Sh'mot (Exodus 1:1 - 6:1)

In parashat Sh'mot, God reveals himself as Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh. This enigmatic expression has been translated as I am that I am, I will be what I will be, I am Being. Ultimately, this string of verbs that identifies God not only defies translation, it defies comprehension. That is why it so perfectly expresses the Jewish conception of God.

God is not a being or a thing that can be named, quantified or described. God is beyond comprehension. All that we can know of God is that God “is,” and that God “does.” Thus, Midrash Rabba explains: “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh – I am described by my actions,” in other words, “I am what I do.”

This conception of God as action rather than object may explain why Jewish faith in God is not about belief but about conduct. A Jew is defined by what a Jew does. We are what we do.

Avinoam Sharon

VaYehi (Genesis 47:28 - 50:26)

When Rachel pleaded, “Give me children or I shall die,” Jacob responded: “Am I in the place of God?” Jacob’s angry response was as insensitive as it was truthful. Jacob was not a substitute for God. He was powerless to give his wife children, but he could have given her comfort and shown her kindness, and he did not.

In this week’s parasha, the story comes to a close. Jacob dies, and the son’s of Leah, Bilhah and Zilpah cower before Rachel’s son Joseph. The brothers fear that now Joseph will finally take his revenge. They plead with Joseph to spare their lives, claiming that that was their father’s dying wish. Rachel’s son answers them with his father’s words to his mother when she pleaded for children: “Am I in the place of God?”

Joseph’s answer is as sensitive as it is dissembling. He is viceroy of Egypt. He is second to Pharaoh. He is, indeed, second to God, and he holds his brothers’ lives in his hands. Jacob replied with sarcasm when his wife asked that he grant life. Joseph uses his father’s words with ironic kindness to comfort and reassure his brothers, and to give life to them and to their children.

Avinoam Sharon

VaYigash (Genesis 44:18 - 47:27)

Joseph is usually compared to Jacob. The similarities are almost obvious, if you look hard enough.

Joseph is his father’s favourite, as Jacob was his mother’s favourite. The motif of two seven-year periods is significant for both father and son. Jacob works seven years for each of his wives. Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dreams of the seven good years and the seven lean years. Joseph’s long separation from Jacob has been cited in the Midrash as retribution for Jacob’s equally long absence from home.

But for all their similarities, Joseph is not really like Jacob. Joseph’s life is completely different from that of his father. Jacob’s life revolves around family issues. His life is entirely described by stories about his relationships with his parents, his brother, his wives, his father-in-law, and his children. For Joseph, the family issues are catalysts, they are turning points, but they do not tell his story. Joseph’s rise to power – which is the central theme of the entire story - is not part of a family struggle.

And so I would suggest that the similarities between Joseph and Jacob are not key factors to our understanding either Joseph, or his relationship to Jacob. The number seven is a typological number that really cannot serve as the basis for drawing a true parallel. The long separations from family share similarities, but that is not because Joseph is like Jacob. And as for the favouritism, Joseph was Jacob’s favourite. But Esau was Isaac’s favourite.

In fact, I would argue that, in critical ways, Joseph is like Esau. If we wish to make a meaningful comparison, then perhaps that is the direction we should take.

Both Esau and Joseph are betrayed by a garment and a kid. Jacob deceives Isaac by dressing in Esau’s clothing, and bringing him a meal that Rebecca prepares from “two choice kids.” When Joseph is sold into slavery, his brothers deceive Jacob into believing Joseph is dead by bringing him Joseph’s coat dipped in the blood of a kid.

But the most striking parallel is that of the meeting of the betrayed and his betrayer. Both meetings take place after twenty years of separation. And the meetings teach us an important similarity between Esau and Joseph, and between Jacob and his sons. The lesson concerns forgiveness and reconciliation.

When Jacob meets his brother after over twenty years of separation, he is frightened of Esau’s revenge. He recognizes the enormity of what he did to his brother, and he cannot believe that Esau can forgive him. He is sure that Esau will kill him, and that he will probably kill Jacob’s entire family.

But when Esau sees Jacob, he hugs him, he kisses him, and he cries. Esau is overwhelmed by his emotions. According to Avot DeRabbi Natan, Esau’s tears are the tears of true love. Esau tries to return Jacob’s gifts. He has become rich and powerful, and he has forgotten the past, and forgiven Jacob. He offers to accompany Jacob, but Jacob refuses. He offers to provide Jacob with a contingent of men to escort him and his family, but Jacob refuses.

Jacob cannot accept Esau’s forgiveness. Jacob cannot believe that Esau can forgive him, and so he deflects Esau’s attempt at reconciliation. Jacob refuses Esau’s love.

The same thing happens to Joseph. After twenty years, Joseph is finally reunited with his brothers. At their meetings, he is almost overwhelmed by his joy at being reunited with his family. When Joseph finally reveals his true identity, his brothers are panic stricken. They are sure that Joseph will exact his revenge. Instead, he hugs Benjamin, kisses his brothers, and cries – just like Esau. Joseph, too, has become rich and powerful. He, too, has put the past behind him, and has forgiven his brothers.

But the brothers cannot believe that Joseph could possibly forgive them. They remain suspicious. When, ultimately, Jacob dies, the brothers turn to one another and say: “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrong we did him” (Genesis 50:15).

Strikingly, the word they employ for “grudge" or revenge – yistemenu – is employed only two other times in the Torah, once in Jacob’s blessing for Joseph (Genesis 49:23) (perhaps foreshadowing this very scene), and most tellingly, it is the word used to describe Esau’s hatred of Jacob – vayistom esav et ya’akov… (“Now Esau bore a grudge against Jacob ... and Esau said to himself, ‘Let but the mourning period of my father come, and I will kill my brother Jacob’”)(Genesis 27:41).

The brothers are sure that Joseph will take his revenge. They fear that Joseph has waited until their father’s death to take his revenge against them, exactly as Esau had originally planned to wait until Isaac’s death in order to take revenge against Jacob. They are sure that Joseph will kill them and their families, just as Jacob feared Esau would kill him and his family. They are so sure, that they decide to choose the lesser evil, and they offer themselves to Joseph as slaves. Joseph must once again reassure them that they have nothing to fear, and nothing to feel sorry for. As far as Joseph is concerned, everything that happened to him was God’s will. He has not simply forgiven, he is thankful.

But like their father Jacob, Joseph’s brothers are unable to accept their brother’s attempt at reconciliation, and they refuse his love.

Perhaps it is simply easier to forgive a person who hurts us, than it is to accept forgiveness. It may be that when we have been hurt, we need to forgive so that we can restore the past, and heal our wound. Perhaps it is that when we feel hatred or bear a grudge, we feel guilty, we feel bad, and we hurt in a way that can only be made better if we are given the opportunity to forgive.

But when we hurt another person, we also feel guilty. We feel guilty because of the hurt that we caused, and we feel guilty because we suspect that we would not be able to forgive if the tables were turned. And so we cannot believe that the person we hurt can forgive us. We become like Jacob and like his sons, perpetuating our misery because of our inability to put our faith in others.

Avinoam Sharon

Miketz (Genesis 41:1 - 44:17)

Sefer Bereshith - the Book of Genesis - is the book of dreams and of dreamers. Dreams are a central theme in Genesis. While dreams appear here and there throughout the Bible, nowhere else is there so dense a concentration of dreams as in Sefer Bereshith, and nowhere in Bereshith do they form as significant an element as in the story of Joseph.

What are we to learn from these dreams and this seeming preoccupation with them? Are we to understand that our ancestors had a unique sensitivity to otherworldliness, a special window to the mind of God, a spiritual conduit to God’s will?

Are we to understand that the world has changed, that we have become less than our mythic founders? Why don’t we have prophetic dreams? We may not be Abraham, or Isaac, or Jacob or Joseph, but why can Pharaoh dream of the future while we cannot? Why can his servants see their own destiny, yet we cannot?

Is it, as Yeshayahu Leibowitz seemed to think, that with the giving of the Torah we abandoned the mythic world and embarked upon a world of reason, of observation and of rationality? I would think not. The rationalism of Maimonides is almost an aberration in the history of Jewish thought. The rest of us still need our myths. As Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik pointed out in regard to prayer, Maimonides’ failed in his “attempt to purge Jewish liturgy of poetic elements and anthropomorphic symbols.” Rather than adopt Maimonides’ ideal of philosophically abstract prayer, we “still sing hymns teeming with poetic refrain drawn from the well of human passion and emotion.”

It is our human need that continues to draw us to the stories of Genesis, to read them and interpret them and be moved by them, sometimes even to tears.

And so we have not become different than our ancestors. So what about our dreams?

The Talmud addresses the issue at some length. It would seem that the rabbis, looking back at the dreams of the Bible, wondered if the world had changed, or whether we had simply forgotten the nature of interpretation.

A midrash quoted in the Talmud (Berakhot 55b) teaches that dreams do not have inherent, objective meaning. Rather, dreams mean what we interpret them to mean.

That view of dreams is based upon a verse at the beginning of this week's Torah portion. The chief cupbearer tells Pharaoh that there was a Hebrew youth with him in jail who interpreted his dream. The cupbearer says:

“We told him our dreams, he interpreted them for us telling each of the meaning of his dream.”

So far, it is mere interpretation – psychological analysis. But then he adds:

“And as he interpreted for us, so it came to pass (ka’asher patar lanu, ken haya).”

In using this verse as its proof text, the midrash seems to be saying that dreams come true because we make them come true. Or in the words of the midrash: “Dreams follow the mouth.” What we say they mean is what they come to be.

The midrash adds another important insight into the nature of dreams. It says: "eyn mar’in lo le-adam ela mehirhurei libo" – A person only dreams about things that he is concerned about when he is awake.

Put simply, the midrash says that we dream about what is bothering us. We dream and find the answer to our problem in our understanding of the dream. Then we make it come true. In other words, once we figure out the problem, we solve it.

And so Joseph, who is browbeaten and picked on by his older brothers, has dreams of lording over them. If we follow Joseph’s progress, we note that he doesn’t miss a beat in advancing his career. Joseph will turn any adversity to his favor in realizing his understanding of his dreams.

When he becomes Potiphar’s slave, he doesn’t bemoan his fate and wait for God to save him. He doesn’t wait for his dreams to come true through some divine intervention. He puts himself wholly into the task of becoming the best and most trustworthy servant that Potiphar ever had. And Potiphar makes him head of his household.

When Joseph is thrown into the dungeon, he doesn’t sulk, he gets himself named chief trustee. When he interprets the cupbearer’s dream, he tells him not to forget to mention his name to Pharaoh.

Pharaoh, king of Egypt, worries all day about the economy of Egypt, and he dreams about it at night. When Joseph come along and interprets Pharaoh’s dreams in a way that coincides with Pharaoh’s worries, Pharaoh knows that Joseph is right. After all, as the midrash pointed out, we dream about what worries us.

And having solved Pharaoh’s problem, Joseph doesn’t wait for a reward – no doubt Pharaoh would have given him a nice tip – but he immediately suggests that Pharaoh appoint someone to solve the problem, and then he suggests the solution. He couldn’t have done a better job of advancing his career if he had an MBA from Wharton. Joseph makes his dreams come true.

So for me, what the midrash seems to be saying is that if we think the world has changed since Genesis, if we think that people were closer to God back then, if we think that our ancestors had insights into the workings of God’s mind that we no longer have, we think that only because we read about those dreams and imagine they were a form of prophecy, some window to objective reality.

But if we realize that our dreams and Joseph’s dreams are the same, then we are faced with a challenge.

Thinking that our ancestors knew something we don’t know, or possessed some power that we don’t have, is just a convenient excuse for not trying to be like them. If we accept that we are no different than our ancestors, if we realize that our dreams are just like theirs, then we have no reason for not trying to realize our dreams, and no excuse for not striving to make God as real in our lives as He was in theirs.

Avinoam Sharon