How Trust Can Be Restored

Parashat Vayechi, Genesis 47:28 - 50:26

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

The news stream today is filled with stories of abuse and betrayal, and we might wonder whether deeds like this can ever be forgiven. And even if they are, can the perpetrators ever be trusted again? 

The tale of Joseph and his brothers, on one of its many levels, is a story of forgiveness that ends with an unforgettable picture of trust restored.

The turning-point of the story came in last week’s parasha, when Judah offered himself in exchange for his younger brother Benjamin, and Joseph finally revealed himself. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes, “This is the first recorded moment in history in which one human being forgives another.” 

Human-to-human forgiveness frees us from the cruel, never-ending process of trying to pay for our misdeeds and getting others to pay for theirs—or resenting them if they don’t. Forgiveness allows family life and community life to continue on, despite our inevitable shortcomings and even outright sins. But, of course, forgiveness doesn’t magically fix everything. If we have done wrong, we might be forgiven, but we still have to face the consequences of our actions and make amends. Only then do we start to regain trust. If we’ve been wronged, we might forgive but that doesn’t mean we trust the offender. Forgiveness paves the way for a trust-restoration process in our families and communities, however extended it might be.

It’s likely that Joseph had forgiven his brothers even before he revealed himself to them, as Rabbi Sacks claims: “Joseph forgives his brothers without their asking for it, without their apology, and long before he tells them who he is.” But Judah, representing all the brothers, must demonstrate repentance by reversing the wrong they'd done to Joseph. Judah must be ready to pay the price by doing the right thing for Joseph's stand-in, Benjamin. Only then can Joseph begin to show his forgiveness. And only in this week’s parasha, after the death of Jacob, does the terminology of forgiveness become explicit. The brothers plead with Joseph: “Your father gave this order before he died: ‘Say to Yosef, “I beg you now, please forgive your brothers’ crime and wickedness in doing you harm.”’ So now, we beg of you, forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father” (Gen 50:16b–17 CJB, emphasis added).

Without forgiveness, the whole story of Joseph and his brothers never could have reached this final chapter. Joseph had to forgive his brothers before he could create a way for them to prove themselves, as they did through Judah in last week’s parasha. But forgiveness alone doesn't restore trust. The offender has to earn my trust, which takes time, and forgiveness provides him the opportunity to do so. Forgiveness in itself doesn’t restore the relationship, but it makes restoration possible.

When the brothers finally ask for forgiveness after Jacob’s death, Joseph responds with words of reassurance: 

But Yosef said to them, “Don’t be afraid! Am I in the place of God? You meant to do me harm, but God meant it for good—so that it would come about as it is today, with many people’s lives being saved. So don’t be afraid—I will provide for you and your little ones.” In this way he comforted them, speaking kindly to them. (Gen 50:19–21)

Years later, and a few verses down, Joseph prepares for his own death.

Yosef said to his brothers, “I am dying. But God will surely remember you and bring you up out of this land to the land which he swore to Avraham, Yitz’chak and Ya‘akov.” Then Yosef took an oath from the sons of Isra’el: “God will surely remember you, and you are to carry my bones up from here.” So Yosef died at the age of 110, and they embalmed him and put him in a coffin in Egypt. (Gen 50:24–26)

In the end Joseph, the dominant one, the one before whom all the brothers, including Judah, have bowed down several times, becomes dependent on his brothers. And he unabashedly states his dependence: “you are to carry my bones up from here.” Joseph the leading son who saves his entire family, Joseph the ruler of Egypt who is embalmed like an Egyptian and placed in an Egyptian coffin, turns his gaze from Egypt to the land promised to his forefathers—and must depend on his brothers to get him there.

Before Jacob died, he had told Joseph, “I will lie down with my fathers and you shall carry me out of Egypt and bury me in their grave.” After his final blessing on his twelve sons, Jacob reiterated this instruction to all of them (49:29–30), and they carried out this wish promptly. Joseph’s final instructions, in contrast, provide for an intermediate period. It’s not until God brings all the children of Israel up from Egypt that Joseph’s bones are to go up with them for his final burial. Why the delay? Perhaps conditions had deteriorated in Egypt for the sons of Israel, but there’s also a deeper reason. Joseph, who was rejected and then separated from his brothers for over twenty years, will not allow himself to be separated again. For as long as his brothers remain in Egypt, he too will remain with them. There will come a time when the entire family of Abraham will be reunited in the Promised Land. Until that time, however, Joseph foregoes the privilege of being buried with his fathers. Until the brothers are able to go home, Joseph will not go home, but will remain with his brothers in solidarity. Moreover, he will trust his brothers to bear him up and carry him to his resting place when they do depart. 

The tale of Joseph and his brothers comes full circle. It began as the brothers cast Joseph into a pit and returned home without him. Now, at the end, Joseph will descend into another pit, death itself, and trust his brothers to lift him up and carry him with them when they take their journey home. Joseph dies with his mission fulfilled and his family restored at last.

The brothers had to earn Joseph’s trust, but in the end he bestows a gift of trust upon them by allowing them to reverse their old sin. Thus, the Torah reveals the boundless possibilities of forgiveness and restored trust—even in our day of betrayal and distrust. 

 Adapted from A Life of Favor: A Family Therapist Examines the Story of Joseph and His Brothers, by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Addendum: Who deserves forgiveness?

This commentary opens with a question, or two actually: “The news stream today is filled with stories of abuse and betrayal, and we might wonder whether deeds like this can ever be forgiven. And even if they are, can the perpetrators ever be trusted again?” Because it doesn't answer these questions directly, it could create the impression that victims of the sort of sexual harassment and abuse that have been demanding our attention lately just need to forgive and move on. And worse, that the onus of forgiving and restoring trust is on the victim. That’s not at all what I intend, so allow me to provide a few points of clarification:

1.      Forgiveness can never be demanded or coerced—especially not by the perpetrator or anyone advocating for him/her. This ban includes those who are advising or counseling the victim—they are not to pressure the victim to forgive in any way. It must be a free choice.

2.      If one chooses to forgive, he or she is personally dropping the charges against the perpetrator, not declaring him innocent or excusing or minimizing the behavior.  

3.      Dropping the charges in this specific sense does not preclude taking appropriate action. If a relative abused you as a child, make sure that he or she doesn’t get the opportunity to abuse someone else. If you were sexually harassed at work, report that to the proper authorities. Forgiving does not leave you powerless.

4.      You don’t forgive to benefit the perpetrator, but to benefit yourself and your own well-being. The perpetrator’s sins can bind the victim emotionally and spiritually; forgiveness breaks that tie. This is especially relevant when the perpetrator is unrepentant or unavailable . . . or dead.

5.      Forgiveness takes power away from the perpetrator and gives it to the victim, who is now no longer the victim. Dr. Fred Luskin, Director of the Stanford University Forgiveness Projects says that by forgiving, we “become a hero instead of a victim in the story [we] tell.”

6.      Forgiveness in itself does not restore trust or relationship. That’s the point of the original post I’m commenting on. We can choose to forgive freely and unconditionally, but trust must be earned and proven. I can forgive the offender, but he or she will have to earn the trust that’s been destroyed, if any kind of relationship is to be restored—and often that’s just not possible.

7.      Forgiveness, especially the forgiveness of the gravest offenses, is a process, not a once-and-for-all event.

Even the worst deeds of abuse and betrayal can be forgiven by the victim, who might choose to do so, not to benefit the perpetrator, but for his or her own benefit. So, to answer the question of my title, “Who Deserves Forgiveness?” the former-victims do, because when they forgive they regain power and freedom from the offender.

Rabbi Russ

Forgiveness Forms the Future

Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18–47:27

By Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

“I am Joseph! Is my father still alive?” (Gen 45:3). With these words, the estrangement between Joseph and his brothers that began with the words, “They hated him and could not speak a friendly word to him” (Gen 37:4), comes to an end. The narrative of Joseph and those he impacted (Gen 37–50) is the longest unbroken narrative in the Torah. We see him as the beloved, coddled child, as an adolescent dreamer hated by his brothers, as a slave, as a prisoner, and then as the second most powerful ruler in Egypt, positioned to save his family from a devastating famine. It is truly a story of “everything turns out okay in the end,” but more importantly it is a story of change, teshuvah (repentance), and forgiveness.

The narrative reaches its climax just before Joseph’s revelation. Benjamin was on the cusp of being arrested and imprisoned, and the other brothers of being sent home. They were offered an escape route; they simply had to walk away. The climax comes when Judah steps up and delivers one of the most passionate speeches in the Tanakh, offering his own freedom for that of Benjamin’s. The story has come full circle; the one responsible for selling Joseph into slavery offers to become the slave of his own victim. The emotional tension continues building; how will Joseph respond? Emotionally overwhelmed, he orders everyone but his brothers to leave the room. Judah’s pathos and repeated mention of his father (no less than 15 times) has shattered Joseph’s self-restraint. After the room is cleared, Joseph reveals his identity and inquires about his father.

The first change we encounter in the parasha is that of Judah. The man who once was willing to sell his brother Joseph into slavery was now prepared to suffer the same fate rather than see it happen to his brother Benjamin. Judah’s callousness had been replaced by compassion and concern. The turning point in Judah’s life occurred when Tamar revealed the truth about his guilt, without shaming him (Gen 38). Judah admitted his wrongdoing and proclaimed, “She was more righteous than I” (Gen 38:26). Judah’s acknowledgement of his guilt, his confession, and his subsequent change exemplifies the true meaning of teshuvah. His self-sacrifice on behalf of Benjamin before Joseph, demonstrates the depth and veracity of his teshuvah. In fact, the entire narrative from the brothers’ first arrival in Egypt to Joseph’s revelation of who he is, illustrates teshuvah.

Judah’s repentance makes way for Joseph’s forgiveness.

Joseph was no longer the overindulged little boy or the impetuous, possibly arrogant, adolescent. He had become a man who realized that everything that had happened to him was somehow God’s plan. Not only had Joseph changed, but he had not allowed any root of bitterness to grow in him (Heb 12:15). Instead of letting the events of his life harden his heart, and turn him away from Hashem, thereby allowing a root bearing poisonous and bitter fruit to grow (Deut 29:17 [28:18]), he made the choice to walk after him with all of his heart, soul, and strength. Like Joseph, we too have a choice; will we walk in forgiveness and choose to believe that Hashem has a plan, even when we don’t see it, or will we let circumstances cause us to become bitter? We all work and plan, get hurt, struggle, and face difficulties that can embitter us—what will we choose?

We would do well to imitate Joseph by retelling the stories of our own personal past. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks calls this “reframing the past.” Joseph no longer saw himself as a person wronged by his brothers, but as a man on a life-saving mission of God, to save Egypt from starvation, and provide for his family, the family of Jacob. By forgiving and reframing his past, Joseph could live free of anger and a sense of injustice. Such choices changed his negative feelings about the past to see a hopeful future. None of us can change the past, but each of us can change how we think about the past, and this in turn changes the future. The past is not predestined to be repeated. No matter the situation in which you or I may find ourselves, we can change our future by forgiving and reshaping our responses. Our immediate circumstances may not change, but we will gain the strength, courage and hope to continue on until, like Joseph, everything becomes clear.

Our parasha not only brings the saga of Joseph and his brothers to an end, it brings the patriarchal period of history full-circle and almost to an end. Genesis 46:1–47:10 sums up the past and prepares for a new beginning, the redemption of Israel from Egypt and the birth of the nation. Abraham fled to Egypt because of a famine (Gen 12:10), and Jacob does likewise (Gen 46:5); Abraham’s calling began with a divine revelation (Gen 12:1–3), and Jacob’s finishes with a similar experience (Gen 46:2); Jacob began his journey at Beersheva (Gen 28:10), and has his final revelation in the same place (Gen 46:1–4). This is the last time Hashem’s voice will be heard until he speaks to Moses. Hashem’s promise to Abraham to make him a great nation (Gen 12:2) is reiterated to Jacob (Gen 46:3), but now it is explained that the divine promise of peoplehood will take place in Egypt.

Joseph’s and Judah’s actions brought about the restoration of family unity and the collective ingathering of Jacob’s offspring in Egypt. This led to their enslavement, redemption, establishment as a nation, and covenant with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The Haftarah (Ezek 37:15–28) presents a future redeemed and reunited nation and the reestablishment of the covenant between God and Israel. The reconciliation of the brothers is a portent of the prophecy in Ezekiel.

May we heed the words of Nachmanides, “all that occurred to the forebears is a sign for their descendants” (Commentary on Genesis 12:6), and emulate our ancestors as we work and wait for the national redemption of Israel and the salvation of the world.

Illustration by Elhanan ben Avraham

What Happened to the Maccabees?

by Rabbi Elliot Klayman, Kehilat Ariel - San Diego, CA 

Rabbi Elliot Klayman

The origin of Hanukkah dates back over 2100 years, when a fearless and faithful Jewish family known as the Maccabees stood up against a powerful sovereign bent on eradicating the Jewish way of life. The rest is history.

The Jewish people enjoyed a good relationship with their Greek-Syrian rulers under the reign of Antiochus the Great, beginning in the late 3rd century BCE.  His son Antiochus Epiphanes ascended to the realm in 175 BCE, and that relationship deteriorated to the worst of times seven years later.  Antiochus desired to raise taxes, and to consolidate his realm by hellenizing the kingdom. This required that the unique Jewish practices be subordinated in favor of Greek culture, which was steeped in paganism. Antiochus installed high priest puppets who best mirrored his desire, and whose ultimate aim was to turn Jerusalem, the capital of Judea, into a model Greek polis (state).

Antiochus’s vision required a cultural shift from the oddity of Jewish temple life and praxis to the customary Greek institutions and environment. One of the bulwarks he instituted against Jewish temple life was the introduction of the gymnasium, a center for sport. The priests and the elite Jews were attracted to it, thus changing their focus from the Temple to the Gymnasium. One puppet high priest, Menelaus, who was not from the high priestly lineage, won Antiochus’s approval when he promised more money for the crown, derived from extortion of higher taxes, and from plundering the temple treasury. Antiochus also settled foreigners into areas contiguous to Jerusalem, which increased tensions and conflicts between the Jewish people and their pagan neighbors. Many Jews fled Jerusalem and found freedom from hellenism in the surrounding deserts, villages and countryside towns.     

In 167 BCE, Antiochus issued a decree imposing a death sentence on those who observed the Sabbath or circumcised their children. The Temple was rededicated to the Olympian god, Zeus. Swine was sacrificed on the altar and Jews were required to eat pork. Apparently, Antiochus saw militant monotheism as a great threat against his strong-handed rule and desired a more homologous rule and allegiance that would unite his kingdom against his Egyptian southern enemy, the Ptolemies.     

Antiochus underestimated the resolve of the bulk of Jewry. The Jewish upper crust and the corrupt high priesthood cult did remain loyal to Antiochus and his hellenization plan. But the masses of Jewry adhered sharply to their Jewish faith and practices. For the Jews, martyrdom was better than surrendering their faith in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. While Antiochus clamped down harder with his hellenistic program, biblical yearnings and hope arose among the faithful, as they looked toward the “end of days.”     

When the king’s forces came to the town of Mod’in to compel the Jews there to engage in pagan ritual, the priest Mattathias, and his five sons, Jochanan, Simeon, Eleazar, Jonathan, and Judah, led a rebellion against Antiochus. It started with Mattathias killing first, a Jew who approached the pagan altar to sacrifice, and then the Greek soldier who was there to enforce the king’s decree.

The Maccabean army of peasants fights the armored elephants of the Seleucid-Greeks

Along with his sons, Mattathias and the faithful followers fled to the hills to continue the revolt and many gathered around them. Importantly, Mattathias ruled that the Jews could take up arms on the Sabbath to repulse the king’s army. The insurgents actually fought a war on two fronts; first, against Antiochus’s army, and second against the Jewish collaborators whose hellenistic practices dominated their culture to the extent that they would not circumcise their males or keep the Sabbath.     

Upon Mattathias’s death, Judah the Hammer (Maccabee) took the leadership and repeatedly defeated the Syrians, establishing himself as a worthy successor and a respected military leader. Then in the month of Kislev (December) 164 BCE, after Antiochus’s death, Judah and the rebels entered Jerusalem, where the Temple was in ruins, defaced with pagan statues. They purified the Temple and rededicated it, reestablishing the  priesthood.       

Judah successfully warded off the challenges to Judaism with fidelity to Torah, One God, and Jewish customs. Jewish militant manpower was now centralized around Judah and the Maccabees, increasing their stature, reputation, and number of followers. Judea was in the hands of the Jews and Judah’s might was essential in rescuing many of its people from gentile violence in surrounding regions. Upon the death of Judah a series of Maccabean descendants, known as the Hasmoneans, followed, beginning with Judah’s surviving brothers and then their descendants. Their rule was fraught with successes and failures.

After enjoying relative independence for 103 years, the Hasmonean dynasty started to spiritually and physically decline through a series of family rivalries, political ambition, greed, debauchery and interference by foreign powers, mainly Rome. In 63 BCE, the Roman general Pompey conquered the land of Israel, thus ending the Hasmonean sovereignty over the Land, and annexing the territory into the Roman Empire.

The trial of Mariamne I, the last member of the Hasmonean dynasty

The last touch of Hasmonean presence was Mariamne, the second wife of Herod the Great, who ruled Judea from 37 to 4 BCE.  Ultimately, Herod, sick with paranoia and illusions, caused Mariamne to be put on trial for alleged disloyalty. She was convicted and executed in 29 BCE. So ended the Hasmonean dynastic power.

Six decades later, Yeshua appeared in the Temple on the Feast of Hanukkah and responded to questions and accusations about his claim to be Messiah. He was there to celebrate the victory of the Maccabees and the preservation of the Jewish people. Although he did not come in the warlike might of Mattathias and Judah, like them, he did come to liberate his people.

A Very Brazilian Hanukkah

Have you ever wondered what it's like to celebrate Hanukkah in the southern hemisphere? According to Congregational leader Matheus Zandona Guimares (of Har Tzion Messianic Synagogue in Belo Horizonte, Brazil), it's a hot, humid, and rainy affair. Even though the atmosphere is different, there is so much that unites the global Jewish community in its celebration of this miraculous moment in our history.

Check out his recap of the festivities in his hometown:

Does your community's Hanukkah celebration diverge a bit from the "typical" American or Israeli approach? Tell us about it in the comments below. 

Why Celebrate Hanukkah?

by Rabbi Michael Kashdan, Ahavat Zion Synagogue, Los Angeles

Recently I was texting with a fellow member of a committee at my synagogue to pin down a date for a meeting. She explained that she was so busy and was OBE. Being illiterate regarding most of the shorthand of text messaging, I had to ask her what OBE meant. She informed me that it meant “overwhelmed by events.” 

21st century life can indeed be overwhelming. We live in an age of 24/7 news cycles, 24 hour fitness, and supermarkets that never close. We also enjoy constantly evolving technological conveniences. This new fact of life isn't lost on the entertainment industry. In a recent issue published by Marvel Comics, Iron Man comments that no matter how much he upgrades his armor and weapons, the super villains upgrade theirs as well. Technological innovation can give birth to great conveniences, but it also tends to make our skills obsolete.

What does this have to do with Hanukkah? The word “Hanukkah” means “dedication,” and the holiday celebrates the rededication of the Holy Temple in ancient times. It also celebrates the dedication of those who fought to restore the Temple. Here’s the story:

In 167 BCE, the Jewish people felt OBE—overwhelmed by events. The Land of Israel was under the control of a hostile foreign leader of the Seleucid Greek Empire and had been in the midst of a struggle between the Seleucids and the rival Ptolemaic Egyptian Kingdom. While the State of Israel does not presently face the prospect of pigs being sacrificed to Zeus on the Temple Mount, as it did back then, there is a hostile regime committed to the destruction of Israel in a northerly direction, along with those closer to Israel who are willing to do Iran’s murderous bidding. While we have our own Ptolemies of sorts, in places like Egypt and Saudi Arabia, who are opposed to Iran’s expansionist intentions (just as the Ptolemies opposed the Seleucids’ expansionist intentions), having to rely upon alliances with third parties for one’s security is a risky business, to put it mildly. We yearn for a true, reliable source of authentic peace and security.

In the Diaspora, we may not face the same immediate existential threat, but our quest to keep up with the pace of technological innovation may seem like a never-ending marathon. No wonder the phrase “rat race” was coined! For many of us the days of learning a skill early in life and using that to live securely until retirement are gone forever. Is the political world any more of a source of comfort? In a day of hardening of the ideological boundaries, and political parties seeming to occupy the place of polar opposites, we might survey the landscape and feel overwhelmed.

Facing a seemingly hopeless situation, the Maccabees did not succumb to defeatism or "overwhelm," nor did they compromise on their key principles. They followed the path that their ethical convictions dictated, regardless of the enormity of the task. Unwittingly perhaps, they lived in accordance with Paul's dictum in his first letter to the congregation in Corinth that “it is required of stewards that they be found faithful” (1 Corinthians 4:2). No single member of the Maccabees could accomplish the task, but they were found to be dedicated servants to their holy task – even when it required the sacrifice of their lives. The Mishnah tells us, "It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it" (Pirkei Avot 2:21). Being part of a faith community, and thus part of a larger effort, can be a source of energy for us.

In the midst of our turbulent lives, where do we turn? Hanukkah provides a spiritual and communal invitation, to rededicate ourselves to the path that Hashem has set before us. May we all be inspired by the Maccabees' dedication and conviction. 

Miracles: Obvious and Hidden

Parashat Mikketz, Genesis 41:1-44:17

by Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

Nachmanides says there are two types of miracles; Nes Nigleh, the obvious miracle, and Nes Nistar, the hidden miracle. The quintessential obvious miracle is Pesach. God causes the ten plagues, splits the Red Sea, and reveals the Torah with great fanfare at Sinai. The quintessential hidden miracle is Purim. God is not even mentioned in the Purim story; he works silently behind the scenes to affect his will.

Joseph’s story, which we are reading right now, is an example of a hidden miracle. God accomplishes his will to teach Joseph humility, and prepares him through many trials to become the leader that he was meant to be. Hanukkah is an example of both. In the story of Hanukkah, God works behind the scenes through Mattathias and his sons, but then we have the open and obvious miracle of the oil.

Yeshua’s arrival is a mix of both as well. For most people, it was just the birth of a son to a humble couple from Nazareth. A few people saw the miracle, though. Shimon and Hannah at the Temple, the shepherds who saw an angelic host, and the magi from the east know that something is up. But Yeshua’s second coming will be an obvious miracle in the extreme. He will arrive in the sky with a heavenly host at his heels, bringing judgment upon a sinful world!

These days, while obvious miracles do occasionally happen, for the most part miracles are of the hidden variety; a person suddenly recovers from an illness for no apparent reason, another has a financial windfall just as it was needed. An elderly friend of mine told me a story about when she was a young single mother raising her children alone. They were very poor. One morning she realized that she had nothing to feed the kids for breakfast. She prayed and trusted. Suddenly there was a knock at her door and a neighbor was holding two boxes of cereal. She said that her kids didn’t like it and was wondering if my friend could use them! Many miracles like this happen every day; we just don’t hear much about them.

As Jews, our job is to constantly seek the hidden miracles in life. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel encouraged everyone to live in “radical amazement.” He said, “One of the goals of the Jewish way of living is to experience commonplace deeds as spiritual adventures, to feel the hidden love and wisdom in all things.”

The siddur guides us toward this goal. First thing in the morning when we awake, we recite the Modeh Ani, thanking God for the miracle of having another day. We recite Psalm 145, which recounts wonder and praise at Hashem’s provisions. Before we recite the Shema, we say “In his goodness he renews daily and constantly the work of Creation.” In the Amidah, we say during the Modim, “We thank you and recount your praise, for our lives which are entrusted to your care, for our souls which are in your charge, for your miracles which are daily with us, for your continual wonders and favors, evening, morning, and noon.” And in the Birkat Hamazon we say, “He nourishes and sustains all, and benefits all and he prepares food for all of his creatures which he has created.”

All of these are a recognition of hidden miracles that are with us daily.

Creation itself is a hidden miracle. Many look at it and see nothing but the result of randomness. Others see God’s hand. The Lubavitcher Rebbe once said that the world, “is a symphony we do not hear, a magnificent spectacle concealed from our eyes—so we see just a world. That is all there is to the world: concealment. Rip away the concealment and there is only Miracle.”

The poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote,

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.

Going back to the Ramban, he wrote, “Hidden miracles are the basis for the entire Torah. A man has no share in the Torah, unless he believes that all things and all events in the life of the individual as well as in the life of society are miracles.”

We can read of Joseph’s experiences and think the ancient writers saw God there when he wasn’t. We can read the Hanukkah story and simply conclude that a ragtag group of underdogs won the war by sheer luck and circumstance. We can also read the story of our daily lives and miss the miracles. But our vocation is to see the Nisim Nistarim, the hidden miracles, every day. May we train our hearts and minds to do so! May we see the hidden “Hanukkah light” at the core of everything. May our siddurim be our guide in this pursuit.

Shabbat Shalom and Hag Hanukkah Sameach!

How to Light a Menorah

by Monique B, UMJC Executive Director

Hanukkah begins tomorrow night! Now that my husband and I have a little boy in our life, we've come to enjoy the holiday more than ever. There's nothing like watching the flames of the hanukkiah dance in his eyes, and hearing his squeaky voice while singing Maoz Tzur.

my little guy enjoying his second Hanukkah

My husband is a rabbi, which means he serves as a regular resource for congregants who are making a mitzvah for the first time ever ... or the first time in a very long while.

Even rabbis and rebbetzins sometimes forget the answers to simple questions. Which means that every year we seem to have the same argument about the right way to load and light the candles in the menorah. "It's right to left!" "No, I swear I remember that it's left to right!" We usually count on Google to solve our debate. (For the record, we LOAD the candles from right to left, and LIGHT them from left to right.)

In the spirit of getting it right, here are four steps to lighting your menorah, beginning tomorrow night. 

STEP 1: Clean the menorah

Does your menorah still have the gunk from last year? Get rid of it. The new candles will sit in the cups properly, and melt with less mess if you deal with this now. There are a million ways to do this, which depend on how your menorah is made. You can stick it in the freezer, put it in the oven, or dip it in a bowl of hot water. Any way you choose, use a gentle approach to preserve your heirloom. No more hacking at it with your fingernail or a butter knife!

STEP 2: Find the right spot

Modern-day Maccabees take a break from their combat duties to "publicize the miracle."

On Hanukkah, we have an obligation not only to light the menorah, but also to publicize the miracle. This is especially meaningful, as the story of Hanukkah begins with a Greek despot's decree making Judaism illegal. By the time the Maccabees won their guerrilla war against the Syrian Greeks and rededicated the Temple, one thing became clear: we must always live as if we are free. 

Many Orthodox Jewish families have the custom of lighting the menorah and storing it in a glass box on the street.

In practice, this means we should light a menorah "in public" rather than behind closed doors. Some families light the menorah in the front window of their home. (If that's a fire hazard in your home, you can use an electric menorah in its place.) In the religious communities of Jerusalem, many Jewish families light and keep their menorah in glass boxes out on the street!  

STEP 3: Load and light the candles

On the first night of Hanukkah, load a single candle into the candle holder that is furthest to the right when facing the menorah. On the second night, load the first candle and then the second immediately to the left of it. On the third night, load the first, then the second, then the third ... and so on. By the time you get to the 8th night of Hanukkah, your menorah should be full. 

Every night you will also load a "helper" candle, called the shamash. Use a match or a lighter to light the shamash candle, then extinguish the match. The shamash will light all of the other candles. Don't use the match to light the other candles! The shamash should always light the newest candle first. This means that we load the candles from right to left, and light the candles from left to right. 

STEP 4: Make the blessings

We make two blessings immediately after lighting the menorah. In English, they are: 

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctifies us by His commandments, and commands us to kindle the Hanukkah lights. Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors in those ancient days at this season.

On the first night, we also add Shehecheyanu: Blessed are you, Lord our God, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.

Many Messianic Jewish families also add a blessing that acknowledges the light of our Messiah, Yeshua. Consult your local Messianic Jewish rabbi for the exact phrasing that your community uses.

Mazal tov! You've fulfilled the mitzvot of lighting the menorah and publicizing the miracle. Now it's time to sing your favorite Hanukkah songs at the top of your lungs and fill up on chocolate gelt, latkes, and greasy donuts. Chag Hanukkah Sameach! 

In this season of light, consider giving in support of the Union. For 39 years, the Union has been at the forefront of Messianic Jewish community life. Help us build the Messianic Jewish future, so that our light doesn't go out in a single generation. Help us raise up a new generation of young leaders, and spread the light of our Messiah Yeshua within the Jewish community and beyond.

Our Haywire Family of Origin

Parashat VaYeshev, Genesis 37:1–40:23

by David Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem

I cannot read this parasha without getting a little judgmental. Okay, we all know this is not acceptable, but I try to read the text and then search between the lines to figure out what went haywire in the family of our ancestors that caused so much tension and so many devastating situations. The possibilities are many. The Torah is brutally honest in its recollection of events, and our emotions will be stoked as we read the portions over the next few weeks. I know that my emotions come alive as I read these chapters.

We have a lot of textbook conflicts: let me start with one that rankles me. And Joseph spoke very negatively about them [his half-brothers via Bilha and Zilpa] to his father (Gen 37:2b).

Presumably, Joseph spoke the truth. He accurately relayed the shortcomings in his half-brothers’ work ethic to the “boss” (Jacob). However, sometimes speaking the truth (especially in the Middle East) makes you the problem! No one likes being tattled on, and generally speaking, tattlers are shunned and they reap plenty of scorn. This was the case for Joseph, even 3,800 years ago. And indeed, Joseph became the family’s identified “problem”, and the object of their negative feelings: So they [the older brothers] hated him [Joseph] so much that they were not willing to speak peacefully to him (37:4b).

Well-known Israeli Rabbi Shlomo Riskin opines that Joseph acted arrogantly, tried to dominate his brothers, and was encouraged in this by his father’s favoritism. He acted as if he was his “brothers’ keeper”, as we see in 37:14, where Jacob’s own words set him apart from his brothers. He is no longer a younger colleague, subordinate to his brothers’ instructions; he is not solely a shepherd, but is their supervisor (or reporter):

He [Jacob] instructed him, “Go now, check how your brothers are doing, and how the flocks are. Then come back to me and let me know.” So he sent him [Joseph] from the Hevron Valley, and he approached Shechem (37:14).

Joseph takes the role of supervising his older half-brothers as he finds them around Dotan. So perhaps they felt they had good reason to not particularly care for the behavior of Rachel’s son. Even Joseph’s dreams indicated that he thought himself more prominent than all his older brothers:

[The brothers stated:] “So, are you going to be ruler over us? Are you going to really govern us?” As a result of his dreams and their meanings, they hated him all the more (37:8b).

More fuel is added to the fires of jealousy and hatred: His brothers saw that of all the siblings, their father [Jacob] loved him [Joseph] the most (37:4a).

And as a result of these family dynamics: So his brothers became jealous of him (37:11).

The set-up for the rest of our narrative is complete. But is this narrative totally negative? I want to say that both for Joseph and his brothers, and for us some 3,800 years later, there is much to gain from the events in our parasha. There were positive outcomes in their lives. We can learn some important lessons from our parasha, too. Here is one I have learned:

As a father and grandfather of males, including twins among them, I have learned that my main role as the family elder (and I do mean age-wise here) is to encourage, enable, nurture, educate and help “my boys” walk in their God-given destiny. If I can always keep that in mind, it really seems to help me. I want to show this to them, model it and do it. I am not saying that Jacob didn’t do this; he may have tried, but inevitably complicated emotions and family dynamics entered the situation.

Of course, upsets occur in families with the best of intentions. Perceptions of favoritism, giving more goods to one child/grandchild than to another, spending time with one more than another, and so on, does happen. The reason behind the action can be misconstrued as well. We are human, and these emotions and perceptions will always be present to some extent. Yet this parasha helps to center me, and affirms the priorities of being a father, grandfather, and hopefully a positive and influential person in my family.

The bottom line for Jacob, our ancestor, was that God was behind the scenes, directing the events of history. The hard and tough events of the family history, with the family dynamics, did not overcome God’s promises. He even intervened and fixed some of the hard events (such as Jacob finding Joseph after believing he was dead). No matter what happened, God was truly in control, making sure that the family would survive and that his promises would continue on, alive and well, through Israel and his sons.

If we look at Jewish history, the same applies. No matter what our people have suffered (and we have indeed suffered continually), God is in control, making sure the “family” will survive, and that his promises given to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, will be fulfilled.

Our parasha can encourage us greatly us as we deal with family dynamics. We try to the best of our ability, according to the instructions of the Torah and with the love that God puts in our lives, to truly help our family members. Seeing the active hand of God in Jacob’s family encourages me, even if I still look for more reasons for Jacob’s problems! God is active, and while we may make mistakes, have our foibles and sometimes fail in our objectives, he is behind the scenes, moving us forward, on to his end goals.

All Scripture references are author's translation.

Illustration: "Joseph's Coat" by Brooke Sendele

Learning from Our Father Jacob

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4-36:43

by Aaron Allsbrook, Associate Rabbi, Ohev Yisrael, Lorton, VA

The Jewish people are the people of Jacob. While we identify Abraham as our father and we serve the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, nationally we are the people of Jacob, the people of Israel.

This week’s parasha illumines much for us as to who exactly Jacob/Israel was. It is important for us to know this because if we say we are the people of Israel, who exactly are we? A son emulates his father. Let us see whom we are emulating.

Most of us know that Jacob’s name (יעקב) means “supplanter” or “heel grabber.” Even before he entered this world he had the chutzpah and skill to grab his brother’s heel. These traits show themselves throughout his life. Jacob manages to get his brother to sell his birthright for a bowl of lentil soup. Under the instructions of his mother, Jacob deceives his blind father into blessing him in place of his brother. On his way to his uncle’s house, God appears to Jacob in a magnificent vision and, in a way, Jacob makes a deal with God: you protect me and I’ll serve you. Keep in mind, when God revealed Himself to Abraham, Abraham simply said, “OK.”

At his uncle’s house, Jacob, in a display of honesty, works for his wives. He actually gets swindled by his uncle. However, when he works for the animals to take home, he manipulates the goats into producing the ringed, speckled, and spotted ones. Out of fear, Jacob takes all he has and splits from his uncle’s house. All in all, Jacob seems to be making a good life for himself.

The moment finally comes, however, after 20 years, when Jacob is going to re-encounter his brother, Esau. This terrifies Jacob. He creates another elaborate scheme by which he hopes to assuage Esau’s festering rage and win his forgiveness. He sends forth servants and gifts for Esau. He manages to fall asleep, but soon wakes up, I’m sure, in a panic, and takes his family further from Esau. Soon, though, he finds himself all alone.

In a sudden turn of events, Jacob finds himself wrestling with an unidentified man. Jacob strives with this man until the emergence of the sun. Jacob’s strength is formidable, keeping the man from leaving, so the man dislocates Jacob’s hip. Jacob still manages to hold on until he gets a blessing. Instead of blessing him, however, the man changes his name to Israel (ישראל) because he strove (שרה) with God and men and has prevailed. The man eventually does bless him and then he departs, still under the guise of anonymity. Jacob immediately realizes the gravity of what just happened and he marvels. When this man/angel appears to others, be it Joshua, Gideon, or Manoah, the people typically remark how they didn’t die upon seeing him (cf. Josh 5:13–15, Judg 6:22–23, 13:22). Jacob, however, comments that his life had been rescued, that he survived (ותנצל נפשי, Gen 32:31). Jacob has managed to outlast another tricky situation, but, this time, it was by the mercy of God, not his own cunning.

As Jacob limps away from this awesome encounter, Esau appears. Surprisingly, Esau embraces Jacob. He doesn’t even want the gifts Jacob sent to him. There is reconciliation, and everything that Jacob feared has been for naught.

This unexpected blessing cannot, however, be attributed to Jacob’s well-developed skills. This blessing has come from God. In Genesis 32:12, Jacob prays, “Rescue me from the hand of my brother” (הצילני נא מיד אחי). This “rescue” word (נצל) is the same used of Jacob’s soul being spared/rescued upon seeing God’s face mentioned above. God spared Jacob. God wrought reconciliation. God brought life. Jacob was able to get himself only so far, and, frankly, the effects of his actions created much tension within his family.

The angel states that Jacob “has striven with God and men and has prevailed” (Gen  32:29). Notice, it reads that Jacob strove first with God. Chronologically, that wasn’t the case. But, pay attention: in order for us, as children of Israel, to prevail with men, we first must prevail with God.

What does this mean? It means that apart from God we will not overcome. Apart from God our strength will only get us so far. It also means that in God we can do all things. It means that in our weakness, Messiah’s power is made strong (cf. 2 Cor 12:9).

In the haftarah, Obadiah castigates Edom, the people of Esau, for acting contrary to the way of God, exalting himself at the demise of the children of Judah.  He is consequently severely humbled and despised (בזוי, the same word used for his treatment of his birthright in Genesis 25:34). Whereas Jacob humbled himself in the sight of God’s great mercies and truth, which he had done for him (cf. Gen 32:11), and God exalted him to life, Esau lifted himself up and God brought him to death.

Messiah Yeshua reveals to us the ultimate truth in all this. In John 15:1–17, he compares himself to a vine and us to branches. For us to do anything good, we must abide in him, we must strive to stay attached to him. Yeshua uses the word “abide” eleven times in this passage. It clearly is important. We must realize that apart from him, we can do nothing. We must hold onto him and never let go, for from him is “every spiritual blessing” (Eph 1:3).

To be the people of Jacob, the people of Israel, we are a people who hold onto God and never let go, who know that we have nothing outside of his grace and truth, who know that our salvation resides in him alone. Let us use all that we have to abide in him always.

The Lonely Place of Connection

Parashat VaYetse, Genesis 28:10-32:3

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

It’s a paradox: To find community, I have to find my individual self. Or turn that around: As I find myself in God, I find that I’m part of something much bigger than myself.

Our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, all encounter moments of intense solitude on their way to forming the vast extended family of Israel. After Jacob cooperates with his mother, Rebekah, in her plot to gain the paternal blessing for him, his brother Esau starts to harbor murderous thoughts. Isaac wisely sends Jacob away by himself, on a long foot-journey to the ancestral homeland to find a wife. Jacob’s journey contrasts with the way his father Isaac found a wife just a couple of chapters earlier in Genesis. Abraham had sent his trusted servant with a line of camels loaded with goods and gifts. Isaac could remain in his own tent, surrounded by family, as his future was secured. Jacob is on his own.

Ya‘akov went out from Be’er-Sheva and traveled toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed the night there, because the sun had set. He took a stone from the place, put it under his head and lay down there to sleep. (Gen 28:10–11, CJB)

The “certain place” that Jacob finds is remote. It's the sort of place you can imagine if you've ever done wilderness camping. It's not a campground filled with tents, RVs, and campfires. This is backcountry, far from machinery, pavement, utilities—off the grid and under the stars. It’s beautiful but lonely, especially if you are all by yourself, lying on the ground with minimal comforts, like a stone for a head rest (which in Jacob’s case was probably cushioned by his wadded-up cloak).

In this lonely place, Jacob dreams:

There before him was a ladder resting on the ground with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of Adonai were going up and down on it. Then suddenly Adonai was standing there next to him; and he said, “I am Adonai, the God of Avraham your [grand]father and the God of Yitz’chak. The land on which you are lying I will give to you and to your descendants. Your descendants will be as numerous as the grains of dust on the earth. (Gen 28:12–14a CJB)

Solitary, off-the-grid Jacob discovers that he’s not alone at all. He’s surrounded by angels, and then Adonai himself appears. Jacob connects with God in this lonely place. And there's more because when Adonai speaks directly to Jacob, he connects him with community past—citing his fathers Avraham and Yitzchak—and future—promising descendants beyond number.

Jacob's lone journey leaves everyone behind, but then it connects him with his community past and future.

The Barna study of Jewish Millennials that I cited a couple of weeks ago (umjc.org/commentary/what-makes-community-work) states, “While Christian Millennials lean heavily on individuals … in discerning their values, Jewish Millennials tend to rely on the collective” (cited in https://j4j.co/barnabonus). Contemporary Christian spirituality tends to be individualistic. When I have occasion to visit churches or Christian events, I’m often struck by how many of the worship songs are in first-person singular, speaking about God and his goodness in terms of my personal experience.

Pop Christian spirituality sometimes seems to be all about “me and Jesus,” and Messianic Jewish spirituality can follow suit. Instead of confronting the alienation and isolation of 21st century life, it softens it into a more livable version. It says that each one of us has had a personal, undeniable, transformative encounter with God, and community connection is optional compared with that. Thank God for our personal experience with him, but if you leave it at that, you miss a major component of spiritual life.

Jewish culture on the other hand, religious or not, tends to be more communally minded, with an emphasis on belonging before believing. This sometimes becomes belonging instead of believing. The reality of a personal, undeniable, transformative encounter with God can be neglected amid the riches of communal life and commitment. But in truth the two are inseparable. As I grow in personal spiritual development, I love, appreciate, and serve the community where I belong. For Messianic Jews, that community includes both the universal ekklesia, or body of Messiah, and klal Yisrael, the Jewish people.

Jacob wakes up from his dream to declare, “Truly, Adonai is in this place — and I didn’t know it!” (Gen 28:16). Jacob’s ladder has become an icon of individual, personal, transformative encounter with God. But the God Jacob encounters plants him in the midst of community.

If our private spiritual practice doesn’t inspire and strengthen our connection with a living community, it’s incomplete.

In my work both as a rabbi and a therapist, I often recommend the solitary practices like prayerful silence,  and slow and deep reading of Scripture, and I practice these myself. It can feel lonely with our Facebook friends tuned out and our media silenced, but that's where we connect with God, and with community as well.

I’ve been in Ephesians for weeks now, slowly reading and digesting its words. Starting in 3:14, Paul prays that we'll be strengthened in our inner being, that Messiah will dwell in our hearts, and that we’ll be rooted and grounded in his love. These requests all seem intensely personal and inward. But as I was contemplating this prayer recently, verse 18 jumped out at me: “So that you, with all God’s people, will be given strength to grasp the breadth, length, height and depth of the Messiah’s love” (emphasis added).

We don’t get the full dose of Messiah's love all by ourselves, but only alongside all of God’s people.

“Spirituality” remains a popular term in our increasingly secular culture, and it’s often used to sidestep tradition, community and commitment. Instead let’s follow our father Jacob, who found God in the lonely place, and also found connection with his community past and future.