Israel is saving us: Vayehi and reciprocal saving

Every morning since October 7th, I grab my phone and check this website (Times of Israel) before my eyes are even fully open. It’s also the last thing I do before bed. This isn’t great for my mental health, but like so many American Jews, I’ve become consumed by what’s happening in Israel, driven by one urgent question: what can we do to help?

For many of us, supporting our people in Israel has become the lifeblood of what it means to be Jewish right now. But even as I believe we must do more, I wonder: are we telling ourselves the wrong story?

It’s often assumed that our dollars and political clout sustain Israel. Yet over the past year, I’ve come to see it differently: it’s not us holding Israel up—it’s Israel, quietly and steadily, holding American Judaism together.

This week’s Torah portion, Vayehi, concludes the book of Genesis with Jacob’s family reunited in Egypt, where Joseph saves his brothers and their families from starvation. Yet, as a sociologist, I see a deeper, often overlooked layer in this story: Joseph’s brothers save him in return.

Imagine an alternate history: Jacob’s family stays in Canaan, surviving the famine with losses, while Joseph rises in Egypt. His sons grow up disconnected from the Abrahamic covenant, severing his lineage from the Jewish people.

The arrival of Joseph’s brothers reflects what sociologist Tomas Jiménez calls “ethnic replenishment,” where new immigrants refresh the cultural identity of earlier generations. For example, a newly arrived Mexican immigrant might move near a third-generation Mexican American, strengthening their connection to their roots through proximity. The smell of enchiladas, the sound of Spanish, and strong family values remind earlier generations of their homeland and help them resist assimilation.

Seen through this lens, the end of Genesis takes on new meaning. Joseph’s brothers may have relied on his food and wealth, but they gave him something invaluable in return: the “ethnic materials” of the Abrahamic tradition, reconnecting him to the Jewish people. The payoff comes when Jacob blesses Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Menashe. Alone among his grandchildren, they are elevated to the status of full tribes of Israel.

Joseph saved his brothers materially, but they saved him spiritually.

And this brings us back to Israel today.

American Jews often speak about how much we do for Israel, but the truth is, Israel does even more for us. As historian Jonathan Sarna wrote, Israel has long served as a mirror for American Jews, helping us reflect on who we are and what we value. For decades, it has remained the central artery of Jewish identity education in America, with programs like Birthright Israel exemplifying this dynamic.

But I keep thinking there’s something even more important that Israel offers us. Israel reminds us of our highest values. It strips away the illusions created by America’s obsession with comfort and status. It offers moral clarity in a world overwhelmed by distraction.

Since October 7th, American Jews have grown stronger, more committed, and more deeply connected to Judaism. We owe this to Israel.

America today is often defined by what Ross Douthat calls decadence—reflecting what Francis Fukuyama famously described as “the end of history.” The great wars are behind us, and our biggest battles are internal—over identity, our past, and the minutiae of micro-aggressions. But Israel has never felt like it has reached the end of history. It feels like history in the making—a place where God’s presence can still be felt in the stones and where survival depends on courage.

I’ve been explaining to my 5-year-old why we’re planning a trip to Israel this summer. She associates Israel with war and feels scared. I reassured her that (God willing) we’ll be safe, but emphasized that visiting isn’t something we do for them—it’s for us. I miss Israel not out of grandiose idealism but out of a selfish yearning. I miss the version of myself that exists there—a self more attuned to reality, less seduced by noise.

What I seek is the privilege of being among those who defy the odds. To walk the beaches of Tel Aviv and see armed young Jews, to stand in neighborhoods home to individuals of moral greatness like Rachel Goldberg Polin, or to dine beside ordinary Israelis who serve in the reserves despite having the choice to opt out. Israelis are among the happiest people in the world, even as they are continually called to live with courage—a reality that should humble us from afar.

I am not romanticizing Israel or Israelis. Ben Gurion’s oft-reported phrase (“When Israel has prostitutes and thieves, we’ll be a state just like any other”) has definitely come to pass. But Israel remains not just a homeland but an inspiration.

While we American Jews do (and must continue to do) much for Israel, we should also remember how Israel anchors us to our shared history and highest values. As we close the book of Genesis, Joseph’s story reminds us how we save and sustain each other.