Parashat Vayechi: Legacies and Values

Dedicated to the memory of Daniel Rubin zl

Yankel and Miriam have been married for seventy years.  Sitting on what will soon become his death bed at the age of ninety-five, he is surrounded by his wife and five children, David, Max, Josh, Bobby and Hannah.  He speaks slowly in a barely audible voice.

“David, my eldest son, when I die I want you to take over the running of the business.”

David replies, “Yes, Dad.”  At which point, Miriam looks at Yankel and says, “Yankel, I know how close you feel to David but he’s not cut out to be a businessman.  Better, you should give the responsibility to Max.  After all, his last three companies have been successfully trading on the Stock Exchange.”

Yankel looks at Miriam and says, “Ok, Miriam, Max can run the business.”

He then looks across the bed to Josh and says, “My wonderful Joshua, you’ve always admired my 1952 Bentley Mark VI Special and I know how much you enjoyed accompanying me when we used to take it out for a spin.  I want you to have the car.”

Before he can answer, Miriam says, “Yankel, have you seen how many points Josh has accrued?  He’s barely legal!  Better, that you give the car to David as he’s such a careful driver.”

Yankel looks at Miriam and says, “OK, Miriam, David gets the car.”

He continues.  “Bobby, do you remember how we used to play golf near the cottage in the Cotswolds every summer when you were growing up?  I want you to have the house.”

To which Miriam cuts in again, “Yankel, are you mad?  Bobby doesn’t know the first thing about running a home.  Have you seen the hovel he lives in?  You know what, why don’t you leave the cottage to Hannah instead.  She will be so house proud and don’t forget that she’s getting married in the Summer.  She and Adam love the area.”

Yankel turns to Miriam and mustering all the strength that remains in his body, says, “Miriam, please remind me as to who is dying, is it you or me?”

This joke is redolent of the Jewish attitude to death.  In his final hours, when Yankel should be concentrating on affirming the legacy that he’s spent his entire life creating, he is frustrated by his wife’s interference in his final plans.  The joke is funny because both Yankel and the audience know that she’s right.  It’s just that he’d like to be given the opportunity to have the final word!

This week’s Parasha of Vayechi, in tandem with its Haftarah, focuses respectively on the last days of Yaakov Avinu/Jacob and David Hamelech (King David).  Surrounded by their heirs and successors, they were aware of the legacies they were about to leave behind and the values that they wished to transmit to their children and future generations.  In both cases, these would significantly impact on the spiritual development and long-term survival of their descendants.

Yaakov and David were acutely aware that seated before them, were men whose actions could either unite the Jewish (or in those days, Israelite) nation or tear it asunder.

Yaakov blessed each of his sons individually, along with his grandsons, Efraim and Menashe.

Knowing his son’s characteristics, he also admonished them, making them aware of their faults. as we see in the brachot bestowed upon Reuven, Shimon and Levy.  Despite his initial wish to let the sons know what would happen ‘at the end of days’ (details of which were hidden from him by Hashem), he was still able to prophesise what could (and sadly did) transpire if the relationship between the brothers (and by extension, tribes) fractured.

His children and their progeny surrounded his bedside in a rare moment of unity and he died satisfied in the knowledge that his legacy was secure and that the values that he, and by extension we the Jewish people, the Bnei Yisrael hold so dear, had been transmitted to future generations. 

What more could anyone ask for?

King David wished to ensure exactly the same thing.  The greatest ruler we have ever had urged his son, the soon-to-be-enthroned King Solomon, to follow Gd’s commandments and rule wisely and justly.

However, he was not so fortunate.

He had spent much of his life on the battlefield but his most deadly enemies were none other than his own sons, Avshalom/Absalom and Adoniyah.  Add to that, he encountered the treachery of friends that he thought he could trust.

Unlike his ancestor Yaakov, his words were replete with bitterness and recrimination.   He instructed his son to ensure that his general, Yoav ben Tseruyah, was held accountable for the deaths of Avner and Amasa, two potential rivals as well as Avshalom, “do not let his greying head go down to the grave in peace” and reserve a similar fate for Shimi ben Gera the Benjamite who cursed him when he was fleeing Avshalom.  After asking Solomon to show kindness to the children of Barzilai, who acted favourably to him in this flight, his last words before he died, were “And now, do not consider him [i.e Shimi] innocent, for you are a wise man, and you will know how to deal with him, and you bring down his grey head to the grave in blood.”

These are clearly not the words of a man at peace with himself.

However, in death, their legacy is intact.

Jacob and David’s passings are described thus:

‘When Jacob finished his instructions to his sons, he drew his feet into the bed and he expired and he was gathered to his kin.’ (Bereshit 49.33)

‘And then David slept with his fathers and was buried in the City of David.’ (Kings I.  2.10)

Both Yaakov and David’s lives were shaped by the relationships they had with their children.  Families are complex entities that can impact us in ways that we could not predict.  This does not mean that we should ever compromise on what we believe in.  Each of us has a legacy to leave to our loved ones, be it our children or the friends that we consider to be like brethren.

The values that we cherish are those that need to be passed on to ensure that future generations continue to bear the moral compass we hold so dear.  In their own ways, Yaakov Avinu and David Hamelech accomplished the same thing, albeit in very different circumstances.

It is due to their actions that we are here today, as proud bearers of the religion that they forged and which was built upon by later generations.  We proclaim David to be ‘Melech Yisrael’ – the King of Israel who is alive and enduring (‘chai chai vekayom’) and Yaakov’s name, Israel is hardwired into our DNA.

Please Gd, it will be a long time until we find ourselves in the same position described in this week’s Parasha and Haftara, but if we have established a lasting legacy and are able to continue transmitting our values, we too will live forever in the hearts and minds of future generations.

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Vayigash: Joseph - The Better Man

Shloimy Cohen was a Haredi man who spent his life living a very observant life. He had a long beard, wore a big black Borsalino hat and dressed in a smart Saville Row, Shatnez- tested suit. He attended shul twice (and sometimes) three times a day, kept Glatt kosher and was the respected elder of his community.

However, when Shlomy celebrated his 70^th birthday, he decided that, although he’d been a devout Jew all his life, he wanted to have ‘some fun’ as he put it to his friends.

The beard came off, as did the hat (and the kippah) along with the suit. He now walked around Golders Green wearing a fashionable ‘The North Face’ jacket, Levis and trainers. He also sold his Toyota Previa and bought a Porsche 911 which he would drive up and down the M1 at a raging 100 mph.

One night as he was hurtling down towards Junction 1 in the pouring rain, he skidded and crashed into a concrete barrier. He was killed on impact.

In heaven, Shloimy walked angrily into Gan Eden. As he entered, he shouted out:

“Hakadosh Baruch Hu! I nearly spent my entire life dedicated to Your Service. From the moment I woke up in the morning until the minute my head hit the pillow, I dedicated my every thought and action to you. I know that I’ve slipped up recently, but did you really have to do this to me?”

A heavenly voice came back, full of concern:

“Shloimy, Shloimy is that you? Oy vey! I didn’t recognise you!”

Last week, we read that Joseph, the Viceroy of Egypt met with his brothers when they first came down to the country in search of food. The Torah tells us that he ‘recognised them, but they didn’t recognize him’ (Bereshit 42.9)

I have always been puzzled by this verse and assumed that it was the case because he must have been wearing some sort of mask. Surely, they would have known what he looked and sounded like?

Let’s hold that thought for a moment.

Earlier this week, Stephnie and I went to see a fascinating film called ‘Better Man’ which is an arresting biography of the pop singer Robbie Williams. Where this ‘biopic’ really stands out is that although it portrays his life in the well-worn and familiar chronological fashion, it does this in a truly original manner as Robbie appears throughout proceedings in the form of a chimpanzee (even though the eyes are his as they were digitally scanned and added in by the Director.)

To be honest, when I first saw the trailers, I wasn’t particularly impressed. He’s a few years younger than me and I’ve always enjoyed and respected his prodigious output. He’s a genuinely talented singer but as a chimp? Hmmm.

We thought we’d give it a try and came out truly bowled over. It’s an excellent film and although on paper, it sounds weird (and it is!), after a few minutes, you realise that it doesn’t matter what Robbie looks like, since, as you are hearing his narration and singing voice, you just accept the chimp as being Robbie Williams. The actor who plays him is superb and the CGI which renders him into a living, breathing monkey is remarkable. If you close your eyes and listen to the soundtrack, you wouldn’t know that the main character is anything but the man himself.

Back to Joseph and my assumptions that he must have hidden his face from his brothers.    This wasn’t the case at all. Rashi tells us that the reason they didn’t realise that this high official to whom they had just bowed (just like in the predictive dream) was not their brother was because he was now sporting a beard.

I’ve grown a beard in the past and no-one has ever failed to recognise me. There must be something more. Chizkuni (Rabbi Chizkiyahu Ben Manoach) the 13^th Century French commentator explains that, in addition to his facial hair, he was now known by his Egyptian name of Tzafenat Pane’ach and he spoke Egyptian, professing not to understand Hebrew.

Add to that the garments of finest linen, gold chain that adorned his neck and signet ring that was given to him by Pharaoh himself (Bereshit 41. 42-43). Joseph didn’t need to wear a mask because to the brothers, the man standing in front of them did not at all resemble the spoiled teenager they had cast into a pit many years previously.

In other words, Tzafenat Pane’ach could never be the same person as Joseph because, in the brothers’ opinion and worldview, they could not conceive that these two men were identical beyond their outer appearance. When Joseph reveals who he is to his brothers in this week’s Parasha, the Torah tells us that ‘his brothers were so bewildered at his presence that they could not answer him.’ (Bereshit 45.3)

For historical reasons, Robbie Williams has used a metaphor of a chimpanzee as his alter-ego. He even wrote a song in 2002 called “Me and My Monkey” describing his struggle with cocaine abuse and how he thought of himself as a monkey during his addiction. It’s a discussion that goes beyond the scope of this Drasha.

Nevertheless, Robbie chose to use this device in the film and we, the audience, as I wrote are aware of who the monkey really is. However, let’s say I sat in the cinema and that the last time I had seen Robbie was as a teenager in my local supermarket in Stoke-on-Trent buying cigarettes and alcohol. Since then, I had never heard his music or knew anything about him. I turn up to see a film about a chimp singing songs I don’t recognise. Would I know that this was the same person?

To a certain extent, we all wear ‘masks’ in our lives even though we don’t hide our faces.  

My students and the members of the congregations I lead view me very differently. My family and friends see another version of ‘Claude’ and when I bump into my own teachers (there are still a few around!), they sometimes struggle to recognize me. Not necessarily because I have changed but because I am different to the way they remember me.

It's all about perception and the way we think we know people. Strip away our external superficial layer and we are all the same underneath. Despite the despicable action that they did in selling their brother, we know that they were all great men. Joseph taught them a lesson and made them realise and face the enormity of their mistake.

When Judah, the brother who had initiated the plan to sell Joseph, pleads on behalf of Benjamin and offers himself up as a slave in his stead, Tzafenat Pane’ach, reverts to form and reveals his identity. The brothers’ reaction is as much a reflection of their own shame as the realisation that, as per the famous lyric, ‘Joseph who you thought was dead, your brother, It's me.’ It's a startling and moving moment, both for them and us.

The Torah’s message is profound. To truly know and understand a fellow human-being, look beyond the external features and the designer clothes. It’s not about the amazing cars we drive or the beautiful houses we inhabit. Yes, they’re impressive and they look fabulous. However, what matters is whom we are and the role we play in society.

The realistic looking monkey suit may be fun to wear on Purim, but it is the Mishloach Manot and Matanot Le’evyonim (gifts to the poor) that really demonstrate the true nature of the festival.  We are all ‘better men’ and women when we show our true colours. The ones that shine through the ‘masks’ that we sometimes use to hide the genuine beauty that lies within each of us.

Shavuah Tov.