Parashat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18-47:27

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Joi Guttman in loving memory of Macks Pearlman, Yahrzeit Tevet 7.

Jacob's passion for the Divine and the human are intertwined.

It's that time of year again, the season when Time Magazine reveals its person of the year. This has become such a cultural event that you can purchase a mirror that looks like the magazine cover and see your reflection as the person of the year. The interest goes beyond finding out who will be selected for the honour, especially since the winner is easy to predict in US election years. The magazine cover itself becomes important. How will the individual be portrayed? This is one of those times when a magazine is truly judged by its cover.

We are naturally drawn to the face found on the magazine cover; and we react to it. We know that photographs are airbrushed and manipulated and once in a while we protest. Remember the infamous OJ cover that was allegedly doctored to give a sinister impression? Why does a magazine choose a particular portrait, sometimes flattering sometimes not? No matter what, we are drawn to the human face. It is innate.

Faces become seared in our minds and influence us. The Great Depression of the 1930's can be summed up in one image called Migrant Mother taken by Dorothea Lange. It is a black and white portrait of a woman, with lines of worry etched into her face, looking out, as her children, facing away from the camera, lean against her for comfort. It is a face that once seen is never forgotten. In later years, Lange recalled how this image came about:

I saw and approached the hungry and desperate mother, as if drawn by a magnet. .... I did not ask her name or her history. She told me her age, that she was thirty-two. She said that they had been living on frozen vegetables from the surrounding fields, and birds that the children killed. She had just sold the tires of the car to buy food. There she sat in that lean-to tent with her children huddled around her…

Dorothea Lange, from Popular Photography, February, 1960, as quoted in eyewitnesstohistory.com

How powerful is the face of the Migrant Mother? It is said to have influenced John Steinbeck to write the Depression era classic Grapes of Wrath. Whether photographs or paintings, portraits affect us deeply. We ponder them, and they look right back at us and through us.

If such power can be found in a portrait, how much greater intensity is there in seeing an actual human face? "Face time" is a relatively new term describing real interactions as opposed to virtual ones. Forget Teletubbies, Sesame Street, Baby Einstein. We are told that the most important thing we can give a baby is "face time." "Face time" is so much more than seeing, it involves all the senses; it is an encounter. Not only for babies. Such "face time" is central to personal interactions as expounded by Martin Buber's I-Thou relationship or Emmanuel Levinas’ ethics of face-to-face encounters.

The shock of facing his brothers changes Joseph in last week's parashah and carries us into the week's tale. Vayigash Yehudah, Judah approached (Genesis 44:18) his brother Joseph, begging him to free Benjamin. His words are words of supplication, but vayigash “he approached” is intimate. The very word vayigash implies a personal encounter, face time. Beyond that, as Judah approached Joseph he asked to speak be-ozney adoni "in my lord's ears." You can’t get closer than that: no texting, no web cam, but a close encounter in the flesh.

The power of Judah's words causes Joseph to weep and brings about a reciprocal request of his brothers: g'shu na-elay (Genesis 45:4) “approach me/come close to me” and concluding: With that he embraced his brother Benjamin around the neck and wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck. He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them;(Genesis 45:14-15). Such is the power of a face-to-face encounter.

But this is only the beginning. When Jacob and his family arrive in Egypt, Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel; he presented himself to him and, embracing him around the neck, he wept on his neck a good while. (Genesis 46:29) Joseph's encounter is so overwhelming he is moved to tears, the subject of a study last year.

What of Jacob, how is he moved by this reunion with the son he thought was dead? The Torah, in stating he wept on his neck means that only one of them wept during the encounter. Nachmanides, aka Ramban, takes the ambiguous "he" and decides it is clearly Jacob who is moved to tears:

…the text reminds us that as soon as he appeared to his father and his father was able to see him close up and recognize him, his father fell on his neck and wept even more…It is a well-known fact as to who sheds tears more easily. Is it the elderly father who finds his long-lost son alive after despairing and mourning for him; or is it the young son who governs?

Ramban on Genesis 46:29

According to Rashi, Jacob neither embraced Joseph nor kissed him. Citing the Talmudic sages, Rashi says Jacob was engaged in reciting the Sh'ma! The Maharal elaborates on this seemingly bizarre reaction: Jacob was so righteous that he served God at every opportunity. He channeled all his feelings at seeing Joseph into a passionate offering to God.

Face time is important for Jacob. This meeting with his son must have brought back memories. As Yogi Berra said "It's like déjà-vu all over again." This is the second time Jacob is traveling with his entire family and belongings from one country to another. The first was when he headed back home after serving Laban for so many years. Then he was apprehensive about the reunion with his brother Esau, who was setting out to meet him with an entourage of 400 men. What Jacob thought would be an "in your face" encounter, turned out to be the essence of "face time." …for to see your face is like seeing the face of God (Genesis 33:10); he cries when they reunite.

In parashat Vayigash, Jacob once again journeys with all of his family and all his possessions. At the moment that he encounters his long lost son: vayera eilav, Joseph appeared to him: as if in a dream, or in a vision. He says "Now I can die, having seen for myself that you are still alive." Or more literally: "after I have seen your face" (aharei re'oti et panecha). He just has this thing about faces.

The Maharal is on to something. Jacob is sensitive to the encounter represented by another's face. His passion for the Divine and the human are intertwined. Put another way, Jacob's reunion with Joseph was more than dramatic. More than passionate, it was a revelatory experience. Vayera eilav, Joseph appeared to him just as God appears to him in a night visions bi-marot ha-layla (Genesis 46:2) It is interesting how Jacob's Divine encounters are at night; and how they are followed by significant human encounters in the day. After his vision of the ladder (Genesis 28:11-19), Jacob encounters Rachel. After wrestling with a divine being (Genesis 32:23-32), Jacob reconciles with his brother, and after the night vision in this week's parashah (Genesis 46:2-3), the elderly Jacob is reunited with the son he thought was gone forever.

We often conclude that it is the Divine encounters that are the most significant ones in Jacob's life, but they are only the gateway that allows him to experience face-to-face encounters as revelatory. For Jacob, seeing one's face is like seeing the face of God. It is a life changing experience. How so? Next week we read va-yechi, Jacob lived in Egypt. He did more than dwell there, he lived. This is a life of depth, of texture, made possible by Jacob's face-to-face encounters we read about this week.

Such depth of experience that is available to every one of us. This is an experience that is available to every one of us. We often spend more time studying photographs or pictures on a screen than we do looking into the face of another individual. If we make time for "face time," devoting ourselves to these encounters, no matter how mundane they may appear, we will walk away understanding the words a young Jacob spoke as he set off on his life's journey, words whose meaning came into focus only later in his life: "Surely the Lord is present in this place, and I did not know it!" (Genesis 28:16)

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Picture credit: Migrant Mother by Dorothea Lange
Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, DC 20540
Digital ID: cph 3b41800

Parashat Miketz, Genesis 41:1-44:17, Rosh Chodesh Tevet, Shabbat Chanukah

For Joseph outside pressures begat inner resolve.

There's a phenomenon that comes to the fore at this time of year because of the emphasis on gift-giving. Ask children or, better yet, adolescents what they want and chances are it is what their friends want or already have. If you share the latest video game, you can relate to each other. If you wear the season's hottest boots, you are accepted into the group. It is no surprise that everyone wants to fit in with a group. We have ways of identifying people who are like us. It could be a particular colour, or an item of clothing. It could be the language we use. A few years ago there was a TV ad that mentioned a schmeer of cream cheese. The MOTs (members of the tribe) got it. So did New Yorkers. Sometimes we use signals to find others like us. "Oy!" works for MOTs, "eh?" for Canadians.

Such group identification can also be a matter of life or death. Think skin colour, looks, ritual garments, yellow star. Even language can make a difference. In the Bible we read that the Ephraimites, descendents of Joseph's son Ephraim, could not pronounce "sh." This was no big deal, until a conflict broke out with the folks from Gilead, who soundly defeated the Ephraimites. As the Ephraimites tried to make their way back home, their language gave them away:

The Gileadites held the fords of the Jordan against the Ephraimites. And when the fugitive from Ephraim said, "Let me cross," the men of Gilead would ask him, "Are you an Ephraimite?"; if he said "No," they would say to him, "Then say shibboleth"; but he would say "sibboleth," not being able to pronounce it correctly. Thereupon they would seize him and slay him by the fords of the Jordan.

Judges 12:5-6

A more recent example comes from Vietnam-era prisoners of war. Those kept is solitary confinement communicated with each other by a tapping code. How did they identify other American POWs? One person would whistle or tap the simple ditty "Shave and a Haircut" leaving of the end. If he got the two-note or two-word response "two bits" he knew this was a fellow American and it was safe to communicate. This contact enabled these prisoners to survive years of confinement.

No such luck for our boy Joseph, who was wrongly imprisoned last week. The Egyptian prisoner who promised to remember him when released forgot Joseph. It takes years for the chief cupbearer to recall Joseph and he does so only because of a dream Pharaoh has that no one else can interpret. Because of an unseen Divine hand, when things are literally "the pits" for Joseph, they manage to get better. He has so many close shaves and yet emerges without a nick, and in the nick of time. A thirty year old Joseph is to be brought before Pharaoh in order to interpret Pharaoh's dreams. Naturally, he's got to look presentable, and so he undergoes a very quick makeover: He had his hair cut (va-yigalach) and changed his clothes, and he appeared before Pharaoh. (Genesis 41:14)

This little half verse presents information that is so mundane; one wonders why it is necessary. Of course he had his hair cut and his clothes changed! How else could he appear before Pharaoh? Duh!

There is little commentary on it. Onkelos translates va-yigalach into Aramaic as sapper, close to the modern Hebrew word for a haircut. Rashi, once again basing himself on midrash, saw fit to explain that the haircutting was necessary to honour Pharaoh. In reading ibn Ezra's one word comment, it becomes clear that the English translation above may not be the best. How was his hair cut? According to ibn Ezra, with a razor. The better translation for Genesis 41:14 would be: "He shaved and changed his clothes."

Why this concern for Joseph's hair? In commenting on the young Joseph, midrash Breishit Rabbah explains that his vanity is evident because he curls his hair. This week, it is another hairstyle, or lack thereof that becomes important. Perhaps Joseph’s motto for his amazing transformation should be "hair today, gone tomorrow." We all know that fashions in hairstyles change. Beards were big in the 60's, moustaches in the 70's, goatees very recently, and shaved heads are so popular today that you can even get special head shaving razors in the drugstore. Back in Joseph's day the members of his tribe ran around with beards and many of them had beards that were not rounded at the corners. Just look at frescoes, bas-reliefs and sculptures from the ancient Near East. Crew cuts were out; serious beards were in except for one not so tiny corner of the world: Egypt. These guys put their copper blades to good use. To be presentable and credible to Pharaoh, our boy Joe had to look like one of the king's homeboys.

Perhaps there's more to it. Pharaoh is not only king, he is also a god; Pharaoh's court is more than a court, it is a temple. To come before an Egyptian god meant that a person had to be in a state of ritual purity. This was certainly true of their priests and, frankly, it is not that different from the expectations of the Levitical priests:

Take the Levites from among the Israelites and cleanse them. This is what you shall do to them to cleanse them: sprinkle on them water of purification, and let them go over their whole body with a razor (ta'ar), and wash their clothes; thus they shall be cleansed.

Numbers 8:6-7

It sounds similar to what Joseph had to do, only our priests were not going before Pharaoh; this was the part of the priestly ordination. (Though I wonder if they used an actual razor or an item more akin to a strigil, a Roman tool for scraping off sweat and oil.)

Nonetheless, others have made the connection between the priestly purification and Joseph's preparation for his meeting with Pharaoh. Lisbeth S. Fried in an article called "Why did Joseph Shave?" quotes from the victory stele of King Piye (late 8th century BCE) to show that to be brought before Pharaoh, one not only had to be clean but ritually pure, the definition of which is quite interesting:

Now the kings and counts of Lower Egypt who came to see his majesty's beauty, their legs were the legs of women. They could not enter the palace because they were uncircumcised and eaters of fish, which was an abomination in the palace. But king Namart entered the palace because he was pure and did not eat fish. The three stood there while the one entered.

As quoted by Lisbeth S. Fried "Why did Joseph Shave?" 

in Biblical Archeology Review, July/Aug 2007, pp. 40-41

Fried maintains that Joseph shaved because he was coming into the presence of a deity. He was entering into the house of an Egyptian god.

This is both intriguing and troubling. Joseph is doing God's will, even Pharaoh says so, but is he getting too caught up in his environment? It is obvious that Pharaoh favours him. He is given Egyptian clothes, an Egyptian wife –the daughter of a priest, no less – he is even given an Egyptian name: Zaphenath-paneah. We've had name changes before with Abraham and Jacob. Those came after encounters with God. Here, the name change comes from an Egyptian deity.

If we follow the principle of Occam's razor that the simplest solution is the best, we can reiterate that Joseph is doing God's will. But in doing God's will, Joseph is in a precarious position. He is so outwardly Egyptian even his own brothers don't recognize him.

On the other hand, he makes sure that when his family comes down to Egypt they are settled in an area where they can maintain their identity: You will dwell in the region of Goshen, where you will be near me — you and your children and your grandchildren, your flocks and herds, and all that is yours. (Genesis 45:10) In fact, it is all part of an elaborate plan he can implement because he is truly an insider in the pharaonic government:

Then Joseph said to his brothers and to his father's household, "I will go up and tell the news to Pharaoh, and say to him, 'My brothers and my father's household, who were in the land of Canaan, have come to me. The men are shepherds; they have always been breeders of livestock, and they have brought with them their flocks and herds and all that is theirs.' So when Pharaoh summons you and asks, 'What is your occupation?' you shall answer, 'Your servants have been breeders of livestock from the start until now, both we and our fathers' — so that you may stay in the region of Goshen. For all shepherds are abhorrent to Egyptians."

Genesis 46:31-34

Our celebration of Chanukah illumines Joseph's plight; parashat Miketz is always read on Shabbat Chanukah. How ironic that this, the story of our entry into Egypt aided by a Hebrew with an Egyptian name, Egyptian garb and Egyptian power, is read at the time of year when we rejoice in our victory over a power that lured so many of ancestors into assimilation.

What can Joseph teach us about Chanukah? Joseph grew adept at surviving in the pharaonic world, but he was not of it. To a certain extent, it was probably a balancing act for him, as it was for Court Jews in other times and places. Interestingly, what Joseph learned in Egypt was that all he had came from God. He never recognized this in Canaan; he never stopped acknowledging it in Egypt. It was only when confronted with the challenges of life in Egypt that he fulfilled his destiny of ensuring Jewish survival and continuity. For Joseph outside pressures begat inner resolve. Two events from very different times, the story of Joseph and that of the Maccabees each teaches us that the greatest challenge to our continuity is not what the outside world has to offer but how we react to it.

Shabbat shalom and chag ha-urim sameach,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayeishev, Genesis 37:1-40:23

There is no doubt that Potiphar's wife plays a significant role not only in Joseph's life but in the history of our people.

Mata Hari was one. So was Delilah. Some folks put Cleopatra in this category as well. What were they all called? Each one of them was called a vamp, a vixen, or a femme fatale. Whatever the terminology, it refers to a woman with seductive powers who is the downfall of any man whom she desires. Ancient folklore has countless examples of this archetype, as does pulp fiction and modern film. Oftentimes she has a counterpart: the good girl.

In Parashat Vayeishev we come across two women who seem to be members of this girls’ club: Tamar and Potiphar's wife. The former is widowed and childless. Ancient law dictated that she marry her late husband's brother; so the offspring would be considered her late husband's issue. Well, after the death of Tamar’s husband, Er, his younger brother Onan does not perform his duty and also dies. Since his two oldest sons have already died while married to her, Judah, Tamar's father-in-law, withholds his youngest son from her. In desperation she disguises herself as a prostitute and becomes pregnant by her widowed father-in-law. In this case it turns out that the seemingly bad girl was actually doing good. As Judah realizes: "She is more in the right than I, inasmuch as I did not give her to my son Shelah." (Genesis 38:26)

The second example seems to be a bad girl through and through. We don't know her name. She is only identified as Potiphar's wife. (Sefer ha-Yashar calls her Zelikah or Zulaika.) Hubby is very high up in the Egyptian government. Oh yes, and he has purchased a slave, a young man named Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. One little detail is added to the story (Genesis 39:6): Now Joseph was well built and handsome. You can imagine the effect this would have on a bored, desperate housewife:

After a time, his master's wife cast her eyes upon Joseph and said, "Lie with me." But he refused. He said to his master's wife, "Look, with me here, my master gives no thought to anything in this house, and all that he owns he has placed in my hands. He wields no more authority in this house than I, and he has withheld nothing from me except yourself, since you are his wife. How then could I do this most wicked thing, and sin before God?" And much as she coaxed Joseph day after day, he did not yield to her request to lie beside her, to be with her.

Genesis 39:7-10

The language does not carry the complete impact of Joseph's refusal. In the Torah the word for his refusal (va-yimaen) is marked by a shalshelet, a cantillation mark that looks like a zig-zag and appears only four times in the Torah, three of those in Genesis. It is chanted as a relatively long phrase. One can hear it as a clear and definite: no! One can also hear it as a wavering no.
Commentators are divided on this. The Netziv explains in his commentary Ha'emek Davar that Joseph does not need to give any reason for his refusal, the moral position is very clear. In fact, Joseph gives a three-fold reason for his refusal (Genesis 39:8-9), beginning with wronging his master and ending with wronging God:

In his response to Potiphar’s wife Joseph says ‘that yielding to her invitation to commit adultery would be a “sin against God” (Gen. 39:9). In many other cultures adultery was merely a proprietary misdemeanor; a wife was considered property, and injury to a man’s possessions drew punishment thought adequate to the act (Deut. 22:29). Joseph speaks in true accents of the Bible, which regards marriage as more than a relationship of civil law. Marital trust has divine sanction and is so fundamental to human relationships that Jewish tradition considers the command against adultery as one of the Noahide laws that every person is bound to observe.

W. Gunther Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary, revised edition, p. 258

On the other hand, Midrash Breishit Rabbah, the Talmud (Sotah 36b) and Rashi claim that Joseph actually was quite willing to be seduced but at the last minute saw an image of his father which caused him to flee.

A vengeful Mrs. Potiphar keeps trying to seduce Joseph and finally accuses him of attempted rape which gets Joseph imprisoned. This woman exudes pure evil. Even a modern feminist reading cannot find anything redeeming about her:

Potiphar’s wife is overtly sensual and verbally aggressive. Like the negative archetype of the feminine in one passage of the book of Proverbs (7:1-23), she tempts the young man into sexual impropriety. Potiphar’s wife serves as a test in the initiation of Joseph, the young wisdom hero who refuses to allow a woman to make him unfaithful to his master.

Susan Niditch, The Torah: A Women's Commentary, 

Tamara Cohen Eskenazi and Andrea L. Weiss, eds., p. 226

Which is why it is most interesting that she is presented in a more positive light rabbinically. First of all, there is this whole issue with pretty-boy Joseph who is so aware of his beauty that Midrash Tanhuma elaborates on his vanity. He was so taken in by his own beauty, even as a slave, that in Potiphar's house he spent time curling his hair. Breishit Rabbah (87:3) interprets the action of Potiphar's wife as being incited by God in order to teach Joseph a lesson. God made her do it, but does that change her inherent nature?

A second midrash claims that Mrs. Potiphar's intentions were honourable, in fact, she was as in the right as Tamar. This is used to explain why both stories are in this parashah:

Rabbi Samuel ben Nahman said: In order to bring the stories of Tamar and Potiphar's wife into proximity, thus teaching that as the former was actuated by a pure motive, so was the latter. For Rabbi Joshua ben Levi said: She [Potiphar's wife] saw by her astrological arts that she was to produce a child by him [Joseph], but she did not know whether it was to be from her or from her daughter.

Breishit Rabbah 85:2, Soncino translation

(Let's explain the last part about "her daughter." Joseph eventually marries Asenath, the daughter of an Egyptian priest named Poti-phera (Genesis 41:45). Since the priest's name is similar to Potiphar, Joseph's besherte (intended) is understood to be the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar. Mom just got it wrong and thought she was his intended!)

Overall, it is commonly accepted that Mrs. Potiphar is a vengeful individual who gives us the first example of sexual harassment in the Bible. Why is Joseph, accused of rape, only imprisoned and not killed? According to another midrash, it is because Mr. Potiphar knew his wife was lying.

Is she pure evil? Perhaps she is just the bored wife of a successful man. The most sympathetic portrayal comes from Lillie Devereux Blake, a nineteenth century American suffragette who commented in Elizabeth Cady Stanton's The Woman's Bible. As described in Let Her Speak for Herself: Nineteenth Century Women Writing on Women in the Bible (pp. 438-9) Blake notes that Potiphar is described as a eunuch and so the Potiphars were married in name only. (The Hebrew saris can be translated as eunuch or government official.) This certainly portrays the marriage in a tragic light.

However one views her, there is no doubt that Potiphar's wife plays a significant role not only in Joseph's life but in the history of our people:

Discussions of the Potiphar’s wife episode generally revolve around the foreign woman and her actions, but in fact, she is pivotal — as the story is transmitted — to the survival of the Hebrews in time of famine. … Despite her attempt at seduction, this woman fills a positive narrative role; she initiates the story line that will bring the Hebrews to Egypt thus setting the stage for the exodus — perhaps the most important event related in the Hebrew Bible.

Susan Tower Hollis, "Wife of Potiphar" in 

Women in Scripture, Carol Meyers, ed., p. 184

Why does it matter what sort of person this woman was? Perhaps it is because she is a woman that I want to find something redeeming about her. I want to assume that life was not easy, that she was trapped by her situation. Yet it is obvious in the story that she was not powerless. Too often we fall into the trap of making excuses for why a person behaves in a particular manner. She is not the victim in this story. In fact, every person in this parashah who appears to be a victim is not. Tamar, Potiphar's wife, even Joseph the slave are free to act morally. In short, this parashah teaches us that there are no excuses. We are indeed responsible for our actions. If Mrs. Potiphar was enslaved by her circumstances, so too was Tamar, and Joseph the most. It is Joseph who teaches a vital lesson: Whatever your status you always have the free will to act morally.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayishlach, Genesis 32:4-36:43

The meaning of our lives is measured by the difference we make in other lives.

As some of you may have gathered by now, I love movies, particularly older black and white films. These films have an energy and sensibility about them that exists in very few of their modern counterparts. This vitality is conveyed by the combination of writing, acting, directing and editing. Perhaps we have lost something through increased technology and our dependence on computer generated effects to create what we imagine.

One of the delights of black and white films is to be found in the casting. Yes, the old-time stars are wonderful, but I am thinking more of the bit players, the character actors. These are the faces you see over and over in different films, their roles may be small but these actors give additional depth and texture to the endeavor. Often, you only realize this in retrospect.

So too in life, we go about our daily tasks and people come in and out of our lives and we are not always aware of it. These individuals are not at the center of our lives, but they make our lives livable. Perhaps it is the person who is always ahead of you in the coffee shop with whom you occasionally exchange a few words. Or it is the server handing you that daily cup of java. Thirty seconds with a surly server can ruin your day, while a small compliment from the same individual can carry you through a difficult week. It could be the individual who ensures that the public washroom is clean, the person who sits next to you on the bus, or the one who delivers a package to you. A small interaction can have a lasting effect, but otherwise we take these folks for granted. They, and most of us, will not receive the page-long New York Times obituary. It will be a small paragraph in the local paper cut out and cherished by family and friends: an entire life edited in black and white, taking up a column inch.

Such is the case this week in parashat Vayishlach: Deborah, Rebekah's nurse, died, and was buried under the oak below Bethel; so it was named Allon-bacuth. One verse, Genesis 35:8 is all we have, but this one line conveys the importance of this woman. First of all she is named. How unusual this is in the Torah! (She is mentioned in Genesis 24:59 but is not named.) Second, she had an occupation. She was Rebekah's wet-nurse (meyaneket), her life devoted to the matriarch; even if we don't quite know what that entailed after the young Rebekah was weaned.

Deborah is the only servant in the Torah whose death and burial receive notice. Not even Abraham's chief servant, Eliezer, who arranges for Rebecca's marriage to his master's heir; not Bilhah and Zilpah, who bear four of Rebecca's grandsons, merit such recognition. In fact, even Rebecca's own death goes unmarked; only later, at Jacob's death, are we told of his mother's burial in the family cave of Machpelah.

Ellen Frankel, The Five Books of Miriam, p. 69.

Actually, earlier commentators use the verse about Deborah to draw attention to the matriarch. Rashi, basing his comments on midrash Tanhuma, says that this verse alludes to the death of Rebekah, who was buried in secret so Esau would not be present. Nachmanides also understands the verse to be an allusion to Rebekah's death, commenting that the circumstances of her burial are not discussed because no member of her family was present and she had to be buried by the Hittites. Both commentators base themselves on the place name of the burial site Allon-Bacuth, popularly understood to mean "the oak of weeping." Bacuth is read midrashically as bacoth,, a plural form of weeping. Hence, the weeping was for more than one person. Deborah is mentioned, Rebekah is implied. According to these lines of interpretation, the death of the supporting player draws our attention to that of the important character.

If you find these first two interpretations less than satisfying, Rashi brings another explanation to light, that of Moshe Ha-Darshan. This 11th century French scholar suggests that Rebekah had sent the nurse to bring Jacob back in fulfillment of Genesis 27:45 that she will bring him back home once it is safe to return.

Modern interpreters bring a different understanding to this verse. Nahum Sarna dismisses the traditional view that the former wet-nurse could be given the role of Rebekah's messenger.

… at age 130, Deborah would have been an unlikely candidate for such a mission. Clearly, the present notice is not in its proper chronological sequence, which makes the intrusive nature of verse 8 all the more perplexing.
The presumption seems unavoidable that traditions about Deborah, which would make the context of the present notice intelligible, were widely known to reader and Narrator alike in biblical times, but they were not included in the Torah. One such must have related to her association with a site south of Bethel where there was a prominent tree known as Allon-bacuth. This name was popularly interpreted to mean “the oak of weeping,” and folklore connected it with Deborah’s death because she was buried close by. Since Jacob arrived at the spot, and due to the similarity of fact and phrase—the burials “under the oak” (Heb. tahat ha-’allon) and “under the terebinth” (Heb. tahat ha‘elah) —the notice is inserted here. There may be a deeper purpose as well. With the purging of idolatry and the arrival at Bethel, the contacts with Mesopotamia, maintained by each of the patriarchs, are finally and decisively severed. The mention of the death of Deborah thus becomes appropriate here for she was a living symbol of that connection.

Nahum Sarna, The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis, p 241.

A most interesting interpretation comes from an unusual source: Sisters Constance and Annie de Rothschild, whose work The History and Literature of the Israelites was published in 1870:

…At Beth-el, Deborah had died, the nurse of Rebekah, who had accompanied her mistress from Mesopotamia. She had been buried under the spreading branches of an oak, which was called the Oak of Weeping in commemoration of the event. Probably Jacob's caravan passed by the oak on their journey southward, and doubtless some herdsmen or other wanderers may have told them of the faithful and well-beloved servant resting beneath its shade.

Quoted in Let Her Speak for Herself: Nineteenth-Century Women Writing on Women in Genesis, Marion Ann Taylor and Heather E. Weir, eds, p. 376.

One verse, fourteen words in Hebrew, often overlooked, tantalizingly vague. The importance of Deborah's life, the importance of anyone's life – yours, mine, the bus passenger's, the delivery person’s, the washroom attendant’s, the coffee server’s – cannot be measured by what is written about us after we're gone. The importance of a life is more than a column inch in the paper, more than a verse in the Torah. The meaning of our lives is measured by the difference we make in other lives. 

An extraordinary example would be the courageous nanny Sandra Samuel who rescued young Moshe Holzberg in Mumbai.  Her action saved an innocent life and restored our faith in humanity.  While this is a dramatic example, others are much more mundane.

Think about it. There are people whose paths crossed yours for a few years, a few months, weeks, days – even a single event for a few minutes – and that brief encounter made a lasting impression. These individuals give depth of meaning to our lives and probably don't even know it.

They are that single verse in the story of our lives that might be overwhelmed by the rest of the narrative, but which we can choose to stop and contemplate. We may not be able to thank them, but we can remember them appreciatively. In doing so, we find that they enrich our lives yet again.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel

Parashat Vayetze, Genesis 28:10-32:3

The delight of being "heard and understood" is something essential to humanity.

You know how you sometimes realize just a moment too late that a mistake has been made? We experienced that in my family this past week. We finally broke down and bought a "smartphone," one of those contraptions that allow you to access the web 24/7. Such devices should come with a warning attached, similar to the warning about the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. For the individual who mainly communicates by email, the smartphone can turn a tool of convenience into a source of addiction.

It is most astonishing how the internet, a form of communication less than 30 years old, is so much a part of our lives. The same observation was probably made about the telephone at one time. On that fateful March day in 1876, Alexander Graham Bell could not even begin to imagine how his successful experiment would transform the way we live. He did make a note in his journal that in hindsight reveals much, not about the invention itself, but about the inventors. In a journal entry dated March 10, 1876 Bell wrote: "I then shouted into M [the mouthpiece] the following sentence: 'Mr. Watson--come here--I want to see you.' To my delight he came and declared that he had heard and understood what I said."

The delight of being "heard and understood" is something essential to humanity. We all want to be heard, we all want to be understood. We send a message into the void, eagerly anticipating a reply. Over time, our eagerness has turned into impatience, as our modes of communication have become increasingly sophisticated. Responses need to be virtually instantaneous.

Being "heard and understood" is as old as the lessons in the Torah. Our patriarchs communicated with those around them but also had a special relationship with God. Rabbinic tradition (Berachot 26b) takes this relationship and develops it into a revolutionary form of communication with the Divine: the daily prayer services that replaced the sacrifices. The prooftext for Jacob's having instituted the Ma'ariv (evening) service is found at the very beginning of this week's parasha: He came upon (va-yifga) a certain place and stopped there for the night, for the sun had set. (Genesis 28:11) The Talmud connects va-yifga to a variation of the same root in Jeremiah 7:16, where the word tifga, to intercede, is related to prayer.

If we learn about the establishment of the prayer service from the patriarchs, we can also learn much about the essence of prayer from the matriarchs, and specifically from Leah and Rachel. These two sisters, both married to Jacob, appear to be in competition to see who can provide Jacob with the most offspring. Rachel even admits to this rivalry when she names one of the sons of her handmaiden, Bilhah: "A fateful contest I waged with my sister; yes, and I have prevailed." So she named him Naphtali. (Genesis 30:8)

Their prayers and the efficacy of those prayers come through in their desire to bear children. With Leah we are told that God heeded (va-yishma) Leah, and she conceived and bore him a fifth son. (Genesis 30:17) Similarly with Rachel we find out that…God remembered Rachel; God heeded (va-yishma) her and opened her womb. (Genesis 30:22)

Apparently God does a lot of listening with the matriarchs, especially as far as babies are concerned. First we have Sarah's laughter as a reaction to the news that she will bear a son. She denies laughing to herself, but God responds "You did laugh." (Genesis 18:14) Then Rebecca encounters difficulty in her pregnancy and turns to God: But the children struggled in her womb, and she said, "If so, why do I exist?" She went to inquire of the Lord, and the Lord answered her… (Genesis 25:22-3) Finally, we have the two sisters, whose private petitions we do not know, but we have the end result. In both cases God heard them, though we must bear in mind that the response was not instantaneous, neither for Leah nor certainly for Rachel.

There are other examples in the Torah of God heeding (va-yishma) human beings. God listens to Moses' plea not to destroy the people after the incident of the Golden Calf. (Deuteronomy 9:19 and 10:10) Later on, in the book of Judges (13:9), God listens to Manoah and provides him with a son, Samson.

How fortunate these individuals are to know that their prayers are heard and answered! In the Bible it is taken for granted that people have conversations with God. In rabbinic times our sages, struggling with the issue of having our prayers heard and answered, concluded that "One's prayer is heard if God is approached with heart in hand." (Ta'anit 8a) Certainly, in the instances quoted above, the fervency on the part of the person praying is evident. Yet we can all point to instances of deeply felt prayers that have had heartbreaking results. Too often, our attempts at dialogue with the Divine seem to end up as soliloquies.

Only inside can we feel if there is any reply. No activity in the world can conclusively demonstrate dialogue. Perhaps in the subjective chambers of the individual soul one may conclude that there was communication, but it is highly personal and ever uncertain. Everyone who prays struggles with the deep fear that this time, the only answer will be absence, silence.

Rabbi David Wolpe, The Healer of Shattered Hearts: A Jewish View of God

Is there a problem with us, with our mode of communication, or our expectations?

It is incorrect to describe prayer by analogy with human conversation; we do not communicate with God. We only make ourselves communicable to Him. …

Prayer is an answer to God: "Here am I. And this is the record of my days. Look in to my heart, into my hopes and my regrets." …

The purpose of prayer is to be brought to His attention, to be listened to, to be understood by Him; not to know Him but to be known to Him. To pray is to behold life not only as a result of His power, but as a concern of His will, or to strive to make our life a divine concern.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel , Man's Quest for God, as quoted in 

Modern Thinkers Reflect on Jewish Prayer , myjewishlearning.com

 To paraphrase the old telephone commercial: "Reach out and touch some One." We may not always get the response we seek; we may not even sense the acknowledgment. Then why bother to connect? Because this very act of yearning imbues our life with holy purpose.

Will you hear my voice, my distant one, 

will you hear my voice, wherever you are —

a voice calling strong, a voice crying silently 

and above time, commanding blessing?

…I shall wait for you until my life dims,

As Rachel awaited her lover.

Rachel, Sorrow Song (trans. Wendy Zierler), 

in The Torah: A Women's Commentary, p. 182

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel