Finding Purpose In Calamity
Lessons from Parashat Vayigash (Genesis 44:18—47:27)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
The question of why bad things happen to good people is as eternal as humanity itself. The Bible deals with it many times and attempts to offer its own answers. The Torah teaches that bad choices and deeds result in bad consequences. There’s no doubt that there’s truth to this teaching, but it can’t explain the many times we see good people suffering for no reason at all—and certainly for nothing they themselves had done.
The Prophets, teachers of the Torah for nearly 800 years prior to the emergence of rabbis, realized that the Torah’s explanation is too simplistic. They offered an additional explanation: bad things happen so as to help us turn into better people. Proofing by pain, as it were.
But if that were so, surely there are many people among us today whose undeserved suffering would be considered great enough to turn them into living saints, angels treading earth.
The Bible’s book of Job is a multi-faceted discussion of this eternal question. Still in the end, God appears and flatly states that we can’t even begin to comprehend the reason for the many bad things that befall the best of us, since we have no inkling of God’s real purpose in designing the universe. We are, after all, nothing but dust and ashes, barely microscopic particles in the vastly larger picture of ongoing Creation.
Yet in this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, we might be able to find some satisfaction, or at least consolation.
Vayigash (referring to Judah’s stepping forward to confess before Joseph and plead for the release of Benjamin) begins the transformation of the twelve sons of Jacob from the wily and irresponsible individuals they had been into the nation they are to become—B’nai Yisrael, the People of Israel. From the young boy that Joseph was when his brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt, he has grown into manhood and become the second most powerful man in all Egypt. He changed so much that his brothers did not—could not—recognize him. But they, too, changed in all those years. Their transformation wasn’t so much on the outside as it was internal, however, and it took several tests of their character for Joseph to recognize this. Now, finally, the time had come for re-acquaintance and reconciliation.
Understandably, the brothers are dumbstruck. Joseph takes the initiative and extends his forgiveness, telling them: “It was not you who sent me here, but God; and He has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father, and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph: God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not tarry. You shall dwell in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near to me, you and your children, your children’s children, your flocks and your herds, and all that you have. There I will provide for you, lest you and your household, and all that you have, come to poverty; for there are still five years of famine”’ (Gen. 45:8-11).
True to the message of Judaism, Joseph’s words are testament to the belief that there is a larger plan—one we cannot understand, but that sometimes we may get a glimpse into. But this plan does not preclude our human participation. At any moment during the story, Joseph could have taken a different route. It was his choice—and his alone—to bring about reconciliation. If he leaned toward revenge at earlier points in the story, now he allowed things to take a different direction. Listening to his brother Judah telling of their father’s grief, gazing once again upon his beloved younger brother, Benjamin, the wall of estrangement Joseph built up brick by brick simply melted away. It was a transformation as truly human as it is Godly. Memories of the lost past, of his happier childhood years—memories he tried to suppress for many years—resurfaced with unexpected strength, eliciting pity, compassion and an outburst of cathartic tears.
One can only imagine God sighing with relief and smiling through His own tears. Joseph made the right choice, thus setting his family—and the nation-to-be—firmly on a course toward redemption.
Imagining a reason behind everything that happens to us assumes that everything is predetermined and precludes human intervention. The reasons why things—good or bad—happen may sometimes be clear. However, it is up to us to find purpose and redirection from that point forward.
Years ago, my father of blessed memory received a letter from his brother. Written as he was being led to extermination by the Nazis, the uncle I never met managed to smuggle this letter to a Polish man on the other side of the fence. When the letter finally found its way to my father, two years after the end of the war, it left him devastated. Yet, unlike others who received such final letters and couldn’t pick up and restart their own lives, my father made a different choice. He took to heart his brother’s closing words: “Work for your homeland so that your children will not have to experience and live through what we did.” Throughout the remainder of his life, my father fulfilled those wishes. Israel is a stronger land and a stronger people today because of that choice.
Who will ever understand why evil exists in the world? Who will ever be able to tell why bad things happen to good people?
Though the reason may not be clear, these pivotal events can define the remainder of our lives. They can enable each of us to discover a new purpose for our existence. The past may define how we came to be who we are; but it is the path we choose to take from that point on that defines and shapes the future.
May we all discover moments of clarity such as those experienced by Joseph and my father. May we all find the strength to recover from times of darkness and bless the future with our choices of goodness and light, compassion and love.
© 2011 by Boaz D. Heilman
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Israel: The Blessing of Freedom
Israel: The Blessing of Freedom
D’var Torah for Parashat Vayishlach
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4-36:43), Jacob sends gifts to his brother Esau in an effort to appease Esau’s murderous rage (vayishlach means “he sent”). Jacob further separates his vast camp into several groups: The flocks of animals go first, followed by his wives’ handmaidens and their children, then Leah and her children, and finally Rachel and Joseph. It is a desperate move Jacob makes, an attempt to protect at least some of his family if not all.
Jacob then remains alone on the far shore of the Jordan River for a long night’s vigil. One can only imagine his thoughts: the fear, the loneliness, perhaps even his yearning for a long-gone past that preceded all those troubles.
Yet, looking across the river and imagining his beloved family waiting for him there, his heart is also filled with an aching and overarching love. He knows the dangers they all face: Esau is headed towards them at the head of full contingent of armed men, bound for revenge.
And so, for the first time in his life, Jacob prays.
Up until now, God had appeared to him first, in dreams and visions. Now Jacob himself humbly comes to call on God, to remind God of the promise He had made so long ago to protect Jacob and to bring him home safely. If nothing else, along his many years in exile Jacob had learned the meaning of humility.
As the dark and gloom deepen both inside and around Jacob, he now faces yet another stumbling block: An unidentified stranger engages him in a wrestling match.
Who is this “man” as the Torah calls him, who wrestles with Jacob until the break of dawn?
There are many possible explanations. In folk tales, demons and trolls often dwell on the banks of rivers, extracting payment from anyone who would cross to the other shore (remember the wonderful children’s book Three Billy Goats Gruff?). The boatman must be appeased, the toll must be paid. So perhaps this mysterious stranger that Jacob meets is just such a demon.
It could, of course, be Jacob’s guilty conscience. Knowing that he has to face his past mistakes before he can move on, his struggle takes place within him, deep inside his psyche.
Some commentators propose that the mysterious “man” was none other than Esau himself, come to seek personal revenge.
In any case, whoever and whatever this apparition is, it has enough power to injure Jacob. Yet it is ultimately Jacob who has the upper hand. Jacob exacts a blessing from this spiritual essence (or angel, as most of us have come to understand his nature) just before first light, when it must disappear.
So what is the blessing that the angel gives Jacob? He changes Jacob’s name, telling him that from now on Jacob will be known as “Israel,” identifying him as one who has struggled with God and humans and triumphed over both.
But is that a blessing? That we continually struggle with God and with other people? Most people would rather have peace as a blessing, or perhaps just a small treasure. Why davka (particularly) a struggle? Where’s the blessing in an ongoing fight? We might come out victorious in the end, but wouldn’t we, just like Jacob, come out of this fight limping? In short, who needs it?
Yet I do see this as a blessing, one unmatched by almost any other form of grace. For what this striving with God means is that we don’t have to merely accept things as God’s will. We can challenge what seems to be God’s will just as we can challenge any person who claims to articulate what God wants of us. Because of the blessing Jacob receives from the angel—a blessing reiterated by God in chapter 35, verse 10—we can determine our own course and follow our own understanding of what “God’s will” means for us.
At about the same time that the Torah was being written, around the year 850 BCE, the great Greek playwright Euripides warned the people that to disobey the gods’ will was the surest way to bring about disaster and tragedy. Not so for us b’nai Yisrael, Children of Israel. The blessing of Jacob in this week’s portion negates this passive outlook and promises freedom instead. Even the Torah, the very embodiment of God’s will and word, may be interpreted and tailored to fit the needs of time and place.
The angel’s blessing assures Israel of freedom from tyranny—be it divine or human. The right to struggle with what some would call fate is a freedom we Jews cherish. It is indeed a special gift, a blessing. We may come out of the fight limping, but the gift cannot, will not, be taken away from us. It is the blessing of freedom.
© 2011 by Boaz D. Heilman
D’var Torah for Parashat Vayishlach
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4-36:43), Jacob sends gifts to his brother Esau in an effort to appease Esau’s murderous rage (vayishlach means “he sent”). Jacob further separates his vast camp into several groups: The flocks of animals go first, followed by his wives’ handmaidens and their children, then Leah and her children, and finally Rachel and Joseph. It is a desperate move Jacob makes, an attempt to protect at least some of his family if not all.
Jacob then remains alone on the far shore of the Jordan River for a long night’s vigil. One can only imagine his thoughts: the fear, the loneliness, perhaps even his yearning for a long-gone past that preceded all those troubles.
Yet, looking across the river and imagining his beloved family waiting for him there, his heart is also filled with an aching and overarching love. He knows the dangers they all face: Esau is headed towards them at the head of full contingent of armed men, bound for revenge.
And so, for the first time in his life, Jacob prays.
Up until now, God had appeared to him first, in dreams and visions. Now Jacob himself humbly comes to call on God, to remind God of the promise He had made so long ago to protect Jacob and to bring him home safely. If nothing else, along his many years in exile Jacob had learned the meaning of humility.
As the dark and gloom deepen both inside and around Jacob, he now faces yet another stumbling block: An unidentified stranger engages him in a wrestling match.
Who is this “man” as the Torah calls him, who wrestles with Jacob until the break of dawn?
There are many possible explanations. In folk tales, demons and trolls often dwell on the banks of rivers, extracting payment from anyone who would cross to the other shore (remember the wonderful children’s book Three Billy Goats Gruff?). The boatman must be appeased, the toll must be paid. So perhaps this mysterious stranger that Jacob meets is just such a demon.
It could, of course, be Jacob’s guilty conscience. Knowing that he has to face his past mistakes before he can move on, his struggle takes place within him, deep inside his psyche.
Some commentators propose that the mysterious “man” was none other than Esau himself, come to seek personal revenge.
In any case, whoever and whatever this apparition is, it has enough power to injure Jacob. Yet it is ultimately Jacob who has the upper hand. Jacob exacts a blessing from this spiritual essence (or angel, as most of us have come to understand his nature) just before first light, when it must disappear.
So what is the blessing that the angel gives Jacob? He changes Jacob’s name, telling him that from now on Jacob will be known as “Israel,” identifying him as one who has struggled with God and humans and triumphed over both.
But is that a blessing? That we continually struggle with God and with other people? Most people would rather have peace as a blessing, or perhaps just a small treasure. Why davka (particularly) a struggle? Where’s the blessing in an ongoing fight? We might come out victorious in the end, but wouldn’t we, just like Jacob, come out of this fight limping? In short, who needs it?
Yet I do see this as a blessing, one unmatched by almost any other form of grace. For what this striving with God means is that we don’t have to merely accept things as God’s will. We can challenge what seems to be God’s will just as we can challenge any person who claims to articulate what God wants of us. Because of the blessing Jacob receives from the angel—a blessing reiterated by God in chapter 35, verse 10—we can determine our own course and follow our own understanding of what “God’s will” means for us.
At about the same time that the Torah was being written, around the year 850 BCE, the great Greek playwright Euripides warned the people that to disobey the gods’ will was the surest way to bring about disaster and tragedy. Not so for us b’nai Yisrael, Children of Israel. The blessing of Jacob in this week’s portion negates this passive outlook and promises freedom instead. Even the Torah, the very embodiment of God’s will and word, may be interpreted and tailored to fit the needs of time and place.
The angel’s blessing assures Israel of freedom from tyranny—be it divine or human. The right to struggle with what some would call fate is a freedom we Jews cherish. It is indeed a special gift, a blessing. We may come out of the fight limping, but the gift cannot, will not, be taken away from us. It is the blessing of freedom.
© 2011 by Boaz D. Heilman
Friday, December 2, 2011
Fulfilling Jacob’s Vow
Fulfilling Jacob’s Vow
D’var Torah for Parashat Vayetzei
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
Having to leave his home, his family and his land behind probably came to Jacob as a complete surprise and shock. After all, he WAS his mother’s favorite, and from early on in his childhood she had been telling him he was destined for greatness—far and beyond his twin brother Esau’s.
Yet, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with only the clothes on his back and his staff, about to cross the border to a new land, in search of his own life—the life of a refugee.
It is perhaps possible, then, to forgive his attitude when, later that night, during the course of a bizarre dream, God appears to Jacob and promises to accompany him along all his journeys, to provide and care for him and ultimately to bring him back home in peace and glory. “IF you do all that,” Jacob responds, “then I will call you my God.” Then and only then. WHEN all those promises come true. This sulking teenager, sullen but ready to bargain.
Inwardly, however, Jacob believes he has no one to rely on but himself. So on he marches, towards the east, towards a new dawn.
To make a long story short—this portion (Vayetzei, Gen. 28:10-32:3) encompasses 20 years of Jacob’s life—it does all happen, just as God foretells. Yet, all the while, in real time as it all unfolds, Jacob still thinks it’s all his doing. His self-sacrificing hard work, his dedication, his devotion to his family—these are what got him to become such a success.
It takes Jacob nearly 21 years to come back to the home he had left behind as a young adult. He now has 2 wives, 12 children (11 of them sons), and herds upon herds of all sorts of animals—goats, sheep and camels, donkeys and other assorted domesticables. Not to mention 2 wives and 11 sons and the full family drama that unfolds around this scenario.
It also takes Jacob those 21 years to finally come to realize that God was always there, always watching him, always guarding him, just as God had promised in that earlier dream. At that time, Jacob came to understand that God has a Presence that appears at specific locations along one’s journey. Now he finally understands that God is within him wherever he is, all along the way.
Having come to that realization, Jacob has to fulfill a vow he made so many years ago—that if God does do as God had promised, Jacob will build a temple for God and there offer sacrifice and tithes.
Jacob’s journey—his own unfinished ladder toward tomorrow—marks the beginning of the story of Israel, the people. The name has yet to change (not till next week’s portion), but the character is set. Jacob’s story is Israel’s story. Refugees so many times, we struck roots at so many points along our journey. Everywhere we went, we sought—and found—God within us. Wherever we go, we still fulfill Jacob’s vow and build temples, shuls and synagogues.
The Midrash tells a tale of a king and a queen who couldn’t bear child. After so many years of longing and sadness, the king told his wife that she could go back home to her father’s house. As a kind of consolation, he gave her permission to take with her the most prized possession she wished for. Later that night, the queen threw a banquet and invited the king. With so much food and good wine, the king soon fell asleep. Quietly but quickly, the queen had him put on a coach and transported to her father’s house. When the king awoke the next morning, he realized where he was and asked for explanation. “But didn’t you tell me,” exclaimed the queen, “that I could take my most prized possession?”
So it is with God and Israel. Wherever we go, as far from home as we may wander, we always find God within us. Like Jacob, we raise our families as best as we can; we tend to our business, we are attentive and loving to one another as we can be. Practical and pragmatic, we shape our lives with our labor, conforming to custom and language as need be.
Like Jacob, the children of Israel, B’nai Yisrael, rely on themselves for a chance at success, only to realize, years later, that the hand of God has something to do with it from the start.
And so, still like Jacob, we fulfill Jacob’s vow. We build temples to our God where we can gather to thank God, to support one another at happy or unhappy occasions as needed.
How fortunate to be able to do that in the Land of Israel, as it was all meant to be. When I was in the Israeli army, I did my basic training at a base right near the Biblical Beth El. Shabbat there was one of those moments, an experience with the power to change one’s life. It did that to mine.
But it really can happen anywhere. Anyplace. At any time. Moments when God’s presence appears to us as though in a dream, and we know that we are indeed, Israel.
Shabbat shalom.
©2011 by Boaz D. Heilman
D’var Torah for Parashat Vayetzei
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
Having to leave his home, his family and his land behind probably came to Jacob as a complete surprise and shock. After all, he WAS his mother’s favorite, and from early on in his childhood she had been telling him he was destined for greatness—far and beyond his twin brother Esau’s.
Yet, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with only the clothes on his back and his staff, about to cross the border to a new land, in search of his own life—the life of a refugee.
It is perhaps possible, then, to forgive his attitude when, later that night, during the course of a bizarre dream, God appears to Jacob and promises to accompany him along all his journeys, to provide and care for him and ultimately to bring him back home in peace and glory. “IF you do all that,” Jacob responds, “then I will call you my God.” Then and only then. WHEN all those promises come true. This sulking teenager, sullen but ready to bargain.
Inwardly, however, Jacob believes he has no one to rely on but himself. So on he marches, towards the east, towards a new dawn.
To make a long story short—this portion (Vayetzei, Gen. 28:10-32:3) encompasses 20 years of Jacob’s life—it does all happen, just as God foretells. Yet, all the while, in real time as it all unfolds, Jacob still thinks it’s all his doing. His self-sacrificing hard work, his dedication, his devotion to his family—these are what got him to become such a success.
It takes Jacob nearly 21 years to come back to the home he had left behind as a young adult. He now has 2 wives, 12 children (11 of them sons), and herds upon herds of all sorts of animals—goats, sheep and camels, donkeys and other assorted domesticables. Not to mention 2 wives and 11 sons and the full family drama that unfolds around this scenario.
It also takes Jacob those 21 years to finally come to realize that God was always there, always watching him, always guarding him, just as God had promised in that earlier dream. At that time, Jacob came to understand that God has a Presence that appears at specific locations along one’s journey. Now he finally understands that God is within him wherever he is, all along the way.
Having come to that realization, Jacob has to fulfill a vow he made so many years ago—that if God does do as God had promised, Jacob will build a temple for God and there offer sacrifice and tithes.
Jacob’s journey—his own unfinished ladder toward tomorrow—marks the beginning of the story of Israel, the people. The name has yet to change (not till next week’s portion), but the character is set. Jacob’s story is Israel’s story. Refugees so many times, we struck roots at so many points along our journey. Everywhere we went, we sought—and found—God within us. Wherever we go, we still fulfill Jacob’s vow and build temples, shuls and synagogues.
The Midrash tells a tale of a king and a queen who couldn’t bear child. After so many years of longing and sadness, the king told his wife that she could go back home to her father’s house. As a kind of consolation, he gave her permission to take with her the most prized possession she wished for. Later that night, the queen threw a banquet and invited the king. With so much food and good wine, the king soon fell asleep. Quietly but quickly, the queen had him put on a coach and transported to her father’s house. When the king awoke the next morning, he realized where he was and asked for explanation. “But didn’t you tell me,” exclaimed the queen, “that I could take my most prized possession?”
So it is with God and Israel. Wherever we go, as far from home as we may wander, we always find God within us. Like Jacob, we raise our families as best as we can; we tend to our business, we are attentive and loving to one another as we can be. Practical and pragmatic, we shape our lives with our labor, conforming to custom and language as need be.
Like Jacob, the children of Israel, B’nai Yisrael, rely on themselves for a chance at success, only to realize, years later, that the hand of God has something to do with it from the start.
And so, still like Jacob, we fulfill Jacob’s vow. We build temples to our God where we can gather to thank God, to support one another at happy or unhappy occasions as needed.
How fortunate to be able to do that in the Land of Israel, as it was all meant to be. When I was in the Israeli army, I did my basic training at a base right near the Biblical Beth El. Shabbat there was one of those moments, an experience with the power to change one’s life. It did that to mine.
But it really can happen anywhere. Anyplace. At any time. Moments when God’s presence appears to us as though in a dream, and we know that we are indeed, Israel.
Shabbat shalom.
©2011 by Boaz D. Heilman
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)