Vayeshev: The Shape of Our Story

The sedra starts by telling us that, “Yaakov (Jacob) was settled in the land where his father had sojourned [lit. the land of his father’s sojournings], the land of Canaan.”[1] The choice of words is deliberate. In Hebrew, vayeshev, he was settled, implies a permanent residence, whereas megurei, sojournings, implies temporary residence, literally being a stranger. Yaakov saw that his father lived in the land of Canaan as a stranger, but he, Yaakov, would live as a permanent resident. To that end, he had purchased land outside Shechem (modern Nablus) in last week’s sedra and, although he had to move on from there, he clearly had not abandoned his desire to live permanently in the land, despite the prophecy to Avraham (Abraham) much earlier that his descendants would have to experience slavery and oppression before they could conquer the land and live as settled residents.

Avraham and Yitzchak (Isaac) both had a period of “retirement,” where they disappear from the narrative, having handed over to the next generation, but are still very much alive. This is more obvious if you look at their ages when their sons were born and at their deaths, as the Torah tends to bring forward the details of their death to conclude their story before moving on to the next generation.

It could be that Yaakov saw himself as having handed over to the next generation in the same way and that now he could have a peaceful retirement with his wives and flocks while his children carry the story of the covenant forward.

However, this was not to be the case, as the next verse hints. “This is the line of Yaakov: At seventeen years of age, Yosef (Joseph) tended the flocks with his brothers”. We would expect “the line of Yaakov” to include all twelve sons. Instead, it speaks only of the favorite, Yosef, hinting that, consciously or unconsciously, Yaakov saw Yosef and only Yosef as his real heir, as indicated by the gift of the colored coat (a sign indicating the heir of a tribal leader in the Levant even in the twentieth century, according to the Torah commentary of Chief Rabbi Hertz). It was this favoritism and the threat of being written out of the covenant that prompted the murderous jealousy of Yosef’s brothers.

Yaakov had made a terrible mistake. He felt that, having made his peace with Esav (Esau) and returned to Canaan, his troubles were over. He felt that he understood the shape of his story and that he knew that it had reached its natural conclusion. He did not know that there was another, more terrible chapter still to come. From here on, we see Yaakov as a pathetic figure, pathetic in the sense of a figure full of pathos and evoking pity. In the narrative of Yosef and the brothers, he plays the role of an impediment who has to be manipulated by Yosef and Yehudah (Judah) to arrange for the whole Patriarchal family to come down to Egypt. When he meets Pharoah, he laments how bitter his life has been. He seems a broken man.

Yet there is one further twist in this narrative that, perhaps again, Yaakov did not expect. Suddenly, on his deathbed, right in the last sedra of Bereshit (Genesis), Yaakov is alert and in control, rebuking those sons who disobeyed and dishonored him with acts of presumption and violence and blessing his other sons and asking Yosef and the other brothers to bury him in Canaan, not Egypt, re-emphasizing the status of Canaan as the promised land and the need for the Israelites to eventually return there.

Perhaps this is just me, but I have a tendency to think periodically, “This is where my life was headed,” or “I have gone far from the path that God wanted me to be on.” However, ultimately, none of us know where God wants us to go and what He wants us to do. The Talmud narrates several stories of people who lived wicked lives, but who performed a single act of such intense kindness or devotion that it justified their entire existence. Sometimes this was literally the last thing they ever did before dying. If you had seen them even an hour earlier, it would not look like they were living the lives they were supposed to live, yet, at the critical juncture, they did what was required of them and earned their place in the next world.

Rashi (Hebrew acronym for Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, eleventh century) tells us[2] “You shall be perfect with HaShem your God — walk before Him whole-heartedly, put your hope in Him and do not attempt to investigate the future, but whatever it may be that comes upon you accept it whole-heartedly, and then you shall be with Him and become His portion.” We can’t know how our stories will end. All we can do is attempt to live them to the best of our ability.

[1] Translations from Sefaria, slightly modified.

[2] Devarim (Deuteronomy) 18.13, referencing Sifrei.