December 17th: Vayechi
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Our portion begins with the words “Vayechi Ya’akov: And Jacob lived for seventeen years in the land of Egypt” (Genesis 47.28), but it is really about our ancestor’s final days. He blesses his grandsons, Ephraim and Manasseh, and implores Joseph to carry his body back to the Land of Israel. He wants to be buried with his family at the Cave of Machpelah near Hebron. He also calls all of his sons to his bedside for some final words.
Often known as his blessing, it is a combination of character analysis and prophecy. In fact, Jacob begins with this in mind: “Come together that I may tell you what is to befall you in days to come. Assemble and hearken, O sons of Jacob; Hearken to Israel your father.” (Genesis 49.1-2) As he progresses with the poem, Jacob/Israel notes characteristics of each son and what he anticipates in terms of the son’s/tribe’s future. Generally, good behavior portends a good future. Bad behavior will beget problems down the road.
In considering this deathbed dynamic, Rabbi Lawrence Kushner once quipped, “Someone who makes deathbed demands does not understand the point of dying.” The point of dying, as he would put it, is that we are no longer active players. Yes, we do live on in the influence which our lives and deeds inspire. Yes, we are remembered—hopefully as a blessing, but the fact is that, when we die, our turn at life is over. Now, it is the turn of others.
In the Kabbalah, we are taught that God once inhabited all of existence—everything, everywhere. There was nothing that was not God. In order to make room for the creation, God withdrew from part of the universe—shrinking Itself in what the Kabbalah terms Tzimtzum. God was still enormous to an ultimate magnitude, but there was then some room for creation and for us and our free choices. In addition to giving our independent existence a chance, God’s Tzimtzum also models a kind of holy behavior: withdrawing from some aspect of existence to give someone else a chance.
It is like parents withdrawing from total authority in the family and giving children room to think and choose and act. There may be mistakes, but, without autonomy, there is no growth or maturity. It is the same with employers who give the workers some latitude in doing their work—in using their training and insights and wisdom to figure out solutions.
One way to look at the death of Jacob—and every other human death—is that it is the ultimate Tzimtzum: leaving the world (and our affairs) to others. Our turn is over. It is their turn.
Of course, no one wants to give up. Like we read in our prayer in the Yom Kippur Yizkor service, “Like a child falling asleep over a bed full of toys, we loosen our grip on earthly possessions only when death overtakes us.” Death is not something we want, but when it happens—and may that be at a ripe old age (Jacob was 147), there comes a time to let everything go. And trust.
Jacob is at that point, reluctant to give up his leadership, but facing the inevitability of being gathered to his people, and he chooses to speak these last words to his sons. Though described as “what will befall you in days to come,” much of what he has to say involves his observations—and his evaluations of their characters and their past behavior. Can such evaluations be helpful?
As the recipient of many evaluative statements over the years, I must admit that some are more helpful than others. Sometimes, critiques just seem mean: random shots meant to injure rather than help. Other times, they fall on deaf ears—that is, regardless of their intention, I do not see their relevance or applicability; they do not resonate. However, sometimes, these critiques are amazingly helpful. I recall one—at a rabbinical meeting where I made a very cynical comment. One of the older rabbis—who had known me since I was a teenager and apparently had watched me grow and develop over the years—called me down: “That is not the David Ostrich I’ve known all these years. The David Ostrich I know is kinder, more hopeful, and more constructive.” The comments were not easy to hear, and they stung. My immediate impulse was anger and resentment. Who is this guy to attack me? But, then I answered my own question. He is a guy who knows me and has had hopes for me and has been well acquainted with my thinking and actions. He is precisely the kind of guy to offer an evaluation!
So back to Jacob’s evaluations of his sons. Perhaps Jacob understands Rabbi Kushner’s point—that dying means giving up one’s turn and letting the next generation give it a try. Perhaps the “prophecies” are less instructions trying to restrict his sons’ action than evaluative observations—urging them to make the most of their opportunities. One hopes Jacob approaches his sons with fondness and hope—that the relationships he has with his sons and his perception of what they can hear will make the communication effective.
Every decision of the new generation may not be a good one—just as every decision made by Jacob was not perfect! Nonetheless, Tzimtzum calls on Jacob to trust his sons to plot their own course. And, there is trust in God: God who keeps the human endeavor moving forward, Who helps us recover from missteps, and Who guides us through the messes we invariably make.
A final observation: I think it is a mistake for one generation to think that its challenges and its choices are more important than those of other generations. We may feel the urgency of our decisions, but let us not indulge in the fantasy that we are somehow more important. If we are links in a chain, then each link is important and worthy of respect and trust. The eternal chain depends on every single one. Tzimtzum, humility, and trust: these can lead us to God.