Change-for-the-Better

“We need to talk,” said the father of 17-year-old Barnash, nicknamed the wild stallion. It was back in 2005 when Israel removed all traces of Jewish life from Gaza. Barnash was furious. He and his extremist friends were hostile toward the IDF. But his dad impressed upon him, “It’s wrong to harm our country because of anger.” 

Over time, Barnash came to recognize his father’s point. He eventually decided to join the IDF. But because of his radical background, it took him years to earn trust and qualify to enlist. Eventually, he became a Battalion Commander. A highly admired one.

People do change. People can grow. We tend to notice when they change for the worst. But the reverse also happens. When change-for-the better attracts our attention, it warms our faith.  

Barnash grew so revered that when female Commander Or Ben Yehuda learned on October 7 at 1pm that he’d been killed, she was devastated. “If they took Barnash from us, then something truly inconceivable happened here” (One Day in October, P. 187)

It’s the opposite of what transpires in this week’s portion of Torah. Jacob is shocked to learn that Joseph was not killed, after all. Everyone’s in shock. Even Joseph feels vulnerable, “Does my father still live?” (ha-ode avi chai) (Gen. 45:3). That is, can I still call him my father too?

I believe the phrase Am Yisrael Chai (the people of Israel lives) originates, biblically, from Joseph’s words here. This is why the song often begins, “Our father still lives” (od avinu chai). Ever since Joseph’s spasm of uncertainty, it’s been transformed into an expression of certainty for us. It evokes joyful belonging. Being faithful to a promising future. 

Expressions change. People change. May we be on the lookout for change-for-the-better in 2025. In others. In our expressions. And in ourselves.