so I’ll give a small example. According to psychologists, it takes 21 days to break a habit. The Hebrew months are 29.5 days, so there’s no direct parallel here, but it’s close enough. Is there a small habit you’d like to work on? Nail biting, singing in public, leaving your dishes in the sink to “soak,” procrastinating your work, telling people you want to get coffee with them even if you don’t really want to…. there are lots of things we as humans do that are subjectively deemed “bad.” But a reminder: no habit that you can be thinking of has any inherent moral value. You’re not bad if you sing in Walgreens, you’re just annoying. Kidding.

With Rosh Chodesh, we don’t celebrate the victorious moment (such as winning the fight between you and your subjectively “bad” habit). We celebrate the beginning of the lunar cycle — the resh-shaped (ר) sliver of the moon, not the gorgeous glowy orb that is a full moon (around the 15th of the month). We celebrate the quiet beginnings, the objectively non-exciting part of the cycle.

Did you ever use Khan Academy in school? Khan Academy single handedly helped me to pass every math or stats class I ever took. The story of Khan Academy is cool — it was started by Sal Kahn (who I just found out is from Metairie, Louisiana????), an endlessly patient super genius who made tons and tons of amazing instructional educational videos online. I used to get Sal’s newsletter (I call him Sal because I really feel like we’re friends after all the #quality time we’ve spent together), and one of his pieces, called “Why I’ll Never Tell My Son He’s Smart” has stuck with me to this day. Here’s an excerpt...

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Khan Academy article mentioned

Ed Sheeran being a bad singer in his childhood

Ed Sheeran being an amazing singer in his new release "Afterglow"

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At the end of last week’s parsha, Moshe (Moses) and Aharon (Aaron) take on the responsibility of being B’nei Yisrael’s (Children of Israel) spokespeople. G-d tells them to go to the people and explain what’s going to happen (G-d’s intention to redeem them, etc) and also to do some miracles or “signs” to really seal the deal. G-d also tells them that when they go to Pharaoh demanding that B’nei Yisrael should be freed, G-d will strengthen Pharaoh’s heart and not let them free.

I think we gloss over the fact that Moshe and Aharon know their first demand to Pharaoh is a lost cause. They go in doing their best (obvi) but know it’s not the end.

Ok back to that soon. So Moshe and Aharon go to B’nei Yisrael, and B’nei Yisrael is convinced! They’re relieved and happy and believe that G-d will redeem them. And then of course, Moshe and Aharon go to Pharaoh, demand, and fail. But Pharaoh not only refuses, but also makes the work even more difficult on the people.

B’nei Yisrael is very mad at Moshe and Aharon now, which isn’t surprising. They don’t know what Moshe and Aharon know — that things are going to be tough for a while but it will all be worth it. But what is surprising is that Moshe is also mad — he goes to G-d very upset that his first go didn’t pan out. Moshe says, “Ever since I came to Pharaoh, he’s just made things worse! And you’ve still not delivered your people.“ Rabbi Jacob ben Asher, or Baal ha’Turim is also surprised by this, explaining that Moshe knew this first try wasn’t it, but he didn’t think his intervention would make things WORSE… he thought things would at least get a little better. But they didn’t.

G-d responds immediately, saying, “You will see what I will do to Pharaoh. He’s going to drive the people out.” Moshe is questioning G-d of course, but mostly he’s questioning Pharaoh. He can’t see a world where Pharaoh does anything that helps B’nei Yisrael.

G-d tells Moshe immediately that he will see change soon, but G-d does it in an interesting way. G-d doesn’t say, “I am so great, it’ll be fine.” G-d’s response is way more validating and way more personal. More like, “I hear your concern, Moshe, and though of course I am pulling the strings, you will see Pharaoh set my people free.”

And this is more of a miracle than the people magically appearing in Israel. To see someone so horribly vile, someone who hates both G-d and B’nei Yisrael so much be the agent of G-d is miraculous.

In this week’s parsha, Va’era, we see 7 of the 10 plagues of Egypt, the Makkot Mitzrayim. Up until the 6th plague, Pharaoh hardens his heart to the plagues of blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, and dead livestock. But at the 6th plague, boils, we have new language, now it’s Hashem that hardens Pharaoh’s heart. If Pharaoh needs Hashem to harden his heart, doesn’t that mean that he would let B’nei Yisrael go?

Well, yes. So why go on with more plagues if 5 would have convinced Pharaoh? Is it to punish the Egyptians, to punish Pharaoh? No. It’s to convince B’nei Yisrael. At the beginning of this parsha, B’nei Yisrael doesn’t believe what Moshe tells them after the first time Pharaoh rejects the idea at the end of last parsha. The Torah tells us they didn’t listen due to their short breath — קֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ. Ok, so give them a minute, right? This Kotzer Ruach, this short breath, refers to B’nei Yisrael’s crazy daily lives. They are working extremely hard, so hard in fact that they “don’t have time” to think about spirituality or G-d. Our commentary tells us that Pharaoh did this on purpose, working them super hard so they wouldn’t have the spiritual or mental strength to not be beaten down.

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Mazel tov! We’ve reached the second book of the Torah, Sefer Shemot / the Book of Exodus! As well as the opening number of the excellent Dreamworks film, Prince of Egypt. We are entering Sefer Shemot, the Book of Exodus!  A new Pharaoh has arisen (or just new edicts have begun… there’s differing opinions) who is threatened by the fact that B’nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) have thrived in Egypt. So Pharaoh demands that all Ivri (Hebrew) baby boys be flung into the Nile.

Enter Yocheved, daughter of Levi, granddaughter of Yaakov (Jacob), who gives birth to a particularly “good / ט֣וֹב” Hebrew baby boy. She hides him as long as she can, but eventually has to make a decision. Some commentators say she put her baby in the Nile momentarily and was planning to come back, some say she was sending her baby off for what she hoped was a better life, and others say she was finding the classic Jewish mother loophole — flipping the script and following through with Pharaoh’s command to put all Hebrew baby boys in the Nile. No matter what her intention was, her baby floats down the Nile to be discovered Divinely by the daughter of Pharaoh, who takes him in and names him Moshe (Moses) — “for I drew him out of the water” כִּ֥י מִן־הַמַּ֖יִם מְשִׁיתִֽהוּ There is also a piece of commentary that connects Moshe’s being saved or drawn out of a harsh place to his eventual role as the “savior” of B’nei Yisrael, too.

So Moshe grows up in the palace and eventually finds out he’s Jewish. He goes out (maybe for the first time?) and sees an Egyptian task master beating a fellow Ivri. We are told that Moshe looked this way and that way, but saw no one, so he struck down the Egyptian and buried him in the sand. When I first read this, I assumed Moshe was looking this way and that way to see if there was anyone who would see him commit this crime. But no! He was looking around to see if anyone else was going to intervene. Maybe I’m just dim, but when I first read commentary confirming this, it really surprised me. It wasn’t that Moshe was worried about getting caught (I mean maybe he was a little), it was that he wanted to discern if now is really the time to step up. There may have been a huge crowd around him, but if no one was willing to intervene, there may as well have been no one.

Even now I’m reflecting and thinking about the times that I personally have “stepped up” and done something I was proud of. Thinking about it, I’m realizing these situations happened when either 1) no one else was around or 2) no one around was choosing to do the thing I knew was right. Nothing makes me more angry than inactive bystanders. Of course we’re social creatures, we want to be accepted and approved of by our fellow humans. But sometimes being forced to act because no one else will, can be revealing.

There is no such thing as evil, there is only lack of good. Meaning, there can only be evil when we fail to be good.

This reminds me of a movie my dad put on last week, called the Electric Horseman, starring a mustachioed Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. Robert Redford is a washed up, hungover former rodeo star / cowboy (I was going to say “spoiler alert” but this came out in 1979 so if you haven’t seen it yet…. IDK man) who’s now sold out as the face of a breakfast cereal brand. He’s about to make a big PR appearance with a $12 million racing horse, named Rising Star, when he discovers that the horse is drugged up and injured. Robert Redford then steals away into the night on the horse, planning to free him into the wild. Why does he do it? He sees pain, he sees a lack of good, and steps in.

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Have you ever stumbled upon an old Sticky Note that says something absolutely nonsensical? If the note made no sense, why did we write it in the first place? Well, firstly it wasn’t nonsensical then. Secondly, a one-time flight confirmation number, daily schedule, or grocery list are totally relevant for a singular moment. But what about the information you write down that *is* a little more long term? Maybe a ~deep~ quote you thought of, or a good icebreaker activity— that has a little more lasting power, right? Obviously our momentary Sticky Note ideas are obsolete after their singular time has passed. But our unique insights should have a bit more of a shelf life! But what about beyond this? How does anything truly last? How can *we* last? As we learn in this week’s parsha, that which lasts is that which is rooted in G-dliness.

A CT scan manual would be worthless in 1901 if CTs only came about in the 70s, a toddler's sock won't fly for your 10-year-old, and a 2011 iPhone charger with the wrong insert is unhelpful for your iPhone 12. These hollow, physical things have no lasting power. But the Torah? We're thousands of years later and you're sitting here reading an email about the parsha.

We learn from every word choice, every letter, every space in lines in the Torah and so of course we also  learn from this parsha's first word -- ויחי // Vayechi, "and he lived." This parsha focuses almost exclusively on the death of Yaakov (Jacob), but it begins saying how long he grew to live — 147 years. And for all of these years, Yaakov Avinu (Jacob) was alive. This was because he was wholly connected to G‑dliness, living for the sake of G-d.

When on his deathbed, does Yaakov tie up his own loose ends or speak of his own greatness? Aside from commanding his burial place, Yaakov spends his last hours giving blessings to his children and grandchildren. And even ensuring that he is buried in Maarat HaMachpelah (the Cave of Machpelah) is an act that binds his direct descendants to their ancestors: Avraham (Abraham), Sarah, Yitzchak (Isaac), Rivkah (Rebecca), and Leah, who are all buried there.

Our sages say that the word “death” is not used to describe Yaakov’s “expiration,” meaning he is still living today. But weren’t Yitzchak and Avraham also very righteous? Even though their deaths are specifically mentioned, what is different about Yaakov?

Rashba (Rabbi Shlomo ben Aderet) points out that both Avraham and Yitzchak had wayward sons. Avraham had Yishmael (Ishmael) and Yitzchak had Esav (Esau), both who strayed. Yaakov however had 12 sons, all who became the shevatim (tribes) and carried on Yaakov’s legacy.

This is one of the reasons why we are called B’nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel, aka Jacob). Yaakov is also the most prolific (children-wise) of our avot (forefathers), which helps with the efficiency of his legacy. So if Yaakov spent his life living for the sake of G-d, this means he lived for the sake of the future. This is a future he didn’t get to see, but one that ensured the continuation of his people and the ideals that he believed in.

On Shabbat, parents bless their daughters that they should be like Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel, and Leah — the Imahot (foremothers). It would make sense that parents would bless their sons to be like the Avot (forefathers) , but they don’t. Parents bless their sons that they should be like Yosef’s (Joseph) sons Ephraim and Menashe (Manasseh).

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This week’s parsha begins to wrap up Yosef’s (Joseph’s) isolation in Egypt. As we read in last week’s parsha, Miketz, in the second year of the famine (that Yosef so deftly interpreted from Pharaoh’s dream), Yosef’s brothers leave Israel to get grain from Egypt. When they come before Yosef, his brothers don’t recognize him, which is credible. He’s now 39 and the last time they saw him was when he was 17, and he’s dressed and groomed like an Egyptian. But Yosef recognizes them and decides to put them through a little test. Yosef demands that the brothers leave and come back, but this time with their youngest brother — Yosef’s full brother, the son of Yaakov (Jacob) and Yosef’s mother Rachel (Rachel), Benyamin (Benjamin). He wants to see if the brothers have changed since their awful treatment of Yosef so many years ago, and so before letting them go, Yosef hides a silver goblet in Benyamin’s bag. Yosef takes Benyamin to be his prisoner, but immediately Yehuda (Judah) jumps to Benyamin’s defense, which is where our parsha this week, Vayigash, picks up. Yehuda demands that he be taken instead, claiming thatYaakov won’t survive losing Benyamin, because he has already lost his other beloved son (Yosef). Yehuda’s plea is so moving and genuine, that Yosef breaks down and reveals his identity to his brothers.

It’s a moving moment, one that is unique because the Torah doesn’t often describe emotional expressions in such detail. Even when Yosef reveals who he is, the brothers are still shocked and even embarrassed, terrified that now Yosef will take revenge on them for their actions when he was 17. Yosef says something extremely powerful, proving that he doesn’t blame his brothers for their treatment of him. He says — “You did not send me here… G-d did” לֹֽא־אַתֶּ֞ם שְׁלַחְתֶּ֤ם אֹתִי֙ הֵ֔נָּה כִּ֖י הָֽאֱלֹקים

Yosef expresses an incredible sentiment that only someone in his situation can truly understand. We are truly just G-dly agents on this earth. Of course we have free will, or bechira (בחירה), but what will be will be … מה שיהיה, יהיה. It’s a complicated topic that I don’t think I will ever truly grasp!

Yosef’s brothers finally accept that he has forgiven them, and Pharaoh insists that they all move to Egypt. This news of Yosef’s brothers is specifically mentioned as being pleasing or good in the eyes of (וַיִּיטַב֙ בְּעֵינֵ֣י, vayitav b’enei) Pharaoh and his servants.

Why would Pharaoh and his servants be happy that Yosef’s brothers came from Israel? And on a broader level, what makes anyone happy? We are happy about a lot of things. We’re happy when good things happen to the people we love, or to people who deserve good things, and of course to us, right? I’m sure you’ve read those pop psychology articles about how sharing good news with others leads to second-hand positivity which has been recorded as leading to better communication, healthier relationships and working environments, and even better sleep! A study at the University of Rochester saw that when undergraduate students shared certain happy events with others and were greeted with enthusiasm, they were in a better mood and rated that event as being more special or more fulfilling than if met with indifference.

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This week we have the continuation of Joseph (Yosef’s) story in Egypt. Pharaoh has had 2 dreams that none of his advisors can explain. Yosef has built up a nice reputation in prison as a great dream interpreter, and by being a star networker, ends up being consulted for this particular instance.

As you may remember, Pharoah’s first dream is him standing by the Nile. He sees 7 well-fed, healthy cows hanging out. Then he sees 7 malnourished, thin cows coming up after them, which then stand with the healthy cows. Then the 7 malnourished cows eat the well-fed ones. The next dream shows 7 healthy ears of grain growing in the field. Then come 7 unhealthy, beaten ears of grain that grow up to the healthy ones, devouring them.

Yosef interprets this as meaning that Egypt will have 7 years of plenty, followed by 7 years of famine.According to the Midrash, Pharaoh’s interpreters told him he would have 7 children but then bury them all, or that he was going to defeat 7 nations, but none of those explanations satisfied him. Why? What no one addresses is why all 14 cows are standing together at one point — before the skinny cows ate the fat cows, they were existing on the banks of the Nile together. Pharaoh’s interpreters were perplexed by this. How can you have bad and good at the same time?

Yosef answers this question after he interprets by not only decoding the dream, but ALSO giving his advice on how to solve it, too! He suggests that they store food for 7 years, so that when the famine comes, they will be ok. Just as the skinny cows stood next to the fat cows, the store houses of food will stand alongside the famine — good and bad at the same time.

This idea of saving the good so that even in the bad, things are ok reminds me of something I heard recently on a podcast with the actor Matthew McConaughey. You may recognize him from every early 2000s romantic comedy ever, but he’s now a newly minted New York Times Bestselling author! He just released a memoir / life approach book called Greenlights, which is essentially a combination of his own musings and journals he has kept since he was 14 years old. Matthew McConaughey is kind of a mythological creature — an incredibly successful but seemingly totally laid back and chilled out guy. How can you be so chilled out AND successful seems to be the biggest question we all have.

Matthew McConaughey’s answer is that he is in fact NOT such a roll-out-of-bed-and-go kind of person. He’s really a fascinating guy to listen to… all about self betterment and doing everything with precision and thoughtfulness. But something he talked about that I liked was in regard to his keeping journals. He says that people tend to write in journals when they’re sad or not feeling like they’re in a good place. He noticed that he was doing the same thing and decided that didn’t make sense. Why write down what you’re doing that doesn’t make you happy? So he started writing in his journal when things were good. So that when he looked back, he could start emulating that person who was doing so well, the person going through what he calls “Greenlights” in life. Times where no one is stopping you and you’re sailing by.

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