Personal Narrative and the Needs of Others
By Mark Kirschbaum
This week’s perasha begins at a moment of climax – all seems lost. An innocent descent to Egypt to purchase food has ended up with youngest brother Benyamin in prison, and it seems that due to the actions of the brothers, the children of Rachel are at risk of total decimation (with Yosef believed dead and Benyamin in a place worse than death), which they know would compound their father’s already unrelieved grief to beyond mortal tolerance.
In an act of desperation, Yehudah steps forward and begins to plead with the hostile sovereign for his brother’s life. The text uses some unusual language – its says Vayigash Elav Yehudah, Yehudah “encountered” him. The use of the term vayigash, from the root hagasha, (to come close, also to prepare) is somewhat unusual, both linguistically and even in terms of the action, given that they were in the same room. And to whom is the second word in the phrase, Elav, “to him”, referring to?
In fact, why does the text need to quote Yehuda’s speech at such length? There is seemingly nothing new revealed in terms of the linear development of the plot; we are given no new facts about the brothers’ history, and no new personal revelations. Yet this speech is very extensively analyzed by the Midrashim. The Midrash choreographs entire dialogues lurking behind the words of Yehudah, referring to all sorts of hidden meanings within his every word, both conciliatory and threatening words; the prelude in the Midrash Rabbah (BR 93:3) insists that the words of Yehudah “can be interpreted from every angle.” We will find that the words of Yehuda teach us several useful lessons for the fight against societal injustice.
The Midrash (BR 93:6) tells us that the term vayigash reflects three types of preparation:
“R. Yehudah says: preparation for war…R. Nehemiah says: preparation for mediation, diplomacy…The Rabbis say: preparation for prayer…R. Elazar settled this saying: If for war, I’m ready, if for diplomatic mediation, I’m ready, if for prayer [i.e., if all is lost], I’m ready…
We see then several possibilities for the odd word vayigash, a stepping forward towards several potential activities, and thus, stepping forward towards several possible Elavs, several possible “towards him,” several possible objects of the sentence; these possible objects are of interest, as we shall see.
To whom then, does the “elav” refer? One interesting approach taken by several of the mystical commentators is that the Elav to whom this verse refers is God, in other words, that the speech given by Yehudah, is actually not an argument to the Pharoah’s minister, but actually a prayer, where Yehudah is pleading and negotiating with Gd.
This approach is found in both the Noam Elimelech and the Bat Ayin. They both read Yehuda’s speech as a prayer addressed to God, and not a prayer limited to this particular narrative, as we shall see. The Noam Elimelech’s transformation of this passage into a meditation for all time takes off from the next phrase, where Yehuda states ki komacha k’pharoh, that “you are like Pharoah.” This is generally understood as Yehuda telling Yosef, that he is equal to the Pharoah in the brother’s eyes. However, the Noam Elimelech sees this phrase as our recognizing our human weakness and inability to focus on what truly matters – when we pray, the Noam Elimelech says, sometimes our minds are properly focused on You, God (kamocha), sometimes we are too distracted by the thoughts of mundane desires that enslave us (Pharoah)…
The Bat Ayin, a disciple of the Noam Elimelech, turns this passage into one of those wondrous Hassidic plaints toward God- “How can you, God, behave like the evil Pharoah?” The Mei HaShiloach, who also offers a reading in this vein, adds that the next phrase, bi adoni, “me, my Lord” reflects Yehuda’s internal certitude that his cause is correct, thus God must redeem him.
The Sefat Emet, in earlier years, also reads the “elav” as referring to God, but in his writings of the year 5637 (1877), adds a second possible object to whom Yehuda turns with this speech – to himself. The phrase Elav means that Yehuda approaches himself in dialogue, that this text is a soliloquy directed at himself – Yehuda is reevaluating the events for himself: “after all, Yehudah did not introduce one new fact in these words, and he had no solid claim to put forward as a defense to Yosef – even so, the clarification of the issue to himself brought about salvation.”
In current terminology, one might say that only the individual’s construction of his own narrative brings about a level of self-understanding, that only then can the individual (and us as the readers) come to any form of enlightenment. This message is related multiple times in the Torah. For example, there is a frequently cited Midrash upon the story of the servant of Abraham’s mission to find a bride for Yitzchak, his son, in which it is claimed that Eliezer, the servant of Abraham, had a daughter that he wished Isaac to marry as revealed. This is revealed, according the Midrah, by the deficient spelling of the word “perhaps” in the phrase “perhaps she (a prospective bride for Isaac found in Haran) will not wish to follow me back here” (the word for perhaps, “ve’ulay” is written without a vav). Interestingly, as the Kotzker points out, that in the initial narrative of the story, when the servant first says this phrase to Avraham in discussing his mission, the word is written complete, with the vav in place, thus not giving away this covert hope that Yitzchak marries his daughter. It is only in a later passage, when the servant repeats the story about his mission to Rivka’s family, that the word perhaps is written without the vav, only when the servant recreates the events in his own mind and thus constructs a personal narrative out the events that transpired, that he comes to realize that his intentions were, in fact, tainted by his own personal desire for failure of the mission. In an honest retrospective reconstruction of the events that transpire in one’s life, one can come to recognize one’s own hidden motivations, the obstacles one has placed in one’s own way, and thus begin a path to self-correction and reconciliation.
In this light, we can understand the Midrash (BR 93:9) which tells us that it was only after Yehuda’s speech that Yehuda himself realized how committed he was to saving his brothers, that he was even willing to give up his life for his brothers, and in this way, revealed through his words just how profound was his sincere contriteness for his previous actions. It is this construction of his internal narrative that is recorded as a lesson for us here, the centerpiece of the narrative, the moment of insight, of progress- Yehuda’s internal story.
It is with this theme that we can take this passage and move beyond a local interpretive reading into something much greater and deeper. Let us follow the logic of the text before us. After Yehuda’s successful speech, Yosef breaks down, reveals who that he is not a Pharoah but really their brother, and then there is a very clear shift in the structure of the story from the conflict between Yehudah and Yosef, who both fade out of center stage, to a resumption of concern with Yaakov, who resumes centrality in the next perasha as he gives the blessings to his sons. Contrary to previous blessing narratives, such as that of Avraham or Yitzhak, in which a non-specific positive blessing is given, this time the blessings from Yaakov also contain recollections of past events linked with wishes and predictions for the future. Blessings now come with a history and a story. The stories relating to the fraternal enmity and eventual consolation in Egypt are all framed by Yaakov’s narrative.
Yaakov’s narrative at this point in the story is that just as Yehuda learns by recollecting, so does Yaakov. Perhaps in this way Yaakov now receives the answer to his earlier request at the time he left his father’s house for the first time – Yaakov at the time asked, Im yihyeh Elokim imadi, “If God would only accompany me,” and now, at this point, at the end of his tale, he recognizes, that God was there with him all along, present in every moment of his story; it often takes an attentive recollection, review and retelling of one’s own story, an honest construction of one’s personal narrative, in order for any person to become aware of this kind of presence in their own life and to give it meaning.
The Izhbitzer in his work, Mei Shiloach, takes this theme of the retroactive uncovering of meaning through honest re-appraisal to a more universal level. The Izhbitzer has a remarkable reading of the dialogue narrated in Shemot (Exodus) 23, where God reveals himself to Moshe with the phrase, “my back you shall see but not my front.” This the Izhbitzer teaches as meaning that God can be found in history primarily in retrospect; we may not sense God’s presence in the events as the events are occurring, but in a retrospective analysis God’s presence can become palpable. The same process of retroactive understanding, writes the Izhbitzer, is illustrated in this story of the brothers in Egypt, and in essence, in all of Jewish history, of which this episode is meant to serve as a paradigm. In this episode, from the brothers’ perspective, upon innocently traveling to Egypt to procure food, they unexpectedly find themselves in the darkest of situations, about to lose everything, with no hope for redemption, and suddenly, at the bleakest moment, in retrospect, it is apparent that they never at any time, were in any danger at all! It was their brother standing before them all along! According to the optimistic view of the Izhbitzer, so will it be at the end of history, when all will come to realize that History has meaning, that God had a purpose for all of our suffering, and in retrospective understanding, all the dark moments will become points in a line leading to universal enlightenment.
I would like to return, at this point to the idea of personal narrative as illustrated by the soliloquy of Yehuda. How “personal” is the personal narrative we are to create for ourselves to be? Too often teachings related to personal awareness are read as some kind of purely private moment, limited to therapeutic or self-help approaches. In other words, they are meant to help you figure out what is “wrong” with your own story and by correcting yourself, you will fit in better at work or in relationships, and then your life will be smoother and you will be more productive.
I would argue that too often, “self-help” advice is merely a cover for deflecting the injustices in society upon the individual, onto some kind of failure of the individual to conform as argued Adorno in his work, The Stars Down To Earth, in which he summarized several years worth of newspaper horoscopes as teaching one how better to fit in and not cause trouble, when it is clear that there are injustices in society which are the truer cause of the individual’s alienation and suffering. Too much of the self correcting emphases of contemporary therapy is meant to subvert the alienation and injustice induced by societal inequalities into a deficiency of the hapless individual , who only needs to cope and accommodate in order to be “happier” and have more “fun.”
In this light, we might suggest a third alternative towards whom this elav was pointed, at whom Yehuda’s speech, read as critique, was directed. Yehuda stepped forward and, to use another generation’s useful terminology, “spoke Truth to the Man.” The Tiferet Shelomo reads Yehudah’s speech as intending to question the dominant society’s sense of fairness in these events which clearly represented a miscarriage of justice within the dominant society. The Tiferet Shelomo says that the impact of Yehudah’s speech is a result of his speaking from a sense of arevut, out of a sense of responsibility for the Other. Only when Yehuda realized that he has taken personal responsibility for the Other’s cause upon himself, could he then speak clearly and directly. All too often, when we need to make personal requests for our own well-being, we find ourselves feeling inhibited, embarrassed, and unable to express in words what we really want. However, when we sincerely take up the Other’s cause, we find that we can accurately pinpoint the needs and the injustices and make the proper stand on behalf of a better society.
This standing up for the victims of injustice, for the weak members of society, the Tiferet Shelomo argues, is the deeper meaning of all our prayers. “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh la’zeh”- all of humanity needs to feel responsibility for one another’s welfare. This is why all the prayers in the Hebrew prayer service are phrased in the plural voice, never “heal me,” always, “heal us.” The Talmud teaches us that when one prays for another’s well-being, the personal needs of the individual praying are answered first – perhaps, because our own needs are not clear to us until first we have stood up for the rights and needs of another…
In summary, the lesson of the opening line of this week’s Torah reading, Vayigash elav Yehuda, might be read as teaching that all levels of relationship, from those with ourselves to those with others, even onto relationships with the divine, require a construction of one’s own personal narrative, which itself is perhaps only possible when we learn to feel responsibility for the pain and suffering of our fellow human beings. This yearning to mitigate the suffering of others is our tefillah, our prayer, and I suspect, as the Izhbitzer suggests, the route and goal of our ultimate redemption.
Kirschbaum, Mark. "Weekly Torah Commentary Perashat Vayigash: Personal Narrative and the Needs of Others." Tikkun Daily. (Viewed on December 7, 2013). http://www.tikkun.org/tikkundaily/2011/12/28/weekly-torah-commentary-perashat-vayigash-personal-narrative-and-the-needs-of-others/
An End to the Charade
– By Rabbi Stephen Fuchs
The entire story of Joseph builds toward the moment when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers in Parashat Vayigash.
We wonder though, Why does Joseph treat his brothers so harshly? Why does he accuse them of being spies? Why does he demand Benjamin’s presence in Egypt, and why does he instruct his steward to put his goblet into Benjamin’s bag?
Many commentators suggest that Joseph’s motive was revenge. The brothers mistreated Joseph and sold him as a slave, and so now Joseph is paying them back.
Even W. Gunther Plaut in his masterful Torah commentary suggests revenge as one of Joseph’s motives. Plaut writes that at first and understandably, Joseph thought of revenge. He still wants revenge more than he wants love. (The Torah, A Modern Commentary, p. 284)
However, if revenge had been Joseph’s goal, he could have exacted it without disguise, without delay, and without bringing the untold anguish upon his father that Benjamin’s journey to Egypt caused. Joseph acted as he did for only one reason: He wanted to see if his brothers had changed.
Years before, Joseph had been their father’s favorite. As a result, Joseph’s brothers hated him and sold him away into slavery. With Joseph gone, Benjamin became Jacob’s favorite. By putting his cup into Benjamin’s sack, Joseph places Benjamin in a position whereby he would be detained in Egypt as a slave and Jacob would once again suffer the loss of his favorite son.
Judah knows what is at stake. In one of literature’s most stirring speeches (Genesis 44:18-34), he offers himself as a substitute for Benjamin. That is all Joseph-who has already had to leave the room twice in his meetings with his brothers to avoid breaking down and weeping in their presence-needs to hear in order to end the charade.
Our tradition calls a person who repents for his or her sins a ba’al or balat teshuvah (literally, a “master of repentance”). The Jewish tradition accords even a greater honor to a person who commits a particular transgression but later, when he or she is put in a similar position, turns away from the same kind of wrongdoing. That person is a ba’al teshuvah shelemah (a “master of complete repentance”). This is the lofty designation Judah earns for his actions in Joseph’s presence. [See Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Sefer Bereshit, pp. 327-328 (Hebrew edition), pp. 460-461 (English edition)].
In Parashat Vayigash, Judah becomes a true hero. The story discusses his emergence as the progenitor of Israel’s most enduring tribe. We can be proud that the words “Jew” and “Judaism” are derived from his name. More important, Judah’s example of repentance can inspire us to examine our own actions and help us to turn away from transgressions we have committed in the past.
Fuchs, Stephen. "An End to the Charade." Torah Study. (Viewed on December 7, 2013). http://www.reformjudaism.org/end-charade
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