When the Lights Go Out – Parshat Vayigash
In last week’s Torah portion we found ourselves behind the scenes of yet another family drama, this time watching the viceroy of Egypt accuse Benjamin of stealing and planning to punish him by enslaving him. The Parsha began with the following words, “Vayigash elav Yehudah — Then Judah approached him.” Vayigash means more than simply approaching or stepping forward – it means approaching someone in close proximity, physically and emotionally, opening oneself up to vulnerability. Judah approaches the Egyptian ruler he believes holds absolute power over his family in this intimate manner and risks everything – status, safety, and even his life. Judah demonstrates that the brothers standing before Joseph are no longer the same brothers who sold him into slavery years earlier: their repentance is expressed not through words, but through behavior and they stand ready to protect Benjamin, refusing to lose a brother for their own survival. This is called Teshuvah Gemurah, or complete repentance. How is Teshuvah Gemurah achieved? Apologizing, taking responsibility and accountability for one’s grievous ways, and most importantly, when faced with the same test, choosing differently.
Joseph, overwhelmed at seeing how his brothers have changed, how they truly love one another, is the first person in the Torah to model what it means to grant forgiveness. When Joseph reveals his identity, he reframes the past and says, “It was not you who sent me here, but God.” The brothers are not evil people who decided of their own accord to sell their own brother as a slave. Instead, Joseph makes a conscious decision to reinterpret and reframe what happened – the brothers were messengers of God, carrying out a divine plan. In his act of reframing, of letting go and letting God, Joseph forgives his brothers and lays the foundation for a reunited family. Repentance, reframing, and forgiveness are all necessary steps to move into the future that we can take into our everyday lives.
Parshat Vayigash is read on the Shabbat after Chanukah. During Chanukah, it is easy to believe in light. The candles are right there in front of us— small but defiant flames pushing back darkness night after night. But what do we do when the menorah is back in the cabinet? The dark nights are no longer lit by festive lights, and our now quiet living rooms are no longer buzzing with happy children and nostalgic music. It is these dark nights that ask us the question—how do we move the Chanukah lights into the future? We must be like Joseph, keeping hope alive in slavery, in prison, and the depths of despair. And if it’s hard to imagine what our ancestors did thousands of years ago, then just look at our modern-day heroes who survived captivity. Omer Shem Tov was held captive for 505 days, and every time he starts a speech the first thing he says is “I am Omer Shem Tov and I am a free man.” Yes, he recounts what was done to him in darkness, but he points us to the light. He says “Facing the horror… we had to choose — to sink or to fight for light. And within that darkness, a light arose.” Omer reminds us, “I have hope. If I can spread light, I’ll do it.” We must do the same.
As we approach the secular new year in a few hours, I am reminded of a hero born on December 31st, Simon Wiesenthal. After barely surviving a concentration camp and death march, he dedicated his life to tracking down and bringing Nazi war criminals to justice, most notably helping locate Adolf Eichmann and countless others. The famed Nazi-hunter sought legal prosecution rather than personal vengeance, ensuring the crimes were not forgotten, serving as a warning against future atrocities. Mr. Wiesenthal is another example of what must be done when it is no longer Chanukah. When the bright lights we so lovingly lit are now nowhere to be found, when darkness and the shroud of mystery and evil seem to be winning, that is the time we are called to be the Chanukah lights – unexpectedly resilient, resplendent, emerging from darkness not as victims but as free and courageous human beings ready to fight for justice.
But in speaking about the Holocaust I’d like to bring up an important article published 2 weeks ago in the Jerusalem Post. Young Jewish activist and Harvard graduate Shabbos Kestenbaum wrote the article with the following title, “We Don’t Need More Museums. We Need a Jewish Future.” He states, “If the American Jewish community truly seeks to meet the moment of October 7th, then our leadership must immediately and publicly redirect the billions of dollars it raises annually instead of fighting against, try fighting for.” He argues that spending millions of dollars on building more Holocaust memorials is counterproductive. Instead, that money should be spent on scholarships to allow all Jewish children a Jewish education, Jewish summer camp experiences, and time in Israel, so that our children grow up truly connected and invested in their own heritage, rather than simply speaking slogans like Never Again that mean nearly nothing. There are at least 300 Holocaust Museums or memorial sites in the world, and yet there were more than 6,000 anti-Semitic attacks this year alone.
Let’s make sure that in looking back at our history we avoid getting stuck there and instead build our future. May we, like Judah, have the courage to step forward, to take action and sacrifice ourselves if needed on behalf of the unity of our family, the Jewish people. May we be like Joseph, refusing to stay stuck in the past as a victim, instead reframing the past so we can move forward with resilience. And may we, especially after the lights of Chanukah have dimmed, use the warmth we build in unity as one people, Am Yisrael, to carry even brighter lights into the future.
Happy New Year to all.
