On Shabbat Miketz, I had the zechut, the sweet, sweet privilege, of sitting next to my mother and father in their home, reading and discussing the parshah together. We had been engrossed in the gripping drama between Yosef and his brothers. The brothers had come back with Binyamin; Yosef is overcome with emotions but has to hide everything he’s feeling; and just as they are heading back he secretly puts his silver goblet into Binyamin’s sack, accuses the brothers of stealing, and when it’s discovered says Binyamin will need to stay with him as a slave…. but when we got to the end of Miketz, we couldn’t stop!  How could we stop there! So we kept going, just a few pesukim into VaYigash—just to see what happens in this encounter, when Yehudah approaches Yosef, and how Yosef responds.

Why does it stop there, at end the Miketz, before continuing onto VaYigash? Why is VaYigash the start a new parshah?

VaYigash literally means to come close, to approach, to move oneself toward an encounter.

Avraham approaches God to plea for saving Sedom as there might be innocent people living there:

וַיִּגַּשׁ אַבְרָהָם, וַיֹּאמַר:  הַאַף תִּסְפֶּה, צַדִּיק עִם-רָשָׁע

When Yaakov, dressed as Esav, approaches so that his father Yitschak might bless him,

וַיִּגַּשׁ יַעֲקֹב אֶל-יִצְחָק אָבִיו

When Yaakov approaches Rachel for the first time,

When Yaakov approaches his brother Esav, after all those years, not knowing if Esav comes in battle or in peace:

…וַיִּשָּׂא יַעֲקֹב עֵינָיו, וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה עֵשָׂו בָּא, וְעִמּוֹ, אַרְבַּע מֵאוֹת אִישׁ וְהוּא, עָבַר לִפְנֵיהֶם; וַיִּשְׁתַּחוּ אַרְצָה שֶׁבַע פְּעָמִים, עַד-גִּשְׁתּוֹ עַד-אָחִיו

In each of these cases, VaYigash is a coming close, an approach, an encounter, but with such disparate meanings:  It can be an approach to a confrontation, a battle or struggle, but it can also be an approach to reconciliation, recognition, reuniting.

In our moment here between Yosef and his brothers, part of the VaYigash moment is indeed a coming close, both physically and interpersonally, after so much distance and so many barriers: he was from a different mother and was loved more by his father; they shepherded while he searched for them; he dreamed of them and they hated him; they threw him in a pit and then traded him into slavery.  And now there are also barriers: he is Egyptian and they are Hebrews; he is a ruler in charge of food and they are starved foreigners; Yosef recognizes them, but they don’t recognize him; Yehudah must have such powerful feelings of guilt and fear; and Yosef, must have such strong feelings of hurt and betrayal and possibly vengeance.

All of those things could have been barriers, but instead Yehuda approaches: VaYigash.

I find that when I read this scene, I feel physically close in the moment with Yosef and Yehudah.  In the scenes where they shepherd and he searches for them, when he tells them his dreams, when they throw him in the pit—I imagine it from a distance like I am viewing from afar. But here in this VaYigash moment, the Torah has brought me right there up close. וְלֹא־עָ֤מַד אִישׁ֙ אִתּ֔וֹ בְּהִתְוַדַּ֥ע יוֹסֵ֖ף אֶל־אֶחָֽיו Everyone else is dismissed from the scene, but we are here with Yosef and his brothers in this moment of VaYigash, in this moment of momentous encounter.

Without knowing yet who he really is, Yehudah tells Yosef that their father still longs for the missing Yosef, and could not bear to also lose Binyamin, and that he himself, Yehuda, has taken personal responsibility for Binyamin and will give himself as a slave instead in order to protect him and let him go back to Yaakov: כִּי עַבְדְּךָ עָרַב אֶת־הַנַּעַר I have mixed in my fate with the fate of this boy; there are not boundaries between his welfare and mine.

When Yosef hears this, he can’t hold it in any longer, and cries: אֲנִי יוֹסֵף הַעוֹד אָבִי חָי. And when he sees they are scared, he tells them Gesha na, come close. Yosef gently brings his brothers into this VaYigash which Yehuda started: don’t back away.

Then, in the same breath that he says, “I’m your brother whom you sold into Egypt,”  he immediately tells them not to feel badly: God sent me here so I could give food to you during the drought….

Why does Yosef to say it’s all okay? There could have been so much justifiable anger, bitterness, and hurt, but Yosef is somehow able to conquer that. What moves Yosef to forgive them?

It is Yehudah’s VaYigash, his approach, his coming close, his encounter: Yehudah shows that he understands what they did wrong, that they feel so sorry for it… and that they have changed. In the same situation, they now have made a different choice. In these ways they’ve show they have done teshuvah. And even beyond that, Yehudah was willing to sacrifice himself to protect Binyamin.

Researchers who study the psychology of forgiveness have found that when the other is willing to sacrifice for you, it helps the hurt one be more willing to forgive.

But I think it’s not just Yehudah’s true teshuvah, or his willingness to sacrifice, which allows Yosef to forgive.  Yosef comes close—he is VaYigash–in this encounter too. He is filled with a desire to be close to his brothers, to be part of his family, to see his father again. These feelings overwhelm any feelings of hurt or anger he could have still felt for what they did to him. He can’t hold them in any longer.

In my experiences as a psychologist, I’ve learned that forgiveness is most difficult when a close family member has hurt or betrayed you. I once worked with an impressive young woman who had been raised by her grandparents, because her mother had slowly abandoned her when she was little. Even though her grandparents were wonderful and she had made a good life for herself and was very accomplished, it was so hard for her to forgive her mother—and yet, she longed to be able to forgive her. On the one hand, it is hardest to forgive a parent or sibling after betrayal, abuse or abandonment—all things that Yosef experienced at the hands of his brothers.  On the other hand, the desire to have a reason to forgive can also be strongest.

The longing for the brothers to come together weaves on in the haftorah for VaYigash, which we read from Yechezkel: it’s about the prophecy/hope that one day the kingdoms of Joseph and Judah will be reunited.

Bring them close—like VaYigash.

There is a rabbinic drash on the word וַיִּגַּשׁ that there are three kinds of this coming close, three kinds of VaYigash: דין, פיוס, מלחמה  judgment, reconciliation, or war.  These three options are very different!

But the nature of VaYigash, is that you don’t know what kind it will be.  We might fear it will be one of the three, we might hope it is one of them, but it could turn into any of them.

VaYigash is the coming close when you don’t know if or how the other is going to receive you: is it going to be battle, or is it going to be reconciliation? You are bringing yourself to the other person, and you really don’t know.

And Yehudah really did not know! He did not even know this was Yosef—he thought he was an Egyptian ruler!  He even says in his words “you’re like Pharaoh.”  For all he knew this guy could impale all of them!

The moment of VaYigash has the potential for sea-change—we don’t know how it is going to turn out, but the relationship is going to change, and you as a person are going to change.

In this encounter, Yehudah and Yosef encounter the other, and but also themselves.  Would Yosef have known he’d ever forgive and reconnect with his brothers if he had the chance?  Would Yehudah know that he’d give his own life to protect Binyamin?

Our lives all full of encounters, of VaYigash moments. And because you don’t know what will happen, you are always taking a risk. There are encounters with friends, coworkers, family, community, other communities, other religions, other parties, other nations, other countries… there is the potential for battle and the potential for reconciliation.

So, coming back to the initial question, why the cliff hanger at end of Miketz?  Why does VaYigash start a new parshah?

Maybe one reason is just this: it’s the VaYigash moments which start new chapters. Think about the moments in your life when you approached someone, when you didn’t know how it would turn out, but you took the risk to approach … and how that was the start of a whole new chapter—an important chapter that changed your life or someone else’s.

Jewish peoplehood comes out of such an encounter —and the seeds of it are in our parshah:  Yehudah’s remorse and sense of responsibility, and Yosef’s forgiveness and desire to be close and take care of his family, allow Bnei Yaakov to really be Bnei Yisrael, a people whose fates are intertwined. This is what Yosef is saying when he explains that it’s good his brothers sold him because now he is able to give them food and they will all survive: he is saying, your fate is my fate—our collective welfare and collective survival is what matters—I don’t mind what I went through because I am part of you and we are going to be okay.

When Yosef’s love for his father and his family overpower everything else, he responds saying “הַע֥וֹד אָבִ֖י חָ֑י.” When we sing,  עַם יִשְׂרָאֵל חַי עוֹד אָבִינוּ חַי, about the life of our people, we echo Yosef’s words in that VaYigash moment.  Our connection to our people, the continued life of our people, needs the VaYigash of Yehudah and Yosef: the taking responsibility for each other, and for our actions; the willingness to take the risk to apologize and the risk to forgive; the willingness to approach each other authentically and try our best, even when we don’t know how it will go.

May all our encounters be brave,  and bring us closer to each other and to peace.