Vayigash

Genesis 44:18−47:27

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Does God Have a Plan for You?

After receiving bad news or experiencing a tragic event, people will sometimes respond with the words, "It's God's will." There's even a Yiddish phrase that captures the idea, "It's bashert," meaning it was meant to be.

What is your reaction to such a response? Are you comfortable with it? Or does it fall on unreceptive ears? Is it in keeping with your philosophy of life or does it rub you the wrong way?

In this week's parashah, Vayigash, Joseph reassures his brothers that they should not feel guilty about the way they treated him. They had good reason to be frightened and harbor guilt. After all, they had tossed Joseph into a pit and sold him to passing merchants who led the lad into servitude in Egypt.

But Joseph tells his brothers not to fear, because ". . . it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. There have already been two years of famine in the land, and (there remain) five more years without plowing or harvesting. So God sent me ahead of you to assure your survival in the land, and to keep you alive for a great deliverance" (Genesis 45:5-7).

If Joseph had spoken Yiddish, he might have said that it was bashert. Of course he couldn't use those words because Yiddish developed more than two millennia later than the time Joseph lived.

Bashert suggests a fatalism that doesn't quite fit in with the lives we live today. Most of us believe in free will. We believe that we actually have choices and are responsible for the choices that we make. Most of our actions seem to be under our control. If a student works hard and writes a fine paper, she expects to be rewarded with a good grade. If that paper were bashert--destined to be written in just those words--no matter what she did, any grade or reward would be meaningless. Maimonides taught that free will is a fundamental belief in Judaism.1 (A Maimonides Reader, Isadore Twersky, ed., Behrman House, New York, 1972, pp. 77-78).

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Mikeitz

Genesis 41:1−44:17

D'var Torah By: Rabbi Bruce Kadden; Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

The Power of Names and Naming

Elie Wiesel has written, "In Jewish history, a name has its own history and its own memory. It connects beings with their origins. To retrace its path is then to embark on an adventure in which the destiny of a single word becomes one with that of a community; it is to undertake a passionate and enriching quest for all those who may live in your name."1

From the story of the Creation through the rest of Genesis, the giving of names has been a significant part of the biblical narrative. After creating the wild animals and birds, God "brought the man to see what he would call each one; and whatever the man called it, that became the creature's name" (Genesis 2:19).

In this week's portion, Mikeitz, Joseph moves from being falsely imprisoned to becoming second in command in Egypt due to his ability to interpret dreams. As Joseph settles into his new life, he is given a new name by Pharaoh: Zaphenath-paneah, which is "Egyptian for 'God speaks; He lives' or 'Creator of life.' "2 This name signifies not only that Joseph is now fully part of Egyptian society, but also that his special gift that has allowed him to succeed is the ability to speak for God.

Pharaoh also gives Joseph "Asenath daughter of Potiphera priest of On as a wife" (Genesis 41:45) and they soon become parents of two boys. "Joseph named the first-born son Manasseh [Hebrew, Menasheh], 'For God has made me forget all the troubles I endured in my father's house.' And he named the second one Ephraim, 'For God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction' " (Genesis 41:51-52). These explanations may or may not accurately reflect the actual linguistic derivation of the names, but they do reflect the biblical author's understanding of the meaning of the name in relationship to the narrative.

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Vayeishev

Genesis 37:1−40:23

God’s Presence Can Be a Wondrous Thing

By Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff, Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

When I was a young rabbinic student at Hebrew Union College, I served a small Reform congregation in Fairmont, West Virginia. After Shabbat dinner at the home of a dedicated member (they were all dedicated in Fairmont!), I walked to synagogue with my host. On the way, I naively observed, "Since you go to shul every Shabbat, you must have a strong faith in God." His response surprised me: "Truthfully, I have little faith. I don't go to temple to be with God; I go to be with other Jews."

If I were to share that story with an evangelical Christian, she might not get it. Most evangelicals go to church to be with God (and with their friends, as well). The difference has to do, in part, with Jews being a minority. Especially in small communities, we feel a strong need to be with other Jews. But fundamentally, being Jewish often is not about God. It is frequently about Israel, values, social justice, ethnic bonds, customs, rituals, and preserving those traditions from generation to generation.

I meet many liberal Jews--Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, or agnostic--who tell me that they envy the strong faith of Evangelicals, Orthodox Jews, and others. They wonder why we don't have more God-talk. They wish they could feel the Presence of God more intensely in their lives. They long for just a fraction of the faith that some of their neighbors have.

In Parashat Vayeishev, we read that when Joseph was in Egypt, "the Eternal was with Joseph." Moreover, his master, Potiphar, Captain of Pharaoh's Guard, "saw that the Eternal was with him" (Genesis 39:2-3).

What does it mean "to be with God"? How did Joseph get to be with God? Did he pray three times a day or feel confident that God would protect him? What would it take for you and me to "be with God"? Let's consider how our tradition might respond to these questions.

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Vayishlach

Genesis 32:4−36:43

Chasing Your Demons: Finding Your Friend

By Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff, Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Many years ago, I conducted a funeral for a man who died at the age of ninety-four. What I remember most about that funeral was not the fact that he had achieved national recognition as a biologist, but rather that he had four daughters and none of them spoke to each other. I still see them in my mind's eye at the synagogue service, and later at the cemetery, purposely sitting apart and avoiding even the slightest contact with one another.

I thought about them as I read this week's parashah, Vayishlach. After Jacob tricked Esau out of his birthright blessing, Jacob fled his home, spent twenty years in the service of his abusive uncle, Laban, and then stealthily, with his wives and children in tow, hurried back to Canaan where he knew he might encounter disaster at the hands of his brother.

In Genesis 32, he stops running. After fording the Jabbok River, he remains alone and wrestles with someone until dawn brakes. One of the great questions of biblical literature is: "With whom did Jacob wrestle?" It seems clear that he wrestled with God because he said, "I have seen God face-to-face" (Genesis 32:31). And yet, the text tells us that "a man wrestled with him" (32:25). That man might have been his vision of Esau or perhaps he was struggling with himself. Haven't we all struggled with our fears and vulnerabilities at some time in the dead of night? Jacob anticipated Esau's arrival with a small army. That's enough for a nightmare.

While we cannot know for certain what occurred that night, Professor Norman J. Cohen from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion suggests that Jacob "was conscious of all the different forces in his life with which he struggled: God, Esau, the side of himself that haunted him like a shadow. He was surely confronting both the human and divine in his life... That night, all the parts of Jacob and all the parts of his life came together, and he would never be the same" (Voices from Genesis, Woodstock, Vermont: Jewish Lights, 1998, p. 125).

We do know that in the struggle he was wounded and left with a limp. Aren't we all wounded at some time or another, and left with the scars of life's conflicts?

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Vayeitzei

Genesis 28:10−32:3

By Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff, Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

Finding the Spiritual Within Us

What is the most common word used in discussions about religion today? You might think it is "God," "prayer," or "faith." We hear those words a lot.

But most common of all is "spirituality": it is frequently used, rarely defined, and difficult to define. There is no Classical Hebrew equivalent: in Modern Hebrew it's called ruchaniyut. The concept of spirituality comes more from Christian philosophy, which historically divides world into the material and the spiritual. In Judaism we see only one world: material and spiritual at the same time. And in Judaism, the material is always potentially spiritual. The most ordinary, mundane thing has the potential to be spiritual: dirt, sweat, food, snow, or rain.

Why is the search for spirituality so important today?

You can probably answer that question as well as I can. We've passed through a decade or two – some would say centuries – of materialism: industrial revolution, scientific breakthroughs, technology formerly unimagined. We've seen prosperity in this country and other Western lands. We have accomplished a great deal materially and indulged ourselves generously. And we've paid little attention to the non-material, the spiritual. Sometimes we've grown so distant from the spiritual that we've forgotten it existed – or how to connect with it.

The Kobriner Rebbe used this simple teaching: he turned to his Chasidim and asked: "Do you know where God is?" He took a piece of bread, showed it to them, and observed: "God is in this piece of bread. Without God's expression of power in all nature, this bread would have no existence."1

Some people think that God is hiding from us. But as we learn in the Book of Jonah (chapter 1) it is we who hide from God.

How do we hide from God? We hide by not letting ourselves think in spiritual ways; by avoiding places, moments, and situations where we might be more open to God; by convincing ourselves that we are not spiritual.

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Tol'dot

Helicopter Parents and the Jewish Future

Genesis 25:19−28:9

By Charles A. Kroloff, Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org

The Book of Genesis is full of unethical behavior or, at the least, highly questionable actions by our matriarchs and patriarchs. Abraham let Sarah be physically available to Pharaoh, indicating that she was his sister. He then proceeded to come within a knife's breath of sacrificing his son Isaac at Mount Moriah. Sarah dispatched Hagar and Ishmael from the security of her tent into the unforgiving wilderness. Isaac dissembled before Abimelech, obfuscating his relationship to Rebekah. Jacob and his father Isaac engage in a biblical game of "can-you-guess-who-I-am?" as the blessing for the first born goes to the younger brother.

And then there is Rebekah. Let's review her role in the unfolding drama of the Hebrew family. Isaac grows old and hungers for a tasty dish of game from the hand of Esau, the hunter. Overhearing this request, Rebekah quickly cooks up a scrumptious meal and instructs Jacob to deliver the goods in order to receive the blessing intended for Esau. When Esau learns that his brother has usurped his position, he threatens to kill him. Rebekah, never one to remain passive, dispatches Jacob to stay with her brother Laban in order to protect her son's life.

Rebekah is the most remarkable manager in biblical literature. From the moment Abraham's servant Eliezer meets her at the well seeking a wife for Isaac to this episode where she schemes and tricks her family to ensure that Jacob, rather than Esau, becomes patriarch, she manipulates the characters like an all-knowing director on the stage of life. This is some family-weak characters and strong ones, tricky folks, shadowy plots, and plenty of dysfunction!

But before we pass them off as ideal candidates for long-term family therapy, (which they certainly need), let's try to understand some of the lessons the biblical story conveys.

In his work, Certain People of the Book, Maurice Samuel describes Rebekah as the manager who was "chosen to guard Isaac in the fulfillment of his destiny."1 It was thanks to Rebekah, Samuel argues, that the future of the Jewish people rested in the hands of Jacob who by temperament was best prepared for the role. She saw the uniqueness of each of her sons. What had to get done, got done, albeit in a messy way. But we are human and we function in an imperfect world.

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Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1−25:18

By Charles A. Kroloff, Reprinted from ReformJudaism.org 

Knowing that We Are Blessed

As Abraham reached the twilight of his years, our Torah portion informs us that "the Eternal had blessed Abraham in every way" (Genesis 24:1).

The Rabbis were perplexed by such an assertion. No surprise! Do you know anyone on earth who is blessed with everything? Some people may give the impression that they "have everything." But when you scratch the surface you will find that we all carry burdens-physical, emotional, and financial. We live with disappointment, with pain, with hopes not realized and goals never achieved.

So what about Abraham? As Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (known as Ramban or Nachmanides) suggests, Abraham was blessed with riches, possessions, honor, and longevity (Ramban on Genesis 24:1). What was notable was that he was beyond the need for worldly gain. What do you think that might mean?

Jewish tradition offers many opinions about who is truly blessed. One of the most striking observations comes from Ben Zoma in Pirkei Avot, ( Ethics of the Fathers), who asks: "Who is rich?" He responds: "one who is happy with what he has" (4.1). Is it possible that Abraham had reached the point in life where he was not only blessed, but also knew that he was blessed?

There's a big difference between being blessed and knowing that we are blessed.

I'm acquainted with people who can be seated at their dinner table surrounded by children and grandchildren, and be aggravated because a family member arrived late or didn't remember his last birthday. And there are those whose perspective is quite different: who take in the scene and praise God for their abundant blessings. The latter are the ones who truly cherish what we have: we human beings are the only creatures on earth who are not only blessed, but also capable of knowing we are blessed.

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