Redeeming Captives: Shemot.25

Redeeming Captives

D’var Torah on Parashat Shemot

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 16, 2025

Three of the most famous words in the entire Bible appear in this week’s Torah portion, (Shemot, “Names”, Exodus 1:1—6:1): Shalach et ami: “Let my people go” (Ex. 5:1). One reason for this is that these words express a basic human right—a right not granted to everyone, but that all strive for: to be free. As the story of the Redemption of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt begins, the phrase is spoken forcefully by Moses to Pharaoh. But beyond that moment it has resonated for all humanity throughout the ages. However for Jews, these words have held even more special meaning. They have always served to sound the alarm—not only in ancient times, but also in our own day and time. 

Exiled in ancient Babylon, confined and bolted in European ghettoes, segregated and humiliated as second-class citizens in Arab countries, the Jews are familiar with captivity.

In the Middle Ages it was not uncommon for famous rabbis and other community leaders to be captured and held for ransom. Redeeming the captives was considered such a great mitzvah (holy commandment) that Jewish communities rarely failed to follow through and come up with the money. The mitzvah was given special emphasis in the 12th century by Maimonides, who wrote, “There is no greater mitzvah than redeeming captives”(Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Matanot Aniyim 8:10-11). Maimonides based his ruling on a passage from the Talmud that teaches, “The sword is worse than death…Famine is worse than the sword… And captivity is worse than all of them as it includes all of them” (Bava Batra 8b).

In more modern times, the phrase became especially meaningful during the struggle to free Soviet Jews. And it certainly resonates powerfully today, a year and three months after nearly 250 Israelis were taken hostage by Hamas terrorists. 

We are now told that 33 of these hostages are to be freed within “hours or days.” One can only hope. And yet the price that Israel will pay for their freedom will be enormous. Thousands of terrorists imprisoned in Israel, including many with blood on their hands, will be released. It’s a high price, but one that Israel feels morally obligated to pay. 

Negotiations for the release of the hostages are proceeding at a snail’s pace in Doha, Qatar, and—as has happened before—might fall through at any moment. At any moment someone, somewhere, might decide not to go through with whatever agreements may have already been reached. Last minute violence might turn the tables. Political maneuverings by individuals seeking personal gain or advantage might derail the entire process. Both in Israel and in Gaza, it’s in the power of a single vote and voice to swing the pendulum one way or another.

Beyond the screaming—and often misleading—headlines, it’s hard to remember that human lives, broken bodies and souls, are at stake.

The war has caused incalculable suffering and damage to Israel as well as the Gazan population. The evil of antisemitism—which for some time lurked in the festering sewers of society—has become open, accepted and even mainstream again. Israel is, in a sense, being held captive by world opinion as well as by its own ideals, torn between its two most important goals and purposes: 1) guaranteeing safety and security for its citizens, and 2) being a “light unto the nations.” 

It’s all part of the dialogue (and often diatribe) surrounding those three most important words,  Shalach et ami: “Let my people go.”

In the story of the Exodus from Egypt, the miraculous escape of the Israelites is capped by Miriam’s Song, also known as Shirat Ha-Yam, “The Song of the Sea.” I doubt that many will be singing any song at this point. There will instead be tears—tears both of relief and happiness, but also of sorrow and anger. Lives and souls will have to be healed, and families as well as homes will need to be rebuilt. Only when that is done will a new song arise.

But first—and most important of all—uniting Jews in Israel and all over the world, will be the prayer and blessing we will all say: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם מַתִּיר אֲסוּרִים, Baruch Ata Adonai, Eloheynu Melech Ha-olam, matir assurim, “Blessed are You Adonai, Sovereign of the Universe, who frees the captive.”

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Vayechi.25: Shepherd, Kingmaker, Candlestick Maker

Shepherd, Kingmaker, Candlestick Maker: Vayechi.25

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 9, 2025

This week's portion (Va-yechi, Genesis 47:28--50:26) brings to a close the first book of the Torah, Genesis. It also offers a fulfilling conclusion to the stories of Jacob, the third Patriarch of the Jewish People, and of Joseph and his Brothers. It’s a happy ending of sorts ("happily ever after" only works in legends and fairy tales), but at the same time it also opens the door not only to the next book, Exodus, but actually to the unfolding of the entire history and philosophy of Judaism.

The main characters of these chapters—Jacob, Joseph and Judah—all grow and develop through their respective stories. Each learns something important about themselves and their place and role in the world. Jacob—the erstwhile doubter—now at the end of his life and ready to give his children his death-bed blessing, expresses his new understanding of God's Presence: "The God who has been my shepherd all my life to this day" (Gen. 48:15, NIV). Jacob’s faith is no longer riddled with doubts. He has come to understand and accept the role that God has had in his life, guarding and guiding him yet leaving him free to make his own choices and decisions. 

Jacob’s understanding of God is very different from Joseph's. Earlier in his life Joseph prided himself on his God-given gift as interpreter of dreams. He saw himself as The Blessed One among his brothers, the focus not only of Jacob’s love but also of God’s attention. Now however, also nearing the end of his life, Joseph’s vision has become even grander. Even as he forgives his brothers for everything they had done to him, he tells them, "Although you intended me harm, God intended it for good, so as to bring about the present result--the survival of many people" (Gen. 50:20). What we do or say doesn't matter, he implies; it's God who pulls the strings, God who controls and even manipulates history and life. It wasn’t the brothers’ fault that they sold him into slavery. It was God’s intention all along. Joseph’s view enables him to see his years of exile and suffering as part of God’s larger—and unknowable—plan, and this gives him a measure of comfort and consolation.

Unlike Jacob and Joseph, we don’t hear much about Judah’s relationship with God. He is more of a doer than a believer, one whose feet are firmly planted on the ground and who relies on the work of his hands to shape his life. His life journey, however, has taught him a valuable lesson: What you do and say matters, with consequences that often last well into the future. Stepping up to defend and protect Benjamin, along with his confession and sincere repentance (see last week’s portion, Vayigash) make the entire story’s resolution possible. His words and deeds hold the key to his own, personal, redemption, but simultaneously also shed light on an ethical and moral way of life—the substance of Judaism from that point on.

There is no "winner take all" as this philosophical discussion concludes. Each of these three perspectives is interwoven into Jewish philosophy. Jacob's view is perhaps the most subtle, yet also more complete, of the three. Throughout our history we, B'nai Yisrael, the children of Jacob/Israel, aka the Jewish People, have seen God's guiding hand in our lives. God has indeed been our Shepherd, so beautifully expressed in Psalm 23, "Adonai is my Shepherd, I shall not want." For thousands of years this Psalm has given us solace as well as purpose. Yet it does not offer excuses for our mistakes. This is where Judah's view comes into our faith: We are individually responsible for our own actions. Our words and deeds shape our lives. We all make mistakes, but forgiveness and redemption are possible—not only through God's Grace, but as a result, once again, of what we say and do. The focus in Judah's worldview is on our humanity. Our weaknesses and our strengths form us; our choices give us purpose and direct us onto the path that is our life. 

And Joseph? He represents a perfect ideal, the messianic hope that lies within each of us, that God not only guides, God actually shapes the course of our life, leading us to a predestined goal, a state of completion and holiness.

In this week's portion, however, we also find an epilogue to Joseph’s story, one that contains a cautionary warning: As viceroy of Egypt, Joseph turns all the Egyptians into Pharaoh's serfs. The lesson this part of the story teaches is that a certain danger lies in Joseph's worldview. To be sure, the messianic ideal is part of Judaism. The prophet Isaiah describes it in his beautiful vision: “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them (Is. 11:6, KJV). We have always striven to achieve harmony with the world around us, to find our own place and role not only in our private lives, but also in the life of the cosmos. Our hope and purpose have always been to heal that which we see broken, to make the world whole again—or at the very least, better than how we found it. That is the essence of messianism. Yet there is a lurking danger in this philosophy: It's a perspective that emerges from, and often leads to, gross overestimation of ourselves. Messianism—the idea of a divine goal and purpose to existence—is one thing; messiahs and messianic figures are something different altogether. World (and Jewish) history is filled with people who thought so highly of themselves that they managed to convince themselves as well as others of their divine origin and purpose. Such a view, warns the Torah, is dangerous. It inevitably ends up enslaving others. It diminishes human potential and deprives people of essential human rights and freedoms. The kind of absolute devotion that messianic figures demand and command is not different from any other kind of totalitarianism. It is, for all intents and purposes, tyranny. Sadly, history—past and present—is filled with examples of this danger.

The three different perspectives that the Torah offers us have become inseparable parts of Judaism, parts of who each of us is and hopes to be. Within each of us we find the dreamer as well as the doer, even as we come to realize that we have not been walking the path alone—that God's Presence has always been there alongside us, Shepherding us through deep shadows as well as sunlit meadows.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Judah’s Redemption: Vayigash.25

Judah’s Redemption: Vayigash.25

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 2, 2025

In classical music there’s a form called “sonata-allegro,” a structure consisting of three parts: exposition, development and recapitulation (aka “recap”). Motifs and melodies are presented in the first part, worked out in the second, and finally restated—often with greater emotional impact—in the third. Definitively set and expanded by 18th and 19th composers such as Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, this form is still frequently used today, though evidence of much earlier use—in literature if not necessarily in music—can possibly be discerned in the story of Joseph and his Brothers, consisting of chapters 37-50 in the first book of the Torah, Genesis.

By now most of us are familiar with the story. Joseph is set apart from—and above—his brothers by their father, Jacob. Presented with extra privileges (and an expensive robe that signifies power and authority) Joseph grows to be hated by his brothers. The fault doesn’t only lie in Jacob’s preferential treatment of Joseph; Joseph himself is filled with visions of power which he doesn’t bother to hide, and he is both a braggart and a tattler. The opportunity for comeuppance arrives one day when Jacob sends Joseph out to inquire about the brothers’ welfare—they had wandered far off from home in tending the flocks. Seeing the boy from afar (and undoubtedly recognizing his splendid coat) they decide to kill him while laying the blame on a wild animal. Joseph is spared only by the opportune arrival of a caravan of Midianite traders who buy him for the paltry sum of 20 pieces of silver. 

End exposition. 

Joseph is sold to a powerful man in Egypt and—as usual—finds success in everything he does. However, about two years into his servitude he is unjustly accused of attempted rape (of his master’s wife no less!) and is thrown into a dungeon. But even there he is successful, interpreting the dreams and correctly predicting the fate of two fellow prisoners, Pharaoh’s chief baker and the chief cupbearer. Later he is called upon to interpret disturbing dreams Pharaoh himself has had, and is raised to the position of viceroy of all Egypt. As a terrible famine spreads all over the world, Joseph’s brothers—among others—come to purchase food from the storehouses that Joseph had filled with provisions during the seven years of plenty. They don’t recognize him, but Joseph has perhaps been on the lookout for them, and he definitely recognizes them.  With so much power over his brothers—the fulfillment of his dreams—Joseph debates within himself their fate, and decides to test them to see whether they feel any remorse for their past actions.

End of development.

The recap comes in this week’s Torah portion, Va-Yigash (“[Judah] drew near,” Genesis 44:18—47:27).  In music, the sonata-allegro form is more than just structure. The form is used to convey both story line and emotions. And so it is with the story of Joseph and his Brothers. That is certainly true for Joseph himself, who shows growth and maturity as he falls from grace and then rises again. But it is even more so for Judah. Throughout the story, we watch Judah’s character evolve from villain to hero. It was Judah, after all, who suggested that Joseph be sold to the Midianites, along with a cynical show of compassion: “After all, he is our brother, our own flesh and blood” (Gen. 37:27). However, in the intervening 20 years or so (there is some disagreement in the sources about the exact number of years), Judah has come to understand the extent of his wrongdoing. From the lesson taught him by his daughter-in-law, Tamar, he has learned about responsibility and keeping promises. With the deaths of two of his sons, Er and Onan, he learns about loss and grief. And true compassion finally is awakened within him as he realizes that all he has left is his last surviving son, Shela, who, at the telling of the story, is yet a young child.

At this point in the story, all these life-lessons come together to motivate Judah to step up to Joseph and retell almost the entire story (though leaving out a few salient facts about his own role in it; presumably the shame and guilt he must be feeling are too great and personal to share). As Joseph listens, one can almost sense the turbulence in his heart. Waves of memories flood Joseph, filling him with complex emotions—self-pity, anger, perhaps even hatred, and a burning desire for vengeance. 

And yet one other emotion rises unexpectedly and overcomes all the negative feelings, one Joseph had long suppressed: love. 

Key to Judah’s confession is his reference to Jacob as “father,” 14 times in 16 verses. In the first five of these he uses the term objectively: “A father” and “his father.” Then nine times more, perhaps reflecting, even at this extreme moment, Judah’s deepening grasp of the grief he had caused Jacob, Judah refers to Jacob in a more personal way: “Our father” and, ultimately, “my father.”

The emotional buildup suggested by these verses overcomes Joseph—and the reader of the story as well. Yet Joseph is able to hold back his tears until he hears Judah’s last cry of anguish: “For how can I go up to my father if the boy is not with me? Let me not witness the  calamity that would befall my father!” (Gen. 44:34, translation adapted from Chabad website https://www.chabad.org/parshah/torahreading.asp?aid=2492540&tdate=01-04-2025&p=complete&jewish=Vayigash-Torah-Reading.htm). It is this outcry that finally convinces Joseph. That, after all, was the farthest thought in Judah’s mind when he suggested selling Joseph into slavery. Judah’s transformation is now complete, and he is ready to assume the new position and role God—and history—hold out for him.

There will be an epilogue to this story (a “coda” to use the musical term), but that is part of next week’s portion, the last in the book of Genesis.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Mikeitz.24: Joseph and His Brothers Part Two:The Tables Turned

Joseph and His Brothers: Part Two

The Tables Turned: Mikeitz

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

December 25, 2024

In this week’s Torah portion (Mikeitz, Genesis 41:1—44:17) Joseph finally has his dreams of glory come true. Pharaoh has had a couple of disturbing dreams that no one—not even his wisest magicians!—can interpret. Luckily, the Chief Cupbearer (whose own dream Joseph had divined correctly two years earlier) finally remembers Joseph. Joseph is rushed to the court, where (of course) he tells Pharaoh the meaning of the two dreams: seven years of plenty will be overtaken by seven years of terrible famine. Unasked for advice, Joseph nonetheless has some to offer: “Now therefore, let Pharaoh select a discerning and wise man and set him over the land of Egypt… [to prepare] the Land of Egypt during the seven plentiful years” (Gen. 41:33-34). Naturally Joseph is selected for this important job, and is presented—along with Pharaoh’s signet ring—with a new set of clothing signifying his power and authority (the “clothes” motif appearing once again in our story—not the last time).

Famine overtakes the known world. When Joseph’s brothers show up to purchase food, they do not recognize Joseph—but he certainly recognizes them (the “recognition” motif playing itself out). Joseph decides to test his brothers. He takes Shimon hostage while demanding that Benjamin be brought down to him. 

When the brothers relate these events to Jacob, Jacob allows his grief and anger to show: “You are bereaving me of my sons! Joseph is gone, Simeon is gone, and now you would take Benjamin away?!” (Gen. 42:36). Nonetheless, when the food they had procured is gone, the brothers insist on returning to Egypt to replenish the supplies. As a sign of goodwill, Jacob has the brothers take gifts to “the man” in charge. However, these aren’t the usual gold, silver or jewels. Instead, Jacob has them take “A little balm and a little honey, spices and myrrh, pistachio nuts and almonds” (Gen. 43:11, NKJV). Jacob understands the power of food—after all he managed to get both the birthright and its blessings using food. Now could he be sending a signal to “the man?” Remembering Joseph’s dreams of glory, Jacob might be harboring some hope deep within his heart. Could this “man” be Joseph? Would this powerful individual who insisted on knowing the family history and who specifically asked about their father and younger brother, recognize these foods and remember his earlier years, before he disappeared? We can only guess at the turmoil in Jacob’s heart at this moment. 

Yet before Jacob allows the brothers to take Benjamin, he requires guarantees for the boy’s safe return. Reuben, in his own characteristically naïve way, offers his own two children as surety: “Kill my two sons if I do not bring him back to you; put him in my hands, and I will bring him back to you.” The sheer senselessness of this offer is striking, and Jacob dismisses it out of hand. Judah, on the other hand, has another offer: He, Judah, will personally protect Benjamin at the cost of bearing unspeakable guilt to the end of his days if he fails to return the child to his father. Broken-hearted and resigned to his fate (“As for me, if I am bereaved, I am bereaved”—Gen. 43:14), Jacob accepts Judah’s promise and permits Benjamin to join his brothers on this journey.

Back in Egypt, Joseph increases the pressure on his brothers, mounting one accusation on top of another. The portion finally ends with Joseph insisting that Benjamin is to remain in Egypt as his slave. All hope seems to be lost as Joseph’s brothers now must face the worst of all. Earlier in the story they threw Joseph into a pit. Now the tables have turned: It is they who are in the pit, with Joseph holding absolute power over them and their fate.

To be continued.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

Vayeshev. 24: Joseph and his Brothers, Part One: A Fall from Glory

Joseph and his Brothers, Part One: A Fall from Glory

D’var Torah on Parashat Vayeshev

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

December 20, 2024

Few of the Torah’s stories are as moving and rich in structure and detail as the one of Joseph and his brothers. Consisting of almost a third of the entire book of Genesis, this magnificent story contains several motifs that help weave its many parts together: clothing, seeing, remembering (and forgetting), and recognition are but some of these. Yet along with all these elements, this famous story is also key to understanding the development and philosophy of Judaism. 

While the larger conflict in the story is between Joseph and Judah, they each need to learn some important lessons about themselves. Each will go through painful ordeals that will help them grow personally, even as they come to understand the role they are destined to play in the larger drama and history of our People. 

The title of this week's Torah portion (Vayeshev—"Jacob settled," Genesis 37:1—40:23) is vastly misleading. Despite the fact that his brother Esau returns to Edom without making any further claim on Jacob’s share of the Promised Land, and despite the fact that Jacob is finally back in his father’s land and perhaps initially even feeling “at home”, Jacob's new home-life is anything but settled. Not uncharacteristically, Jacob manages to ratchet up the tension that so far has been smoldering just below the surface within his own family. The storyline is familiar: Jacob loves Joseph more than his other sons and is not afraid (or perhaps is naïve enough) to put his preference out on full display. He presents Joseph with a multi-colored (or striped—there are various interpretations of the Hebrew word) tunic that represents both favoritism and power. Joseph meanwhile has his own visions of power and glory. He has dreams—first the one set in a field, in which his brothers' sheaves of wheat bow down to his; and then another, now set in the heavens, in which the sun, moon and eleven stars bow down to him personally. At this point, the jealousy that Joseph's brothers have been harboring from day one turns murderous. One day, as they herd their sheep at some distance from home, Jacob sends Joseph (again—brazenly or naively) to inquire after their welfare. Seeing him from afar, and undoubtedly recognizing his multi-colored coat, the brothers plot to kill Joseph. They seize the boy and are about to dispatch him but are dissuaded first by Reuben, who intends to return him to Jacob unharmed, and then by Judah—who views the possibility of selling Joseph into slavery as more advantageous ("He is [after all,] our brother and our flesh” (Gen. 37:27)). The brothers take his advice, and Joseph is sold to a caravan of spice and slave traders making their way down to Egypt. 

At this point the Torah turns its full attention to Judah. This part isn't always told in the more popular retellings of the story, but is essential to understanding Judah and the personal  transformation he will need to undertake--from a despicable villain to the person destined to become the leader of his people, indeed the Father of Judah-ism. This transformation will be brought about through the agency of Tamar, Judah's daughter-in-law. After the death of Tamar's husband—Judah's first born, Er—Judah gives her to his second son, Onan. In doing so, Judah is following the custom of levirate marriage—meant to provide livelihood and legal protection to a widow. Onan however refuses to fulfill his duty and is smitten by God. Judah has one remaining son, but he is now afraid for the boy's life and sends Tamar back to her own family, promising to take her back when the boy is fully grown. However, Judah soon forgets his promise.

Some time later, Tamar learns that her father-in-law is in the vicinity. Dressing as a harlot and positioning herself at a major crossroads, she manages to seduce Judah--who (what a louse he proves to be!) is unable to pay her right away. Tamar instead asks for his staff and signet ring (OK—so he's more than a louse, he's also very stupid; the staff and signet ring are symbols of his identity and authority). Three months later, Judah hears that Tamar is pregnant. He orders that she be burnt at the stake for her infidelity. However, at the last moment Tamar produces the evidence and announces that the father is the none else but the owner of the staff and ring. Judah is publicly humiliated, but for once in his life makes the right—and ethical—choice: he admits his wrongs. “She has been more righteous than I," he proclaims (Gen. 38:26). He still has a long way to go, but this admission of guilt is the first step towards Judah's redemption. 

Turning back to Joseph, we now learn that he's been sold to a wealthy Egyptian—Potiphar—who gives Joseph the run of the house. Potiphar's wife is smitten by Joseph's good looks and attempts to seduce him. Joseph however manages to repel her, but at one point flees in a panic, leaving his tunic in her hand. Raising a hue and a cry, Potiphar’s wife accuses Joseph of attempting to rape her. Enraged, Potiphar has Joseph thrown in prison. But even there Joseph proves successful in everything he does—and keeps up his reputation as diviner of dreams.

However, the portion ends with Joseph still languishing in the dungeon, forgotten and with little hope for redemption and freedom.

To be continued.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

Jacob's Trail of Tears: Vayishlach.24

Jacob's Trail of Tears: Vayishlach

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

December 13, 2024

This week's Torah portion, Va-yishlach ("He sent messengers," Genesis 32:4--36:43), continues the tragic saga of Jacob, the third patriarch of the Jewish People. No longer pursued by Laban, his treacherous father-in-law, Jacob still has to face his first pursuer—his own twin brother, Esau. Jacob has left aspects of his past behind him several times. First, when he left his home (Genesis 28:10) to escape Esau's rage. A second time is his escape from Laban's house, where he had spent 20 years laboring for love and fortune. Now, however, as Jacob makes his way back to his homeland, he realizes that the past has no time limit. Esau is coming towards him along with 400 armed men. Jacob does all he can to protect himself and his family. He sends ahead messengers (mal’achim, the same word as “angels”) bearing lavish gifts along with the promise that more would be forthcoming. Then he divides his family and possessions into two camps, hoping that even if one is destroyed the other would still be safe. (Rachel and Joseph are in the latter camp of course, a gesture that no one in Jacob's family fails to notice and which will cause even more jealousy than already existed among them). Sending both camps ahead, Jacob remains alone on a mountaintop. 

There follows a mysterious encounter that turns into a wrestling match. The Torah first describes the confrontation as between Jacob and "a man," but then lets Jacob—and us—understand that this was a "divine being." Wrestling until the dawn breaks, Jacob is hurt, but not defeated. In return for releasing the angel, Jacob demands a blessing, which he receives along with a name change. Jacob now becomes Yisrael, meaning, "You have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed" (Gen. 32:28 NKJV--it is verse 29 in the Hebrew version).  

Limping forward but heartened by the blessing, Jacob discovers within himself the courage to face Esau. Spoiler alert: The meeting between the two brothers goes well; Esau is appeased by Jacob's gifts and language--even if there was no actual apology in anything Jacob said. These are all the result of God's blessings, Jacob declares. Nothing has come to him from the (stolen) birthright blessings he had received from Isaac. Jacob's cleverness works once again, and Esau departs, letting Jacob proceed at his own pace to meet his own future. 

Sadly however, the future is anything but peaceful. Dina, the daughter born to Jacob and Leah, goes out "to see the daughters of the land" (Gen. 34:1). She is seized and raped by the prince of the city. Two of Jacob's sons, Shimon and Levi, are so enraged that they trick the men of the city into circumcising themselves. At night, as the men of Shechem are lying in agony, the two brothers fall upon them, slaughter all the men and seize their possessions. 

The tragedies continue: Deborah, Rebecca's nursemaid (who evidently joins Jacob's tribe, possibly to help with all the children), dies. Soon afterwards, in giving birth to Benjamin, the beloved Rachel dies too, and is buried along the way to Bethlehem. Step by tragic step, Jacob continues on his path home. When he finally gets there, he realizes that Rebecca, his mother, had died during the years he was away. He does manage to see his father, Isaac, but the Torah says nothing about this meeting, leaving it all up to our imagination.

On a somewhat hopeful note, when Isaac dies his two sons--Jacob AND Esau--come together to bury him. Peace, the Torah implies, even among sworn enemies, is possible when we recognize a mutual legacy. Fraught with errors and mistakes, our collective past is still what we have in common. Shalom--peace--is only possible when we join together broken pieces, fixing and making whole again that which was broken in the past.

It's a lesson that will be reinforced through the next story in the book of Genesis: the story of Joseph and his brothers.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

Discovering Faith on the Path of Life: Va-Yeitzei.24

Discovering Faith on the Path of Life: Va-Yeitzei

D’var Torah by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

December 5, 2024

My friend Reuven, a scholar, teacher and blogger whose wisdom and friendship have long enriched my life, likes to call the first book of the Torah, Genesis, "the book of beginnings." And of course he is right. Genesis is about the beginning of creation and civilization as we know them, as well as the beginning of the Jewish People and the Jewish way of life. With Abraham and Sarah, then Isaac and Rebecca, the book lays the foundation for Jewish belief. Now, as the story of Jacob and his wives Rachel and Leah begins, we learn of the origins of the Jewish People. 

All beginnings are chaotic. We start with raw material and then, hopefully, find inspiration, goal and direction. So it is also with Jacob, our third Patriarch. Va-Yeitzei, this week's Torah portion, Genesis 28:10—32:3, literally means “he set out,” and as the story begins, Jacob leaves his father's and mother's home, fleeing the murderous rage of his twin brother Esau. Young and naïve, not skilled with the hunter’s spear as his brother Esau, Jacob is filled with fear and dread. Even though God appears to him in a dream (the famous "Jacob's ladder" scene, Gen. 28:12-16) and promises protection along all his journeys, Jacob's faith is riddled with misgivings. When he arrives at his uncle Laban's house, his journey's goal, he is at first greeted with joy (and Rachel's love), but the joy proves fleeting. Cheating and conniving seem to run rampant in this family. Laban cheats Jacob several times over, and Jacob reciprocates by using magic to increase his wealth. At least that's what he thinks he is doing, though his later explanation of what exactly happened (Gen. 31:8-10) leaves us mystified--does he really believe his own story, or is he beginning to perceive God's hand in his success? Rachel--the beloved wife--and Leah, her unloved sister, compete for Jacob's love, and between them and their handmaidens give birth to eleven of the 12 sons who will become "B'nai Yisrael," the Children of Israel, aka the Jewish People. (There is also one daughter, Dina, whose tragic story and fate are part of next week’s portion). Meanwhile, with all the chaos, cheating and dishonesty in Laban’s household coming to a head, God appears to Jacob once again and commands him to return home. While keeping his father-in-law in the dark about his plans, Jacob gathers his family and all his accumulated wealth and possessions and--yet again--is forced to flee what has been his home for 20 years. Laban and his jealous, hate-filled sons (where have we heard this before??) give chase to the fugitives, but God warns them against causing any harm to Jacob or his family. As the portion ends, Jacob sees angels once again, reinforcing his growing understanding that God is not just some local deity, in conformity with other religious beliefs of the time and place, but rather is the One God whose sovereignty extends over all creation, the God of Israel.

Jacob is quite possibly the most "human" of the three Patriarchs, the one we can most relate to. Our journey in life, like Jacob's, is often dictated by forces outside our control, and we react as best as we can, using whatever talents and gifts we may possess. Our faith competes with reality until—sometimes sooner, sometimes later in life—we somehow find our way back to the beliefs of our ancestors and reclaim our roots. Like Jacob, perceiving the guiding hand of God in our life’s journey is a gradual process. It does not prevent or excuse us from making mistakes. These have to be corrected along the way, as we slowly come to see the story of our life unfold and reach its inevitable conclusion. Finding our way home is challenging, but it is not without rewards and blessings, if we but open our eyes and see God's angels accompanying us all along the way. 

May our path be less torturous and tragic than Jacob's.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman