Shabbat Weekly Dvar Torah

There is a heart-wrenching story that took place in a DP camp, on erev Yom Kippur with the Klausenberger Rebbe. He was about to do some internal preps for the coming holiday, when he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to a young girl. With tears in her eyes, she said, ‘Please Rebbe, I am part of the orphans here. I remembered that my father used to bless me right before Yom Kippur, but now I am all alone and am wondering if you could give me the traditional blessing that a father is supposed to give his daughter.’ The Rebbe, much moved, said, ‘I will be your father. He took out a kerchief and placed it on the girl’s grateful head, and recited the blessing. She left, very appreciative. A few minutes later there was another knock, and this time, a whole slew of little girls appeared.

About a decade ago, I encountered what I believe to be one of the most challenging and powerful nuggets of wisdom in our Jewish tradition. This is a midrash that tells the story of how Joseph returns to the pit his brothers threw him into when he was 17. He returns to the location of the worst moment of his life and recites the prayer that one says over a miracle. This is an extraordinary act! Joseph turns the hardest part of his life into a blessing. When I first heard this, I didn’t think this was relevant to me. Why would I want to turn the worst moments of my life into blessings? Aren’t some things just really hard and we should leave it at that? I initially responded negatively to this message, but it stayed with me in the years to come. It somehow became my spiritual work. I didn’t know how to do it, but I knew this was my task. I had to find a way to think of the worst moments of my life as blessings. I thought about Joseph.

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…

Quick, who found the cruse of oil that lasted eight days? On Chanukah we celebrate two miracles: our military victory over the Greeks and the one small cruse of oil that kept the menorah in the Temple lit for eight days. Between the two miracles, our tradition holds that finding the oil is more important. The re-dedication of the Temple capped by the eight days of menorah light is the real Chanukah miracle. That’s why the holiday is called Chanukah, which means “dedication,” and why we light a menorah to commemorate the events. If I started with the question of who led the victory over the Greeks, everyone would know that the answer is Judah, the Maccabee. But the hero who brought about the critical miracle goes un-named. Why is that? This is one of Chanukah’s lessons. Who the hero was isn’t important; it’s what they did that matters. And to appreciate what they did, let’s look at what they didn’t do…

Let’s set the scene. Jacob is on his way home after twenty years with his trickster father-in-law, Laban.The exile is over. Jacob has wealth, wives, children, and — perhaps for the first time — a sense that life might finally be settling into something like normalcy. And then, reality intrudes. Jacob remembers that he has unfinished business. Namely: Esau — the brother he cheated, the brother who vowed to kill him, the brother whose anger has echoed in Jacob’s mind for two decades. Jacob sends his entire family across the Jabbok River. He is left alone on the far bank — a man with nothing but the night and his thoughts.

This topic is challenging because when we are facing trials, especially trials in which we experience pain, it feels almost like gaslighting to connect gratitude to that experience. That’s why I very intentionally put the words “trying to find” before the word “gratitude.” The author Haruki Murakami once wrote: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." Along with death and taxes, another life experience we will not be able to avoid is… pain. Everyone alive will experience pain of one sort or another. How we process and experience that pain is what differs from person to person, which we all know just by observing ourselves & others. And that is what makes “Trying to Find Gratitude” so necessary.

As we head into Shabbat and read Parashat Toldot, I have found myself thinking about the premiere of Wicked: Part Two – For Good. Many of you know that the world of Oz has been part of my thinking for a long time. My graduate thesis focused on The Wizard of Oz and its presence throughout American culture, and last year I wrote aboutChanukah, light, and the lessons we draw from Wicked and “defying gravity.” With part two of the Wicked phenomenon being released this week, the timing feels especially fitting to circle back to the narrative and its misunderstood main character. Parashat Toldot tells the story of Jacob and Esau, two brothers who grow up in the same home yet experience the world in very different ways.

“Chessed (kindness) begins at home.” This saying has begun making its way around Jewish schools and seminaries over the past decade or two. I remember vividly hearing it after many years of studying in Yeshiva, at the time I had begun dating. Out with a young lady who had studied in the finest of seminaries in Israel, I was told: “chessed begins at home.” Since then, I have heard it several times, and it struck me as odd every time I heard it. No one argues that one should make sure to be responsible for those around them before seeking other opportunities for kindness. The problems begin when “chessed begins at home”, becomes chessed also ends at home. Why is it a problem? Because if chessed began and ended at home, the Jewish people would never come into being.