Parashat Miketz: The Scenic Route (With Snacks Stored)
Words of Wisdom with Rabbi Efrat Zarren-Zohar
This Dvar Torah was written by Mark Kravitz, Chair of the Board of CAJE. He also serves on the Executive Board of The Jewish Education Project. He is a passionate advocate for inclusive Jewish learning, Israel education, and a vibrant, resilient Jewish future.
Some Torah portions reassure you that things will work out. Miketz says, ‘not so fast.’
Dreams collide. Families disappoint. Plans fall apart. Years pass with no resolution. If your life has ever taken a turn you didn’t order, Miketz is speaking directly to you.
Joseph’s story works on me because it isn’t tidy. He dreams big, gets misunderstood, disappears for a while, reinvents himself, and then has to figure out who he actually is once people finally start listening.
It’s not a success story. It’s a “how did I end up here and what do I do now” story.
I used to think Miketz was about achievement. Look, he made it. Now I realize it’s about preparation.
Joseph doesn’t rise because he’s lucky.
He rises because when things get complicated, he does something very Jewish. He plans.
On paper, my life started out pretty clean. I graduated valedictorian from Scheck Hillel in 1991. Big dreams. A quiet belief that if you did everything right, life would more or less cooperate.
Life did not cooperate.
My road hasn’t been especially straight — and yes, I mean that in more than one way.
I’m a gay man and a deeply committed Jew. I’ve spent more than thirty years living at that intersection.
Sometimes it fit beautifully. Sometimes it felt awkward. Sometimes it required far more explaining than I wanted to do. But it was always honest.
Joseph knows that feeling. He spends much of his life reading the room, translating himself, figuring out how to survive systems that weren’t exactly designed with him in mind. And instead of hardening, he gets smarter.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks used to say that Judaism is built for uncertainty — not for calm seas, but for rough ones. Joseph doesn’t just survive Egypt. He studies it. He notices patterns. He prepares for what’s coming before anyone else wants to admit it’s coming.
That’s the part we sometimes miss.
Joseph doesn’t wait for the famine and then panic. He stockpiles during the good years. He builds systems. He thinks long term. He understands that complexity isn’t a crisis. It’s the job.
That’s exactly what we try to do at CAJE.
We’re not in the business of handing people one perfect Jewish path and hoping it works forever. That’s not realistic — and it’s not Jewish.
We do Joseph work. We help educators and communities prepare for complexity before it shows up uninvited.
We invest in learning that gives people tools, not slogans. We build spaces that can hold disagreement without falling apart.
We support educators so that when the hard questions come — and they always do — there’s already grain in the silo.
Since October 7, that preparation has mattered more than ever. The world feels shakier. Conversations are harder. Things we assumed were solid, suddenly aren’t.
This isn’t a detour. This is the road.
Rabbi Sharon Brous reminds us that Jewish community isn’t about being comfortable. It’s about staying connected. Even when it’s tense. Especially when it’s tense.
My own life — full of rerouting, recalculating, and a road that took its time — has taught me this: the detours aren’t mistakes. They’re not delays. They’re the training.
Joseph ends Miketz standing tall, not because everything suddenly makes sense, but because he was ready when it stopped making sense.
That’s what Jewish education does at its best. That’s what CAJE exists to do.
The straight road might be faster. But the Jewish road — the one with curves, arguments, backup plans, and unexpected companions — is the one that actually gets us through the famine.
And here’s the thing Miketz wants us to remember:
The dream doesn’t disappear when the road gets complicated. That’s when you find out whether you were ready.
And if you’re Jewish, you don’t just store grain — you argue about the storage plan, call three people for advice, and worry the silo still isn’t big enough.
Which, honestly, is probably why we’re still here.
