An Escort for Life
Parshas
Vayigash
This week’s parashah
opens with the dramatic confrontation between Judah and the inflexible Egyptian
viceroy. The tension builds to a fever pitch, and reaches its stunning climax
with the revelation that the viceroy is none other than the long-lost Joseph.
An emotional reunion follows, but Joseph’s immediate concern is to send a
personal message to his father Jacob. This important message has to prove that
he, the Egyptian viceroy, is indeed Joseph. Concurrently, it must also
alleviate Jacob’s inevitable concerns about Joseph’s spiritual condition after
having lived apart from his family for so many years in the Egyptian den of
corruption and immorality. So what message did Joseph choose to send?
He chose to remind
his father that during their last meeting they had discussed the Torah laws
regarding the ritual of the eglah arufah, which is performed when a wayfarer is
found murdered on the open road and the assailant is unknown. The Torah
(Devarim 21) commands that the elders of the city nearest to the scene of the
crime come out and declare, “Our hands did not spill this blood!”
Joseph’s knowledge of
this private conversation was certainly clear proof of Joseph’s identity, but
how did it reassure Jacob that his son had maintained his high spiritual
levels?
Let us take a closer
look at the remarkable statement the elders when they visit the scene of the
tragic crime. “Our hands did not spill this blood!” Are the elders really
suspects in this unsolved murder case? Of course not, says the Talmud (Sotah
45b). The elders were declaring that the wayfarer had not been turned away from
their city without being offered food and a proper sendoff on his journey.
But is the failure to
offer a wayfarer food and a warm sendoff such a terrible thing? Why does the
Torah value extending hospitality so highly that the failure to do so is
considered “spilling blood”?
The commentaries
explain that hospitality is not only meant to satisfy a person’s physical
needs. It also nourishes his very heart and soul. A wayfarer, separated from
the support system of his home and family, inevitably feels forlorn and
demoralized. But when he is welcomed into a home with warmth and affection, he
once again feels connected and secure. And when he is given a warm sendoff, he
is filled with renewed confidence and self-esteem. He holds his head a little
higher, his shoulders are squared back, and there is a buoyant spring in his
step. Such a person is an unlikely target for the predators that roam the
highways. It is the beaten-down traveler who feels isolated and lost that is
most vulnerable to attack. The restorative gifts of hospitality can fortify and
sustain a person for the long road ahead to an immeasurable degree, and
therefore, withholding these gifts is tantamount to “spilling his blood.”
Joseph was addressing
this concept between the lines of his message to his father. Do not be
concerned that I have lost my spiritual bearings, that I have become an immoral
Egyptian, he was saying. The spiritual gifts I received in your house during
the years of my youth were my suit of armor all these years. They gave me the
strength and courage to resist the corruption of Egypt and kept me on the
exalted level of a future tribal patriarch of the Jewish people. Remember our
discussions about the eglah arufah. Just as the wayfarer is fortified for his
journey by a few hours of hospitality, I, too, was fortified for my whole life
by my youth in your home. You need not worry. I am the same Joseph you once
knew, only a little older.
This is a lesson of critical importance to all of us. We
sometimes do not appreciate how profoundly the things we do and say can affect
others. Certainly, our children deserve that we bring them up with warmth,
sensitivity and strong values. If we do, they will always hold their heads a
little higher, because we will have given them the confidence and self-esteem
that will nourish them for the rest of their lives. But even in our myriad
daily contacts with other people, we can do so much with a helping hand, a kind
word, a simple smile. The smallest gesture of warmth and sincere compassion can
sometimes penetrate the heart of a lonely wayfarer on the road of life and give
him the restorative gifts that will enable him to reach his destination safely.
Text Copyright © 2009
by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.
Rabbi Reich is on the
faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum Education
Center.
Human Greatness: Admit Wrong and Change Direction
Parshas
Vayigash
Posted on December 25, 2014 (5775) By
Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein
| Level: Beginner
As the Torah’s
narrative of the story of Yosef and his brothers reaches its dramatic climax in
this week’s parsha, one may feel justifiably surprised that the brothers were
so shocked at Yosef’s revelation to them. After all, there was no shortage of
revelatory hints strewn by Yosef throughout the unfolding story.
But the brothers,
convinced of the rectitude of their actions and behavior, remained insensitive
to Yosef and his words, dreams and vision to the end. This fact of willful
blindness, no matter what facts are unfolding before one’s eyes, is not a rare
occurrence in life. It is unfortunately a very common human characteristic.
The combination of
self-righteousness, so-called ideological purity, human stubbornness and the
reluctance to admit past error is a lethal mix. It corrupts thought and
behavior and blinds the eyes, even of the righteous. The Torah describes the
effects of venal monetary corruption thusly: “For graft will blind the sight of
the otherwise righteous and pervert the utterances of the wise.”
There is no greater graft
or corruption than the self-righteousness of the ideologues amongst us. The
brothers disbelieved Yosef’s dreams from the onset and hardened their hearts
and justified their behavior towards him. They convinced themselves that they
could not have been wrong regarding such an important matter.
Blinded by their own
convictions and worldview, of their exclusive role in creating the Jewish
people without Yosef’s participation, the brothers were blind to the facts that
unfolded before their eyes. I am reminded of the sign that I once saw on the
desk of a noted professor of law that said “Don’t confuse me with the facts. My
mind is made up!” Even the greatest among us fall into that trap.
There is a portion of
the Jewish people who sincerely believe, whether for religious or ideological
reasons, that the state of Israel should never have been created. Great
rabbinic leaders of the past assured their followers that the state could not
last longer than fifteen years or fifty years at the most. The facts thankfully
belie those dark predictions and certainties.
There were ideologues
on the left who said that by abandoning Marxism the state of Israel was doomed,
as was the world of the Western democracies generally. Once again the facts of
the matter have arisen to deny this skewed and dire viewpoint. All of the
naysayers of the past still deny the present and continue to fight against the
raging sea of facts that appear before their very eyes.
Twenty years after the Oslo
agreements, it is apparent to all that somehow this process failed to bring
even a modicum of peace to Israel and its Arab antagonists. Yet, having
committed themselves to and having invested so much effort in a failed process
there are still many who refuse to face the facts and recognize that their
worldview and assessment of the situation was wrong.
So even when Yosef
stands before you, one is blinded by one’s own prejudices and previous mindset.
This is a very important lesson to be learned from the narrative of the Torah. The ability to admit wrong and change direction is one of the
true hallmarks of human greatness. It certainly is necessary in our time and in
our circumstances.
Shabbat shalom
Rabbi Berel Wein
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